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diff --git a/26593-h/26593-h.htm b/26593-h/26593-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..271b6da --- /dev/null +++ b/26593-h/26593-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9168 @@ +<!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;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.4em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> + +</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;'> +“Your address!” 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 & 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’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’s page is thumbed no more,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 1.1037527593819em;'>E’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’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> </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> </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> </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> </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> </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> </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> </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> </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> </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> </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’s Edge</span> </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’s Boy</span> </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> </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> </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’s Regrets</span> </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> </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> </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> </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> </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’s End</span> </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—their +gaze directed toward the stage whence came +the voice of the prima donna—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,—Maxim’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—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.</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’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’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’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—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, +<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>“It is the American,” said one of the waiting +dandies.</p> +<p>“The icicle!”</p> +<p>“The volcano, rather, which fools believe +extinct.”</p> +<p>“Probably sent back her maid for her Bible. +Ah, these Americans; they are very amusing.”</p> +<p>“She was in magnificent voice to-night. I +wonder why she never sings <i>Carmen</i>?”</p> +<p>“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!”</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>“We shall never have war with Russia,” +said some one; “her dukes love Paris too +well.”</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,—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’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 +<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’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>“Monsieur is lonely?”</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’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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></p> +<p>“Why do you think I am lonely, Mademoiselle?” +he asked, without smiling.</p> +<p>“Oh, when one talks to one’s self, strikes +the table, wastes good wine, the inference is +but natural. So, Monsieur is lonely.”</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>“Is the comparison favorable to me?” she +asked.</p> +<p>“It is. What is loneliness?” he demanded +cynically.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That echoes of the Ambigu-Comique.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +He leaned upon his arms. “What are you +doing here?”</p> +<p>“I?”</p> +<p>“Yes. You do not talk like the other girls +who come here.”</p> +<p>“Monsieur comes here frequently, then?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Would you spare me a glass of wine? I +am thirsty.”</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. “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.”</p> +<p>“So lonely that I am almost tempted to put +you into a taxicab and run away with you.”</p> +<p>She set down the glass.</p> +<p>“But I sha’n’t,” he added.</p> +<p>The spark of eagerness in her eyes was instantly +curtained. “There is a woman?” +tentatively.</p> +<p>“Is there not always a woman?”</p> +<p>“And she has disappointed Monsieur?” +There was no marked sympathy in the tone.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Monsieur is certain about the taxicab?”</p> +<p>“Absolutely.”</p> +<p>“Ah, it is to emulate Saint Anthony!”</p> +<p>“There are several saints of that name. +To which do you refer?”</p> +<p>“Positively not to him of Padua.”</p> +<p>Courtlandt laughed. “No, I can not fancy +myself being particularly concerned about +bambini. No, my model is Noah.”</p> +<p>“Noah?” dubiously.</p> +<p>“Yes. At the time of the flood there was +only one woman in the world.”</p> +<p>“I am afraid that your knowledge of that +event is somewhat obscured. Still, I understand.”</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>“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?”</p> +<p>She twirled the glass, uneasily. “I am not +in actual need of assistance.”</p> +<p>“But you spoke peculiarly regarding loneliness.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps I like the melodrama. You +spoke of the Ambigu-Comique.”</p> +<p>“You are on the stage?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> +<p>“The Opera?”</p> +<p>“Again perhaps.”</p> +<p>He laughed once more, and drew his chair +closer to the table.</p> +<p>“Monsieur in other moods must have a +pleasant laughter.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t laughed from the heart in a very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +long time,” he said, returning to his former +gravity, this time unassumed.</p> +<p>“And I have accomplished this amazing +thing?”</p> +<p>“No. You followed me here. But from +where?”</p> +<p>“Followed you?” The effort to give a +mocking accent to her voice was a failure.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I have a friend who knows Flora Desimone.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>There was a minute wrinkle above the unknown’s +nose; the shadow of a frown. “She +is very beautiful.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Is it jealousy? I hear the tragic note.” +The certainty of her ground became as morass +again. In his turn he was puzzling her.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“I am afraid.” And she was so. This +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +wasn’t the tone of a man madly in love. It +was wild anger.</p> +<p>“Afraid of what?”</p> +<p>“You.”</p> +<p>“I will give you a hundred francs.” He +watched her closely and shrewdly.</p> +<p>Came the little wrinkle again, but this time +urged in perplexity. “A hundred francs, for +something I was sent to tell you?”</p> +<p>“And now refuse.”</p> +<p>“It is very generous. She has a heart of +flint, Monsieur.”</p> +<p>“Well I know it. Perhaps now I have one +of steel.”</p> +<p>“Many sparks do not make a fire. Do you +know that your French is very good?”</p> +<p>“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?”</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. “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.</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Courtlandt. “Odd +paper, though.” He turned it over. “Ah, I +understand. You copy music.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Monsieur.”</p> +<p>This time the nervous flicker of her eyes did +not escape him. “You are studying for the +opera, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“Yes, that is it.”</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’s address and +he was impatient to be off.</p> +<p>“Good night.” He rose.</p> +<p>“Monsieur is not gallant.”</p> +<p>“I was in my youth,” 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! “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 +<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. “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.</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’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.</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>“Oh, if only he had taken me for a ride +in the taxicab!” 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’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—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 +<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—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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>“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?”</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>“Would you like me if I were a tame +cat?” she purred.</p> +<p>“I have never seen you in that rôle. Perhaps +I might. You told me that you would +give up everything but the Paris season.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I don’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.” He drew +her down so that he might look into her face. +It was something to see.</p> +<p>“Bah!” She released herself and returned +to her chair. “When the season is +over I want to go to Capri.”</p> +<p>“Capri! Too hot.”</p> +<p>“I want to go.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Tch! tch! That is merely your usual excuse. +You never had anything to do with the +police.”</p> +<p>“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!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p> +<p>“I shall go alone, then.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>She snuffed the cigarette in the coffee-cup +and frowned. “Some day you will make me +horribly angry.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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....”</p> +<p>“You praise her to me?” tempest in her +glowing eyes.</p> +<p>“I do not praise her. I am quoting facts. +If you throw that cup, my tigress....”</p> +<p>“Well?” dangerously.</p> +<p>“It will spoil the set. Listen. Some one +is at the speaking-tube.”</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>“What is it?” asked Flora in French.</p> +<p>The voice below answered with a query in +English. “Is this the Signorina Desimone?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p> +<p>“It is the duchess.”</p> +<p>“The duchess?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“The devil!”</p> +<p>She turned and stared at the duke, who +shrugged. “No, no,” she said; “the duchess, +not the devil.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me; I was astonished. But on +the stage you are still Flora Desimone?”</p> +<p>“Yes. And now that my identity is established, +who are you and what do you want +at this time of night?”</p> +<p>The duke touched her arm to convey that +this was not the moment in which to betray +her temper.</p> +<p>“I am Edward Courtlandt.”</p> +<p>“The devil!” mimicked the diva.</p> +<p>She and the duke heard a chuckle.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon again, Madame.”</p> +<p>“Well, what is it you wish?” 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>“You once did me an ill turn,” came up +the tube. “I desire that you make some +reparation.”</p> +<p>“Sainted Mother! but it has taken you a +long time to find out that I have injured you,” +she mocked.</p> +<p>There was no reply to this; so she was determined +to stir the fire a little.</p> +<p>“And I advise you to be careful what you +say; the duke is a very jealous man.”</p> +<p>That gentleman fingered his beard thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“I do not care a hang if he is.”</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>“The least you can do, Madame, is to give +me her address.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“I am speaking to Madame, your Highness,” +came sharply.</p> +<p>“We do not speak off the stage,” said the +singer, pushing the duke aside.</p> +<p>“I should like to make that young man’s +acquaintance,” whispered the duke.</p> +<p>She warned him to be silent.</p> +<p>Came the voice again: “Will you give me +her address, please? Your messenger gave +me your address, inferring that you wished to +see me.”</p> +<p>“I?” There was no impeaching her astonishment.</p> +<p>“Yes, Madame.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Send him down!”</p> +<p>“That is true.”</p> +<p>“What is?”</p> +<p>“I remember. You are very strong and +much given to fighting.”</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>“Do you not think, Madame, that you owe +me something?”</p> +<p>“No. What I owe I pay. Think, Mr. +Courtlandt; think well.”</p> +<p>“I do not understand,” impatiently.</p> +<p>“<i>Ebbene</i>, 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 +<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.”</p> +<p>“Madame, I do not forget that, that is pure +invention. You are mistaken.”