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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Place of Honeymoons
+
+Author: Harold MacGrath
+
+Illustrator: Arthur I. Keller
+
+Release Date: September 11, 2008 [EBook #26593]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "Your address!" bawled the Duke.]
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS
+
+By
+HAROLD MACGRATH
+
+Author of
+THE MAN ON THE BOX, THE GOOSE GIRL,
+THE CARPET FROM BAGDAD, ETC.
+
+WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+ARTHUR I. KELLER
+
+INDIANAPOLIS
+THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
+PUBLISHERS
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Copyright 1912
+The Bobbs-Merrill Company
+
+PRESS OF
+BRAUNWORTH & CO.
+BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
+BROOKLYN, N. Y.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+                              To B. O'G.
+
+                  Horace calls no more to me,
+                     Homer in the dust-heap lies:
+                  I have found my Odyssey
+                  In the lightness of her glee,
+                     In the laughter of her eyes.
+
+                  Ovid's page is thumbed no more,
+                     E'en Catullus has no choice!
+                  There is endless, precious lore,
+                  Such as I ne'er knew before,
+                     In the music of her voice.
+
+                  Breath of hyssop steeped in wine,
+                     Breath of violets and furze,
+                  Wild-wood roses, Grecian myrrhs,
+                  All these perfumes do combine
+                     In that maiden breath of hers.
+
+                  Nay, I look not at the skies,
+                     Nor the sun that hillward slips,
+                  For the day lives or it dies
+                  In the laughter of her eyes,
+                     In the music of her lips!
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER                            PAGE
+     I.  At the Stage Door            1
+    II.  There Is a Woman?           19
+   III.  The Beautiful Tigress       36
+    IV.  The Joke of Monsieur        53
+     V.  Captive or Runaway          74
+    VI.  The Bird Behind Bars       103
+   VII.  Battling Jimmie            126
+  VIII.  Moonlight and a Prince     146
+    IX.  Colonel Caxley-Webster     166
+     X.  Marguerites and Emeralds   185
+    XI.  At the Crater's Edge       202
+   XII.  Dick Courtlandt's Boy      214
+  XIII.  Everything But the Truth   232
+   XIV.  A Comedy with Music        249
+    XV.  Herr Rosen's Regrets       265
+   XVI.  The Apple of Discord       282
+  XVII.  The Ball at the Villa      303
+ XVIII.  Pistols for Two            326
+   XIX.  Courtlandt Tells a Story   345
+    XX.  Journey's End              363
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+AT THE STAGE DOOR
+
+
+Courtlandt sat perfectly straight; his ample shoulders did not touch the
+back of his chair; and his arms were folded tightly across his chest. The
+characteristic of his attitude was tenseness. The nostrils were well
+defined, as in one who sets the upper jaw hard upon the nether. His brown
+eyes--their gaze directed toward the stage whence came the voice of the
+prima donna--epitomized the tension, expressed the whole as in a word.
+
+Just now the voice was pathetically subdued, yet reached every part of the
+auditorium, kindling the ear with its singularly mellowing sweetness. To
+Courtlandt it resembled, as no other sound, the note of a muffled Burmese
+gong, struck in the dim incensed cavern of a temple. A Burmese gong:
+briefly and magically the stage, the audience, the amazing gleam and
+scintillation of the Opera, faded. He heard only the voice and saw only
+the purple shadows in the temple at Rangoon, the oriental sunset splashing
+the golden dome, the wavering lights of the dripping candles, the dead
+flowers, the kneeling devoteés, the yellow-robed priests, the tatters of
+gold-leaf, fresh and old, upon the rows of placid grinning Buddhas. The
+vision was of short duration. The sigh, which had been so long repressed,
+escaped; his shoulders sank a little, and the angle of his chin became
+less resolute; but only for a moment. Tension gave place to an ironical
+grimness. The brows relaxed, but the lips became firmer. He listened, with
+this new expression unchanging, to the high note that soared above all
+others. The French horns blared and the timpani crashed. The curtain sank
+slowly. The audience rustled, stood up, sought its wraps, and pressed
+toward the exits and the grand staircase. It was all over.
+
+Courtlandt took his leave in leisure. Here and there he saw familiar
+faces, but these, after the finding glance, he studiously avoided. He
+wanted to be alone. For while the music was still echoing in his ears, in
+a subtone, his brain was afire with keen activity; but unfortunately for
+the going forward of things, this mental state was divided into so many
+battalions, led by so many generals, indirectly and indecisively, nowhere.
+This plan had no beginning, that one had no ending, and the other neither
+beginning nor ending. Outside he lighted a cigar, not because at that
+moment he possessed a craving for nicotine, but because like all
+inveterate smokers he believed that tobacco conduced to clarity of
+thought. And mayhap it did. At least, there presently followed a mental
+calm that expelled all this confusion. The goal waxed and waned as he
+gazed down the great avenue with its precise rows of lamps. Far away he
+could discern the outline of the brooding Louvre.
+
+There was not the least hope in the world for him to proceed toward his
+goal this night. He realized this clearly, now that he was face to face
+with actualities. It required more than the chaotic impulses that had
+brought him back from the jungles of the Orient. He must reason out a plan
+that should be like a straight line, the shortest distance between two
+given points. How then should he pass the night, since none of his schemes
+could possibly be put into operation? Return to his hotel and smoke
+himself headachy? Try to become interested in a novel? Go to bed, to turn
+and roll till dawn? A wild desire seized him to make a night of
+it,--Maxim's, the cabarets; riot and wine. Who cared? But the desire burnt
+itself out between two puffs of his cigar. Ten years ago, perhaps, this
+particular brand of amusement might have urged him successfully. But not
+now; he was done with tomfool nights. Indeed, his dissipations had been
+whimsical rather than banal; and retrospection never aroused a furtive
+sense of shame.
+
+He was young, but not so young as an idle glance might conjecture in
+passing. To such casual reckoning he appeared to be in the early twenties;
+but scrutiny, more or less infallible, noting a line here or an angle
+there, was disposed to add ten years to the score. There was in the nose
+and chin a certain decisiveness which in true youth is rarely developed.
+This characteristic arrives only with manhood, manhood that has been tried
+and perhaps buffeted and perchance a little disillusioned. To state that
+one is young does not necessarily imply youth; for youth is something that
+is truly green and tender, not rounded out, aimless, light-hearted and
+desultory, charming and inconsequent. If man regrets his youth it is not
+for the passing of these pleasing, though tangled attributes, but rather
+because there exists between the two periods of progression a series of
+irremediable mistakes. And the subject of this brief commentary could look
+back on many a grievous one brought about by pride or carelessness rather
+than by intent.
+
+But what was one to do who had both money and leisure linked to an
+irresistible desire to leave behind one place or thing in pursuit of
+another, indeterminately? At one time he wanted to be an artist, but his
+evenly balanced self-criticism had forced him to fling his daubs into the
+ash-heap. They were good daubs in a way, but were laid on without fire;
+such work as any respectable schoolmarm might have equaled if not
+surpassed. Then he had gone in for engineering; but precise and intricate
+mathematics required patience of a quality not at his command.
+
+The inherent ambition was to make money; but recognizing the absurdity of
+adding to his income, which even in his extravagance he could not spend,
+he gave himself over into the hands of grasping railroad and steamship
+companies, or their agencies, and became for a time the slave of guide and
+dragoman and carrier. And then the wanderlust, descended to him from the
+blood of his roving Dutch ancestors, which had lain dormant in the several
+generations following, sprang into active life again. He became known in
+every port of call. He became known also in the wildernesses. He had
+climbed almost inaccessible mountains, in Europe, in Asia; he had fished
+and hunted north, east, south and west; he had fitted out polar
+expeditions; he had raided the pearl markets; he had made astonishing
+gifts to women who had pleased his fancy, but whom he did not know or seek
+to know; he had kept some of his intimate friends out of bankruptcy; he
+had given the most extravagant dinners at one season and, unknown, had
+supported a bread-line at another; he had even financed a musical comedy.
+
+Whatever had for the moment appealed to his fancy, that he had done. That
+the world--his world--threw up its hands in wonder and despair neither
+disturbed him nor swerved him in the least. He was alone, absolute master
+of his millions. Mamas with marriageable daughters declared that he was
+impossible; the marriageable daughters never had a chance to decide one
+way or the other; and men called him a fool. He had promoted elephant
+fights which had stirred the Indian princes out of their melancholy
+indifference, and tiger hunts which had, by their duration and
+magnificence, threatened to disrupt the efficiency of the British military
+service,--whimsical excesses, not understandable by his intimate
+acquaintances who cynically arraigned him as the fool and his money.
+
+But, like the villain in the play, his income still pursued him. Certain
+scandals inevitably followed, scandals he was the last to hear about and
+the last to deny when he heard them. Many persons, not being able to take
+into the mind and analyze a character like Courtlandt's, sought the line
+of least resistance for their understanding, and built some precious
+exploits which included dusky island-princesses, diaphanous dancers, and
+comic-opera stars.
+
+Simply, he was without direction; a thousand goals surrounded him and none
+burned with that brightness which draws a man toward his destiny: until
+one day. Personally, he possessed graces of form and feature, and was
+keener mentally than most young men who inherit great fortunes and
+distinguished names.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Automobiles of all kinds panted hither and thither. An occasional smart
+coupé went by as if to prove that prancing horses were still necessary to
+the dignity of the old aristocracy. Courtlandt made up his mind suddenly.
+He laughed with bitterness. He knew now that to loiter near the stage
+entrance had been his real purpose all along, and persistent lying to
+himself had not prevailed. In due time he took his stand among the gilded
+youth who were not privileged (like their more prosperous elders) to wait
+outside the dressing-rooms for their particular ballerina. By and by there
+was a little respectful commotion. Courtlandt's hand went instinctively to
+his collar, not to ascertain if it were properly adjusted, but rather to
+relieve the sudden pressure. He was enraged at his weakness. He wanted to
+turn away, but he could not.
+
+A woman issued forth, muffled in silks and light furs. She was followed by
+another, quite possibly her maid. One may observe very well at times from
+the corner of the eye; that is, objects at which one is not looking come
+within the range of vision. The woman paused, her foot upon the step of
+the modest limousine. She whispered something hurriedly into her
+companion's ear, something evidently to the puzzlement of the latter, who
+looked around irresolutely. She obeyed, however, and retreated to the
+stage entrance. A man, quite as tall as Courtlandt, his face shaded
+carefully, intentionally perhaps, by one of those soft Bavarian hats that
+are worn successfully only by Germans, stepped out of the gathering to
+proffer his assistance. Courtlandt pushed him aside calmly, lifted his
+hat, and smiling ironically, closed the door behind the singer. The step
+which the other man made toward Courtlandt was unequivocal in its meaning.
+But even as Courtlandt squared himself to meet the coming outburst, the
+stranger paused, shrugged his shoulders, turned and made off.
+
+The lady in the limousine--very pale could any have looked closely into
+her face--was whirled away into the night. Courtlandt did not stir from
+the curb. The limousine dwindled, once it flashed under a light, and then
+vanished.
+
+"It is the American," said one of the waiting dandies.
+
+"The icicle!"
+
+"The volcano, rather, which fools believe extinct."
+
+"Probably sent back her maid for her Bible. Ah, these Americans; they are
+very amusing."
+
+"She was in magnificent voice to-night. I wonder why she never sings
+_Carmen_?"
+
+"Have I not said that she is too cold? What! would you see frost grow upon
+the toreador's mustache? And what a name, what a name! Eleonora da
+Toscana!"
+
+Courtlandt was not in the most amiable condition of mind, and a hint of
+the ribald would have instantly transformed a passive anger into a blind
+fury. Thus, a scene hung precariously; but its potentialities became as
+nothing on the appearance of another woman.
+
+This woman was richly dressed, too richly. Apparently she had trusted her
+modiste not wisely but too well: there was the strange and unaccountable
+inherent love of fine feathers and warm colors which is invariably the
+mute utterance of peasant blood. She was followed by a Russian, huge of
+body, Jovian of countenance. An expensive car rolled up to the curb. A
+liveried footman jumped down from beside the chauffeur and opened the
+door. The diva turned her head this way and that, a thin smile of
+satisfaction stirring her lips. For Flora Desimone loved the human eye
+whenever it stared admiration into her own; and she spent half her days
+setting traps and lures, rather successfully. She and her formidable
+escort got into the car which immediately went away with a soft purring
+sound. There was breeding in the engine, anyhow, thought Courtlandt, who
+longed to put his strong fingers around that luxurious throat which had,
+but a second gone, passed him so closely.
+
+"We shall never have war with Russia," said some one; "her dukes love
+Paris too well."
+
+Light careless laughter followed this cynical observation. Another time
+Courtlandt might have smiled. He pushed his way into the passage leading
+to the dressing-rooms, and followed its windings until he met a human
+barrier. To his inquiry the answer was abrupt and perfectly clear in its
+meaning: La Signorina da Toscana had given most emphatic orders not to
+disclose her address to any one. Monsieur might, if he pleased, make
+further inquiries of the directors; the answer there would be the same.
+Presently he found himself gazing down the avenue once more. There were a
+thousand places to go to, a thousand pleasant things to do; yet he
+doddered, full of ill-temper, dissatisfaction, and self-contempt. He was
+weak, damnably weak; and for years he had admired himself, detachedly, as
+a man of pride. He started forward, neither sensing his direction nor the
+perfected flavor of his Habana.
+
+Opera singers were truly a race apart. They lived in the world but were
+not a part of it, and when they died, left only a memory which faded in
+one generation and became totally forgotten in another. What jealousies,
+what petty bickerings, what extravagances! With fancy and desire
+unchecked, what ingenious tricks they used to keep themselves in the
+public mind,--tricks begot of fickleness and fickleness begetting. And
+yet, it was a curious phase: their influence was generally found when
+history untangled for posterity some Gordian knot. In old times they had
+sung the _Marseillaise_ and danced the _carmagnole_ and indirectly plied
+the guillotine. And to-day they smashed prime ministers, petty kings, and
+bankers, and created fashions for the ruin of husbands and fathers of
+modest means. Devil take them! And Courtlandt flung his cigar into the
+street.
+
+He halted. The Madeleine was not exactly the goal for a man who had, half
+an hour before, contemplated a rout at Maxim's. His glance described a
+half-circle. There was Durand's; but Durand's on opera nights entertained
+many Americans, and he did not care to meet any of his compatriots
+to-night. So he turned down the Rue Royale, on the opposite side, and went
+into the Taverne Royale, where the patrons were not over particular in
+regard to the laws of fashion, and where certain ladies with light
+histories sought further adventures to add to their heptamerons. Now,
+Courtlandt thought neither of the one nor of the other. He desired
+isolation, safety from intrusion; and here, did he so signify, he could
+find it. Women gazed up at him and smiled, with interest as much as with
+invitation. He was brown from long exposure to the wind and the sun, that
+golden brown which is the gift of the sun-glitter on rocking seas. A
+traveler is generally indicated by this artistry of the sun, and once
+noted instantly creates a speculative interest. Even his light brown hair
+had faded at the temples, and straw-colored was the slender mustache, the
+ends of which had a cavalier twist. He ignored the lips which smiled and
+the eyes which invited, and nothing more was necessary. One is not
+importuned at the Taverne Royale. He sat down at a vacant table and
+ordered a pint of champagne, drinking hastily rather than thirstily.
+
+Would Monsieur like anything to eat?
+
+No, the wine was sufficient.
+
+Courtlandt poured out a second glass slowly. The wine bubbled up to the
+brim and overflowed. He had been looking at the glass with unseeing eyes.
+He set the bottle down impatiently. Fool! To have gone to Burma, simply to
+stand in the golden temple once more, in vain, to recall that other time:
+the starving kitten held tenderly in a woman's arms, his own scurry among
+the booths to find the milk so peremptorily ordered, and the smile of
+thanks that had been his reward! He had run away when he should have hung
+on. He should have fought every inch of the way....
+
+"Monsieur is lonely?"
+
+A pretty young woman sat down before him in the vacant chair.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THERE IS A WOMAN?
+
+
+Anger, curiosity, interest; these sensations blanketed one another
+quickly, leaving only interest, which was Courtlandt's normal state of
+mind when he saw a pretty woman. It did not require very keen scrutiny on
+his part to arrive swiftly at the conclusion that this one was not quite
+in the picture. Her cheeks were not red with that redness which has a
+permanency of tone, neither waxing nor waning, abashed in daylight. Nor
+had her lips found their scarlet moisture from out the depths of certain
+little porcelain boxes. Decidedly she was out of place here, yet she
+evinced no embarrassment; she was cool, at ease. Courtlandt's interest
+strengthened.
+
+"Why do you think I am lonely, Mademoiselle?" he asked, without smiling.
+
+"Oh, when one talks to one's self, strikes the table, wastes good wine,
+the inference is but natural. So, Monsieur is lonely."
+
+Her lips and eyes, as grave and smileless as his own, puzzled him. An
+adventure? He looked at some of the other women. Those he could
+understand, but this one, no. At all times he was willing to smile, yet to
+draw her out he realized that he must preserve his gravity unbroken. The
+situation was not usual. His gaze came back to her.
+
+"Is the comparison favorable to me?" she asked.
+
+"It is. What is loneliness?" he demanded cynically.
+
+"Ah, I could tell you," she answered. "It is the longing to be with the
+one we love; it is the hate of the wicked things we have done; it is
+remorse."
+
+"That echoes of the Ambigu-Comique." He leaned upon his arms. "What are
+you doing here?"
+
+"I?"
+
+"Yes. You do not talk like the other girls who come here."
+
+"Monsieur comes here frequently, then?"
+
+"This is the first time in five years. I came here to-night because I
+wanted to be alone, because I did not wish to meet any one I knew. I have
+scowled at every girl in the room, and they have wisely left me alone. I
+haven't scowled at you because I do not know what to make of you. That's
+frankness. Now, you answer my question."
+
+"Would you spare me a glass of wine? I am thirsty."
+
+He struck his hands together, a bit of orientalism he had brought back
+with him. The observant waiter instantly came forward with a glass.
+
+The young woman sipped the wine, gazing into the glass as she did so.
+"Perhaps a whim brought me here. But I repeat, Monsieur is lonely."
+
+"So lonely that I am almost tempted to put you into a taxicab and run away
+with you."
+
+She set down the glass.
+
+"But I sha'n't," he added.
+
+The spark of eagerness in her eyes was instantly curtained. "There is a
+woman?" tentatively.
+
+"Is there not always a woman?"
+
+"And she has disappointed Monsieur?" There was no marked sympathy in the
+tone.
+
+"Since Eve, has that not been woman's part in the human comedy?" He was
+almost certain that her lips became firmer. "Smile, if you wish. It is not
+prohibitory here."
+
+It was evident that the smile had been struggling for existence, for it
+endured to the fulness of half a minute. She had fine teeth. He
+scrutinized her more closely, and she bore it well. The forehead did not
+make for beauty; it was too broad and high, intellectual. Her eyes were
+splendid. There was nothing at all ordinary about her. His sense of
+puzzlement renewed itself and deepened. What did she want of him? There
+were other men, other vacant chairs.
+
+"Monsieur is certain about the taxicab?"
+
+"Absolutely."
+
+"Ah, it is to emulate Saint Anthony!"
+
+"There are several saints of that name. To which do you refer?"
+
+"Positively not to him of Padua."
+
+Courtlandt laughed. "No, I can not fancy myself being particularly
+concerned about bambini. No, my model is Noah."
+
+"Noah?" dubiously.
+
+"Yes. At the time of the flood there was only one woman in the world."
+
+"I am afraid that your knowledge of that event is somewhat obscured.
+Still, I understand."
+
+She lifted the wine-glass again, and then he noticed her hand. It was
+large, white and strong; it was not the hand of a woman who dallied, who
+idled in primrose paths.
+
+"Tell me, what is it you wish? You interest me, at a moment, too, when I
+do not want to be interested. Are you really in trouble? Is there anything
+I can do ... barring the taxicab?"
+
+She twirled the glass, uneasily. "I am not in actual need of assistance."
+
+"But you spoke peculiarly regarding loneliness."
+
+"Perhaps I like the melodrama. You spoke of the Ambigu-Comique."
+
+"You are on the stage?"
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"The Opera?"
+
+"Again perhaps."
+
+He laughed once more, and drew his chair closer to the table.
+
+"Monsieur in other moods must have a pleasant laughter."
+
+"I haven't laughed from the heart in a very long time," he said, returning
+to his former gravity, this time unassumed.
+
+"And I have accomplished this amazing thing?"
+
+"No. You followed me here. But from where?"
+
+"Followed you?" The effort to give a mocking accent to her voice was a
+failure.
+
+"Yes. The idea just occurred to me. There were other vacant chairs, and
+there was nothing inviting in my facial expression. Come, let me have the
+truth."
+
+"I have a friend who knows Flora Desimone."
+
+"Ah!" As if this information was a direct visitation of kindness from the
+gods. "Then you know where the Calabrian lives? Give me her address."
+
+There was a minute wrinkle above the unknown's nose; the shadow of a
+frown. "She is very beautiful."
+
+"Bah! Did she send you after me? Give me her address. I have come all the
+way from Burma to see Flora Desimone."
+
+"To see her?" She unguardedly clothed the question with contempt, but she
+instantly forced a smile to neutralize the effect. Concerned with her own
+defined conclusions, she lost the fine ironic bitterness that was in the
+man's voice.
+
+"Aye, indeed, to see her! Beautiful as Venus, as alluring as Phryne, I
+want nothing so much as to see her, to look into her eyes, to hear her
+voice!"
+
+"Is it jealousy? I hear the tragic note." The certainty of her ground
+became as morass again. In his turn he was puzzling her.
+
+"Tragedy? I am an American. We do not kill opera singers. We turn them
+over to the critics. I wish to see the beautiful Flora, to ask her a few
+questions. If she has sent you after me, her address, my dear young lady,
+her address." His eyes burned.
+
+"I am afraid." And she was so. This wasn't the tone of a man madly in
+love. It was wild anger.
+
+"Afraid of what?"
+
+"You."
+
+"I will give you a hundred francs." He watched her closely and shrewdly.
+
+Came the little wrinkle again, but this time urged in perplexity. "A
+hundred francs, for something I was sent to tell you?"
+
+"And now refuse."
+
+"It is very generous. She has a heart of flint, Monsieur."
+
+"Well I know it. Perhaps now I have one of steel."
+
+"Many sparks do not make a fire. Do you know that your French is very
+good?"
+
+"I spent my boyhood in Paris; some of it. Her address, if you please." He
+produced a crisp note for a hundred francs. "Do you want it?"
+
+She did not answer at once. Presently she opened her purse, found a stubby
+pencil and a slip of paper, and wrote. "There it is, Monsieur." She held
+out her hand for the bank-note which, with a sense of bafflement, he gave
+her. She folded the note and stowed it away with the pencil.
+
+"Thank you," said Courtlandt. "Odd paper, though." He turned it over. "Ah,
+I understand. You copy music."
+
+"Yes, Monsieur."
+
+This time the nervous flicker of her eyes did not escape him. "You are
+studying for the opera, perhaps?"
+
+"Yes, that is it."
+
+The eagerness of the admission convinced him that she was not. Who she was
+or whence she had come no longer excited his interest. He had the
+Calabrian's address and he was impatient to be off.
+
+"Good night." He rose.
+
+"Monsieur is not gallant."
+
+"I was in my youth," he replied, putting on his hat.
+
+The bald rudeness of his departure did not disturb her. She laughed softly
+and relievedly. Indeed, there was in the laughter an essence of mischief.
+However, if he carried away a mystery, he left one behind.
+
+As he was hunting for a taxicab, the waiter ran out and told him that he
+had forgotten to settle for the wine. The lady had refused to do so.
+Courtlandt chuckled and gave him a ten-franc piece. In other days, in
+other circumstances, he would have liked to know more about the unknown
+who scribbled notes on composition paper. She was not an idler in the Rue
+Royale, and it did not require that indefinable intuition which comes of
+worldly-wiseness to discover this fact. She might be a friend of the
+Desimone woman, but she had stepped out of another sphere to become so. He
+recognized the quality that could adjust itself to any environment and
+come out scatheless. This was undeniably an American accomplishment; and
+yet she was distinctly a Frenchwoman. He dismissed the problem from his
+mind and bade the driver go as fast as the police would permit.
+
+Meanwhile the young woman waited five or ten minutes, and, making sure
+that Courtlandt had been driven off, left the restaurant. Round the corner
+she engaged a carriage. So that was Edward Courtlandt? She liked his face;
+there was not a weak line in it, unless stubbornness could be called such.
+But to stay away for two years! To hide himself in jungles, to be heard of
+only by his harebrained exploits! "Follow him; see where he goes," had
+been the command. For a moment she had rebelled, but her curiosity was not
+to be denied. Besides, of what use was friendship if not to be tried? She
+knew nothing of the riddle, she had never asked a question openly. She had
+accidentally seen a photograph one day, in a trunk tray, with this man's
+name scrawled across it, and upon this flimsy base she had builded a dozen
+romances, each of which she had ruthlessly torn down to make room for
+another; but still the riddle lay unsolved. She had thrown the name into
+the conversation many a time, as one might throw a bomb into a crowd which
+had no chance to escape. Fizzles! The man had been calmly discussed and
+calmly dismissed. At odd times an article in the newspapers gave her an
+opportunity; still the frank discussion, still the calm dismissal. She had
+learned that the man was rich, irresponsible, vacillating, a picturesque
+sort of fool. But two years? What had kept him away that long? A weak man,
+in love, would not have made so tame a surrender. Perhaps he had not
+surrendered; perhaps neither of them had.
+
+And yet, he sought the Calabrian. Here was another blind alley out of
+which she had to retrace her steps. Bother! That Puck of Shakespeare was
+right: What fools these mortals be! She was very glad that she possessed a
+true sense of humor, spiced with harmless audacity. What a dreary world it
+must be to those who did not know how and when to laugh! They talked of
+the daring of the American woman: who but a Frenchwoman would have dared
+what she had this night? The taxicab! She laughed. And this man was wax in
+the hands of any pretty woman who came along! So rumor had it. But she
+knew that rumor was only the attenuated ghost of Ananias, doomed forever
+to remain on earth for the propagation of inaccurate whispers. Wax! Why,
+she would have trusted herself in any situation with a man with those eyes
+and that angle of jaw. It was all very mystifying. "Follow him; see where
+he goes." The frank discussion, then, and the calm dismissal were but a
+woman's dissimulation. And he had gone to Flora Desimone's.
+
+The carriage stopped before a handsome apartment-house in the Avenue de
+Wagram. The unknown got out, gave the driver his fare, and rang the
+concierge's bell. The sleepy guardian opened the door, touched his
+gold-braided cap in recognition, and led the way to the small electric
+lift. The young woman entered and familiarly pushed the button. The
+apartment in which she lived was on the second floor; and there was luxury
+everywhere, but luxury subdued and charmed by taste. There were fine old
+Persian rugs on the floors, exquisite oils and water-colors on the walls;
+and rare Japanese silk tapestries hung between the doors. In one corner of
+the living-room was a bronze jar filled with artificial cherry blossoms;
+in another corner near the door, hung a flat bell-shaped piece of brass--a
+Burmese gong. There were many photographs ranged along the mantel-top;
+celebrities, musical, artistic and literary, each accompanied by a liberal
+expanse of autographic ink.
+
+She threw aside her hat and wraps with that manner of inconsequence which
+distinguishes the artistic temperament from the thrifty one, and passed on
+into the cozy dining-room. The maid had arranged some sandwiches and a
+bottle of light wine. She ate and drank, while intermittent smiles played
+across her merry face. Having satisfied her hunger, she opened her purse
+and extracted the bank-note. She smoothed it out and laughed aloud.
+
+"Oh, if only he had taken me for a ride in the taxicab!" She bubbled again
+with merriment.
+
+Suddenly she sprang up, as if inspired, and dashed into another room, a
+study. She came back with pen and ink, and with a celerity that came of
+long practise, drew five straight lines across the faint violet face of
+the bank-note. Within these lines she made little dots at the top and
+bottom of stubby perpendicular strokes, and strange interlineal
+hieroglyphics, and sweeping curves, all of which would have puzzled an
+Egyptologist if he were unused to the ways of musicians. Carefully she
+dried the composition, and then put the note away. Some day she would
+confound him by returning it.
+
+A little later her fingers were moving softly over the piano keys;
+melodies in minor, sad and haunting and elusive, melodies that had never
+been put on paper and would always be her own: in them she might leap from
+comedy to tragedy, from laughter to tears, and only she would know. The
+midnight adventure was forgotten, and the hero of it, too. With her eyes
+closed and her lithe body swaying gently, she let the old weary pain in
+her heart take hold again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE BEAUTIFUL TIGRESS
+
+
+Flora Desimone had been born in a Calabrian peasant's hut, and she had
+rolled in the dust outside, yelling vigorously at all times. Specialists
+declare that the reason for all great singers coming from lowly origin is
+found in this early development of the muscles of the throat. Parents of
+means employ nurses or sedatives to suppress or at least to smother these
+infantile protests against being thrust inconsiderately into the turmoil
+of human beings. Flora yelled or slept, as the case might be; her parents
+were equally indifferent. They were too busily concerned with the getting
+of bread and wine. Moreover, Flora was one among many. The gods are always
+playing with the Calabrian peninsula, heaving it up here or throwing it
+down there: _il terremoto_, the earthquake, the terror. Here nature
+tinkers vicariously with souls; and she seldom has time to complete her
+work. Constant communion with death makes for callosity of feeling; and
+the Calabrians and the Sicilians are the cruellest among the civilized
+peoples. Flora was ruthless.
+
+She lived amazingly well in the premier of an apartment-hotel in the
+Champs-Elysées. In England and America she had amassed a fortune. Given
+the warm beauty of the Southern Italian, the passion, the temperament, the
+love of mischief, the natural cruelty, the inordinate craving for
+attention and flattery, she enlivened the nations with her affairs. And
+she never put a single beat of her heart into any of them. That is why her
+voice is still splendid and her beauty unchanging. She did not dissipate;
+calculation always barred her inclination; rather, she loitered about the
+Forbidden Tree and played that she had plucked the Apple. She had an
+example to follow; Eve had none.
+
+Men scattered fortunes at her feet as foolish Greeks scattered floral
+offerings at the feet of their marble gods--without provoking the sense of
+reciprocity or generosity or mercy. She had worked; ah, no one would ever
+know how hard. She had been crushed, beaten, cursed, starved. That she had
+risen to the heights in spite of these bruising verbs in no manner
+enlarged her pity, but dulled and vitiated the little there was of it. Her
+mental attitude toward humanity was childish: as, when the parent strikes,
+the child blindly strikes back. She was determined to play, to enjoy life,
+to give back blow for blow, nor caring where she struck. She was going to
+press the juice from every grape. A thousand odd years gone, she would
+have led the cry in Rome--"Bread and the circus!" or "To the lions!" She
+would have disturbed Nero's complacency, and he would have played an
+obbligato instead of a solo at the burning. And she was malice incarnate.
+They came from all climes--her lovers--with roubles and lire and francs
+and shillings and dollars; and those who finally escaped her enchantment
+did so involuntarily, for lack of further funds. They called her villas
+Circe's isles. She hated but two things in the world; the man she could
+have loved and the woman she could not surpass.
+
+Arrayed in a kimono which would have evoked the envy of the empress of
+Japan, supposing such a gorgeous raiment--peacocks and pine-trees,
+brilliant greens and olives and blues and purples--fell under the gaze of
+that lady's slanting eyes, she sat opposite the Slavonic Jove and smoked
+her cigarette between sips of coffee. Frequently she smiled. The short
+powerful hand of the man stroked his beard and he beamed out of his
+cunning eyes, eyes a trifle too porcine to suggest a keen intellect above
+them.
+
+"I am like a gorilla," he said; "but you are like a sleek tigress. I am
+stronger, more powerful than you; but I am always in fear of your claws.
+Especially when you smile like that. What mischief are you plotting now?"
+
+She drew in a cloud of smoke, held it in her puffed cheeks as she glided
+round the table and leaned over his shoulders. She let the smoke drift
+over his head and down his beard. In that moment he was truly Jovian.
+
+"Would you like me if I were a tame cat?" she purred.
+
+"I have never seen you in that rôle. Perhaps I might. You told me that you
+would give up everything but the Paris season."
+
+"I have changed my mind." She ran one hand through his hair and the other
+she entangled in his beard. "You'd change your mind, too, if you were a
+woman."
+
+"I don't have to change my mind; you are always doing it for me. But I do
+not want to go to America next winter." He drew her down so that he might
+look into her face. It was something to see.
+
+"Bah!" She released herself and returned to her chair. "When the season is
+over I want to go to Capri."
+
+"Capri! Too hot."
+
+"I want to go."
+
+"My dear, a dozen exiles are there, waiting to blow me up." He spoke
+Italian well. "You do not wish to see me spattered over the beautiful
+isle?"
+
+"Tch! tch! That is merely your usual excuse. You never had anything to do
+with the police."
+
+"No?" He eyed the end of his cigarette gravely. "One does not have to be
+affiliated with the police. There is class prejudice. We Russians are very
+fond of Egypt in the winter. Capri seems to be the half-way place. They
+wait for us, going and coming. Poor fools!"
+
+"I shall go alone, then."
+
+"All right." In his dull way he had learned that to pull the diva, one
+must agree with her. In agreeing with her one adroitly dissuaded her. "You
+go to Capri, and I'll go to the pavilion on the Neva."
+
+She snuffed the cigarette in the coffee-cup and frowned. "Some day you
+will make me horribly angry."
+
+"Beautiful tigress! If a man knew what you wanted, you would not want it.
+I can't hop about with the agility of those dancers at the Théâtre du
+Palais Royale. The best I can do is to imitate the bear. What is wrong?"
+
+"They keep giving her the premier parts. She has no more fire in her than
+a dead grate. The English-speaking singers, they are having everything
+their own way. And none of them can act."
+
+"My dear Flora, this Eleonora is an actress, first of all. That she can
+sing is a matter of good fortune, no more. Be reasonable. The consensus of
+critical opinion is generally infallible; and all over the continent they
+agree that she can act. Come, come; what do you care? She will never
+approach your Carmen...."
+
+"You praise her to me?" tempest in her glowing eyes.
+
+"I do not praise her. I am quoting facts. If you throw that cup, my
+tigress...."
+
+"Well?" dangerously.
+
+"It will spoil the set. Listen. Some one is at the speaking-tube."
+
+The singer crossed the room impatiently. Ordinarily she would have
+continued the dispute, whether the bell rang or not. But she was getting
+the worst of the argument and the bell was a timely diversion. The duke
+followed her leisurely to the wall.
+
+"What is it?" asked Flora in French.
+
+The voice below answered with a query in English. "Is this the Signorina
+Desimone?"
+
+"It is the duchess."
+
+"The duchess?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The devil!"
+
+She turned and stared at the duke, who shrugged. "No, no," she said; "the
+duchess, not the devil."
+
+"Pardon me; I was astonished. But on the stage you are still Flora
+Desimone?"
+
+"Yes. And now that my identity is established, who are you and what do you
+want at this time of night?"
+
+The duke touched her arm to convey that this was not the moment in which
+to betray her temper.
+
+"I am Edward Courtlandt."
+
+"The devil!" mimicked the diva.
+
+She and the duke heard a chuckle.
+
+"I beg your pardon again, Madame."
+
+"Well, what is it you wish?" amiably.
+
+The duke looked at her perplexedly. It seemed to him that she was always
+leaving him in the middle of things. Preparing himself for rough roads, he
+would suddenly find the going smooth. He was never swift enough mentally
+to follow these flying transitions from enmity to amity. In the present
+instance, how was he to know that his tigress had found in the man below
+something to play with?
+
+"You once did me an ill turn," came up the tube. "I desire that you make
+some reparation."
+
+"Sainted Mother! but it has taken you a long time to find out that I have
+injured you," she mocked.
+
+There was no reply to this; so she was determined to stir the fire a
+little.
+
+"And I advise you to be careful what you say; the duke is a very jealous
+man."
+
+That gentleman fingered his beard thoughtfully.
+
+"I do not care a hang if he is."
+
+The duke coughed loudly close to the tube.
+
+Silence.
+
+"The least you can do, Madame, is to give me her address."
+
+"Her address!" repeated the duke relievedly. He had had certain grave
+doubts, but these now took wing. Old flames were not in the habit of
+asking, nay, demanding, other women's addresses.
+
+"I am speaking to Madame, your Highness," came sharply.
+
+"We do not speak off the stage," said the singer, pushing the duke aside.
+
+"I should like to make that young man's acquaintance," whispered the
+duke.
+
+She warned him to be silent.
+
+Came the voice again: "Will you give me her address, please? Your
+messenger gave me your address, inferring that you wished to see me."
+
+"I?" There was no impeaching her astonishment.
+
+"Yes, Madame."
+
+"My dear Mr. Courtlandt, you are the last man in all the wide world I wish
+to see. And I do not quite like the way you are making your request. His
+highness does not either."
+
+"Send him down!"
+
+"That is true."
+
+"What is?"
+
+"I remember. You are very strong and much given to fighting."
+
+The duke opened and shut his hands, pleasurably. Here was something he
+could understand. He was a fighting man himself. Where was this going to
+end, and what was it all about?
+
+"Do you not think, Madame, that you owe me something?"
+
+"No. What I owe I pay. Think, Mr. Courtlandt; think well."
+
+"I do not understand," impatiently.
+
+"_Ebbene_, I owe you nothing. Once I heard you say--'I do not like to see
+you with the Calabrian; she is--Well, you know.' I stood behind you at
+another time when you said that I was a fool."
+
+"Madame, I do not forget that, that is pure invention. You are mistaken."
+
+"No. You were. I am no fool." A light laugh drifted down the tube.
+
+"Madame, I begin to see."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"You believe what you wish to believe."
+
+"I think not."
+
+"I never even noticed you," carelessly.
+
+"Take care!" whispered the duke, who noted the sudden dilation of her
+nostrils.
+
+"It is easy to forget," cried the diva, furiously. "It is easy for you to
+forget, but not for me."
+
+"Madame, I do not forget that you entered my room that night ..."
+
+"Your address!" bawled the duke. "That statement demands an explanation."
+
+"I should explain at once, your Highness," said the man down below calmly,
+"only I prefer to leave that part in Madame's hands. I should not care to
+rob her of anything so interesting and dramatic. Madame the duchess can
+explain, if she wishes. I am stopping at the Grand, if you find her
+explanations are not up to your requirements."
+
+"I shall give you her address," interrupted the diva, hastily. The duke's
+bristling beard for one thing and the ice in the other man's tones for
+another, disquieted her. The play had gone far enough, much as she would
+have liked to continue it. This was going deeper than she cared to go. She
+gave the address and added: "To-night she sings at the Austrian
+ambassador's. I give you this information gladly because I know that it
+will be of no use to you."
+
+"Then I shall dispense with the formality of thanking you. I add that I
+wish you twofold the misery you have carelessly and gratuitously cost me.
+Good night!" Click! went the little covering of the tube.
+
+"Now," said the duke, whose knowledge of the English tongue was not so
+indifferent that he did not gather the substance, if not all the shadings,
+of this peculiar conversation; "now, what the devil is all this about?"
+
+"I hate him!"
+
+"Refused to singe his wings?"
+
+"He has insulted me!"
+
+"I am curious to learn about that night you went to his room."
+
+Her bear had a ring in his nose, but she could not always lead him by it.
+So, without more ado, she spun the tale, laughing at intervals. The story
+evidently impressed the duke, for his face remained sober all through the
+recital.
+
+"Did he say that you were a fool?"
+
+"Of course not!"
+
+"Shall I challenge him?"
+
+"Oh, my Russian bear, he fences like a Chicot; he is a dead shot; and is
+afraid of nothing ... but a woman. No, no; I have something better. It
+will be like one of those old comedies. I hate her!" with a burst of fury.
+"She always does everything just so much better than I do. As for him, he
+was nothing. It was she; I hurt her, wrung her heart."
+
+"Why?" mildly.
+
+"Is not that enough?"
+
+"I am slow; it takes a long time for anything to get into my head; but
+when it arrives, it takes a longer time to get it out."
+
+"Well, go on." Her calm was ominous.
+
+"Love or vanity. This American singer got what you could not get. You have
+had your way too long. Perhaps you did not love him. I do not believe you
+can really love any one but Flora. Doubtless he possessed millions; but on
+the other hand, I am a grand duke; I offered marriage, openly and legally,
+in spite of all the opposition brought to bear."
+
+Flora was undeniably clever. She did the one thing that could successfully
+cope with this perilous condition of the ducal mind. She laughed, and
+flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.
+
+"I have named you well. You are a tigress. But this comedy of which you
+speak: it might pass in Russia, but not in Paris."
+
+"I shall not be in the least concerned. My part was suggestion."
+
+"You suggested it to some one else?"
+
+"To be sure!"
+
+"My objections ..."
+
+"I will have my way in this affair. Besides, it is too late."
+
+Her gesture was explicit. He sighed. He knew quite well that she was
+capable of leaving the apartment that night, in her kimono.
+
+"I'll go to Capri," resignedly. Dynamite bombs were not the worst things
+in the world.
+
+"I don't want to go now."
+
+The duke picked up a fresh cigarette. "How the devil must have laughed
+when the Lord made Eve!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE JOKE OF MONSIEUR
+
+
+With the same inward bitterness that attends the mental processes of a
+performing tiger on being sent back to its cage, Courtlandt returned to
+his taxicab. He wanted to roar and lash and devour something. Instead, he
+could only twist the ends of his mustache savagely. So she was a grand
+duchess, or at least the morganatic wife of a grand duke! It did not seem
+possible that any woman could be so full of malice. He simply could not
+understand. It was essentially the Italian spirit; doubtless, till she
+heard his voice, she had forgotten all about the episode that had
+foundered his ship of happiness.
+
+Her statement as to the primal cause was purely inventive. There was not a
+grain of truth in it. He could not possibly have been so rude. He had been
+too indifferent. Too indifferent! The repetition of the phrase made him
+sit straighter. Pshaw! It could not be that. He possessed a little vanity;
+if he had not, his history would not have been worth a scrawl. But he
+denied the possession vehemently, as men are wont to do. Strange, a man
+will admit smashing those ten articles of advisement known as the
+decalogue and yet deny the inherent quality which surrenders the
+admission--vanity. However you may look at it, man's vanity is a complex
+thing. The vanity of a woman has a definite and commendable purpose: the
+conquest of man, his purse, and half of his time. Too indifferent! Was it
+possible that he had roused her enmity simply because he had made it
+evident that her charms did not interest him? Beyond lifting his hat to
+her, perhaps exchanging a comment on the weather, his courtesies had not
+been extended. Courtlandt was peculiar in some respects. A woman attracted
+him, or she did not. In the one case he was affable, winning, pleasant,
+full of those agreeable little surprises that in turn attract a woman. In
+the other case, he passed on, for his impressions were instant and did not
+require the usual skirmishing.
+
+A grand duchess! The straw-colored mustache now described two aggressive
+points. What an impossible old world it was! The ambition of the English
+nobility was on a far lower scale than that of their continental cousins.
+On the little isle they were satisfied to marry soubrettes and chorus
+girls. Here, the lady must be no less a personage than a grand-opera
+singer or a _première danseuse_. The continental noble at least showed
+some discernment; he did not choose haphazard; he desired the finished
+product and was not to be satisfied with the material in the raw.
+
+Oh, stubborn Dutchman that he had been! Blind fool! To have run away
+instead of fighting to the last ditch for his happiness! The Desimone
+woman was right: it had taken him a long time to come to the conclusion
+that she had done him an ill turn. And during all these weary months he
+had drawn a melancholy picture of himself as a wounded lion, creeping into
+the jungle to hide its hurts, when, truth be known, he had taken the ways
+of the jackass for a model. He saw plainly enough now. More than this,
+where there had been mere obstacles to overcome there were now steep
+mountains, perhaps inaccessible for all he knew. His jaw set, and the
+pressure of his lips broke the sweep of his mustache, converting it into
+bristling tufts, warlike and resolute.
+
+As he was leaving, a square of light attracted his attention. He looked up
+to see the outline of the bearded Russ in the window. Poor devil! He was
+going to have a merry time of it. Well, that was his affair. Besides,
+Russians, half the year chilled by their bitter snows, were susceptible to
+volcanoes; they courted them as a counterbalance. Perhaps he had spoken
+roughly, but his temper had not been under control. One thing he recalled
+with grim satisfaction. He had sent a barbed arrow up the tube to disturb
+the felicity of the dove-cote. The duke would be rather curious to know
+what was meant in referring to the night she had come to his,
+Courtlandt's, room. He laughed. It would be a fitting climax indeed if the
+duke called him out.
+
+But what of the pretty woman in the Taverne Royale? What about her? At
+whose bidding had she followed him? One or the other of them had not told
+the truth, and he was inclined to believe that the prevarication had its
+source in the pomegranate lips of the Calabrian. To give the old barb one
+more twist, to learn if its venomous point still held and hurt; nothing
+would have afforded the diva more delight. Courtlandt glared at the window
+as the shade rolled down.
+
+When the taxicab joined the long line of carriages and automobiles
+opposite the Austrian ambassador's, Courtlandt awoke to the dismal and
+disquieting fact that he had formulated no plan of action. He had done no
+more than to give the driver his directions; and now that he had arrived,
+he had the choice of two alternatives. He could wait to see her come out
+or return at once to his hotel, which, as subsequent events affirmed,
+would have been the more sensible course. He would have been confronted
+with small difficulty in gaining admission to the house. He knew enough of
+these general receptions; the announcing of his name would have conveyed
+nothing to the host, who knew perhaps a third of his guests, and many of
+these but slightly. But such an adventure was distasteful to Courtlandt.
+He could not overstep certain recognized boundaries of convention, and to
+enter a man's house unasked was colossal impudence. Beyond this, he
+realized that he could have accomplished nothing; the advantage would have
+been hers. Nor could he meet her as she came out, for again the odds would
+have been largely in her favor. No, the encounter must be when they two
+were alone. She must be surprised. She must have no time to use her ready
+wit. He had thought to wait until some reasonable plan offered itself for
+trial; yet, here he was, with nothing definite or recognizable but the
+fact that the craving to see her was not to be withstood. The blood began
+to thunder in his ears. An idea presented itself. It appealed to him at
+that moment as quite clever and feasible.
+
+"Wait!" he called to the driver.
+
+He dived among the carriages and cars, and presently he found what he
+sought,--her limousine. He had taken the number into his mind too keenly
+to be mistaken. He saw the end of his difficulties; and he went about the
+affair with his usual directness. It was only at rare times that he ran
+his head into a cul-de-sac. If her chauffeur was regularly employed in her
+service, he would have to return to the hotel; but if he came from the
+garage, there was hope. Every man is said to have his price, and a French
+chauffeur might prove no notable exception to the rule.
+
+"Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?" Courtlandt asked of the man
+lounging in the forward seat.
+
+The chauffeur looked hard at his questioner, and on finding that he
+satisfied the requirements of a gentleman, grumbled an affirmative. The
+limousine was well known in Paris, and he was growing weary of these
+endless inquiries.
+
+"Are you in her employ directly, or do you come from the garage?"
+
+"I am from the garage, but I drive mademoiselle's car most of the time,
+especially at night. It is not madame but mademoiselle, Monsieur."
+
+"My mistake." A slight pause. It was rather a difficult moment for
+Courtlandt. The chauffeur waited wonderingly. "Would you like to make five
+hundred francs?"
+
+"How, Monsieur?"
+
+Courtlandt should have been warned by the tone, which contained no unusual
+interest or eagerness.
+
+"Permit me to remain in mademoiselle's car till she comes. I wish to ride
+with her to her apartment."
+
+The chauffeur laughed. He stretched his legs. "Thanks, Monsieur. It is
+very dull waiting. Monsieur knows a good joke."
+
+And to Courtlandt's dismay he realized that his proposal had truly been
+accepted as a jest.
+
+"I am not joking. I am in earnest. Five hundred francs. On the word of a
+gentleman I mean mademoiselle no harm. I am known to her. All she has to
+do is to appeal to you, and you can stop the car and summon the police."
+
+The chauffeur drew in his legs and leaned toward his tempter. "Monsieur,
+if you are not jesting, then you are a madman. Who are you? What do I know
+about you? I never saw you before, and for two seasons I have driven
+mademoiselle in Paris. She wears beautiful jewels to-night. How do I know
+that you are not a gentlemanly thief? Ride home with mademoiselle! You are
+crazy. Make yourself scarce, Monsieur; in one minute I shall call the
+police."
+
+"Blockhead!"
+
+English of this order the Frenchman perfectly understood. "_Là, là!_" he
+cried, rising to execute his threat.
+
+Courtlandt was furious, but his fury was directed at himself as much as at
+the trustworthy young man getting down from the limousine. His eagerness
+had led him to mistake stupidity for cleverness. He had gone about the
+affair with all the clumsiness of a boy who was making his first
+appearance at the stage entrance. It was mightily disconcerting, too, to
+have found an honest man when he was in desperate need of a dishonest one.
+He had faced with fine courage all sorts of dangerous wild animals; but at
+this moment he hadn't the courage to face a policeman and endeavor to
+explain, in a foreign tongue, a situation at once so delicate and so
+singularly open to misconstruction. So, for the second time in his life he
+took to his heels. Of the first time, more anon. He scrambled back to his
+own car, slammed the door, and told the driver to drop him at the Grand.
+His undignified retreat caused his face to burn; but discretion would not
+be denied. However, he did not return to the hotel.
+
+Mademoiselle da Toscana's chauffeur scratched his chin in perplexity. In
+frightening off his tempter he recognized that now he would never be able
+to find out who he was. He should have played with him until mademoiselle
+came out. She would have known instantly. That would have been the time
+for the police. To hide in the car! What the devil! Only a madman would
+have offered such a proposition. The man had been either an American or an
+Englishman, for all his accuracy in the tongue. Bah! Perhaps he had heard
+her sing that night, and had come away from the Opera, moonstruck. It was
+not an isolated case. The fools were always pestering him, but no one had
+ever offered so uncommon a bribe: five hundred francs. Mademoiselle might
+not believe that part of the tale. Mademoiselle was clever. There was a
+standing agreement between them that she would always give him half of
+whatever was offered him in the way of bribes. It paid. It was easier to
+sell his loyalty to her for two hundred and fifty francs than to betray
+her for five hundred. She had yet to find him untruthful, and to-night he
+would be as frank as he had always been.
+
+But who was this fellow in the Bavarian hat, who patrolled the sidewalk?
+He had been watching him when the madman approached. For an hour or more
+he had walked up and down, never going twenty feet beyond the limousine.
+He couldn't see the face. The long dark coat had a military cut about the
+hips and shoulders. From time to time he saw him glance up at the lighted
+windows. Eh, well; there were other women in the world besides
+mademoiselle, several others.
+
+He had to wait only half an hour for her appearance. He opened the door
+and saw to it that she was comfortably seated; then he paused by the
+window, touching his cap.
+
+"What is it, François?"
+
+"A gentleman offered me five hundred francs, Mademoiselle, if I would
+permit him to hide in the car."
+
+"Five hundred francs? To hide in the car? Why didn't you call the
+police?"
+
+"I started to, Mademoiselle, but he ran away."
+
+"Oh! What was he like?" The prima donna dropped the bunch of roses on the
+seat beside her.
+
+"Oh, he looked well enough. He had the air of a gentleman. He was tall,
+with light hair and mustache. But as I had never seen him before, and as
+Mademoiselle wore some fine jewels, I bade him be off."
+
+"Would you know him again?"
+
+"Surely, Mademoiselle."
+
+"The next time any one bothers you, call the police. You have done well,
+and I shall remember it. Home."
+
+The man in the Bavarian hat hurried back to the third car from the
+limousine, and followed at a reasonably safe distance.
+
+The singer leaned back against the cushions. She was very tired. The opera
+that night had taxed her strength, and but for her promise she would not
+have sung to the ambassador's guests for double the fee. There was an
+electric bulb in the car. She rarely turned it on, but she did to-night.
+She gazed into the little mirror; and utter weariness looked back from out
+the most beautiful, blue, Irish eyes in the world. She rubbed her fingers
+carefully up and down the faint perpendicular wrinkle above her nose. It
+was always there on nights like this. How she longed for the season to
+end! She would fly away to the lakes, the beautiful, heavenly tinted
+lakes, the bare restful mountains, and the clover lawns spreading under
+brave old trees; she would walk along the vineyard paths, and loiter under
+the fig-trees, far, far away from the world, its clamor, its fickleness,
+its rasping jealousies. Some day she would have enough; and then, good-by
+to all the clatter, the evil-smelling stages, the impossible people with
+whom she was associated. She would sing only to those she loved.
+
+The glamour of the life had long ago passed; she sang on because she had
+acquired costly habits, because she was fond of beautiful things, and
+above all, because she loved to sing. She had as many moods as a bird, as
+many sides as nature. A flash of sunshine called to her voice; the beads
+of water, trembling upon the blades of grass after a summer shower,
+brought a song to her lips. Hers was a God-given voice, and training had
+added to it nothing but confidence. True, she could act; she had been told
+by many a great impressario that histrionically she had no peer in grand
+opera. But the knowledge gave her no thrill of delight. To her it was the
+sum of a tremendous physical struggle.
+
+She shut off the light and closed her eyes. She reclined against the
+cushion once more, striving not to think. Once, her hands shut tightly.
+Never, never, never! She pressed down the burning thoughts by recalling
+the bright scenes at the ambassador's, the real generous applause that had
+followed her two songs. Ah, how that man Paderewski played! They two had
+cost the ambassador eight thousand francs. Fame and fortune! Fortune she
+could understand; but fame! What was it? Upon a time she believed she had
+known what fame was; but that had been when she was striving for it. A
+glowing article in a newspaper, a portrait in a magazine, rows upon rows
+of curious eyes and a patter of hands upon hands; that was all; and for
+this she had given the best of her life, and she was only twenty-five.
+
+The limousine stopped at last. The man in the Bavarian hat saw her alight.
+His car turned and disappeared. It had taken him a week to discover where
+she lived. His lodgings were on the other side of the Seine. After
+reaching them he gave crisp orders to the driver, who set his machine off
+at top speed. The man in the Bavarian hat entered his room and lighted the
+gas. The room was bare and cheaply furnished. He took off his coat but
+retained his hat, pulling it down still farther over his eyes. His face
+was always in shadow. A round chin, two full red lips, scantily covered by
+a blond mustache were all that could be seen. He began to walk the floor
+impatiently, stopping and listening whenever he heard a sound. He waited
+less than an hour for the return of the car. It brought two men. They were
+well-dressed, smoothly-shaven, with keen eyes and intelligent faces. Their
+host, who had never seen either of his guests before, carelessly waved his
+hand toward the table where there were two chairs. He himself took his
+stand by the window and looked out as he talked. In another hour the room
+was dark and the street deserted.
+
+In the meantime the prima donna gave a sigh of relief. She was home. It
+was nearly two o'clock. She would sleep till noon, and Saturday and Sunday
+would be hers. She went up the stairs instead of taking the lift, and
+though the hall was dark, she knew her way. She unlocked the door of the
+apartment and entered, swinging the door behind her. As the act was
+mechanical, her thoughts being otherwise engaged, she did not notice that
+the lock failed to click. The ferrule of a cane had prevented that.
+
+She flung her wraps on the divan and put the roses in an empty bowl. The
+door opened softly, without noise. Next, she stopped before the mirror
+over the mantel, touched her hair lightly, detached the tiara of emeralds
+... and became as inanimate as marble. She saw another face. She never
+knew how long the interval of silence was. She turned slowly.
+
+"Yes, it is I!" said the man.
+
+Instantly she turned again to the mantel and picked up a
+magazine-revolver. She leveled it at him.
+
+"Leave this room, or I will shoot."
+
+Courtlandt advanced toward her slowly. "Do so," he said. "I should much
+prefer a bullet to that look."
+
+"I am in earnest." She was very white, but her hand was steady.
+
+He continued to advance. There followed a crash. The smell of burning
+powder filled the room. The Burmese gong clanged shrilly and whirled
+wildly. Courtlandt felt his hair stir in terror.
+
+"You must hate me indeed," he said quietly, as the sense of terror died
+away. He folded his arms. "Try again; there ought to be half a dozen
+bullets left. No? Then, good-by!" He left the apartment without another
+word or look, and as the door closed behind him there was a kind of
+finality in the clicking of the latch.
+
+The revolver clattered to the floor, and the woman who had fired it leaned
+heavily against the mantel, covering her eyes.
+
+"Nora, Nora!" cried a startled voice from a bedroom adjoining. "What has
+happened? _Mon Dieu_, what is it?" A pretty, sleepy-eyed young woman, in a
+night-dress, rushed into the room. She flung her arms about the singer.
+"Nora, my dear, my dear!"
+
+"He forced his way in. I thought to frighten him. It went off
+accidentally. Oh, Celeste, Celeste, I might have killed him!"
+
+The other drew her head down on her shoulder, and listened. She could hear
+voices in the lower hall, a shout of warning, a patter of steps; then the
+hall door slammed. After that, silence, save for the faint mellowing
+vibrations of the Burmese gong.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+CAPTIVE OR RUNAWAY
+
+
+At the age of twenty-six Donald Abbott had become a prosperous and
+distinguished painter in water-colors. His work was individual, and at the
+same time it was delicate and charming. One saw his Italian landscapes as
+through a filmy gauze: the almond blossoms of Sicily, the rose-laden walls
+of Florence, the vineyards of Chianti, the poppy-glowing Campagna out of
+Rome. His Italian lakes had brought him fame. He knew very little of the
+grind and hunger that attended the careers of his whilom associates. His
+father had left him some valuable patents--wash-tubs, carpet-cleaners, and
+other labor-saving devices--and the royalties from these were quite
+sufficient to keep him pleasantly housed. When he referred to his father
+(of whom he had been very fond) it was as an inventor. Of what, he rarely
+told. In America it was all right; but over here, where these inventions
+were unknown, a wash-tub had a peculiar significance: that a man should be
+found in his money through its services left persons in doubt as to his
+genealogical tree, which, as a matter of fact, was a very good one. As a
+boy his schoolmates had dubbed him "The Sweep" and "Suds," and it was only
+human that he should wish to forget.
+
+His earnings (not inconsiderable, for tourists found much to admire in
+both the pictures and the artist) he spent in gratifying his mild
+extravagances. So there were no lines in his handsome, boyish, beardless
+face; and his eyes were unusually clear and happy. Perhaps once or twice,
+since his majority, he had returned to America to prove that he was not an
+expatriate, though certainly he was one, the only tie existing between him
+and his native land being the bankers who regularly honored his drafts.
+And who shall condemn him for preferring Italy to the desolate center of
+New York state, where good servants and good weather are as rare as are
+flawless emeralds?
+
+Half after three, on Wednesday afternoon, Abbott stared moodily at the
+weather-tarnished group by Dalou in the Luxembourg gardens--the _Triumph
+of Silenus_. His gaze was deceptive, for the rollicking old bibulous
+scoundrel had not stirred his critical sense nor impressed the delicate
+films of thought. He was looking through the bronze, into the far-away
+things. He sat on his own folding stool, which he had brought along from
+his winter studio hard by in the old Boul' Miche'. He had arrived early
+that morning, all the way from Como, to find a thunderbolt driven in at
+his feet. Across his knees fluttered an open newspaper, the Paris edition
+of the New York _Herald_. All that kept it from blowing away was the tense
+if sprawling fingers of his right hand; his left hung limply at his side.
+
+It was not possible. Such things did not happen these unromantic days to
+musical celebrities. She had written that on Monday night she would sing
+in _La Bohème_ and on Wednesday, _Faust_. She had since vanished, vanished
+as completely as though she had taken wings and flown away. It was unreal.
+She had left the apartment in the Avenue de Wagram on Saturday afternoon,
+and nothing had been seen or heard of her since. At the last moment they
+had had to find a substitute for her part in the Puccini opera. The maid
+testified that her mistress had gone on an errand of mercy. She had not
+mentioned where, but she had said that she would return in time to dress
+for dinner, which proved conclusively that something out of the ordinary
+had befallen her.
+
+The automobile that had carried her away had not been her own, and the
+chauffeur was unknown. None of the directors at the Opera had been
+notified of any change in the singer's plans. She had disappeared, and
+they were deeply concerned. Singers were generally erratic, full of sudden
+indispositions, unaccountable whims; but the Signorina da Toscana was one
+in a thousand. She never broke an engagement. If she was ill she said so
+at once; she never left them in doubt until the last moment. Indecision
+was not one of her characteristics. She was as reliable as the sun. If the
+directors did not hear definitely from her by noon to-day, they would have
+to find another Marguerite.
+
+The police began to move, and they stirred up some curious bits of
+information. A man had tried to bribe the singer's chauffeur, while she
+was singing at the Austrian ambassador's. The chauffeur was able to
+describe the stranger with some accuracy. Then came the bewildering
+episode in the apartment: the pistol-shot, the flight of the man, the
+astonished concierge to whom the beautiful American would offer no
+explanations. The man (who tallied with the description given by the
+chauffeur) had obtained entrance under false representations. He claimed
+to be an emissary with important instructions from the Opera. There was
+nothing unusual in this; messengers came at all hours, and seldom the same
+one twice; so the concierge's suspicions had not been aroused. Another
+item. A tall handsome Italian had called at eleven o'clock Saturday
+morning, but the signorina had sent down word that she could not see him.
+The maid recalled that her mistress had intended to dine that night with
+the Italian gentleman. His name she did not know, having been with the
+signorina but two weeks.
+
+Celeste Fournier, the celebrated young pianist and composer, who shared
+the apartment with the missing prima donna, stated that she hadn't the
+slightest idea where her friend was. She was certain that misfortune had
+overtaken her in some inexplicable manner. To implicate the Italian was
+out of the question. He was well-known to them both. He had arrived again
+at seven, Saturday, and was very much surprised that the signorina had not
+yet returned. He had waited till nine, when he left, greatly disappointed.
+He was the Barone di Monte-Verdi in Calabria, formerly military attaché at
+the Italian embassy in Berlin. Sunday noon Mademoiselle Fournier had
+notified the authorities. She did not know, but she felt sure that the
+blond stranger knew more than any one else. And here was the end of
+things. The police found themselves at a standstill. They searched the
+hotels but without success; the blond stranger could not be found.
+
+Abbott's eyes were not happy and pleasant just now. They were dull and
+blank with the reaction of the stunning blow. He, too, was certain of the
+Barone. Much as he secretly hated the Italian, he knew him to be a
+fearless and an honorable man. But who could this blond stranger be who
+appeared so sinisterly in the two scenes? From where had he come? Why had
+Nora refused to explain about the pistol-shot? Any woman had a perfect
+right to shoot a man who forced his way into her apartment. Was he one of
+those mad fools who had fallen in love with her, and had become desperate?
+Or was it some one she knew and against whom she did not wish to bring any
+charges? Abducted! And she might be, at this very moment, suffering all
+sorts of indignities. It was horrible to be so helpless.
+
+The sparkle of the sunlight upon the ferrule of a cane, extending over his
+shoulder, broke in on his agonizing thoughts. He turned, an angry word on
+the tip of his tongue. He expected to see some tourist who wanted to be
+informed.
+
+"Ted Courtlandt!" He jumped up, overturning the stool. "And where the
+dickens did you come from? I thought you were in the Orient?"
+
+"Just got back, Abby."
+
+The two shook hands and eyed each other with the appraising scrutiny of
+friends of long standing.
+
+"You don't change any," said Abbott.
+
+"Nor do you. I've been standing behind you fully two minutes. What were
+you glooming about? Old Silenus offend you?"
+
+"Have you read the _Herald_ this morning?"
+
+"I never read it nowadays. They are always giving me a roast of some kind.
+Whatever I do they are bound to misconstrue it." Courtlandt stooped and
+righted the stool, but sat down on the grass, his feet in the path.
+"What's the trouble? Have they been after you?"
+
+Abbott rescued the offending paper and shaking it under his friend's nose,
+said: "Read that."
+
+Courtlandt's eyes widened considerably as they absorbed the significance
+of the heading--"Eleonora da Toscana missing."
+
+"Bah!" he exclaimed.
+
+"You say bah?"
+
+"It looks like one of their advertising dodges. I know something about
+singers," Courtlandt added. "I engineered a musical comedy once."
+
+"You do not know anything about her," cried Abbott hotly.
+
+"That's true enough." Courtlandt finished the article, folded the paper
+and returned it, and began digging in the path with his cane.
+
+"But what I want to know is, who the devil is this mysterious blond
+stranger?" Abbott flourished the paper again. "I tell you, it's no
+advertising dodge. She's been abducted. The hound!"
+
+Courtlandt ceased boring into the earth. "The story says that she refused
+to explain this blond chap's presence in her room. What do you make of
+that?"
+
+"Perhaps you think the fellow was her press-agent?" was the retort.
+
+"Lord, no! But it proves that she knew him, that she did not want the
+police to find him. At least, not at that moment. Who's the Italian?"
+suddenly.
+
+"I can vouch for him. He is a gentleman, honorable as the day is long,
+even if he is hot-headed at times. Count him out of it. It's this unknown,
+I tell you. Revenge for some imagined slight. It's as plain as the nose on
+your face."
+
+"How long have you known her?" asked Courtlandt presently.
+
+"About two years. She's the gem of the whole lot. Gentle, kindly,
+untouched by flattery.... Why, you must have seen and heard her!"
+
+"I have." Courtlandt stared into the hole he had dug. "Voice like an
+angel's, with a face like Bellini's donna; and Irish all over. But for all
+that, you will find that her disappearance will turn out to be a diva's
+whim. Hang it, Suds, I've had some experience with singers."
+
+"You are a blockhead!" exploded the younger man.
+
+"All right, I am." Courtlandt laughed.
+
+"Man, she wrote me that she would sing Monday and to-night, and wanted me
+to hear her. I couldn't get here in time for _La Bohème_, but I was
+building on _Faust_. And when she says a thing, she means it. As you said,
+she's Irish."
+
+"And I'm Dutch."
+
+"And the stubbornest Dutchman I ever met. Why don't you go home and settle
+down and marry?--and keep that phiz of yours out of the newspapers?
+Sometimes I think you're as crazy as a bug."
+
+"An opinion shared by many. Maybe I am. I dash in where lunatics fear to
+tread. Come on over to the Soufflet and have a drink with me."
+
+"I'm not drinking to-day," tersely. "There's too much ahead for me to
+do."
+
+"Going to start out to find her? Oh, Sir Galahad!" ironically. "Abby, you
+used to be a sport. I'll wager a hundred against a bottle of pop that
+to-morrow or next day she'll turn up serenely, with the statement that she
+was indisposed, sorry not to have notified the directors, and all that.
+They do it repeatedly every season."
+
+"But an errand of mercy, the strange automobile which can not be found?
+The engagement to dine with the Barone? Celeste Fournier's statement? You
+can't get around these things. I tell you, Nora isn't that kind. She's too
+big in heart and mind to stoop to any such devices," vehemently.
+
+"Nora! That looks pretty serious, Abby. You haven't gone and made a fool
+of yourself, have you?"
+
+"What do you call making a fool of myself?" truculently.
+
+"You aren't a suitor, are you? An accepted suitor?" unruffled, rather
+kindly.
+
+"No, but I would to heaven that I were!" Abbott jammed the newspaper into
+his pocket and slung the stool over his arm. "Come on over to the studio
+until I get some money."
+
+"You are really going to start a search?"
+
+"I really am. I'd start one just as quickly for you, if I heard that you
+had vanished under mysterious circumstances."
+
+"I believe you honestly would."
+
+"You are an old misanthrope. I hope some woman puts the hook into you some
+day. Where did you pick up the grouch? Some of your dusky princesses give
+you the go-by?"
+
+"You, too, Abby?"
+
+"Oh, rot! Of course I never believed any of that twaddle. Only, I've got a
+sore head to-day. If you knew Nora as well as I do, you'd understand."
+
+Courtlandt walked on a little ahead of the artist, who looked up and down
+the athletic form, admiringly. Sometimes he loved the man, sometimes he
+hated him. He marched through tragedy and comedy and thrilling adventure
+with no more concern that he evinced in striding through these gardens.
+Nearly every one had heard of his exploits; but who among them knew
+anything of the real man, so adroitly hidden under unruffled externals?
+That there was a man he did not know, hiding deep down within those
+powerful shoulders, he had not the least doubt. He himself possessed the
+quick mobile temperament of the artist, and he could penetrate but not
+understand the poise assumed with such careless ease by his friend. Dutch
+blood had something to do with it, and there was breeding, but there was
+something more than these: he was a reversion, perhaps, to the type of man
+which had made the rovers of the Lowlands feared on land and sea, now
+hemmed in by convention, hampered by the barriers of progress, and
+striving futilely to find an outlet for his peculiar energies. One bit of
+knowledge gratified him; he stood nearer to Courtlandt than any other man.
+He had known the adventurer as a boy, and long separations had in nowise
+impaired the foundations of this friendship.
+
+Courtlandt continued toward the exit, his head forward, his gaze bent on
+the path. He had the air of a man deep in thought, philosophic thought,
+which leaves the brows unmarred by those corrugations known as frowns. Yet
+his thoughts were far from philosophic. Indeed, his soul was in mad
+turmoil. He could have thrown his arms toward the blue sky and cursed
+aloud the fates that had set this new tangle at his feet. He longed for
+the jungles and some mad beast to vent his wrath upon. But he gave no
+sign. He had returned with a purpose as hard and grim as iron; and no
+obstacle, less powerful than death, should divert or control him.
+Abduction? Let the public believe what it might; he held the key to the
+mystery. She was afraid, and had taken flight. So be it.
+
+"I say, Ted," called out the artist, "what did you mean by saying that you
+were a Dutchman?"
+
+Courtlandt paused so that Abbott might catch up to him. "I said that I was
+a Dutchman?"
+
+"Yes. And it has just occurred to me that you meant something."
+
+"Oh, yes. You were talking of Da Toscana? Let's call her Harrigan. It will
+save time, and no one will know to whom we refer. You said she was Irish,
+and that when she said a thing she meant it. My boy, the Irish are
+notorious for claiming that. They often say it before they see clearly.
+Now, we Dutchmen,--it takes a long time for us to make up our minds, but
+when we do, something has got to bend or break."
+
+"You don't mean to say that you are going to settle down and get
+married?"
+
+"I'm not going to settle down and get married, if that will ease your mind
+any."
+
+"Man, I was hoping!"
+
+"Three meals a day in the same house, with the same woman, never appealed
+to me."
+
+"What do you want, one for each meal?"
+
+"There's the dusky princess peeking out again. The truth is, Abby, if I
+could hide myself for three or four years, long enough for people to
+forget me, I might reconsider. But it should be under another name. They
+envy us millionaires. Why, we are the lonesomest duffers going. We
+distrust every one; we fly when a woman approaches; we become monomaniacs;
+one thing obsesses us, everybody is after our money. We want friends, we
+want wives, but we want them to be attracted to us and not to our
+money-bags. Oh, pshaw! What plans have you made in regard to the search?"
+
+Gloom settled upon the artist's face. "I've got to find out what's
+happened to her, Ted. This isn't any play. Why, she loves the part of
+Marguerite as she loves nothing else. She's been kidnaped, and only God
+knows for what reason. It has knocked me silly. I just came up from Como,
+where she spends the summers now. I was going to take her and Fournier out
+to dinner."
+
+"Who's Fournier?"
+
+"Mademoiselle Fournier, the composer. She goes with Nora on the yearly
+concert tours."
+
+"Pretty?"
+
+"Charming."
+
+"I see," thoughtfully. "What part of the lake; the Villa d'Este,
+Cadenabbia?"
+
+"Bellaggio. Oh, it was ripping last summer. She's always singing when
+she's happy. When she sings out on the terrace, suddenly, without giving
+any one warning, her voice is wonderful. No audience ever heard anything
+like it."
+
+"I heard her Friday night. I dropped in at the Opera without knowing what
+they were singing. I admit all you say in regard to her voice and looks;
+but I stick to the whim."
+
+"But you can't fake that chap with the blond mustache," retorted Abbott
+grimly. "Lord, I wish I had run into you any day but to-day. I'm all in. I
+can telephone to the Opera from the studio, and then we shall know for a
+certainty whether or not she will return for the performance to-night. If
+not, then I'm going in for a little detective work."
+
+"Abby, it will turn out to be the sheep of Little Bo-Peep."
+
+"Have your own way about it."
+
+When they arrived at the studio Abbott telephoned promptly. Nothing had
+been heard. They were substituting another singer.
+
+"Call up the _Herald_," suggested Courtlandt.
+
+Abbott did so. And he had to answer innumerable questions, questions which
+worked him into a fine rage: who was he, where did he live, what did he
+know, how long had he been in Paris, and could he prove that he had
+arrived that morning? Abbott wanted to fling the receiver into the mouth
+of the transmitter, but his patience was presently rewarded. The singer
+had not yet been found, but the chauffeur of the mysterious car had turned
+up ... in a hospital, and perhaps by night they would know everything. The
+chauffeur had had a bad accident; the car itself was a total wreck, in a
+ditch, not far from Versailles.
+
+"There!" cried Abbott, slamming the receiver on the hook. "What do you say
+to that?"
+
+"The chauffeur may have left her somewhere, got drunk afterward, and
+plunged into the ditch. Things have happened like that. Abby, don't make a
+camel's-hair shirt out of your paint-brushes. What a pother about a
+singer! If it had been a great inventor, a poet, an artist, there would
+have been nothing more than a two-line paragraph. But an opera-singer, one
+who entertains us during our idle evenings--ha! that's a different matter.
+Set instantly that great municipal machinery called the police in action;
+sell extra editions on the streets. What ado!"
+
+"What the devil makes _you_ so bitter?"
+
+"Was I bitter? I thought I was philosophizing." Courtlandt consulted his
+watch. Half after four. "Come over to the Maurice and dine with me
+to-morrow night, that is, if you do not find your prima donna. I've an
+engagement at five-thirty, and must be off."
+
+"I was about to ask you to dine with me to-night," disappointedly.
+
+"Can't; awfully sorry, Abby. It was only luck that I met you in the
+Luxembourg. Be over about seven. I was very glad to see you again."
+
+Abbott kicked a broken easel into a corner. "All right. If anything turns
+up I'll let you know. You're at the Grand?"
+
+"Yes. By-by."
+
+"I know what's the matter with him," mused the artist, alone. "Some woman
+has chucked him. Silly little fool, probably."
+
+Courtlandt went down-stairs and out into the boulevard. Frankly, he was
+beginning to feel concerned. He still held to his original opinion that
+the diva had disappeared of her own free will; but if the machinery of the
+police had been started, he realized that his own safety would eventually
+become involved. By this time, he reasoned, there would not be a hotel in
+Paris free of surveillance. Naturally, blond strangers would be in demand.
+The complications that would follow his own arrest were not to be ignored.
+He agreed with his conscience that he had not acted with dignity in
+forcing his way into her apartment. But that night he had been at odds
+with convention; his spirit had been that of the marauding old Dutchman of
+the seventeenth century. He perfectly well knew that she was in the right
+as far as the pistol-shot was concerned. Further, he knew that he could
+quash any charge she might make in that direction by the simplest of
+declarations; and to avoid this simplest of declarations she would prefer
+silence above all things. They knew each other tolerably well.
+
+It was extremely fortunate that he had not been to the hotel since
+Saturday. He went directly to the war-office. The great and powerful man
+there was the only hope left. They had met some years before in Algiers,
+where Courtlandt had rendered him a very real service.
+
+"I did not expect you to the minute," the great man said pleasantly. "You
+will not mind waiting for a few minutes."
+
+"Not in the least. Only, I'm in a deuce of a mess," frankly and directly.
+"Innocently enough, I've stuck my head into the police net."
+
+"Is it possible that now I can pay my debt to you?"
+
+"Such as it is. Have you read the article in the newspapers regarding the
+disappearance of Signorina da Toscana, the singer?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I am the unknown blond. To-morrow morning I want you to go with me to the
+prefecture and state that I was with you all of Saturday and Sunday; that
+on Monday you and your wife dined with me, that yesterday we went to the
+aviation meet, and later to the Odéon."
+
+"In brief, an alibi?" smiling now.
+
+"Exactly. I shall need one."
+
+"And a perfectly good alibi. But I have your word that you are in nowise
+concerned? Pardon the question, but between us it is really necessary if I
+am to be of service to you."
+
+"On my word as a gentleman."
+
+"That is sufficient."
+
+"In fact, I do not believe that she has been abducted at all. Will you let
+me use your pad and pen for a minute?"
+
+The other pushed over the required articles. Courtlandt scrawled a few
+words and passed back the pad.
+
+"For me to read?"
+
+"Yes," moodily.
+
+The Frenchman read. Courtlandt watched him anxiously. There was not even a
+flicker of surprise in the official eye. Calmly he ripped off the sheet
+and tore it into bits, distributing the pieces into the various
+waste-baskets yawning about his long flat desk. Next, still avoiding the
+younger man's eye, he arranged his papers neatly and locked them up in a
+huge safe which only the artillery of the German army could have forced.
+He then called for his hat and stick. He beckoned to Courtlandt to follow.
+Not a word was said until the car was humming on the road to Vincennes.
+
+"Well?" said Courtlandt, finally. It was not possible for him to hold back
+the question any longer.
+
+"My dear friend, I am taking you out to the villa for the night."
+
+"But I have nothing...."
+
+"And I have everything, even foresight. If you were arrested to-night it
+would cause you some inconvenience. I am fifty-six, some twenty years your
+senior. Under this hat of mine I carry a thousand secrets, and every one
+of these thousand must go to the grave with me, yours along with them. I
+have met you a dozen times since those Algerian days, and never have you
+failed to afford me some amusement or excitement. You are the most
+interesting and entertaining young man I know. Try one of these cigars."
+
+Precisely at the time Courtlandt stepped into the automobile outside the
+war-office, a scene, peculiar in character, but inconspicuous in that it
+did not attract attention, was enacted in the Gare de l'Est. Two
+sober-visaged men stood respectfully aside to permit a tall young man in a
+Bavarian hat to enter a compartment of the second-class. What could be
+seen of the young man's face was full of smothered wrath and
+disappointment. How he hated himself, for his weakness, for his cowardice!
+He was not all bad. Knowing that he was being watched and followed, he
+could not go to Versailles and compromise her, uselessly. And devil take
+the sleek demon of a woman who had prompted him to commit so base an act!
+
+"You will at least," he said, "deliver that message which I have intrusted
+to your care."
+
+"It shall reach Versailles to-night, your Highness."
+
+The young man reread the telegram which one of the two men had given him a
+moment since. It was a command which even he, wilful and disobedient as he
+was, dared not ignore. He ripped it into shreds and flung them out of the
+window. He did not apologize to the man into whose face the pieces flew.
+That gentleman reddened perceptibly, but he held his tongue. The blare of
+a horn announced the time of departure. The train moved. The two men on
+the platform saluted, but the young man ignored the salutation. Not until
+the rear car disappeared in the hazy distance did the watchers stir. Then
+they left the station and got into the tonneau of a touring-car, which
+shot away and did not stop until it drew up before that imposing embassy
+upon which the French will always look with more or less suspicion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE BIRD BEHIND BARS
+
+
+The most beautiful blue Irish eyes in the world gazed out at the dawn
+which turned night-blue into day-blue and paled the stars. Rosal lay the
+undulating horizon, presently to burst into living flame, transmuting the
+dull steel bars of the window into fairy gold, that trick of alchemy so
+futilely sought by man. There was a window at the north and another at the
+south, likewise barred; but the Irish eyes never sought these two. It was
+from the east window only that they could see the long white road that led
+to Paris.
+
+The nightingale was truly caged. But the wild heart of the eagle beat in
+this nightingale's breast, and the eyes burned as fiercely toward the east
+as the east burned toward the west. Sunday and Monday, Tuesday and
+Wednesday and Thursday, to-day; and that the five dawns were singular in
+beauty and that she had never in her life before witnessed the creation of
+five days, one after another, made no impression upon her sense of the
+beautiful, so delicate and receptive in ordinary times. She was conscious
+that within her the cup of wrath was overflowing. Of other things, such as
+eating and sleeping and moving about in her cage (more like an eagle
+indeed than a nightingale), recurrence had blunted her perception.
+
+Her clothes were soiled and crumpled, sundrily torn; her hair was in
+disorder, and tendrils hung about her temples and forehead--thick black
+hair, full of purple tones in the sunlight--for she had not surrendered
+peacefully to this incarceration. Dignity, that phase of philosophy which
+accepts quietly the inevitable, she had thrown to the winds. She had
+fought desperately, primordially, when she had learned that her errand of
+mercy was nothing more than a cruel hoax.
+
+"Oh, but he shall pay, he shall pay!" she murmured, striving to loosen the
+bars with her small, white, helpless hands. The cry seemed to be an
+arietta, for through all these four maddening days she had voiced it,--now
+low and deadly with hate, now full-toned in burning anger, now broken by
+sobs of despair. "Will you never come, so that I may tell you how base and
+vile you are?" she further addressed the east.
+
+She had waited for his appearance on Sunday. Late in the day one of the
+jailers had informed her that it was impossible for the gentleman to come
+before Monday. So she marshaled her army of phrases, of accusations, of
+denunciations, ready to smother him with them the moment he came. But he
+came not Monday, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday. The suspense was to her mind
+diabolical. She began to understand: he intended to keep her there till he
+was sure that her spirit was broken, then he would come. Break her spirit?
+She laughed wildly. He could break her spirit no more easily than she
+could break these bars. To bring her to Versailles upon an errand of
+mercy! Well, he was capable of anything.
+
+The room was large and fairly comfortable, but contained nothing
+breakable, having been tenanted at one time by a strenuous lunatic, who
+had considerately died after his immediate family and relations had worn
+themselves into their several graves, taking care of him. But Eleonora
+Harrigan knew nothing of the history of the room while she occupied it.
+So, no ghost disturbed her restless slumberless nights, consumed in
+watching and listening.
+
+She was not particularly distressed because she knew that it would not be
+possible for her to sing again until the following winter in New York. She
+had sobbed too much, with her face buried in the pillow. Had these sobs
+been born of weakness, all might have been well; but rage had mothered
+them, and thus her voice was in a very bad way. This morning she was
+noticeably hoarse, and there was a break in the arietta. No, she did not
+fret over this side of the calamity. The sting of it all lay in the fact
+that she had been outraged in the matter of personal liberty, with no act
+of reprisal to ease her immediate longing to be avenged.
+
+Nora, as she stood in the full morning sunlight, was like to gladden the
+eyes of all mankind. She was beautiful, and all adjectives applicable
+would but serve to confuse rather than to embellish her physical
+excellence. She was as beautiful as a garden rose is, needing no defense,
+no ramparts of cloying phrases. The day of poets is gone, otherwise she
+would have been sung in cantos. She was tall, shapely, deep-bosomed,
+fine-skinned. Critics, in praising her charms, delved into mythology and
+folk-lore for comparisons, until there wasn't a goddess left on Olympus or
+on Northland's icy capes; and when these images became a little shop-worn,
+referred to certain masterpieces of the old fellows who had left nothing
+more to be said in oils. Nora enjoyed it all.
+
+She had not been happy in the selection of her stage name; but she had
+chosen Eleonora da Toscana because she believed there was good luck in it.
+Once, long before the world knew of her, she had returned home from Italy
+unexpectedly. "Molly, here's Nora, from Tuscany!" her delighted father had
+cried: who at that time had a nebulous idea that Tuscany was somewhere in
+Ireland because it had a Celtic ring to it. Being filled with love of
+Italy, its tongue, its history, its physical beauty, she naïvely
+translated "Nora from Tuscany" into Italian, and declared that when she
+went upon the stage she would be known by that name. There had been some
+smiling over the pseudonym; but Nora was Irish enough to cling to it. By
+and by the great music-loving public ceased to concern itself about her
+name; it was her fresh beauty and her wonderful voice they craved to see
+and hear. Kings and queens, emperors and empresses, princes and
+princesses,--what is called royalty and nobility in the newspapers freely
+gave her homage. Quite a rise in the world for a little girl who had once
+lived in a shabby apartment in New York and run barefooted on the wet
+asphalts, summer nights!
+
+But Nora was not recalling the happy scenes of her childhood; indeed, no;
+she was still threatening Paris. Once there, she would not lack for
+reprisals. To have played on her pity! To have made a lure of her tender
+concern for the unfortunate! Never would she forgive such baseness. And
+only a little while ago she had been as happy as the nightingale to which
+they compared her. Never had she wronged any one; she had been kindness
+and thoughtfulness to all with whom she had come in contact. But from now
+on!... Her fingers tightened round the bars. She might have posed as Dido
+when she learned that the noble Æneas was dead. War, war; woe to the moths
+who fluttered about her head hereafter!
+
+Ah, but had she been happy? Her hands slid down the bars. Her expression
+changed. The mouth drooped, the eagle-light in her eyes dimmed. From out
+the bright morning, somewhere, had come weariness, and with this came
+weakness, and finally, tears.
+
+She heard the key turn in the lock. They had never come so early before.
+She was astonished to see that her jailer did not close the door as usual.
+He put down the breakfast tray on the table. There was tea and toast and
+fruit.
+
+"Mademoiselle, there has been a terrible mistake," said the man humbly.
+
+"Ah! So you have found that out?" she cried.
+
+"Yes. You are not the person for whom this room was intended." Which was
+half a truth and perfectly true, paradoxical as it may seem. "Eat your
+breakfast in peace. You are free, Mademoiselle."
+
+"Free? You will not hinder me if I walk through that door?"
+
+"No, Mademoiselle. On the contrary, I shall be very glad, and so will my
+brother, who guards you at night. I repeat, there has been a frightful
+mistake. Monsieur Champeaux ..."
+
+"Monsieur Champeaux!" Nora was bewildered. She had never heard this name
+before.
+
+"He calls himself that," was the diplomatic answer.
+
+All Nora's suspicions took firm ground again. "Will you describe this
+Monsieur Champeaux to me?" asked the actress coming into life.
+
+"He is short, dark, and old, Mademoiselle."
+
+"Rather is he not tall, blond, and young?" ironically.
+
+The jailer concealed what annoyance he felt. In his way he was just as
+capable an actor as she was. The accuracy of her description startled him;
+for the affair had been carried out so adroitly that he had been positive
+that until her real captor appeared she would be totally in the dark
+regarding his identity. And here she had hit it off in less than a dozen
+words. Oh, well; it did not matter now. She might try to make it
+unpleasant for his employer, but he doubted the ultimate success of her
+attempts. However, the matter was at an end as far as he was concerned.
+
+"Have you thought what this means? It is abduction. It is a crime you have
+committed, punishable by long imprisonment."
+
+"I have been Mademoiselle's jailer, not her abductor. And when one is poor
+and in need of money!" He shrugged.
+
+"I will give you a thousand francs for the name and address of the man who
+instigated this outrage."
+
+Ah, he thought: then she wasn't so sure? "I told you the name,
+Mademoiselle. As for his address, I dare not give it, not for ten thousand
+francs. Besides, I have said that there has been a mistake."
+
+"For whom have I been mistaken?"
+
+"Who but Monsieur Champeaux's wife, Mademoiselle, who is not in her right
+mind?" with inimitable sadness.
+
+"Very well," said Nora. "You say that I am free. That is all I want,
+freedom."
+
+"In twenty minutes the electric tram leaves for Paris. You will recall,
+Mademoiselle," humbly, "that we have taken nothing belonging to you. You
+have your purse and hat and cloak. The struggle was most unfortunate. But,
+think, Mademoiselle, think; we thought you to be insane!"
+
+"Permit me to doubt that! And you are not afraid to let me go?"
+
+"Not in the least, Mademoiselle. A mistake has been made, and in telling
+you to go at once, we do our best to rectify this mistake. It is only five
+minutes to the tram. A carriage is at the door. Will Mademoiselle be
+pleased to remember that we have treated her with the utmost courtesy?"
+
+"I shall remember everything," ominously.
+
+"Very good, Mademoiselle. You will be in Paris before nine." With this he
+bowed and backed out of the room as though Nora had suddenly made a
+distinct ascension in the scale of importance.
+
+"Wait!" she called.
+
+His face appeared in the doorway again.
+
+"Do you know who I am?"
+
+"Since this morning, Mademoiselle."
+
+"That is all."
+
+Free! Her veins tingled with strange exultation. He had lost his courage
+and had become afraid of the consequences. Free! Monsieur Champeaux
+indeed! Cowardice was a new development in his character. He had been
+afraid to come. She drank the tea, but did not touch the toast or fruit.
+There would be time enough for breakfast when she arrived in Paris. Her
+hands trembled violently as she pinned on her hat, and she was not greatly
+concerned as to the angle. She snatched up her purse and cloak, and sped
+out into the street. A phaeton awaited her.
+
+"The tram," she said.
+
+"Yes, Mademoiselle."
+
+"And go quickly." She would not feel safe until she was in the tram.
+
+A face appeared at one of the windows. As the vehicle turned the corner,
+the face vanished; and perhaps that particular visage disappeared forever.
+A gray wig came off, the little gray side-whiskers, the bushy grey
+eyebrows, revealing a clever face, not more than thirty, cunning, but
+humorously cunning and anything but scoundrelly. The painted scar aslant
+the nose was also obliterated. With haste the man thrust the evidences of
+disguise into a traveling-bag, ran here and there through the rooms, all
+bare and unfurnished save the one with the bars and the kitchen, which
+contained two cots and some cooking utensils. Nothing of importance had
+been left behind. He locked the door and ran all the way to the Place
+d'Armes, catching the tram to Paris by a fraction of a minute.
+
+All very well done. She would be in Paris before the police made any
+definite move. The one thing that disturbed him was the thought of the
+blockhead of a chauffeur, who had got drunk before his return from
+Versailles. If he talked; well, he could say nothing beyond the fact that
+he had deposited the singer at the house as directed. He knew positively
+nothing.
+
+The man laughed softly. A thousand francs apiece for him and Antoine, and
+no possible chance of being discovered. Let the police find the house in
+Versailles; let them trace whatever paths they found; the agent would tell
+them, and honestly, that an aged man had rented the house for a month and
+had paid him in advance. What more could the agent say? Only one bit of
+puzzlement: why hadn't the blond stranger appeared? Who was he, in truth,
+and what had been his game? All this waiting and wondering, and then a
+curt telegram of the night before, saying, "Release her." So much the
+better. What his employer's motives were did not interest him half so much
+as the fact that he had a thousand francs in his pocket, and that all
+element of danger had been done away with. True, the singer herself would
+move heaven and earth to find out who had been back of the abduction. Let
+her make her accusations. He was out of it.
+
+He glanced toward the forward part of the tram. There she sat, staring at
+the white road ahead. A young Frenchman sat near her, curling his mustache
+desperately. So beautiful and all alone! At length he spoke to her. She
+whirled upon him so suddenly that his hat fell off his head and rolled at
+the feet of the onlooker.
+
+"Your hat, Monsieur?" he said gravely, returning it.
+
+Nora laughed maliciously. The author of the abortive flirtation fled down
+to the body of the tram.
+
+And now there was no one on top but Nora and her erstwhile jailer, whom
+she did not recognize in the least.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Mademoiselle," said the great policeman soberly, "this is a grave
+accusation to make."
+
+"I make it, nevertheless," replied Nora. She sat stiffly in her chair, her
+face colorless, dark circles under her eyes. She never looked toward
+Courtlandt.
+
+"But Monsieur Courtlandt has offered an alibi such as we can not ignore.
+More than that, his integrity is vouched for by the gentleman at his side,
+whom doubtless Mademoiselle recognizes."
+
+Nora eyed the great man doubtfully.
+
+"What is the gentleman to you?" she was interrogated.
+
+"Absolutely nothing," contemptuously.
+
+The minister inspected his rings.
+
+"He has annoyed me at various times," continued Nora; "that is all. And
+his actions on Friday night warrant every suspicion I have entertained
+against him."
+
+The chief of police turned toward the bandaged chauffeur. "You recognize
+the gentleman?"
+
+"No, Monsieur, I never saw him before. It was an old man who engaged me."
+
+"Go on."
+
+"He said that Mademoiselle's old teacher was very ill and asked for
+assistance. I left Mademoiselle at the house and drove away. I was hired
+from the garage. That is the truth, Monsieur."
+
+Nora smiled disbelievingly. Doubtless he had been paid well for that lie.
+
+"And you?" asked the chief of Nora's chauffeur.
+
+"He is certainly the gentleman, Monsieur, who attempted to bribe me."
+
+"That is true," said Courtlandt with utmost calmness.
+
+"Mademoiselle, if Monsieur Courtlandt wished, he could accuse you of
+attempting to shoot him."
+
+"It was an accident. His sudden appearance in my apartment frightened me.
+Besides, I believe a woman who lives comparatively alone has a legal and
+moral right to protect herself from such unwarrantable intrusions. I wish
+him no physical injury, but I am determined to be annoyed by him no
+longer."
+
+The minister's eyes sought Courtlandt's face obliquely. Strange young man,
+he thought. From the expression of his face he might have been a spectator
+rather than the person most vitally concerned in this little scene. And
+what a pair they made!
+
+"Monsieur Courtlandt, you will give me your word of honor not to annoy
+Mademoiselle again?"
+
+"I promise never to annoy her again."
+
+For the briefest moment the blazing blue eyes clashed with the calm brown
+ones. The latter were first to deviate from the line. It was not agreeable
+to look into a pair of eyes burning with the hate of one's self. Perhaps
+this conflagration was intensified by the placidity of his gaze. If only
+there had been some sign of anger, of contempt, anything but this
+incredible tranquillity against which she longed to cry out! She was too
+wrathful to notice the quickening throb of the veins on his temples.
+
+"Mademoiselle, I find no case against Monsieur Courtlandt, unless you wish
+to appear against him for his forcible entrance to your apartment." Nora
+shook her head. The chief of police stroked his mustache to hide the
+fleeting smile. A peculiar case, the like of which had never before come
+under his scrutiny! "Circumstantial evidence, we know, points to him; but
+we have also an alibi which is incontestable. We must look elsewhere for
+your abductors. Think; have you not some enemy? Is there no one who might
+wish you worry and inconvenience? Are your associates all loyal to you? Is
+there any jealousy?"
+
+"No, none at all, Monsieur," quickly and decidedly.
+
+"In my opinion, then, the whole affair is a hoax, perpetrated to vex and
+annoy you. The old man who employed this chauffeur may not have been old.
+I have looked upon all sides of the affair, and it begins to look like a
+practical joke, Mademoiselle."
+
+"Ah!" angrily. "And am I to have no redress? Think of the misery I have
+gone through, the suspense! My voice is gone. I shall not be able to sing
+again for months. Is it your suggestion that I drop the investigation?"
+
+"Yes, Mademoiselle, for it does not look as if we could get anywhere with
+it. If you insist, I will hold Monsieur Courtlandt; but I warn you the
+magistrate would not hesitate to dismiss the case instantly. Monsieur
+Courtlandt arrived in Marseilles Thursday morning; he reached Paris Friday
+morning. Since arriving in Paris he has fully accounted for his time. It
+is impossible that he could have arranged for the abduction. Still, if you
+say, I can hold him for entering your apartment."
+
+"That would be but a farce." Nora rose. "Monsieur, permit me to wish you
+good day. For my part, I shall pursue this matter to the end. I believe
+this gentleman guilty, and I shall do my best to prove it. I am a woman,
+and all alone. When a man has powerful friends, it is not difficult to
+build an alibi."
+
+"That is a reflection upon my word, Mademoiselle," quietly interposed the
+minister.
+
+"Monsieur has been imposed upon." Nora walked to the door.
+
+"Wait a moment, Mademoiselle," said the prefect. "Why do you insist upon
+prosecuting him for something of which he is guiltless, when you could
+have him held for something of which he is really guilty?"
+
+"The one is trivial; the other is a serious outrage. Good morning." The
+attendant closed the door behind her.
+
+"A very determined young woman," mused the chief of police.
+
+"Exceedingly," agreed the minister.
+
+Courtlandt got up wearily. But the chief motioned him to be reseated.
+
+"I do not say that I dare not pursue my investigations; but now that
+mademoiselle is safely returned, I prefer not to."
+
+"May I ask who made this request?" asked Courtlandt.
+
+"Request? Yes, Monsieur, it was a request not to proceed further."
+
+"From where?"
+
+"As to that, you will have to consult the head of the state. I am not at
+liberty to make the disclosure."
+
+The minister leaned forward eagerly. "Then there is a political side to
+it?"
+
+"There would be if everything had not turned out so fortunately."
+
+"I believe that I understand now," said Courtlandt, his face hardening.
+Strange, he had not thought of it before. His skepticism had blinded him
+to all but one angle. "Your advice to drop the matter is excellent."
+
+The chief of police elevated his brows interrogatively.
+
+"For I presume," continued Courtlandt, rising, "that Mademoiselle's
+abductor is by this time safely across the frontier."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+BATTLING JIMMIE
+
+
+There is a heavenly terrace, flanked by marvelous trees. To the left, far
+down below, is a curving, dark-shaded, turquoise body of water called
+Lecco; to the right there lies the queen of lakes, the crown of Italy, a
+corn-flower sapphire known as Como. Over and about it--this terrace--poets
+have raved and tousled their neglected locks in vain to find the perfect
+phrasing; novelists have come and gone and have carried away peace and
+inspiration; and painters have painted it from a thousand points of view,
+and perhaps are painting it from another thousand this very minute. It is
+the Place of Honeymoons. Rich lovers come and idle there; and lovers of
+modest means rush up to it and down from it to catch the next steamer to
+Menaggio. Eros was not born in Greece: of all barren mountains,
+unstirring, Hymettus, or Olympus, or whatever they called it in the days
+of the junketing gods, is completest. No; Venus went a-touring and abode a
+while upon this same gracious spot, once dear to Pliny the younger.
+
+Between the blessed ledge and the towering mountains over the way, rolls a
+small valley, caressed on either side by the lakes. There are flower
+gardens, from which in summer rises the spicy perfume of lavender; there
+are rows upon rows of grape-vines, terraced downward; there are purple
+figs and white and ruby mulberries. Around and about, rising sheer from
+the waters, wherever the eye may rove, heaven-touching, salmon-tinted
+mountains abound, with scarfs of filmy cloud aslant their rugged profiles,
+and beauty-patches of snow. And everywhere the dark and brooding cypress,
+the copper beech, the green pine accentuate the pink and blue and white
+stucco of the villas, the rich and the humble.
+
+Behind the terrace is a promontory, three or four hundred feet above the
+waters. Upon the crest is a cultivated forest of all known evergreens.
+There are ten miles of cool and fragrant paths, well trodden by the
+devoteés of Eros. The call of love is heard here; the echoes to-day
+reverberate with the impassioned declarations of yesterday. The
+Englishman's reserve melts, the American forgets his coupons, the German
+puts his arm around the robust waist of his frau or fräulein. (This is
+nothing for him; he does it unconcernedly up and down the great urban
+highways of the world.)
+
+Again, between the terrace ledge and the forest lies a square of velvet
+green, abounding in four-leaf clover. _Buona fortuna!_ In the center there
+is a fountain. The water tinkles in drops. One hears its soft music at all
+times. Along the terrace parapet are tea-tables; a monster oak protects
+one from the sun. If one (or two) lingers over tea and cakes, one may
+witness the fiery lances of the setting sun burn across one arm of water
+while the silver spars of the rising moon shimmer across the other. Nature
+is whole-souled here; she gives often and freely and all she has.
+
+Seated on one of the rustic benches, his white tennis shoes resting
+against the lower iron of the railing, a Bavarian dachel snoozing
+comfortably across his knees, was a man of fifty. He was broad of
+shoulder, deep of chest, and clean-shaven. He had laid aside his Panama
+hat, and his hair was clipped closely, and was pleasantly and honorably
+sprinkled with gray. His face was broad and tanned; the nose was tilted,
+and the wide mouth was both kindly and humorous. One knew, from the tint
+of his blue eyes and the quirk of his lips, that when he spoke there would
+be a bit of brogue. He was James Harrigan, one time celebrated in the ring
+for his gameness, his squareness, his endurance; "Battling Jimmie"
+Harrigan, who, when he encountered his first knock-out, retired from the
+ring. He had to his credit sixty-one battles, of which he had easily won
+forty. He had been outpointed in some and had broken even in others; but
+only once had he been "railroaded into dreamland," to use the parlance of
+the game. That was enough. He understood. Youth would be served, and he
+was no longer young. He had, unlike the many in his peculiar service,
+lived cleanly and with wisdom and foresight: he had saved both his money
+and his health. To-day he was at peace with the world, with three sound
+appetites the day and the wherewithal to gratify them.
+
+True, he often dreamed of the old days, the roped square, the lights, the
+haze of tobacco smoke, the white patches surrounding, all of a certain
+expectant tilt, the reporters scribbling on the deal tables under the very
+posts, the cheers as he took his corner and scraped his shoes in the
+powdered resin, the padded gloves thrown down in the center of the canvas
+which was already scarred and soiled by the preliminaries. But never,
+never again; if only for the little woman's sake. Only when the game was
+done did he learn with what terror and dread she had waited for his return
+on fighting nights.
+
+To-day "Battling Jimmie" was forgotten by the public, and he was happy in
+the seclusion of this forgetfulness. A new and strange career had opened
+up before him: he was the father of the most beautiful prima donna in the
+operatic world, and, difficult as the task was, he did his best to live up
+to it. It was hard not to offer to shake hands when he was presented to a
+princess or a duchess; it was hard to remember when to change the studs in
+his shirt; and a white cravat was the terror of his nights, for his
+fingers, broad and stubby and powerful, had not been trained to the
+delicate task of tying a bow-knot. By a judicious blow in that spot where
+the ribs divaricate he could right well tie his adversary into a bow-knot,
+but this string of white lawn was a most damnable thing. Still, the
+puttering of the two women, their daily concern over his deportment, was
+bringing him into conformity with social usages. That he naturally
+despised the articles of such a soulless faith was evident in his constant
+inclination to play hooky. One thing he rebelled against openly, and with
+such firmness that the women did not press him too strongly for fear of a
+general revolt. On no occasion, however impressive, would he wear a silk
+hat. Christmas and birthdays invariably called forth the gift of a silk
+hat, for the women trusted that they could overcome resistance by
+persistence. He never said anything, but it was noticed that the hotel
+porter, or the gardener, or whatever masculine head (save his own) was
+available, came forth resplendent on feast-days and Sundays.
+
+Leaning back in an iron chair, with his shoulders resting against the oak,
+was another man, altogether a different type. He was frowning over the
+pages of Bagot's _Italian Lakes_, and he wasn't making much headway. He
+was Italian to the core, for all that he aped the English style and
+manner. He could speak the tongue with fluency, but he stumbled and
+faltered miserably over the soundless type. His clothes had the Piccadilly
+cut, and his mustache, erstwhile waxed and militant, was cropped at the
+corners, thoroughly insular. He was thirty, and undeniably handsome.
+
+Near the fountain, on the green, was a third man. He was in the act of
+folding up an easel and a camp-stool.
+
+The tea-drinkers had gone. It was time for the first bell for dinner. The
+villa's omnibus was toiling up the winding road among the grape-vines.
+Suddenly Harrigan tilted his head sidewise, and the long silken ears of
+the dachel stirred. The Italian slowly closed his book and permitted his
+chair to settle on its four legs. The artist stood up from his paintbox.
+From a window in the villa came a voice; only a lilt of a melody, no
+words,--half a dozen bars from _Martha_; but every delightful note went
+deep into the three masculine hearts. Harrigan smiled and patted the dog.
+The Italian scowled at the vegetable garden directly below. The artist
+scowled at the Italian.
+
+"Fritz, Fritz; here, Fritz!"
+
+The dog struggled in Harrigan's hands and tore himself loose. He went
+clattering over the path toward the villa and disappeared into the
+doorway. Nothing could keep him when that voice called. He was as ardent a
+lover as any, and far more favored.
+
+"Oh, you funny little dog! You merry little dachel! Fritz, mustn't; let
+go!" Silence.
+
+The artist knew that she was cuddling the puppy to her heart, and his own
+grew twisted. He stooped over his materials again and tied the box to the
+easel and the stool, and shifted them under his arm.
+
+"I'll be up after dinner, Mr. Harrigan," he said.
+
+"All right, Abbott." Harrigan waved his hand pleasantly. He was becoming
+so used to the unvarying statement that Abbott would be up after dinner,
+that his reply was by now purely mechanical. "She's getting her voice back
+all right; eh?"
+
+"Beautifully! But I really don't think she ought to sing at the Haines'
+villa Sunday."
+
+"One song won't hurt her. She's made up her mind to sing. There's nothing
+for us to do but to sit tight. No news from Paris?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Say, do you know what I think?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Some one has come across to the police."
+
+"Paris is not New York, Mr. Harrigan."
+
+"Oh, I don't know. There's a hundred cents to the dollar, my boy, Paris or
+New York. Why haven't they moved? They can't tell me that tow-headed
+chap's alibi was on the level. I wish I'd been in Paris. There'd been
+something doing. And who was he? They refuse to give his name. And I can't
+get a word out of Nora. Shuts me up with a bang when I mention it. Throws
+her nerves all out, she says. I'd like to get my hands on the
+blackguard."
+
+"So would I. It's a puzzle. If he had molested her while she was a
+captive, you could understand. But he never came near her."
+
+"Busted his nerve, that's what."
+
+"I have my doubts about that. A man who will go that far isn't subject to
+any derangement of his nerves. Want me to bring up the checkers?"
+
+"Sure. I've got two rubbers hanging over you."
+
+The artist took the path that led around the villa and thence down by many
+steps to the village by the waterside, to the cream-tinted cluster of
+shops and enormous hotels.
+
+The Italian was more fortunate. He was staying at the villa. He rose and
+sauntered over to Harrigan, who was always a source of interest to him.
+Study the man as he might, there always remained a profound mystery to his
+keen Italian mind. Every now and then nature--to prove that while she
+provided laws for humanity she obeyed none herself--nature produced the
+prodigy. Ancestry was nothing; habits, intelligence, physical appearance
+counted for naught. Harrigan was a fine specimen of the physical man, yes;
+but to be the father of a woman who was as beautiful as the legendary
+goddesses and who possessed a voice incomparable in the living history of
+music, here logic, the cold and accurate intruder, found an unlockable
+door. He liked the ex-prizefighter, so kindly and wholesome; but he also
+pitied him. Harrigan reminded him of a seal he had once seen in an
+aquarium tank: out of his element, but merry-eyed and swimming round and
+round as if determined to please everybody.
+
+"It will be a fine night," said the Italian, pausing at Harrigan's bench.
+
+"Every night is fine here, Barone," replied Harrigan. "Why, they had me up
+in Marienbad a few weeks ago, and I'm not over it yet. It's no place for a
+sick man; only a well man could come out of it alive."
+
+The Barone laughed. Harrigan had told this tale half a dozen times, but
+each time the Barone felt called on to laugh. The man was her father.
+
+"Do you know, Mr. Harrigan, Miss Harrigan is not herself? She is--what do
+you call?--bitter. She laughs, but--ah, I do not know!--it sounds not
+real."
+
+"Well, she isn't over that rumpus in Paris yet."
+
+"Rumpus?"
+
+"The abduction."
+
+"Ah, yes! Rumpus is another word for abduction? Yes, yes, I see."
+
+"No, no! Rumpus is just a mix-up, a row, anything that makes a noise,
+calls in the police. You can make a rumpus on the piano, over a game of
+cards, anything."
+
+The Barone spread his hands. "I comprehend," hurriedly. He comprehended
+nothing, but he was too proud to admit it.
+
+"So Nora is not herself; a case of nerves. And to think that you called
+there at the apartment the very day!"
+
+"Ah, if I had been there the right time!"
+
+"But what puts me down for the count is the action of the fellow. Never
+showed up; just made her miss two performances."
+
+"He was afraid. Men who do cowardly things are always afraid." The Barone
+spoke with decided accent, but he seldom made a grammatical error. "But
+sometimes, too, men grow mad at once, and they do things in their madness.
+Ah, she is so beautiful! She is a nightingale." The Italian looked down on
+Como whose broad expanse was crisscrossed by rippled paths made by
+arriving and departing steamers. "It is not a wonder that some man might
+want to run away with her."
+
+Harrigan looked curiously at the other. "Well, it won't be healthy for any
+man to try it again." The father held out his powerful hands for the
+Barone's inspection. They called mutely but expressively for the throat of
+the man who dared. "It'll never happen again. Her mother and I are not
+going away from her any more. When she sings in Berlin, I'm going to trail
+along; when she hits the high note in Paris, I'm lingering near; when she
+trills in London, I'm hiding in the shadow. And you may put that in your
+pipe and smoke it."
+
+"I smoke only cigarettes," replied the Barone gravely. It had been
+difficult to follow, this English.
+
+Harrigan said nothing in return. He had given up trying to explain to the
+Italian the idiomatic style of old Broadway. He got up and brushed his
+flannels perfunctorily. "Well, I suppose I've got to dress for supper,"
+resentfully. He still called it supper; and, as in the matter of the silk
+hat, his wife no longer strove to correct him. The evening meal had always
+been supper, and so it would remain until that time when he would cease to
+look forward to it.
+
+"Do you go to the dancing at Cadenabbia to-night?"
+
+"Me? I should say not!" Harrigan laughed. "I'd look like a bull in a
+china-shop. Abbott is coming up to play checkers with me. I'll leave the
+honors to you."
+
+The Barone's face lighted considerably. He hated the artist only when he
+was visible. He was rather confused, however. Abbott had been invited to
+the dance. Why wasn't he going? Could it be true? Had the artist tried his
+luck and lost? Ah, if fate were as kind as that! He let Harrigan depart
+alone.
+
+Why not? What did he care? What if the father had been a fighter for
+prizes? What if the mother was possessed with a misguided desire to shine
+socially? What mattered it if they had once resided in an obscure tenement
+in a great city, and that grandfathers were as far back as they could go
+with any certainty? Was he not his own master? What titled woman of his
+acquaintance whose forebears had been powerful in the days of the Borgias,
+was not dimmed in the presence of this wonderful maid to whom all things
+had been given unreservedly? Her brow was fit for a royal crown, let alone
+a simple baronial tiara such as he could provide. The mother favored him a
+little; of this he was reasonably certain; but the moods of the daughter
+were difficult to discover or to follow.
+
+To-night! The round moon was rising palely over Lecco; the moon, mistress
+of love and tides, toward whom all men and maids must look, though only
+Eros knows why! Evidently there was no answer to the Italian's question,
+for he faced about and walked moodily toward the entrance. Here he paused,
+looking up at the empty window. Again a snatch of song--
+
+_O solo mio_ ... _che bella cosa_...!
+
+What a beautiful thing indeed! Passionately he longed for the old days,
+when by his physical prowess alone oft a man won his lady. Diplomacy,
+torrents of words, sly little tricks, subterfuges, adroitness, stolen
+glances, careless touches of the hand; by these must a maid be won to-day.
+When she was happy she sang, when she was sad, when she was only
+mischievous. She was just as likely to sing _O terra addio_ when she was
+happy as _O sole mio_ when she was sad. So, how was a man to know the
+right approach to her variant moods? Sighing deeply, he went on to his
+room, to change his Piccadilly suit for another which was supposed to be
+the last word in the matter of evening dress.
+
+Below, in the village, a man entered the Grand Hotel. He was tall, blond,
+rosy-cheeked. He carried himself like one used to military service; also,
+like one used to giving peremptory orders. The porter bowed, the director
+bowed, and the proprietor himself became a living carpenter's square,
+hinged. The porter and the director recognized a personage; the proprietor
+recognized the man. It was of no consequence that the new arrival called
+himself Herr Rosen. He was assigned to a suite of rooms, and on returning
+to the bureau, the proprietor squinted his eyes abstractedly. He knew
+every woman of importance at that time residing on the Point. Certainly it
+could be none of these. _Himmel!_ He struck his hands together. So that
+was it: the singer. He recalled the hints in certain newspaper paragraphs,
+the little tales with the names left to the imagination. So that was it?
