XIX
"There can be no possible doubt," Louise remarked, as she unfolded hernapkin, "as to our first subject of conversation. Both Sophy and I aresimply dying of curiosity to know about the prince's supper party."
"It was very cheerful and very gay," John said. "Every one seemed toenjoy it very much."
"Oh, la, la!" Sophy exclaimed. "Is that all you have to tell us? I shallbegin to think that you were up to mischief there."
"I believe," Louise declared, "that every one of the guests is sworn tosecrecy as to what really goes on."
"I can assure you that I wasn't," John told them.
"The papers hint at all sorts of things," Sophy continued. "Every onewho writes for the penny illustrated papers parades his whole stock ofclassical knowledge when he attempts to describe them. We read of thefeasts of Lucullus and Bacchanalian orgies. They say that at supper-timeyou lie about on sofas and feast for four hours at a stretch."
"The reports seem exaggerated," John laughed. "We went in to supper athalf past twelve and we came out just before two. We sat on chairs, andthe conversation was quite decorous."
"This is most disappointing!" Louise murmured. "I cannot think why theprince never invites us."
"The ladies of his family were not present," John remarked stiffly.
There was a moment's silence. Louise had looked down at her plate, andSophy glanced out of the window.
"Is it true that Calavera was there?" the latter asked presently.
"Yes, she was there," John replied. "She danced after supper."
"Oh, you lucky man!" Louise sighed. "She only dances once or twice ayear off the stage. Is she really so wonderful close to?"
"She is, in her way, very wonderful," John agreed.
"Confess that you admired her," Louise persisted.
"I thought her dancing extraordinary," he confessed, "and, to betruthful, I did admire her. All the same, hers is a hateful gift."
Louise looked at him curiously for a moment. His face showed few signsof the struggle through which he had passed, but the grim setting of hislips reminded her a little of his brother. He had lost, too, somethingof the boyishness, the simple light-heartedness of the day before.Instinctively she felt that the battle had begun. She asked him no moreabout the supper party, and Sophy, quick to follow her lead, alsodropped the subject.
Luncheon was not a lengthy meal, and immediately its service wasconcluded, Sophy rose to her feet with a sigh.
"I must go and finish my work," she declared. "Let me have the den tomyself for at least an hour, please, Louise. It will take me longer thanthat to muddle through your books."
Louise nodded and rose to her feet.
"We will leave you entirely undisturbed," she promised. "I hope, whenyou have finished, you will have something more agreeable to say thanyou had before lunch. Shall we have our coffee up-stairs?" shesuggested, turning to John.
"I should like to very much," he replied. "I want to talk to you alone."
She led the way up-stairs into the cool, white drawing-room, with itsflower-perfumed atmosphere and its delicate, shadowy air of repose. Shecurled herself up in a corner of the divan and gave him his coffee. Thenshe leaned back and looked at him.
"So you have really come to London, Mr. Countryman!"
"I have followed you," he answered. "I think you knew that I would. Itried not to," he went on, after a moment's pause. "I fought against itas hard as I could; but in the end I had to give in."
"That was very sensible of you," she declared knocking the ash from hercigarette. "There is no use wearing oneself out fighting a hopelessbattle. You know now that there are things in life which are not to befound in your passionless corner among the hills. You have realized thatyou owe a duty to yourself."
"That was not what brought me," he answered bluntly. "I came for you."
Louise's capacity for fencing seemed suddenly enfeebled. A frontalattack of such directness was irresistible.
"For me!" she repeated weakly.
"Of course," he replied. "None of your arguments would have brought mehere. If I have desired to understand this world at all, it is becauseit is your world. It is you I want--don't you understand that? I thoughtyou would know it from the first moment you saw me!"
He was suddenly on his feet, leaning over her, a changed man, masterful,passionate. She opened her lips, but said nothing. She felt herselflifted up, clasped for a moment in his arms. Unresisting, she felt thefire of his kisses. The world seemed to have stopped. Then she tried topush him away, weakly, and against her own will. At her first movementhe laid her tenderly back in her place.
"I am sorry!" he said. "And yet I am not," he added, drawing his chairclose up to her side. "I am glad! You knew that I loved you, Louise. Youknew that it was for you I had come."
She was beginning to collect herself. Her brain was at work again; butshe was conscious of a new confusion in her senses, a new element in herlife. She was no longer sure of herself.
"Listen," she begged earnestly. "Be reasonable! How could I marry you?Do you think that I could live with you up there in the hills?"
