Louise laughed and expressed a hope that Samuel would now be able to breathe without disturbing his neighbors. Sonya came to the real purpose of her visit.
"He and his mother are going back to Devon House Sat.u.r.day," she said, "but I"ve got to stay in New York for a few months, on account of my literary galumphings. I wondered if you--if it would be convenient for you--to put me up. I hate hotels and--"
Louise lay silent for a moment. Then she reached out and took Sonya"s hand.
"Yes, you unskilful prevaricator," she said. "You may come--and see me through."
Sonya held the hand tightly in her own.
"There"s one thing more," she went on, hesitatingly. "Laurie and Mr.
Bangs and I wondered if perhaps you wouldn"t feel more comfortable if Mr. Warren came home. You know he himself would want to--"
Louise closed her eyes.
"Yes," she said, "Bob would want to, if he knew."
She was silent for so long that Sonya began to think she was not to have the answer to her question. Perhaps Mrs. Ordway was leaving the decision to her.
But to leave to others decisions that concerned herself was not Louise Ordway"s habit. Instead, she was fighting a battle in which the lifelong devotion of a supremely self-centered nature was struggling with a new-born unselfishness. Though new-born, it was strong, as the invalid"s next words showed.
"If I were calling him back from anything but his honeymoon," she said at last, "I"d do it. But he"s utterly happy. His letters show that, in every line. I want him to stay so, as long as he can. I want his honeymoon to be long drawn out and perfect." Her manner changed.
"I have an idea that perhaps, after all, I"ll be here when he gets back," she added more lightly. "Life still has its interests. But, if I happen not to be here, tell him why I didn"t cable."
"I will tell him," Sonya promised.
Neither of them referred to the subject again.
CHAPTER IX
AN INVITATION
That evening Laurie walked across the square to Doris"s studio with a decision in his stride which definitely expressed his mental att.i.tude.
He had come to the conclusion that something must be done. What this something would be was still hazy in his mind, but the first step at least seemed clear. Doris must move.
He was so convinced of the urgency of this step that he brought up the subject almost before the greetings of guest and hostess were over.
Tossing his hat and coat on a convenient chair, he stood facing Doris, his hands in his pockets, his black eyes somber.
"We"ve got to get you out of this, you know," he abruptly announced.
Her eyes, which had brightened at his entrance, grew as somber as his own. Without replying, she turned, walked across the room to the window, and stood looking down into the street.
"Is he there?" she asked at last, and without moving her head.
"Shaw? Great Scott, no! At least I didn"t see him. I suppose he takes a few hours off now and then, during the twenty-four; doesn"t he?"
"Oh, yes, he comes and goes, sometimes secretly, sometimes openly. I did not see him at all to-day until late this afternoon. Then he took up his post across the street just opposite this window, and stood there for almost an hour."
Laurie ground his teeth.
"What does he expect to gain by that performance?"
"Several things, I suppose. For one, he wants to get on my nerves; and he does," she added somberly, and still without turning.
Laurie made a vague tour around the room and brought up by her side.
"You know," he confessed, "I haven"t really taken this thing in yet.
Even now, this minute, it doesn"t seem possible to me that Shaw could do you any real harm."
She nodded. "I know. Why should it? Even to me it is like a nightmare and I keep hoping to wake up. There are hours, even days, when I convince myself that it isn"t real." She stopped. "It must be very hard for any one else to understand," she ended, when he did not speak.
"Nevertheless," admitted Laurie, "I can"t forget it. I can"t think of anything else."
She took this as naturally as she had taken his first remark.
"It"s going to be very hard for you. I was wrong to draw you into it. I am realizing that more and more, every minute."
"You couldn"t help yourself," he cheerfully reminded her. "Now that I am in it, as I"ve warned you before, I intend to run things. It seems to me that the obvious course for you is to move. After you"re safely hidden somewhere, I think I can teach Herbert Ransome Shaw a lesson that won"t react on you."
She shook her head.
"If I moved, how long do you think it would take him to find me?"
"Weeks, perhaps months."
Again she shook her head.
"I moved here a few days ago. He appeared exactly forty-eight hours later. If I moved from here it would only mean going through the game of hare and hounds again."
"But--" he began. She interrupted him.
"I"ve reached the point where I can"t endure that any more." For the first time her voice broke. "Can"t you imagine what that sort of thing would be? To get up in the morning and wonder if this is the day I"ll see him under my window? To go to bed at night and ask myself if he is lurking in the shadows below, or across the street, or perhaps outside my very door? To know that sooner or later he will be there, that his coming is as inevitable as death itself--" She broke off.
"I sometimes think I"d rather see a boa-constrictor crawling into my room than see Shaw down on the sidewalk," she ended. "And yet--I know you can understand this--there"s a queer kind of relief in the knowledge that at last, and finally, he has got me."
She whirled to face Laurie and threw out her hands. There was nothing theatrical in the gesture, merely an effect of entire finality.
"We have come to the end of things," she finished. "Since you would not have them end my way, they must end his way. Whatever happens, I shall not run and hide any more."
For a moment silence hung like a substance between them. Then the visitor resolutely shook off the effect of her words.
"I promise you I will get to the bottom of this," he quietly told her.
"In the meantime, will you try to forget it, for a little while? You know you said you could do that, occasionally."