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"Oh, no; they destroyed your communications perhaps, after 'contents noted. But they never had your letters, for the simple reason that they never received them. Very excellent copies they were most excellent." Mr. Marcus Gard was experiencing more sensations during his chat with Mrs. Marteen than had fallen to his lot for many a long day.
With trembling eagerness she clutched at the papers in the side pocket. Yes, there were letters. She read the address, "Mrs. Martin Marteen" yes, that was herself. How strange! She had forgotten. The address was a steamer that seemed possible. There was a journey, a long journey she vaguely recalled that. But why? Where?
Three times the chauffeur respectfully advised his master of their arrival, before the wondering eyes of the club chasseur, before the Great Man, suddenly recalled to the present, descended from his car and was conducted to his waiting host. The first one of the company to shake hands with him was Victor Mahr and Victor Mahr was a friend of Mrs. Marteen.
Marteen finally announced her intention of departing on the longer cruise, Gard seriously contemplated a copper raid that would keep Brutgal at the ticker. Then he as furiously abandoned the idea, washed his hands of the whole affair and did not go near Mrs. Marteen for three days.
More and more convinced of some ulterior motive in Mrs. Marteen's departure, his irritation made him gruff. Even Dorothy, seeing his ill-temper, retired to the far corner of the room, and eyed him with surprise above her embroidery. Feeling the discord of his present mood, he rose to take his leave. "Do arrange to come," smiled Mrs. Marteen, with just a touch of irony in her clear voice.
"A doctor? Do I need a doctor? Why? What was it the doctor said? That my nerves were in in what was it? And I must travel and rest yes, that was it; I remember now." "Well," the other woman commented, "he doesn't seem to have done you a world of good, and you better try another." "No," said Mrs. Marteen with decision, "no, I don't want one not now, anyway. It's a headache. May I have some tea?
This is one time when I'm not to be dictated to no, nor blackmailed." He spoke roughly and glanced at her quickly. Not an eyelash quivered. His voice changed. "I wish I understood you," he grumbled. "I wish I did. But perhaps that would, after all, be a great pity. You're an extraordinary woman, Mrs. Marteen. You've 'got me going, as the college boys say but I like you, hanged if I don't.
He experienced a cynical amusement in the thought that the path of true love had been smoothed by such equivocal means. Neither of the children would ever know of the shadows that had gathered so closely around them. But, Mrs. Marteen what of her?
Marteen had once wielded was now in his possession and with all precautions taken he was fearless of any retaliation. The obscurity and exile he suggested would be sought as the only issue from intolerable conditions. No, no, a thousand times no!
"Courage, the little Marteen!" cried José Medina. "After breakfast and a few hours' sleep, we shall take a rosier view." Hillyard, however, could not compose himself to those few hours. The dread lest the Germans should have discovered the interception of their letters weighed too heavily upon him.
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