“Some day,” she said, “a big comet will hit this law-ridden, man-regulated earth—­or the earth will slip a cog and go wabbling out of its orbit into interstellar space and side-wipe another planet—­or it will ultimately freeze up like the moon.  And who will care then how Valerie West loved Louis Neville?—­or what letters in a forgotten language spelled ‘wife’ and what letters spelled ‘mistress’?  After all, I am not afraid of words.  Nor do I fear what is in my heart.  God reads it as I stand here; and he can see no selfishness in it.  So if merely loving you all my life—­and proving it—­is an evil thing to do, I shall be punished; but I’m going to do it and find out what celestial justice really thinks about it.”

CHAPTER VIII

Valerie was busy—­exceedingly busy arranging matters, in view of the great change impending.

She began by balancing her check book, comparing stubs with cancelled checks, adding and verifying sums total, filing away paid bills and paying the remainder—­a financial operation which did not require much time, but to which she applied herself with all the seriousness of a wealthy man hunting through a check book which will not balance, for a few pennies that ought to be his.

For since she had any accounts at all to keep, she had kept them with method and determination.  Her genius for order was inherent:  even when she possessed nothing except the clothes she wore, she had always kept them in perfect condition.  And now that her popularity in business gave her a bank balance and permitted some of the intimate little luxuries that make for a woman’s self-respect, a perfect passion for order and method possessed her.

The tiny bedroom which she inhabited, and the adjoining bathroom, were always immaculate.  Every week she made an inventory of her few but pretty garments, added or subtracted from her memorandum, went over her laundry list, noted and laid aside whatever clothing needed repairs.

Once a week, too, she inspected her hats, foot-wear, furs; dusted the three rows of books, emptied and cleaned the globe in which a solitary goldfish swam, goggling his eyes in the sunshine, and scrubbed the porcelain perching pole on which her parrot sat all day in the bathroom window making limited observations in French, Spanish, and English, and splitting red peppers and dried watermelon seeds with his heavy curved beak.  He was a gorgeous bird, with crimson and turquoise blue on him, and a capacity for deviltry restrained only by a silver anklet and chain, gifts from Querida, as was also the parrot.

So Valerie, in view of the great change impending, began to put her earthly house in order—­without any particular reason, however, because the great change would not affect her quarters or her living in them.  Nor could she afford to permit it to interfere with her business career for which perfect independence was necessary.