The alluring possibility of finding those damnable green stones--the
unsuspected kink in his moral rectitude--had tumbled him into this pit.
Had not Kitty pronounced the name Stefani Gregor--in his mind always
linked with the emeralds--he would have summoned an ambulance and had
Hawksley carried off, despite Kitty's protests; and perhaps he would
have seen her but two or three times before sailing, seen her in
conventional and unemotional parts. At any rate, there would have been
none of this peculiar intimacy--Kitty coming to him in tears, opening
her young heart to him and discovering all its loneliness. If she
loved some chap it would not be so hard, the temptation would not be
so keen--to cheat her. Marry her, and then tell her. This dogged his
thoughts like a murderer's deed, terrible in the watches of the night.
Marry her, and then tell her. Cheat her. Break her heart and break his
own.

Fifty-two. Never before had he thought old. His splendid health and
vigorous mentality were the results of thinking young. But now he heard
the avalanche stirring, the whispering slither of the first pebbles. He
would grow old swiftly, thunderously. Kitty's youth would shore up the
debacle, suspend it indefinitely. Marry her, cheat her, and stay young.
Green stones, accursed.

Kitty's days were pleasant enough, but her nights were sieges. One
evening someone put Elman's rendition of Schubert's "Ave Maria" on the
phonograph. Long after it was over she sat motionless in her chair.
Echoes. The Tschaikowsky waltz. She got up suddenly, excused herself,
and went to her room.

Six days, and her problem was still unsolved. Something in
her--she could not define it, she could not reach it, it defied
analysis--something, then, revolted at the idea of marrying Cutty,
divorcing him, and living on his money. There was a touch of horror in
the suggestion. It was tearing her to pieces, this hidden repellence.
And yet this occult objection was so utterly absurd. If he died and left
her a legacy she would accept it gratefully enough. Cutty's plan was
only a method of circumventing this indefinite wait.

Comforts, the good things of life, amusements--simply by nodding her
head. Why not? It wasn't as if Cutty was asking her to be his wife;
he wasn't. Just wanted to dodge convention, and give her freedom and
happiness. He was only giving her a mite out of his income. Because
he had loved her mother; because, but for an accident of chance, she,