+
+What a woman! Men looked at her and went mad. And not so long ago one had
+abducted her in Paris. The proprietor threw up his hands in despair. What
+was going to happen to the peace of this bucolic spot? The youth permitted
+nothing to stand in his way, and the singer's father was a retired fighter
+with boxing-gloves!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+MOONLIGHT AND A PRINCE
+
+
+When he had fought what he considered two rattling rounds, Harrigan
+conceded that his cravat had once more got the decision over him on
+points. And the cravat was only a second-rater, too, a black-silk affair.
+He tossed up the sponge and went down to the dining-room, the ends of the
+conqueror straggling like the four points of a battered weather-vane. His
+wife and daughter and Mademoiselle Fournier were already at their table by
+the casement window, from which they could see the changing granite mask
+of Napoleon across Lecco.
+
+At the villa there were seldom more than ten or twelve guests, this being
+quite the capacity of the little hotel. These generally took refuge here
+in order to escape the noise and confusion of a large hotel, to avoid the
+necessity of dining in state every night. Few of the men wore evening
+dress, save on occasions when they were entertaining. The villa wasn't at
+all fashionable, and the run of American tourists fought shy of it,
+preferring the music and dancing and card-playing of the famous hostelries
+along the water-front. Of course, everybody came up for the view, just as
+everybody went up the Corner Grat (by cable) at Zermatt to see the
+Matterhorn. But for all its apparent dulness, there, was always an English
+duchess, a Russian princess, or a lady from the Faubourg St.-Germain
+somewhere about, resting after a strenuous winter along the Riviera. Nora
+Harrigan sought it not only because she loved the spot, but because it
+sheltered her from idle curiosity. It was almost as if the villa were
+hers, and the other people her guests.
+
+Harrigan crossed the room briskly, urged by an appetite as sound as his
+views on life. The chef here was a king; there was always something to
+look forward to at the dinner hour; some new way of serving spinach, or
+lentils, or some irresistible salad. He smiled at every one and pulled out
+his chair.
+
+"Sorry to keep you folks waiting."
+
+"James!"
+
+"What's the matter now?" he asked good-naturedly. Never that tone but
+something was out of kilter.
+
+His wife glanced wrathfully at his feet. Wonderingly he looked down. In
+the heat of the battle with his cravat he had forgotten all about his
+tennis shoes.
+
+"I see. No soup for mine." He went back to his room, philosophically.
+There was always something wrong when he got into these infernal clothes.
+
+"Mother," said Nora, "why can't you let him be?"
+
+"But white shoes!" in horror.
+
+"Who cares? He's the patientest man I know. We're always nagging him, and
+I for one am going to stop. Look about! So few men and women dress for
+dinner. You do as you please here, and that is why I like it."
+
+"I shall never be able to do anything with him as long as he sees that his
+mistakes are being condoned by you," bitterly responded the mother. "Some
+day he will humiliate us all by his carelessness."
+
+"Oh, bother!" Nora's elbow slyly dug into Celeste's side.
+
+The pianist's pretty face was bent over her soup. She had grown accustomed
+to these little daily rifts. For the great, patient, clumsy,
+happy-go-lucky man she entertained an intense pity. But it was not the
+kind that humiliates; on the contrary, it was of a mothering disposition;
+and the ex-gladiator dimly recognized it, and felt more comfortable with
+her than with any other woman excepting Nora. She understood him perhaps
+better than either mother or daughter; he was too late: he belonged to a
+distant time, the beginning of the Christian era; and often she pictured
+him braving the net and the trident in the saffroned arena.
+
+Mrs. Harrigan broke her bread vexatiously. Her husband refused to think
+for himself, and it was wearing on her nerves to watch him day and night.
+Deep down under the surface of new adjustments and social ambitions, deep
+in the primitive heart, he was still her man. But it was only when he
+limped with an occasional twinge of rheumatism, or a tooth ached, or he
+dallied with his meals, that the old love-instinct broke up through these
+artificial crustations. True, she never knew how often he invented these
+trivial ailments, for he soon came into the knowledge that she was less
+concerned about him when he was hale and hearty. She still retained
+evidences of a blossomy beauty. Abbott had once said truly that nature had
+experimented on her; it was in the reproduction that perfection had been
+reached. To see the father, the mother, and the daughter together it was
+not difficult to fashion a theory as to the latter's splendid health and
+physical superiority. Arriving at this point, however, theory began to
+fray at the ends. No one could account for the genius and the voice. The
+mother often stood lost in wonder that out of an ordinary childhood, a
+barelegged, romping, hoydenish childhood, this marvel should emerge:
+her's!
+
+She was very ambitious for her daughter. She wanted to see nothing less
+than a ducal coronet upon the child's brow, British preferred. If ordinary
+chorus girls and vaudeville stars, possessing only passable beauty and no
+intelligence whatever, could bring earls into their nets, there was no
+reason why Nora could not be a princess or a duchess. So she planned
+accordingly. But the child puzzled and eluded her; and from time to time
+she discovered a disquieting strength of character behind a disarming
+amiability. Ever since Nora had returned home by way of the Orient, the
+mother had recognized a subtle change, so subtle that she never had an
+opportunity of alluding to it verbally. Perhaps the fault lay at her own
+door. She should never have permitted Nora to come abroad alone to fill
+her engagements.
+
+But that Nora was to marry a duke was, to her mind, a settled fact. It is
+a peculiar phase, this of the humble who find themselves, without effort
+of their own, thrust up among the great and the so-called, who forget
+whence they came in the fierce contest for supremacy upon that tottering
+ledge called society. The cad and the snob are only infrequently
+well-born. Mrs. Harrigan was as yet far from being a snob, but it required
+some tact upon Nora's part to prevent this dubious accomplishment.
+
+"Is Mr. Abbott going with us?" she inquired.
+
+"Donald is sulking," Nora answered. "For once the Barone got ahead of him
+in engaging the motor-boat."
+
+"I wish you would not call him by his first name."
+
+"And why not? I like him, and he is a very good comrade."
+
+"You do not call the Barone by his given name."
+
+"Heavens, no! If I did he would kiss me. These Italians will never
+understand western customs, mother. I shall never marry an Italian, much
+as I love Italy."
+
+"Nor a Frenchman?" asked Celeste.
+
+"Nor a Frenchman."
+
+"I wish I knew if you meant it," sighed the mother.
+
+"My dear, I have given myself to the stage. You will never see me being
+led to the altar."
+
+"No, you will do the leading when the time comes," retorted the mother.
+
+"Mother, the men I like you may count upon the fingers of one hand. Three
+of them are old. For the rest, I despise men."
+
+"I suppose some day you will marry some poverty-stricken artist," said the
+mother, filled with dark foreboding.
+
+"You would not call Donald poverty-stricken."
+
+"No. But you will never marry him."
+
+"No. I never shall."
+
+Celeste smoothed her hands, a little trick she had acquired from long
+hours spent at the piano. "He will make some woman a good husband."
+
+"That he will."
+
+"And he is most desperately in love with you."
+
+"That's nonsense!" scoffed Nora. "He thinks he is. He ought to fall in
+love with you, Celeste. Every time you play the fourth _ballade_ he looks
+as if he was ready to throw himself at your feet."
+
+"_Pouf!_ For ten minutes?" Celeste laughed bravely. "He leaves me quickly
+enough when you begin to sing."
+
+"Glamour, glamour!"
+
+"Well, I should not care for the article second-hand."
+
+The arrival of Harrigan put an end to this dangerous trend of
+conversation. He walked in tight proper pumps, and sat down. He was only
+hungry now; the zest for dining was gone.
+
+"Don't go sitting out in the night air, Nora," he warned.
+
+"I sha'n't."
+
+"And don't dance more than you ought to. Your mother would let you wear
+the soles off your shoes if she thought you were attracting attention.
+Don't do it."
+
+"James, that is not true," the mother protested.
+
+"Well, Molly, you do like to hear 'em talk. I wish they knew how to cook a
+good club steak."
+
+"I brought up a book from the village for you to-day," said Mrs. Harrigan,
+sternly.
+
+"I'll bet a dollar it's on how to keep the creases in a fellow's pants."
+
+"Trousers."
+
+"Pants," helping himself to the last of the romaine. "What time do you go
+over?"
+
+"At nine. We must be getting ready now," said Nora. "Don't wait up for
+us."
+
+"And only one cigar," added the mother.
+
+"Say, Molly, you keep closing in on me. Tobacco won't hurt me any, and I
+get a good deal of comfort out of it these days."
+
+"Two," smiled Nora.
+
+"But his heart!"
+
+"And what in mercy's name is the matter with his heart? The doctor at
+Marienbad said that father was the soundest man of his age he had ever
+met." Nora looked quizzically at her father.
+
+He grinned. Out of his own mouth he had been nicely trapped. That morning
+he had complained of a little twinge in his heart, a childish subterfuge
+to take Mrs. Harrigan's attention away from the eternal society page of
+the _Herald_. It had succeeded. He had even been cuddled.
+
+"James, you told me..."
+
+"Oh, Molly, I only wanted to talk to you."
+
+"To do so it isn't necessary to frighten me to death," reproachfully. "One
+cigar, and no more."
+
+"Molly, what ails you?" as they left the dining-room. "Nora's right. That
+sawbones said I was made of iron. I'm only smoking native cigars, and it
+takes a bunch of 'em to get the taste of tobacco. All right; in a few
+months you'll have me with the stuffed canary under the glass top. What's
+the name of that book?" diplomatically.
+
+"_Social Usages._"
+
+"Break away!"
+
+Nora laughed. "But, dad, you really must read it carefully. It will tell
+you how to talk to a duchess, if you chance to meet one when I am not
+around. It has all the names of the forks and knives and spoons, and it
+tells you never to use sugar on your lettuce." And then she threw her arm
+around her mother's waist. "Honey, when you buy books for father, be sure
+they are by Dumas or Haggard or Doyle. Otherwise he will never read a
+line."
+
+"And I try so hard!" Tears came into Mrs. Harrigan's eyes.
+
+"There, there, Molly, old girl!" soothed the outlaw. "I'll read the book.
+I know I'm a stupid old stumbling-block, but it's hard to teach an old dog
+new tricks, that is, at the ring of the gong. Run along to your party. And
+don't break any more hearts than you need, Nora."
+
+Nora promised in good faith. But once in the ballroom, that little son of
+Satan called malice-aforethought took possession of her; and there was
+havoc. If a certain American countess had not patronized her; if certain
+lorgnettes (implements of torture used by said son of Satan) had not been
+leveled in her direction; if certain fans had not been suggestively spread
+between pairs of feminine heads,--Nora would have been as harmless as a
+playful kitten.
+
+From door to door of the ballroom her mother fluttered like a hen with a
+duckling. Even Celeste was disturbed, for she saw that Nora's conduct was
+not due to any light-hearted fun. There was something bitter and ironic
+cloaked by those smiles, that tinkle of laughter. In fact, Nora from
+Tuscany flirted outrageously. The Barone sulked and tore at his mustache.
+He committed any number of murders, by eye and by wish. When his time came
+to dance with the mischief-maker, he whirled her around savagely, and
+never said a word; and once done with, he sternly returned her to her
+mother, which he deemed the wisest course to pursue.
+
+"Nora, you are behaving abominably!" whispered her mother, pale with
+indignation.
+
+"Well, I am having a good time ... Your dance? Thank you."
+
+And a tender young American led her through the mazes of the waltz, as
+some poet who knew what he was about phrased it.
+
+It is not an exaggeration to say that there was not a woman in the
+ballroom to compare with her, and some of them were marvelously gowned and
+complexioned, too. She overshadowed them not only by sheer beauty, but by
+exuberance of spirit. And they followed her with hating eyes and whispered
+scandalous things behind their fans and wondered what had possessed the
+Marchesa to invite the bold thing: so does mediocrity pay homage to beauty
+and genius. As for the men, though madness lay that way, eagerly as of old
+they sought it.
+
+By way of parenthesis: Herr Rosen marched up the hill and down again,
+something after the manner of a certain warrior king celebrated in verse.
+The object of his visit had gone to the ball at Cadenabbia. At the hotel
+he demanded a motor-boat. There was none to be had. In a furious state of
+mind he engaged two oarsmen to row him across the lake.
+
+And so it came to pass that when Nora, suddenly grown weary of the play,
+full of bitterness and distaste, hating herself and every one else in the
+world, stole out to the quay to commune with the moon, she saw him jump
+from the boat to the landing, scorning the steps. Instantly she drew her
+lace mantle closely about her face. It was useless. In the man the
+hunter's instinct was much too keen.
+
+"So I have found you!"
+
+"One would say that I had been in hiding?" coldly.
+
+"From me, always. I have left everything--duty, obligations--to seek
+you."
+
+"From any other man that might be a compliment."
+
+"I am a prince," he said proudly.
+
+She faced him with that quick resolution, that swift forming of purpose,
+which has made the Irish so difficult in argument and persuasion. "Will
+you marry me? Will you make me your wife legally? Before all the world?
+Will you surrender, for the sake of this love you profess, your right to a
+great inheritance? Will you risk the anger and the iron hand of your
+father for my sake?"
+
+"_Herr Gott!_ I am mad!" He covered his eyes.
+
+"That expression proves that your Highness is sane again. Have you
+realized the annoyances, the embarrassments, you have thrust upon me by
+your pursuit? Have you not read the scandalous innuendoes in the
+newspapers? Your Highness, I was not born on the Continent, so I look upon
+my work from a point of view not common to those of your caste. I am proud
+of it, and I look upon it with honor, honor. I am a woman, but I am not
+wholly defenseless. There was a time when I thought I might number among
+my friends a prince; but you have made that impossible."
+
+"Come," he said hoarsely; "let us go and find a priest. You are right. I
+love you; I will give up everything, everything!"
+
+For a moment she was dumb. This absolute surrender appalled her. But that
+good fortune which had ever been at her side stepped into the breach. And
+as she saw the tall form of the Barone approach, she could have thrown her
+arms around his neck in pure gladness.
+
+"Oh, Barone!" she called. "Am I making you miss this dance?"
+
+"It does not matter, Signorina." The Barone stared keenly at the erect and
+tense figure at the prima donna's side.
+
+"You will excuse me, Herr Rosen," said Nora, as she laid her hand upon the
+Barone's arm.
+
+Herr Rosen bowed stiffly; and the two left him standing uncovered in the
+moonlight.
+
+"What is he doing here? What has he been saying to you?" the Barone
+demanded. Nora withdrew her hand from his arm. "Pardon me," said he
+contritely. "I have no right to ask you such questions."
+
+It was not long after midnight when the motor-boat returned to its abiding
+place. On the way over conversation lagged, and finally died altogether.
+Mrs. Harrigan fell asleep against Celeste's shoulder, and the musician
+never deviated her gaze from the silver ripples which flowed out
+diagonally and magically from the prow of the boat. Nora watched the stars
+slowly ascend over the eastern range of mountains; and across the fire of
+his innumerable cigarettes the Barone watched her.
+
+As the boat was made fast to the landing in front of the Grand Hotel,
+Celeste observed a man in evening dress, lounging against the rail of the
+quay. The search-light from the customs-boat, hunting for tobacco
+smugglers, flashed over his face. She could not repress the little gasp,
+and her hand tightened upon Nora's arm.
+
+"What is it?" asked Nora.
+
+"Nothing. I thought I was slipping."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+COLONEL CAXLEY-WEBSTER
+
+
+Abbott's studio was under the roof of one of the little hotels that stand
+timorously and humbly, yet expectantly, between the imposing cream-stucco
+of the Grand Hotel at one end and the elaborate pink-stucco of the Grande
+Bretegne at the other. The hobnailed shoes of the Teuton (who wears his
+mountain kit all the way from Hamburg to Palermo) wore up and down the
+stairs all day; and the racket from the hucksters' carts and hotel
+omnibuses, arriving and departing from the steamboat landing, the shouts
+of the begging boatmen, the quarreling of the children and the barking of
+unpedigreed dogs,--these noises were incessant from dawn until sunset.
+
+The artist glared down from his square window at the ruffled waters, or
+scowled at the fleeting snows on the mountains over the way. He passed
+some ten or twelve minutes in this useless occupation, but he could not
+get away from the bald fact that he had acted like a petulant child. To
+have shown his hand so openly, simply because the Barone had beaten him in
+the race for the motor-boat! And Nora would understand that he was weak
+and without backbone. Harrigan himself must have reasoned out the cause
+for such asinine plays as he had executed in the game of checkers. How
+many times had the old man called out to him to wake up and move? In
+spirit he had been across the lake, a spirit in Hades. He was not only a
+fool, but a coward likewise. He had not dared to
+
+                        "... put it to the touch
+                        To gain or lose it all."
+
+He saw it coming: before long he and that Italian would be at each other's
+throats.
+
+"Come in!" he called, in response to a sudden thunder on the door.
+
+The door opened and a short, energetic old man, purple-visaged and
+hawk-eyed, came in. "Why the devil don't you join the Trappist monks,
+Abbott? If I wasn't tough I should have died of apoplexy on the second
+landing."
+
+"Good morning, Colonel!" Abbott laughed and rolled out the patent rocker
+for his guest. "What's on your mind this morning? I can give you one
+without ice."
+
+"I'll take it neat, my boy. I'm not thirsty, I'm faint. These Italian
+architects; they call three ladders flights of stairs! ... Ha! That's
+Irish whisky, and jolly fine. Want you to come over and take tea this
+afternoon. I'm going up presently to see the Harrigans. Thought I'd go
+around and do the thing informally. Taken a fancy to the old chap. He's a
+little bit of all right. I'm no older than he is, but look at the
+difference! Whisky and soda, that's the racket. Not by the tubful; just an
+ordinary half dozen a day, and a dem climate thrown in."
+
+"Difference in training."
+
+"Rot! It's the sized hat a man wears. I'd give fifty guineas to see the
+old fellow in action. But, I say; recall the argument we had before you
+went to Paris?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, I win. Saw him bang across the street this morning."
+
+Abbott muttered something.
+
+"What was that?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Sounded like 'dem it' to me."
+
+"Maybe it did."
+
+"Heard about him in Paris?"
+
+"No."
+
+"The old boy had transferred his regiment to a lonesome post in the North
+to cool his blood. The youngster took the next train to Paris. He was
+there incognito for two weeks before they found him and bundled him back.
+Of course, every one knows that he is but a crazy lad who's had too much
+freedom." The colonel emptied his glass. "I feel dem sorry for Nora. She's
+the right sort. But a woman can't take a man by the scruff of his neck and
+chuck him."
+
+"But I can," declared Abbott savagely.
+
+"Tut, tut! He'd eat you alive. Besides, you will find him too clever to
+give you an opening. But he'll bear watching. He's capable of putting her
+on a train and running away with her. Between you and me, I don't blame
+him. What's the matter with sicking the Barone on him? He's the best man
+in Southern Italy with foils and broadswords. Sic 'em, Towser; sic 'em!"
+The old fire-eater chuckled.
+
+The subject was extremely distasteful to the artist. The colonel, a rough
+soldier, whose diplomacy had never risen above the heights of clubbing a
+recalcitrant Hill man into submission, baldly inferred that he understood
+the artist's interest in the rose of the Harrigan family. He would have
+liked to talk more in regard to the interloper, but it would have been
+sheer folly. The colonel, in his blundering way, would have brought up the
+subject again at tea-time and put everybody on edge. He had, unfortunately
+for his friends, a reputation other than that of a soldier: he posed as a
+peacemaker. He saw trouble where none existed, and the way he patched up
+imaginary quarrels would have strained the patience of Job. Still, every
+one loved him, though they lived in mortal fear of him. So Abbott came
+about quickly and sailed against the wind.
+
+"By the way," he said, "I wish you would let me sketch that servant of
+yours. He's got a profile like a medallion. Where did you pick him up?"
+
+"In the Hills. He's a Sikh, and a first-class fighting man. Didn't know
+that you went for faces."
+
+"Not as a usual thing. Just want it for my own use. How does he keep his
+beard combed that way?"
+
+"I've never bothered myself about the curl of his whiskers. Are my clothes
+laid out? Luggage attended to? Guns shipshape? That's enough for me. Some
+day you have got to go out there with me."
+
+"Never shot a gun in all my life. I don't know which end to hold at my
+shoulder."
+
+"Teach you quick enough. Every man's a born hunter. Rao will have tigers
+eating out of your hand. He's a marvel; saved my hide more than once.
+Funny thing; you can't show 'em that you're grateful. Lose caste if you
+do. I rather miss it. Get the East in your blood and you'll never get it
+out. Fascinating! But my liver turned over once too many times. Ha! Some
+one coming up to buy a picture."
+
+The step outside was firm and unwearied by the climb. The door opened
+unceremoniously, and Courtlandt came in. He stared at the colonel and the
+colonel returned the stare.
+
+"Caxley-Webster! Well, I say, this globe goes on shrinking every day!"
+cried Courtlandt.
+
+The two pumped hands energetically, sizing each other up critically. Then
+they sat down and shot questions, while Abbott looked on bewildered.
+Elephants and tigers and chittahs and wild boar and quail-running and
+strange guttural names; weltering nights in the jungles, freezing mornings
+in the Hills; stupendous card games; and what had become of so-and-so, who
+always drank his whisky neat; and what's-his-name, who invented cures for
+snake bites!
+
+Abbott deliberately pushed over an oak bench. "Am I host here or not?"
+
+"Abby, old man, how are you?" said Courtlandt, smiling warmly and holding
+out his hand. "My apologies; but the colonel and I never expected to see
+each other again. And I find him talking with you up here under this roof.
+It's marvelous."
+
+"It's a wonder you wouldn't drop a fellow a line," said Abbott, in a
+faultfinding tone, as he righted the bench. "When did you come?"
+
+"Last night. Came up from Como."
+
+"Going to stay long?"
+
+"That depends. I am really on my way to Zermatt. I've a hankering to have
+another try at the Matterhorn."
+
+"Think of that!" exclaimed the colonel. "He says another try."
+
+"You came a roundabout way," was the artist's comment.
+
+"Oh, that's because I left Paris for Brescia. They had some good flights
+there. Wonderful year! They cross the Channel in an airship and discover
+the North Pole."
+
+"Pah! Neither will be of any use to humanity; merely a fine sporting
+proposition." The colonel dug into his pocket for his pipe. "But what do
+you think of Germany?"
+
+"Fine country," answered Courtlandt, rising and going to a window; "fine
+people, too. Why?"
+
+"Do you--er--think they could whip us?"
+
+"On land, yes."
+
+"The devil!"
+
+"On water, no."
+
+"Thanks. In other words, you believe our chances equal?"
+
+"So equal that all this war-scare is piffle. But I rather like to see you
+English get up in the air occasionally. It will do you good. You've an
+idea because you walloped Napoleon that you're the same race you were
+then, and you are not. The English-speaking races, as the first soldiers,
+have ceased to be."
+
+"Well, I be dem!" gasped the colonel.
+
+"It's the truth. Take the American: he thinks there is nothing in the
+world but money. Take the Britisher: to him caste is everything. Take the
+money out of one man's mind and the importance of being well-born out of
+the other...." He turned from the window and smiled at the artist and the
+empurpling Anglo-Indian.
+
+"Abbott," growled the soldier, "that man will some day drive me amuck.
+What do you think? One night, on a tiger hunt, he got me into an argument
+like this. A brute of a beast jumped into the middle of it. Courtlandt
+shot him on the second bound, and turned to me with--'Well, as I was
+saying!' I don't know to this day whether it was nerve or what you
+Americans call gall."
+
+"Divided by two," grinned Abbott.
+
+"Ha, I see; half nerve and half gall. I'll remember that. But we were
+talking of airships."
+
+"I was," retorted Courtlandt. "You were the man who started the powwow."
+He looked down into the street with sudden interest. "Who is that?"
+
+The colonel and Abbott hurried across the room.
+
+"What did I say, Abbott? I told you I saw him. He's crazy; fact. Thinks he
+can travel around incognito when there isn't a magazine on earth that
+hasn't printed his picture."
+
+"Well, why shouldn't he travel around if he wants to?" asked Courtlandt
+coolly.
+
+The colonel nudged the artist.
+
+"There happens to be an attraction in Bellaggio," said Abbott irritably.
+
+"The moth and the candle," supplemented the colonel, peering over
+Courtlandt's shoulder. "He's well set up," grudgingly admitted the old
+fellow.
+
+"The moth and the candle," mused Courtlandt. "That will be Nora Harrigan.
+How long has this infatuation been going on?"
+
+"Year and a half."
+
+"And the other side?"
+
+"There isn't any other side," exploded the artist. "She's worried to
+death. Not a day passes but some scurrilous penny-a-liner springs some
+yarn, some beastly innuendo. She's been dodging the fellow for months. In
+Paris last year she couldn't move without running into him. This year she
+changed her apartment, and gave orders at the Opera to refuse her address
+to all who asked for it. Consequently she had some peace. I don't know why
+it is, but a woman in public life seems to be a target."
+
+"The penalty of beauty, Abby. Homely women seldom are annoyed, unless they
+become suffragists." The colonel poured forth a dense cloud of smoke.
+
+"What brand is that, Colonel?" asked Courtlandt, choking.
+
+The colonel generously produced his pouch.
+
+"No, no! I was about to observe that it isn't ambrosia."
+
+"Rotter!" The soldier dug the offender in the ribs. "I am going to have
+the Harrigans over for tea this afternoon. Come over! You'll like the
+family. The girl is charming; and the father is a sportsman to the
+backbone. Some silly fools laugh behind his back, but never before his
+face. And my word, I know rafts of gentlemen who are not fit to stand in
+his shoes."
+
+"I should like to meet Mr. Harrigan." Courtlandt returned his gaze to the
+window once more.
+
+"And his daughter?" said Abbott, curiously.
+
+"Oh, surely!"
+
+"I may count on you, then?" The colonel stowed away the offending brier.
+"And you can stay to dinner."
+
+"I'll take the dinner end of the invitation," was the reply. "I've got to
+go over to Menaggio to see about some papers to be signed. If I can make
+the three o'clock boat in returning, you'll see me at tea. Dinner at all
+events. I'm off."
+
+"Do you mean to stand there and tell me that you have important business?"
+jeered Abbott.
+
+"My boy, the reason I'm on trains and boats, year in and year out, is in
+the vain endeavor to escape important business. Now and then I am rounded
+up. Were you ever hunted by money?" humorously.
+
+"No," answered the Englishman sadly. "But I know one thing: I'd throw the
+race at the starting-post. Millions, Abbott, and to be obliged to run away
+from them! If the deserts hadn't dried up all my tears, I should weep. Why
+don't you hire a private secretary to handle your affairs?"
+
+"And have him following at my heels?" Courtlandt gazed at his lean brown
+hands. "When these begin to shake, I'll do so. Well, I shall see you both
+at dinner, whatever happens."
+
+"That's Courtlandt," said Abbott, when his friend was gone. "You think
+he's in Singapore, the door opens and in he walks; never any letter or
+announcement. He arrives, that's all."
+
+"Strikes me," returned the other, polishing his glass, holding it up to
+the light, and then screwing it into his eye; "strikes me, he wasn't
+overanxious to have that dish of tea. Afraid of women?"
+
+"Afraid of women! Why, man, he backed two musical shows in the States a
+few years ago."
+
+"Musical comedies?" The glass dropped from the colonel's eye. "That's
+going tigers one better. Forty women, all waiting to be stars, and solemn
+Courtlandt wandering among them as the god of amity! Afraid of them! Of
+course he is. Who wouldn't be, after such an experience?" The colonel
+laughed. "Never had any serious affair?"
+
+"Never heard of one. There was some tommy-rot about a Mahommedan princess
+in the newspapers; but I knew there was no truth in that. Queer fellow! He
+wouldn't take the trouble to deny it."
+
+"Never showed any signs of being a woman-hater?"
+
+"No, not the least in the world. But to shy at meeting Nora Harrigan...."
+
+"There you have it; the privilege of the gods. Perhaps he really has
+business in Menaggio. What'll we do with the other beggar?"
+
+"Knock his head off, if he bothers her."
+
+"Better turn the job over to Courtlandt, then. You're in the light-weight
+class, and Courtlandt is the best amateur for his weight I ever saw."
+
+"What, boxes?"
+
+"A tough 'un. I had a corporal who beat any one in Northern India.
+Courtlandt put on the gloves with him and had him begging in the third
+round."
+
+"I never knew that before. He's as full of surprises as a rummage bag."
+
+Courtlandt walked up the street leisurely, idly pausing now and then
+before the shop-windows. Apparently he had neither object nor destination;
+yet his mind was busy, so busy in fact that he looked at the various
+curios without truly seeing them at all. A delicate situation, which
+needed the lightest handling, confronted him. He must wait for an overt
+act, then he might proceed as he pleased. How really helpless he was! He
+could not force her hand because she held all the cards and he none. Yet
+he was determined this time to play the game to the end, even if the task
+was equal to all those of Hercules rolled into one, and none of the gods
+on his side.
+
+At the hotel he asked for his mail, and was given a formidable packet
+which, with a sigh of discontent, he slipped into a pocket, strolled out
+into the garden by the water, and sat down to read. To his surprise there
+was a note, without stamp or postmark. He opened it, mildly curious to
+learn who it was that had discovered his presence in Bellaggio so quickly.
+The envelope contained nothing more than a neatly folded bank-note for one
+hundred francs. He eyed it stupidly. What might this mean? He unfolded it
+and smoothed it out across his knee, and the haze of puzzlement drifted
+away. Three bars from _La Bohème_. He laughed. So the little lady of the
+Taverne Royale was in Bellaggio!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MARGUERITES AND EMERALDS
+
+
+From where he sat Courtlandt could see down the main thoroughfare of the
+pretty village. There were other streets, to be sure, but courtesy and
+good nature alone permitted this misapplication of title: they were merely
+a series of torturous enervating stairways of stone, up and down which
+noisy wooden sandals clattered all the day long. Over the entrances to the
+shops the proprietors were dropping the white and brown awnings for the
+day. Very few people shopped after luncheon. There were pleasanter
+pastimes, even for the women, contradictory as this may seem. By eleven
+o'clock Courtlandt had finished the reading of his mail, and was now ready
+to hunt for the little lady of the Taverne Royale. It was necessary to
+find her. The whereabouts of Flora Desimone was of vital importance. If
+she had not yet arrived, the presence of her friend presaged her ultimate
+arrival. The duke was a negligible quantity. It would have surprised
+Courtlandt could he have foreseen the drawing together of the ends of the
+circle and the relative concernment of the duke in knotting those ends.
+The labors of Hercules had never entailed the subjugation of two
+temperamental women.
+
+He rose and proceeded on his quest. Before the photographer's shop he saw
+a dachel wrathfully challenging a cat on the balcony of the adjoining
+building. The cat knew, and so did the puppy, that it was all buncombe on
+the puppy's part: the usual European war-scare, in which one of the
+belligerent parties refused to come down because it wouldn't have been
+worth while, there being the usual Powers ready to intervene. Courtlandt
+did not bother about the cat; the puppy claimed his attention. He was very
+fond of dogs. So he reached down suddenly and put an end to the sharp
+challenge. The dachel struggled valiantly, for this breed of dog does not
+make friends easily.
+
+"I say, you little Dutchman, what's the row? I'm not going to hurt you.
+Funny little codger! To whom do you belong?" He turned the collar around,
+read the inscription, and gently put the puppy on the ground.
+
+Nora Harrigan!
+
+His immediate impulse was to walk on, but somehow this impulse refused to
+act on his sense of locomotion. He waited, dully wondering what was going
+to happen when she came out. He had left her room that night in Paris,
+vowing that he would never intrude on her again. With the recollection of
+that bullet whizzing past his ear, he had been convinced that the play was
+done. True, she had testified that it had been accidental, but never would
+he forget the look in her eyes. It was not pleasant to remember. And
+still, as the needle is drawn by the magnet, here he was, in Bellaggio. He
+cursed his weakness. From Brescia he had made up his mind to go directly
+to Berlin. Before he realized how useless it was to battle against these
+invisible forces, he was in Milan, booking for Como. At Como he had
+remained a week (the dullest week he had ever known); at the Villa d'Este
+three days; at Cadenabbia one day. It had all the characteristics of a
+tug-of-war, and irresistibly he was drawn over the line. The night before
+he had taken the evening boat across the lake. And Herr Rosen had been his
+fellow-passenger! The goddess of chance threw whimsical coils around her
+victims. To find himself shoulder to shoulder, as it were, with this man
+who, perhaps more than all other incentives, had urged him to return again
+to civilization; this man who had aroused in his heart a sentiment that
+hitherto he had not believed existed,--jealousy.... Ah, voices! He stepped
+aside quickly.
+
+"Fritz, Fritz; where are you?"
+
+And a moment later she came out, followed by her mother ... and the little
+lady of the Taverne Royale. Did Nora see him? It was impossible to tell.
+She simply stooped and gathered up the puppy, who struggled determinedly
+to lick her face. Courtlandt lifted his hat. It was in nowise offered as
+an act of recognition; it was merely the mechanical courtesy that a man
+generally pays to any woman in whose path he chances to be for the breath
+of a second. The three women in immaculate white, hatless, but with
+sunshades, passed on down the street.
+
+Courtlandt went into the shop, rather blindly. He stared at the shelves of
+paper-covered novels and post-cards, and when the polite proprietor
+offered him a dozen of the latter, he accepted them without comment.
+Indeed, he put them into a pocket and turned to go out.
+
+"Pardon, sir; those are one franc the dozen."
+
+"Ah, yes." Courtlandt pulled out some silver. It was going to be terribly
+difficult, and his heart was heavy with evil presages. He had seen
+Celeste. He understood the amusing if mysterious comedy now. Nora had
+recognized him and had sent her friend to follow him and learn where he
+went. And he, poor fool of a blunderer, with the best intentions in the
+world, he had gone at once to the Calabrian's apartment! It was damnable
+of fate. He had righted nothing. In truth, he was deeper than ever in the
+quicksands of misunderstanding. He shut his teeth with a click. How neatly
+she had waylaid and trapped him!
+
+"Those are from Lucerne, sir."
+
+"What?" bewildered.
+
+"Those wood-carvings which you are touching with your cane, sir."
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt, apologetically, and gained the open.
+He threw a quick glance down the street. There they were. He proceeded in
+the opposite direction, toward his hotel. Tea at the colonel's? Scarcely.
+He would go to Menaggio with the hotel motor-boat and return so late that
+he would arrive only in time for dinner. He was not going to meet the
+enemy over tea-cups, at least, not under the soldier's tactless
+supervision. He must find a smoother way, calculated, under the rose, but
+seemingly accidental. It was something to ponder over.
+
+"Nora, who was that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan.
+
+"Who was who?" countered Nora, snuggling the wriggling dachel under her
+arm and throwing the sunshade across her shoulder.
+
+"That fine-looking young man who stood by the door as we passed out. He
+raised his hat."
+
+"Oh, bother! I was looking at Fritz."
+
+Celeste searched her face keenly, but Nora looked on ahead serenely; not a
+quiver of an eyelid, not the slightest change in color or expression.
+
+"She did not see him!" thought the musician, curiously stirred. She knew
+her friend tolerably well. It would have been impossible for her to have
+seen that man and not to have given evidence of the fact.
+
+In short, Nora had spoken truthfully. She had seen a man dressed in white
+flannels and canvas shoes, but her eyes had not traveled so far as his
+face.
+
+"Mother, we must have some of those silk blankets. They're so comfy to lie
+on."
+
+"You never see anything except when you want to," complained Mrs.
+Harrigan.
+
+"It saves a deal of trouble. I don't want to go to the colonel's this
+afternoon. He always has some frump to pour tea and ask fool questions."
+
+"The frump, as you call her, is usually a countess or a duchess," with
+asperity.
+
+"Fiddlesticks! Nobility makes a specialty of frumps; it is one of the
+species of the caste. That's why I shall never marry a title. I wish
+neither to visit nor to entertain frumps. Frump,--the word calls up the
+exact picture; frump and fatuity. Oh, I'll go, but I'd rather stay on my
+balcony and read a good book."
+
+"My dear," patiently, "the colonel is one of the social laws on Como. His
+sister is the wife of an earl. You must not offend him. His Sundays are
+the most exclusive on the lake."
+
+"The word exclusive should be properly applied to those in jail. The
+social ladder, the social ladder! Don't you know, mother mine, that every
+rung is sawn by envy and greed, and that those who climb highest fall
+farthest?"
+
+"You are quoting the padre."
+
+"The padre could give lessons in kindness and shrewdness to any other man
+I know. If he hadn't chosen the gown he would have been a poet. I love the
+padre, with his snow-white hair and his withered leathery face. He was
+with the old king all through the freeing of Italy."
+
+"And had a fine time explaining to the Vatican," sniffed the mother.
+
+"Some day I am going to confess to him."
+
+"Confess what?" asked Celeste.
+
+"That I have wished the Calabrian's voice would fail her some night in
+_Carmen_; that I am wearing shoes a size too small for me; that I should
+like to be rich without labor; that I am sometimes ashamed of my calling;
+that I should have liked to see father win a prizefight; oh, and a
+thousand other horrid, hateful things."
+
+"I wish to gracious that you would fall violently in love."
+
+"Spiteful! There are those lovely lace collars; come on."
+
+"You are hopeless," was the mother's conviction.
+
+"In some things, yes," gravely.
+
+"Some day," said Celeste, who was a privileged person in the Harrigan
+family, "some day I am going to teach you two how to play at foils. It
+would be splendid. And then you could always settle your differences with
+bouts."
+
+"Better than that," retorted Nora. "I'll ask father to lend us his old set
+of gloves. He carries them around as if they were a fetish. I believe
+they're in the bottom of one of my steamer trunks."
+
+"Nora!" Mrs. Harrigan was not pleased with this jest. Any reference to the
+past was distasteful to her ears. She, too, went regularly to confession,
+but up to the present time had omitted the sin of being ashamed of her
+former poverty and environment. She had taken it for granted that upon her
+shoulders rested the future good fortune of the Harrigans. They had money;
+all that was required was social recognition. She found it a battle within
+a battle. The good-natured reluctance of her husband and the careless
+indifference of her daughter were as hard to combat as the icy aloofness
+of those stars into whose orbit she was pluckily striving to steer the
+family bark. It never entered her scheming head that the reluctance of the
+father and the indifference of the daughter were the very conditions that
+drew society nearward, for the simple novelty of finding two persons who
+did not care in the least whether they were recognized or not.
+
+The trio invaded the lace shop, and Nora and her mother agreed to bury the
+war-hatchet in their mutual love of Venetian and Florentine fineries.
+Celeste pretended to be interested, but in truth she was endeavoring to
+piece together the few facts she had been able to extract from the rubbish
+of conjecture. Courtlandt and Nora had met somewhere before the beginning
+of her own intimacy with the singer. They certainly must have formed an
+extraordinary friendship, for Nora's subsequent vindictiveness could not
+possibly have arisen out of the ruins of an indifferent acquaintance. Nora
+could not be moved from the belief that Courtlandt had abducted her; but
+Celeste was now positive that he had had nothing to do with it. He did not
+impress her as a man who would abduct a woman, hold her prisoner for five
+days, and then liberate her without coming near her to press his vantage,
+rightly or wrongly. He was too strong a personage. He was here in
+Bellaggio, and attached to that could be but one significance.
+
+Why, then, had he not spoken at the photographer's? Perhaps she herself
+had been sufficient reason for his dumbness. He had recognized her, and
+the espionage of the night in Paris was no longer a mystery. Nora had sent
+her to follow him; why then all this bitterness, since she had not been
+told where he had gone? Had Nora forgotten to inquire? It was possible
+that, in view of the startling events which had followed, the matter had
+slipped entirely from Nora's mind. Many a time she had resorted to that
+subtle guile known only of woman to trap the singer. But Nora never
+stumbled, and her smile was as firm a barrier to her thoughts, her
+secrets, as a stone wall would have been.
+
+Celeste had known about Herr Rosen's infatuation. Aside from that which
+concerned this stranger, Nora had withheld no real secret from her. Herr
+Rosen had been given his congé, but that did not prevent him from sending
+fabulous baskets of flowers and gems, all of which were calmly returned
+without comment. Whenever a jewel found its way into a bouquet of flowers
+from an unknown, Nora would promptly convert it into money and give the
+proceeds to some charity. It afforded the singer no small amusement to
+show her scorn in this fashion. Yes, there was one other little mystery
+which she did not confide to her friends. Once a month, wherever she
+chanced to be singing, there arrived a simple bouquet of marguerites, in
+the heart of which they would invariably find an uncut emerald. Nora never
+disposed of these emeralds. The flowers she would leave in her
+dressing-room; the emerald would disappear. Was there some one else?
+
+Mrs. Harrigan took the omnibus up to the villa. It was generally too much
+of a climb for her. Nora and Celeste preferred to walk.
+
+"What am I going to do, Celeste? He is here, and over at Cadenabbia last
+night I had a terrible scene with him. In heaven's name, why can't they
+let me be?"
+
+"Herr Rosen?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why not speak to your father?"
+
+"And have a fisticuff which would appear in every newspaper in the world?
+No, thank you. There is enough scandalous stuff being printed as it is,
+and I am helpless to prevent it."
+
+As the climb starts off stiffly, there wasn't much inclination in either
+to talk. Celeste had come to one decision, and that was that Nora should
+find out Courtlandt's presence here in Bellaggio herself. When they
+arrived at the villa gates, Celeste offered a suggestion.
+
+"You could easily stop all this rumor and annoyance."
+
+"And, pray, how?"
+
+"Marry."
+
+"I prefer the rumor and annoyance. I hate men. Most of them are beasts."
+
+"You are prejudiced."
+
+If Celeste expected Nora to reply that she had reason, she was
+disappointed, Nora quickened her pace, that was all.
+
+At luncheon Harrigan innocently threw a bomb into camp by inquiring: "Say,
+Nora, who's this chump Herr Rosen? He was up here last night and again
+this morning. I was going to offer him the cot on the balcony, but I
+thought I'd consult you first."
+
+"Herr Rosen!" exclaimed Mrs. Harrigan, a flutter in her throat. "Why,
+that's...."
+
+"A charming young man who wishes me to sign a contract to sing to him in
+perpetuity," interrupted Nora, pressing her mother's foot warningly.
+
+"Well, why don't you marry him?" laughed Harrigan. "There's worse things
+than frankfurters and sauerkraut."
+
+"Not that I can think of just now," returned Nora.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+AT THE CRATER'S EDGE
+
+
+Harrigan declared that he would not go over to Caxley-Webster's to tea.
+
+"But I've promised for you!" expostulated his wife. "And he admires you
+so."
+
+"Bosh! You women can gad about as much as you please, but I'm in wrong
+when it comes to eating sponge-cake and knuckling my knees under a dinky
+willow table. And then he always has some frump...."
+
+"Frump!" repeated Nora, delighted.
+
+"Frump inspecting me through a pair of eye-glasses as if I was a new kind
+of an animal. It's all right, Molly, when there's a big push. They don't
+notice me much then. But these six by eight parties have me covering."
+
+"Very well, dad," agreed Nora, who saw the storm gathering in her mother's
+eyes. "You can stay home and read the book mother got you yesterday. Where
+are you now?"
+
+"Page one," grinning.
+
+Mrs. Harrigan wisely refrained from continuing the debate. James had made
+up his mind not to go. If the colonel repeated his invitation to dinner,
+where there would be only the men folk, why, he'd gladly enough go to
+that.
+
+The women departed at three, for there was to be tennis until five
+o'clock. When Harrigan was reasonably sure that they were half the
+distance to the colonel's villa, he put on his hat, whistled to the
+dachel, and together they took the path to the village.
+
+"We'd look fine drinking tea, wouldn't we, old scout?" reaching down and
+tweaking the dog's velvet ears. "They don't understand, and it's no use
+trying to make 'em. Nora gets as near as possible. Herr Rosen! Now, where
+have I seen his phiz before? I wish I had a real man to talk to. Abbott
+sulks half the time, and the Barone can't get a joke unless it's driven in
+with a mallet. On your way, old scout, or I'll step on you. Let's see if
+we can hoof it down to the village at a trot without taking the count."
+
+He had but two errands to execute. The first was accomplished expeditely
+in the little tobacconist's shop under the arcade, where the purchase of a
+box of Minghetti cigars promised later solace. These cigars were cheap,
+but Harrigan had a novel way of adding to their strength if not to their
+aroma. He possessed a meerschaum cigar-holder, in which he had smoked
+perfectos for some years. The smoke of an ordinary cigar became that of a
+regalia by the time it passed through the nicotine-soaked clay into the
+amber mouthpiece. He had kept secret the result of this trifling
+scientific research. It wouldn't have been politic to disclose it to
+Molly. The second errand took time and deliberation. He studied the long
+shelves of Tauchnitz. Having red corpuscles in superabundance, he
+naturally preferred them in his literature, in the same quantity.
+
+"Ever read this?" asked a pleasant voice from behind, indicating _Rodney
+Stone_ with the ferrule of a cane.
+
+Harrigan looked up. "No. What's it about?"
+
+"Best story of the London prize-ring ever written. You're Mr. Harrigan,
+aren't you?"
+
+"Yes," diffidently.
+
+"My name is Edward Courtlandt. If I am not mistaken, you were a great
+friend of my father's."
+
+"Are you Dick Courtlandt's boy?"
+
+"I am."
+
+"Well, say!" Harrigan held out his hand and was gratified to encounter a
+man's grasp. "So you're Edward Courtlandt? Now, what do you think of that!
+Why, your father was the best sportsman I ever met. Square as they make
+'em. Not a kink anywhere in his make-up. He used to come to the bouts in
+his plug hat and dress suit; always had a seat by the ring. I could hear
+him tap with his cane when there happened to be a bit of pretty sparring.
+He was no slouch himself when it came to putting on the mitts. Many's the
+time I've had a round or two with him in my old gymnasium. Well, well!
+It's good to see a man again. I've seen your name in the papers, but I
+never knew you was Dick's boy. You've got an old grizzly's head in your
+dining-room at home. Some day I'll tell you how it got there, when you're
+not in a hurry. I went out to Montana for a scrap, and your dad went
+along. After the mill was over, we went hunting. Come up to the villa and
+meet the folks.... Hang it, I forgot. They're up to Caxley-Webster's to
+tea; piffle water and sticky sponge-cake. I want you to meet my wife and
+daughter."
+
+"I should be very pleased to meet them." So this was Nora's father? "Won't
+you come along with me to the colonel's?" with sudden inspiration. Here
+was an opportunity not to be thrust aside lightly.
+
+"Why, I just begged off. They won't be expecting me now."
+
+"All the better. I'd rather have you introduce me to your family than to
+have the colonel. As a matter of fact, I told him I couldn't get up. But I
+changed my mind. Come along." The first rift in the storm-packed clouds;
+and to meet her through the kindly offices of this amiable man who was her
+father!
+
+"But the pup and the cigar box?"
+
+"Send them up."
+
+Harrigan eyed his own spotless flannels and compared them with the
+other's. What was good enough for the son of a millionaire was certainly
+good enough for him. Besides, it would be a bully good joke on Nora and
+Molly.
+
+"You're on!" he cried. Here was a lark. He turned the dog and the
+purchases over to the proprietor, who promised that they should arrive
+instantly at the villa.
+
+Then the two men sought the quay to engage a boat. They walked shoulder to
+shoulder, flat-backed, with supple swinging limbs, tanned faces and clear
+animated eyes. Perhaps Harrigan was ten or fifteen pounds heavier, but the
+difference would have been noticeable only upon the scales.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Padre, my shoe pinches," said Nora with a pucker between her eyes.
+
+"My child," replied the padre, "never carry your vanity into a shoemaker's
+shop. The happiest man is he who walks in loose shoes."
+
+"If they are his own, and not inherited," quickly.
+
+The padre laughed quietly. He was very fond of this new-found daughter of
+his. Her spontaneity, her blooming beauty, her careless observation of
+convention, her independence, had captivated him. Sometimes he believed
+that he thoroughly understood her, when all at once he would find himself
+mentally peering into some dark corner into which the penetrating light of
+his usually swift deduction could throw no glimmer. She possessed the sins
+of the butterfly and the latent possibilities of a Judith. She was the
+most interesting feminine problem he had in his long years encountered.
+The mother mildly amused him, for he could discern the character that she
+was sedulously striving to batten down beneath inane social usages and
+formalities. Some day she would revert to the original type, and then he
+would be glad to renew the acquaintance. In rather a shamefaced way (a
+sensation he could not quite analyze) he loved the father. The pugilist
+will always embarrass the scholar and excite a negligible envy; for
+physical perfection is the most envied of all nature's gifts. The padre
+was short, thickset, and inclined toward stoutness in the region of the
+middle button of his cassock. But he was active enough for all purposes.
+
+"I have had many wicked thoughts lately," resumed Nora, turning her gaze
+away from the tennis players. She and the padre were sitting on the lower
+steps of the veranda. The others were loitering by the nets.
+
+"The old plaint disturbs you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Can you not cast it out wholly?"
+
+"Hate has many tentacles."
+
+"What produces that condition of mind?" meditatively. "Is it because we
+have wronged somebody?"
+
+"Or because somebody has wronged us?"
+
+"Or misjudged us, by us have been misjudged?" softly.
+
+"Good gracious!" exclaimed Nora, springing up.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Father is coming up the path!"
+
+"I am glad to see him. But I do not recollect having seen the face of the
+man with him."
+
+The lithe eagerness went out of Nora's body instantly. Everything seemed
+to grow cold, as if she had become enveloped in one of those fogs that
+suddenly blow down menacingly from hidden icebergs. Fortunately the
+inquiring eyes of the padre were not directed at her. He was here, not a
+dozen yards away, coming toward her, her father's arm in his! After what
+had passed he had dared! It was not often that Nora Harrigan was subjected
+to a touch of vertigo, but at this moment she felt that if she stirred
+ever so little she must fall. The stock whence she had sprung, however,
+was aggressive and fearless; and by the time Courtlandt had reached the
+outer markings of the courts, Nora was physically herself again. The
+advantage of the meeting would be his. That was indubitable. Any mistake
+on her part would be playing into his hands. If only she had known!
+
+"Let us go and meet them, Padre," she said quietly. With her father, her
+mother and the others, the inevitable introduction would be shorn of its
+danger. What Celeste might think was of no great importance; Celeste had
+been tried and her loyalty proven. Where had her father met him, and what
+diabolical stroke of fate had made him bring this man up here?
+
+"Nora!" It was her mother calling.
+
+She put her arm through the padre's, and they went forward leisurely.
+
+"Why, father, I thought you weren't coming," said Nora. Her voice was
+without a tremor.
+
+The padre hadn't the least idea that a volcano might at any moment open up
+at his side. He smiled benignly.
+
+"Changed my mind," said Harrigan. "Nora, Molly, I want you to meet Mr.
+Courtlandt. I don't know that I ever said anything about it, but his
+father was one of the best friends I ever had. He was on his way up here,
+so I came along with him." Then Harrigan paused and looked about him
+embarrassedly. There were half a dozen unfamiliar faces.
+
+The colonel quickly stepped into the breach, and the introduction of
+Courtlandt became general. Nora bowed, and became at once engaged in an
+animated conversation with the Barone, who had just finished his set
+victoriously.
+
+The padre's benign smile slowly faded.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+DICK COURTLANDT'S BOY
+
+
+Presently the servants brought out the tea-service. The silent
+dark-skinned Sikh, with his fierce curling whiskers, his flashing eyes,
+the semi-military, semi-oriental garb, topped by an enormous brown turban,
+claimed Courtlandt's attention; and it may be added that he was glad to
+have something to look at unembarrassedly. He wanted to catch the Indian's
+eye, but Rao had no glances to waste; he was concerned with the immediate
+business of superintending the service.
+
+Courtlandt had never been a man to surrender to impulse. It had been his
+habit to form a purpose and then to go about the fulfilling of it. During
+the last four or five months, however, he had swung about like a
+weather-cock in April, the victim of a thousand and one impulses. That
+morning he would have laughed had any one prophesied his presence here. He
+had fought against the inclination strongly enough at first, but as hour
+after hour went by his resolution weakened. His meeting Harrigan had been
+a stroke of luck. Still, he would have come anyhow.
+
+"Oh, yes; I am very fond of Como," he found himself replying mechanically
+to Mrs. Harrigan. He gave up Rao as hopeless so far as coming to his
+rescue was concerned. He began, despite his repugnance, to watch Nora.
+
+"It is always a little cold in the higher Alps."
+
+"I am very fond of climbing myself." Nora was laughing and jesting with
+one of the English tennis players. Not for nothing had she been called a
+great actress, he thought. It was not humanly possible that her heart was
+under better control than his own; and yet his was pounding against his
+ribs in a manner extremely disquieting. Never must he be left alone with
+her; always must it be under circumstances like this, with people about,
+and the more closely about the better. A game like this was far more
+exciting than tiger-hunting. It was going to assume the characteristics of
+a duel in which he, being the more advantageously placed, would succeed
+eventually in wearing down her guard. Hereafter, wherever she went, there
+must he also go: St. Petersburg or New York or London. And by and by the
+reporters would hear of it, and there would be rumors which he would
+neither deny nor affirm. Sport! He smiled, and the blood seemed to recede
+from his throat and his heart-beats to grow normal.
+
+And all the while Mrs. Harrigan was talking and he was replying; and she
+thought him charming, whereas he had not formed any opinion of her at all,
+nor later could remember a word of the conversation.
+
+"Tea!" bawled the colonel. The verb had its distinct uses, and one
+generally applied it to the colonel's outbursts without being depressed by
+the feeling of inelegance.
+
+There is invariably some slight hesitation in the selection of chairs
+around a tea-table in the open. Nora scored the first point of this
+singular battle by seizing the padre on one side and her father on the
+other and pulling them down on the bench. It was adroit in two ways: it
+put Courtlandt at a safe distance and in nowise offended the younger men,
+who could find no cause for alarm in the close proximity of her two
+fathers, the spiritual and the physical. A few moments later Courtlandt
+saw a smile of malice part her lips, for he found himself between Celeste
+and the inevitable frump.
+
+"Touched!" he murmured, for he was a thorough sportsman and appreciated a
+good point even when taken by his opponent.
+
+"I never saw anything like it," whispered Mrs. Harrigan into the colonel's
+ear.
+
+"Saw what?" he asked.
+
+"Mr. Courtlandt can't keep his eyes off of Nora."
+
+"I say!" The colonel adjusted his eye-glass, not that he expected to see
+more clearly by doing so, but because habit had long since turned an
+affectation into a movement wholly mechanical. "Well, who can blame him?
+Gad! if I were only twenty-five or thereabouts."
+
+Mrs. Harrigan did not encourage this regret. The colonel had never been a
+rich man. On the other hand, this Edward Courtlandt was very rich; he was
+young; and he had the entrée to the best families in Europe, which was
+greater in her eyes than either youth or riches. Between sips of tea she
+builded a fine castle in Spain.
+
+Abbott and the Barone carried their cups and cakes over to the bench and
+sat down on the grass, Turkish-wise. Both simultaneously offered their
+cakes, and Nora took a ladyfinger from each. Abbott laughed and the Barone
+smiled.
+
+"Oh, daddy mine!" sighed Nora drolly.
+
+"Huh?"
+
+"Don't let mother see those shoes."
+
+"What's the matter with 'em? Everybody's wearing the same."
+
+"Yes. But I don't see how you manage to do it. One shoe-string is virgin
+white and the other is pagan brown."
+
+"I've got nine pairs of shoes, and yet there's always something the
+matter," ruefully. "I never noticed when I put them on. Besides, I wasn't
+coming."
+
+"That's no defense. But rest easy. I'll be as secret as the grave."
+
+"Now, I for one would never have noticed if you hadn't called my
+attention," said the padre, stealing a glance at his own immaculate
+patent-leathers.
+
+"Ah, Padre, that wife of mine has eyes like a pilot-fish. I'm in for it."
+
+"Borrow one from the colonel before you go home," suggested Abbott.
+
+"That's not half bad," gratefully.
+
+Harrigan began to recount the trials of forgetfulness.
+
+Slyly from the corner of her eye Nora looked at Courtlandt, who was at
+that moment staring thoughtfully into his tea-cup and stirring the
+contents industriously. His face was a little thinner, but aside from that
+he had changed scarcely at all; and then, because these two years had left
+so little mark upon his face, a tinge of unreasonable anger ran over her.
+"Men have died and worms have eaten them," she thought cynically. Perhaps
+the air between them was sufficiently charged with electricity to convey
+the impression across the intervening space; for his eyes came up quickly,
+but not quickly enough to catch her. She dropped her glance to Abbott,
+transferred it to the Barone, and finally let it rest on her father's
+face. Four handsomer men she had never seen.
+
+"You never told me you knew Courtlandt," said Harrigan, speaking to
+Abbott.
+
+"Just happened that way. We went to school together. When I was little
+they used to make me wear curls and wide collars. Many's the time
+Courtlandt walloped the school bullies for mussing me up. I don't see him
+much these days. Once in a while he walks in. That's all. Always seems to
+know where his friends are, but none ever knows where he is."
+
+Abbott proceeded to elaborate some of his friend's exploits. Nora heard,
+as if from afar. Vaguely she caught a glimmer of what the contest was
+going to be. She could see only a little way; still, she was
+optimistically confident of the result. She was ready. Indeed, now that
+the shock of the meeting was past, she found herself not at all averse to
+a conflict. It would be something to let go the pent-up wrath of two
+years. Never would she speak to him directly; never would she permit him
+to be alone with her; never would she miss a chance to twist his heart, to
+humiliate him, to snub him. From her point of view, whatever game he chose
+to play would be a losing one. She was genuinely surprised to learn how
+eager she was for the game to begin so that she might gage his strength.
+
+"So I have heard," she was dimly conscious of saying.
+
+"Didn't know you knew," said Abbott.
+
+"Knew what?" rousing herself.
+
+"That Courtlandt nearly lost his life in the eighties."
+
+"In the eighties!" dismayed at her slip.
+
+"Latitudes. Polar expedition."
+
+"Heavens! I was miles away."
+
+The padre took her hand in his own and began to pat it softly. It was the
+nearest he dared approach in the way of suggesting caution. He alone of
+them all knew.
+
+"Oh, I believe I read something about it in the newspapers."
+
+"Five years ago." Abbott set down his tea-cup. "He's the bravest man I
+know. He's rather a friendless man, besides. Horror of money. Thinks every
+one is after him for that. Tries to throw it away; but the income piles up
+too quickly. See that Indian, passing the cakes? Wouldn't think it, would
+you, that Courtlandt carried him on his back for five miles! The Indian
+had fallen afoul a wounded tiger, and the beaters were miles off. I've
+been watching. They haven't even spoken to each other. Courtlandt's
+probably forgotten all about the incident, and the Indian would die rather
+than embarrass his savior before strangers."
+
+"Your friend, then, is quite a hero?"
+
+What was the matter with Nora's voice? Abbott looked at her wonderingly.
+The tone was hard and unmusical.
+
+"He couldn't be anything else, being Dick Courtlandt's boy," volunteered
+Harrigan, with enthusiasm. "It runs in the family."
+
+"It seems strange," observed Nora, "that I never heard you mention that
+you knew a Mr. Courtlandt."
+
+"Why, Nora, there's a lot of things nobody mentions unless chance brings
+them up. Courtlandt--the one I knew--has been dead these sixteen years. If
+I knew he had had a son, I'd forgotten all about it. The only graveyard
+isn't on the hillside; there's one under everybody's thatch."
+
+The padre nodded approvingly.
+
+Nora was not particularly pleased with this phase in the play. Courtlandt
+would find a valiant champion in her father, who would blunder in when
+some fine passes were being exchanged. And she could not tell him; she
+would have cut out her tongue rather. It was true that she held the
+principal cards in the game, but she could not table them and claim the
+tricks as in bridge. She must patiently wait for him to lead, and he, as
+she very well knew, would lead a card at a time, and then only after
+mature deliberation. From the exhilaration which attended the prospect of
+battle she passed into a state of depression, which lasted the rest of the
+afternoon.
+
+"Will you forgive me?" asked Celeste of Courtlandt. Never had she felt
+more ill at ease. For a full ten minutes he chatted pleasantly, with never
+the slightest hint regarding the episode in Paris. She could stand it no
+longer. "Will you forgive me?"
+
+"For what?"
+
+"That night in Paris."
+
+"Do not permit that to bother you in the least. I was never going to
+recall it."
+
+"Was it so unpleasant?"
+
+"On the contrary, I was much amused."
+
+"I did not tell you the truth."
+
+"So I have found out."
+
+"I do not believe that it was you," impulsively.
+
+"Thanks. I had nothing to do with Miss Harrigan's imprisonment."
+
+"Do you feel that you could make a confidant of me?"
+
+He smiled. "My dear Miss Fournier, I have come to the place where I
+distrust even myself."
+
+"Forgive my curiosity!"
+
+Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. "I am glad to see you again."
+
+"Ah, Sahib!"
+
+The little Frenchwoman was torn with curiosity and repression. She wanted
+to know what causes had produced this unusual drama which was unfolding
+before her eyes. To be presented with effects which had no apparent causes
+was maddening. It was not dissimilar to being taken to the second act of a
+modern problem play and being forced to leave before the curtain rose upon
+the third act. She had laid all the traps her intelligent mind could
+invent; and Nora had calmly walked over them or around. Nora's mind was
+Celtic: French in its adroitness and Irish in its watchfulness and
+tenacity. And now she had set her arts of persuasion in motion (aided by a
+piquant beauty) to lift a corner of the veil from this man's heart.
+Checkmate!
+
+"I should like to help you," she said, truthfully.
+
+"In what way?"
+
+It was useless, but she continued: "She does not know that you went to
+Flora Desimone's that night."
+
+"And yet she sent you to watch me."
+
+"But so many things happened afterward that she evidently forgot."
+
+"That is possible."
+
+"I was asleep when the pistol went off. Oh, you must believe that it was
+purely accidental! She was in a terrible state until morning. What if she
+had killed you, what if she had killed you! She seemed to hark upon that
+phrase."
+
+Courtlandt turned a sober face toward her. She might be sincere, and then
+again she might be playing the first game over again, in a different
+guise. "It would have been embarrassing if the bullet had found its mark."
+He met her eyes squarely, and she saw that his were totally free from
+surprise or agitation or interest.
+
+"Do you play chess?" she asked, divertingly.
+
+"Chess? I am very fond of that game."
+
+"So I should judge," dryly. "I suppose you look upon me as a meddler.
+Perhaps I am; but I have nothing but good will toward you; and Nora would
+be very angry if she knew that I was discussing her affairs with you. But
+I love her and want to make her happy."
+
+"That seems to be the ambition of all the young men, at any rate."
+
+Jealousy? But the smile baffled her. "Will you be here long?"
+
+"It depends."
+
+"Upon Nora?" persistently.
+
+"The weather."
+
+"You are hopeless."
+
+"No; on the contrary, I am the most optimistic man in the world."
+
+She looked into this reply very carefully. If he had hopes of winning Nora
+Harrigan, optimistic he certainly must be. Perhaps it was not optimism.
+Rather might it not be a purpose made of steel, bendable but not
+breakable, reinforced by a knowledge of conditions which she would have
+given worlds to learn?
+
+"Is she not beautiful?"
+
+"I am not a poet."
+
+"Wait a moment," her eyes widening. "I believe you know who did commit
+that outrage."
+
+For the first time he frowned.
+
+"Very well; I promise not to ask any more questions."
+
+"That would be very agreeable to me." Then, as if he realized the rudeness
+of his reply, he added: "Before I leave I will tell you all you wish to
+know, upon one condition."
+
+"Tell it!"
+
+"You will say nothing to any one, you will question neither Miss Harrigan
+nor myself, nor permit yourself to be questioned."
+
+"I agree."
+
+"And now, will you not take me over to your friends?"
+
+"Over there?" aghast.
+
+"Why, yes. We can sit upon the grass. They seem to be having a good
+time."
+
+What a man! Take him over, into the enemy's camp? Nothing would be more
+agreeable to her. Who would be the stronger, Nora or this provoking man?
+
+So they crossed over and joined the group. The padre smiled. It was a
+situation such as he loved to study: a strong man and a strong woman, at
+war. But nothing happened; not a ripple anywhere to disclose the agitation
+beneath. The man laughed and the woman laughed, but they spoke not to each
+other, nor looked once into each other's eyes.
+
+The sun was dropping toward the western tops. The guests were leaving by
+twos and threes. The colonel had prevailed upon his dinner-guests not to
+bother about going back to the village to dress, but to dine in the
+clothes they wore. Finally, none remained but Harrigan, Abbott, the
+Barone, the padre and Courtlandt. And they talked noisily and agreeably
+concerning man-affairs until Rao gravely announced that dinner was
+served.
+
+It was only then, during the lull which followed, that light was shed upon
+the puzzle which had been subconsciously stirring Harrigan's mind: Nora
+had not once spoken to the son of his old friend.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+EVERYTHING BUT THE TRUTH
+
+
+"I don't see why the colonel didn't invite some of the ladies," Mrs.
+Harrigan complained.
+
+"It's a man-party. He's giving it to please himself. And I do not blame
+him. The women about here treat him abominably. They come at all times of
+the day and night, use his card-room, order his servants about, drink his
+whisky and smoke his cigarettes, and generally invite themselves to
+luncheon and tea and dinner. And then, when they are ready to go back to
+their villas or hotel, take his motor-boat without a thank-you. The
+colonel has about three thousand pounds outside his half-pay, and they are
+all crazy to marry him because his sister is a countess. As a bachelor he
+can live like a prince, but as a married man he would have to dig. He told
+me that if he had been born Adam, he'd have climbed over Eden's walls long
+before the Angel of the Flaming Sword paddled him out. Says he's always
+going to be a bachelor, unless I take pity on him," mischievously.
+
+"Has he...?" in horrified tones.
+
+"About three times a visit," Nora admitted; "but I told him that I'd be a
+daughter, a cousin, or a niece to him, or even a grandchild. The latter
+presented too many complications, so we compromised on niece."
+
+"I wish I knew when you were serious and when you were fooling."
+
+"I am often as serious when I am fooling as I am foolish when I am
+serious...."
+
+"Nora, you will have me shrieking in a minute!" despaired the mother. "Did
+the colonel really propose to you?"
+
+"Only in fun."
+
+Celeste laughed and threw her arm around the mother's waist, less ample
+than substantial. "Don't you care! Nora is being pursued by little devils
+and is venting her spite on us."
+
+"There'll be too much Burgundy and tobacco, to say nothing of the awful
+stories."
+
+"With the good old padre there? Hardly," said Nora.
+
+Celeste was a French woman. "I confess that I like a good story that isn't
+vulgar. And none of them look like men who would stoop to vulgarity."
+
+"That's about all you know of men," declared Mrs. Harrigan.
+
+"I am willing to give them the benefit of a doubt."
+
+"Celeste," cried Nora, gaily, "I've an idea. Supposing you and I run back
+after dinner and hide in the card-room, which is right across from the
+dining-room? Then we can judge for ourselves."
+
+"Nora Harrigan!"
+
+"Molly Harrigan!" mimicked the incorrigible. "Mother mine, you must learn
+to recognize a jest."
+
+"Ah, but yours!"
+
+"Fine!" cried Celeste.
+
+As if to put a final period to the discussion, Nora began to hum audibly
+an aria from _Aïda_.
+
+They engaged a carriage in the village and were driven up to the villa. On
+the way Mrs. Harrigan discussed the stranger, Edward Courtlandt. What a
+fine-looking young man he was, and how adventurous, how well-connected,
+how enormously rich, and what an excellent catch! She and Celeste--the one
+innocently and the other provocatively--continued the subject to the very
+doors of the villa. All the while Nora hummed softly.
+
+"What do you think of him, Nora?" the mother inquired.
+
+"Think of whom?"
+
+"This Mr. Courtlandt."
+
+"Oh, I didn't pay much attention to him," carelessly. But once alone with
+Celeste, she seized her by the arm, a little roughly. "Celeste, I love you
+better than any outsider I know. But if you ever discuss that man in my
+presence again, I shall cease to regard you even as an acquaintance. He
+has come here for the purpose of annoying me, though he promised the
+prefect in Paris never to annoy me again."
+
+"The prefect!"
+
+"Yes. The morning I left Versailles I met him in the private office of the
+prefect. He had powerful friends who aided him in establishing an alibi. I
+was only a woman, so I didn't count."
+
+"Nora, if I have meddled in any way," proudly, "it has been because I love
+you, and I see you unhappy. You have nearly killed me with your
+sphinx-like actions. You have never asked me the result of my spying for
+you that night. Spying is not one of my usual vocations, but I did it
+gladly for you."
+
+"You gave him my address?" coldly.
+
+"I did not. I convinced him that I had come at the behest of Flora
+Desimone. He demanded her address, which I gave him. If ever there was a
+man in a fine rage, it was he as he left me to go there. If he found out
+where we lived, the Calabrian assisted him, I spoke to him rather plainly
+at tea. He said that he had had nothing whatever to do with the abduction,
+and I believe him. I am positive that he is not the kind of man to go that
+far and not proceed to the end. And now, will you please tell Carlos to
+bring my dinner to my room?"
+
+The impulsive Irish heart was not to be resisted. Nora wanted to remain
+firm, but instead she swept Celeste into her arms. "Celeste, don't be
+angry! I am very, very unhappy."
+
+If the Irish heart was impulsive, the French one was no less so. Celeste
+wanted to cry out that she was unhappy, too.
+
+"Don't bother to dress! Just give your hair a pat or two. We'll all three
+dine on the balcony."
+
+Celeste flew to her room. Nora went over to the casement window and stared
+at the darkening mountains. When she turned toward the dresser she was
+astonished to find two bouquets. One was an enormous bunch of violets. The
+other was of simple marguerites. She picked up the violets. There was a
+card without a name; but the phrase scribbled across the face of it was
+sufficient. She flung the violets far down into the grape-vines below. The
+action was without anger, excited rather by a contemptuous indifference.
+As for the simple marguerites, she took them up gingerly. The arc these
+described through the air was even greater than that performed by the
+violets.
+
+"I'm a silly fool, I suppose," she murmured, turning back into the room
+again.
+
+It was ten o'clock when the colonel bade his guests good night as they
+tumbled out of his motor-boat. They were in more or less exuberant
+spirits; for the colonel knew how to do two things particularly well:
+order a dinner, and avoid the many traps set for him by scheming mamas and
+eligible widows. Abbott, the Barone and Harrigan, arm in arm, marched on
+ahead, whistling one tune in three different keys, while Courtlandt set
+the pace for the padre.
+
+All through the dinner the padre had watched and listened. Faces were
+generally books to him, and he read in this young man's face many things
+that pleased him. This was no night rover, a fool over wine and women, a
+spendthrift. He straightened out the lines and angles in a man's face as a
+skilled mathematician elucidates an intricate geometrical problem. He had
+arrived at the basic knowledge that men who live mostly out of doors are
+not volatile and irresponsible, but are more inclined to reserve, to
+reticence, to a philosophy which is broad and comprehensive and generous.
+They are generally men who are accomplishing things, and who let other
+people tell about it. Thus, the padre liked Courtlandt's voice, his
+engaging smile, his frank unwavering eyes; and he liked the leanness about
+the jaws, which was indicative of strength of character. In fact, he
+experienced a singular jubilation as he walked beside this silent man.
+
+"There has been a grave mistake somewhere," he mused aloud, thoughtfully.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt.
+
+"I beg yours. I was thinking aloud. How long have you known the
+Harrigans?"
+
+"The father and mother I never saw before to-day."
+
+"Then you have met Miss Harrigan?"
+
+"I have seen her on the stage."
+
+"I have the happiness of being her confessor."
+
+They proceeded quite as far as a hundred yards before Courtlandt
+volunteered: "That must be interesting."
+
+"She is a good Catholic."
+
+"Ah, yes; I recollect now."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"Oh, I haven't any religion such as requires my presence in churches.
+Don't misunderstand me! As a boy I was bred in the Episcopal Church; but I
+have traveled so much that I have drifted out of the circle. I find that
+when I am out in the open, in the heart of some great waste, such as a
+desert, a sea, the top of a mountain, I can see the greatness of the
+Omnipotent far more clearly and humbly than within the walls of a
+cathedral."
+
+"But God imposes obligations upon mankind. We have ceased to look upon the
+hermit as a holy man, but rather as one devoid of courage. It is not the
+stone and the stained windows; it is the text of our daily work, that the
+physical being of the Church represents."
+
+"I have not avoided any of my obligations." Courtlandt shifted his stick
+behind his back. "I was speaking of the church and the open field, as they
+impressed me."
+
+"You believe in the tenets of Christianity?"
+
+"Surely! A man must pin his faith and hope to something more stable than
+humanity."
+
+"I should like to convert you to my way of thinking," simply.
+
+"Nothing is impossible. Who knows?"
+
+The padre, as they continued onward, offered many openings, but the young
+man at his side refused to be drawn into any confidence. So the padre gave
+up, for the futility of his efforts became irksome. His own lips were
+sealed, so he could not ask point-blank the question that clamored at the
+tip of his tongue.
+
+"So you are Miss Harrigan's confessor?"
+
+"Does it strike you strangely?"
+
+"Merely the coincidence."
+
+"If I were not her confessor I should take the liberty of asking you some
+questions."
+
+"It is quite possible that I should decline to answer them."
+
+The padre shrugged. "It is patent to me that you will go about this affair
+in your own way. I wish you well."
+
+"Thank you. As Miss Harrigan's confessor you doubtless know everything but
+the truth."
+
+The padre laughed this time. The shops were closed. The open restaurants
+by the water-front held but few idlers. The padre admired the young man's
+independence. Most men would have hesitated not a second to pour the tale
+into his ears in hope of material assistance. The padre's admiration was
+equally proportioned with respect.
+
+"I leave you here," he said. "You will see me frequently at the villa."
+
+"I certainly shall be there frequently. Good night."
+
+Courtlandt quickened his pace which soon brought him alongside the others.
+They stopped in front of Abbott's pension, and he tried to persuade them
+to come up for a nightcap.
+
+"Nothing to it, my boy," said Harrigan. "I need no nightcap on top of
+cognac forty-eight years old. For me that's a whole suit of pajamas."
+
+"You come, Ted."
+
+"Abbey, I wouldn't climb those stairs for a bottle of Horace's Falernian,
+served on Seneca's famous citron table."
+
+"Not a friend in the world," Abbott lamented.
+
+Laughingly they hustled him into the hallway and fled. Then Courtlandt
+went his way alone. He slept with the dubious satisfaction that the first
+day had not gone badly. The wedge had been entered. It remained to be seen
+if it could be dislodged.
+
+Harrigan was in a happy temper. He kissed his wife and chucked Nora under
+the chin. And then Mrs. Harrigan launched the thunderbolt which, having
+been held on the leash for several hours, had, for all of that, lost none
+of its ability to blight and scorch.
+
+"James, you are about as hopeless a man as ever was born. You all but
+disgraced us this afternoon."
+
+"Mother!"
+
+"Me?" cried the bewildered Harrigan.
+
+"Look at those tennis shoes; one white string and one brown one. It's
+enough to drive a woman mad. What in heaven's name made you come?"
+
+Perhaps it was the after effect of a good dinner, that dwindling away of
+pleasant emotions; perhaps it was the very triviality of the offense for
+which he was thus suddenly arraigned; at any rate, he lost his temper, and
+he was rather formidable when that occurred.
+
+"Damn it, Molly, I wasn't going, but Courtlandt asked me to go with him,
+and I never thought of my shoes. You are always finding fault with me
+these days. I don't drink, I don't gamble, I don't run around after other
+women; I never did. But since you've got this social bug in your bonnet,
+you keep me on hooks all the while. Nobody noticed the shoe-strings; and
+they would have looked upon it as a joke if they had. After all, I'm the
+boss of this ranch. If I want to wear a white string and a black one, I'll
+do it. Here!" He caught up the book on social usages and threw it out of
+the window. "Don't ever shove a thing like that under my nose again. If
+you do, I'll hike back to little old New York and start the gym again."
+
+He rammed one of the colonel's perfectos (which he had been saving for the
+morrow) between his teeth, and stalked into the garden.
+
+Nora was heartless enough to laugh.
+
+"He hasn't talked like that to me in years!" Mrs. Harrigan did not know
+what to do,--follow him or weep. She took the middle course, and went to
+bed.
+
+Nora turned out the lights and sat out on the little balcony. The
+moonshine was glorious. So dense was the earth-blackness that the few
+lights twinkling here and there were more like fallen stars. Presently she
+heard a sound. It was her father, returning as silently as he could. She
+heard him fumble among the knickknacks on the mantel, and then go away
+again. By and by she saw a spot of white light move hither and thither
+among the grape arbors. For five or six minutes she watched it dance.
+Suddenly all became dark again. She laid her head upon the railing and
+conned over the day's events. These were not at all satisfactory to her.
+Then her thoughts traveled many miles away. Six months of happiness, of
+romance, of play, and then misery and blackness.
+
+"Nora, are you there?"
+
+"Yes. Over here on the balcony. What were you doing down there?"
+
+"Oh, Nora, I'm sorry I lost my temper. But Molly's begun to nag me lately,
+and I can't stand it. I went after that book. Did you throw some flowers
+out of the window?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A bunch of daisies?"
+
+"Marguerites," she corrected.
+
+"All the same to me. I picked up the bunch, and look at what I found
+inside."
+
+He extended his palm, flooding it with the light of his pocket-lamp.
+Nora's heart tightened. What she saw was a beautiful uncut emerald.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A COMEDY WITH MUSIC
+
+
+The Harrigans occupied the suite in the east wing of the villa. This
+consisted of a large drawing-room and two ample bedchambers, with
+window-balconies and a private veranda in the rear, looking off toward the
+green of the pines and the metal-like luster of the copper beeches. Always
+the suite was referred to by the management as having once been tenanted
+by the empress of Germany. Indeed, tourists were generally and
+respectively and impressively shown the suite (provided it was not at the
+moment inhabited), and were permitted to peer eagerly about for some sign
+of the vanished august presence. But royalty in passing, as with the most
+humble of us, leaves nothing behind save the memory of a tip, generous or
+otherwise.
+
+It was raining, a fine, soft, blurring Alpine rain, and a blue-grey
+monotone prevailed upon the face of the waters and defied all save the
+keenest scrutiny to discern where the mountain tops ended and the sky
+began. It was a day for indoors, for dreams, good books, and good
+fellows.
+
+The old-fashioned photographer would have admired and striven to
+perpetuate the group in the drawing-room. In the old days it was quite the
+proper thing to snap the family group while they were engaged in some
+pleasant pastime, such as spinning, or painting china, or playing the
+piano, or reading a volume of poems. No one ever seemed to bother about
+the incongruence of the eyes, which were invariably focused at the camera
+lens. Here they all were. Mrs. Harrigan was deep in the intricate maze of
+the Amelia Ars of Bologna, which, as the initiated know, is a wonderful
+lace. By one of the windows sat Nora, winding interminable yards of
+lace-hemming from off the willing if aching digits of the Barone, who was
+speculating as to what his Neapolitan club friends would say could they
+see, by some trick of crystal-gazing, his present occupation. Celeste was
+at the piano, playing (_pianissimo_) snatches from the operas, while
+Abbott looked on, his elbows propped upon his knees, his chin in his
+palms, and a quality of ecstatic content in his eyes. He was in his
+working clothes, picturesque if paint-daubed. The morning had been
+pleasant enough, but just before luncheon the rain clouds had gathered and
+settled down with that suddenness known only in high altitudes.
+
+The ex-gladiator sat on one of those slender mockeries, composed of
+gold-leaf and parabolic curves and faded brocade, such as one sees at the
+Trianon or upon the stage or in the new home of a new millionaire, and
+which, if the true facts be known, the ingenious Louis invented for the
+discomfort of his favorites and the folly of future collectors. It creaked
+whenever Harrigan sighed, which was often, for he was deeply immersed (and
+no better word could be selected to fit his mental condition) in the
+baneful book which he had hurled out of the window the night before, only
+to retrieve like the good dog that he was. To-day his shoes offered no
+loophole to criticism; he had very well attended to that. His tie
+harmonized with his shirt and stockings; his suit was of grey tweed; in
+fact, he was the glass of fashion and the mold of form, at least for the
+present.
+
+"Say, Molly, I don't see what difference it makes."
+
+"Difference what makes, James?" Mrs. Harrigan raised her eyes from her
+work. James had been so well-behaved that morning it was only logical for
+her to anticipate that he was about to abolish at one fell stroke all his
+hard-earned merits.
+
+"About eating salads. We never used to put oil on our tomatoes. Sugar and
+vinegar were good enough."
+
+"Sugar and vinegar are not nourishing; olive-oil is."
+
+"We seemed to hike along all right before we learned that." His guardian
+angel was alert this time, and he returned to his delving without further
+comment. By and by he got up. "Pshaw!" He dropped the wearisome volume on
+the reading-table, took up a paper-covered novel, and turned to the last
+fight of the blacksmith in _Rodney Stone_. Here was something that made
+the invention of type excusable, even commendable.
+
+"Play the fourth _ballade_," urged Abbott.
+
+Celeste was really a great artist. As an interpreter of Chopin she had no
+rival among women, and only one man was her equal. She had fire,
+tenderness, passion, strength; she had beyond all these, soul, which is
+worth more in true expression than the most marvelous technique. She had
+chosen Chopin for his brilliance, as some will chose Turner in preference
+to Corot: riots of color, barbaric and tingling. She was as great a genius
+in her way as Nora was in hers. There was something of the elfin child in
+her spirit. Whenever she played to Abbott, there was a quality in the
+expression that awakened a wonderment in Nora's heart.
+
+As Celeste began the _andante_, Nora signified to the Barone to drop his
+work. She let her own hands fall. Harrigan gently closed his book, for in
+that rough kindly soul of his lay a mighty love of music. He himself was
+without expression of any sort, and somehow music seemed to stir the dim
+and not quite understandable longing for utterance. Mrs. Harrigan alone
+went on with her work; she could work and listen at the same time. After
+the magnificent finale, nothing in the room stirred but her needle.
+
+"Bravo!" cried the Barone, breaking the spell.
+
+"You never played that better," declared Nora.
+
+Celeste, to escape the keen inquiry of her friend and to cover up her
+embarrassment, dashed into one of the lighter compositions, a waltz. It
+was a favorite of Nora's. She rose and went over to the piano and rested a
+hand upon Celeste's shoulder. And presently her voice took up the melody.
+Mrs. Harrigan dropped her needle. It was not that she was particularly
+fond of music, but there was something in Nora's singing that cast a
+temporary spell of enchantment over her, rendering her speechless and
+motionless. She was not of an analytical turn of mind; thus, the truth
+escaped her. She was really lost in admiration of herself: she had
+produced this marvelous being!
+
+"That's some!" Harrigan beat his hands together thunderously. "Great
+stuff; eh, Barone?"
+
+The Barone raised his hands as if to express his utter inability to
+describe his sensations. His elation was that ascribed to those fortunate
+mortals whom the gods lifted to Olympus. At his feet lay the lace-hemming,
+hopelessly snarled.
+
+"Father, father!" remonstrated Nora; "you will wake up all the old ladies
+who are having their siesta."
+
+"Bah! I'll bet a doughnut their ears are glued to their doors. What ho!
+Somebody's at the portcullis. Probably the padre, come up for tea."
+
+He was at the door instantly. He flung it open heartily. It was
+characteristic of the man to open everything widely, his heart, his mind,
+his hate or his affection.
+
+"Come in, come in! Just in time for the matinée concert."
+
+The padre was not alone. Courtlandt followed him in.
+
+[Illustration: Courtlandt followed him in.]
+
+"We have been standing in the corridor for ten minutes," affirmed the
+padre, sending a winning smile around the room. "Mr. Courtlandt was for
+going down to the bureau and sending up our cards. But I would not hear of
+such formality. I am a privileged person."
+
+"Sure yes! Molly, ring for tea, and tell 'em to make it hot. How about a
+little peg, as the colonel says?"
+
+The two men declined.
+
+How easily and nonchalantly the man stood there by the door as Harrigan
+took his hat! Celeste was aquiver with excitement. She was thoroughly a
+woman: she wanted something to happen, dramatically, romantically.
+
+But her want was a vain one. The man smiled quizzically at Nora, who
+acknowledged the salutation by a curtsy which would have frightened away
+the banshees of her childhood. Nora hated scenes, and Courtlandt had the
+advantage of her in his knowledge of this. Celeste remained at the piano,
+but Nora turned as if to move away.
+
+"No, no!" cried the padre, his palms extended in protest. "If you stop the
+music I shall leave instantly."
+
+"But we are all through, Padre," replied Nora, pinching Celeste's arm,
+which action the latter readily understood as a command to leave the
+piano.
+
+Celeste, however, had a perverse streak in her to-day. Instead of rising
+as Nora expected she would, she wheeled on the stool and began _Morning
+Mood_ from Peer Gynt, because the padre preferred Grieg or Beethoven to
+Chopin. Nora frowned at the pretty head below her. She stooped.
+
+"I sha'n't forgive you for this trick," she whispered.
+
+Celeste shrugged, and her fingers did not falter. So Nora moved away this
+time in earnest.
+
+"No, you must sing. That is what I came up for," insisted the padre. If
+there was any malice in the churchman, it was of a negative quality. But
+it was in his Latin blood that drama should appeal to him strongly, and
+here was an unusual phase in The Great Play. He had urged Courtlandt, much
+against the latter's will this day, to come up with him, simply that he
+might set a little scene such as this promised to be and study it from the
+vantage of the prompter. He knew that the principal theme of all great
+books, of all great dramas, was antagonism, antagonism between man and
+woman, though by a thousand other names has it been called. He had often
+said, in a spirit of raillery, that this antagonism was principally due to
+the fact that Eve had been constructed (and very well) out of a rib from
+Adam. Naturally she resented this, that she had not been fashioned
+independently, and would hold it against man until the true secret of the
+parable was made clear to her.
+
+"Sing that, Padre?" said Nora. "Why, there are no words to it that I
+know."
+
+"Words? _Peste!_ Who cares for words no one really ever understands? It is
+the voice, my child. Go on, or I shall make you do some frightful
+penance."
+
+Nora saw that further opposition would be useless. After all, it would be
+better to sing. She would not be compelled to look at this man she so
+despised. For a moment her tones were not quite clear; but Celeste
+increased the volume of sound warningly, and as this required more force
+on Nora's part, the little cross-current was passed without mishap. It was
+mere pastime for her to follow these wonderful melodies. She had no words
+to recall so that her voice was free to do with as she elected. There were
+bars absolutely impossible to follow, note for note, but she got around
+this difficulty by taking the key and holding it strongly and evenly. In
+ordinary times Nora never refused to sing for her guests, if she happened
+to be in voice. There was none of that conceited arrogance behind which
+most of the vocal celebrities hide themselves. At the beginning she had
+intended to sing badly; but as the music proceeded, she sang as she had
+not sung in weeks. To fill this man's soul with a hunger for the sound of
+her voice, to pour into his heart a fresh knowledge of what he had lost
+forever and forever!
+
+Courtlandt sat on the divan beside Harrigan who, with that friendly spirit
+which he observed toward all whom he liked, whether of long or short
+acquaintance, had thrown his arm across Courtlandt's shoulder. The younger
+man understood all that lay behind the simple gesture, and he was secretly
+pleased.
+
+But Mrs. Harrigan was not. She was openly displeased, and in vain she
+tried to catch the eye of her wayward lord. A man he had known but
+twenty-four hours, and to greet him with such coarse familiarity!
+
+Celeste was not wholly unmerciful. She did not finish the suite, but
+turned from the keys after the final chords of _Morning Mood_.
+
+"Thank you!" said Nora.
+
+"Do not stop," begged Courtlandt.
+
+Nora looked directly into his eyes as she replied: "One's voice can not go
+on forever, and mine is not at all strong."
+
+And thus, without having originally the least intent to do so, they broke
+the mutual contract on which they had separately and secretly agreed:
+never to speak directly to each other. Nora was first to realize what she
+had done, and she was furiously angry with herself. She left the piano.
+
+As if her mind had opened suddenly like a book, Courtlandt sprang from the
+divan and reached for the fat ball of lace-hemming. He sat down in Nora's
+chair and nodded significantly to the Barone, who blushed. To hold the
+delicate material for Nora's unwinding was a privilege of the gods, but to
+hold it for this man for whom he held a dim feeling of antagonism was
+altogether a different matter.
+
+"It is horribly tangled," he admitted, hoping thus to escape.
+
+"No matter. You hold the ball. I'll untangle it. I never saw a fish-line I
+could not straighten out."
+
+Nora laughed. It was not possible for her to repress the sound. Her sense
+of humor was too strong in this case to be denied its release in laughter.
+It was free of the subtler emotions; frank merriment, no more, no less.
+And possessing the hunter's extraordinarily keen ear, Courtlandt
+recognized the quality; and the weight of a thousand worlds lightened its
+pressure upon his heart. And the Barone laughed, too. So there they were,
+the three of them. But Nora's ineffectual battle for repression had driven
+her near to hysteria. To escape this dire calamity, she flung open a
+casement window and stood within it, breathing in the heavy fragrance of
+the rain-laden air.
+
+This little comedy had the effect of relaxing them all; and the laughter
+became general. Abbott's smile faded soonest. He stared at his friend in
+wonder not wholly free from a sense of evil fortune. Never had he known
+Courtlandt to aspire to be a squire of dames. To see the Barone hold the
+ball as if it were hot shot was amusing; but the cool imperturbable manner
+with which Courtlandt proceeded to untangle the snarl was disturbing. Why
+the deuce wasn't he himself big and strong, silent and purposeful, instead
+of being a dawdling fool of an artist?
+
+No answer came to his inquiry, but there was a knock at the door. The
+managing director handed Harrigan a card.
+
+"Herr Rosen," he read aloud. "Send him up. Some friend of yours, Nora;
+Herr Rosen. I told Mr. Jilli to send him up."
+
+The padre drew his feet under his cassock, a sign of perturbation;
+Courtlandt continued to unwind; the Barone glanced fiercely at Nora, who
+smiled enigmatically.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+HERR ROSEN'S REGRETS
+
+
+Herr Rosen! There was no outward reason why the name should have set a
+chill on them all, turned them into expectant statues. Yet, all semblance
+of good-fellowship was instantly gone. To Mrs. Harrigan alone did the name
+convey a sense of responsibility, a flutter of apprehension not unmixed
+with delight. She put her own work behind the piano lid, swooped down upon
+the two men and snatched away the lace-hemming, to the infinite relief of
+the one and the surprise of the other. Courtlandt would have liked nothing
+better than to hold the lace in his lap, for it was possible that Herr
+Rosen might wish to shake hands, however disinclined he might be within to
+perform such greeting. The lace disappeared. Mrs. Harrigan smoothed out
+the wrinkles in her dress. From the others there had been little movement
+and no sound to speak of. Harrigan still waited by the door, seriously
+contemplating the bit of pasteboard in his hand.
+
+Nora did not want to look, but curiosity drew her eyes imperiously toward
+Courtlandt. He had not risen. Did he know? Did he understand? Was his
+attitude pretense or innocence? Ah, if she could but look behind that
+impenetrable mask! How she hated him! The effrontery of it all! And she
+could do nothing, say nothing: dared not tell them then and there what he
+truly was, a despicable scoundrel! The son of her father's dearest friend;
+what mockery! A friend of the family! It was maddening.
+
+Herr Rosen brushed past Harrigan unceremoniously, without pausing, and
+went straight over to Nora, who was thereupon seized by an uncontrollable
+spirit of devilment. She hated Herr Rosen, but she was going to be as
+pleasant and as engaging as she knew how to be. She did not care if he
+misinterpreted her mood. She welcomed him with a hand. He went on to Mrs.
+Harrigan, who colored pleasurably. He was then introduced, and he
+acknowledged each introduction with a careless nod. He was there to see
+Nora, and he did not propose to put himself to any inconvenience on
+account of the others.
+
+The temporary restraint which had settled upon the others at the
+announcement of Herr Rosen's arrival passed away. Courtlandt, who had
+remained seated during the initial formalities (a fact which bewildered
+Abbott, who knew how punctilious his friend was in matters of this kind)
+got up and took a third of the divan.
+
+Harrigan dropped down beside him. It was his habit to watch his daughter's
+face when any guest arrived. He formed his impression on what he believed
+to be hers. That she was a consummate actress never entered into his
+calculations. The welcoming smile dissipated any doubts.
+
+"No matter where we are, they keep coming. She has as many friends as T.
+R. I never bother to keep track of 'em."
+
+"It would be rather difficult," assented Courtlandt.
+
+"You ought to see the flowers. Loads of 'em. And say, what do you think?
+Every jewel that comes she turns into money and gives to charity. Can you
+beat it? Fine joke on the Johnnies. Of course, I mean stones that turn up
+anonymously. Those that have cards go back by fast-mail. It's a good thing
+I don't chance across the senders. Now, boy, I want you to feel at home
+here in this family; I want you to come up when you want to and at any old
+time of day. I kind of want to pay back to you all the kind things your
+dad did for me. And I don't want any Oh-pshawing. Get me?"
+
+"Whatever you say. If my dad did you any favors it was because he liked
+and admired you; not with any idea of having you discharge the debt in the
+future by way of inconveniencing yourself on my account. Just let me be a
+friend of the family, like Abbott here. That would be quite enough honor
+for me."
+
+"You're on! Say, that blacksmith yarn was a corker. He was a game old
+codger. That was scrapping; no hall full of tobacco-smoke, no palm-fans,
+lemonade, peanuts and pop-corn; just right out on the turf, and may the
+best man win. I know. I went through that. No frame-ups, all square and on
+the level. A fellow had to fight those days, no sparring, no pretty
+footwork. Sometimes I've a hankering to get back and exchange a wallop or
+two. Nothing to it, though. My wife won't let me, as the song goes."
+
+Courtlandt chuckled. "I suppose it's the monotony. A man who has been
+active hates to sit down and twiddle his thumbs. You exercise?"
+
+"Walk a lot."
+
+"Climb any?"
+
+"Don't know that game."
+
+"It's great sport. I'll break you in some day, if you say. You'll like it.
+The mountains around here are not dangerous. We can go up and down in a
+day."
+
+"I'll go you. But, say, last night Nora chucked a bunch of daisies out of
+the window, and as I was nosing around in the vineyard, I came across it.
+You know how a chap will absently pick a bunch of flowers apart. What do
+you think I found?"
+
+"A note?"
+
+"This." Harrigan exhibited the emerald. "Who sent it? Where the dickens
+did it come from?"
+
+Courtlandt took the stone and examined it carefully. "That's not a bad
+stone. Uncut but polished; oriental."
+
+"Oriental, eh? What would you say it was worth?"
+
+"Oh, somewhere between six and seven hundred."
+
+"Suffering shamrocks! A little green pebble like this?"
+
+"Cut and flawless, at that size, it would be worth pounds instead of
+dollars."
+
+"Well, what do you think of that? Nora told me to keep it, so I guess I
+will."
+
+"Why, yes. If a man sends a thing like this anonymously, he can't possibly
+complain. Have it made into a stick pin." Courtlandt returned the stone
+which Harrigan pocketed.
+
+"Sometimes I wish Nora'd marry and settle down."
+
+"She is young. You wouldn't have quit the game at her age!"
+
+"I should say not! But that's different. A man's business is to fight for
+his grub, whether in an office or in the ring. That's a part of the game.
+But a woman ought to have a home, live in it three-fourths of the year,
+and bring up good citizens. That's what we are all here for. Molly used to
+stay at home, but now it's the social bug, gadding from morning until
+night. Ah, here's Carlos with the tea."
+
+Herr Rosen instantly usurped the chair next to Nora, who began to pour the
+tea. He had come up from the village prepared for a disagreeable
+half-hour. Instead of being greeted with icy glances from stormy eyes, he
+encountered such smiles as this adorable creature had never before
+bestowed upon him. He was in the clouds. That night at Cadenabbia had
+apparently knocked the bottom out of his dream. Women were riddles which
+only they themselves could solve for others. For this one woman he was
+perfectly ready to throw everything aside. A man lived but once; and he
+was a fool who would hold to tinsel in preference to such happiness as he
+thought he saw opening out before him. Nora saw, but she did not care.
+That in order to reach another she was practising infinite cruelty on this
+man (whose one fault lay in that he loved her) did not appeal to her pity.
+But her arrow flew wide of the target; at least, there appeared no result
+to her archery in malice. Not once had the intended victim looked over to
+where she sat. And yet she knew that he must be watching; he could not
+possibly avoid it and be human. And when he finally came forward to take
+his cup, she leaned toward Herr Rosen.
+
+"You take two lumps?" she asked sweetly. It was only a chance shot, but
+she hit on the truth.
+
+"And you remember?" excitedly.
+
+"One lump for mine, please," said Courtlandt, smiling.
+
+She picked up a cube of sugar and dropped it into his cup. She had the air
+of one wishing it were poison. The recipient of this good will, with
+perfect understanding, returned to the divan, where the padre and Harrigan
+were gravely toasting each other with Benedictine.
+
+Nora made no mistake with either Abbott's cup or the Barone's; but the two
+men were filled with but one desire, to throw Herr Rosen out of the
+window. What had begun as a beautiful day was now becoming black and
+uncertain.
+
+The Barone could control every feature save his eyes, and these openly
+admitted deep anger. He recollected Herr Rosen well enough. The encounter
+over at Cadenabbia was not the first by many. Herr Rosen! His presence in
+this room under that name was an insult, and he intended to call the
+interloper to account the very first opportunity he found.
+
+Perhaps Celeste, sitting as quiet as a mouse upon the piano-stool, was the
+only one who saw these strange currents drifting dangerously about. That
+her own heart ached miserably did not prevent her from observing things
+with all her usual keenness. Ah, Nora, Nora, who have everything to give
+and yet give nothing, why do you play so heartless a game? Why hurt those
+who can no more help loving you than the earth can help whirling around
+the calm dispassionate sun? Always they turn to you, while I, who have so
+much to give, am given nothing! She set down her tea-cup and began the
+aria from _La Bohème_.
+
+Nora, without relaxing the false smile, suddenly found emptiness in
+everything.
+
+"Sing!" said Herr Rosen.
+
+"I am too tired. Some other time."
+
+He did not press her. Instead, he whispered in his own tongue: "You are
+the most adorable woman in the world!"
+
+And Nora turned upon him a pair of eyes blank with astonishment. It was as
+though she had been asleep and he had rudely awakened her. His infatuation
+blinded him to the truth; he saw in the look a feminine desire to throw
+the others off the track as to the sentiment expressed in his whispered
+words.
+
+The hour passed tolerably well. Herr Rosen then observed the time, rose
+and excused himself. He took the steps leading abruptly down the terrace
+to the carriage road. He had come by the other way, the rambling stone
+stairs which began at the porter's lodge, back of the villa.
+
+"Padre," whispered Courtlandt, "I am going. Do not follow. I shall explain
+to you when we meet again."
+
+The padre signified that he understood. Harrigan protested vigorously, but
+smiling and shaking his head, Courtlandt went away.
+
+Nora ran to the window. She could see Herr Rosen striding along, down the
+winding road, his head in the air. Presently, from behind a cluster of
+mulberries, the figure of another man came into view. He was going at a
+dog-trot, his hat settled at an angle that permitted the rain to beat
+squarely into his face. The next turn in the road shut them both from
+sight. But Nora did not stir.
+
+Herr Rosen stopped and turned.
+
+"You called?"
+
+"Yes." Courtlandt had caught up with him just as Herr Rosen was about to
+open the gates. "Just a moment, Herr Rosen," with a hand upon the bars. "I
+shall not detain you long."
+
+There was studied insolence in the tones and the gestures which
+accompanied them.
+
+"Be brief, if you please."
+
+"My name is Edward Courtlandt, as doubtless you have heard."
+
+"In a large room it is difficult to remember all the introductions."
+
+"Precisely. That is why I take the liberty of recalling it to you, so that
+you will not forget it," urbanely.
+
+A pause. Dark patches of water were spreading across their shoulders.
+Little rivulets ran down Courtlandt's arm, raised as it was against the
+bars.
+
+"I do not see how it may concern me," replied Herr Rosen finally with an
+insolence more marked than Courtlandt's.
+
+"In Paris we met one night, at the stage entrance of the Opera, I pushed
+you aside, not knowing who you were. You had offered your services; the
+door of Miss Harrigan's limousine."
+
+"It was you?" scowling.
+
+"I apologize for that. To-morrow morning you will leave Bellaggio for
+Varenna. Somewhere between nine and ten the fast train leaves for Milan."
+
+"Varenna! Milan!"
+
+"Exactly. You speak English as naturally and fluently as if you were born
+to the tongue. Thus, you will leave for Milan. What becomes of you after
+that is of no consequence to me. Am I making myself clear?"
+
+"_Verdampt!_ Do I believe my ears?" furiously. "Are you telling me to
+leave Bellaggio to-morrow morning?"
+
+"As directly as I can."
+
+Herr Rosen's face became as red as his name. He was a brave young man, but
+there was danger of an active kind in the blue eyes boring into his own.
+If it came to a physical contest, he realized that he would get the worst
+of it. He put his hand to his throat; his very impotence was choking him.
+
+"Your Highness...."
+
+"Highness!" Herr Rosen stepped back.
+
+"Yes. Your Highness will readily see the wisdom of my concern for your
+hasty departure when I add that I know all about the little house in
+Versailles, that my knowledge is shared by the chief of the Parisian
+police and the minister of war. If you annoy Miss Harrigan with your
+equivocal attentions...."
+
+"_Gott!_ This is too much!"
+
+"Wait! I am stronger than you are. Do not make me force you to hear me to
+the end. You have gone about this intrigue like a blackguard, and that I
+know your Highness not to be. The matter is, you are young, you have
+always had your way, you have not learnt restraint. Your presence here is
+an insult to Miss Harrigan, and if she was pleasant to you this afternoon
+it was for my benefit. If you do not go, I shall expose you." Courtlandt
+opened the gate.
+
+"And if I refuse?"
+
+"Why, in that case, being the American that I am, without any particular
+reverence for royalty or nobility, as it is known, I promise to thrash you
+soundly to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, in the dining-room, in the
+bureau, the drawing-room, wherever I may happen to find you."
+
+Courtlandt turned on his heel and hurried back to the villa. He did not
+look over his shoulder. If he had, he might have felt pity for the young
+man who leaned heavily against the gate, his burning face pressed upon his
+rain-soaked sleeve.
+
+When Courtlandt knocked at the door and was admitted, he apologized. "I
+came back for my umbrella."
+
+"Umbrella!" exclaimed the padre. "Why, we had no umbrellas. We came up in
+a carriage which is probably waiting for us this very minute by the
+porter's lodge."
+
+"Well, I am certainly absent-minded!"
+
+"Absent-minded!" scoffed Abbott. "You never forgot anything in all your
+life, unless it was to go to bed. You wanted an excuse to come back."
+
+"Any excuse would be a good one in that case. I think we'd better be
+going, Padre. And by the way, Herr Rosen begged me to present his regrets.
+He is leaving Bellaggio in the morning."
+
+Nora turned her face once more to the window.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE APPLE OF DISCORD
+
+
+"It is all very petty, my child," said the padre. "Life is made up of
+bigger things; the little ones should be ignored."
+
+To which Nora replied: "To a woman, the little things are everything; they
+are the daily routine, the expected, the necessary things. What you call
+the big things in life are accidents. And, oh! I have pride." She folded
+her arms across her heaving bosom; for the padre's directness this morning
+had stirred her deeply.
+
+"Wilfulness is called pride by some; and stubbornness. But you know, as
+well as I do, that yours is resentment, anger, indignation. Yes, you have
+pride, but it has not been brought into this affair. Pride is that within
+which prevents us from doing mean or sordid acts; and you could not do one
+or the other if you tried. The sentiment in you which should be
+developed...."
+
+"Is mercy?"
+
+"No; justice, the patience to weigh the right or wrong of a thing."
+
+"Padre, I have eyes, eyes; I _saw_."
+
+He twirled the middle button of his cassock. "The eyes see and the ears
+hear, but these are only witnesses, laying the matter before the court of
+the last resort, which is the mind. It is there we sift the evidence."
+
+"He had the insufferable insolence to order Herr Rosen to leave," going
+around the barrier of his well-ordered logic.
+
+"Ah! Now, how could he send away Herr Rosen if that gentleman had really
+preferred to stay?"
+
+Nora looked confused.
+
+"Shall I tell you? I suspected; so I questioned him last night. Had I been
+in his place, I should have chastised Herr Rosen instead of bidding him be
+gone. It was he."
+
+Nora, sat down.
+
+"Positively. The men who guarded you were two actors from one of the
+theaters. He did not come to Versailles because he was being watched. He
+was found and sent home the night before your release."
+
+"I am sorry. But it was so like _him_."
+
+The padre spread his hands. "What a way women have of modifying either
+good or bad impulses! It would have been fine of you to have stopped when
+you said you were sorry."
+
+"Padre, one would believe that you had taken up his defense!"
+
+"If I had I should have to leave it after to-day. I return to Rome
+to-morrow and shall not see you again before you go to America. I have
+bidden good-by to all save you. My child, my last admonition is, be
+patient; observe; guard against that impulse born in your blood to move
+hastily, to form opinions without solid foundations. Be happy while you
+are young, for old age is happy only in that reflected happiness of
+recollection. Write to me, here. I return in November. _Benedicite?_"
+smiling.
+
+Nora bowed her head and he put a hand upon it.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+"And listen to this," began Harrigan, turning over a page. "'It is
+considered bad form to call the butler to your side when you are a guest.
+Catch his eye. He will understand that something is wanted.' How's that?"
+
+"That's the way to live." Courtlandt grinned, and tilted back his chair
+until it rested against the oak.
+
+The morning was clear and mild. Fresh snow lay upon the mountain tops;
+later it would disappear. The fountain tinkled, and swallows darted hither
+and thither under the sparkling spray. The gardeners below in the
+vegetable patch were singing. By the door of the villa sat two old ladies,
+breakfasting in the sunshine. There was a hint of lavender in the lazy
+drifting air. A dozen yards away sat Abbott, two or three brushes between
+his teeth and one in his hand. A little behind was Celeste, sewing posies
+upon one of those squares of linen toward which all women in their idle
+moments are inclined, and which, on finishing, they immediately stow away
+in the bottom of some trunk against the day when they have a home of their
+own, or marry, or find some one ignorant enough to accept it as a gift.
+
+"'And when in doubt,'" continued Harrigan, "'watch how other persons use
+their forks.' Can you beat it? And say, honest, Molly bought that for me
+to read and study. And I never piped the subtitle until this morning.
+'Advice to young ladies upon going into society.' Huh?" Harrigan slapped
+his knee with the book and roared out his keen enjoyment. Somehow he
+seemed to be more at ease with this young fellow than with any other man
+he had met in years. "But for the love of Mike, don't say anything to
+Molly," fearfully. "Oh, she means the best in the world," contritely. "I'm
+always embarrassing her; shoe-strings that don't match, a busted stud in
+my shirt-front, and there isn't a pair of white-kids made that'll stay
+whole more than five minutes on these paws. I suppose it's because I don't
+think. After all, I'm only a retired pug." The old fellow's eyes sparkled
+suspiciously. "The best two women in all the world, and I don't want them
+to be ashamed of me."
+
+"Why, Mr. Harrigan," said Courtlandt, letting his chair fall into place so
+that he could lay a hand affectionately upon the other's knee, "neither of
+them would be worth their salt if they ever felt ashamed of you. What do
+you care what strangers think or say? You know. You've seen life. You've
+stepped off the stage and carried with you the recollection of decent
+living, of playing square, of doing the best you could. The worst
+scoundrels I ever met never made any mistake with their forks. Perhaps you
+don't know it, but my father became rich because he could judge a man's
+worth almost at sight. And he kept this fortune and added to it because he
+chose half a dozen friends and refused to enlarge the list. If you became
+his friend, he had good reason for making you such."
+
+"Well, we did have some good times together," Harrigan admitted, with a
+glow in his heart. "And I guess after all that I'll go to the ball with
+Molly. I don't mind teas like we had at the colonel's, but dinners and
+balls I have drawn the line at. I'll take the plunge to-night. There's
+always some place for a chap to smoke."
+
+"At the Villa Rosa? I'll be there myself; and any time you are in doubt,
+don't be afraid to question me."
+
+"You're in class A," heartily. "But there's one thing that worries
+me,--Nora. She's gone up so high, and she's such a wonderful girl, that
+all the men in Christendom are hiking after her. And some of 'em.... Well,
+Molly says it isn't good form to wallop a man over here. Why, she went on
+her lonesome to India and Japan, with nobody but her maid; and never put
+us hep until she landed in Bombay. The men out that way aren't the best.
+East of Suez, you know. And that chap yesterday, Herr Rosen. Did you see
+the way he hiked by me when I let him in? He took me to be the round
+number before one. And he didn't speak a dozen words to any but Nora. Not
+that I mind that; but it was something in the way he did it that scratched
+me the wrong way. The man who thinks he's going to get Nora by walking
+over me, has got a guess coming. Of course, it's meat and drink to Molly
+to have sons of grand dukes and kings trailing around. She says it gives
+tone."
+
+"Isn't she afraid sometimes?"
+
+"Afraid? I should say not! There's only three things that Molly's afraid
+of these days: a spool of thread, a needle, and a button."
+
+Courtlandt laughed frankly. "I really don't think you need worry about
+Herr Rosen. He has gone, and he will not come back."
+
+"Say! I'll bet a dollar it was you who shoo'd him off."
+
+"Yes. But it was undoubtedly an impertinence on my part, and I'd rather
+you would not disclose my officiousness to Miss Harrigan."
+
+"Piffle! If you knew him you had a perfect right to pass him back his
+ticket. Who was he?"
+
+Courtlandt poked at the gravel with his cane.
+
+"One of the big guns?"
+
+Courtlandt nodded.
+
+"So big that he couldn't have married my girl even if he loved her?"
+
+"Yes. As big as that."
+
+Harrigan riffled the leaves of his book. "What do you say to going down to
+the hotel and having a game of _bazzica_, as they call billiards here?"
+
+"Nothing would please me better," said Courtlandt, relieved that Harrigan
+did not press him for further revelations.
+
+"Nora is studying a new opera, and Molly-O is ragging the village
+dressmaker. It's only half after ten, and we can whack 'em around until
+noon. I warn you, I'm something of a shark."
+
+"I'll lay you the cigars that I beat you."
+
+"You're on!"
+
+Harrigan put the book in his pocket, and the two of them made for the
+upper path, not, however, without waving a friendly adieu to Celeste, who
+was watching them with much curiosity.
+
+For a moment Nora became visible in the window. Her expression did not
+signify that the sight of the men together pleased her. On the contrary,
+her eyes burned and her brow was ruffled by several wrinkles which
+threatened to become permanent if the condition of affairs continued to
+remain as it was. To her the calm placidity of the man was nothing less
+than monumental impudence. How she hated him; how bitterly, how intensely
+she hated him! She withdrew from the window without having been seen.
+
+"Did you ever see two finer specimens of man?" Celeste asked of Abbott.
+
+"What? Who?" mumbled Abbott, whose forehead was puckered with impatience.
+"Oh, those two? They _are_ well set up. But what the deuce _is_ the matter
+with this foreground?" taking the brushes from his teeth. "I've been
+hammering away at it for a week, and it does not get there yet."
+
+Celeste rose and laid aside her work. She stood behind him and studied the
+picture through half-closed critical eyes. "You have painted it over too
+many times." Then she looked down at the shapely head. Ah, the longing to
+put her hands upon it, to run her fingers through the tousled hair, to
+touch it with her lips! But no! "Perhaps you are tired; perhaps you have
+worked too hard. Why not put aside your brushes for a week?"
