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"My mother couldn't have it," Vickers explained, "nor my sister, because of our mourning. But Mrs. Lawton, that would be better any way." He thought of Nannie Lawton's love of reclame, and he knew that though she would never have considered inviting the unheralded Mrs. Conry to sing in her drawing-room, she would gladly have him appear there with any one, playing his own music.
"Delia and I have been tramping the Louvre," Vickers remarked. "That's the way we are learning history." Isabelle glanced about the forlorn little sitting-room of the third-class hotel. "Why did you come here?" "It does well enough, and it's near the Louvre and places.... It is very reasonable." Then Isabelle remembered what Fosdick had said about Vickers's gift of half his fortune to Mrs. Conry.
Whenever she had spoken to Vickers of coming home he had smiled and made a little joke. Once he said, "Not yet, I cannot go yet, Belle," and she understood that it was "that beast of a woman," as she called Mrs. Conry, who kept him. She wanted to say to him, "Well, Vick, if you won't leave her, why don't you marry her then!"
As he took his way to the Lawtons' to use his influence with the volatile Nan in behalf of Mrs. Conry, his memory of their talk was sad. 'America, that's it, he explained. 'She wants to do something for herself, to get her independence. And he resolved to leave no stone unturned, no influence unused, to gratify her ambition. So Isabelle called on Mrs. Conry in company with Nannie Lawton.
She was not his; and beyond that fact he had never looked. So the carriage rolled on while the two sat silent with beating hearts, and as it approached the hotel he quickly bent his head and kissed the hand that was in his. "Come to-morrow," she whispered, "in the morning, once more." "No," he said simply; "I can't. You know why." As Vickers stepped out of the cab he recognized Conry.
She is for bel canto and moonlight and the voice of Rome. But there is a world outside this all, my friend, to which you and I belong, and you rather more than I.... Stacia Conry doesn't belong at all." "Which means?" demanded Vickers steadily of the burly Fosdick. "Take care that you don't get stuck in the sea of Sargasso. I think something bitter might rise out of all that loveliness."
They walked back to the city between the deserted vineyards. As they crossed the river, Mrs. Conry stopped, and remarked sombrely, "A bargain is a bargain the world over, is it not?" Vickers felt the warm breathing woman close to him, felt her brooding eyes. "One pays," he murmured, "I suppose!" She threw up her hand in protest, and they walked on into the lighted city.
"She shall have all that Nan and I can do for her here. But don't be foolish about her. I suspect you could be with a woman because of your dear old heart.... If she can't sing a note, she'll make a hit with her looks, Nan says!" So the musicale was arranged. There were mostly women in Mrs. Lawton's smart little music room when Mrs. Conry rose to sing a series of introductory songs.
Conry for a period of seclusion? ... To think of you serving hardware to the barbarians across the counter enlivens my dull moments. From the Sargasso Sea to St. Louis, there is a leap for you, my dear."...
I want to go to New York, I know people there, but " Vickers understood that Mr. Conry objected. "It must come sometime," she said vehemently; "only waiting is killing. It takes the life out of you, the power, don't you think?" "Could you sing here?" Vickers asked, "now, I mean? I might be able to arrange it." "Oh, if you could!" Mrs.
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