His mortgaged wife

Front matter

Pass

0 h

Co OvJ EL.

II

As she went over the events of the evening Grace could not analyze her feelings. Life with her grandparents had been so drab and color¬ less that when she came to school in England, she had never experienced one pang of home¬ sickness. Yet tonight she was suffering from it. She longed to see some of the old landmarks and yearned for the sight of her girlhood friends. In London, she had a large list of ac¬ quaintances, but no chum. The women in her set chose men for their pals.

She heard her husband walking up and down in his room as he did when he was upset. She felt guilty to have been lying there dreaming, when she might have gone in to him and helped him get over his fit of depression.

When she entered the room, however, he turned on her savagely.

“Why can’t you leave me alone? I came in here to think and do not wish to be disturbed. ’ *

“Don’t think things over all by yourself, Mars. Talk your difficulties over with me. They clarify sometimes when you thrash them out with someone else.”

“Grace, you’re too narrow and puritanical for a man to be able to discuss anything with you. All you think of suggesting, when I tell you I am hard up, is some martyrdom, some new sacrifice we can make. I don’t want to be told how easy it is to go without. There is nothing helpful in that kind of cant.”

HIS MOKTGAGED WIFE

“But material things are not essential to happiness, Mars. With love, health and youth, surely there is nothing terrifying in our in¬ come being reduced. ”

Marsden stopped abruptly in his walk and jerked open the door for her.

“Please go to bed,” he said, “I told you I wanted to think.”

Back in bed, Grace’s thoughts were a jumbled mass of perplexity until sleep smoothed out her worried brow.

She arose early to have breakfast with her husband and was delighted to find him in good spirits.

“I am sorry I was such a brute last night,” he said, kissing her. “Please forgive me.”

“Why, the idea, Mars! There is nothing to forgive. I’m going to start economizing today so you won’t have to give me so large an allow¬ ance for the house.”

4 ‘ That’s all tommyrot. Saving pennies won’t do me any good. Get your hat on, and I will blow you off to a new evening gown at Lucille’s. You are getting dowdy, my dear, and all these sombre hues you affect are getting on my nerves.”

“Don’t be silly, Mars. I need no new frocks. ’ ’

“Get on your hat, like a good little girl, just to please me. I intend picking out something for you myself.”

Grace knew it was useless to try to dissuade him, so entered into his plans with all the enthu¬ siasm she could muster for so ill-timed an ex¬ travagance.

Marsden gave the saleswoman at the shop to understand he wanted something very smart. Manikin after manikin pivoted around on the stage and walked down to them to permit a closer inspection of the gowns. Finally Marsden selected a turquoise blue satin and a cloth of silver for Grace to try on. They both suited her admirably, but she could not display any interest, for they were so frightfully expensive. Marsden, unable to choose between them ordered both put on his account and sent home.

“Oh, you extravagant boy!” Grace cried as soon as they were out on the street. “It is darling of you to want me to have those dresses, but surely you can’t afford them now.”

“Why spoil everything with a lecture on con¬ servation? I am sick to death of the subject.”

“I’m sorry. I will try not to be a kill-joy again. ’ ’

Neither of them broke the silence on the re¬ turn home from their shopping expedition.

Clayton found his day largely occupied with pleasant anticipations of the evening and the important business of getting a box for the theatre and a desirable table for dinner. Lon¬ don now wore an entirely different aspect for him. There was a touch of color in its hereto¬ fore drab attire.

At a quarter to seven he was waiting at the Savoy for his guests. He found the lobby an interesting place. The constant stream of smartly gowned women followed by their boredlooking escorts was enough to keep his mind well occupied and interested.

Punctually at seven the Marsdens appeared. Clayton was ebloue by Grace’s appearance in the cloth-of-silver gown. It was extremely decollete and set off her figure to the very ut¬ most. She was absolutely radiant. How could Marsden walk with that air of indifference by the side of so glorious a creature. He greeted them enthusiastically and piloted them to their seats, noticing with the greatest satisfaction the glances of admiration Grace drew from the tables near by, as they sat down.

Marsden was in the gayest of humors.

4 4 It was awfully good of you to ask us here tonight,” he said. 44 Grace and I had rather lost the habit of dining out. This seems like old times, doesn’t it, Grace?”

44 Yes, I love this place,” she answered simply.

4 4 Then let us arrange to come here regu¬ larly,” suggested Clayton. 44 1 am enchanted with the place myself now. ’ ’

44 Oh, no,” said Grace, 44 coming to the same restaurant every night requires too many dif¬ ferent frocks.”

44 1 was just thinking of exacting your prom¬ ise not to wear any other gown than the one you have on,” replied Clayton. 44 I’ve never seen anything so alluring. You have perfect taste.”

