The Guests of Hercules | Page 5

himself, and my mother."
For a moment she was silent. There was no need to explain, for Peter
knew all about the terrible letter that had come from India with the
news of Major Grant's death. It had arrived before Mary resolved to
take vows, while she was still a fellow schoolgirl of Peter's, older than
most of the girls, looked up to and adored, and probably it had done
more than anything else to decide her that she had a "vocation." Mary
had told about the letter at the time, with stormy tears: how her father
in dying wrote down the story of the past, as a warning to his daughter,
whom he had not loved; told the girl that her mother had run away with
one of his brother officers; that he, springing from a family of reckless
gamblers, had himself become a gambler; that he had thrown away
most of his money; and that his last words to Mary were, "You have
wild blood in your veins. Be careful: don't let it ruin your life, as two
other lives have been ruined before you."
"Then," Mary went on, while Peter waited, "for a few weeks, or a few
days, I would be more peaceful. But the restlessness always came again.
And, after the end of the first year, it grew worse. I was never happy for
more than a few hours together. Still I meant to fight till the end. I

never thought seriously of giving it up."
"Until after I came?" Peter broke in.
"Oh, I was happier for a while after you came. You took my mind off
myself."
"And turned it to myself, or, rather, to the world I lived in. I'm glad, yes,
I'm glad, I was in time, and yet--oh, Mary, you won't go to Monte Carlo,
will you?"
Mary stopped short in her walk, and turned to face Peter.
"Why do you say that?" she asked, sharply. "What can make you think
of Monte Carlo?"
"Only, you seemed so interested in hearing me tell about staying with
father at Stellamare, my cousin's house. You asked me such a lot of
questions about it and about the Casino, more than about any other
place, even Rome. And you looked excited when I told you. Your
cheeks grew red. I noticed then, but it didn't matter, because you were
going to live here always, and be a nun. Now----"
"Now what does it matter?" the novice asked, almost defiantly. "Why
should it occur to me to go to Monte Carlo?"
"Only because you were interested, and perhaps I may have made the
Riviera seem even more beautiful and amusing than it really is. And
besides--if it should be true, what your father was afraid of----"
"What?"
"That you inherit his love of gambling. Oh, I couldn't bear it, darling, to
think I had sent you to Monte Carlo."
"He didn't know enough about me to know whether I inherited anything
from him or not. I hardly understand what gambling means, except
what you've told me. It's only a word like a bird of ill omen. And what
you said about the play at the Casino didn't interest me as other things

did. It didn't sound attractive at all."
"It's different when you're there," Peter said.
"I don't think it would be for me. I'm almost sure I'm not like that--if I
can be sure of anything about myself. Perhaps I can't! But you
described the place as if it were a sort of paradise--and all the Riviera.
You said you would go back in the spring with your father. You didn't
seem to think it wicked and dangerous for yourself."
"Monte Carlo isn't any more wicked than other places, and it's
dangerous only for born gamblers," Peter argued. "I'm not one. Neither
is my father, except in Wall Street. He plays a little for fun, that's all.
And my cousin Jim Schuyler never goes near the Casino except for a
concert or the opera. But you--all alone there--you who know no more
of life than a baby! It doesn't bear thinking of."
"Don't think of it," said Mary, rather dryly. "I have no idea of going to
Monte Carlo."
"Thank goodness! Well, I only wanted to be sure. I couldn't help
worrying. Because, if anything had drawn you there, it would have
been my fault. You would hardly have heard of Monte Carlo if it hadn't
been for my stories. A cloistered saint like you!"
"Is that the way you think of me in these days?" The novice blushed
and smiled, showing her friendly dimples. "I wish I felt a saint."
"You are one. And yet"--Peter gazed at her with sudden keenness--"I
don't believe you were made to be a saint. It's the years here