</p> +<p>“No. You were. I am no fool.” A light +laugh drifted down the tube.</p> +<p>“Madame, I begin to see.”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>“You believe what you wish to believe.”</p> +<p>“I think not.”</p> +<p>“I never even noticed you,” carelessly.</p> +<p>“Take care!” whispered the duke, who +noted the sudden dilation of her nostrils.</p> +<p>“It is easy to forget,” cried the diva, +furiously. “It is easy for you to forget, but +not for me.”</p> +<p>“Madame, I do not forget that you entered +my room that night ...”</p> +<p>“Your address!” bawled the duke. “That +statement demands an explanation.”</p> +<p>“I should explain at once, your Highness,” +said the man down below calmly, “only I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I hate him!”</p> +<p>“Refused to singe his wings?”</p> +<p>“He has insulted me!”</p> +<p>“I am curious to learn about that night you +went to his room.”</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>“Did he say that you were a fool?”</p> +<p>“Of course not!”</p> +<p>“Shall I challenge him?”</p> +<p>“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!” 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.”</p> +<p>“Why?” mildly.</p> +<p>“Is not that enough?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, go on.” Her calm was ominous.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“I shall not be in the least concerned. My +part was suggestion.”</p> +<p>“You suggested it to some one else?”</p> +<p>“To be sure!”</p> +<p>“My objections ...”</p> +<p>“I will have my way in this affair. Besides, +it is too late.”</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>“I’ll go to Capri,” resignedly. Dynamite +bombs were not the worst things in the world.</p> +<p>“I don’t want to go now.”</p> +<p>The duke picked up a fresh cigarette. +“How the devil must have laughed when the +Lord made Eve!”</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—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, +<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’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’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 +<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>“Wait!” he called to the driver.</p> +<p>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 +<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>“Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?” +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>“Are you in her employ directly, or do you +come from the garage?”</p> +<p>“I am from the garage, but I drive +mademoiselle’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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“How, Monsieur?”</p> +<p>Courtlandt should have been warned by the +tone, which contained no unusual interest or +eagerness.</p> +<p>“Permit me to remain in mademoiselle’s +car till she comes. I wish to ride with her to +her apartment.”</p> +<p>The chauffeur laughed. He stretched his +legs. “Thanks, Monsieur. It is very dull +waiting. Monsieur knows a good joke.”</p> +<p>And to Courtlandt’s dismay he realized that +his proposal had truly been accepted as a jest.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Blockhead!”</p> +<p>English of this order the Frenchman perfectly +understood. “<i>Là, là!</i>” 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’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’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’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>“What is it, François?”</p> +<p>“A gentleman offered me five hundred +francs, Mademoiselle, if I would permit him +to hide in the car.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p> +<p>“Five hundred francs? To hide in the car? +Why didn’t you call the police?”</p> +<p>“I started to, Mademoiselle, but he ran +away.”</p> +<p>“Oh! What was he like?” The prima +donna dropped the bunch of roses on the seat +beside her.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Would you know him again?”</p> +<p>“Surely, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“The next time any one bothers you, call +the police. You have done well, and I shall +remember it. Home.”</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’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’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’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>“Yes, it is I!” 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>“Leave this room, or I will shoot.”</p> +<p>Courtlandt advanced toward her slowly. +“Do so,” he said. “I should much prefer a +bullet to that look.”</p> +<p>“I am in earnest.” 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>“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. +<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>“Nora, Nora!” cried a startled voice from +a bedroom adjoining. “What has happened? +<i>Mon Dieu</i>, 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!”</p> +<p>“He forced his way in. I thought to +frighten him. It went off accidentally. Oh, +Celeste, Celeste, I might have killed him!”</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—wash-tubs, +carpet-cleaners, and other labor-saving +devices—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 “The Sweep” and “Suds,” 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—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’ 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 <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’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’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 +<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’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.</p> +<p>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 +<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’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>“Ted Courtlandt!” He jumped up, overturning +the stool. “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?”</p> +<p>“Just got back, Abby.”</p> +<p>The two shook hands and eyed each other +with the appraising scrutiny of friends of long +standing.</p> +<p>“You don’t change any,” said Abbott.</p> +<p>“Nor do you. I’ve been standing behind +you fully two minutes. What were you +glooming about? Old Silenus offend you?”</p> +<p>“Have you read the <i>Herald</i> this morning?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>Abbott rescued the offending paper and +shaking it under his friend’s nose, said: +“Read that.”</p> +<p>Courtlandt’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—“Eleonora +da Toscana missing.”</p> +<p>“Bah!” he exclaimed.</p> +<p>“You say bah?”</p> +<p>“It looks like one of their advertising +dodges. I know something about singers,” +Courtlandt added. “I engineered a musical +comedy once.”</p> +<p>“You do not know anything about her,” +cried Abbott hotly.</p> +<p>“That’s true enough.” Courtlandt finished +the article, folded the paper and returned it, +and began digging in the path with his cane.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></p> +<p>“Perhaps you think the fellow was her +press-agent?” was the retort.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“How long have you known her?” asked +Courtlandt presently.</p> +<p>“About two years. She’s the gem of the +whole lot. Gentle, kindly, untouched by flattery.... Why, +you must have seen and +heard her!”</p> +<p>“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. +<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’s whim. +Hang it, Suds, I’ve had some experience with +singers.”</p> +<p>“You are a blockhead!” exploded the +younger man.</p> +<p>“All right, I am.” Courtlandt laughed.</p> +<p>“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 <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’s Irish.”</p> +<p>“And I’m Dutch.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I’m not drinking to-day,” tersely. +“There’s too much ahead for me to do.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Nora! That looks pretty serious, Abby. +You haven’t gone and made a fool of yourself, +have you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></p> +<p>“What do you call making a fool of myself?” +truculently.</p> +<p>“You aren’t a suitor, are you? An accepted +suitor?” unruffled, rather kindly.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You are really going to start a search?”</p> +<p>“I really am. I’d start one just as quickly +for you, if I heard that you had vanished under +mysterious circumstances.”</p> +<p>“I believe you honestly would.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“You, too, Abby?”</p> +<p>“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.” +<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>“I say, Ted,” called out the artist, “what +did you mean by saying that you were a Dutchman?”</p> +<p>Courtlandt paused so that Abbott might +catch up to him. “I said that I was a Dutchman?”</p> +<p>“Yes. And it has just occurred to me that +you meant something.”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></p> +<p>“You don’t mean to say that you are going +to settle down and get married?”</p> +<p>“I’m not going to settle down and get married, +if that will ease your mind any.”</p> +<p>“Man, I was hoping!”</p> +<p>“Three meals a day in the same house, with +the same woman, never appealed to me.”</p> +<p>“What do you want, one for each meal?”</p> +<p>“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Who’s Fournier?”</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle Fournier, the composer. +She goes with Nora on the yearly concert +tours.”</p> +<p>“Pretty?”</p> +<p>“Charming.”</p> +<p>“I see,” thoughtfully. “What part of the +lake; the Villa d’Este, Cadenabbia?”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +wonderful. No audience ever heard anything +like it.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Abby, it will turn out to be the sheep of +Little Bo-Peep.”</p> +<p>“Have your own way about it.”</p> +<p>When they arrived at the studio Abbott telephoned +promptly. Nothing had been heard. +They were substituting another singer.</p> +<p>“Call up the <i>Herald</i>,” 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>“There!” cried Abbott, slamming the receiver +on the hook. “What do you say to +that?”</p> +<p>“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 +<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—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!”</p> +<p>“What the devil makes <i>you</i> so bitter?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I was about to ask you to dine with me +to-night,” disappointedly.</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p> +<p>Abbott kicked a broken easel into a corner. +“All right. If anything turns up I’ll let you +know. You’re at the Grand?”</p> +<p>“Yes. By-by.”</p> +<p>“I know what’s the matter with him,” +mused the artist, alone. “Some woman has +chucked him. Silly little fool, probably.”</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>“I did not expect you to the minute,” the +great man said pleasantly. “You will not +mind waiting for a few minutes.”</p> +<p>“Not in the least. Only, I’m in a deuce of +a mess,” frankly and directly. “Innocently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +enough, I’ve stuck my head into the police +net.”</p> +<p>“Is it possible that now I can pay my debt +to you?”</p> +<p>“Such as it is. Have you read the article +in the newspapers regarding the disappearance +of Signorina da Toscana, the singer?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“In brief, an alibi?” smiling now.</p> +<p>“Exactly. I shall need one.”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p> +<p>“On my word as a gentleman.”</p> +<p>“That is sufficient.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>The other pushed over the required articles. +Courtlandt scrawled a few words and passed +back the pad.</p> +<p>“For me to read?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” 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’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>“Well?” said Courtlandt, finally. It was +not possible for him to hold back the question +any longer.</p> +<p>“My dear friend, I am taking you out to +the villa for the night.”</p> +<p>“But I have nothing....”</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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!</p> +<p>“You will at least,” he said, “deliver that +message which I have intrusted to your care.”</p> +<p>“It shall reach Versailles to-night, your +Highness.”</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’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—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 +<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>“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.</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’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.</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. “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; +<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,—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>“Mademoiselle, there has been a terrible +mistake,” said the man humbly.</p> +<p>“Ah! So you have found that out?” she +cried. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Free? You will not hinder me if I walk +through that door?”</p> +<p>“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 ...”