The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1928-08-14
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CHAPTER XII

FARGO said good night to BERTHE
( iVH Lou with great reluctance. He
Thought she was really Ill and
needed the attention of a physician.
- But BERTHE Lou would not consent
TO have him take her to the doctor.
who had attended her during her
nervous breakdown, as he wished
to do.
Lets Just stop at the hospital a
minute Marco pleaded when they
got back to the city.
mo, no. I'm all right" Berthe
Lou protested. Marco old not be-
lieve her. She looked so tortured,
with a wild, feverish light in her
eyes, and a heartbreaking way of
pressing her f1nger-tip to her lips,
as though to keep back a cry OF
anguish.
"You shouldn't have come out
today" Marco told her reproach-
fully. Buying that house was too
much for you, BERTHE Lou. OF
course it's your own affair, but that
sort Of sentimental indulgence is
worse for you than the kind of
things you say you won't do any
more"
Marco spoke harshly. 1t an
noyed him that BERTHE Lou wouldn't
take him into her confidence about
the house. He could guess that it
meant something close to her heart.
And he was jealous of her interests.
In reality he was gratified at the
change in her, the way she was
turning her back on the drinking,
jazzing, youth-squadering life they
had been leading. It would give him
a strong factor in favor of his mar
riage to her when the time came to
talk to his father about it.
But he wished that his reason for
being pleased was the same as her
reason for changing. Wished it had
been for him that she'd settled down
to live quietly and not for some Sc
cret cause. A cause that had to do
with another man, no doubt.
He suspected, of course, that the
man was her husband. The suspi-
cion prodded him to harshness.
Then, too. he dreaded leaving Ber-
tie Lou without someone to look
after her during the night.
He remembered, with a pang of
remorse, that it had been he who
had made it possible for her to
follow the health-wrecking road
that leads from pleasure haunt to
pleasure haunt.
He thought of that day on the
train when he'd met her for the
first time. She had been aloof, I'M
willing to promise a future meeting.
He'd never expected to hear from
her again.
1t was easy to guess now, in the
face Of his greater knowledge of
her, that she had been driven by
unhappinesS to seek his companion
ship. She could, he offered in his
own defense, have found another
willing courier on her voyage to
hospital cot.
But-and this was what troubled
his conscience-there had been
times along the way when her spirit
had Jagged and her feet had grown
weary-times when he knew she
was tired of the brittle hollowness
of their contact with. a world of
incandescent radiance, mad music,
and don't care" people.
Close to her laughter had been
honest tears. Her dancing feet had
wanted to stop, And Marco had
known it.
He admitted, to himself, that he
had known it. And now it troubled
him that he had urged her on,
piqued her when he could, done
everything, in fact, that he could
think Of to keep her going.
He had always liked her, from
the start of their friendship. He
hadn't wanted her to drop out.
You're in no condition to be left
alone" he burst forth Grossly, seek
ing, in a solicitude for her, to put
down his trobleSome self search
ing.
BERTHE Louis nerves we're begin
ming to cover her body with the feel
of fine network of soaring wires.
She knew what that meant. The
hospital cot again. Somehow she
must hang on, must keep calm.
Marco had been right. The emo
tional crisis she had undergone in
buying the house of Rods dreams
had upset her. No, it was Marco
himself, with his amending desire to
marry her.
She knew better. It wasn't Marco.
It was her memory, Cameo clear.
Dear God, couldn't she forget the
past! That hot night in her room.
So brave she'd bee--to marry Lila
Marsh's CASTOR sutton.
The heat might have come from
a crucible wherein burned her
chance for happiness. And then
she had only to think little further
to feel Rods kisses upon her hair,
her eyes, her lips. Sweet, the hour
Of youth.
Marco was saying something.
She would not listen. Why try
not to relieve her brief joy when
it was impossible to forget it?
Marco would be talking sense, and
there was no sense in the world.
She could not ignore him,
though; she must not. If she sank
so far into the past as to forget
him entirely she might lose con-
seriousness. She felt as it she could
sink into a stupor from sheer in