"We will live," he promised, "anywhere you choose in the world."
"Ah, no!" she continued, patting his hand. "You know what your life is,the things you want in life. You don't know mine yet. There is my work.You cannot think how wonderful it is to me. You don't know the thingsthat fill my brain from day to day, the thoughts that direct my life. Icannot marry you just because--because--"
"Because what?" he interrupted eagerly.
"Because you make me feel--something I don't understand, because youcome and you turn the world, for a few minutes, topsyturvy. But that isall foolishness, isn't it? Life isn't built up of emotions. What I wantyou to understand, and what you, please, must understand, is that atpresent our lives are so far, so very far, apart. I do not feel I couldbe happy leading yours, and you do not understand mine."
"I have come to find out about yours," John explained. "That is why I amhere. Perhaps I ought to have waited a little time before I spoke to youas I did just now. Come, you can forget what I have said and done; butto me it will be an everlasting joy. I shall treasure the memory of it.It will help me--I can't tell you quite in what way it will help me. Butfor the rest, I will serve my apprenticeship. I will try to get intosympathy with the things that please you. It will not take me long. Assoon as you feel that we are drawing closer together, I will ask youagain what I have asked you this afternoon. In the meantime, I may beyour friend, may I not? You will let me see a great deal of you? Youwill help me just a little?"
Louise leaned back in her chair. She had been carried off her feet,brought face to face with emotions which she dared not analyze. Perhaps,after all her self-dissection, there were still secret chambers. Shethought almost with fear of what they might contain. Her sense ofsuperiority was vanishing. She was, after all, like other women.
"Yes," she promised, "I will help. We will leave it at that. Some dayyou shall talk to me again, if you like. In the meantime, remember weare both free. You have not known many women, and you may change yourmind when you have been longer in London. Perhaps it will be better foryou if you do!"
"That is quite impossible," John said firmly. "You see," he went on,looking at her with shining eyes, "I know now what I half believed fromthe first moment that I saw you. I love you!"
Springing restlessly to her feet, she walked across the room and backagain. Action of some sort seemed imperative. A curious hypnotic feelingseemed to be dulling all her powers of resistance. She looked into herlife and she was terrified. Everything had grown insignificant. Itcouldn't really be possible that with her brains, her experience, thisman who had dwelt all his life in the simple ways had yet the power toshow her the path toward the greater things!
Through the complex web of emotions which made up her temperament theresuddenly sprang a primitive instinct, the primitive instinct of allwomen, rebelling against the first touch of a
master's hand. Was she tofind herself wrong and this man right? Was she to submit, to accept fromhis hand the best gifts of life--she who had looked for them in suchvery high, such very inaccessible places?
She felt like a child again. She trembled a little as she sat down byhis side. It was not in this fashion that she had intended to hear whathe had to say.
"I don't know what is the matter with me to-day," she murmureddistractedly. "I think I must send you away. You disturb my thoughts. Ican't see life clearly. Don't hope for too much from me," she begged."But don't go away," she added, with a sudden irresistible impulse ofanxiety. "Oh, I wish--I wish you understood me and everything about me,without my having to say a word!"
"I feel what you are," he answered, "and that is sufficient."
Once more she rose to her feet and walked across to the window. Anautomobile had stopped in the street below. She looked down upon it witha sudden frozen feeling of apprehension.
John moved to her side, and for him, too, the joy of those few momentswas clouded. A little shiver of presentiment took its place. Herecognized the footman whom he saw standing upon the pavement.
"It is the Prince of Seyre," Louise faltered.
"Must you see him?" John muttered.
"Yes!"
"Send him away," John begged. "We haven't finished yet. I won't sayanything more to upset you. What I want now is some practical guidance."
"I cannot send him away!"
John glanced toward her and hated himself for his fierce jealousy. Shewas looking very white and very pathetic. The light had gone from hereyes. He felt suddenly dominant, and, with that feeling, there came allthe generosity of the conqueror.
"Good-by!" he said. "Perhaps I can see you some time to-morrow."
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, one by one. Thenhe left the room. She listened to his footsteps descending the stairs,firm, resolute, deliberate. They paused, there was a sound ofvoices--the prince and he were exchanging greetings; then she heardother footsteps ascending, lighter, smoother, yet just as deliberate.
Her face grew paler as she listened. There was something which soundedto her almost like the beating of fate in the slow, inevitable approachof this unseen visitor.