# The Isle of Retribution/Chapter 3
### III

The exact moment that her name was on Ned's lips, Lenore Hardenworth herself, in her apartment in a region of fashionable apartments eight blocks from the Cornet home, was also wondering at the perverse ways of parents. It was strange how their selfish interests could disarrange one's happiest plans. All in all, Lenore was in a wretched mood, savagely angry at the world in general and her mother in particular.
They had had a rather unpleasant half-hour over their cigarettes. Mrs. Hardenworth had been obdurate; Lenore's prettiest pouts and most winsome ways hadn't moved her a particle. The former knew all such little wiles; time was when she had practiced them herself with consummate art, and she was not likely to be taken in with them in her old age! Seeing that these were fruitless, her daughter had taken the more desperate stand of anger, always her last resort in getting what she wanted, but to-night it some way failed in the desired effect. There had been almost, if not quite, a scene between these two handsome women under the chandelier's gleam—and the results, from Lenore's point of view, had been absolutely nil. Mrs. Hardenworth had calmly stood her ground.
It was the way of the old, Lenore reflected, to give too much of their thought and interest to their own fancied ills. Not even a daughter's brilliant career could stand between. And who would have guessed that the “nervousness” her mother had complained of so long, pandered to by a fashionable quack and nursed like a baby by the woman herself, should ever lead to such disquieting results. The doctor had recommended a sea voyage to the woman, and the old fool had taken him at his word.
It was not that Lenore felt she could not spare, for some months, her mother's guiding influence. It was merely that sea voyages cost money, and money, at that particular time, was scarce and growing scarcer about the Hardenworth apartment. Lenore needed all that was available for her own fall and winter gowns, a mink or marten coat to take the place of her near-seal cloak, and for such entertaining as would be needed to hold her place in her own set. Seemingly the only course that remained was to move forward the date of her marriage to Ned, at present set for the following spring.
She dried her eyes, powdered her nose; and for all the late storm made a bewitching picture as she tripped to the door in answer to her fiancé's knock. Lenore Hardenworth was in all probability the most beautiful girl in her own stylish set and one of the most handsome women in her native city. She was really well known, remembered long and in many places, for her hair. It was simply shimmering gold, and it framed a face of flowerlike beauty,—an even-featured, oval face, softly tinted and daintily piquant. Hers was not a particularly warm beauty, yet it never failed to win a second glance. She had fine, firm lips, a delicate throat, and she had picked up an attractive way of half-dropping firm, white lids over her gray, langourous eyes.
No one could wonder that Lenore Hardenworth was a social success. Besides her beauty of face, the grace of a slender but well-muscled form, she unquestionably had a great deal of ambition and spirit. She was well schooled in the tricks of her trade: charming and ingratiating with her girl friends, sweet and deeply respectful to the old, and striking a fine balance between recklessness and demureness with available men. It can be said for Lenore that she wasted no time with men who were not eligible, in every sense of the word. Lenore had her way to make in this world of trial and stress.
Long ago Ned had chosen her from among her girl friends as the most worthy of his courtship,—a girl who could rule over his house, who loved the life that he lived, whose personal appeal was the greatest. Best of all, she was the product of his own time: a modern girl in every sense of the word. The puritanism he deplored in his own parents was conspicuously absent in her. She smoked with the ease and satisfaction of a man; she held her liquor like a veteran; and of prudery she would never be accused. Not that she was ever rough or crude. Indeed there was a finesse about her harmless little immoralities that made them, to him, wholly adorable and charming. She was always among the first to learn the new dances, and no matter what their murky origin—whether the Barbary Coast or some sordid tenderloin of a great Eastern city—she seemed to be able to dance them without ever conveying the image of vulgarity. Her idea of pleasure ran along with his. Life, at her side, offered only the most delectable vistas.
Besides, the man loved her. His devotion was such that it was the subject of considerable amusement among the more sophisticated of their set. He'd take the egg, rather than the horse-and-buggy, they told each other, and to those inured in the newest slang, the meaning was simply that Lenore, rather than Ned, would be head of their house. The reason, they explained wisely, was that it spelled disaster to give too much of one's self to a wife these days. Such devotion put a man at a disadvantage. The woman, sure of her husband, would be speedily bored and soon find other interests. Of course Lenore loved him too, but she kept herself better in hand. For all his modern viewpoint, it was to be doubted that Ned had got completely away from the influence of a dead and moth-eaten generation. Possibly some little vestige of his parent's puritanism prevailed in him still!
Ned came in soberly, kissed the girl's inviting lips, then sat beside her on the big divan. Studying his grave face, she waited for him to speak.
“Bad news,” he said at last.
She caught her breath in a quick gasp. It was a curious thing, indicating, perhaps, a more devout interest in him than her friends gave her credit for, that a sudden sense of dismay seemed to sweep over her. Yet surely no great disaster had befallen. There was no cause to fear that some one of the mighty arms on which they leaned for happiness—the great fur house of Cornet, for instance—had weakened and fallen. Some of the warm color paled in her face.
“What is it?” She spoke almost breathlessly, and he turned toward her with wakened interest.
“Nothing very important,” he told her casually. “I'm afraid I startled you with my lugubrious tones. I've got to go away for three months.”
She stared a moment in silence, and a warm flush, higher and more angry than that which had just faded, returned to her cheeks. Just for an instant there was a vague, almost imperceptible hardening of the little lines about her beautiful eyes.
