THE REASON WHY


BY ELINOR GLYN

1911

Author of "His Hour," "Three Weeks," etc.


ILLUSTRATED BY EDMUND FREDERICK


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


"Not by a glance or a turn of his head did he let his bride see how
wildly her superlative attraction had kindled the fire in his blood"

"The whole expression of her face changed as he came and leaned upon the
piano"

"With his English self-control and horror of a scene, he followed his
wife to the door"

"'Zara!' he said distractedly ...'Can I not help you?'"


THE REASON WHY


CHAPTER I


People often wondered what nation the great financier, Francis Markrute,
originally sprang from. He was now a naturalized Englishman and he
looked English enough. He was slight and fair, and had an immaculately
groomed appearance generally - which even the best of valets cannot
always produce. He wore his clothes with that quiet, unconscious air
which is particularly English. He had no perceptible accent - only a
deliberate way of speaking. But Markrute! - such a name might have come
from anywhere. No one knew anything about him, except that he was
fabulously rich and had descended upon London some ten years previously
from Paris, or Berlin, or Vienna, and had immediately become a power in
the city, and within a year or so, had grown to be omnipotent in certain
circles.

He had a wonderfully appointed house in Park Lane, one of those smaller
ones just at the turn out of Grosvenor Street, and there he entertained
in a reserved fashion.

It had been remarked by people who had time to think - rare cases in
these days - that he had never made a disadvantageous friend, from his
very first arrival. If he had to use undesirables for business purposes
he used them only for that, in a crisp, hard way, and never went to
their houses. Every acquaintance even was selected with care for a
definite end. One of his favorite phrases was that "it is only the fool
who coins for himself limitations."

At this time, as he sat smoking a fine cigar in his library which looked
out on the park, he was perhaps forty-six years old or thereabouts, and
but for his eyes - wise as serpents' - he might have been ten years
younger.

Opposite to him facing the light a young man lounged in a great leather
chair. The visitors in Francis Markrute's library nearly always faced
the light, while he himself had his back to it.

There was no doubt about this visitor's nation! He was flamboyantly
English. If you had wished to send a prize specimen of the race to a
World's Fair you could not have selected anything finer. He was perhaps
more Norman than Saxon, for his hair was dark though his eyes were blue,
and the marks of breeding in the creature showed as plainly as in a
Derby winner. Francis Markrute always smoked his cigars to the end, if
he were at leisure and the weed happened to be a good one, but Lord
Tancred (Tristram Lorrimer Guiscard Guiscard, 24th Baron Tancred, of
Wrayth in the County of Suffolk) flung his into the grate after a few
whiffs, and he laughed with a slightly whimsical bitterness as he went
on with the conversation.

"Yes, Francis, my friend, the game here is played out; I am thirty, and
there is nothing interesting left for me to do but emigrate to Canada,
for a while at least, and take up a ranch."

"Wrayth mortgaged heavily, I suppose?" said Mr. Markrute, quietly.

"Pretty well, and the Northern property, too. When my mother's jointure
is paid there is not a great deal left this year, it seems. I don't mind
much; I had a pretty fair time before these beastly Radicals made things
so difficult."

The financier nodded, and the young man went on: "My forbears got rid of
what they could; there was not much ready money to come into and one had
to live!"

Francis Markrute smoked for a minute thoughtfully.

"Naturally," he said at last. "Only the question is - for how long? I
understand a plunge, if you settle its duration; it is the drifting and
trusting to chance, and a gradual sinking which seem to me a poor game.
Did you ever read de Musset's 'Rolla'?"

"The fellow who had arrived at his last night, and to whom the little
girl was so kind? Yes: well?"

"You reminded me of Jacques Rolla, that is all."

"Oh, come! It is not as bad as that!" Lord Tancred exclaimed - and he
laughed. "I can collect a few thousands still, even here, and I can go
to Canada. I believe there is any quantity of money to be made there
with a little capital, and it is a nice, open-air life. I just looked in
this afternoon on my way back from Scotland to tell you I should be
going out to prospect, about the end of November and could not join you
for the pheasants on the 20th, as you were good enough to ask me to do."

The financier half closed his eyes. When he did this there was always
something of importance working in his brain.

