"None of your business," retorted Pinkie.

"Marky, have you been out with Pinkie?" cried Flossie. "Answer me."

"That's the man. Certainly," declared Mrs. Anderson.

"Well, what of it?" stammered "Marky." "I just took Pinkie down to a few of the stores, and there you are."

"Oh, you cat!" cried Flossie, stamping her foot and clenching her fists.

"You hypocrite!"

"Now see here, I thought you girls was friends," began Zinsheimer. "Kiss and make up, girls."

"I won't call any one names," responded Pinkie, with the air of a martyr. "She has insulted me, but I will forgive her if she apologizes.

Marky, tell her to apologize."

"Never!" cried Flossie, swinging in a circle so abruptly that the rattling chatelaines shot out at an angle of forty-five degrees. "I will never speak to her again, or to you either, Marky Zinsheimer. I'm through with both of you. In all my stage career this is the crowning disappointment. Oh, the degradation! To be cut out by a fat blonde!"

"Marky" Zinsheimer edged toward the door.

"This," he declared, "is where Marky Zinsheimer exits smilingly."

CHAPTER IX

LOVE AND AMBITION

"And I can't do a thing with her," concluded Aunt Jane, in her recital of Martha's shortcomings, while Clayton listened with an amused air at the story of his ward's latest adventure. "She's headstrong and unreliable, and though I love her as I would my own daughter, I think it is time for you to talk to her seriously. When a chorus girl commences to receive hundred-dollar bills and diamonds, she can't stay in my house until I know who sends them, and why. That's all. That's why I telephoned you to come right over."

"I'm glad you 'phoned me, Aunt Jane," said Clayton. "I missed a pretty important business engagement at dinner to be here, but I gathered from your message that something important had developed. I fancy Martha will tell us all about it. After all, it's no crime to admire Martha. I admire her myself. The change in her has been wonderful. I had no idea when I first brought her here that a few months in New York would result in such swift development."

"It's been swift all right, Mr. Clayton. I'll tell her you're here."

Clayton awaited Martha's coming with mingled emotions of pleasure and regret, pleasure at seeing her, for he had grown genuinely to like and admire her; regret, for he feared she was beginning to find her self-imposed bonds a trifle wearisome. In that case, of course, their compact would be at an end, for, though their arrangement had not contemplated any incident which would lead to a breaking of their contract, it was obvious that Martha could not expect him to ignore calmly a violation of it. His own self-respect made this impossible. He would have to protest, and by protesting, perhaps lose completely any influence he might have over her.

The months that had pa.s.sed since he first agreed to finance Martha's venture into the realm of theatricals had been months of uneasiness.

Time and again he had resolved to visit her, talk with her, find out what progress she was making; yet each time he feared he might inject too personal an interest into these inquiries. That had been their agreement: "Down with love and up with ambition." He had warned her of the wayward influences of love at a time when the possibility of caring for her himself had never entered his head. "I suppose," he had said to himself a dozen times, "she'll fall in love with some actor and marry him without even bothering to let me know." This idea first awakened the possibility that he might keenly regret such an indiscretion on her part. Then came the ardent desire to see her himself, advise her, and protect her from the pitfalls of her profession. But he had dismissed this as a subterfuge invented by himself as an excuse for seeing her.

"No," he had concluded. "I will stick by my bargain. I am making an experiment in character development, and I will not let my personal sentiment affect my judgment as a business man. I agreed to aid her until she can become self-supporting, or admits that she is a failure.

So long as she keeps her part of the contract, I will keep mine."

Another and more powerful reason for absenting himself from all neighborhoods where he might meet her, and especially from Mrs.

Anderson's boarding-house, was the fear that she might consider him in the light of a benefactor to whom she was under obligations. This galled him--to think that she might be outwardly cordial while secretly bored.

For Clayton was modest enough to believe that his una.s.suming airs and reticent ways would not prove attractive to a high-spirited girl so many years his junior.

"What a surprise," cried Martha, entering the parlor suddenly. She was dressed for the street. In fact, had Clayton been a few minutes later, he would have missed her altogether, for Aunt Jane had announced his visit just in the nick of time.

"h.e.l.lo," said Clayton, greeting her cordially. "What's the trouble between you and Aunt Jane?"

"Trouble?" repeated Martha. "There isn't any."

"Then what did she mean by telephoning that you were getting a bit too wild for her?"

"She dared to say that?" exclaimed Martha, indignantly. "Oh, and so she telephoned you to come and--and tame me--I suppose?"

"Not exactly that," replied Clayton, smiling. "She did 'phone me, but that was only in accordance with my instructions. I have always felt that, as I am responsible for your being in New York, it was my duty to look after you. But that is only part of our agreement, you know. I was to advance you all the money necessary, keeping a strict account of every penny, and you in return were to take my advice, and when you became famous--repay the loan."

"When I become famous?" mused Martha, sinking onto the sofa. "I wonder if I ever will?"

"Of course," cried Clayton, encouragingly. "And I want to help you all I can."

Martha turned her large eyes toward him appealingly.

"Then why don't you come to see me oftener?" she asked softly.

"That wasn't in the agreement," smiled Clayton. "And I hardly thought you'd have any time for a mere man."

"After all you've done for me, it would be strange if I didn't _take_ time for you," replied Martha. Clayton shifted uneasily as she spoke.

"That sounds like 'Thank you, sir,'" he said.

"And I have to stop work sometimes, _to eat_," added Martha, maliciously, and glancing at him as though trying to convey a subtle hint. "And I hate to eat _alone_. I hate to eat dinner at Aunt Jane's _all_ the time. I've wanted to go out to dinner so many times since I've been in New York, but I _never_ had any one invite me, until to-day."

"Hm! That's the cause of the row with Aunt Jane?"

"She didn't like the idea."

"Some masculine admirer, of course?"

"Yes, he is," replied Martha, defiantly.

"Who is he?"

As she turned away without response, Clayton added: "Martha, who is he?"

"One you yourself introduced to me," she replied shortly.

"I?" He pondered a moment, surprised. "Not Sanford Gordon?" he said finally, and only by an effort suppressing a faint "d.a.m.n."

"Yes," declared Martha. "I am going out with him to dinner now."

"Not with my consent," declared Clayton, emphatically.

"And why not, please?"

"For many reasons," he said, sitting beside her. "Frankly, how long has this been going on?"