mystified her. What did he really mean?
'And I'm even less important than that,' she said bitterly.
'Oh no, you're not. Oh no, you're not. You're very important.
You're very important indeed, I assure you.'
'And your wife?'--the question came rebelliously. 'Your wife?
Isn't she important?'
'My wife? My wife?' He seemed to let the word stray out of him as
if he did not quite know what it meant. 'Why, yes, I suppose she
is important in her own sphere.'
'What sphere?' blurted Hannele, with a laugh.
'Why, her own sphere, of course. Her own house, her own home, and
her two children: that's her sphere.'
'And you?--where do you come in?'
'At present I don't come in,' he said.
'But isn't that just the trouble,' said Hannele. 'If you have a
wife and a home, it's your business to belong to it, isn't it?'
'Yes, I suppose it is, if I want to,' he replied.
'And you DO want to?' she challenged.
'No, I don't,' he replied.
'Well, then?' she said.
'Yes, quite,' he answered. 'I admit it's a dilemma.'
'But what will you DO?' she insisted.
'Why, I don't know. I don't know yet. I haven't made up my mind
what I'm going to do.'
'Then you'd better begin to make it up,' she said.
'Yes, I know that. I know that.'
He rose and began to walk uneasily up and down the room. But the
same vacant darkness was on his brow. He had his hands in his
pockets. Hannele sat feeling helpless. She couldn't help being in
love with the man: with his hands, with his strange, fascinating
physique, with his incalculable presence. She loved the way he put
his feet down, she loved the way he moved his legs as he walked,
she loved the mould of his loins, she loved the way he dropped his
head a little, and the strange, dark vacancy of his brow, his not-
thinking. But now the restlessness only made her unhappy. Nothing
would come of it. Yet she had driven him to it.
He took his hands out of his pockets and returned to her like a
piece of iron returning to a magnet. He sat down again in front of
her and put his hands out to her, looking into her face.
'Give me your hands,' he said softly, with that strange, mindless,
soft, suggestive tone which left her powerless to disobey. 'Give
me your hands, and let me feel that we are together. Words mean so
little. They mean nothing. And all that one thinks and plans
doesn't amount to anything. Let me feel that we are together, and
I don't care about all the rest.'
He spoke in his slow, melodious way, and closed her hands in his.
She struggled still for voice.
'But you'll HAVE to care about it. You'll HAVE to make up your
mind. You'll just HAVE to,' she insisted.
'Yes, I suppose I shall. I suppose I shall. But now that we are
together, I won't bother. Now that we are together, let us forget
it.'
'But when we CAN'T forget it any more?'
'Well--then I don't know. But--tonight--it seems to me--we might
just as well forget it.'
The soft, melodious, straying sound of his voice made her feel
helpless. She felt that he never answered her. Words of reply
seemed to stray out of him, in the need to say SOMETHING. But he
himself never spoke. There he was, a continual blank silence in
front of her.
She had a battle with herself. When he put his hand again on her
cheek, softly, with the most extraordinary soft half-touch, as a
kitten's paw sometimes touches one, like a fluff of living air,
then, if it had not been for the magic of that almost indiscernible
caress of his hand, she would have stiffened herself and drawn away
and told him she could have nothing to do with him, while he was so
half-hearted and unsatisfactory. She wanted to tell him these
things. But when she began he answered invariably in the same
soft, straying voice, that seemed to spin gossamer threads all over
her, so that she could neither think nor act nor even feel
distinctly. Her soul groaned rebelliously in her. And yet, when
he put his hand softly under her chin, and lifted her face and
smiled down on her with that gargoyle smile of his--she let him
kiss her.
'What are you thinking about tonight?' he said. 'What are you
thinking about?'
'What did your Colonel say to you, exactly?' she replied, trying to
harden her eyes.
'Oh, that!' he answered. 'Never mind that. That is of no
significance whatever.'
