"Well--Miss Blaine?" he smiled.
"Well--Mr. Stafford?"
"Here we are all alone," he said, looking at her admiringly.
There was a strange look in his eyes, a longing, appealing look, as if he had something on his mind to which he did not dare give expression.
For a moment the girl regretted that she had not followed her sister.
It was embarra.s.sing under the peculiar circ.u.mstances to be alone there with him. There was a long pause, during which neither spoke. At last Virginia said:
"Why didn"t you let me see the pictures too? You know that I"m interested in books and pictures."
She made a movement, as if about to follow the others, but instantly he put out his hand to detain her.
"Not yet, please. I have so many things I want to talk to you about."
In spite of herself, Virginia smiled at his boyish earnestness of manner.
"What, for instance?"
"Among them is--myself."
"I know a great deal about you already," she said. "The newspapers and magazines have been full of the history of the man who, starting with nothing, has become a power in the railroad and financial world. It only needed one thing to make it fit for the model young man"s story-book--it neglected to say--"our hero neither drinks nor smokes.""
"It couldn"t," he laughed. "I do both."
"Another public idol shattered!" she exclaimed merrily.
He joined in the fun with her, in his frank, boyish way.
"Behave, now!" he laughed.
Virginia grew more serious. Thoughtfully she continued:
"In the last interview which the newspapers had with you--"
"Probably faked--" he interrupted.
"You neglected to say, "making my first thousand dollars was the hardest task of all." All successful men do that; why not you?"
He looked at her for a moment in an amused kind of way. Then carelessly he answered:
"Making the first thousand was about the easiest for me. I got hold of some information about a certain stock, borrowed a hundred from a friend, put it up as margin in a bucket shop, and by pressing my luck, made and got my first thousand without any trouble whatever."
Virginia looked straight at him, admiration as much for his personality as for his achievements showing plainly in the expression of her large, black eyes. Slowly she said:
"And it was that, I suppose, which started you on the way to the City of Big Things. I like that phrase--The City of Big Things.""
He nodded as he answered: "It"s a great city--the only one worth living in."
"And you are one of the most prominent inhabitants."
"I wouldn"t go so far as to say that," he laughed in an embarra.s.sed sort of way. "Still, every one in the city knows I"m living there."
The girl made no reply, but absent-mindedly looked away in the direction of the library, where f.a.n.n.y and her intended were heard chattering. For a few moments she sat still, as if engrossed in thought. Then suddenly she turned toward him. Impulsively she said:
"I wonder how it must feel to be a man--and successful!"
He laughed lightly, as he answered:
"It feels great! To know that you"ve done something; to know that you"ve made a name and a place for yourself; to realize that no one dare try to walk over you; to feel that your bitterest enemy respects you and your rights because if he doesn"t it means a fight to the finish--that makes a man feel good--"
"I should think it would!" she exclaimed.
"And then," he went on, "success means money, and money means power, and luxury and every comfort that the world can give. If a successful man wishes to travel by land, he has his private car, if he wishes to travel by sea, he has his own yacht, and so it goes."
"It must be wonderful to be like you, and have everything that you could wish for."
He smiled at her enthusiasm, and then his manner suddenly became more serious. In a tone which had peculiar emphasis, he said:
"I didn"t say that I had everything I could wish for."
"Well, haven"t you?" she demanded, as if surprised that a man so wealthy, so successful, could possibly lack anything he really desired.
"No," he replied slowly, "I haven"t a home."
Still she appeared not to understand. Looking around at the magnificence all about her, she exclaimed:
"Why, all this is so beautiful--"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"This?" he echoed. "This isn"t a home. It"s merely the place in which I live--sometimes."
"Oh!" she exclaimed, light beginning to dawn upon her.
He went on:
"Furniture, pictures, tapestries, books--they don"t make a home. Only a woman can do that--"
He stopped short and looked fixedly at her, a deep, searching look, as if he would read her very soul. Their eyes met, and instinctively she divined what his words implied and at whom they were directed. The moment she had dreaded had come at last. This man was about to ask her to marry him. Instead of exulting at this triumph, this conquest which would make her the envied wife of a millionaire, she was suddenly seized by a nervous dread. With pale face and trembling lips, she waited for him to speak, her heart throbbing so furiously that she could almost hear the beats. The time had come when she must make up her mind. She liked him, but she did not love him. She must either refuse this millionaire and voluntarily forego the life of independence and luxury such a marriage would mean, or she must be false to her most sacred convictions and marry a man she did not love.
Most girls would not hesitate. It was an opportunity such as rarely presented itself. They would marry him first and find out if they cared for him afterwards. But she was not that kind of a girl. She believed in being true to her principles. She did not love him. She admired his strength, his masterful energy; she respected his success and achievements in life, but between such regard and real affection for the man himself there was a wide gulf. If she was to be true to the opinions she had always held concerning the marital relationship, she must be candid and honest with herself and with him, no matter what material advantages were to be gained by such a union. No happiness could come of a marriage that was not based on material regard or affection. They had known each other too short a time. He might think now that he cared for her very much, yet it might not be love which he felt for her at all, but only a horrible counterfeit, which goes by the same name and which, like a fierce flame, flares up suddenly and then dies down again. She was sufficiently sophisticated and world-wise to gauge at its true worth the violent attraction for the opposite s.e.x which pa.s.sion engenders in some men--an irresistible, uncontrollable desire, which must be satisfied at any cost, even at the price of their own happiness. Afterwards, when the novelty had worn off, he might be sorry and she would be very, very unhappy. Was it worth the sacrifice?
Stafford, bending over the arm of the chair on which she was seated, came so near that he almost touched her. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek. His eyes ardently fixed on hers, he whispered:
"Virginia--will you make a home for me? Will you be my wife?"
[Ill.u.s.tration: "VIRGINIA--WILL YOU MAKE A HOME FOR ME?" PAGE 137]
Startled, the girl drew back as if she had been stung. She had expected the proposal, yet when it came she was taken completely by surprise.