"You have not any glaring vices, Tancred," he said. "You are no gambler
either on the turf or at cards. You are not over addicted to expensive
ladies. You are cultivated, for a sportsman, and you have made one or
two decent speeches in the House of Lords. You are, in fact, rather a
fine specimen of your class. It seems a pity you should have to shut
down and go to the Colonies."

"Oh, I don't know! And I have not altogether got to shut down," the
young man said, "only the show is growing rather rotten over here. We
have let the rabble - the most unfit and ignorant - have the casting vote,
and the machine now will crush any man. I have kept out of politics as
much as I can and I am glad."

Francis Markrute got up and lowered the blind a few inches - a miserable
September sun was trying to shine into the room. If Lord Tancred had not
been so preoccupied with his own thoughts he would have remarked this
restlessness on the part of his host. He was no fool; but his mind was
far away. It almost startled him when the cold, deliberate voice
continued:

"I have a proposition to make to you should you care to accept it. I
have a niece - a widow - she is rather an attractive lady. If you will
marry her I will pay off all your mortgages and settle on her quite a
princely dower."

"Good God!" said Lord Tancred.

The financier reddened a little about the temples, and his eyes for an
instant gave forth a flash of steel. There had been an infinite variety
of meanings hidden in the exclamation, but he demanded suavely:

"What point of the question causes you to exclaim 'Good God'?"

The sang-froid of Lord Tancred never deserted him.

"The whole thing," he said - "to marry at all, to begin with, and to
marry an unknown woman, to have one's debts paid, for the rest! It is a
tall order."

"A most common occurrence. Think of the number of your peers who have
gone to America for their wives, for no other reason."

"And think of the rotters they are - most of them! I mayn't be much
catch, financially; but I have one of the oldest names and titles in
England - and up to now we have not had any cads nor cowards in the
family, and I think a man who marries a woman for money is both. By
Jove! Francis, what are you driving at? Confound it, man! I am not
starving and can work, if it should ever come to that."

Mr. Markrute smoothed his hands. He was a peculiarly still person
generally.

"Yes, it was a blunder, I admit, to put it this way. So I will be frank
with you. My family is also, my friend, as old as yours. My niece is all
I have left in the world. I would like to see her married to an
Englishman. I would like to see her married to you of all Englishmen
because I like you and you have qualities about you which count in life.
Oh, believe me!" - and he raised a protesting finger to quell an
interruption - "I have studied you these years; there is nothing you can
say of yourself or your affairs that I do not know."

Lord Tancred laughed.

"My dear old boy," he said, "we have been friends for a long time; and,
now we are coming to hometruths, I must say I like your deuced
cold-blooded point of view on every subject. I like your knowledge of
wines and cigars and pictures, and you are a most entertaining
companion. But, 'pon my soul I would not like to have your niece for a
wife if she took after you!"

"You think she would be cold-blooded, too?"

"Undoubtedly; but it is all perfectly preposterous. I don't believe you
mean a word you are saying - it is some kind of a joke."

"Have you ever known me to make such jokes, Tancred?" Mr. Markrute asked
calmly.

"No, I haven't, and that is the odd part of it. What the devil do you
mean, really, Francis?"

"I mean what I say: I will pay every debt you have, and give you a
charming wife with a fortune."

Lord Tancred got up and walked about the room. He was a perfectly
natural creature, stolid and calm as those of his race, disciplined and
deliberate in moments of danger or difficulty; yet he never lived under
self-conscious control as the financier did. He was rather moved now,
and so he walked about. He was with a friend, and it was not the moment
to have to bother over disguising his feelings.

"Oh, it is nonsense, Francis; I could not do it. I have knocked about
the world as you know, and, since you are aware of everything about me,
you say, you have probably heard some of my likings - and dislikings. I
never go after a woman unless she attracts me, and I would never marry
one of them unless I were madly in love with her, whether she had money
or no; though I believe I would hate a wife with money, in any
case - she'd be saying like the American lady of poor Darrowood: 'It's my
motor and you can't have it to-day.'"

"You would marry a woman then - if you were in love, in spite of
everything?" Francis Markrute asked.

"Probably, but I have never been really in love; have you? It is all
story-book stuff - that almighty passion, I expect. They none of them
matter very much after a while, do they, old boy?"