44 Thank you,” smiled Grace, 44 but I cannot take the credit—Mars chose this frock for me.”

44 I told Grace she was scintillating this eve¬ ning,” said Marsden. 44 I have a hard time keeping her from draping herself in crepe. Black should be worn only by women who are in mourning for their youth, I think.”

4 4 By the way, Marsden, what business are you engaged in? Or does your attention to so charming a wife occupy all your time?”

44 Oh, I’m soldiering, you know,” replied

HIS MOKTGAGED WIFE

Marsden, Iris face losing the brightness of the moment before, “and I wish I were jolly well out of the service. You don’t happen to want a permanent London representative, do you?”

Clayton did not reply for a moment. Per¬ haps he could think of something. It certainly would be ideal if he could in some way insure the daily companionship of Grace and her hus¬ band. He must look Marsden up and see if he had any ability he could use.

‘ ‘ Let me think, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ Perhaps I may be able to suggest something later on.”

Grace was pleased with his interest. Any prospect of a change for her husband was en¬ couraging. She knew the service held little hope of promotion. Her inheritance was just about gone and Mars’ income could in no way keep pace with his expensive regiment and extravagant tastes. She felt sure no change could be for the worse and this charming coun¬ tryman of hers probably held keys that would unlock other doors for him.

“I do hope you can think of something,” she began. “I know he has loads of ability—if he only had a chance. ’ ’

Clayton looked up quickly at the last few words; they had a familiar sound. All his busi¬ ness life he had known these men of ability who never had a chance. Every street was full of them, except Bradstreet. He had better keep Marsden on a social plane.

“Let me think it over,” he repeated, smiling¬ ly. “ Anything that tends to put our pleasant acquaintance on a more permanent basis is most interesting.”

Grace delicately steered the conversation into less personal channels and they moved out into the foyer for coffee.

When they reached the theatre the play was on. Grace gave all her attention to the per¬ formance but Marsden was restless. The mo¬ ment the first act was over, he went out.

“Was your husband serious in suggesting a business connection with me!” Clayton asked.

“I don’t know but I do want him to get out of that treadmill. He is ambitious and there is no chance there for advancement.”

“I really did not come over here to think about business but, of course, a certain amount of it is inescapable. I have never considered a London connection and, at the moment, it does not seem feasible. Still I should greatly like to be of some service to you. Perhaps there may be some way in which I can help him. Can you think of any?”

“No, I can’t. He never tells me much about his affairs. I know he is horribly dissatisfied —but you came over to get a rest, not to hunt up business opportunities for your new-found friends. Let us discuss something less boring for you.”

“My dear Grace, nothing could be boring to me that is of interest to you. Your devotion and loyalty to your husband, shown by your whole manner, appeals to me more than to most men, perhaps because I have known the lack of it. That is why I should like to have you for a friend, a real friend.”

“What a lovely speech! Very few men com¬ pliment women on their devotion to their hus¬ bands. What you said, or rather didn’t say, about yourself interests me very much. I suppose it is a woman’s curiosity but, since it is, I must tell you I’ve been wondering how you came to be divorced. I know it is terribly per¬ sonal and impertinent—don’t bother to tell me about it—I’m ashamed of having brought up the subject.”

“I am flattered by your interest. I suppose it was my fault to a large degree. I was too busy to be very attentive. The lady is married again, I hear. I can’t imagine myself marry¬ ing again but, if I ever do commit that folly, I will go to the other extreme and devote my life to the happiness of my wife.”

‘‘All of which indicates that, although you will not admit it to yourself you are looking for¬ ward to marrying again. Just now you would be most susceptible. I must watch over you while you are here to see that you make no more mistakes. Come and tell me about each new passion as it buds, and I will help you select the one that will bloom into a happy marriage. ’ ’

“Splendid,” agreed Clayton. “That is a bargain. Up to the moment I am absolutely i fancy free’ but I will come to you with my first blossom of romance.”

The curtain rose and Marsden dropped into the chair back of them. In one glance Grace saw that her husband had been drinking. She had been fearful of this outcome when he drank so freely at dinner.

All through the next act she was restless, wondering how she could keep Marsden from leaving them again, but before the curtain had gone down he had disappeared. Grace made no comments upon her husband’s actions. He did not return during the third act and they waited in the box until the theatre was nearly empty before she asked Clayton to take her home.

“He has run into some pal and forgotten all about us,” she explained, struggling to appear unconcerned.

“I know just how that is,” Clayton assured her, “and I shall be delighted to take you home.”

