CHAPTER V
"WHO IS MR. GREX?"
Lady Weybourne insisted, after a reasonable amount of time spent overtheir coffee, that her brother should pay the bill and leave therestaurant. They walked slowly across the square.
"What are you going to do about it?" he asked.
"There is only one thing to be done," she replied. "I shall speak toevery one I meet this afternoon--I shall be, in fact, most sociable--andsooner or later in our conversation I shall ask every one if they knowMr. Grex and his daughter. When I arrive at some one who does, that willbe the first step, won't it?"
"I wonder whether we shall see some one soon!" he grumbled, lookingaround. "Where are all the people to-day!"
She laughed softly.
"Just a little impetuous, aren't you?"
"I should say so," he admitted. "I'd like to be introduced to her beforefour o'clock, propose to her this evening, and--and--"
"And what?"
"Never mind," he concluded, marching on with his head turned towards theclouds. "Let's go and sit down upon the Terrace and talk about her."
"But, my dear Dicky," his sister protested, "I don't want to sit uponthe Terrace. I am going to my dressmaker's across the way there, andafterwards to Lucie's to try on some hats. Then I am going back to thehotel for an hour's rest and to prink, and afterwards into the SportingClub at four o'clock. That's my programme. I shall be doing what I canthe whole of the time. I shall make discreet enquiries of my dressmaker,who knows everybody, and I sha'n't let a single acquaintance go by. Youwill have to amuse yourself till four o'clock, at any rate. There's SirHenry Hunterleys over there, having coffee. Go and talk to him. He mayput you out of your misery. Thanks ever so much for my luncheon, and aurevoir!"
She turned away with a little nod. Her brother, after a moment'shesitation, approached the table where Hunterleys was sitting alone.
"How do you do, Sir Henry?"
Hunterleys returned his greeting, a little blankly at first. Then heremembered the young man and held out his hand.
"Of course! You are Richard Lane, aren't you? Sit down and have somecoffee. What are you doing here?"
"I've got a little boat in the harbour," Richard replied, as he drew upa chair. "I've been at Algiers for a time with some friends, and I'vebrought them on here. Just been lunching with my sister. Are you alone?"
Hunterleys hesitated.
"Yes, I am alone."
"Wonderful place," the young man went on. "Wonderful crowd of peoplehere, too. I suppose you know everybody?" he added, warming up as heapproached his subject.
"On the contrary," Hunterleys answered, "I am almost a stranger here. Ihave been staying further down the coast."
"Happen to know any one of the name of Grex?" Lane asked, with elaboratecarelessness.
Hunterleys made no immediate reply. He seemed to be considering thename.
"Grex," he repeated, knocking the ash from his cigarette. "Rather anuncommon name, isn't it? Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I've seen an elderly man and a young lady about once or twice,"Lane explained. "Very interesting-looking people. Some one told me thattheir name was Grex."
"There is a person living under that name, I think," Hunterleys said,"who has taken the Villa Mimosa for the season."
"Do you know him personally?" the young man asked eagerly.
"Personally? No, I can scarcely say that I do."
Richard Lane sighed. It was disappointment number one. For some reasonor other, too, Hunterleys seemed disposed to change the conversation.
"The young lady who is always with him," Richard persisted, "would thatbe his daughter?"
Hunterleys turned a little in his seat and surveyed his questioner. Hehad met Lane once or twice and rather liked him.
"Look here, young fellow," he said, good humouredly, "let me ask you aquestion for a change. What is the nature of these enquiries of yours?"
Lane hesitated. Something in Hunterleys' face and manner induced him totell the truth.
"I have fallen head over heels in love with the young lady," heconfessed. "Don't think I am a confounded jackass. I am not in the habitof doing such things. I'm twenty-seven and I have never gone out of myway to meet a girl yet. This is something--different. I want to find outabout them and get an introduction."
Hunterleys shook his head regretfully.
"I am afraid," he said, "that I can be of no use to you--no practicaluse, that is. I can only give you one little piece of advice."
"Well, what is it?" Richard asked eagerly.