+
+"I've a good mind to chuck it into the lake. I simply can't paint any
+more." He flung down the brushes. "I'm a fool, Celeste, a fool. I'm crying
+for the moon, that's what the matter is. What's the use of beating about
+the bush? You know as well as I do that it's Nora."
+
+Her heart contracted, and for a little while she could not see him
+clearly.
+
+"But what earthly chance have I?" he went on, innocently but ruthlessly.
+"No one can help loving Nora."
+
+"No," in a small voice.
+
+"It's all rot, this talk about affinities. There's always some poor devil
+left outside. But who can help loving Nora?" he repeated.
+
+"Who indeed!"
+
+"And there's not the least chance in the world for me."
+
+"You never can tell until you put it to the test."
+
+"Do you think I have a chance? Is it possible that Nora may care a little
+for me?" He turned his head toward her eagerly.
+
+"Who knows?" She wanted him to have it over with, to learn the truth that
+to Nora Harrigan he would never be more than an amiable comrade. He would
+then have none to turn to but her. What mattered it if her own heart ached
+so she might soothe the hurt in his? She laid a hand upon his shoulder, so
+lightly that he was only dimly conscious of the contact.
+
+"It's a rummy old world. Here I've gone alone all these years...."
+
+"Twenty-six!" smiling.
+
+"Well, that's a long time. Never bothered my head about a woman. Selfish,
+perhaps. Had a good time, came and went as I pleased. And then I met
+Nora."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"If only she'd been stand-offish, like these other singers, why, I'd have
+been all right to-day. But she's such a brick! She's such a good fellow!
+She treats us all alike; sings when we ask her to; always ready for a
+romp. Think of her making us all take the _Kneip_-cure the other night!
+And we marched around the fountain singing 'Mary had a little lamb.'
+Barefooted in the grass! When a man marries he doesn't want a wife half so
+much as a good comrade; somebody to slap him on the back in the morning to
+hearten him up for the day's work; and to cuddle him up when he comes home
+tired, or disappointed, or unsuccessful. No matter what mood he's in. Is
+my English getting away from you?"
+
+"No; I understand all you say." Her hand rested a trifle heavier upon his
+shoulder, that was all.
+
+"Nora would be that kind of a wife. 'Honor, anger, valor, fire,' as
+Stevenson says. Hang the picture; what am I going to do with it?"
+
+"'Honor, anger, valor, fire,'" Celeste repeated slowly. "Yes, that is
+Nora." A bitter little smile moved her lips as she recalled the happenings
+of the last two days. But no; he must find out for himself; he must meet
+the hurt from Nora, not from her. "How long, Abbott, have you known your
+friend Mr. Courtlandt?"
+
+"Boys together," playing a light tattoo with his mahl-stick.
+
+"How old is he?"
+
+"About thirty-two or three."
+
+"He is very rich?"
+
+"Oceans of money; throws it away, but not fast enough to get rid of it."
+
+"He is what you say in English ... wild?"
+
+"Well," with mock gravity, "I shouldn't like to be the tiger that crossed
+his path. Wild; that's the word for it."
+
+"You are laughing. Ah, I know! I should say dissipated."
+
+"Courtlandt? Come, now, Celeste; does he look dissipated?"
+
+"No-o."
+
+"He drinks when he chooses, he flirts with a pretty woman when he chooses,
+he smokes the finest tobacco there is when he chooses; and he gives them
+all up when he chooses. He is like the seasons; he comes and goes, and
+nobody can change his habits."
+
+"He has had no affair?"
+
+"Why, Courtlandt hasn't any heart. It's a mechanical device to keep his
+blood in circulation; that's all. I am the most intimate friend he has,
+and yet I know no more than you how he lives and where he goes."
+
+She let her hand fall from his shoulder. She was glad that he did not
+know.
+
+"But look!" she cried in warning.
+
+Abbott looked.
+
+A woman was coming serenely down the path from the wooded promontory, a
+woman undeniably handsome in a cedar-tinted linen dress, exquisitely
+fashioned, with a touch of vivid scarlet on her hat and a most tantalizing
+flash of scarlet ankle. It was Flora Desimone, fresh from her morning bath
+and a substantial breakfast. The errand that had brought her from
+Aix-les-Bains was confessedly a merciful one. But she possessed the
+dramatist's instinct to prolong a situation. Thus, to make her act of
+mercy seem infinitely larger than it was, she was determined first to cast
+the Apple of Discord into this charming corner of Eden. The Apple of
+Discord, as every man knows, is the only thing a woman can throw with any
+accuracy.
+
+The artist snatched up his brushes, and ruined the painting forthwith, for
+all time. The foreground was, in his opinion, beyond redemption; so, with
+a savage humor, he rapidly limned in a score of impossible trees, turned
+midday into sunset, with a riot of colors which would have made the
+Chinese New-year in Canton a drab and sober event in comparison. He hated
+Flora Desimone, as all Nora's adherents most properly did, but with a
+hatred wholly reflective and adapted to Nora's moods.
+
+"You have spoiled it!" cried Celeste. She had watched the picture grow,
+and to see it ruthlessly destroyed this way hurt her. "How could you!"
+
+"Worst I ever did." He began to change the whole effect, chuckling audibly
+as he worked. Sunset divided honors with moonlight. It was no longer
+incongruous; it was ridiculous. He leaned back and laughed. "I'm going to
+send it to L'Asino, and call it an afterthought."
+
+"Give it to me."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Nonsense! I'm going to touch a match to it. I'll give you that picture
+with the lavender in bloom."
+
+"I want this."
+
+"But you can not hang it."
+
+"I want it."
+
+"Well!" The more he learned about women the farther out of mental reach
+they seemed to go. Why on earth did she want this execrable daub? "You may
+have it; but all the same, I'm going to call an oculist and have him
+examine your eyes."
+
+"Why, it is the Signorina Fournier!"
+
+In preparing studiously to ignore Flora Desimone's presence they had
+forgotten all about her.
+
+"Good morning, Signora," said Celeste in Italian.
+
+"And the Signore Abbott, the painter, also!" The Calabrian raised what she
+considered her most deadly weapon, her lorgnette.
+
+Celeste had her fancy-work instantly in her two hands; Abbott's were
+occupied; Flora's hands were likewise engaged; thus, the insipid mockery
+of hand-shaking was nicely and excusably avoided.
+
+"What is it?" asked Flora, squinting.
+
+"It is a new style of the impressionist which I began this morning,"
+soberly.
+
+"It looks very natural," observed Flora.
+
+"Natural!" Abbott dropped his mahl-stick.
+
+"It is Vesuv', is it not, on a cloudy day?"
+
+This was too much for Abbott's gravity, and he laughed.
+
+"It was not necessary to spoil a good picture ... on my account," said
+Flora, closing the lorgnette with a snap. Her great dark eyes were dreamy
+and contemplative like a cat's, and, as every one knows, a cat's eye is
+the most observing of all eyes. It is quite in the order of things, since
+a cat's attitude toward the world is by need and experience wholly
+defensive.
+
+"The Signora is wrong. I did not spoil it on her account. It was past
+helping yesterday. But I shall, however, rechristen it Vesuvius, since it
+represents an eruption of temper."
+
+Flora tapped the handle of her parasol with the lorgnette. It was
+distinctly a sign of approval. These Americans were never slow-witted. She
+swung the parasol to and fro, slowly, like a pendulum.
+
+"It is too bad," she said, her glance roving over the white walls of the
+villa.
+
+"It was irrevocably lost," Abbott declared.
+
+"No, no; I do not mean the picture. I am thinking of La Toscana. Her voice
+was really superb; and to lose it entirely...!" She waved a sympathetic
+hand.
+
+Abbott was about to rise up in vigorous protest. But fate itself chose to
+rebuke Flora. From the window came--"_Sai cos' ebbe cuore!_"--sung as only
+Nora could sing it.
+
+The ferrule of Flora Desimone's parasol bit deeply into the clover-turf.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE BALL AT THE VILLA
+
+
+"Do you know the Duchessa?" asked Flora Desimone.
+
+"Yes." It was three o'clock the same afternoon. The duke sat with his wife
+under the vine-clad trattoria on the quay. Between his knees he held his
+Panama hat, which was filled with ripe hazelnuts. He cracked them
+vigorously with his strong white teeth and filliped the broken shells into
+the lake, where a frantic little fish called _agoni_ darted in and about
+the slowly sinking particles. "Why?" The duke was not any grayer than he
+had been four or five months previous, but the characteristic expression
+of his features had undergone a change. He looked less Jovian than
+Job-like.
+
+"I want you to get an invitation to her ball at the Villa Rosa to-night."
+
+"We haven't been here twenty-four hours!" in mild protest.
+
+"What has that to do with it? It doesn't make any difference."
+
+"I suppose not." He cracked and ate a nut. "Where is he?"
+
+"He has gone to Milan. He left hurriedly. He's a fool," impatiently.
+
+"Not necessarily. Foolishness is one thing and discretion is another. Oh,
+well; his presence here was not absolutely essential. Presently he will
+marry and settle down and be a good boy." The next nut was withered, and
+he tossed it aside. "Is her voice really gone?"
+
+"No." Flora leaned with her arms upon the railing and glared at the
+wimpling water. She had carried the Apple of Discord up the hill and down
+again. Nora had been indisposed.
+
+"I am glad of that."
+
+She turned the glare upon him.
+
+"I am very glad of that, considering your part in the affair."
+
+"Michael...!"
+
+"Be careful. Michael is always a prelude to a temper. Have one of these,"
+offering a nut.
+
+She struck it rudely from his hand.
+
+"Sometimes I am tempted to put my two hands around that exquisite neck of
+yours."
+
+"Try it."
+
+"No, I do not believe it would be wise. But if ever I find out that you
+have lied to me, that you loved the fellow and married me out of
+spite...." He completed the sentence by suggestively crunching a nut.
+
+The sullen expression on her face gave place to a smile. "I should like to
+see you in a rage."
+
+"No, my heart; you would like nothing of the sort. I understand you better
+than you know; that accounts for my patience. You are Italian. You are
+caprice and mood. I come from a cold land. If ever I do get angry, run,
+run as fast as ever you can."
+
+Flora was not, among other things, frivolous or light-headed. There was an
+earthquake hidden somewhere in this quiet docile man, and the innate
+deviltry of the woman was always trying to dig down to it. But she never
+deceived herself. Some day this earthquake would open up and devour her.
+
+"I hate him. He snubbed me. I have told you that a thousand times."
+
+He laughed and rattled the nuts in his hat.
+
+"I want you to get that invitation."
+
+"And if I do not?"
+
+"I shall return immediately to Paris."
+
+"And break your word to me?"
+
+"As easily as you break one of these nuts."
+
+"And if I get the invitation?"
+
+"I shall fulfil my promise to the letter. I will tell her as I promised."
+
+"Out of love for me?"
+
+"Out of love for you, and because the play no longer interests me."
+
+"I wonder what new devilment is at work in your mind?"
+
+"Michael, I do not want to get into a temper. It makes lines in my face. I
+hate this place. It is dead. I want life, and color, and music. I want the
+rest of September in Ostend."
+
+"Paris, Capri, Taormina, Ostend; I marvel if ever you will be content to
+stay in one place long enough for me to get my breath?"
+
+"My dear, I am young. One of these days I shall be content to sit by your
+great Russian fireplace and hold your hand."
+
+"Hold it now."
+
+She laughed and pressed his hand between her own. "Michael, look me
+straight in the eyes." He did so willingly enough. "There is no other man.
+And if you ever look at another woman ... Well!"
+
+"I'll send over for the invitation." He stuffed his pockets with nuts and
+put on his hat.
+
+Flora then proceeded secretly to polish once more the Apple of Discord
+which, a deal tarnished for lack of use, she had been compelled to bring
+down from the promontory.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Am I all right?" asked Harrigan.
+
+Courtlandt nodded. "You look like a soldier in mufti, and more than that,
+like the gentleman that you naturally are," quite sincerely.
+
+The ex-gladiator blushed. "This is the reception-room. There's the
+ballroom right out there. The smoking-room is on the other side. Now, how
+in the old Harry am I going to get across without killing some one?"
+
+Courtlandt resisted the desire to laugh. "Supposing you let me pilot you
+over?"
+
+"You're the referee. Ring the gong."
+
+"Come on, then."
+
+"What! while they are dancing?" backing away in dismay.
+
+The other caught him by the arm. "Come on."
+
+And in and out they went, hither and thither, now dodging, now pausing to
+let the swirl pass, until at length Harrigan found himself safe on shore,
+in the dim cool smoking-room.
+
+"I don't see how you did it," admiringly.
+
+"I'll drop in every little while to see how you are getting on,"
+volunteered Courtlandt. "You can sit by the door if you care to see them
+dance. I'm off to see Mrs. Harrigan and tell her where you are. Here's a
+cigar."
+
+Harrigan turned the cigar over and over in his fingers, all the while
+gazing at the young man's diminishing back. He sighed. _That_ would make
+him the happiest man in the world. He examined the carnelian band
+encircling the six-inches of evanescent happiness. "What do you think of
+that!" he murmured. "Same brand the old boy used to smoke. And if he pays
+anything less than sixty apiece for 'em at wholesale, I'll eat this one."
+Then he directed his attention to the casual inspection of the room. A few
+elderly men were lounging about. His sympathy was at once mutely extended;
+it was plain that they too had been dragged out. At the little smoker's
+tabouret by the door he espied two chairs, one of which was unoccupied;
+and he at once appropriated it. The other chair was totally obscured by
+the bulk of the man who sat in it; a man, bearded, blunt-nosed, passive,
+but whose eyes were bright and twinkling. Hanging from his cravat was a
+medal of some kind. Harrigan lighted his cigar, and gave himself up to the
+delights of it.
+
+"They should leave us old fellows at home," he ventured.
+
+"Perhaps, in most cases, the women would much prefer that."
+
+"Foreigner," thought Harrigan. "Well, it does seem that the older we get
+the greater obstruction we become."
+
+"What is old age?" asked the thick but not unpleasant voice of the
+stranger.
+
+"It's standing aside. Years don't count at all. A man is as young as he
+feels."
+
+"And a woman as old as she looks!" laughed the other.
+
+"Now, I don't feel old, and I am fifty-one."
+
+The man with the beard shot an admiring glance across the tabouret. "You
+are extraordinarily well preserved, sir. You do not seem older than I, and
+I am but forty."
+
+"The trouble is, over here you play cards all night in stuffy rooms and
+eat too many sauces." Harrigan had read this somewhere, and he was pleased
+to think that he could recall it so fittingly.
+
+"Agreed. You Americans are getting out in the open more than any other
+white people."
+
+"Wonder how he guessed I was from the States?" Aloud, Harrigan said: "You
+don't look as though you'd grow any older in the next ten years."
+
+"That depends." The bearded man sighed and lighted a fresh cigarette.
+"There's a beautiful young woman," with an indicative gesture toward the
+ballroom.
+
+Harrigan expanded. It was Nora, dancing with the Barone.
+
+"She's the most beautiful young woman in the world," enthusiastically.
+
+"Ah, you know her?" interestedly.
+
+"I am her father!"--as Louis XIV might have said, "I am the State."
+
+The bearded man smiled. "Sir, I congratulate you both."
+
+Courtlandt loomed in the doorway. "Comfortable?"
+
+"Perfectly. Good cigar, comfortable chair, fine view."
+
+The duke eyed Courtlandt through the pall of smoke which he had
+purposefully blown forth. He questioned, rather amusedly, what would have
+happened had he gone down to the main hall that night in Paris? Among the
+few things he admired was a well-built handsome man. Courtlandt on his
+part pretended that he did not see.
+
+"You'll find the claret and champagne punches in the hall," suggested
+Courtlandt.
+
+"Not for mine! Run away and dance."
+
+"Good-by, then." Courtlandt vanished.
+
+"There's a fine chap. Edward Courtlandt, the American millionaire." It was
+not possible for Harrigan to omit this awe-compelling elaboration.
+
+"Edward Courtlandt." The stranger stretched his legs. "I have heard of
+him. Something of a hunter."
+
+"One of the keenest."
+
+"There is no half-way with your rich American: either his money ruins him
+or he runs away from it."
+
+"There's a stunner," exclaimed Harrigan. "Wonder how she got here?"
+
+"To which lady do you refer?"
+
+"The one in scarlet. She is Flora Desimone. She and my daughter sing
+together sometimes. Of course you have heard of Eleonora da Toscana;
+that's my daughter's stage name. The two are not on very good terms,
+naturally."
+
+"Quite naturally," dryly.
+
+"But you can't get away from the Calabrian's beauty," generously.
+
+"No." The bearded man extinguished his cigarette and rose, laying a
+_carte-de-visite_ on the tabouret. "More, I should not care to get away
+from it. Good evening," pleasantly. The music stopped. He passed on into
+the crowd.
+
+Harrigan reached over and picked up the card. "Suffering shamrocks! if
+Molly could only see me now," he murmured. "I wonder if I made any breaks?
+The grand duke, and me hobnobbing with him like a waiter! James, this is
+all under your hat. We'll keep the card where Molly won't find it."
+
+Young men began to drift in and out. The air became heavy with smoke, the
+prevailing aroma being that of Turkish tobacco of which Harrigan was not
+at all fond. But his cigar was so good that he was determined not to stir
+until the coal began to tickle the end of his nose. Since Molly knew where
+he was there was no occasion to worry.
+
+Abbott came in, pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket, and impatiently
+struck a match. His hands shook a little, and the flare of the match
+revealed a pale and angry countenance.
+
+"Hey, Abbott, here's a seat. Get your second wind."
+
+"Thanks." Abbott dropped into the chair and smoked quickly. "Very stuffy
+out there. Too many."
+
+"You look it. Having a good time?"
+
+"Oh, fine!" There was a catch in the laugh which followed, but Harrigan's
+ear was not trained for these subtleties of sound, "How are you making
+out?"
+
+"I'm getting acclimated. Where's the colonel to-night? He ought to be
+around here somewhere."
+
+"I left him a few moments ago."
+
+"When you see him again, send him in. He's a live one, and I like to hear
+him talk."
+
+"I'll go at once," crushing his cigarette in the Jeypore bowl.
+
+"What's your hurry? You look like a man who has just lost his job."
+
+"Been steering a German countess. She was wound up to turn only one way,
+and I am groggy. I'll send the colonel over. By-by."
+
+"Now, what's stung the boy?"
+
+Nora was enjoying herself famously. The men hummed around her like bees
+around the sweetest rose. From time to time she saw Courtlandt hovering
+about the outskirts. She was glad he had come: the lepidopterist is latent
+or active in most women; to impale the butterfly, the moth falls easily
+into the daily routine. She was laughing and jesting with the men. Her
+mother stood by, admiringly. This time Courtlandt gently pushed his way to
+Nora's side.
+
+"May I have a dance?" he asked.
+
+"You are too late," evenly. She was becoming used to the sight of him,
+much to her amazement.
+
+"I am sorry."
+
+"Why, Nora, I didn't know that your card was filled!" said Mrs. Harrigan.
+She had the maternal eye upon Courtlandt.
+
+"Nevertheless," said Nora sweetly, "it is a fact."
+
+"I am disconsolate," replied Courtlandt, who had approached for form's
+sake only, being fully prepared for a refusal. "I have the unfortunate
+habit of turning up late," with a significance which only Nora
+understood.
+
+"So, those who are late must suffer the consequences."
+
+"Supper?"
+
+"The Barone rather than you."
+
+The music began again, and Abbott whirled her away. She was dressed in
+Burmese taffeta, a rich orange. In the dark of her beautiful black hair
+there was the green luster of emeralds; an Indian-princess necklace of
+emeralds and pearls was looped around her dazzling white throat.
+Unconsciously Courtlandt sighed audibly, and Mrs. Harrigan heard this note
+of unrest.
+
+"Who is that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan.
+
+"Flora Desimone's husband, the duke. He and Mr. Harrigan were having quite
+a conversation in the smoke-room."
+
+"What!" in consternation.
+
+"They were getting along finely when I left them."
+
+Mrs. Harrigan felt her heart sink. The duke and James together meant
+nothing short of a catastrophe; for James would not know whom he was
+addressing, and would make all manner of confidences. She knew something
+would happen if she let him out of her sight. He was eternally talking to
+strangers.
+
+"Would you mind telling Mr. Harrigan that I wish to see him?"
+
+"Not at all."
+
+Nora stopped at the end of the ballroom. "Donald, let us go out into the
+garden. I want a breath of air. Did you see her?"
+
+"Couldn't help seeing her. It was the duke, I suppose. It appears that he
+is an old friend of the duchess. We'll go through the conservatory. It's a
+short-cut."
+
+The night was full of moonshine; it danced upon the water; it fired the
+filigree tops of the solemn cypress; it laced the lawn with quivering
+shadows; and heavy hung the cloying perfume of the box-wood hedges.
+
+"_O bellissima notta!_" she sang. "Is it not glorious?"
+
+"Nora," said Abbott, leaning suddenly toward her.
+
+"Don't say it. Donald; please don't. Don't waste your love on me. You are
+a good man, and I should not be worthy the name of woman if I did not feel
+proud and sad. I want you always as a friend; and if you decide that can
+not be, I shall lose faith in everything. I have never had a brother, and
+in these two short years I have grown to look on you as one. I am sorry.
+But if you will look back you will see that I never gave you any
+encouragement. I was never more than your comrade. I have many faults, but
+I am not naturally a coquette. I know my heart; I know it well."
+
+"Is there another?" in despair.
+
+"Once upon a time, Donald, there was. There is nothing now but ashes. I am
+telling you this so that it will not be so hard for you to return to the
+old friendly footing. You are a brave man. Any man is who takes his heart
+in his hand and offers it to a woman. You are going to take my hand and
+promise to be my friend always."
+
+"Ah, Nora!"
+
+"You mustn't, Donald. I can't return to the ballroom with my eyes red. You
+will never know how a woman on the stage has to fight to earn her bread.
+And that part is only a skirmish compared to the ceaseless war men wage
+against her. She has only the fortifications of her wit and her presence
+of mind. Was I not abducted in the heart of Paris? And but for the
+cowardice of the man, who knows what might have happened? If I have
+beauty, God gave it to me to wear, and wear it I will. My father, the
+padre, you and the Barone; I would not trust any other men living. I am
+often unhappy, but I do not inflict this unhappiness on others. Be you the
+same. Be my friend; be brave and fight it out of your heart." Quickly she
+drew his head toward her and lightly kissed the forehead. "There! Ah,
+Donald, I very much need a friend."
+
+"All right, Nora," bravely indeed, for the pain in his young heart cried
+out for the ends of the earth in which to hide. "All right! I'm young;
+maybe I'll get over it in time. Always count on me. You wouldn't mind
+going back to the ballroom alone, would you? I've got an idea I'd like to
+smoke over it. No, I'll take you to the end of the conservatory and come
+back. I can't face the rest of them just now."
+
+Nora had hoped against hope that it was only infatuation, but in the last
+few days she could not ignore the truth that he really loved her. She had
+thrown him and Celeste together in vain. Poor Celeste, poor lovely
+Celeste, who wore her heart upon her sleeve, patent to all eyes save
+Donald's! Thus, it was with defined purpose that she had lured him this
+night into the garden. She wanted to disillusion him.
+
+The Barone, glooming in an obscure corner of the conservatory, saw them
+come in. Abbott's brave young face deceived him. At the door Abbott smiled
+and bowed and returned to the garden. The Barone rose to follow him. He
+had committed a theft of which he was genuinely sorry; and he was man
+enough to seek his rival and apologize. But fate had chosen for him the
+worst possible time. He had taken but a step forward, when a tableau
+formed by the door, causing him to pause irresolutely.
+
+Nora was face to face at last with Flora Desimone.
+
+"I wish to speak to you," said the Italian abruptly.
+
+"Nothing you could possibly say would interest me," declared Nora,
+haughtily and made as if to pass.
+
+"Do not be too sure," insolently.
+
+Their voices were low, but they reached the ears of the Barone, who wished
+he was anywhere but here. He moved silently behind the palms toward the
+exit.
+
+"Let me be frank. I hate you and detest you with all my heart," continued
+Flora. "I have always hated you, with your supercilious airs, you, whose
+father...."
+
+"Don't you dare to say an ill word of him!" cried Nora, her Irish blood
+throwing hauteur to the winds. "He is kind and brave and loyal, and I am
+proud of him. Say what you will about me; it will not bother me in the
+least."
+
+The Barone heard no more. By degrees he had reached the exit, and he was
+mightily relieved to get outside. The Calabrian had chosen her time well,
+for the conservatory was practically empty. The Barone's eyes searched the
+shadows and at length discerned Abbott leaning over the parapet.
+
+[Illustration: "I hate you and detest you with all my heart."]
+
+"Ah!" said Abbott, facing about. "So it is you. You deliberately scratched
+off my name and substituted your own. It was the act of a contemptible
+cad. And I tell you here and now. A cad!"
+
+The Barone was Italian. He had sought Abbott with the best intentions; to
+apologize abjectly, distasteful though it might be to his hot blood.
+Instead, he struck Abbott across the mouth, and the latter promptly
+knocked him down.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+PISTOLS FOR TWO
+
+
+Courtlandt knocked on the studio door.
+
+"Come in."
+
+He discovered Abbott, stretched out upon the lounge, idly picking at the
+loose plaster in the wall.
+
+"Hello!" said Abbott carelessly. "Help yourself to a chair."
+
+Instead, Courtlandt walked about the room, aimlessly. He paused at the
+window; he picked up a sketch and studied it at various angles; he kicked
+the footstool across the floor, not with any sign of anger but with a
+seriousness that would have caused Abbott to laugh, had he been looking at
+his friend. He continued, however, to pluck at the plaster. He had always
+hated and loved Courtlandt, alternately. He never sought to analyze this
+peculiar cardiac condition. He only knew that at one time he hated the
+man, and that at another he would have laid down his life for him. Perhaps
+it was rather a passive jealousy which he mistook for hatred. Abbott had
+never envied Courtlandt his riches; but often the sight of Courtlandt's
+physical superiority, his adaptability, his knowledge of men and affairs,
+the way he had of anticipating the unspoken wishes of women, his
+unembarrassed gallantry, these attributes stirred the envy of which he was
+always manly enough to be ashamed. Courtlandt's unexpected appearance in
+Bellaggio had also created a suspicion which he could not minutely define.
+The truth was, when a man loved, every other man became his enemy, not
+excepting her father: the primordial instinct has survived all the
+applications of veneer. So, Abbott was not at all pleased to see his
+friend that morning.
+
+At length Courtlandt returned to the lounge. "The Barone called upon me
+this morning."
+
+"Oh, he did?"
+
+"I think you had better write him an apology."
+
+Abbott sat up. He flung the piece of plaster violently to the floor.
+"Apologize? Well, I like your nerve to come here with that kind of wabble.
+Look at these lips! Man, he struck me across the mouth, and I knocked him
+down."
+
+"It was a pretty good wallop, considering that you couldn't see his face
+very well in the dark. I always said that you had more spunk to the square
+inch than any other chap I know. But over here, Suds, as you know, it's
+different. You can't knock down an officer and get away with it. So, you
+just sit down at your desk and write a little note, saying that you regret
+your hastiness. I'll see that it goes through all right. Fortunately, no
+one heard of the row."
+
+"I'll see you both farther!" wrathfully. "Look at these lips, I say!"
+
+"Before he struck you, you must have given provocation."
+
+"Sha'n't discuss what took place. Nor will I apologize."
+
+"That's final?"
+
+"You have my word for it."
+
+"Well, I'm sorry. The Barone is a decent sort. He gives you the
+preference, and suggests that you select pistols, since you would be no
+match for him with rapiers."
+
+"Pistols!" shouted Abbott. "For the love of glory, what are you driving
+at?"
+
+"The Barone has asked me to be his second. And I have despatched a note to
+the colonel, advising him to attend to your side. I accepted the Barone's
+proposition solely that I might get here first and convince you that an
+apology will save you a heap of discomfort. The Barone is a first-rate
+shot, and doubtless he will only wing you. But that will mean scandal and
+several weeks in the hospital, to say nothing of a devil of a row with the
+civil authorities. In the army the Italian still fights his _duello_, but
+these affairs never get into the newspapers, as in France. Seldom,
+however, is any one seriously hurt. They are excitable, and consequently a
+good shot is likely to shoot wildly at a pinch. So there you are, my
+boy."
+
+"Are you in your right mind? Do you mean to tell me that you have come
+here to arrange a duel?" asked Abbott, his voice low and a bit shaky.
+
+"To prevent one. So, write your apology. Don't worry about the moral side
+of the question. It's only a fool who will offer himself as a target to a
+man who knows how to shoot. You couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with
+a shot-gun."
+
+Abbott brushed the dust from his coat and got up. "A duel!" He laughed a
+bit hysterically. Well, why not? Since Nora could never be his, there was
+no future for him. He might far better serve as a target than to go on
+living with the pain and bitterness in his heart. "Very well. Tell the
+Barone my choice is pistols. He may set the time and place himself."
+
+"Go over to that desk and write that apology. If you don't, I promise on
+my part to tell Nora Harrigan, who, I dare say, is at the bottom of this,
+innocently or otherwise."
+
+"Courtlandt!"
+
+"I mean just what I say. Take your choice. Stop this nonsense yourself
+like a reasonable human being, or let Nora Harrigan stop it for you. There
+will be no duel, not if I can help it."
+
+Abbott saw instantly what would happen. Nora would go to the Barone and
+beg off for him. "All right! I'll write that apology. But listen: you will
+knock hereafter when you enter any of my studios. You've kicked out the
+bottom from the old footing. You are not the friend you profess to be. You
+are making me a coward in the eyes of that damned Italian. He will never
+understand this phase of it." Thereupon Abbott ran over to his desk and
+scribbled the note, sealing it with a bang. "Here you are. Perhaps you had
+best go at once."
+
+"Abby, I'm sorry that you take this view."
+
+"I don't care to hear any platitudes, thank you."
+
+"I'll look you up to-morrow, and on my part I sha'n't ask for any apology.
+In a little while you'll thank me. You will even laugh with me."
+
+"Permit me to doubt that," angrily. He threw open the door.
+
+Courtlandt was too wise to argue further. He had obtained the object of
+his errand, and that was enough for the present. "Sorry you are not open
+to reason. Good morning."
+
+When the door closed, Abbott tramped the floor and vented his temper on
+the much abused footstool, which he kicked whenever it came in the line of
+his march. In his soul he knew that Courtlandt was right. More than that,
+he knew that presently he would seek him and apologize.
+
+Unfortunately, neither of them counted on the colonel.
+
+Without being quite conscious of the act, Abbott took down from the wall
+an ancient dueling-pistol, cocked it, snapped it, and looked it over with
+an interest that he had never before bestowed on it. And the colonel,
+bursting into the studio, found him absorbed in the contemplation of this
+old death-dealing instrument.
+
+"Ha!" roared the old war dog. "Had an idea that something like this was
+going to happen. Put that up. You couldn't kill anything with that unless
+you hit 'em on the head with it. Leave the matter to me. I've a pair of
+pistols, sighted to hit a shilling at twenty yards. Of course, you can't
+fight him with swords. He's one of the best in all Italy. But you've just
+as good a chance as he has with pistols. Nine times out of ten the tyro
+hits the bull's-eye, while the crack goes wild. Just you sit jolly tight.
+Who's his second; Courtlandt?"
+
+"Yes." Abbott was truly and completely bewildered.
+
+"He struck you first, I understand, and you knocked him down. Good! My
+tennis-courts are out of the way. We can settle this matter to-morrow
+morning at dawn. Ellicott will come over from Cadenabbia with his saws.
+He's close-mouthed. All you need to do is to keep quiet. You can spend the
+night at the villa with me, and I'll give you a few ideas about shooting a
+pistol. Here; write what I dictate." He pushed Abbott over to the desk and
+forced him into the chair. Abbott wrote mechanically, as one hypnotized.
+The colonel seized the letter. "No flowery sentences; a few words bang at
+the mark. Come up to the villa as soon as you can. We'll jolly well cool
+this Italian's blood."
+
+And out he went, banging the door. There was something of the directness
+of a bullet in the old fellow's methods.
+
+Literally, Abbott had been rushed off his feet. The moment his confusion
+cleared he saw the predicament into which his own stupidity and the
+amiable colonel's impetuous good offices had plunged him. He was
+horrified. Here was Courtlandt carrying the apology, and hot on his heels
+was the colonel, with the final arrangements for the meeting. He ran to
+the door, bareheaded, took the stairs three and four at a bound. But the
+energetic Anglo-Indian had gone down in bounds also; and when the
+distracted artist reached the street, the other was nowhere to be seen.
+Apparently there was nothing left but to send another apology. Rather than
+perform so shameful and cowardly an act he would have cut off his hand.
+
+The Barone, pale and determined, passed the second note to Courtlandt who
+was congratulating himself (prematurely as will be seen) on the peaceful
+dispersion of the war-clouds. He was dumfounded.
+
+"You will excuse me," he said meekly. He must see Abbott.
+
+"A moment," interposed the Barone coldly. "If it is to seek another
+apology, it will be useless. I refuse to accept. Mr. Abbott will fight, or
+I will publicly brand him, the first opportunity, as a coward."
+
+Courtlandt bit his mustache. "In that case, I shall go at once to Colonel
+Caxley-Webster."
+
+"Thank you. I shall be in my room at the villa the greater part of the
+day." The Barone bowed.
+
+Courtlandt caught the colonel as he was entering his motor-boat.
+
+"Come over to tiffin."
+
+"Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere else."
+
+When the motor began its racket, Courtlandt pulled the colonel over to
+him.
+
+"Do you know what you have done?"
+
+"Done?" dropping his eye-glass.
+
+"Yes. Knowing that Abbott would have no earthly chance against the
+Italian, I went to him and forced him to write an apology. And you have
+blown the whole thing higher than a kite."
+
+The colonel's eyes bulged. "Dem it, why didn't the young fool tell me?"
+
+"Your hurry probably rattled him. But what are we going to do? I'm not
+going to have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother; though, just now, he
+regards me as a mortal enemy. Perhaps I am," moodily. "I have deceived
+him, and somehow--blindly it is true--he knows it. I am as full of deceit
+as a pomegranate is of seeds."
+
+"Have him send another apology."
+
+"The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He would refuse to accept it, and said
+so."
+
+"Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!"
+
+"With pleasure, but that will not stop the row. There is a way out, but it
+appeals to me as damnably low."
+
+"Oh, Abbott will not run. He isn't that kind."
+
+"No, he'll not run. But if you will agree with me, honor may be satisfied
+without either of them getting hurt."
+
+"Women beat the devil, don't they? What's your plan?"
+
+Courtlandt outlined it.
+
+The colonel frowned. "That doesn't sound like you. Beastly trick."
+
+"I know it."
+
+"We'll lunch first. It will take a few pegs to get that idea through this
+bally head of mine."
+
+When Abbott came over later that day, he was subdued in manner. He laughed
+occasionally, smoked a few cigars, but declined stimulants. He even played
+a game of tennis creditably. And after dinner he shot a hundred billiards.
+The colonel watched his hands keenly. There was not the slightest
+indication of nerves.
+
+"Hang the boy!" he muttered. "I ought to be ashamed of myself. There isn't
+a bit of funk in his whole make-up."
+
+At nine Abbott retired. He did not sleep very well. He was irked by the
+morbid idea that the Barone was going to send the bullet through his
+throat. He was up at five. He strolled about the garden. He realized that
+it was very good to be alive. Once he gazed somberly at the little white
+villa, away to the north. How crisply it stood out against the dark
+foliage! How blue the water was! And far, far away the serene snowcaps!
+Nora Harrigan ... Well, he was going to stand up like a man. She should
+never be ashamed of her memory of him. If he went out, all worry would be
+at an end, and that would be something. What a mess he had made of things!
+He did not blame the Italian. A duel! he, the son of a man who had
+invented wash-tubs, was going to fight a duel! He wanted to laugh; he
+wanted to cry. Wasn't he just dreaming? Wasn't it all a nightmare out of
+which he would presently awake?
+
+"Breakfast, Sahib," said Rao, deferentially touching his arm.
+
+He was awake; it was all true.
+
+"You'll want coffee," began the colonel. "Drink as much as you like. And
+you'll find the eggs good, too." The colonel wanted to see if Abbott ate
+well.
+
+The artist helped himself twice and drank three cups of coffee. "You know,
+I suppose all men in a hole like this have funny ideas. I was just
+thinking that I should like a partridge and a bottle of champagne."
+
+"We'll have that for tiffin," said the colonel, confidentially. In fact,
+he summoned the butler and gave the order.
+
+"It's mighty kind of you, Colonel, to buck me up this way."
+
+"Rot!" The colonel experienced a slight heat in his leathery cheeks. "All
+you've got to do is to hold your arm out straight, pull the trigger, and
+squint afterward."
+
+"I sha'n't hurt the Barone," smiling faintly.
+
+"Are you going to be ass enough to pop your gun in the air?" indignantly.
+
+Abbott shrugged; and the colonel cursed himself for the guiltiest
+scoundrel unhung.
+
+Half an hour later the opponents stood at each end of the tennis-court.
+Ellicott, the surgeon, had laid open his medical case. He was the most
+agitated of the five men. His fingers shook as he spread out the lints and
+bandages. The colonel and Courtlandt had solemnly gone through the
+formality of loading the weapons. The sun had not climbed over the eastern
+summits, but the snow on the western tops was rosy.
+
+"At the word three, gentlemen, you will fire," said the colonel.
+
+The two shots came simultaneously. Abbott had deliberately pointed his
+into the air. For a moment he stood perfectly still; then, his knees
+sagged, and he toppled forward on his face.
+
+"Great God!" whispered the colonel; "you must have forgotten the ramrod!"
+
+He, Courtlandt, and the surgeon rushed over to the fallen man. The Barone
+stood like stone. Suddenly, with a gesture of horror, he flung aside his
+smoking pistol and ran across the court.
+
+"Gentlemen," he cried, "on my honor, I aimed three feet above his head."
+He wrung his hands together in anxiety. "It is impossible! It is only that
+I wished to see if he were a brave man. I shoot well. It is impossible!"
+he reiterated.
+
+[Illustration: Suddenly he flung aside his smoking pistol.]
+
+Rapidly the cunning hand of the surgeon ran over Abbott's body. He finally
+shook his head. "Nothing has touched him. His heart gave under. Fainted."
+
+When Abbott came to his senses, he smiled weakly. The Barone was one of
+the two who helped him to his feet.
+
+"I feel like a fool," he said.
+
+"Ah, let me apologize now," said the Barone. "What I did at the ball was
+wrong, and I should not have lost my temper. I had come to you to
+apologize then. But I am Italian. It is natural that I should lose my
+temper," naïvely.
+
+"We're both of us a pair of fools, Barone. There was always some one else.
+A couple of fools."
+
+"Yes," admitted the Barone eagerly.
+
+"Considering," whispered the colonel in Courtlandt's ear; "considering
+that neither of them knew they were shooting nothing more dangerous than
+wads, they're pretty good specimens. Eh, what?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+COURTLANDT TELLS A STORY
+
+
+The Colonel and his guests at luncheon had listened to Courtlandt without
+sound or movement beyond the occasional rasp of feet shifting under the
+table. He had begun with the old familiar phrase--"I've got a story."
+
+"Tell it," had been the instant request.
+
+At the beginning the men had been leaning at various negligent
+angles,--some with their elbows upon the table, some with their arms
+thrown across the backs of their chairs. The partridge had been excellent,
+the wine delicious, the tobacco irreproachable. Burma, the tinkle of bells
+in the temples, the strange pictures in the bazaars, long journeys over
+smooth and stormy seas; romance, moving and colorful, which began at
+Rangoon, had zigzagged around the world, and ended in Berlin.
+
+"And so," concluded the teller of the tale, "that is the story. This man
+was perfectly innocent of any wrong, a victim of malice on the one hand
+and of injustice on the other."
+
+"Is that the end of the yarn?" asked the colonel.
+
+"Who in life knows what the end of anything is? This is not a story out of
+a book." Courtlandt accepted a fresh cigar from the box which Rao passed
+to him, and dropped his dead weed into the ash-bowl.
+
+"Has he given up?" asked Abbott, his voice strangely unfamiliar in his own
+ears.
+
+"A man can struggle just so long against odds, then he wins or becomes
+broken. Women are not logical; generally they permit themselves to be
+guided by impulse rather than by reason. This man I am telling you about
+was proud; perhaps too proud. It is a shameful fact, but he ran away.
+True, he wrote letter after letter, but all these were returned unopened.
+Then he stopped."
+
+"A woman would a good deal rather believe circumstantial evidence than
+not. Humph!" The colonel primed his pipe and relighted it. "She couldn't
+have been worth much."
+
+"Worth much!" cried Abbott. "What do you imply by that?"
+
+"No man will really give up a woman who is really worth while, that is, of
+course, admitting that your man, Courtlandt, _is_ a man. Perhaps, though,
+it was his fault. He was not persistent enough, maybe a bit spineless. The
+fact that he gave up so quickly possibly convinced her that her
+impressions were correct. Why, I'd have followed her day in and day out,
+year after year; never would I have let up until I had proved to her that
+she had been wrong."
+
+"The colonel is right," Abbott approved, never taking his eyes off
+Courtlandt, who was apparently absorbed in the contemplation of the bread
+crumbs under his fingers.
+
+"And more, by hook or crook, I'd have dragged in the other woman by the
+hair and made her confess."
+
+"I do not doubt it, Colonel," responded Courtlandt, with a dry laugh. "And
+that would really have been the end of the story. The heroine of this
+rambling tale would then have been absolutely certain of collusion between
+the two."
+
+"That is like a woman," the Barone agreed, and he knew something about
+them. "And where is this man now?"
+
+"Here," said Courtlandt, pushing back his chair and rising. "I am he." He
+turned his back upon them and sought the garden.
+
+Tableau!
+
+"Dash me!" cried the colonel, who, being the least interested personally,
+was first to recover his speech.
+
+The Barone drew in his breath sharply. Then he looked at Abbott.
+
+"I suspected it," replied Abbott to the mute question. Since the episode
+of that morning his philosophical outlook had broadened. He had fought a
+duel and had come out of it with flying colors. As long as he lived he was
+certain that the petty affairs of the day were never again going to
+disturb him.
+
+"Let him be," was the colonel's suggestion, adding a gesture in the
+direction of the casement door through which Courtlandt had gone. "He's as
+big a man as Nora is a woman. If he has returned with the determination of
+winning her, he will."
+
+They did not see Courtlandt again. After a few minutes of restless
+to-and-froing, he proceeded down to the landing, helped himself to the
+colonel's motor-boat, and returned to Bellaggio. At the hotel he asked for
+the duke, only to be told that the duke and madame had left that morning
+for Paris. Courtlandt saw that he had permitted one great opportunity to
+slip past. He gave up the battle. One more good look at her, and he would
+go away. The odds had been too strong for him, and he knew that he was
+broken.
+
+When the motor-boat came back, Abbott and the Barone made use of it also.
+They crossed in silence, heavy-hearted.
+
+On landing Abbott said: "It is probable that I shall not see you again
+this year. I am leaving to-morrow for Paris. It's a great world, isn't it,
+where they toss us around like dice? Some throw sixes and others deuces.
+And in this game you and I have lost two out of three."
+
+"I shall return to Rome," replied the Barone. "My long leave of absence is
+near its end."
+
+"What in the world can have happened?" demanded Nora, showing the two
+notes to Celeste. "Here's Donald going to Paris to-morrow and the Barone
+to Rome. They will bid us good-by at tea. I don't understand. Donald was
+to remain until we left for America, and the Barone's leave does not end
+until October."
+
+"To-morrow?" Dim-eyed, Celeste returned the notes.
+
+"Yes. You play the fourth _ballade_ and I'll sing from _Madame_. It will
+be very lonesome without them." Nora gazed into the wall mirror and gave a
+pat or two to her hair.
+
+When the men arrived, it was impressed on Nora's mind that never had she
+seen them so amiable toward each other. They were positively friendly. And
+why not? The test of the morning had proved each of them to his own
+individual satisfaction, and had done away with those stilted mannerisms
+that generally make rivals ridiculous in all eyes save their own. The
+revelation at luncheon had convinced them of the futility of things in
+general and of woman in particular. They were, without being aware of the
+fact, each a consolation to the other. The old adage that misery loves
+company was never more nicely typified.
+
+If Celeste expected Nora to exhibit any signs of distress over the
+approaching departure, she was disappointed. In truth, Nora was secretly
+pleased to be rid of these two suitors, much as she liked them. The Barone
+had not yet proposed, and his sudden determination to return to Rome
+eliminated this disagreeable possibility. She was glad Abbott was going
+because she had hurt him without intention, and the sight of him was, in
+spite of her innocence, a constant reproach. Presently she would have her
+work, and there would be no time for loneliness.
+
+The person who suffered keenest was Celeste. She was awake; the tender
+little dream was gone; and bravely she accepted the fact. Never her agile
+fingers stumbled, and she played remarkably well, from Beethoven, Chopin,
+Grieg, Rubinstein, MacDowell. And Nora, perversely enough, sang from old
+light opera.
+
+When the two men departed, Celeste went to her room and Nora out upon the
+terrace. It was after five. No one was about, so far as she could see. She
+stood enchanted over the transformation that was affecting the mountains
+and the lakes. How she loved the spot! How she would have liked to spend
+the rest of her days here! And how beautiful all the world was to-day!
+
+She gave a frightened little scream. A strong pair of arms had encircled
+her. She started to cry out again, but the sound was muffled and blotted
+out by the pressure of a man's lips upon her own. She struggled violently,
+and suddenly was freed.
+
+"If I were a man," she said, "you should die for that!"
+
+"It was an opportunity not to be ignored," returned Courtlandt. "It is
+true that I was a fool to run away as I did, but my return has convinced
+me that I should have been as much a fool had I remained to tag you about,
+begging for an interview. I wrote you letters. You returned them unopened.
+You have condemned me without a hearing. So be it. You may consider that
+kiss the farewell appearance so dear to the operatic heart," bitterly.
+
+He addressed most of this to the back of her head, for she was already
+walking toward the villa into which she disappeared with the proud air of
+some queen of tragedy. She was a capital actress.
+
+A heavy hand fell upon Courtlandt's shoulder. He was irresistibly drawn
+right about face.
+
+"Now, then, Mr. Courtlandt," said Harrigan, his eyes blue and cold as ice,
+"perhaps you will explain?"
+
+With rage and despair in his heart, Courtlandt flung off the hand and
+answered: "I refuse!"
+
+"Ah!" Harrigan stood off a few steps and ran his glance critically up and
+down this man of whom he had thought to make a friend. "You're a husky
+lad. There's one way out of this for you."
+
+"So long as it does not necessitate any explanations," indifferently.
+
+"In the bottom of one of Nora's trunks is a set of my old gloves. There
+will not be any one up at the tennis-court this time of day. If you are
+not a mean cuss, if you are not an ordinary low-down imitation of a man,
+you'll meet me up there inside of five minutes. If you can stand up in
+front of me for ten minutes, you need not make any explanations. On the
+other hand, you'll hike out of here as fast as boats and trains can take
+you. And never come back."
+
+"I am nearly twenty years younger than you, Mr. Harrigan."
+
+"Oh, don't let that worry you any," with a truculent laugh.
+
+"Very well. You will find me there. After all, you are her father."
+
+"You bet I am!"
+
+Harrigan stole into his daughter's room and soundlessly bored into the
+bottom of the trunk that contained the relics of past glory. As he pulled
+them forth, a folded oblong strip of parchment came out with them and
+fluttered to the floor; but he was too busily engaged to notice it, nor
+would he have bothered if he had. The bottom of the trunk was littered
+with old letters and programs and operatic scores. He wrapped the gloves
+in a newspaper and got away without being seen. He was as happy as a boy
+who had discovered an opening in the fence between him and the apple
+orchard. He was rather astonished to see Courtlandt kneeling in the
+clover-patch, hunting for a four-leaf clover. It was patent that the young
+man was not troubled with nerves.
+
+"Here!" he cried, bruskly, tossing over a pair of gloves. "If this method
+of settling the dispute isn't satisfactory, I'll accept your
+explanations."
+
+For reply Courtlandt stood up and stripped to his undershirt. He drew on
+the gloves and laced them with the aid of his teeth. Then he kneaded them
+carefully. The two men eyed each other a little more respectfully than
+they had ever done before.
+
+"This single court is about as near as we can make it. The man who steps
+outside is whipped."
+
+"I agree," said Courtlandt.
+
+"No rounds with rests; until one or the other is outside. Clean breaks.
+That's about all. Now, put up your dukes and take a man's licking. I
+thought you were your father's son, but I guess you are like the rest of
+'em, hunters of women."
+
+Courtlandt laughed and stepped to the middle of the court. Harrigan did
+not waste any time. He sent in a straight jab to the jaw, but Courtlandt
+blocked it neatly and countered with a hard one on Harrigan's ear, which
+began to swell.
+
+"Fine!" growled Harrigan. "You know something about the game. It won't be
+as if I was walloping a baby." He sent a left to the body, but the right
+failed to reach his man.
+
+For some time Harrigan jabbed and swung and upper-cut; often he reached
+his opponent's body, but never his face. It worried him a little to find
+that he could not stir Courtlandt more than two or three feet. Courtlandt
+never followed up any advantage, thus making Harrigan force the fighting,
+which was rather to his liking. But presently it began to enter his mind
+convincingly that apart from the initial blow, the younger man was working
+wholly on the defensive. As if he were afraid he might hurt him! This
+served to make the old fellow furious. He bored in right and left, left
+and right, and Courtlandt gave way, step by step until he was so close to
+the line that he could see it from the corner of his eye. This glance,
+swift as it was, came near to being his undoing. Harrigan caught him with
+a terrible right on the jaw. It was a glancing blow, otherwise the fight
+would have ended then and there. Instantly he lurched forward and clenched
+before the other could add the finishing touch.
+
+The two pushed about, Harrigan fiercely striving to break the younger
+man's hold. He was beginning to breathe hard besides. A little longer, and
+his blows would lack the proper steam. Finally Courtlandt broke away of
+his own accord. His head buzzed a little, but aside from that he had
+recovered. Harrigan pursued his tactics and rushed. But this time there
+was an offensive return. Courtlandt became the aggressor. There was no
+withstanding him. And Harrigan fairly saw the end; but with that
+indomitable pluck which had made him famous in the annals of the ring, he
+kept banging away. The swift cruel jabs here and there upon his body began
+to tell. Oh, for a minute's rest and a piece of lemon on his parched
+tongue! Suddenly Courtlandt rushed him tigerishly, landing a jab which
+closed Harrigan's right eye. Courtlandt dropped his hands, and stepped
+back. His glance traveled suggestively to Harrigan's feet. He was outside
+the "ropes."
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mr. Harrigan, for losing my temper."
+
+"What's the odds? I lost mine. You win." Harrigan was a true sportsman. He
+had no excuses to offer. He had dug the pit of humiliation with his own
+hands. He recognized this as one of two facts. The other was, that had
+Courtlandt extended himself, the battle would have lasted about one
+minute. It was gall and wormwood, but there you were.
+
+"And now, you ask for explanations. Ask your daughter to make them."
+Courtlandt pulled off the gloves and got into his clothes. "You may add,
+sir, that I shall never trouble her again with my unwelcome attentions. I
+leave for Milan in the morning." Courtlandt left the field of victory
+without further comment.
+
+"Well, what do you think of that?" mused Harrigan, as he stooped over to
+gather up the gloves. "Any one would say that he was the injured party.
+I'm in wrong on this deal somewhere. I'll ask Miss Nora a question or
+two."
+
+It was not so easy returning. He ran into his wife. He tried to dodge her,
+but without success.
+
+"James, where did you get that black eye?" tragically.
+
+"It's a daisy, ain't it, Molly?" pushing past her into Nora's room and
+closing the door after him.
+
+"Father!"
+
+"That you, Nora?" blinking.
+
+"Father, if you have been fighting with _him_, I'll never forgive you."
+
+"Forget it, Nora. I wasn't fighting. I only thought I was."
+
+He raised the lid of the trunk and cast in the gloves haphazard. And then
+he saw the paper which had fallen out. He picked it up and squinted at it,
+for he could not see very well. Nora was leaving the room in a temper.
+
+"Going, Nora?"
+
+"I am. And I advise you to have your dinner in your room."
+
+Alone, he turned on the light. It never occurred to him that he might be
+prying into some of Nora's private correspondence. He unfolded the
+parchment and held it under the light. For a long time he stared at the
+writing, which was in English, at the date, at the names. Then he quietly
+refolded it and put it away for future use, immediate future use.
+
+"This is a great world," he murmured, rubbing his ear tenderly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+JOURNEY'S END
+
+
+Harrigan dined alone. He was in disgrace; he was sore, mentally as well as
+physically; and he ate his dinner without relish, in simple obedience to
+those well regulated periods of hunger that assailed him three times a
+day, in spring, summer, autumn and winter. By the time the waiter had
+cleared away the dishes, Harrigan had a perfecto between his teeth (along
+with a certain matrimonial bit), and smoked as if he had wagered to finish
+the cigar in half the usual stretch. He then began to walk the floor, much
+after the fashion of a man who has the toothache, or the earache, which
+would be more to the point. To his direct mind no diplomacy was needed;
+all that was necessary was a few blunt questions. Nora could answer them
+as she chose. Nora, his baby, his little girl that used to run around
+barefooted and laugh when he applied the needed birch! How children grew
+up! And they never grew too old for the birch; they certainly never did.
+
+They heard him from the drawing-room; tramp, tramp, tramp.
+
+"Let him be, Nora," said Mrs. Harrigan, wisely. "He is in a rage about
+something. And your father is not the easiest man to approach when he's
+mad. If he fought Mr. Courtlandt, he believed he had some good reason for
+doing so."
+
+"Mother, there are times when I believe you are afraid of father."
+
+"I am always afraid of him. It is only because I make believe I'm not that
+I can get him to do anything. It was dreadful. And Mr. Courtlandt was such
+a gentleman. I could cry. But let your father be until to-morrow."
+
+"And have him wandering about with that black eye? Something must be done
+for it. I'm not afraid of him."
+
+"Sometimes I wish you were."
+
+So Nora entered the lion's den fearlessly. "Is there anything I can do for
+you, dad?"
+
+"You can get the witch-hazel and bathe this lamp of mine," grimly.
+
+She ran into her own room and returned with the simpler devices for
+reducing a swollen eye. She did not notice, or pretended that she didn't,
+that he locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He sat down in a
+chair, under the light; and she went to work deftly.
+
+"I've got some make-up, and to-morrow morning I'll paint it for you."
+
+"You don't ask any questions," he said, with grimness.
+
+"Would it relieve your eye any?" lightly.
+
+He laughed. "No; but it might relieve my mind."
+
+"Well, then, why did you do so foolish a thing? At your age! Don't you
+know that you can't go on whipping every man you take a dislike to?"
+
+"I haven't taken any dislike to Courtlandt. But I saw him kiss you."
+
+"I can take care of myself."
+
+"Perhaps. I asked him to explain. He refused. One thing puzzled me, though
+I didn't know what it was at the time. Now, when a fellow steals a kiss
+from a beautiful woman like you, Nora, I don't see why he should feel mad
+about it. When he had all but knocked your daddy to by-by, he said that
+you could explain.... Don't press so hard," warningly. "Well, can you?"
+
+"Since you saw what he did, I do not see where explanations on my part are
+necessary."
+
+"Nora, I've never caught you in a lie. I never want to. When you were
+little you were the truthfullest thing I ever saw. No matter what kind of
+a licking was in store for you, you weren't afraid; you told the truth....
+There, that'll do. Put some cotton over it and bind it with a
+handkerchief. It'll be black all right, but the swelling will go down. I
+can tell 'em a tennis-ball hit me. It was more like a cannon-ball, though.
+Say, Nora, you know I've always pooh-poohed these amateurs. People used to
+say that there were dozens of men in New York in my prime who could have
+laid me cold. I used to laugh. Well, I guess they were right. Courtlandt's
+got the stiffest kick I ever ran into. A pile-driver, and if he had landed
+on my jaw, it would have been _dormi bene_, as you say when you bid me
+good night in dago. That's all right now until to-morrow. I want to talk
+to you. Draw up a chair. There! As I said, I've never caught you in a lie,
+but I find that you've been living a lie for two years. You haven't been
+square to me, nor to your mother, nor to the chaps that came around and
+made love to you. You probably didn't look at it that way, but there's the
+fact. I'm not Paul Pry; but accidentally I came across this," taking the
+document from his pocket and handing it to her. "Read it. What's the
+answer?"
+
+Nora's hands trembled.
+
+"Takes you a long time to read it. Is it true?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And I went up to the tennis-court with the intention of knocking his head
+off; and now I'm wondering why he didn't knock off mine. Nora, he's a man;
+and when you get through with this, I'm going down to the hotel and
+apologize."
+
+"You will do nothing of the sort; not with that eye."
+
+"All right. I was always worried for fear you'd hook up with some duke
+you'd have to support. Now, I want to know how this chap happens to be my
+son-in-law. Make it brief, for I don't want to get tangled up more than is
+necessary."
+
+Nora crackled the certificate in her fingers and stared unseeingly at it
+for some time. "I met him first in Rangoon," she began slowly, without
+raising her eyes.
+
+"When you went around the world on your own?"
+
+"Yes. Oh, don't worry. I was always able to take care of myself."
+
+"An Irish idea," answered Harrigan complacently.
+
+"I loved him, father, with all my heart and soul. He was not only big and
+strong and handsome, but he was kindly and tender and thoughtful. Why, I
+never knew that he was rich until after I had promised to be his wife.
+When I learned that he was the Edward Courtlandt who was always getting
+into the newspapers, I laughed. There were stories about his escapades.
+There were innuendoes regarding certain women, but I put them out of my
+mind as twaddle. Ah, never had I been so happy! In Berlin we went about
+like two children. It was play. He brought me to the Opera and took me
+away; and we had the most charming little suppers. I never wrote you or
+mother because I wished to surprise you."
+
+"You have. Go on."
+
+"I had never paid much attention to Flora Desimone, though I knew that she
+was jealous of my success. Several times I caught her looking at Edward in
+a way I did not like."
+
+"She looked at him, huh?"
+
+"It was the last performance of the season. We were married that
+afternoon. We did not want any one to know about it. I was not to leave
+the stage until the end of the following season. We were staying at the
+same hotel, with rooms across the corridor. This was much against his
+wishes, but I prevailed."
+
+"I see."
+
+"Our rooms were opposite, as I said. After the performance that night I
+went to mine to complete the final packing. We were to leave at one for
+the Tyrol. Father, I saw Flora Desimone come out of his room."
+
+Harrigan shut and opened his hands.
+
+"Do you understand? I saw her. She was laughing. I did not see him. My
+wedding night! She came from his room. My heart stopped, the world
+stopped, everything went black. All the stories that I had read and heard
+came back. When he knocked at my door I refused to see him. I never saw
+him again until that night in Paris when he forced his way into my
+apartment."
+
+"Hang it, Nora, this doesn't sound like him!"
+
+"I saw her."
+
+"He wrote you?"
+
+"I returned the letters, unopened."
+
+"That wasn't square. You might have been wrong."
+
+"He wrote five letters. After that he went to India, to Africa and back to
+India, where he seemed to find consolation enough."
+
+Harrigan laid it to his lack of normal vision, but to his single optic
+there was anything but misery in her beautiful blue eyes. True, they
+sparkled with tears; but that signified nothing: he hadn't been married
+these thirty-odd years without learning that a woman weeps for any of a
+thousand and one reasons.
+
+"Do you care for him still?"
+
+"Not a day passed during these many months that I did not vow I hated
+him."
+
+"Any one else know?"
+
+"The padre. I had to tell some one or go mad. But I didn't hate him. I
+could no more put him out of my life than I could stop breathing. Ah, I
+have been so miserable and unhappy!" She laid her head upon his knees and
+clumsily he stroked it. His girl!
+
+"That's the trouble with us Irish, Nora. We jump without looking, without
+finding whether we're right or wrong. Well, your daddy's opinion is that
+you should have read his first letter. If it didn't ring right, why, you
+could have jumped the traces. I don't believe he did anything wrong at
+all. It isn't in the man's blood to do anything underboard."
+
+"But I _saw_ her," a queer look in her eyes as she glanced up at him.
+
+"I don't care a kioodle if you did. Take it from me, it was a put-up job
+by that Calabrian woman. She might have gone to his room for any number of
+harmless things. But I think she was curious."
+
+"Why didn't she come to me, if she wanted to ask questions?"
+
+"I can see you answering 'em. She probably just wanted to know if you were
+married or not. She might have been in love with him, and then she might
+not. These Italians don't know half the time what they're about, anyhow.
+But I don't believe it of Courtlandt. He doesn't line up that way.
+Besides, he's got eyes. You're a thousand times more attractive. He's no
+fool. Know what I think? As she was coming out she saw _you_ at your door;
+and the devil in her got busy."
+
+Nora rose, flung her arms around him and kissed him.
+
+"Look out for that tin ear!"
+
+"Oh, you great big, loyal, true-hearted man! Open that door and let me get
+out to the terrace. I want to sing, sing!"
+
+"He said he was going to Milan in the morning."
+
+She danced to the door and was gone.
+
+"Nora!" he called, impatiently. He listened in vain for the sound of her
+return. "Well, I'll take the count when it comes to guessing what a
+woman's going to do. I'll go out and square up with the old girl. Wonder
+how this news will harness up with her social bug?"
+
+Courtlandt got into his compartment at Varenna. He had tipped the guard
+liberally not to open the door for any one else, unless the train was
+crowded. As the shrill blast of the conductor's horn sounded the warning
+of "all aboard," the door opened and a heavily veiled woman got in
+hurriedly. The train began to move instantly. The guard slammed the door
+and latched it. Courtlandt sighed: the futility of trusting these
+Italians, of trying to buy their loyalty! The woman was without any
+luggage whatever, not even the usual magazine. She was dressed in brown,
+her hat was brown, her veil, her gloves, her shoes. But whether she was
+young or old was beyond his deduction. He opened his _Corriere_ and held
+it before his eyes; but he found reading impossible. The newspaper finally
+slipped from his hands to the floor where it swayed and rustled unnoticed.
+He was staring at the promontory across Lecco, the green and restful hill,
+the little earthly paradise out of which he had been unjustly cast. He
+couldn't understand. He had lived cleanly and decently; he had wronged no
+man or woman, nor himself. And yet, through some evil twist of fate, he
+had lost all there was in life worth having. The train lurched around a
+shoulder of the mountain. He leaned against the window. In a moment more
+the villa was gone.
+
+What was it? He felt irresistibly drawn. Without intending to do so, he
+turned and stared at the woman in brown. Her hand went to the veil and
+swept it aside. Nora was as full of romance as a child. She could have
+stopped him before he made the boat, but she wanted to be alone with him.
+
+"Nora!"
+
+She flung herself on her knees in front of him. "I am a wretch!" she
+said.
+
+He could only repeat her name.
+
+"I am not worth my salt. Ah, why did you run away? Why did you not pursue
+me, importune me until I wearied? ... perhaps gladly? There were times
+when I would have opened my arms had you been the worst scoundrel in the
+world instead of the dearest lover, the patientest! Ah, can you forgive
+me?"
+
+"Forgive you, Nora?" He was numb.
+
+"I am a miserable wretch! I doubted you, I! When all I had to do was to
+recall the way people misrepresented things I had done! I sent back your
+letters ... and read and reread the old blue ones. Don't you remember how
+you used to write them on blue paper? ... Flora told me everything. It was
+only because she hated me, not that she cared anything about you. She told
+me that night at the ball. I believe the duke forced her to do it. She was
+at the bottom of the abduction. When you kissed me ... didn't you know
+that I kissed you back? Edward, I am a miserable wretch, but I shall
+follow you wherever you go, and I haven't even a vanity-box in my
+hand-bag!" There were tears in her eyes. "Say that I am a wretch!"
+
+He drew her up beside him. His arms closed around her so hungrily, so
+strongly, that she gasped a little. He looked into her eyes; his glance
+traveled here and there over her face, searching for the familiar dimple
+at one corner of her mouth.
+
+"Nora!" he whispered.
+
+"Kiss me!"
+
+And then the train came to a stand, jerkily. They fell back against the
+cushions.
+
+"Lecco!" cried the guard through the window.
+
+They laughed like children.
+
+"I bribed him," she said gaily. "And now...."
+
+"Yes, and now?" eagerly, if still bewilderedly.
+
+"Let's go back!"
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath
+
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diff --git a/26593-8.zip b/26593-8.zip
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+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+<title>
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath.
+</title>
+
+<style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+    p                 {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;}
+    body              {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    a                 {text-decoration: none;}
+    h3                {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.2em;}
+    .pncolor          {color: silver;}
+    div.ce p          {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;}
+    .figcenter        {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;}
+    .caption          {font-size:.8em;}
+    table             {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;}
+    hr.tb             {width: 35%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;}
+    .pagenum          {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;}
+    hr.major          {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;}
+    hr.silver         {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver;}
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+</head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Place of Honeymoons
+
+Author: Harold MacGrath
+
+Illustrator: Arthur I. Keller
+
+Release Date: September 11, 2008 [EBook #26593]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 344px; height: 484px;' /><br />
+<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 344px;'>
+&#8220;Your address!&#8221; bawled the Duke.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div class='ce'>
+<p style=' font-size:2em; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:;'>THE PLACE</p>
+<p style=' font-size:2em; margin-top:; margin-bottom:2em;'>OF HONEYMOONS</p>
+<div style='margin-top:1em'></div>
+<p style=' font-size:; margin-top:; margin-bottom:; font-style:italic;'>By</p>
+<p style=' font-size:; margin-top:; margin-bottom:4em;'>HAROLD MACGRATH</p>
+<div style='margin-top:1em'></div>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-top:; margin-bottom:;'>Author of</p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-top:; margin-bottom:;'>THE MAN ON THE BOX, THE GOOSE GIRL,</p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-top:; margin-bottom:6em;'>THE CARPET FROM BAGDAD, ETC.</p>
+<div style='margin-top:1em'></div>
+<p style=' font-size:; margin-top:; margin-bottom:;'>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</p>
+<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-top:; margin-bottom:4em;'>ARTHUR I. KELLER</p>
+<div style='margin-top:1em'></div>
+<p style=' font-size:; margin-top:; margin-bottom:;'>INDIANAPOLIS</p>
+<p style=' font-size:1.2em; margin-top:; margin-bottom:;'>THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY</p>
+<p style=' font-size:; margin-top:; margin-bottom:2em;'>PUBLISHERS</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-top:4em; margin-bottom:4em;'>
+<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Copyright</span> 1912</p>
+<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Bobbs-Merrill Company</span></p>
+<div style='margin-top:1em'></div>
+<p>PRESS OF</p>
+<p>BRAUNWORTH &amp; CO.</p>
+<p>BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS</p>
+<p>BROOKLYN, N. Y.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td>
+<p  style='text-align: center;'>To B. O&#8217;G.</p>
+<br />
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Horace calls no more to me,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>Homer in the dust-heap lies:</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>I have found my Odyssey</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>In the lightness of her glee,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>In the laughter of her eyes.</p>
+<br />
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Ovid&#8217;s page is thumbed no more,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>E&#8217;en Catullus has no choice!</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>There is endless, precious lore,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Such as I ne&#8217;er knew before,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>In the music of her voice.</p>
+<br />
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Breath of hyssop steeped in wine,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>Breath of violets and furze,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Wild-wood roses, Grecian myrrhs,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>All these perfumes do combine</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>In that maiden breath of hers.</p>
+<br />
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Nay, I look not at the skies,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>Nor the sun that hillward slips,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>For the day lives or it dies</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>In the laughter of her eyes,</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>In the music of her lips!</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div class='ce'>
+<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Contents</p>
+</div>
+
+<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'>
+<tr>
+  <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td>
+  <td></td>
+  <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>At the Stage Door</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_AT_THE_STAGE_DOOR'>1</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>There Is a Woman?</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_THERE_IS_A_WOMAN'>19</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Beautiful Tigress</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_THE_BEAUTIFUL_TIGRESS'>36</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Joke of Monsieur</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_THE_JOKE_OF_MONSIEUR'>53</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Captive or Runaway</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_CAPTIVE_OR_RUNAWAY'>74</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Bird Behind Bars</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_THE_BIRD_BEHIND_BARS'>103</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Battling Jimmie</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_BATTLING_JIMMIE'>126</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Moonlight and a Prince</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_MOONLIGHT_AND_A_PRINCE'>146</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Colonel Caxley-Webster</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_COLONEL_CAXLEYWEBSTER'>166</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Marguerites and Emeralds</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_MARGUERITES_AND_EMERALDS'>185</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>At the Crater&#8217;s Edge</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_AT_THE_CRATER_S_EDGE'>202</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dick Courtlandt&#8217;s Boy</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_DICK_COURTLANDT_S_BOY'>214</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Everything But the Truth</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_EVERYTHING_BUT_THE_TRUTH'>232</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Comedy with Music</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_A_COMEDY_WITH_MUSIC'>249</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Herr Rosen&#8217;s Regrets</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_HERR_ROSEN_S_REGRETS'>265</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Apple of Discord</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_THE_APPLE_OF_DISCORD'>282</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Ball at the Villa</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_THE_BALL_AT_THE_VILLA'>303</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Pistols for Two</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_PISTOLS_FOR_TWO'>326</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Courtlandt Tells a Story</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_COURTLANDT_TELLS_A_STORY'>345</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+  <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX.</td>
+  <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Journey&#8217;s End</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_JOURNEY_S_END'>363</a></td>
+</tr>
+</table>
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div class='ce'>
+<p style=' font-size:1.4em;'>THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='silver' />
+
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 0em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='I_AT_THE_STAGE_DOOR' id='I_AT_THE_STAGE_DOOR'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+<h3>AT THE STAGE DOOR</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Courtlandt sat perfectly straight; his
+ample shoulders did not touch the back
+of his chair; and his arms were folded tightly
+across his chest. The characteristic of his attitude
+was tenseness. The nostrils were well defined,
+as in one who sets the upper jaw hard
+upon the nether. His brown eyes&mdash;their
+gaze directed toward the stage whence came
+the voice of the prima donna&mdash;epitomized the
+tension, expressed the whole as in a word.</p>
+<p>Just now the voice was pathetically subdued,
+yet reached every part of the auditorium,
+kindling the ear with its singularly mellowing
+sweetness. To Courtlandt it resembled, as no
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span>
+other sound, the note of a muffled Burmese
+gong, struck in the dim incensed cavern of a
+temple. A Burmese gong: briefly and magically
+the stage, the audience, the amazing
+gleam and scintillation of the Opera, faded.
+He heard only the voice and saw only the
+purple shadows in the temple at Rangoon, the
+oriental sunset splashing the golden dome,
+the wavering lights of the dripping candles,
+the dead flowers, the kneeling devoteés, the
+yellow-robed priests, the tatters of gold-leaf,
+fresh and old, upon the rows of placid grinning
+Buddhas. The vision was of short duration.
+The sigh, which had been so long repressed,
+escaped; his shoulders sank a little, and the
+angle of his chin became less resolute; but only
+for a moment. Tension gave place to an
+ironical grimness. The brows relaxed, but
+the lips became firmer. He listened, with this
+new expression unchanging, to the high note
+that soared above all others. The French
+horns blared and the timpani crashed. The
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span>
+curtain sank slowly. The audience rustled,
+stood up, sought its wraps, and pressed toward
+the exits and the grand staircase. It was all
+over.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt took his leave in leisure. Here
+and there he saw familiar faces, but these,
+after the finding glance, he studiously avoided.
+He wanted to be alone. For while the music
+was still echoing in his ears, in a subtone, his
+brain was afire with keen activity; but unfortunately
+for the going forward of things, this
+mental state was divided into so many battalions,
+led by so many generals, indirectly and
+indecisively, nowhere. This plan had no beginning,
+that one had no ending, and the other
+neither beginning nor ending. Outside he
+lighted a cigar, not because at that moment he
+possessed a craving for nicotine, but because
+like all inveterate smokers he believed that tobacco
+conduced to clarity of thought. And
+mayhap it did. At least, there presently followed
+a mental calm that expelled all this
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span>
+confusion. The goal waxed and waned as he
+gazed down the great avenue with its precise
+rows of lamps. Far away he could discern the
+outline of the brooding Louvre.</p>
+<p>There was not the least hope in the world
+for him to proceed toward his goal this night.
+He realized this clearly, now that he was
+face to face with actualities. It required
+more than the chaotic impulses that had
+brought him back from the jungles of the
+Orient. He must reason out a plan that
+should be like a straight line, the shortest
+distance between two given points. How
+then should he pass the night, since none of
+his schemes could possibly be put into operation?
+Return to his hotel and smoke himself
+headachy? Try to become interested in a
+novel? Go to bed, to turn and roll till dawn?
+A wild desire seized him to make a night of
+it,&mdash;Maxim&#8217;s, the cabarets; riot and wine.
+Who cared? But the desire burnt itself out
+between two puffs of his cigar. Ten years
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span>
+ago, perhaps, this particular brand of amusement
+might have urged him successfully. But
+not now; he was done with tomfool nights.
+Indeed, his dissipations had been whimsical
+rather than banal; and retrospection never
+aroused a furtive sense of shame.</p>
+<p>He was young, but not so young as an idle
+glance might conjecture in passing. To such
+casual reckoning he appeared to be in the early
+twenties; but scrutiny, more or less infallible,
+noting a line here or an angle there, was disposed
+to add ten years to the score. There
+was in the nose and chin a certain decisiveness
+which in true youth is rarely developed. This
+characteristic arrives only with manhood,
+manhood that has been tried and perhaps
+buffeted and perchance a little disillusioned.
+To state that one is young does not necessarily
+imply youth; for youth is something that is
+truly green and tender, not rounded out, aimless,
+light-hearted and desultory, charming
+and inconsequent. If man regrets his youth
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span>
+it is not for the passing of these pleasing,
+though tangled attributes, but rather because
+there exists between the two periods of progression
+a series of irremediable mistakes.
+And the subject of this brief commentary
+could look back on many a grievous one
+brought about by pride or carelessness rather
+than by intent.</p>
+<p>But what was one to do who had both
+money and leisure linked to an irresistible desire
+to leave behind one place or thing in pursuit
+of another, indeterminately? At one
+time he wanted to be an artist, but his evenly
+balanced self-criticism had forced him to fling
+his daubs into the ash-heap. They were good
+daubs in a way, but were laid on without fire;
+such work as any respectable schoolmarm
+might have equaled if not surpassed. Then
+he had gone in for engineering; but precise
+and intricate mathematics required patience of
+a quality not at his command.</p>
+<p>The inherent ambition was to make money;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span>
+but recognizing the absurdity of adding to his
+income, which even in his extravagance he
+could not spend, he gave himself over into the
+hands of grasping railroad and steamship companies,
+or their agencies, and became for a time
+the slave of guide and dragoman and carrier.
+And then the wanderlust, descended to him
+from the blood of his roving Dutch ancestors,
+which had lain dormant in the several generations
+following, sprang into active life again.
+He became known in every port of call. He
+became known also in the wildernesses.
+He had climbed almost inaccessible mountains,
+in Europe, in Asia; he had fished and hunted
+north, east, south and west; he had fitted out
+polar expeditions; he had raided the pearl
+markets; he had made astonishing gifts to
+women who had pleased his fancy, but whom
+he did not know or seek to know; he had kept
+some of his intimate friends out of bankruptcy;
+he had given the most extravagant
+dinners at one season and, unknown, had supported
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span>
+a bread-line at another; he had even
+financed a musical comedy.</p>
+<p>Whatever had for the moment appealed to
+his fancy, that he had done. That the world&mdash;his
+world&mdash;threw up its hands in wonder
+and despair neither disturbed him nor swerved
+him in the least. He was alone, absolute master
+of his millions. Mamas with marriageable
+daughters declared that he was impossible;
+the marriageable daughters never had a
+chance to decide one way or the other; and men
+called him a fool. He had promoted elephant
+fights which had stirred the Indian princes out
+of their melancholy indifference, and tiger
+hunts which had, by their duration and magnificence,
+threatened to disrupt the efficiency of
+the British military service,&mdash;whimsical excesses,
+not understandable by his intimate acquaintances
+who cynically arraigned him as the
+fool and his money.</p>
+<p>But, like the villain in the play, his income
+still pursued him. Certain scandals inevitably
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span>
+followed, scandals he was the last to hear
+about and the last to deny when he heard
+them. Many persons, not being able to take
+into the mind and analyze a character like
+Courtlandt&#8217;s, sought the line of least resistance
+for their understanding, and built some
+precious exploits which included dusky island-princesses,
+diaphanous dancers, and comic-opera
+stars.</p>
+<p>Simply, he was without direction; a thousand
+goals surrounded him and none burned
+with that brightness which draws a man toward
+his destiny: until one day. Personally,
+he possessed graces of form and feature, and
+was keener mentally than most young men
+who inherit great fortunes and distinguished
+names.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>Automobiles of all kinds panted hither and
+thither. An occasional smart coupé went by
+as if to prove that prancing horses were still
+necessary to the dignity of the old aristocracy.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span>
+Courtlandt made up his mind suddenly. He
+laughed with bitterness. He knew now that
+to loiter near the stage entrance had been his
+real purpose all along, and persistent lying to
+himself had not prevailed. In due time he
+took his stand among the gilded youth who
+were not privileged (like their more prosperous
+elders) to wait outside the dressing-rooms
+for their particular ballerina. By and by there
+was a little respectful commotion. Courtlandt&#8217;s
+hand went instinctively to his collar,
+not to ascertain if it were properly adjusted,
+but rather to relieve the sudden pressure. He
+was enraged at his weakness. He wanted to
+turn away, but he could not.</p>
+<p>A woman issued forth, muffled in silks and
+light furs. She was followed by another,
+quite possibly her maid. One may observe
+very well at times from the corner of the eye;
+that is, objects at which one is not looking
+come within the range of vision. The woman
+paused, her foot upon the step of the modest
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span>
+limousine. She whispered something hurriedly
+into her companion&#8217;s ear, something
+evidently to the puzzlement of the latter, who
+looked around irresolutely. She obeyed, however,
+and retreated to the stage entrance. A
+man, quite as tall as Courtlandt, his face
+shaded carefully, intentionally perhaps, by one
+of those soft Bavarian hats that are worn
+successfully only by Germans, stepped out of
+the gathering to proffer his assistance. Courtlandt
+pushed him aside calmly, lifted his hat,
+and smiling ironically, closed the door behind
+the singer. The step which the other man
+made toward Courtlandt was unequivocal in
+its meaning. But even as Courtlandt squared
+himself to meet the coming outburst, the stranger
+paused, shrugged his shoulders, turned
+and made off.</p>
+<p>The lady in the limousine&mdash;very pale could
+any have looked closely into her face&mdash;was
+whirled away into the night. Courtlandt did
+not stir from the curb. The limousine dwindled,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span>
+once it flashed under a light, and then
+vanished.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is the American,&#8221; said one of the waiting
+dandies.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The icicle!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The volcano, rather, which fools believe
+extinct.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Probably sent back her maid for her Bible.
+Ah, these Americans; they are very amusing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;She was in magnificent voice to-night. I
+wonder why she never sings <i>Carmen</i>?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have I not said that she is too cold?
+What! would you see frost grow upon the
+toreador&#8217;s mustache? And what a name,
+what a name! Eleonora da Toscana!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt was not in the most amiable condition
+of mind, and a hint of the ribald would
+have instantly transformed a passive anger into
+a blind fury. Thus, a scene hung precariously;
+but its potentialities became as nothing
+on the appearance of another woman.</p>
+<p>This woman was richly dressed, too richly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span>
+Apparently she had trusted her modiste not
+wisely but too well: there was the strange and
+unaccountable inherent love of fine feathers
+and warm colors which is invariably the mute
+utterance of peasant blood. She was followed
+by a Russian, huge of body, Jovian of countenance.
+An expensive car rolled up to the
+curb. A liveried footman jumped down from
+beside the chauffeur and opened the door.
+The diva turned her head this way and that, a
+thin smile of satisfaction stirring her lips.
+For Flora Desimone loved the human eye
+whenever it stared admiration into her own;
+and she spent half her days setting traps and
+lures, rather successfully. She and her formidable
+escort got into the car which immediately
+went away with a soft purring sound.
+There was breeding in the engine, anyhow,
+thought Courtlandt, who longed to put his
+strong fingers around that luxurious throat
+which had, but a second gone, passed him so
+closely.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;We shall never have war with Russia,&#8221;
+said some one; &#8220;her dukes love Paris too
+well.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Light careless laughter followed this cynical
+observation. Another time Courtlandt
+might have smiled. He pushed his way into
+the passage leading to the dressing-rooms,
+and followed its windings until he met a human
+barrier. To his inquiry the answer was
+abrupt and perfectly clear in its meaning: La
+Signorina da Toscana had given most emphatic
+orders not to disclose her address to
+any one. Monsieur might, if he pleased, make
+further inquiries of the directors; the answer
+there would be the same. Presently he found
+himself gazing down the avenue once more.
+There were a thousand places to go to, a thousand
+pleasant things to do; yet he doddered,
+full of ill-temper, dissatisfaction, and self-contempt.
+He was weak, damnably weak;
+and for years he had admired himself, detachedly,
+as a man of pride. He started forward,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span>
+neither sensing his direction nor the
+perfected flavor of his Habana.</p>
+<p>Opera singers were truly a race apart.
+They lived in the world but were not a part
+of it, and when they died, left only a memory
+which faded in one generation and became totally
+forgotten in another. What jealousies,
+what petty bickerings, what extravagances!
+With fancy and desire unchecked, what ingenious
+tricks they used to keep themselves in
+the public mind,&mdash;tricks begot of fickleness
+and fickleness begetting. And yet, it was a
+curious phase: their influence was generally
+found when history untangled for posterity
+some Gordian knot. In old times they had
+sung the <i>Marseillaise</i> and danced the <i>carmagnole</i>
+and indirectly plied the guillotine. And
+to-day they smashed prime ministers, petty
+kings, and bankers, and created fashions for
+the ruin of husbands and fathers of modest
+means. Devil take them! And Courtlandt
+flung his cigar into the street.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></p>
+<p>He halted. The Madeleine was not exactly
+the goal for a man who had, half an hour
+before, contemplated a rout at Maxim&#8217;s. His
+glance described a half-circle. There was
+Durand&#8217;s; but Durand&#8217;s on opera nights entertained
+many Americans, and he did not care
+to meet any of his compatriots to-night. So
+he turned down the Rue Royale, on the opposite
+side, and went into the Taverne Royale,
+where the patrons were not over particular in
+regard to the laws of fashion, and where certain
+ladies with light histories sought further
+adventures to add to their heptamerons.
+Now, Courtlandt thought neither of the one
+nor of the other. He desired isolation, safety
+from intrusion; and here, did he so signify, he
+could find it. Women gazed up at him and
+smiled, with interest as much as with invitation.
+He was brown from long exposure to
+the wind and the sun, that golden brown which
+is the gift of the sun-glitter on rocking seas.
+A traveler is generally indicated by this
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span>
+artistry of the sun, and once noted instantly
+creates a speculative interest. Even his light
+brown hair had faded at the temples, and
+straw-colored was the slender mustache, the
+ends of which had a cavalier twist. He ignored
+the lips which smiled and the eyes which
+invited, and nothing more was necessary.
+One is not importuned at the Taverne Royale.
+He sat down at a vacant table and ordered a
+pint of champagne, drinking hastily rather
+than thirstily.</p>
+<p>Would Monsieur like anything to eat?</p>
+<p>No, the wine was sufficient.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt poured out a second glass slowly.
+The wine bubbled up to the brim and overflowed.
+He had been looking at the glass with
+unseeing eyes. He set the bottle down impatiently.
+Fool! To have gone to Burma, simply
+to stand in the golden temple once more, in
+vain, to recall that other time: the starving
+kitten held tenderly in a woman&#8217;s arms, his
+own scurry among the booths to find the milk
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span>
+so peremptorily ordered, and the smile of
+thanks that had been his reward! He had
+run away when he should have hung on. He
+should have fought every inch of the
+way....</p>
+<p>&#8220;Monsieur is lonely?&#8221;</p>
+<p>A pretty young woman sat down before him
+in the vacant chair.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='II_THERE_IS_A_WOMAN' id='II_THERE_IS_A_WOMAN'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+<h3>THERE IS A WOMAN?</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Anger, curiosity, interest; these sensations
+blanketed one another quickly,
+leaving only interest, which was Courtlandt&#8217;s
+normal state of mind when he saw a pretty
+woman. It did not require very keen
+scrutiny on his part to arrive swiftly at the
+conclusion that this one was not quite in the
+picture. Her cheeks were not red with that
+redness which has a permanency of tone,
+neither waxing nor waning, abashed in daylight.
+Nor had her lips found their scarlet
+moisture from out the depths of certain little
+porcelain boxes. Decidedly she was out of
+place here, yet she evinced no embarrassment;
+she was cool, at ease. Courtlandt&#8217;s interest
+strengthened.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Why do you think I am lonely, Mademoiselle?&#8221;
+he asked, without smiling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, when one talks to one&#8217;s self, strikes
+the table, wastes good wine, the inference is
+but natural. So, Monsieur is lonely.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Her lips and eyes, as grave and smileless as
+his own, puzzled him. An adventure? He
+looked at some of the other women. Those
+he could understand, but this one, no. At all
+times he was willing to smile, yet to draw her
+out he realized that he must preserve his gravity
+unbroken. The situation was not usual.
+His gaze came back to her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is the comparison favorable to me?&#8221; she
+asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is. What is loneliness?&#8221; he demanded
+cynically.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, I could tell you,&#8221; she answered. &#8220;It
+is the longing to be with the one we love; it
+is the hate of the wicked things we have done;
+it is remorse.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That echoes of the Ambigu-Comique.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span>
+He leaned upon his arms. &#8220;What are you
+doing here?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. You do not talk like the other girls
+who come here.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Monsieur comes here frequently, then?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;This is the first time in five years. I
+came here to-night because I wanted to be
+alone, because I did not wish to meet any one
+I knew. I have scowled at every girl in the
+room, and they have wisely left me alone. I
+haven&#8217;t scowled at you because I do not know
+what to make of you. That&#8217;s frankness.
+Now, you answer my question.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would you spare me a glass of wine? I
+am thirsty.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He struck his hands together, a bit of orientalism
+he had brought back with him. The
+observant waiter instantly came forward with
+a glass.</p>
+<p>The young woman sipped the wine, gazing
+into the glass as she did so. &#8220;Perhaps a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span>
+whim brought me here. But I repeat, Monsieur
+is lonely.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So lonely that I am almost tempted to put
+you into a taxicab and run away with you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She set down the glass.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t,&#8221; he added.</p>
+<p>The spark of eagerness in her eyes was instantly
+curtained. &#8220;There is a woman?&#8221;
+tentatively.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is there not always a woman?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And she has disappointed Monsieur?&#8221;
+There was no marked sympathy in the tone.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Since Eve, has that not been woman&#8217;s part
+in the human comedy?&#8221; He was almost certain
+that her lips became firmer. &#8220;Smile, if
+you wish. It is not prohibitory here.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was evident that the smile had been struggling
+for existence, for it endured to the fulness
+of half a minute. She had fine teeth.
+He scrutinized her more closely, and she bore
+it well. The forehead did not make for
+beauty; it was too broad and high, intellectual.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span>
+Her eyes were splendid. There was nothing
+at all ordinary about her. His sense of puzzlement
+renewed itself and deepened. What
+did she want of him? There were other men,
+other vacant chairs.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Monsieur is certain about the taxicab?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Absolutely.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, it is to emulate Saint Anthony!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There are several saints of that name.
+To which do you refer?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Positively not to him of Padua.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt laughed. &#8220;No, I can not fancy
+myself being particularly concerned about
+bambini. No, my model is Noah.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Noah?&#8221; dubiously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. At the time of the flood there was
+only one woman in the world.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid that your knowledge of that
+event is somewhat obscured. Still, I understand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She lifted the wine-glass again, and then he
+noticed her hand. It was large, white and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span>
+strong; it was not the hand of a woman who
+dallied, who idled in primrose paths.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell me, what is it you wish? You interest
+me, at a moment, too, when I do not want
+to be interested. Are you really in trouble?
+Is there anything I can do ... barring
+the taxicab?&#8221;</p>
+<p>She twirled the glass, uneasily. &#8220;I am not
+in actual need of assistance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But you spoke peculiarly regarding loneliness.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps I like the melodrama. You
+spoke of the Ambigu-Comique.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are on the stage?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The Opera?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Again perhaps.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He laughed once more, and drew his chair
+closer to the table.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Monsieur in other moods must have a
+pleasant laughter.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I haven&#8217;t laughed from the heart in a very
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span>
+long time,&#8221; he said, returning to his former
+gravity, this time unassumed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I have accomplished this amazing
+thing?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. You followed me here. But from
+where?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Followed you?&#8221; The effort to give a
+mocking accent to her voice was a failure.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. The idea just occurred to me.
+There were other vacant chairs, and there was
+nothing inviting in my facial expression.
+Come, let me have the truth.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have a friend who knows Flora Desimone.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; As if this information was a direct
+visitation of kindness from the gods.
+&#8220;Then you know where the Calabrian lives?
+Give me her address.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was a minute wrinkle above the unknown&#8217;s
+nose; the shadow of a frown. &#8220;She
+is very beautiful.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bah! Did she send you after me? Give
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span>
+me her address. I have come all the way
+from Burma to see Flora Desimone.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To see her?&#8221; She unguardedly clothed
+the question with contempt, but she instantly
+forced a smile to neutralize the effect. Concerned
+with her own defined conclusions, she
+lost the fine ironic bitterness that was in the
+man&#8217;s voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Aye, indeed, to see her! Beautiful as
+Venus, as alluring as Phryne, I want nothing
+so much as to see her, to look into her eyes, to
+hear her voice!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is it jealousy? I hear the tragic note.&#8221;
+The certainty of her ground became as morass
+again. In his turn he was puzzling her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tragedy? I am an American. We do
+not kill opera singers. We turn them over to
+the critics. I wish to see the beautiful Flora,
+to ask her a few questions. If she has sent
+you after me, her address, my dear young
+lady, her address.&#8221; His eyes burned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid.&#8221; And she was so. This
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span>
+wasn&#8217;t the tone of a man madly in love. It
+was wild anger.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Afraid of what?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I will give you a hundred francs.&#8221; He
+watched her closely and shrewdly.</p>
+<p>Came the little wrinkle again, but this time
+urged in perplexity. &#8220;A hundred francs, for
+something I was sent to tell you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And now refuse.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is very generous. She has a heart of
+flint, Monsieur.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well I know it. Perhaps now I have one
+of steel.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Many sparks do not make a fire. Do you
+know that your French is very good?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I spent my boyhood in Paris; some of it.
+Her address, if you please.&#8221; He produced a
+crisp note for a hundred francs. &#8220;Do you
+want it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>She did not answer at once. Presently she
+opened her purse, found a stubby pencil and a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span>
+slip of paper, and wrote. &#8220;There it is, Monsieur.&#8221;
+She held out her hand for the bank-note
+which, with a sense of bafflement, he gave
+her. She folded the note and stowed it away
+with the pencil.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said Courtlandt. &#8220;Odd
+paper, though.&#8221; He turned it over. &#8220;Ah, I
+understand. You copy music.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Monsieur.&#8221;</p>
+<p>This time the nervous flicker of her eyes did
+not escape him. &#8220;You are studying for the
+opera, perhaps?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, that is it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The eagerness of the admission convinced
+him that she was not. Who she was or
+whence she had come no longer excited his interest.
+He had the Calabrian&#8217;s address and
+he was impatient to be off.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good night.&#8221; He rose.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Monsieur is not gallant.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was in my youth,&#8221; he replied, putting on
+his hat.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></p>
+<p>The bald rudeness of his departure did not
+disturb her. She laughed softly and relievedly.
+Indeed, there was in the laughter an
+essence of mischief. However, if he carried
+away a mystery, he left one behind.</p>
+<p>As he was hunting for a taxicab, the waiter
+ran out and told him that he had forgotten to
+settle for the wine. The lady had refused to
+do so. Courtlandt chuckled and gave him a
+ten-franc piece. In other days, in other circumstances,
+he would have liked to know more
+about the unknown who scribbled notes on
+composition paper. She was not an idler in
+the Rue Royale, and it did not require that
+indefinable intuition which comes of worldly-wiseness
+to discover this fact. She might be
+a friend of the Desimone woman, but she had
+stepped out of another sphere to become so.
+He recognized the quality that could adjust
+itself to any environment and come out scatheless.
+This was undeniably an American accomplishment;
+and yet she was distinctly a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span>
+Frenchwoman. He dismissed the problem
+from his mind and bade the driver go as fast
+as the police would permit.</p>
+<p>Meanwhile the young woman waited five or
+ten minutes, and, making sure that Courtlandt
+had been driven off, left the restaurant.
+Round the corner she engaged a carriage. So
+that was Edward Courtlandt? She liked his
+face; there was not a weak line in it, unless
+stubbornness could be called such. But to
+stay away for two years! To hide himself in
+jungles, to be heard of only by his harebrained
+exploits! &#8220;Follow him; see where he goes,&#8221;
+had been the command. For a moment she
+had rebelled, but her curiosity was not to be
+denied. Besides, of what use was friendship
+if not to be tried? She knew nothing of the
+riddle, she had never asked a question openly.
+She had accidentally seen a photograph one
+day, in a trunk tray, with this man&#8217;s name
+scrawled across it, and upon this flimsy base
+she had builded a dozen romances, each of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span>
+which she had ruthlessly torn down to make
+room for another; but still the riddle lay unsolved.
+She had thrown the name into the
+conversation many a time, as one might throw
+a bomb into a crowd which had no chance to
+escape. Fizzles! The man had been calmly
+discussed and calmly dismissed. At odd times
+an article in the newspapers gave her an opportunity;
+still the frank discussion, still the
+calm dismissal. She had learned that the man
+was rich, irresponsible, vacillating, a picturesque
+sort of fool. But two years? What
+had kept him away that long? A weak man,
+in love, would not have made so tame a surrender.
+Perhaps he had not surrendered;
+perhaps neither of them had.</p>
+<p>And yet, he sought the Calabrian. Here
+was another blind alley out of which she had
+to retrace her steps. Bother! That Puck of
+Shakespeare was right: What fools these
+mortals be! She was very glad that she possessed
+a true sense of humor, spiced with
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span>
+harmless audacity. What a dreary world it
+must be to those who did not know how and
+when to laugh! They talked of the daring of
+the American woman: who but a Frenchwoman
+would have dared what she had this
+night? The taxicab! She laughed. And
+this man was wax in the hands of any pretty
+woman who came along! So rumor had it.
+But she knew that rumor was only the attenuated
+ghost of Ananias, doomed forever to
+remain on earth for the propagation of inaccurate
+whispers. Wax! Why, she would
+have trusted herself in any situation with a
+man with those eyes and that angle of jaw.
+It was all very mystifying. &#8220;Follow him;
+see where he goes.&#8221; The frank discussion,
+then, and the calm dismissal were but a
+woman&#8217;s dissimulation. And he had gone to
+Flora Desimone&#8217;s.</p>
+<p>The carriage stopped before a handsome
+apartment-house in the Avenue de Wagram.
+The unknown got out, gave the driver his
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span>
+fare, and rang the concierge&#8217;s bell. The
+sleepy guardian opened the door, touched his
+gold-braided cap in recognition, and led the
+way to the small electric lift. The young
+woman entered and familiarly pushed the
+button. The apartment in which she lived
+was on the second floor; and there was luxury
+everywhere, but luxury subdued and charmed
+by taste. There were fine old Persian rugs on
+the floors, exquisite oils and water-colors on
+the walls; and rare Japanese silk tapestries
+hung between the doors. In one corner of the
+living-room was a bronze jar filled with artificial
+cherry blossoms; in another corner
+near the door, hung a flat bell-shaped piece of
+brass&mdash;a Burmese gong. There were many
+photographs ranged along the mantel-top;
+celebrities, musical, artistic and literary, each
+accompanied by a liberal expanse of autographic
+ink.</p>
+<p>She threw aside her hat and wraps with
+that manner of inconsequence which distinguishes
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span>
+the artistic temperament from the
+thrifty one, and passed on into the cozy dining-room.
+The maid had arranged some
+sandwiches and a bottle of light wine. She
+ate and drank, while intermittent smiles
+played across her merry face. Having satisfied
+her hunger, she opened her purse and
+extracted the bank-note. She smoothed it out
+and laughed aloud.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, if only he had taken me for a ride
+in the taxicab!&#8221; She bubbled again with
+merriment.</p>
+<p>Suddenly she sprang up, as if inspired, and
+dashed into another room, a study. She
+came back with pen and ink, and with a
+celerity that came of long practise, drew
+five straight lines across the faint violet face
+of the bank-note. Within these lines she
+made little dots at the top and bottom of
+stubby perpendicular strokes, and strange
+interlineal hieroglyphics, and sweeping curves,
+all of which would have puzzled an Egyptologist
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span>
+if he were unused to the ways of
+musicians. Carefully she dried the composition,
+and then put the note away. Some day
+she would confound him by returning it.</p>
+<p>A little later her fingers were moving softly
+over the piano keys; melodies in minor, sad
+and haunting and elusive, melodies that had
+never been put on paper and would always
+be her own: in them she might leap from
+comedy to tragedy, from laughter to tears, and
+only she would know. The midnight adventure
+was forgotten, and the hero of it,
+too. With her eyes closed and her lithe body
+swaying gently, she let the old weary pain in
+her heart take hold again.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='III_THE_BEAUTIFUL_TIGRESS' id='III_THE_BEAUTIFUL_TIGRESS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+<h3>THE BEAUTIFUL TIGRESS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Flora Desimone had been born in
+a Calabrian peasant&#8217;s hut, and she had
+rolled in the dust outside, yelling vigorously at
+all times. Specialists declare that the reason
+for all great singers coming from lowly origin
+is found in this early development of the
+muscles of the throat. Parents of means employ
+nurses or sedatives to suppress or at
+least to smother these infantile protests against
+being thrust inconsiderately into the turmoil of
+human beings. Flora yelled or slept, as the
+case might be; her parents were equally indifferent.
+They were too busily concerned with
+the getting of bread and wine. Moreover,
+Flora was one among many. The gods are always
+playing with the Calabrian peninsula,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span>
+heaving it up here or throwing it down there:
+<i>il terremoto</i>, the earthquake, the terror. Here
+nature tinkers vicariously with souls; and she
+seldom has time to complete her work. Constant
+communion with death makes for callosity
+of feeling; and the Calabrians and the
+Sicilians are the cruellest among the civilized
+peoples. Flora was ruthless.</p>
+<p>She lived amazingly well in the premier of
+an apartment-hotel in the Champs-Elysées.
+In England and America she had amassed a
+fortune. Given the warm beauty of the Southern
+Italian, the passion, the temperament, the
+love of mischief, the natural cruelty, the inordinate
+craving for attention and flattery,
+she enlivened the nations with her affairs.
+And she never put a single beat of her heart
+into any of them. That is why her voice is
+still splendid and her beauty unchanging.
+She did not dissipate; calculation always
+barred her inclination; rather, she loitered
+about the Forbidden Tree and played that she
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span>
+had plucked the Apple. She had an example
+to follow; Eve had none.</p>
+<p>Men scattered fortunes at her feet as
+foolish Greeks scattered floral offerings at the
+feet of their marble gods&mdash;without provoking
+the sense of reciprocity or generosity or
+mercy. She had worked; ah, no one would
+ever know how hard. She had been crushed,
+beaten, cursed, starved. That she had risen
+to the heights in spite of these bruising verbs
+in no manner enlarged her pity, but dulled and
+vitiated the little there was of it. Her mental
+attitude toward humanity was childish: as,
+when the parent strikes, the child blindly
+strikes back. She was determined to play, to
+enjoy life, to give back blow for blow, nor
+caring where she struck. She was going to
+press the juice from every grape. A thousand
+odd years gone, she would have led the cry
+in Rome&mdash;&#8220;Bread and the circus!&#8221; or &#8220;To
+the lions!&#8221; She would have disturbed
+Nero&#8217;s complacency, and he would have played
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span>
+an obbligato instead of a solo at the burning.
+And she was malice incarnate. They came
+from all climes&mdash;her lovers&mdash;with roubles
+and lire and francs and shillings and dollars;
+and those who finally escaped her enchantment
+did so involuntarily, for lack of further funds.
+They called her villas Circe&#8217;s isles. She
+hated but two things in the world; the man
+she could have loved and the woman she could
+not surpass.</p>
+<p>Arrayed in a kimono which would have
+evoked the envy of the empress of Japan, supposing
+such a gorgeous raiment&mdash;peacocks
+and pine-trees, brilliant greens and olives and
+blues and purples&mdash;fell under the gaze of
+that lady&#8217;s slanting eyes, she sat opposite the
+Slavonic Jove and smoked her cigarette between
+sips of coffee. Frequently she smiled.
+The short powerful hand of the man stroked
+his beard and he beamed out of his cunning
+eyes, eyes a trifle too porcine to suggest a keen
+intellect above them.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I am like a gorilla,&#8221; he said; &#8220;but you are
+like a sleek tigress. I am stronger, more
+powerful than you; but I am always in fear
+of your claws. Especially when you smile
+like that. What mischief are you plotting
+now?&#8221;</p>
+<p>She drew in a cloud of smoke, held it in
+her puffed cheeks as she glided round the
+table and leaned over his shoulders. She let
+the smoke drift over his head and down his
+beard. In that moment he was truly Jovian.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would you like me if I were a tame
+cat?&#8221; she purred.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have never seen you in that rôle. Perhaps
+I might. You told me that you would
+give up everything but the Paris season.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have changed my mind.&#8221; She ran one
+hand through his hair and the other she entangled
+in his beard. &#8220;You&#8217;d change your
+mind, too, if you were a woman.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t have to change my mind; you are
+always doing it for me. But I do not want
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span>
+to go to America next winter.&#8221; He drew
+her down so that he might look into her face.
+It was something to see.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bah!&#8221; She released herself and returned
+to her chair. &#8220;When the season is
+over I want to go to Capri.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Capri! Too hot.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I want to go.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear, a dozen exiles are there, waiting
+to blow me up.&#8221; He spoke Italian well.
+&#8220;You do not wish to see me spattered over
+the beautiful isle?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tch! tch! That is merely your usual excuse.
+You never had anything to do with the
+police.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No?&#8221; He eyed the end of his cigarette
+gravely. &#8220;One does not have to be affiliated
+with the police. There is class prejudice.
+We Russians are very fond of Egypt in the
+winter. Capri seems to be the half-way place.
+They wait for us, going and coming. Poor
+fools!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall go alone, then.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right.&#8221; In his dull way he had
+learned that to pull the diva, one must agree
+with her. In agreeing with her one adroitly
+dissuaded her. &#8220;You go to Capri, and I&#8217;ll
+go to the pavilion on the Neva.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She snuffed the cigarette in the coffee-cup
+and frowned. &#8220;Some day you will make me
+horribly angry.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Beautiful tigress! If a man knew what
+you wanted, you would not want it. I can&#8217;t
+hop about with the agility of those dancers
+at the Théâtre du Palais Royale. The best I
+can do is to imitate the bear. What is
+wrong?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;They keep giving her the premier parts.
+She has no more fire in her than a dead
+grate. The English-speaking singers, they
+are having everything their own way. And
+none of them can act.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear Flora, this Eleonora is an
+actress, first of all. That she can sing is a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span>
+matter of good fortune, no more. Be reasonable.
+The consensus of critical opinion is
+generally infallible; and all over the continent
+they agree that she can act. Come, come;
+what do you care? She will never approach
+your Carmen....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You praise her to me?&#8221; tempest in her
+glowing eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do not praise her. I am quoting facts.
+If you throw that cup, my tigress....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; dangerously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It will spoil the set. Listen. Some one
+is at the speaking-tube.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The singer crossed the room impatiently.
+Ordinarily she would have continued the dispute,
+whether the bell rang or not. But she
+was getting the worst of the argument and
+the bell was a timely diversion. The duke
+followed her leisurely to the wall.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; asked Flora in French.</p>
+<p>The voice below answered with a query in
+English. &#8220;Is this the Signorina Desimone?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;It is the duchess.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The duchess?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The devil!&#8221;</p>
+<p>She turned and stared at the duke, who
+shrugged. &#8220;No, no,&#8221; she said; &#8220;the duchess,
+not the devil.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon me; I was astonished. But on
+the stage you are still Flora Desimone?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. And now that my identity is established,
+who are you and what do you want
+at this time of night?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The duke touched her arm to convey that
+this was not the moment in which to betray
+her temper.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am Edward Courtlandt.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The devil!&#8221; mimicked the diva.</p>
+<p>She and the duke heard a chuckle.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon again, Madame.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, what is it you wish?&#8221; amiably.</p>
+<p>The duke looked at her perplexedly. It
+seemed to him that she was always leaving
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span>
+him in the middle of things. Preparing himself
+for rough roads, he would suddenly find
+the going smooth. He was never swift
+enough mentally to follow these flying
+transitions from enmity to amity. In the
+present instance, how was he to know that his
+tigress had found in the man below something
+to play with?</p>
+<p>&#8220;You once did me an ill turn,&#8221; came up
+the tube. &#8220;I desire that you make some
+reparation.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sainted Mother! but it has taken you a
+long time to find out that I have injured you,&#8221;
+she mocked.</p>
+<p>There was no reply to this; so she was determined
+to stir the fire a little.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I advise you to be careful what you
+say; the duke is a very jealous man.&#8221;</p>
+<p>That gentleman fingered his beard thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do not care a hang if he is.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The duke coughed loudly close to the tube.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></p>
+<p>Silence.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The least you can do, Madame, is to give
+me her address.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Her address!&#8221; repeated the duke relievedly.
+He had had certain grave doubts, but
+these now took wing. Old flames were not
+in the habit of asking, nay, demanding, other
+women&#8217;s addresses.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am speaking to Madame, your Highness,&#8221;
+came sharply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We do not speak off the stage,&#8221; said the
+singer, pushing the duke aside.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should like to make that young man&#8217;s
+acquaintance,&#8221; whispered the duke.</p>
+<p>She warned him to be silent.</p>
+<p>Came the voice again: &#8220;Will you give me
+her address, please? Your messenger gave
+me your address, inferring that you wished to
+see me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I?&#8221; There was no impeaching her astonishment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Madame.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear Mr. Courtlandt, you are the last
+man in all the wide world I wish to see. And
+I do not quite like the way you are making
+your request. His highness does not either.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Send him down!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is true.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I remember. You are very strong and
+much given to fighting.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The duke opened and shut his hands, pleasurably.
+Here was something he could understand.
+He was a fighting man himself.
+Where was this going to end, and what was
+it all about?</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you not think, Madame, that you owe
+me something?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. What I owe I pay. Think, Mr.
+Courtlandt; think well.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do not understand,&#8221; impatiently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ebbene</i>, I owe you nothing. Once I
+heard you say&mdash;&#8216;I do not like to see you with
+the Calabrian; she is&mdash;Well, you know.&#8217; I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span>
+stood behind you at another time when you
+said that I was a fool.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Madame, I do not forget that, that is pure
+invention. You are mistaken.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. You were. I am no fool.&#8221; A light
+laugh drifted down the tube.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Madame, I begin to see.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You believe what you wish to believe.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think not.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never even noticed you,&#8221; carelessly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Take care!&#8221; whispered the duke, who
+noted the sudden dilation of her nostrils.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is easy to forget,&#8221; cried the diva,
+furiously. &#8220;It is easy for you to forget, but
+not for me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Madame, I do not forget that you entered
+my room that night ...&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your address!&#8221; bawled the duke. &#8220;That
+statement demands an explanation.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should explain at once, your Highness,&#8221;
+said the man down below calmly, &#8220;only I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span>
+prefer to leave that part in Madame&#8217;s hands.
+I should not care to rob her of anything so interesting
+and dramatic. Madame the duchess
+can explain, if she wishes. I am stopping at
+the Grand, if you find her explanations are not
+up to your requirements.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall give you her address,&#8221; interrupted
+the diva, hastily. The duke&#8217;s bristling beard
+for one thing and the ice in the other man&#8217;s
+tones for another, disquieted her. The play
+had gone far enough, much as she would have
+liked to continue it. This was going deeper
+than she cared to go. She gave the address
+and added: &#8220;To-night she sings at the Austrian
+ambassador&#8217;s. I give you this information
+gladly because I know that it will be of
+no use to you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then I shall dispense with the formality
+of thanking you. I add that I wish you twofold
+the misery you have carelessly and
+gratuitously cost me. Good night!&#8221; Click!
+went the little covering of the tube.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Now,&#8221; said the duke, whose knowledge of
+the English tongue was not so indifferent that
+he did not gather the substance, if not all the
+shadings, of this peculiar conversation; &#8220;now,
+what the devil is all this about?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hate him!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Refused to singe his wings?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He has insulted me!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am curious to learn about that night you
+went to his room.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Her bear had a ring in his nose, but she
+could not always lead him by it. So, without
+more ado, she spun the tale, laughing at intervals.
+The story evidently impressed the
+duke, for his face remained sober all through
+the recital.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did he say that you were a fool?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Of course not!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Shall I challenge him?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my Russian bear, he fences like a
+Chicot; he is a dead shot; and is afraid of
+nothing ... but a woman. No, no; I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span>
+have something better. It will be like one of
+those old comedies. I hate her!&#8221; with a
+burst of fury. &#8220;She always does everything
+just so much better than I do. As for him, he
+was nothing. It was she; I hurt her, wrung
+her heart.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; mildly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is not that enough?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am slow; it takes a long time for anything
+to get into my head; but when it arrives,
+it takes a longer time to get it out.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, go on.&#8221; Her calm was ominous.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Love or vanity. This American singer got
+what you could not get. You have had your
+way too long. Perhaps you did not love him.
+I do not believe you can really love any one
+but Flora. Doubtless he possessed millions;
+but on the other hand, I am a grand duke; I
+offered marriage, openly and legally, in spite
+of all the opposition brought to bear.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Flora was undeniably clever. She did the
+one thing that could successfully cope with
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span>
+this perilous condition of the ducal mind. She
+laughed, and flung her arms around his neck
+and kissed him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have named you well. You are a
+tigress. But this comedy of which you speak:
+it might pass in Russia, but not in Paris.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall not be in the least concerned. My
+part was suggestion.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You suggested it to some one else?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To be sure!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My objections ...&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I will have my way in this affair. Besides,
+it is too late.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Her gesture was explicit. He sighed. He
+knew quite well that she was capable of leaving
+the apartment that night, in her kimono.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll go to Capri,&#8221; resignedly. Dynamite
+bombs were not the worst things in the world.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to go now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The duke picked up a fresh cigarette.
+&#8220;How the devil must have laughed when the
+Lord made Eve!&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='IV_THE_JOKE_OF_MONSIEUR' id='IV_THE_JOKE_OF_MONSIEUR'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+<h3>THE JOKE OF MONSIEUR</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>With the same inward bitterness that
+attends the mental processes of a performing
+tiger on being sent back to its cage,
+Courtlandt returned to his taxicab. He
+wanted to roar and lash and devour something.
+Instead, he could only twist the ends of his
+mustache savagely. So she was a grand
+duchess, or at least the morganatic wife of
+a grand duke! It did not seem possible that
+any woman could be so full of malice. He
+simply could not understand. It was essentially
+the Italian spirit; doubtless, till she heard
+his voice, she had forgotten all about the
+episode that had foundered his ship of happiness.</p>
+<p>Her statement as to the primal cause was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span>
+purely inventive. There was not a grain of
+truth in it. He could not possibly have been
+so rude. He had been too indifferent. Too
+indifferent! The repetition of the phrase
+made him sit straighter. Pshaw! It could
+not be that. He possessed a little vanity; if
+he had not, his history would not have been
+worth a scrawl. But he denied the possession
+vehemently, as men are wont to do.