</p> +<p>“Monsieur Champeaux!” Nora was bewildered. +She had never heard this name +before.</p> +<p>“He calls himself that,” was the diplomatic +answer.</p> +<p>All Nora’s suspicions took firm ground +again. “Will you describe this Monsieur +Champeaux to me?” asked the actress coming +into life.</p> +<p>“He is short, dark, and old, Mademoiselle.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></p> +<p>“Rather is he not tall, blond, and young?” +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>“Have you thought what this means? It +is abduction. It is a crime you have committed, +punishable by long imprisonment.”</p> +<p>“I have been Mademoiselle’s jailer, not her +abductor. And when one is poor and in need +of money!” He shrugged.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“For whom have I been mistaken?”</p> +<p>“Who but Monsieur Champeaux’s wife, +Mademoiselle, who is not in her right mind?” +with inimitable sadness.</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Nora. “You say that I +am free. That is all I want, freedom.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Permit me to doubt that! And you are +not afraid to let me go?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I shall remember everything,” ominously.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Wait!” she called.</p> +<p>His face appeared in the doorway again.</p> +<p>“Do you know who I am?”</p> +<p>“Since this morning, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“That is all.”</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>“The tram,” she said.</p> +<p>“Yes, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“And go quickly.” 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’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’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.</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>“Your hat, Monsieur?” 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>“Mademoiselle,” said the great policeman +soberly, “this is a grave accusation to make.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Nora eyed the great man doubtfully.</p> +<p>“What is the gentleman to you?” she was +interrogated.</p> +<p>“Absolutely nothing,” contemptuously.</p> +<p>The minister inspected his rings.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>The chief of police turned toward the bandaged +chauffeur. “You recognize the gentleman?”</p> +<p>“No, Monsieur, I never saw him before. +It was an old man who engaged me.”</p> +<p>“Go on.”</p> +<p>“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.” +<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>“And you?” asked the chief of Nora’s +chauffeur.</p> +<p>“He is certainly the gentleman, Monsieur, +who attempted to bribe me.”</p> +<p>“That is true,” said Courtlandt with utmost +calmness.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle, if Monsieur Courtlandt +wished, he could accuse you of attempting to +shoot him.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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 +<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>“Monsieur Courtlandt, you will give me +your word of honor not to annoy Mademoiselle +again?”</p> +<p>“I promise never to annoy her again.”</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’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>“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 +<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! +“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?”</p> +<p>“No, none at all, Monsieur,” quickly and +decidedly.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +it your suggestion that I drop the investigation?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That is a reflection upon my word, Mademoiselle,” +quietly interposed the minister. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></p> +<p>“Monsieur has been imposed upon.” Nora +walked to the door.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“The one is trivial; the other is a serious +outrage. Good morning.” The attendant +closed the door behind her.</p> +<p>“A very determined young woman,” mused +the chief of police.</p> +<p>“Exceedingly,” agreed the minister.</p> +<p>Courtlandt got up wearily. But the chief +motioned him to be reseated.</p> +<p>“I do not say that I dare not pursue my +investigations; but now that mademoiselle is +safely returned, I prefer not to.”</p> +<p>“May I ask who made this request?” asked +Courtlandt.</p> +<p>“Request? Yes, Monsieur, it was a request +not to proceed further.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></p> +<p>“From where?”</p> +<p>“As to that, you will have to consult the +head of the state. I am not at liberty to make +the disclosure.”</p> +<p>The minister leaned forward eagerly. +“Then there is a political side to it?”</p> +<p>“There would be if everything had not +turned out so fortunately.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>The chief of police elevated his brows interrogatively.</p> +<p>“For I presume,” continued Courtlandt, +rising, “that Mademoiselle’s abductor is by +this time safely across the frontier.”</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—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 +<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’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; +“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.</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’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 “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 +<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’s <i>Italian +Lakes</i>, 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.</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’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,—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>“Fritz, Fritz; here, Fritz!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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’t; let go!” 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>“I’ll be up after dinner, Mr. Harrigan,” he +said.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Beautifully! But I really don’t think she +ought to sing at the Haines’ villa Sunday.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“No.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></p> +<p>“Say, do you know what I think?”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Some one has come across to the police.”</p> +<p>“Paris is not New York, Mr. Harrigan.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Busted his nerve, that’s what.”</p> +<p>“I have my doubts about that. A man who +will go that far isn’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?”</p> +<p>“Sure. I’ve got two rubbers hanging over +you.”</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—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 +<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>“It will be a fine night,” said the Italian, +pausing at Harrigan’s bench.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Do you know, Mr. Harrigan, Miss Harrigan +is not herself? She is—what do you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +call?—bitter. She laughs, but—ah, I do +not know!—it sounds not real.”</p> +<p>“Well, she isn’t over that rumpus in Paris +yet.”</p> +<p>“Rumpus?”</p> +<p>“The abduction.”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes! Rumpus is another word for +abduction? Yes, yes, I see.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>The Barone spread his hands. “I comprehend,” +hurriedly. He comprehended nothing, +but he was too proud to admit it.</p> +<p>“So Nora is not herself; a case of nerves. +And to think that you called there at the +apartment the very day!”</p> +<p>“Ah, if I had been there the right time!”</p> +<p>“But what puts me down for the count is +the action of the fellow. Never showed up; +just made her miss two performances.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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. +<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.”</p> +<p>“I smoke only cigarettes,” 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. +“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.</p> +<p>“Do you go to the dancing at Cadenabbia +to-night?”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></p> +<p>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.</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’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—</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’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’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’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>“Sorry to keep you folks waiting.”</p> +<p>“James!”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter now?” 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>“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.</p> +<p>“Mother,” said Nora, “why can’t you let +him be?”</p> +<p>“But white shoes!” in horror. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Oh, bother!” Nora’s elbow slyly dug +into Celeste’s side.</p> +<p>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 +<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’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!</p> +<p>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 +<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’s part to prevent this dubious accomplishment.</p> +<p>“Is Mr. Abbott going with us?” she inquired. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></p> +<p>“Donald is sulking,” Nora answered. +“For once the Barone got ahead of him in +engaging the motor-boat.”</p> +<p>“I wish you would not call him by his first +name.”</p> +<p>“And why not? I like him, and he is a +very good comrade.”</p> +<p>“You do not call the Barone by his given +name.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Nor a Frenchman?” asked Celeste.</p> +<p>“Nor a Frenchman.”</p> +<p>“I wish I knew if you meant it,” sighed +the mother.</p> +<p>“My dear, I have given myself to the stage. +You will never see me being led to the altar.”</p> +<p>“No, you will do the leading when the time +comes,” retorted the mother.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I suppose some day you will marry some +poverty-stricken artist,” said the mother, filled +with dark foreboding.</p> +<p>“You would not call Donald poverty-stricken.”</p> +<p>“No. But you will never marry him.”</p> +<p>“No. I never shall.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“That he will.”</p> +<p>“And he is most desperately in love with +you.”</p> +<p>“That’s nonsense!” scoffed Nora. “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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>“<i>Pouf!</i> For ten minutes?” Celeste +laughed bravely. “He leaves me quickly +enough when you begin to sing.”</p> +<p>“Glamour, glamour!”</p> +<p>“Well, I should not care for the article +second-hand.”</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>“Don’t go sitting out in the night air, +Nora,” he warned.</p> +<p>“I sha’n’t.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“James, that is not true,” the mother protested.</p> +<p>“Well, Molly, you do like to hear ’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.”</p> +<p>“I brought up a book from the village for +you to-day,” said Mrs. Harrigan, sternly.</p> +<p>“I’ll bet a dollar it’s on how to keep the +creases in a fellow’s pants.”</p> +<p>“Trousers.”</p> +<p>“Pants,” helping himself to the last of the +romaine. “What time do you go over?”</p> +<p>“At nine. We must be getting ready now,” +said Nora. “Don’t wait up for us.”</p> +<p>“And only one cigar,” added the mother.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Two,” smiled Nora.</p> +<p>“But his heart!”</p> +<p>“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. +<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’s +attention away from the eternal society page +of the <i>Herald</i>. It had succeeded. He had +even been cuddled.</p> +<p>“James, you told me...”</p> +<p>“Oh, Molly, I only wanted to talk to you.”</p> +<p>“To do so it isn’t necessary to frighten me +to death,” reproachfully. “One cigar, and no +more.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“<i>Social Usages.</i>”</p> +<p>“Break away!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“And I try so hard!” Tears came into +Mrs. Harrigan’s eyes.</p> +<p>“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.”</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,—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’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>“Nora, you are behaving abominably!” +whispered her mother, pale with indignation.</p> +<p>“Well, I am having a good time ... +Your dance? Thank you.”</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’s instinct was much too +keen.</p> +<p>“So I have found you!”</p> +<p>“One would say that I had been in hiding?” +coldly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></p> +<p>“From me, always. I have left everything—duty, +obligations—to seek you.”</p> +<p>“From any other man that might be a compliment.”</p> +<p>“I am a prince,” 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. +“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?”</p> +<p>“<i>Herr Gott!