"I have understood it is possible for a woman to matter," the financier
said and he drew in his lips.

"Well, up to now I have not," Lord Tancred announced, "and may the day
be far off when one does. I feel pretty safe!"

A strange, mysterious smile crept over Mr. Markrute's face.

"By the way, also, how do you know the lady would be willing to marry
me, Francis? You spoke as if I only had to be consulted in the affair."

"So you have. I can answer for my niece; she will do as I wish, and, as
I said before, you are rather a perfect picture of an English nobleman,
Tancred. You have not found women recalcitrant, as a rule - no?"

Lord Tancred was not inordinately vain, though a man, and he had a sense
of humor - so he laughed.

"'Pon my word it is amusing, your turning into a sort of matrimonial
agent. Can't you see the fun of the thing yourself?"

"It seems quite natural to me. You have every social advantage to offer
a woman, and a presentable person; and my niece has youth, and some
looks, and a large fortune. But we will say no more about it. I shall be
glad to be of any service I can to you, anyway, in regard to your
Canadian scheme. Come and dine to-night; I happen to have asked a couple
of railway magnates with interests out there, and you can get some
information from them."

And so it was arranged, and Lord Tancred got up to go; but just at the
door he paused and said with a laugh:

"And shall I see the niece?"

The financier had his back turned, and so he permitted the flicker of a
smile to come over his mouth as he answered:

"It might be; but we have dismissed the subject of the niece."

And so they parted.

At the sound of the closing of the door Mr. Markrute pressed the button
of a wonderful trifle of Russian enamel and emeralds, which lay on his
writing table, and a quiet servant entered the room.

"Tell the Countess Shulski I wish to speak to her here immediately,
please," he said. "Ask her to descend at once."

But he had to walk up and down several times, and was growing impatient,
before the door opened and a woman came slowly into the room.


CHAPTER II


The financier paused in his restless pacing as he heard the door open
and stood perfectly still, with his back to the light. The woman
advanced and also stood still, and they looked at one another with no
great love in their eyes, though she who had entered was well worth
looking at, from a number of points of view. Firstly, she had that
arresting, compelling personality which does not depend upon features,
or coloring, or form, or beauty. A subtle force of character - a
radiating magnetism - breathed from her whole being. When Zara Shulski
came into any assemblage of people conversation stopped and speculation
began.

She was rather tall and very slender; and yet every voluptuous curve of
her lithe body refuted the idea of thinness. Her head was small and her
face small, and short, and oval, with no wonderfully chiseled features,
only the skin was quite exceptional in its white purity - not the purity
of milk, but the purity of rich, white velvet, or a gardenia petal. Her
mouth was particularly curved and red and her teeth were very even, and
when she smiled, which was rarely, they suggested something of great
strength, though they were small and white. And now I am coming to her
two wonders, her eyes and her hair. At first you could have sworn the
eyes were black; just great pools of ink, or disks of black velvet, set
in their broad lids and shaded with jet lashes, but if they chanced to
glance up in the full light then you knew they were slate color, not a
tinge of brown or green - the whole iris was a uniform shade: strange,
slumberous, resentful eyes, under straight, thick, black brows, the
expression full of all sorts of meanings, though none of them peaceful
or calm. And from some far back Spanish-Jewess ancestress she probably
got that glorious head of red hair, the color of a ripe chestnut when it
falls from its shell, or a beautifully groomed bright bay horse. The
heavy plaits which were wound tightly round her head must have fallen
below her knees when they were undone. Her coiffure gave you the
impression that she never thought of fashion, nor changed its form of
dressing, from year to year. And the exquisite planting of the hair on
her forehead, as it waved back in broad waves, added to the perfection
of the Greek simplicity of the whole thing. Nothing about her had been
aided by conscious art. Her dress, of some black clinging stuff, was
rather poor, though she wore it with the air of a traditional empress.
Indeed, she looked an empress, from the tips of her perfect fingers to
her small arched feet.

And it was with imperial hauteur that she asked in a low, cultivated
voice with no accent:

"Well, what is it? Why have you sent for me thus peremptorily?"

