Atlanta Tri Weekly Journal

HIS BROTHER'S WIFE
BY RUBY M. AYRES

CHAPTER XIV
David's Offer

He walked over to the window and stood with his back turned to her. Standing so, he asked a question:

"In the letter you gave me yesterday--my brother's letter--he speaks of a friend of his, a Miss Furnival."

No answer. Mary clasped her hands. She looked at his averted face and wondering eyes. Almost it was on the tip of her tongue to say:

"I am Mary Furnival. You knew that, didn't you? Surely you knew that?"

He went on speaking before the words were formed.

"Nigel seems to have thought a great deal of her. He speaks of her as his best friend. I should like to meet her, to thank her for what she did for him and--and his wife."

And now he turned, looked at her across the room steadily.

For a moment Mary could not speak. In that lightning pause her mind seemed to have covered miles and miles of thought. Her agitation fell from her. She felt as if she were looking down on a written suggestion planned by a masterly hand down to its minutest detail.

Here was a way to save a dead man's memory, and shield his name. Unconsciously David Bretherton had shown her how. He asked for Mary Furnival! What easier than to say that she had married, and was even now on her way to America, whilst she--she--

She allowed herself to travel no further down that line of thought. She began to speak slowly and collectedly, meeting his eyes fairly and squarely.

"She is married. Mary Furnival was married just a week ago. She is on her way to America now with her husband."

Bretherton was standing with his back to the light, and she could not see the flickering amazement of his eyes. When he spoke his voice was quiet and very courteous.

"Is that so? I am sorry. I should have liked to thank her. Perhaps when you write you will do so for me?"

She did not answer. Her heart was beating fast. All at once she was afraid of what she had said and done.

He went on:

"I came here this morning because I wanted to see you before I go home to the Red Grange. I wanted to ask if you would care to come down there, to live down there."

Mary stared at him. "I! To live there!"

For a moment she forgot that she had allowed him to think that she was Dolly; for the moment she could only remember the beautiful old house as she had seen it that once with Nigel--the ivy-covered walls, the sloping lawns. A faint color tinged her pallor. Her eyes flashed.

"Oh, I should love it--love it!" she breathed, then stopped.

What right had she there? Why was he making her this offer?

David continued evenly:

"If Nigel had lived, it would eventually have been your home. I am sure it would please him to know that you are there, even though he is gone."

The color had died from Mary's face. She was white enough now. She stammered as she tried to speak. "You mean that I--because he--"

She could not go on.

He answered her simply and unfalteringly:

"I mean that, because you loved him, it will give me great happiness if you will come."

CHAPTER XV
David's Offer

"Because I loved him!" Mary echoed David Bretherton's words faintly.

For a moment she looked past him, away into a distance that was landmarked by four years of faithful friendship, ending in a lonely grave.

"Don't answer me at once," David went on. "Think it over. You are lonely, and there is plenty of room down at the Red Grange. My aunt lives with me--possibly you know that--and I think you would like her. I hope you will agree to do this. I want to show in some small way my appreciation of your kindness to Nigel, and I think to take you there--to his home--"

He stopped, as if waiting for her to speak.

There was a curious look of baffled interest in his eyes. This woman was a conundrum to him. Apparently she had no wish of trying to get money out of him, and yet what was it that kept her from frankly avowing that she was not his brother's wife?

All his life women had been of small interest to David, but this one was somehow different.

He moved to the door, pausing for a moment to look back at her and the little room, still so full of his brother's memory.

"Write to me when you have made up your mind," he said. "You know my address. I am going down to the Red Grange this afternoon."

Mary made a little, involuntary movement. Words trembled on the tip of her tongue--words which would once and for all have made matters clear between them, words that would once and for all have settled the question as to whether she should accept his offer or not.

She had only to say: "You are mistaken: I am not Nigel's wife. I am Mary Furnival!" and her chance of going back to the Red Grange would be gone forever.

She thought of its beauties with a very real heartache. Just for that one short day spent there with Nigel she had been so happy--so very happy. Even now, though it was three years ago, she had but to close her eyes to see the old house, and the belt of trees, and the wonderful sloping lawns.

David held out his hand.

"Write and tell me when you have made up your mind," he said.

Her fingers shook in his kind, friendly grasp. She knew that already she wished to make up her mind, knew that she would sacrifice anything to go back there, even if just for one day--one week. But she did not tell him so now, and presently he went away, leaving her alone once more.

All day long the torment of what she wanted to do haunted her: she even found herself weighing up the probable chances of discovery. They were so very small.

So few people who had known Nigel as one of the Brethertons of the Red Grange had ever known him after his marriage in London. And Dolly had never been a girl to make friends; she had dropped almost entirely out of her own set when she married, in the hope that Nigel's circle would take her up. When she found that such a hope was vain, she had not troubled to create a world of her own.

And now she was on the other side of the world. She might never come back, and even if she did--well, she was no longer Mrs. Nigel Bretherton.

"And I loved him best!"

Mary hugged that knowledge tight to her heart when she lay awake at night, torn with conflicting emotions.

She felt as if her heart were fighting her conscience--her heart that longed to go and do this thing, and her conscience which would not let her give in.

(Continued Thursday.
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