</i> I am mad!” He covered +his eyes.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Come,” he said hoarsely; “let us go and +find a priest. You are right. I love you; I +will give up everything, everything!”</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>“Oh, Barone!” she called. “Am I making +you miss this dance?”</p> +<p>“It does not matter, Signorina.” The +Barone stared keenly at the erect and tense +figure at the prima donna’s side. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></p> +<p>“You will excuse me, Herr Rosen,” said +Nora, as she laid her hand upon the Barone’s +arm.</p> +<p>Herr Rosen bowed stiffly; and the two left +him standing uncovered in the moonlight.</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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’s arm.</p> +<p>“What is it?” asked Nora.</p> +<p>“Nothing. I thought I was slipping.”</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’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. +<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;'>“... put it to the touch</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>To gain or lose it all.”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>He saw it coming: before long he and that +Italian would be at each other’s throats. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></p> +<p>“Come in!” 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. +“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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; +<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.”</p> +<p>“Difference in training.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, I win. Saw him bang across the +street this morning.”</p> +<p>Abbott muttered something.</p> +<p>“What was that?”</p> +<p>“Nothing.”</p> +<p>“Sounded like ‘dem it’ to me.”</p> +<p>“Maybe it did.”</p> +<p>“Heard about him in Paris?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“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’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.”</p> +<p>“But I can,” declared Abbott savagely.</p> +<p>“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.</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’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>“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?”</p> +<p>“In the Hills. He’s a Sikh, and a first-class +fighting man. Didn’t know that you +went for faces.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Never shot a gun in all my life. I don’t +know which end to hold at my shoulder.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Caxley-Webster! Well, I say, this globe +goes on shrinking every day!” 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’s-his-name, who invented cures for +snake bites!</p> +<p>Abbott deliberately pushed over an oak +bench. “Am I host here or not?”</p> +<p>“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. +<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’s marvelous.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Last night. Came up from Como.”</p> +<p>“Going to stay long?”</p> +<p>“That depends. I am really on my way to +Zermatt. I’ve a hankering to have another try +at the Matterhorn.”</p> +<p>“Think of that!” exclaimed the colonel. +“He says another try.”</p> +<p>“You came a roundabout way,” was the +artist’s comment.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Pah! Neither will be of any use to humanity; +merely a fine sporting proposition.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +The colonel dug into his pocket for his pipe. +“But what do you think of Germany?”</p> +<p>“Fine country,” answered Courtlandt, rising +and going to a window; “fine people, too. +Why?”</p> +<p>“Do you—er—think they could whip +us?”</p> +<p>“On land, yes.”</p> +<p>“The devil!”</p> +<p>“On water, no.”</p> +<p>“Thanks. In other words, you believe our +chances equal?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, I be dem!” gasped the colonel.</p> +<p>“It’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’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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Divided by two,” grinned Abbott.</p> +<p>“Ha, I see; half nerve and half gall. I’ll +remember that. But we were talking of airships.”</p> +<p>“I was,” retorted Courtlandt. “You were +the man who started the powwow.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +looked down into the street with sudden interest. +“Who is that?”</p> +<p>The colonel and Abbott hurried across the +room.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, why shouldn’t he travel around if he +wants to?” asked Courtlandt coolly.</p> +<p>The colonel nudged the artist.</p> +<p>“There happens to be an attraction in Bellaggio,” +said Abbott irritably.</p> +<p>“The moth and the candle,” supplemented +the colonel, peering over Courtlandt’s shoulder. +“He’s well set up,” grudgingly admitted +the old fellow.</p> +<p>“The moth and the candle,” mused Courtlandt. +“That will be Nora Harrigan. How +long has this infatuation been going on?”</p> +<p>“Year and a half.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></p> +<p>“And the other side?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“The penalty of beauty, Abby. Homely +women seldom are annoyed, unless they become +suffragists.” The colonel poured forth +a dense cloud of smoke.</p> +<p>“What brand is that, Colonel?” asked +Courtlandt, choking.</p> +<p>The colonel generously produced his pouch.</p> +<p>“No, no! I was about to observe that it +isn’t ambrosia.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I should like to meet Mr. Harrigan.” +Courtlandt returned his gaze to the window +once more.</p> +<p>“And his daughter?” said Abbott, curiously.</p> +<p>“Oh, surely!”</p> +<p>“I may count on you, then?” The colonel +stowed away the offending brier. “And you +can stay to dinner.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +in returning, you’ll see me at tea. Dinner at +all events. I’m off.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean to stand there and tell me +that you have important business?” jeered +Abbott.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Afraid of women! Why, man, he backed +two musical shows in the States a few years +ago.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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’t take the +trouble to deny it.”</p> +<p>“Never showed any signs of being a +woman-hater?”</p> +<p>“No, not the least in the world. But to +shy at meeting Nora Harrigan....”</p> +<p>“There you have it; the privilege of the +gods. Perhaps he really has business in +Menaggio. What’ll we do with the other +beggar?”</p> +<p>“Knock his head off, if he bothers her.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“What, boxes?”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></p> +<p>“I never knew that before. He’s as full +of surprises as a rummage bag.”</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’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’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 +<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>“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.</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’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,—jealousy.... Ah, +voices! He stepped aside quickly.</p> +<p>“Fritz, Fritz; where are you?”</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>“Pardon, sir; those are one franc the +dozen.”</p> +<p>“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!</p> +<p>“Those are from Lucerne, sir.”</p> +<p>“What?” bewildered. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></p> +<p>“Those wood-carvings which you are +touching with your cane, sir.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Nora, who was that?” asked Mrs. Harrigan.</p> +<p>“Who was who?” countered Nora, snuggling +the wriggling dachel under her arm and +throwing the sunshade across her shoulder.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Oh, bother! I was looking at Fritz.”</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>“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.</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>“Mother, we must have some of those silk +blankets. They’re so comfy to lie on.”</p> +<p>“You never see anything except when you +want to,” complained Mrs. Harrigan.</p> +<p>“It saves a deal of trouble. I don’t want +to go to the colonel’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.”</p> +<p>“The frump, as you call her, is usually a +countess or a duchess,” with asperity.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>“You are quoting the padre.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“And had a fine time explaining to the Vatican,” +sniffed the mother.</p> +<p>“Some day I am going to confess to him.”</p> +<p>“Confess what?” asked Celeste.</p> +<p>“That I have wished the Calabrian’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.”</p> +<p>“I wish to gracious that you would fall +violently in love.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></p> +<p>“Spiteful! There are those lovely lace collars; +come on.”</p> +<p>“You are hopeless,” was the mother’s conviction.</p> +<p>“In some things, yes,” gravely.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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 +<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’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’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’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’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>“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?”</p> +<p>“Herr Rosen?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Why not speak to your father?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“You could easily stop all this rumor and +annoyance.”</p> +<p>“And, pray, how?”</p> +<p>“Marry.”</p> +<p>“I prefer the rumor and annoyance. I +hate men. Most of them are beasts.”</p> +<p>“You are prejudiced.”</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: “Say, Nora, +who’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’d consult you first.”</p> +<p>“Herr Rosen!” exclaimed Mrs. Harrigan, +a flutter in her throat. “Why, that’s....”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Well, why don’t you marry him?” laughed +Harrigan. “There’s worse things than frankfurters +and sauerkraut.”</p> +<p>“Not that I can think of just now,” 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’S EDGE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Harrigan declared that he would not +go over to Caxley-Webster’s to tea.</p> +<p>“But I’ve promised for you!” expostulated +his wife. “And he admires you so.”</p> +<p>“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....”</p> +<p>“Frump!” repeated Nora, delighted.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Very well, dad,” agreed Nora, who saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +the storm gathering in her mother’s eyes. +“You can stay home and read the book mother +got you yesterday. Where are you now?”</p> +<p>“Page one,” 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’d gladly enough +go to that.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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 +<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’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.”</p> +<p>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 +<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>“Ever read this?” asked a pleasant voice +from behind, indicating <i>Rodney Stone</i> with +the ferrule of a cane.</p> +<p>Harrigan looked up. “No. What’s it +about?”</p> +<p>“Best story of the London prize-ring ever +written. You’re Mr. Harrigan, aren’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” diffidently.</p> +<p>“My name is Edward Courtlandt. If I am +not mistaken, you were a great friend of my +father’s.”</p> +<p>“Are you Dick Courtlandt’s boy?”</p> +<p>“I am.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“I should be very pleased to meet them.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Why, I just begged off. They won’t be +expecting me now.”</p> +<p>“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!</p> +<p>“But the pup and the cigar box?”</p> +<p>“Send them up.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“You’re on!” 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>“Padre, my shoe pinches,” said Nora with a +pucker between her eyes.</p> +<p>“My child,” replied the padre, “never +carry your vanity into a shoemaker’s shop. +The happiest man is he who walks in loose +shoes.”</p> +<p>“If they are his own, and not inherited,” +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’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>“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.</p> +<p>“The old plaint disturbs you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Can you not cast it out wholly?”</p> +<p>“Hate has many tentacles.”</p> +<p>“What produces that condition of mind?” +meditatively. “Is it because we have wronged +somebody?”</p> +<p>“Or because somebody has wronged us?”</p> +<p>“Or misjudged us, by us have been misjudged?” +softly.</p> +<p>“Good gracious!” exclaimed Nora, springing +up.</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“Father is coming up the path!