Broken paths

Contents

Page

I. The Senator Interferes. 7

II. Cecilia Has Something to Say. 27

Chapter I THE SENATOR INTERFERES

T he lad in brass buttons and livery jumped to his feet when Senator Hayden came in. Hay¬ den was very popular with the youngsters at the Metropole.

“I’m not going to stay a second. Bob,” said the stately old gentleman. ‘‘I’m looking for Mr. Travers.”

‘‘Oh, he’s inside, sir. He’s been inside all evening.”

‘‘Thank you, Bob. All right, then; take these.” He handed over his hat and cane, brushed an imag¬ inary speck from an immaculate coat-sleeve, and sauntered into the big, luxurious living-room that was the Metropole’s chief attraction, and which helped to make this fashionable club a near-home. A chorus of greetings arose—evidently Senator Hayden’s pop¬ ularity extended farther than the foyer. He nodded and smiled cheerfully, his gray eyes roving from one face to the other. In the center of the room a com¬ fortable chair had been drawn close to a table, and above the padded back rose a sleek black head, news¬ paper held high above it. Senator Hayden con¬ tinued his pleasant progress until he stood behind the chair, but Malcolm Travers was too deeply engrossed in his paper to notice him. So the Sen¬ ator walked around and tapped him on the arm.

“Greetings, Malcolm!” he said. He sat on the edge of the table, one leg swinging, and when Mal¬ colm would have risen to push a chair nearer, he shook his head. “Never mind—if you can give me just five minutes—”

“I can give you fifteen,” said Malcolm Travers, genially. “I have an appointment with Kenneth Lister in just twenty. Until then I am absolutely at your service.”

The tone was courteous, but the Senator frowned.

“I’ve warned you about Kenneth Lister, Malcolm,” he said. “A fellow to let alone.”

Lifted eyebrows and a half smile greeted this remark.

“Now, now,” he said soothingly. “Dost realize little Malcolm has grown up?”

“Unfortunately. If he weren’t—”

“Little Malcolm would get some trap-oil, eh?”

“Early and often, son.”

“Sorry that you can’t be accommodated, Senator! But it is a way that children have, alas! Ken Lister can’t hurt me. I think Ken Lister’s friends are rather deploring my influence over him. Yes,” with a grin. “I bet you haven’t looked at it like that have you? Poor little Kenny Lister!”

The Senator stared at him a moment, lips tightly closed, eyes scrutinizing.

“We won’t discuss it any more. You know Lister is in bad odor. I wouldn’t care, if I were in your shoes, to have my name associated with his. However, it’s your affair—I didn’t come to discuss Lister. I have something else on my mind.’’

“So!” Malcolm Travers reached down into his pocket and brought out a cigar case, holding it open, suggestively. “Have one?”

“No,” said the Senator, gruffly, for he, too, was devoted to the weed. “I’ve gone the limit today.”

“Ah! But you are right, at that. At your age one can’t be too careful.”

“At my age you’ll be smoking—but not cigars,” said the Senator, with some asperity.

“Whew!” The young man struck a match and puffed deeply. “You certainly have something on your mind!” He half closed his dark eyes. “Why not get it out and off, dear friend?”

Again that sharp glance from the older man.

“Since when have you and Joyce agreed to disv»

agree ?

Malcolm Travers smoked quietly. Then:

“Have you heard that—non??”

“I heard it yesterday. Is it true?”

“Yes, it’s true. Joyce and I have found out that we are incompatible, and have separated by mutual consent.”

“When?”

“Three months ago.”

“Malcolm!”

Malcolm Travers shrugged his shoulders.

“What’s the use, Senator? I tell you Joyce made up her mind—at last!—that the only heir of the house of Travers was an unsatisfactory matrimonial prospect.”

“It looks bad—you’ve been engaged to be mar¬ ried for three years.”

“Correct, Senator.”

“You would have been married long ago only for that cursed cat of an Aunt Harriet. I know, I know! She ruined Joyce’s mother’s life—now she is ruining the girl’s, too. I hoped you would stick it out, Malcolm.”

Malcolm laughed—heartily enough.

“I was summarily dismissed,” he said, “if that will give you any comfort in your present tribulations.” 'But there’s worse.”

I have no doubt. There’s always worse. What’s the rest of it?”

‘You’re engaged to Cecilia Emory.”

‘Again correct!”

‘Does Cecilia know about Joyce?”

‘Senator, my dear, dear friend, I haven’t asked her!”

tr

BROKEN PATHS II

“Well, I’m going to.”