The financier surveyed her for a moment; he seemed to be taking in all
her points with a fresh eye. It was almost as though he were counting
them over to himself - and his thoughts ran: "You astonishingly
attractive devil. You have all the pride of my father, the Emperor. How
he would have gloried in you! You are enough to drive any man mad: you
shall be a pawn in my game for the winning of my lady and gain
happiness for yourself, so in the end, Elinka, if she is able to see
from where she has gone, will not say I have been cruel to you."

"I asked you to come down - to discuss a matter of great importance: Will
you be good enough to be seated, my niece," he said aloud with
ceremonious politeness as he drew forward a chair - into which she sank
without more ado and there waited, with folded hands, for him to
continue. Her stillness was always as intense as his own, but whereas
his had a nervous tension of conscious repression, hers had an
unconscious, quiet force. Her father had been an Englishman, but both
uncle and niece at moments made you feel they were silent panthers,
ready to spring.

"So - " was all she said.

And Francis Markrute went on:

"You have a miserable position - hardly enough to eat at times, one
understands. You do not suppose I took the trouble to send for you from
Paris last week, for nothing, do you? You guessed I had some plan in my
head, naturally."

"Naturally," she said, with fine contempt. "I did not mistake it for
philanthropy."

"Then it is well, and we can come to the point," he went on. "I am sorry
I have had to be away, since your arrival, until yesterday. I trust my
servants have made you comfortable?"

"Quite comfortable," she answered coldly.

"Good: now for what I want to know. You have no doubt in your mind that
your husband, Count Ladislaus Shulski, is dead? There is no possible
mistake in his identity? I believe the face was practically shot away,
was it not? I have taken the precaution to inform myself upon every
point, from the authorities at Monte Carlo, but I wish for your final
testimony."

"Ladislaus Shulski is dead," she said quietly, in a tone as though it
gave her pleasure to say it. "The woman Féto caused the fray, Ivan
Larski shot him in her arms; he was her lover who paid, and Ladislaus
the _amant du coeur_ for the moment. She wailed over the body like a
squealing rabbit. She was there lamenting his fine eyes when they sent
for me! They were gone for ever, but no one could mistake his curly
hair, nor his cruel, white hands. Ah! it was a scene of disgust! I have
witnessed many ugly things but that was of the worst. I do not wish to
talk of it; it is passed a year ago. Féto heaped his grave with flowers,
and joined the hero, Larski, who was allowed to escape, so all was
well."

"And since then you have lived from hand to mouth, with those others."
And here Francis Markrute's voice took on a new shade: there was a cold
hate in it.

"I have lived with my little brother, Mirko, and Mimo. How could I
desert them? And sometimes we have found it hard at the end of the
quarter - but it was not always as bad as that, especially when Mimo sold
a picture - "

"I will not hear his name!" Francis Markrute said with some excitement.
"In the beginning, if I could have found him I would have killed him, as
you know, but now the carrion can live, since my sister is dead. He is
not worth powder and shot."

The Countess Shulski gave the faintest shrug of her shoulders, while her
eyes grew blacker with resentment. She did not speak. Francis Markrute
stood by the mantelpiece, and lit a cigar before he continued; he knew
he must choose his words as he was dealing with no helpless thing.

"You are twenty-three years old, Zara, and you were married at
sixteen," he said at last. "And up to thirteen at least I know you were
very highly educated - You understand something of life, I expect."

"Life!" she said - and now there was a concentrated essence of bitterness
in her voice. "_Mon Dieu!_ Life - and men!"

"Yes, you probably think you know men."

She lifted her upper lip a little, and showed her even teeth - it was
like an animal snarling.

"I know that they are either selfish weaklings, or cruel, hateful brutes
like Ladislaus, or clever, successful financiers like you, my uncle.
That is enough! Something we women must be always sacrificed to."

"Well, you don't know Englishmen - "

"Yes, I remember my father very well; cold and hard to my darling
mother" - and here her voice trembled a little - "he only thought of
himself, and to rush to England for sport - and leave her alone for
months and months: selfish and vile - all of them!"

"In spite of that I have found you an English husband whom you will be
good enough to take, madame," Francis Markrute announced
authoritatively.

She gave a little laugh - if anything so mirthless could be called a
laugh.

"You have no power over me; I shall do no such thing."