+Strange, a man will admit smashing those
+ten articles of advisement known as the
+decalogue and yet deny the inherent quality
+which surrenders the admission&mdash;vanity.
+However you may look at it, man&#8217;s vanity is
+a complex thing. The vanity of a woman has
+a definite and commendable purpose: the conquest
+of man, his purse, and half of his time.
+Too indifferent! Was it possible that he
+had roused her enmity simply because he had
+made it evident that her charms did not interest
+him? Beyond lifting his hat to her,
+perhaps exchanging a comment on the weather,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span>
+his courtesies had not been extended. Courtlandt
+was peculiar in some respects. A
+woman attracted him, or she did not. In the
+one case he was affable, winning, pleasant, full
+of those agreeable little surprises that in
+turn attract a woman. In the other case, he
+passed on, for his impressions were instant
+and did not require the usual skirmishing.</p>
+<p>A grand duchess! The straw-colored mustache
+now described two aggressive points.
+What an impossible old world it was! The
+ambition of the English nobility was on a
+far lower scale than that of their continental
+cousins. On the little isle they were satisfied
+to marry soubrettes and chorus girls. Here,
+the lady must be no less a personage than a
+grand-opera singer or a <i>première danseuse</i>.
+The continental noble at least showed some
+discernment; he did not choose haphazard; he
+desired the finished product and was not to
+be satisfied with the material in the raw.</p>
+<p>Oh, stubborn Dutchman that he had been!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span>
+Blind fool! To have run away instead of
+fighting to the last ditch for his happiness!
+The Desimone woman was right: it had taken
+him a long time to come to the conclusion that
+she had done him an ill turn. And during all
+these weary months he had drawn a melancholy
+picture of himself as a wounded lion,
+creeping into the jungle to hide its hurts, when,
+truth be known, he had taken the ways of the
+jackass for a model. He saw plainly enough
+now. More than this, where there had been
+mere obstacles to overcome there were now
+steep mountains, perhaps inaccessible for all
+he knew. His jaw set, and the pressure of
+his lips broke the sweep of his mustache, converting
+it into bristling tufts, warlike and resolute.</p>
+<p>As he was leaving, a square of light attracted
+his attention. He looked up to see the
+outline of the bearded Russ in the window.
+Poor devil! He was going to have a merry
+time of it. Well, that was his affair. Besides,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span>
+Russians, half the year chilled by their
+bitter snows, were susceptible to volcanoes;
+they courted them as a counterbalance. Perhaps
+he had spoken roughly, but his temper
+had not been under control. One thing he
+recalled with grim satisfaction. He had sent
+a barbed arrow up the tube to disturb the
+felicity of the dove-cote. The duke would be
+rather curious to know what was meant in
+referring to the night she had come to his,
+Courtlandt&#8217;s, room. He laughed. It would
+be a fitting climax indeed if the duke called
+him out.</p>
+<p>But what of the pretty woman in the Taverne
+Royale? What about her? At whose
+bidding had she followed him? One or
+the other of them had not told the truth, and
+he was inclined to believe that the prevarication
+had its source in the pomegranate lips of
+the Calabrian. To give the old barb one more
+twist, to learn if its venomous point still held
+and hurt; nothing would have afforded the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span>
+diva more delight. Courtlandt glared at the
+window as the shade rolled down.</p>
+<p>When the taxicab joined the long line of
+carriages and automobiles opposite the Austrian
+ambassador&#8217;s, Courtlandt awoke to the
+dismal and disquieting fact that he had formulated
+no plan of action. He had done no more
+than to give the driver his directions; and now
+that he had arrived, he had the choice of two
+alternatives. He could wait to see her come
+out or return at once to his hotel, which, as
+subsequent events affirmed, would have been
+the more sensible course. He would have
+been confronted with small difficulty in gaining
+admission to the house. He knew enough
+of these general receptions; the announcing of
+his name would have conveyed nothing to the
+host, who knew perhaps a third of his guests,
+and many of these but slightly. But such an
+adventure was distasteful to Courtlandt. He
+could not overstep certain recognized boundaries
+of convention, and to enter a man&#8217;s
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span>
+house unasked was colossal impudence. Beyond
+this, he realized that he could have accomplished
+nothing; the advantage would have
+been hers. Nor could he meet her as she
+came out, for again the odds would have been
+largely in her favor. No, the encounter must
+be when they two were alone. She must be
+surprised. She must have no time to use her
+ready wit. He had thought to wait until
+some reasonable plan offered itself for trial;
+yet, here he was, with nothing definite or recognizable
+but the fact that the craving to see
+her was not to be withstood. The blood began
+to thunder in his ears. An idea presented
+itself. It appealed to him at that moment as
+quite clever and feasible.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait!&#8221; he called to the driver.</p>
+<p>He dived among the carriages and cars, and
+presently he found what he sought,&mdash;her
+limousine. He had taken the number into his
+mind too keenly to be mistaken. He saw the
+end of his difficulties; and he went about the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span>
+affair with his usual directness. It was only
+at rare times that he ran his head into a cul-de-sac.
+If her chauffeur was regularly employed
+in her service, he would have to return
+to the hotel; but if he came from the garage,
+there was hope. Every man is said to have
+his price, and a French chauffeur might prove
+no notable exception to the rule.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?&#8221;
+Courtlandt asked of the man lounging in the
+forward seat.</p>
+<p>The chauffeur looked hard at his questioner,
+and on finding that he satisfied the requirements
+of a gentleman, grumbled an affirmative.
+The limousine was well known in Paris,
+and he was growing weary of these endless inquiries.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you in her employ directly, or do you
+come from the garage?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am from the garage, but I drive
+mademoiselle&#8217;s car most of the time, especially
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span>
+at night. It is not madame but mademoiselle,
+Monsieur.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My mistake.&#8221; A slight pause. It was
+rather a difficult moment for Courtlandt. The
+chauffeur waited wonderingly. &#8220;Would you
+like to make five hundred francs?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How, Monsieur?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt should have been warned by the
+tone, which contained no unusual interest or
+eagerness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Permit me to remain in mademoiselle&#8217;s
+car till she comes. I wish to ride with her to
+her apartment.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The chauffeur laughed. He stretched his
+legs. &#8220;Thanks, Monsieur. It is very dull
+waiting. Monsieur knows a good joke.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And to Courtlandt&#8217;s dismay he realized that
+his proposal had truly been accepted as a jest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am not joking. I am in earnest. Five
+hundred francs. On the word of a gentleman
+I mean mademoiselle no harm. I am
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span>
+known to her. All she has to do is to appeal
+to you, and you can stop the car and summon
+the police.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The chauffeur drew in his legs and leaned
+toward his tempter. &#8220;Monsieur, if you are
+not jesting, then you are a madman. Who
+are you? What do I know about you? I
+never saw you before, and for two seasons
+I have driven mademoiselle in Paris. She
+wears beautiful jewels to-night. How do I
+know that you are not a gentlemanly thief?
+Ride home with mademoiselle! You are crazy.
+Make yourself scarce, Monsieur; in one minute
+I shall call the police.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Blockhead!&#8221;</p>
+<p>English of this order the Frenchman perfectly
+understood. &#8220;<i>Là, là!</i>&#8221; he cried, rising
+to execute his threat.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt was furious, but his fury was
+directed at himself as much as at the trustworthy
+young man getting down from the
+limousine. His eagerness had led him to mistake
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span>
+stupidity for cleverness. He had gone
+about the affair with all the clumsiness of a
+boy who was making his first appearance at
+the stage entrance. It was mightily disconcerting,
+too, to have found an honest man
+when he was in desperate need of a dishonest
+one. He had faced with fine courage all sorts
+of dangerous wild animals; but at this moment
+he hadn&#8217;t the courage to face a policeman and
+endeavor to explain, in a foreign tongue, a
+situation at once so delicate and so singularly
+open to misconstruction. So, for the second
+time in his life he took to his heels. Of the
+first time, more anon. He scrambled back to
+his own car, slammed the door, and told the
+driver to drop him at the Grand. His undignified
+retreat caused his face to burn; but
+discretion would not be denied. However, he
+did not return to the hotel.</p>
+<p>Mademoiselle da Toscana&#8217;s chauffeur
+scratched his chin in perplexity. In frightening
+off his tempter he recognized that now he
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span>
+would never be able to find out who he was.
+He should have played with him until mademoiselle
+came out. She would have known
+instantly. That would have been the time for
+the police. To hide in the car! What the
+devil! Only a madman would have offered
+such a proposition. The man had been either
+an American or an Englishman, for all his accuracy
+in the tongue. Bah! Perhaps he had
+heard her sing that night, and had come away
+from the Opera, moonstruck. It was not an
+isolated case. The fools were always pestering
+him, but no one had ever offered so uncommon
+a bribe: five hundred francs. Mademoiselle
+might not believe that part of the
+tale. Mademoiselle was clever. There was a
+standing agreement between them that she
+would always give him half of whatever was
+offered him in the way of bribes. It paid.
+It was easier to sell his loyalty to her for two
+hundred and fifty francs than to betray her
+for five hundred. She had yet to find him
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span>
+untruthful, and to-night he would be as frank
+as he had always been.</p>
+<p>But who was this fellow in the Bavarian
+hat, who patrolled the sidewalk? He had
+been watching him when the madman approached.
+For an hour or more he had
+walked up and down, never going twenty feet
+beyond the limousine. He couldn&#8217;t see the
+face. The long dark coat had a military cut
+about the hips and shoulders. From time to
+time he saw him glance up at the lighted
+windows. Eh, well; there were other women
+in the world besides mademoiselle, several
+others.</p>
+<p>He had to wait only half an hour for her
+appearance. He opened the door and saw
+to it that she was comfortably seated; then he
+paused by the window, touching his cap.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is it, François?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A gentleman offered me five hundred
+francs, Mademoiselle, if I would permit him
+to hide in the car.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Five hundred francs? To hide in the car?
+Why didn&#8217;t you call the police?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I started to, Mademoiselle, but he ran
+away.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh! What was he like?&#8221; The prima
+donna dropped the bunch of roses on the seat
+beside her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he looked well enough. He had the
+air of a gentleman. He was tall, with light
+hair and mustache. But as I had never seen
+him before, and as Mademoiselle wore some
+fine jewels, I bade him be off.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would you know him again?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Surely, Mademoiselle.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The next time any one bothers you, call
+the police. You have done well, and I shall
+remember it. Home.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man in the Bavarian hat hurried back
+to the third car from the limousine, and followed
+at a reasonably safe distance.</p>
+<p>The singer leaned back against the cushions.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span>
+She was very tired. The opera that night had
+taxed her strength, and but for her promise
+she would not have sung to the ambassador&#8217;s
+guests for double the fee. There was an
+electric bulb in the car. She rarely turned it
+on, but she did to-night. She gazed into the
+little mirror; and utter weariness looked back
+from out the most beautiful, blue, Irish eyes
+in the world. She rubbed her fingers carefully
+up and down the faint perpendicular
+wrinkle above her nose. It was always there
+on nights like this. How she longed for the
+season to end! She would fly away to the
+lakes, the beautiful, heavenly tinted lakes,
+the bare restful mountains, and the clover lawns
+spreading under brave old trees; she would
+walk along the vineyard paths, and loiter under
+the fig-trees, far, far away from the world,
+its clamor, its fickleness, its rasping jealousies.
+Some day she would have enough; and then,
+good-by to all the clatter, the evil-smelling
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span>
+stages, the impossible people with whom she
+was associated. She would sing only to those
+she loved.</p>
+<p>The glamour of the life had long ago
+passed; she sang on because she had acquired
+costly habits, because she was fond of beautiful
+things, and above all, because she loved to
+sing. She had as many moods as a bird, as
+many sides as nature. A flash of sunshine
+called to her voice; the beads of water,
+trembling upon the blades of grass after a
+summer shower, brought a song to her lips.
+Hers was a God-given voice, and training had
+added to it nothing but confidence. True, she
+could act; she had been told by many a great
+impressario that histrionically she had no peer
+in grand opera. But the knowledge gave her
+no thrill of delight. To her it was the sum
+of a tremendous physical struggle.</p>
+<p>She shut off the light and closed her eyes.
+She reclined against the cushion once more,
+striving not to think. Once, her hands shut
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span>
+tightly. Never, never, never! She pressed
+down the burning thoughts by recalling the
+bright scenes at the ambassador&#8217;s, the real
+generous applause that had followed her two
+songs. Ah, how that man Paderewski played!
+They two had cost the ambassador eight
+thousand francs. Fame and fortune! Fortune
+she could understand; but fame! What
+was it? Upon a time she believed she had
+known what fame was; but that had been
+when she was striving for it. A glowing article
+in a newspaper, a portrait in a magazine,
+rows upon rows of curious eyes and a patter
+of hands upon hands; that was all; and for
+this she had given the best of her life, and she
+was only twenty-five.</p>
+<p>The limousine stopped at last. The man in
+the Bavarian hat saw her alight. His car
+turned and disappeared. It had taken him a
+week to discover where she lived. His lodgings
+were on the other side of the Seine. After
+reaching them he gave crisp orders to the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span>
+driver, who set his machine off at top speed.
+The man in the Bavarian hat entered his room
+and lighted the gas. The room was bare and
+cheaply furnished. He took off his coat but
+retained his hat, pulling it down still farther
+over his eyes. His face was always in shadow.
+A round chin, two full red lips, scantily covered
+by a blond mustache were all that could be
+seen. He began to walk the floor impatiently,
+stopping and listening whenever he heard a
+sound. He waited less than an hour for the
+return of the car. It brought two men.
+They were well-dressed, smoothly-shaven, with
+keen eyes and intelligent faces. Their host,
+who had never seen either of his guests before,
+carelessly waved his hand toward the
+table where there were two chairs. He himself
+took his stand by the window and looked
+out as he talked. In another hour the room
+was dark and the street deserted.</p>
+<p>In the meantime the prima donna gave a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span>
+sigh of relief. She was home. It was nearly
+two o&#8217;clock. She would sleep till noon, and
+Saturday and Sunday would be hers. She
+went up the stairs instead of taking the lift,
+and though the hall was dark, she knew
+her way. She unlocked the door of the apartment
+and entered, swinging the door behind
+her. As the act was mechanical, her thoughts
+being otherwise engaged, she did not notice
+that the lock failed to click. The ferrule of
+a cane had prevented that.</p>
+<p>She flung her wraps on the divan and put
+the roses in an empty bowl. The door opened
+softly, without noise. Next, she stopped before
+the mirror over the mantel, touched her
+hair lightly, detached the tiara of emeralds
+ ... and became as inanimate as marble.
+She saw another face. She never knew how
+long the interval of silence was. She turned
+slowly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, it is I!&#8221; said the man.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span></p>
+<p>Instantly she turned again to the mantel and
+picked up a magazine-revolver. She leveled
+it at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Leave this room, or I will shoot.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt advanced toward her slowly.
+&#8220;Do so,&#8221; he said. &#8220;I should much prefer a
+bullet to that look.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am in earnest.&#8221; She was very white,
+but her hand was steady.</p>
+<p>He continued to advance. There followed
+a crash. The smell of burning powder filled
+the room. The Burmese gong clanged shrilly
+and whirled wildly. Courtlandt felt his hair
+stir in terror.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You must hate me indeed,&#8221; he said quietly,
+as the sense of terror died away. He folded
+his arms. &#8220;Try again; there ought to be half
+a dozen bullets left. No? Then, good-by!&#8221;
+He left the apartment without another word
+or look, and as the door closed behind him
+there was a kind of finality in the clicking of
+the latch.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></p>
+<p>The revolver clattered to the floor, and the
+woman who had fired it leaned heavily against
+the mantel, covering her eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora, Nora!&#8221; cried a startled voice from
+a bedroom adjoining. &#8220;What has happened?
+<i>Mon Dieu</i>, what is it?&#8221; A pretty, sleepy-eyed
+young woman, in a night-dress, rushed
+into the room. She flung her arms about the
+singer. &#8220;Nora, my dear, my dear!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He forced his way in. I thought to
+frighten him. It went off accidentally. Oh,
+Celeste, Celeste, I might have killed him!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The other drew her head down on her
+shoulder, and listened. She could hear voices
+in the lower hall, a shout of warning, a patter
+of steps; then the hall door slammed. After
+that, silence, save for the faint mellowing
+vibrations of the Burmese gong.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='V_CAPTIVE_OR_RUNAWAY' id='V_CAPTIVE_OR_RUNAWAY'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+<h3>CAPTIVE OR RUNAWAY</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>At the age of twenty-six Donald Abbott
+had become a prosperous and distinguished
+painter in water-colors. His work
+was individual, and at the same time it was
+delicate and charming. One saw his Italian
+landscapes as through a filmy gauze: the
+almond blossoms of Sicily, the rose-laden
+walls of Florence, the vineyards of Chianti,
+the poppy-glowing Campagna out of Rome.
+His Italian lakes had brought him fame. He
+knew very little of the grind and hunger that
+attended the careers of his whilom associates.
+His father had left him some valuable patents&mdash;wash-tubs,
+carpet-cleaners, and other labor-saving
+devices&mdash;and the royalties from these
+were quite sufficient to keep him pleasantly
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span>
+housed. When he referred to his father (of
+whom he had been very fond) it was as an inventor.
+Of what, he rarely told. In America
+it was all right; but over here, where these
+inventions were unknown, a wash-tub had a
+peculiar significance: that a man should be
+found in his money through its services left
+persons in doubt as to his genealogical tree,
+which, as a matter of fact, was a very good
+one. As a boy his schoolmates had dubbed
+him &#8220;The Sweep&#8221; and &#8220;Suds,&#8221; and it was
+only human that he should wish to forget.</p>
+<p>His earnings (not inconsiderable, for tourists
+found much to admire in both the pictures
+and the artist) he spent in gratifying his mild
+extravagances. So there were no lines in his
+handsome, boyish, beardless face; and his
+eyes were unusually clear and happy. Perhaps
+once or twice, since his majority, he had
+returned to America to prove that he was not
+an expatriate, though certainly he was one,
+the only tie existing between him and his
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span>
+native land being the bankers who regularly
+honored his drafts. And who shall condemn
+him for preferring Italy to the desolate center
+of New York state, where good servants and
+good weather are as rare as are flawless emeralds?</p>
+<p>Half after three, on Wednesday afternoon,
+Abbott stared moodily at the weather-tarnished
+group by Dalou in the Luxembourg
+gardens&mdash;the <i>Triumph of Silenus</i>. His gaze
+was deceptive, for the rollicking old bibulous
+scoundrel had not stirred his critical sense
+nor impressed the delicate films of thought.
+He was looking through the bronze, into the
+far-away things. He sat on his own folding
+stool, which he had brought along from his
+winter studio hard by in the old Boul&#8217; Miche&#8217;.
+He had arrived early that morning, all the way
+from Como, to find a thunderbolt driven in
+at his feet. Across his knees fluttered an
+open newspaper, the Paris edition of the New
+York <i>Herald</i>. All that kept it from blowing
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span>
+away was the tense if sprawling fingers of his
+right hand; his left hung limply at his side.</p>
+<p>It was not possible. Such things did not
+happen these unromantic days to musical
+celebrities. She had written that on Monday
+night she would sing in <i>La Bohème</i> and on
+Wednesday, <i>Faust</i>. She had since vanished,
+vanished as completely as though she had taken
+wings and flown away. It was unreal. She
+had left the apartment in the Avenue de
+Wagram on Saturday afternoon, and nothing
+had been seen or heard of her since. At the
+last moment they had had to find a substitute
+for her part in the Puccini opera. The maid
+testified that her mistress had gone on an
+errand of mercy. She had not mentioned
+where, but she had said that she would return
+in time to dress for dinner, which proved conclusively
+that something out of the ordinary
+had befallen her.</p>
+<p>The automobile that had carried her away
+had not been her own, and the chauffeur was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span>
+unknown. None of the directors at the Opera
+had been notified of any change in the singer&#8217;s
+plans. She had disappeared, and they
+were deeply concerned. Singers were generally
+erratic, full of sudden indispositions, unaccountable
+whims; but the Signorina da Toscana
+was one in a thousand. She never broke
+an engagement. If she was ill she said so at
+once; she never left them in doubt until the
+last moment. Indecision was not one of her
+characteristics. She was as reliable as the
+sun. If the directors did not hear definitely
+from her by noon to-day, they would have to
+find another Marguerite.</p>
+<p>The police began to move, and they stirred
+up some curious bits of information. A man
+had tried to bribe the singer&#8217;s chauffeur, while
+she was singing at the Austrian ambassador&#8217;s.
+The chauffeur was able to describe the stranger
+with some accuracy. Then came the bewildering
+episode in the apartment: the pistol-shot,
+the flight of the man, the astonished concierge
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span>
+to whom the beautiful American would offer
+no explanations. The man (who tallied with
+the description given by the chauffeur) had
+obtained entrance under false representations.
+He claimed to be an emissary with important
+instructions from the Opera. There was
+nothing unusual in this; messengers came at
+all hours, and seldom the same one twice; so
+the concierge&#8217;s suspicions had not been
+aroused. Another item. A tall handsome
+Italian had called at eleven o&#8217;clock Saturday
+morning, but the signorina had sent down
+word that she could not see him. The maid
+recalled that her mistress had intended to dine
+that night with the Italian gentleman. His
+name she did not know, having been with the
+signorina but two weeks.</p>
+<p>Celeste Fournier, the celebrated young pianist
+and composer, who shared the apartment
+with the missing prima donna, stated that she
+hadn&#8217;t the slightest idea where her friend was.
+She was certain that misfortune had overtaken
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span>
+her in some inexplicable manner. To
+implicate the Italian was out of the question.
+He was well-known to them both. He had
+arrived again at seven, Saturday, and was very
+much surprised that the signorina had not yet
+returned. He had waited till nine, when he
+left, greatly disappointed. He was the Barone
+di Monte-Verdi in Calabria, formerly military
+attaché at the Italian embassy in Berlin. Sunday
+noon Mademoiselle Fournier had notified
+the authorities. She did not know, but she
+felt sure that the blond stranger knew more
+than any one else. And here was the end of
+things. The police found themselves at a
+standstill. They searched the hotels but without
+success; the blond stranger could not be
+found.</p>
+<p>Abbott&#8217;s eyes were not happy and pleasant
+just now. They were dull and blank with the
+reaction of the stunning blow. He, too, was
+certain of the Barone. Much as he secretly
+hated the Italian, he knew him to be a fearless
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span>
+and an honorable man. But who could this
+blond stranger be who appeared so sinisterly
+in the two scenes? From where had he come?
+Why had Nora refused to explain about the
+pistol-shot? Any woman had a perfect
+right to shoot a man who forced his way into
+her apartment. Was he one of those mad
+fools who had fallen in love with her, and had
+become desperate? Or was it some one she
+knew and against whom she did not wish
+to bring any charges? Abducted! And she
+might be, at this very moment, suffering all
+sorts of indignities. It was horrible to be so
+helpless.</p>
+<p>The sparkle of the sunlight upon the ferrule
+of a cane, extending over his shoulder, broke
+in on his agonizing thoughts. He turned,
+an angry word on the tip of his tongue. He
+expected to see some tourist who wanted to
+be informed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ted Courtlandt!&#8221; He jumped up, overturning
+the stool. &#8220;And where the dickens
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span>
+did you come from? I thought you were in
+the Orient?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Just got back, Abby.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The two shook hands and eyed each other
+with the appraising scrutiny of friends of long
+standing.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t change any,&#8221; said Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nor do you. I&#8217;ve been standing behind
+you fully two minutes. What were you
+glooming about? Old Silenus offend you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have you read the <i>Herald</i> this morning?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never read it nowadays. They are always
+giving me a roast of some kind. Whatever
+I do they are bound to misconstrue it.&#8221;
+Courtlandt stooped and righted the stool, but
+sat down on the grass, his feet in the path.
+&#8220;What&#8217;s the trouble? Have they been after
+you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Abbott rescued the offending paper and
+shaking it under his friend&#8217;s nose, said:
+&#8220;Read that.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt&#8217;s eyes widened considerably as
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span>
+they absorbed the significance of the heading&mdash;&#8220;Eleonora
+da Toscana missing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bah!&#8221; he exclaimed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You say bah?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It looks like one of their advertising
+dodges. I know something about singers,&#8221;
+Courtlandt added. &#8220;I engineered a musical
+comedy once.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You do not know anything about her,&#8221;
+cried Abbott hotly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s true enough.&#8221; Courtlandt finished
+the article, folded the paper and returned it,
+and began digging in the path with his cane.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But what I want to know is, who the devil
+is this mysterious blond stranger?&#8221; Abbott
+flourished the paper again. &#8220;I tell you, it&#8217;s
+no advertising dodge. She&#8217;s been abducted.
+The hound!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt ceased boring into the earth.
+&#8220;The story says that she refused to explain
+this blond chap&#8217;s presence in her room. What
+do you make of that?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps you think the fellow was her
+press-agent?&#8221; was the retort.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lord, no! But it proves that she knew
+him, that she did not want the police to find
+him. At least, not at that moment. Who&#8217;s
+the Italian?&#8221; suddenly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can vouch for him. He is a gentleman,
+honorable as the day is long, even if he is
+hot-headed at times. Count him out of it.
+It&#8217;s this unknown, I tell you. Revenge for
+some imagined slight. It&#8217;s as plain as the nose
+on your face.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;How long have you known her?&#8221; asked
+Courtlandt presently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;About two years. She&#8217;s the gem of the
+whole lot. Gentle, kindly, untouched by flattery.... Why,
+you must have seen and
+heard her!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have.&#8221; Courtlandt stared into the hole
+he had dug. &#8220;Voice like an angel&#8217;s, with a
+face like Bellini&#8217;s donna; and Irish all over.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span>
+But for all that, you will find that her disappearance
+will turn out to be a diva&#8217;s whim.
+Hang it, Suds, I&#8217;ve had some experience with
+singers.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are a blockhead!&#8221; exploded the
+younger man.</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right, I am.&#8221; Courtlandt laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Man, she wrote me that she would sing
+Monday and to-night, and wanted me to hear
+her. I couldn&#8217;t get here in time for <i>La
+Bohème</i>, but I was building on <i>Faust</i>. And
+when she says a thing, she means it. As you
+said, she&#8217;s Irish.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I&#8217;m Dutch.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the stubbornest Dutchman I ever met.
+Why don&#8217;t you go home and settle down and
+marry?&mdash;and keep that phiz of yours out of
+the newspapers? Sometimes I think you&#8217;re as
+crazy as a bug.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;An opinion shared by many. Maybe I
+am. I dash in where lunatics fear to tread.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span>
+Come on over to the Soufflet and have a drink
+with me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not drinking to-day,&#8221; tersely.
+&#8220;There&#8217;s too much ahead for me to do.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Going to start out to find her? Oh, Sir
+Galahad!&#8221; ironically. &#8220;Abby, you used to
+be a sport. I&#8217;ll wager a hundred against a
+bottle of pop that to-morrow or next day she&#8217;ll
+turn up serenely, with the statement that she
+was indisposed, sorry not to have notified the
+directors, and all that. They do it repeatedly
+every season.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But an errand of mercy, the strange automobile
+which can not be found? The engagement
+to dine with the Barone? Celeste
+Fournier&#8217;s statement? You can&#8217;t get around
+these things. I tell you, Nora isn&#8217;t that kind.
+She&#8217;s too big in heart and mind to stoop to any
+such devices,&#8221; vehemently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora! That looks pretty serious, Abby.
+You haven&#8217;t gone and made a fool of yourself,
+have you?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you call making a fool of myself?&#8221;
+truculently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You aren&#8217;t a suitor, are you? An accepted
+suitor?&#8221; unruffled, rather kindly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, but I would to heaven that I were!&#8221;
+Abbott jammed the newspaper into his pocket
+and slung the stool over his arm. &#8220;Come on
+over to the studio until I get some money.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are really going to start a search?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I really am. I&#8217;d start one just as quickly
+for you, if I heard that you had vanished under
+mysterious circumstances.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I believe you honestly would.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are an old misanthrope. I hope some
+woman puts the hook into you some day.
+Where did you pick up the grouch? Some of
+your dusky princesses give you the go-by?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You, too, Abby?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, rot! Of course I never believed any
+of that twaddle. Only, I&#8217;ve got a sore head
+to-day. If you knew Nora as well as I do,
+you&#8217;d understand.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></p>
+<p>Courtlandt walked on a little ahead of the
+artist, who looked up and down the athletic
+form, admiringly. Sometimes he loved the
+man, sometimes he hated him. He marched
+through tragedy and comedy and thrilling adventure
+with no more concern that he evinced
+in striding through these gardens. Nearly
+every one had heard of his exploits; but who
+among them knew anything of the real man,
+so adroitly hidden under unruffled externals?
+That there was a man he did not know, hiding
+deep down within those powerful shoulders,
+he had not the least doubt. He himself possessed
+the quick mobile temperament of the
+artist, and he could penetrate but not understand
+the poise assumed with such careless ease
+by his friend. Dutch blood had something to
+do with it, and there was breeding, but there
+was something more than these: he was a
+reversion, perhaps, to the type of man which
+had made the rovers of the Lowlands feared
+on land and sea, now hemmed in by convention,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span>
+hampered by the barriers of progress, and
+striving futilely to find an outlet for his peculiar
+energies. One bit of knowledge gratified
+him; he stood nearer to Courtlandt than
+any other man. He had known the adventurer
+as a boy, and long separations had in nowise
+impaired the foundations of this friendship.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt continued toward the exit, his
+head forward, his gaze bent on the path.
+He had the air of a man deep in thought,
+philosophic thought, which leaves the brows
+unmarred by those corrugations known as
+frowns. Yet his thoughts were far from
+philosophic. Indeed, his soul was in mad turmoil.
+He could have thrown his arms toward
+the blue sky and cursed aloud the fates that
+had set this new tangle at his feet. He longed
+for the jungles and some mad beast to vent
+his wrath upon. But he gave no sign. He
+had returned with a purpose as hard and grim
+as iron; and no obstacle, less powerful than
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span>
+death, should divert or control him. Abduction?
+Let the public believe what it might;
+he held the key to the mystery. She was
+afraid, and had taken flight. So be it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I say, Ted,&#8221; called out the artist, &#8220;what
+did you mean by saying that you were a Dutchman?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt paused so that Abbott might
+catch up to him. &#8220;I said that I was a Dutchman?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. And it has just occurred to me that
+you meant something.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes. You were talking of Da Toscana?
+Let&#8217;s call her Harrigan. It will save
+time, and no one will know to whom we refer.
+You said she was Irish, and that when she
+said a thing she meant it. My boy, the Irish
+are notorious for claiming that. They often
+say it before they see clearly. Now, we
+Dutchmen,&mdash;it takes a long time for us to
+make up our minds, but when we do, something
+has got to bend or break.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t mean to say that you are going
+to settle down and get married?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m not going to settle down and get married,
+if that will ease your mind any.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Man, I was hoping!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Three meals a day in the same house, with
+the same woman, never appealed to me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you want, one for each meal?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s the dusky princess peeking out
+again. The truth is, Abby, if I could hide
+myself for three or four years, long enough
+for people to forget me, I might reconsider.
+But it should be under another name. They
+envy us millionaires. Why, we are the lonesomest
+duffers going. We distrust every one;
+we fly when a woman approaches; we become
+monomaniacs; one thing obsesses us, everybody
+is after our money. We want friends,
+we want wives, but we want them to be attracted
+to us and not to our money-bags. Oh,
+pshaw! What plans have you made in regard
+to the search?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p>
+<p>Gloom settled upon the artist&#8217;s face. &#8220;I&#8217;ve
+got to find out what&#8217;s happened to her, Ted.
+This isn&#8217;t any play. Why, she loves the part
+of Marguerite as she loves nothing else.
+She&#8217;s been kidnaped, and only God knows
+for what reason. It has knocked me silly. I
+just came up from Como, where she spends
+the summers now. I was going to take her
+and Fournier out to dinner.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who&#8217;s Fournier?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mademoiselle Fournier, the composer.
+She goes with Nora on the yearly concert
+tours.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pretty?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Charming.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see,&#8221; thoughtfully. &#8220;What part of the
+lake; the Villa d&#8217;Este, Cadenabbia?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bellaggio. Oh, it was ripping last summer.
+She&#8217;s always singing when she&#8217;s happy.
+When she sings out on the terrace, suddenly,
+without giving any one warning, her voice is
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span>
+wonderful. No audience ever heard anything
+like it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I heard her Friday night. I dropped in
+at the Opera without knowing what they were
+singing. I admit all you say in regard to her
+voice and looks; but I stick to the whim.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But you can&#8217;t fake that chap with the
+blond mustache,&#8221; retorted Abbott grimly.
+&#8220;Lord, I wish I had run into you any day
+but to-day. I&#8217;m all in. I can telephone to
+the Opera from the studio, and then we shall
+know for a certainty whether or not she will
+return for the performance to-night. If not,
+then I&#8217;m going in for a little detective work.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Abby, it will turn out to be the sheep of
+Little Bo-Peep.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have your own way about it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>When they arrived at the studio Abbott telephoned
+promptly. Nothing had been heard.
+They were substituting another singer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Call up the <i>Herald</i>,&#8221; suggested Courtlandt.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></p>
+<p>Abbott did so. And he had to answer innumerable
+questions, questions which worked
+him into a fine rage: who was he, where did
+he live, what did he know, how long had he
+been in Paris, and could he prove that he had
+arrived that morning? Abbott wanted to
+fling the receiver into the mouth of the transmitter,
+but his patience was presently rewarded.
+The singer had not yet been found,
+but the chauffeur of the mysterious car had
+turned up ... in a hospital, and perhaps
+by night they would know everything. The
+chauffeur had had a bad accident; the car
+itself was a total wreck, in a ditch, not far
+from Versailles.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There!&#8221; cried Abbott, slamming the receiver
+on the hook. &#8220;What do you say to
+that?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The chauffeur may have left her somewhere,
+got drunk afterward, and plunged into
+the ditch. Things have happened like that.
+Abby, don&#8217;t make a camel&#8217;s-hair shirt out of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span>
+your paint-brushes. What a pother about a
+singer! If it had been a great inventor, a
+poet, an artist, there would have been nothing
+more than a two-line paragraph. But an
+opera-singer, one who entertains us during our
+idle evenings&mdash;ha! that&#8217;s a different matter.
+Set instantly that great municipal machinery
+called the police in action; sell extra editions
+on the streets. What ado!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What the devil makes <i>you</i> so bitter?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Was I bitter? I thought I was philosophizing.&#8221;
+Courtlandt consulted his watch.
+Half after four. &#8220;Come over to the Maurice
+and dine with me to-morrow night, that is, if
+you do not find your prima donna. I&#8217;ve an
+engagement at five-thirty, and must be off.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was about to ask you to dine with me
+to-night,&#8221; disappointedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Can&#8217;t; awfully sorry, Abby. It was only
+luck that I met you in the Luxembourg. Be
+over about seven. I was very glad to see you
+again.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p>
+<p>Abbott kicked a broken easel into a corner.
+&#8220;All right. If anything turns up I&#8217;ll let you
+know. You&#8217;re at the Grand?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. By-by.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know what&#8217;s the matter with him,&#8221;
+mused the artist, alone. &#8220;Some woman has
+chucked him. Silly little fool, probably.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt went down-stairs and out into
+the boulevard. Frankly, he was beginning to
+feel concerned. He still held to his original
+opinion that the diva had disappeared of her
+own free will; but if the machinery of the
+police had been started, he realized that his
+own safety would eventually become involved.
+By this time, he reasoned, there would not be
+a hotel in Paris free of surveillance. Naturally,
+blond strangers would be in demand.
+The complications that would follow his own
+arrest were not to be ignored. He agreed
+with his conscience that he had not acted with
+dignity in forcing his way into her apartment.
+But that night he had been at odds with convention;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span>
+his spirit had been that of the marauding
+old Dutchman of the seventeenth century.
+He perfectly well knew that she was in the
+right as far as the pistol-shot was concerned.
+Further, he knew that he could quash any
+charge she might make in that direction by the
+simplest of declarations; and to avoid this
+simplest of declarations she would prefer silence
+above all things. They knew each other
+tolerably well.</p>
+<p>It was extremely fortunate that he had not
+been to the hotel since Saturday. He went directly
+to the war-office. The great and powerful
+man there was the only hope left. They
+had met some years before in Algiers, where
+Courtlandt had rendered him a very real
+service.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I did not expect you to the minute,&#8221; the
+great man said pleasantly. &#8220;You will not
+mind waiting for a few minutes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not in the least. Only, I&#8217;m in a deuce of
+a mess,&#8221; frankly and directly. &#8220;Innocently
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span>
+enough, I&#8217;ve stuck my head into the police
+net.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is it possible that now I can pay my debt
+to you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Such as it is. Have you read the article
+in the newspapers regarding the disappearance
+of Signorina da Toscana, the singer?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am the unknown blond. To-morrow
+morning I want you to go with me to the
+prefecture and state that I was with you all of
+Saturday and Sunday; that on Monday you
+and your wife dined with me, that yesterday
+we went to the aviation meet, and later to the
+Odéon.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In brief, an alibi?&#8221; smiling now.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Exactly. I shall need one.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And a perfectly good alibi. But I have
+your word that you are in nowise concerned?
+Pardon the question, but between us it is
+really necessary if I am to be of service to
+you.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;On my word as a gentleman.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is sufficient.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In fact, I do not believe that she has been
+abducted at all. Will you let me use your pad
+and pen for a minute?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The other pushed over the required articles.
+Courtlandt scrawled a few words and passed
+back the pad.</p>
+<p>&#8220;For me to read?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; moodily.</p>
+<p>The Frenchman read. Courtlandt watched
+him anxiously. There was not even a flicker
+of surprise in the official eye. Calmly he
+ripped off the sheet and tore it into bits, distributing
+the pieces into the various waste-baskets
+yawning about his long flat desk.
+Next, still avoiding the younger man&#8217;s eye, he
+arranged his papers neatly and locked them
+up in a huge safe which only the artillery of
+the German army could have forced. He then
+called for his hat and stick. He beckoned to
+Courtlandt to follow. Not a word was said
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span>
+until the car was humming on the road to
+Vincennes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; said Courtlandt, finally. It was
+not possible for him to hold back the question
+any longer.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear friend, I am taking you out to
+the villa for the night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But I have nothing....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I have everything, even foresight.
+If you were arrested to-night it would cause
+you some inconvenience. I am fifty-six, some
+twenty years your senior. Under this hat of
+mine I carry a thousand secrets, and every one
+of these thousand must go to the grave with
+me, yours along with them. I have met you
+a dozen times since those Algerian days, and
+never have you failed to afford me some
+amusement or excitement. You are the most
+interesting and entertaining young man I
+know. Try one of these cigars.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Precisely at the time Courtlandt stepped
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span>
+into the automobile outside the war-office, a
+scene, peculiar in character, but inconspicuous
+in that it did not attract attention, was enacted
+in the Gare de l&#8217;Est. Two sober-visaged men
+stood respectfully aside to permit a tall young
+man in a Bavarian hat to enter a compartment
+of the second-class. What could be seen of
+the young man&#8217;s face was full of smothered
+wrath and disappointment. How he hated
+himself, for his weakness, for his cowardice!
+He was not all bad. Knowing that he was
+being watched and followed, he could not go
+to Versailles and compromise her, uselessly.
+And devil take the sleek demon of a woman
+who had prompted him to commit so base an
+act!</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will at least,&#8221; he said, &#8220;deliver that
+message which I have intrusted to your care.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It shall reach Versailles to-night, your
+Highness.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The young man reread the telegram which
+one of the two men had given him a moment
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span>
+since. It was a command which even he, wilful
+and disobedient as he was, dared not
+ignore. He ripped it into shreds and flung
+them out of the window. He did not apologize
+to the man into whose face the pieces
+flew. That gentleman reddened perceptibly,
+but he held his tongue. The blare of a horn
+announced the time of departure. The train
+moved. The two men on the platform saluted,
+but the young man ignored the salutation.
+Not until the rear car disappeared in
+the hazy distance did the watchers stir. Then
+they left the station and got into the tonneau
+of a touring-car, which shot away and did not
+stop until it drew up before that imposing embassy
+upon which the French will always look
+with more or less suspicion.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='VI_THE_BIRD_BEHIND_BARS' id='VI_THE_BIRD_BEHIND_BARS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+<h3>THE BIRD BEHIND BARS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>The most beautiful blue Irish eyes in the
+world gazed out at the dawn which
+turned night-blue into day-blue and paled the
+stars. Rosal lay the undulating horizon, presently
+to burst into living flame, transmuting
+the dull steel bars of the window into fairy
+gold, that trick of alchemy so futilely sought
+by man. There was a window at the north
+and another at the south, likewise barred; but
+the Irish eyes never sought these two. It was
+from the east window only that they could see
+the long white road that led to Paris.</p>
+<p>The nightingale was truly caged. But the
+wild heart of the eagle beat in this nightingale&#8217;s
+breast, and the eyes burned as fiercely
+toward the east as the east burned toward the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span>
+west. Sunday and Monday, Tuesday and
+Wednesday and Thursday, to-day; and that
+the five dawns were singular in beauty and
+that she had never in her life before witnessed
+the creation of five days, one after another,
+made no impression upon her sense of the
+beautiful, so delicate and receptive in ordinary
+times. She was conscious that within her the
+cup of wrath was overflowing. Of other
+things, such as eating and sleeping and moving
+about in her cage (more like an eagle indeed
+than a nightingale), recurrence had
+blunted her perception.</p>
+<p>Her clothes were soiled and crumpled,
+sundrily torn; her hair was in disorder, and
+tendrils hung about her temples and forehead&mdash;thick
+black hair, full of purple tones in the
+sunlight&mdash;for she had not surrendered peacefully
+to this incarceration. Dignity, that
+phase of philosophy which accepts quietly the
+inevitable, she had thrown to the winds. She
+had fought desperately, primordially, when
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span>
+she had learned that her errand of mercy was
+nothing more than a cruel hoax.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but he shall pay, he shall pay!&#8221; she
+murmured, striving to loosen the bars with
+her small, white, helpless hands. The cry
+seemed to be an arietta, for through all these
+four maddening days she had voiced it,&mdash;now
+low and deadly with hate, now full-toned in
+burning anger, now broken by sobs of despair.
+&#8220;Will you never come, so that I may tell you
+how base and vile you are?&#8221; she further addressed
+the east.</p>
+<p>She had waited for his appearance on Sunday.
+Late in the day one of the jailers had
+informed her that it was impossible for the
+gentleman to come before Monday. So she
+marshaled her army of phrases, of accusations,
+of denunciations, ready to smother him
+with them the moment he came. But he came
+not Monday, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday.
+The suspense was to her mind diabolical.
+She began to understand: he intended to keep
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span>
+her there till he was sure that her spirit was
+broken, then he would come. Break her
+spirit? She laughed wildly. He could break
+her spirit no more easily than she could break
+these bars. To bring her to Versailles upon
+an errand of mercy! Well, he was capable of
+anything.</p>
+<p>The room was large and fairly comfortable,
+but contained nothing breakable, having been
+tenanted at one time by a strenuous lunatic,
+who had considerately died after his immediate
+family and relations had worn themselves
+into their several graves, taking care of
+him. But Eleonora Harrigan knew nothing
+of the history of the room while she occupied
+it. So, no ghost disturbed her restless slumberless
+nights, consumed in watching and
+listening.</p>
+<p>She was not particularly distressed because
+she knew that it would not be possible for
+her to sing again until the following winter in
+New York. She had sobbed too much, with
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span>
+her face buried in the pillow. Had these sobs
+been born of weakness, all might have been
+well; but rage had mothered them, and thus
+her voice was in a very bad way. This morning
+she was noticeably hoarse, and there was
+a break in the arietta. No, she did not fret
+over this side of the calamity. The sting of it
+all lay in the fact that she had been outraged
+in the matter of personal liberty, with no act
+of reprisal to ease her immediate longing to be
+avenged.</p>
+<p>Nora, as she stood in the full morning sunlight,
+was like to gladden the eyes of all mankind.
+She was beautiful, and all adjectives
+applicable would but serve to confuse rather
+than to embellish her physical excellence. She
+was as beautiful as a garden rose is, needing
+no defense, no ramparts of cloying phrases.
+The day of poets is gone, otherwise she would
+have been sung in cantos. She was tall,
+shapely, deep-bosomed, fine-skinned. Critics,
+in praising her charms, delved into mythology
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span>
+and folk-lore for comparisons, until there
+wasn&#8217;t a goddess left on Olympus or on
+Northland&#8217;s icy capes; and when these images
+became a little shop-worn, referred to certain
+masterpieces of the old fellows who had left
+nothing more to be said in oils. Nora enjoyed
+it all.</p>
+<p>She had not been happy in the selection of
+her stage name; but she had chosen Eleonora
+da Toscana because she believed there was
+good luck in it. Once, long before the world
+knew of her, she had returned home from Italy
+unexpectedly. &#8220;Molly, here&#8217;s Nora, from
+Tuscany!&#8221; her delighted father had cried: who
+at that time had a nebulous idea that Tuscany
+was somewhere in Ireland because it had a Celtic
+ring to it. Being filled with love of Italy,
+its tongue, its history, its physical beauty, she
+naïvely translated &#8220;Nora from Tuscany&#8221; into
+Italian, and declared that when she went upon
+the stage she would be known by that name.
+There had been some smiling over the pseudonym;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span>
+but Nora was Irish enough to cling to it.
+By and by the great music-loving public ceased
+to concern itself about her name; it was her
+fresh beauty and her wonderful voice they
+craved to see and hear. Kings and queens, emperors
+and empresses, princes and princesses,&mdash;what
+is called royalty and nobility in the newspapers
+freely gave her homage. Quite a rise
+in the world for a little girl who had once lived
+in a shabby apartment in New York and run
+barefooted on the wet asphalts, summer nights!</p>
+<p>But Nora was not recalling the happy scenes
+of her childhood; indeed, no; she was still
+threatening Paris. Once there, she would not
+lack for reprisals. To have played on her
+pity! To have made a lure of her tender concern
+for the unfortunate! Never would she
+forgive such baseness. And only a little while
+ago she had been as happy as the nightingale
+to which they compared her. Never had she
+wronged any one; she had been kindness and
+thoughtfulness to all with whom she had come
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span>
+in contact. But from now on!... Her
+fingers tightened round the bars. She might
+have posed as Dido when she learned that the
+noble Æneas was dead. War, war; woe to
+the moths who fluttered about her head hereafter!</p>
+<p>Ah, but had she been happy? Her hands
+slid down the bars. Her expression changed.
+The mouth drooped, the eagle-light in her eyes
+dimmed. From out the bright morning,
+somewhere, had come weariness, and with this
+came weakness, and finally, tears.</p>
+<p>She heard the key turn in the lock. They
+had never come so early before. She was
+astonished to see that her jailer did not close
+the door as usual. He put down the breakfast
+tray on the table. There was tea and toast
+and fruit.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mademoiselle, there has been a terrible
+mistake,&#8221; said the man humbly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah! So you have found that out?&#8221; she
+cried.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. You are not the person for whom
+this room was intended.&#8221; Which was half
+a truth and perfectly true, paradoxical as it
+may seem. &#8220;Eat your breakfast in peace.
+You are free, Mademoiselle.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Free? You will not hinder me if I walk
+through that door?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, Mademoiselle. On the contrary, I
+shall be very glad, and so will my brother,
+who guards you at night. I repeat, there has
+been a frightful mistake. Monsieur Champeaux ...&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Monsieur Champeaux!&#8221; Nora was bewildered.
+She had never heard this name
+before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He calls himself that,&#8221; was the diplomatic
+answer.</p>
+<p>All Nora&#8217;s suspicions took firm ground
+again. &#8220;Will you describe this Monsieur
+Champeaux to me?&#8221; asked the actress coming
+into life.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He is short, dark, and old, Mademoiselle.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Rather is he not tall, blond, and young?&#8221;
+ironically.</p>
+<p>The jailer concealed what annoyance he felt.
+In his way he was just as capable an actor
+as she was. The accuracy of her description
+startled him; for the affair had been carried
+out so adroitly that he had been positive that
+until her real captor appeared she would be
+totally in the dark regarding his identity.
+And here she had hit it off in less than a dozen
+words. Oh, well; it did not matter now.
+She might try to make it unpleasant for his
+employer, but he doubted the ultimate success
+of her attempts. However, the matter was at
+an end as far as he was concerned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have you thought what this means? It
+is abduction. It is a crime you have committed,
+punishable by long imprisonment.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have been Mademoiselle&#8217;s jailer, not her
+abductor. And when one is poor and in need
+of money!&#8221; He shrugged.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I will give you a thousand francs for the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span>
+name and address of the man who instigated
+this outrage.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Ah, he thought: then she wasn&#8217;t so sure?
+&#8220;I told you the name, Mademoiselle. As for
+his address, I dare not give it, not for ten
+thousand francs. Besides, I have said that
+there has been a mistake.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;For whom have I been mistaken?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who but Monsieur Champeaux&#8217;s wife,
+Mademoiselle, who is not in her right mind?&#8221;
+with inimitable sadness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very well,&#8221; said Nora. &#8220;You say that I
+am free. That is all I want, freedom.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In twenty minutes the electric tram leaves
+for Paris. You will recall, Mademoiselle,&#8221;
+humbly, &#8220;that we have taken nothing belonging
+to you. You have your purse and hat and
+cloak. The struggle was most unfortunate.
+But, think, Mademoiselle, think; we thought
+you to be insane!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Permit me to doubt that! And you are
+not afraid to let me go?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Not in the least, Mademoiselle. A mistake
+has been made, and in telling you to go at
+once, we do our best to rectify this mistake.
+It is only five minutes to the tram. A carriage
+is at the door. Will Mademoiselle be pleased
+to remember that we have treated her with the
+utmost courtesy?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall remember everything,&#8221; ominously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very good, Mademoiselle. You will be in
+Paris before nine.&#8221; With this he bowed and
+backed out of the room as though Nora had
+suddenly made a distinct ascension in the scale
+of importance.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait!&#8221; she called.</p>
+<p>His face appeared in the doorway again.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know who I am?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Since this morning, Mademoiselle.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Free! Her veins tingled with strange exultation.
+He had lost his courage and had
+become afraid of the consequences. Free!
+Monsieur Champeaux indeed! Cowardice
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span>
+was a new development in his character. He
+had been afraid to come. She drank the tea,
+but did not touch the toast or fruit. There
+would be time enough for breakfast when she
+arrived in Paris. Her hands trembled violently
+as she pinned on her hat, and she was
+not greatly concerned as to the angle. She
+snatched up her purse and cloak, and sped out
+into the street. A phaeton awaited her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The tram,&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Mademoiselle.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And go quickly.&#8221; She would not feel
+safe until she was in the tram.</p>
+<p>A face appeared at one of the windows.
+As the vehicle turned the corner, the face vanished;
+and perhaps that particular visage disappeared
+forever. A gray wig came off, the
+little gray side-whiskers, the bushy grey eyebrows,
+revealing a clever face, not more than
+thirty, cunning, but humorously cunning and
+anything but scoundrelly. The painted scar
+aslant the nose was also obliterated. With
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span>
+haste the man thrust the evidences of disguise
+into a traveling-bag, ran here and there
+through the rooms, all bare and unfurnished
+save the one with the bars and the kitchen,
+which contained two cots and some cooking
+utensils. Nothing of importance had been
+left behind. He locked the door and ran all
+the way to the Place d&#8217;Armes, catching the
+tram to Paris by a fraction of a minute.</p>
+<p>All very well done. She would be in Paris
+before the police made any definite move.
+The one thing that disturbed him was the
+thought of the blockhead of a chauffeur, who
+had got drunk before his return from Versailles.
+If he talked; well, he could say nothing
+beyond the fact that he had deposited the
+singer at the house as directed. He knew
+positively nothing.</p>
+<p>The man laughed softly. A thousand
+francs apiece for him and Antoine, and no
+possible chance of being discovered. Let the
+police find the house in Versailles; let them
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span>
+trace whatever paths they found; the agent
+would tell them, and honestly, that an aged
+man had rented the house for a month and
+had paid him in advance. What more could
+the agent say? Only one bit of puzzlement:
+why hadn&#8217;t the blond stranger appeared?
+Who was he, in truth, and what had been
+his game? All this waiting and wondering,
+and then a curt telegram of the night before,
+saying, &#8220;Release her.&#8221; So much the
+better. What his employer&#8217;s motives were did
+not interest him half so much as the fact that
+he had a thousand francs in his pocket, and
+that all element of danger had been done away
+with. True, the singer herself would move
+heaven and earth to find out who had been
+back of the abduction. Let her make her accusations.
+He was out of it.</p>
+<p>He glanced toward the forward part of the
+tram. There she sat, staring at the white road
+ahead. A young Frenchman sat near her,
+curling his mustache desperately. So beautiful
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span>
+and all alone! At length he spoke to her.
+She whirled upon him so suddenly that his hat
+fell off his head and rolled at the feet of the
+onlooker.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your hat, Monsieur?&#8221; he said gravely,
+returning it.</p>
+<p>Nora laughed maliciously. The author of
+the abortive flirtation fled down to the body of
+the tram.</p>
+<p>And now there was no one on top but Nora
+and her erstwhile jailer, whom she did not
+recognize in the least.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>&#8220;Mademoiselle,&#8221; said the great policeman
+soberly, &#8220;this is a grave accusation to make.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I make it, nevertheless,&#8221; replied Nora.
+She sat stiffly in her chair, her face colorless,
+dark circles under her eyes. She never looked
+toward Courtlandt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But Monsieur Courtlandt has offered an
+alibi such as we can not ignore. More than
+that, his integrity is vouched for by the gentleman
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span>
+at his side, whom doubtless Mademoiselle
+recognizes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora eyed the great man doubtfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is the gentleman to you?&#8221; she was
+interrogated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Absolutely nothing,&#8221; contemptuously.</p>
+<p>The minister inspected his rings.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He has annoyed me at various times,&#8221;
+continued Nora; &#8220;that is all. And his actions
+on Friday night warrant every suspicion I
+have entertained against him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The chief of police turned toward the bandaged
+chauffeur. &#8220;You recognize the gentleman?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, Monsieur, I never saw him before.
+It was an old man who engaged me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go on.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He said that Mademoiselle&#8217;s old teacher
+was very ill and asked for assistance. I left
+Mademoiselle at the house and drove away.
+I was hired from the garage. That is the
+truth, Monsieur.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p>
+<p>Nora smiled disbelievingly. Doubtless he
+had been paid well for that lie.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And you?&#8221; asked the chief of Nora&#8217;s
+chauffeur.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He is certainly the gentleman, Monsieur,
+who attempted to bribe me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is true,&#8221; said Courtlandt with utmost
+calmness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mademoiselle, if Monsieur Courtlandt
+wished, he could accuse you of attempting to
+shoot him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was an accident. His sudden appearance
+in my apartment frightened me. Besides,
+I believe a woman who lives comparatively
+alone has a legal and moral right to protect
+herself from such unwarrantable intrusions.
+I wish him no physical injury, but I am determined
+to be annoyed by him no longer.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The minister&#8217;s eyes sought Courtlandt&#8217;s face
+obliquely. Strange young man, he thought.
+From the expression of his face he might have
+been a spectator rather than the person most
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span>
+vitally concerned in this little scene. And
+what a pair they made!</p>
+<p>&#8220;Monsieur Courtlandt, you will give me
+your word of honor not to annoy Mademoiselle
+again?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I promise never to annoy her again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>For the briefest moment the blazing blue
+eyes clashed with the calm brown ones. The
+latter were first to deviate from the line. It
+was not agreeable to look into a pair of eyes
+burning with the hate of one&#8217;s self. Perhaps
+this conflagration was intensified by the placidity
+of his gaze. If only there had been some
+sign of anger, of contempt, anything but this
+incredible tranquillity against which she longed
+to cry out! She was too wrathful to notice
+the quickening throb of the veins on his
+temples.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mademoiselle, I find no case against Monsieur
+Courtlandt, unless you wish to appear
+against him for his forcible entrance to your
+apartment.&#8221; Nora shook her head. The chief
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span>
+of police stroked his mustache to hide the fleeting
+smile. A peculiar case, the like of which
+had never before come under his scrutiny!
+&#8220;Circumstantial evidence, we know, points to
+him; but we have also an alibi which is incontestable.
+We must look elsewhere for your abductors.
+Think; have you not some enemy?
+Is there no one who might wish you worry and
+inconvenience? Are your associates all loyal
+to you? Is there any jealousy?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, none at all, Monsieur,&#8221; quickly and
+decidedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In my opinion, then, the whole affair is a
+hoax, perpetrated to vex and annoy you. The
+old man who employed this chauffeur may not
+have been old. I have looked upon all sides
+of the affair, and it begins to look like a practical
+joke, Mademoiselle.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; angrily. &#8220;And am I to have no
+redress? Think of the misery I have gone
+through, the suspense! My voice is gone. I
+shall not be able to sing again for months. Is
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span>
+it your suggestion that I drop the investigation?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Mademoiselle, for it does not look
+as if we could get anywhere with it. If you
+insist, I will hold Monsieur Courtlandt; but I
+warn you the magistrate would not hesitate to
+dismiss the case instantly. Monsieur Courtlandt
+arrived in Marseilles Thursday morning;
+he reached Paris Friday morning. Since arriving
+in Paris he has fully accounted for his
+time. It is impossible that he could have arranged
+for the abduction. Still, if you say, I
+can hold him for entering your apartment.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That would be but a farce.&#8221; Nora rose.
+&#8220;Monsieur, permit me to wish you good day.
+For my part, I shall pursue this matter to the
+end. I believe this gentleman guilty, and I
+shall do my best to prove it. I am a woman,
+and all alone. When a man has powerful
+friends, it is not difficult to build an alibi.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is a reflection upon my word, Mademoiselle,&#8221;
+quietly interposed the minister.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Monsieur has been imposed upon.&#8221; Nora
+walked to the door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait a moment, Mademoiselle,&#8221; said the
+prefect. &#8220;Why do you insist upon prosecuting
+him for something of which he is guiltless,
+when you could have him held for
+something of which he is really guilty?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The one is trivial; the other is a serious
+outrage. Good morning.&#8221; The attendant
+closed the door behind her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A very determined young woman,&#8221; mused
+the chief of police.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Exceedingly,&#8221; agreed the minister.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt got up wearily. But the chief
+motioned him to be reseated.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do not say that I dare not pursue my
+investigations; but now that mademoiselle is
+safely returned, I prefer not to.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;May I ask who made this request?&#8221; asked
+Courtlandt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Request? Yes, Monsieur, it was a request
+not to proceed further.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;From where?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As to that, you will have to consult the
+head of the state. I am not at liberty to make
+the disclosure.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The minister leaned forward eagerly.
+&#8220;Then there is a political side to it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There would be if everything had not
+turned out so fortunately.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I believe that I understand now,&#8221; said
+Courtlandt, his face hardening. Strange, he
+had not thought of it before. His skepticism
+had blinded him to all but one angle. &#8220;Your
+advice to drop the matter is excellent.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The chief of police elevated his brows interrogatively.</p>
+<p>&#8220;For I presume,&#8221; continued Courtlandt,
+rising, &#8220;that Mademoiselle&#8217;s abductor is by
+this time safely across the frontier.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='VII_BATTLING_JIMMIE' id='VII_BATTLING_JIMMIE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+<h3>BATTLING JIMMIE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>There is a heavenly terrace, flanked by
+marvelous trees. To the left, far down
+below, is a curving, dark-shaded, turquoise
+body of water called Lecco; to the right there
+lies the queen of lakes, the crown of Italy,
+a corn-flower sapphire known as Como. Over
+and about it&mdash;this terrace&mdash;poets have raved
+and tousled their neglected locks in vain to
+find the perfect phrasing; novelists have come
+and gone and have carried away peace and inspiration;
+and painters have painted it from
+a thousand points of view, and perhaps are
+painting it from another thousand this very
+minute. It is the Place of Honeymoons.
+Rich lovers come and idle there; and lovers of
+modest means rush up to it and down from
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span>
+it to catch the next steamer to Menaggio.
+Eros was not born in Greece: of all barren
+mountains, unstirring, Hymettus, or Olympus,
+or whatever they called it in the days of the
+junketing gods, is completest. No; Venus
+went a-touring and abode a while upon this
+same gracious spot, once dear to Pliny the
+younger.</p>
+<p>Between the blessed ledge and the towering
+mountains over the way, rolls a small valley,
+caressed on either side by the lakes. There
+are flower gardens, from which in summer
+rises the spicy perfume of lavender; there are
+rows upon rows of grape-vines, terraced
+downward; there are purple figs and white and
+ruby mulberries. Around and about, rising
+sheer from the waters, wherever the eye may
+rove, heaven-touching, salmon-tinted mountains
+abound, with scarfs of filmy cloud aslant
+their rugged profiles, and beauty-patches of
+snow. And everywhere the dark and brooding
+cypress, the copper beech, the green pine
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span>
+accentuate the pink and blue and white stucco
+of the villas, the rich and the humble.</p>
+<p>Behind the terrace is a promontory, three
+or four hundred feet above the waters.
+Upon the crest is a cultivated forest of all
+known evergreens. There are ten miles of
+cool and fragrant paths, well trodden by the
+devoteés of Eros. The call of love is heard
+here; the echoes to-day reverberate with the
+impassioned declarations of yesterday. The
+Englishman&#8217;s reserve melts, the American forgets
+his coupons, the German puts his arm
+around the robust waist of his frau or fräulein.
+(This is nothing for him; he does it
+unconcernedly up and down the great urban
+highways of the world.)</p>
+<p>Again, between the terrace ledge and the
+forest lies a square of velvet green, abounding
+in four-leaf clover. <i>Buona fortuna!</i> In
+the center there is a fountain. The water
+tinkles in drops. One hears its soft music at
+all times. Along the terrace parapet are tea-tables;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span>
+a monster oak protects one from the
+sun. If one (or two) lingers over tea and
+cakes, one may witness the fiery lances of the
+setting sun burn across one arm of water
+while the silver spars of the rising moon shimmer
+across the other. Nature is whole-souled
+here; she gives often and freely and all she
+has.</p>
+<p>Seated on one of the rustic benches, his
+white tennis shoes resting against the lower
+iron of the railing, a Bavarian dachel snoozing
+comfortably across his knees, was a man
+of fifty. He was broad of shoulder, deep of
+chest, and clean-shaven. He had laid aside
+his Panama hat, and his hair was clipped
+closely, and was pleasantly and honorably
+sprinkled with gray. His face was broad and
+tanned; the nose was tilted, and the wide
+mouth was both kindly and humorous. One
+knew, from the tint of his blue eyes and the
+quirk of his lips, that when he spoke there
+would be a bit of brogue. He was James
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span>
+Harrigan, one time celebrated in the ring for
+his gameness, his squareness, his endurance;
+&#8220;Battling Jimmie&#8221; Harrigan, who, when he
+encountered his first knock-out, retired from
+the ring. He had to his credit sixty-one battles,
+of which he had easily won forty. He
+had been outpointed in some and had broken
+even in others; but only once had he been
+&#8220;railroaded into dreamland,&#8221; to use the
+parlance of the game. That was enough.
+He understood. Youth would be served, and
+he was no longer young. He had, unlike the
+many in his peculiar service, lived cleanly and
+with wisdom and foresight: he had saved
+both his money and his health. To-day he
+was at peace with the world, with three sound
+appetites the day and the wherewithal to
+gratify them.</p>
+<p>True, he often dreamed of the old days, the
+roped square, the lights, the haze of tobacco
+smoke, the white patches surrounding, all of
+a certain expectant tilt, the reporters scribbling
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span>
+on the deal tables under the very posts, the
+cheers as he took his corner and scraped his
+shoes in the powdered resin, the padded gloves
+thrown down in the center of the canvas which
+was already scarred and soiled by the preliminaries.
+But never, never again; if only
+for the little woman&#8217;s sake. Only when the
+game was done did he learn with what terror
+and dread she had waited for his return on
+fighting nights.</p>
+<p>To-day &#8220;Battling Jimmie&#8221; was forgotten
+by the public, and he was happy in the seclusion
+of this forgetfulness. A new and
+strange career had opened up before him: he
+was the father of the most beautiful prima
+donna in the operatic world, and, difficult as
+the task was, he did his best to live up to it.
+It was hard not to offer to shake hands when
+he was presented to a princess or a duchess;
+it was hard to remember when to change the
+studs in his shirt; and a white cravat was the
+terror of his nights, for his fingers, broad and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span>
+stubby and powerful, had not been trained to
+the delicate task of tying a bow-knot. By a
+judicious blow in that spot where the ribs
+divaricate he could right well tie his adversary
+into a bow-knot, but this string of white lawn
+was a most damnable thing. Still, the puttering
+of the two women, their daily concern
+over his deportment, was bringing him into
+conformity with social usages. That he
+naturally despised the articles of such a soulless
+faith was evident in his constant inclination
+to play hooky. One thing he rebelled
+against openly, and with such firmness that
+the women did not press him too strongly for
+fear of a general revolt. On no occasion,
+however impressive, would he wear a silk hat.
+Christmas and birthdays invariably called
+forth the gift of a silk hat, for the women
+trusted that they could overcome resistance
+by persistence. He never said anything, but
+it was noticed that the hotel porter, or the
+gardener, or whatever masculine head (save
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span>
+his own) was available, came forth resplendent
+on feast-days and Sundays.</p>
+<p>Leaning back in an iron chair, with his
+shoulders resting against the oak, was another
+man, altogether a different type. He was
+frowning over the pages of Bagot&#8217;s <i>Italian
+Lakes</i>, and he wasn&#8217;t making much headway.
+He was Italian to the core, for all that he aped
+the English style and manner. He could
+speak the tongue with fluency, but he
+stumbled and faltered miserably over the
+soundless type. His clothes had the Piccadilly
+cut, and his mustache, erstwhile waxed
+and militant, was cropped at the corners,
+thoroughly insular. He was thirty, and undeniably
+handsome.</p>
+<p>Near the fountain, on the green, was a third
+man. He was in the act of folding up an
+easel and a camp-stool.</p>
+<p>The tea-drinkers had gone. It was time for
+the first bell for dinner. The villa&#8217;s omnibus
+was toiling up the winding road among the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span>
+grape-vines. Suddenly Harrigan tilted his
+head sidewise, and the long silken ears of the
+dachel stirred. The Italian slowly closed his
+book and permitted his chair to settle on its
+four legs. The artist stood up from his paintbox.
+From a window in the villa came a
+voice; only a lilt of a melody, no words,&mdash;half
+a dozen bars from <i>Martha</i>; but every delightful
+note went deep into the three masculine
+hearts. Harrigan smiled and patted the dog.
+The Italian scowled at the vegetable garden
+directly below. The artist scowled at the
+Italian.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fritz, Fritz; here, Fritz!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The dog struggled in Harrigan&#8217;s hands and
+tore himself loose. He went clattering over
+the path toward the villa and disappeared into
+the doorway. Nothing could keep him when
+that voice called. He was as ardent a lover
+as any, and far more favored.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you funny little dog! You merry
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span>
+little dachel! Fritz, mustn&#8217;t; let go!&#8221; Silence.</p>
+<p>The artist knew that she was cuddling the
+puppy to her heart, and his own grew twisted.
+He stooped over his materials again and tied
+the box to the easel and the stool, and shifted
+them under his arm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll be up after dinner, Mr. Harrigan,&#8221; he
+said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right, Abbott.&#8221; Harrigan waved his
+hand pleasantly. He was becoming so used to
+the unvarying statement that Abbott would be
+up after dinner, that his reply was by now
+purely mechanical. &#8220;She&#8217;s getting her voice
+back all right; eh?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Beautifully! But I really don&#8217;t think she
+ought to sing at the Haines&#8217; villa Sunday.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;One song won&#8217;t hurt her. She&#8217;s made up
+her mind to sing. There&#8217;s nothing for us to
+do but to sit tight. No news from Paris?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Say, do you know what I think?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Some one has come across to the police.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Paris is not New York, Mr. Harrigan.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t know. There&#8217;s a hundred
+cents to the dollar, my boy, Paris or New
+York. Why haven&#8217;t they moved? They
+can&#8217;t tell me that tow-headed chap&#8217;s alibi was
+on the level. I wish I&#8217;d been in Paris.
+There&#8217;d been something doing. And who was
+he? They refuse to give his name. And I
+can&#8217;t get a word out of Nora. Shuts me up
+with a bang when I mention it. Throws her
+nerves all out, she says. I&#8217;d like to get my
+hands on the blackguard.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So would I. It&#8217;s a puzzle. If he had
+molested her while she was a captive, you
+could understand. But he never came near
+her.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Busted his nerve, that&#8217;s what.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have my doubts about that. A man who
+will go that far isn&#8217;t subject to any derangement
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span>
+of his nerves. Want me to bring up the
+checkers?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure. I&#8217;ve got two rubbers hanging over
+you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The artist took the path that led around
+the villa and thence down by many steps to
+the village by the waterside, to the cream-tinted
+cluster of shops and enormous hotels.</p>
+<p>The Italian was more fortunate. He was
+staying at the villa. He rose and sauntered
+over to Harrigan, who was always a source of
+interest to him. Study the man as he might,
+there always remained a profound mystery to
+his keen Italian mind. Every now and then
+nature&mdash;to prove that while she provided laws
+for humanity she obeyed none herself&mdash;nature
+produced the prodigy. Ancestry was nothing;
+habits, intelligence, physical appearance counted
+for naught. Harrigan was a fine specimen of
+the physical man, yes; but to be the father of
+a woman who was as beautiful as the legendary
+goddesses and who possessed a voice incomparable
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span>
+in the living history of music, here
+logic, the cold and accurate intruder, found
+an unlockable door. He liked the ex-prizefighter,
+so kindly and wholesome; but he also
+pitied him. Harrigan reminded him of a seal
+he had once seen in an aquarium tank: out of
+his element, but merry-eyed and swimming
+round and round as if determined to please
+everybody.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It will be a fine night,&#8221; said the Italian,
+pausing at Harrigan&#8217;s bench.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Every night is fine here, Barone,&#8221; replied
+Harrigan. &#8220;Why, they had me up in Marienbad
+a few weeks ago, and I&#8217;m not over it yet.
+It&#8217;s no place for a sick man; only a well man
+could come out of it alive.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Barone laughed. Harrigan had told
+this tale half a dozen times, but each time the
+Barone felt called on to laugh. The man was
+her father.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know, Mr. Harrigan, Miss Harrigan
+is not herself? She is&mdash;what do you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span>
+call?&mdash;bitter. She laughs, but&mdash;ah, I do
+not know!&mdash;it sounds not real.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, she isn&#8217;t over that rumpus in Paris
+yet.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Rumpus?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The abduction.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, yes! Rumpus is another word for
+abduction? Yes, yes, I see.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, no! Rumpus is just a mix-up, a row,
+anything that makes a noise, calls in the police.
+You can make a rumpus on the piano, over
+a game of cards, anything.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Barone spread his hands. &#8220;I comprehend,&#8221;
+hurriedly. He comprehended nothing,
+but he was too proud to admit it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So Nora is not herself; a case of nerves.
+And to think that you called there at the
+apartment the very day!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, if I had been there the right time!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But what puts me down for the count is
+the action of the fellow. Never showed up;
+just made her miss two performances.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;He was afraid. Men who do cowardly
+things are always afraid.&#8221; The Barone spoke
+with decided accent, but he seldom made a
+grammatical error. &#8220;But sometimes, too, men
+grow mad at once, and they do things in their
+madness. Ah, she is so beautiful! She is a
+nightingale.&#8221; The Italian looked down on
+Como whose broad expanse was crisscrossed
+by rippled paths made by arriving and departing
+steamers. &#8220;It is not a wonder that some
+man might want to run away with her.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Harrigan looked curiously at the other.
+&#8220;Well, it won&#8217;t be healthy for any man to try
+it again.&#8221; The father held out his powerful
+hands for the Barone&#8217;s inspection. They
+called mutely but expressively for the throat
+of the man who dared. &#8220;It&#8217;ll never happen
+again. Her mother and I are not going away
+from her any more. When she sings in Berlin,
+I&#8217;m going to trail along; when she hits the
+high note in Paris, I&#8217;m lingering near; when
+she trills in London, I&#8217;m hiding in the shadow.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span>
+And you may put that in your pipe and smoke
+it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I smoke only cigarettes,&#8221; replied the
+Barone gravely. It had been difficult to follow,
+this English.</p>
+<p>Harrigan said nothing in return. He had
+given up trying to explain to the Italian the
+idiomatic style of old Broadway. He got up
+and brushed his flannels perfunctorily.
+&#8220;Well, I suppose I&#8217;ve got to dress for supper,&#8221;
+resentfully. He still called it supper;
+and, as in the matter of the silk hat, his wife
+no longer strove to correct him. The evening
+meal had always been supper, and so it would
+remain until that time when he would cease
+to look forward to it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you go to the dancing at Cadenabbia
+to-night?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Me? I should say not!&#8221; Harrigan
+laughed. &#8220;I&#8217;d look like a bull in a china-shop.
+Abbott is coming up to play checkers with me.
+I&#8217;ll leave the honors to you.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></p>
+<p>The Barone&#8217;s face lighted considerably.
+He hated the artist only when he was visible.
+He was rather confused, however. Abbott
+had been invited to the dance. Why wasn&#8217;t
+he going? Could it be true? Had the artist
+tried his luck and lost? Ah, if fate were as
+kind as that! He let Harrigan depart alone.</p>
+<p>Why not? What did he care? What if
+the father had been a fighter for prizes?
+What if the mother was possessed with a
+misguided desire to shine socially? What
+mattered it if they had once resided in an obscure
+tenement in a great city, and that grandfathers
+were as far back as they could go
+with any certainty? Was he not his own
+master? What titled woman of his acquaintance
+whose forebears had been powerful in
+the days of the Borgias, was not dimmed in
+the presence of this wonderful maid to whom
+all things had been given unreservedly? Her
+brow was fit for a royal crown, let alone a
+simple baronial tiara such as he could provide.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span>
+The mother favored him a little; of this he
+was reasonably certain; but the moods of the
+daughter were difficult to discover or to
+follow.</p>
+<p>To-night! The round moon was rising
+palely over Lecco; the moon, mistress of love
+and tides, toward whom all men and maids
+must look, though only Eros knows why!
+Evidently there was no answer to the Italian&#8217;s
+question, for he faced about and walked moodily
+toward the entrance. Here he paused,
+looking up at the empty window. Again a
+snatch of song&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>O solo mio</i> ... <i>che bella cosa</i>...!</p>
+<p>What a beautiful thing indeed! Passionately
+he longed for the old days, when by his
+physical prowess alone oft a man won his lady.
+Diplomacy, torrents of words, sly little tricks,
+subterfuges, adroitness, stolen glances, careless
+touches of the hand; by these must a maid
+be won to-day. When she was happy she
+sang, when she was sad, when she was only
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span>
+mischievous. She was just as likely to sing
+<i>O terra addio</i> when she was happy as <i>O sole
+mio</i> when she was sad. So, how was a man
+to know the right approach to her variant
+moods? Sighing deeply, he went on to his
+room, to change his Piccadilly suit for another
+which was supposed to be the last word in the
+matter of evening dress.</p>
+<p>Below, in the village, a man entered the
+Grand Hotel. He was tall, blond, rosy-cheeked.
+He carried himself like one used to
+military service; also, like one used to giving
+peremptory orders. The porter bowed, the
+director bowed, and the proprietor himself
+became a living carpenter&#8217;s square, hinged.
+The porter and the director recognized a personage;
+the proprietor recognized the man.
+It was of no consequence that the new arrival
+called himself Herr Rosen. He was assigned
+to a suite of rooms, and on returning to the
+bureau, the proprietor squinted his eyes abstractedly.
+He knew every woman of importance
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span>
+at that time residing on the Point. Certainly
+it could be none of these. <i>Himmel!</i>
+He struck his hands together. So that was
+it: the singer. He recalled the hints in certain
+newspaper paragraphs, the little tales with
+the names left to the imagination. So that
+was it?</p>
+<p>What a woman! Men looked at her and
+went mad. And not so long ago one had abducted
+her in Paris. The proprietor threw up
+his hands in despair. What was going to happen
+to the peace of this bucolic spot? The
+youth permitted nothing to stand in his way,
+and the singer&#8217;s father was a retired fighter
+with boxing-gloves!</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='VIII_MOONLIGHT_AND_A_PRINCE' id='VIII_MOONLIGHT_AND_A_PRINCE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+<h3>MOONLIGHT AND A PRINCE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>When he had fought what he considered
+two rattling rounds, Harrigan conceded
+that his cravat had once more got the
+decision over him on points. And the cravat
+was only a second-rater, too, a black-silk
+affair. He tossed up the sponge and went
+down to the dining-room, the ends of the conqueror
+straggling like the four points of a
+battered weather-vane. His wife and daughter
+and Mademoiselle Fournier were already
+at their table by the casement window, from
+which they could see the changing granite
+mask of Napoleon across Lecco.</p>
+<p>At the villa there were seldom more than
+ten or twelve guests, this being quite the
+capacity of the little hotel. These generally
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span>
+took refuge here in order to escape the noise
+and confusion of a large hotel, to avoid the
+necessity of dining in state every night. Few
+of the men wore evening dress, save on occasions
+when they were entertaining. The
+villa wasn&#8217;t at all fashionable, and the run of
+American tourists fought shy of it, preferring
+the music and dancing and card-playing of the
+famous hostelries along the water-front. Of
+course, everybody came up for the view, just
+as everybody went up the Corner Grat (by
+cable) at Zermatt to see the Matterhorn.
+But for all its apparent dulness, there, was
+always an English duchess, a Russian princess,
+or a lady from the Faubourg St.-Germain
+somewhere about, resting after a strenuous
+winter along the Riviera. Nora Harrigan
+sought it not only because she loved the spot,
+but because it sheltered her from idle curiosity.
+It was almost as if the villa were hers, and the
+other people her guests.</p>
+<p>Harrigan crossed the room briskly, urged
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span>
+by an appetite as sound as his views on life.
+The chef here was a king; there was always
+something to look forward to at the dinner
+hour; some new way of serving spinach, or
+lentils, or some irresistible salad. He smiled
+at every one and pulled out his chair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sorry to keep you folks waiting.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;James!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter now?&#8221; he asked good-naturedly.
+Never that tone but something
+was out of kilter.</p>
+<p>His wife glanced wrathfully at his feet.
+Wonderingly he looked down. In the heat of
+the battle with his cravat he had forgotten
+all about his tennis shoes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see. No soup for mine.&#8221; He went
+back to his room, philosophically. There was
+always something wrong when he got into
+these infernal clothes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mother,&#8221; said Nora, &#8220;why can&#8217;t you let
+him be?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But white shoes!&#8221; in horror.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Who cares? He&#8217;s the patientest man I
+know. We&#8217;re always nagging him, and I for
+one am going to stop. Look about! So few
+men and women dress for dinner. You do
+as you please here, and that is why I like it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall never be able to do anything with
+him as long as he sees that his mistakes are
+being condoned by you,&#8221; bitterly responded the
+mother. &#8220;Some day he will humiliate us all
+by his carelessness.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, bother!&#8221; Nora&#8217;s elbow slyly dug
+into Celeste&#8217;s side.</p>
+<p>The pianist&#8217;s pretty face was bent over
+her soup. She had grown accustomed to these
+little daily rifts. For the great, patient,
+clumsy, happy-go-lucky man she entertained
+an intense pity. But it was not the kind that
+humiliates; on the contrary, it was of a
+mothering disposition; and the ex-gladiator
+dimly recognized it, and felt more comfortable
+with her than with any other woman excepting
+Nora. She understood him perhaps better
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span>
+than either mother or daughter; he was
+too late: he belonged to a distant time, the
+beginning of the Christian era; and often she
+pictured him braving the net and the trident
+in the saffroned arena.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Harrigan broke her bread vexatiously.
+Her husband refused to think for himself, and
+it was wearing on her nerves to watch him day
+and night. Deep down under the surface of
+new adjustments and social ambitions, deep in
+the primitive heart, he was still her man. But
+it was only when he limped with an occasional
+twinge of rheumatism, or a tooth ached, or
+he dallied with his meals, that the old love-instinct
+broke up through these artificial
+crustations. True, she never knew how often
+he invented these trivial ailments, for he soon
+came into the knowledge that she was less
+concerned about him when he was hale and
+hearty. She still retained evidences of a
+blossomy beauty. Abbott had once said truly
+that nature had experimented on her; it was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span>
+in the reproduction that perfection had been
+reached. To see the father, the mother, and
+the daughter together it was not difficult to
+fashion a theory as to the latter&#8217;s splendid
+health and physical superiority. Arriving at
+this point, however, theory began to fray at
+the ends. No one could account for the genius
+and the voice. The mother often stood lost
+in wonder that out of an ordinary childhood,
+a barelegged, romping, hoydenish childhood,
+this marvel should emerge: her&#8217;s!</p>
+<p>She was very ambitious for her daughter.
+She wanted to see nothing less than a ducal
+coronet upon the child&#8217;s brow, British preferred.
+If ordinary chorus girls and vaudeville
+stars, possessing only passable beauty and
+no intelligence whatever, could bring earls into
+their nets, there was no reason why Nora
+could not be a princess or a duchess. So she
+planned accordingly. But the child puzzled
+and eluded her; and from time to time she
+discovered a disquieting strength of character
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span>
+behind a disarming amiability. Ever
+since Nora had returned home by way of the
+Orient, the mother had recognized a subtle
+change, so subtle that she never had an opportunity
+of alluding to it verbally. Perhaps
+the fault lay at her own door. She should
+never have permitted Nora to come abroad
+alone to fill her engagements.</p>
+<p>But that Nora was to marry a duke was,
+to her mind, a settled fact. It is a peculiar
+phase, this of the humble who find themselves,
+without effort of their own, thrust up among
+the great and the so-called, who forget whence
+they came in the fierce contest for supremacy
+upon that tottering ledge called society. The
+cad and the snob are only infrequently well-born.
+Mrs. Harrigan was as yet far from
+being a snob, but it required some tact upon
+Nora&#8217;s part to prevent this dubious accomplishment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is Mr. Abbott going with us?&#8221; she inquired.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Donald is sulking,&#8221; Nora answered.
+&#8220;For once the Barone got ahead of him in
+engaging the motor-boat.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish you would not call him by his first
+name.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And why not? I like him, and he is a
+very good comrade.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You do not call the Barone by his given
+name.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Heavens, no! If I did he would kiss me.
+These Italians will never understand western
+customs, mother. I shall never marry an
+Italian, much as I love Italy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nor a Frenchman?&#8221; asked Celeste.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nor a Frenchman.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish I knew if you meant it,&#8221; sighed
+the mother.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear, I have given myself to the stage.
+You will never see me being led to the altar.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, you will do the leading when the time
+comes,&#8221; retorted the mother.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mother, the men I like you may count
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span>
+upon the fingers of one hand. Three of them
+are old. For the rest, I despise men.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose some day you will marry some
+poverty-stricken artist,&#8221; said the mother, filled
+with dark foreboding.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You would not call Donald poverty-stricken.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. But you will never marry him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No. I never shall.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Celeste smoothed her hands, a little trick she
+had acquired from long hours spent at the
+piano. &#8220;He will make some woman a good
+husband.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That he will.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And he is most desperately in love with
+you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s nonsense!&#8221; scoffed Nora. &#8220;He
+thinks he is. He ought to fall in love with
+you, Celeste. Every time you play the fourth
+<i>ballade</i> he looks as if he was ready to throw
+himself at your feet.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Pouf!</i> For ten minutes?&#8221; Celeste
+laughed bravely. &#8220;He leaves me quickly
+enough when you begin to sing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Glamour, glamour!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I should not care for the article
+second-hand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The arrival of Harrigan put an end to this
+dangerous trend of conversation. He walked
+in tight proper pumps, and sat down. He was
+only hungry now; the zest for dining was
+gone.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t go sitting out in the night air,
+Nora,&#8221; he warned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And don&#8217;t dance more than you ought to.
+Your mother would let you wear the soles off
+your shoes if she thought you were attracting
+attention. Don&#8217;t do it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;James, that is not true,&#8221; the mother protested.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, Molly, you do like to hear &#8217;em talk.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span>
+I wish they knew how to cook a good club
+steak.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I brought up a book from the village for
+you to-day,&#8221; said Mrs. Harrigan, sternly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll bet a dollar it&#8217;s on how to keep the
+creases in a fellow&#8217;s pants.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Trousers.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pants,&#8221; helping himself to the last of the
+romaine. &#8220;What time do you go over?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;At nine. We must be getting ready now,&#8221;
+said Nora. &#8220;Don&#8217;t wait up for us.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And only one cigar,&#8221; added the mother.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Say, Molly, you keep closing in on me.
+Tobacco won&#8217;t hurt me any, and I get a good
+deal of comfort out of it these days.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Two,&#8221; smiled Nora.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But his heart!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And what in mercy&#8217;s name is the matter
+with his heart? The doctor at Marienbad
+said that father was the soundest man of his
+age he had ever met.&#8221; Nora looked quizzically
+at her father.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span></p>
+<p>He grinned. Out of his own mouth he had
+been nicely trapped. That morning he had
+complained of a little twinge in his heart, a
+childish subterfuge to take Mrs. Harrigan&#8217;s
+attention away from the eternal society page
+of the <i>Herald</i>. It had succeeded. He had
+even been cuddled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;James, you told me...&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Molly, I only wanted to talk to you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To do so it isn&#8217;t necessary to frighten me
+to death,&#8221; reproachfully. &#8220;One cigar, and no
+more.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Molly, what ails you?&#8221; as they left the
+dining-room. &#8220;Nora&#8217;s right. That sawbones
+said I was made of iron. I&#8217;m only smoking
+native cigars, and it takes a bunch of &#8217;em to
+get the taste of tobacco. All right; in a few
+months you&#8217;ll have me with the stuffed canary
+under the glass top. What&#8217;s the name of that
+book?&#8221; diplomatically.</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Social Usages.</i>&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Break away!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p>
+<p>Nora laughed. &#8220;But, dad, you really must
+read it carefully. It will tell you how to talk
+to a duchess, if you chance to meet one
+when I am not around. It has all the names
+of the forks and knives and spoons, and it
+tells you never to use sugar on your lettuce.&#8221;
+And then she threw her arm around her
+mother&#8217;s waist. &#8220;Honey, when you buy
+books for father, be sure they are by Dumas
+or Haggard or Doyle. Otherwise he will
+never read a line.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I try so hard!&#8221; Tears came into
+Mrs. Harrigan&#8217;s eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There, there, Molly, old girl!&#8221; soothed
+the outlaw. &#8220;I&#8217;ll read the book. I know I&#8217;m
+a stupid old stumbling-block, but it&#8217;s hard to
+teach an old dog new tricks, that is, at the
+ring of the gong. Run along to your party.
+And don&#8217;t break any more hearts than you
+need, Nora.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora promised in good faith. But once in
+the ballroom, that little son of Satan called
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span>
+malice-aforethought took possession of her;
+and there was havoc. If a certain American
+countess had not patronized her; if certain
+lorgnettes (implements of torture used by
+said son of Satan) had not been leveled in
+her direction; if certain fans had not been
+suggestively spread between pairs of feminine
+heads,&mdash;Nora would have been as harmless
+as a playful kitten.</p>
+<p>From door to door of the ballroom her
+mother fluttered like a hen with a duckling.
+Even Celeste was disturbed, for she saw that
+Nora&#8217;s conduct was not due to any light-hearted
+fun. There was something bitter and
+ironic cloaked by those smiles, that tinkle of
+laughter. In fact, Nora from Tuscany
+flirted outrageously. The Barone sulked and
+tore at his mustache. He committed any
+number of murders, by eye and by wish.
+When his time came to dance with the mischief-maker,
+he whirled her around savagely,
+and never said a word; and once done with,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span>
+he sternly returned her to her mother, which
+he deemed the wisest course to pursue.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora, you are behaving abominably!&#8221;
+whispered her mother, pale with indignation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I am having a good time ...
+Your dance? Thank you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And a tender young American led her
+through the mazes of the waltz, as some poet
+who knew what he was about phrased it.</p>
+<p>It is not an exaggeration to say that there
+was not a woman in the ballroom to compare
+with her, and some of them were marvelously
+gowned and complexioned, too. She overshadowed
+them not only by sheer beauty, but
+by exuberance of spirit. And they followed
+her with hating eyes and whispered scandalous
+things behind their fans and wondered what
+had possessed the Marchesa to invite the bold
+thing: so does mediocrity pay homage to
+beauty and genius. As for the men, though
+madness lay that way, eagerly as of old they
+sought it.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></p>
+<p>By way of parenthesis: Herr Rosen
+marched up the hill and down again, something
+after the manner of a certain warrior
+king celebrated in verse. The object of his
+visit had gone to the ball at Cadenabbia. At
+the hotel he demanded a motor-boat. There
+was none to be had. In a furious state of
+mind he engaged two oarsmen to row him
+across the lake.</p>
+<p>And so it came to pass that when Nora,
+suddenly grown weary of the play, full of bitterness
+and distaste, hating herself and every
+one else in the world, stole out to the quay
+to commune with the moon, she saw him jump
+from the boat to the landing, scorning the
+steps. Instantly she drew her lace mantle
+closely about her face. It was useless. In
+the man the hunter&#8217;s instinct was much too
+keen.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So I have found you!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;One would say that I had been in hiding?&#8221;
+coldly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;From me, always. I have left everything&mdash;duty,
+obligations&mdash;to seek you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;From any other man that might be a compliment.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am a prince,&#8221; he said proudly.</p>
+<p>She faced him with that quick resolution,
+that swift forming of purpose, which has made
+the Irish so difficult in argument and persuasion.
+&#8220;Will you marry me? Will you
+make me your wife legally? Before all the
+world? Will you surrender, for the sake of
+this love you profess, your right to a great inheritance?
+Will you risk the anger and the
+iron hand of your father for my sake?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Herr Gott!</i> I am mad!&#8221; He covered
+his eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That expression proves that your Highness
+is sane again. Have you realized the annoyances,
+the embarrassments, you have thrust
+upon me by your pursuit? Have you not read
+the scandalous innuendoes in the newspapers?
+Your Highness, I was not born on the Continent,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span>
+so I look upon my work from a point
+of view not common to those of your caste.
+I am proud of it, and I look upon it with
+honor, honor. I am a woman, but I am not
+wholly defenseless. There was a time when
+I thought I might number among my friends
+a prince; but you have made that impossible.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come,&#8221; he said hoarsely; &#8220;let us go and
+find a priest. You are right. I love you; I
+will give up everything, everything!&#8221;</p>
+<p>For a moment she was dumb. This absolute
+surrender appalled her. But that good
+fortune which had ever been at her side
+stepped into the breach. And as she saw the
+tall form of the Barone approach, she could
+have thrown her arms around his neck in pure
+gladness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Barone!&#8221; she called. &#8220;Am I making
+you miss this dance?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It does not matter, Signorina.&#8221; The
+Barone stared keenly at the erect and tense
+figure at the prima donna&#8217;s side.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You will excuse me, Herr Rosen,&#8221; said
+Nora, as she laid her hand upon the Barone&#8217;s
+arm.</p>
+<p>Herr Rosen bowed stiffly; and the two left
+him standing uncovered in the moonlight.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is he doing here? What has he
+been saying to you?&#8221; the Barone demanded.
+Nora withdrew her hand from his arm.
+&#8220;Pardon me,&#8221; said he contritely. &#8220;I have no
+right to ask you such questions.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was not long after midnight when the
+motor-boat returned to its abiding place. On
+the way over conversation lagged, and finally
+died altogether. Mrs. Harrigan fell asleep
+against Celeste&#8217;s shoulder, and the musician
+never deviated her gaze from the silver ripples
+which flowed out diagonally and magically
+from the prow of the boat. Nora watched the
+stars slowly ascend over the eastern range of
+mountains; and across the fire of his innumerable
+cigarettes the Barone watched her.</p>
+<p>As the boat was made fast to the landing
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span>
+in front of the Grand Hotel, Celeste observed
+a man in evening dress, lounging against the
+rail of the quay. The search-light from the
+customs-boat, hunting for tobacco smugglers,
+flashed over his face. She could not repress
+the little gasp, and her hand tightened upon
+Nora&#8217;s arm.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; asked Nora.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing. I thought I was slipping.&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='IX_COLONEL_CAXLEYWEBSTER' id='IX_COLONEL_CAXLEYWEBSTER'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+<h3>COLONEL CAXLEY-WEBSTER</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Abbott&#8217;s studio was under the roof of
+one of the little hotels that stand timorously
+and humbly, yet expectantly, between
+the imposing cream-stucco of the Grand Hotel
+at one end and the elaborate pink-stucco of
+the Grande Bretegne at the other. The hobnailed
+shoes of the Teuton (who wears his
+mountain kit all the way from Hamburg to
+Palermo) wore up and down the stairs all
+day; and the racket from the hucksters&#8217; carts
+and hotel omnibuses, arriving and departing
+from the steamboat landing, the shouts of the
+begging boatmen, the quarreling of the children
+and the barking of unpedigreed dogs,&mdash;these
+noises were incessant from dawn until
+sunset.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></p>
+<p>The artist glared down from his square window
+at the ruffled waters, or scowled at the
+fleeting snows on the mountains over the way.
+He passed some ten or twelve minutes in this
+useless occupation, but he could not get away
+from the bald fact that he had acted like a
+petulant child. To have shown his hand so
+openly, simply because the Barone had beaten
+him in the race for the motor-boat! And
+Nora would understand that he was weak and
+without backbone. Harrigan himself must
+have reasoned out the cause for such asinine
+plays as he had executed in the game of
+checkers. How many times had the old man
+called out to him to wake up and move? In
+spirit he had been across the lake, a spirit
+in Hades. He was not only a fool, but a coward
+likewise. He had not dared to</p>
+<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>&#8220;... put it to the touch</p>
+<p  style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>To gain or lose it all.&#8221;</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>He saw it coming: before long he and that
+Italian would be at each other&#8217;s throats.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Come in!&#8221; he called, in response to a
+sudden thunder on the door.</p>
+<p>The door opened and a short, energetic old
+man, purple-visaged and hawk-eyed, came in.
+&#8220;Why the devil don&#8217;t you join the Trappist
+monks, Abbott? If I wasn&#8217;t tough I should
+have died of apoplexy on the second landing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good morning, Colonel!&#8221; Abbott
+laughed and rolled out the patent rocker for
+his guest. &#8220;What&#8217;s on your mind this morning?
+I can give you one without ice.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll take it neat, my boy. I&#8217;m not thirsty,
+I&#8217;m faint. These Italian architects; they call
+three ladders flights of stairs! ... Ha!
+That&#8217;s Irish whisky, and jolly fine. Want you
+to come over and take tea this afternoon. I&#8217;m
+going up presently to see the Harrigans.
+Thought I&#8217;d go around and do the thing informally.
+Taken a fancy to the old chap.
+He&#8217;s a little bit of all right. I&#8217;m no older
+than he is, but look at the difference! Whisky
+and soda, that&#8217;s the racket. Not by the tubful;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span>
+just an ordinary half dozen a day, and
+a dem climate thrown in.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Difference in training.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Rot! It&#8217;s the sized hat a man wears. I&#8217;d
+give fifty guineas to see the old fellow in action.
+But, I say; recall the argument we had
+before you went to Paris?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I win. Saw him bang across the
+street this morning.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Abbott muttered something.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What was that?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sounded like &#8216;dem it&#8217; to me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Maybe it did.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Heard about him in Paris?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The old boy had transferred his regiment
+to a lonesome post in the North to cool his
+blood. The youngster took the next train to
+Paris. He was there incognito for two weeks
+before they found him and bundled him back.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span>
+Of course, every one knows that he is but a
+crazy lad who&#8217;s had too much freedom.&#8221;
+The colonel emptied his glass. &#8220;I feel dem
+sorry for Nora. She&#8217;s the right sort. But a
+woman can&#8217;t take a man by the scruff of his
+neck and chuck him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But I can,&#8221; declared Abbott savagely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tut, tut! He&#8217;d eat you alive. Besides,
+you will find him too clever to give you an opening.
+But he&#8217;ll bear watching. He&#8217;s capable
+of putting her on a train and running away
+with her. Between you and me, I don&#8217;t blame
+him. What&#8217;s the matter with sicking the
+Barone on him? He&#8217;s the best man in Southern
+Italy with foils and broadswords. Sic
+&#8217;em, Towser; sic &#8217;em!&#8221; The old fire-eater
+chuckled.</p>
+<p>The subject was extremely distasteful to the
+artist. The colonel, a rough soldier, whose
+diplomacy had never risen above the heights
+of clubbing a recalcitrant Hill man into submission,
+baldly inferred that he understood the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span>
+artist&#8217;s interest in the rose of the Harrigan
+family. He would have liked to talk more in
+regard to the interloper, but it would have been
+sheer folly. The colonel, in his blundering
+way, would have brought up the subject again
+at tea-time and put everybody on edge. He
+had, unfortunately for his friends, a reputation
+other than that of a soldier: he posed as
+a peacemaker. He saw trouble where none
+existed, and the way he patched up imaginary
+quarrels would have strained the patience of
+Job. Still, every one loved him, though they
+lived in mortal fear of him. So Abbott came
+about quickly and sailed against the wind.</p>
+<p>&#8220;By the way,&#8221; he said, &#8220;I wish you would
+let me sketch that servant of yours. He&#8217;s got a
+profile like a medallion. Where did you pick
+him up?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In the Hills. He&#8217;s a Sikh, and a first-class
+fighting man. Didn&#8217;t know that you
+went for faces.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not as a usual thing. Just want it for my
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span>
+own use. How does he keep his beard combed
+that way?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve never bothered myself about the curl
+of his whiskers. Are my clothes laid out?
+Luggage attended to? Guns shipshape?
+That&#8217;s enough for me. Some day you have
+got to go out there with me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Never shot a gun in all my life. I don&#8217;t
+know which end to hold at my shoulder.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Teach you quick enough. Every man&#8217;s a
+born hunter. Rao will have tigers eating out
+of your hand. He&#8217;s a marvel; saved my hide
+more than once. Funny thing; you can&#8217;t
+show &#8217;em that you&#8217;re grateful. Lose caste if
+you do. I rather miss it. Get the East in
+your blood and you&#8217;ll never get it out. Fascinating!
+But my liver turned over once too
+many times. Ha! Some one coming up to
+buy a picture.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The step outside was firm and unwearied
+by the climb. The door opened unceremoniously,
+and Courtlandt came in. He stared
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span>
+at the colonel and the colonel returned the
+stare.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Caxley-Webster! Well, I say, this globe
+goes on shrinking every day!&#8221; cried Courtlandt.</p>
+<p>The two pumped hands energetically, sizing
+each other up critically. Then they sat down
+and shot questions, while Abbott looked on
+bewildered. Elephants and tigers and chittahs
+and wild boar and quail-running and strange
+guttural names; weltering nights in the jungles,
+freezing mornings in the Hills; stupendous
+card games; and what had become of
+so-and-so, who always drank his whisky neat;
+and what&#8217;s-his-name, who invented cures for
+snake bites!</p>
+<p>Abbott deliberately pushed over an oak
+bench. &#8220;Am I host here or not?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Abby, old man, how are you?&#8221; said
+Courtlandt, smiling warmly and holding out
+his hand. &#8220;My apologies; but the colonel
+and I never expected to see each other again.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span>
+And I find him talking with you up here under
+this roof. It&#8217;s marvelous.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a wonder you wouldn&#8217;t drop a fellow
+a line,&#8221; said Abbott, in a faultfinding tone, as
+he righted the bench. &#8220;When did you
+come?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Last night. Came up from Como.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Going to stay long?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That depends. I am really on my way to
+Zermatt. I&#8217;ve a hankering to have another try
+at the Matterhorn.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Think of that!&#8221; exclaimed the colonel.
+&#8220;He says another try.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You came a roundabout way,&#8221; was the
+artist&#8217;s comment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, that&#8217;s because I left Paris for Brescia.
+They had some good flights there. Wonderful
+year! They cross the Channel in an airship
+and discover the North Pole.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pah! Neither will be of any use to humanity;
+merely a fine sporting proposition.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span>
+The colonel dug into his pocket for his pipe.
+&#8220;But what do you think of Germany?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fine country,&#8221; answered Courtlandt, rising
+and going to a window; &#8220;fine people, too.
+Why?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you&mdash;er&mdash;think they could whip
+us?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;On land, yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The devil!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;On water, no.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thanks. In other words, you believe our
+chances equal?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So equal that all this war-scare is piffle.
+But I rather like to see you English get up in
+the air occasionally. It will do you good.
+You&#8217;ve an idea because you walloped Napoleon
+that you&#8217;re the same race you were then,
+and you are not. The English-speaking races,
+as the first soldiers, have ceased to be.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I be dem!&#8221; gasped the colonel.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s the truth. Take the American: he
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span>
+thinks there is nothing in the world but money.
+Take the Britisher: to him caste is everything.
+Take the money out of one man&#8217;s mind and
+the importance of being well-born out of the
+other....&#8221; He turned from the window
+and smiled at the artist and the empurpling
+Anglo-Indian.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Abbott,&#8221; growled the soldier, &#8220;that man
+will some day drive me amuck. What do you
+think? One night, on a tiger hunt, he got me
+into an argument like this. A brute of a beast
+jumped into the middle of it. Courtlandt
+shot him on the second bound, and turned to
+me with&mdash;&#8216;Well, as I was saying!&#8217; I don&#8217;t
+know to this day whether it was nerve or what
+you Americans call gall.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Divided by two,&#8221; grinned Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ha, I see; half nerve and half gall. I&#8217;ll
+remember that. But we were talking of airships.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was,&#8221; retorted Courtlandt. &#8220;You were
+the man who started the powwow.&#8221; He
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span>
+looked down into the street with sudden interest.
+&#8220;Who is that?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The colonel and Abbott hurried across the
+room.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What did I say, Abbott? I told you I
+saw him. He&#8217;s crazy; fact. Thinks he can
+travel around incognito when there isn&#8217;t a
+magazine on earth that hasn&#8217;t printed his
+picture.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, why shouldn&#8217;t he travel around if he
+wants to?&#8221; asked Courtlandt coolly.</p>
+<p>The colonel nudged the artist.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There happens to be an attraction in Bellaggio,&#8221;
+said Abbott irritably.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The moth and the candle,&#8221; supplemented
+the colonel, peering over Courtlandt&#8217;s shoulder.
+&#8220;He&#8217;s well set up,&#8221; grudgingly admitted
+the old fellow.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The moth and the candle,&#8221; mused Courtlandt.
+&#8220;That will be Nora Harrigan. How
+long has this infatuation been going on?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Year and a half.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;And the other side?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There isn&#8217;t any other side,&#8221; exploded the
+artist. &#8220;She&#8217;s worried to death. Not a day
+passes but some scurrilous penny-a-liner
+springs some yarn, some beastly innuendo.
+She&#8217;s been dodging the fellow for months.
+In Paris last year she couldn&#8217;t move without
+running into him. This year she changed her
+apartment, and gave orders at the Opera to
+refuse her address to all who asked for it.
+Consequently she had some peace. I don&#8217;t
+know why it is, but a woman in public life
+seems to be a target.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The penalty of beauty, Abby. Homely
+women seldom are annoyed, unless they become
+suffragists.&#8221; The colonel poured forth
+a dense cloud of smoke.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What brand is that, Colonel?&#8221; asked
+Courtlandt, choking.</p>
+<p>The colonel generously produced his pouch.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, no! I was about to observe that it
+isn&#8217;t ambrosia.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Rotter!&#8221; The soldier dug the offender in
+the ribs. &#8220;I am going to have the Harrigans
+over for tea this afternoon. Come over!
+You&#8217;ll like the family. The girl is charming;
+and the father is a sportsman to the backbone.
+Some silly fools laugh behind his back, but
+never before his face. And my word, I know
+rafts of gentlemen who are not fit to stand in
+his shoes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should like to meet Mr. Harrigan.&#8221;
+Courtlandt returned his gaze to the window
+once more.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And his daughter?&#8221; said Abbott, curiously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, surely!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I may count on you, then?&#8221; The colonel
+stowed away the offending brier. &#8220;And you
+can stay to dinner.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll take the dinner end of the invitation,&#8221;
+was the reply. &#8220;I&#8217;ve got to go over to
+Menaggio to see about some papers to be
+signed. If I can make the three o&#8217;clock boat
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span>
+in returning, you&#8217;ll see me at tea. Dinner at
+all events. I&#8217;m off.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean to stand there and tell me
+that you have important business?&#8221; jeered
+Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My boy, the reason I&#8217;m on trains and
+boats, year in and year out, is in the vain
+endeavor to escape important business. Now
+and then I am rounded up. Were you ever
+hunted by money?&#8221; humorously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; answered the Englishman sadly.
+&#8220;But I know one thing: I&#8217;d throw the race
+at the starting-post. Millions, Abbott, and to
+be obliged to run away from them! If the
+deserts hadn&#8217;t dried up all my tears, I should
+weep. Why don&#8217;t you hire a private secretary
+to handle your affairs?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And have him following at my heels?&#8221;
+Courtlandt gazed at his lean brown hands.
+&#8220;When these begin to shake, I&#8217;ll do so. Well,
+I shall see you both at dinner, whatever happens.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s Courtlandt,&#8221; said Abbott, when his
+friend was gone. &#8220;You think he&#8217;s in Singapore,
+the door opens and in he walks; never
+any letter or announcement. He arrives,
+that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Strikes me,&#8221; returned the other, polishing
+his glass, holding it up to the light, and
+then screwing it into his eye; &#8220;strikes me, he
+wasn&#8217;t overanxious to have that dish of tea.
+Afraid of women?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Afraid of women! Why, man, he backed
+two musical shows in the States a few years
+ago.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Musical comedies?&#8221; The glass dropped
+from the colonel&#8217;s eye. &#8220;That&#8217;s going tigers
+one better. Forty women, all waiting to be
+stars, and solemn Courtlandt wandering
+among them as the god of amity! Afraid of
+them! Of course he is. Who wouldn&#8217;t be,
+after such an experience?&#8221; The colonel
+laughed. &#8220;Never had any serious affair?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Never heard of one. There was some
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span>
+tommy-rot about a Mahommedan princess in
+the newspapers; but I knew there was no truth
+in that. Queer fellow! He wouldn&#8217;t take the
+trouble to deny it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Never showed any signs of being a
+woman-hater?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, not the least in the world. But to
+shy at meeting Nora Harrigan....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There you have it; the privilege of the
+gods. Perhaps he really has business in
+Menaggio. What&#8217;ll we do with the other
+beggar?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Knock his head off, if he bothers her.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Better turn the job over to Courtlandt,
+then. You&#8217;re in the light-weight class, and
+Courtlandt is the best amateur for his weight
+I ever saw.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What, boxes?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A tough &#8217;un. I had a corporal who beat
+any one in Northern India. Courtlandt put
+on the gloves with him and had him begging in
+the third round.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I never knew that before. He&#8217;s as full
+of surprises as a rummage bag.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt walked up the street leisurely,
+idly pausing now and then before the shop-windows.
+Apparently he had neither object
+nor destination; yet his mind was busy, so
+busy in fact that he looked at the various
+curios without truly seeing them at all. A
+delicate situation, which needed the lightest
+handling, confronted him. He must wait for
+an overt act, then he might proceed as he
+pleased. How really helpless he was! He
+could not force her hand because she held all
+the cards and he none. Yet he was determined
+this time to play the game to the end,
+even if the task was equal to all those of
+Hercules rolled into one, and none of the gods
+on his side.</p>
+<p>At the hotel he asked for his mail, and was
+given a formidable packet which, with a sigh
+of discontent, he slipped into a pocket, strolled
+out into the garden by the water, and sat down
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span>
+to read. To his surprise there was a note,
+without stamp or postmark. He opened it,
+mildly curious to learn who it was that had
+discovered his presence in Bellaggio so quickly.
+The envelope contained nothing more than a
+neatly folded bank-note for one hundred
+francs. He eyed it stupidly. What might
+this mean? He unfolded it and smoothed it
+out across his knee, and the haze of puzzlement
+drifted away. Three bars from <i>La Bohème</i>.
+He laughed. So the little lady of the Taverne
+Royale was in Bellaggio!</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='X_MARGUERITES_AND_EMERALDS' id='X_MARGUERITES_AND_EMERALDS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
+<h3>MARGUERITES AND EMERALDS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>From where he sat Courtlandt could see
+down the main thoroughfare of the pretty
+village. There were other streets, to be sure,
+but courtesy and good nature alone permitted
+this misapplication of title: they were merely
+a series of torturous enervating stairways of
+stone, up and down which noisy wooden
+sandals clattered all the day long. Over the
+entrances to the shops the proprietors were
+dropping the white and brown awnings for the
+day. Very few people shopped after luncheon.
+There were pleasanter pastimes, even
+for the women, contradictory as this may
+seem. By eleven o&#8217;clock Courtlandt had
+finished the reading of his mail, and was now
+ready to hunt for the little lady of the Taverne
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span>
+Royale. It was necessary to find her. The
+whereabouts of Flora Desimone was of vital
+importance. If she had not yet arrived, the
+presence of her friend presaged her ultimate
+arrival. The duke was a negligible quantity.
+It would have surprised Courtlandt could he
+have foreseen the drawing together of the ends
+of the circle and the relative concernment of
+the duke in knotting those ends. The labors
+of Hercules had never entailed the subjugation
+of two temperamental women.</p>
+<p>He rose and proceeded on his quest. Before
+the photographer&#8217;s shop he saw a dachel
+wrathfully challenging a cat on the balcony
+of the adjoining building. The cat knew,
+and so did the puppy, that it was all buncombe
+on the puppy&#8217;s part: the usual European
+war-scare, in which one of the belligerent
+parties refused to come down because it
+wouldn&#8217;t have been worth while, there being
+the usual Powers ready to intervene. Courtlandt
+did not bother about the cat; the puppy
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span>
+claimed his attention. He was very fond of
+dogs. So he reached down suddenly and put
+an end to the sharp challenge. The dachel
+struggled valiantly, for this breed of dog does
+not make friends easily.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I say, you little Dutchman, what&#8217;s the
+row? I&#8217;m not going to hurt you. Funny
+little codger! To whom do you belong?&#8221;
+He turned the collar around, read the inscription,
+and gently put the puppy on the ground.</p>
+<p>Nora Harrigan!</p>
+<p>His immediate impulse was to walk on, but
+somehow this impulse refused to act on his
+sense of locomotion. He waited, dully wondering
+what was going to happen when she
+came out. He had left her room that night
+in Paris, vowing that he would never intrude
+on her again. With the recollection of that
+bullet whizzing past his ear, he had been convinced
+that the play was done. True, she had
+testified that it had been accidental, but never
+would he forget the look in her eyes. It was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span>
+not pleasant to remember. And still, as the
+needle is drawn by the magnet, here he was,
+in Bellaggio. He cursed his weakness. From
+Brescia he had made up his mind to go directly
+to Berlin. Before he realized how useless it
+was to battle against these invisible forces, he
+was in Milan, booking for Como. At Como
+he had remained a week (the dullest week he
+had ever known); at the Villa d&#8217;Este three
+days; at Cadenabbia one day. It had all the
+characteristics of a tug-of-war, and irresistibly
+he was drawn over the line. The night before
+he had taken the evening boat across the lake.
+And Herr Rosen had been his fellow-passenger!