The deuce you are!” The young man’s eyes opened wide, and he sat up straight in his chair.

Say, look here, you certainly have your nerve—”

“Yes, r Ve my nerve,” said the Senator imperturb¬ ably, “and I’ve got some idea of the fitness of things, too. For heaven’s sake, Malcolm, think a bit before you cut into this. Cecilia Emory is about as fit to be your wife as an ant is fitted to be the wife of a butterfly. And with such a handicap as Joyce, too!”

“Now that’s a darned fine simile! A butterfly and an ant make a good combination!”

“Perhaps not so good when I give the little ant an idea of what’s before her—as well as what’s behind

her!”

“I don’t want to be rude. Senator, really I don’t,” said the young man, “but I must remind you that this is my affair—my affair. The only thing that excuses you is your interest in my unworthy self. For surely you are not interested in Miss Emory?”

“I know the Emorys well—and little Cecil better,” said Senator Hayden, passing over the obvious sar¬ casm, “and I can’t say I have any use for the rest of the family. I positively dislike that sour cub of a brother. Cecilia isn’t your style, Malcolm. You’re good enough for—well, for Joyce. She knows all about you, and will make allowances. You under¬ stand?”

“I take it,” said Malcolm Travers, with a serene smile, “that if Senator Hayden had a daughter, the head of the house of Travers need not come a-knocking at the door.”

‘Rest assured of that. And I’d tell her why, too.”

‘Don’t let your championship of—or your inter¬ ference with—the affairs of the future Mrs. Malcolm Travers carry you too far. Senator.” The young man’s eyes blazed suddenly, and the other smiled.

“Pouf!” he said, with fine disdain. “I’d cane you before I’d quarrel with you, Malcolm. Good gra¬ cious, boy, what’s come over you, mixing up with the Emorys? I might have known Chamberlin wouldn’t hesitate at anything, and it’s the Chamberlins who have made this possible. Paul is playing you finely— the whole lot of you—and why? Because he needs Tom Emory’s money.”

“So do I, Senator, so do I!” said the young man, and laughed.

“You’ re losing whatever sense of decency you possessed,” said the Senator in disgust. “And for what? Money? Get out and earn it, if what your father left you isn’t enough. I’ll lend you all you need if you want more to start, and your brains and initiative will do the rest. It is all coming to you when I die, anyhow, Malcolm,” he added, gravely.

I DON’T WANT TO SEEM RUDE. BUT I MUST REMIND YOU THAT THIS IS MY AFFAIR”

“I have no desire. Senator, to step into a very healthy man’s shoes,” the young man said. “And, if you’ll believe me, it isn’t all Tom Emory’s money. He’ s in a dandy scheme with Chamberlin and there’s an agreement between Colin and myself that will sort of keep the money in the family. You won’t have to complain of my inaction in a very short while—and certainly,” he went on, in a softer tone, for the Senator’s kind words had mollified his sudden rush of anger, “I’d never want to look forward to your demise.”

Quick to note the change of manner the Senator bent nearer.

“Boy,” he said “go to it—but leave Cecil out of it. Your father was the best friend I ever had. Do you remember the day you came home from college and stood beside his coffin? A young enthusiast, brawny of limb and lean of jaw, with a boy’s eyes and a boy’s soul, too. I’ve been sorry to see you Ibse the brightness of both, Malcolm. That’s why I won’t quarrel with you.”

Malcolm Travers sat back in his chair asnd sighed.

“I wish I could be as unsophisticated at my age as you seem to be at yours.” His voice was quite unmoved. “There are few of you left, and the rest of us might almost thank Providence for it. Do you know what you are talking about, anyhow?”

“Yes—I do. You’ve been engaged to marry Joyce

Moore. You love her and she loves you. And yester¬ day I heard it’s broken off—and today I am told of your affair with Cecilia Emory. That’s what I am talking about.”

“Urn...and add to that the Emorys have gone stark, staring mad over the ‘alliance’ as they choose to call it; even that sour cub, as you so politely designate a not altogether disagreeable member of my future family. The mother—the father—”

“Don’t,” said Senator Hayden, and this time indeed the note in his voice made his hearer wince. “The mother! The father! Oh, delight! And— Cecilia?”

And now Malcolm Travers was really angry.

“Say. . .what do you mean?”

“Don’t you know they’re pushing her into this, blindfolded?”

“She told you so—poor little Cecilia?”

“Then what? Is there some one else interested in your poor little Cecilia?” His hands clenched on the arms of the chair and his eyes snapped.