'But what IS of any significance?' she insisted. She almost hated
him.
'What is of any significance? Well, nothing to me, outside of this
room at this minute. Nothing in time or space matters to me.'
'Yes, THIS MINUTE!' she repeated bitterly. 'But then there's the
future. I'VE got to live in the future.'
'The future! The future! The future is used up every day. The
future to me is like a big tangle of black thread. Every morning
you begin to untangle one loose end--and that's your day. And
every evening you break off and throw away what you've untangled,
and the heap is so much less: just one thread less, one day less.
That's all the future matters to me.'
'Then nothing matters to you. And I don't matter to you. As you
say, only an end of waste thread,' she resisted him.
'No, there you're wrong. You aren't the future to me.'
'What am I then?--the past?'
'No, not any of those things. You're nothing. As far as all that
goes, you're nothing.'
'Thank you,' she said sarcastically, 'if I'm nothing.'
But the very irrelevancy of the man overcame her. He kissed her
with half discernible, dim kisses, and touched her throat. And the
meaninglessness of him fascinated her and left her powerless. She
could ascribe no meaning to him, none whatever. And yet his mouth,
so strange in kissing, and his hairy forearms, and his slender,
beautiful breast with black hair--it was all like a mystery to her,
as if one of the men from Mars were loving her. And she was heavy
and spellbound, and she loved the spell that bound her. But also
she didn't love it.
II
Countess zu Rassentlow had a studio in one of the main streets.
She was really a refugee. And nowadays you can be a grand-duke and
a pauper, if you are a refugee. But Hannele was not a pauper,
because she and her friend Mitchka had the studio where they made
these dolls, and beautiful cushions of embroidered coloured wools,
and such-like objects of feminine art. The dolls were quite
famous, so the two women did not starve.
Hannele did not work much in the studio. She preferred to be alone
in her own room, which was another fine attic, not quite so large
as the captain's, under the same roof. But often she went to the
studio in the afternoon, and if purchasers came, then they were
offered a cup of tea.
The Alexander doll was never intended for sale. What made Hannele
take it to the studio one afternoon, we do not know
. But she did
so, and stood it on a little bureau. It was a wonderful little
portrait of an officer and gentleman, the physique modelled so that
it made you hold your breath.
'And THAT--that is genius!' cried Mitchka. 'That is a chef
d'oeuvre! That is thy masterpiece, Hannele. That is really
marvellous. And beautiful! A beautiful man, what! But no, that
is TOO real. I don't understand how you DARE. I always thought
you were GOOD, Hannele, so much better-natured than I am. But now
you frighten me. I am afraid you are wicked, do you know. It
frightens me to think that you are wicked. Aber nein! But you
won't leave him there?'
'Why not?' said Hannele, satiric.
Mitchka made big dark eyes of wonder, reproach, and fear.
'But you MUST not,' she said.
'Why not?'
'No, that you MAY not do. You love the man.'
'What then?'
'You can't leave his puppet standing there.'
'Why can't I?'
'But you are really wicked. Du bist wirklich b?s. Only think!--
and he is an English officer.'
'He isn't sacrosanct even then.'
'They will expel you from the town. They will deport you.'
'Let them, then.'
'But no! What will you do? That would be horrible if we had to go
to Berlin or to Munich and begin again. Here everything has
happened so well.'
'I don't care,' said Hannele.
Mitchka looked at her friend and said no more. But she was angry.
After some time she turned and uttered her ultimatum.
'When you are not there,' she said, 'I shall put the puppet away in
a drawer. I shall show it to nobody, nobody. And I must tell you,
it makes me afraid to see it there. It makes me afraid. And you
have no right to get me into trouble, do you see. It is not I who
look at the English officers. I don't like them, they are too cold
and finished off for me. I shall never bring trouble on MYSELF
because of the English officers.'
'Don't be afraid,' said Hannele. 'They won't trouble YOU. They
know everything we do, well enough. They have their spies
everywhere. Nothing will happen to you.'
