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Updated: June 25, 2025
John frowned, pressed his forefinger to his lips in the signal for silence that he had received inside. "John J. Silence," grinning, tiptoed away with ludicrous gestures. In twenty minutes the maid called John to the door, holding it open for him as he entered. "This way, please," she said, taking the lead. A dozen steps brought them to a door marked with Consuello's name.
He thought her more beautiful than ever before as she danced before him clearly outlined in her white frock against the deep green of the grass. In the cool of the evening, after dinner, they sat on the veranda listening to the reminiscent stories of Consuello's father, the first of the fine old Spanish aristocrats of Southern California John had ever met.
The driver opened the door and a figure stepped out, hurrying up toward him. As he came to his feet he saw that it was a girl who was approaching him. "Mr. Gallant?" a familiar voice asked. "Yes." The figure came closer to him and he saw that it was Consuello's friend and companion, Betty.
"It's such a wonderful evening I'm going to enjoy it for a few minutes more." Alone, John speculated on Consuello's reason for living in Los Angeles while her parents remained at home on the ranch.
But he was powerless, helpless. A wild idea of sacrificing his loyalty to his paper by warning Gibson of the impending exposure of his perfidy so that he might renounce "Gink" Cummings and be worthy of Consuello's love flashed in and out of his brain. His silence seemed to mystify her. When she spoke it was as though she might have a vague premonition of his confused thoughts.
When they passed the neighborhood motion picture theater John noticed that Consuello's latest picture, the one he had seen at the pre-view, was being shown. An heroic size photograph of Consuello stood in the small lobby of the theater. He noticed that his mother averted her eyes. They walked in silence for half a block and then Mrs. Gallant spoke.
He told her only that he would be away most of Sunday, permitting her to deduce that he had accepted Consuello's invitation and had made some explanation of her absence. A dozen automobiles were in line along the driveway of the Peerless studio when John arrived promptly at nine o'clock, the following morning. Consuello had evidently told the guard at the gate that she was expecting him.
It was the first time that Consuello's name had been mentioned by either of them since that afternoon at the studio when Gibson had told John of their engagement. "It would be unlike her if she had forgotten," said John, ready to let Gibson infer what he might from the words. He noticed that Brennan was looking at him curiously.
At times he was annoyed by his mother's bigotry which gave her, in Consuello's case, an unreasonableness that amounted almost to fanaticism and embittered the natural sweetness of her character and disposition.
During the following week John learned the answer to his mother's question of why Consuello lived in Los Angeles, away from her parents, the inquiry that had provoked him to anger because he took it as an insinuation against Consuello's character. Consuello called him one morning by telephone. "Have you an hour or so to spare, today?" she asked. "It all depends " he began.
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