The Destroying Angel Part 49

He opened his arms wide, but with a smothered cry she backed away, placing the table between them.

"No!" she protested; and the words were almost sobs--"No!"

"Yes!" he exclaimed exultantly. "Yes! A thousand times yes! It must be so!"

With a swift movement she seized her m.u.f.f and scarf from the chair and fled to the door. There pausing, she turned, her face white and blazing.

"It is not true!" she cried. "You are mistaken. Do you hear me? You are utterly mistaken. I do not love you. You are mad to think it. I have just told you I don't love you. I am afraid of you; I daren't stay with you for fear of you. I--I despise you!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I do not love you. You are mad to think it"]

"I don't believe it!" he cried, advancing.

But she was gone. The hall door slammed before he could reach it.

He halted, turned back, his whole long body shaking, his face wrung with fear and uncertainty.

"Good G.o.d!" he cried--"which of us is right--she or I?"

XXI

BLACK OUT

Toward eight in the evening, after a day-long search through all his accustomed haunts, Ember ran Whitaker to earth in the dining-room of the Primordial. The young man, alone at table, was in the act of topping off an excellent dinner with a still more excellent cordial and a super-excellent cigar. His person seemed to diffuse a generous atmosphere of contentment and satisfaction, no less mental than physical and singularly at variance with his appearance, which, moreover, was singularly out of keeping not only with his surroundings but also with his normal aspect.

He wore rough tweeds, and they were damp and baggy; his boots were muddy; his hair was a trifle disorderly. The ensemble made a figure wildly incongruous to the soberly splendid and stately dining-hall of the Primordial Club, with its spa.r.s.e patronage of members in evening-dress.

Ember, himself as severely beautiful in black and white as the ceremonious livery of to-day permits a man to be, was wonder-struck at sight of Whitaker in such unconventional guise, at such a time, in such a place. With neither invitation nor salutation, he slipped into a chair on the other side of the table, and stared.

Whitaker smiled benignantly upon him, and called a waiter.

Ember, always abstemious, lifted his hand and smiled a negative smile.

Whitaker dismissed the waiter.

"Well...?" he inquired cheerfully.

"What right have you got to look like that?" Ember demanded.

"The right of every free-born American citizen to make an a.s.s of himself according to the dictates of his conscience. I've been exploring the dark backwards and abysm of the Bronx--afoot. Got caught in the rain on the way home. Was late getting back, and dropped in here to celebrate."

"I've been looking for you everywhere, since morning."

"I suspected you would be. That's why I went walking--to be lonesome and thoughtful for once in a way."

Ember stroked his chin with thoughtful fingers.

"You've heard the news, then?"

"In three ways," Whitaker returned, with calm.

"How's that--three ways?"

"Through the newspapers, the billboards, and--from the lips of my wife."

Ember opened his eyes wide.

"You've been to see her?"

"On the contrary."

"The devil you say!"

"She called this morning--"

But Ember interrupted, thrusting a ready and generous hand across the table:

"My dear man, I _am_ glad!"

Whitaker took the proffered hand readily and firmly. "Thank you.... I was saying: she called this morning to inform me that, though wedded once, we must be strangers now--and evermore!"

"But you--of course--you argued that nonsense out of her head."

"To the contrary--again."

"But--my dear man!--you said you were celebrating; you permitted me to congratulate you just now--"

"The point is," said Whitaker, with a bland and confident grin; "I've succeeded in arguing that nonsense out of my head--not hers--_mine_."

Ember gave a helpless gesture. "I'm afraid this is one of my stupid nights...."

"I mean that, though Mary ran away from me, wouldn't listen to reason, I have, in the course of an afternoon's hard tramping, come to the conclusion that there is nothing under the sun which binds me to sit back and accept whatever treatment she purposes according me by courtesy of Jules Max."

Whitaker bent forward, his countenance discovering a phase of seriousness. .h.i.therto masked by his twisted smile. He emphasized his points with a stiff, tapping forefinger on the cloth.

"I mean, I'm tired of all this poppyc.o.c.k. Unless I'm an infatuated a.s.s, Mary loves me with all her heart. She has made up her mind to renounce me partly because Max has worked upon her feelings by painting some lurid picture of his imminent artistic and financial d.a.m.nation if she leaves him, partly because she believes, or has been led to believe, in this 'destroying angel' moonshine. Now she's got to listen to reason.

So, likewise, Max."

"You're becoming more human word by word," commented Ember with open approval. "Continue; elucidate; I can understand how a fairly resolute lover with the gift of gab can talk a weak-minded, fond female into denying her pet superst.i.tion; but how you're going to get round Max pa.s.ses my comprehension. The man unquestionably has her under contract--"

"But you forgot his G.o.d is Mammon," Whitaker put in. "Max will do anything in the world for money. Therein resides the kernel of my plan.

It's simplicity itself: I'm going to buy him."

"Buy Max!"