'But if they make you go away--and I am planted here with the
studio--'
It was no good, however; Hannele was obstinate.
So, one sunny afternoon there was a ring at the door: a little lady
in white, with a wrinkled face that still had its prettiness.
'Good afternoon!'--in rather lardy-dardy, middle-class English. 'I
wonder if I may see your things in your studio.'
'Oh yes!' said Mitchka. 'Please come in.'
Entered the little lady in her finery and her crumpled prettiness.
She would not be very old: perhaps younger than fifty. And it was
odd that her face had gone so crumpled, because her figure was very
trim, her eyes were bright, and she had pretty teeth when she
laughed. She was very fine in her clothes: a dress of thick
knitted white silk, a large ermine scarf with the tails only at the
ends, and a black hat over which dripped a trail of green feathers
of the osprey sort. She wore rather a lot of jewellery, and two
bangles tinkled over her white kid gloves as she put up her fingers
to touch her hair, whilst she stood complacently and looked round.
'You've got a CHARMING studio--CHARMING--perfectly delightful! I
couldn't imagine anything more delightful.'
Mitchka gave a slight ironic bow, and said in her odd, plangent
English:
'Oh yes. We like it very much also.'
Hannele, who had dodged behind a screen, now came quickly forth.
'Oh, how do you do!' smiled the elderly lady.' I heard there were
two of you. Now which is which, if I may be so bold? This'--and
she gave a winsome smile and pointed a white kid finger at Mitchka--
'is the--?'
'Annamaria von Prielau-Carolath,' said Mitchka, slightly bowing.
'Oh!'--and the white kid finger jerked away. 'Then this--'
'Johanna zu Rassentlow,' said Hannele, smiling.
'Ah, yes! Countess von Rassentlow! And this is Baroness von--von--
but I shall never remember even if you tell me, for I'm awful at
names. Anyhow, I shall call one Countess and the other Baroness.
That will do, won't it, for poor me! Now I should like awfully to
see your things, if I may. I want to buy a little present to take
back to England with me. I suppose I shan't have to pay the world
in duty on things like these, shall I?'
'Oh no,' said Mitchka. 'No duty. Toys, you know, they--there is--'
Her English stammered to an end, so she turned to Hannele.
'They don't charge duty on toys, and the embroideries they don't
notice,' said Hannele.
'Oh, well. Then I'm all right,' said the visitor. 'I hope I can
buy something really nice! I see a perfectly lovely jumper over
there, perfectly delightful. But a little too gay for me, I'm
afraid. I'm not quite so young as I was, alas.' She smiled her
winsome little smile, showing her pretty teeth and the old pearls
in her ears shook.
'I've heard so much about your dolls. I hear they're perfectly
exquisite, quite works of art. May I see some, please?'
'Oh yes,' came Mitchka's invariable answer, this exclamation being
the foundation-stone of all her English.
There were never more than three or four dolls in stock. This time
there were only two. The famous captain was hidden in his drawer.
'Perfectly beautiful! Perfectly wonderful!' murmured the little
lady, in an artistic murmur. 'I think they're perfectly
delightful. It's wonderful of you, Countess, to make them. It is
you who make them, is it not? Or do you both do them together?'
Hannele explained, and the inspection and the rhapsody went on
together. But it was evident that the little lady was a cautious
buyer. She went over the things very carefully, and thought more
than twice. The dolls attracted her--but she thought them
expensive, and hung fire.