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p> +<p>“I am glad to see him. But I do not recollect +having seen the face of the man with +him.”</p> +<p>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 +<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>“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?</p> +<p>“Nora!” It was her mother calling.</p> +<p>She put her arm through the padre’s, and +they went forward leisurely.</p> +<p>“Why, father, I thought you weren’t coming,” +said Nora. Her voice was without a +tremor.</p> +<p>The padre hadn’t the least idea that a volcano +might at any moment open up at his side. He +smiled benignly.</p> +<p>“Changed my mind,” said Harrigan. +“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’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.</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’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’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’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.</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>“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.</p> +<p>“It is always a little cold in the higher +Alps.”</p> +<p>“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 +<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>“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.</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>“Touched!” 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>“I never saw anything like it,” whispered +Mrs. Harrigan into the colonel’s ear.</p> +<p>“Saw what?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Mr. Courtlandt can’t keep his eyes off of +Nora.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Oh, daddy mine!” sighed Nora drolly.</p> +<p>“Huh?”</p> +<p>“Don’t let mother see those shoes.”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with ’em? Everybody’s +wearing the same.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But I don’t see how you manage to +do it. One shoe-string is virgin white and +the other is pagan brown.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That’s no defense. But rest easy. I’ll be +as secret as the grave.”</p> +<p>“Now, I for one would never have noticed +if you hadn’t called my attention,” 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>“Ah, Padre, that wife of mine has eyes +like a pilot-fish. I’m in for it.”</p> +<p>“Borrow one from the colonel before you +go home,” suggested Abbott.</p> +<p>“That’s not half bad,” 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. “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 +<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’s face. Four handsomer men she had +never seen.</p> +<p>“You never told me you knew Courtlandt,” +said Harrigan, speaking to Abbott.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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, +<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>“So I have heard,” she was dimly conscious +of saying.</p> +<p>“Didn’t know you knew,” said Abbott.</p> +<p>“Knew what?” rousing herself.</p> +<p>“That Courtlandt nearly lost his life in the +eighties.”</p> +<p>“In the eighties!” dismayed at her slip.</p> +<p>“Latitudes. Polar expedition.”</p> +<p>“Heavens! I was miles away.”</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>“Oh, I believe I read something about it in +the newspapers.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Your friend, then, is quite a hero?”</p> +<p>What was the matter with Nora’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>“He couldn’t be anything else, being Dick +Courtlandt’s boy,” volunteered Harrigan, with +enthusiasm. “It runs in the family.”</p> +<p>“It seems strange,” observed Nora, “that +I never heard you mention that you knew a +Mr. Courtlandt.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“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?”</p> +<p>“For what?”</p> +<p>“That night in Paris.”</p> +<p>“Do not permit that to bother you in the +least. I was never going to recall it.”</p> +<p>“Was it so unpleasant?”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, I was much amused.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></p> +<p>“I did not tell you the truth.”</p> +<p>“So I have found out.”</p> +<p>“I do not believe that it was you,” impulsively.</p> +<p>“Thanks. I had nothing to do with Miss +Harrigan’s imprisonment.”</p> +<p>“Do you feel that you could make a confidant +of me?”</p> +<p>He smiled. “My dear Miss Fournier, I +have come to the place where I distrust even +myself.”</p> +<p>“Forgive my curiosity!”</p> +<p>Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. “I am +glad to see you again.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Sahib!”</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’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!</p> +<p>“I should like to help you,” she said, truthfully.</p> +<p>“In what way?”</p> +<p>It was useless, but she continued: “She +does not know that you went to Flora Desimone’s +that night.”</p> +<p>“And yet she sent you to watch me.”</p> +<p>“But so many things happened afterward +that she evidently forgot.”</p> +<p>“That is possible.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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. “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.</p> +<p>“Do you play chess?” she asked, divertingly.</p> +<p>“Chess? I am very fond of that game.”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></p> +<p>“That seems to be the ambition of all the +young men, at any rate.”</p> +<p>Jealousy? But the smile baffled her. +“Will you be here long?”</p> +<p>“It depends.”</p> +<p>“Upon Nora?” persistently.</p> +<p>“The weather.”</p> +<p>“You are hopeless.”</p> +<p>“No; on the contrary, I am the most +optimistic man in the world.”</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>“Is she not beautiful?”</p> +<p>“I am not a poet.”</p> +<p>“Wait a moment,” her eyes widening. “I +believe you know who did commit that outrage.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></p> +<p>For the first time he frowned.</p> +<p>“Very well; I promise not to ask any more +questions.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Tell it!”</p> +<p>“You will say nothing to any one, you will +question neither Miss Harrigan nor myself, +nor permit yourself to be questioned.”</p> +<p>“I agree.”</p> +<p>“And now, will you not take me over to +your friends?”</p> +<p>“Over there?” aghast.</p> +<p>“Why, yes. We can sit upon the grass. +They seem to be having a good time.”</p> +<p>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?</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’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’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>“I don’t see why the colonel didn’t invite +some of the ladies,” Mrs. Harrigan +complained.</p> +<p>“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 +<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’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.</p> +<p>“Has he...?” in horrified tones.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I wish I knew when you were serious and +when you were fooling.”</p> +<p>“I am often as serious when I am fooling +as I am foolish when I am serious....”</p> +<p>“Nora, you will have me shrieking in a +minute!” despaired the mother. “Did the +colonel really propose to you?”</p> +<p>“Only in fun.”</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’s waist, less ample than substantial. +“Don’t you care! Nora is being pursued by +little devils and is venting her spite on us.”</p> +<p>“There’ll be too much Burgundy and tobacco, +to say nothing of the awful stories.”</p> +<p>“With the good old padre there? Hardly,” +said Nora.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“That’s about all you know of men,” declared +Mrs. Harrigan.</p> +<p>“I am willing to give them the benefit of +a doubt.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Nora Harrigan!”</p> +<p>“Molly Harrigan!” mimicked the incorrigible. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +“Mother mine, you must learn to +recognize a jest.”</p> +<p>“Ah, but yours!”</p> +<p>“Fine!” 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—the one +innocently and the other provocatively—continued +the subject to the very doors of the +villa. All the while Nora hummed softly.</p> +<p>“What do you think of him, Nora?” the +mother inquired.</p> +<p>“Think of whom?”</p> +<p>“This Mr. Courtlandt.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I didn’t pay much attention to him,” +<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. +“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.”</p> +<p>“The prefect!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span></p> +<p>“You gave him my address?” coldly.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.”</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>“Don’t bother to dress! Just give your +hair a pat or two. We’ll all three dine on the +balcony.”</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>“I’m a silly fool, I suppose,” 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’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’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 +<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’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>“There has been a grave mistake somewhere,” +he mused aloud, thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon,” said Courtlandt.</p> +<p>“I beg yours. I was thinking aloud. How +long have you known the Harrigans?”</p> +<p>“The father and mother I never saw before +to-day.”</p> +<p>“Then you have met Miss Harrigan?”</p> +<p>“I have seen her on the stage.”</p> +<p>“I have the happiness of being her confessor.” +<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: “That +must be interesting.”</p> +<p>“She is a good Catholic.”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes; I recollect now.”</p> +<p>“And you?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You believe in the tenets of Christianity?”</p> +<p>“Surely! A man must pin his faith and +hope to something more stable than humanity.”</p> +<p>“I should like to convert you to my way of +thinking,” simply.</p> +<p>“Nothing is impossible. Who knows?”</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>“So you are Miss Harrigan’s confessor?”</p> +<p>“Does it strike you strangely?”</p> +<p>“Merely the coincidence.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></p> +<p>“If I were not her confessor I should take +the liberty of asking you some questions.”</p> +<p>“It is quite possible that I should decline +to answer them.”</p> +<p>The padre shrugged. “It is patent to me +that you will go about this affair in your own +way. I wish you well.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. As Miss Harrigan’s confessor +you doubtless know everything but the +truth.”</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’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.</p> +<p>“I leave you here,” he said. “You will +see me frequently at the villa.”</p> +<p>“I certainly shall be there frequently. +Good night.” +<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’s pension, and he +tried to persuade them to come up for a nightcap.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You come, Ted.”</p> +<p>“Abbey, I wouldn’t climb those stairs for +a bottle of Horace’s Falernian, served on +Seneca’s famous citron table.”</p> +<p>“Not a friend in the world,” 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>“James, you are about as hopeless a man +as ever was born. You all but disgraced us +this afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Mother!”</p> +<p>“Me?” cried the bewildered Harrigan.</p> +<p>“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?”</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>“Damn it, Molly, I wasn’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’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.”</p> +<p>He rammed one of the colonel’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>“He hasn’t talked like that to me in years!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +Mrs. Harrigan did not know what to do,—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’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>“Nora, are you there?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></p> +<p>“Yes. Over here on the balcony. What +were you doing down there?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“A bunch of daisies?”</p> +<p>“Marguerites,” she corrected.</p> +<p>“All the same to me. I picked up the +bunch, and look at what I found inside.”</p> +<p>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.</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>“Say, Molly, I don’t see what difference it +makes.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Sugar and vinegar are not nourishing; +olive-oil is.”</p> +<p>“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 <i>Rodney Stone</i>. Here was +something that made the invention of type +excusable, even commendable.</p> +<p>“Play the fourth <i>ballade</i>,” 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’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>“Bravo!” cried the Barone, breaking the +spell. