Chapter XXIX: A Strange Occurrence

Clive’s flat was indeed a restful spot. At his suggestion, Betty Carew, newly released from hospital, had broken her journey to have tea with him. She lay in a deep arm-chair, soothed by the greys and blues of the appointments. Benson was setting the tea-table, a capable figure of a man. Clive had gone down to get an evening newspaper with the account of the attack upon Bill Holbrook.

“This is a very peaceful place, Benson.”

“Yes, Miss, it is remarkably well situated, and very close to the tubes.

“His lordship finds the flat small,” Benson went on, “and I have no doubt it is for a gentleman who would, I am sure, wish to entertain on a larger scale. If his lordship married, it would be impossible,” he added as an afterthought, and she laughed.

“I don’t think his lordship contemplates matrimony, does he?”

“I have not his lordship’s confidence in the matter,” said Benson primly, and at that moment Clive returned.

“Here’s the account. Your friend seems to be in the wars.”

“He thrives on trouble,” she said.

“What were those dreams of yours, Betty? I’ve got an idea that, when we’re able to disentangle reality from the dream, we’ll have a pretty good notion of what happened to you.”

She dismissed the subject with a weary gesture, and wisely he turned the conversation into more pleasant channels.

“So you’re a rich woman now, Betty? That is most embarrassing to me.”

“Why to you especially?” She laughed. “I’m not rich. I’ve discovered some amazing relations, but I don’t think it will make a great deal of difference to me. But why are you embarrassed, Clive?”

“Because--I think you know without my telling you. I want to marry you badly, Betty; I wanted to marry you when you were broke and I was broke, and marriage seemed so very, very possible. And then you refused because you thought you would be a drag on me. Now that you are rich, I can’t ask you because”--he shrugged his shoulders--“I hate the idea of marrying money.”

“Poor Clive! I think the old objection stands. Mr. Lambert Stone is rich, but in all probability my father is a very poor man--and not only poor, but crazy!”

“Craziness is due to an accident which might have happened to you or to me,” interrupted Clive.

“I don’t offer that as a serious objection,” she said. “The question as to whether I am rich or poor really makes no difference at all, Clive. I’m going on with my career--I’ve told Mr. Lambert Stone as much--and please don’t think that the discovery of long-lost relations means that I’m going to make my home with Mr. Lambert Stone, and that the world is going to witness the meteoric rise of Betty Carew!”

“Betty!” he said in a low voice, “you’re going to marry me next week!”

She shook her head.

“You’re going to marry me next week,” he repeated doggedly. “Nothing in God’s world will stop that.”

“There is something that will stop it.” She had taken a sudden resolve. “I can’t marry you.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated, summoning all her reserves of courage.

“Because I’m Joshua Laffin’s wife--I married him three years ago!”