“I wish I could truthfully say yes,” said the Senator. “I can’t. Haven’t you eyes in your head? What sport is there in hunting a scared rabbit?”

“Senator Hayden, I warn you—and for the last time: mind your own business!”

“Cecilia Emory is my business. I’ve known her all her life. I’ve talked to you fair and square, for your good and hers. You’re spoiling your future— loving one girl and marrying another. You are going to make a sweet little creature unhappy. Cecilia Emory and the Chamberlins!” He laughed. “I’ve had my say to you, and I’m satisfied. Now I’ll have my say to her father and mother and herself, if necessary. I’m going to act the part of a friend, whether you like it or not.”

“On the principle that this blow hurts me more than it can you! Well, go ahead! When the invita¬ tion list is made out I’ll see that your name heads it— because of your tender interest.”

“Thank you, Malcolm. I shall appreciate that.” He stood up, a slender, immaculate figure, erect of bearing as a young man, his keen eyes under their heavy brows as clear as a boy’s. “So you’re going into business with old Tom Emory? Excellent! That would have pleased your father, Malcolm.”

“ ‘An honest man’s the noblest work of God,’ Senator.”

“So he is! And God must be shocked at the degradation of some of His handiwork. However, you may prove useful. . . after training.”

Malcolm Travers laughed.

“Dear Senator, I’m not for use. They are buy¬ ing me for an ornament,” he said, and the serenity of his tone was undisturbed. “And now we’ll drop the subject, please? Lister hovers in the background.”

'Tm going.” The Senator turned. “Allow me to wish you a very good night.” He moved on as Kenneth Lister approached, saluting Malcolm jovi¬ ally.

“What have you been feeding the benevolent old gentleman, Malcolm?” asked he. “He gave me a look that withered my soul.”

“Never mind the Senator, Ken,” said Travers, easily.

“Baiting you again eh?”

“I said never mind* the Senator, Ken.”

“Oh, all right. Apologize!”

“Hang that fellow!” muttered the Senator, under his trim gray mustache, as he walked the length of the room, being greeted and returning greetings as he went. “I’d be much better off if I washed my hands of him. Kenneth Lister! Puppy! That associa¬ tion will do absolutely no good. Joyce ought to— Joyce! Yes. . .Joyce. . .” His eyebrows met. “Play¬ ing at life. .. and to bring little Cecil Emory into it! Little Cecil, of all people! Confound Paul Chamberlin and his ambitions and his whole crowd!”

Bob was waiting with hat and gloves and cane— for which service Senator Hayden made fair ex¬ change; then he was off and down the street, a man to attract attention anywhere. But his thoughts were racing.

No business of his? Of course it wasn’t. That was where the harm lay—nothing was anyone’s business in this world. A case now of exchange and barter, and Cecilia stood about as much show as a canary. He had indeed known the Emorys a long while. Whatever had happened, Malcolm and Joyce were out, and Travers was giving his name and pedigree and standing in that circle within the circle—for whose good? Cecil’s? Cecil would never fit. Tom Emory’s? All Tom Emory’s money could never buy his way in. Mrs. Emory... ah, there it was! Elizabeth Garvan Emory! What a pity the thing couldn’t be arranged without Cecil. Oh, he knew! The door had been opened. . .it still stood open. Cecil’s marriage would mean that it was closed . . . and bolted with Cecil’s family on the coveted inside.

“Nevertheless,” thought the Senator, again, with the courage that was his habit, “I’ve had my word with Travers, and I’ll have it with the Emorys.” His mouth set grimly. “Better not take time to think it over—better not.” He might begin to argue against himself. . .Elizabeth Garvan Emory! He recalled the name, signed to a recent dinner invitation in a sprawling hand... on irreproachable paper. . . And he remembered Bessie Garvan very well. He had known her and Tom many years ago. . .and he had often commended the rare prize Tom had won—an ambi¬ tious wife! A woman who stood behind her husband in everything. . . made his interests hers. . . Much, if not all, of Tom Emory’s rise in the world could be credited to Bessie Garvan. And she had not changed —only in name! Elizabeth Garvan Emory!

He became aware just then that somebody—a young man—was walking abreast of him. He looked around casually, and recognized him.

“How do you do, Colin)’’ His mouth puckered. Colin Emory had that effect on him.

“Very well. Senator. Just walking, or going to the house?’’

“Both. . .if your father and mother are at home.”

