Roden's Corner Part 33

"I thought you meant something else," he said. "The Malgamite scheme can look after itself. Von Holzen is the cleverest man I know, and he knows what he is doing. I thought you meant Mrs. Vansittart--were thinking of her."

"No, I was not thinking of Mrs. Vansittart."

"Not worth thinking about," suggested Roden, adhering to his method of laughing for fear of being laughed at, which is common enough in very young men; but Roden should have outgrown it by this time.

"Not seriously."

"What do you mean, Dorothy?"

"That I hope you do not think seriously of asking Mrs. Vansittart to marry you."

Roden gave his rather unpleasant laugh again. "It happens that I do,"

he replied. "And it happens that I know that Mrs. Vansittart never stays in The Hague in summer when all the houses are empty and everybody is away, and the place is given up to tourists, and becomes a mere annex to Scheveningen. This year she has stayed--why, I should like to know."

And he stroked his moustache as he looked into the fire. He had been indulging in the vain pleasure of putting two and two together. A young man's vanity--or indeed any man's vanity--is not to be trusted to work out that simple addition correctly. Percy Roden was still in a dangerously exalted frame of mind. There is no intoxication so dangerous as that of success, and none that leaves so bitter a taste behind it.

"Of course," he said, "no girl ever thinks that her brother can succeed in such a case. I suppose you dislike Mrs. Vansittart?"

"No; I like her, and I understand her, perhaps better than you do. I should like nothing better than that she should marry you, but----"

"But what?"

"Well, ask her," replied Dorothy--a woman's answer.

"And then?"

"And then let us go away from here."

Roden turned on her angrily. "Why do you keep on repeating that?" he cried. "Why do you want to go away from here?"

"Because," replied Dorothy, as angry as himself, "you know as well as I do that the Malgamite scheme is not what it pretends to be. I suppose you are making a fortune and are dazzled, or else you are being deceived by Herr von Holzen, or else----"

"Or else----" echoed Roden, with a pale face. "Yes--go on." But she bit her lip and was silent. "It is an open secret," she went on after a pause. "Everybody knows that it is a disgrace or worse--perhaps a crime. If you have made a fortune, be content with what you have made, and clear yourself of the whole affair."

"Not I."

"Why not?"

"Because I am going to make more. And I am going to marry Mrs.

Vansittart. It is only a question of money. It always is with women.

And not one in a hundred cares how the money is made."

Which, of course, is not true; for no woman likes to see her husband's name on a biscuit or a jam-pot.

"Of course," went on Percy, in his anger. "I know which side you take, since you are talking of open secrets. At any rate, Von Holzen knows yours--if it is a secret--for he has hinted at it more than once.

You think that it is I who have been deceived or who deceive myself.

You are just as likely to be wrong. You place your whole faith in Cornish. You think that Cornish cannot do wrong."

Dorothy turned and looked at him. Her eyes were steady, but the color left her face, as if she were afraid of what she was about to say.

"Yes," she said. "I do."

"And without a moment's hesitation," went on Roden, hurriedly, "you would sacrifice everything for the sake of a man you had never seen six months ago?"

"Yes."

"Even your own brother?"

"Yes," answered Dorothy.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE ULTIMATUM.

"Le plus grand, le plus fort et le plus adroit surtout, est celui qui sait attendre."

"If you think that Herr von Holzen is a philanthropist, my dear," said Marguerite Wade, sententiously, "that is exactly where your toes turn in."

She addressed this remark to Joan Ferriby, whose eyes were certainly veiled by that cloak of charity which the kind-hearted are ever ready to throw over the sins of others. The two girls were sitting in the quiet old-world garden of the hotel, beneath the shade of tall trees, within the peaceful sound of the cooing doves on the tiled roof. Major White was sitting within earshot, looking bulky and solemn in his light tweed suit and felt hat. The major had given up appearances long ago, but no man surpa.s.sed him in cleanliness and that well-groomed air which distinguishes men of his cloth. He was reading a newspaper, and from time to time glanced at his companions, more especially, perhaps, at Joan.

"Major White," said Marguerite.

"Yes."

"Greengage, please."

The greengages were on a table at the major's elbow, having been placed there at Marguerite's command by the waiter who attended them at breakfast. White made ready to pa.s.s the dish.

"Fingers," said Marguerite. "Heave one over."

White selected one with an air of solemn resignation. Marguerite caught the greengage as neatly as it was thrown.

"What do you think of Herr von Holzen?" she asked.

"To think," replied the Major, "certain requisites are necessary."

"Um--m."

"I do not know Herr von Holzen, and I have nothing to think with," he explained gravely.

"Well, you soon will know him, and I dare say if you tried you would find that you are not so stupid as you pretend to be. You are going down to the works this morning with Papa and Tony Cornish. I know that, because papa told me."

The Major looked at her with his air of philosophic surprise. She held up her hand for a catch, and with resignation he threw her another greengage.

"Tony is going to call for you in a carriage at ten o'clock, and you three old gentlemen are going to drive in an open barouche with cigars, like a bean feast, to the malgamite works."