Grace was grateful that Clayton seemed to think nothing of her husband’s cavalier treat¬ ment of her and his host; she was hurt and humiliated. They spoke little during the drive home in the taxi, but there emanated from him something protective and big, that Grace in¬ stinctively sensed, which soothed the jangle and discord of the evening’s finale.

Ill

Next morning Clayton sat in his room re¬ viewing the past night. It had been delightful once again to feel in touch with the world about him. Grace was splendid; her promise to watch over him, amusing. Single life looked pleasing at the moment but if he ever did become dis¬ satisfied with its blessedness he hoped he would find someone like her.

Marsden, too, was not half bad. He was as¬ suredly not jealous. Of course, Grace’s devo¬ tion precluded any such possibility to any sane man but, then, the husbands of very beautiful women were not often sane. He wondered if it was worth while to pursue the question of business relations with Marsden any further. There was no use in holding out hopes if they were not to be realized. That would be sure to bring trouble. Evidently the man was not particularly reliable, as his disappearance the night before proved. He would forget that sug¬ gestion, at least, for the present.

At that moment Marsden was announced and Clayton rose to greet his early morning visitor.

“I dropped in, old man, to offer an explana¬ tion and an apology for my disappearance last night. ’ ’

“ Nonsense, Marsden, none is necessary as far as I am concerned.”

“I noticed a friend in the stalls,” Marsden continued, unmindful of the interruption, “and

went down to have a word with him before he could get away. He took me to the bar and I became so interested in a proposition he made that I forgot all about the play’s closing. When I returned the theatre was empty and you were gone. I am greatly obliged to you for taking Grace home.”

“It was a pleasure, I assure you.”

“It was inexcusable of me to vanish like that but, perhaps, if I tell you what the man’s pro¬ posal was, you will understand. I’ve wanted a car for a long time. I know motors fairly well and am a good driver so these cheap gocarts don’t interest me much. This chap is stone-broke and has a Rolls Royce with a tour¬ ing body almost as good as new. He must have money, so offered it to me for six hundred and fifty pounds. You know that is a bargain. I tried to get him to take my note, but he must have cash as he has to leave London. With a little time I can sell it and make a good profit. In my hands it won’t deteriorate. How would you like to go in on it? You put up the money, I buy the car and give you a mortgage on it for six hundred and fifty pounds and we divide the profit when I sell it. In the meantime, we have a good car to use—but perhaps you have bought one already.”

“No,” said Clayton, “I have not and had not contemplated doing so. When moving about, I find it cheaper to hire. This proposi¬ tion is good, however, and I will gladly join you in it. Shall I make out the check to you or your friend?”

“Better make it to me; if he knew I had inter¬ ested an American in it, he might jump the price.”

“Sure enough/’ laughed Clayton, “Ameri¬ cans all look like easy money wherever they go and most of them are.”

He pulled out his check book and wrote Marsden the check for the amount.

“Thanks, awfully, Clayton. I’ll hurry around to him before he changes his mind, take the car to a garage I know and tune it up a bit—will bring it around to show it to you to¬ morrow afternoon. This is an off-week for me. After I report in the morning I can count on being excused for the day.”

“I envy you the necessity of having to re¬ port. Unless there is some call on one’s time the days drag horribly, I think. ’ ’

“Why don’t you drop in on Grace this after¬ noon! I shall be in overalls and full of grease. If you are there for tea, tell her not to expect me. I must be off now. I ’ll have the mortgage ready in a day or two,” he called out as he closed the hall door.

Clayton was delighted at the suggestion of calling on Grace. With something in view to occupy his afternoon he turned immediately to his morning mail, so as to have it disposed of for the day.

When he presented himself at Marsden’s house he was disappointed in not being able to have the tete-a-tete he had anticipated. He thought the well-built interloper in riding togs, standing with back to the door, was a young man, until the figure turned around and he was presented to a young lady. He had never had such a hearty handshake or brusque how-doyou-do from the gentler sex.

Clayton took his seat beside Grace, facing

Dariel Thurston, who seemed to shun any sup¬ port the arms or back of the chair might lend her.

Grace poured him a cup of tea and Miss Thurston offered him the bread and butter. He was not tempted by that or the cake she recom¬ mended as delicious but he could not refuse the tea at Grace’s hands. He had many things he wanted to discuss with her but this young girl seemed to keep the talk out in the open, strenu¬ ously kicking the ball of conversation from hockey field to polo grounds. Finally Clayton managed to deliver Marsden’s message.

“What is putting him in overalls and cover¬ ing him with grease?” Grace demanded.

“Why, don’t you know he has just bought a Rolls Royce ? He expected to spend his after¬ noon going over the motor.”