“I think they are. At least I haven’t heard that there’s anything on for tonight.” He drew a little nearer until they were side by side. There was no love lost on the young man’s part, either, but he was not unmindful of the fact that it gave one a certain standing to be seen with Senator Douglas Hayden.

“How is Cecilia?” asked the older man.

“Well enough, I fancy.” He said “fawncy” and the Senator could have choked him. “I haven’t seen much of her lately. Too much excitement in the air.”

“Um. . .yes?” The Senator was mildly interested. “Anything going on?”

“Why.. .of course you’ve heard?”

“Oh, some one said something about Cecilia and Malcolm Travers. All nonsense, of course. People are fond of talking.”

“This isn’t talk. . .it’s truth.”

“Ah? Just so!” A bit of the sourness crept like acid into the Senator’s voice. “The marriage will take place—when?”

“That hasn’t been decided, but I suppose the date will be set within the next few days. Cecil, like all girls, doesn’t want to be hurried-”

“Um. . .well, he’s an expensive acquisition. But I guess your father can afford it.”

The grim sarcasm was not lost on Colin Emory. He colored. If, a moment since, the Senator could have choked him, he now wanted very much to choke the Senator.

“Cecil has had something to do with it, too,” he answered briefly.

“Precious little,” said the Senator disagreeably.

“Seen Travers?” asked Colin.

“Yes. This evening.”

Colin’s eyebrows met in an unmistakable frown, and there was no further word spoken until they reached the Emory house, a substantial building over¬ looking the Park.

Young Emory opened the door, and ushered the Senator into a handsomely furnished living-room.

Behind it was the library, perfectly equipped, and the doors, open between, gave a splendid view of high ceilings and wide arches, with a shimmer of green growing things in the rear. A slightly sardonic smile touched the Senator’s mouth. He had never rightly looked at the Emory setting before but the contrast between the old and the new was strong on him at the present moment.

He was not long alone, however. A tall and graceful woman came in almost immediately. The likeness between herself and her son was very apparent. Her hair was coal-black, her eyes large and dark, like his, the nose prominent and well¬ shaped, the lips firm, with a slight cleft to the chin, without which the whole face would have been very severe.

“Senator Hayden! Why, I’m delighted to see you!’’ she exclaimed. There was unmistakable pleasure in her tones as she held out her hand, which he shook warmly. A handsome woman, a creditable woman, he thought, a dominant woman, clever as the deuce... as unlike Cecilia as the day is unlike night. And Senator Hayden thought Cecilia Emory perfec¬ tion.

“I’ve come to have a chat with you—with both of you,’* he said. “Where’s Tom?**

“Tom? In his room, I am certain.” She beamed. “I’ll send for him.” She touched a bell and a maid appeared. “Ask Mr. Emory to come down an in¬ stant. Senator Hayden is calling.”

“A nice, quiet, comfortable chat between three mature people, with no nonsense and no frills,” continued the gray-haired gentleman. “And,” he added, as an afterthought, “I’ve heard of the engage¬ ment.”

Something like relief flashed over the lady’s face.

“Oh! So Malcolm has told you? Well, I suppose we must forgive him—”

“How does Cecil take it?” he interrupted.

“Cecil, dear child! How oddly you said that. Senator Hayden!” She smiled. “We are dining alone this evening. Are you free, and dare I invite

you? You can see for yourself how Cecil is taking

He gave a deprecating glance at his sleeve, and her hand went up, protesting.

“We shall not mind—you are too old a friend to stand on ceremony—”

“No, thank you. Really, you are too good. But I have an engagement.”

“That is unfortunate for the Emorys.” She laughed gaily. Senator Hayden marveled at her. She was wonderful. Her manner was correct, her poise perfect. Bessie Garvan! Admiration stirred him anew. Why, he had never met such a woman.

never! If only poor little Cecilia were more like her mother the marriage might not seem so ghastly. And then Thomas Emory entered.

He was not quite as tall as his wife, and very much stouter, sandy of hair, and with a pair of small greenish-gray eyes, very keen and sharp behind thick glasses, sandy brows and lashes and a sandy beard, struggling now in the making of a dignified Van Dyke; in general appearance, a prosperous business man. Clever, too, but impulsive and quick. Mrs. Emory supplied the needed caution. In a pleasant voice, which a touch of brogue made pleasanter, he greeted the visitor, advancing with hand outstretched, and Senator Hayden met him half-way.

“Our friend has heard of Cecil’s engagement— naturally Malcolm would tell him first—and has, I presume, dropped in to present his felicitations. It is awfully kind of you,” she added, with a laughing glance of her dark eyes.