'I do wish,' she said wistfully, 'there had been a larger selection
of the dolls. I feel, you know, there might have been one which I
JUST LOVED. Of course these are DARLINGS--darlings they are: and
worth every PENNY, considering the work there is in them. And the
art, of course. But I have a feeling, don't you know how it is,
that if there had been just one or two more, I should have found
one which I ABSOLUTELY couldn't live without. Don't you know how
it is? One is so foolish, of course. What does Goethe say--"Dort
wo du nicht bist. . ."? My German isn't even a beginning, so you
must excuse it. But it means you always feel you would be happy
somewhere else, and not just where you are. Isn't that it? Ah,
well, it's so very often true--so very often. But not always,
thank goodness.' She smiled an odd little smile to herself, pursed
her lips, and resumed: 'Well now, that's how I feel about the
dolls. If only there had been one or two more. Isn't there a
single one?'
She looked winsomely at Hannele.
'Yes,' said Hannele, '
there is one. But it is ordered. It isn't
for sale.'
'Oh, do you think I might see it? I'm sure it's lovely. Oh, I'm
dying to see it. You know what woman's curiosity is, don't you?'--
she laughed her tinkling little laugh. 'Well, I'm afraid I'm all
woman, unfortunately. One is so much harder if one has a touch of
the man in one, don't you think, and more able to bear things. But
I'm afraid I'm all woman.' She sighed and became silent.
Hannele went quietly to the drawer and took out the captain. She
handed him to the little woman. The latter looked frightened. Her
eyes became round and childish, her face went yellowish. Her
jewels tinkled nervously as she stammered:
'Now THAT--isn't that--' and she laughed a little, hysterical
laugh.
She turned round, as if to escape.
'Do you mind if I sit down,' she said. 'I think the standing--'
and she subsided into a chair. She kept her face averted. But she
held the puppet fast, her small, white fingers with their heavy
jewelled rings clasped round his waist.
'You know,' rushed in Mitchka, who was terrified. 'You know, that
is a life picture of one of the Englishmen, of a gentleman, you
know. A life picture, you know.'
'A portrait,' said Hannele brightly.
'Yes,' murmured the visitor vaguely. 'I'm sure it is. I'm sure it
is a very clever portrait indeed.'
She fumbled with a chain, and put up a small gold lorgnette before
her eyes, as if to screen herself. And from behind the screen of
her lorgnette she peered at the image in her hand.
'But,' she said, 'none of the English officers, or rather Scottish,
wear the close-fitting tartan trews any more--except for fancy
dress.'
Her voice was vague and distant.
'No, they don't now,' said Hannele. 'But that is the correct
dress. I think they are so handsome, don't you?'
'Well. I don't know. It depends'--and the little woman laughed
shakily.
'Oh yes,' said Hannele. 'It needs well-shapen legs.'
'Such as the original of your doll must have had--quite,' said the
lady.
'Oh yes,' said Hannele. 'I think his legs are very handsome.'
'Quite!' said the lady. 'Judging from his portrait, as you call
it. May I ask the name of the gentleman--if it is not too
indiscreet?'
'Captain Hepburn,' said Hannele.
'Yes, of course it is. I knew him at once. I've known him for
many years.'
'Oh, please,' broke in Mitchka. 'Oh, please, do not tell him you
have seen it! Oh, please! Please do not tell anyone!'
The visitor looked up with a grey little smile.
'But why not?' she said. 'Anyhow, I can't tell him at once,
because I hear he is away at present. You don't happen to know
when he will be back?'
'I believe tomorrow,' said Hannele.
'Tomorrow!'
'And please!' pleaded Mitchka, who looked lovely in her pleading
distress, 'please not to tell anybody that you have seen it.'
'Must I promise?' smiled the little lady wanly. 'Very well, then,
I won't tell him I've seen it. And now I think I must be going.
Yes, I'll just take the cushion-cover, thank you. Tell me again
how much it is, please.'
That evening Hannele was restless. He had been away on some duty
for three days. He was returning that night--should have been back
in time for dinner. But he had not arrived, and his room was
locked and dark. Hannele had heard the servant light the stove
some hours ago. Now the room was locked and blank as it had been
for three days.
Hannele was most uneasy because she seemed to have forgotten him in
the three days whilst he had been away. He seemed to have quite