“Bought a motor?” gasped Grace.

“Ripping!” exclaimed Dariel, “you can do with one.”

“Oh, I am mad about motoring,” Grace cried, “but—but—it is a surprise,” she added falteringly.

“I say, don’t let a bit of good news bowl you out. I told Manning to come here to fetch me at half-past five, so he must be at the door.”

Clayton put Miss Thurston in the waiting limousine with pleasure and hurried back to Grace.

“Are you really in earnest, Edward, that Mars has purchased an automobile?” she asked anxiously, the moment he entered the room.

“Well, I think so, Grace. He told me he had a great bargain offered him and I understood when he left me he was on his way to take it up. ’ *

“Where did you see him?”

“Oh, he dropped by this morning to apolo¬ gize for being sidetracked last night. Now con¬ tain yourself until you see your new toy. I have never met such a curious woman.”

“There is some joke about all this, Edward. I know Mars was not in the market for motor cars when he left this morning.”

Clayton was unable to steer Grace’s thoughts away from the automobile. He realized the news of its purchase had been very disconcert¬ ing to her and regretted having been the news bearer.

Walking home, Clayton tried to think why Grace was so upset by the idea of her husband’s having purchased a car. It must be that she thought Marsden could ill afford accessories of that kind. Could they be in any financial difficulty? Her gowns did not indicate it, yet evidently she did not favor extravagances. It was an interesting problem. Her husband would probably offer the solution soon.

At three o’clock the next day, Marsden and Grace came for him in the car. Grace had ap¬ parently been satisfied by Marsden’s explana¬ tion, whatever it was. She was sitting in the tonneau, beaming with delight.

Clayton looked the car over critically. It was a Rolls sure enough, but it was travel worn. A fair estimate of its age, he thought, was three years and the seller more to be congratulated than the buyer at six hundred and fifty pounds. He might probably get out whole on a sale but cash profits were out of the question. He would get his dividends in being an associate member.

“What do you think of it?” asked Marsden.

“I can tell better after a ride.”

“Well, let’s be off then. Get in behind with Grace and I will drive. ’ ’

He became pleased with his investment in Grace’s delight in motoring. He would be in no hurry for the car to be sold. Speeding through the country by her side was most en¬ joyable.

They stopped at a little Riverside inn for tea. The weather had become warm enough to bring people out on the water, so Grace sug¬ gested having tea on the lawn which sloped down to the river’s edge.

“This is a fascinating sight!” Clayton ex¬ claimed as he got his first view of the Thames with the holiday crowd upon it. Rowboats, punts and canoes with their cargoes of brightly dressed women and athletic-looking men passed by in a gay pageant. Swans were majestically patrolling the water below the lawn, waiting for the crumbs that invariably came their way at teatime.

‘ 4 This is nothing to what it will be later on, ’ ’ Grace promised. “The houseboats will be lined along the bank, each one made to look as beautiful as possible in its fresh paint with its flower boxes a mass of bloom.”

“It can’t be more attractive than it is to¬ day,” said Clayton, glancing from the water to Grace.

4 4 Hello, there! ’ ’ called Marsden to Captain Thurston, who was just about to seat himself at the adjoining table.

“What luck!” Thurston exclaimed, coming over to them.

Clayton took a great liking to the captain the moment he met him.

“How do you happen to he strolling in here all by yourself today?” asked Grace.

‘ 4 Dariel has a troop of girls over at the house this afternoon and I felt very much de trop and in need of a long walk.’ ’

“You’re on foot, are you?” asked Marsden. “We can give you a lift home.”

“I have a much better suggestion,” offered Clayton. “Let us carry Captain Thurston in to town to dinner with us.”

“A much better suggestion,” agreed Mars¬ den. “You’ll come in with us, won’t you Thurston?”

“I shall be pleased to go along if you are not going to change.”

“We shan’t be changing,” Marsden assured him, “and we can have a look in at one of the music halls after.”

“Does that appeal to you, Edward?” asked Grace.

“Anything does—I’m enjoying every minute of my time here that I don’t spend by myself. ’ ’

“Aren’t you on good terms with yourself?” Thurston inquired.

“Not very,’’ Clayton replied. ‘‘There is con¬ siderable contempt caused by too much famil¬ iarity. ’ ’

‘ ‘ That’s very funny, ’ ’ laughed Thurston. ‘ ‘ I must tell you what my kid sister told me of you yesterday. ’ ’

“That the contempt was not mine exclu¬ sively?”

4 4 Not at all. She said she admired you tre¬ mendously because you were not like other men who seemed so thoroughly satisfied with them¬ selves. ”

“I shall have to see more of that sister of yours.’ ’

“Then you will have to get a mount; she is in the saddle from morning until night.”