Senator Hayden looked at Tom Emory. He, too, had changed. Tremendously. Well, with a wife like Elizabeth Garvan Emory, old Tom might even be induced to expatriate himself. . .no, he’d take that back! That was one thing Tom Emory would never do—buy a title.

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” he said, calmly, “but I am not here on any errand of felicitation! I came, rather, to see if it could possibly be true, and

I’d like to talk to Cecil herself about it. Where is she?”

4 Cecil?” Mrs. Emory’s slender white fingers curled about the top of the chair, and she gave the Senator an odd glance. He was a queer man—had done queer things. Tom Emory looked at him also, but his face was absolutely blank. No one could tell what Tom Emory’s thoughts were, for all his expres¬ sion lay in his small eyes, and the thick glasses con¬ cealed them. “I suppose—as usual—she is resting in her room, before dinner. And I’m sorry, but we don’t quite understand, Senator Hayden.”

“Well, you will,” he said.

“Has Mr. Travers sent you? I thought we had arranged—”

Senator Hayden straightened proudly.

“I don’t know what your arrangements are with Malcolm Travers,” he said. “I hope you are not paying for him according to his own valuation, or you’ll wreck your fortune. Sit down, Tom—and you, too, Elizabeth.” And when they were seated he continued in softer tones. “Now let’s all get off our high horses and come to level ground. I’m talk¬ ing straight from the shoulder—to both of you. And I’d like to see less of Thomas Emory, millionaire, and a little more of good old Tom Emory, truck-andlongshoreman, who helped send me to Washington twenty-eight years ago!”

“Senator Hayden! For Heaven’s sake!” Mrs. Emory glanced about her apprehensively.

“Oh, I know! I suppose we’re safe here, or I wouldn’t talk, and you two are well aware I’m not the man to talk anywhere else. You know what you were before that little cogwheel invention of yours, Tom, made your fortune. I don’t want to remind you that it was my belief and my backing that started things in earnest—now, never mind! The credit is yours. I’m taking none at all—I considered it then— and now—a privilege. And I also exact another privilege, for while you deserve credit, let me say right here you’ve made an insufferable prig of Colin.

. . .And there’s Cecilia.*’

The two were silent, staring at him.

“Little Cecilia,” he added, in a softer tone. “There isn’t a thing in the world can spoil her but this mar¬ riage. It will ruin her whole life. And that’s what I’ve come here to say.”

“Then you’ll pardon me for telling you that you are interfering unwarrantably,” said Mrs. Emory, with flashing eyes. “What we do with our own is our own business.”

“That’s true. What you do with your own! Why don’t you try to settle Colin’s life affairs for him?”

Mrs. Emory made an inarticulate sound in her throat.

“Because he wouldn’t let you,” said Senator Hayden coldly. “But he, and both of you, are willing to use Cecil as a stepping-stone to the social success you now crave. And it’s all such a lot of—such a lot of,’’ he swallowed hard, and it did not take much

imagination to supply the adjective, “-nonsense,”

he finished.

Mrs. Emory laughed softly.

“You speak as if we were marrying Cecil to some monster,” she said.

“Do I?” asked Senator Hayden.

“Don’t you know that she is very much in love with Malcolm Travers? And very happy in the anticipation of a brilliant wedding? Do you dream. Senator Hayden,” she went on, with a flash of her white teeth, “that we would force our little girl into anything repulsive to her?”

“Rot!” said Senator Hayden. “Doesn’t your com¬ mon sense tell you that Cecil will never be happy in such a loveless marriage? You know all about Joyce Moore.”

A mask seemed to shut down over Mrs. Emory’s face.

“Joyce Moore?” she echoed. “What about— Joyce Moore?”

“Malcolm Travers has been engaged to her for three years. He has broken with her to enter into another compact with Cecil. Joyce is of his own world, of his own kind. She loves him. He loves her as much as he is capable of loving. What then? Cecil deserves better than this!”

Mrs. Emory’s eyes met his. They were hard as flint.

“Malcolm implied that he had a few enemies,” she remarked.

The Senator rose.

“My errand is done” he said. “I have warned you. If Cecil doesn’t love him, she’s going to have trouble. If she does love him, she’s going to have misery. I know Malcolm. Go ahead. Marry Cecil to him—I wish you joy of your son-in-law.”

And without waiting for either of them to reply, he left the room and the house.

Chapter II CECILIA HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

PHE Emory family met that night after dinner.