+The goddess of chance threw whimsical
+coils around her victims. To find himself
+shoulder to shoulder, as it were, with
+this man who, perhaps more than all other
+incentives, had urged him to return again to
+civilization; this man who had aroused in his
+heart a sentiment that hitherto he had
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span>
+not believed existed,&mdash;jealousy.... Ah,
+voices! He stepped aside quickly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fritz, Fritz; where are you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>And a moment later she came out, followed
+by her mother ... and the little lady of
+the Taverne Royale. Did Nora see him? It
+was impossible to tell. She simply stooped
+and gathered up the puppy, who struggled determinedly
+to lick her face. Courtlandt lifted
+his hat. It was in nowise offered as an act
+of recognition; it was merely the mechanical
+courtesy that a man generally pays to any
+woman in whose path he chances to be for the
+breath of a second. The three women in immaculate
+white, hatless, but with sunshades,
+passed on down the street.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt went into the shop, rather
+blindly. He stared at the shelves of paper-covered
+novels and post-cards, and when the
+polite proprietor offered him a dozen of the
+latter, he accepted them without comment.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span>
+Indeed, he put them into a pocket and turned
+to go out.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pardon, sir; those are one franc the
+dozen.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, yes.&#8221; Courtlandt pulled out some
+silver. It was going to be terribly difficult,
+and his heart was heavy with evil presages.
+He had seen Celeste. He understood the
+amusing if mysterious comedy now. Nora
+had recognized him and had sent her friend
+to follow him and learn where he went. And
+he, poor fool of a blunderer, with the best
+intentions in the world, he had gone at once
+to the Calabrian&#8217;s apartment! It was damnable
+of fate. He had righted nothing. In
+truth, he was deeper than ever in the quicksands
+of misunderstanding. He shut his
+teeth with a click. How neatly she had waylaid
+and trapped him!</p>
+<p>&#8220;Those are from Lucerne, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221; bewildered.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Those wood-carvings which you are
+touching with your cane, sir.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221; said Courtlandt, apologetically,
+and gained the open. He threw a
+quick glance down the street. There they
+were. He proceeded in the opposite direction,
+toward his hotel. Tea at the colonel&#8217;s?
+Scarcely. He would go to Menaggio with the
+hotel motor-boat and return so late that he
+would arrive only in time for dinner. He was
+not going to meet the enemy over tea-cups, at
+least, not under the soldier&#8217;s tactless supervision.
+He must find a smoother way, calculated,
+under the rose, but seemingly accidental.
+It was something to ponder over.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora, who was that?&#8221; asked Mrs. Harrigan.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who was who?&#8221; countered Nora, snuggling
+the wriggling dachel under her arm and
+throwing the sunshade across her shoulder.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That fine-looking young man who stood
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span>
+by the door as we passed out. He raised his
+hat.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, bother! I was looking at Fritz.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Celeste searched her face keenly, but Nora
+looked on ahead serenely; not a quiver of an
+eyelid, not the slightest change in color or expression.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She did not see him!&#8221; thought the musician,
+curiously stirred. She knew her friend
+tolerably well. It would have been impossible
+for her to have seen that man and not to have
+given evidence of the fact.</p>
+<p>In short, Nora had spoken truthfully. She
+had seen a man dressed in white flannels and
+canvas shoes, but her eyes had not traveled so
+far as his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mother, we must have some of those silk
+blankets. They&#8217;re so comfy to lie on.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You never see anything except when you
+want to,&#8221; complained Mrs. Harrigan.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It saves a deal of trouble. I don&#8217;t want
+to go to the colonel&#8217;s this afternoon. He always
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span>
+has some frump to pour tea and ask fool
+questions.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The frump, as you call her, is usually a
+countess or a duchess,&#8221; with asperity.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fiddlesticks! Nobility makes a specialty
+of frumps; it is one of the species of the caste.
+That&#8217;s why I shall never marry a title. I wish
+neither to visit nor to entertain frumps.
+Frump,&mdash;the word calls up the exact picture;
+frump and fatuity. Oh, I&#8217;ll go, but I&#8217;d rather
+stay on my balcony and read a good book.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear,&#8221; patiently, &#8220;the colonel is one
+of the social laws on Como. His sister is the
+wife of an earl. You must not offend him.
+His Sundays are the most exclusive on the
+lake.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The word exclusive should be properly applied
+to those in jail. The social ladder, the
+social ladder! Don&#8217;t you know, mother mine,
+that every rung is sawn by envy and greed,
+and that those who climb highest fall farthest?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You are quoting the padre.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The padre could give lessons in kindness
+and shrewdness to any other man I know. If
+he hadn&#8217;t chosen the gown he would have been
+a poet. I love the padre, with his snow-white
+hair and his withered leathery face. He was
+with the old king all through the freeing of
+Italy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And had a fine time explaining to the Vatican,&#8221;
+sniffed the mother.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Some day I am going to confess to him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Confess what?&#8221; asked Celeste.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That I have wished the Calabrian&#8217;s voice
+would fail her some night in <i>Carmen</i>; that
+I am wearing shoes a size too small for me;
+that I should like to be rich without labor; that
+I am sometimes ashamed of my calling; that I
+should have liked to see father win a prizefight;
+oh, and a thousand other horrid, hateful
+things.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish to gracious that you would fall
+violently in love.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Spiteful! There are those lovely lace collars;
+come on.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are hopeless,&#8221; was the mother&#8217;s conviction.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In some things, yes,&#8221; gravely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Some day,&#8221; said Celeste, who was a privileged
+person in the Harrigan family, &#8220;some
+day I am going to teach you two how to play
+at foils. It would be splendid. And then you
+could always settle your differences with
+bouts.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Better than that,&#8221; retorted Nora. &#8220;I&#8217;ll
+ask father to lend us his old set of gloves. He
+carries them around as if they were a fetish.
+I believe they&#8217;re in the bottom of one of my
+steamer trunks.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora!&#8221; Mrs. Harrigan was not pleased
+with this jest. Any reference to the past was
+distasteful to her ears. She, too, went regularly
+to confession, but up to the present time
+had omitted the sin of being ashamed of her
+former poverty and environment. She had
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span>
+taken it for granted that upon her shoulders
+rested the future good fortune of the Harrigans.
+They had money; all that was required
+was social recognition. She found it a battle
+within a battle. The good-natured reluctance
+of her husband and the careless indifference of
+her daughter were as hard to combat as the
+icy aloofness of those stars into whose orbit
+she was pluckily striving to steer the family
+bark. It never entered her scheming head that
+the reluctance of the father and the indifference
+of the daughter were the very conditions
+that drew society nearward, for the simple
+novelty of finding two persons who did not
+care in the least whether they were recognized
+or not.</p>
+<p>The trio invaded the lace shop, and Nora
+and her mother agreed to bury the war-hatchet
+in their mutual love of Venetian and
+Florentine fineries. Celeste pretended to be
+interested, but in truth she was endeavoring
+to piece together the few facts she had been
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span>
+able to extract from the rubbish of conjecture.
+Courtlandt and Nora had met somewhere before
+the beginning of her own intimacy with
+the singer. They certainly must have formed
+an extraordinary friendship, for Nora&#8217;s subsequent
+vindictiveness could not possibly have
+arisen out of the ruins of an indifferent acquaintance.
+Nora could not be moved from
+the belief that Courtlandt had abducted her;
+but Celeste was now positive that he had had
+nothing to do with it. He did not impress
+her as a man who would abduct a woman, hold
+her prisoner for five days, and then liberate
+her without coming near her to press his vantage,
+rightly or wrongly. He was too strong
+a personage. He was here in Bellaggio, and
+attached to that could be but one significance.</p>
+<p>Why, then, had he not spoken at the photographer&#8217;s?
+Perhaps she herself had been
+sufficient reason for his dumbness. He had
+recognized her, and the espionage of the night
+in Paris was no longer a mystery. Nora had
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span>
+sent her to follow him; why then all this bitterness,
+since she had not been told where he had
+gone? Had Nora forgotten to inquire? It
+was possible that, in view of the startling
+events which had followed, the matter had
+slipped entirely from Nora&#8217;s mind. Many a
+time she had resorted to that subtle guile
+known only of woman to trap the singer. But
+Nora never stumbled, and her smile was as
+firm a barrier to her thoughts, her secrets, as
+a stone wall would have been.</p>
+<p>Celeste had known about Herr Rosen&#8217;s infatuation.
+Aside from that which concerned
+this stranger, Nora had withheld no real secret
+from her. Herr Rosen had been given his
+congé, but that did not prevent him from sending
+fabulous baskets of flowers and gems, all
+of which were calmly returned without comment.
+Whenever a jewel found its way into
+a bouquet of flowers from an unknown, Nora
+would promptly convert it into money and give
+the proceeds to some charity. It afforded the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span>
+singer no small amusement to show her scorn
+in this fashion. Yes, there was one other
+little mystery which she did not confide to her
+friends. Once a month, wherever she chanced
+to be singing, there arrived a simple bouquet
+of marguerites, in the heart of which they
+would invariably find an uncut emerald.
+Nora never disposed of these emeralds. The
+flowers she would leave in her dressing-room;
+the emerald would disappear. Was there
+some one else?</p>
+<p>Mrs. Harrigan took the omnibus up to the
+villa. It was generally too much of a climb
+for her. Nora and Celeste preferred to walk.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What am I going to do, Celeste? He is
+here, and over at Cadenabbia last night I had
+a terrible scene with him. In heaven&#8217;s name,
+why can&#8217;t they let me be?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Herr Rosen?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why not speak to your father?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And have a fisticuff which would appear
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span>
+in every newspaper in the world? No, thank
+you. There is enough scandalous stuff being
+printed as it is, and I am helpless to prevent it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>As the climb starts off stiffly, there wasn&#8217;t
+much inclination in either to talk. Celeste had
+come to one decision, and that was that Nora
+should find out Courtlandt&#8217;s presence here in
+Bellaggio herself. When they arrived at the
+villa gates, Celeste offered a suggestion.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You could easily stop all this rumor and
+annoyance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And, pray, how?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Marry.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I prefer the rumor and annoyance. I
+hate men. Most of them are beasts.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are prejudiced.&#8221;</p>
+<p>If Celeste expected Nora to reply that she
+had reason, she was disappointed, Nora
+quickened her pace, that was all.</p>
+<p>At luncheon Harrigan innocently threw a
+bomb into camp by inquiring: &#8220;Say, Nora,
+who&#8217;s this chump Herr Rosen? He was up
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span>
+here last night and again this morning. I was
+going to offer him the cot on the balcony, but
+I thought I&#8217;d consult you first.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Herr Rosen!&#8221; exclaimed Mrs. Harrigan,
+a flutter in her throat. &#8220;Why, that&#8217;s....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A charming young man who wishes me to
+sign a contract to sing to him in perpetuity,&#8221;
+interrupted Nora, pressing her mother&#8217;s foot
+warningly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, why don&#8217;t you marry him?&#8221; laughed
+Harrigan. &#8220;There&#8217;s worse things than frankfurters
+and sauerkraut.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not that I can think of just now,&#8221; returned
+Nora.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XI_AT_THE_CRATER_S_EDGE' id='XI_AT_THE_CRATER_S_EDGE'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+<h3>AT THE CRATER&#8217;S EDGE</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Harrigan declared that he would not
+go over to Caxley-Webster&#8217;s to tea.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But I&#8217;ve promised for you!&#8221; expostulated
+his wife. &#8220;And he admires you so.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bosh! You women can gad about as
+much as you please, but I&#8217;m in wrong when
+it comes to eating sponge-cake and knuckling
+my knees under a dinky willow table. And
+then he always has some frump....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Frump!&#8221; repeated Nora, delighted.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Frump inspecting me through a pair of
+eye-glasses as if I was a new kind of an animal.
+It&#8217;s all right, Molly, when there&#8217;s a big
+push. They don&#8217;t notice me much then. But
+these six by eight parties have me covering.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very well, dad,&#8221; agreed Nora, who saw
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span>
+the storm gathering in her mother&#8217;s eyes.
+&#8220;You can stay home and read the book mother
+got you yesterday. Where are you now?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Page one,&#8221; grinning.</p>
+<p>Mrs. Harrigan wisely refrained from continuing
+the debate. James had made up his
+mind not to go. If the colonel repeated his
+invitation to dinner, where there would be
+only the men folk, why, he&#8217;d gladly enough
+go to that.</p>
+<p>The women departed at three, for there was
+to be tennis until five o&#8217;clock. When Harrigan
+was reasonably sure that they were half
+the distance to the colonel&#8217;s villa, he put on
+his hat, whistled to the dachel, and together
+they took the path to the village.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;d look fine drinking tea, wouldn&#8217;t we,
+old scout?&#8221; reaching down and tweaking the
+dog&#8217;s velvet ears. &#8220;They don&#8217;t understand,
+and it&#8217;s no use trying to make &#8217;em. Nora gets
+as near as possible. Herr Rosen! Now,
+where have I seen his phiz before? I wish I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span>
+had a real man to talk to. Abbott sulks half
+the time, and the Barone can&#8217;t get a joke unless
+it&#8217;s driven in with a mallet. On your
+way, old scout, or I&#8217;ll step on you. Let&#8217;s see
+if we can hoof it down to the village at a trot
+without taking the count.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He had but two errands to execute. The
+first was accomplished expeditely in the little
+tobacconist&#8217;s shop under the arcade, where the
+purchase of a box of Minghetti cigars promised
+later solace. These cigars were cheap,
+but Harrigan had a novel way of adding to
+their strength if not to their aroma. He possessed
+a meerschaum cigar-holder, in which he
+had smoked perfectos for some years. The
+smoke of an ordinary cigar became that of a
+regalia by the time it passed through the nicotine-soaked
+clay into the amber mouthpiece.
+He had kept secret the result of this trifling
+scientific research. It wouldn&#8217;t have been
+politic to disclose it to Molly. The second
+errand took time and deliberation. He studied
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span>
+the long shelves of Tauchnitz. Having
+red corpuscles in superabundance, he naturally
+preferred them in his literature, in the same
+quantity.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ever read this?&#8221; asked a pleasant voice
+from behind, indicating <i>Rodney Stone</i> with
+the ferrule of a cane.</p>
+<p>Harrigan looked up. &#8220;No. What&#8217;s it
+about?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Best story of the London prize-ring ever
+written. You&#8217;re Mr. Harrigan, aren&#8217;t you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; diffidently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My name is Edward Courtlandt. If I am
+not mistaken, you were a great friend of my
+father&#8217;s.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you Dick Courtlandt&#8217;s boy?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, say!&#8221; Harrigan held out his hand
+and was gratified to encounter a man&#8217;s grasp.
+&#8220;So you&#8217;re Edward Courtlandt? Now, what
+do you think of that! Why, your father was
+the best sportsman I ever met. Square as
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span>
+they make &#8217;em. Not a kink anywhere in his
+make-up. He used to come to the bouts in
+his plug hat and dress suit; always had a
+seat by the ring. I could hear him tap with
+his cane when there happened to be a bit of
+pretty sparring. He was no slouch himself
+when it came to putting on the mitts. Many&#8217;s
+the time I&#8217;ve had a round or two with him in
+my old gymnasium. Well, well! It&#8217;s good
+to see a man again. I&#8217;ve seen your name in
+the papers, but I never knew you was Dick&#8217;s
+boy. You&#8217;ve got an old grizzly&#8217;s head in your
+dining-room at home. Some day I&#8217;ll tell you
+how it got there, when you&#8217;re not in a hurry.
+I went out to Montana for a scrap, and your
+dad went along. After the mill was over, we
+went hunting. Come up to the villa and meet
+the folks.... Hang it, I forgot.
+They&#8217;re up to Caxley-Webster&#8217;s to tea; piffle
+water and sticky sponge-cake. I want you to
+meet my wife and daughter.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should be very pleased to meet them.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span>
+So this was Nora&#8217;s father? &#8220;Won&#8217;t you
+come along with me to the colonel&#8217;s?&#8221; with
+sudden inspiration. Here was an opportunity
+not to be thrust aside lightly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, I just begged off. They won&#8217;t be
+expecting me now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All the better. I&#8217;d rather have you introduce
+me to your family than to have the
+colonel. As a matter of fact, I told him I
+couldn&#8217;t get up. But I changed my mind.
+Come along.&#8221; The first rift in the storm-packed
+clouds; and to meet her through the
+kindly offices of this amiable man who was her
+father!</p>
+<p>&#8220;But the pup and the cigar box?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Send them up.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Harrigan eyed his own spotless flannels and
+compared them with the other&#8217;s. What was
+good enough for the son of a millionaire was
+certainly good enough for him. Besides, it
+would be a bully good joke on Nora and Molly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re on!&#8221; he cried. Here was a lark.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span>
+He turned the dog and the purchases over to
+the proprietor, who promised that they should
+arrive instantly at the villa.</p>
+<p>Then the two men sought the quay to engage
+a boat. They walked shoulder to shoulder,
+flat-backed, with supple swinging limbs,
+tanned faces and clear animated eyes. Perhaps
+Harrigan was ten or fifteen pounds
+heavier, but the difference would have been
+noticeable only upon the scales.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>&#8220;Padre, my shoe pinches,&#8221; said Nora with a
+pucker between her eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;My child,&#8221; replied the padre, &#8220;never
+carry your vanity into a shoemaker&#8217;s shop.
+The happiest man is he who walks in loose
+shoes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;If they are his own, and not inherited,&#8221;
+quickly.</p>
+<p>The padre laughed quietly. He was very
+fond of this new-found daughter of his. Her
+spontaneity, her blooming beauty, her careless
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span>
+observation of convention, her independence,
+had captivated him. Sometimes he believed
+that he thoroughly understood her, when all
+at once he would find himself mentally peering
+into some dark corner into which the penetrating
+light of his usually swift deduction
+could throw no glimmer. She possessed the
+sins of the butterfly and the latent possibilities
+of a Judith. She was the most interesting
+feminine problem he had in his long years
+encountered. The mother mildly amused him,
+for he could discern the character that she
+was sedulously striving to batten down beneath
+inane social usages and formalities. Some
+day she would revert to the original type, and
+then he would be glad to renew the acquaintance.
+In rather a shamefaced way (a sensation
+he could not quite analyze) he loved
+the father. The pugilist will always embarrass
+the scholar and excite a negligible envy;
+for physical perfection is the most envied of
+all nature&#8217;s gifts. The padre was short, thickset,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span>
+and inclined toward stoutness in the region
+of the middle button of his cassock. But he
+was active enough for all purposes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have had many wicked thoughts lately,&#8221;
+resumed Nora, turning her gaze away from
+the tennis players. She and the padre were
+sitting on the lower steps of the veranda. The
+others were loitering by the nets.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The old plaint disturbs you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Can you not cast it out wholly?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hate has many tentacles.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What produces that condition of mind?&#8221;
+meditatively. &#8220;Is it because we have wronged
+somebody?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Or because somebody has wronged us?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Or misjudged us, by us have been misjudged?&#8221;
+softly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good gracious!&#8221; exclaimed Nora, springing
+up.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Father is coming up the path!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I am glad to see him. But I do not recollect
+having seen the face of the man with
+him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The lithe eagerness went out of Nora&#8217;s
+body instantly. Everything seemed to grow
+cold, as if she had become enveloped in one
+of those fogs that suddenly blow down
+menacingly from hidden icebergs. Fortunately
+the inquiring eyes of the padre were
+not directed at her. He was here, not a
+dozen yards away, coming toward her, her
+father&#8217;s arm in his! After what had passed
+he had dared! It was not often that Nora
+Harrigan was subjected to a touch of vertigo,
+but at this moment she felt that if she
+stirred ever so little she must fall. The stock
+whence she had sprung, however, was aggressive
+and fearless; and by the time Courtlandt
+had reached the outer markings of the courts,
+Nora was physically herself again. The advantage
+of the meeting would be his. That
+was indubitable. Any mistake on her part
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span>
+would be playing into his hands. If only she
+had known!</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let us go and meet them, Padre,&#8221; she
+said quietly. With her father, her mother and
+the others, the inevitable introduction would
+be shorn of its danger. What Celeste might
+think was of no great importance; Celeste had
+been tried and her loyalty proven. Where
+had her father met him, and what diabolical
+stroke of fate had made him bring this man
+up here?</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora!&#8221; It was her mother calling.</p>
+<p>She put her arm through the padre&#8217;s, and
+they went forward leisurely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, father, I thought you weren&#8217;t coming,&#8221;
+said Nora. Her voice was without a
+tremor.</p>
+<p>The padre hadn&#8217;t the least idea that a volcano
+might at any moment open up at his side. He
+smiled benignly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Changed my mind,&#8221; said Harrigan.
+&#8220;Nora, Molly, I want you to meet Mr. Courtlandt.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span>
+I don&#8217;t know that I ever said anything
+about it, but his father was one of the best
+friends I ever had. He was on his way up
+here, so I came along with him.&#8221; Then Harrigan
+paused and looked about him embarrassedly.
+There were half a dozen unfamiliar
+faces.</p>
+<p>The colonel quickly stepped into the breach,
+and the introduction of Courtlandt became
+general. Nora bowed, and became at once engaged
+in an animated conversation with the
+Barone, who had just finished his set victoriously.</p>
+<p>The padre&#8217;s benign smile slowly faded.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XII_DICK_COURTLANDT_S_BOY' id='XII_DICK_COURTLANDT_S_BOY'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+<h3>DICK COURTLANDT&#8217;S BOY</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Presently the servants brought out
+the tea-service. The silent dark-skinned
+Sikh, with his fierce curling whiskers, his
+flashing eyes, the semi-military, semi-oriental
+garb, topped by an enormous brown turban,
+claimed Courtlandt&#8217;s attention; and it may be
+added that he was glad to have something
+to look at unembarrassedly. He wanted to
+catch the Indian&#8217;s eye, but Rao had no glances
+to waste; he was concerned with the immediate
+business of superintending the service.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt had never been a man to surrender
+to impulse. It had been his habit to
+form a purpose and then to go about the fulfilling
+of it. During the last four or five
+months, however, he had swung about like a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
+weather-cock in April, the victim of a thousand
+and one impulses. That morning he
+would have laughed had any one prophesied
+his presence here. He had fought against the
+inclination strongly enough at first, but as
+hour after hour went by his resolution weakened.
+His meeting Harrigan had been a
+stroke of luck. Still, he would have come
+anyhow.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes; I am very fond of Como,&#8221; he
+found himself replying mechanically to Mrs.
+Harrigan. He gave up Rao as hopeless so
+far as coming to his rescue was concerned.
+He began, despite his repugnance, to watch
+Nora.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is always a little cold in the higher
+Alps.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am very fond of climbing myself.&#8221;
+Nora was laughing and jesting with one of
+the English tennis players. Not for nothing
+had she been called a great actress, he thought.
+It was not humanly possible that her heart was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span>
+under better control than his own; and yet his
+was pounding against his ribs in a manner extremely
+disquieting. Never must he be left
+alone with her; always must it be under circumstances
+like this, with people about, and
+the more closely about the better. A game
+like this was far more exciting than tiger-hunting.
+It was going to assume the characteristics
+of a duel in which he, being the
+more advantageously placed, would succeed
+eventually in wearing down her guard. Hereafter,
+wherever she went, there must he also
+go: St. Petersburg or New York or London.
+And by and by the reporters would hear of
+it, and there would be rumors which he would
+neither deny nor affirm. Sport! He smiled,
+and the blood seemed to recede from his throat
+and his heart-beats to grow normal.</p>
+<p>And all the while Mrs. Harrigan was talking
+and he was replying; and she thought him
+charming, whereas he had not formed any
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span>
+opinion of her at all, nor later could remember
+a word of the conversation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tea!&#8221; bawled the colonel. The verb had
+its distinct uses, and one generally applied it
+to the colonel&#8217;s outbursts without being depressed
+by the feeling of inelegance.</p>
+<p>There is invariably some slight hesitation in
+the selection of chairs around a tea-table in
+the open. Nora scored the first point of this
+singular battle by seizing the padre on one
+side and her father on the other and pulling
+them down on the bench. It was adroit in
+two ways: it put Courtlandt at a safe distance
+and in nowise offended the younger men, who
+could find no cause for alarm in the close
+proximity of her two fathers, the spiritual and
+the physical. A few moments later Courtlandt
+saw a smile of malice part her lips, for
+he found himself between Celeste and the inevitable
+frump.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Touched!&#8221; he murmured, for he was a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span>
+thorough sportsman and appreciated a good
+point even when taken by his opponent.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I never saw anything like it,&#8221; whispered
+Mrs. Harrigan into the colonel&#8217;s ear.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Saw what?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Courtlandt can&#8217;t keep his eyes off of
+Nora.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I say!&#8221; The colonel adjusted his eye-glass,
+not that he expected to see more clearly
+by doing so, but because habit had long since
+turned an affectation into a movement wholly
+mechanical. &#8220;Well, who can blame him?
+Gad! if I were only twenty-five or thereabouts.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Harrigan did not encourage this regret.
+The colonel had never been a rich man.
+On the other hand, this Edward Courtlandt
+was very rich; he was young; and he had the
+entrée to the best families in Europe, which
+was greater in her eyes than either youth or
+riches. Between sips of tea she builded a
+fine castle in Spain.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></p>
+<p>Abbott and the Barone carried their cups
+and cakes over to the bench and sat down on
+the grass, Turkish-wise. Both simultaneously
+offered their cakes, and Nora took a ladyfinger
+from each. Abbott laughed and the
+Barone smiled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, daddy mine!&#8221; sighed Nora drolly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Huh?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t let mother see those shoes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter with &#8217;em? Everybody&#8217;s
+wearing the same.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. But I don&#8217;t see how you manage to
+do it. One shoe-string is virgin white and
+the other is pagan brown.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve got nine pairs of shoes, and yet there&#8217;s
+always something the matter,&#8221; ruefully. &#8220;I
+never noticed when I put them on. Besides,
+I wasn&#8217;t coming.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s no defense. But rest easy. I&#8217;ll be
+as secret as the grave.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now, I for one would never have noticed
+if you hadn&#8217;t called my attention,&#8221; said the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span>
+padre, stealing a glance at his own immaculate
+patent-leathers.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, Padre, that wife of mine has eyes
+like a pilot-fish. I&#8217;m in for it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Borrow one from the colonel before you
+go home,&#8221; suggested Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s not half bad,&#8221; gratefully.</p>
+<p>Harrigan began to recount the trials of
+forgetfulness.</p>
+<p>Slyly from the corner of her eye Nora
+looked at Courtlandt, who was at that moment
+staring thoughtfully into his tea-cup and stirring
+the contents industriously. His face
+was a little thinner, but aside from that he had
+changed scarcely at all; and then, because these
+two years had left so little mark upon his
+face, a tinge of unreasonable anger ran over
+her. &#8220;Men have died and worms have eaten
+them,&#8221; she thought cynically. Perhaps the
+air between them was sufficiently charged with
+electricity to convey the impression across the
+intervening space; for his eyes came up
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span>
+quickly, but not quickly enough to catch her.
+She dropped her glance to Abbott, transferred
+it to the Barone, and finally let it rest on her
+father&#8217;s face. Four handsomer men she had
+never seen.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You never told me you knew Courtlandt,&#8221;
+said Harrigan, speaking to Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Just happened that way. We went to
+school together. When I was little they used
+to make me wear curls and wide collars.
+Many&#8217;s the time Courtlandt walloped the
+school bullies for mussing me up. I don&#8217;t
+see him much these days. Once in a while he
+walks in. That&#8217;s all. Always seems to know
+where his friends are, but none ever knows
+where he is.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Abbott proceeded to elaborate some of his
+friend&#8217;s exploits. Nora heard, as if from
+afar. Vaguely she caught a glimmer of what
+the contest was going to be. She could see
+only a little way; still, she was optimistically
+confident of the result. She was ready. Indeed,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span>
+now that the shock of the meeting was
+past, she found herself not at all averse to a
+conflict. It would be something to let go the
+pent-up wrath of two years. Never would
+she speak to him directly; never would she permit
+him to be alone with her; never would
+she miss a chance to twist his heart, to
+humiliate him, to snub him. From her point
+of view, whatever game he chose to play would
+be a losing one. She was genuinely surprised
+to learn how eager she was for the game to
+begin so that she might gage his strength.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So I have heard,&#8221; she was dimly conscious
+of saying.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Didn&#8217;t know you knew,&#8221; said Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Knew what?&#8221; rousing herself.</p>
+<p>&#8220;That Courtlandt nearly lost his life in the
+eighties.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In the eighties!&#8221; dismayed at her slip.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Latitudes. Polar expedition.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Heavens! I was miles away.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre took her hand in his own and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span>
+began to pat it softly. It was the nearest he
+dared approach in the way of suggesting caution.
+He alone of them all knew.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I believe I read something about it in
+the newspapers.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Five years ago.&#8221; Abbott set down his
+tea-cup. &#8220;He&#8217;s the bravest man I know.
+He&#8217;s rather a friendless man, besides. Horror
+of money. Thinks every one is after him
+for that. Tries to throw it away; but the income
+piles up too quickly. See that Indian,
+passing the cakes? Wouldn&#8217;t think it, would
+you, that Courtlandt carried him on his back
+for five miles! The Indian had fallen afoul
+a wounded tiger, and the beaters were
+miles off. I&#8217;ve been watching. They haven&#8217;t
+even spoken to each other. Courtlandt&#8217;s
+probably forgotten all about the incident, and
+the Indian would die rather than embarrass
+his savior before strangers.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your friend, then, is quite a hero?&#8221;</p>
+<p>What was the matter with Nora&#8217;s voice?
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span>
+Abbott looked at her wonderingly. The tone
+was hard and unmusical.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He couldn&#8217;t be anything else, being Dick
+Courtlandt&#8217;s boy,&#8221; volunteered Harrigan, with
+enthusiasm. &#8220;It runs in the family.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It seems strange,&#8221; observed Nora, &#8220;that
+I never heard you mention that you knew a
+Mr. Courtlandt.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, Nora, there&#8217;s a lot of things nobody
+mentions unless chance brings them up.
+Courtlandt&mdash;the one I knew&mdash;has been dead
+these sixteen years. If I knew he had had
+a son, I&#8217;d forgotten all about it. The only
+graveyard isn&#8217;t on the hillside; there&#8217;s one
+under everybody&#8217;s thatch.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre nodded approvingly.</p>
+<p>Nora was not particularly pleased with this
+phase in the play. Courtlandt would find a
+valiant champion in her father, who would
+blunder in when some fine passes were being
+exchanged. And she could not tell him; she
+would have cut out her tongue rather. It
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span>
+was true that she held the principal cards in
+the game, but she could not table them and
+claim the tricks as in bridge. She must
+patiently wait for him to lead, and he, as she
+very well knew, would lead a card at a time,
+and then only after mature deliberation.
+From the exhilaration which attended the
+prospect of battle she passed into a state of
+depression, which lasted the rest of the afternoon.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Will you forgive me?&#8221; asked Celeste of
+Courtlandt. Never had she felt more ill at
+ease. For a full ten minutes he chatted pleasantly,
+with never the slightest hint regarding
+the episode in Paris. She could stand it no
+longer. &#8220;Will you forgive me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;For what?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That night in Paris.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do not permit that to bother you in the
+least. I was never going to recall it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Was it so unpleasant?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;On the contrary, I was much amused.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I did not tell you the truth.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So I have found out.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do not believe that it was you,&#8221; impulsively.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thanks. I had nothing to do with Miss
+Harrigan&#8217;s imprisonment.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you feel that you could make a confidant
+of me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>He smiled. &#8220;My dear Miss Fournier, I
+have come to the place where I distrust even
+myself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Forgive my curiosity!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. &#8220;I am
+glad to see you again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, Sahib!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The little Frenchwoman was torn with
+curiosity and repression. She wanted to know
+what causes had produced this unusual drama
+which was unfolding before her eyes. To be
+presented with effects which had no apparent
+causes was maddening. It was not dissimilar
+to being taken to the second act of a modern
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span>
+problem play and being forced to leave before
+the curtain rose upon the third act. She had
+laid all the traps her intelligent mind could invent;
+and Nora had calmly walked over them
+or around. Nora&#8217;s mind was Celtic: French
+in its adroitness and Irish in its watchfulness
+and tenacity. And now she had set her arts
+of persuasion in motion (aided by a piquant
+beauty) to lift a corner of the veil from this
+man&#8217;s heart. Checkmate!</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should like to help you,&#8221; she said, truthfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In what way?&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was useless, but she continued: &#8220;She
+does not know that you went to Flora Desimone&#8217;s
+that night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And yet she sent you to watch me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But so many things happened afterward
+that she evidently forgot.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is possible.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I was asleep when the pistol went off.
+Oh, you must believe that it was purely accidental!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span>
+She was in a terrible state until
+morning. What if she had killed you, what if
+she had killed you! She seemed to hark upon
+that phrase.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt turned a sober face toward her.
+She might be sincere, and then again she
+might be playing the first game over again, in
+a different guise. &#8220;It would have been embarrassing
+if the bullet had found its mark.&#8221;
+He met her eyes squarely, and she saw that
+his were totally free from surprise or agitation
+or interest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you play chess?&#8221; she asked, divertingly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Chess? I am very fond of that game.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So I should judge,&#8221; dryly. &#8220;I suppose
+you look upon me as a meddler. Perhaps I
+am; but I have nothing but good will toward
+you; and Nora would be very angry if she
+knew that I was discussing her affairs with
+you. But I love her and want to make her
+happy.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;That seems to be the ambition of all the
+young men, at any rate.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Jealousy? But the smile baffled her.
+&#8220;Will you be here long?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It depends.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Upon Nora?&#8221; persistently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The weather.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are hopeless.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No; on the contrary, I am the most
+optimistic man in the world.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She looked into this reply very carefully.
+If he had hopes of winning Nora Harrigan,
+optimistic he certainly must be. Perhaps it
+was not optimism. Rather might it not be a
+purpose made of steel, bendable but not breakable,
+reinforced by a knowledge of conditions
+which she would have given worlds to learn?</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is she not beautiful?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am not a poet.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait a moment,&#8221; her eyes widening. &#8220;I
+believe you know who did commit that outrage.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></p>
+<p>For the first time he frowned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very well; I promise not to ask any more
+questions.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That would be very agreeable to me.&#8221;
+Then, as if he realized the rudeness of his reply,
+he added: &#8220;Before I leave I will tell
+you all you wish to know, upon one condition.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell it!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will say nothing to any one, you will
+question neither Miss Harrigan nor myself,
+nor permit yourself to be questioned.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I agree.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And now, will you not take me over to
+your friends?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Over there?&#8221; aghast.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, yes. We can sit upon the grass.
+They seem to be having a good time.&#8221;</p>
+<p>What a man! Take him over, into the
+enemy&#8217;s camp? Nothing would be more
+agreeable to her. Who would be the stronger,
+Nora or this provoking man?</p>
+<p>So they crossed over and joined the group.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span>
+The padre smiled. It was a situation such as
+he loved to study: a strong man and a strong
+woman, at war. But nothing happened; not
+a ripple anywhere to disclose the agitation beneath.
+The man laughed and the woman
+laughed, but they spoke not to each other, nor
+looked once into each other&#8217;s eyes.</p>
+<p>The sun was dropping toward the western
+tops. The guests were leaving by twos and
+threes. The colonel had prevailed upon his
+dinner-guests not to bother about going back
+to the village to dress, but to dine in the
+clothes they wore. Finally, none remained
+but Harrigan, Abbott, the Barone, the padre
+and Courtlandt. And they talked noisily and
+agreeably concerning man-affairs until Rao
+gravely announced that dinner was served.</p>
+<p>It was only then, during the lull which followed,
+that light was shed upon the puzzle
+which had been subconsciously stirring Harrigan&#8217;s
+mind: Nora had not once spoken to
+the son of his old friend.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XIII_EVERYTHING_BUT_THE_TRUTH' id='XIII_EVERYTHING_BUT_THE_TRUTH'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+<h3>EVERYTHING BUT THE TRUTH</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see why the colonel didn&#8217;t invite
+some of the ladies,&#8221; Mrs. Harrigan
+complained.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a man-party. He&#8217;s giving it to please
+himself. And I do not blame him. The
+women about here treat him abominably.
+They come at all times of the day and night,
+use his card-room, order his servants about,
+drink his whisky and smoke his cigarettes, and
+generally invite themselves to luncheon and tea
+and dinner. And then, when they are ready
+to go back to their villas or hotel, take his
+motor-boat without a thank-you. The colonel
+has about three thousand pounds outside his
+half-pay, and they are all crazy to marry him
+because his sister is a countess. As a bachelor
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span>
+he can live like a prince, but as a married man
+he would have to dig. He told me that if
+he had been born Adam, he&#8217;d have climbed
+over Eden&#8217;s walls long before the Angel of the
+Flaming Sword paddled him out. Says he&#8217;s
+always going to be a bachelor, unless I take
+pity on him,&#8221; mischievously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Has he...?&#8221; in horrified tones.</p>
+<p>&#8220;About three times a visit,&#8221; Nora admitted;
+&#8220;but I told him that I&#8217;d be a daughter,
+a cousin, or a niece to him, or even a grandchild.
+The latter presented too many complications,
+so we compromised on niece.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish I knew when you were serious and
+when you were fooling.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am often as serious when I am fooling
+as I am foolish when I am serious....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora, you will have me shrieking in a
+minute!&#8221; despaired the mother. &#8220;Did the
+colonel really propose to you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Only in fun.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Celeste laughed and threw her arm around
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span>
+the mother&#8217;s waist, less ample than substantial.
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t you care! Nora is being pursued by
+little devils and is venting her spite on us.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;ll be too much Burgundy and tobacco,
+to say nothing of the awful stories.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;With the good old padre there? Hardly,&#8221;
+said Nora.</p>
+<p>Celeste was a French woman. &#8220;I confess
+that I like a good story that isn&#8217;t vulgar. And
+none of them look like men who would stoop
+to vulgarity.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s about all you know of men,&#8221; declared
+Mrs. Harrigan.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am willing to give them the benefit of
+a doubt.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Celeste,&#8221; cried Nora, gaily, &#8220;I&#8217;ve an idea.
+Supposing you and I run back after dinner and
+hide in the card-room, which is right across
+from the dining-room? Then we can judge
+for ourselves.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora Harrigan!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Molly Harrigan!&#8221; mimicked the incorrigible.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span>
+&#8220;Mother mine, you must learn to
+recognize a jest.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, but yours!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fine!&#8221; cried Celeste.</p>
+<p>As if to put a final period to the discussion,
+Nora began to hum audibly an aria from
+<i>Aïda</i>.</p>
+<p>They engaged a carriage in the village and
+were driven up to the villa. On the way Mrs.
+Harrigan discussed the stranger, Edward
+Courtlandt. What a fine-looking young man
+he was, and how adventurous, how well-connected,
+how enormously rich, and what an
+excellent catch! She and Celeste&mdash;the one
+innocently and the other provocatively&mdash;continued
+the subject to the very doors of the
+villa. All the while Nora hummed softly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What do you think of him, Nora?&#8221; the
+mother inquired.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Think of whom?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;This Mr. Courtlandt.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I didn&#8217;t pay much attention to him,&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span>
+carelessly. But once alone with Celeste, she
+seized her by the arm, a little roughly.
+&#8220;Celeste, I love you better than any outsider
+I know. But if you ever discuss that man in
+my presence again, I shall cease to regard you
+even as an acquaintance. He has come here
+for the purpose of annoying me, though he
+promised the prefect in Paris never to annoy
+me again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The prefect!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. The morning I left Versailles I met
+him in the private office of the prefect. He
+had powerful friends who aided him in establishing
+an alibi. I was only a woman, so
+I didn&#8217;t count.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora, if I have meddled in any way,&#8221;
+proudly, &#8220;it has been because I love you, and
+I see you unhappy. You have nearly killed
+me with your sphinx-like actions. You have
+never asked me the result of my spying for
+you that night. Spying is not one of my usual
+vocations, but I did it gladly for you.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You gave him my address?&#8221; coldly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I did not. I convinced him that I had
+come at the behest of Flora Desimone. He
+demanded her address, which I gave him. If
+ever there was a man in a fine rage, it was he
+as he left me to go there. If he found out
+where we lived, the Calabrian assisted him,
+I spoke to him rather plainly at tea. He said
+that he had had nothing whatever to do with
+the abduction, and I believe him. I am positive
+that he is not the kind of man to go that
+far and not proceed to the end. And now,
+will you please tell Carlos to bring my dinner to
+my room?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The impulsive Irish heart was not to be resisted.
+Nora wanted to remain firm, but instead
+she swept Celeste into her arms.
+&#8220;Celeste, don&#8217;t be angry! I am very, very
+unhappy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>If the Irish heart was impulsive, the French
+one was no less so. Celeste wanted to cry out
+that she was unhappy, too.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t bother to dress! Just give your
+hair a pat or two. We&#8217;ll all three dine on the
+balcony.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Celeste flew to her room. Nora went over
+to the casement window and stared at the
+darkening mountains. When she turned
+toward the dresser she was astonished to find
+two bouquets. One was an enormous bunch
+of violets. The other was of simple marguerites.
+She picked up the violets. There
+was a card without a name; but the phrase
+scribbled across the face of it was sufficient.
+She flung the violets far down into the grape-vines
+below. The action was without anger,
+excited rather by a contemptuous indifference.
+As for the simple marguerites, she took them
+up gingerly. The arc these described through
+the air was even greater than that performed
+by the violets.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m a silly fool, I suppose,&#8221; she murmured,
+turning back into the room again.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></p>
+<p>It was ten o&#8217;clock when the colonel bade
+his guests good night as they tumbled out of
+his motor-boat. They were in more or less
+exuberant spirits; for the colonel knew how
+to do two things particularly well: order a
+dinner, and avoid the many traps set for him
+by scheming mamas and eligible widows. Abbott,
+the Barone and Harrigan, arm in arm,
+marched on ahead, whistling one tune in three
+different keys, while Courtlandt set the pace
+for the padre.</p>
+<p>All through the dinner the padre had
+watched and listened. Faces were generally
+books to him, and he read in this young man&#8217;s
+face many things that pleased him. This
+was no night rover, a fool over wine and
+women, a spendthrift. He straightened out
+the lines and angles in a man&#8217;s face as a
+skilled mathematician elucidates an intricate
+geometrical problem. He had arrived at the
+basic knowledge that men who live mostly out
+of doors are not volatile and irresponsible, but
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span>
+are more inclined to reserve, to reticence, to
+a philosophy which is broad and comprehensive
+and generous. They are generally
+men who are accomplishing things, and who
+let other people tell about it. Thus, the padre
+liked Courtlandt&#8217;s voice, his engaging smile,
+his frank unwavering eyes; and he liked the
+leanness about the jaws, which was indicative
+of strength of character. In fact, he experienced
+a singular jubilation as he walked
+beside this silent man.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There has been a grave mistake somewhere,&#8221;
+he mused aloud, thoughtfully.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon,&#8221; said Courtlandt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg yours. I was thinking aloud. How
+long have you known the Harrigans?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The father and mother I never saw before
+to-day.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Then you have met Miss Harrigan?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have seen her on the stage.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have the happiness of being her confessor.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></p>
+<p>They proceeded quite as far as a hundred
+yards before Courtlandt volunteered: &#8220;That
+must be interesting.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;She is a good Catholic.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, yes; I recollect now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I haven&#8217;t any religion such as requires
+my presence in churches. Don&#8217;t misunderstand
+me! As a boy I was bred in the
+Episcopal Church; but I have traveled so
+much that I have drifted out of the circle. I
+find that when I am out in the open, in the
+heart of some great waste, such as a desert,
+a sea, the top of a mountain, I can see the
+greatness of the Omnipotent far more clearly
+and humbly than within the walls of a
+cathedral.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But God imposes obligations upon mankind.
+We have ceased to look upon the hermit
+as a holy man, but rather as one devoid of
+courage. It is not the stone and the stained
+windows; it is the text of our daily work, that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span>
+the physical being of the Church represents.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I have not avoided any of my obligations.&#8221;
+Courtlandt shifted his stick behind
+his back. &#8220;I was speaking of the church and
+the open field, as they impressed me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You believe in the tenets of Christianity?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Surely! A man must pin his faith and
+hope to something more stable than humanity.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should like to convert you to my way of
+thinking,&#8221; simply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing is impossible. Who knows?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre, as they continued onward,
+offered many openings, but the young man at
+his side refused to be drawn into any confidence.
+So the padre gave up, for the futility
+of his efforts became irksome. His own lips
+were sealed, so he could not ask point-blank
+the question that clamored at the tip of his
+tongue.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So you are Miss Harrigan&#8217;s confessor?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Does it strike you strangely?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Merely the coincidence.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;If I were not her confessor I should take
+the liberty of asking you some questions.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is quite possible that I should decline
+to answer them.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre shrugged. &#8220;It is patent to me
+that you will go about this affair in your own
+way. I wish you well.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you. As Miss Harrigan&#8217;s confessor
+you doubtless know everything but the
+truth.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre laughed this time. The shops
+were closed. The open restaurants by the
+water-front held but few idlers. The padre
+admired the young man&#8217;s independence.
+Most men would have hesitated not a second
+to pour the tale into his ears in hope of material
+assistance. The padre&#8217;s admiration was
+equally proportioned with respect.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I leave you here,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You will
+see me frequently at the villa.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I certainly shall be there frequently.
+Good night.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></p>
+<p>Courtlandt quickened his pace which soon
+brought him alongside the others. They
+stopped in front of Abbott&#8217;s pension, and he
+tried to persuade them to come up for a nightcap.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing to it, my boy,&#8221; said Harrigan.
+&#8220;I need no nightcap on top of cognac forty-eight
+years old. For me that&#8217;s a whole suit
+of pajamas.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You come, Ted.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Abbey, I wouldn&#8217;t climb those stairs for
+a bottle of Horace&#8217;s Falernian, served on
+Seneca&#8217;s famous citron table.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not a friend in the world,&#8221; Abbott
+lamented.</p>
+<p>Laughingly they hustled him into the hallway
+and fled. Then Courtlandt went his way
+alone. He slept with the dubious satisfaction
+that the first day had not gone badly. The
+wedge had been entered. It remained to be
+seen if it could be dislodged.</p>
+<p>Harrigan was in a happy temper. He
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span>
+kissed his wife and chucked Nora under the
+chin. And then Mrs. Harrigan launched the
+thunderbolt which, having been held on
+the leash for several hours, had, for all of
+that, lost none of its ability to blight and
+scorch.</p>
+<p>&#8220;James, you are about as hopeless a man
+as ever was born. You all but disgraced us
+this afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mother!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Me?&#8221; cried the bewildered Harrigan.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Look at those tennis shoes; one white
+string and one brown one. It&#8217;s enough to
+drive a woman mad. What in heaven&#8217;s name
+made you come?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Perhaps it was the after effect of a good
+dinner, that dwindling away of pleasant
+emotions; perhaps it was the very triviality
+of the offense for which he was thus suddenly
+arraigned; at any rate, he lost his temper, and
+he was rather formidable when that occurred.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Damn it, Molly, I wasn&#8217;t going, but Courtlandt
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span>
+asked me to go with him, and I never
+thought of my shoes. You are always finding
+fault with me these days. I don&#8217;t drink,
+I don&#8217;t gamble, I don&#8217;t run around after other
+women; I never did. But since you&#8217;ve got
+this social bug in your bonnet, you keep me
+on hooks all the while. Nobody noticed the
+shoe-strings; and they would have looked upon
+it as a joke if they had. After all, I&#8217;m the
+boss of this ranch. If I want to wear a white
+string and a black one, I&#8217;ll do it. Here!&#8221;
+He caught up the book on social usages and
+threw it out of the window. &#8220;Don&#8217;t ever
+shove a thing like that under my nose again.
+If you do, I&#8217;ll hike back to little old New
+York and start the gym again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He rammed one of the colonel&#8217;s perfectos
+(which he had been saving for the morrow)
+between his teeth, and stalked into the
+garden.</p>
+<p>Nora was heartless enough to laugh.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He hasn&#8217;t talked like that to me in years!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span>
+Mrs. Harrigan did not know what to do,&mdash;follow
+him or weep. She took the middle course,
+and went to bed.</p>
+<p>Nora turned out the lights and sat out on
+the little balcony. The moonshine was glorious.
+So dense was the earth-blackness that
+the few lights twinkling here and there were
+more like fallen stars. Presently she heard a
+sound. It was her father, returning as silently
+as he could. She heard him fumble among
+the knickknacks on the mantel, and then go
+away again. By and by she saw a spot of
+white light move hither and thither among the
+grape arbors. For five or six minutes she
+watched it dance. Suddenly all became dark
+again. She laid her head upon the railing
+and conned over the day&#8217;s events. These
+were not at all satisfactory to her. Then her
+thoughts traveled many miles away. Six
+months of happiness, of romance, of play, and
+then misery and blackness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora, are you there?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Over here on the balcony. What
+were you doing down there?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Nora, I&#8217;m sorry I lost my temper.
+But Molly&#8217;s begun to nag me lately, and I
+can&#8217;t stand it. I went after that book. Did
+you throw some flowers out of the window?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A bunch of daisies?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Marguerites,&#8221; she corrected.</p>
+<p>&#8220;All the same to me. I picked up the
+bunch, and look at what I found inside.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He extended his palm, flooding it with the
+light of his pocket-lamp. Nora&#8217;s heart tightened.
+What she saw was a beautiful uncut
+emerald.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XIV_A_COMEDY_WITH_MUSIC' id='XIV_A_COMEDY_WITH_MUSIC'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+<h3>A COMEDY WITH MUSIC</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>The Harrigans occupied the suite in the
+east wing of the villa. This consisted
+of a large drawing-room and two ample bedchambers,
+with window-balconies and a private
+veranda in the rear, looking off toward
+the green of the pines and the metal-like
+luster of the copper beeches. Always the suite
+was referred to by the management as having
+once been tenanted by the empress of Germany.
+Indeed, tourists were generally and
+respectively and impressively shown the suite
+(provided it was not at the moment inhabited),
+and were permitted to peer eagerly about for
+some sign of the vanished august presence.
+But royalty in passing, as with the most
+humble of us, leaves nothing behind save the
+memory of a tip, generous or otherwise.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></p>
+<p>It was raining, a fine, soft, blurring Alpine
+rain, and a blue-grey monotone prevailed upon
+the face of the waters and defied all save the
+keenest scrutiny to discern where the mountain
+tops ended and the sky began. It was a
+day for indoors, for dreams, good books, and
+good fellows.</p>
+<p>The old-fashioned photographer would have
+admired and striven to perpetuate the group
+in the drawing-room. In the old days it was
+quite the proper thing to snap the family group
+while they were engaged in some pleasant
+pastime, such as spinning, or painting china,
+or playing the piano, or reading a volume of
+poems. No one ever seemed to bother about
+the incongruence of the eyes, which were invariably
+focused at the camera lens. Here
+they all were. Mrs. Harrigan was deep in
+the intricate maze of the Amelia Ars of
+Bologna, which, as the initiated know, is a
+wonderful lace. By one of the windows sat
+Nora, winding interminable yards of lace-hemming
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span>
+from off the willing if aching digits
+of the Barone, who was speculating as to
+what his Neapolitan club friends would say
+could they see, by some trick of crystal-gazing,
+his present occupation. Celeste was at the
+piano, playing (<i>pianissimo</i>) snatches from
+the operas, while Abbott looked on, his elbows
+propped upon his knees, his chin in his
+palms, and a quality of ecstatic content in
+his eyes. He was in his working clothes,
+picturesque if paint-daubed. The morning
+had been pleasant enough, but just before
+luncheon the rain clouds had gathered and
+settled down with that suddenness known only
+in high altitudes.</p>
+<p>The ex-gladiator sat on one of those slender
+mockeries, composed of gold-leaf and parabolic
+curves and faded brocade, such as one
+sees at the Trianon or upon the stage or in
+the new home of a new millionaire, and which,
+if the true facts be known, the ingenious Louis
+invented for the discomfort of his favorites
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span>
+and the folly of future collectors. It creaked
+whenever Harrigan sighed, which was often,
+for he was deeply immersed (and no better
+word could be selected to fit his mental condition)
+in the baneful book which he had hurled
+out of the window the night before, only to retrieve
+like the good dog that he was. To-day
+his shoes offered no loophole to criticism; he
+had very well attended to that. His tie harmonized
+with his shirt and stockings; his suit
+was of grey tweed; in fact, he was the glass
+of fashion and the mold of form, at least for
+the present.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Say, Molly, I don&#8217;t see what difference it
+makes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Difference what makes, James?&#8221; Mrs.
+Harrigan raised her eyes from her work.
+James had been so well-behaved that morning
+it was only logical for her to anticipate that
+he was about to abolish at one fell stroke all
+his hard-earned merits.</p>
+<p>&#8220;About eating salads. We never used to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span>
+put oil on our tomatoes. Sugar and vinegar
+were good enough.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sugar and vinegar are not nourishing;
+olive-oil is.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We seemed to hike along all right before
+we learned that.&#8221; His guardian angel was
+alert this time, and he returned to his delving
+without further comment. By and by he got
+up. &#8220;Pshaw!&#8221; He dropped the wearisome
+volume on the reading-table, took up a paper-covered
+novel, and turned to the last fight of
+the blacksmith in <i>Rodney Stone</i>. Here was
+something that made the invention of type
+excusable, even commendable.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Play the fourth <i>ballade</i>,&#8221; urged Abbott.</p>
+<p>Celeste was really a great artist. As an interpreter
+of Chopin she had no rival among
+women, and only one man was her equal.
+She had fire, tenderness, passion, strength; she
+had beyond all these, soul, which is worth more
+in true expression than the most marvelous
+technique. She had chosen Chopin for his
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span>
+brilliance, as some will chose Turner in preference
+to Corot: riots of color, barbaric and
+tingling. She was as great a genius in her
+way as Nora was in hers. There was something
+of the elfin child in her spirit. Whenever
+she played to Abbott, there was a quality
+in the expression that awakened a wonderment
+in Nora&#8217;s heart.</p>
+<p>As Celeste began the <i>andante</i>, Nora signified
+to the Barone to drop his work. She
+let her own hands fall. Harrigan gently
+closed his book, for in that rough kindly soul
+of his lay a mighty love of music. He himself
+was without expression of any sort, and
+somehow music seemed to stir the dim and not
+quite understandable longing for utterance.
+Mrs. Harrigan alone went on with her work;
+she could work and listen at the same time.
+After the magnificent finale, nothing in the
+room stirred but her needle.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bravo!&#8221; cried the Barone, breaking the
+spell.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;You never played that better,&#8221; declared
+Nora.</p>
+<p>Celeste, to escape the keen inquiry of her
+friend and to cover up her embarrassment,
+dashed into one of the lighter compositions, a
+waltz. It was a favorite of Nora&#8217;s. She rose
+and went over to the piano and rested a hand
+upon Celeste&#8217;s shoulder. And presently her
+voice took up the melody. Mrs. Harrigan
+dropped her needle. It was not that she was
+particularly fond of music, but there was
+something in Nora&#8217;s singing that cast a temporary
+spell of enchantment over her, rendering
+her speechless and motionless. She was
+not of an analytical turn of mind; thus, the
+truth escaped her. She was really lost in admiration
+of herself: she had produced this
+marvelous being!</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s some!&#8221; Harrigan beat his hands
+together thunderously. &#8220;Great stuff; eh,
+Barone?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Barone raised his hands as if to express
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span>
+his utter inability to describe his sensations.
+His elation was that ascribed to those fortunate
+mortals whom the gods lifted to Olympus.
+At his feet lay the lace-hemming, hopelessly
+snarled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Father, father!&#8221; remonstrated Nora;
+&#8220;you will wake up all the old ladies who are
+having their siesta.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Bah! I&#8217;ll bet a doughnut their ears are
+glued to their doors. What ho! Somebody&#8217;s
+at the portcullis. Probably the padre, come
+up for tea.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He was at the door instantly. He flung it
+open heartily. It was characteristic of the
+man to open everything widely, his heart, his
+mind, his hate or his affection.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come in, come in! Just in time for the
+matinée concert.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre was not alone. Courtlandt followed
+him in.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-256.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 506px; height: 305px;' /><br />
+<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 506px;'>
+Courtlandt followed him in.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;We have been standing in the corridor for
+ten minutes,&#8221; affirmed the padre, sending a
+winning smile around the room. &#8220;Mr. Courtlandt
+was for going down to the bureau and
+sending up our cards. But I would not hear
+of such formality. I am a privileged person.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sure yes! Molly, ring for tea, and tell
+&#8217;em to make it hot. How about a little peg,
+as the colonel says?&#8221;</p>
+<p>The two men declined.</p>
+<p>How easily and nonchalantly the man stood
+there by the door as Harrigan took his hat!
+Celeste was aquiver with excitement. She
+was thoroughly a woman: she wanted something
+to happen, dramatically, romantically.</p>
+<p>But her want was a vain one. The man
+smiled quizzically at Nora, who acknowledged
+the salutation by a curtsy which would have
+frightened away the banshees of her childhood.
+Nora hated scenes, and Courtlandt had the
+advantage of her in his knowledge of this.
+Celeste remained at the piano, but Nora turned
+as if to move away.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, no!&#8221; cried the padre, his palms extended
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span>
+in protest. &#8220;If you stop the music I
+shall leave instantly.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But we are all through, Padre,&#8221; replied
+Nora, pinching Celeste&#8217;s arm, which action the
+latter readily understood as a command to
+leave the piano.</p>
+<p>Celeste, however, had a perverse streak in
+her to-day. Instead of rising as Nora expected
+she would, she wheeled on the stool and
+began <i>Morning Mood</i> from Peer Gynt, because
+the padre preferred Grieg or Beethoven
+to Chopin. Nora frowned at the pretty head
+below her. She stooped.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t forgive you for this trick,&#8221; she
+whispered.</p>
+<p>Celeste shrugged, and her fingers did not
+falter. So Nora moved away this time in
+earnest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, you must sing. That is what I came
+up for,&#8221; insisted the padre. If there was any
+malice in the churchman, it was of a negative
+quality. But it was in his Latin blood that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span>
+drama should appeal to him strongly, and here
+was an unusual phase in The Great Play. He
+had urged Courtlandt, much against the latter&#8217;s
+will this day, to come up with him, simply
+that he might set a little scene such as this
+promised to be and study it from the vantage
+of the prompter. He knew that the principal
+theme of all great books, of all great
+dramas, was antagonism, antagonism between
+man and woman, though by a thousand other
+names has it been called. He had often said,
+in a spirit of raillery, that this antagonism was
+principally due to the fact that Eve had been
+constructed (and very well) out of a rib from
+Adam. Naturally she resented this, that she
+had not been fashioned independently, and
+would hold it against man until the true secret
+of the parable was made clear to her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sing that, Padre?&#8221; said Nora. &#8220;Why,
+there are no words to it that I know.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Words? <i>Peste!</i> Who cares for words
+no one really ever understands? It is the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span>
+voice, my child. Go on, or I shall make you
+do some frightful penance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora saw that further opposition would be
+useless. After all, it would be better to sing.
+She would not be compelled to look at this
+man she so despised. For a moment her tones
+were not quite clear; but Celeste increased the
+volume of sound warningly, and as this required
+more force on Nora&#8217;s part, the little
+cross-current was passed without mishap. It
+was mere pastime for her to follow these wonderful
+melodies. She had no words to recall
+so that her voice was free to do with as she
+elected. There were bars absolutely impossible
+to follow, note for note, but she got around
+this difficulty by taking the key and holding it
+strongly and evenly. In ordinary times Nora
+never refused to sing for her guests, if she
+happened to be in voice. There was none of
+that conceited arrogance behind which most of
+the vocal celebrities hide themselves. At the
+beginning she had intended to sing badly; but
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span>
+as the music proceeded, she sang as she had not
+sung in weeks. To fill this man&#8217;s soul with a
+hunger for the sound of her voice, to pour
+into his heart a fresh knowledge of what he
+had lost forever and forever!</p>
+<p>Courtlandt sat on the divan beside Harrigan
+who, with that friendly spirit which he observed
+toward all whom he liked, whether of
+long or short acquaintance, had thrown his
+arm across Courtlandt&#8217;s shoulder. The
+younger man understood all that lay behind
+the simple gesture, and he was secretly pleased.</p>
+<p>But Mrs. Harrigan was not. She was
+openly displeased, and in vain she tried to
+catch the eye of her wayward lord. A man
+he had known but twenty-four hours, and to
+greet him with such coarse familiarity!</p>
+<p>Celeste was not wholly unmerciful. She
+did not finish the suite, but turned from the
+keys after the final chords of <i>Morning Mood</i>.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you!&#8221; said Nora.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do not stop,&#8221; begged Courtlandt.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></p>
+<p>Nora looked directly into his eyes as she
+replied: &#8220;One&#8217;s voice can not go on forever,
+and mine is not at all strong.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And thus, without having originally the least
+intent to do so, they broke the mutual contract
+on which they had separately and secretly
+agreed: never to speak directly to each
+other. Nora was first to realize what she
+had done, and she was furiously angry with
+herself. She left the piano.</p>
+<p>As if her mind had opened suddenly like a
+book, Courtlandt sprang from the divan and
+reached for the fat ball of lace-hemming. He
+sat down in Nora&#8217;s chair and nodded significantly
+to the Barone, who blushed. To hold
+the delicate material for Nora&#8217;s unwinding was
+a privilege of the gods, but to hold it for this
+man for whom he held a dim feeling of antagonism
+was altogether a different matter.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is horribly tangled,&#8221; he admitted, hoping
+thus to escape.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No matter. You hold the ball. I&#8217;ll untangle
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span>
+it. I never saw a fish-line I could not
+straighten out.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora laughed. It was not possible for her
+to repress the sound. Her sense of humor
+was too strong in this case to be denied its
+release in laughter. It was free of the subtler
+emotions; frank merriment, no more, no less.
+And possessing the hunter&#8217;s extraordinarily
+keen ear, Courtlandt recognized the quality;
+and the weight of a thousand worlds lightened
+its pressure upon his heart. And the Barone
+laughed, too. So there they were, the three
+of them. But Nora&#8217;s ineffectual battle for
+repression had driven her near to hysteria.
+To escape this dire calamity, she flung open a
+casement window and stood within it, breathing
+in the heavy fragrance of the rain-laden
+air.</p>
+<p>This little comedy had the effect of relaxing
+them all; and the laughter became general.
+Abbott&#8217;s smile faded soonest. He stared at
+his friend in wonder not wholly free from a
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span>
+sense of evil fortune. Never had he known
+Courtlandt to aspire to be a squire of dames.
+To see the Barone hold the ball as if it were
+hot shot was amusing; but the cool imperturbable
+manner with which Courtlandt proceeded
+to untangle the snarl was disturbing.
+Why the deuce wasn&#8217;t he himself big and
+strong, silent and purposeful, instead of being
+a dawdling fool of an artist?</p>
+<p>No answer came to his inquiry, but there
+was a knock at the door. The managing
+director handed Harrigan a card.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Herr Rosen,&#8221; he read aloud. &#8220;Send him
+up. Some friend of yours, Nora; Herr
+Rosen. I told Mr. Jilli to send him up.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre drew his feet under his cassock,
+a sign of perturbation; Courtlandt continued
+to unwind; the Barone glanced fiercely at
+Nora, who smiled enigmatically.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XV_HERR_ROSEN_S_REGRETS' id='XV_HERR_ROSEN_S_REGRETS'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+<h3>HERR ROSEN&#8217;S REGRETS</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Herr Rosen! There was no outward
+reason why the name should have set a
+chill on them all, turned them into expectant
+statues. Yet, all semblance of good-fellowship
+was instantly gone. To Mrs. Harrigan
+alone did the name convey a sense of responsibility,
+a flutter of apprehension not unmixed
+with delight. She put her own work behind
+the piano lid, swooped down upon the two men
+and snatched away the lace-hemming, to the
+infinite relief of the one and the surprise of
+the other. Courtlandt would have liked nothing
+better than to hold the lace in his lap, for
+it was possible that Herr Rosen might wish to
+shake hands, however disinclined he might be
+within to perform such greeting. The lace
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span>
+disappeared. Mrs. Harrigan smoothed out
+the wrinkles in her dress. From the others
+there had been little movement and no sound
+to speak of. Harrigan still waited by the
+door, seriously contemplating the bit of pasteboard
+in his hand.</p>
+<p>Nora did not want to look, but curiosity
+drew her eyes imperiously toward Courtlandt.
+He had not risen. Did he know? Did he
+understand? Was his attitude pretense or innocence?
+Ah, if she could but look behind
+that impenetrable mask! How she hated him!
+The effrontery of it all! And she could do
+nothing, say nothing: dared not tell them then
+and there what he truly was, a despicable
+scoundrel! The son of her father&#8217;s dearest
+friend; what mockery! A friend of the family!
+It was maddening.</p>
+<p>Herr Rosen brushed past Harrigan unceremoniously,
+without pausing, and went straight
+over to Nora, who was thereupon seized by an
+uncontrollable spirit of devilment. She hated
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span>
+Herr Rosen, but she was going to be as pleasant
+and as engaging as she knew how to be.
+She did not care if he misinterpreted her
+mood. She welcomed him with a hand. He
+went on to Mrs. Harrigan, who colored pleasurably.
+He was then introduced, and he acknowledged
+each introduction with a careless
+nod. He was there to see Nora, and he did
+not propose to put himself to any inconvenience
+on account of the others.</p>
+<p>The temporary restraint which had settled
+upon the others at the announcement of Herr
+Rosen&#8217;s arrival passed away. Courtlandt,
+who had remained seated during the initial
+formalities (a fact which bewildered Abbott,
+who knew how punctilious his friend was in
+matters of this kind) got up and took a third
+of the divan.</p>
+<p>Harrigan dropped down beside him. It was
+his habit to watch his daughter&#8217;s face when
+any guest arrived. He formed his impression
+on what he believed to be hers. That she
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
+was a consummate actress never entered into
+his calculations. The welcoming smile dissipated
+any doubts.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No matter where we are, they keep coming.
+She has as many friends as T. R. I
+never bother to keep track of &#8217;em.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It would be rather difficult,&#8221; assented
+Courtlandt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You ought to see the flowers. Loads of
+&#8217;em. And say, what do you think? Every
+jewel that comes she turns into money and
+gives to charity. Can you beat it? Fine joke
+on the Johnnies. Of course, I mean stones
+that turn up anonymously. Those that have
+cards go back by fast-mail. It&#8217;s a good thing
+I don&#8217;t chance across the senders. Now, boy,
+I want you to feel at home here in this family;
+I want you to come up when you want to
+and at any old time of day. I kind of want
+to pay back to you all the kind things your
+dad did for me. And I don&#8217;t want any Oh-pshawing.
+Get me?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Whatever you say. If my dad did you
+any favors it was because he liked and admired
+you; not with any idea of having you
+discharge the debt in the future by way of
+inconveniencing yourself on my account. Just
+let me be a friend of the family, like Abbott
+here. That would be quite enough honor for
+me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re on! Say, that blacksmith yarn
+was a corker. He was a game old codger.
+That was scrapping; no hall full of tobacco-smoke,
+no palm-fans, lemonade, peanuts and
+pop-corn; just right out on the turf, and may
+the best man win. I know. I went through
+that. No frame-ups, all square and on the
+level. A fellow had to fight those days, no
+sparring, no pretty footwork. Sometimes I&#8217;ve
+a hankering to get back and exchange a wallop
+or two. Nothing to it, though. My wife
+won&#8217;t let me, as the song goes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt chuckled. &#8220;I suppose it&#8217;s the
+monotony. A man who has been active hates
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span>
+to sit down and twiddle his thumbs. You
+exercise?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Walk a lot.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Climb any?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t know that game.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s great sport. I&#8217;ll break you in some
+day, if you say. You&#8217;ll like it. The mountains
+around here are not dangerous. We can
+go up and down in a day.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll go you. But, say, last night Nora
+chucked a bunch of daisies out of the window,
+and as I was nosing around in the vineyard, I
+came across it. You know how a chap will
+absently pick a bunch of flowers apart. What
+do you think I found?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A note?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;This.&#8221; Harrigan exhibited the emerald.
+&#8220;Who sent it? Where the dickens did it
+come from?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt took the stone and examined it
+carefully. &#8220;That&#8217;s not a bad stone. Uncut
+but polished; oriental.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Oriental, eh? What would you say it was
+worth?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, somewhere between six and seven
+hundred.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Suffering shamrocks! A little green pebble
+like this?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Cut and flawless, at that size, it would be
+worth pounds instead of dollars.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, what do you think of that? Nora
+told me to keep it, so I guess I will.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, yes. If a man sends a thing like
+this anonymously, he can&#8217;t possibly complain.
+Have it made into a stick pin.&#8221; Courtlandt
+returned the stone which Harrigan pocketed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes I wish Nora&#8217;d marry and settle
+down.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;She is young. You wouldn&#8217;t have quit
+the game at her age!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I should say not! But that&#8217;s different.
+A man&#8217;s business is to fight for his grub,
+whether in an office or in the ring. That&#8217;s a
+part of the game. But a woman ought to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span>
+have a home, live in it three-fourths of the
+year, and bring up good citizens. That&#8217;s what
+we are all here for. Molly used to stay at
+home, but now it&#8217;s the social bug, gadding
+from morning until night. Ah, here&#8217;s Carlos
+with the tea.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Herr Rosen instantly usurped the chair next
+to Nora, who began to pour the tea. He had
+come up from the village prepared for a disagreeable
+half-hour. Instead of being greeted
+with icy glances from stormy eyes, he encountered
+such smiles as this adorable creature
+had never before bestowed upon him. He
+was in the clouds. That night at Cadenabbia
+had apparently knocked the bottom out of his
+dream. Women were riddles which only they
+themselves could solve for others. For this
+one woman he was perfectly ready to throw
+everything aside. A man lived but once; and
+he was a fool who would hold to tinsel in preference
+to such happiness as he thought he saw
+opening out before him. Nora saw, but she
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span>
+did not care. That in order to reach another
+she was practising infinite cruelty on this
+man (whose one fault lay in that he loved her)
+did not appeal to her pity. But her arrow
+flew wide of the target; at least, there appeared
+no result to her archery in malice. Not once
+had the intended victim looked over to where
+she sat. And yet she knew that he must be
+watching; he could not possibly avoid it and
+be human. And when he finally came forward
+to take his cup, she leaned toward Herr Rosen.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You take two lumps?&#8221; she asked sweetly.
+It was only a chance shot, but she hit on the
+truth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And you remember?&#8221; excitedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;One lump for mine, please,&#8221; said Courtlandt,
+smiling.</p>
+<p>She picked up a cube of sugar and dropped
+it into his cup. She had the air of one wishing
+it were poison. The recipient of this good
+will, with perfect understanding, returned to
+the divan, where the padre and Harrigan were
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span>
+gravely toasting each other with Benedictine.</p>
+<p>Nora made no mistake with either Abbott&#8217;s
+cup or the Barone&#8217;s; but the two men were
+filled with but one desire, to throw Herr Rosen
+out of the window. What had begun as a
+beautiful day was now becoming black and
+uncertain.</p>
+<p>The Barone could control every feature
+save his eyes, and these openly admitted
+deep anger. He recollected Herr Rosen well
+enough. The encounter over at Cadenabbia
+was not the first by many. Herr Rosen!
+His presence in this room under that name
+was an insult, and he intended to call the
+interloper to account the very first opportunity
+he found.</p>
+<p>Perhaps Celeste, sitting as quiet as a mouse
+upon the piano-stool, was the only one who
+saw these strange currents drifting dangerously
+about. That her own heart ached miserably
+did not prevent her from observing
+things with all her usual keenness. Ah, Nora,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span>
+Nora, who have everything to give and yet
+give nothing, why do you play so heartless a
+game? Why hurt those who can no more help
+loving you than the earth can help whirling
+around the calm dispassionate sun? Always
+they turn to you, while I, who have so much
+to give, am given nothing! She set down her
+tea-cup and began the aria from <i>La Bohème</i>.</p>
+<p>Nora, without relaxing the false smile, suddenly
+found emptiness in everything.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sing!&#8221; said Herr Rosen.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am too tired. Some other time.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He did not press her. Instead, he whispered
+in his own tongue: &#8220;You are the most
+adorable woman in the world!&#8221;</p>
+<p>And Nora turned upon him a pair of eyes
+blank with astonishment. It was as though
+she had been asleep and he had rudely awakened
+her. His infatuation blinded him to the
+truth; he saw in the look a feminine desire to
+throw the others off the track as to the sentiment
+expressed in his whispered words.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span></p>
+<p>The hour passed tolerably well. Herr
+Rosen then observed the time, rose and excused
+himself. He took the steps leading
+abruptly down the terrace to the carriage road.
+He had come by the other way, the rambling
+stone stairs which began at the porter&#8217;s lodge,
+back of the villa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Padre,&#8221; whispered Courtlandt, &#8220;I am
+going. Do not follow. I shall explain to you
+when we meet again.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre signified that he understood.
+Harrigan protested vigorously, but smiling and
+shaking his head, Courtlandt went away.</p>
+<p>Nora ran to the window. She could see
+Herr Rosen striding along, down the winding
+road, his head in the air. Presently, from
+behind a cluster of mulberries, the figure of
+another man came into view. He was going
+at a dog-trot, his hat settled at an angle that
+permitted the rain to beat squarely into his
+face. The next turn in the road shut them
+both from sight. But Nora did not stir.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></p>
+<p>Herr Rosen stopped and turned.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You called?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; Courtlandt had caught up with
+him just as Herr Rosen was about to open the
+gates. &#8220;Just a moment, Herr Rosen,&#8221; with
+a hand upon the bars. &#8220;I shall not detain
+you long.&#8221;</p>
+<p>There was studied insolence in the tones and
+the gestures which accompanied them.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Be brief, if you please.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My name is Edward Courtlandt, as doubtless
+you have heard.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;In a large room it is difficult to remember
+all the introductions.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Precisely. That is why I take the liberty
+of recalling it to you, so that you will not forget
+it,&#8221; urbanely.</p>
+<p>A pause. Dark patches of water were
+spreading across their shoulders. Little rivulets
+ran down Courtlandt&#8217;s arm, raised as it
+was against the bars.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do not see how it may concern me,&#8221; replied
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span>
+Herr Rosen finally with an insolence
+more marked than Courtlandt&#8217;s.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In Paris we met one night, at the stage
+entrance of the Opera, I pushed you aside,
+not knowing who you were. You had offered
+your services; the door of Miss Harrigan&#8217;s
+limousine.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was you?&#8221; scowling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I apologize for that. To-morrow morning
+you will leave Bellaggio for Varenna.
+Somewhere between nine and ten the fast train
+leaves for Milan.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Varenna! Milan!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Exactly. You speak English as naturally
+and fluently as if you were born to the tongue.
+Thus, you will leave for Milan. What becomes
+of you after that is of no consequence
+to me. Am I making myself clear?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Verdampt!</i> Do I believe my ears?&#8221; furiously.
+&#8220;Are you telling me to leave Bellaggio
+to-morrow morning?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As directly as I can.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></p>
+<p>Herr Rosen&#8217;s face became as red as his
+name. He was a brave young man, but there
+was danger of an active kind in the blue eyes
+boring into his own. If it came to a physical
+contest, he realized that he would get the worst
+of it. He put his hand to his throat; his very
+impotence was choking him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your Highness....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Highness!&#8221; Herr Rosen stepped back.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Your Highness will readily see the
+wisdom of my concern for your hasty departure
+when I add that I know all about the little
+house in Versailles, that my knowledge is
+shared by the chief of the Parisian police and
+the minister of war. If you annoy Miss Harrigan
+with your equivocal attentions....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>Gott!</i> This is too much!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wait! I am stronger than you are. Do
+not make me force you to hear me to the end.
+You have gone about this intrigue like a blackguard,
+and that I know your Highness not to
+be. The matter is, you are young, you have
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span>
+always had your way, you have not learnt restraint.
+Your presence here is an insult to
+Miss Harrigan, and if she was pleasant to you
+this afternoon it was for my benefit. If you
+do not go, I shall expose you.&#8221; Courtlandt
+opened the gate.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And if I refuse?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, in that case, being the American that
+I am, without any particular reverence for
+royalty or nobility, as it is known, I promise
+to thrash you soundly to-morrow morning at
+ten o&#8217;clock, in the dining-room, in the bureau,
+the drawing-room, wherever I may happen to
+find you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt turned on his heel and hurried
+back to the villa. He did not look over his
+shoulder. If he had, he might have felt pity
+for the young man who leaned heavily against
+the gate, his burning face pressed upon his
+rain-soaked sleeve.</p>
+<p>When Courtlandt knocked at the door and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span>
+was admitted, he apologized. &#8220;I came back
+for my umbrella.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Umbrella!&#8221; exclaimed the padre. &#8220;Why,
+we had no umbrellas. We came up in a carriage
+which is probably waiting for us this
+very minute by the porter&#8217;s lodge.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I am certainly absent-minded!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Absent-minded!&#8221; scoffed Abbott. &#8220;You
+never forgot anything in all your life, unless it
+was to go to bed. You wanted an excuse to
+come back.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Any excuse would be a good one in that
+case. I think we&#8217;d better be going, Padre.
+And by the way, Herr Rosen begged me to
+present his regrets. He is leaving Bellaggio in
+the morning.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora turned her face once more to the window.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XVI_THE_APPLE_OF_DISCORD' id='XVI_THE_APPLE_OF_DISCORD'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+<h3>THE APPLE OF DISCORD</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is all very petty, my child,&#8221; said the
+padre. &#8220;Life is made up of bigger
+things; the little ones should be ignored.&#8221;</p>
+<p>To which Nora replied: &#8220;To a woman,
+the little things are everything; they are the
+daily routine, the expected, the necessary
+things. What you call the big things in life
+are accidents. And, oh! I have pride.&#8221; She
+folded her arms across her heaving bosom; for
+the padre&#8217;s directness this morning had stirred
+her deeply.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wilfulness is called pride by some; and
+stubbornness. But you know, as well as I do,
+that yours is resentment, anger, indignation.
+Yes, you have pride, but it has not been
+brought into this affair. Pride is that within
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span>
+which prevents us from doing mean or sordid
+acts; and you could not do one or the other
+if you tried. The sentiment in you which
+should be developed....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is mercy?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No; justice, the patience to weigh the
+right or wrong of a thing.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Padre, I have eyes, eyes; I <i>saw</i>.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He twirled the middle button of his cassock.
+&#8220;The eyes see and the ears hear, but these are
+only witnesses, laying the matter before the
+court of the last resort, which is the mind.
+It is there we sift the evidence.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He had the insufferable insolence to order
+Herr Rosen to leave,&#8221; going around the barrier
+of his well-ordered logic.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah! Now, how could he send away Herr
+Rosen if that gentleman had really preferred
+to stay?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora looked confused.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Shall I tell you? I suspected; so I questioned
+him last night. Had I been in his
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span>
+place, I should have chastised Herr Rosen instead
+of bidding him be gone. It was he.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora, sat down.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Positively. The men who guarded you
+were two actors from one of the theaters.
+He did not come to Versailles because he was
+being watched. He was found and sent home
+the night before your release.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry. But it was so like <i>him</i>.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The padre spread his hands. &#8220;What a way
+women have of modifying either good or bad
+impulses! It would have been fine of you to
+have stopped when you said you were sorry.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Padre, one would believe that you had
+taken up his defense!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;If I had I should have to leave it after
+to-day. I return to Rome to-morrow and
+shall not see you again before you go to
+America. I have bidden good-by to all save
+you. My child, my last admonition is, be patient;
+observe; guard against that impulse born
+in your blood to move hastily, to form opinions
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span>
+without solid foundations. Be happy
+while you are young, for old age is happy only
+in that reflected happiness of recollection.
+Write to me, here. I return in November.
+<i>Benedicite?</i>&#8221; smiling.</p>
+<p>Nora bowed her head and he put a hand
+upon it.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>&#8220;And listen to this,&#8221; began Harrigan, turning
+over a page. &#8220;&#8216;It is considered bad form
+to call the butler to your side when you are a
+guest. Catch his eye. He will understand
+that something is wanted.&#8217; How&#8217;s that?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s the way to live.&#8221; Courtlandt
+grinned, and tilted back his chair until it rested
+against the oak.</p>
+<p>The morning was clear and mild. Fresh
+snow lay upon the mountain tops; later it
+would disappear. The fountain tinkled, and
+swallows darted hither and thither under the
+sparkling spray. The gardeners below in the
+vegetable patch were singing. By the door of
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span>
+the villa sat two old ladies, breakfasting in the
+sunshine. There was a hint of lavender in the
+lazy drifting air. A dozen yards away sat
+Abbott, two or three brushes between his teeth
+and one in his hand. A little behind was
+Celeste, sewing posies upon one of those
+squares of linen toward which all women in
+their idle moments are inclined, and which,
+on finishing, they immediately stow away in
+the bottom of some trunk against the day when
+they have a home of their own, or marry, or
+find some one ignorant enough to accept it as
+a gift.</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;And when in doubt,&#8217;&#8221; continued Harrigan,
+&#8220;&#8216;watch how other persons use their
+forks.&#8217; Can you beat it? And say, honest,
+Molly bought that for me to read and study.
+And I never piped the subtitle until this morning.
+&#8216;Advice to young ladies upon going into
+society.&#8217; Huh?&#8221; Harrigan slapped his knee
+with the book and roared out his keen enjoyment.
+Somehow he seemed to be more at
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span>
+ease with this young fellow than with any
+other man he had met in years. &#8220;But for the
+love of Mike, don&#8217;t say anything to Molly,&#8221;
+fearfully. &#8220;Oh, she means the best in the
+world,&#8221; contritely. &#8220;I&#8217;m always embarrassing
+her; shoe-strings that don&#8217;t match, a busted
+stud in my shirt-front, and there isn&#8217;t a pair
+of white-kids made that&#8217;ll stay whole more
+than five minutes on these paws. I suppose it&#8217;s
+because I don&#8217;t think. After all, I&#8217;m only a
+retired pug.&#8221; The old fellow&#8217;s eyes sparkled
+suspiciously. &#8220;The best two women in all
+the world, and I don&#8217;t want them to be
+ashamed of me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, Mr. Harrigan,&#8221; said Courtlandt, letting
+his chair fall into place so that he could
+lay a hand affectionately upon the other&#8217;s knee,
+&#8220;neither of them would be worth their salt if
+they ever felt ashamed of you. What do you
+care what strangers think or say? You know.
+You&#8217;ve seen life. You&#8217;ve stepped off the stage
+and carried with you the recollection of decent
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span>
+living, of playing square, of doing the best you
+could. The worst scoundrels I ever met never
+made any mistake with their forks. Perhaps
+you don&#8217;t know it, but my father became rich
+because he could judge a man&#8217;s worth almost
+at sight. And he kept this fortune and added
+to it because he chose half a dozen friends
+and refused to enlarge the list. If you became
+his friend, he had good reason for making you
+such.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, we did have some good times together,&#8221;
+Harrigan admitted, with a glow in
+his heart. &#8220;And I guess after all that I&#8217;ll go
+to the ball with Molly. I don&#8217;t mind teas like
+we had at the colonel&#8217;s, but dinners and balls
+I have drawn the line at. I&#8217;ll take the plunge
+to-night. There&#8217;s always some place for a
+chap to smoke.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;At the Villa Rosa? I&#8217;ll be there myself;
+and any time you are in doubt, don&#8217;t be afraid
+to question me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re in class A,&#8221; heartily. &#8220;But there&#8217;s
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span>
+one thing that worries me,&mdash;Nora. She&#8217;s
+gone up so high, and she&#8217;s such a wonderful
+girl, that all the men in Christendom are hiking
+after her. And some of &#8217;em....
+Well, Molly says it isn&#8217;t good form to wallop
+a man over here. Why, she went on her lonesome
+to India and Japan, with nobody but her
+maid; and never put us hep until she landed in
+Bombay. The men out that way aren&#8217;t the
+best. East of Suez, you know. And that
+chap yesterday, Herr Rosen. Did you see the
+way he hiked by me when I let him in? He
+took me to be the round number before one.
+And he didn&#8217;t speak a dozen words to any but
+Nora. Not that I mind that; but it was something
+in the way he did it that scratched me
+the wrong way. The man who thinks he&#8217;s
+going to get Nora by walking over me, has got
+a guess coming. Of course, it&#8217;s meat and
+drink to Molly to have sons of grand dukes
+and kings trailing around. She says it gives
+tone.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Isn&#8217;t she afraid sometimes?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Afraid? I should say not! There&#8217;s only
+three things that Molly&#8217;s afraid of these days:
+a spool of thread, a needle, and a button.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt laughed frankly. &#8220;I really
+don&#8217;t think you need worry about Herr Rosen.
+He has gone, and he will not come back.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Say! I&#8217;ll bet a dollar it was you who
+shoo&#8217;d him off.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. But it was undoubtedly an impertinence
+on my part, and I&#8217;d rather you would
+not disclose my officiousness to Miss Harrigan.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Piffle! If you knew him you had a perfect
+right to pass him back his ticket. Who
+was he?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt poked at the gravel with his cane.</p>
+<p>&#8220;One of the big guns?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt nodded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So big that he couldn&#8217;t have married my
+girl even if he loved her?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. As big as that.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></p>
+<p>Harrigan riffled the leaves of his book.
+&#8220;What do you say to going down to the hotel
+and having a game of <i>bazzica</i>, as they call
+billiards here?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing would please me better,&#8221; said
+Courtlandt, relieved that Harrigan did not
+press him for further revelations.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora is studying a new opera, and
+Molly-O is ragging the village dressmaker.
+It&#8217;s only half after ten, and we can whack &#8217;em
+around until noon. I warn you, I&#8217;m something
+of a shark.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll lay you the cigars that I beat you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re on!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Harrigan put the book in his pocket, and the
+two of them made for the upper path, not,
+however, without waving a friendly adieu to
+Celeste, who was watching them with much
+curiosity.</p>
+<p>For a moment Nora became visible in the
+window. Her expression did not signify that
+the sight of the men together pleased her. On
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span>
+the contrary, her eyes burned and her brow
+was ruffled by several wrinkles which threatened
+to become permanent if the condition of
+affairs continued to remain as it was. To
+her the calm placidity of the man was nothing
+less than monumental impudence. How she
+hated him; how bitterly, how intensely she
+hated him! She withdrew from the window
+without having been seen.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Did you ever see two finer specimens of
+man?&#8221; Celeste asked of Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What? Who?&#8221; mumbled Abbott, whose
+forehead was puckered with impatience.
+&#8220;Oh, those two? They <i>are</i> well set up. But
+what the deuce <i>is</i> the matter with this foreground?&#8221;
+taking the brushes from his teeth.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve been hammering away at it for a week,
+and it does not get there yet.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Celeste rose and laid aside her work. She
+stood behind him and studied the picture
+through half-closed critical eyes. &#8220;You have
+painted it over too many times.&#8221; Then she
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span>
+looked down at the shapely head. Ah, the
+longing to put her hands upon it, to run her
+fingers through the tousled hair, to touch it
+with her lips! But no! &#8220;Perhaps you are
+tired; perhaps you have worked too hard.
+Why not put aside your brushes for a week?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve a good mind to chuck it into the lake.
+I simply can&#8217;t paint any more.&#8221; He flung
+down the brushes. &#8220;I&#8217;m a fool, Celeste, a
+fool. I&#8217;m crying for the moon, that&#8217;s what
+the matter is. What&#8217;s the use of beating
+about the bush? You know as well as I do
+that it&#8217;s Nora.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Her heart contracted, and for a little while
+she could not see him clearly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But what earthly chance have I?&#8221; he went
+on, innocently but ruthlessly. &#8220;No one can
+help loving Nora.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; in a small voice.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s all rot, this talk about affinities.
+There&#8217;s always some poor devil left outside.
+But who can help loving Nora?&#8221; he repeated.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Who indeed!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And there&#8217;s not the least chance in the
+world for me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You never can tell until you put it to the
+test.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I have a chance? Is it possible
+that Nora may care a little for me?&#8221;
+He turned his head toward her eagerly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who knows?&#8221; She wanted him to have
+it over with, to learn the truth that to Nora
+Harrigan he would never be more than an
+amiable comrade. He would then have none
+to turn to but her. What mattered it if her
+own heart ached so she might soothe the hurt
+in his? She laid a hand upon his shoulder, so
+lightly that he was only dimly conscious of
+the contact.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a rummy old world. Here I&#8217;ve gone
+alone all these years....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Twenty-six!&#8221; smiling.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, that&#8217;s a long time. Never bothered
+my head about a woman. Selfish, perhaps.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span>
+Had a good time, came and went as I pleased.
+And then I met Nora.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;If only she&#8217;d been stand-offish, like these
+other singers, why, I&#8217;d have been all right
+to-day. But she&#8217;s such a brick! She&#8217;s such
+a good fellow! She treats us all alike; sings
+when we ask her to; always ready for a romp.
+Think of her making us all take the <i>Kneip</i>-cure
+the other night! And we marched
+around the fountain singing &#8216;Mary had a little
+lamb.&#8217; Barefooted in the grass! When a
+man marries he doesn&#8217;t want a wife half so
+much as a good comrade; somebody to slap
+him on the back in the morning to hearten him
+up for the day&#8217;s work; and to cuddle him up
+when he comes home tired, or disappointed,
+or unsuccessful. No matter what mood he&#8217;s
+in. Is my English getting away from you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No; I understand all you say.&#8221; Her
+hand rested a trifle heavier upon his shoulder,
+that was all.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora would be that kind of a wife.
+&#8216;Honor, anger, valor, fire,&#8217; as Stevenson says.
+Hang the picture; what am I going to do with
+it?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Honor, anger, valor, fire,&#8217;&#8221; Celeste repeated
+slowly. &#8220;Yes, that is Nora.&#8221; A bitter
+little smile moved her lips as she recalled
+the happenings of the last two days. But no;
+he must find out for himself; he must meet the
+hurt from Nora, not from her. &#8220;How long,
+Abbott, have you known your friend Mr.
+Courtlandt?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Boys together,&#8221; playing a light tattoo with
+his mahl-stick.</p>
+<p>&#8220;How old is he?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;About thirty-two or three.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He is very rich?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oceans of money; throws it away, but not
+fast enough to get rid of it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He is what you say in English ... wild?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; with mock gravity, &#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span>
+like to be the tiger that crossed his path.
+Wild; that&#8217;s the word for it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are laughing. Ah, I know! I
+should say dissipated.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Courtlandt? Come, now, Celeste; does he
+look dissipated?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No-o.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He drinks when he chooses, he flirts with
+a pretty woman when he chooses, he smokes
+the finest tobacco there is when he chooses;
+and he gives them all up when he chooses.
+He is like the seasons; he comes and goes, and
+nobody can change his habits.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He has had no affair?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, Courtlandt hasn&#8217;t any heart. It&#8217;s a
+mechanical device to keep his blood in circulation;
+that&#8217;s all. I am the most intimate friend
+he has, and yet I know no more than you how
+he lives and where he goes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She let her hand fall from his shoulder.
+She was glad that he did not know.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But look!&#8221; she cried in warning.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span></p>
+<p>Abbott looked.</p>
+<p>A woman was coming serenely down the
+path from the wooded promontory, a woman
+undeniably handsome in a cedar-tinted linen
+dress, exquisitely fashioned, with a touch of
+vivid scarlet on her hat and a most tantalizing
+flash of scarlet ankle. It was Flora Desimone,
+fresh from her morning bath and a substantial
+breakfast. The errand that had brought her
+from Aix-les-Bains was confessedly a merciful
+one. But she possessed the dramatist&#8217;s
+instinct to prolong a situation. Thus, to make
+her act of mercy seem infinitely larger than it
+was, she was determined first to cast the Apple
+of Discord into this charming corner of Eden.
+The Apple of Discord, as every man knows, is
+the only thing a woman can throw with any
+accuracy.</p>
+<p>The artist snatched up his brushes, and
+ruined the painting forthwith, for all time.
+The foreground was, in his opinion, beyond
+redemption; so, with a savage humor, he rapidly
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span>
+limned in a score of impossible trees,
+turned midday into sunset, with a riot of colors
+which would have made the Chinese New-year
+in Canton a drab and sober event in comparison.
+He hated Flora Desimone, as all Nora&#8217;s
+adherents most properly did, but with a hatred
+wholly reflective and adapted to Nora&#8217;s moods.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have spoiled it!&#8221; cried Celeste. She
+had watched the picture grow, and to see it
+ruthlessly destroyed this way hurt her.
+&#8220;How could you!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Worst I ever did.&#8221; He began to change
+the whole effect, chuckling audibly as he
+worked. Sunset divided honors with moonlight.
+It was no longer incongruous; it was
+ridiculous. He leaned back and laughed.
+&#8220;I&#8217;m going to send it to L&#8217;Asino, and call it
+an afterthought.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Give it to me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense! I&#8217;m going to touch a match to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span>
+it. I&#8217;ll give you that picture with the lavender
+in bloom.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I want this.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;But you can not hang it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I want it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well!&#8221; The more he learned about
+women the farther out of mental reach they
+seemed to go. Why on earth did she want
+this execrable daub? &#8220;You may have it; but
+all the same, I&#8217;m going to call an oculist and
+have him examine your eyes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, it is the Signorina Fournier!&#8221;</p>
+<p>In preparing studiously to ignore Flora
+Desimone&#8217;s presence they had forgotten all
+about her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good morning, Signora,&#8221; said Celeste in
+Italian.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And the Signore Abbott, the painter,
+also!&#8221; The Calabrian raised what she considered
+her most deadly weapon, her lorgnette.</p>
+<p>Celeste had her fancy-work instantly in her
+two hands; Abbott&#8217;s were occupied; Flora&#8217;s
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span>
+hands were likewise engaged; thus, the insipid
+mockery of hand-shaking was nicely and excusably
+avoided.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; asked Flora, squinting.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is a new style of the impressionist which
+I began this morning,&#8221; soberly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It looks very natural,&#8221; observed Flora.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Natural!&#8221; Abbott dropped his mahl-stick.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is Vesuv&#8217;, is it not, on a cloudy day?&#8221;</p>
+<p>This was too much for Abbott&#8217;s gravity, and
+he laughed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was not necessary to spoil a good picture ... on
+my account,&#8221; said Flora,
+closing the lorgnette with a snap. Her great
+dark eyes were dreamy and contemplative like
+a cat&#8217;s, and, as every one knows, a cat&#8217;s eye is
+the most observing of all eyes. It is quite in
+the order of things, since a cat&#8217;s attitude toward
+the world is by need and experience
+wholly defensive.</p>
+<p>&#8220;The Signora is wrong. I did not spoil it
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span>
+on her account. It was past helping yesterday.
+But I shall, however, rechristen it Vesuvius,
+since it represents an eruption of
+temper.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Flora tapped the handle of her parasol with
+the lorgnette. It was distinctly a sign of approval.
+These Americans were never slow-witted.
+She swung the parasol to and fro,
+slowly, like a pendulum.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It is too bad,&#8221; she said, her glance roving
+over the white walls of the villa.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was irrevocably lost,&#8221; Abbott declared.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, no; I do not mean the picture. I am
+thinking of La Toscana. Her voice was really
+superb; and to lose it entirely...!&#8221; She
+waved a sympathetic hand.</p>
+<p>Abbott was about to rise up in vigorous protest.
+But fate itself chose to rebuke Flora.
+From the window came&mdash;&#8220;<i>Sai cos&#8217; ebbe
+cuore!</i>&#8221;&mdash;sung as only Nora could sing it.</p>
+<p>The ferrule of Flora Desimone&#8217;s parasol bit
+deeply into the clover-turf.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XVII_THE_BALL_AT_THE_VILLA' id='XVII_THE_BALL_AT_THE_VILLA'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+<h3>THE BALL AT THE VILLA</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know the Duchessa?&#8221; asked
+Flora Desimone.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; It was three o&#8217;clock the same
+afternoon. The duke sat with his wife under
+the vine-clad trattoria on the quay. Between
+his knees he held his Panama hat, which was
+filled with ripe hazelnuts. He cracked them
+vigorously with his strong white teeth and
+filliped the broken shells into the lake, where
+a frantic little fish called <i>agoni</i> darted in and
+about the slowly sinking particles. &#8220;Why?&#8221;
+The duke was not any grayer than he had been
+four or five months previous, but the characteristic
+expression of his features had undergone
+a change. He looked less Jovian than
+Job-like.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I want you to get an invitation to her ball
+at the Villa Rosa to-night.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We haven&#8217;t been here twenty-four hours!&#8221;
+in mild protest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What has that to do with it? It doesn&#8217;t
+make any difference.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suppose not.&#8221; He cracked and ate a
+nut. &#8220;Where is he?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He has gone to Milan. He left hurriedly.
+He&#8217;s a fool,&#8221; impatiently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not necessarily. Foolishness is one thing
+and discretion is another. Oh, well; his presence
+here was not absolutely essential. Presently
+he will marry and settle down and be a
+good boy.&#8221; The next nut was withered, and
+he tossed it aside. &#8220;Is her voice really
+gone?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221; Flora leaned with her arms upon
+the railing and glared at the wimpling water.
+She had carried the Apple of Discord up the
+hill and down again. Nora had been indisposed.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I am glad of that.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She turned the glare upon him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am very glad of that, considering your
+part in the affair.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Michael...!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Be careful. Michael is always a prelude
+to a temper. Have one of these,&#8221; offering a
+nut.</p>
+<p>She struck it rudely from his hand.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes I am tempted to put my two
+hands around that exquisite neck of yours.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Try it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, I do not believe it would be wise. But
+if ever I find out that you have lied to me,
+that you loved the fellow and married me out
+of spite....&#8221; He completed the sentence
+by suggestively crunching a nut.</p>
+<p>The sullen expression on her face gave place
+to a smile. &#8220;I should like to see you in a
+rage.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, my heart; you would like nothing of
+the sort. I understand you better than you
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span>
+know; that accounts for my patience. You
+are Italian. You are caprice and mood. I
+come from a cold land. If ever I do get
+angry, run, run as fast as ever you can.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Flora was not, among other things, frivolous
+or light-headed. There was an earthquake
+hidden somewhere in this quiet docile man, and
+the innate deviltry of the woman was always
+trying to dig down to it. But she never deceived
+herself. Some day this earthquake
+would open up and devour her.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I hate him. He snubbed me. I have told
+you that a thousand times.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He laughed and rattled the nuts in his hat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I want you to get that invitation.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And if I do not?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall return immediately to Paris.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And break your word to me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;As easily as you break one of these nuts.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And if I get the invitation?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall fulfil my promise to the letter. I
+will tell her as I promised.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Out of love for me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Out of love for you, and because the play
+no longer interests me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wonder what new devilment is at work
+in your mind?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Michael, I do not want to get into a temper.
+It makes lines in my face. I hate this
+place. It is dead. I want life, and color, and
+music. I want the rest of September in
+Ostend.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Paris, Capri, Taormina, Ostend; I marvel
+if ever you will be content to stay in one place
+long enough for me to get my breath?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;My dear, I am young. One of these days
+I shall be content to sit by your great Russian
+fireplace and hold your hand.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hold it now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She laughed and pressed his hand between
+her own. &#8220;Michael, look me straight in the
+eyes.&#8221; He did so willingly enough. &#8220;There
+is no other man. And if you ever look at another
+woman ... Well!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll send over for the invitation.&#8221; He
+stuffed his pockets with nuts and put on his
+hat.</p>
+<p>Flora then proceeded secretly to polish once
+more the Apple of Discord which, a deal tarnished
+for lack of use, she had been compelled
+to bring down from the promontory.</p>
+<hr class='tb' />
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I all right?&#8221; asked Harrigan.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt nodded. &#8220;You look like a
+soldier in mufti, and more than that, like the
+gentleman that you naturally are,&#8221; quite sincerely.</p>
+<p>The ex-gladiator blushed. &#8220;This is the reception-room.
+There&#8217;s the ballroom right
+out there. The smoking-room is on the other
+side. Now, how in the old Harry am I going
+to get across without killing some one?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt resisted the desire to laugh.
+&#8220;Supposing you let me pilot you over?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;re the referee. Ring the gong.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come on, then.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;What! while they are dancing?&#8221; backing
+away in dismay.</p>
+<p>The other caught him by the arm. &#8220;Come
+on.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And in and out they went, hither and
+thither, now dodging, now pausing to let the
+swirl pass, until at length Harrigan found
+himself safe on shore, in the dim cool smoking-room.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t see how you did it,&#8221; admiringly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll drop in every little while to see how
+you are getting on,&#8221; volunteered Courtlandt.
+&#8220;You can sit by the door if you care to see
+them dance. I&#8217;m off to see Mrs. Harrigan and
+tell her where you are. Here&#8217;s a cigar.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Harrigan turned the cigar over and over in
+his fingers, all the while gazing at the young
+man&#8217;s diminishing back. He sighed. <i>That</i>
+would make him the happiest man in the world.
+He examined the carnelian band encircling
+the six-inches of evanescent happiness.
+&#8220;What do you think of that!&#8221; he murmured.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span>
+&#8220;Same brand the old boy used to smoke.
+And if he pays anything less than sixty apiece
+for &#8217;em at wholesale, I&#8217;ll eat this one.&#8221; Then
+he directed his attention to the casual inspection
+of the room. A few elderly men
+were lounging about. His sympathy was at
+once mutely extended; it was plain that they
+too had been dragged out. At the little
+smoker&#8217;s tabouret by the door he espied two
+chairs, one of which was unoccupied; and he
+at once appropriated it. The other chair was
+totally obscured by the bulk of the man who
+sat in it; a man, bearded, blunt-nosed, passive,
+but whose eyes were bright and twinkling.
+Hanging from his cravat was a medal of some
+kind. Harrigan lighted his cigar, and gave
+himself up to the delights of it.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They should leave us old fellows at home,&#8221;
+he ventured.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps, in most cases, the women would
+much prefer that.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Foreigner,&#8221; thought Harrigan. &#8220;Well, it
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span>
+does seem that the older we get the greater
+obstruction we become.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What is old age?&#8221; asked the thick but not
+unpleasant voice of the stranger.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s standing aside. Years don&#8217;t count at
+all. A man is as young as he feels.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And a woman as old as she looks!&#8221;
+laughed the other.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now, I don&#8217;t feel old, and I am fifty-one.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The man with the beard shot an admiring
+glance across the tabouret. &#8220;You are extraordinarily
+well preserved, sir. You do not seem
+older than I, and I am but forty.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The trouble is, over here you play cards
+all night in stuffy rooms and eat too many
+sauces.&#8221; Harrigan had read this somewhere,
+and he was pleased to think that he could recall
+it so fittingly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Agreed. You Americans are getting out
+in the open more than any other white people.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Wonder how he guessed I was from the
+States?&#8221; Aloud, Harrigan said: &#8220;You
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span>
+don&#8217;t look as though you&#8217;d grow any older in
+the next ten years.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That depends.&#8221; The bearded man sighed
+and lighted a fresh cigarette. &#8220;There&#8217;s a
+beautiful young woman,&#8221; with an indicative
+gesture toward the ballroom.</p>
+<p>Harrigan expanded. It was Nora, dancing
+with the Barone.</p>
+<p>&#8220;She&#8217;s the most beautiful young woman in
+the world,&#8221; enthusiastically.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, you know her?&#8221; interestedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am her father!&#8221;&mdash;as Louis XIV might
+have said, &#8220;I am the State.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The bearded man smiled. &#8220;Sir, I congratulate
+you both.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt loomed in the doorway. &#8220;Comfortable?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perfectly. Good cigar, comfortable chair,
+fine view.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The duke eyed Courtlandt through the pall
+of smoke which he had purposefully blown
+forth. He questioned, rather amusedly, what
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span>
+would have happened had he gone down to
+the main hall that night in Paris? Among the
+few things he admired was a well-built handsome
+man. Courtlandt on his part pretended
+that he did not see.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll find the claret and champagne
+punches in the hall,&#8221; suggested Courtlandt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not for mine! Run away and dance.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Good-by, then.&#8221; Courtlandt vanished.</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s a fine chap. Edward Courtlandt,
+the American millionaire.&#8221; It was not possible
+for Harrigan to omit this awe-compelling
+elaboration.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Edward Courtlandt.&#8221; The stranger
+stretched his legs. &#8220;I have heard of him.
+Something of a hunter.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;One of the keenest.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There is no half-way with your rich
+American: either his money ruins him or he
+runs away from it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s a stunner,&#8221; exclaimed Harrigan.
+&#8220;Wonder how she got here?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;To which lady do you refer?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The one in scarlet. She is Flora Desimone.
+She and my daughter sing together
+sometimes. Of course you have heard of
+Eleonora da Toscana; that&#8217;s my daughter&#8217;s
+stage name. The two are not on very good
+terms, naturally.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Quite naturally,&#8221; dryly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;But you can&#8217;t get away from the Calabrian&#8217;s
+beauty,&#8221; generously.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221; The bearded man extinguished his
+cigarette and rose, laying a <i>carte-de-visite</i> on
+the tabouret. &#8220;More, I should not care to get
+away from it. Good evening,&#8221; pleasantly.
+The music stopped. He passed on into the
+crowd.</p>
+<p>Harrigan reached over and picked up the
+card. &#8220;Suffering shamrocks! if Molly could
+only see me now,&#8221; he murmured. &#8220;I wonder
+if I made any breaks? The grand duke, and
+me hobnobbing with him like a waiter!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span>
+James, this is all under your hat. We&#8217;ll keep
+the card where Molly won&#8217;t find it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Young men began to drift in and out. The
+air became heavy with smoke, the prevailing
+aroma being that of Turkish tobacco of which
+Harrigan was not at all fond. But his cigar
+was so good that he was determined not to
+stir until the coal began to tickle the end of
+his nose. Since Molly knew where he was
+there was no occasion to worry.</p>
+<p>Abbott came in, pulled a cigarette case out
+of his pocket, and impatiently struck a match.
+His hands shook a little, and the flare of the
+match revealed a pale and angry countenance.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hey, Abbott, here&#8217;s a seat. Get your second
+wind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thanks.&#8221; Abbott dropped into the chair
+and smoked quickly. &#8220;Very stuffy out there.
+Too many.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You look it. Having a good time?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, fine!&#8221; There was a catch in the
+laugh which followed, but Harrigan&#8217;s ear was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span>
+not trained for these subtleties of sound,
+&#8220;How are you making out?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m getting acclimated. Where&#8217;s the
+colonel to-night? He ought to be around here
+somewhere.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I left him a few moments ago.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;When you see him again, send him in.
+He&#8217;s a live one, and I like to hear him talk.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll go at once,&#8221; crushing his cigarette in
+the Jeypore bowl.</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s your hurry? You look like a man
+who has just lost his job.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Been steering a German countess. She
+was wound up to turn only one way, and I am
+groggy. I&#8217;ll send the colonel over. By-by.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now, what&#8217;s stung the boy?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora was enjoying herself famously. The
+men hummed around her like bees around the
+sweetest rose. From time to time she saw
+Courtlandt hovering about the outskirts. She
+was glad he had come: the lepidopterist is
+latent or active in most women; to impale the
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span>
+butterfly, the moth falls easily into the daily
+routine. She was laughing and jesting with
+the men. Her mother stood by, admiringly.
+This time Courtlandt gently pushed his way
+to Nora&#8217;s side.</p>
+<p>&#8220;May I have a dance?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You are too late,&#8221; evenly. She was becoming
+used to the sight of him, much to her
+amazement.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why, Nora, I didn&#8217;t know that your card
+was filled!&#8221; said Mrs. Harrigan. She had
+the maternal eye upon Courtlandt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nevertheless,&#8221; said Nora sweetly, &#8220;it is
+a fact.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am disconsolate,&#8221; replied Courtlandt,
+who had approached for form&#8217;s sake only, being
+fully prepared for a refusal. &#8220;I have the
+unfortunate habit of turning up late,&#8221; with a
+significance which only Nora understood.</p>
+<p>&#8220;So, those who are late must suffer the consequences.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Supper?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The Barone rather than you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The music began again, and Abbott whirled
+her away. She was dressed in Burmese taffeta,
+a rich orange. In the dark of her beautiful
+black hair there was the green luster of
+emeralds; an Indian-princess necklace of emeralds
+and pearls was looped around her dazzling
+white throat. Unconsciously Courtlandt
+sighed audibly, and Mrs. Harrigan heard this
+note of unrest.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who is that?&#8221; asked Mrs. Harrigan.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Flora Desimone&#8217;s husband, the duke. He
+and Mr. Harrigan were having quite a conversation
+in the smoke-room.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What!&#8221; in consternation.</p>
+<p>&#8220;They were getting along finely when I left
+them.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Mrs. Harrigan felt her heart sink. The
+duke and James together meant nothing short
+of a catastrophe; for James would not know
+whom he was addressing, and would make all
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span>
+manner of confidences. She knew something
+would happen if she let him out of her sight.
+He was eternally talking to strangers.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would you mind telling Mr. Harrigan that
+I wish to see him?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not at all.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora stopped at the end of the ballroom.
+&#8220;Donald, let us go out into the garden. I
+want a breath of air. Did you see her?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Couldn&#8217;t help seeing her. It was the duke,
+I suppose. It appears that he is an old friend
+of the duchess. We&#8217;ll go through the conservatory.
+It&#8217;s a short-cut.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The night was full of moonshine; it danced
+upon the water; it fired the filigree tops of the
+solemn cypress; it laced the lawn with quivering
+shadows; and heavy hung the cloying perfume
+of the box-wood hedges.</p>
+<p>&#8220;<i>O bellissima notta!</i>&#8221; she sang. &#8220;Is it not
+glorious?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora,&#8221; said Abbott, leaning suddenly
+toward her.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t say it. Donald; please don&#8217;t. Don&#8217;t
+waste your love on me. You are a good man,
+and I should not be worthy the name of
+woman if I did not feel proud and sad. I
+want you always as a friend; and if you decide
+that can not be, I shall lose faith in everything.
+I have never had a brother, and in
+these two short years I have grown to look
+on you as one. I am sorry. But if you
+will look back you will see that I never gave
+you any encouragement. I was never more
+than your comrade. I have many faults, but
+I am not naturally a coquette. I know my
+heart; I know it well.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is there another?&#8221; in despair.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Once upon a time, Donald, there was.
+There is nothing now but ashes. I am telling
+you this so that it will not be so hard for
+you to return to the old friendly footing.
+You are a brave man. Any man is who takes
+his heart in his hand and offers it to a woman.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span>
+You are going to take my hand and promise
+to be my friend always.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, Nora!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You mustn&#8217;t, Donald. I can&#8217;t return to
+the ballroom with my eyes red. You will
+never know how a woman on the stage has
+to fight to earn her bread. And that part is
+only a skirmish compared to the ceaseless war
+men wage against her. She has only the fortifications
+of her wit and her presence of mind.
+Was I not abducted in the heart of Paris?
+And but for the cowardice of the man, who
+knows what might have happened? If I have
+beauty, God gave it to me to wear, and wear
+it I will. My father, the padre, you and the
+Barone; I would not trust any other men living.
+I am often unhappy, but I do not inflict
+this unhappiness on others. Be you the
+same. Be my friend; be brave and fight it
+out of your heart.&#8221; Quickly she drew his
+head toward her and lightly kissed the forehead.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span>
+&#8220;There! Ah, Donald, I very much
+need a friend.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right, Nora,&#8221; bravely indeed, for the
+pain in his young heart cried out for the ends
+of the earth in which to hide. &#8220;All right!
+I&#8217;m young; maybe I&#8217;ll get over it in time.
+Always count on me. You wouldn&#8217;t mind
+going back to the ballroom alone, would you?
