CHAPTER XIV. AN ENGAGEMENT
"Your rooms, Prince, are wonderful," Penelope said to him. "I knewthat you were a man of taste, but I did not know that you were also amillionaire."
He laughed softly.
"In my country," he answered, "there are no millionaires. The moneywhich we have, however, we spend, perhaps a little differently. But,indeed, none of my treasures here have cost me anything. They have cometo me through more generations than I should care to reckon up. Thebronze idol, for instance, upon my writing case is four hundred yearsold, to my certain knowledge, and my tapestries were woven when in thiscountry your walls went bare."
"What I admire more than anything," the Duchess declared, "is yourbeautiful violet tone."
"I am glad," he answered, "that you like my coloring. Some people havethought it sombre. To me dark colors indoors are restful."
"Everything about the whole place is restful," Penelope said,--"yourservants with their quaint dresses and slippered feet, your thickcarpets, the smell of those strange burning leaves, and, forgive me if Isay so, your closed windows. I suppose in time I should have a headache.For a little while it is delicious."
The Prince sighed.
"Fresh air is good," he said, "but the air that comes from your streetsdoes not seem to me to be fresh, nor do I like the roar of your greatcity always in my ears. Here I cut myself off, and I feel that I canthink. Duchess, you must try those preserved fruits. They come to mefrom my own land. I think that the secret of preserving them is notknown here. You see, they are packed with rose leaves and lemon plant.There is a golden fig, Miss Penelope,--the fruit of great knowledge, themagical fruit, too, they say. Eat that and close your eyes and you canlook back and tell us all the wonders of the past. That is to say," headded with a faint smile, "if the magic works."
"But the magic never does work," she protested with a little sigh, "andI am not in the least interested in the past. Tell me something aboutthe future?"
"Surely that is easier," he answered. "Over the past we have lost ourcontrol,--what has been must remain to the end of time. The future isours to do what we will with."
"That sounds so reasonable," the Duchess declared, "and it is soabsolutely false. No one can do what they will with the future. It isthe future which does what it will with us."
The Prince smiled tolerantly.
"It depends a good deal, does it not," he said, "upon ourselves? MissPenelope is the daughter of a country which is still young, which hasall its future before it, and which, has proclaimed to the world itsfixed intention of controlling its own destinies. She, at any rate,should have imbibed the national spirit. You are looking at mycurtains," he added, turning to Penelope. "Let me show you the figuresupon them, and I will tell you the allegory."
He led her to the window, and explained to her for some moments thestory of the faded images which represented one chapter out of themythology of his country. And then she stopped him.
"Always," she said, "you and I seem to be talking of things that aredead and past, or of a future which is out of our reach. Isn't itpossible to speak now and then of the present?"
"Of the actual present?" he asked softly. "Of this very moment?"
"Of this very moment, if you will," she answered. "Your fairy tale theother night was wonderful, but it was a long way off."
The Prince was summoned away somewhat abruptly to bid farewell to alittle stream of departing guests. Today, more than ever, he seemed tobelong, indeed to the world of real and actual things, for a cousinof his mother's, a Lady Stretton-Wynne, was helping him receivehis guests--his own aunt, as Penelope told herself more than once,struggling all the time with a vague incredulity. When he was able torejoin her, she was examining a curious little coffer which stood uponan ivory table.
"Show me the mystery of this lock," she begged. "I have been trying toopen it ever since you went away. One could imagine that the secrets ofa nation might be hidden here."
He smiled, and taking the box from her hands, touched a little spring.Almost at once the lid flew open.
"I am afraid," he said, "that it is empty."
She peered in.
"No," she exclaimed, "there is something there! See!" She thrust in herhand and drew out a small, curiously shaped dagger of fine blue steeland a roll of silken cord. She held them up to him.
"What are these?" she asked. "Are they symbols--the cord and the knifeof destiny?"
He took them gently from her hand and replaced them in the box. Sheheard the lock go with a little click, and looked into his face,surprised at his silence.
"Is there anything the matter?" she asked. "Ought I not to have takenthem up?"
Almost as the words left her lips, she understood. His face wasinscrutable, but his very silence was ominous. She remembered a drawingin one of the halfpenny papers, the drawing of a dagger found in ahorrible place. She remembered the description of that thin silken cord,and she began to tremble.
"I did not know that anything was in the box," he said calmly. "I amsorry if its contents have alarmed you."
She scarcely heard his words. The room seemed wheeling round with her,the floor unsteady beneath her feet. The atmosphere of the placehad suddenly become horrible,--the faint odor of burning leaves, thepictures, almost like caricatures, which mocked her from the walls, thegrinning idols, the strangely shaped weapons in their cases of blackoak. She faltered as she crossed the room, but recovered herself.
"Aunt," she said, "if you are ready, I think that we ought to go."
