ympathy later
on. And you will marry him as Marie Zattiany, without an illusion left
in that clear brain of yours--from which the mists have been blown by
the cold wind of truth. And in a year--if you can stand self-contempt
and ineffable ennui so long--you will leave him, resume your present
name--the name by which Europe knows you--and return to us. But it may
be too late. Vienna would still be laughing. The Viennese are a
light-hearted race, and a lax, but when they laugh they cease to take
seriously the subject of that good-natured amusement. . . . It is not
aesthetic, you know, it is not aesthetic. Are you really quite
indifferent, Marie?"

She shrugged and rose. "It must be time for luncheon," she said. "It
will no doubt be horrible, but at least we can have it in here. The
public dining-room would be impossible. I will find Mr. Dinwiddie and
ask him to order it."

LVI

When the men returned from their fishing trip at six o'clock they saw
several of the women on the lake, but there was no one in the
living-room. Clavering tapped at Mr. Dinwiddie's door, but as there
was no answer, concluded that he and Mary had not yet returned from
Huntersville. He was too desirous of a bath and clean clothes,
however, to feel more than a fleeting disappointment, and it was not
until his return to his room that he saw a letter lying on the table.

It was addressed in Mary's handwriting, and he stared at it in
astonishment for a second, then tore it open. It was dated
"Huntersvilie, Monday afternoon," and it read:

"Dear Lee:

"Mr. Dinwiddie will tell you that unforeseen circumstances have arisen
which compel me to go to New York for a few days. It is excessively
annoying, but unavoidable, and I do not ask you to follow me as I
should hardly be able to see anything of you. If there is a prospect
of being detained it will not be worth while to return and I'll let you
know at once--on Thursday night by telephone; and then I hope you will
not wait for the others, but join me here. Indeed, dear Lee, I wish
this need not have happened, but at least we had three days.----M."

Clavering read this letter twice, hardly comprehending its purport.
She made no mention of Judge Trent. The whole thing was ambiguous,
curt. A full explanation was his right; moreover, it was the reverse
of a love letter. Even its phrases of regret were formal. Something
was wrong.

He put on his clothes hurriedly in order