Daphne Deane (16 page)

But--did she like Keith all the more for this quality? Perhaps--if she could conquer in the end. If he was to be hers she would like him to be unconquerable, except by herself.

But see how she had got nowhere by her own independence! For she could read in his manner that he had not given in one inch. He had taken things up just where she had laid them down two weeks ago, and was not counting on any truce, even though she herself had ignored everything and was ready to forget and begin all over again. To her surprise this quality in him seemed only to intrigue her the more. Perhaps she was one of those women who could only love a man who could conquer her!

The talk at the table was pleasant, interesting. Keith found himself relaxing a little and actually enjoying his dinner. They spoke of his travels and theirs, places they had both visited, people they had met abroad, told incidents of the way, finding mutual experiences and acquaintances. Keith began to forget that there was a situation here that he would inevitably have to face before the evening was over. He talked well. Mr. Casper, watching him closely, noted that his manner was easy, his smile engaging. And of course since this was what his daughter seemed to fancy for the moment, he was out to get it for her. He always got anything for her she wanted. Money would get it. Money would get anything if you bid high enough. This young man would be no exception. He might simply need a little careful handling because he was high spirited. That was not a bad thing in business. It might even prove a great asset. One needed to carry things with a high hand and be ready to take risks. He judged that young Morrell had taken risks for his own opinion, setting his will up against Anne's. A man who did that was usually a winner if he was handled right.

So Anne Casper's father set out to "handle" Keith Morrell.

Adroitly he questioned him concerning his early life, his parents, his fortune, his hopes, and listened respectfully, if somewhat amusedly, when Keith told of his interest in his chosen profession.

"Yes. Well, architecture is a good line of course, if you're willing to plod along and waste a lot of years in good hard labor--"

"I am," said Keith quietly.

"Now, look here, young man, that's all very well, and I admire your spirit, of course, but why waste the years? Why not take an easier way and let your money work for you? Then you could dabble in architecture on the side, do what you want to do instead of being forever at the beck and call of others, carrying out their whims that do not coincide with your ideas of beauty and utility. For instance, you say you have some property of your own, even if it is only a small amount to start with. I could let you in on a proposition that I have on hand now that would net you--almost at once--" and he named what seemed to Keith Morrell a fabulous percentage to come from a small start.

Mr. Casper smiled benevolently.

"You see," he said, "it's this way." And he went on to give a few astonishing facts--at least he said they were facts--and to draw conclusions and lay bare clever methods that seemed to Keith nothing short of rank dishonesty. Keith sat there with stern eyes watching the other man, not showing by the flicker of an eyelash his rising wrath.

"Then," said the rich man, leaning back and tapping the arm of his chair with his eyeglasses, "with a capital of that amount you would be in a position to build your first house and build it the way you want it, build it for yourself to live in! And meantime, you could be perfecting the plans and having them all ready for the time when you would begin to build. Of course, you could amuse yourself later designing other buildings, too, and keep your hand in for the really bigger things you would do. Why, man!" he said, waxing eloquent. "Think of the hospital buildings and churches and orphanages you could be designing with all the latest ideas, and building them to
donate
to some worthy organization. There are so many needy causes in the world," he beamed philanthropically. "Wouldn't that be better than worrying along for years before you had an adequate income to live in the style suited to a man of your talents? Well, what do you say, Morrell, shall I enter you in the lists and put you in on the ground floor? You would not need to start with much if your funds were not immediately available. In fact, I could lend you enough to start with. What do you say?"

Keith's voice was almost brusque as he answered: "Thank you for your interest, Mr. Casper, but I should not care to get my money in that way."

There was a hardening in the elder man's face and a quick glitter of anger in his eyes.

"Are you presuming to criticize my methods of business, young man?" There was coldness in the voice and an utter withdrawal of cordiality.

"No," said Keith bravely. "It is not for me to criticize you. I only know that this would not be according to my standards."

"Why not?" The question was like a sharp knife with an icy edge.

Keith's eyes were down, but they came up in a moment and met his antagonist steadily.

"It would not seem honest to me," he said quietly. "I couldn't get my money from bleeding others. I want to work for it."

"And so you are presuming to call me dishonest!" rasped the older man, rage gathering in his eyes and voice.

Keith was silent for an instant, and then he spoke quietly.

"There was a verse in the Bible I learned long ago when I was a child. It seems to me a good answer. 'To his own master he standeth or falleth.' I guess that's the only answer. I've no business to call your actions and standards in question. I'm only responsible for my own."

Anne Casper sat staring in amazement at this astonishing turn of affairs, wondering over the young man who suddenly seemed to have become a stranger. He had never been like this before. How did he dare to talk to her father this way, and what would her father say next? She could see he was very angry.

"And who, pray, may
your
master be?" he asked after a significant pause, his voice hard and cold and biting.

Keith was quiet for a moment, looking down thoughtfully, and then with a deep quick breath he looked up, and there was almost a whimsical glance in his eyes.

"I guess that would be God!" he said, but there was awe in his own voice as he spoke the last word. Then, as if his words had taken even himself by surprise, he added: "Perhaps that may surprise you. I don't suppose I've been paying much attention to Him lately, but when you come down to it I suppose I would own Him as my Master."

There was sudden humility in the young man's voice that astonished the girl. She sat petrified, till suddenly her father's voice broke furiously into the silence that followed Keith's most extraordinary statement.

"And I suppose, young man, you would say that the devil is my master, would you?"

There was scorn and fury in the words, but Keith lifted his eyes gravely, almost haughtily.

"That would not be for me to question," he said steadily.