+I&#8217;ve got an idea I&#8217;d like to smoke over it. No,
+I&#8217;ll take you to the end of the conservatory and
+come back. I can&#8217;t face the rest of them just
+now.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora had hoped against hope that it was
+only infatuation, but in the last few days she
+could not ignore the truth that he really loved
+her. She had thrown him and Celeste together
+in vain. Poor Celeste, poor lovely Celeste,
+who wore her heart upon her sleeve, patent
+to all eyes save Donald&#8217;s! Thus, it was with
+defined purpose that she had lured him this
+night into the garden. She wanted to disillusion
+him.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span></p>
+<p>The Barone, glooming in an obscure corner
+of the conservatory, saw them come in. Abbott&#8217;s
+brave young face deceived him. At the
+door Abbott smiled and bowed and returned
+to the garden. The Barone rose to follow
+him. He had committed a theft of which he
+was genuinely sorry; and he was man enough
+to seek his rival and apologize. But fate had
+chosen for him the worst possible time. He
+had taken but a step forward, when a tableau
+formed by the door, causing him to pause
+irresolutely.</p>
+<p>Nora was face to face at last with Flora
+Desimone.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I wish to speak to you,&#8221; said the Italian
+abruptly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nothing you could possibly say would interest
+me,&#8221; declared Nora, haughtily and made
+as if to pass.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do not be too sure,&#8221; insolently.</p>
+<p>Their voices were low, but they reached the
+ears of the Barone, who wished he was anywhere
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span>
+but here. He moved silently behind
+the palms toward the exit.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let me be frank. I hate you and detest
+you with all my heart,&#8221; continued Flora. &#8220;I
+have always hated you, with your supercilious
+airs, you, whose father....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t you dare to say an ill word of
+him!&#8221; cried Nora, her Irish blood throwing
+hauteur to the winds. &#8220;He is kind and brave
+and loyal, and I am proud of him. Say what
+you will about me; it will not bother me in
+the least.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Barone heard no more. By degrees he
+had reached the exit, and he was mightily relieved
+to get outside. The Calabrian had
+chosen her time well, for the conservatory was
+practically empty. The Barone&#8217;s eyes searched
+the shadows and at length discerned Abbott
+leaning over the parapet.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-324.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 347px; height: 499px;' /><br />
+<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 347px;'>
+&#8220;I hate you and detest you with all my heart.&#8221;<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span></div>
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; said Abbott, facing about. &#8220;So it
+is you. You deliberately scratched off my
+name and substituted your own. It was the
+act of a contemptible cad. And I tell you here
+and now. A cad!&#8221;</p>
+<p>The Barone was Italian. He had sought
+Abbott with the best intentions; to apologize
+abjectly, distasteful though it might be to his
+hot blood. Instead, he struck Abbott across
+the mouth, and the latter promptly knocked
+him down.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XVIII_PISTOLS_FOR_TWO' id='XVIII_PISTOLS_FOR_TWO'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+<h3>PISTOLS FOR TWO</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Courtlandt knocked on the studio
+door.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come in.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He discovered Abbott, stretched out upon
+the lounge, idly picking at the loose plaster in
+the wall.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hello!&#8221; said Abbott carelessly. &#8220;Help
+yourself to a chair.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Instead, Courtlandt walked about the room,
+aimlessly. He paused at the window; he
+picked up a sketch and studied it at various
+angles; he kicked the footstool across the floor,
+not with any sign of anger but with a seriousness
+that would have caused Abbott to laugh,
+had he been looking at his friend. He continued,
+however, to pluck at the plaster. He
+had always hated and loved Courtlandt, alternately.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span>
+He never sought to analyze this
+peculiar cardiac condition. He only knew
+that at one time he hated the man, and that
+at another he would have laid down his life
+for him. Perhaps it was rather a passive
+jealousy which he mistook for hatred. Abbott
+had never envied Courtlandt his riches;
+but often the sight of Courtlandt&#8217;s physical
+superiority, his adaptability, his knowledge
+of men and affairs, the way he had of
+anticipating the unspoken wishes of women,
+his unembarrassed gallantry, these attributes
+stirred the envy of which he was always
+manly enough to be ashamed. Courtlandt&#8217;s
+unexpected appearance in Bellaggio had also
+created a suspicion which he could not minutely
+define. The truth was, when a man
+loved, every other man became his enemy, not
+excepting her father: the primordial instinct
+has survived all the applications of veneer.
+So, Abbott was not at all pleased to see his
+friend that morning.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span></p>
+<p>At length Courtlandt returned to the lounge.
+&#8220;The Barone called upon me this morning.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, he did?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I think you had better write him an
+apology.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Abbott sat up. He flung the piece of plaster
+violently to the floor. &#8220;Apologize? Well, I
+like your nerve to come here with that kind
+of wabble. Look at these lips! Man, he
+struck me across the mouth, and I knocked him
+down.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was a pretty good wallop, considering
+that you couldn&#8217;t see his face very well in the
+dark. I always said that you had more spunk
+to the square inch than any other chap I know.
+But over here, Suds, as you know, it&#8217;s different.
+You can&#8217;t knock down an officer and get away
+with it. So, you just sit down at your desk
+and write a little note, saying that you regret
+your hastiness. I&#8217;ll see that it goes through
+all right. Fortunately, no one heard of the
+row.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll see you both farther!&#8221; wrathfully.
+&#8220;Look at these lips, I say!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Before he struck you, you must have given
+provocation.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sha&#8217;n&#8217;t discuss what took place. Nor will
+I apologize.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s final?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have my word for it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m sorry. The Barone is a decent
+sort. He gives you the preference, and suggests
+that you select pistols, since you would
+be no match for him with rapiers.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Pistols!&#8221; shouted Abbott. &#8220;For the love
+of glory, what are you driving at?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The Barone has asked me to be his
+second. And I have despatched a note to the
+colonel, advising him to attend to your side.
+I accepted the Barone&#8217;s proposition solely that
+I might get here first and convince you that an
+apology will save you a heap of discomfort.
+The Barone is a first-rate shot, and doubtless
+he will only wing you. But that will mean
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span>
+scandal and several weeks in the hospital, to
+say nothing of a devil of a row with the civil
+authorities. In the army the Italian still
+fights his <i>duello</i>, but these affairs never get
+into the newspapers, as in France. Seldom,
+however, is any one seriously hurt. They are
+excitable, and consequently a good shot is
+likely to shoot wildly at a pinch. So there
+you are, my boy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you in your right mind? Do you
+mean to tell me that you have come here to
+arrange a duel?&#8221; asked Abbott, his voice low
+and a bit shaky.</p>
+<p>&#8220;To prevent one. So, write your apology.
+Don&#8217;t worry about the moral side of the question.
+It&#8217;s only a fool who will offer himself
+as a target to a man who knows how to shoot.
+You couldn&#8217;t hit the broadside of a barn with
+a shot-gun.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Abbott brushed the dust from his coat and
+got up. &#8220;A duel!&#8221; He laughed a bit hysterically.
+Well, why not? Since Nora could
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span>
+never be his, there was no future for him.
+He might far better serve as a target than
+to go on living with the pain and bitterness
+in his heart. &#8220;Very well. Tell the Barone
+my choice is pistols. He may set the time
+and place himself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Go over to that desk and write that
+apology. If you don&#8217;t, I promise on my part
+to tell Nora Harrigan, who, I dare say, is at
+the bottom of this, innocently or otherwise.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Courtlandt!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I mean just what I say. Take your
+choice. Stop this nonsense yourself like a reasonable
+human being, or let Nora Harrigan
+stop it for you. There will be no duel, not if
+I can help it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Abbott saw instantly what would happen.
+Nora would go to the Barone and beg off for
+him. &#8220;All right! I&#8217;ll write that apology.
+But listen: you will knock hereafter when
+you enter any of my studios. You&#8217;ve kicked
+out the bottom from the old footing. You are
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span>
+not the friend you profess to be. You are
+making me a coward in the eyes of that
+damned Italian. He will never understand
+this phase of it.&#8221; Thereupon Abbott ran over
+to his desk and scribbled the note, sealing it
+with a bang. &#8220;Here you are. Perhaps you
+had best go at once.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Abby, I&#8217;m sorry that you take this view.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t care to hear any platitudes, thank
+you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll look you up to-morrow, and on my
+part I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t ask for any apology. In a
+little while you&#8217;ll thank me. You will even
+laugh with me.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Permit me to doubt that,&#8221; angrily. He
+threw open the door.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt was too wise to argue further.
+He had obtained the object of his errand, and
+that was enough for the present. &#8220;Sorry you
+are not open to reason. Good morning.&#8221;</p>
+<p>When the door closed, Abbott tramped the
+floor and vented his temper on the much
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span>
+abused footstool, which he kicked whenever it
+came in the line of his march. In his soul
+he knew that Courtlandt was right. More
+than that, he knew that presently he would
+seek him and apologize.</p>
+<p>Unfortunately, neither of them counted on
+the colonel.</p>
+<p>Without being quite conscious of the act,
+Abbott took down from the wall an ancient
+dueling-pistol, cocked it, snapped it, and
+looked it over with an interest that he had
+never before bestowed on it. And the colonel,
+bursting into the studio, found him absorbed
+in the contemplation of this old death-dealing
+instrument.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ha!&#8221; roared the old war dog. &#8220;Had an
+idea that something like this was going to
+happen. Put that up. You couldn&#8217;t kill anything
+with that unless you hit &#8217;em on the
+head with it. Leave the matter to me.
+I&#8217;ve a pair of pistols, sighted to hit a shilling
+at twenty yards. Of course, you can&#8217;t fight
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span>
+him with swords. He&#8217;s one of the best in
+all Italy. But you&#8217;ve just as good a chance as
+he has with pistols. Nine times out of ten
+the tyro hits the bull&#8217;s-eye, while the crack
+goes wild. Just you sit jolly tight. Who&#8217;s
+his second; Courtlandt?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221; Abbott was truly and completely
+bewildered.</p>
+<p>&#8220;He struck you first, I understand, and
+you knocked him down. Good! My tennis-courts
+are out of the way. We can settle
+this matter to-morrow morning at dawn.
+Ellicott will come over from Cadenabbia with
+his saws. He&#8217;s close-mouthed. All you need
+to do is to keep quiet. You can spend the
+night at the villa with me, and I&#8217;ll give you
+a few ideas about shooting a pistol. Here;
+write what I dictate.&#8221; He pushed Abbott over
+to the desk and forced him into the chair.
+Abbott wrote mechanically, as one hypnotized.
+The colonel seized the letter. &#8220;No flowery
+sentences; a few words bang at the mark.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span>
+Come up to the villa as soon as you can. We&#8217;ll
+jolly well cool this Italian&#8217;s blood.&#8221;</p>
+<p>And out he went, banging the door. There
+was something of the directness of a bullet in
+the old fellow&#8217;s methods.</p>
+<p>Literally, Abbott had been rushed off his
+feet. The moment his confusion cleared he
+saw the predicament into which his own
+stupidity and the amiable colonel&#8217;s impetuous
+good offices had plunged him. He was horrified.
+Here was Courtlandt carrying the
+apology, and hot on his heels was the colonel,
+with the final arrangements for the meeting.
+He ran to the door, bareheaded, took the stairs
+three and four at a bound. But the energetic
+Anglo-Indian had gone down in bounds also;
+and when the distracted artist reached the
+street, the other was nowhere to be seen. Apparently
+there was nothing left but to send
+another apology. Rather than perform so
+shameful and cowardly an act he would have
+cut off his hand.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span></p>
+<p>The Barone, pale and determined, passed
+the second note to Courtlandt who was congratulating
+himself (prematurely as will be
+seen) on the peaceful dispersion of the war-clouds.
+He was dumfounded.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will excuse me,&#8221; he said meekly. He
+must see Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A moment,&#8221; interposed the Barone coldly.
+&#8220;If it is to seek another apology, it will be
+useless. I refuse to accept. Mr. Abbott will
+fight, or I will publicly brand him, the first
+opportunity, as a coward.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt bit his mustache. &#8220;In that case,
+I shall go at once to Colonel Caxley-Webster.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Thank you. I shall be in my room at the
+villa the greater part of the day.&#8221; The
+Barone bowed.</p>
+<p>Courtlandt caught the colonel as he was entering
+his motor-boat.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Come over to tiffin.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere
+else.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span></p>
+<p>When the motor began its racket, Courtlandt
+pulled the colonel over to him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you know what you have done?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Done?&#8221; dropping his eye-glass.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Knowing that Abbott would have
+no earthly chance against the Italian, I went
+to him and forced him to write an apology.
+And you have blown the whole thing higher
+than a kite.&#8221;</p>
+<p>The colonel&#8217;s eyes bulged. &#8220;Dem it, why
+didn&#8217;t the young fool tell me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Your hurry probably rattled him. But
+what are we going to do? I&#8217;m not going to
+have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother;
+though, just now, he regards me as a mortal
+enemy. Perhaps I am,&#8221; moodily. &#8220;I have
+deceived him, and somehow&mdash;blindly it is true&mdash;he
+knows it. I am as full of deceit as a
+pomegranate is of seeds.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Have him send another apology.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He
+would refuse to accept it, and said so.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;With pleasure, but that will not stop the
+row. There is a way out, but it appeals to
+me as damnably low.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Abbott will not run. He isn&#8217;t that
+kind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No, he&#8217;ll not run. But if you will agree
+with me, honor may be satisfied without either
+of them getting hurt.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Women beat the devil, don&#8217;t they?
+What&#8217;s your plan?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt outlined it.</p>
+<p>The colonel frowned. &#8220;That doesn&#8217;t sound
+like you. Beastly trick.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I know it.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll lunch first. It will take a few pegs
+to get that idea through this bally head of
+mine.&#8221;</p>
+<p>When Abbott came over later that day, he
+was subdued in manner. He laughed occasionally,
+smoked a few cigars, but declined
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span>
+stimulants. He even played a game of tennis
+creditably. And after dinner he shot a hundred
+billiards. The colonel watched his hands
+keenly. There was not the slightest indication
+of nerves.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hang the boy!&#8221; he muttered. &#8220;I ought
+to be ashamed of myself. There isn&#8217;t a bit
+of funk in his whole make-up.&#8221;</p>
+<p>At nine Abbott retired. He did not sleep
+very well. He was irked by the morbid idea
+that the Barone was going to send the bullet
+through his throat. He was up at five. He
+strolled about the garden. He realized that
+it was very good to be alive. Once he gazed
+somberly at the little white villa, away to
+the north. How crisply it stood out against
+the dark foliage! How blue the water was!
+And far, far away the serene snowcaps!
+Nora Harrigan ... Well, he was going
+to stand up like a man. She should
+never be ashamed of her memory of him.
+If he went out, all worry would be at an end,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span>
+and that would be something. What a mess
+he had made of things! He did not blame
+the Italian. A duel! he, the son of a man
+who had invented wash-tubs, was going to
+fight a duel! He wanted to laugh; he wanted
+to cry. Wasn&#8217;t he just dreaming? Wasn&#8217;t it
+all a nightmare out of which he would presently
+awake?</p>
+<p>&#8220;Breakfast, Sahib,&#8221; said Rao, deferentially
+touching his arm.</p>
+<p>He was awake; it was all true.</p>
+<p>&#8220;You&#8217;ll want coffee,&#8221; began the colonel.
+&#8220;Drink as much as you like. And you&#8217;ll find
+the eggs good, too.&#8221; The colonel wanted to
+see if Abbott ate well.</p>
+<p>The artist helped himself twice and drank
+three cups of coffee. &#8220;You know, I suppose
+all men in a hole like this have funny ideas.
+I was just thinking that I should like a partridge
+and a bottle of champagne.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll have that for tiffin,&#8221; said the colonel,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span>
+confidentially. In fact, he summoned
+the butler and gave the order.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s mighty kind of you, Colonel, to buck
+me up this way.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Rot!&#8221; The colonel experienced a slight
+heat in his leathery cheeks. &#8220;All you&#8217;ve got
+to do is to hold your arm out straight, pull
+the trigger, and squint afterward.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t hurt the Barone,&#8221; smiling
+faintly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Are you going to be ass enough to pop
+your gun in the air?&#8221; indignantly.</p>
+<p>Abbott shrugged; and the colonel cursed
+himself for the guiltiest scoundrel unhung.</p>
+<p>Half an hour later the opponents stood at
+each end of the tennis-court. Ellicott, the
+surgeon, had laid open his medical case. He
+was the most agitated of the five men. His
+fingers shook as he spread out the lints and
+bandages. The colonel and Courtlandt had
+solemnly gone through the formality of loading
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span>
+the weapons. The sun had not climbed
+over the eastern summits, but the snow on the
+western tops was rosy.</p>
+<p>&#8220;At the word three, gentlemen, you will
+fire,&#8221; said the colonel.</p>
+<p>The two shots came simultaneously. Abbott
+had deliberately pointed his into the air.
+For a moment he stood perfectly still; then,
+his knees sagged, and he toppled forward on
+his face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Great God!&#8221; whispered the colonel;
+&#8220;you must have forgotten the ramrod!&#8221;</p>
+<p>He, Courtlandt, and the surgeon rushed
+over to the fallen man. The Barone stood
+like stone. Suddenly, with a gesture of horror,
+he flung aside his smoking pistol and ran
+across the court.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Gentlemen,&#8221; he cried, &#8220;on my honor, I
+aimed three feet above his head.&#8221; He wrung
+his hands together in anxiety. &#8220;It is impossible!
+It is only that I wished to see if he
+were a brave man. I shoot well. It is impossible!&#8221;
+he reiterated.</p>
+<div class='figcenter'>
+<img src='images/illus-343.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 344px; height: 483px;' /><br />
+<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 344px;'>
+Suddenly he flung aside his smoking pistol.<br />
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span></div>
+<p>Rapidly the cunning hand of the surgeon
+ran over Abbott&#8217;s body. He finally shook his
+head. &#8220;Nothing has touched him. His heart
+gave under. Fainted.&#8221;</p>
+<p>When Abbott came to his senses, he smiled
+weakly. The Barone was one of the two who
+helped him to his feet.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I feel like a fool,&#8221; he said.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah, let me apologize now,&#8221; said the
+Barone. &#8220;What I did at the ball was wrong,
+and I should not have lost my temper. I had
+come to you to apologize then. But I am
+Italian. It is natural that I should lose my
+temper,&#8221; naïvely.</p>
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re both of us a pair of fools, Barone.
+There was always some one else. A couple of
+fools.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; admitted the Barone eagerly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Considering,&#8221; whispered the colonel in
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span>
+Courtlandt&#8217;s ear; &#8220;considering that neither of
+them knew they were shooting nothing more
+dangerous than wads, they&#8217;re pretty good
+specimens. Eh, what?&#8221;</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XIX_COURTLANDT_TELLS_A_STORY' id='XIX_COURTLANDT_TELLS_A_STORY'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+<h3>COURTLANDT TELLS A STORY</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>The Colonel and his guests at luncheon
+had listened to Courtlandt without
+sound or movement beyond the occasional rasp
+of feet shifting under the table. He had begun
+with the old familiar phrase&mdash;&#8220;I&#8217;ve got
+a story.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Tell it,&#8221; had been the instant request.</p>
+<p>At the beginning the men had been leaning
+at various negligent angles,&mdash;some with their
+elbows upon the table, some with their arms
+thrown across the backs of their chairs. The
+partridge had been excellent, the wine delicious,
+the tobacco irreproachable. Burma,
+the tinkle of bells in the temples, the strange
+pictures in the bazaars, long journeys over
+smooth and stormy seas; romance, moving
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span>
+and colorful, which began at Rangoon, had zigzagged
+around the world, and ended in Berlin.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And so,&#8221; concluded the teller of the tale,
+&#8220;that is the story. This man was perfectly
+innocent of any wrong, a victim of malice on
+the one hand and of injustice on the other.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Is that the end of the yarn?&#8221; asked the
+colonel.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Who in life knows what the end of anything
+is? This is not a story out of a book.&#8221;
+Courtlandt accepted a fresh cigar from the
+box which Rao passed to him, and dropped
+his dead weed into the ash-bowl.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Has he given up?&#8221; asked Abbott, his
+voice strangely unfamiliar in his own ears.</p>
+<p>&#8220;A man can struggle just so long against
+odds, then he wins or becomes broken.
+Women are not logical; generally they permit
+themselves to be guided by impulse rather than
+by reason. This man I am telling you about
+was proud; perhaps too proud. It is a shameful
+fact, but he ran away. True, he wrote
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span>
+letter after letter, but all these were returned
+unopened. Then he stopped.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;A woman would a good deal rather
+believe circumstantial evidence than not.
+Humph!&#8221; The colonel primed his pipe and
+relighted it. &#8220;She couldn&#8217;t have been worth
+much.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Worth much!&#8221; cried Abbott. &#8220;What do
+you imply by that?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;No man will really give up a woman who
+is really worth while, that is, of course, admitting
+that your man, Courtlandt, <i>is</i> a man.
+Perhaps, though, it was his fault. He was
+not persistent enough, maybe a bit spineless.
+The fact that he gave up so quickly possibly
+convinced her that her impressions were correct.
+Why, I&#8217;d have followed her day in and
+day out, year after year; never would I have
+let up until I had proved to her that she had
+been wrong.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The colonel is right,&#8221; Abbott approved,
+never taking his eyes off Courtlandt, who was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span>
+apparently absorbed in the contemplation of
+the bread crumbs under his fingers.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And more, by hook or crook, I&#8217;d have
+dragged in the other woman by the hair and
+made her confess.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I do not doubt it, Colonel,&#8221; responded
+Courtlandt, with a dry laugh. &#8220;And that
+would really have been the end of the story.
+The heroine of this rambling tale would then
+have been absolutely certain of collusion between
+the two.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That is like a woman,&#8221; the Barone agreed,
+and he knew something about them. &#8220;And
+where is this man now?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here,&#8221; said Courtlandt, pushing back his
+chair and rising. &#8220;I am he.&#8221; He turned his
+back upon them and sought the garden.</p>
+<p>Tableau!</p>
+<p>&#8220;Dash me!&#8221; cried the colonel, who, being
+the least interested personally, was first to recover
+his speech.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span></p>
+<p>The Barone drew in his breath sharply.
+Then he looked at Abbott.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I suspected it,&#8221; replied Abbott to the mute
+question. Since the episode of that morning
+his philosophical outlook had broadened. He
+had fought a duel and had come out of it with
+flying colors. As long as he lived he was certain
+that the petty affairs of the day were never
+again going to disturb him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let him be,&#8221; was the colonel&#8217;s suggestion,
+adding a gesture in the direction of the casement
+door through which Courtlandt had gone.
+&#8220;He&#8217;s as big a man as Nora is a woman. If
+he has returned with the determination of winning
+her, he will.&#8221;</p>
+<p>They did not see Courtlandt again. After
+a few minutes of restless to-and-froing, he proceeded
+down to the landing, helped himself to
+the colonel&#8217;s motor-boat, and returned to Bellaggio.
+At the hotel he asked for the duke,
+only to be told that the duke and madame had
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span>
+left that morning for Paris. Courtlandt saw
+that he had permitted one great opportunity
+to slip past. He gave up the battle. One
+more good look at her, and he would go away.
+The odds had been too strong for him, and he
+knew that he was broken.</p>
+<p>When the motor-boat came back, Abbott and
+the Barone made use of it also. They crossed
+in silence, heavy-hearted.</p>
+<p>On landing Abbott said: &#8220;It is probable
+that I shall not see you again this year. I am
+leaving to-morrow for Paris. It&#8217;s a great
+world, isn&#8217;t it, where they toss us around like
+dice? Some throw sixes and others deuces.
+And in this game you and I have lost two out
+of three.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I shall return to Rome,&#8221; replied the
+Barone. &#8220;My long leave of absence is near
+its end.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What in the world can have happened?&#8221;
+demanded Nora, showing the two notes to
+Celeste. &#8220;Here&#8217;s Donald going to Paris to-morrow
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span>
+and the Barone to Rome. They will
+bid us good-by at tea. I don&#8217;t understand.
+Donald was to remain until we left for America,
+and the Barone&#8217;s leave does not end until
+October.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;To-morrow?&#8221; Dim-eyed, Celeste returned
+the notes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. You play the fourth <i>ballade</i> and I&#8217;ll
+sing from <i>Madame</i>. It will be very lonesome
+without them.&#8221; Nora gazed into the
+wall mirror and gave a pat or two to her hair.</p>
+<p>When the men arrived, it was impressed
+on Nora&#8217;s mind that never had she seen
+them so amiable toward each other. They
+were positively friendly. And why not? The
+test of the morning had proved each of them
+to his own individual satisfaction, and had
+done away with those stilted mannerisms that
+generally make rivals ridiculous in all eyes
+save their own. The revelation at luncheon
+had convinced them of the futility of things
+in general and of woman in particular. They
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span>
+were, without being aware of the fact, each
+a consolation to the other. The old adage that
+misery loves company was never more nicely
+typified.</p>
+<p>If Celeste expected Nora to exhibit any
+signs of distress over the approaching departure,
+she was disappointed. In truth, Nora
+was secretly pleased to be rid of these two
+suitors, much as she liked them. The Barone
+had not yet proposed, and his sudden determination
+to return to Rome eliminated this disagreeable
+possibility. She was glad Abbott
+was going because she had hurt him without
+intention, and the sight of him was, in spite
+of her innocence, a constant reproach. Presently
+she would have her work, and there
+would be no time for loneliness.</p>
+<p>The person who suffered keenest was Celeste.
+She was awake; the tender little dream was
+gone; and bravely she accepted the fact.
+Never her agile fingers stumbled, and she
+played remarkably well, from Beethoven,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span>
+Chopin, Grieg, Rubinstein, MacDowell. And
+Nora, perversely enough, sang from old light
+opera.</p>
+<p>When the two men departed, Celeste went
+to her room and Nora out upon the terrace.
+It was after five. No one was about, so far
+as she could see. She stood enchanted over
+the transformation that was affecting the
+mountains and the lakes. How she loved the
+spot! How she would have liked to spend the
+rest of her days here! And how beautiful all
+the world was to-day!</p>
+<p>She gave a frightened little scream. A
+strong pair of arms had encircled her. She
+started to cry out again, but the sound was
+muffled and blotted out by the pressure of a
+man&#8217;s lips upon her own. She struggled violently,
+and suddenly was freed.</p>
+<p>&#8220;If I were a man,&#8221; she said, &#8220;you should
+die for that!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was an opportunity not to be ignored,&#8221;
+returned Courtlandt. &#8220;It is true that I was
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span>
+a fool to run away as I did, but my return has
+convinced me that I should have been as much
+a fool had I remained to tag you about, begging
+for an interview. I wrote you letters.
+You returned them unopened. You have condemned
+me without a hearing. So be it. You
+may consider that kiss the farewell appearance
+so dear to the operatic heart,&#8221; bitterly.</p>
+<p>He addressed most of this to the back of
+her head, for she was already walking toward
+the villa into which she disappeared with the
+proud air of some queen of tragedy. She was
+a capital actress.</p>
+<p>A heavy hand fell upon Courtlandt&#8217;s shoulder.
+He was irresistibly drawn right about
+face.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Now, then, Mr. Courtlandt,&#8221; said Harrigan,
+his eyes blue and cold as ice, &#8220;perhaps
+you will explain?&#8221;</p>
+<p>With rage and despair in his heart, Courtlandt
+flung off the hand and answered: &#8220;I
+refuse!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; Harrigan stood off a few steps and
+ran his glance critically up and down this man
+of whom he had thought to make a friend.
+&#8220;You&#8217;re a husky lad. There&#8217;s one way out of
+this for you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;So long as it does not necessitate any explanations,&#8221;
+indifferently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;In the bottom of one of Nora&#8217;s trunks is
+a set of my old gloves. There will not be any
+one up at the tennis-court this time of day.
+If you are not a mean cuss, if you are not an
+ordinary low-down imitation of a man, you&#8217;ll
+meet me up there inside of five minutes. If
+you can stand up in front of me for ten minutes,
+you need not make any explanations. On
+the other hand, you&#8217;ll hike out of here as fast
+as boats and trains can take you. And never
+come back.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am nearly twenty years younger than
+you, Mr. Harrigan.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t let that worry you any,&#8221; with a
+truculent laugh.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Very well. You will find me there.
+After all, you are her father.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You bet I am!&#8221;</p>
+<p>Harrigan stole into his daughter&#8217;s room and
+soundlessly bored into the bottom of the trunk
+that contained the relics of past glory. As
+he pulled them forth, a folded oblong strip of
+parchment came out with them and fluttered
+to the floor; but he was too busily engaged to
+notice it, nor would he have bothered if he
+had. The bottom of the trunk was littered
+with old letters and programs and operatic
+scores. He wrapped the gloves in a newspaper
+and got away without being seen. He was as
+happy as a boy who had discovered an opening
+in the fence between him and the apple orchard.
+He was rather astonished to see Courtlandt
+kneeling in the clover-patch, hunting for a
+four-leaf clover. It was patent that the young
+man was not troubled with nerves.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Here!&#8221; he cried, bruskly, tossing over
+a pair of gloves. &#8220;If this method of settling
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span>
+the dispute isn&#8217;t satisfactory, I&#8217;ll accept your
+explanations.&#8221;</p>
+<p>For reply Courtlandt stood up and stripped
+to his undershirt. He drew on the gloves and
+laced them with the aid of his teeth. Then
+he kneaded them carefully. The two men
+eyed each other a little more respectfully than
+they had ever done before.</p>
+<p>&#8220;This single court is about as near as we
+can make it. The man who steps outside is
+whipped.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I agree,&#8221; said Courtlandt.</p>
+<p>&#8220;No rounds with rests; until one or the
+other is outside. Clean breaks. That&#8217;s about
+all. Now, put up your dukes and take a man&#8217;s
+licking. I thought you were your father&#8217;s son,
+but I guess you are like the rest of &#8217;em, hunters
+of women.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt laughed and stepped to the middle
+of the court. Harrigan did not waste any
+time. He sent in a straight jab to the jaw,
+but Courtlandt blocked it neatly and countered
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span>
+with a hard one on Harrigan&#8217;s ear, which began
+to swell.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Fine!&#8221; growled Harrigan. &#8220;You know
+something about the game. It won&#8217;t be as if
+I was walloping a baby.&#8221; He sent a left to
+the body, but the right failed to reach his
+man.</p>
+<p>For some time Harrigan jabbed and swung
+and upper-cut; often he reached his opponent&#8217;s
+body, but never his face. It worried him a
+little to find that he could not stir Courtlandt
+more than two or three feet. Courtlandt
+never followed up any advantage, thus making
+Harrigan force the fighting, which was rather
+to his liking. But presently it began to enter
+his mind convincingly that apart from the
+initial blow, the younger man was working
+wholly on the defensive. As if he were afraid
+he might hurt him! This served to make the
+old fellow furious. He bored in right and
+left, left and right, and Courtlandt gave way,
+step by step until he was so close to the line
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span>
+that he could see it from the corner of his
+eye. This glance, swift as it was, came near
+to being his undoing. Harrigan caught him
+with a terrible right on the jaw. It was a
+glancing blow, otherwise the fight would have
+ended then and there. Instantly he lurched
+forward and clenched before the other could
+add the finishing touch.</p>
+<p>The two pushed about, Harrigan fiercely
+striving to break the younger man&#8217;s hold. He
+was beginning to breathe hard besides. A little
+longer, and his blows would lack the proper
+steam. Finally Courtlandt broke away of his
+own accord. His head buzzed a little, but
+aside from that he had recovered. Harrigan
+pursued his tactics and rushed. But this time
+there was an offensive return. Courtlandt became
+the aggressor. There was no withstanding
+him. And Harrigan fairly saw the end;
+but with that indomitable pluck which had
+made him famous in the annals of the ring, he
+kept banging away. The swift cruel jabs
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span>
+here and there upon his body began to tell.
+Oh, for a minute&#8217;s rest and a piece of lemon
+on his parched tongue! Suddenly Courtlandt
+rushed him tigerishly, landing a jab which
+closed Harrigan&#8217;s right eye. Courtlandt
+dropped his hands, and stepped back. His
+glance traveled suggestively to Harrigan&#8217;s feet.
+He was outside the &#8220;ropes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon, Mr. Harrigan, for losing
+my temper.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s the odds? I lost mine. You
+win.&#8221; Harrigan was a true sportsman. He
+had no excuses to offer. He had dug the pit
+of humiliation with his own hands. He recognized
+this as one of two facts. The other was,
+that had Courtlandt extended himself, the battle
+would have lasted about one minute. It
+was gall and wormwood, but there you were.</p>
+<p>&#8220;And now, you ask for explanations.
+Ask your daughter to make them.&#8221; Courtlandt
+pulled off the gloves and got into his
+clothes. &#8220;You may add, sir, that I shall never
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span>
+trouble her again with my unwelcome attentions.
+I leave for Milan in the morning.&#8221;
+Courtlandt left the field of victory without
+further comment.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, what do you think of that?&#8221; mused
+Harrigan, as he stooped over to gather up the
+gloves. &#8220;Any one would say that he was the
+injured party. I&#8217;m in wrong on this deal
+somewhere. I&#8217;ll ask Miss Nora a question or
+two.&#8221;</p>
+<p>It was not so easy returning. He ran into
+his wife. He tried to dodge her, but without
+success.</p>
+<p>&#8220;James, where did you get that black eye?&#8221;
+tragically.</p>
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s a daisy, ain&#8217;t it, Molly?&#8221; pushing past
+her into Nora&#8217;s room and closing the door
+after him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Father!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That you, Nora?&#8221; blinking.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Father, if you have been fighting with <i>him</i>,
+I&#8217;ll never forgive you.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Forget it, Nora. I wasn&#8217;t fighting. I
+only thought I was.&#8221;</p>
+<p>He raised the lid of the trunk and cast in
+the gloves haphazard. And then he saw the
+paper which had fallen out. He picked it up
+and squinted at it, for he could not see very
+well. Nora was leaving the room in a temper.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Going, Nora?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am. And I advise you to have your
+dinner in your room.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Alone, he turned on the light. It never occurred
+to him that he might be prying into
+some of Nora&#8217;s private correspondence. He
+unfolded the parchment and held it under the
+light. For a long time he stared at the writing,
+which was in English, at the date, at the
+names. Then he quietly refolded it and put
+it away for future use, immediate future use.</p>
+<p>&#8220;This is a great world,&#8221; he murmured, rubbing
+his ear tenderly.</p>
+<hr class='major' />
+<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'>
+<a name='XX_JOURNEY_S_END' id='XX_JOURNEY_S_END'></a>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span>
+<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+<h3>JOURNEY&#8217;S END</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>Harrigan dined alone. He was in disgrace;
+he was sore, mentally as well as
+physically; and he ate his dinner without relish,
+in simple obedience to those well regulated
+periods of hunger that assailed him three
+times a day, in spring, summer, autumn and
+winter. By the time the waiter had cleared
+away the dishes, Harrigan had a perfecto between
+his teeth (along with a certain matrimonial
+bit), and smoked as if he had wagered
+to finish the cigar in half the usual stretch.
+He then began to walk the floor, much after
+the fashion of a man who has the toothache,
+or the earache, which would be more to the
+point. To his direct mind no diplomacy was
+needed; all that was necessary was a few blunt
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span>
+questions. Nora could answer them as she
+chose. Nora, his baby, his little girl that used
+to run around barefooted and laugh when he
+applied the needed birch! How children grew
+up! And they never grew too old for the
+birch; they certainly never did.</p>
+<p>They heard him from the drawing-room;
+tramp, tramp, tramp.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let him be, Nora,&#8221; said Mrs. Harrigan,
+wisely. &#8220;He is in a rage about something.
+And your father is not the easiest man to approach
+when he&#8217;s mad. If he fought Mr.
+Courtlandt, he believed he had some good reason
+for doing so.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Mother, there are times when I believe you
+are afraid of father.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am always afraid of him. It is only
+because I make believe I&#8217;m not that I can get
+him to do anything. It was dreadful. And
+Mr. Courtlandt was such a gentleman. I could
+cry. But let your father be until to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And have him wandering about with that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span>
+black eye? Something must be done for it.
+I&#8217;m not afraid of him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes I wish you were.&#8221;</p>
+<p>So Nora entered the lion&#8217;s den fearlessly.
+&#8220;Is there anything I can do for you, dad?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You can get the witch-hazel and bathe this
+lamp of mine,&#8221; grimly.</p>
+<p>She ran into her own room and returned
+with the simpler devices for reducing a swollen
+eye. She did not notice, or pretended that she
+didn&#8217;t, that he locked the door and put the key
+in his pocket. He sat down in a chair, under
+the light; and she went to work deftly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve got some make-up, and to-morrow
+morning I&#8217;ll paint it for you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t ask any questions,&#8221; he said, with
+grimness.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Would it relieve your eye any?&#8221; lightly.</p>
+<p>He laughed. &#8220;No; but it might relieve my
+mind.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Well, then, why did you do so foolish a
+thing? At your age! Don&#8217;t you know that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span>
+you can&#8217;t go on whipping every man you take a
+dislike to?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I haven&#8217;t taken any dislike to Courtlandt.
+But I saw him kiss you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can take care of myself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps. I asked him to explain. He refused.
+One thing puzzled me, though I didn&#8217;t
+know what it was at the time. Now, when a
+fellow steals a kiss from a beautiful woman
+like you, Nora, I don&#8217;t see why he should feel
+mad about it. When he had all but knocked
+your daddy to by-by, he said that you could
+explain.... Don&#8217;t press so hard,&#8221; warningly.
+&#8220;Well, can you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Since you saw what he did, I do not see
+where explanations on my part are necessary.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora, I&#8217;ve never caught you in a lie. I
+never want to. When you were little you were
+the truthfullest thing I ever saw. No matter
+what kind of a licking was in store for you,
+you weren&#8217;t afraid; you told the truth....
+There, that&#8217;ll do. Put some cotton over it and
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span>
+bind it with a handkerchief. It&#8217;ll be black all
+right, but the swelling will go down. I can
+tell &#8217;em a tennis-ball hit me. It was more like
+a cannon-ball, though. Say, Nora, you know
+I&#8217;ve always pooh-poohed these amateurs. People
+used to say that there were dozens of men
+in New York in my prime who could have
+laid me cold. I used to laugh. Well, I guess
+they were right. Courtlandt&#8217;s got the stiffest
+kick I ever ran into. A pile-driver, and if he
+had landed on my jaw, it would have been
+<i>dormi bene</i>, as you say when you bid me good
+night in dago. That&#8217;s all right now until to-morrow.
+I want to talk to you. Draw up a
+chair. There! As I said, I&#8217;ve never caught
+you in a lie, but I find that you&#8217;ve been living
+a lie for two years. You haven&#8217;t been square
+to me, nor to your mother, nor to the chaps
+that came around and made love to you. You
+probably didn&#8217;t look at it that way, but there&#8217;s
+the fact. I&#8217;m not Paul Pry; but accidentally
+I came across this,&#8221; taking the document from
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span>
+his pocket and handing it to her. &#8220;Read it.
+What&#8217;s the answer?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora&#8217;s hands trembled.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Takes you a long time to read it. Is it
+true?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;And I went up to the tennis-court with the
+intention of knocking his head off; and now
+I&#8217;m wondering why he didn&#8217;t knock off mine.
+Nora, he&#8217;s a man; and when you get through
+with this, I&#8217;m going down to the hotel and
+apologize.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You will do nothing of the sort; not with
+that eye.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;All right. I was always worried for fear
+you&#8217;d hook up with some duke you&#8217;d have to
+support. Now, I want to know how this chap
+happens to be my son-in-law. Make it brief,
+for I don&#8217;t want to get tangled up more than
+is necessary.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora crackled the certificate in her fingers
+and stared unseeingly at it for some time. &#8220;I
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span>
+met him first in Rangoon,&#8221; she began slowly,
+without raising her eyes.</p>
+<p>&#8220;When you went around the world on your
+own?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Oh, don&#8217;t worry. I was always
+able to take care of myself.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;An Irish idea,&#8221; answered Harrigan complacently.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I loved him, father, with all my heart and
+soul. He was not only big and strong and
+handsome, but he was kindly and tender and
+thoughtful. Why, I never knew that he was
+rich until after I had promised to be his wife.
+When I learned that he was the Edward Courtlandt
+who was always getting into the newspapers,
+I laughed. There were stories about
+his escapades. There were innuendoes regarding
+certain women, but I put them out of my
+mind as twaddle. Ah, never had I been so
+happy! In Berlin we went about like two children.
+It was play. He brought me to the
+Opera and took me away; and we had the most
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span>
+charming little suppers. I never wrote you or
+mother because I wished to surprise you.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;You have. Go on.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I had never paid much attention to Flora
+Desimone, though I knew that she was jealous
+of my success. Several times I caught her
+looking at Edward in a way I did not like.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;She looked at him, huh?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;It was the last performance of the season.
+We were married that afternoon. We did not
+want any one to know about it. I was not to
+leave the stage until the end of the following
+season. We were staying at the same hotel,
+with rooms across the corridor. This was
+much against his wishes, but I prevailed.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I see.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Our rooms were opposite, as I said. After
+the performance that night I went to mine to
+complete the final packing. We were to leave
+at one for the Tyrol. Father, I saw Flora
+Desimone come out of his room.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Harrigan shut and opened his hands.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you understand? I saw her. She
+was laughing. I did not see him. My wedding
+night! She came from his room. My
+heart stopped, the world stopped, everything
+went black. All the stories that I had read
+and heard came back. When he knocked at
+my door I refused to see him. I never saw
+him again until that night in Paris when he
+forced his way into my apartment.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Hang it, Nora, this doesn&#8217;t sound like
+him!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I saw her.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He wrote you?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I returned the letters, unopened.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;That wasn&#8217;t square. You might have been
+wrong.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He wrote five letters. After that he went
+to India, to Africa and back to India, where he
+seemed to find consolation enough.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Harrigan laid it to his lack of normal vision,
+but to his single optic there was anything but
+misery in her beautiful blue eyes. True, they
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372' name='page_372'></a>372</span>
+sparkled with tears; but that signified nothing:
+he hadn&#8217;t been married these thirty-odd years
+without learning that a woman weeps for any
+of a thousand and one reasons.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Do you care for him still?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Not a day passed during these many
+months that I did not vow I hated him.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Any one else know?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;The padre. I had to tell some one or go
+mad. But I didn&#8217;t hate him. I could no more
+put him out of my life than I could stop
+breathing. Ah, I have been so miserable and
+unhappy!&#8221; She laid her head upon his knees
+and clumsily he stroked it. His girl!</p>
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s the trouble with us Irish, Nora.
+We jump without looking, without finding
+whether we&#8217;re right or wrong. Well, your
+daddy&#8217;s opinion is that you should have read
+his first letter. If it didn&#8217;t ring right, why,
+you could have jumped the traces. I don&#8217;t
+believe he did anything wrong at all. It isn&#8217;t
+in the man&#8217;s blood to do anything underboard.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;But I <i>saw</i> her,&#8221; a queer look in her eyes as
+she glanced up at him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t care a kioodle if you did. Take
+it from me, it was a put-up job by that Calabrian
+woman. She might have gone to his
+room for any number of harmless things.
+But I think she was curious.&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Why didn&#8217;t she come to me, if she wanted
+to ask questions?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;I can see you answering &#8217;em. She probably
+just wanted to know if you were married
+or not. She might have been in love with him,
+and then she might not. These Italians don&#8217;t
+know half the time what they&#8217;re about, anyhow.
+But I don&#8217;t believe it of Courtlandt.
+He doesn&#8217;t line up that way. Besides, he&#8217;s
+got eyes. You&#8217;re a thousand times more attractive.
+He&#8217;s no fool. Know what I think?
+As she was coming out she saw <i>you</i> at your
+door; and the devil in her got busy.&#8221;</p>
+<p>Nora rose, flung her arms around him and
+kissed him.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Look out for that tin ear!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Oh, you great big, loyal, true-hearted man!
+Open that door and let me get out to the terrace.
+I want to sing, sing!&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;He said he was going to Milan in the morning.&#8221;</p>
+<p>She danced to the door and was gone.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora!&#8221; he called, impatiently. He listened
+in vain for the sound of her return.
+&#8220;Well, I&#8217;ll take the count when it comes to
+guessing what a woman&#8217;s going to do. I&#8217;ll
+go out and square up with the old girl. Wonder
+how this news will harness up with her
+social bug?&#8221;</p>
+<p>Courtlandt got into his compartment at
+Varenna. He had tipped the guard liberally
+not to open the door for any one else, unless
+the train was crowded. As the shrill blast of
+the conductor&#8217;s horn sounded the warning of
+&#8220;all aboard,&#8221; the door opened and a heavily
+veiled woman got in hurriedly. The train began
+to move instantly. The guard slammed
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span>
+the door and latched it. Courtlandt sighed:
+the futility of trusting these Italians, of trying
+to buy their loyalty! The woman was without
+any luggage whatever, not even the usual
+magazine. She was dressed in brown, her hat
+was brown, her veil, her gloves, her shoes.
+But whether she was young or old was beyond
+his deduction. He opened his <i>Corriere</i> and
+held it before his eyes; but he found reading
+impossible. The newspaper finally slipped
+from his hands to the floor where it swayed
+and rustled unnoticed. He was staring at the
+promontory across Lecco, the green and restful
+hill, the little earthly paradise out of which he
+had been unjustly cast. He couldn&#8217;t understand.
+He had lived cleanly and decently; he
+had wronged no man or woman, nor himself.
+And yet, through some evil twist of fate, he
+had lost all there was in life worth having.
+The train lurched around a shoulder of the
+mountain. He leaned against the window.
+In a moment more the villa was gone.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span></p>
+<p>What was it? He felt irresistibly drawn.
+Without intending to do so, he turned and
+stared at the woman in brown. Her hand
+went to the veil and swept it aside. Nora was
+as full of romance as a child. She could have
+stopped him before he made the boat, but she
+wanted to be alone with him.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora!&#8221;</p>
+<p>She flung herself on her knees in front of
+him. &#8220;I am a wretch!&#8221; she said.</p>
+<p>He could only repeat her name.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am not worth my salt. Ah, why did
+you run away? Why did you not pursue me,
+importune me until I wearied? ... perhaps
+gladly? There were times when I would
+have opened my arms had you been the worst
+scoundrel in the world instead of the dearest
+lover, the patientest! Ah, can you forgive
+me?&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Forgive you, Nora?&#8221; He was numb.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I am a miserable wretch! I doubted you,
+I! When all I had to do was to recall the way
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span>
+people misrepresented things I had done! I
+sent back your letters ... and read and
+reread the old blue ones. Don&#8217;t you remember
+how you used to write them on blue paper? ... Flora
+told me everything. It was
+only because she hated me, not that she cared
+anything about you. She told me that night
+at the ball. I believe the duke forced her to
+do it. She was at the bottom of the abduction.
+When you kissed me ... didn&#8217;t
+you know that I kissed you back? Edward, I
+am a miserable wretch, but I shall follow you
+wherever you go, and I haven&#8217;t even a vanity-box
+in my hand-bag!&#8221; There were tears in
+her eyes. &#8220;Say that I am a wretch!&#8221;</p>
+<p>He drew her up beside him. His arms
+closed around her so hungrily, so strongly,
+that she gasped a little. He looked into her
+eyes; his glance traveled here and there over
+her face, searching for the familiar dimple at
+one corner of her mouth.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Nora!&#8221; he whispered.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span></p>
+<p>&#8220;Kiss me!&#8221;</p>
+<p>And then the train came to a stand, jerkily.
+They fell back against the cushions.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Lecco!&#8221; cried the guard through the window.</p>
+<p>They laughed like children.</p>
+<p>&#8220;I bribed him,&#8221; she said gaily. &#8220;And
+now....&#8221;</p>
+<p>&#8220;Yes, and now?&#8221; eagerly, if still bewilderedly.</p>
+<p>&#8220;Let&#8217;s go back!&#8221;</p>
+<div class='ce'>
+<p>THE END</p>
+</div>
+
+<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.24 -->
+<!-- timestamp: Tue Aug 19 22:23:57 -0600 2008 -->
+
+
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+<pre>
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+End of Project Gutenberg's The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Place of Honeymoons
+
+Author: Harold MacGrath
+
+Illustrator: Arthur I. Keller
+
+Release Date: September 11, 2008 [EBook #26593]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "Your address!" bawled the Duke.]
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS
+
+By
+HAROLD MACGRATH
+
+Author of
+THE MAN ON THE BOX, THE GOOSE GIRL,
+THE CARPET FROM BAGDAD, ETC.
+
+WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+ARTHUR I. KELLER
+
+INDIANAPOLIS
+THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
+PUBLISHERS
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Copyright 1912
+The Bobbs-Merrill Company
+
+PRESS OF
+BRAUNWORTH & CO.
+BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
+BROOKLYN, N. Y.
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+                              To B. O'G.
+
+                  Horace calls no more to me,
+                     Homer in the dust-heap lies:
+                  I have found my Odyssey
+                  In the lightness of her glee,
+                     In the laughter of her eyes.
+
+                  Ovid's page is thumbed no more,
+                     E'en Catullus has no choice!
+                  There is endless, precious lore,
+                  Such as I ne'er knew before,
+                     In the music of her voice.
+
+                  Breath of hyssop steeped in wine,
+                     Breath of violets and furze,
+                  Wild-wood roses, Grecian myrrhs,
+                  All these perfumes do combine
+                     In that maiden breath of hers.
+
+                  Nay, I look not at the skies,
+                     Nor the sun that hillward slips,
+                  For the day lives or it dies
+                  In the laughter of her eyes,
+                     In the music of her lips!
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER                            PAGE
+     I.  At the Stage Door            1
+    II.  There Is a Woman?           19
+   III.  The Beautiful Tigress       36
+    IV.  The Joke of Monsieur        53
+     V.  Captive or Runaway          74
+    VI.  The Bird Behind Bars       103
+   VII.  Battling Jimmie            126
+  VIII.  Moonlight and a Prince     146
+    IX.  Colonel Caxley-Webster     166
+     X.  Marguerites and Emeralds   185
+    XI.  At the Crater's Edge       202
+   XII.  Dick Courtlandt's Boy      214
+  XIII.  Everything But the Truth   232
+   XIV.  A Comedy with Music        249
+    XV.  Herr Rosen's Regrets       265
+   XVI.  The Apple of Discord       282
+  XVII.  The Ball at the Villa      303
+ XVIII.  Pistols for Two            326
+   XIX.  Courtlandt Tells a Story   345
+    XX.  Journey's End              363
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+AT THE STAGE DOOR
+
+
+Courtlandt sat perfectly straight; his ample shoulders did not touch the
+back of his chair; and his arms were folded tightly across his chest. The
+characteristic of his attitude was tenseness. The nostrils were well
+defined, as in one who sets the upper jaw hard upon the nether. His brown
+eyes--their gaze directed toward the stage whence came the voice of the
+prima donna--epitomized the tension, expressed the whole as in a word.
+
+Just now the voice was pathetically subdued, yet reached every part of the
+auditorium, kindling the ear with its singularly mellowing sweetness. To
+Courtlandt it resembled, as no other sound, the note of a muffled Burmese
+gong, struck in the dim incensed cavern of a temple. A Burmese gong:
+briefly and magically the stage, the audience, the amazing gleam and
+scintillation of the Opera, faded. He heard only the voice and saw only
+the purple shadows in the temple at Rangoon, the oriental sunset splashing
+the golden dome, the wavering lights of the dripping candles, the dead
+flowers, the kneeling devotees, the yellow-robed priests, the tatters of
+gold-leaf, fresh and old, upon the rows of placid grinning Buddhas. The
+vision was of short duration. The sigh, which had been so long repressed,
+escaped; his shoulders sank a little, and the angle of his chin became
+less resolute; but only for a moment. Tension gave place to an ironical
+grimness. The brows relaxed, but the lips became firmer. He listened, with
+this new expression unchanging, to the high note that soared above all
+others. The French horns blared and the timpani crashed. The curtain sank
+slowly. The audience rustled, stood up, sought its wraps, and pressed
+toward the exits and the grand staircase. It was all over.
+
+Courtlandt took his leave in leisure. Here and there he saw familiar
+faces, but these, after the finding glance, he studiously avoided. He
+wanted to be alone. For while the music was still echoing in his ears, in
+a subtone, his brain was afire with keen activity; but unfortunately for
+the going forward of things, this mental state was divided into so many
+battalions, led by so many generals, indirectly and indecisively, nowhere.
+This plan had no beginning, that one had no ending, and the other neither
+beginning nor ending. Outside he lighted a cigar, not because at that
+moment he possessed a craving for nicotine, but because like all
+inveterate smokers he believed that tobacco conduced to clarity of
+thought. And mayhap it did. At least, there presently followed a mental
+calm that expelled all this confusion. The goal waxed and waned as he
+gazed down the great avenue with its precise rows of lamps. Far away he
+could discern the outline of the brooding Louvre.
+
+There was not the least hope in the world for him to proceed toward his
+goal this night. He realized this clearly, now that he was face to face
+with actualities. It required more than the chaotic impulses that had
+brought him back from the jungles of the Orient. He must reason out a plan
+that should be like a straight line, the shortest distance between two
+given points. How then should he pass the night, since none of his schemes
+could possibly be put into operation? Return to his hotel and smoke
+himself headachy? Try to become interested in a novel? Go to bed, to turn
+and roll till dawn? A wild desire seized him to make a night of
+it,--Maxim's, the cabarets; riot and wine. Who cared? But the desire burnt
+itself out between two puffs of his cigar. Ten years ago, perhaps, this
+particular brand of amusement might have urged him successfully. But not
+now; he was done with tomfool nights. Indeed, his dissipations had been
+whimsical rather than banal; and retrospection never aroused a furtive
+sense of shame.
+
+He was young, but not so young as an idle glance might conjecture in
+passing. To such casual reckoning he appeared to be in the early twenties;
+but scrutiny, more or less infallible, noting a line here or an angle
+there, was disposed to add ten years to the score. There was in the nose
+and chin a certain decisiveness which in true youth is rarely developed.
+This characteristic arrives only with manhood, manhood that has been tried
+and perhaps buffeted and perchance a little disillusioned. To state that
+one is young does not necessarily imply youth; for youth is something that
+is truly green and tender, not rounded out, aimless, light-hearted and
+desultory, charming and inconsequent. If man regrets his youth it is not
+for the passing of these pleasing, though tangled attributes, but rather
+because there exists between the two periods of progression a series of
+irremediable mistakes. And the subject of this brief commentary could look
+back on many a grievous one brought about by pride or carelessness rather
+than by intent.
+
+But what was one to do who had both money and leisure linked to an
+irresistible desire to leave behind one place or thing in pursuit of
+another, indeterminately? At one time he wanted to be an artist, but his
+evenly balanced self-criticism had forced him to fling his daubs into the
+ash-heap. They were good daubs in a way, but were laid on without fire;
+such work as any respectable schoolmarm might have equaled if not
+surpassed. Then he had gone in for engineering; but precise and intricate
+mathematics required patience of a quality not at his command.
+
+The inherent ambition was to make money; but recognizing the absurdity of
+adding to his income, which even in his extravagance he could not spend,
+he gave himself over into the hands of grasping railroad and steamship
+companies, or their agencies, and became for a time the slave of guide and
+dragoman and carrier. And then the wanderlust, descended to him from the
+blood of his roving Dutch ancestors, which had lain dormant in the several
+generations following, sprang into active life again. He became known in
+every port of call. He became known also in the wildernesses. He had
+climbed almost inaccessible mountains, in Europe, in Asia; he had fished
+and hunted north, east, south and west; he had fitted out polar
+expeditions; he had raided the pearl markets; he had made astonishing
+gifts to women who had pleased his fancy, but whom he did not know or seek
+to know; he had kept some of his intimate friends out of bankruptcy; he
+had given the most extravagant dinners at one season and, unknown, had
+supported a bread-line at another; he had even financed a musical comedy.
+
+Whatever had for the moment appealed to his fancy, that he had done. That
+the world--his world--threw up its hands in wonder and despair neither
+disturbed him nor swerved him in the least. He was alone, absolute master
+of his millions. Mamas with marriageable daughters declared that he was
+impossible; the marriageable daughters never had a chance to decide one
+way or the other; and men called him a fool. He had promoted elephant
+fights which had stirred the Indian princes out of their melancholy
+indifference, and tiger hunts which had, by their duration and
+magnificence, threatened to disrupt the efficiency of the British military
+service,--whimsical excesses, not understandable by his intimate
+acquaintances who cynically arraigned him as the fool and his money.
+
+But, like the villain in the play, his income still pursued him. Certain
+scandals inevitably followed, scandals he was the last to hear about and
+the last to deny when he heard them. Many persons, not being able to take
+into the mind and analyze a character like Courtlandt's, sought the line
+of least resistance for their understanding, and built some precious
+exploits which included dusky island-princesses, diaphanous dancers, and
+comic-opera stars.
+
+Simply, he was without direction; a thousand goals surrounded him and none
+burned with that brightness which draws a man toward his destiny: until
+one day. Personally, he possessed graces of form and feature, and was
+keener mentally than most young men who inherit great fortunes and
+distinguished names.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+Automobiles of all kinds panted hither and thither. An occasional smart
+coupe went by as if to prove that prancing horses were still necessary to
+the dignity of the old aristocracy. Courtlandt made up his mind suddenly.
+He laughed with bitterness. He knew now that to loiter near the stage
+entrance had been his real purpose all along, and persistent lying to
+himself had not prevailed. In due time he took his stand among the gilded
+youth who were not privileged (like their more prosperous elders) to wait
+outside the dressing-rooms for their particular ballerina. By and by there
+was a little respectful commotion. Courtlandt's hand went instinctively to
+his collar, not to ascertain if it were properly adjusted, but rather to
+relieve the sudden pressure. He was enraged at his weakness. He wanted to
+turn away, but he could not.
+
+A woman issued forth, muffled in silks and light furs. She was followed by
+another, quite possibly her maid. One may observe very well at times from
+the corner of the eye; that is, objects at which one is not looking come
+within the range of vision. The woman paused, her foot upon the step of
+the modest limousine. She whispered something hurriedly into her
+companion's ear, something evidently to the puzzlement of the latter, who
+looked around irresolutely. She obeyed, however, and retreated to the
+stage entrance. A man, quite as tall as Courtlandt, his face shaded
+carefully, intentionally perhaps, by one of those soft Bavarian hats that
+are worn successfully only by Germans, stepped out of the gathering to
+proffer his assistance. Courtlandt pushed him aside calmly, lifted his
+hat, and smiling ironically, closed the door behind the singer. The step
+which the other man made toward Courtlandt was unequivocal in its meaning.
+But even as Courtlandt squared himself to meet the coming outburst, the
+stranger paused, shrugged his shoulders, turned and made off.
+
+The lady in the limousine--very pale could any have looked closely into
+her face--was whirled away into the night. Courtlandt did not stir from
+the curb. The limousine dwindled, once it flashed under a light, and then
+vanished.
+
+"It is the American," said one of the waiting dandies.
+
+"The icicle!"
+
+"The volcano, rather, which fools believe extinct."
+
+"Probably sent back her maid for her Bible. Ah, these Americans; they are
+very amusing."
+
+"She was in magnificent voice to-night. I wonder why she never sings
+_Carmen_?"
+
+"Have I not said that she is too cold? What! would you see frost grow upon
+the toreador's mustache? And what a name, what a name! Eleonora da
+Toscana!"
+
+Courtlandt was not in the most amiable condition of mind, and a hint of
+the ribald would have instantly transformed a passive anger into a blind
+fury. Thus, a scene hung precariously; but its potentialities became as
+nothing on the appearance of another woman.
+
+This woman was richly dressed, too richly. Apparently she had trusted her
+modiste not wisely but too well: there was the strange and unaccountable
+inherent love of fine feathers and warm colors which is invariably the
+mute utterance of peasant blood. She was followed by a Russian, huge of
+body, Jovian of countenance. An expensive car rolled up to the curb. A
+liveried footman jumped down from beside the chauffeur and opened the
+door. The diva turned her head this way and that, a thin smile of
+satisfaction stirring her lips. For Flora Desimone loved the human eye
+whenever it stared admiration into her own; and she spent half her days
+setting traps and lures, rather successfully. She and her formidable
+escort got into the car which immediately went away with a soft purring
+sound. There was breeding in the engine, anyhow, thought Courtlandt, who
+longed to put his strong fingers around that luxurious throat which had,
+but a second gone, passed him so closely.
+
+"We shall never have war with Russia," said some one; "her dukes love
+Paris too well."
+
+Light careless laughter followed this cynical observation. Another time
+Courtlandt might have smiled. He pushed his way into the passage leading
+to the dressing-rooms, and followed its windings until he met a human
+barrier. To his inquiry the answer was abrupt and perfectly clear in its
+meaning: La Signorina da Toscana had given most emphatic orders not to
+disclose her address to any one. Monsieur might, if he pleased, make
+further inquiries of the directors; the answer there would be the same.
+Presently he found himself gazing down the avenue once more. There were a
+thousand places to go to, a thousand pleasant things to do; yet he
+doddered, full of ill-temper, dissatisfaction, and self-contempt. He was
+weak, damnably weak; and for years he had admired himself, detachedly, as
+a man of pride. He started forward, neither sensing his direction nor the
+perfected flavor of his Habana.
+
+Opera singers were truly a race apart. They lived in the world but were
+not a part of it, and when they died, left only a memory which faded in
+one generation and became totally forgotten in another. What jealousies,
+what petty bickerings, what extravagances! With fancy and desire
+unchecked, what ingenious tricks they used to keep themselves in the
+public mind,--tricks begot of fickleness and fickleness begetting. And
+yet, it was a curious phase: their influence was generally found when
+history untangled for posterity some Gordian knot. In old times they had
+sung the _Marseillaise_ and danced the _carmagnole_ and indirectly plied
+the guillotine. And to-day they smashed prime ministers, petty kings, and
+bankers, and created fashions for the ruin of husbands and fathers of
+modest means. Devil take them! And Courtlandt flung his cigar into the
+street.
+
+He halted. The Madeleine was not exactly the goal for a man who had, half
+an hour before, contemplated a rout at Maxim's. His glance described a
+half-circle. There was Durand's; but Durand's on opera nights entertained
+many Americans, and he did not care to meet any of his compatriots
+to-night. So he turned down the Rue Royale, on the opposite side, and went
+into the Taverne Royale, where the patrons were not over particular in
+regard to the laws of fashion, and where certain ladies with light
+histories sought further adventures to add to their heptamerons. Now,
+Courtlandt thought neither of the one nor of the other. He desired
+isolation, safety from intrusion; and here, did he so signify, he could
+find it. Women gazed up at him and smiled, with interest as much as with
+invitation. He was brown from long exposure to the wind and the sun, that
+golden brown which is the gift of the sun-glitter on rocking seas. A
+traveler is generally indicated by this artistry of the sun, and once
+noted instantly creates a speculative interest. Even his light brown hair
+had faded at the temples, and straw-colored was the slender mustache, the
+ends of which had a cavalier twist. He ignored the lips which smiled and
+the eyes which invited, and nothing more was necessary. One is not
+importuned at the Taverne Royale. He sat down at a vacant table and
+ordered a pint of champagne, drinking hastily rather than thirstily.
+
+Would Monsieur like anything to eat?
+
+No, the wine was sufficient.
+
+Courtlandt poured out a second glass slowly. The wine bubbled up to the
+brim and overflowed. He had been looking at the glass with unseeing eyes.
+He set the bottle down impatiently. Fool! To have gone to Burma, simply to
+stand in the golden temple once more, in vain, to recall that other time:
+the starving kitten held tenderly in a woman's arms, his own scurry among
+the booths to find the milk so peremptorily ordered, and the smile of
+thanks that had been his reward! He had run away when he should have hung
+on. He should have fought every inch of the way....
+
+"Monsieur is lonely?"
+
+A pretty young woman sat down before him in the vacant chair.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THERE IS A WOMAN?
+
+
+Anger, curiosity, interest; these sensations blanketed one another
+quickly, leaving only interest, which was Courtlandt's normal state of
+mind when he saw a pretty woman. It did not require very keen scrutiny on
+his part to arrive swiftly at the conclusion that this one was not quite
+in the picture. Her cheeks were not red with that redness which has a
+permanency of tone, neither waxing nor waning, abashed in daylight. Nor
+had her lips found their scarlet moisture from out the depths of certain
+little porcelain boxes. Decidedly she was out of place here, yet she
+evinced no embarrassment; she was cool, at ease. Courtlandt's interest
+strengthened.
+
+"Why do you think I am lonely, Mademoiselle?" he asked, without smiling.
+
+"Oh, when one talks to one's self, strikes the table, wastes good wine,
+the inference is but natural. So, Monsieur is lonely."
+
+Her lips and eyes, as grave and smileless as his own, puzzled him. An
+adventure? He looked at some of the other women. Those he could
+understand, but this one, no. At all times he was willing to smile, yet to
+draw her out he realized that he must preserve his gravity unbroken. The
+situation was not usual. His gaze came back to her.
+
+"Is the comparison favorable to me?" she asked.
+
+"It is. What is loneliness?" he demanded cynically.
+
+"Ah, I could tell you," she answered. "It is the longing to be with the
+one we love; it is the hate of the wicked things we have done; it is
+remorse."
+
+"That echoes of the Ambigu-Comique." He leaned upon his arms. "What are
+you doing here?"
+
+"I?"
+
+"Yes. You do not talk like the other girls who come here."
+
+"Monsieur comes here frequently, then?"
+
+"This is the first time in five years. I came here to-night because I
+wanted to be alone, because I did not wish to meet any one I knew. I have
+scowled at every girl in the room, and they have wisely left me alone. I
+haven't scowled at you because I do not know what to make of you. That's
+frankness. Now, you answer my question."
+
+"Would you spare me a glass of wine? I am thirsty."
+
+He struck his hands together, a bit of orientalism he had brought back
+with him. The observant waiter instantly came forward with a glass.
+
+The young woman sipped the wine, gazing into the glass as she did so.
+"Perhaps a whim brought me here. But I repeat, Monsieur is lonely."
+
+"So lonely that I am almost tempted to put you into a taxicab and run away
+with you."
+
+She set down the glass.
+
+"But I sha'n't," he added.
+
+The spark of eagerness in her eyes was instantly curtained. "There is a
+woman?" tentatively.
+
+"Is there not always a woman?"
+
+"And she has disappointed Monsieur?" There was no marked sympathy in the
+tone.
+
+"Since Eve, has that not been woman's part in the human comedy?" He was
+almost certain that her lips became firmer. "Smile, if you wish. It is not
+prohibitory here."
+
+It was evident that the smile had been struggling for existence, for it
+endured to the fulness of half a minute. She had fine teeth. He
+scrutinized her more closely, and she bore it well. The forehead did not
+make for beauty; it was too broad and high, intellectual. Her eyes were
+splendid. There was nothing at all ordinary about her. His sense of
+puzzlement renewed itself and deepened. What did she want of him? There
+were other men, other vacant chairs.
+
+"Monsieur is certain about the taxicab?"
+
+"Absolutely."
+
+"Ah, it is to emulate Saint Anthony!"
+
+"There are several saints of that name. To which do you refer?"
+
+"Positively not to him of Padua."
+
+Courtlandt laughed. "No, I can not fancy myself being particularly
+concerned about bambini. No, my model is Noah."
+
+"Noah?" dubiously.
+
+"Yes. At the time of the flood there was only one woman in the world."
+
+"I am afraid that your knowledge of that event is somewhat obscured.
+Still, I understand."
+
+She lifted the wine-glass again, and then he noticed her hand. It was
+large, white and strong; it was not the hand of a woman who dallied, who
+idled in primrose paths.
+
+"Tell me, what is it you wish? You interest me, at a moment, too, when I
+do not want to be interested. Are you really in trouble? Is there anything
+I can do ... barring the taxicab?"
+
+She twirled the glass, uneasily. "I am not in actual need of assistance."
+
+"But you spoke peculiarly regarding loneliness."
+
+"Perhaps I like the melodrama. You spoke of the Ambigu-Comique."
+
+"You are on the stage?"
+
+"Perhaps."
+
+"The Opera?"
+
+"Again perhaps."
+
+He laughed once more, and drew his chair closer to the table.
+
+"Monsieur in other moods must have a pleasant laughter."
+
+"I haven't laughed from the heart in a very long time," he said, returning
+to his former gravity, this time unassumed.
+
+"And I have accomplished this amazing thing?"
+
+"No. You followed me here. But from where?"
+
+"Followed you?" The effort to give a mocking accent to her voice was a
+failure.
+
+"Yes. The idea just occurred to me. There were other vacant chairs, and
+there was nothing inviting in my facial expression. Come, let me have the
+truth."
+
+"I have a friend who knows Flora Desimone."
+
+"Ah!" As if this information was a direct visitation of kindness from the
+gods. "Then you know where the Calabrian lives? Give me her address."
+
+There was a minute wrinkle above the unknown's nose; the shadow of a
+frown. "She is very beautiful."
+
+"Bah! Did she send you after me? Give me her address. I have come all the
+way from Burma to see Flora Desimone."
+
+"To see her?" She unguardedly clothed the question with contempt, but she
+instantly forced a smile to neutralize the effect. Concerned with her own
+defined conclusions, she lost the fine ironic bitterness that was in the
+man's voice.
+
+"Aye, indeed, to see her! Beautiful as Venus, as alluring as Phryne, I
+want nothing so much as to see her, to look into her eyes, to hear her
+voice!"
+
+"Is it jealousy? I hear the tragic note." The certainty of her ground
+became as morass again. In his turn he was puzzling her.
+
+"Tragedy? I am an American. We do not kill opera singers. We turn them
+over to the critics. I wish to see the beautiful Flora, to ask her a few
+questions. If she has sent you after me, her address, my dear young lady,
+her address." His eyes burned.
+
+"I am afraid." And she was so. This wasn't the tone of a man madly in
+love. It was wild anger.
+
+"Afraid of what?"
+
+"You."
+
+"I will give you a hundred francs." He watched her closely and shrewdly.
+
+Came the little wrinkle again, but this time urged in perplexity. "A
+hundred francs, for something I was sent to tell you?"
+
+"And now refuse."
+
+"It is very generous. She has a heart of flint, Monsieur."
+
+"Well I know it. Perhaps now I have one of steel."
+
+"Many sparks do not make a fire. Do you know that your French is very
+good?"
+
+"I spent my boyhood in Paris; some of it. Her address, if you please." He
+produced a crisp note for a hundred francs. "Do you want it?"
+
+She did not answer at once. Presently she opened her purse, found a stubby
+pencil and a slip of paper, and wrote. "There it is, Monsieur." She held
+out her hand for the bank-note which, with a sense of bafflement, he gave
+her. She folded the note and stowed it away with the pencil.
+
+"Thank you," said Courtlandt. "Odd paper, though." He turned it over. "Ah,
+I understand. You copy music."
+
+"Yes, Monsieur."
+
+This time the nervous flicker of her eyes did not escape him. "You are
+studying for the opera, perhaps?"
+
+"Yes, that is it."
+
+The eagerness of the admission convinced him that she was not. Who she was
+or whence she had come no longer excited his interest. He had the
+Calabrian's address and he was impatient to be off.
+
+"Good night." He rose.
+
+"Monsieur is not gallant."
+
+"I was in my youth," he replied, putting on his hat.
+
+The bald rudeness of his departure did not disturb her. She laughed softly
+and relievedly. Indeed, there was in the laughter an essence of mischief.
+However, if he carried away a mystery, he left one behind.
+
+As he was hunting for a taxicab, the waiter ran out and told him that he
+had forgotten to settle for the wine. The lady had refused to do so.
+Courtlandt chuckled and gave him a ten-franc piece. In other days, in
+other circumstances, he would have liked to know more about the unknown
+who scribbled notes on composition paper. She was not an idler in the Rue
+Royale, and it did not require that indefinable intuition which comes of
+worldly-wiseness to discover this fact. She might be a friend of the
+Desimone woman, but she had stepped out of another sphere to become so. He
+recognized the quality that could adjust itself to any environment and
+come out scatheless. This was undeniably an American accomplishment; and
+yet she was distinctly a Frenchwoman. He dismissed the problem from his
+mind and bade the driver go as fast as the police would permit.
+
+Meanwhile the young woman waited five or ten minutes, and, making sure
+that Courtlandt had been driven off, left the restaurant. Round the corner
+she engaged a carriage. So that was Edward Courtlandt? She liked his face;
+there was not a weak line in it, unless stubbornness could be called such.
+But to stay away for two years! To hide himself in jungles, to be heard of
+only by his harebrained exploits! "Follow him; see where he goes," had
+been the command. For a moment she had rebelled, but her curiosity was not
+to be denied. Besides, of what use was friendship if not to be tried? She
+knew nothing of the riddle, she had never asked a question openly. She had
+accidentally seen a photograph one day, in a trunk tray, with this man's
+name scrawled across it, and upon this flimsy base she had builded a dozen
+romances, each of which she had ruthlessly torn down to make room for
+another; but still the riddle lay unsolved. She had thrown the name into
+the conversation many a time, as one might throw a bomb into a crowd which
+had no chance to escape. Fizzles! The man had been calmly discussed and
+calmly dismissed. At odd times an article in the newspapers gave her an
+opportunity; still the frank discussion, still the calm dismissal. She had
+learned that the man was rich, irresponsible, vacillating, a picturesque
+sort of fool. But two years? What had kept him away that long? A weak man,
+in love, would not have made so tame a surrender. Perhaps he had not
+surrendered; perhaps neither of them had.
+
+And yet, he sought the Calabrian. Here was another blind alley out of
+which she had to retrace her steps. Bother! That Puck of Shakespeare was
+right: What fools these mortals be! She was very glad that she possessed a
+true sense of humor, spiced with harmless audacity. What a dreary world it
+must be to those who did not know how and when to laugh! They talked of
+the daring of the American woman: who but a Frenchwoman would have dared
+what she had this night? The taxicab! She laughed. And this man was wax in
+the hands of any pretty woman who came along! So rumor had it. But she
+knew that rumor was only the attenuated ghost of Ananias, doomed forever
+to remain on earth for the propagation of inaccurate whispers. Wax! Why,
+she would have trusted herself in any situation with a man with those eyes
+and that angle of jaw. It was all very mystifying. "Follow him; see where
+he goes." The frank discussion, then, and the calm dismissal were but a
+woman's dissimulation. And he had gone to Flora Desimone's.
+
+The carriage stopped before a handsome apartment-house in the Avenue de
+Wagram. The unknown got out, gave the driver his fare, and rang the
+concierge's bell. The sleepy guardian opened the door, touched his
+gold-braided cap in recognition, and led the way to the small electric
+lift. The young woman entered and familiarly pushed the button. The
+apartment in which she lived was on the second floor; and there was luxury
+everywhere, but luxury subdued and charmed by taste. There were fine old
+Persian rugs on the floors, exquisite oils and water-colors on the walls;
+and rare Japanese silk tapestries hung between the doors. In one corner of
+the living-room was a bronze jar filled with artificial cherry blossoms;
+in another corner near the door, hung a flat bell-shaped piece of brass--a
+Burmese gong. There were many photographs ranged along the mantel-top;
+celebrities, musical, artistic and literary, each accompanied by a liberal
+expanse of autographic ink.
+
+She threw aside her hat and wraps with that manner of inconsequence which
+distinguishes the artistic temperament from the thrifty one, and passed on
+into the cozy dining-room. The maid had arranged some sandwiches and a
+bottle of light wine. She ate and drank, while intermittent smiles played
+across her merry face. Having satisfied her hunger, she opened her purse
+and extracted the bank-note. She smoothed it out and laughed aloud.
+
+"Oh, if only he had taken me for a ride in the taxicab!" She bubbled again
+with merriment.
+
+Suddenly she sprang up, as if inspired, and dashed into another room, a
+study. She came back with pen and ink, and with a celerity that came of
+long practise, drew five straight lines across the faint violet face of
+the bank-note. Within these lines she made little dots at the top and
+bottom of stubby perpendicular strokes, and strange interlineal
+hieroglyphics, and sweeping curves, all of which would have puzzled an
+Egyptologist if he were unused to the ways of musicians. Carefully she
+dried the composition, and then put the note away. Some day she would
+confound him by returning it.
+
+A little later her fingers were moving softly over the piano keys;
+melodies in minor, sad and haunting and elusive, melodies that had never
+been put on paper and would always be her own: in them she might leap from
+comedy to tragedy, from laughter to tears, and only she would know. The
+midnight adventure was forgotten, and the hero of it, too. With her eyes
+closed and her lithe body swaying gently, she let the old weary pain in
+her heart take hold again.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE BEAUTIFUL TIGRESS
+
+
+Flora Desimone had been born in a Calabrian peasant's hut, and she had
+rolled in the dust outside, yelling vigorously at all times. Specialists
+declare that the reason for all great singers coming from lowly origin is
+found in this early development of the muscles of the throat. Parents of
+means employ nurses or sedatives to suppress or at least to smother these
+infantile protests against being thrust inconsiderately into the turmoil
+of human beings. Flora yelled or slept, as the case might be; her parents
+were equally indifferent. They were too busily concerned with the getting
+of bread and wine. Moreover, Flora was one among many. The gods are always
+playing with the Calabrian peninsula, heaving it up here or throwing it
+down there: _il terremoto_, the earthquake, the terror. Here nature
+tinkers vicariously with souls; and she seldom has time to complete her
+work. Constant communion with death makes for callosity of feeling; and
+the Calabrians and the Sicilians are the cruellest among the civilized
+peoples. Flora was ruthless.
+
+She lived amazingly well in the premier of an apartment-hotel in the
+Champs-Elysees. In England and America she had amassed a fortune. Given
+the warm beauty of the Southern Italian, the passion, the temperament, the
+love of mischief, the natural cruelty, the inordinate craving for
+attention and flattery, she enlivened the nations with her affairs. And
+she never put a single beat of her heart into any of them. That is why her
+voice is still splendid and her beauty unchanging. She did not dissipate;
+calculation always barred her inclination; rather, she loitered about the
+Forbidden Tree and played that she had plucked the Apple. She had an
+example to follow; Eve had none.
+
+Men scattered fortunes at her feet as foolish Greeks scattered floral
+offerings at the feet of their marble gods--without provoking the sense of
+reciprocity or generosity or mercy. She had worked; ah, no one would ever
+know how hard. She had been crushed, beaten, cursed, starved. That she had
+risen to the heights in spite of these bruising verbs in no manner
+enlarged her pity, but dulled and vitiated the little there was of it. Her
+mental attitude toward humanity was childish: as, when the parent strikes,
+the child blindly strikes back. She was determined to play, to enjoy life,
+to give back blow for blow, nor caring where she struck. She was going to
+press the juice from every grape. A thousand odd years gone, she would
+have led the cry in Rome--"Bread and the circus!" or "To the lions!" She
+would have disturbed Nero's complacency, and he would have played an
+obbligato instead of a solo at the burning. And she was malice incarnate.
+They came from all climes--her lovers--with roubles and lire and francs
+and shillings and dollars; and those who finally escaped her enchantment
+did so involuntarily, for lack of further funds. They called her villas
+Circe's isles. She hated but two things in the world; the man she could
+have loved and the woman she could not surpass.
+
+Arrayed in a kimono which would have evoked the envy of the empress of
+Japan, supposing such a gorgeous raiment--peacocks and pine-trees,
+brilliant greens and olives and blues and purples--fell under the gaze of
+that lady's slanting eyes, she sat opposite the Slavonic Jove and smoked
+her cigarette between sips of coffee. Frequently she smiled. The short
+powerful hand of the man stroked his beard and he beamed out of his
+cunning eyes, eyes a trifle too porcine to suggest a keen intellect above
+them.
+
+"I am like a gorilla," he said; "but you are like a sleek tigress. I am
+stronger, more powerful than you; but I am always in fear of your claws.
+Especially when you smile like that. What mischief are you plotting now?"
+
+She drew in a cloud of smoke, held it in her puffed cheeks as she glided
+round the table and leaned over his shoulders. She let the smoke drift
+over his head and down his beard. In that moment he was truly Jovian.
+
+"Would you like me if I were a tame cat?" she purred.
+
+"I have never seen you in that role. Perhaps I might. You told me that you
+would give up everything but the Paris season."
+
+"I have changed my mind." She ran one hand through his hair and the other
+she entangled in his beard. "You'd change your mind, too, if you were a
+woman."
+
+"I don't have to change my mind; you are always doing it for me. But I do
+not want to go to America next winter." He drew her down so that he might
+look into her face. It was something to see.
+
+"Bah!" She released herself and returned to her chair. "When the season is
+over I want to go to Capri."
+
+"Capri! Too hot."
+
+"I want to go."
+
+"My dear, a dozen exiles are there, waiting to blow me up." He spoke
+Italian well. "You do not wish to see me spattered over the beautiful
+isle?"
+
+"Tch! tch! That is merely your usual excuse. You never had anything to do
+with the police."
+
+"No?" He eyed the end of his cigarette gravely. "One does not have to be
+affiliated with the police. There is class prejudice. We Russians are very
+fond of Egypt in the winter. Capri seems to be the half-way place. They
+wait for us, going and coming. Poor fools!"
+
+"I shall go alone, then."
+
+"All right." In his dull way he had learned that to pull the diva, one
+must agree with her. In agreeing with her one adroitly dissuaded her. "You
+go to Capri, and I'll go to the pavilion on the Neva."
+
+She snuffed the cigarette in the coffee-cup and frowned. "Some day you
+will make me horribly angry."
+
+"Beautiful tigress! If a man knew what you wanted, you would not want it.
+I can't hop about with the agility of those dancers at the Theatre du
+Palais Royale. The best I can do is to imitate the bear. What is wrong?"
+
+"They keep giving her the premier parts. She has no more fire in her than
+a dead grate. The English-speaking singers, they are having everything
+their own way. And none of them can act."
+
+"My dear Flora, this Eleonora is an actress, first of all. That she can
+sing is a matter of good fortune, no more. Be reasonable. The consensus of
+critical opinion is generally infallible; and all over the continent they
+agree that she can act. Come, come; what do you care? She will never
+approach your Carmen...."
+
+"You praise her to me?" tempest in her glowing eyes.
+
+"I do not praise her. I am quoting facts. If you throw that cup, my
+tigress...."
+
+"Well?" dangerously.
+
+"It will spoil the set. Listen. Some one is at the speaking-tube."
+
+The singer crossed the room impatiently. Ordinarily she would have
+continued the dispute, whether the bell rang or not. But she was getting
+the worst of the argument and the bell was a timely diversion. The duke
+followed her leisurely to the wall.
+
+"What is it?" asked Flora in French.
+
+The voice below answered with a query in English. "Is this the Signorina
+Desimone?"
+
+"It is the duchess."
+
+"The duchess?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The devil!"
+
+She turned and stared at the duke, who shrugged. "No, no," she said; "the
+duchess, not the devil."
+
+"Pardon me; I was astonished. But on the stage you are still Flora
+Desimone?"
+
+"Yes. And now that my identity is established, who are you and what do you
+want at this time of night?"
+
+The duke touched her arm to convey that this was not the moment in which
+to betray her temper.
+
+"I am Edward Courtlandt."
+
+"The devil!" mimicked the diva.
+
+She and the duke heard a chuckle.
+
+"I beg your pardon again, Madame."
+
+"Well, what is it you wish?" amiably.
+
+The duke looked at her perplexedly. It seemed to him that she was always
+leaving him in the middle of things. Preparing himself for rough roads, he
+would suddenly find the going smooth. He was never swift enough mentally
+to follow these flying transitions from enmity to amity. In the present
+instance, how was he to know that his tigress had found in the man below
+something to play with?
+
+"You once did me an ill turn," came up the tube. "I desire that you make
+some reparation."
+
+"Sainted Mother! but it has taken you a long time to find out that I have
+injured you," she mocked.
+
+There was no reply to this; so she was determined to stir the fire a
+little.
+
+"And I advise you to be careful what you say; the duke is a very jealous
+man."
+
+That gentleman fingered his beard thoughtfully.
+
+"I do not care a hang if he is."
+
+The duke coughed loudly close to the tube.
+
+Silence.
+
+"The least you can do, Madame, is to give me her address."
+
+"Her address!" repeated the duke relievedly. He had had certain grave
+doubts, but these now took wing. Old flames were not in the habit of
+asking, nay, demanding, other women's addresses.
+
+"I am speaking to Madame, your Highness," came sharply.
+
+"We do not speak off the stage," said the singer, pushing the duke aside.
+
+"I should like to make that young man's acquaintance," whispered the
+duke.
+
+She warned him to be silent.
+
+Came the voice again: "Will you give me her address, please? Your
+messenger gave me your address, inferring that you wished to see me."
+
+"I?" There was no impeaching her astonishment.
+
+"Yes, Madame."
+
+"My dear Mr. Courtlandt, you are the last man in all the wide world I wish
+to see. And I do not quite like the way you are making your request. His
+highness does not either."
+
+"Send him down!"
+
+"That is true."
+
+"What is?"
+
+"I remember. You are very strong and much given to fighting."
+
+The duke opened and shut his hands, pleasurably. Here was something he
+could understand. He was a fighting man himself. Where was this going to
+end, and what was it all about?
+
+"Do you not think, Madame, that you owe me something?"
+
+"No. What I owe I pay. Think, Mr. Courtlandt; think well."
+
+"I do not understand," impatiently.
+
+"_Ebbene_, I owe you nothing. Once I heard you say--'I do not like to see
+you with the Calabrian; she is--Well, you know.' I stood behind you at
+another time when you said that I was a fool."
+
+"Madame, I do not forget that, that is pure invention. You are mistaken."
+
+"No. You were. I am no fool." A light laugh drifted down the tube.
+
+"Madame, I begin to see."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+"You believe what you wish to believe."
+
+"I think not."
+
+"I never even noticed you," carelessly.
+
+"Take care!" whispered the duke, who noted the sudden dilation of her
+nostrils.
+
+"It is easy to forget," cried the diva, furiously. "It is easy for you to
+forget, but not for me."
+
+"Madame, I do not forget that you entered my room that night ..."
+
+"Your address!" bawled the duke. "That statement demands an explanation."
+
+"I should explain at once, your Highness," said the man down below calmly,
+"only I prefer to leave that part in Madame's hands. I should not care to
+rob her of anything so interesting and dramatic. Madame the duchess can
+explain, if she wishes. I am stopping at the Grand, if you find her
+explanations are not up to your requirements."
+
+"I shall give you her address," interrupted the diva, hastily. The duke's
+bristling beard for one thing and the ice in the other man's tones for
+another, disquieted her. The play had gone far enough, much as she would
+have liked to continue it. This was going deeper than she cared to go. She
+gave the address and added: "To-night she sings at the Austrian
+ambassador's. I give you this information gladly because I know that it
+will be of no use to you."
+
+"Then I shall dispense with the formality of thanking you. I add that I
+wish you twofold the misery you have carelessly and gratuitously cost me.
+Good night!" Click! went the little covering of the tube.
+
+"Now," said the duke, whose knowledge of the English tongue was not so
+indifferent that he did not gather the substance, if not all the shadings,
+of this peculiar conversation; "now, what the devil is all this about?"
+
+"I hate him!"
+
+"Refused to singe his wings?"
+
+"He has insulted me!"
+
+"I am curious to learn about that night you went to his room."
+
+Her bear had a ring in his nose, but she could not always lead him by it.
+So, without more ado, she spun the tale, laughing at intervals. The story
+evidently impressed the duke, for his face remained sober all through the
+recital.
+
+"Did he say that you were a fool?"
+
+"Of course not!"
+
+"Shall I challenge him?"
+
+"Oh, my Russian bear, he fences like a Chicot; he is a dead shot; and is
+afraid of nothing ... but a woman. No, no; I have something better. It
+will be like one of those old comedies. I hate her!" with a burst of fury.
+"She always does everything just so much better than I do. As for him, he
+was nothing. It was she; I hurt her, wrung her heart."
+
+"Why?" mildly.
+
+"Is not that enough?"
+
+"I am slow; it takes a long time for anything to get into my head; but
+when it arrives, it takes a longer time to get it out."
+
+"Well, go on." Her calm was ominous.
+
+"Love or vanity. This American singer got what you could not get. You have
+had your way too long. Perhaps you did not love him. I do not believe you
+can really love any one but Flora. Doubtless he possessed millions; but on
+the other hand, I am a grand duke; I offered marriage, openly and legally,
+in spite of all the opposition brought to bear."
+
+Flora was undeniably clever. She did the one thing that could successfully
+cope with this perilous condition of the ducal mind. She laughed, and
+flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.
+
+"I have named you well. You are a tigress. But this comedy of which you
+speak: it might pass in Russia, but not in Paris."
+
+"I shall not be in the least concerned. My part was suggestion."
+
+"You suggested it to some one else?"
+
+"To be sure!"
+
+"My objections ..."
+
+"I will have my way in this affair. Besides, it is too late."
+
+Her gesture was explicit. He sighed. He knew quite well that she was
+capable of leaving the apartment that night, in her kimono.
+
+"I'll go to Capri," resignedly. Dynamite bombs were not the worst things
+in the world.
+
+"I don't want to go now."
+
+The duke picked up a fresh cigarette. "How the devil must have laughed
+when the Lord made Eve!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE JOKE OF MONSIEUR
+
+
+With the same inward bitterness that attends the mental processes of a
+performing tiger on being sent back to its cage, Courtlandt returned to
+his taxicab. He wanted to roar and lash and devour something. Instead, he
+could only twist the ends of his mustache savagely. So she was a grand
+duchess, or at least the morganatic wife of a grand duke! It did not seem
+possible that any woman could be so full of malice. He simply could not
+understand. It was essentially the Italian spirit; doubtless, till she
+heard his voice, she had forgotten all about the episode that had
+foundered his ship of happiness.
+
+Her statement as to the primal cause was purely inventive. There was not a
+grain of truth in it. He could not possibly have been so rude. He had been
+too indifferent. Too indifferent! The repetition of the phrase made him
+sit straighter. Pshaw! It could not be that. He possessed a little vanity;
+if he had not, his history would not have been worth a scrawl. But he
+denied the possession vehemently, as men are wont to do. Strange, a man
+will admit smashing those ten articles of advisement known as the
+decalogue and yet deny the inherent quality which surrenders the
+admission--vanity. However you may look at it, man's vanity is a complex
+thing. The vanity of a woman has a definite and commendable purpose: the
+conquest of man, his purse, and half of his time. Too indifferent! Was it
+possible that he had roused her enmity simply because he had made it
+evident that her charms did not interest him? Beyond lifting his hat to
+her, perhaps exchanging a comment on the weather, his courtesies had not
+been extended. Courtlandt was peculiar in some respects. A woman attracted
+him, or she did not. In the one case he was affable, winning, pleasant,
+full of those agreeable little surprises that in turn attract a woman. In
+the other case, he passed on, for his impressions were instant and did not
+require the usual skirmishing.
+
+A grand duchess! The straw-colored mustache now described two aggressive
+points. What an impossible old world it was! The ambition of the English
+nobility was on a far lower scale than that of their continental cousins.
+On the little isle they were satisfied to marry soubrettes and chorus
+girls. Here, the lady must be no less a personage than a grand-opera
+singer or a _premiere danseuse_. The continental noble at least showed
+some discernment; he did not choose haphazard; he desired the finished
+product and was not to be satisfied with the material in the raw.
+
+Oh, stubborn Dutchman that he had been! Blind fool! To have run away
+instead of fighting to the last ditch for his happiness! The Desimone
+woman was right: it had taken him a long time to come to the conclusion
+that she had done him an ill turn. And during all these weary months he
+had drawn a melancholy picture of himself as a wounded lion, creeping into
+the jungle to hide its hurts, when, truth be known, he had taken the ways
+of the jackass for a model. He saw plainly enough now. More than this,
+where there had been mere obstacles to overcome there were now steep
+mountains, perhaps inaccessible for all he knew. His jaw set, and the
+pressure of his lips broke the sweep of his mustache, converting it into
+bristling tufts, warlike and resolute.
+
+As he was leaving, a square of light attracted his attention. He looked up
+to see the outline of the bearded Russ in the window. Poor devil! He was
+going to have a merry time of it. Well, that was his affair. Besides,
+Russians, half the year chilled by their bitter snows, were susceptible to
+volcanoes; they courted them as a counterbalance. Perhaps he had spoken
+roughly, but his temper had not been under control. One thing he recalled
+with grim satisfaction. He had sent a barbed arrow up the tube to disturb
+the felicity of the dove-cote. The duke would be rather curious to know
+what was meant in referring to the night she had come to his,
+Courtlandt's, room. He laughed. It would be a fitting climax indeed if the
+duke called him out.
+
+But what of the pretty woman in the Taverne Royale? What about her? At
+whose bidding had she followed him? One or the other of them had not told
+the truth, and he was inclined to believe that the prevarication had its
+source in the pomegranate lips of the Calabrian. To give the old barb one
+more twist, to learn if its venomous point still held and hurt; nothing
+would have afforded the diva more delight. Courtlandt glared at the window
+as the shade rolled down.
+
+When the taxicab joined the long line of carriages and automobiles
+opposite the Austrian ambassador's, Courtlandt awoke to the dismal and
+disquieting fact that he had formulated no plan of action. He had done no
+more than to give the driver his directions; and now that he had arrived,
+he had the choice of two alternatives. He could wait to see her come out
+or return at once to his hotel, which, as subsequent events affirmed,
+would have been the more sensible course. He would have been confronted
+with small difficulty in gaining admission to the house. He knew enough of
+these general receptions; the announcing of his name would have conveyed
+nothing to the host, who knew perhaps a third of his guests, and many of
+these but slightly. But such an adventure was distasteful to Courtlandt.
+He could not overstep certain recognized boundaries of convention, and to
+enter a man's house unasked was colossal impudence. Beyond this, he
+realized that he could have accomplished nothing; the advantage would have
+been hers. Nor could he meet her as she came out, for again the odds would
+have been largely in her favor. No, the encounter must be when they two
+were alone. She must be surprised. She must have no time to use her ready
+wit. He had thought to wait until some reasonable plan offered itself for
+trial; yet, here he was, with nothing definite or recognizable but the
+fact that the craving to see her was not to be withstood. The blood began
+to thunder in his ears. An idea presented itself. It appealed to him at
+that moment as quite clever and feasible.
+
+"Wait!" he called to the driver.
+
+He dived among the carriages and cars, and presently he found what he
+sought,--her limousine. He had taken the number into his mind too keenly
+to be mistaken. He saw the end of his difficulties; and he went about the
+affair with his usual directness. It was only at rare times that he ran
+his head into a cul-de-sac. If her chauffeur was regularly employed in her
+service, he would have to return to the hotel; but if he came from the
+garage, there was hope. Every man is said to have his price, and a French
+chauffeur might prove no notable exception to the rule.
+
+"Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?" Courtlandt asked of the man
+lounging in the forward seat.
+
+The chauffeur looked hard at his questioner, and on finding that he
+satisfied the requirements of a gentleman, grumbled an affirmative. The
+limousine was well known in Paris, and he was growing weary of these
+endless inquiries.
+
+"Are you in her employ directly, or do you come from the garage?"
+
+"I am from the garage, but I drive mademoiselle's car most of the time,
+especially at night. It is not madame but mademoiselle, Monsieur."
+
+"My mistake." A slight pause. It was rather a difficult moment for
+Courtlandt. The chauffeur waited wonderingly. "Would you like to make five
+hundred francs?"
+
+"How, Monsieur?"
+
+Courtlandt should have been warned by the tone, which contained no unusual
+interest or eagerness.
+
+"Permit me to remain in mademoiselle's car till she comes. I wish to ride
+with her to her apartment."
+
+The chauffeur laughed. He stretched his legs. "Thanks, Monsieur. It is
+very dull waiting. Monsieur knows a good joke."
+
+And to Courtlandt's dismay he realized that his proposal had truly been
+accepted as a jest.
+
+"I am not joking. I am in earnest. Five hundred francs. On the word of a
+gentleman I mean mademoiselle no harm. I am known to her. All she has to
+do is to appeal to you, and you can stop the car and summon the police."
+
+The chauffeur drew in his legs and leaned toward his tempter. "Monsieur,
+if you are not jesting, then you are a madman. Who are you? What do I know
+about you? I never saw you before, and for two seasons I have driven
+mademoiselle in Paris. She wears beautiful jewels to-night. How do I know
+that you are not a gentlemanly thief? Ride home with mademoiselle! You are
+crazy. Make yourself scarce, Monsieur; in one minute I shall call the
+police."
+
+"Blockhead!"
+
+English of this order the Frenchman perfectly understood. "_La, la!_" he
+cried, rising to execute his threat.
+
+Courtlandt was furious, but his fury was directed at himself as much as at
+the trustworthy young man getting down from the limousine. His eagerness
+had led him to mistake stupidity for cleverness. He had gone about the
+affair with all the clumsiness of a boy who was making his first
+appearance at the stage entrance. It was mightily disconcerting, too, to
+have found an honest man when he was in desperate need of a dishonest one.
+He had faced with fine courage all sorts of dangerous wild animals; but at
+this moment he hadn't the courage to face a policeman and endeavor to
+explain, in a foreign tongue, a situation at once so delicate and so
+singularly open to misconstruction. So, for the second time in his life he
+took to his heels. Of the first time, more anon. He scrambled back to his
+own car, slammed the door, and told the driver to drop him at the Grand.
+His undignified retreat caused his face to burn; but discretion would not
+be denied. However, he did not return to the hotel.
+
+Mademoiselle da Toscana's chauffeur scratched his chin in perplexity. In
+frightening off his tempter he recognized that now he would never be able
+to find out who he was. He should have played with him until mademoiselle
+came out. She would have known instantly. That would have been the time
+for the police. To hide in the car! What the devil! Only a madman would
+have offered such a proposition. The man had been either an American or an
+Englishman, for all his accuracy in the tongue. Bah! Perhaps he had heard
+her sing that night, and had come away from the Opera, moonstruck. It was
+not an isolated case. The fools were always pestering him, but no one had
+ever offered so uncommon a bribe: five hundred francs. Mademoiselle might
+not believe that part of the tale. Mademoiselle was clever. There was a
+standing agreement between them that she would always give him half of
+whatever was offered him in the way of bribes. It paid. It was easier to
+sell his loyalty to her for two hundred and fifty francs than to betray
+her for five hundred. She had yet to find him untruthful, and to-night he
+would be as frank as he had always been.
+
+But who was this fellow in the Bavarian hat, who patrolled the sidewalk?
+He had been watching him when the madman approached. For an hour or more
+he had walked up and down, never going twenty feet beyond the limousine.
+He couldn't see the face. The long dark coat had a military cut about the
+hips and shoulders. From time to time he saw him glance up at the lighted
+windows. Eh, well; there were other women in the world besides
+mademoiselle, several others.
+
+He had to wait only half an hour for her appearance. He opened the door
+and saw to it that she was comfortably seated; then he paused by the
+window, touching his cap.
+
+"What is it, Francois?"
+
+"A gentleman offered me five hundred francs, Mademoiselle, if I would
+permit him to hide in the car."
+
+"Five hundred francs? To hide in the car? Why didn't you call the
+police?"
+
+"I started to, Mademoiselle, but he ran away."
+
+"Oh! What was he like?" The prima donna dropped the bunch of roses on the
+seat beside her.
+
+"Oh, he looked well enough. He had the air of a gentleman. He was tall,
+with light hair and mustache. But as I had never seen him before, and as
+Mademoiselle wore some fine jewels, I bade him be off."
+
+"Would you know him again?"
+
+"Surely, Mademoiselle."
+
+"The next time any one bothers you, call the police. You have done well,
+and I shall remember it. Home."
+
+The man in the Bavarian hat hurried back to the third car from the
+limousine, and followed at a reasonably safe distance.
+
+The singer leaned back against the cushions. She was very tired. The opera
+that night had taxed her strength, and but for her promise she would not
+have sung to the ambassador's guests for double the fee. There was an
+electric bulb in the car. She rarely turned it on, but she did to-night.
+She gazed into the little mirror; and utter weariness looked back from out
+the most beautiful, blue, Irish eyes in the world. She rubbed her fingers
+carefully up and down the faint perpendicular wrinkle above her nose. It
+was always there on nights like this. How she longed for the season to
+end! She would fly away to the lakes, the beautiful, heavenly tinted
+lakes, the bare restful mountains, and the clover lawns spreading under
+brave old trees; she would walk along the vineyard paths, and loiter under
+the fig-trees, far, far away from the world, its clamor, its fickleness,
+its rasping jealousies. Some day she would have enough; and then, good-by
+to all the clatter, the evil-smelling stages, the impossible people with
+whom she was associated. She would sing only to those she loved.
+
+The glamour of the life had long ago passed; she sang on because she had
+acquired costly habits, because she was fond of beautiful things, and
+above all, because she loved to sing. She had as many moods as a bird, as
+many sides as nature. A flash of sunshine called to her voice; the beads
+of water, trembling upon the blades of grass after a summer shower,
+brought a song to her lips. Hers was a God-given voice, and training had
+added to it nothing but confidence. True, she could act; she had been told
+by many a great impressario that histrionically she had no peer in grand
+opera. But the knowledge gave her no thrill of delight. To her it was the
+sum of a tremendous physical struggle.
+
+She shut off the light and closed her eyes. She reclined against the
+cushion once more, striving not to think. Once, her hands shut tightly.
+Never, never, never! She pressed down the burning thoughts by recalling
+the bright scenes at the ambassador's, the real generous applause that had
+followed her two songs. Ah, how that man Paderewski played! They two had
+cost the ambassador eight thousand francs. Fame and fortune! Fortune she
+could understand; but fame! What was it? Upon a time she believed she had
+known what fame was; but that had been when she was striving for it. A
+glowing article in a newspaper, a portrait in a magazine, rows upon rows
+of curious eyes and a patter of hands upon hands; that was all; and for
+this she had given the best of her life, and she was only twenty-five.
+
+The limousine stopped at last. The man in the Bavarian hat saw her alight.
+His car turned and disappeared. It had taken him a week to discover where
+she lived. His lodgings were on the other side of the Seine. After
+reaching them he gave crisp orders to the driver, who set his machine off
+at top speed. The man in the Bavarian hat entered his room and lighted the
+gas. The room was bare and cheaply furnished. He took off his coat but
+retained his hat, pulling it down still farther over his eyes. His face
+was always in shadow. A round chin, two full red lips, scantily covered by
+a blond mustache were all that could be seen. He began to walk the floor
+impatiently, stopping and listening whenever he heard a sound. He waited
+less than an hour for the return of the car. It brought two men. They were
+well-dressed, smoothly-shaven, with keen eyes and intelligent faces. Their
+host, who had never seen either of his guests before, carelessly waved his
+hand toward the table where there were two chairs. He himself took his
+stand by the window and looked out as he talked. In another hour the room
+was dark and the street deserted.
+
+In the meantime the prima donna gave a sigh of relief. She was home. It
+was nearly two o'clock. She would sleep till noon, and Saturday and Sunday
+would be hers. She went up the stairs instead of taking the lift, and
+though the hall was dark, she knew her way. She unlocked the door of the
+apartment and entered, swinging the door behind her. As the act was
+mechanical, her thoughts being otherwise engaged, she did not notice that
+the lock failed to click. The ferrule of a cane had prevented that.
+
+She flung her wraps on the divan and put the roses in an empty bowl. The
+door opened softly, without noise. Next, she stopped before the mirror
+over the mantel, touched her hair lightly, detached the tiara of emeralds
+... and became as inanimate as marble. She saw another face. She never
+knew how long the interval of silence was. She turned slowly.
+
+"Yes, it is I!" said the man.
+
+Instantly she turned again to the mantel and picked up a
+magazine-revolver. She leveled it at him.
+
+"Leave this room, or I will shoot."
+
+Courtlandt advanced toward her slowly. "Do so," he said. "I should much
+prefer a bullet to that look."
+
+"I am in earnest." She was very white, but her hand was steady.
+
+He continued to advance. There followed a crash. The smell of burning
+powder filled the room. The Burmese gong clanged shrilly and whirled
+wildly. Courtlandt felt his hair stir in terror.
+
+"You must hate me indeed," he said quietly, as the sense of terror died
+away. He folded his arms. "Try again; there ought to be half a dozen
+bullets left. No? Then, good-by!" He left the apartment without another
+word or look, and as the door closed behind him there was a kind of
+finality in the clicking of the latch.
+
+The revolver clattered to the floor, and the woman who had fired it leaned
+heavily against the mantel, covering her eyes.
+
+"Nora, Nora!" cried a startled voice from a bedroom adjoining. "What has
+happened? _Mon Dieu_, what is it?" A pretty, sleepy-eyed young woman, in a
+night-dress, rushed into the room. She flung her arms about the singer.
+"Nora, my dear, my dear!"
+
+"He forced his way in. I thought to frighten him. It went off
+accidentally. Oh, Celeste, Celeste, I might have killed him!"
+
+The other drew her head down on her shoulder, and listened. She could hear
+voices in the lower hall, a shout of warning, a patter of steps; then the
+hall door slammed. After that, silence, save for the faint mellowing
+vibrations of the Burmese gong.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+CAPTIVE OR RUNAWAY
+
+
+At the age of twenty-six Donald Abbott had become a prosperous and
+distinguished painter in water-colors. His work was individual, and at the
+same time it was delicate and charming. One saw his Italian landscapes as
+through a filmy gauze: the almond blossoms of Sicily, the rose-laden walls
+of Florence, the vineyards of Chianti, the poppy-glowing Campagna out of
+Rome. His Italian lakes had brought him fame. He knew very little of the
+grind and hunger that attended the careers of his whilom associates. His
+father had left him some valuable patents--wash-tubs, carpet-cleaners, and
+other labor-saving devices--and the royalties from these were quite
+sufficient to keep him pleasantly housed. When he referred to his father
+(of whom he had been very fond) it was as an inventor. Of what, he rarely
+told. In America it was all right; but over here, where these inventions
+were unknown, a wash-tub had a peculiar significance: that a man should be
+found in his money through its services left persons in doubt as to his
+genealogical tree, which, as a matter of fact, was a very good one. As a
+boy his schoolmates had dubbed him "The Sweep" and "Suds," and it was only
+human that he should wish to forget.
+
+His earnings (not inconsiderable, for tourists found much to admire in
+both the pictures and the artist) he spent in gratifying his mild
+extravagances. So there were no lines in his handsome, boyish, beardless
+face; and his eyes were unusually clear and happy. Perhaps once or twice,
+since his majority, he had returned to America to prove that he was not an
+expatriate, though certainly he was one, the only tie existing between him
+and his native land being the bankers who regularly honored his drafts.
+And who shall condemn him for preferring Italy to the desolate center of
+New York state, where good servants and good weather are as rare as are
+flawless emeralds?
+
+Half after three, on Wednesday afternoon, Abbott stared moodily at the
+weather-tarnished group by Dalou in the Luxembourg gardens--the _Triumph
+of Silenus_. His gaze was deceptive, for the rollicking old bibulous
+scoundrel had not stirred his critical sense nor impressed the delicate
+films of thought. He was looking through the bronze, into the far-away
+things. He sat on his own folding stool, which he had brought along from
+his winter studio hard by in the old Boul' Miche'. He had arrived early
+that morning, all the way from Como, to find a thunderbolt driven in at
+his feet. Across his knees fluttered an open newspaper, the Paris edition
+of the New York _Herald_. All that kept it from blowing away was the tense
+if sprawling fingers of his right hand; his left hung limply at his side.
+
+It was not possible. Such things did not happen these unromantic days to
+musical celebrities. She had written that on Monday night she would sing
+in _La Boheme_ and on Wednesday, _Faust_. She had since vanished, vanished
+as completely as though she had taken wings and flown away. It was unreal.
+She had left the apartment in the Avenue de Wagram on Saturday afternoon,
+and nothing had been seen or heard of her since. At the last moment they
+had had to find a substitute for her part in the Puccini opera. The maid
+testified that her mistress had gone on an errand of mercy. She had not
+mentioned where, but she had said that she would return in time to dress
+for dinner, which proved conclusively that something out of the ordinary
+had befallen her.
+
+The automobile that had carried her away had not been her own, and the
+chauffeur was unknown. None of the directors at the Opera had been
+notified of any change in the singer's plans. She had disappeared, and
+they were deeply concerned. Singers were generally erratic, full of sudden
+indispositions, unaccountable whims; but the Signorina da Toscana was one
+in a thousand. She never broke an engagement. If she was ill she said so
+at once; she never left them in doubt until the last moment. Indecision
+was not one of her characteristics. She was as reliable as the sun. If the
+directors did not hear definitely from her by noon to-day, they would have
+to find another Marguerite.
+
+The police began to move, and they stirred up some curious bits of
+information. A man had tried to bribe the singer's chauffeur, while she
+was singing at the Austrian ambassador's. The chauffeur was able to
+describe the stranger with some accuracy. Then came the bewildering
+episode in the apartment: the pistol-shot, the flight of the man, the
+astonished concierge to whom the beautiful American would offer no
+explanations. The man (who tallied with the description given by the
+chauffeur) had obtained entrance under false representations. He claimed
+to be an emissary with important instructions from the Opera. There was
+nothing unusual in this; messengers came at all hours, and seldom the same
+one twice; so the concierge's suspicions had not been aroused. Another
+item. A tall handsome Italian had called at eleven o'clock Saturday
+morning, but the signorina had sent down word that she could not see him.
+The maid recalled that her mistress had intended to dine that night with
+the Italian gentleman. His name she did not know, having been with the
+signorina but two weeks.
+
+Celeste Fournier, the celebrated young pianist and composer, who shared
+the apartment with the missing prima donna, stated that she hadn't the
+slightest idea where her friend was. She was certain that misfortune had
+overtaken her in some inexplicable manner. To implicate the Italian was
+out of the question. He was well-known to them both. He had arrived again
+at seven, Saturday, and was very much surprised that the signorina had not
+yet returned. He had waited till nine, when he left, greatly disappointed.
+He was the Barone di Monte-Verdi in Calabria, formerly military attache at
+the Italian embassy in Berlin. Sunday noon Mademoiselle Fournier had
+notified the authorities. She did not know, but she felt sure that the
+blond stranger knew more than any one else. And here was the end of
+things. The police found themselves at a standstill. They searched the
+hotels but without success; the blond stranger could not be found.
+
+Abbott's eyes were not happy and pleasant just now. They were dull and
+blank with the reaction of the stunning blow. He, too, was certain of the
+Barone. Much as he secretly hated the Italian, he knew him to be a
+fearless and an honorable man. But who could this blond stranger be who
+appeared so sinisterly in the two scenes? From where had he come? Why had
+Nora refused to explain about the pistol-shot? Any woman had a perfect
+right to shoot a man who forced his way into her apartment. Was he one of
+those mad fools who had fallen in love with her, and had become desperate?
+Or was it some one she knew and against whom she did not wish to bring any
+charges? Abducted! And she might be, at this very moment, suffering all
+sorts of indignities. It was horrible to be so helpless.
+
+The sparkle of the sunlight upon the ferrule of a cane, extending over his
+shoulder, broke in on his agonizing thoughts. He turned, an angry word on
+the tip of his tongue. He expected to see some tourist who wanted to be
+informed.
+
+"Ted Courtlandt!" He jumped up, overturning the stool. "And where the
+dickens did you come from? I thought you were in the Orient?"
+
+"Just got back, Abby."
+
+The two shook hands and eyed each other with the appraising scrutiny of
+friends of long standing.
+
+"You don't change any," said Abbott.
+
+"Nor do you. I've been standing behind you fully two minutes. What were
+you glooming about? Old Silenus offend you?"
+
+"Have you read the _Herald_ this morning?"
+
+"I never read it nowadays. They are always giving me a roast of some kind.
+Whatever I do they are bound to misconstrue it." Courtlandt stooped and
+righted the stool, but sat down on the grass, his feet in the path.
+"What's the trouble? Have they been after you?"
+
+Abbott rescued the offending paper and shaking it under his friend's nose,
+said: "Read that."
+
+Courtlandt's eyes widened considerably as they absorbed the significance
+of the heading--"Eleonora da Toscana missing."
+
+"Bah!" he exclaimed.
+
+"You say bah?"
+
+"It looks like one of their advertising dodges. I know something about
+singers," Courtlandt added. "I engineered a musical comedy once."
+
+"You do not know anything about her," cried Abbott hotly.
+
+"That's true enough." Courtlandt finished the article, folded the paper
+and returned it, and began digging in the path with his cane.