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span></p> +<p>“You never played that better,” 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’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!</p> +<p>“That’s some!” Harrigan beat his hands +together thunderously. “Great stuff; eh, +Barone?”</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>“Father, father!” remonstrated Nora; +“you will wake up all the old ladies who are +having their siesta.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“Come in, come in! Just in time for the +matinée concert.”</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>“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.”</p> +<p>“Sure yes! Molly, ring for tea, and tell +’em to make it hot. How about a little peg, +as the colonel says?”</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>“No, no!” cried the padre, his palms extended +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +in protest. “If you stop the music I +shall leave instantly.”</p> +<p>“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.</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>“I sha’n’t forgive you for this trick,” she +whispered.</p> +<p>Celeste shrugged, and her fingers did not +falter. So Nora moved away this time in +earnest.</p> +<p>“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 +<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’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>“Sing that, Padre?” said Nora. “Why, +there are no words to it that I know.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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’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’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>“Thank you!” said Nora.</p> +<p>“Do not stop,” 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: “One’s voice can not go on forever, +and mine is not at all strong.”</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’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.</p> +<p>“It is horribly tangled,” he admitted, hoping +thus to escape.</p> +<p>“No matter. You hold the ball. I’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.”</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’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.</p> +<p>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 +<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’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>“Herr Rosen,” he read aloud. “Send him +up. Some friend of yours, Nora; Herr +Rosen. I told Mr. Jilli to send him up.”</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’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’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’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’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>“No matter where we are, they keep coming. +She has as many friends as T. R. I +never bother to keep track of ’em.”</p> +<p>“It would be rather difficult,” assented +Courtlandt.</p> +<p>“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Courtlandt chuckled. “I suppose it’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?”</p> +<p>“Walk a lot.”</p> +<p>“Climb any?”</p> +<p>“Don’t know that game.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“A note?”</p> +<p>“This.” Harrigan exhibited the emerald. +“Who sent it? Where the dickens did it +come from?”</p> +<p>Courtlandt took the stone and examined it +carefully. “That’s not a bad stone. Uncut +but polished; oriental.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p> +<p>“Oriental, eh? What would you say it was +worth?”</p> +<p>“Oh, somewhere between six and seven +hundred.”</p> +<p>“Suffering shamrocks! A little green pebble +like this?”</p> +<p>“Cut and flawless, at that size, it would be +worth pounds instead of dollars.”</p> +<p>“Well, what do you think of that? Nora +told me to keep it, so I guess I will.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Sometimes I wish Nora’d marry and settle +down.”</p> +<p>“She is young. You wouldn’t have quit +the game at her age!”</p> +<p>“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 +<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’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.”</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>“You take two lumps?” she asked sweetly. +It was only a chance shot, but she hit on the +truth.</p> +<p>“And you remember?” excitedly.</p> +<p>“One lump for mine, please,” 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’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.</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>“Sing!” said Herr Rosen.</p> +<p>“I am too tired. Some other time.”</p> +<p>He did not press her. Instead, he whispered +in his own tongue: “You are the most +adorable woman in the world!”</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’s lodge, +back of the villa.</p> +<p>“Padre,” whispered Courtlandt, “I am +going. Do not follow. I shall explain to you +when we meet again.”</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>“You called?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>There was studied insolence in the tones and +the gestures which accompanied them.</p> +<p>“Be brief, if you please.”</p> +<p>“My name is Edward Courtlandt, as doubtless +you have heard.”</p> +<p>“In a large room it is difficult to remember +all the introductions.”</p> +<p>“Precisely. That is why I take the liberty +of recalling it to you, so that you will not forget +it,” urbanely.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“I do not see how it may concern me,” 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’s.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“It was you?” scowling.</p> +<p>“I apologize for that. To-morrow morning +you will leave Bellaggio for Varenna. +Somewhere between nine and ten the fast train +leaves for Milan.”</p> +<p>“Varenna! Milan!”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“<i>Verdampt!</i> Do I believe my ears?” furiously. +“Are you telling me to leave Bellaggio +to-morrow morning?”</p> +<p>“As directly as I can.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Your Highness....”</p> +<p>“Highness!” Herr Rosen stepped back.</p> +<p>“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....”</p> +<p>“<i>Gott!</i> This is too much!”</p> +<p>“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.” Courtlandt +opened the gate.</p> +<p>“And if I refuse?”</p> +<p>“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.”</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. “I came back +for my umbrella.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, I am certainly absent-minded!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“It is all very petty, my child,” said the +padre. “Life is made up of bigger +things; the little ones should be ignored.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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....”</p> +<p>“Is mercy?”</p> +<p>“No; justice, the patience to weigh the +right or wrong of a thing.”</p> +<p>“Padre, I have eyes, eyes; I <i>saw</i>.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“He had the insufferable insolence to order +Herr Rosen to leave,” going around the barrier +of his well-ordered logic.</p> +<p>“Ah! Now, how could he send away Herr +Rosen if that gentleman had really preferred +to stay?”</p> +<p>Nora looked confused.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Nora, sat down.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry. But it was so like <i>him</i>.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Padre, one would believe that you had +taken up his defense!”</p> +<p>“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>” smiling.</p> +<p>Nora bowed her head and he put a hand +upon it.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“That’s the way to live.” 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>“‘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 +<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. “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.”</p> +<p>“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 +<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’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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“At the Villa Rosa? I’ll be there myself; +and any time you are in doubt, don’t be afraid +to question me.”</p> +<p>“You’re in class A,” heartily. “But there’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span></p> +<p>“Isn’t she afraid sometimes?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Courtlandt laughed frankly. “I really +don’t think you need worry about Herr Rosen. +He has gone, and he will not come back.”</p> +<p>“Say! I’ll bet a dollar it was you who +shoo’d him off.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But it was undoubtedly an impertinence +on my part, and I’d rather you would +not disclose my officiousness to Miss Harrigan.”</p> +<p>“Piffle! If you knew him you had a perfect +right to pass him back his ticket. Who +was he?”</p> +<p>Courtlandt poked at the gravel with his cane.</p> +<p>“One of the big guns?”</p> +<p>Courtlandt nodded.</p> +<p>“So big that he couldn’t have married my +girl even if he loved her?”</p> +<p>“Yes. As big as that.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></p> +<p>Harrigan riffled the leaves of his book. +“What do you say to going down to the hotel +and having a game of <i>bazzica</i>, as they call +billiards here?”</p> +<p>“Nothing would please me better,” said +Courtlandt, relieved that Harrigan did not +press him for further revelations.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I’ll lay you the cigars that I beat you.”</p> +<p>“You’re on!”</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>“Did you ever see two finer specimens of +man?” Celeste asked of Abbott.</p> +<p>“What? Who?” mumbled Abbott, whose +forehead was puckered with impatience. +“Oh, those two? They <i>are</i> well set up. But +what the deuce <i>is</i> 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.”</p> +<p>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 +<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! “Perhaps you are +tired; perhaps you have worked too hard. +Why not put aside your brushes for a week?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Her heart contracted, and for a little while +she could not see him clearly.</p> +<p>“But what earthly chance have I?” he went +on, innocently but ruthlessly. “No one can +help loving Nora.”</p> +<p>“No,” in a small voice.</p> +<p>“It’s all rot, this talk about affinities. +There’s always some poor devil left outside. +But who can help loving Nora?” he repeated. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span></p> +<p>“Who indeed!”</p> +<p>“And there’s not the least chance in the +world for me.”</p> +<p>“You never can tell until you put it to the +test.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“It’s a rummy old world. Here I’ve gone +alone all these years....”</p> +<p>“Twenty-six!” smiling.</p> +<p>“Well, that’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.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“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 <i>Kneip</i>-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?”</p> +<p>“No; I understand all you say.” 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>“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?”</p> +<p>“‘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?”</p> +<p>“Boys together,” playing a light tattoo with +his mahl-stick.</p> +<p>“How old is he?”</p> +<p>“About thirty-two or three.”</p> +<p>“He is very rich?”</p> +<p>“Oceans of money; throws it away, but not +fast enough to get rid of it.”</p> +<p>“He is what you say in English ... wild?”</p> +<p>“Well,” with mock gravity, “I shouldn’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’s the word for it.”</p> +<p>“You are laughing. Ah, I know! I +should say dissipated.”</p> +<p>“Courtlandt? Come, now, Celeste; does he +look dissipated?”</p> +<p>“No-o.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“He has had no affair?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>She let her hand fall from his shoulder. +She was glad that he did not know.</p> +<p>“But look!” 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’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’s +adherents most properly did, but with a hatred +wholly reflective and adapted to Nora’s moods.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Give it to me.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense! I’m going to touch a match to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +it. I’ll give you that picture with the lavender +in bloom.”</p> +<p>“I want this.”</p> +<p>“But you can not hang it.”</p> +<p>“I want it.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Why, it is the Signorina Fournier!”</p> +<p>In preparing studiously to ignore Flora +Desimone’s presence they had forgotten all +about her.</p> +<p>“Good morning, Signora,” said Celeste in +Italian.</p> +<p>“And the Signore Abbott, the painter, +also!” 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’s were occupied; Flora’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>“What is it?” asked Flora, squinting.</p> +<p>“It is a new style of the impressionist which +I began this morning,” soberly.</p> +<p>“It looks very natural,” observed Flora.</p> +<p>“Natural!” Abbott dropped his mahl-stick.