“Hadn’t we better start for town now?” asked Marsden.

Grace was quick to agree for she had no¬ ticed her husband’s restlessness for some time.

When Marsden brought the car around to the entrance, he called to Thurston to jump in front with him. Clayton was grateful that his invitation to the captain had not robbed him of the pleasure of talking to Grace on their way back to town.

IV

“I have good news for yon, Grace,” Marsden said some weeks later, when the maid had left them alone in the dining room with their coffee.

“Really, Mars, I’ll be delighted to hear it. Do tell me quickly. You have not been given a yacht to sell and use in the interim, have you?”

“Don’t try to make facetious remarks, but listen, if you wish to hear what I have to say. I was telling Clayton today about the house we have always had at Henley in the summer and he hoped we would be going on the Thames soon, so he could visit us. He does not enjoy London at this season. I told him quite frankly we were not taking it on this year, as we could not afford it. Then he said, if we would just run the place and have him down, he would be only too glad to take care of the lease.”

“But, Mars—”

“Don’t 4 but’ until I have finished. He wants to go fifty-fifty with us, as he expressed it.”

“But, Mars, we can’t enter into an agree¬ ment of that kind. It would be a great mis¬ take. ’ ’

“It will be a great help to me, so no doubt you will oppose it.”

“I do not wish to oppose things that are helpful to you, but how can we put ourselves under such obligations?”

“What rot you talk! It is he who is the beneficiary. For no more expense than he would have to pay at a hotel among strangers, he can be in a charming home with friends. He is awfully bored with himself unless he is with us. As it is, he is around here every day and with us most of the time.”

“I know, Mars, but it is not like having a man about the house all the time. I shall feel most uncomfortable.”

4 4 You have never seemed averse to his so¬ ciety. I tell you, Grace, I am fed up with your preferring to play martyr on all occasions rather than to take what the gods provide and get a little joy out of life. ”

“I don’t know what the gods are trying to provide for me, but I do know that I much pre¬ fer to do with what my husband can provide than to accept the assistance of others. As we can’t afford Henley this summer, Mars dear, let us do without it. We can spend a day on the Thames occasionally and really have a very nice summer staying in town .’ 1

“Take an outing on bank holidays with the cheap trippers? I’ll be damned if I do.”

“I think you must be a little tired and upset this evening, Mars. I know I am and, if you will excuse me, I think I will go upstairs.”

When Grace reached her room she did not turn on the lights, but sat down by the open window to think. It was a very heavy, muggy night and her thoughts were as depressing as the atmosphere.

She had told her husband she would be un¬ comfortable with Clayton in the house. Was that the word she should have used? Was it not, after all, fear, fear lest she should grow too fond of him? He had been coming every day to tea and they had had delightful little talks alone—impersonal, to be sure, but, to be honest with herself, her days were beginning to revolve around these visits. Was it possible that she, who had never condoned even mild flirtations for married women, was falling in love?

Aside from the fear of herself, perhaps there was nothing to object to in Clayton and her husband’s arranging things so that they could all have a summer on the river. The trouble lay with herself; she must get these silly notions out of her head. She could not go to Marsden and tell him that she was afraid of her own feelings. He would think her a bigger fool than ever. But what should she do? Oh, if he would only be a little more with her. Somehow or other he seemed to be drift¬ ing away, out of sympathy and touch. That was why Clayton’s visits meant so much to her. Why, when she came to think of it, Marsden had scarcely been at home the last month. They had been together only when Clayton was with them on motor trips or dinner parties.

Could it be that Marsden didn’t like Clay¬ ton around so much? Yet, how absurd that was, when they had just had an argument over his wanting Clayton to share a house with them this summer. The whole thing was the weaving of her own imagination. Things would perhaps be different if they were on the river. She could be out in the open and would not have so much time for disconcerting self-analysis.

The only thing for her to do was to tell her husband to make whatever plans he thought would be best. The first duty of a good wife was to follow out her husband’s wishes. If one did that, things could not go wrong.

With this point settled, she felt more at ease and her thoughts gradually flitted to the house at Henley. She wondered if Clayton would really like it there and enjoy his tea on the lawn as much as he did in the drawing room here.

Then she thought of Marsden downstairs, hurt and disappointed because she had not been delighted with his good news. He knew how she loved the river and he had come home full of enthusiasm to tell her of the plans. She hur¬ ried down, intent upon making it all up to him.

“Mars dear,” she began, sitting on the arm of his chair, “I’ve been thinking over what you told me and I see no reason why we can’t all have a happy summer at Henley after all. ’ ’