The Duchess was more than ready. She rose promptly. The Prince walkedwith them to the door and handed them over to his majordomo.
"It has been so nice of you," he said to the Duchess, "to honor mybachelor abode. I shall often think of your visit."
"My dear Prince," the Duchess declared, "it has been most interesting.Really, I found it hard to believe, in that charming room of yours, thatwe had not actually been transported to your wonderful country."
"You are very gracious," the Prince answered, bowing low.
Penelope's hands were within her muff. She was talking somenonsense--she scarcely knew what, but her eyes rested everywhere saveon the face of her host. Somehow or other she reached the door, ran downthe steps and threw herself into a corner of the brougham. Then, forthe first time, she allowed herself to look behind. The door was alreadyclosed, but between the curtains which his hands had drawn apart, PrinceMaiyo was standing in the room which they had just quitted, and therewas something in the calm impassivity of his white, stern face whichseemed to madden her. She clenched her hands and looked away.
"Really, I was not so much bored as I had feared," the Duchess remarkedcomposedly. "That Stretton-Wynne woman generally gets on my nerves, buther nephew seemed to have a restraining effect upon her. She didn't tellme more than once about her husband's bad luck in not getting Canada,and she never even mentioned her girls. But I do think, Penelope," shecontinued, "that I shall have to talk to you a little seriously. There'sthe best-looking and richest young bachelor in London dying to marryyou, and you won't have a word to say to him. On the other hand, afterstarting by disliking him heartily, you are making yourself almostconspicuous with this fascinating young Oriental. I admit that heis delightful, my dear Penelope, but I think you should ask yourselfwhether it is quite worth while. Prince Maiyo may take home with himmany Western treasures, but I do not think that he will take home awife."
"If you say another word to me, aunt," Penelope exclaimed, "I shallshriek!"
The Duchess, being a woman of tact, laughed the subject away andpretended not to notice Penelope's real distress. But when theyhad reached Devenham House, she went to the telephone and called upSomerfield.
"Charlie," she said,--
"Right o'!" he interrupted. "Who is it?"
"Be careful what you are saying," she continued, "because it isn't anyone who wants you to take them out to supper."
"I only wish you did," he answered. "It's the Duchess, isn't it?"
/> "The worst of having a distinctive voice," she sighed. "Listen. I wantto speak to you."
"I am listening hard," Somerfield answered. "Hold the instrument alittle further away from you,--that's better."
"We have been to the Prince's for tea this afternoon--Penelope and I,"she said.
"I know," he assented. "I was asked, but I didn't see the fun of it. Itputs my back up to see Penelope monopolized by that fellow," he addedgloomily.
"Well, listen to what I have to say," the Duchess went on. "Somethinghappened there--I don't know what--to upset Penelope very much. Shenever spoke a word coming home, and she has gone straight up to her roomand locked herself in. Somehow or other the Prince managed to offendher. I am sure of that, Charlie!"
"I'm beastly sorry," Somerfield answered. "I meant to say that I wasjolly glad to hear it."
The Duchess coughed.
"I didn't quite hear what you said before," she said severely. "Perhapsit is just as well. I rang up to say that you had better come roundand dine with us tonight. You will probably find Penelope in a morereasonable frame of mind."
"Awfully good of you," Somerfield declared heartily. "I'll come withpleasure."
Dinner at Devenham House that evening was certainly a domestic meal.Even the Duke was away, attending a political gathering. Penelope waspale, but otherwise entirely her accustomed self. She talked evenmore than usual, and though she spoke of a headache, she declined allremedies. To Somerfield's surprise, she made not the slightest objectionwhen he followed her into the library after dinner.
"Penelope," he said, "something has gone wrong. Won't you tell me whatit is? You look worried."
She returned his anxious gaze, dry-eyed but speechless.
"Has that fellow, Prince Maiyo, done or said anything--"
She interrupted him.
"No!" she cried. "No! don't mention his name, please! I don't want tohear his name again just now."
"For my part," Somerfield said bitterly, "I never want to hear it againas long as I live!"
There was a short silence. Suddenly she turned towards him.
"Charlie," she said, "you have asked me to marry you six times."
"Seven," he corrected. "I ask you again now--that makes eight."
"Very well," she answered, "I accept--on one condition."
"On any," he exclaimed, his voice trembling with joy. "Penelope, itsounds too good to be true. You can't be in earnest."
"I am," she declared. "I will marry you if you will see that ourengagement is announced everywhere tomorrow, and that you do not askme for anything at all, mind, not even--not anything--for three months'time, at least. Promise that until then you will not let me hear thesound of the word marriage?"
"I promise," he said firmly. "Penelope, you mean it? You mean thisseriously?"
She gave him her hands and a very sad little smile.
"I mean it, Charlie," she answered. "I will keep my word."