"If you are in earnest," Hunterleys continued, "and I will do you thecredit to believe that you are, you had better pack up your things,return to your yacht and take a cruise somewhere."
"Take a cruise somewhere!"
Hunterleys nodded.
"Get out of Monte Carlo as quickly as you can, and, above all, don'tthink anything more of that young lady. Get the idea out of your head asquickly as you can."
The young man was sitting upright in his chair. His manner was halfminatory.
"Say, what do you mean by this?" he demanded.
"Exactly what I said just now," Hunterleys rejoined. "If you are inearnest, and I have no doubt that you are, I should clear out."
"What is it you are trying to make me understand?" Richard askedbluntly.
"That you have about as much chance with that young lady," Hunterleysassured him, "as with that very graceful statue in the square yonder."
Richard sat for a moment with knitted brows.
"Then you know who she is, any way?"
"Whether I do or whether I do not," the older man said gravely, "so faras I am concerned, the subject is exhausted. I have given you the bestadvice you ever had in your life. It's up to you to follow it."
Richard looked at him blankly.
"Well, you've got me puzzled," he confessed.
Hunterleys rose to his feet, and, summoning a waiter, paid his bill.
"You'll excuse me, won't you?" he begged. "I have an appointment in afew minutes. If you are wise, young man," he added, patting him on theshoulder as he turned to go, "you will take my advice."
Left to himself, Richard Lane strolled around the place towards theTerrace. He had no fancy for the Rooms and he found a seat as farremoved as possible from the Tir du Pigeons. He sat there with foldedarms, looking out across the sun-dappled sea. His matter-of-fact brainoffered him but one explanation as to the meaning of Hunterleys' words,and against that explanation his whole being was in passionate revolt.He represented a type of young man who possesses morals by reason of acertain unsuspected idealism, mingled with perfect physical sanity. Itseemed to him, as he sat there, that he had been waiting for this dayfor years. The old nights in New York and Paris and London floatedbefore his memory. He pushed them on one side with a shiver, and yetwith a curious feeling of exultation. He recalled a certain sensationwhich had been drawn through his life like a thin golden thread, asensation which had a habit of especially asserting itself in the midstof these youthful orgies, a curious sense of waiting for something tohappen, a sensation which had been responsible very often for what hisfriends had looked upon as eccentricity. He knew now that this thing hadarrived, and everything else in life seemed to pale by the side of it.Hunterleys' words had thrown him temporarily into a strange turmoil.Solitude for a few moments he had felt to be entirely necessary. Yetdirectly he was alone, directly he was free to listen to hisconvictions, he could have laughed at that first mad surging of hisblood, the fierce, instinctive rebellion against the conclusion to whichHunterleys' words seemed to point. Now that he was alone, he was noteven angry. No one else could possibly understand!
Before long he was once more upon his feet, starting out upon his questwith renewed energy. He had scarcely taken a dozen steps, however, whenhe came face to face with Lady Hunterleys and Mr. Draconmeyer. Quiteoblivious of the fact that they seemed inclined to avoid him, he greetedthem both with unusual warmth.
"Saw your husband just now, Lady Hunter
leys," he remarked, a littlepuzzled. "I fancied he said he was alone here."
She smiled.
"We did not come together," she explained; "in fact, our meeting wasalmost accidental. Henry had been at Bordighera and San Remo and I cameout with Mr. and Mrs. Draconmeyer."
The young man nodded and turned towards Draconmeyer, who was standing alittle on one side as though anxious to proceed.
"Mr. Draconmeyer doesn't remember me, perhaps. I met him at my sister's,Lady Weybourne's, just before Christmas."
"I remember you perfectly," Mr. Draconmeyer assured him courteously. "Wehave all been admiring your beautiful yacht in the harbour there."
"I was thinking of getting up a little cruise before long," Richardcontinued. "If so, I hope you'll all join us. Flossie is going to behostess, and the Montressors are passengers already."
They murmured something non-committal. Lady Hunterleys seemed as thoughabout to pass on but Lane blocked the way.