"I think you will," the financier said with quiet assurance, "if I know
you. There are terms, of course - "

She glanced at him sharply: the expression in those somber eyes was
often alert like a wild animal's, about to be attacked; only she had
trained herself generally to keep the lids lowered.

"What are the terms?" she asked.

And as she spoke Francis Markrute thought of the black panther in the
Zoo, which he was so fond of going to watch on Sunday mornings, she
reminded him so of the beast at the moment.

He had been constrained up to this, but now, the question being one of
business, all his natural ease of manner returned, and he sat down
opposite her and blew rings of smoke from his cigar.

"The terms are that the boy Mirko, your half-brother, shall be provided
for for life. He shall live with decent people, and have his talent
properly cultivated - "

He stopped abruptly and remained silent.

Countess Shulski clasped her hands convulsively in her lap, and with all
the pride and control of her voice there was a note of anguish, too,
which would have touched any heart but one so firmly guarded as Francis
Markrute's.

"Ah, God!" she said so low that he could only just hear her, "I have
paid the price of my body and soul once for them. It is too much to ask
it of me a second time - "

"That is as you please," said the financier.

He seldom made a mistake in his methods with people. He left nothing to
chance; he led up the conversation to the right point, fired his bomb,
and then showed absolute indifference. To display interest in a move,
when one was really interested, was always a point to the adversary. He
maintained interest could be simulated when necessary, but must never be
shown when real. So he left his niece in silence, while she pondered
over his bargain, knowing full well what would be the result. She got up
from her chair and leaned upon the back of it, while her face looked
white as death in the dying afternoon's light.

"Can you realize what my life was like with Ladislaus?" she hissed. "A
plaything for his brutal pleasures, to begin with; a decoy duck to trap
the other men, I found afterwards; tortured and insulted from morning to
night. I hated him always, but he seemed so kind beforehand - kind to my
darling mother, whom you were leaving to die." - Here Francis Markrute
winced and a look of pain came into his hard face while he raised a hand
in protest and then dropped it again, as his niece went on - "And she
was beginning to be ill even at that time and we were so poor - so I
married him."

Then she swept toward the door with her empress air, the rather shabby,
dark dress making a swirl behind her; and as she got there she turned
and spoke again, with her hand on the bronze tracery of the fingerplate,
making, unconsciously, a highly dramatic picture, as a sudden last ray
of the sinking sun shot out and struck the glory of her hair, turning it
to flame above her brow.

"I tell you it is too much," she said, with almost a sob in her voice.
"I will not do it." And then she went out and closed the door.

Francis Markrute, left alone, leant back in his chair and puffed his
cigar calmly while he mused.

What strange things were women! Any man could manage them if only he
reckoned with their temperaments when dealing with them, and paid no
heed to their actual words. Francis Markrute was a philosopher. A number
of the shelves of this, his library, were filled with works on the
subject of philosophy, and a well-thumbed volume of the fragments of
Epicurus lay on a table by his side. He picked it up now and read: "He
who wastes his youth on high feeding, on wine, on women, forgets that he
is like a man who wears out his overcoat in the summer." He had not
wasted his youth either on wine or women, only he had studied both, and
their effects upon the thing which, until lately, had interested him
most in the world - himself. They could both be used to the greatest
advantage and pleasure by a man who apprehended things he knew.

Then he turned to the _Morning Post_ which was on a low stand near, and
he read again a paragraph which had pleased him at breakfast:

"The Duke of Glastonbury and Lady Ethelrida Montfitchet entertained at
dinner last night a small party at Glastonbury House, among the guests
being - " and here he skipped some high-sounding titles and let his eye
feast upon his own name, "Mr. Francis Markrute."

Then he smiled and gazed into the fire, and no one would have recognized
his hard, blue eyes, as he said softly:

"Ethelrida! _belle et blonde!_"


CHAPTER III


While the financier was contentedly musing in his chair beside the fire,
his niece was hurrying into the park, wrapped in a dark cloak and thick
veil. She had slipped out noiselessly, a few minutes after she left the
library. The sun had completely set now and it was damp and cold, with
the dead leaves, and the sodden autumn feeling in the air. Zara Shulski
shivered, in spite of the big cloak, as she peered into the gloom of the