The close intimacy between Mrs. Marten and the stranger from Colorado
attracted slight comment. No breath of scandal fluttered the dovecotes
of Newport. The behavior of the pair was exemplary, and, beyond the
accepted fact that, if any hostess desired the presence of one she must
invite the other, gossip about them was noticeable by its absence.
Their mutual use of Christian names from the outset established a tacit
cousinship, and the only growl uttered behind their backs was an
occasional complaint from some anxious mother who found her attractive
daughters completely eclipsed, in the eyes of at least one eligible
young man, by the millionaire's wife.
Once, and once only, before the crash came, did Nancy allude to the
purloined letters. She and Power were riding along the Cliff Walk before
breakfast, when she broached the subject quite unexpectedly.
"Derry, I want to ask you something," she said seriously. "Did my father
and you ever quarrel without my knowledge--before I left Bison, I mean?"
"No," he said.
"Don't be stupid! I hate answers in monosyllables. When you say no like
that, one suspects that it may really be a kind of yes."
"Then let me make it the most definite sort of negative. Remember, you
fixed a period. The last time I spoke to Mr. Willard before I
was--before I went to Sacramento--I had supper at the ranch."
He carried reminiscence no farther. She stole a look at him; but his
eyes were fixed on a faint blur of smoke rising over the azure plain of
the Atlantic from an invisible steamship. On that unforgetable night of
three and a half years ago, a starlit night of spring, she had walked
with him to the mouth of the Gulch, and in bidding each other farewell
they had exchanged their first and last kiss.
"Father was certainly not an enemy of yours then," she went on, in a
singularly even tone. Indeed, she might have been debating a matter of
utmost triviality. "It seemed to me that he always welcomed you at the
ranch. Why did he become so bitterly opposed to you afterward?"
He could have fenced with her, but deemed it preferable to speak freely.
"I think he was annoyed by my rapid success," he said. "He had made a
failure of things generally, and I candidly admit it must have been
exasperating to see a youngster like me, and a steady-going fossil like
Mac, step in and secure a fortune out of a place where he had met with
nothing but ill-luck. Those who get rich quick often incur animosity in
that way."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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