</p> +<p>“It is Vesuv’, is it not, on a cloudy day?”</p> +<p>This was too much for Abbott’s gravity, and +he laughed.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“It is too bad,” she said, her glance roving +over the white walls of the villa.</p> +<p>“It was irrevocably lost,” Abbott declared.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>Abbott was about to rise up in vigorous protest. +But fate itself chose to rebuke Flora. +From the window came—“<i>Sai cos’ ebbe +cuore!</i>”—sung as only Nora could sing it.</p> +<p>The ferrule of Flora Desimone’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>“Do you know the Duchessa?” asked +Flora Desimone.</p> +<p>“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 <i>agoni</i> 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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span></p> +<p>“I want you to get an invitation to her ball +at the Villa Rosa to-night.”</p> +<p>“We haven’t been here twenty-four hours!” +in mild protest.</p> +<p>“What has that to do with it? It doesn’t +make any difference.”</p> +<p>“I suppose not.” He cracked and ate a +nut. “Where is he?”</p> +<p>“He has gone to Milan. He left hurriedly. +He’s a fool,” impatiently.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span></p> +<p>“I am glad of that.”</p> +<p>She turned the glare upon him.</p> +<p>“I am very glad of that, considering your +part in the affair.”</p> +<p>“Michael...!”</p> +<p>“Be careful. Michael is always a prelude +to a temper. Have one of these,” offering a +nut.</p> +<p>She struck it rudely from his hand.</p> +<p>“Sometimes I am tempted to put my two +hands around that exquisite neck of yours.”</p> +<p>“Try it.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>The sullen expression on her face gave place +to a smile. “I should like to see you in a +rage.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“I hate him. He snubbed me. I have told +you that a thousand times.”</p> +<p>He laughed and rattled the nuts in his hat.</p> +<p>“I want you to get that invitation.”</p> +<p>“And if I do not?”</p> +<p>“I shall return immediately to Paris.”</p> +<p>“And break your word to me?”</p> +<p>“As easily as you break one of these nuts.”</p> +<p>“And if I get the invitation?”</p> +<p>“I shall fulfil my promise to the letter. I +will tell her as I promised.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p> +<p>“Out of love for me?”</p> +<p>“Out of love for you, and because the play +no longer interests me.”</p> +<p>“I wonder what new devilment is at work +in your mind?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“My dear, I am young. One of these days +I shall be content to sit by your great Russian +fireplace and hold your hand.”</p> +<p>“Hold it now.”</p> +<p>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!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span></p> +<p>“I’ll send over for the invitation.” 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>“Am I all right?” asked Harrigan.</p> +<p>Courtlandt nodded. “You look like a +soldier in mufti, and more than that, like the +gentleman that you naturally are,” quite sincerely.</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>Courtlandt resisted the desire to laugh. +“Supposing you let me pilot you over?”</p> +<p>“You’re the referee. Ring the gong.”</p> +<p>“Come on, then.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span></p> +<p>“What! while they are dancing?” backing +away in dismay.</p> +<p>The other caught him by the arm. “Come +on.”</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>“I don’t see how you did it,” admiringly.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Harrigan turned the cigar over and over in +his fingers, all the while gazing at the young +man’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. +“What do you think of that!” he murmured. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +“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.</p> +<p>“They should leave us old fellows at home,” +he ventured.</p> +<p>“Perhaps, in most cases, the women would +much prefer that.”</p> +<p>“Foreigner,” thought Harrigan. “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.”</p> +<p>“What is old age?” asked the thick but not +unpleasant voice of the stranger.</p> +<p>“It’s standing aside. Years don’t count at +all. A man is as young as he feels.”</p> +<p>“And a woman as old as she looks!” +laughed the other.</p> +<p>“Now, I don’t feel old, and I am fifty-one.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Agreed. You Americans are getting out +in the open more than any other white people.”</p> +<p>“Wonder how he guessed I was from the +States?” Aloud, Harrigan said: “You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +don’t look as though you’d grow any older in +the next ten years.”</p> +<p>“That depends.” The bearded man sighed +and lighted a fresh cigarette. “There’s a +beautiful young woman,” with an indicative +gesture toward the ballroom.</p> +<p>Harrigan expanded. It was Nora, dancing +with the Barone.</p> +<p>“She’s the most beautiful young woman in +the world,” enthusiastically.</p> +<p>“Ah, you know her?” interestedly.</p> +<p>“I am her father!”—as Louis XIV might +have said, “I am the State.”</p> +<p>The bearded man smiled. “Sir, I congratulate +you both.”</p> +<p>Courtlandt loomed in the doorway. “Comfortable?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly. Good cigar, comfortable chair, +fine view.”</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>“You’ll find the claret and champagne +punches in the hall,” suggested Courtlandt.</p> +<p>“Not for mine! Run away and dance.”</p> +<p>“Good-by, then.” Courtlandt vanished.</p> +<p>“There’s a fine chap. Edward Courtlandt, +the American millionaire.” It was not possible +for Harrigan to omit this awe-compelling +elaboration.</p> +<p>“Edward Courtlandt.” The stranger +stretched his legs. “I have heard of him. +Something of a hunter.”</p> +<p>“One of the keenest.”</p> +<p>“There is no half-way with your rich +American: either his money ruins him or he +runs away from it.”</p> +<p>“There’s a stunner,” exclaimed Harrigan. +“Wonder how she got here?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></p> +<p>“To which lady do you refer?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Quite naturally,” dryly.</p> +<p>“But you can’t get away from the Calabrian’s +beauty,” generously.</p> +<p>“No.” The bearded man extinguished his +cigarette and rose, laying a <i>carte-de-visite</i> 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.</p> +<p>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! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +James, this is all under your hat. We’ll keep +the card where Molly won’t find it.”</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>“Hey, Abbott, here’s a seat. Get your second +wind.”</p> +<p>“Thanks.” Abbott dropped into the chair +and smoked quickly. “Very stuffy out there. +Too many.”</p> +<p>“You look it. Having a good time?”</p> +<p>“Oh, fine!” There was a catch in the +laugh which followed, but Harrigan’s ear was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +not trained for these subtleties of sound, +“How are you making out?”</p> +<p>“I’m getting acclimated. Where’s the +colonel to-night? He ought to be around here +somewhere.”</p> +<p>“I left him a few moments ago.”</p> +<p>“When you see him again, send him in. +He’s a live one, and I like to hear him talk.”</p> +<p>“I’ll go at once,” crushing his cigarette in +the Jeypore bowl.</p> +<p>“What’s your hurry? You look like a man +who has just lost his job.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Now, what’s stung the boy?”</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’s side.</p> +<p>“May I have a dance?” he asked.</p> +<p>“You are too late,” evenly. She was becoming +used to the sight of him, much to her +amazement.</p> +<p>“I am sorry.”</p> +<p>“Why, Nora, I didn’t know that your card +was filled!” said Mrs. Harrigan. She had +the maternal eye upon Courtlandt.</p> +<p>“Nevertheless,” said Nora sweetly, “it is +a fact.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“So, those who are late must suffer the consequences.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span></p> +<p>“Supper?”</p> +<p>“The Barone rather than you.”</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>“Who is that?” asked Mrs. Harrigan.</p> +<p>“Flora Desimone’s husband, the duke. He +and Mr. Harrigan were having quite a conversation +in the smoke-room.”</p> +<p>“What!” in consternation.</p> +<p>“They were getting along finely when I left +them.”</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>“Would you mind telling Mr. Harrigan that +I wish to see him?”</p> +<p>“Not at all.”</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</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>“<i>O bellissima notta!</i>” she sang. “Is it not +glorious?”</p> +<p>“Nora,” said Abbott, leaning suddenly +toward her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Is there another?” in despair.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Ah, Nora!”</p> +<p>“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +“There! Ah, Donald, I very much +need a friend.”</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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’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>“I wish to speak to you,” said the Italian +abruptly.</p> +<p>“Nothing you could possibly say would interest +me,” declared Nora, haughtily and made +as if to pass.</p> +<p>“Do not be too sure,” 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>“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....”</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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;'> +“I hate you and detest you with all my heart.”<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span></div> +<p>“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!”</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>“Come in.”</p> +<p>He discovered Abbott, stretched out upon +the lounge, idly picking at the loose plaster in +the wall.</p> +<p>“Hello!” said Abbott carelessly. “Help +yourself to a chair.”</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’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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span></p> +<p>At length Courtlandt returned to the lounge. +“The Barone called upon me this morning.”</p> +<p>“Oh, he did?”</p> +<p>“I think you had better write him an +apology.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></p> +<p>“I’ll see you both farther!” wrathfully. +“Look at these lips, I say!”</p> +<p>“Before he struck you, you must have given +provocation.”</p> +<p>“Sha’n’t discuss what took place. Nor will +I apologize.”</p> +<p>“That’s final?”</p> +<p>“You have my word for it.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Pistols!” shouted Abbott. “For the love +of glory, what are you driving at?”</p> +<p>“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 +<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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Abbott brushed the dust from his coat and +got up. “A duel!” 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. “Very well. Tell the Barone +my choice is pistols. He may set the time +and place himself.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Courtlandt!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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 +<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.” 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.”</p> +<p>“Abby, I’m sorry that you take this view.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care to hear any platitudes, thank +you.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Permit me to doubt that,” 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. “Sorry you +are not open to reason. Good morning.”</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>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +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?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” Abbott was truly and completely +bewildered.</p> +<p>“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. +<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’ll +jolly well cool this Italian’s blood.”</p> +<p>And out he went, banging the door. There +was something of the directness of a bullet in +the old fellow’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’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>“You will excuse me,” he said meekly. He +must see Abbott.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Courtlandt bit his mustache. “In that case, +I shall go at once to Colonel Caxley-Webster.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. I shall be in my room at the +villa the greater part of the day.” The +Barone bowed.</p> +<p>Courtlandt caught the colonel as he was entering +his motor-boat.</p> +<p>“Come over to tiffin.”</p> +<p>“Very well; I can talk here better than anywhere +else.” +<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>“Do you know what you have done?”</p> +<p>“Done?” dropping his eye-glass.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>The colonel’s eyes bulged. “Dem it, why +didn’t the young fool tell me?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Have him send another apology.”