+
+"But what I want to know is, who the devil is this mysterious blond
+stranger?" Abbott flourished the paper again. "I tell you, it's no
+advertising dodge. She's been abducted. The hound!"
+
+Courtlandt ceased boring into the earth. "The story says that she refused
+to explain this blond chap's presence in her room. What do you make of
+that?"
+
+"Perhaps you think the fellow was her press-agent?" was the retort.
+
+"Lord, no! But it proves that she knew him, that she did not want the
+police to find him. At least, not at that moment. Who's the Italian?"
+suddenly.
+
+"I can vouch for him. He is a gentleman, honorable as the day is long,
+even if he is hot-headed at times. Count him out of it. It's this unknown,
+I tell you. Revenge for some imagined slight. It's as plain as the nose on
+your face."
+
+"How long have you known her?" asked Courtlandt presently.
+
+"About two years. She's the gem of the whole lot. Gentle, kindly,
+untouched by flattery.... Why, you must have seen and heard her!"
+
+"I have." Courtlandt stared into the hole he had dug. "Voice like an
+angel's, with a face like Bellini's donna; and Irish all over. But for all
+that, you will find that her disappearance will turn out to be a diva's
+whim. Hang it, Suds, I've had some experience with singers."
+
+"You are a blockhead!" exploded the younger man.
+
+"All right, I am." Courtlandt laughed.
+
+"Man, she wrote me that she would sing Monday and to-night, and wanted me
+to hear her. I couldn't get here in time for _La Boheme_, but I was
+building on _Faust_. And when she says a thing, she means it. As you said,
+she's Irish."
+
+"And I'm Dutch."
+
+"And the stubbornest Dutchman I ever met. Why don't you go home and settle
+down and marry?--and keep that phiz of yours out of the newspapers?
+Sometimes I think you're as crazy as a bug."
+
+"An opinion shared by many. Maybe I am. I dash in where lunatics fear to
+tread. Come on over to the Soufflet and have a drink with me."
+
+"I'm not drinking to-day," tersely. "There's too much ahead for me to
+do."
+
+"Going to start out to find her? Oh, Sir Galahad!" ironically. "Abby, you
+used to be a sport. I'll wager a hundred against a bottle of pop that
+to-morrow or next day she'll turn up serenely, with the statement that she
+was indisposed, sorry not to have notified the directors, and all that.
+They do it repeatedly every season."
+
+"But an errand of mercy, the strange automobile which can not be found?
+The engagement to dine with the Barone? Celeste Fournier's statement? You
+can't get around these things. I tell you, Nora isn't that kind. She's too
+big in heart and mind to stoop to any such devices," vehemently.
+
+"Nora! That looks pretty serious, Abby. You haven't gone and made a fool
+of yourself, have you?"
+
+"What do you call making a fool of myself?" truculently.
+
+"You aren't a suitor, are you? An accepted suitor?" unruffled, rather
+kindly.
+
+"No, but I would to heaven that I were!" Abbott jammed the newspaper into
+his pocket and slung the stool over his arm. "Come on over to the studio
+until I get some money."
+
+"You are really going to start a search?"
+
+"I really am. I'd start one just as quickly for you, if I heard that you
+had vanished under mysterious circumstances."
+
+"I believe you honestly would."
+
+"You are an old misanthrope. I hope some woman puts the hook into you some
+day. Where did you pick up the grouch? Some of your dusky princesses give
+you the go-by?"
+
+"You, too, Abby?"
+
+"Oh, rot! Of course I never believed any of that twaddle. Only, I've got a
+sore head to-day. If you knew Nora as well as I do, you'd understand."
+
+Courtlandt walked on a little ahead of the artist, who looked up and down
+the athletic form, admiringly. Sometimes he loved the man, sometimes he
+hated him. He marched through tragedy and comedy and thrilling adventure
+with no more concern that he evinced in striding through these gardens.
+Nearly every one had heard of his exploits; but who among them knew
+anything of the real man, so adroitly hidden under unruffled externals?
+That there was a man he did not know, hiding deep down within those
+powerful shoulders, he had not the least doubt. He himself possessed the
+quick mobile temperament of the artist, and he could penetrate but not
+understand the poise assumed with such careless ease by his friend. Dutch
+blood had something to do with it, and there was breeding, but there was
+something more than these: he was a reversion, perhaps, to the type of man
+which had made the rovers of the Lowlands feared on land and sea, now
+hemmed in by convention, hampered by the barriers of progress, and
+striving futilely to find an outlet for his peculiar energies. One bit of
+knowledge gratified him; he stood nearer to Courtlandt than any other man.
+He had known the adventurer as a boy, and long separations had in nowise
+impaired the foundations of this friendship.
+
+Courtlandt continued toward the exit, his head forward, his gaze bent on
+the path. He had the air of a man deep in thought, philosophic thought,
+which leaves the brows unmarred by those corrugations known as frowns. Yet
+his thoughts were far from philosophic. Indeed, his soul was in mad
+turmoil. He could have thrown his arms toward the blue sky and cursed
+aloud the fates that had set this new tangle at his feet. He longed for
+the jungles and some mad beast to vent his wrath upon. But he gave no
+sign. He had returned with a purpose as hard and grim as iron; and no
+obstacle, less powerful than death, should divert or control him.
+Abduction? Let the public believe what it might; he held the key to the
+mystery. She was afraid, and had taken flight. So be it.
+
+"I say, Ted," called out the artist, "what did you mean by saying that you
+were a Dutchman?"
+
+Courtlandt paused so that Abbott might catch up to him. "I said that I was
+a Dutchman?"
+
+"Yes. And it has just occurred to me that you meant something."
+
+"Oh, yes. You were talking of Da Toscana? Let's call her Harrigan. It will
+save time, and no one will know to whom we refer. You said she was Irish,
+and that when she said a thing she meant it. My boy, the Irish are
+notorious for claiming that. They often say it before they see clearly.
+Now, we Dutchmen,--it takes a long time for us to make up our minds, but
+when we do, something has got to bend or break."
+
+"You don't mean to say that you are going to settle down and get
+married?"
+
+"I'm not going to settle down and get married, if that will ease your mind
+any."
+
+"Man, I was hoping!"
+
+"Three meals a day in the same house, with the same woman, never appealed
+to me."
+
+"What do you want, one for each meal?"
+
+"There's the dusky princess peeking out again. The truth is, Abby, if I
+could hide myself for three or four years, long enough for people to
+forget me, I might reconsider. But it should be under another name. They
+envy us millionaires. Why, we are the lonesomest duffers going. We
+distrust every one; we fly when a woman approaches; we become monomaniacs;
+one thing obsesses us, everybody is after our money. We want friends, we
+want wives, but we want them to be attracted to us and not to our
+money-bags. Oh, pshaw! What plans have you made in regard to the search?"
+
+Gloom settled upon the artist's face. "I've got to find out what's
+happened to her, Ted. This isn't any play. Why, she loves the part of
+Marguerite as she loves nothing else. She's been kidnaped, and only God
+knows for what reason. It has knocked me silly. I just came up from Como,
+where she spends the summers now. I was going to take her and Fournier out
+to dinner."
+
+"Who's Fournier?"
+
+"Mademoiselle Fournier, the composer. She goes with Nora on the yearly
+concert tours."
+
+"Pretty?"
+
+"Charming."
+
+"I see," thoughtfully. "What part of the lake; the Villa d'Este,
+Cadenabbia?"
+
+"Bellaggio. Oh, it was ripping last summer. She's always singing when
+she's happy. When she sings out on the terrace, suddenly, without giving
+any one warning, her voice is wonderful. No audience ever heard anything
+like it."
+
+"I heard her Friday night. I dropped in at the Opera without knowing what
+they were singing. I admit all you say in regard to her voice and looks;
+but I stick to the whim."
+
+"But you can't fake that chap with the blond mustache," retorted Abbott
+grimly. "Lord, I wish I had run into you any day but to-day. I'm all in. I
+can telephone to the Opera from the studio, and then we shall know for a
+certainty whether or not she will return for the performance to-night. If
+not, then I'm going in for a little detective work."
+
+"Abby, it will turn out to be the sheep of Little Bo-Peep."
+
+"Have your own way about it."
+
+When they arrived at the studio Abbott telephoned promptly. Nothing had
+been heard. They were substituting another singer.
+
+"Call up the _Herald_," suggested Courtlandt.
+
+Abbott did so. And he had to answer innumerable questions, questions which
+worked him into a fine rage: who was he, where did he live, what did he
+know, how long had he been in Paris, and could he prove that he had
+arrived that morning? Abbott wanted to fling the receiver into the mouth
+of the transmitter, but his patience was presently rewarded. The singer
+had not yet been found, but the chauffeur of the mysterious car had turned
+up ... in a hospital, and perhaps by night they would know everything. The
+chauffeur had had a bad accident; the car itself was a total wreck, in a
+ditch, not far from Versailles.
+
+"There!" cried Abbott, slamming the receiver on the hook. "What do you say
+to that?"
+
+"The chauffeur may have left her somewhere, got drunk afterward, and
+plunged into the ditch. Things have happened like that. Abby, don't make a
+camel's-hair shirt out of your paint-brushes. What a pother about a
+singer! If it had been a great inventor, a poet, an artist, there would
+have been nothing more than a two-line paragraph. But an opera-singer, one
+who entertains us during our idle evenings--ha! that's a different matter.
+Set instantly that great municipal machinery called the police in action;
+sell extra editions on the streets. What ado!"
+
+"What the devil makes _you_ so bitter?"
+
+"Was I bitter? I thought I was philosophizing." Courtlandt consulted his
+watch. Half after four. "Come over to the Maurice and dine with me
+to-morrow night, that is, if you do not find your prima donna. I've an
+engagement at five-thirty, and must be off."
+
+"I was about to ask you to dine with me to-night," disappointedly.
+
+"Can't; awfully sorry, Abby. It was only luck that I met you in the
+Luxembourg. Be over about seven. I was very glad to see you again."
+
+Abbott kicked a broken easel into a corner. "All right. If anything turns
+up I'll let you know. You're at the Grand?"
+
+"Yes. By-by."
+
+"I know what's the matter with him," mused the artist, alone. "Some woman
+has chucked him. Silly little fool, probably."
+
+Courtlandt went down-stairs and out into the boulevard. Frankly, he was
+beginning to feel concerned. He still held to his original opinion that
+the diva had disappeared of her own free will; but if the machinery of the
+police had been started, he realized that his own safety would eventually
+become involved. By this time, he reasoned, there would not be a hotel in
+Paris free of surveillance. Naturally, blond strangers would be in demand.
+The complications that would follow his own arrest were not to be ignored.
+He agreed with his conscience that he had not acted with dignity in
+forcing his way into her apartment. But that night he had been at odds
+with convention; his spirit had been that of the marauding old Dutchman of
+the seventeenth century. He perfectly well knew that she was in the right
+as far as the pistol-shot was concerned. Further, he knew that he could
+quash any charge she might make in that direction by the simplest of
+declarations; and to avoid this simplest of declarations she would prefer
+silence above all things. They knew each other tolerably well.
+
+It was extremely fortunate that he had not been to the hotel since
+Saturday. He went directly to the war-office. The great and powerful man
+there was the only hope left. They had met some years before in Algiers,
+where Courtlandt had rendered him a very real service.
+
+"I did not expect you to the minute," the great man said pleasantly. "You
+will not mind waiting for a few minutes."
+
+"Not in the least. Only, I'm in a deuce of a mess," frankly and directly.
+"Innocently enough, I've stuck my head into the police net."
+
+"Is it possible that now I can pay my debt to you?"
+
+"Such as it is. Have you read the article in the newspapers regarding the
+disappearance of Signorina da Toscana, the singer?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I am the unknown blond. To-morrow morning I want you to go with me to the
+prefecture and state that I was with you all of Saturday and Sunday; that
+on Monday you and your wife dined with me, that yesterday we went to the
+aviation meet, and later to the Odeon."
+
+"In brief, an alibi?" smiling now.
+
+"Exactly. I shall need one."
+
+"And a perfectly good alibi. But I have your word that you are in nowise
+concerned? Pardon the question, but between us it is really necessary if I
+am to be of service to you."
+
+"On my word as a gentleman."
+
+"That is sufficient."
+
+"In fact, I do not believe that she has been abducted at all. Will you let
+me use your pad and pen for a minute?"
+
+The other pushed over the required articles. Courtlandt scrawled a few
+words and passed back the pad.
+
+"For me to read?"
+
+"Yes," moodily.
+
+The Frenchman read. Courtlandt watched him anxiously. There was not even a
+flicker of surprise in the official eye. Calmly he ripped off the sheet
+and tore it into bits, distributing the pieces into the various
+waste-baskets yawning about his long flat desk. Next, still avoiding the
+younger man's eye, he arranged his papers neatly and locked them up in a
+huge safe which only the artillery of the German army could have forced.
+He then called for his hat and stick. He beckoned to Courtlandt to follow.
+Not a word was said until the car was humming on the road to Vincennes.
+
+"Well?" said Courtlandt, finally. It was not possible for him to hold back
+the question any longer.
+
+"My dear friend, I am taking you out to the villa for the night."
+
+"But I have nothing...."
+
+"And I have everything, even foresight. If you were arrested to-night it
+would cause you some inconvenience. I am fifty-six, some twenty years your
+senior. Under this hat of mine I carry a thousand secrets, and every one
+of these thousand must go to the grave with me, yours along with them. I
+have met you a dozen times since those Algerian days, and never have you
+failed to afford me some amusement or excitement. You are the most
+interesting and entertaining young man I know. Try one of these cigars."
+
+Precisely at the time Courtlandt stepped into the automobile outside the
+war-office, a scene, peculiar in character, but inconspicuous in that it
+did not attract attention, was enacted in the Gare de l'Est. Two
+sober-visaged men stood respectfully aside to permit a tall young man in a
+Bavarian hat to enter a compartment of the second-class. What could be
+seen of the young man's face was full of smothered wrath and
+disappointment. How he hated himself, for his weakness, for his cowardice!
+He was not all bad. Knowing that he was being watched and followed, he
+could not go to Versailles and compromise her, uselessly. And devil take
+the sleek demon of a woman who had prompted him to commit so base an act!
+
+"You will at least," he said, "deliver that message which I have intrusted
+to your care."
+
+"It shall reach Versailles to-night, your Highness."
+
+The young man reread the telegram which one of the two men had given him a
+moment since. It was a command which even he, wilful and disobedient as he
+was, dared not ignore. He ripped it into shreds and flung them out of the
+window. He did not apologize to the man into whose face the pieces flew.
+That gentleman reddened perceptibly, but he held his tongue. The blare of
+a horn announced the time of departure. The train moved. The two men on
+the platform saluted, but the young man ignored the salutation. Not until
+the rear car disappeared in the hazy distance did the watchers stir. Then
+they left the station and got into the tonneau of a touring-car, which
+shot away and did not stop until it drew up before that imposing embassy
+upon which the French will always look with more or less suspicion.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE BIRD BEHIND BARS
+
+
+The most beautiful blue Irish eyes in the world gazed out at the dawn
+which turned night-blue into day-blue and paled the stars. Rosal lay the
+undulating horizon, presently to burst into living flame, transmuting the
+dull steel bars of the window into fairy gold, that trick of alchemy so
+futilely sought by man. There was a window at the north and another at the
+south, likewise barred; but the Irish eyes never sought these two. It was
+from the east window only that they could see the long white road that led
+to Paris.
+
+The nightingale was truly caged. But the wild heart of the eagle beat in
+this nightingale's breast, and the eyes burned as fiercely toward the east
+as the east burned toward the west. Sunday and Monday, Tuesday and
+Wednesday and Thursday, to-day; and that the five dawns were singular in
+beauty and that she had never in her life before witnessed the creation of
+five days, one after another, made no impression upon her sense of the
+beautiful, so delicate and receptive in ordinary times. She was conscious
+that within her the cup of wrath was overflowing. Of other things, such as
+eating and sleeping and moving about in her cage (more like an eagle
+indeed than a nightingale), recurrence had blunted her perception.
+
+Her clothes were soiled and crumpled, sundrily torn; her hair was in
+disorder, and tendrils hung about her temples and forehead--thick black
+hair, full of purple tones in the sunlight--for she had not surrendered
+peacefully to this incarceration. Dignity, that phase of philosophy which
+accepts quietly the inevitable, she had thrown to the winds. She had
+fought desperately, primordially, when she had learned that her errand of
+mercy was nothing more than a cruel hoax.
+
+"Oh, but he shall pay, he shall pay!" she murmured, striving to loosen the
+bars with her small, white, helpless hands. The cry seemed to be an
+arietta, for through all these four maddening days she had voiced it,--now
+low and deadly with hate, now full-toned in burning anger, now broken by
+sobs of despair. "Will you never come, so that I may tell you how base and
+vile you are?" she further addressed the east.
+
+She had waited for his appearance on Sunday. Late in the day one of the
+jailers had informed her that it was impossible for the gentleman to come
+before Monday. So she marshaled her army of phrases, of accusations, of
+denunciations, ready to smother him with them the moment he came. But he
+came not Monday, nor Tuesday, nor Wednesday. The suspense was to her mind
+diabolical. She began to understand: he intended to keep her there till he
+was sure that her spirit was broken, then he would come. Break her spirit?
+She laughed wildly. He could break her spirit no more easily than she
+could break these bars. To bring her to Versailles upon an errand of
+mercy! Well, he was capable of anything.
+
+The room was large and fairly comfortable, but contained nothing
+breakable, having been tenanted at one time by a strenuous lunatic, who
+had considerately died after his immediate family and relations had worn
+themselves into their several graves, taking care of him. But Eleonora
+Harrigan knew nothing of the history of the room while she occupied it.
+So, no ghost disturbed her restless slumberless nights, consumed in
+watching and listening.
+
+She was not particularly distressed because she knew that it would not be
+possible for her to sing again until the following winter in New York. She
+had sobbed too much, with her face buried in the pillow. Had these sobs
+been born of weakness, all might have been well; but rage had mothered
+them, and thus her voice was in a very bad way. This morning she was
+noticeably hoarse, and there was a break in the arietta. No, she did not
+fret over this side of the calamity. The sting of it all lay in the fact
+that she had been outraged in the matter of personal liberty, with no act
+of reprisal to ease her immediate longing to be avenged.
+
+Nora, as she stood in the full morning sunlight, was like to gladden the
+eyes of all mankind. She was beautiful, and all adjectives applicable
+would but serve to confuse rather than to embellish her physical
+excellence. She was as beautiful as a garden rose is, needing no defense,
+no ramparts of cloying phrases. The day of poets is gone, otherwise she
+would have been sung in cantos. She was tall, shapely, deep-bosomed,
+fine-skinned. Critics, in praising her charms, delved into mythology and
+folk-lore for comparisons, until there wasn't a goddess left on Olympus or
+on Northland's icy capes; and when these images became a little shop-worn,
+referred to certain masterpieces of the old fellows who had left nothing
+more to be said in oils. Nora enjoyed it all.
+
+She had not been happy in the selection of her stage name; but she had
+chosen Eleonora da Toscana because she believed there was good luck in it.
+Once, long before the world knew of her, she had returned home from Italy
+unexpectedly. "Molly, here's Nora, from Tuscany!" her delighted father had
+cried: who at that time had a nebulous idea that Tuscany was somewhere in
+Ireland because it had a Celtic ring to it. Being filled with love of
+Italy, its tongue, its history, its physical beauty, she naively
+translated "Nora from Tuscany" into Italian, and declared that when she
+went upon the stage she would be known by that name. There had been some
+smiling over the pseudonym; but Nora was Irish enough to cling to it. By
+and by the great music-loving public ceased to concern itself about her
+name; it was her fresh beauty and her wonderful voice they craved to see
+and hear. Kings and queens, emperors and empresses, princes and
+princesses,--what is called royalty and nobility in the newspapers freely
+gave her homage. Quite a rise in the world for a little girl who had once
+lived in a shabby apartment in New York and run barefooted on the wet
+asphalts, summer nights!
+
+But Nora was not recalling the happy scenes of her childhood; indeed, no;
+she was still threatening Paris. Once there, she would not lack for
+reprisals. To have played on her pity! To have made a lure of her tender
+concern for the unfortunate! Never would she forgive such baseness. And
+only a little while ago she had been as happy as the nightingale to which
+they compared her. Never had she wronged any one; she had been kindness
+and thoughtfulness to all with whom she had come in contact. But from now
+on!... Her fingers tightened round the bars. She might have posed as Dido
+when she learned that the noble AEneas was dead. War, war; woe to the moths
+who fluttered about her head hereafter!
+
+Ah, but had she been happy? Her hands slid down the bars. Her expression
+changed. The mouth drooped, the eagle-light in her eyes dimmed. From out
+the bright morning, somewhere, had come weariness, and with this came
+weakness, and finally, tears.
+
+She heard the key turn in the lock. They had never come so early before.
+She was astonished to see that her jailer did not close the door as usual.
+He put down the breakfast tray on the table. There was tea and toast and
+fruit.
+
+"Mademoiselle, there has been a terrible mistake," said the man humbly.
+
+"Ah! So you have found that out?" she cried.
+
+"Yes. You are not the person for whom this room was intended." Which was
+half a truth and perfectly true, paradoxical as it may seem. "Eat your
+breakfast in peace. You are free, Mademoiselle."
+
+"Free? You will not hinder me if I walk through that door?"
+
+"No, Mademoiselle. On the contrary, I shall be very glad, and so will my
+brother, who guards you at night. I repeat, there has been a frightful
+mistake. Monsieur Champeaux ..."
+
+"Monsieur Champeaux!" Nora was bewildered. She had never heard this name
+before.
+
+"He calls himself that," was the diplomatic answer.
+
+All Nora's suspicions took firm ground again. "Will you describe this
+Monsieur Champeaux to me?" asked the actress coming into life.
+
+"He is short, dark, and old, Mademoiselle."
+
+"Rather is he not tall, blond, and young?" ironically.
+
+The jailer concealed what annoyance he felt. In his way he was just as
+capable an actor as she was. The accuracy of her description startled him;
+for the affair had been carried out so adroitly that he had been positive
+that until her real captor appeared she would be totally in the dark
+regarding his identity. And here she had hit it off in less than a dozen
+words. Oh, well; it did not matter now. She might try to make it
+unpleasant for his employer, but he doubted the ultimate success of her
+attempts. However, the matter was at an end as far as he was concerned.
+
+"Have you thought what this means? It is abduction. It is a crime you have
+committed, punishable by long imprisonment."
+
+"I have been Mademoiselle's jailer, not her abductor. And when one is poor
+and in need of money!" He shrugged.
+
+"I will give you a thousand francs for the name and address of the man who
+instigated this outrage."
+
+Ah, he thought: then she wasn't so sure? "I told you the name,
+Mademoiselle. As for his address, I dare not give it, not for ten thousand
+francs. Besides, I have said that there has been a mistake."
+
+"For whom have I been mistaken?"
+
+"Who but Monsieur Champeaux's wife, Mademoiselle, who is not in her right
+mind?" with inimitable sadness.
+
+"Very well," said Nora. "You say that I am free. That is all I want,
+freedom."
+
+"In twenty minutes the electric tram leaves for Paris. You will recall,
+Mademoiselle," humbly, "that we have taken nothing belonging to you. You
+have your purse and hat and cloak. The struggle was most unfortunate. But,
+think, Mademoiselle, think; we thought you to be insane!"
+
+"Permit me to doubt that! And you are not afraid to let me go?"
+
+"Not in the least, Mademoiselle. A mistake has been made, and in telling
+you to go at once, we do our best to rectify this mistake. It is only five
+minutes to the tram. A carriage is at the door. Will Mademoiselle be
+pleased to remember that we have treated her with the utmost courtesy?"
+
+"I shall remember everything," ominously.
+
+"Very good, Mademoiselle. You will be in Paris before nine." With this he
+bowed and backed out of the room as though Nora had suddenly made a
+distinct ascension in the scale of importance.
+
+"Wait!" she called.
+
+His face appeared in the doorway again.
+
+"Do you know who I am?"
+
+"Since this morning, Mademoiselle."
+
+"That is all."
+
+Free! Her veins tingled with strange exultation. He had lost his courage
+and had become afraid of the consequences. Free! Monsieur Champeaux
+indeed! Cowardice was a new development in his character. He had been
+afraid to come. She drank the tea, but did not touch the toast or fruit.
+There would be time enough for breakfast when she arrived in Paris. Her
+hands trembled violently as she pinned on her hat, and she was not greatly
+concerned as to the angle. She snatched up her purse and cloak, and sped
+out into the street. A phaeton awaited her.
+
+"The tram," she said.
+
+"Yes, Mademoiselle."
+
+"And go quickly." She would not feel safe until she was in the tram.
+
+A face appeared at one of the windows. As the vehicle turned the corner,
+the face vanished; and perhaps that particular visage disappeared forever.
+A gray wig came off, the little gray side-whiskers, the bushy grey
+eyebrows, revealing a clever face, not more than thirty, cunning, but
+humorously cunning and anything but scoundrelly. The painted scar aslant
+the nose was also obliterated. With haste the man thrust the evidences of
+disguise into a traveling-bag, ran here and there through the rooms, all
+bare and unfurnished save the one with the bars and the kitchen, which
+contained two cots and some cooking utensils. Nothing of importance had
+been left behind. He locked the door and ran all the way to the Place
+d'Armes, catching the tram to Paris by a fraction of a minute.
+
+All very well done. She would be in Paris before the police made any
+definite move. The one thing that disturbed him was the thought of the
+blockhead of a chauffeur, who had got drunk before his return from
+Versailles. If he talked; well, he could say nothing beyond the fact that
+he had deposited the singer at the house as directed. He knew positively
+nothing.
+
+The man laughed softly. A thousand francs apiece for him and Antoine, and
+no possible chance of being discovered. Let the police find the house in
+Versailles; let them trace whatever paths they found; the agent would tell
+them, and honestly, that an aged man had rented the house for a month and
+had paid him in advance. What more could the agent say? Only one bit of
+puzzlement: why hadn't the blond stranger appeared? Who was he, in truth,
+and what had been his game? All this waiting and wondering, and then a
+curt telegram of the night before, saying, "Release her." So much the
+better. What his employer's motives were did not interest him half so much
+as the fact that he had a thousand francs in his pocket, and that all
+element of danger had been done away with. True, the singer herself would
+move heaven and earth to find out who had been back of the abduction. Let
+her make her accusations. He was out of it.
+
+He glanced toward the forward part of the tram. There she sat, staring at
+the white road ahead. A young Frenchman sat near her, curling his mustache
+desperately. So beautiful and all alone! At length he spoke to her. She
+whirled upon him so suddenly that his hat fell off his head and rolled at
+the feet of the onlooker.
+
+"Your hat, Monsieur?" he said gravely, returning it.
+
+Nora laughed maliciously. The author of the abortive flirtation fled down
+to the body of the tram.
+
+And now there was no one on top but Nora and her erstwhile jailer, whom
+she did not recognize in the least.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Mademoiselle," said the great policeman soberly, "this is a grave
+accusation to make."
+
+"I make it, nevertheless," replied Nora. She sat stiffly in her chair, her
+face colorless, dark circles under her eyes. She never looked toward
+Courtlandt.
+
+"But Monsieur Courtlandt has offered an alibi such as we can not ignore.
+More than that, his integrity is vouched for by the gentleman at his side,
+whom doubtless Mademoiselle recognizes."
+
+Nora eyed the great man doubtfully.
+
+"What is the gentleman to you?" she was interrogated.
+
+"Absolutely nothing," contemptuously.
+
+The minister inspected his rings.
+
+"He has annoyed me at various times," continued Nora; "that is all. And
+his actions on Friday night warrant every suspicion I have entertained
+against him."
+
+The chief of police turned toward the bandaged chauffeur. "You recognize
+the gentleman?"
+
+"No, Monsieur, I never saw him before. It was an old man who engaged me."
+
+"Go on."
+
+"He said that Mademoiselle's old teacher was very ill and asked for
+assistance. I left Mademoiselle at the house and drove away. I was hired
+from the garage. That is the truth, Monsieur."
+
+Nora smiled disbelievingly. Doubtless he had been paid well for that lie.
+
+"And you?" asked the chief of Nora's chauffeur.
+
+"He is certainly the gentleman, Monsieur, who attempted to bribe me."
+
+"That is true," said Courtlandt with utmost calmness.
+
+"Mademoiselle, if Monsieur Courtlandt wished, he could accuse you of
+attempting to shoot him."
+
+"It was an accident. His sudden appearance in my apartment frightened me.
+Besides, I believe a woman who lives comparatively alone has a legal and
+moral right to protect herself from such unwarrantable intrusions. I wish
+him no physical injury, but I am determined to be annoyed by him no
+longer."
+
+The minister's eyes sought Courtlandt's face obliquely. Strange young man,
+he thought. From the expression of his face he might have been a spectator
+rather than the person most vitally concerned in this little scene. And
+what a pair they made!
+
+"Monsieur Courtlandt, you will give me your word of honor not to annoy
+Mademoiselle again?"
+
+"I promise never to annoy her again."
+
+For the briefest moment the blazing blue eyes clashed with the calm brown
+ones. The latter were first to deviate from the line. It was not agreeable
+to look into a pair of eyes burning with the hate of one's self. Perhaps
+this conflagration was intensified by the placidity of his gaze. If only
+there had been some sign of anger, of contempt, anything but this
+incredible tranquillity against which she longed to cry out! She was too
+wrathful to notice the quickening throb of the veins on his temples.
+
+"Mademoiselle, I find no case against Monsieur Courtlandt, unless you wish
+to appear against him for his forcible entrance to your apartment." Nora
+shook her head. The chief of police stroked his mustache to hide the
+fleeting smile. A peculiar case, the like of which had never before come
+under his scrutiny! "Circumstantial evidence, we know, points to him; but
+we have also an alibi which is incontestable. We must look elsewhere for
+your abductors. Think; have you not some enemy? Is there no one who might
+wish you worry and inconvenience? Are your associates all loyal to you? Is
+there any jealousy?"
+
+"No, none at all, Monsieur," quickly and decidedly.
+
+"In my opinion, then, the whole affair is a hoax, perpetrated to vex and
+annoy you. The old man who employed this chauffeur may not have been old.
+I have looked upon all sides of the affair, and it begins to look like a
+practical joke, Mademoiselle."
+
+"Ah!" angrily. "And am I to have no redress? Think of the misery I have
+gone through, the suspense! My voice is gone. I shall not be able to sing
+again for months. Is it your suggestion that I drop the investigation?"
+
+"Yes, Mademoiselle, for it does not look as if we could get anywhere with
+it. If you insist, I will hold Monsieur Courtlandt; but I warn you the
+magistrate would not hesitate to dismiss the case instantly. Monsieur
+Courtlandt arrived in Marseilles Thursday morning; he reached Paris Friday
+morning. Since arriving in Paris he has fully accounted for his time. It
+is impossible that he could have arranged for the abduction. Still, if you
+say, I can hold him for entering your apartment."
+
+"That would be but a farce." Nora rose. "Monsieur, permit me to wish you
+good day. For my part, I shall pursue this matter to the end. I believe
+this gentleman guilty, and I shall do my best to prove it. I am a woman,
+and all alone. When a man has powerful friends, it is not difficult to
+build an alibi."
+
+"That is a reflection upon my word, Mademoiselle," quietly interposed the
+minister.
+
+"Monsieur has been imposed upon." Nora walked to the door.
+
+"Wait a moment, Mademoiselle," said the prefect. "Why do you insist upon
+prosecuting him for something of which he is guiltless, when you could
+have him held for something of which he is really guilty?"
+
+"The one is trivial; the other is a serious outrage. Good morning." The
+attendant closed the door behind her.
+
+"A very determined young woman," mused the chief of police.
+
+"Exceedingly," agreed the minister.
+
+Courtlandt got up wearily. But the chief motioned him to be reseated.
+
+"I do not say that I dare not pursue my investigations; but now that
+mademoiselle is safely returned, I prefer not to."
+
+"May I ask who made this request?" asked Courtlandt.
+
+"Request? Yes, Monsieur, it was a request not to proceed further."
+
+"From where?"
+
+"As to that, you will have to consult the head of the state. I am not at
+liberty to make the disclosure."
+
+The minister leaned forward eagerly. "Then there is a political side to
+it?"
+
+"There would be if everything had not turned out so fortunately."
+
+"I believe that I understand now," said Courtlandt, his face hardening.
+Strange, he had not thought of it before. His skepticism had blinded him
+to all but one angle. "Your advice to drop the matter is excellent."
+
+The chief of police elevated his brows interrogatively.
+
+"For I presume," continued Courtlandt, rising, "that Mademoiselle's
+abductor is by this time safely across the frontier."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+BATTLING JIMMIE
+
+
+There is a heavenly terrace, flanked by marvelous trees. To the left, far
+down below, is a curving, dark-shaded, turquoise body of water called
+Lecco; to the right there lies the queen of lakes, the crown of Italy, a
+corn-flower sapphire known as Como. Over and about it--this terrace--poets
+have raved and tousled their neglected locks in vain to find the perfect
+phrasing; novelists have come and gone and have carried away peace and
+inspiration; and painters have painted it from a thousand points of view,
+and perhaps are painting it from another thousand this very minute. It is
+the Place of Honeymoons. Rich lovers come and idle there; and lovers of
+modest means rush up to it and down from it to catch the next steamer to
+Menaggio. Eros was not born in Greece: of all barren mountains,
+unstirring, Hymettus, or Olympus, or whatever they called it in the days
+of the junketing gods, is completest. No; Venus went a-touring and abode a
+while upon this same gracious spot, once dear to Pliny the younger.
+
+Between the blessed ledge and the towering mountains over the way, rolls a
+small valley, caressed on either side by the lakes. There are flower
+gardens, from which in summer rises the spicy perfume of lavender; there
+are rows upon rows of grape-vines, terraced downward; there are purple
+figs and white and ruby mulberries. Around and about, rising sheer from
+the waters, wherever the eye may rove, heaven-touching, salmon-tinted
+mountains abound, with scarfs of filmy cloud aslant their rugged profiles,
+and beauty-patches of snow. And everywhere the dark and brooding cypress,
+the copper beech, the green pine accentuate the pink and blue and white
+stucco of the villas, the rich and the humble.
+
+Behind the terrace is a promontory, three or four hundred feet above the
+waters. Upon the crest is a cultivated forest of all known evergreens.
+There are ten miles of cool and fragrant paths, well trodden by the
+devotees of Eros. The call of love is heard here; the echoes to-day
+reverberate with the impassioned declarations of yesterday. The
+Englishman's reserve melts, the American forgets his coupons, the German
+puts his arm around the robust waist of his frau or fraeulein. (This is
+nothing for him; he does it unconcernedly up and down the great urban
+highways of the world.)
+
+Again, between the terrace ledge and the forest lies a square of velvet
+green, abounding in four-leaf clover. _Buona fortuna!_ In the center there
+is a fountain. The water tinkles in drops. One hears its soft music at all
+times. Along the terrace parapet are tea-tables; a monster oak protects
+one from the sun. If one (or two) lingers over tea and cakes, one may
+witness the fiery lances of the setting sun burn across one arm of water
+while the silver spars of the rising moon shimmer across the other. Nature
+is whole-souled here; she gives often and freely and all she has.
+
+Seated on one of the rustic benches, his white tennis shoes resting
+against the lower iron of the railing, a Bavarian dachel snoozing
+comfortably across his knees, was a man of fifty. He was broad of
+shoulder, deep of chest, and clean-shaven. He had laid aside his Panama
+hat, and his hair was clipped closely, and was pleasantly and honorably
+sprinkled with gray. His face was broad and tanned; the nose was tilted,
+and the wide mouth was both kindly and humorous. One knew, from the tint
+of his blue eyes and the quirk of his lips, that when he spoke there would
+be a bit of brogue. He was James Harrigan, one time celebrated in the ring
+for his gameness, his squareness, his endurance; "Battling Jimmie"
+Harrigan, who, when he encountered his first knock-out, retired from the
+ring. He had to his credit sixty-one battles, of which he had easily won
+forty. He had been outpointed in some and had broken even in others; but
+only once had he been "railroaded into dreamland," to use the parlance of
+the game. That was enough. He understood. Youth would be served, and he
+was no longer young. He had, unlike the many in his peculiar service,
+lived cleanly and with wisdom and foresight: he had saved both his money
+and his health. To-day he was at peace with the world, with three sound
+appetites the day and the wherewithal to gratify them.
+
+True, he often dreamed of the old days, the roped square, the lights, the
+haze of tobacco smoke, the white patches surrounding, all of a certain
+expectant tilt, the reporters scribbling on the deal tables under the very
+posts, the cheers as he took his corner and scraped his shoes in the
+powdered resin, the padded gloves thrown down in the center of the canvas
+which was already scarred and soiled by the preliminaries. But never,
+never again; if only for the little woman's sake. Only when the game was
+done did he learn with what terror and dread she had waited for his return
+on fighting nights.
+
+To-day "Battling Jimmie" was forgotten by the public, and he was happy in
+the seclusion of this forgetfulness. A new and strange career had opened
+up before him: he was the father of the most beautiful prima donna in the
+operatic world, and, difficult as the task was, he did his best to live up
+to it. It was hard not to offer to shake hands when he was presented to a
+princess or a duchess; it was hard to remember when to change the studs in
+his shirt; and a white cravat was the terror of his nights, for his
+fingers, broad and stubby and powerful, had not been trained to the
+delicate task of tying a bow-knot. By a judicious blow in that spot where
+the ribs divaricate he could right well tie his adversary into a bow-knot,
+but this string of white lawn was a most damnable thing. Still, the
+puttering of the two women, their daily concern over his deportment, was
+bringing him into conformity with social usages. That he naturally
+despised the articles of such a soulless faith was evident in his constant
+inclination to play hooky. One thing he rebelled against openly, and with
+such firmness that the women did not press him too strongly for fear of a
+general revolt. On no occasion, however impressive, would he wear a silk
+hat. Christmas and birthdays invariably called forth the gift of a silk
+hat, for the women trusted that they could overcome resistance by
+persistence. He never said anything, but it was noticed that the hotel
+porter, or the gardener, or whatever masculine head (save his own) was
+available, came forth resplendent on feast-days and Sundays.
+
+Leaning back in an iron chair, with his shoulders resting against the oak,
+was another man, altogether a different type. He was frowning over the
+pages of Bagot's _Italian Lakes_, and he wasn't making much headway. He
+was Italian to the core, for all that he aped the English style and
+manner. He could speak the tongue with fluency, but he stumbled and
+faltered miserably over the soundless type. His clothes had the Piccadilly
+cut, and his mustache, erstwhile waxed and militant, was cropped at the
+corners, thoroughly insular. He was thirty, and undeniably handsome.
+
+Near the fountain, on the green, was a third man. He was in the act of
+folding up an easel and a camp-stool.
+
+The tea-drinkers had gone. It was time for the first bell for dinner. The
+villa's omnibus was toiling up the winding road among the grape-vines.
+Suddenly Harrigan tilted his head sidewise, and the long silken ears of
+the dachel stirred. The Italian slowly closed his book and permitted his
+chair to settle on its four legs. The artist stood up from his paintbox.
+From a window in the villa came a voice; only a lilt of a melody, no
+words,--half a dozen bars from _Martha_; but every delightful note went
+deep into the three masculine hearts. Harrigan smiled and patted the dog.
+The Italian scowled at the vegetable garden directly below. The artist
+scowled at the Italian.
+
+"Fritz, Fritz; here, Fritz!"
+
+The dog struggled in Harrigan's hands and tore himself loose. He went
+clattering over the path toward the villa and disappeared into the
+doorway. Nothing could keep him when that voice called. He was as ardent a
+lover as any, and far more favored.
+
+"Oh, you funny little dog! You merry little dachel! Fritz, mustn't; let
+go!" Silence.
+
+The artist knew that she was cuddling the puppy to her heart, and his own
+grew twisted. He stooped over his materials again and tied the box to the
+easel and the stool, and shifted them under his arm.
+
+"I'll be up after dinner, Mr. Harrigan," he said.
+
+"All right, Abbott." Harrigan waved his hand pleasantly. He was becoming
+so used to the unvarying statement that Abbott would be up after dinner,
+that his reply was by now purely mechanical. "She's getting her voice back
+all right; eh?"
+
+"Beautifully! But I really don't think she ought to sing at the Haines'
+villa Sunday."
+
+"One song won't hurt her. She's made up her mind to sing. There's nothing
+for us to do but to sit tight. No news from Paris?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Say, do you know what I think?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Some one has come across to the police."
+
+"Paris is not New York, Mr. Harrigan."
+
+"Oh, I don't know. There's a hundred cents to the dollar, my boy, Paris or
+New York. Why haven't they moved? They can't tell me that tow-headed
+chap's alibi was on the level. I wish I'd been in Paris. There'd been
+something doing. And who was he? They refuse to give his name. And I can't
+get a word out of Nora. Shuts me up with a bang when I mention it. Throws
+her nerves all out, she says. I'd like to get my hands on the
+blackguard."
+
+"So would I. It's a puzzle. If he had molested her while she was a
+captive, you could understand. But he never came near her."
+
+"Busted his nerve, that's what."
+
+"I have my doubts about that. A man who will go that far isn't subject to
+any derangement of his nerves. Want me to bring up the checkers?"
+
+"Sure. I've got two rubbers hanging over you."
+
+The artist took the path that led around the villa and thence down by many
+steps to the village by the waterside, to the cream-tinted cluster of
+shops and enormous hotels.
+
+The Italian was more fortunate. He was staying at the villa. He rose and
+sauntered over to Harrigan, who was always a source of interest to him.
+Study the man as he might, there always remained a profound mystery to his
+keen Italian mind. Every now and then nature--to prove that while she
+provided laws for humanity she obeyed none herself--nature produced the
+prodigy. Ancestry was nothing; habits, intelligence, physical appearance
+counted for naught. Harrigan was a fine specimen of the physical man, yes;
+but to be the father of a woman who was as beautiful as the legendary
+goddesses and who possessed a voice incomparable in the living history of
+music, here logic, the cold and accurate intruder, found an unlockable
+door. He liked the ex-prizefighter, so kindly and wholesome; but he also
+pitied him. Harrigan reminded him of a seal he had once seen in an
+aquarium tank: out of his element, but merry-eyed and swimming round and
+round as if determined to please everybody.
+
+"It will be a fine night," said the Italian, pausing at Harrigan's bench.
+
+"Every night is fine here, Barone," replied Harrigan. "Why, they had me up
+in Marienbad a few weeks ago, and I'm not over it yet. It's no place for a
+sick man; only a well man could come out of it alive."
+
+The Barone laughed. Harrigan had told this tale half a dozen times, but
+each time the Barone felt called on to laugh. The man was her father.
+
+"Do you know, Mr. Harrigan, Miss Harrigan is not herself? She is--what do
+you call?--bitter. She laughs, but--ah, I do not know!--it sounds not
+real."
+
+"Well, she isn't over that rumpus in Paris yet."
+
+"Rumpus?"
+
+"The abduction."
+
+"Ah, yes! Rumpus is another word for abduction? Yes, yes, I see."
+
+"No, no! Rumpus is just a mix-up, a row, anything that makes a noise,
+calls in the police. You can make a rumpus on the piano, over a game of
+cards, anything."
+
+The Barone spread his hands. "I comprehend," hurriedly. He comprehended
+nothing, but he was too proud to admit it.
+
+"So Nora is not herself; a case of nerves. And to think that you called
+there at the apartment the very day!"
+
+"Ah, if I had been there the right time!"
+
+"But what puts me down for the count is the action of the fellow. Never
+showed up; just made her miss two performances."
+
+"He was afraid. Men who do cowardly things are always afraid." The Barone
+spoke with decided accent, but he seldom made a grammatical error. "But
+sometimes, too, men grow mad at once, and they do things in their madness.
+Ah, she is so beautiful! She is a nightingale." The Italian looked down on
+Como whose broad expanse was crisscrossed by rippled paths made by
+arriving and departing steamers. "It is not a wonder that some man might
+want to run away with her."
+
+Harrigan looked curiously at the other. "Well, it won't be healthy for any
+man to try it again." The father held out his powerful hands for the
+Barone's inspection. They called mutely but expressively for the throat of
+the man who dared. "It'll never happen again. Her mother and I are not
+going away from her any more. When she sings in Berlin, I'm going to trail
+along; when she hits the high note in Paris, I'm lingering near; when she
+trills in London, I'm hiding in the shadow. And you may put that in your
+pipe and smoke it."
+
+"I smoke only cigarettes," replied the Barone gravely. It had been
+difficult to follow, this English.
+
+Harrigan said nothing in return. He had given up trying to explain to the
+Italian the idiomatic style of old Broadway. He got up and brushed his
+flannels perfunctorily. "Well, I suppose I've got to dress for supper,"
+resentfully. He still called it supper; and, as in the matter of the silk
+hat, his wife no longer strove to correct him. The evening meal had always
+been supper, and so it would remain until that time when he would cease to
+look forward to it.
+
+"Do you go to the dancing at Cadenabbia to-night?"
+
+"Me? I should say not!" Harrigan laughed. "I'd look like a bull in a
+china-shop. Abbott is coming up to play checkers with me. I'll leave the
+honors to you."
+
+The Barone's face lighted considerably. He hated the artist only when he
+was visible. He was rather confused, however. Abbott had been invited to
+the dance. Why wasn't he going? Could it be true? Had the artist tried his
+luck and lost? Ah, if fate were as kind as that! He let Harrigan depart
+alone.
+
+Why not? What did he care? What if the father had been a fighter for
+prizes? What if the mother was possessed with a misguided desire to shine
+socially? What mattered it if they had once resided in an obscure tenement
+in a great city, and that grandfathers were as far back as they could go
+with any certainty? Was he not his own master? What titled woman of his
+acquaintance whose forebears had been powerful in the days of the Borgias,
+was not dimmed in the presence of this wonderful maid to whom all things
+had been given unreservedly? Her brow was fit for a royal crown, let alone
+a simple baronial tiara such as he could provide. The mother favored him a
+little; of this he was reasonably certain; but the moods of the daughter
+were difficult to discover or to follow.
+
+To-night! The round moon was rising palely over Lecco; the moon, mistress
+of love and tides, toward whom all men and maids must look, though only
+Eros knows why! Evidently there was no answer to the Italian's question,
+for he faced about and walked moodily toward the entrance. Here he paused,
+looking up at the empty window. Again a snatch of song--
+
+_O solo mio_ ... _che bella cosa_...!
+
+What a beautiful thing indeed! Passionately he longed for the old days,
+when by his physical prowess alone oft a man won his lady. Diplomacy,
+torrents of words, sly little tricks, subterfuges, adroitness, stolen
+glances, careless touches of the hand; by these must a maid be won to-day.
+When she was happy she sang, when she was sad, when she was only
+mischievous. She was just as likely to sing _O terra addio_ when she was
+happy as _O sole mio_ when she was sad. So, how was a man to know the
+right approach to her variant moods? Sighing deeply, he went on to his
+room, to change his Piccadilly suit for another which was supposed to be
+the last word in the matter of evening dress.
+
+Below, in the village, a man entered the Grand Hotel. He was tall, blond,
+rosy-cheeked. He carried himself like one used to military service; also,
+like one used to giving peremptory orders. The porter bowed, the director
+bowed, and the proprietor himself became a living carpenter's square,
+hinged. The porter and the director recognized a personage; the proprietor
+recognized the man. It was of no consequence that the new arrival called
+himself Herr Rosen. He was assigned to a suite of rooms, and on returning
+to the bureau, the proprietor squinted his eyes abstractedly. He knew
+every woman of importance at that time residing on the Point. Certainly it
+could be none of these. _Himmel!_ He struck his hands together. So that
+was it: the singer. He recalled the hints in certain newspaper paragraphs,
+the little tales with the names left to the imagination. So that was it?
+
+What a woman! Men looked at her and went mad. And not so long ago one had
+abducted her in Paris. The proprietor threw up his hands in despair. What
+was going to happen to the peace of this bucolic spot? The youth permitted
+nothing to stand in his way, and the singer's father was a retired fighter
+with boxing-gloves!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+MOONLIGHT AND A PRINCE
+
+
+When he had fought what he considered two rattling rounds, Harrigan
+conceded that his cravat had once more got the decision over him on
+points. And the cravat was only a second-rater, too, a black-silk affair.
+He tossed up the sponge and went down to the dining-room, the ends of the
+conqueror straggling like the four points of a battered weather-vane. His
+wife and daughter and Mademoiselle Fournier were already at their table by
+the casement window, from which they could see the changing granite mask
+of Napoleon across Lecco.
+
+At the villa there were seldom more than ten or twelve guests, this being
+quite the capacity of the little hotel. These generally took refuge here
+in order to escape the noise and confusion of a large hotel, to avoid the
+necessity of dining in state every night. Few of the men wore evening
+dress, save on occasions when they were entertaining. The villa wasn't at
+all fashionable, and the run of American tourists fought shy of it,
+preferring the music and dancing and card-playing of the famous hostelries
+along the water-front. Of course, everybody came up for the view, just as
+everybody went up the Corner Grat (by cable) at Zermatt to see the
+Matterhorn. But for all its apparent dulness, there, was always an English
+duchess, a Russian princess, or a lady from the Faubourg St.-Germain
+somewhere about, resting after a strenuous winter along the Riviera. Nora
+Harrigan sought it not only because she loved the spot, but because it
+sheltered her from idle curiosity. It was almost as if the villa were
+hers, and the other people her guests.
+
+Harrigan crossed the room briskly, urged by an appetite as sound as his
+views on life. The chef here was a king; there was always something to
+look forward to at the dinner hour; some new way of serving spinach, or
+lentils, or some irresistible salad. He smiled at every one and pulled out
+his chair.
+
+"Sorry to keep you folks waiting."
+
+"James!"
+
+"What's the matter now?" he asked good-naturedly. Never that tone but
+something was out of kilter.
+
+His wife glanced wrathfully at his feet. Wonderingly he looked down. In
+the heat of the battle with his cravat he had forgotten all about his
+tennis shoes.
+
+"I see. No soup for mine." He went back to his room, philosophically.
+There was always something wrong when he got into these infernal clothes.
+
+"Mother," said Nora, "why can't you let him be?"
+
+"But white shoes!" in horror.
+
+"Who cares? He's the patientest man I know. We're always nagging him, and
+I for one am going to stop. Look about! So few men and women dress for
+dinner. You do as you please here, and that is why I like it."
+
+"I shall never be able to do anything with him as long as he sees that his
+mistakes are being condoned by you," bitterly responded the mother. "Some
+day he will humiliate us all by his carelessness."
+
+"Oh, bother!" Nora's elbow slyly dug into Celeste's side.
+
+The pianist's pretty face was bent over her soup. She had grown accustomed
+to these little daily rifts. For the great, patient, clumsy,
+happy-go-lucky man she entertained an intense pity. But it was not the
+kind that humiliates; on the contrary, it was of a mothering disposition;
+and the ex-gladiator dimly recognized it, and felt more comfortable with
+her than with any other woman excepting Nora. She understood him perhaps
+better than either mother or daughter; he was too late: he belonged to a
+distant time, the beginning of the Christian era; and often she pictured
+him braving the net and the trident in the saffroned arena.
+
+Mrs. Harrigan broke her bread vexatiously. Her husband refused to think
+for himself, and it was wearing on her nerves to watch him day and night.
+Deep down under the surface of new adjustments and social ambitions, deep
+in the primitive heart, he was still her man. But it was only when he
+limped with an occasional twinge of rheumatism, or a tooth ached, or he
+dallied with his meals, that the old love-instinct broke up through these
+artificial crustations. True, she never knew how often he invented these
+trivial ailments, for he soon came into the knowledge that she was less
+concerned about him when he was hale and hearty. She still retained
+evidences of a blossomy beauty. Abbott had once said truly that nature had
+experimented on her; it was in the reproduction that perfection had been
+reached. To see the father, the mother, and the daughter together it was
+not difficult to fashion a theory as to the latter's splendid health and
+physical superiority. Arriving at this point, however, theory began to
+fray at the ends. No one could account for the genius and the voice. The
+mother often stood lost in wonder that out of an ordinary childhood, a
+barelegged, romping, hoydenish childhood, this marvel should emerge:
+her's!
+
+She was very ambitious for her daughter. She wanted to see nothing less
+than a ducal coronet upon the child's brow, British preferred. If ordinary
+chorus girls and vaudeville stars, possessing only passable beauty and no
+intelligence whatever, could bring earls into their nets, there was no
+reason why Nora could not be a princess or a duchess. So she planned
+accordingly. But the child puzzled and eluded her; and from time to time
+she discovered a disquieting strength of character behind a disarming
+amiability. Ever since Nora had returned home by way of the Orient, the
+mother had recognized a subtle change, so subtle that she never had an
+opportunity of alluding to it verbally. Perhaps the fault lay at her own
+door. She should never have permitted Nora to come abroad alone to fill
+her engagements.
+
+But that Nora was to marry a duke was, to her mind, a settled fact. It is
+a peculiar phase, this of the humble who find themselves, without effort
+of their own, thrust up among the great and the so-called, who forget
+whence they came in the fierce contest for supremacy upon that tottering
+ledge called society. The cad and the snob are only infrequently
+well-born. Mrs. Harrigan was as yet far from being a snob, but it required
+some tact upon Nora's part to prevent this dubious accomplishment.
+
+"Is Mr. Abbott going with us?" she inquired.
+
+"Donald is sulking," Nora answered. "For once the Barone got ahead of him
+in engaging the motor-boat."
+
+"I wish you would not call him by his first name."
+
+"And why not? I like him, and he is a very good comrade."
+
+"You do not call the Barone by his given name."
+
+"Heavens, no! If I did he would kiss me. These Italians will never
+understand western customs, mother. I shall never marry an Italian, much
+as I love Italy."
+
+"Nor a Frenchman?" asked Celeste.
+
+"Nor a Frenchman."
+
+"I wish I knew if you meant it," sighed the mother.
+
+"My dear, I have given myself to the stage. You will never see me being
+led to the altar."
+
+"No, you will do the leading when the time comes," retorted the mother.
+
+"Mother, the men I like you may count upon the fingers of one hand. Three
+of them are old. For the rest, I despise men."
+
+"I suppose some day you will marry some poverty-stricken artist," said the
+mother, filled with dark foreboding.
+
+"You would not call Donald poverty-stricken."
+
+"No. But you will never marry him."
+
+"No. I never shall."
+
+Celeste smoothed her hands, a little trick she had acquired from long
+hours spent at the piano. "He will make some woman a good husband."
+
+"That he will."
+
+"And he is most desperately in love with you."
+
+"That's nonsense!" scoffed Nora. "He thinks he is. He ought to fall in
+love with you, Celeste. Every time you play the fourth _ballade_ he looks
+as if he was ready to throw himself at your feet."
+
+"_Pouf!_ For ten minutes?" Celeste laughed bravely. "He leaves me quickly
+enough when you begin to sing."
+
+"Glamour, glamour!"
+
+"Well, I should not care for the article second-hand."
+
+The arrival of Harrigan put an end to this dangerous trend of
+conversation. He walked in tight proper pumps, and sat down. He was only
+hungry now; the zest for dining was gone.
+
+"Don't go sitting out in the night air, Nora," he warned.
+
+"I sha'n't."
+
+"And don't dance more than you ought to. Your mother would let you wear
+the soles off your shoes if she thought you were attracting attention.
+Don't do it."
+
+"James, that is not true," the mother protested.
+
+"Well, Molly, you do like to hear 'em talk. I wish they knew how to cook a
+good club steak."
+
+"I brought up a book from the village for you to-day," said Mrs. Harrigan,
+sternly.
+
+"I'll bet a dollar it's on how to keep the creases in a fellow's pants."
+
+"Trousers."
+
+"Pants," helping himself to the last of the romaine. "What time do you go
+over?"
+
+"At nine. We must be getting ready now," said Nora. "Don't wait up for
+us."
+
+"And only one cigar," added the mother.
+
+"Say, Molly, you keep closing in on me. Tobacco won't hurt me any, and I
+get a good deal of comfort out of it these days."
+
+"Two," smiled Nora.
+
+"But his heart!"
+
+"And what in mercy's name is the matter with his heart? The doctor at
+Marienbad said that father was the soundest man of his age he had ever
+met." Nora looked quizzically at her father.
+
+He grinned. Out of his own mouth he had been nicely trapped. That morning
+he had complained of a little twinge in his heart, a childish subterfuge
+to take Mrs. Harrigan's attention away from the eternal society page of
+the _Herald_. It had succeeded. He had even been cuddled.
+
+"James, you told me..."
+
+"Oh, Molly, I only wanted to talk to you."
+
+"To do so it isn't necessary to frighten me to death," reproachfully. "One
+cigar, and no more."
+
+"Molly, what ails you?" as they left the dining-room. "Nora's right. That
+sawbones said I was made of iron. I'm only smoking native cigars, and it
+takes a bunch of 'em to get the taste of tobacco. All right; in a few
+months you'll have me with the stuffed canary under the glass top. What's
+the name of that book?" diplomatically.
+
+"_Social Usages._"
+
+"Break away!"
+
+Nora laughed. "But, dad, you really must read it carefully. It will tell
+you how to talk to a duchess, if you chance to meet one when I am not
+around. It has all the names of the forks and knives and spoons, and it
+tells you never to use sugar on your lettuce." And then she threw her arm
+around her mother's waist. "Honey, when you buy books for father, be sure
+they are by Dumas or Haggard or Doyle. Otherwise he will never read a
+line."
+
+"And I try so hard!" Tears came into Mrs. Harrigan's eyes.
+
+"There, there, Molly, old girl!" soothed the outlaw. "I'll read the book.
+I know I'm a stupid old stumbling-block, but it's hard to teach an old dog
+new tricks, that is, at the ring of the gong. Run along to your party. And
+don't break any more hearts than you need, Nora."
+
+Nora promised in good faith. But once in the ballroom, that little son of
+Satan called malice-aforethought took possession of her; and there was
+havoc. If a certain American countess had not patronized her; if certain
+lorgnettes (implements of torture used by said son of Satan) had not been
+leveled in her direction; if certain fans had not been suggestively spread
+between pairs of feminine heads,--Nora would have been as harmless as a
+playful kitten.
+
+From door to door of the ballroom her mother fluttered like a hen with a
+duckling. Even Celeste was disturbed, for she saw that Nora's conduct was
+not due to any light-hearted fun. There was something bitter and ironic
+cloaked by those smiles, that tinkle of laughter. In fact, Nora from
+Tuscany flirted outrageously. The Barone sulked and tore at his mustache.
+He committed any number of murders, by eye and by wish. When his time came
+to dance with the mischief-maker, he whirled her around savagely, and
+never said a word; and once done with, he sternly returned her to her
+mother, which he deemed the wisest course to pursue.
+
+"Nora, you are behaving abominably!" whispered her mother, pale with
+indignation.
+
+"Well, I am having a good time ... Your dance? Thank you."
+
+And a tender young American led her through the mazes of the waltz, as
+some poet who knew what he was about phrased it.
+
+It is not an exaggeration to say that there was not a woman in the
+ballroom to compare with her, and some of them were marvelously gowned and
+complexioned, too. She overshadowed them not only by sheer beauty, but by
+exuberance of spirit. And they followed her with hating eyes and whispered
+scandalous things behind their fans and wondered what had possessed the
+Marchesa to invite the bold thing: so does mediocrity pay homage to beauty
+and genius. As for the men, though madness lay that way, eagerly as of old
+they sought it.
+
+By way of parenthesis: Herr Rosen marched up the hill and down again,
+something after the manner of a certain warrior king celebrated in verse.
+The object of his visit had gone to the ball at Cadenabbia. At the hotel
+he demanded a motor-boat. There was none to be had. In a furious state of
+mind he engaged two oarsmen to row him across the lake.
+
+And so it came to pass that when Nora, suddenly grown weary of the play,
+full of bitterness and distaste, hating herself and every one else in the
+world, stole out to the quay to commune with the moon, she saw him jump
+from the boat to the landing, scorning the steps. Instantly she drew her
+lace mantle closely about her face. It was useless. In the man the
+hunter's instinct was much too keen.
+
+"So I have found you!"
+
+"One would say that I had been in hiding?" coldly.
+
+"From me, always. I have left everything--duty, obligations--to seek
+you."
+
+"From any other man that might be a compliment."
+
+"I am a prince," he said proudly.
+
+She faced him with that quick resolution, that swift forming of purpose,
+which has made the Irish so difficult in argument and persuasion. "Will
+you marry me? Will you make me your wife legally? Before all the world?
+Will you surrender, for the sake of this love you profess, your right to a
+great inheritance? Will you risk the anger and the iron hand of your
+father for my sake?"
+
+"_Herr Gott!_ I am mad!" He covered his eyes.
+
+"That expression proves that your Highness is sane again. Have you
+realized the annoyances, the embarrassments, you have thrust upon me by
+your pursuit? Have you not read the scandalous innuendoes in the
+newspapers? Your Highness, I was not born on the Continent, so I look upon
+my work from a point of view not common to those of your caste. I am proud
+of it, and I look upon it with honor, honor. I am a woman, but I am not
+wholly defenseless. There was a time when I thought I might number among
+my friends a prince; but you have made that impossible."
+
+"Come," he said hoarsely; "let us go and find a priest. You are right. I
+love you; I will give up everything, everything!"
+
+For a moment she was dumb. This absolute surrender appalled her. But that
+good fortune which had ever been at her side stepped into the breach. And
+as she saw the tall form of the Barone approach, she could have thrown her
+arms around his neck in pure gladness.
+
+"Oh, Barone!" she called. "Am I making you miss this dance?"
+
+"It does not matter, Signorina." The Barone stared keenly at the erect and
+tense figure at the prima donna's side.
+
+"You will excuse me, Herr Rosen," said Nora, as she laid her hand upon the
+Barone's arm.
+
+Herr Rosen bowed stiffly; and the two left him standing uncovered in the
+moonlight.
+
+"What is he doing here? What has he been saying to you?" the Barone
+demanded. Nora withdrew her hand from his arm. "Pardon me," said he
+contritely. "I have no right to ask you such questions."
+
+It was not long after midnight when the motor-boat returned to its abiding
+place. On the way over conversation lagged, and finally died altogether.
+Mrs. Harrigan fell asleep against Celeste's shoulder, and the musician
+never deviated her gaze from the silver ripples which flowed out
+diagonally and magically from the prow of the boat. Nora watched the stars
+slowly ascend over the eastern range of mountains; and across the fire of
+his innumerable cigarettes the Barone watched her.
+
+As the boat was made fast to the landing in front of the Grand Hotel,
+Celeste observed a man in evening dress, lounging against the rail of the
+quay. The search-light from the customs-boat, hunting for tobacco
+smugglers, flashed over his face. She could not repress the little gasp,
+and her hand tightened upon Nora's arm.
+
+"What is it?" asked Nora.
+
+"Nothing. I thought I was slipping."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+COLONEL CAXLEY-WEBSTER
+
+
+Abbott's studio was under the roof of one of the little hotels that stand
+timorously and humbly, yet expectantly, between the imposing cream-stucco
+of the Grand Hotel at one end and the elaborate pink-stucco of the Grande
+Bretegne at the other. The hobnailed shoes of the Teuton (who wears his
+mountain kit all the way from Hamburg to Palermo) wore up and down the
+stairs all day; and the racket from the hucksters' carts and hotel
+omnibuses, arriving and departing from the steamboat landing, the shouts
+of the begging boatmen, the quarreling of the children and the barking of
+unpedigreed dogs,--these noises were incessant from dawn until sunset.
+
+The artist glared down from his square window at the ruffled waters, or
+scowled at the fleeting snows on the mountains over the way. He passed
+some ten or twelve minutes in this useless occupation, but he could not
+get away from the bald fact that he had acted like a petulant child. To
+have shown his hand so openly, simply because the Barone had beaten him in
+the race for the motor-boat! And Nora would understand that he was weak
+and without backbone. Harrigan himself must have reasoned out the cause
+for such asinine plays as he had executed in the game of checkers. How
+many times had the old man called out to him to wake up and move? In
+spirit he had been across the lake, a spirit in Hades. He was not only a
+fool, but a coward likewise. He had not dared to
+
+                        "... put it to the touch
+                        To gain or lose it all."
+
+He saw it coming: before long he and that Italian would be at each other's
+throats.
+
+"Come in!" he called, in response to a sudden thunder on the door.
+
+The door opened and a short, energetic old man, purple-visaged and
+hawk-eyed, came in. "Why the devil don't you join the Trappist monks,
+Abbott? If I wasn't tough I should have died of apoplexy on the second
+landing."
+
+"Good morning, Colonel!" Abbott laughed and rolled out the patent rocker
+for his guest. "What's on your mind this morning? I can give you one
+without ice."
+
+"I'll take it neat, my boy. I'm not thirsty, I'm faint. These Italian
+architects; they call three ladders flights of stairs! ... Ha! That's
+Irish whisky, and jolly fine. Want you to come over and take tea this
+afternoon. I'm going up presently to see the Harrigans. Thought I'd go
+around and do the thing informally. Taken a fancy to the old chap. He's a
+little bit of all right. I'm no older than he is, but look at the
+difference! Whisky and soda, that's the racket. Not by the tubful; just an
+ordinary half dozen a day, and a dem climate thrown in."
+
+"Difference in training."
+
+"Rot! It's the sized hat a man wears. I'd give fifty guineas to see the
+old fellow in action. But, I say; recall the argument we had before you
+went to Paris?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, I win. Saw him bang across the street this morning."
+
+Abbott muttered something.
+
+"What was that?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"Sounded like 'dem it' to me."
+
+"Maybe it did."
+
+"Heard about him in Paris?"
+
+"No."
+
+"The old boy had transferred his regiment to a lonesome post in the North
+to cool his blood. The youngster took the next train to Paris. He was
+there incognito for two weeks before they found him and bundled him back.
+Of course, every one knows that he is but a crazy lad who's had too much
+freedom." The colonel emptied his glass. "I feel dem sorry for Nora. She's
+the right sort. But a woman can't take a man by the scruff of his neck and
+chuck him."
+
+"But I can," declared Abbott savagely.
+
+"Tut, tut! He'd eat you alive. Besides, you will find him too clever to
+give you an opening. But he'll bear watching. He's capable of putting her
+on a train and running away with her. Between you and me, I don't blame
+him. What's the matter with sicking the Barone on him? He's the best man
+in Southern Italy with foils and broadswords. Sic 'em, Towser; sic 'em!"
+The old fire-eater chuckled.
+
+The subject was extremely distasteful to the artist. The colonel, a rough
+soldier, whose diplomacy had never risen above the heights of clubbing a
+recalcitrant Hill man into submission, baldly inferred that he understood
+the artist's interest in the rose of the Harrigan family. He would have
+liked to talk more in regard to the interloper, but it would have been
+sheer folly. The colonel, in his blundering way, would have brought up the
+subject again at tea-time and put everybody on edge. He had, unfortunately
+for his friends, a reputation other than that of a soldier: he posed as a
+peacemaker. He saw trouble where none existed, and the way he patched up
+imaginary quarrels would have strained the patience of Job. Still, every
+one loved him, though they lived in mortal fear of him. So Abbott came
+about quickly and sailed against the wind.
+
+"By the way," he said, "I wish you would let me sketch that servant of
+yours. He's got a profile like a medallion. Where did you pick him up?"
+
+"In the Hills. He's a Sikh, and a first-class fighting man. Didn't know
+that you went for faces."
+
+"Not as a usual thing. Just want it for my own use. How does he keep his
+beard combed that way?"
+
+"I've never bothered myself about the curl of his whiskers. Are my clothes
+laid out? Luggage attended to? Guns shipshape? That's enough for me. Some
+day you have got to go out there with me."
+
+"Never shot a gun in all my life. I don't know which end to hold at my
+shoulder."
+
+"Teach you quick enough. Every man's a born hunter. Rao will have tigers
+eating out of your hand. He's a marvel; saved my hide more than once.
+Funny thing; you can't show 'em that you're grateful. Lose caste if you
+do. I rather miss it. Get the East in your blood and you'll never get it
+out. Fascinating! But my liver turned over once too many times. Ha! Some
+one coming up to buy a picture."
+
+The step outside was firm and unwearied by the climb. The door opened
+unceremoniously, and Courtlandt came in. He stared at the colonel and the
+colonel returned the stare.
+
+"Caxley-Webster! Well, I say, this globe goes on shrinking every day!"
+cried Courtlandt.
+
+The two pumped hands energetically, sizing each other up critically. Then
+they sat down and shot questions, while Abbott looked on bewildered.
+Elephants and tigers and chittahs and wild boar and quail-running and
+strange guttural names; weltering nights in the jungles, freezing mornings
+in the Hills; stupendous card games; and what had become of so-and-so, who
+always drank his whisky neat; and what's-his-name, who invented cures for
+snake bites!
+
+Abbott deliberately pushed over an oak bench. "Am I host here or not?"
+
+"Abby, old man, how are you?" said Courtlandt, smiling warmly and holding
+out his hand. "My apologies; but the colonel and I never expected to see
+each other again. And I find him talking with you up here under this roof.
+It's marvelous."
+
+"It's a wonder you wouldn't drop a fellow a line," said Abbott, in a
+faultfinding tone, as he righted the bench. "When did you come?"
+
+"Last night. Came up from Como."
+
+"Going to stay long?"
+
+"That depends. I am really on my way to Zermatt. I've a hankering to have
+another try at the Matterhorn."
+
+"Think of that!" exclaimed the colonel. "He says another try."
+
+"You came a roundabout way," was the artist's comment.
+
+"Oh, that's because I left Paris for Brescia. They had some good flights
+there. Wonderful year! They cross the Channel in an airship and discover
+the North Pole."
+
+"Pah! Neither will be of any use to humanity; merely a fine sporting
+proposition." The colonel dug into his pocket for his pipe. "But what do
+you think of Germany?"
+
+"Fine country," answered Courtlandt, rising and going to a window; "fine
+people, too. Why?"
+
+"Do you--er--think they could whip us?"
+
+"On land, yes."
+
+"The devil!"
+
+"On water, no."
+
+"Thanks. In other words, you believe our chances equal?"
+
+"So equal that all this war-scare is piffle. But I rather like to see you
+English get up in the air occasionally. It will do you good. You've an
+idea because you walloped Napoleon that you're the same race you were
+then, and you are not. The English-speaking races, as the first soldiers,
+have ceased to be."
+
+"Well, I be dem!" gasped the colonel.
+
+"It's the truth. Take the American: he thinks there is nothing in the
+world but money. Take the Britisher: to him caste is everything. Take the
+money out of one man's mind and the importance of being well-born out of
+the other...." He turned from the window and smiled at the artist and the
+empurpling Anglo-Indian.
+
+"Abbott," growled the soldier, "that man will some day drive me amuck.
+What do you think? One night, on a tiger hunt, he got me into an argument
+like this. A brute of a beast jumped into the middle of it. Courtlandt
+shot him on the second bound, and turned to me with--'Well, as I was
+saying!' I don't know to this day whether it was nerve or what you
+Americans call gall."
+
+"Divided by two," grinned Abbott.
+
+"Ha, I see; half nerve and half gall. I'll remember that. But we were
+talking of airships."
+
+"I was," retorted Courtlandt. "You were the man who started the powwow."
+He looked down into the street with sudden interest. "Who is that?"
+
+The colonel and Abbott hurried across the room.
+
+"What did I say, Abbott? I told you I saw him. He's crazy; fact. Thinks he
+can travel around incognito when there isn't a magazine on earth that
+hasn't printed his picture."
+
+"Well, why shouldn't he travel around if he wants to?" asked Courtlandt
+coolly.
+
+The colonel nudged the artist.
+
+"There happens to be an attraction in Bellaggio," said Abbott irritably.
+
+"The moth and the candle," supplemented the colonel, peering over
+Courtlandt's shoulder. "He's well set up," grudgingly admitted the old
+fellow.
+
+"The moth and the candle," mused Courtlandt. "That will be Nora Harrigan.
+How long has this infatuation been going on?"
+
+"Year and a half."
+
+"And the other side?"
+
+"There isn't any other side," exploded the artist. "She's worried to
+death. Not a day passes but some scurrilous penny-a-liner springs some
+yarn, some beastly innuendo. She's been dodging the fellow for months. In
+Paris last year she couldn't move without running into him. This year she
+changed her apartment, and gave orders at the Opera to refuse her address
+to all who asked for it. Consequently she had some peace. I don't know why
+it is, but a woman in public life seems to be a target."
+
+"The penalty of beauty, Abby. Homely women seldom are annoyed, unless they
+become suffragists." The colonel poured forth a dense cloud of smoke.
+
+"What brand is that, Colonel?" asked Courtlandt, choking.
+
+The colonel generously produced his pouch.
+
+"No, no! I was about to observe that it isn't ambrosia."
+
+"Rotter!" The soldier dug the offender in the ribs. "I am going to have
+the Harrigans over for tea this afternoon. Come over! You'll like the
+family. The girl is charming; and the father is a sportsman to the
+backbone. Some silly fools laugh behind his back, but never before his
+face. And my word, I know rafts of gentlemen who are not fit to stand in
+his shoes."
+
+"I should like to meet Mr. Harrigan." Courtlandt returned his gaze to the
+window once more.
+
+"And his daughter?" said Abbott, curiously.
+
+"Oh, surely!"
+
+"I may count on you, then?" The colonel stowed away the offending brier.
+"And you can stay to dinner."
+
+"I'll take the dinner end of the invitation," was the reply. "I've got to
+go over to Menaggio to see about some papers to be signed. If I can make
+the three o'clock boat in returning, you'll see me at tea. Dinner at all
+events. I'm off."
+
+"Do you mean to stand there and tell me that you have important business?"
+jeered Abbott.
+
+"My boy, the reason I'm on trains and boats, year in and year out, is in
+the vain endeavor to escape important business. Now and then I am rounded
+up. Were you ever hunted by money?" humorously.
+
+"No," answered the Englishman sadly. "But I know one thing: I'd throw the
+race at the starting-post. Millions, Abbott, and to be obliged to run away
+from them! If the deserts hadn't dried up all my tears, I should weep. Why
+don't you hire a private secretary to handle your affairs?"
+
+"And have him following at my heels?" Courtlandt gazed at his lean brown
+hands. "When these begin to shake, I'll do so. Well, I shall see you both
+at dinner, whatever happens."
+
+"That's Courtlandt," said Abbott, when his friend was gone. "You think
+he's in Singapore, the door opens and in he walks; never any letter or
+announcement. He arrives, that's all."
+
+"Strikes me," returned the other, polishing his glass, holding it up to
+the light, and then screwing it into his eye; "strikes me, he wasn't
+overanxious to have that dish of tea. Afraid of women?"
+
+"Afraid of women! Why, man, he backed two musical shows in the States a
+few years ago."
+
+"Musical comedies?" The glass dropped from the colonel's eye. "That's
+going tigers one better. Forty women, all waiting to be stars, and solemn
+Courtlandt wandering among them as the god of amity! Afraid of them! Of
+course he is. Who wouldn't be, after such an experience?" The colonel
+laughed. "Never had any serious affair?"
+
+"Never heard of one. There was some tommy-rot about a Mahommedan princess
+in the newspapers; but I knew there was no truth in that. Queer fellow! He
+wouldn't take the trouble to deny it."
+
+"Never showed any signs of being a woman-hater?"
+
+"No, not the least in the world. But to shy at meeting Nora Harrigan...."
+
+"There you have it; the privilege of the gods. Perhaps he really has
+business in Menaggio. What'll we do with the other beggar?"
+
+"Knock his head off, if he bothers her."
+
+"Better turn the job over to Courtlandt, then. You're in the light-weight
+class, and Courtlandt is the best amateur for his weight I ever saw."
+
+"What, boxes?"
+
+"A tough 'un. I had a corporal who beat any one in Northern India.
+Courtlandt put on the gloves with him and had him begging in the third
+round."
+
+"I never knew that before. He's as full of surprises as a rummage bag."
+
+Courtlandt walked up the street leisurely, idly pausing now and then
+before the shop-windows. Apparently he had neither object nor destination;
+yet his mind was busy, so busy in fact that he looked at the various
+curios without truly seeing them at all. A delicate situation, which
+needed the lightest handling, confronted him. He must wait for an overt
+act, then he might proceed as he pleased. How really helpless he was! He
+could not force her hand because she held all the cards and he none. Yet
+he was determined this time to play the game to the end, even if the task
+was equal to all those of Hercules rolled into one, and none of the gods
+on his side.
+
+At the hotel he asked for his mail, and was given a formidable packet
+which, with a sigh of discontent, he slipped into a pocket, strolled out
+into the garden by the water, and sat down to read. To his surprise there
+was a note, without stamp or postmark. He opened it, mildly curious to
+learn who it was that had discovered his presence in Bellaggio so quickly.
+The envelope contained nothing more than a neatly folded bank-note for one
+hundred francs. He eyed it stupidly. What might this mean? He unfolded it
+and smoothed it out across his knee, and the haze of puzzlement drifted
+away. Three bars from _La Boheme_. He laughed. So the little lady of the
+Taverne Royale was in Bellaggio!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MARGUERITES AND EMERALDS
+
+
+From where he sat Courtlandt could see down the main thoroughfare of the
+pretty village. There were other streets, to be sure, but courtesy and
+good nature alone permitted this misapplication of title: they were merely
+a series of torturous enervating stairways of stone, up and down which
+noisy wooden sandals clattered all the day long. Over the entrances to the
+shops the proprietors were dropping the white and brown awnings for the
+day. Very few people shopped after luncheon. There were pleasanter
+pastimes, even for the women, contradictory as this may seem. By eleven
+o'clock Courtlandt had finished the reading of his mail, and was now ready
+to hunt for the little lady of the Taverne Royale. It was necessary to
+find her. The whereabouts of Flora Desimone was of vital importance. If
+she had not yet arrived, the presence of her friend presaged her ultimate
+arrival. The duke was a negligible quantity. It would have surprised
+Courtlandt could he have foreseen the drawing together of the ends of the
+circle and the relative concernment of the duke in knotting those ends.
+The labors of Hercules had never entailed the subjugation of two
+temperamental women.
+
+He rose and proceeded on his quest. Before the photographer's shop he saw
+a dachel wrathfully challenging a cat on the balcony of the adjoining
+building. The cat knew, and so did the puppy, that it was all buncombe on
+the puppy's part: the usual European war-scare, in which one of the
+belligerent parties refused to come down because it wouldn't have been
+worth while, there being the usual Powers ready to intervene. Courtlandt
+did not bother about the cat; the puppy claimed his attention. He was very
+fond of dogs. So he reached down suddenly and put an end to the sharp
+challenge. The dachel struggled valiantly, for this breed of dog does not
+make friends easily.
+
+"I say, you little Dutchman, what's the row? I'm not going to hurt you.
+Funny little codger! To whom do you belong?" He turned the collar around,
+read the inscription, and gently put the puppy on the ground.
+
+Nora Harrigan!
+
+His immediate impulse was to walk on, but somehow this impulse refused to
+act on his sense of locomotion. He waited, dully wondering what was going
+to happen when she came out. He had left her room that night in Paris,
+vowing that he would never intrude on her again. With the recollection of
+that bullet whizzing past his ear, he had been convinced that the play was
+done. True, she had testified that it had been accidental, but never would
+he forget the look in her eyes. It was not pleasant to remember. And
+still, as the needle is drawn by the magnet, here he was, in Bellaggio. He
+cursed his weakness. From Brescia he had made up his mind to go directly
+to Berlin. Before he realized how useless it was to battle against these
+invisible forces, he was in Milan, booking for Como. At Como he had
+remained a week (the dullest week he had ever known); at the Villa d'Este
+three days; at Cadenabbia one day. It had all the characteristics of a
+tug-of-war, and irresistibly he was drawn over the line. The night before
+he had taken the evening boat across the lake. And Herr Rosen had been his
+fellow-passenger! The goddess of chance threw whimsical coils around her
+victims. To find himself shoulder to shoulder, as it were, with this man
+who, perhaps more than all other incentives, had urged him to return again
+to civilization; this man who had aroused in his heart a sentiment that
+hitherto he had not believed existed,--jealousy.... Ah, voices! He stepped
+aside quickly.
+
+"Fritz, Fritz; where are you?"
+
+And a moment later she came out, followed by her mother ... and the little
+lady of the Taverne Royale. Did Nora see him? It was impossible to tell.
+She simply stooped and gathered up the puppy, who struggled determinedly
+to lick her face. Courtlandt lifted his hat. It was in nowise offered as
+an act of recognition; it was merely the mechanical courtesy that a man
+generally pays to any woman in whose path he chances to be for the breath
+of a second. The three women in immaculate white, hatless, but with
+sunshades, passed on down the street.
+
+Courtlandt went into the shop, rather blindly. He stared at the shelves of
+paper-covered novels and post-cards, and when the polite proprietor
+offered him a dozen of the latter, he accepted them without comment.
+Indeed, he put them into a pocket and turned to go out.
+
+"Pardon, sir; those are one franc the dozen."
+
+"Ah, yes." Courtlandt pulled out some silver. It was going to be terribly
+difficult, and his heart was heavy with evil presages. He had seen
+Celeste. He understood the amusing if mysterious comedy now. Nora had
+recognized him and had sent her friend to follow him and learn where he
+went. And he, poor fool of a blunderer, with the best intentions in the
+world, he had gone at once to the Calabrian's apartment! It was damnable
+of fate. He had righted nothing. In truth, he was deeper than ever in the
+quicksands of misunderstanding. He shut his teeth with a click. How neatly
+she had waylaid and trapped him!
+
+"Those are from Lucerne, sir."
+
+"What?" bewildered.
+
+"Those wood-carvings which you are touching with your cane, sir."
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt, apologetically, and gained the open.
+He threw a quick glance down the street. There they were. He proceeded in
+the opposite direction, toward his hotel. Tea at the colonel's? Scarcely.
+He would go to Menaggio with the hotel motor-boat and return so late that
+he would arrive only in time for dinner. He was not going to meet the
+enemy over tea-cups, at least, not under the soldier's tactless
+supervision. He must find a smoother way, calculated, under the rose, but
+seemingly accidental. It was something to ponder over.
+
+"Nora, who was that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan.
+
+"Who was who?" countered Nora, snuggling the wriggling dachel under her
+arm and throwing the sunshade across her shoulder.
+
+"That fine-looking young man who stood by the door as we passed out. He
+raised his hat."
+
+"Oh, bother! I was looking at Fritz."
+
+Celeste searched her face keenly, but Nora looked on ahead serenely; not a
+quiver of an eyelid, not the slightest change in color or expression.
+
+"She did not see him!" thought the musician, curiously stirred. She knew
+her friend tolerably well. It would have been impossible for her to have
+seen that man and not to have given evidence of the fact.
+
+In short, Nora had spoken truthfully. She had seen a man dressed in white
+flannels and canvas shoes, but her eyes had not traveled so far as his
+face.
+
+"Mother, we must have some of those silk blankets. They're so comfy to lie
+on."
+
+"You never see anything except when you want to," complained Mrs.
+Harrigan.
+
+"It saves a deal of trouble. I don't want to go to the colonel's this
+afternoon. He always has some frump to pour tea and ask fool questions."
+
+"The frump, as you call her, is usually a countess or a duchess," with
+asperity.
+
+"Fiddlesticks! Nobility makes a specialty of frumps; it is one of the
+species of the caste. That's why I shall never marry a title. I wish
+neither to visit nor to entertain frumps. Frump,--the word calls up the
+exact picture; frump and fatuity. Oh, I'll go, but I'd rather stay on my
+balcony and read a good book."
+
+"My dear," patiently, "the colonel is one of the social laws on Como. His
+sister is the wife of an earl. You must not offend him. His Sundays are
+the most exclusive on the lake."
+
+"The word exclusive should be properly applied to those in jail. The
+social ladder, the social ladder! Don't you know, mother mine, that every
+rung is sawn by envy and greed, and that those who climb highest fall
+farthest?"
+
+"You are quoting the padre."
+
+"The padre could give lessons in kindness and shrewdness to any other man
+I know. If he hadn't chosen the gown he would have been a poet. I love the
+padre, with his snow-white hair and his withered leathery face. He was
+with the old king all through the freeing of Italy."
+
+"And had a fine time explaining to the Vatican," sniffed the mother.
+
+"Some day I am going to confess to him."
+
+"Confess what?" asked Celeste.
+
+"That I have wished the Calabrian's voice would fail her some night in
+_Carmen_; that I am wearing shoes a size too small for me; that I should
+like to be rich without labor; that I am sometimes ashamed of my calling;
+that I should have liked to see father win a prizefight; oh, and a
+thousand other horrid, hateful things."
+
+"I wish to gracious that you would fall violently in love."
+
+"Spiteful! There are those lovely lace collars; come on."
+
+"You are hopeless," was the mother's conviction.
+
+"In some things, yes," gravely.
+
+"Some day," said Celeste, who was a privileged person in the Harrigan
+family, "some day I am going to teach you two how to play at foils. It
+would be splendid. And then you could always settle your differences with
+bouts."
+
+"Better than that," retorted Nora. "I'll ask father to lend us his old set
+of gloves. He carries them around as if they were a fetish. I believe
+they're in the bottom of one of my steamer trunks."
+
+"Nora!" Mrs. Harrigan was not pleased with this jest. Any reference to the
+past was distasteful to her ears. She, too, went regularly to confession,
+but up to the present time had omitted the sin of being ashamed of her
+former poverty and environment. She had taken it for granted that upon her
+shoulders rested the future good fortune of the Harrigans. They had money;
+all that was required was social recognition. She found it a battle within
+a battle. The good-natured reluctance of her husband and the careless
+indifference of her daughter were as hard to combat as the icy aloofness
+of those stars into whose orbit she was pluckily striving to steer the
+family bark. It never entered her scheming head that the reluctance of the
+father and the indifference of the daughter were the very conditions that
+drew society nearward, for the simple novelty of finding two persons who
+did not care in the least whether they were recognized or not.
+
+The trio invaded the lace shop, and Nora and her mother agreed to bury the
+war-hatchet in their mutual love of Venetian and Florentine fineries.
+Celeste pretended to be interested, but in truth she was endeavoring to
+piece together the few facts she had been able to extract from the rubbish
+of conjecture. Courtlandt and Nora had met somewhere before the beginning
+of her own intimacy with the singer. They certainly must have formed an
+extraordinary friendship, for Nora's subsequent vindictiveness could not
+possibly have arisen out of the ruins of an indifferent acquaintance. Nora
+could not be moved from the belief that Courtlandt had abducted her; but
+Celeste was now positive that he had had nothing to do with it. He did not
+impress her as a man who would abduct a woman, hold her prisoner for five
+days, and then liberate her without coming near her to press his vantage,
+rightly or wrongly. He was too strong a personage. He was here in
+Bellaggio, and attached to that could be but one significance.
+
+Why, then, had he not spoken at the photographer's? Perhaps she herself
+had been sufficient reason for his dumbness. He had recognized her, and
+the espionage of the night in Paris was no longer a mystery. Nora had sent
+her to follow him; why then all this bitterness, since she had not been
+told where he had gone? Had Nora forgotten to inquire? It was possible
+that, in view of the startling events which had followed, the matter had
+slipped entirely from Nora's mind. Many a time she had resorted to that
+subtle guile known only of woman to trap the singer. But Nora never
+stumbled, and her smile was as firm a barrier to her thoughts, her
+secrets, as a stone wall would have been.
+
+Celeste had known about Herr Rosen's infatuation. Aside from that which
+concerned this stranger, Nora had withheld no real secret from her. Herr
+Rosen had been given his conge, but that did not prevent him from sending
+fabulous baskets of flowers and gems, all of which were calmly returned
+without comment. Whenever a jewel found its way into a bouquet of flowers
+from an unknown, Nora would promptly convert it into money and give the
+proceeds to some charity. It afforded the singer no small amusement to
+show her scorn in this fashion. Yes, there was one other little mystery
+which she did not confide to her friends. Once a month, wherever she
+chanced to be singing, there arrived a simple bouquet of marguerites, in
+the heart of which they would invariably find an uncut emerald. Nora never
+disposed of these emeralds. The flowers she would leave in her
+dressing-room; the emerald would disappear. Was there some one else?
+
+Mrs. Harrigan took the omnibus up to the villa. It was generally too much
+of a climb for her. Nora and Celeste preferred to walk.
+
+"What am I going to do, Celeste? He is here, and over at Cadenabbia last
+night I had a terrible scene with him. In heaven's name, why can't they
+let me be?"
+
+"Herr Rosen?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why not speak to your father?"
+
+"And have a fisticuff which would appear in every newspaper in the world?
+No, thank you. There is enough scandalous stuff being printed as it is,
+and I am helpless to prevent it."
+
+As the climb starts off stiffly, there wasn't much inclination in either
+to talk. Celeste had come to one decision, and that was that Nora should
+find out Courtlandt's presence here in Bellaggio herself. When they
+arrived at the villa gates, Celeste offered a suggestion.
+
+"You could easily stop all this rumor and annoyance."
+
+"And, pray, how?"
+
+"Marry."
+
+"I prefer the rumor and annoyance. I hate men. Most of them are beasts."
+
+"You are prejudiced."
+
+If Celeste expected Nora to reply that she had reason, she was
+disappointed, Nora quickened her pace, that was all.
+
+At luncheon Harrigan innocently threw a bomb into camp by inquiring: "Say,
+Nora, who's this chump Herr Rosen? He was up here last night and again
+this morning. I was going to offer him the cot on the balcony, but I
+thought I'd consult you first."
+
+"Herr Rosen!" exclaimed Mrs. Harrigan, a flutter in her throat. "Why,
+that's...."
+
+"A charming young man who wishes me to sign a contract to sing to him in
+perpetuity," interrupted Nora, pressing her mother's foot warningly.
+
+"Well, why don't you marry him?" laughed Harrigan. "There's worse things
+than frankfurters and sauerkraut."
+
+"Not that I can think of just now," returned Nora.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+AT THE CRATER'S EDGE
+
+
+Harrigan declared that he would not go over to Caxley-Webster's to tea.
+
+"But I've promised for you!" expostulated his wife. "And he admires you
+so."
+
+"Bosh! You women can gad about as much as you please, but I'm in wrong
+when it comes to eating sponge-cake and knuckling my knees under a dinky
+willow table. And then he always has some frump...."
+
+"Frump!" repeated Nora, delighted.
+
+"Frump inspecting me through a pair of eye-glasses as if I was a new kind
+of an animal. It's all right, Molly, when there's a big push. They don't
+notice me much then. But these six by eight parties have me covering."
+
+"Very well, dad," agreed Nora, who saw the storm gathering in her mother's
+eyes. "You can stay home and read the book mother got you yesterday. Where
+are you now?"
+
+"Page one," grinning.
+
+Mrs. Harrigan wisely refrained from continuing the debate. James had made
+up his mind not to go. If the colonel repeated his invitation to dinner,
+where there would be only the men folk, why, he'd gladly enough go to
+that.
+
+The women departed at three, for there was to be tennis until five
+o'clock. When Harrigan was reasonably sure that they were half the
+distance to the colonel's villa, he put on his hat, whistled to the
+dachel, and together they took the path to the village.
+
+"We'd look fine drinking tea, wouldn't we, old scout?" reaching down and
+tweaking the dog's velvet ears. "They don't understand, and it's no use
+trying to make 'em. Nora gets as near as possible. Herr Rosen! Now, where
+have I seen his phiz before? I wish I had a real man to talk to. Abbott
+sulks half the time, and the Barone can't get a joke unless it's driven in
+with a mallet. On your way, old scout, or I'll step on you. Let's see if
+we can hoof it down to the village at a trot without taking the count."
+
+He had but two errands to execute. The first was accomplished expeditely
+in the little tobacconist's shop under the arcade, where the purchase of a
+box of Minghetti cigars promised later solace. These cigars were cheap,
+but Harrigan had a novel way of adding to their strength if not to their
+aroma. He possessed a meerschaum cigar-holder, in which he had smoked
+perfectos for some years. The smoke of an ordinary cigar became that of a
+regalia by the time it passed through the nicotine-soaked clay into the
+amber mouthpiece. He had kept secret the result of this trifling
+scientific research. It wouldn't have been politic to disclose it to
+Molly. The second errand took time and deliberation. He studied the long
+shelves of Tauchnitz. Having red corpuscles in superabundance, he
+naturally preferred them in his literature, in the same quantity.
+
+"Ever read this?" asked a pleasant voice from behind, indicating _Rodney
+Stone_ with the ferrule of a cane.
+
+Harrigan looked up. "No. What's it about?"
+
+"Best story of the London prize-ring ever written. You're Mr. Harrigan,
+aren't you?"
+
+"Yes," diffidently.
+
+"My name is Edward Courtlandt. If I am not mistaken, you were a great
+friend of my father's."
+
+"Are you Dick Courtlandt's boy?"
+
+"I am."
+
+"Well, say!" Harrigan held out his hand and was gratified to encounter a
+man's grasp. "So you're Edward Courtlandt? Now, what do you think of that!
+Why, your father was the best sportsman I ever met. Square as they make
+'em. Not a kink anywhere in his make-up. He used to come to the bouts in
+his plug hat and dress suit; always had a seat by the ring. I could hear
+him tap with his cane when there happened to be a bit of pretty sparring.
+He was no slouch himself when it came to putting on the mitts. Many's the
+time I've had a round or two with him in my old gymnasium. Well, well!
+It's good to see a man again. I've seen your name in the papers, but I
+never knew you was Dick's boy. You've got an old grizzly's head in your
+dining-room at home. Some day I'll tell you how it got there, when you're
+not in a hurry. I went out to Montana for a scrap, and your dad went
+along. After the mill was over, we went hunting. Come up to the villa and
+meet the folks.... Hang it, I forgot. They're up to Caxley-Webster's to
+tea; piffle water and sticky sponge-cake. I want you to meet my wife and
+daughter."
+
+"I should be very pleased to meet them." So this was Nora's father? "Won't
+you come along with me to the colonel's?" with sudden inspiration. Here
+was an opportunity not to be thrust aside lightly.
+
+"Why, I just begged off. They won't be expecting me now."
+
+"All the better. I'd rather have you introduce me to your family than to
+have the colonel. As a matter of fact, I told him I couldn't get up. But I
+changed my mind. Come along." The first rift in the storm-packed clouds;
+and to meet her through the kindly offices of this amiable man who was her
+father!
+
+"But the pup and the cigar box?"
+
+"Send them up."
+
+Harrigan eyed his own spotless flannels and compared them with the
+other's. What was good enough for the son of a millionaire was certainly
+good enough for him. Besides, it would be a bully good joke on Nora and
+Molly.
+
+"You're on!" he cried. Here was a lark. He turned the dog and the
+purchases over to the proprietor, who promised that they should arrive
+instantly at the villa.
+
+Then the two men sought the quay to engage a boat. They walked shoulder to
+shoulder, flat-backed, with supple swinging limbs, tanned faces and clear
+animated eyes. Perhaps Harrigan was ten or fifteen pounds heavier, but the
+difference would have been noticeable only upon the scales.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Padre, my shoe pinches," said Nora with a pucker between her eyes.
+
+"My child," replied the padre, "never carry your vanity into a shoemaker's
+shop. The happiest man is he who walks in loose shoes."
+
+"If they are his own, and not inherited," quickly.
+
+The padre laughed quietly. He was very fond of this new-found daughter of
+his. Her spontaneity, her blooming beauty, her careless observation of
+convention, her independence, had captivated him. Sometimes he believed
+that he thoroughly understood her, when all at once he would find himself
+mentally peering into some dark corner into which the penetrating light of
+his usually swift deduction could throw no glimmer. She possessed the sins
+of the butterfly and the latent possibilities of a Judith. She was the
+most interesting feminine problem he had in his long years encountered.
+The mother mildly amused him, for he could discern the character that she
+was sedulously striving to batten down beneath inane social usages and
+formalities. Some day she would revert to the original type, and then he
+would be glad to renew the acquaintance. In rather a shamefaced way (a
+sensation he could not quite analyze) he loved the father. The pugilist
+will always embarrass the scholar and excite a negligible envy; for
+physical perfection is the most envied of all nature's gifts. The padre
+was short, thickset, and inclined toward stoutness in the region of the
+middle button of his cassock. But he was active enough for all purposes.
+
+"I have had many wicked thoughts lately," resumed Nora, turning her gaze
+away from the tennis players. She and the padre were sitting on the lower
+steps of the veranda. The others were loitering by the nets.
+
+"The old plaint disturbs you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Can you not cast it out wholly?"
+
+"Hate has many tentacles."
+
+"What produces that condition of mind?" meditatively. "Is it because we
+have wronged somebody?"
+
+"Or because somebody has wronged us?"
+
+"Or misjudged us, by us have been misjudged?" softly.
+
+"Good gracious!" exclaimed Nora, springing up.
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"Father is coming up the path!"
+
+"I am glad to see him. But I do not recollect having seen the face of the
+man with him."
+
+The lithe eagerness went out of Nora's body instantly. Everything seemed
+to grow cold, as if she had become enveloped in one of those fogs that
+suddenly blow down menacingly from hidden icebergs. Fortunately the
+inquiring eyes of the padre were not directed at her. He was here, not a
+dozen yards away, coming toward her, her father's arm in his! After what
+had passed he had dared! It was not often that Nora Harrigan was subjected
+to a touch of vertigo, but at this moment she felt that if she stirred
+ever so little she must fall. The stock whence she had sprung, however,
+was aggressive and fearless; and by the time Courtlandt had reached the
+outer markings of the courts, Nora was physically herself again. The
+advantage of the meeting would be his. That was indubitable. Any mistake
+on her part would be playing into his hands. If only she had known!
+
+"Let us go and meet them, Padre," she said quietly. With her father, her
+mother and the others, the inevitable introduction would be shorn of its
+danger. What Celeste might think was of no great importance; Celeste had
+been tried and her loyalty proven. Where had her father met him, and what
+diabolical stroke of fate had made him bring this man up here?
+
+"Nora!" It was her mother calling.
+
+She put her arm through the padre's, and they went forward leisurely.
+
+"Why, father, I thought you weren't coming," said Nora. Her voice was
+without a tremor.
+
+The padre hadn't the least idea that a volcano might at any moment open up
+at his side. He smiled benignly.
+
+"Changed my mind," said Harrigan. "Nora, Molly, I want you to meet Mr.
+Courtlandt. I don't know that I ever said anything about it, but his
+father was one of the best friends I ever had. He was on his way up here,
+so I came along with him." Then Harrigan paused and looked about him
+embarrassedly. There were half a dozen unfamiliar faces.
+
+The colonel quickly stepped into the breach, and the introduction of
+Courtlandt became general. Nora bowed, and became at once engaged in an
+animated conversation with the Barone, who had just finished his set
+victoriously.
+
+The padre's benign smile slowly faded.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+DICK COURTLANDT'S BOY
+
+
+Presently the servants brought out the tea-service. The silent
+dark-skinned Sikh, with his fierce curling whiskers, his flashing eyes,
+the semi-military, semi-oriental garb, topped by an enormous brown turban,
+claimed Courtlandt's attention; and it may be added that he was glad to
+have something to look at unembarrassedly. He wanted to catch the Indian's
+eye, but Rao had no glances to waste; he was concerned with the immediate
+business of superintending the service.
+
+Courtlandt had never been a man to surrender to impulse. It had been his
+habit to form a purpose and then to go about the fulfilling of it. During
+the last four or five months, however, he had swung about like a
+weather-cock in April, the victim of a thousand and one impulses. That
+morning he would have laughed had any one prophesied his presence here. He
+had fought against the inclination strongly enough at first, but as hour
+after hour went by his resolution weakened. His meeting Harrigan had been
+a stroke of luck. Still, he would have come anyhow.
+
+"Oh, yes; I am very fond of Como," he found himself replying mechanically
+to Mrs. Harrigan. He gave up Rao as hopeless so far as coming to his
+rescue was concerned. He began, despite his repugnance, to watch Nora.
+
+"It is always a little cold in the higher Alps."
+
+"I am very fond of climbing myself." Nora was laughing and jesting with
+one of the English tennis players. Not for nothing had she been called a
+great actress, he thought. It was not humanly possible that her heart was
+under better control than his own; and yet his was pounding against his
+ribs in a manner extremely disquieting. Never must he be left alone with
+her; always must it be under circumstances like this, with people about,
+and the more closely about the better. A game like this was far more
+exciting than tiger-hunting. It was going to assume the characteristics of
+a duel in which he, being the more advantageously placed, would succeed
+eventually in wearing down her guard. Hereafter, wherever she went, there
+must he also go: St. Petersburg or New York or London. And by and by the
+reporters would hear of it, and there would be rumors which he would
+neither deny nor affirm. Sport! He smiled, and the blood seemed to recede
+from his throat and his heart-beats to grow normal.
+
+And all the while Mrs. Harrigan was talking and he was replying; and she
+thought him charming, whereas he had not formed any opinion of her at all,
+nor later could remember a word of the conversation.
+
+"Tea!" bawled the colonel. The verb had its distinct uses, and one
+generally applied it to the colonel's outbursts without being depressed by
+the feeling of inelegance.
+
+There is invariably some slight hesitation in the selection of chairs
+around a tea-table in the open. Nora scored the first point of this
+singular battle by seizing the padre on one side and her father on the
+other and pulling them down on the bench. It was adroit in two ways: it
+put Courtlandt at a safe distance and in nowise offended the younger men,
+who could find no cause for alarm in the close proximity of her two
+fathers, the spiritual and the physical. A few moments later Courtlandt
+saw a smile of malice part her lips, for he found himself between Celeste
+and the inevitable frump.
+
+"Touched!" he murmured, for he was a thorough sportsman and appreciated a
+good point even when taken by his opponent.
+
+"I never saw anything like it," whispered Mrs. Harrigan into the colonel's
+ear.
+
+"Saw what?" he asked.
+
+"Mr. Courtlandt can't keep his eyes off of Nora."
+
+"I say!" The colonel adjusted his eye-glass, not that he expected to see
+more clearly by doing so, but because habit had long since turned an
+affectation into a movement wholly mechanical. "Well, who can blame him?
+Gad! if I were only twenty-five or thereabouts."
+
+Mrs. Harrigan did not encourage this regret. The colonel had never been a
+rich man. On the other hand, this Edward Courtlandt was very rich; he was
+young; and he had the entree to the best families in Europe, which was
+greater in her eyes than either youth or riches. Between sips of tea she
+builded a fine castle in Spain.
+
+Abbott and the Barone carried their cups and cakes over to the bench and
+sat down on the grass, Turkish-wise. Both simultaneously offered their
+cakes, and Nora took a ladyfinger from each. Abbott laughed and the Barone
+smiled.
+
+"Oh, daddy mine!" sighed Nora drolly.
+
+"Huh?"
+
+"Don't let mother see those shoes."
+
+"What's the matter with 'em? Everybody's wearing the same."
+
+"Yes. But I don't see how you manage to do it. One shoe-string is virgin
+white and the other is pagan brown."
+
+"I've got nine pairs of shoes, and yet there's always something the
+matter," ruefully. "I never noticed when I put them on. Besides, I wasn't
+coming."
+
+"That's no defense. But rest easy. I'll be as secret as the grave."
+
+"Now, I for one would never have noticed if you hadn't called my
+attention," said the padre, stealing a glance at his own immaculate
+patent-leathers.
+
+"Ah, Padre, that wife of mine has eyes like a pilot-fish. I'm in for it."
+
+"Borrow one from the colonel before you go home," suggested Abbott.
+
+"That's not half bad," gratefully.
+
+Harrigan began to recount the trials of forgetfulness.
+
+Slyly from the corner of her eye Nora looked at Courtlandt, who was at
+that moment staring thoughtfully into his tea-cup and stirring the
+contents industriously. His face was a little thinner, but aside from that
+he had changed scarcely at all; and then, because these two years had left
+so little mark upon his face, a tinge of unreasonable anger ran over her.
+"Men have died and worms have eaten them," she thought cynically. Perhaps
+the air between them was sufficiently charged with electricity to convey
+the impression across the intervening space; for his eyes came up quickly,
+but not quickly enough to catch her. She dropped her glance to Abbott,
+transferred it to the Barone, and finally let it rest on her father's
+face. Four handsomer men she had never seen.
+
+"You never told me you knew Courtlandt," said Harrigan, speaking to
+Abbott.
+
+"Just happened that way. We went to school together. When I was little
+they used to make me wear curls and wide collars. Many's the time
+Courtlandt walloped the school bullies for mussing me up. I don't see him
+much these days. Once in a while he walks in. That's all. Always seems to
+know where his friends are, but none ever knows where he is."
+
+Abbott proceeded to elaborate some of his friend's exploits. Nora heard,
+as if from afar. Vaguely she caught a glimmer of what the contest was
+going to be. She could see only a little way; still, she was
+optimistically confident of the result. She was ready. Indeed, now that
+the shock of the meeting was past, she found herself not at all averse to
+a conflict. It would be something to let go the pent-up wrath of two
+years. Never would she speak to him directly; never would she permit him
+to be alone with her; never would she miss a chance to twist his heart, to
+humiliate him, to snub him. From her point of view, whatever game he chose
+to play would be a losing one. She was genuinely surprised to learn how
+eager she was for the game to begin so that she might gage his strength.
+
+"So I have heard," she was dimly conscious of saying.
+
+"Didn't know you knew," said Abbott.
+
+"Knew what?" rousing herself.
+
+"That Courtlandt nearly lost his life in the eighties."
+
+"In the eighties!" dismayed at her slip.
+
+"Latitudes. Polar expedition."
+
+"Heavens! I was miles away."
+
+The padre took her hand in his own and began to pat it softly. It was the
+nearest he dared approach in the way of suggesting caution. He alone of
+them all knew.
+
+"Oh, I believe I read something about it in the newspapers."
+
+"Five years ago." Abbott set down his tea-cup. "He's the bravest man I
+know. He's rather a friendless man, besides. Horror of money. Thinks every
+one is after him for that. Tries to throw it away; but the income piles up
+too quickly. See that Indian, passing the cakes? Wouldn't think it, would
+you, that Courtlandt carried him on his back for five miles! The Indian
+had fallen afoul a wounded tiger, and the beaters were miles off. I've
+been watching. They haven't even spoken to each other. Courtlandt's
+probably forgotten all about the incident, and the Indian would die rather
+than embarrass his savior before strangers."
+
+"Your friend, then, is quite a hero?"
+
+What was the matter with Nora's voice? Abbott looked at her wonderingly.
+The tone was hard and unmusical.
+
+"He couldn't be anything else, being Dick Courtlandt's boy," volunteered
+Harrigan, with enthusiasm. "It runs in the family."
+
+"It seems strange," observed Nora, "that I never heard you mention that
+you knew a Mr. Courtlandt."
+
+"Why, Nora, there's a lot of things nobody mentions unless chance brings
+them up. Courtlandt--the one I knew--has been dead these sixteen years. If
+I knew he had had a son, I'd forgotten all about it. The only graveyard
+isn't on the hillside; there's one under everybody's thatch."
+
+The padre nodded approvingly.
+
+Nora was not particularly pleased with this phase in the play. Courtlandt
+would find a valiant champion in her father, who would blunder in when
+some fine passes were being exchanged. And she could not tell him; she
+would have cut out her tongue rather. It was true that she held the
+principal cards in the game, but she could not table them and claim the
+tricks as in bridge. She must patiently wait for him to lead, and he, as
+she very well knew, would lead a card at a time, and then only after
+mature deliberation. From the exhilaration which attended the prospect of
+battle she passed into a state of depression, which lasted the rest of the
+afternoon.
+
+"Will you forgive me?" asked Celeste of Courtlandt. Never had she felt
+more ill at ease. For a full ten minutes he chatted pleasantly, with never
+the slightest hint regarding the episode in Paris. She could stand it no
+longer. "Will you forgive me?"
+
+"For what?"
+
+"That night in Paris."
+
+"Do not permit that to bother you in the least. I was never going to
+recall it."
+
+"Was it so unpleasant?"
+
+"On the contrary, I was much amused."
+
+"I did not tell you the truth."
+
+"So I have found out."
+
+"I do not believe that it was you," impulsively.
+
+"Thanks. I had nothing to do with Miss Harrigan's imprisonment."
+
+"Do you feel that you could make a confidant of me?"
+
+He smiled. "My dear Miss Fournier, I have come to the place where I
+distrust even myself."
+
+"Forgive my curiosity!"
+
+Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. "I am glad to see you again."
+
+"Ah, Sahib!"
+
+The little Frenchwoman was torn with curiosity and repression. She wanted
+to know what causes had produced this unusual drama which was unfolding
+before her eyes. To be presented with effects which had no apparent causes
+was maddening. It was not dissimilar to being taken to the second act of a
+modern problem play and being forced to leave before the curtain rose upon
+the third act. She had laid all the traps her intelligent mind could
+invent; and Nora had calmly walked over them or around. Nora's mind was
+Celtic: French in its adroitness and Irish in its watchfulness and
+tenacity. And now she had set her arts of persuasion in motion (aided by a
+piquant beauty) to lift a corner of the veil from this man's heart.
+Checkmate!
+
+"I should like to help you," she said, truthfully.
+
+"In what way?"
+
+It was useless, but she continued: "She does not know that you went to
+Flora Desimone's that night."
+
+"And yet she sent you to watch me."
+
+"But so many things happened afterward that she evidently forgot."
+
+"That is possible."
+
+"I was asleep when the pistol went off. Oh, you must believe that it was
+purely accidental! She was in a terrible state until morning. What if she
+had killed you, what if she had killed you! She seemed to hark upon that
+phrase."
+
+Courtlandt turned a sober face toward her. She might be sincere, and then
+again she might be playing the first game over again, in a different
+guise. "It would have been embarrassing if the bullet had found its mark."
+He met her eyes squarely, and she saw that his were totally free from
+surprise or agitation or interest.
+
+"Do you play chess?" she asked, divertingly.
+
+"Chess? I am very fond of that game."
+
+"So I should judge," dryly. "I suppose you look upon me as a meddler.
+Perhaps I am; but I have nothing but good will toward you; and Nora would
+be very angry if she knew that I was discussing her affairs with you. But
+I love her and want to make her happy."
+
+"That seems to be the ambition of all the young men, at any rate."
+
+Jealousy? But the smile baffled her. "Will you be here long?"
+
+"It depends."
+
+"Upon Nora?" persistently.
+
+"The weather."
+
+"You are hopeless."
+
+"No; on the contrary, I am the most optimistic man in the world."
+
+She looked into this reply very carefully. If he had hopes of winning Nora
+Harrigan, optimistic he certainly must be. Perhaps it was not optimism.
+Rather might it not be a purpose made of steel, bendable but not
+breakable, reinforced by a knowledge of conditions which she would have
+given worlds to learn?
+
+"Is she not beautiful?"
+
+"I am not a poet."
+
+"Wait a moment," her eyes widening. "I believe you know who did commit
+that outrage."
+
+For the first time he frowned.
+
+"Very well; I promise not to ask any more questions."
+
+"That would be very agreeable to me." Then, as if he realized the rudeness
+of his reply, he added: "Before I leave I will tell you all you wish to
+know, upon one condition."
+
+"Tell it!"
+
+"You will say nothing to any one, you will question neither Miss Harrigan
+nor myself, nor permit yourself to be questioned."
+
+"I agree."
+
+"And now, will you not take me over to your friends?"
+
+"Over there?" aghast.
+
+"Why, yes. We can sit upon the grass. They seem to be having a good
+time."
+
+What a man! Take him over, into the enemy's camp? Nothing would be more
+agreeable to her. Who would be the stronger, Nora or this provoking man?
+
+So they crossed over and joined the group. The padre smiled. It was a
+situation such as he loved to study: a strong man and a strong woman, at
+war. But nothing happened; not a ripple anywhere to disclose the agitation
+beneath. The man laughed and the woman laughed, but they spoke not to each
+other, nor looked once into each other's eyes.