“Ned! You can't! After all our plans. I won't hear of it——”
“Wait, dearest!” the man pleaded. “Of course I won't go if you say not——”
“Of course I say not——”
“But it's a real opportunity—to make forty or fifty thousand. Wait till I tell you about it, any way.”
He told her simply: the exact plan that his father had proposed. Her interest quickened as he talked. She had a proper respect for wealth, and the idea of the large profits went home speedily and surely to her imagination, shutting out for the moment all other aspects of the affair. And soon she found herself sitting erect, listening keenly to his every word.
The idea of trading obsolete gowns for beautiful furs was particularly attractive to her. “I've got some old things I could spare,” she told him eagerly. “Why couldn't you take those with you and trade them to some old squaw for furs?”
“I could! I don't see why I shouldn't bring you back some beauties.”
Her eyes were suddenly lustful. “I'd like some silver fox—and enough sable for a great wrap. Oh, Ned—do you think you could get them for me?”
His face seemed rather drawn and mirthless as he returned her stare. It had been too complete a victory. It can be said for the man that he had come with the idea of persuading Lenore to let him go, to let him leave her arms for the sake of the advantages to be accrued from the expedition, but at least he wanted her to show some regret. He didn't entirely relish her sudden, unbounded enthusiasm, and the avaricious gleam in her eyes depressed and estranged him.
But Lenore made no response to his darkened mood. Sensitive as she usually was, she seemed untouched by it, wholly unaware of his displeasure. She was thinking of silver fox, and the thought was as fascinating as that of gold to a miser. And now her mind was reaching farther, moving in a greater orbit, and for the moment she sat almost breathless. Suddenly she turned to him with shining eyes.
“Ned, what kind of a trip will this be?” she asked him.
He was more held by the undertone of excitement in her voice than by the question itself. “What is it?” he asked. “What do you mean——?”
“I mean—will it be a hard trip—one of danger and discomfort?”
“I don't think so. I'm going to get a comfortable yacht—it will be a launch, of course, but a big, comfortable one—have a good cook and pleasant surroundings. You know, traveling by water has got any other method skinned. In fact, it ought to be as comfortable as staying at a club, not to mention the sport in hunting, and so on. I don't intend to go too far or too long—your little Ned doesn't like discomfort any too well to deliberately hunt it up. I can make it just as easy a trip as I want. It's all in my hands—hiring crew, schooner, itinerary, and everything. Of course, father told a wild story about cold and hardship and danger, but I don't believe there's a thing in it.”
“I don't either. It makes me laugh, those wild and woolly stories about the North! It's just about as wild as Ballard! Edith Courtney went clear to Juneau and back on a boat not long ago and didn't have a single adventure—except with a handsome young big-game hunter in the cabin.”
“But Juneau—is just the beginning of Alaska!”
“I don't care. This hardship they talk about is all poppycock, and you know it—and the danger too. To hear your father talk, and some of the others of the older generation, you'd think they had been through the infernal regions! They didn't have the sporting instincts that've been developed in the last generation, Ned. Any one of our friends would go through what they went through and not even bother to tell about it. I tell you this generation is better and stronger than any one that preceded it, and their stories of privation and danger are just a scream! I'm no more afraid of the North than I am of you.”
She paused, and he stared at her blankly. He knew perfectly well that some brilliant idea had occurred to her: he was simply waiting for her to tell it. She moved nearer and slipped her hand between his.
“Ned, I've a wonderful plan,” she told him. “There's no reason why we should be separated for three months. You say the hiring of the launch, itinerary, and everything is in your hands. Why not take mother and me with you?”
“My dear——”
“Why not? Tell me that! The doctor has just recommended her a sea trip. Where could she get a better one? Of course you'd have to get a big, comfortable launch——
“I intended to get that, anyway.” Slowly the light that shone in her face stole into his. “Are you a good sailor——
“It just happens that neither mother nor I know what seasickness means. Otherwise, I'm afraid we wouldn't find very much pleasure in the trip. You remember the time, in Rex Nard's yacht, off Columbia River bar? But won't you be in the inside passage, anyway?”
“The inside passage doesn't go across the Bay of Alaska—but father says it's all quiet water among the islands we'll trade at, in Bering Sea. It freezes over tight in winter, so it must be quiet.” He paused, drinking in the advantages of the plan. They would be together; that point alone was inducement enough for him. By one stroke an arduous, unpleasant business venture could be turned into a pleasure trip, an excursion on a private yacht over the wintry waters of the North. It was true that Lenore's point of view was slightly different, but her enthusiasm was no less than his. The plan was a perfect answer to the problem of her mother's sea trip and the inevitable expense involved. She knew her mother's thrifty disposition; she would be only too glad to take her voyage as the guest of her daughter's fiancé. And both of them could robe themselves in such furs as had never been seen on Second Avenue before.
“Take you—I should say I will take you—and your mother, too,” he was exclaiming with the utmost enthusiasm and delight. “Lenore, it will be a regular party—a joy ride such as we never took before.”
For a moment they were silent, lost in their own musings. The wind off the Sound signaled to them at the windows—rattling faintly like ghost hands stretched with infinite difficulty from some dim, far-off Hereafter. It had lately blown from Bering Sea, and perhaps it had a message for them. Perhaps it had heard the scornful words they had spoken of the North—of the strange, gray, forgotten world over which it had lately swept—but there was no need to tell them that they lied. A few days more would find them venturing northward, and they could find out for themselves. But perhaps the wind had a note of grim, sardonic laughter as it sped on in its ceaseless journey.