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So that with all her determination to make the most of her gift of song, so that she would never again be buffeted by material urgencies in a material world, Stella had nevertheless been listening with the ear of her mind, so to speak, for a word from Monohan to say that he understood, and that all was well. Paradoxically, she had not expected to hear that word.
Dazed and shaken by suffering, nevertheless she knew that she would not always suffer, that in time she would get back to that normal state in which the human ego diligently pursues happiness. In time the legal tie between herself and Jack Fyfe would cease to exist. If Monohan cared for her as she thought he cared, a year or two more or less mattered little. They had all their lives before them.
He took a step toward Fyfe, his hands clenched. "You wouldn't say that if you weren't armed," he taunted hoarsely. "No?" Fyfe cast the rifle to one side. It fell with a metallic clink against a stone. "I do say it though, you see. You are a sort of a yellow dog, Monohan. You know it, and you know that I know it. That's why it stings you to be told so."
But he was no longer a problem. She wondered now how he ever could have been. She recalled that once Jack Fyfe had soberly told her she would never sense life's real values while she nursed so many illusions. Monohan had been one of them. "But it wouldn't work," she whispered to herself. "I couldn't do it.
She had seen Monohan only once since the day Fyfe choked him, and then only to exchange the barest civilities and to feel her heart flutter at the message his eyes telegraphed. When she returned from the launch trip, Fyfe was home, and Charlie Benton with him. She crossed the heavy rugs on the living room floor noiselessly in her overshoes, carrying Jack Junior asleep in her arms.
"But Thorsen has been fighting. His face was terrible. And I've heard you say he was one of the most peaceable men alive. Is it is Monohan " "We won't discuss Monohan," Fyfe said curtly. "Anyway, there's no danger of him getting hurt." He went into his den and came out with hat and coat on. At the door he paused a moment. "Don't worry," he said kindly. "Nothing's going to happen."
"I told you last night that I trusted you absolutely. I do, so far as really vital things are concerned, but I don't always trust your judgment. I merely know that Monohan sneaked along shore, hid his boat, and stole through the timber to where you were sitting. I happened to see him, and I followed him to see what he was up to, why he should take such measures to keep under cover."
And so in passing the door of Fyfe's den, she heard her brother say: "But, good Lord, you don't suppose he'll be sap-head enough to try such fool stunts as that? He couldn't make it stick, and he brings himself within the law first crack; and the most he could do would be to annoy you." "You underestimate Monohan," Fyfe returned. "He'll play safe, personally, so far as the law goes. He's foxy.
I think she smelled this blow. So I went out for a ride by myself. I was glowering at that new house through a glass when I spied you out in the thick of it." He had the clutch in now, and the launch was cleaving the seas, even at half speed throwing out wide wings of spray. Some of this the wind brought across the cockpit. "Come up into this seat," Monohan commanded.
She recalled that only in the most indirect way had he ever passed criticism on Monohan, and then it lay mostly in a tone, suggested more than spoken. Yet he knew Monohan, had known him for years. They had clashed long before she was a factor in their lives. When she went into the big room, Benton and Fyfe were gone outdoors. She glanced into Fyfe's den.
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