There had been wine served at the table, and cocktails in the living room beforehand, but Keith had not drunk. Neither had Anne, though Keith knew that she usually did. He wondered about that. But her father had made up for them both, emptying his glass several times as the conversation grew more strenuous, and now he filled his glass to the brim and tossed it down.

"Well, young man," he said, his voice raising wrathfully, his face red with anger, "this conversation is not very profitable. I asked you here to offer you a favor and help you on your way. I know many worthy young men who would give all they have to be able to get in where I was ready to put you. But you have not chosen to accept my favors. I've only one question to ask, and then I'm done. How in the world, with those fanatical ideas, would you ever expect to get on in the world and support a wife and family? How could you possibly expect to support a girl--say a girl brought up as my daughter has been brought up--on a mere architect's salary? Would you expect to live on her private fortune? Or would you expect her father to do the dirty work and support you while you played around drawing pictures?"

Keith Morrell's eyes grew dark with anger. This was an insult. For an instant he longed to take the old vagabond by the throat and shake the breath out of him, but he managed to keep his lips closed until his senses came back to him, though his face was deadly white.

"Sir!" he said, standing up and lifting his chin haughtily. "That remark is beneath your dignity. I think you know that I would never marry a girl and live on her private fortune. In fact, private fortunes in connection with any girls I knew have never entered my mind. I know that there are girls, and always have been girls, who are willing to begin at the basement or cellar with a man they love and work shoulder to shoulder on up. I don't imagine life with any other kind of girl would be very tolerable."

Suddenly Anne Casper jumped up, her face almost frightened, as she gave an imploring look at her father!

"Now, Dad, you've said enough! You've been drinking too much and you don't realize what you've done. We're stopping right here and Keith and I are going out to walk on the beach!"

She slid her hand within Keith's arm and drew him toward the door, and hesitating, with a lingering look at his antagonist, Keith allowed himself to be led away.

They did not speak as they walked arm in arm down the marble steps and out to the silver beach where the light of the full moon was beating down and touching the sea with brilliant quiver across its wide, wonderful expanse.

Down the beach they walked straight into the full light of the moon, close down by the water where little licking waves were lapping along the rim and almost kissing Anne Casper's silver shoes, and neither of them said a word. Anne had great faith that the moon could do things to people, and she was letting it work.

She was very lovely there in the moonlight, with her trailing gown of chiffon and that one great glorious jewel reflecting its gleam in thousands of prisms. She had never been so lovely before, perhaps, with the soft cloud of hair about her face and her eyes starry and wistful. But Keith Morrell was not looking at her. He was hearing her father's swordlike voice cutting down upon his visions and telling out in unmistakable words truths that Keith had drifted along without perceiving before. He was seeing a lot of things now, as he had never thought of them before, knowing that one cannot make two wrongs a right by wishing them so. Knowing that he himself had been falling from his own standards, or he would never have got so far as to be part of a scene like this.

They were almost to the lighthouse when he spoke: "Your father is right," he said, more as if he were thinking aloud, "absolutely right. I had no right for a moment to think that I could ask you to marry me. I had no right to think that I, and the only life I could give you, would satisfy you, instead of the things to which you have been accustomed."

"But listen, dear," she said, and her voice was honey-sweet as he had never heard it before, "there is absolutely no need for you to take the matter in that heroic way. There is absolutely no need for you to be a martyr, poor but plodding. I told you that before. Father has been trying to make you see that tonight. He will put you in a year's time where we can be rich and independent and live our lives as we please. He wants to do that for me. He is entirely willing to do it for you, because he sees that you are a bright young man and able to--"

But Keith stopped short on the sand and looked down at her.

"Don't!" he said, and his voice almost frightened her. "I told you before that I could
never
do what your father has suggested. I could
never
take money from poor, helpless, duped people no matter how legally it appeared to be done, nor how well I got away with it. I would not have come here tonight if I had known this was to be brought up again. I do not want a wife who has to be a martyr, nor one who thinks I am a fanatic. If married people do not think alike and work out their lives together, there is nothing ahead of them but sorrow."

"Oh, there is always divorce," laughed Anne, smilingly with the idea of making light of the whole matter.

"Not for me!" said Keith quickly. "Never! I would not go into marriage with such a possibility ahead."

"But Keith!" she said and suddenly threw all her young passion into her voice. "Do you love your profession better than you love me? Don't you love me? Don't you
want
me?" And she suddenly flung her soft arms about his neck, reaching up to draw his proud head down to her and lay her warm cheek against his breast, her body clinging close to his as she looked up into his face, yielding herself to his nearness as she had never done before.

Startled, he looked down at her, saw her beauty but saw something more, her determination, the cunning way in which she was wielding her power as a woman to force a victory. Almost the flesh leaped up to meet her call, almost the temptation of her loveliness in his arms broke down his barriers, and she saw it and pressed her advantage.

"Keith, I love you so!" she whispered. "You will do this for me, won't you? You
won't
be so proud and stubborn. You will yield and do as Father says, just for a little,
little
while, and then we'll be rich and happy and--"

She had lifted her face till her lips could reach his, and she laid them warm and tender upon his mouth and kissed him, with such a kiss as all hell's most beautiful temptations could not rival. But suddenly he drew back, lifting his head away from that kiss, putting up his hands to take her arms from about his neck. It was as if some power outside him were compelling him to this action.

"Do you mean you could not love me unless I was rich? You would not have love enough to work side by side with me and wait for my success when it came?" His voice was stern; his eyes searched her face for the truth. He stood, holding her delicate wrists, looking down at her, the little pretty thing with her white trailing gown there in the moonlight, with her kisses spurned upon her lips and an angry light flaming up from the deep mysteries of her dark eyes.