</p> +<p>“The Barone is thoroughly enraged. He +would refuse to accept it, and said so.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span></p> +<p>“Well, dem me for a well-meaning meddler!”</p> +<p>“With pleasure, but that will not stop the +row. There is a way out, but it appeals to +me as damnably low.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Abbott will not run. He isn’t that +kind.”</p> +<p>“No, he’ll not run. But if you will agree +with me, honor may be satisfied without either +of them getting hurt.”</p> +<p>“Women beat the devil, don’t they? +What’s your plan?”</p> +<p>Courtlandt outlined it.</p> +<p>The colonel frowned. “That doesn’t sound +like you. Beastly trick.”</p> +<p>“I know it.”</p> +<p>“We’ll lunch first. It will take a few pegs +to get that idea through this bally head of +mine.”</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>“Hang the boy!” he muttered. “I ought +to be ashamed of myself. There isn’t a bit +of funk in his whole make-up.”</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’t he just dreaming? Wasn’t it +all a nightmare out of which he would presently +awake?</p> +<p>“Breakfast, Sahib,” said Rao, deferentially +touching his arm.</p> +<p>He was awake; it was all true.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“We’ll have that for tiffin,” 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>“It’s mighty kind of you, Colonel, to buck +me up this way.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I sha’n’t hurt the Barone,” smiling +faintly.</p> +<p>“Are you going to be ass enough to pop +your gun in the air?” 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>“At the word three, gentlemen, you will +fire,” 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>“Great God!” whispered the colonel; +“you must have forgotten the ramrod!”</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>“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.</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’s body. He finally shook his +head. “Nothing has touched him. His heart +gave under. Fainted.”</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>“I feel like a fool,” he said.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“We’re both of us a pair of fools, Barone. +There was always some one else. A couple of +fools.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” admitted the Barone eagerly.</p> +<p>“Considering,” whispered the colonel in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +Courtlandt’s ear; “considering that neither of +them knew they were shooting nothing more +dangerous than wads, they’re pretty good +specimens. Eh, what?”</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—“I’ve got +a story.”</p> +<p>“Tell it,” had been the instant request.</p> +<p>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 +<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>“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.”</p> +<p>“Is that the end of the yarn?” asked the +colonel.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Has he given up?” asked Abbott, his +voice strangely unfamiliar in his own ears.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Worth much!” cried Abbott. “What do +you imply by that?”</p> +<p>“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’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.”</p> +<p>“The colonel is right,” 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>“And more, by hook or crook, I’d have +dragged in the other woman by the hair and +made her confess.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That is like a woman,” the Barone agreed, +and he knew something about them. “And +where is this man now?”</p> +<p>“Here,” said Courtlandt, pushing back his +chair and rising. “I am he.” He turned his +back upon them and sought the garden.</p> +<p>Tableau!</p> +<p>“Dash me!” 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>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</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’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: “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.”</p> +<p>“I shall return to Rome,” replied the +Barone. “My long leave of absence is near +its end.”</p> +<p>“What in the world can have happened?” +demanded Nora, showing the two notes to +Celeste. “Here’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’t understand. +Donald was to remain until we left for America, +and the Barone’s leave does not end until +October.”</p> +<p>“To-morrow?” Dim-eyed, Celeste returned +the notes.</p> +<p>“Yes. You play the fourth <i>ballade</i> and I’ll +sing from <i>Madame</i>. It will be very lonesome +without them.” 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’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’s lips upon her own. She struggled violently, +and suddenly was freed.</p> +<p>“If I were a man,” she said, “you should +die for that!”</p> +<p>“It was an opportunity not to be ignored,” +returned Courtlandt. “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,” 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’s shoulder. +He was irresistibly drawn right about +face.</p> +<p>“Now, then, Mr. Courtlandt,” said Harrigan, +his eyes blue and cold as ice, “perhaps +you will explain?”</p> +<p>With rage and despair in his heart, Courtlandt +flung off the hand and answered: “I +refuse!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“So long as it does not necessitate any explanations,” +indifferently.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I am nearly twenty years younger than +you, Mr. Harrigan.”</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t let that worry you any,” with a +truculent laugh. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span></p> +<p>“Very well. You will find me there. +After all, you are her father.”</p> +<p>“You bet I am!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Here!” he cried, bruskly, tossing over +a pair of gloves. “If this method of settling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span> +the dispute isn’t satisfactory, I’ll accept your +explanations.”</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>“This single court is about as near as we +can make it. The man who steps outside is +whipped.”</p> +<p>“I agree,” said Courtlandt.</p> +<p>“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.”</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’s ear, which began +to swell.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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 +<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’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’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.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon, Mr. Harrigan, for losing +my temper.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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 +<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.” +Courtlandt left the field of victory without +further comment.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>It was not so easy returning. He ran into +his wife. He tried to dodge her, but without +success.</p> +<p>“James, where did you get that black eye?” +tragically.</p> +<p>“It’s a daisy, ain’t it, Molly?” pushing past +her into Nora’s room and closing the door +after him.</p> +<p>“Father!”</p> +<p>“That you, Nora?” blinking.</p> +<p>“Father, if you have been fighting with <i>him</i>, +I’ll never forgive you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span></p> +<p>“Forget it, Nora. I wasn’t fighting. I +only thought I was.”</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>“Going, Nora?”</p> +<p>“I am. And I advise you to have your +dinner in your room.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“This is a great world,” 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’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>“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.”</p> +<p>“Mother, there are times when I believe you +are afraid of father.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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’m not afraid of him.”</p> +<p>“Sometimes I wish you were.”</p> +<p>So Nora entered the lion’s den fearlessly. +“Is there anything I can do for you, dad?”</p> +<p>“You can get the witch-hazel and bathe this +lamp of mine,” 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’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>“I’ve got some make-up, and to-morrow +morning I’ll paint it for you.”</p> +<p>“You don’t ask any questions,” he said, with +grimness.</p> +<p>“Would it relieve your eye any?” lightly.</p> +<p>He laughed. “No; but it might relieve my +mind.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, why did you do so foolish a +thing? At your age! Don’t you know that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span> +you can’t go on whipping every man you take a +dislike to?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t taken any dislike to Courtlandt. +But I saw him kiss you.”</p> +<p>“I can take care of myself.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Since you saw what he did, I do not see +where explanations on my part are necessary.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +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 +<i>dormi bene</i>, 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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span> +his pocket and handing it to her. “Read it. +What’s the answer?”</p> +<p>Nora’s hands trembled.</p> +<p>“Takes you a long time to read it. Is it +true?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You will do nothing of the sort; not with +that eye.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Nora crackled the certificate in her fingers +and stared unseeingly at it for some time. “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span> +met him first in Rangoon,” she began slowly, +without raising her eyes.</p> +<p>“When you went around the world on your +own?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Oh, don’t worry. I was always +able to take care of myself.”</p> +<p>“An Irish idea,” answered Harrigan complacently.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You have. Go on.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“She looked at him, huh?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I see.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Harrigan shut and opened his hands. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Hang it, Nora, this doesn’t sound like +him!”</p> +<p>“I saw her.”</p> +<p>“He wrote you?”</p> +<p>“I returned the letters, unopened.”</p> +<p>“That wasn’t square. You might have been +wrong.”</p> +<p>“He wrote five letters. After that he went +to India, to Africa and back to India, where he +seemed to find consolation enough.”</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’t been married these thirty-odd years +without learning that a woman weeps for any +of a thousand and one reasons.</p> +<p>“Do you care for him still?”</p> +<p>“Not a day passed during these many +months that I did not vow I hated him.”</p> +<p>“Any one else know?”</p> +<p>“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!</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span></p> +<p>“But I <i>saw</i> her,” a queer look in her eyes as +she glanced up at him.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t she come to me, if she wanted +to ask questions?”</p> +<p>“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 <i>you</i> at your +door; and the devil in her got busy.”</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>“Look out for that tin ear!”</p> +<p>“Oh, you great big, loyal, true-hearted man! +Open that door and let me get out to the terrace. +I want to sing, sing!”</p> +<p>“He said he was going to Milan in the morning.”</p> +<p>She danced to the door and was gone.</p> +<p>“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?”</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’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 +<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’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>“Nora!”</p> +<p>She flung herself on her knees in front of +him. “I am a wretch!” she said.</p> +<p>He could only repeat her name.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Forgive you, Nora?” He was numb.</p> +<p>“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’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!”</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>“Nora!” he whispered. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span></p> +<p>“Kiss me!”</p> +<p>And then the train came to a stand, jerkily. +They fell back against the cushions.</p> +<p>“Lecco!” cried the guard through the window.</p> +<p>They laughed like children.</p> +<p>“I bribed him,” she said gaily. “And +now....”</p> +<p>“Yes, and now?” eagerly, if still bewilderedly.</p> +<p>“Let’s go back!”</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 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Place of Honeymoons, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS *** + +***** This file should be named 26593-h.htm or 26593-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/5/9/26593/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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