Don't be long
or we'll lose our place. The West will keep!"

She went out of the door and Bulstrode followed her. In the hall she
said tartly:

"Well, I hope you're satisfied! I never saw a more perfect inquisitor.
Why didn't you live at the time of the Spanish persecution?"

He ignored her scathing question:

"I am satisfied," he said happily, "with both of them; they're bricks."

The lady made no reply as she rustled along by his side to the elevator.

From the floors below came the clear, bright sound of the Hungarian
music in an American cake-walk and the odor of cigars and wines and the
distinct suggestion of good things to eat came tempting their nostrils.

As Bulstrode followed the brilliant woman, a sense of defeat came over
him and with less conviction he repeated:

"I _am_ satisfied, but you, my friend, are not."

"Oh," shrugged Mary Falconer desperately, "you know _I've_ no right to
think, or feel, or criticise! I never pretend to run people's lives or
to act the benefactor or to take the place of Fate."

The light danced and sparkled on the jet in her black dress, on the
jewels on her neck. Under her black feather-hat her face, brilliant
and glowing, seemed for once to be defiant to him, her handsome eyes
were dark with displeasure.

The poor fellow could never recall having caused a cloud to ruffle her
face before in his life. It was not like her. Her tenderness for a
second had gone. He could not live without that, he knew it, what ever
else he must forego.

He said, with some sadness, "I suppose you're right: if one can buy
even _a honeymoon_ for another couple he shouldn't lose the
opportunity."

She looked up at him quickly. They had reached the ground floor--they
had left the elevator and they stood side by side in the hall. The
lady had a very trifle softened, not very much, still he noticed the
change and was duly grateful.

"We must wait here," she said, "for the others to come down. I can't
let Molly go in alone, and I don't know where my husband is; I haven't
seen him all day."

Bulstrode continued spiritlessly: "Molly, if you remember, begged me to
tell De Presle-Vaulx how 'perfectly ridiculous' my scheme for the Wild
West is. I will tell him this--you will coach me,--there'll be some
pleasure in that, at least! and then I'll find out for what sum the
Marquise de Presle-Vaulx will sell her son. I'll buy him," he said,
"for Molly, and of course," he brought it out