+
+The sun was dropping toward the western tops. The guests were leaving by
+twos and threes. The colonel had prevailed upon his dinner-guests not to
+bother about going back to the village to dress, but to dine in the
+clothes they wore. Finally, none remained but Harrigan, Abbott, the
+Barone, the padre and Courtlandt. And they talked noisily and agreeably
+concerning man-affairs until Rao gravely announced that dinner was
+served.
+
+It was only then, during the lull which followed, that light was shed upon
+the puzzle which had been subconsciously stirring Harrigan's mind: Nora
+had not once spoken to the son of his old friend.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+EVERYTHING BUT THE TRUTH
+
+
+"I don't see why the colonel didn't invite some of the ladies," Mrs.
+Harrigan complained.
+
+"It's a man-party. He's giving it to please himself. And I do not blame
+him. The women about here treat him abominably. They come at all times of
+the day and night, use his card-room, order his servants about, drink his
+whisky and smoke his cigarettes, and generally invite themselves to
+luncheon and tea and dinner. And then, when they are ready to go back to
+their villas or hotel, take his motor-boat without a thank-you. The
+colonel has about three thousand pounds outside his half-pay, and they are
+all crazy to marry him because his sister is a countess. As a bachelor he
+can live like a prince, but as a married man he would have to dig. He told
+me that if he had been born Adam, he'd have climbed over Eden's walls long
+before the Angel of the Flaming Sword paddled him out. Says he's always
+going to be a bachelor, unless I take pity on him," mischievously.
+
+"Has he...?" in horrified tones.
+
+"About three times a visit," Nora admitted; "but I told him that I'd be a
+daughter, a cousin, or a niece to him, or even a grandchild. The latter
+presented too many complications, so we compromised on niece."
+
+"I wish I knew when you were serious and when you were fooling."
+
+"I am often as serious when I am fooling as I am foolish when I am
+serious...."
+
+"Nora, you will have me shrieking in a minute!" despaired the mother. "Did
+the colonel really propose to you?"
+
+"Only in fun."
+
+Celeste laughed and threw her arm around the mother's waist, less ample
+than substantial. "Don't you care! Nora is being pursued by little devils
+and is venting her spite on us."
+
+"There'll be too much Burgundy and tobacco, to say nothing of the awful
+stories."
+
+"With the good old padre there? Hardly," said Nora.
+
+Celeste was a French woman. "I confess that I like a good story that isn't
+vulgar. And none of them look like men who would stoop to vulgarity."
+
+"That's about all you know of men," declared Mrs. Harrigan.
+
+"I am willing to give them the benefit of a doubt."
+
+"Celeste," cried Nora, gaily, "I've an idea. Supposing you and I run back
+after dinner and hide in the card-room, which is right across from the
+dining-room? Then we can judge for ourselves."
+
+"Nora Harrigan!"
+
+"Molly Harrigan!" mimicked the incorrigible. "Mother mine, you must learn
+to recognize a jest."
+
+"Ah, but yours!"
+
+"Fine!" cried Celeste.
+
+As if to put a final period to the discussion, Nora began to hum audibly
+an aria from _Aida_.
+
+They engaged a carriage in the village and were driven up to the villa. On
+the way Mrs. Harrigan discussed the stranger, Edward Courtlandt. What a
+fine-looking young man he was, and how adventurous, how well-connected,
+how enormously rich, and what an excellent catch! She and Celeste--the one
+innocently and the other provocatively--continued the subject to the very
+doors of the villa. All the while Nora hummed softly.
+
+"What do you think of him, Nora?" the mother inquired.
+
+"Think of whom?"
+
+"This Mr. Courtlandt."
+
+"Oh, I didn't pay much attention to him," carelessly. But once alone with
+Celeste, she seized her by the arm, a little roughly. "Celeste, I love you
+better than any outsider I know. But if you ever discuss that man in my
+presence again, I shall cease to regard you even as an acquaintance. He
+has come here for the purpose of annoying me, though he promised the
+prefect in Paris never to annoy me again."
+
+"The prefect!"
+
+"Yes. The morning I left Versailles I met him in the private office of the
+prefect. He had powerful friends who aided him in establishing an alibi. I
+was only a woman, so I didn't count."
+
+"Nora, if I have meddled in any way," proudly, "it has been because I love
+you, and I see you unhappy. You have nearly killed me with your
+sphinx-like actions. You have never asked me the result of my spying for
+you that night. Spying is not one of my usual vocations, but I did it
+gladly for you."
+
+"You gave him my address?" coldly.
+
+"I did not. I convinced him that I had come at the behest of Flora
+Desimone. He demanded her address, which I gave him. If ever there was a
+man in a fine rage, it was he as he left me to go there. If he found out
+where we lived, the Calabrian assisted him, I spoke to him rather plainly
+at tea. He said that he had had nothing whatever to do with the abduction,
+and I believe him. I am positive that he is not the kind of man to go that
+far and not proceed to the end. And now, will you please tell Carlos to
+bring my dinner to my room?"
+
+The impulsive Irish heart was not to be resisted. Nora wanted to remain
+firm, but instead she swept Celeste into her arms. "Celeste, don't be
+angry! I am very, very unhappy."
+
+If the Irish heart was impulsive, the French one was no less so. Celeste
+wanted to cry out that she was unhappy, too.
+
+"Don't bother to dress! Just give your hair a pat or two. We'll all three
+dine on the balcony."
+
+Celeste flew to her room. Nora went over to the casement window and stared
+at the darkening mountains. When she turned toward the dresser she was
+astonished to find two bouquets. One was an enormous bunch of violets. The
+other was of simple marguerites. She picked up the violets. There was a
+card without a name; but the phrase scribbled across the face of it was
+sufficient. She flung the violets far down into the grape-vines below. The
+action was without anger, excited rather by a contemptuous indifference.
+As for the simple marguerites, she took them up gingerly. The arc these
+described through the air was even greater than that performed by the
+violets.
+
+"I'm a silly fool, I suppose," she murmured, turning back into the room
+again.
+
+It was ten o'clock when the colonel bade his guests good night as they
+tumbled out of his motor-boat. They were in more or less exuberant
+spirits; for the colonel knew how to do two things particularly well:
+order a dinner, and avoid the many traps set for him by scheming mamas and
+eligible widows. Abbott, the Barone and Harrigan, arm in arm, marched on
+ahead, whistling one tune in three different keys, while Courtlandt set
+the pace for the padre.
+
+All through the dinner the padre had watched and listened. Faces were
+generally books to him, and he read in this young man's face many things
+that pleased him. This was no night rover, a fool over wine and women, a
+spendthrift. He straightened out the lines and angles in a man's face as a
+skilled mathematician elucidates an intricate geometrical problem. He had
+arrived at the basic knowledge that men who live mostly out of doors are
+not volatile and irresponsible, but are more inclined to reserve, to
+reticence, to a philosophy which is broad and comprehensive and generous.
+They are generally men who are accomplishing things, and who let other
+people tell about it. Thus, the padre liked Courtlandt's voice, his
+engaging smile, his frank unwavering eyes; and he liked the leanness about
+the jaws, which was indicative of strength of character. In fact, he
+experienced a singular jubilation as he walked beside this silent man.
+
+"There has been a grave mistake somewhere," he mused aloud, thoughtfully.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said Courtlandt.
+
+"I beg yours. I was thinking aloud. How long have you known the
+Harrigans?"
+
+"The father and mother I never saw before to-day."
+
+"Then you have met Miss Harrigan?"
+
+"I have seen her on the stage."
+
+"I have the happiness of being her confessor."
+
+They proceeded quite as far as a hundred yards before Courtlandt
+volunteered: "That must be interesting."
+
+"She is a good Catholic."
+
+"Ah, yes; I recollect now."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"Oh, I haven't any religion such as requires my presence in churches.
+Don't misunderstand me! As a boy I was bred in the Episcopal Church; but I
+have traveled so much that I have drifted out of the circle. I find that
+when I am out in the open, in the heart of some great waste, such as a
+desert, a sea, the top of a mountain, I can see the greatness of the
+Omnipotent far more clearly and humbly than within the walls of a
+cathedral."
+
+"But God imposes obligations upon mankind. We have ceased to look upon the
+hermit as a holy man, but rather as one devoid of courage. It is not the
+stone and the stained windows; it is the text of our daily work, that the
+physical being of the Church represents."
+
+"I have not avoided any of my obligations." Courtlandt shifted his stick
+behind his back. "I was speaking of the church and the open field, as they
+impressed me."
+
+"You believe in the tenets of Christianity?"
+
+"Surely! A man must pin his faith and hope to something more stable than
+humanity."
+
+"I should like to convert you to my way of thinking," simply.
+
+"Nothing is impossible. Who knows?"
+
+The padre, as they continued onward, offered many openings, but the young
+man at his side refused to be drawn into any confidence. So the padre gave
+up, for the futility of his efforts became irksome. His own lips were
+sealed, so he could not ask point-blank the question that clamored at the
+tip of his tongue.
+
+"So you are Miss Harrigan's confessor?"
+
+"Does it strike you strangely?"
+
+"Merely the coincidence."
+
+"If I were not her confessor I should take the liberty of asking you some
+questions."
+
+"It is quite possible that I should decline to answer them."
+
+The padre shrugged. "It is patent to me that you will go about this affair
+in your own way. I wish you well."
+
+"Thank you. As Miss Harrigan's confessor you doubtless know everything but
+the truth."
+
+The padre laughed this time. The shops were closed. The open restaurants
+by the water-front held but few idlers. The padre admired the young man's
+independence. Most men would have hesitated not a second to pour the tale
+into his ears in hope of material assistance. The padre's admiration was
+equally proportioned with respect.
+
+"I leave you here," he said. "You will see me frequently at the villa."
+
+"I certainly shall be there frequently. Good night."
+
+Courtlandt quickened his pace which soon brought him alongside the others.
+They stopped in front of Abbott's pension, and he tried to persuade them
+to come up for a nightcap.
+
+"Nothing to it, my boy," said Harrigan. "I need no nightcap on top of
+cognac forty-eight years old. For me that's a whole suit of pajamas."
+
+"You come, Ted."
+
+"Abbey, I wouldn't climb those stairs for a bottle of Horace's Falernian,
+served on Seneca's famous citron table."
+
+"Not a friend in the world," Abbott lamented.
+
+Laughingly they hustled him into the hallway and fled. Then Courtlandt
+went his way alone. He slept with the dubious satisfaction that the first
+day had not gone badly. The wedge had been entered. It remained to be seen
+if it could be dislodged.
+
+Harrigan was in a happy temper. He kissed his wife and chucked Nora under
+the chin. And then Mrs. Harrigan launched the thunderbolt which, having
+been held on the leash for several hours, had, for all of that, lost none
+of its ability to blight and scorch.
+
+"James, you are about as hopeless a man as ever was born. You all but
+disgraced us this afternoon."
+
+"Mother!"
+
+"Me?" cried the bewildered Harrigan.
+
+"Look at those tennis shoes; one white string and one brown one. It's
+enough to drive a woman mad. What in heaven's name made you come?"
+
+Perhaps it was the after effect of a good dinner, that dwindling away of
+pleasant emotions; perhaps it was the very triviality of the offense for
+which he was thus suddenly arraigned; at any rate, he lost his temper, and
+he was rather formidable when that occurred.
+
+"Damn it, Molly, I wasn't going, but Courtlandt asked me to go with him,
+and I never thought of my shoes. You are always finding fault with me
+these days. I don't drink, I don't gamble, I don't run around after other
+women; I never did. But since you've got this social bug in your bonnet,
+you keep me on hooks all the while. Nobody noticed the shoe-strings; and
+they would have looked upon it as a joke if they had. After all, I'm the
+boss of this ranch. If I want to wear a white string and a black one, I'll
+do it. Here!" He caught up the book on social usages and threw it out of
+the window. "Don't ever shove a thing like that under my nose again. If
+you do, I'll hike back to little old New York and start the gym again."
+
+He rammed one of the colonel's perfectos (which he had been saving for the
+morrow) between his teeth, and stalked into the garden.
+
+Nora was heartless enough to laugh.
+
+"He hasn't talked like that to me in years!" Mrs. Harrigan did not know
+what to do,--follow him or weep. She took the middle course, and went to
+bed.
+
+Nora turned out the lights and sat out on the little balcony. The
+moonshine was glorious. So dense was the earth-blackness that the few
+lights twinkling here and there were more like fallen stars. Presently she
+heard a sound. It was her father, returning as silently as he could. She
+heard him fumble among the knickknacks on the mantel, and then go away
+again. By and by she saw a spot of white light move hither and thither
+among the grape arbors. For five or six minutes she watched it dance.
+Suddenly all became dark again. She laid her head upon the railing and
+conned over the day's events. These were not at all satisfactory to her.
+Then her thoughts traveled many miles away. Six months of happiness, of
+romance, of play, and then misery and blackness.
+
+"Nora, are you there?"
+
+"Yes. Over here on the balcony. What were you doing down there?"
+
+"Oh, Nora, I'm sorry I lost my temper. But Molly's begun to nag me lately,
+and I can't stand it. I went after that book. Did you throw some flowers
+out of the window?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"A bunch of daisies?"
+
+"Marguerites," she corrected.
+
+"All the same to me. I picked up the bunch, and look at what I found
+inside."
+
+He extended his palm, flooding it with the light of his pocket-lamp.
+Nora's heart tightened. What she saw was a beautiful uncut emerald.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A COMEDY WITH MUSIC
+
+
+The Harrigans occupied the suite in the east wing of the villa. This
+consisted of a large drawing-room and two ample bedchambers, with
+window-balconies and a private veranda in the rear, looking off toward the
+green of the pines and the metal-like luster of the copper beeches. Always
+the suite was referred to by the management as having once been tenanted
+by the empress of Germany. Indeed, tourists were generally and
+respectively and impressively shown the suite (provided it was not at the
+moment inhabited), and were permitted to peer eagerly about for some sign
+of the vanished august presence. But royalty in passing, as with the most
+humble of us, leaves nothing behind save the memory of a tip, generous or
+otherwise.
+
+It was raining, a fine, soft, blurring Alpine rain, and a blue-grey
+monotone prevailed upon the face of the waters and defied all save the
+keenest scrutiny to discern where the mountain tops ended and the sky
+began. It was a day for indoors, for dreams, good books, and good
+fellows.
+
+The old-fashioned photographer would have admired and striven to
+perpetuate the group in the drawing-room. In the old days it was quite the
+proper thing to snap the family group while they were engaged in some
+pleasant pastime, such as spinning, or painting china, or playing the
+piano, or reading a volume of poems. No one ever seemed to bother about
+the incongruence of the eyes, which were invariably focused at the camera
+lens. Here they all were. Mrs. Harrigan was deep in the intricate maze of
+the Amelia Ars of Bologna, which, as the initiated know, is a wonderful
+lace. By one of the windows sat Nora, winding interminable yards of
+lace-hemming from off the willing if aching digits of the Barone, who was
+speculating as to what his Neapolitan club friends would say could they
+see, by some trick of crystal-gazing, his present occupation. Celeste was
+at the piano, playing (_pianissimo_) snatches from the operas, while
+Abbott looked on, his elbows propped upon his knees, his chin in his
+palms, and a quality of ecstatic content in his eyes. He was in his
+working clothes, picturesque if paint-daubed. The morning had been
+pleasant enough, but just before luncheon the rain clouds had gathered and
+settled down with that suddenness known only in high altitudes.
+
+The ex-gladiator sat on one of those slender mockeries, composed of
+gold-leaf and parabolic curves and faded brocade, such as one sees at the
+Trianon or upon the stage or in the new home of a new millionaire, and
+which, if the true facts be known, the ingenious Louis invented for the
+discomfort of his favorites and the folly of future collectors. It creaked
+whenever Harrigan sighed, which was often, for he was deeply immersed (and
+no better word could be selected to fit his mental condition) in the
+baneful book which he had hurled out of the window the night before, only
+to retrieve like the good dog that he was. To-day his shoes offered no
+loophole to criticism; he had very well attended to that. His tie
+harmonized with his shirt and stockings; his suit was of grey tweed; in
+fact, he was the glass of fashion and the mold of form, at least for the
+present.
+
+"Say, Molly, I don't see what difference it makes."
+
+"Difference what makes, James?" Mrs. Harrigan raised her eyes from her
+work. James had been so well-behaved that morning it was only logical for
+her to anticipate that he was about to abolish at one fell stroke all his
+hard-earned merits.
+
+"About eating salads. We never used to put oil on our tomatoes. Sugar and
+vinegar were good enough."
+
+"Sugar and vinegar are not nourishing; olive-oil is."
+
+"We seemed to hike along all right before we learned that." His guardian
+angel was alert this time, and he returned to his delving without further
+comment. By and by he got up. "Pshaw!" He dropped the wearisome volume on
+the reading-table, took up a paper-covered novel, and turned to the last
+fight of the blacksmith in _Rodney Stone_. Here was something that made
+the invention of type excusable, even commendable.
+
+"Play the fourth _ballade_," urged Abbott.
+
+Celeste was really a great artist. As an interpreter of Chopin she had no
+rival among women, and only one man was her equal. She had fire,
+tenderness, passion, strength; she had beyond all these, soul, which is
+worth more in true expression than the most marvelous technique. She had
+chosen Chopin for his brilliance, as some will chose Turner in preference
+to Corot: riots of color, barbaric and tingling. She was as great a genius
+in her way as Nora was in hers. There was something of the elfin child in
+her spirit. Whenever she played to Abbott, there was a quality in the
+expression that awakened a wonderment in Nora's heart.
+
+As Celeste began the _andante_, Nora signified to the Barone to drop his
+work. She let her own hands fall. Harrigan gently closed his book, for in
+that rough kindly soul of his lay a mighty love of music. He himself was
+without expression of any sort, and somehow music seemed to stir the dim
+and not quite understandable longing for utterance. Mrs. Harrigan alone
+went on with her work; she could work and listen at the same time. After
+the magnificent finale, nothing in the room stirred but her needle.
+
+"Bravo!" cried the Barone, breaking the spell.
+
+"You never played that better," declared Nora.
+
+Celeste, to escape the keen inquiry of her friend and to cover up her
+embarrassment, dashed into one of the lighter compositions, a waltz. It
+was a favorite of Nora's. She rose and went over to the piano and rested a
+hand upon Celeste's shoulder. And presently her voice took up the melody.
+Mrs. Harrigan dropped her needle. It was not that she was particularly
+fond of music, but there was something in Nora's singing that cast a
+temporary spell of enchantment over her, rendering her speechless and
+motionless. She was not of an analytical turn of mind; thus, the truth
+escaped her. She was really lost in admiration of herself: she had
+produced this marvelous being!
+
+"That's some!" Harrigan beat his hands together thunderously. "Great
+stuff; eh, Barone?"
+
+The Barone raised his hands as if to express his utter inability to
+describe his sensations. His elation was that ascribed to those fortunate
+mortals whom the gods lifted to Olympus. At his feet lay the lace-hemming,
+hopelessly snarled.
+
+"Father, father!" remonstrated Nora; "you will wake up all the old ladies
+who are having their siesta."
+
+"Bah! I'll bet a doughnut their ears are glued to their doors. What ho!
+Somebody's at the portcullis. Probably the padre, come up for tea."
+
+He was at the door instantly. He flung it open heartily. It was
+characteristic of the man to open everything widely, his heart, his mind,
+his hate or his affection.
+
+"Come in, come in! Just in time for the matinee concert."
+
+The padre was not alone. Courtlandt followed him in.
+
+[Illustration: Courtlandt followed him in.]
+
+"We have been standing in the corridor for ten minutes," affirmed the
+padre, sending a winning smile around the room. "Mr. Courtlandt was for
+going down to the bureau and sending up our cards. But I would not hear of
+such formality. I am a privileged person."
+
+"Sure yes! Molly, ring for tea, and tell 'em to make it hot. How about a
+little peg, as the colonel says?"
+
+The two men declined.
+
+How easily and nonchalantly the man stood there by the door as Harrigan
+took his hat! Celeste was aquiver with excitement. She was thoroughly a
+woman: she wanted something to happen, dramatically, romantically.
+
+But her want was a vain one. The man smiled quizzically at Nora, who
+acknowledged the salutation by a curtsy which would have frightened away
+the banshees of her childhood. Nora hated scenes, and Courtlandt had the
+advantage of her in his knowledge of this. Celeste remained at the piano,
+but Nora turned as if to move away.
+
+"No, no!" cried the padre, his palms extended in protest. "If you stop the
+music I shall leave instantly."
+
+"But we are all through, Padre," replied Nora, pinching Celeste's arm,
+which action the latter readily understood as a command to leave the
+piano.
+
+Celeste, however, had a perverse streak in her to-day. Instead of rising
+as Nora expected she would, she wheeled on the stool and began _Morning
+Mood_ from Peer Gynt, because the padre preferred Grieg or Beethoven to
+Chopin. Nora frowned at the pretty head below her. She stooped.
+
+"I sha'n't forgive you for this trick," she whispered.
+
+Celeste shrugged, and her fingers did not falter. So Nora moved away this
+time in earnest.
+
+"No, you must sing. That is what I came up for," insisted the padre. If
+there was any malice in the churchman, it was of a negative quality. But
+it was in his Latin blood that drama should appeal to him strongly, and
+here was an unusual phase in The Great Play. He had urged Courtlandt, much
+against the latter's will this day, to come up with him, simply that he
+might set a little scene such as this promised to be and study it from the
+vantage of the prompter. He knew that the principal theme of all great
+books, of all great dramas, was antagonism, antagonism between man and
+woman, though by a thousand other names has it been called. He had often
+said, in a spirit of raillery, that this antagonism was principally due to
+the fact that Eve had been constructed (and very well) out of a rib from
+Adam. Naturally she resented this, that she had not been fashioned
+independently, and would hold it against man until the true secret of the
+parable was made clear to her.
+
+"Sing that, Padre?" said Nora. "Why, there are no words to it that I
+know."
+
+"Words? _Peste!_ Who cares for words no one really ever understands? It is
+the voice, my child. Go on, or I shall make you do some frightful
+penance."
+
+Nora saw that further opposition would be useless. After all, it would be
+better to sing. She would not be compelled to look at this man she so
+despised. For a moment her tones were not quite clear; but Celeste
+increased the volume of sound warningly, and as this required more force
+on Nora's part, the little cross-current was passed without mishap. It was
+mere pastime for her to follow these wonderful melodies. She had no words
+to recall so that her voice was free to do with as she elected. There were
+bars absolutely impossible to follow, note for note, but she got around
+this difficulty by taking the key and holding it strongly and evenly. In
+ordinary times Nora never refused to sing for her guests, if she happened
+to be in voice. There was none of that conceited arrogance behind which
+most of the vocal celebrities hide themselves. At the beginning she had
+intended to sing badly; but as the music proceeded, she sang as she had
+not sung in weeks. To fill this man's soul with a hunger for the sound of
+her voice, to pour into his heart a fresh knowledge of what he had lost
+forever and forever!
+
+Courtlandt sat on the divan beside Harrigan who, with that friendly spirit
+which he observed toward all whom he liked, whether of long or short
+acquaintance, had thrown his arm across Courtlandt's shoulder. The younger
+man understood all that lay behind the simple gesture, and he was secretly
+pleased.
+
+But Mrs. Harrigan was not. She was openly displeased, and in vain she
+tried to catch the eye of her wayward lord. A man he had known but
+twenty-four hours, and to greet him with such coarse familiarity!
+
+Celeste was not wholly unmerciful. She did not finish the suite, but
+turned from the keys after the final chords of _Morning Mood_.
+
+"Thank you!" said Nora.
+
+"Do not stop," begged Courtlandt.
+
+Nora looked directly into his eyes as she replied: "One's voice can not go
+on forever, and mine is not at all strong."
+
+And thus, without having originally the least intent to do so, they broke
+the mutual contract on which they had separately and secretly agreed:
+never to speak directly to each other. Nora was first to realize what she
+had done, and she was furiously angry with herself. She left the piano.
+
+As if her mind had opened suddenly like a book, Courtlandt sprang from the
+divan and reached for the fat ball of lace-hemming. He sat down in Nora's
+chair and nodded significantly to the Barone, who blushed. To hold the
+delicate material for Nora's unwinding was a privilege of the gods, but to
+hold it for this man for whom he held a dim feeling of antagonism was
+altogether a different matter.
+
+"It is horribly tangled," he admitted, hoping thus to escape.
+
+"No matter. You hold the ball. I'll untangle it. I never saw a fish-line I
+could not straighten out."
+
+Nora laughed. It was not possible for her to repress the sound. Her sense
+of humor was too strong in this case to be denied its release in laughter.
+It was free of the subtler emotions; frank merriment, no more, no less.
+And possessing the hunter's extraordinarily keen ear, Courtlandt
+recognized the quality; and the weight of a thousand worlds lightened its
+pressure upon his heart. And the Barone laughed, too. So there they were,
+the three of them. But Nora's ineffectual battle for repression had driven
+her near to hysteria. To escape this dire calamity, she flung open a
+casement window and stood within it, breathing in the heavy fragrance of
+the rain-laden air.
+
+This little comedy had the effect of relaxing them all; and the laughter
+became general. Abbott's smile faded soonest. He stared at his friend in
+wonder not wholly free from a sense of evil fortune. Never had he known
+Courtlandt to aspire to be a squire of dames. To see the Barone hold the
+ball as if it were hot shot was amusing; but the cool imperturbable manner
+with which Courtlandt proceeded to untangle the snarl was disturbing. Why
+the deuce wasn't he himself big and strong, silent and purposeful, instead
+of being a dawdling fool of an artist?
+
+No answer came to his inquiry, but there was a knock at the door. The
+managing director handed Harrigan a card.
+
+"Herr Rosen," he read aloud. "Send him up. Some friend of yours, Nora;
+Herr Rosen. I told Mr. Jilli to send him up."
+
+The padre drew his feet under his cassock, a sign of perturbation;
+Courtlandt continued to unwind; the Barone glanced fiercely at Nora, who
+smiled enigmatically.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+HERR ROSEN'S REGRETS
+
+
+Herr Rosen! There was no outward reason why the name should have set a
+chill on them all, turned them into expectant statues. Yet, all semblance
+of good-fellowship was instantly gone. To Mrs. Harrigan alone did the name
+convey a sense of responsibility, a flutter of apprehension not unmixed
+with delight. She put her own work behind the piano lid, swooped down upon
+the two men and snatched away the lace-hemming, to the infinite relief of
+the one and the surprise of the other. Courtlandt would have liked nothing
+better than to hold the lace in his lap, for it was possible that Herr
+Rosen might wish to shake hands, however disinclined he might be within to
+perform such greeting. The lace disappeared. Mrs. Harrigan smoothed out
+the wrinkles in her dress. From the others there had been little movement
+and no sound to speak of. Harrigan still waited by the door, seriously
+contemplating the bit of pasteboard in his hand.
+
+Nora did not want to look, but curiosity drew her eyes imperiously toward
+Courtlandt. He had not risen. Did he know? Did he understand? Was his
+attitude pretense or innocence? Ah, if she could but look behind that
+impenetrable mask! How she hated him! The effrontery of it all! And she
+could do nothing, say nothing: dared not tell them then and there what he
+truly was, a despicable scoundrel! The son of her father's dearest friend;
+what mockery! A friend of the family! It was maddening.
+
+Herr Rosen brushed past Harrigan unceremoniously, without pausing, and
+went straight over to Nora, who was thereupon seized by an uncontrollable
+spirit of devilment. She hated Herr Rosen, but she was going to be as
+pleasant and as engaging as she knew how to be. She did not care if he
+misinterpreted her mood. She welcomed him with a hand. He went on to Mrs.
+Harrigan, who colored pleasurably. He was then introduced, and he
+acknowledged each introduction with a careless nod. He was there to see
+Nora, and he did not propose to put himself to any inconvenience on
+account of the others.
+
+The temporary restraint which had settled upon the others at the
+announcement of Herr Rosen's arrival passed away. Courtlandt, who had
+remained seated during the initial formalities (a fact which bewildered
+Abbott, who knew how punctilious his friend was in matters of this kind)
+got up and took a third of the divan.
+
+Harrigan dropped down beside him. It was his habit to watch his daughter's
+face when any guest arrived. He formed his impression on what he believed
+to be hers. That she was a consummate actress never entered into his
+calculations. The welcoming smile dissipated any doubts.
+
+"No matter where we are, they keep coming. She has as many friends as T.
+R. I never bother to keep track of 'em."
+
+"It would be rather difficult," assented Courtlandt.
+
+"You ought to see the flowers. Loads of 'em. And say, what do you think?
+Every jewel that comes she turns into money and gives to charity. Can you
+beat it? Fine joke on the Johnnies. Of course, I mean stones that turn up
+anonymously. Those that have cards go back by fast-mail. It's a good thing
+I don't chance across the senders. Now, boy, I want you to feel at home
+here in this family; I want you to come up when you want to and at any old
+time of day. I kind of want to pay back to you all the kind things your
+dad did for me. And I don't want any Oh-pshawing. Get me?"
+
+"Whatever you say. If my dad did you any favors it was because he liked
+and admired you; not with any idea of having you discharge the debt in the
+future by way of inconveniencing yourself on my account. Just let me be a
+friend of the family, like Abbott here. That would be quite enough honor
+for me."
+
+"You're on! Say, that blacksmith yarn was a corker. He was a game old
+codger. That was scrapping; no hall full of tobacco-smoke, no palm-fans,
+lemonade, peanuts and pop-corn; just right out on the turf, and may the
+best man win. I know. I went through that. No frame-ups, all square and on
+the level. A fellow had to fight those days, no sparring, no pretty
+footwork. Sometimes I've a hankering to get back and exchange a wallop or
+two. Nothing to it, though. My wife won't let me, as the song goes."
+
+Courtlandt chuckled. "I suppose it's the monotony. A man who has been
+active hates to sit down and twiddle his thumbs. You exercise?"
+
+"Walk a lot."
+
+"Climb any?"
+
+"Don't know that game."
+
+"It's great sport. I'll break you in some day, if you say. You'll like it.
+The mountains around here are not dangerous. We can go up and down in a
+day."
+
+"I'll go you. But, say, last night Nora chucked a bunch of daisies out of
+the window, and as I was nosing around in the vineyard, I came across it.
+You know how a chap will absently pick a bunch of flowers apart. What do
+you think I found?"
+
+"A note?"
+
+"This." Harrigan exhibited the emerald. "Who sent it? Where the dickens
+did it come from?"
+
+Courtlandt took the stone and examined it carefully. "That's not a bad
+stone. Uncut but polished; oriental."
+
+"Oriental, eh? What would you say it was worth?"
+
+"Oh, somewhere between six and seven hundred."
+
+"Suffering shamrocks! A little green pebble like this?"
+
+"Cut and flawless, at that size, it would be worth pounds instead of
+dollars."
+
+"Well, what do you think of that? Nora told me to keep it, so I guess I
+will."
+
+"Why, yes. If a man sends a thing like this anonymously, he can't possibly
+complain. Have it made into a stick pin." Courtlandt returned the stone
+which Harrigan pocketed.
+
+"Sometimes I wish Nora'd marry and settle down."
+
+"She is young. You wouldn't have quit the game at her age!"
+
+"I should say not! But that's different. A man's business is to fight for
+his grub, whether in an office or in the ring. That's a part of the game.
+But a woman ought to have a home, live in it three-fourths of the year,
+and bring up good citizens. That's what we are all here for. Molly used to
+stay at home, but now it's the social bug, gadding from morning until
+night. Ah, here's Carlos with the tea."
+
+Herr Rosen instantly usurped the chair next to Nora, who began to pour the
+tea. He had come up from the village prepared for a disagreeable
+half-hour. Instead of being greeted with icy glances from stormy eyes, he
+encountered such smiles as this adorable creature had never before
+bestowed upon him. He was in the clouds. That night at Cadenabbia had
+apparently knocked the bottom out of his dream. Women were riddles which
+only they themselves could solve for others. For this one woman he was
+perfectly ready to throw everything aside. A man lived but once; and he
+was a fool who would hold to tinsel in preference to such happiness as he
+thought he saw opening out before him. Nora saw, but she did not care.
+That in order to reach another she was practising infinite cruelty on this
+man (whose one fault lay in that he loved her) did not appeal to her pity.
+But her arrow flew wide of the target; at least, there appeared no result
+to her archery in malice. Not once had the intended victim looked over to
+where she sat. And yet she knew that he must be watching; he could not
+possibly avoid it and be human. And when he finally came forward to take
+his cup, she leaned toward Herr Rosen.
+
+"You take two lumps?" she asked sweetly. It was only a chance shot, but
+she hit on the truth.
+
+"And you remember?" excitedly.
+
+"One lump for mine, please," said Courtlandt, smiling.
+
+She picked up a cube of sugar and dropped it into his cup. She had the air
+of one wishing it were poison. The recipient of this good will, with
+perfect understanding, returned to the divan, where the padre and Harrigan
+were gravely toasting each other with Benedictine.
+
+Nora made no mistake with either Abbott's cup or the Barone's; but the two
+men were filled with but one desire, to throw Herr Rosen out of the
+window. What had begun as a beautiful day was now becoming black and
+uncertain.
+
+The Barone could control every feature save his eyes, and these openly
+admitted deep anger. He recollected Herr Rosen well enough. The encounter
+over at Cadenabbia was not the first by many. Herr Rosen! His presence in
+this room under that name was an insult, and he intended to call the
+interloper to account the very first opportunity he found.
+
+Perhaps Celeste, sitting as quiet as a mouse upon the piano-stool, was the
+only one who saw these strange currents drifting dangerously about. That
+her own heart ached miserably did not prevent her from observing things
+with all her usual keenness. Ah, Nora, Nora, who have everything to give
+and yet give nothing, why do you play so heartless a game? Why hurt those
+who can no more help loving you than the earth can help whirling around
+the calm dispassionate sun? Always they turn to you, while I, who have so
+much to give, am given nothing! She set down her tea-cup and began the
+aria from _La Boheme_.
+
+Nora, without relaxing the false smile, suddenly found emptiness in
+everything.
+
+"Sing!" said Herr Rosen.
+
+"I am too tired. Some other time."
+
+He did not press her. Instead, he whispered in his own tongue: "You are
+the most adorable woman in the world!"
+
+And Nora turned upon him a pair of eyes blank with astonishment. It was as
+though she had been asleep and he had rudely awakened her. His infatuation
+blinded him to the truth; he saw in the look a feminine desire to throw
+the others off the track as to the sentiment expressed in his whispered
+words.
+
+The hour passed tolerably well. Herr Rosen then observed the time, rose
+and excused himself. He took the steps leading abruptly down the terrace
+to the carriage road. He had come by the other way, the rambling stone
+stairs which began at the porter's lodge, back of the villa.
+
+"Padre," whispered Courtlandt, "I am going. Do not follow. I shall explain
+to you when we meet again."
+
+The padre signified that he understood. Harrigan protested vigorously, but
+smiling and shaking his head, Courtlandt went away.
+
+Nora ran to the window. She could see Herr Rosen striding along, down the
+winding road, his head in the air. Presently, from behind a cluster of
+mulberries, the figure of another man came into view. He was going at a
+dog-trot, his hat settled at an angle that permitted the rain to beat
+squarely into his face. The next turn in the road shut them both from
+sight. But Nora did not stir.
+
+Herr Rosen stopped and turned.
+
+"You called?"
+
+"Yes." Courtlandt had caught up with him just as Herr Rosen was about to
+open the gates. "Just a moment, Herr Rosen," with a hand upon the bars. "I
+shall not detain you long."
+
+There was studied insolence in the tones and the gestures which
+accompanied them.
+
+"Be brief, if you please."
+
+"My name is Edward Courtlandt, as doubtless you have heard."
+
+"In a large room it is difficult to remember all the introductions."
+
+"Precisely. That is why I take the liberty of recalling it to you, so that
+you will not forget it," urbanely.
+
+A pause. Dark patches of water were spreading across their shoulders.
+Little rivulets ran down Courtlandt's arm, raised as it was against the
+bars.
+
+"I do not see how it may concern me," replied Herr Rosen finally with an
+insolence more marked than Courtlandt's.
+
+"In Paris we met one night, at the stage entrance of the Opera, I pushed
+you aside, not knowing who you were. You had offered your services; the
+door of Miss Harrigan's limousine."
+
+"It was you?" scowling.
+
+"I apologize for that. To-morrow morning you will leave Bellaggio for
+Varenna. Somewhere between nine and ten the fast train leaves for Milan."
+
+"Varenna! Milan!"
+
+"Exactly. You speak English as naturally and fluently as if you were born
+to the tongue. Thus, you will leave for Milan. What becomes of you after
+that is of no consequence to me. Am I making myself clear?"
+
+"_Verdampt!_ Do I believe my ears?" furiously. "Are you telling me to
+leave Bellaggio to-morrow morning?"
+
+"As directly as I can."
+
+Herr Rosen's face became as red as his name. He was a brave young man, but
+there was danger of an active kind in the blue eyes boring into his own.
+If it came to a physical contest, he realized that he would get the worst
+of it. He put his hand to his throat; his very impotence was choking him.
+
+"Your Highness...."
+
+"Highness!" Herr Rosen stepped back.
+
+"Yes. Your Highness will readily see the wisdom of my concern for your
+hasty departure when I add that I know all about the little house in
+Versailles, that my knowledge is shared by the chief of the Parisian
+police and the minister of war. If you annoy Miss Harrigan with your
+equivocal attentions...."
+
+"_Gott!_ This is too much!"
+
+"Wait! I am stronger than you are. Do not make me force you to hear me to
+the end. You have gone about this intrigue like a blackguard, and that I
+know your Highness not to be. The matter is, you are young, you have
+always had your way, you have not learnt restraint. Your presence here is
+an insult to Miss Harrigan, and if she was pleasant to you this afternoon
+it was for my benefit. If you do not go, I shall expose you." Courtlandt
+opened the gate.
+
+"And if I refuse?"
+
+"Why, in that case, being the American that I am, without any particular
+reverence for royalty or nobility, as it is known, I promise to thrash you
+soundly to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, in the dining-room, in the
+bureau, the drawing-room, wherever I may happen to find you."
+
+Courtlandt turned on his heel and hurried back to the villa. He did not
+look over his shoulder. If he had, he might have felt pity for the young
+man who leaned heavily against the gate, his burning face pressed upon his
+rain-soaked sleeve.
+
+When Courtlandt knocked at the door and was admitted, he apologized. "I
+came back for my umbrella."
+
+"Umbrella!" exclaimed the padre. "Why, we had no umbrellas. We came up in
+a carriage which is probably waiting for us this very minute by the
+porter's lodge."
+
+"Well, I am certainly absent-minded!"
+
+"Absent-minded!" scoffed Abbott. "You never forgot anything in all your
+life, unless it was to go to bed. You wanted an excuse to come back."
+
+"Any excuse would be a good one in that case. I think we'd better be
+going, Padre. And by the way, Herr Rosen begged me to present his regrets.
+He is leaving Bellaggio in the morning."
+
+Nora turned her face once more to the window.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE APPLE OF DISCORD
+
+
+"It is all very petty, my child," said the padre. "Life is made up of
+bigger things; the little ones should be ignored."
+
+To which Nora replied: "To a woman, the little things are everything; they
+are the daily routine, the expected, the necessary things. What you call
+the big things in life are accidents. And, oh! I have pride." She folded
+her arms across her heaving bosom; for the padre's directness this morning
+had stirred her deeply.
+
+"Wilfulness is called pride by some; and stubbornness. But you know, as
+well as I do, that yours is resentment, anger, indignation. Yes, you have
+pride, but it has not been brought into this affair. Pride is that within
+which prevents us from doing mean or sordid acts; and you could not do one
+or the other if you tried. The sentiment in you which should be
+developed...."
+
+"Is mercy?"
+
+"No; justice, the patience to weigh the right or wrong of a thing."
+
+"Padre, I have eyes, eyes; I _saw_."
+
+He twirled the middle button of his cassock. "The eyes see and the ears
+hear, but these are only witnesses, laying the matter before the court of
+the last resort, which is the mind. It is there we sift the evidence."
+
+"He had the insufferable insolence to order Herr Rosen to leave," going
+around the barrier of his well-ordered logic.
+
+"Ah! Now, how could he send away Herr Rosen if that gentleman had really
+preferred to stay?"
+
+Nora looked confused.
+
+"Shall I tell you? I suspected; so I questioned him last night. Had I been
+in his place, I should have chastised Herr Rosen instead of bidding him be
+gone. It was he."
+
+Nora, sat down.
+
+"Positively. The men who guarded you were two actors from one of the
+theaters. He did not come to Versailles because he was being watched. He
+was found and sent home the night before your release."
+
+"I am sorry. But it was so like _him_."
+
+The padre spread his hands. "What a way women have of modifying either
+good or bad impulses! It would have been fine of you to have stopped when
+you said you were sorry."
+
+"Padre, one would believe that you had taken up his defense!"
+
+"If I had I should have to leave it after to-day. I return to Rome
+to-morrow and shall not see you again before you go to America. I have
+bidden good-by to all save you. My child, my last admonition is, be
+patient; observe; guard against that impulse born in your blood to move
+hastily, to form opinions without solid foundations. Be happy while you
+are young, for old age is happy only in that reflected happiness of
+recollection. Write to me, here. I return in November. _Benedicite?_"
+smiling.
+
+Nora bowed her head and he put a hand upon it.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+"And listen to this," began Harrigan, turning over a page. "'It is
+considered bad form to call the butler to your side when you are a guest.
+Catch his eye. He will understand that something is wanted.' How's that?"
+
+"That's the way to live." Courtlandt grinned, and tilted back his chair
+until it rested against the oak.
+
+The morning was clear and mild. Fresh snow lay upon the mountain tops;
+later it would disappear. The fountain tinkled, and swallows darted hither
+and thither under the sparkling spray. The gardeners below in the
+vegetable patch were singing. By the door of the villa sat two old ladies,
+breakfasting in the sunshine. There was a hint of lavender in the lazy
+drifting air. A dozen yards away sat Abbott, two or three brushes between
+his teeth and one in his hand. A little behind was Celeste, sewing posies
+upon one of those squares of linen toward which all women in their idle
+moments are inclined, and which, on finishing, they immediately stow away
+in the bottom of some trunk against the day when they have a home of their
+own, or marry, or find some one ignorant enough to accept it as a gift.
+
+"'And when in doubt,'" continued Harrigan, "'watch how other persons use
+their forks.' Can you beat it? And say, honest, Molly bought that for me
+to read and study. And I never piped the subtitle until this morning.
+'Advice to young ladies upon going into society.' Huh?" Harrigan slapped
+his knee with the book and roared out his keen enjoyment. Somehow he
+seemed to be more at ease with this young fellow than with any other man
+he had met in years. "But for the love of Mike, don't say anything to
+Molly," fearfully. "Oh, she means the best in the world," contritely. "I'm
+always embarrassing her; shoe-strings that don't match, a busted stud in
+my shirt-front, and there isn't a pair of white-kids made that'll stay
+whole more than five minutes on these paws. I suppose it's because I don't
+think. After all, I'm only a retired pug." The old fellow's eyes sparkled
+suspiciously. "The best two women in all the world, and I don't want them
+to be ashamed of me."
+
+"Why, Mr. Harrigan," said Courtlandt, letting his chair fall into place so
+that he could lay a hand affectionately upon the other's knee, "neither of
+them would be worth their salt if they ever felt ashamed of you. What do
+you care what strangers think or say? You know. You've seen life. You've
+stepped off the stage and carried with you the recollection of decent
+living, of playing square, of doing the best you could. The worst
+scoundrels I ever met never made any mistake with their forks. Perhaps you
+don't know it, but my father became rich because he could judge a man's
+worth almost at sight. And he kept this fortune and added to it because he
+chose half a dozen friends and refused to enlarge the list. If you became
+his friend, he had good reason for making you such."
+
+"Well, we did have some good times together," Harrigan admitted, with a
+glow in his heart. "And I guess after all that I'll go to the ball with
+Molly. I don't mind teas like we had at the colonel's, but dinners and
+balls I have drawn the line at. I'll take the plunge to-night. There's
+always some place for a chap to smoke."
+
+"At the Villa Rosa? I'll be there myself; and any time you are in doubt,
+don't be afraid to question me."
+
+"You're in class A," heartily. "But there's one thing that worries
+me,--Nora. She's gone up so high, and she's such a wonderful girl, that
+all the men in Christendom are hiking after her. And some of 'em.... Well,
+Molly says it isn't good form to wallop a man over here. Why, she went on
+her lonesome to India and Japan, with nobody but her maid; and never put
+us hep until she landed in Bombay. The men out that way aren't the best.
+East of Suez, you know. And that chap yesterday, Herr Rosen. Did you see
+the way he hiked by me when I let him in? He took me to be the round
+number before one. And he didn't speak a dozen words to any but Nora. Not
+that I mind that; but it was something in the way he did it that scratched
+me the wrong way. The man who thinks he's going to get Nora by walking
+over me, has got a guess coming. Of course, it's meat and drink to Molly
+to have sons of grand dukes and kings trailing around. She says it gives
+tone."
+
+"Isn't she afraid sometimes?"
+
+"Afraid? I should say not! There's only three things that Molly's afraid
+of these days: a spool of thread, a needle, and a button."
+
+Courtlandt laughed frankly. "I really don't think you need worry about
+Herr Rosen. He has gone, and he will not come back."
+
+"Say! I'll bet a dollar it was you who shoo'd him off."
+
+"Yes. But it was undoubtedly an impertinence on my part, and I'd rather
+you would not disclose my officiousness to Miss Harrigan."
+
+"Piffle! If you knew him you had a perfect right to pass him back his
+ticket. Who was he?"
+
+Courtlandt poked at the gravel with his cane.
+
+"One of the big guns?"
+
+Courtlandt nodded.
+
+"So big that he couldn't have married my girl even if he loved her?"
+
+"Yes. As big as that."
+
+Harrigan riffled the leaves of his book. "What do you say to going down to
+the hotel and having a game of _bazzica_, as they call billiards here?"
+
+"Nothing would please me better," said Courtlandt, relieved that Harrigan
+did not press him for further revelations.
+
+"Nora is studying a new opera, and Molly-O is ragging the village
+dressmaker. It's only half after ten, and we can whack 'em around until
+noon. I warn you, I'm something of a shark."
+
+"I'll lay you the cigars that I beat you."
+
+"You're on!"
+
+Harrigan put the book in his pocket, and the two of them made for the
+upper path, not, however, without waving a friendly adieu to Celeste, who
+was watching them with much curiosity.
+
+For a moment Nora became visible in the window. Her expression did not
+signify that the sight of the men together pleased her. On the contrary,
+her eyes burned and her brow was ruffled by several wrinkles which
+threatened to become permanent if the condition of affairs continued to
+remain as it was. To her the calm placidity of the man was nothing less
+than monumental impudence. How she hated him; how bitterly, how intensely
+she hated him! She withdrew from the window without having been seen.
+
+"Did you ever see two finer specimens of man?" Celeste asked of Abbott.
+
+"What? Who?" mumbled Abbott, whose forehead was puckered with impatience.
+"Oh, those two? They _are_ well set up. But what the deuce _is_ the matter
+with this foreground?" taking the brushes from his teeth. "I've been
+hammering away at it for a week, and it does not get there yet."
+
+Celeste rose and laid aside her work. She stood behind him and studied the
+picture through half-closed critical eyes. "You have painted it over too
+many times." Then she looked down at the shapely head. Ah, the longing to
+put her hands upon it, to run her fingers through the tousled hair, to
+touch it with her lips! But no! "Perhaps you are tired; perhaps you have
+worked too hard. Why not put aside your brushes for a week?"
+
+"I've a good mind to chuck it into the lake. I simply can't paint any
+more." He flung down the brushes. "I'm a fool, Celeste, a fool. I'm crying
+for the moon, that's what the matter is. What's the use of beating about
+the bush? You know as well as I do that it's Nora."
+
+Her heart contracted, and for a little while she could not see him
+clearly.
+
+"But what earthly chance have I?" he went on, innocently but ruthlessly.
+"No one can help loving Nora."
+
+"No," in a small voice.
+
+"It's all rot, this talk about affinities. There's always some poor devil
+left outside. But who can help loving Nora?" he repeated.
+
+"Who indeed!"
+
+"And there's not the least chance in the world for me."
+
+"You never can tell until you put it to the test."
+
+"Do you think I have a chance? Is it possible that Nora may care a little
+for me?" He turned his head toward her eagerly.
+
+"Who knows?" She wanted him to have it over with, to learn the truth that
+to Nora Harrigan he would never be more than an amiable comrade. He would
+then have none to turn to but her. What mattered it if her own heart ached
+so she might soothe the hurt in his? She laid a hand upon his shoulder, so
+lightly that he was only dimly conscious of the contact.
+
+"It's a rummy old world. Here I've gone alone all these years...."
+
+"Twenty-six!" smiling.
+
+"Well, that's a long time. Never bothered my head about a woman. Selfish,
+perhaps. Had a good time, came and went as I pleased. And then I met
+Nora."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"If only she'd been stand-offish, like these other singers, why, I'd have
+been all right to-day. But she's such a brick! She's such a good fellow!
+She treats us all alike; sings when we ask her to; always ready for a
+romp. Think of her making us all take the _Kneip_-cure the other night!
+And we marched around the fountain singing 'Mary had a little lamb.'
+Barefooted in the grass! When a man marries he doesn't want a wife half so
+much as a good comrade; somebody to slap him on the back in the morning to
+hearten him up for the day's work; and to cuddle him up when he comes home
+tired, or disappointed, or unsuccessful. No matter what mood he's in. Is
+my English getting away from you?"
+
+"No; I understand all you say." Her hand rested a trifle heavier upon his
+shoulder, that was all.
+
+"Nora would be that kind of a wife. 'Honor, anger, valor, fire,' as
+Stevenson says. Hang the picture; what am I going to do with it?"
+
+"'Honor, anger, valor, fire,'" Celeste repeated slowly. "Yes, that is
+Nora." A bitter little smile moved her lips as she recalled the happenings
+of the last two days. But no; he must find out for himself; he must meet
+the hurt from Nora, not from her. "How long, Abbott, have you known your
+friend Mr. Courtlandt?"
+
+"Boys together," playing a light tattoo with his mahl-stick.
+
+"How old is he?"
+
+"About thirty-two or three."
+
+"He is very rich?"
+
+"Oceans of money; throws it away, but not fast enough to get rid of it."
+
+"He is what you say in English ... wild?"
+
+"Well," with mock gravity, "I shouldn't like to be the tiger that crossed
+his path. Wild; that's the word for it."
+
+"You are laughing. Ah, I know! I should say dissipated."
+
+"Courtlandt? Come, now, Celeste; does he look dissipated?"
+
+"No-o."
+
+"He drinks when he chooses, he flirts with a pretty woman when he chooses,
+he smokes the finest tobacco there is when he chooses; and he gives them
+all up when he chooses. He is like the seasons; he comes and goes, and
+nobody can change his habits."
+
+"He has had no affair?"
+
+"Why, Courtlandt hasn't any heart. It's a mechanical device to keep his
+blood in circulation; that's all. I am the most intimate friend he has,
+and yet I know no more than you how he lives and where he goes."
+
+She let her hand fall from his shoulder. She was glad that he did not
+know.
+
+"But look!" she cried in warning.
+
+Abbott looked.
+
+A woman was coming serenely down the path from the wooded promontory, a
+woman undeniably handsome in a cedar-tinted linen dress, exquisitely
+fashioned, with a touch of vivid scarlet on her hat and a most tantalizing
+flash of scarlet ankle. It was Flora Desimone, fresh from her morning bath
+and a substantial breakfast. The errand that had brought her from
+Aix-les-Bains was confessedly a merciful one. But she possessed the
+dramatist's instinct to prolong a situation. Thus, to make her act of
+mercy seem infinitely larger than it was, she was determined first to cast
+the Apple of Discord into this charming corner of Eden. The Apple of
+Discord, as every man knows, is the only thing a woman can throw with any
+accuracy.
+
+The artist snatched up his brushes, and ruined the painting forthwith, for
+all time. The foreground was, in his opinion, beyond redemption; so, with
+a savage humor, he rapidly limned in a score of impossible trees, turned
+midday into sunset, with a riot of colors which would have made the
+Chinese New-year in Canton a drab and sober event in comparison. He hated
+Flora Desimone, as all Nora's adherents most properly did, but with a
+hatred wholly reflective and adapted to Nora's moods.
+
+"You have spoiled it!" cried Celeste. She had watched the picture grow,
+and to see it ruthlessly destroyed this way hurt her. "How could you!"
+
+"Worst I ever did." He began to change the whole effect, chuckling audibly
+as he worked. Sunset divided honors with moonlight. It was no longer
+incongruous; it was ridiculous. He leaned back and laughed. "I'm going to
+send it to L'Asino, and call it an afterthought."
+
+"Give it to me."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Nonsense! I'm going to touch a match to it. I'll give you that picture
+with the lavender in bloom."
+
+"I want this."
+
+"But you can not hang it."
+
+"I want it."
+
+"Well!" The more he learned about women the farther out of mental reach
+they seemed to go. Why on earth did she want this execrable daub? "You may
+have it; but all the same, I'm going to call an oculist and have him
+examine your eyes."
+
+"Why, it is the Signorina Fournier!"
+
+In preparing studiously to ignore Flora Desimone's presence they had
+forgotten all about her.
+
+"Good morning, Signora," said Celeste in Italian.
+
+"And the Signore Abbott, the painter, also!" The Calabrian raised what she
+considered her most deadly weapon, her lorgnette.
+
+Celeste had her fancy-work instantly in her two hands; Abbott's were
+occupied; Flora's hands were likewise engaged; thus, the insipid mockery
+of hand-shaking was nicely and excusably avoided.
+
+"What is it?" asked Flora, squinting.
+
+"It is a new style of the impressionist which I began this morning,"
+soberly.
+
+"It looks very natural," observed Flora.
+
+"Natural!" Abbott dropped his mahl-stick.
+
+"It is Vesuv', is it not, on a cloudy day?"
+
+This was too much for Abbott's gravity, and he laughed.
+
+"It was not necessary to spoil a good picture ... on my account," said
+Flora, closing the lorgnette with a snap. Her great dark eyes were dreamy
+and contemplative like a cat's, and, as every one knows, a cat's eye is
+the most observing of all eyes. It is quite in the order of things, since
+a cat's attitude toward the world is by need and experience wholly
+defensive.
+
+"The Signora is wrong. I did not spoil it on her account. It was past
+helping yesterday. But I shall, however, rechristen it Vesuvius, since it
+represents an eruption of temper."
+
+Flora tapped the handle of her parasol with the lorgnette. It was
+distinctly a sign of approval. These Americans were never slow-witted. She
+swung the parasol to and fro, slowly, like a pendulum.
+
+"It is too bad," she said, her glance roving over the white walls of the
+villa.
+
+"It was irrevocably lost," Abbott declared.
+
+"No, no; I do not mean the picture. I am thinking of La Toscana. Her voice
+was really superb; and to lose it entirely...!" She waved a sympathetic
+hand.
+
+Abbott was about to rise up in vigorous protest. But fate itself chose to
+rebuke Flora. From the window came--"_Sai cos' ebbe cuore!_"--sung as only
+Nora could sing it.
+
+The ferrule of Flora Desimone's parasol bit deeply into the clover-turf.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+THE BALL AT THE VILLA
+
+
+"Do you know the Duchessa?" asked Flora Desimone.
+
+"Yes." It was three o'clock the same afternoon. The duke sat with his wife
+under the vine-clad trattoria on the quay. Between his knees he held his
+Panama hat, which was filled with ripe hazelnuts. He cracked them
+vigorously with his strong white teeth and filliped the broken shells into
+the lake, where a frantic little fish called _agoni_ darted in and about
+the slowly sinking particles. "Why?" The duke was not any grayer than he
+had been four or five months previous, but the characteristic expression
+of his features had undergone a change. He looked less Jovian than
+Job-like.
+
+"I want you to get an invitation to her ball at the Villa Rosa to-night."
+
+"We haven't been here twenty-four hours!" in mild protest.
+
+"What has that to do with it? It doesn't make any difference."
+
+"I suppose not." He cracked and ate a nut. "Where is he?"
+
+"He has gone to Milan. He left hurriedly. He's a fool," impatiently.
+
+"Not necessarily. Foolishness is one thing and discretion is another. Oh,
+well; his presence here was not absolutely essential. Presently he will
+marry and settle down and be a good boy." The next nut was withered, and
+he tossed it aside. "Is her voice really gone?"
+
+"No." Flora leaned with her arms upon the railing and glared at the
+wimpling water. She had carried the Apple of Discord up the hill and down
+again. Nora had been indisposed.
+
+"I am glad of that."
+
+She turned the glare upon him.
+
+"I am very glad of that, considering your part in the affair."
+
+"Michael...!"
+
+"Be careful. Michael is always a prelude to a temper. Have one of these,"
+offering a nut.
+
+She struck it rudely from his hand.
+
+"Sometimes I am tempted to put my two hands around that exquisite neck of
+yours."
+
+"Try it."
+
+"No, I do not believe it would be wise. But if ever I find out that you
+have lied to me, that you loved the fellow and married me out of
+spite...." He completed the sentence by suggestively crunching a nut.
+
+The sullen expression on her face gave place to a smile. "I should like to
+see you in a rage."
+
+"No, my heart; you would like nothing of the sort. I understand you better
+than you know; that accounts for my patience. You are Italian. You are
+caprice and mood. I come from a cold land. If ever I do get angry, run,
+run as fast as ever you can."
+
+Flora was not, among other things, frivolous or light-headed. There was an
+earthquake hidden somewhere in this quiet docile man, and the innate
+deviltry of the woman was always trying to dig down to it. But she never
+deceived herself. Some day this earthquake would open up and devour her.
+
+"I hate him. He snubbed me. I have told you that a thousand times."
+
+He laughed and rattled the nuts in his hat.
+
+"I want you to get that invitation."
+
+"And if I do not?"
+
+"I shall return immediately to Paris."
+
+"And break your word to me?"
+
+"As easily as you break one of these nuts."
+
+"And if I get the invitation?"
+
+"I shall fulfil my promise to the letter. I will tell her as I promised."
+
+"Out of love for me?"
+
+"Out of love for you, and because the play no longer interests me."
+
+"I wonder what new devilment is at work in your mind?"
+
+"Michael, I do not want to get into a temper. It makes lines in my face. I
+hate this place. It is dead. I want life, and color, and music. I want the
+rest of September in Ostend."
+
+"Paris, Capri, Taormina, Ostend; I marvel if ever you will be content to
+stay in one place long enough for me to get my breath?"
+
+"My dear, I am young. One of these days I shall be content to sit by your
+great Russian fireplace and hold your hand."
+
+"Hold it now."
+
+She laughed and pressed his hand between her own. "Michael, look me
+straight in the eyes." He did so willingly enough. "There is no other man.
+And if you ever look at another woman ... Well!"
+
+"I'll send over for the invitation." He stuffed his pockets with nuts and
+put on his hat.
+
+Flora then proceeded secretly to polish once more the Apple of Discord
+which, a deal tarnished for lack of use, she had been compelled to bring
+down from the promontory.
+
+                   *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Am I all right?" asked Harrigan.
+
+Courtlandt nodded. "You look like a soldier in mufti, and more than that,
+like the gentleman that you naturally are," quite sincerely.
+
+The ex-gladiator blushed. "This is the reception-room. There's the
+ballroom right out there. The smoking-room is on the other side. Now, how
+in the old Harry am I going to get across without killing some one?"
+
+Courtlandt resisted the desire to laugh. "Supposing you let me pilot you
+over?"
+
+"You're the referee. Ring the gong."
+
+"Come on, then."
+
+"What! while they are dancing?" backing away in dismay.
+
+The other caught him by the arm. "Come on."
+
+And in and out they went, hither and thither, now dodging, now pausing to
+let the swirl pass, until at length Harrigan found himself safe on shore,
+in the dim cool smoking-room.
+
+"I don't see how you did it," admiringly.
+
+"I'll drop in every little while to see how you are getting on,"
+volunteered Courtlandt. "You can sit by the door if you care to see them
+dance. I'm off to see Mrs. Harrigan and tell her where you are. Here's a
+cigar."
+
+Harrigan turned the cigar over and over in his fingers, all the while
+gazing at the young man's diminishing back. He sighed. _That_ would make
+him the happiest man in the world. He examined the carnelian band
+encircling the six-inches of evanescent happiness. "What do you think of
+that!" he murmured. "Same brand the old boy used to smoke. And if he pays
+anything less than sixty apiece for 'em at wholesale, I'll eat this one."
+Then he directed his attention to the casual inspection of the room. A few
+elderly men were lounging about. His sympathy was at once mutely extended;
+it was plain that they too had been dragged out. At the little smoker's
+tabouret by the door he espied two chairs, one of which was unoccupied;
+and he at once appropriated it. The other chair was totally obscured by
+the bulk of the man who sat in it; a man, bearded, blunt-nosed, passive,
+but whose eyes were bright and twinkling. Hanging from his cravat was a
+medal of some kind. Harrigan lighted his cigar, and gave himself up to the
+delights of it.
+
+"They should leave us old fellows at home," he ventured.
+
+"Perhaps, in most cases, the women would much prefer that."
+
+"Foreigner," thought Harrigan. "Well, it does seem that the older we get
+the greater obstruction we become."
+
+"What is old age?" asked the thick but not unpleasant voice of the
+stranger.
+
+"It's standing aside. Years don't count at all. A man is as young as he
+feels."
+
+"And a woman as old as she looks!" laughed the other.
+
+"Now, I don't feel old, and I am fifty-one."
+
+The man with the beard shot an admiring glance across the tabouret. "You
+are extraordinarily well preserved, sir. You do not seem older than I, and
+I am but forty."
+
+"The trouble is, over here you play cards all night in stuffy rooms and
+eat too many sauces." Harrigan had read this somewhere, and he was pleased
+to think that he could recall it so fittingly.
+
+"Agreed. You Americans are getting out in the open more than any other
+white people."
+
+"Wonder how he guessed I was from the States?" Aloud, Harrigan said: "You
+don't look as though you'd grow any older in the next ten years."
+
+"That depends." The bearded man sighed and lighted a fresh cigarette.
+"There's a beautiful young woman," with an indicative gesture toward the
+ballroom.
+
+Harrigan expanded. It was Nora, dancing with the Barone.
+
+"She's the most beautiful young woman in the world," enthusiastically.
+
+"Ah, you know her?" interestedly.
+
+"I am her father!"--as Louis XIV might have said, "I am the State."
+
+The bearded man smiled. "Sir, I congratulate you both."
+
+Courtlandt loomed in the doorway. "Comfortable?"
+
+"Perfectly. Good cigar, comfortable chair, fine view."
+
+The duke eyed Courtlandt through the pall of smoke which he had
+purposefully blown forth. He questioned, rather amusedly, what would have
+happened had he gone down to the main hall that night in Paris? Among the
+few things he admired was a well-built handsome man. Courtlandt on his
+part pretended that he did not see.
+
+"You'll find the claret and champagne punches in the hall," suggested
+Courtlandt.
+
+"Not for mine! Run away and dance."
+
+"Good-by, then." Courtlandt vanished.
+
+"There's a fine chap. Edward Courtlandt, the American millionaire." It was
+not possible for Harrigan to omit this awe-compelling elaboration.
+
+"Edward Courtlandt." The stranger stretched his legs. "I have heard of
+him. Something of a hunter."
+
+"One of the keenest."
+
+"There is no half-way with your rich American: either his money ruins him
+or he runs away from it."
+
+"There's a stunner," exclaimed Harrigan. "Wonder how she got here?"
+
+"To which lady do you refer?"
+
+"The one in scarlet. She is Flora Desimone. She and my daughter sing
+together sometimes. Of course you have heard of Eleonora da Toscana;
+that's my daughter's stage name. The two are not on very good terms,
+naturally."
+
+"Quite naturally," dryly.
+
+"But you can't get away from the Calabrian's beauty," generously.
+
+"No." The bearded man extinguished his cigarette and rose, laying a
+_carte-de-visite_ on the tabouret. "More, I should not care to get away
+from it. Good evening," pleasantly. The music stopped. He passed on into
+the crowd.
+
+Harrigan reached over and picked up the card. "Suffering shamrocks! if
+Molly could only see me now," he murmured. "I wonder if I made any breaks?
+The grand duke, and me hobnobbing with him like a waiter! James, this is
+all under your hat. We'll keep the card where Molly won't find it."
+
+Young men began to drift in and out. The air became heavy with smoke, the
+prevailing aroma being that of Turkish tobacco of which Harrigan was not
+at all fond. But his cigar was so good that he was determined not to stir
+until the coal began to tickle the end of his nose. Since Molly knew where
+he was there was no occasion to worry.
+
+Abbott came in, pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket, and impatiently
+struck a match. His hands shook a little, and the flare of the match
+revealed a pale and angry countenance.
+
+"Hey, Abbott, here's a seat. Get your second wind."
+
+"Thanks." Abbott dropped into the chair and smoked quickly. "Very stuffy
+out there. Too many."
+
+"You look it. Having a good time?"
+
+"Oh, fine!" There was a catch in the laugh which followed, but Harrigan's
+ear was not trained for these subtleties of sound, "How are you making
+out?"
+
+"I'm getting acclimated. Where's the colonel to-night? He ought to be
+around here somewhere."
+
+"I left him a few moments ago."
+
+"When you see him again, send him in. He's a live one, and I like to hear
+him talk."
+
+"I'll go at once," crushing his cigarette in the Jeypore bowl.
+
+"What's your hurry? You look like a man who has just lost his job."
+
+"Been steering a German countess. She was wound up to turn only one way,
+and I am groggy. I'll send the colonel over. By-by."
+
+"Now, what's stung the boy?"
+
+Nora was enjoying herself famously. The men hummed around her like bees
+around the sweetest rose. From time to time she saw Courtlandt hovering
+about the outskirts. She was glad he had come: the lepidopterist is latent
+or active in most women; to impale the butterfly, the moth falls easily
+into the daily routine. She was laughing and jesting with the men. Her
+mother stood by, admiringly. This time Courtlandt gently pushed his way to
+Nora's side.
+
+"May I have a dance?" he asked.
+
+"You are too late," evenly. She was becoming used to the sight of him,
+much to her amazement.
+
+"I am sorry."
+
+"Why, Nora, I didn't know that your card was filled!" said Mrs. Harrigan.
+She had the maternal eye upon Courtlandt.
+
+"Nevertheless," said Nora sweetly, "it is a fact."
+
+"I am disconsolate," replied Courtlandt, who had approached for form's
+sake only, being fully prepared for a refusal. "I have the unfortunate
+habit of turning up late," with a significance which only Nora
+understood.
+
+"So, those who are late must suffer the consequences."
+
+"Supper?"
+
+"The Barone rather than you."
+
+The music began again, and Abbott whirled her away. She was dressed in
+Burmese taffeta, a rich orange. In the dark of her beautiful black hair
+there was the green luster of emeralds; an Indian-princess necklace of
+emeralds and pearls was looped around her dazzling white throat.
+Unconsciously Courtlandt sighed audibly, and Mrs. Harrigan heard this note
+of unrest.
+
+"Who is that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan.
+
+"Flora Desimone's husband, the duke. He and Mr. Harrigan were having quite
+a conversation in the smoke-room."
+
+"What!" in consternation.
+
+"They were getting along finely when I left them."
+
+Mrs. Harrigan felt her heart sink. The duke and James together meant
+nothing short of a catastrophe; for James would not know whom he was
+addressing, and would make all manner of confidences. She knew something
+would happen if she let him out of her sight. He was eternally talking to
+strangers.
+
+"Would you mind telling Mr. Harrigan that I wish to see him?"
+
+"Not at all."
+
+Nora stopped at the end of the ballroom. "Donald, let us go out into the
+garden. I want a breath of air. Did you see her?"
+
+"Couldn't help seeing her. It was the duke, I suppose. It appears that he
+is an old friend of the duchess. We'll go through the conservatory. It's a
+short-cut."
+
+The night was full of moonshine; it danced upon the water; it fired the
+filigree tops of the solemn cypress; it laced the lawn with quivering
+shadows; and heavy hung the cloying perfume of the box-wood hedges.
+
+"_O bellissima notta!_" she sang. "Is it not glorious?"
+
+"Nora," said Abbott, leaning suddenly toward her.
+
+"Don't say it. Donald; please don't. Don't waste your love on me. You are
+a good man, and I should not be worthy the name of woman if I did not feel
+proud and sad. I want you always as a friend; and if you decide that can
+not be, I shall lose faith in everything. I have never had a brother, and
+in these two short years I have grown to look on you as one. I am sorry.
+But if you will look back you will see that I never gave you any
+encouragement. I was never more than your comrade. I have many faults, but
+I am not naturally a coquette. I know my heart; I know it well."
+
+"Is there another?" in despair.
+
+"Once upon a time, Donald, there was. There is nothing now but ashes. I am
+telling you this so that it will not be so hard for you to return to the
+old friendly footing. You are a brave man. Any man is who takes his heart
+in his hand and offers it to a woman. You are going to take my hand and
+promise to be my friend always."
+
+"Ah, Nora!"
+
+"You mustn't, Donald. I can't return to the ballroom with my eyes red. You
+will never know how a woman on the stage has to fight to earn her bread.
+And that part is only a skirmish compared to the ceaseless war men wage
+against her. She has only the fortifications of her wit and her presence
+of mind. Was I not abducted in the heart of Paris? And but for the
+cowardice of the man, who knows what might have happened? If I have
+beauty, God gave it to me to wear, and wear it I will. My father, the
+padre, you and the Barone; I would not trust any other men living. I am
+often unhappy, but I do not inflict this unhappiness on others. Be you the
+same. Be my friend; be brave and fight it out of your heart." Quickly she
+drew his head toward her and lightly kissed the forehead. "There! Ah,
+Donald, I very much need a friend."
+
+"All right, Nora," bravely indeed, for the pain in his young heart cried
+out for the ends of the earth in which to hide. "All right! I'm young;
+maybe I'll get over it in time. Always count on me. You wouldn't mind
+going back to the ballroom alone, would you? I've got an idea I'd like to
+smoke over it. No, I'll take you to the end of the conservatory and come
+back. I can't face the rest of them just now."
+
+Nora had hoped against hope that it was only infatuation, but in the last
+few days she could not ignore the truth that he really loved her. She had
+thrown him and Celeste together in vain. Poor Celeste, poor lovely
+Celeste, who wore her heart upon her sleeve, patent to all eyes save
+Donald's! Thus, it was with defined purpose that she had lured him this
+night into the garden. She wanted to disillusion him.
+
+The Barone, glooming in an obscure corner of the conservatory, saw them
+come in. Abbott's brave young face deceived him. At the door Abbott smiled
+and bowed and returned to the garden. The Barone rose to follow him. He
+had committed a theft of which he was genuinely sorry; and he was man
+enough to seek his rival and apologize. But fate had chosen for him the
+worst possible time. He had taken but a step forward, when a tableau
+formed by the door, causing him to pause irresolutely.
+
+Nora was face to face at last with Flora Desimone.
+
+"I wish to speak to you," said the Italian abruptly.
+
+"Nothing you could possibly say would interest me," declared Nora,
+haughtily and made as if to pass.
+
+"Do not be too sure," insolently.
+
+Their voices were low, but they reached the ears of the Barone, who wished
+he was anywhere but here. He moved silently behind the palms toward the
+exit.
+
+"Let me be frank. I hate you and detest you with all my heart," continued
+Flora. "I have always hated you, with your supercilious airs, you, whose
+father...."
+
+"Don't you dare to say an ill word of him!" cried Nora, her Irish blood
+throwing hauteur to the winds. "He is kind and brave and loyal, and I am
+proud of him. Say what you will about me; it will not bother me in the
+least."
+
+The Barone heard no more. By degrees he had reached the exit, and he was
+mightily relieved to get outside. The Calabrian had chosen her time well,
+for the conservatory was practically empty. The Barone's eyes searched the
+shadows and at length discerned Abbott leaning over the parapet.
+
+[Illustration: "I hate you and detest you with all my heart."]
+
+"Ah!" said Abbott, facing about. "So it is you. You deliberately scratched
+off my name and substituted your own. It was the act of a contemptible
+cad. And I tell you here and now. A cad!"
+
+The Barone was Italian. He had sought Abbott with the best intentions; to
+apologize abjectly, distasteful though it might be to his hot blood.
+Instead, he struck Abbott across the mouth, and the latter promptly
+knocked him down.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+PISTOLS FOR TWO
+
+
+Courtlandt knocked on the studio door.
+
+"Come in."
+
+He discovered Abbott, stretched out upon the lounge, idly picking at the
+loose plaster in the wall.
+
+"Hello!" said Abbott carelessly. "Help yourself to a chair."
+
+Instead, Courtlandt walked about the room, aimlessly. He paused at the
+window; he picked up a sketch and studied it at various angles; he kicked
+the footstool across the floor, not with any sign of anger but with a
+seriousness that would have caused Abbott to laugh, had he been looking at
+his friend. He continued, however, to pluck at the plaster. He had always
+hated and loved Courtlandt, alternately. He never sought to analyze this
+peculiar cardiac condition. He only knew that at one time he hated the
+man, and that at another he would have laid down his life for him. Perhaps
+it was rather a passive jealousy which he mistook for hatred. Abbott had
+never envied Courtlandt his riches; but often the sight of Courtlandt's
+physical superiority, his adaptability, his knowledge of men and affairs,
+the way he had of anticipating the unspoken wishes of women, his
+unembarrassed gallantry, these attributes stirred the envy of which he was
+always manly enough to be ashamed. Courtlandt's unexpected appearance in
+Bellaggio had also created a suspicion which he could not minutely define.
+The truth was, when a man loved, every other man became his enemy, not
+excepting her father: the primordial instinct has survived all the
+applications of veneer. So, Abbott was not at all pleased to see his
+friend that morning.
+
+At length Courtlandt returned to the lounge. "The Barone called upon me
+this morning."
+
+"Oh, he did?"
+
+"I think you had better write him an apology."
+
+Abbott sat up. He flung the piece of plaster violently to the floor.
+"Apologize? Well, I like your nerve to come here with that kind of wabble.
+Look at these lips! Man, he struck me across the mouth, and I knocked him
+down."
+
+"It was a pretty good wallop, considering that you couldn't see his face
+very well in the dark. I always said that you had more spunk to the square
+inch than any other chap I know. But over here, Suds, as you know, it's
+different. You can't knock down an officer and get away with it. So, you
+just sit down at your desk and write a little note, saying that you regret
+your hastiness. I'll see that it goes through all right. Fortunately, no
+one heard of the row."
+
+"I'll see you both farther!" wrathfully. "Look at these lips, I say!"
+
+"Before he struck you, you must have given provocation."
+
+"Sha'n't discuss what took place. Nor will I apologize."
+
+"That's final?"
+
+"You have my word for it."
+
+"Well, I'm sorry. The Barone is a decent sort. He gives you the
+preference, and suggests that you select pistols, since you would be no
+match for him with rapiers."
+
+"Pistols!" shouted Abbott. "For the love of glory, what are you driving
+at?"
+
+"The Barone has asked me to be his second. And I have despatched a note to
+the colonel, advising him to attend to your side. I accepted the Barone's
+proposition solely that I might get here first and convince you that an
+apology will save you a heap of discomfort. The Barone is a first-rate
+shot, and doubtless he will only wing you. But that will mean scandal and
+several weeks in the hospital, to say nothing of a devil of a row with the
+civil authorities. In the army the Italian still fights his _duello_, but
+these affairs never get into the newspapers, as in France. Seldom,
+however, is any one seriously hurt. They are excitable, and consequently a
+good shot is likely to shoot wildly at a pinch. So there you are, my
+boy."
+
+"Are you in your right mind? Do you mean to tell me that you have come
+here to arrange a duel?" asked Abbott, his voice low and a bit shaky.
+
+"To prevent one. So, write your apology. Don't worry about the moral side
+of the question. It's only a fool who will offer himself as a target to a
+man who knows how to shoot. You couldn't hit the broadside of a barn with
+a shot-gun."
+
+Abbott brushed the dust from his coat and got up. "A duel!" He laughed a
+bit hysterically. Well, why not? Since Nora could never be his, there was
+no future for him. He might far better serve as a target than to go on
+living with the pain and bitterness in his heart. "Very well. Tell the
+Barone my choice is pistols. He may set the time and place himself."
+
+"Go over to that desk and write that apology. If you don't, I promise on
+my part to tell Nora Harrigan, who, I dare say, is at the bottom of this,
+innocently or otherwise."
+
+"Courtlandt!"
+
+"I mean just what I say. Take your choice. Stop this nonsense yourself
+like a reasonable human being, or let Nora Harrigan stop it for you. There
+will be no duel, not if I can help it."
+
+Abbott saw instantly what would happen. Nora would go to the Barone and
+beg off for him. "All right! I'll write that apology. But listen: you will
+knock hereafter when you enter any of my studios. You've kicked out the
+bottom from the old footing. You are not the friend you profess to be. You
+are making me a coward in the eyes of that damned Italian. He will never
+understand this phase of it." Thereupon Abbott ran over to his desk and
+scribbled the note, sealing it with a bang. "Here you are. Perhaps you had
+best go at once."
+
+"Abby, I'm sorry that you take this view."
+
+"I don't care to hear any platitudes, thank you."
+
+"I'll look you up to-morrow, and on my part I sha'n't ask for any apology.
+In a little while you'll thank me. You will even laugh with me."
+
+"Permit me to doubt that," angrily. He threw open the door.
+
+Courtlandt was too wise to argue further. He had obtained the object of
+his errand, and that was enough for the present. "Sorry you are not open
+to reason. Good morning."
+
+When the door closed, Abbott tramped the floor and vented his temper on
+the much abused footstool, which he kicked whenever it came in the line of
+his march. In his soul he knew that Courtlandt was right. More than that,
+he knew that presently he would seek him and apologize.
+
+Unfortunately, neither of them counted on the colonel.
+
+Without being quite conscious of the act, Abbott took down from the wall
+an ancient dueling-pistol, cocked it, snapped it, and looked it over with
+an interest that he had never before bestowed on it. And the colonel,
+bursting into the studio, found him absorbed in the contemplation of this
+old death-dealing instrument.
+
+"Ha!" roared the old war dog. "Had an idea that something like this was
+going to happen. Put that up. You couldn't kill anything with that unless
+you hit 'em on the head with it. Leave the matter to me. I've a pair of
+pistols, sighted to hit a shilling at twenty yards. Of course, you can't
+fight him with swords. He's one of the best in all Italy. But you've just
+as good a chance as he has with pistols. Nine times out of ten the tyro
+hits the bull's-eye, while the crack goes wild. Just you sit jolly tight.
+Who's his second; Courtlandt?"
+
+"Yes." Abbott was truly and completely bewildered.
+
+"He struck you first, I understand, and you knocked him down. Good! My
+tennis-courts are out of the way. We can settle this matter to-morrow
+morning at dawn. Ellicott will come over from Cadenabbia with his saws.
+He's close-mouthed. All you need to do is to keep quiet. You can spend the
+night at the villa with me, and I'll give you a few ideas about shooting a
+pistol. Here; write what I dictate." He pushed Abbott over to the desk and
+forced him into the chair. Abbott wrote mechanically, as one hypnotized.
+The colonel seized the letter. "No flowery sentences; a few words bang at
+the mark. Come up to the villa as soon as you can. We'll jolly well cool
+this Italian's blood."
+
+And out he went, banging the door. There was something of the directness
+of a bullet in the old fellow's methods.
+
+Literally, Abbott had been rushed off his feet. The moment his confusion
+cleared he saw the predicament into which his own stupidity and the
+amiable colonel's impetuous good offices had plunged him. He was
+horrified. Here was Courtlandt carrying the apology, and hot on his heels
+was the colonel, with the final arrangements for the meeting. He ran to
+the door, bareheaded, took the stairs three and four at a bound. But the
+energetic Anglo-Indian had gone down in bounds also; and when the
+distracted artist reached the street, the other was nowhere to be seen.
+Apparently there was nothing left but to send another apology. Rather than
+perform so shameful and cowardly an act he would have cut off his hand.
+
+The Barone, pale and determined, passed the second note to Courtlandt who
+was congratulating himself (prematurely as will be seen) on the peaceful
+dispersion of the war-clouds. He was dumfounded.
+
+"You will excuse me," he said meekly. He must see Abbott.
+
+"A moment," interposed the Barone coldly. "If it is to seek another
+apology, it will be useless. I refuse to accept. Mr. Abbott will fight, or
+I will publicly brand him, the first opportunity, as a coward."
+
+Courtlandt bit his mustache. "In that case, I shall go at once to Colonel
+Caxley-Webster."
+
+"Thank you. I shall be in my room at the villa the greater part of the
+day." The Barone bowed.
+
+Courtlandt caught the colonel as he was entering his motor-boat.
+
+"Come over to tiffin."
+
+"Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere else."
+
+When the motor began its racket, Courtlandt pulled the colonel over to
+him.
+
+"Do you know what you have done?"
+
+"Done?" dropping his eye-glass.
+
+"Yes. Knowing that Abbott would have no earthly chance against the
+Italian, I went to him and forced him to write an apology. And you have
+blown the whole thing higher than a kite."
+
+The colonel's eyes bulged. "Dem it, why didn't the young fool tell me?"
+
+"Your hurry probably rattled him. But what are we going to do? I'm not
+going to have the boy hurt. I love him as a brother; though, just now, he
+regards me as a mortal enemy. Perhaps I am," moodily. "I have deceived
+him, and somehow--blindly it is true--he knows it. I am as full of deceit
+as a pomegranate is of seeds."
+
+"Have him send another apology."
+
+"The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He would refuse to accept it, and said
+so."
+
+"Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!"
+
+"With pleasure, but that will not stop the row. There is a way out, but it
+appeals to me as damnably low."
+
+"Oh, Abbott will not run. He isn't that kind."
+
+"No, he'll not run. But if you will agree with me, honor may be satisfied
+without either of them getting hurt."
+
+"Women beat the devil, don't they? What's your plan?"
+
+Courtlandt outlined it.
+
+The colonel frowned. "That doesn't sound like you. Beastly trick."
+
+"I know it."
+
+"We'll lunch first. It will take a few pegs to get that idea through this
+bally head of mine."
+
+When Abbott came over later that day, he was subdued in manner. He laughed
+occasionally, smoked a few cigars, but declined stimulants. He even played
+a game of tennis creditably. And after dinner he shot a hundred billiards.
+The colonel watched his hands keenly. There was not the slightest
+indication of nerves.
+
+"Hang the boy!" he muttered. "I ought to be ashamed of myself. There isn't
+a bit of funk in his whole make-up."
+
+At nine Abbott retired. He did not sleep very well. He was irked by the
+morbid idea that the Barone was going to send the bullet through his
+throat. He was up at five. He strolled about the garden. He realized that
+it was very good to be alive. Once he gazed somberly at the little white
+villa, away to the north. How crisply it stood out against the dark
+foliage! How blue the water was! And far, far away the serene snowcaps!
+Nora Harrigan ... Well, he was going to stand up like a man. She should
+never be ashamed of her memory of him. If he went out, all worry would be
+at an end, and that would be something. What a mess he had made of things!
+He did not blame the Italian. A duel! he, the son of a man who had
+invented wash-tubs, was going to fight a duel! He wanted to laugh; he
+wanted to cry. Wasn't he just dreaming? Wasn't it all a nightmare out of
+which he would presently awake?
+
+"Breakfast, Sahib," said Rao, deferentially touching his arm.
+
+He was awake; it was all true.
+
+"You'll want coffee," began the colonel. "Drink as much as you like. And
+you'll find the eggs good, too." The colonel wanted to see if Abbott ate
+well.
+
+The artist helped himself twice and drank three cups of coffee. "You know,
+I suppose all men in a hole like this have funny ideas. I was just
+thinking that I should like a partridge and a bottle of champagne."
+
+"We'll have that for tiffin," said the colonel, confidentially. In fact,
+he summoned the butler and gave the order.
+
+"It's mighty kind of you, Colonel, to buck me up this way."
+
+"Rot!" The colonel experienced a slight heat in his leathery cheeks. "All
+you've got to do is to hold your arm out straight, pull the trigger, and
+squint afterward."
+
+"I sha'n't hurt the Barone," smiling faintly.
+
+"Are you going to be ass enough to pop your gun in the air?" indignantly.
+
+Abbott shrugged; and the colonel cursed himself for the guiltiest
+scoundrel unhung.
+
+Half an hour later the opponents stood at each end of the tennis-court.
+Ellicott, the surgeon, had laid open his medical case. He was the most
+agitated of the five men. His fingers shook as he spread out the lints and
+bandages. The colonel and Courtlandt had solemnly gone through the
+formality of loading the weapons. The sun had not climbed over the eastern
+summits, but the snow on the western tops was rosy.
+
+"At the word three, gentlemen, you will fire," said the colonel.
+
+The two shots came simultaneously. Abbott had deliberately pointed his
+into the air. For a moment he stood perfectly still; then, his knees
+sagged, and he toppled forward on his face.
+
+"Great God!" whispered the colonel; "you must have forgotten the ramrod!"
+
+He, Courtlandt, and the surgeon rushed over to the fallen man. The Barone
+stood like stone. Suddenly, with a gesture of horror, he flung aside his
+smoking pistol and ran across the court.
+
+"Gentlemen," he cried, "on my honor, I aimed three feet above his head."
+He wrung his hands together in anxiety. "It is impossible! It is only that
+I wished to see if he were a brave man. I shoot well. It is impossible!"
+he reiterated.
+
+[Illustration: Suddenly he flung aside his smoking pistol.]
+
+Rapidly the cunning hand of the surgeon ran over Abbott's body. He finally
+shook his head. "Nothing has touched him. His heart gave under. Fainted."
+
+When Abbott came to his senses, he smiled weakly. The Barone was one of
+the two who helped him to his feet.
+
+"I feel like a fool," he said.
+
+"Ah, let me apologize now," said the Barone. "What I did at the ball was
+wrong, and I should not have lost my temper. I had come to you to
+apologize then. But I am Italian. It is natural that I should lose my
+temper," naively.
+
+"We're both of us a pair of fools, Barone. There was always some one else.
+A couple of fools."
+
+"Yes," admitted the Barone eagerly.
+
+"Considering," whispered the colonel in Courtlandt's ear; "considering
+that neither of them knew they were shooting nothing more dangerous than
+wads, they're pretty good specimens. Eh, what?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+COURTLANDT TELLS A STORY
+
+
+The Colonel and his guests at luncheon had listened to Courtlandt without
+sound or movement beyond the occasional rasp of feet shifting under the
+table. He had begun with the old familiar phrase--"I've got a story."
+
+"Tell it," had been the instant request.
+
+At the beginning the men had been leaning at various negligent
+angles,--some with their elbows upon the table, some with their arms
+thrown across the backs of their chairs. The partridge had been excellent,
+the wine delicious, the tobacco irreproachable. Burma, the tinkle of bells
+in the temples, the strange pictures in the bazaars, long journeys over
+smooth and stormy seas; romance, moving and colorful, which began at
+Rangoon, had zigzagged around the world, and ended in Berlin.
+
+"And so," concluded the teller of the tale, "that is the story. This man
+was perfectly innocent of any wrong, a victim of malice on the one hand
+and of injustice on the other."
+
+"Is that the end of the yarn?" asked the colonel.
+
+"Who in life knows what the end of anything is? This is not a story out of
+a book." Courtlandt accepted a fresh cigar from the box which Rao passed
+to him, and dropped his dead weed into the ash-bowl.
+
+"Has he given up?" asked Abbott, his voice strangely unfamiliar in his own
+ears.
+
+"A man can struggle just so long against odds, then he wins or becomes
+broken. Women are not logical; generally they permit themselves to be
+guided by impulse rather than by reason. This man I am telling you about
+was proud; perhaps too proud. It is a shameful fact, but he ran away.
+True, he wrote letter after letter, but all these were returned unopened.
+Then he stopped."
+
+"A woman would a good deal rather believe circumstantial evidence than
+not. Humph!" The colonel primed his pipe and relighted it. "She couldn't
+have been worth much."
+
+"Worth much!" cried Abbott. "What do you imply by that?"
+
+"No man will really give up a woman who is really worth while, that is, of
+course, admitting that your man, Courtlandt, _is_ a man. Perhaps, though,
+it was his fault. He was not persistent enough, maybe a bit spineless. The
+fact that he gave up so quickly possibly convinced her that her
+impressions were correct. Why, I'd have followed her day in and day out,
+year after year; never would I have let up until I had proved to her that
+she had been wrong."
+
+"The colonel is right," Abbott approved, never taking his eyes off
+Courtlandt, who was apparently absorbed in the contemplation of the bread
+crumbs under his fingers.
+
+"And more, by hook or crook, I'd have dragged in the other woman by the
+hair and made her confess."
+
+"I do not doubt it, Colonel," responded Courtlandt, with a dry laugh. "And
+that would really have been the end of the story. The heroine of this
+rambling tale would then have been absolutely certain of collusion between
+the two."
+
+"That is like a woman," the Barone agreed, and he knew something about
+them. "And where is this man now?"
+
+"Here," said Courtlandt, pushing back his chair and rising. "I am he." He
+turned his back upon them and sought the garden.
+
+Tableau!
+
+"Dash me!" cried the colonel, who, being the least interested personally,
+was first to recover his speech.
+
+The Barone drew in his breath sharply. Then he looked at Abbott.
+
+"I suspected it," replied Abbott to the mute question. Since the episode
+of that morning his philosophical outlook had broadened. He had fought a
+duel and had come out of it with flying colors. As long as he lived he was
+certain that the petty affairs of the day were never again going to
+disturb him.
+
+"Let him be," was the colonel's suggestion, adding a gesture in the
+direction of the casement door through which Courtlandt had gone. "He's as
+big a man as Nora is a woman. If he has returned with the determination of
+winning her, he will."
+
+They did not see Courtlandt again. After a few minutes of restless
+to-and-froing, he proceeded down to the landing, helped himself to the
+colonel's motor-boat, and returned to Bellaggio. At the hotel he asked for
+the duke, only to be told that the duke and madame had left that morning
+for Paris. Courtlandt saw that he had permitted one great opportunity to
+slip past. He gave up the battle. One more good look at her, and he would
+go away. The odds had been too strong for him, and he knew that he was
+broken.
+
+When the motor-boat came back, Abbott and the Barone made use of it also.
+They crossed in silence, heavy-hearted.
+
+On landing Abbott said: "It is probable that I shall not see you again
+this year. I am leaving to-morrow for Paris. It's a great world, isn't it,
+where they toss us around like dice? Some throw sixes and others deuces.
+And in this game you and I have lost two out of three."
+
+"I shall return to Rome," replied the Barone. "My long leave of absence is
+near its end."
+
+"What in the world can have happened?" demanded Nora, showing the two
+notes to Celeste. "Here's Donald going to Paris to-morrow and the Barone
+to Rome. They will bid us good-by at tea. I don't understand. Donald was
+to remain until we left for America, and the Barone's leave does not end
+until October."
+
+"To-morrow?" Dim-eyed, Celeste returned the notes.
+
+"Yes. You play the fourth _ballade_ and I'll sing from _Madame_. It will
+be very lonesome without them." Nora gazed into the wall mirror and gave a
+pat or two to her hair.
+
+When the men arrived, it was impressed on Nora's mind that never had she
+seen them so amiable toward each other. They were positively friendly. And
+why not? The test of the morning had proved each of them to his own
+individual satisfaction, and had done away with those stilted mannerisms
+that generally make rivals ridiculous in all eyes save their own. The
+revelation at luncheon had convinced them of the futility of things in
+general and of woman in particular. They were, without being aware of the
+fact, each a consolation to the other. The old adage that misery loves
+company was never more nicely typified.
+
+If Celeste expected Nora to exhibit any signs of distress over the
+approaching departure, she was disappointed. In truth, Nora was secretly
+pleased to be rid of these two suitors, much as she liked them. The Barone
+had not yet proposed, and his sudden determination to return to Rome
+eliminated this disagreeable possibility. She was glad Abbott was going
+because she had hurt him without intention, and the sight of him was, in
+spite of her innocence, a constant reproach. Presently she would have her
+work, and there would be no time for loneliness.
+
+The person who suffered keenest was Celeste. She was awake; the tender
+little dream was gone; and bravely she accepted the fact. Never her agile
+fingers stumbled, and she played remarkably well, from Beethoven, Chopin,
+Grieg, Rubinstein, MacDowell. And Nora, perversely enough, sang from old
+light opera.
+
+When the two men departed, Celeste went to her room and Nora out upon the
+terrace. It was after five. No one was about, so far as she could see. She
+stood enchanted over the transformation that was affecting the mountains
+and the lakes. How she loved the spot! How she would have liked to spend
+the rest of her days here! And how beautiful all the world was to-day!
+
+She gave a frightened little scream. A strong pair of arms had encircled
+her. She started to cry out again, but the sound was muffled and blotted
+out by the pressure of a man's lips upon her own. She struggled violently,
+and suddenly was freed.
+
+"If I were a man," she said, "you should die for that!"
+
+"It was an opportunity not to be ignored," returned Courtlandt. "It is
+true that I was a fool to run away as I did, but my return has convinced
+me that I should have been as much a fool had I remained to tag you about,
+begging for an interview. I wrote you letters. You returned them unopened.
+You have condemned me without a hearing. So be it. You may consider that
+kiss the farewell appearance so dear to the operatic heart," bitterly.
+
+He addressed most of this to the back of her head, for she was already
+walking toward the villa into which she disappeared with the proud air of
+some queen of tragedy. She was a capital actress.
+
+A heavy hand fell upon Courtlandt's shoulder. He was irresistibly drawn
+right about face.
+
+"Now, then, Mr. Courtlandt," said Harrigan, his eyes blue and cold as ice,
+"perhaps you will explain?"
+
+With rage and despair in his heart, Courtlandt flung off the hand and
+answered: "I refuse!"
+
+"Ah!" Harrigan stood off a few steps and ran his glance critically up and
+down this man of whom he had thought to make a friend. "You're a husky
+lad. There's one way out of this for you."
+
+"So long as it does not necessitate any explanations," indifferently.
+
+"In the bottom of one of Nora's trunks is a set of my old gloves. There
+will not be any one up at the tennis-court this time of day. If you are
+not a mean cuss, if you are not an ordinary low-down imitation of a man,
+you'll meet me up there inside of five minutes. If you can stand up in
+front of me for ten minutes, you need not make any explanations. On the
+other hand, you'll hike out of here as fast as boats and trains can take
+you. And never come back."
+
+"I am nearly twenty years younger than you, Mr. Harrigan."
+
+"Oh, don't let that worry you any," with a truculent laugh.
+
+"Very well. You will find me there. After all, you are her father."
+
+"You bet I am!"
+
+Harrigan stole into his daughter's room and soundlessly bored into the
+bottom of the trunk that contained the relics of past glory. As he pulled
+them forth, a folded oblong strip of parchment came out with them and
+fluttered to the floor; but he was too busily engaged to notice it, nor
+would he have bothered if he had. The bottom of the trunk was littered
+with old letters and programs and operatic scores. He wrapped the gloves
+in a newspaper and got away without being seen. He was as happy as a boy
+who had discovered an opening in the fence between him and the apple
+orchard. He was rather astonished to see Courtlandt kneeling in the
+clover-patch, hunting for a four-leaf clover. It was patent that the young
+man was not troubled with nerves.
+
+"Here!" he cried, bruskly, tossing over a pair of gloves. "If this method
+of settling the dispute isn't satisfactory, I'll accept your
+explanations."
+
+For reply Courtlandt stood up and stripped to his undershirt. He drew on
+the gloves and laced them with the aid of his teeth. Then he kneaded them
+carefully. The two men eyed each other a little more respectfully than
+they had ever done before.
+
+"This single court is about as near as we can make it. The man who steps
+outside is whipped."
+
+"I agree," said Courtlandt.
+
+"No rounds with rests; until one or the other is outside. Clean breaks.
+That's about all. Now, put up your dukes and take a man's licking. I
+thought you were your father's son, but I guess you are like the rest of
+'em, hunters of women."
+
+Courtlandt laughed and stepped to the middle of the court. Harrigan did
+not waste any time. He sent in a straight jab to the jaw, but Courtlandt
+blocked it neatly and countered with a hard one on Harrigan's ear, which
+began to swell.
+
+"Fine!" growled Harrigan. "You know something about the game. It won't be
+as if I was walloping a baby." He sent a left to the body, but the right
+failed to reach his man.
+
+For some time Harrigan jabbed and swung and upper-cut; often he reached
+his opponent's body, but never his face. It worried him a little to find
+that he could not stir Courtlandt more than two or three feet. Courtlandt
+never followed up any advantage, thus making Harrigan force the fighting,
+which was rather to his liking. But presently it began to enter his mind
+convincingly that apart from the initial blow, the younger man was working
+wholly on the defensive. As if he were afraid he might hurt him! This
+served to make the old fellow furious. He bored in right and left, left
+and right, and Courtlandt gave way, step by step until he was so close to
+the line that he could see it from the corner of his eye. This glance,
+swift as it was, came near to being his undoing. Harrigan caught him with
+a terrible right on the jaw. It was a glancing blow, otherwise the fight
+would have ended then and there. Instantly he lurched forward and clenched
+before the other could add the finishing touch.
+
+The two pushed about, Harrigan fiercely striving to break the younger
+man's hold. He was beginning to breathe hard besides. A little longer, and
+his blows would lack the proper steam. Finally Courtlandt broke away of
+his own accord. His head buzzed a little, but aside from that he had
+recovered. Harrigan pursued his tactics and rushed. But this time there
+was an offensive return. Courtlandt became the aggressor. There was no
+withstanding him. And Harrigan fairly saw the end; but with that
+indomitable pluck which had made him famous in the annals of the ring, he
+kept banging away. The swift cruel jabs here and there upon his body began
+to tell. Oh, for a minute's rest and a piece of lemon on his parched
+tongue! Suddenly Courtlandt rushed him tigerishly, landing a jab which
+closed Harrigan's right eye. Courtlandt dropped his hands, and stepped
+back. His glance traveled suggestively to Harrigan's feet. He was outside
+the "ropes."
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mr. Harrigan, for losing my temper."
+
+"What's the odds? I lost mine. You win." Harrigan was a true sportsman. He
+had no excuses to offer. He had dug the pit of humiliation with his own
+hands. He recognized this as one of two facts. The other was, that had
+Courtlandt extended himself, the battle would have lasted about one
+minute. It was gall and wormwood, but there you were.
+
+"And now, you ask for explanations. Ask your daughter to make them."
+Courtlandt pulled off the gloves and got into his clothes. "You may add,
+sir, that I shall never trouble her again with my unwelcome attentions. I
+leave for Milan in the morning." Courtlandt left the field of victory
+without further comment.
+
+"Well, what do you think of that?" mused Harrigan, as he stooped over to
+gather up the gloves. "Any one would say that he was the injured party.
+I'm in wrong on this deal somewhere. I'll ask Miss Nora a question or
+two."
+
+It was not so easy returning. He ran into his wife. He tried to dodge her,
+but without success.
+
+"James, where did you get that black eye?" tragically.
+
+"It's a daisy, ain't it, Molly?" pushing past her into Nora's room and
+closing the door after him.
+
+"Father!"
+
+"That you, Nora?" blinking.
+
+"Father, if you have been fighting with _him_, I'll never forgive you."
+
+"Forget it, Nora. I wasn't fighting. I only thought I was."
+
+He raised the lid of the trunk and cast in the gloves haphazard. And then
+he saw the paper which had fallen out. He picked it up and squinted at it,
+for he could not see very well. Nora was leaving the room in a temper.
+
+"Going, Nora?"
+
+"I am. And I advise you to have your dinner in your room."
+
+Alone, he turned on the light. It never occurred to him that he might be
+prying into some of Nora's private correspondence. He unfolded the
+parchment and held it under the light. For a long time he stared at the
+writing, which was in English, at the date, at the names. Then he quietly
+refolded it and put it away for future use, immediate future use.
+
+"This is a great world," he murmured, rubbing his ear tenderly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+JOURNEY'S END
+
+
+Harrigan dined alone. He was in disgrace; he was sore, mentally as well as
+physically; and he ate his dinner without relish, in simple obedience to
+those well regulated periods of hunger that assailed him three times a
+day, in spring, summer, autumn and winter. By the time the waiter had
+cleared away the dishes, Harrigan had a perfecto between his teeth (along
+with a certain matrimonial bit), and smoked as if he had wagered to finish
+the cigar in half the usual stretch. He then began to walk the floor, much
+after the fashion of a man who has the toothache, or the earache, which
+would be more to the point. To his direct mind no diplomacy was needed;
+all that was necessary was a few blunt questions. Nora could answer them
+as she chose. Nora, his baby, his little girl that used to run around
+barefooted and laugh when he applied the needed birch! How children grew
+up! And they never grew too old for the birch; they certainly never did.
+
+They heard him from the drawing-room; tramp, tramp, tramp.
+
+"Let him be, Nora," said Mrs. Harrigan, wisely. "He is in a rage about
+something. And your father is not the easiest man to approach when he's
+mad. If he fought Mr. Courtlandt, he believed he had some good reason for
+doing so."
+
+"Mother, there are times when I believe you are afraid of father."
+
+"I am always afraid of him. It is only because I make believe I'm not that
+I can get him to do anything. It was dreadful. And Mr. Courtlandt was such
+a gentleman. I could cry. But let your father be until to-morrow."
+
+"And have him wandering about with that black eye? Something must be done
+for it. I'm not afraid of him."
+
+"Sometimes I wish you were."
+
+So Nora entered the lion's den fearlessly. "Is there anything I can do for
+you, dad?"
+
+"You can get the witch-hazel and bathe this lamp of mine," grimly.
+
+She ran into her own room and returned with the simpler devices for
+reducing a swollen eye. She did not notice, or pretended that she didn't,
+that he locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He sat down in a
+chair, under the light; and she went to work deftly.
+
+"I've got some make-up, and to-morrow morning I'll paint it for you."
+
+"You don't ask any questions," he said, with grimness.
+
+"Would it relieve your eye any?" lightly.
+
+He laughed. "No; but it might relieve my mind."
+
+"Well, then, why did you do so foolish a thing? At your age! Don't you
+know that you can't go on whipping every man you take a dislike to?"
+
+"I haven't taken any dislike to Courtlandt. But I saw him kiss you."
+
+"I can take care of myself."
+
+"Perhaps. I asked him to explain. He refused. One thing puzzled me, though
+I didn't know what it was at the time. Now, when a fellow steals a kiss
+from a beautiful woman like you, Nora, I don't see why he should feel mad
+about it. When he had all but knocked your daddy to by-by, he said that
+you could explain.... Don't press so hard," warningly. "Well, can you?"
+
+"Since you saw what he did, I do not see where explanations on my part are
+necessary."
+
+"Nora, I've never caught you in a lie. I never want to. When you were
+little you were the truthfullest thing I ever saw. No matter what kind of
+a licking was in store for you, you weren't afraid; you told the truth....
+There, that'll do. Put some cotton over it and bind it with a
+handkerchief. It'll be black all right, but the swelling will go down. I
+can tell 'em a tennis-ball hit me. It was more like a cannon-ball, though.
+Say, Nora, you know I've always pooh-poohed these amateurs. People used to
+say that there were dozens of men in New York in my prime who could have
+laid me cold. I used to laugh. Well, I guess they were right. Courtlandt's
+got the stiffest kick I ever ran into. A pile-driver, and if he had landed
+on my jaw, it would have been _dormi bene_, as you say when you bid me
+good night in dago. That's all right now until to-morrow. I want to talk
+to you. Draw up a chair. There! As I said, I've never caught you in a lie,
+but I find that you've been living a lie for two years. You haven't been
+square to me, nor to your mother, nor to the chaps that came around and
+made love to you. You probably didn't look at it that way, but there's the
+fact. I'm not Paul Pry; but accidentally I came across this," taking the
+document from his pocket and handing it to her. "Read it. What's the
+answer?"
+
+Nora's hands trembled.
+
+"Takes you a long time to read it. Is it true?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And I went up to the tennis-court with the intention of knocking his head
+off; and now I'm wondering why he didn't knock off mine. Nora, he's a man;
+and when you get through with this, I'm going down to the hotel and
+apologize."
+
+"You will do nothing of the sort; not with that eye."
+
+"All right. I was always worried for fear you'd hook up with some duke
+you'd have to support. Now, I want to know how this chap happens to be my
+son-in-law. Make it brief, for I don't want to get tangled up more than is
+necessary."
+
+Nora crackled the certificate in her fingers and stared unseeingly at it
+for some time. "I met him first in Rangoon," she began slowly, without
+raising her eyes.
+
+"When you went around the world on your own?"
+
+"Yes. Oh, don't worry. I was always able to take care of myself."
+
+"An Irish idea," answered Harrigan complacently.
+
+"I loved him, father, with all my heart and soul. He was not only big and
+strong and handsome, but he was kindly and tender and thoughtful. Why, I
+never knew that he was rich until after I had promised to be his wife.
+When I learned that he was the Edward Courtlandt who was always getting
+into the newspapers, I laughed. There were stories about his escapades.
+There were innuendoes regarding certain women, but I put them out of my
+mind as twaddle. Ah, never had I been so happy! In Berlin we went about
+like two children. It was play. He brought me to the Opera and took me
+away; and we had the most charming little suppers. I never wrote you or
+mother because I wished to surprise you."
+
+"You have. Go on."
+
+"I had never paid much attention to Flora Desimone, though I knew that she
+was jealous of my success. Several times I caught her looking at Edward in
+a way I did not like."
+
+"She looked at him, huh?"
+
+"It was the last performance of the season. We were married that
+afternoon. We did not want any one to know about it. I was not to leave
+the stage until the end of the following season. We were staying at the
+same hotel, with rooms across the corridor. This was much against his
+wishes, but I prevailed."
+
+"I see."
+
+"Our rooms were opposite, as I said. After the performance that night I
+went to mine to complete the final packing. We were to leave at one for
+the Tyrol. Father, I saw Flora Desimone come out of his room."
+
+Harrigan shut and opened his hands.
+
+"Do you understand? I saw her. She was laughing. I did not see him. My
+wedding night! She came from his room. My heart stopped, the world
+stopped, everything went black. All the stories that I had read and heard
+came back. When he knocked at my door I refused to see him. I never saw
+him again until that night in Paris when he forced his way into my
+apartment."
+
+"Hang it, Nora, this doesn't sound like him!"
+
+"I saw her."
+
+"He wrote you?"
+
+"I returned the letters, unopened."
+
+"That wasn't square. You might have been wrong."
+
+"He wrote five letters. After that he went to India, to Africa and back to
+India, where he seemed to find consolation enough."
+
+Harrigan laid it to his lack of normal vision, but to his single optic
+there was anything but misery in her beautiful blue eyes. True, they
+sparkled with tears; but that signified nothing: he hadn't been married
+these thirty-odd years without learning that a woman weeps for any of a
+thousand and one reasons.
+
+"Do you care for him still?"
+
+"Not a day passed during these many months that I did not vow I hated
+him."
+
+"Any one else know?"
+
+"The padre. I had to tell some one or go mad. But I didn't hate him. I
+could no more put him out of my life than I could stop breathing. Ah, I
+have been so miserable and unhappy!" She laid her head upon his knees and
+clumsily he stroked it. His girl!
+
+"That's the trouble with us Irish, Nora. We jump without looking, without
+finding whether we're right or wrong. Well, your daddy's opinion is that
+you should have read his first letter. If it didn't ring right, why, you
+could have jumped the traces. I don't believe he did anything wrong at
+all. It isn't in the man's blood to do anything underboard."
+
+"But I _saw_ her," a queer look in her eyes as she glanced up at him.
+
+"I don't care a kioodle if you did. Take it from me, it was a put-up job
+by that Calabrian woman. She might have gone to his room for any number of
+harmless things. But I think she was curious."
+
+"Why didn't she come to me, if she wanted to ask questions?"
+
+"I can see you answering 'em. She probably just wanted to know if you were
+married or not. She might have been in love with him, and then she might
+not. These Italians don't know half the time what they're about, anyhow.
+But I don't believe it of Courtlandt. He doesn't line up that way.
+Besides, he's got eyes. You're a thousand times more attractive. He's no
+fool. Know what I think? As she was coming out she saw _you_ at your door;
+and the devil in her got busy."
+
+Nora rose, flung her arms around him and kissed him.
+
+"Look out for that tin ear!"
+
+"Oh, you great big, loyal, true-hearted man! Open that door and let me get
+out to the terrace. I want to sing, sing!"
+
+"He said he was going to Milan in the morning."
+
+She danced to the door and was gone.
+
+"Nora!" he called, impatiently. He listened in vain for the sound of her
+return. "Well, I'll take the count when it comes to guessing what a
+woman's going to do. I'll go out and square up with the old girl. Wonder
+how this news will harness up with her social bug?"
+
+Courtlandt got into his compartment at Varenna. He had tipped the guard
+liberally not to open the door for any one else, unless the train was
+crowded. As the shrill blast of the conductor's horn sounded the warning
+of "all aboard," the door opened and a heavily veiled woman got in
+hurriedly. The train began to move instantly. The guard slammed the door
+and latched it. Courtlandt sighed: the futility of trusting these
+Italians, of trying to buy their loyalty! The woman was without any
+luggage whatever, not even the usual magazine. She was dressed in brown,
+her hat was brown, her veil, her gloves, her shoes. But whether she was
+young or old was beyond his deduction. He opened his _Corriere_ and held
+it before his eyes; but he found reading impossible. The newspaper finally
+slipped from his hands to the floor where it swayed and rustled unnoticed.
+He was staring at the promontory across Lecco, the green and restful hill,
+the little earthly paradise out of which he had been unjustly cast. He
+couldn't understand. He had lived cleanly and decently; he had wronged no
+man or woman, nor himself. And yet, through some evil twist of fate, he
+had lost all there was in life worth having. The train lurched around a
+shoulder of the mountain. He leaned against the window. In a moment more
+the villa was gone.
+
+What was it? He felt irresistibly drawn. Without intending to do so, he
+turned and stared at the woman in brown. Her hand went to the veil and
+swept it aside. Nora was as full of romance as a child. She could have
+stopped him before he made the boat, but she wanted to be alone with him.
+
+"Nora!"
+
+She flung herself on her knees in front of him. "I am a wretch!" she
+said.
+
+He could only repeat her name.
+
+"I am not worth my salt. Ah, why did you run away? Why did you not pursue
+me, importune me until I wearied? ... perhaps gladly? There were times
+when I would have opened my arms had you been the worst scoundrel in the
+world instead of the dearest lover, the patientest! Ah, can you forgive
+me?"
+
+"Forgive you, Nora?" He was numb.
+
+"I am a miserable wretch! I doubted you, I! When all I had to do was to
+recall the way people misrepresented things I had done! I sent back your
+letters ... and read and reread the old blue ones. Don't you remember how
+you used to write them on blue paper? ... Flora told me everything. It was
+only because she hated me, not that she cared anything about you. She told
+me that night at the ball. I believe the duke forced her to do it. She was
+at the bottom of the abduction. When you kissed me ... didn't you know
+that I kissed you back? Edward, I am a miserable wretch, but I shall
+follow you wherever you go, and I haven't even a vanity-box in my
+hand-bag!" There were tears in her eyes. "Say that I am a wretch!"
+
+He drew her up beside him. His arms closed around her so hungrily, so
+strongly, that she gasped a little. He looked into her eyes; his glance
+traveled here and there over her face, searching for the familiar dimple
+at one corner of her mouth.
+
+"Nora!" he whispered.
+
+"Kiss me!"
+
+And then the train came to a stand, jerkily. They fell back against the
+cushions.
+
+"Lecco!" cried the guard through the window.
+
+They laughed like children.
+
+"I bribed him," she said gaily. "And now...."
+
+"Yes, and now?" eagerly, if still bewilderedly.
+
+"Let's go back!"
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath
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