*■* Mrs. Emory, though her husband had acquired his wealth within the last two decades, had learned by heart the lesson of luxurious simplicity. She was plainly attired in black, a color she affected, with a touch of vivid scarlet by way of contrast, and this hint of color seemed to go well with her dead-white skin and splendid eyes. She had a slender, almost girlish figure and there was not a thread of gray in her raven hair. Though she was tall, her handsome son Colin towered a head above her. Well-built, well-groomed, he was a young man hard to classify. If he had any heart he never showed it. Sentiment he detested. He loved all the good things of life, and was more than inter¬ ested in the niceties that made it a comfortable thing. He was a fair sportsman, hunted, kept a yacht, and was now trying to interest his father in blooded horses.

Unfortunately, as so often happens in acquiring money, the Emorys had lost the simplicity of the Faith. They were still Catholics, in a half-hearted way. They did not deny their religion, but with the exception of Cecilia, the only daughter, and convent-bred, they did not openly profess it. To Colin, religious practices were a bore. Tom Emory had grown careless a few years following his coming to America. Elizabeth Emory went to mass occasion¬ ally and made every possible excuse not to go. When her children were young they served. Now it was the weather or indisposition or fear of indisposition. She was more than generous in subscriptions to all good works, but not at all generous when it came to personal inconvenience. Had it been possible to buy a substitute she would gladly have paid the price. For, after all, a baptized Catholic may forget his religion—and banish all thought of it—but there are hours when conscience pricks. And these pricks surely and certainly annoyed Mrs. Thomas Emory. Her husband had few such qualms, she thought—men take things so much easier than women. And Colin? Well, Colin was the brilliant graduate of a non- Catholic University, and he discoursed on all religions with the air of a sage and the vanity of a young man of his type who desires above all things that his world shall rate him well. “Catholics? Oh, yes, we are Catholics! But I think you will find us very liberal in our views! There is so much good in every religion!”

Step by step the Emory family had moved up in the scale, as Senator Hayden could testify. But it was Tom Emory’s connection with Paul Chamberlin that had at last opened the magic door of Mrs. Emory’s secret ambition, and it was when stepping over the threshold that the Emory family had encountered Malcolm Travers. Tom Emory met him first in a business way—then socially. The blase young man’s evident interest in Cecilia as a new type, had sent a faint thrill through the mother’s breast. And immediately Elizabeth Garvan Emory began to plan—that Elizabeth Garvan Emory whom Senator Hayden anathematized. With Cecilia married to this man there was no height to which she might not aspire. Even Tom Emory was enthused, seeing him¬ self the focus of such business dealings as he had not yet had opportunity to handle!

As for Colin he had at once and almost absurdly fallen in love with Muriel Carter, who was Mrs. Paul Chamberlin’s sister. He was not at all averse to any plans that meant future prestige, and he real¬ ized that if Cecilia married Malcolm Travers his position with Muriel Carter would be assured.

The Emorys were neither vulgar nor pretentious, though thus rooted in ambition. The mother had seen to that, and her serene success had given them con¬ fidence, always with that one exception—Cecilia. Unfortunately, decided those who met the girl, she was stupid. Fortunately, her mother said, with con¬ fidence, she was beautiful. Not pretty, not fascinat¬ ing, but beautiful with a child’s fresh loveliness though she was in her twenty-second year. It was her appeal¬ ing, childish beauty that had made Senator Hayden her slave. She had been well educated, but with eyes like purple violets and hair the rare and gleaming gold that is seldom seen save on a baby’s head, who cared what that head contained? No one had ever tried to find out, and trained as she had been Cecilia Emory went the even tenor of her wa>, gentle, agree¬ able, anxious to please those she loved and never finding it necessary even to contradict her proud and ambitious mother. She had tried it several times after her homecoming, but the results had frightened her. In the matter of her engagement to Malcolm Travers, she had seen no objection to his proposal. He was handsome, clever. Why marry him? There were four reasons why she should, her father’s, her mother’s, her brother’s approval—and the young man’s own pref¬ erence for her.

Unfortunately, neither Cecilia nor her parents realized that Life had not bloomed for the girl. She was like a bud tightly enclosed in its sheath of green, protected and uncaring. Of the two, Malcolm Travers was really more interested in the mother. She had brains, he told himself, and it would be a good game to stand behind her as she began the last ascent of her journey to the top. He knew quite well all she would have to endure, but in his conversation with her after he had spoken of his regard for Cecilia, he caught more than a glimpse of the iron in her makeup. It pleased him mightily.