"I only arrived the other day from Algiers," he went on, making franticefforts to continue the conversation. "I brought Freddy Montressor andhis sister, and Fothergill."
"Mr. Montressor has come to the Hotel de Paris," Lady Hunterleysremarked. "What sort of weather did you have in Algiers?"
"Ripping!" the young man replied absently, entirely oblivious of thefact that they had been driven away by incessant rain. "This place ismuch more fun, though," he added, with sudden inspiration. "Crowds ofinteresting people. I suppose you know every one?"
Lady Hunterleys shook her head.
"Indeed I do not. Mr. Draconmeyer here is my guide. He is as good as awalking directory."
"I wonder if either of you know some people named Grex?" Richard asked,with studious indifference.
Mr. Draconmeyer for the first time showed some signs of interest. Helooked at their questioner steadfastly.
"Grex," he repeated. "A very uncommon name."
"Very uncommon-looking people," Richard declared. "The man is elderly,and looks as though he took great care of himself--awfully well turnedout and all that. The daughter is--good-looking."
Mr. Draconmeyer took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and rubbed them withhis handkerchief.
"Why do you ask?" he enquired. "Is this just curiosity?"
"Rather more than that," Richard said boldly. "It's interest."
Mr. Draconmeyer readjusted his spectacles.
"Mr. Grex," he announced, "is a gentleman of great wealth andillustrious birth, who has taken a very magnificent villa and desiresfor a time to lead a life of seclusion. That is as much as I or any oneelse knows."
"What about the young lady?" Richard persisted.
"The young lady," Mr. Draconmeyer answered, "is, as you surmised, hisdaughter.... Shall we finish our promenade, Lady Hunterleys?"
Richard stood grudgingly a little on one side.
"Mr. Draconmeyer," he said desperately, "do you think there'd be anychance of my getting an introduction to the young lady?"
Mr. Draconmeyer at first smiled and then began to laugh, as thoughsomething in the idea tickled him. He looked at the young man andRichard hated him.
"Not the slightest in the world, I should think," he declared. "Goodafternoon!"
Lady Hunterleys joined in her companion's amusement as they continuedtheir promenade.
"Is the young man in love, do you suppose?" she enquired lightly.
"If so," her companion replied, "he has made a somewhat unfortunatechoice. However, it really doesn't matter. Love at his age is nothingmore than a mood. It will pass as all moods pass."
She turned and looked at him.
"Do you mean," she asked incredulously, "that youth is incapable oflove?"
They had paused for a moment, looking out across the bay towards theglittering white front of Bordighera. Mr. Draconmeyer took off his hat.Somehow, without it, in that clear light, one realised, notwithstandinghis spectacles, his grizzled black beard of unfashionable shape, hisover-massive forehead and shaggy eyebrows, that his, too, was the faceof one whose feet were not always upon the earth.
"Perhaps," he answered, "it is a matter of degree, yet I am almosttempted to answer your question absolutely. I do not believe that youthcan love, because from the first it misapprehends the meaning of theterm. I believe that the gift of loving comes only to those who havereached the hills."
She looked at him, a little surprised. Always thoughtful, alwayssympathetic, generally stimulating, it was very seldom that she hadheard him speak with so much real feeling. Suddenly he turned his headfrom the sea. His eyes seemed to challenge hers.
"Your question," he continued, "touches upon one of the great tragediesof life. Upon those who are free from their youth there is a great taxlevied. Nature has decreed that they should feel something which theycall love. They marry, and in this small world of ours they give ahostage as heavy as a millstone of their chances of happiness. For it isonly in later life, when a man has knowledge as well as passion, whenunless he is fortunate it is too late, that he can know what love is."
She moved a little uneasily. She felt that something was coming whichshe desired to avoid, some confidence, something from which she mustescape. The memory of her husband's warning was vividly present withher. She felt the magnetism of her companion's words, his compellinggaze.
"It is so with me," he went on, leaning a little towards her, "only inmy case--"
Providence was intervening. Never had the swish of a woman's skirtsounded so sweet to her before.
"Here's Dolly Montressor," she interrupted, "coming up to speak to us."