"You have your wish; he is Morton Travers," returned Cattermole.
The surprise was complete to all of us. Marion's cheeks flushed, slowly and deeply. Was she pleased or not? It is a curious question.
"But what did you do?" asked Mrs. Chantrey.
Cattermole laughed amusedly.
"Oh, I got out of it the best way I could. There was a sheep ranch of mine in New Zealand which I placed at the father's disposal; and I don't think he can do any harm there. Morton I took with me. He is an architect by profession, and I am planning with him to build a couple of blocks of good clean houses for poor people in the centre of the New York slums; the rent will be nominal, the sanitation perfect, and medical care free. But Morton could make a name and fortune for himself without aid from me. I owe him a great deal; among other things, the right to say, as I did just now, that there is more good than evil in the world!"
"Well, I'm ashamed of my quotation," remarked Mrs. Chantrey, with a sigh. "I am so glad, too—I always liked Mr. Travers immensely."
Marion rose—with some impatience, I thought—and walked over to the rock on which Cattermole was sitting. She said nothing to him, and appeared absorbed in the splendors of the setting sun; but presently I saw her put out her hand and take his in it for a moment, to his evident surprise.
On the walk home we changed partners, Mrs. Chantrey falling to me.
"What a man he is!" she exclaimed, in confidential enthusiasm, referring to our host. "And, whatever that young man's abilities may be, Mr. Cattermole evidently means to make his fortune for him. Don't you think so?"
To this I thought fit to reply: "If I were a marriageable girl, I should think Mr. Travers worth cultivating!"
V
Something strange is going on here. At present I confess myself puzzled.
During the three or four days since our walk to Bowlder Point it has been my amiable function to act as the respectful observer of what I assumed to be a twofold love-making: Cattermole and Mrs. Chantrey on one hand, and Marion and Morton Travers on the other. But to-night I am like one wading in deep water and feeling mysterious and unpleasant things under his feet. What they are, I don't know, for the water is muddy.
I have fallen into the habit of getting up before breakfast and taking a walk of half a mile through the woods to a delightful little cataract which the brook makes by tumbling down a rocky declivity some thirty feet in height. I had not supposed that anyone knew of this practice of mine; but this morning, on arriving at the place, I was suddenly aware of the presence of Marion.
"Good morning, Naiad!" exclaimed I, cheerfully. "Have you come to surprise secrets from the music of my waterfall?"
But Marion was very grave. "I want to speak to you privately," she said. "I cannot speak to my mother or to Mr. Cattermole, and I am in trouble."
"And am I to understand that you prefer me as a confidant to Mr. Travers also?" I asked, still smiling.
"It is about him I wish to speak. What is your opinion of him?"
"Since Cattermole's story I have had no choice but to think him a paragon."
"Yes; how could you help it—or I!" She sat down as she spoke, and I now perceived that she was in a tremor; she was deeply agitated about something. "Mr. Cattermole is the noblest of men," she went on after a moment. "But wicked persons may take advantage of the purity and honesty of such men. Perhaps Mr. Travers really committed that crime, and his father was innocent. By pretending to protect his father, he secured himself. His father took the disgrace and went into exile rather than denounce his son."
This took away my breath. I stared
