CHAPTER V
If Browne had ever looked forward to anything in his life, he did tothe dinner-party he had arranged for the evening following his visit tothe studio in the German Park Road. On more than one occasion he hadentertained royalty at his house in Park Lane, and at various times hehad invited London society to functions which, for magnificence andcompleteness, had scarcely ever been equalled and never excelled. Uponnone of these affairs, however, had he bestowed half so much care andattention as he did upon the dinner which it is now my duty todescribe. Having written the formal invitation, he posted it himself;after which he drove to the restaurant which was to be honoured withKatherine Petrovitch's presence, and interviewed the proprietor in hisown sanctum.
"Remember, Alphonse," he said to that delightful little man, "good asthe others have been, this must be the very best dinner you have everarranged for me. It must not be long, nor must it be in the leastdegree heavy. You know my taste in wine, and I give you _carteblanche_ to ransack London for what you consider necessary in the wayof rarities. Reserve 'No. 6' for me, if it is not already engaged; andmake it look as nice as you possibly can. I will send the flowers frommy house, and my own man shall arrange them."
Alphonse chuckled and rubbed his hands. This was just the sort oforder he delighted to receive.
"Ver' good; it shall be done, M'sieu Browne," he said, bowing andspreading his hands apart in his customary fashion when pleased. "Ihave made you many, many dinners before, but I give you the word ofAlphonse that this shall be the best of all. _Ma foi!_ but I will giveyou a dinner zat for its betterment you cannot get in England. Ze costI will----"
"Never mind the cost," answered the reckless young man; "remember, itmust be the best in every way. Nothing short of that will do."
"I will satisfy you, m'sieu; never fear that. It is my honour.Perhaps it is royalty zat you have to come to my house?"
"It is nothing of the sort," Browne replied scornfully. "I am askingtwo ladies and one gentleman."
Alphonse's face expressed his surprise. It looked as if his beautifuldinner was likely to be wasted.
Having arranged the hour and certain other minor details, Brownereturned to his cab once more, and drove off in search of Jimmy Foote.It was some time before he found him, and, when he did, a considerableperiod elapsed before he could obtain speech with him. Jimmy was atthe Welter Club, playing black pool with two or three youths of his owntype. From the manner in which their silver was changing hands, itcertainly looked as if that accomplished young gentleman was findinghis time very fully taken up, picking half-crowns off the rim of thetable, placing them in his pocket, and paying them out again.
"Hullo, Browne!" said Bellingham of the Blues, after the black ball haddisappeared into the top pocket and while the marker was spotting itagain. "Are you coming in?"
"Not if I know it," said Browne, shaking his head. "Judging from theanxious expression upon Jimmy's face, things are getting a little toohot with you all."
At the end of the next round, the latter retired from the game, and,putting his arm through that of his friend, led him to the smoking-roomon the other side of the hall.
"I hope you have calmed down, old fellow," said Jimmy as they seatedthemselves near the fire. "To what do I owe the honour of seeing youhere to-night?"
"I want you to do me a favour," Browne returned, a little nervously,for he was afraid of what Jimmy would say when he knew everything.
"Anything you like in the world, old man," said the latter. "You haveonly to ask. There is nothing wrong, I hope?"
"Nothing at all," replied Browne. "Rather the other way round, Ifancy. The fact of the matter is, I have asked two ladies to dine withme to-morrow evening at Lallemand's, and to go to the Opera afterwards.I want you to make one of the party."
"The young lady is the painter of that charming Norwegian picture,"said Jimmy, with imperturbable gravity, "and the other is her chaperon."
"How on earth did you know it?" asked Browne, blushing like aschoolboy, for the simple reason that he thought his secret wasdiscovered.
"It's very plain that you never knew I was a wizard," returned hiscompanion, with a laugh. "You old duffer; put two and two together foryourself--that is to say, if you have any brains left to do it with.In the first place, did you not yesterday afternoon invite me toaccompany you on a delightful yachting trip to the Mediterranean? Youwere tired of England, you said, and I gathered from your remarks thatyou were counting the hours until you could say 'good-bye' to her. Wewent for a walk, and as we passed up Waterloo Place I happened to showyou a picture. You turned as white as a sheet at once, and immediatelydived into the shop, bidding me wait outside. When you reappeared youacted the part of an amiable lunatic; talked a lot of bosh aboutpreferring fogs to sunshine; and when I informed you that you were onthe high-road to an asylum, said it was better than that--you weregoing to the German Park Road. Our yachting cruise has been thrown tothe winds; and now, to make up for it, you have the impudence to ask meto play gooseberry for you, and try to propitiate me with one ofLallemand's dinners, which invariably upset me for a week, and a doseof Wagner which will drive me crazy for a month."
"How do you know I want you to play gooseberry?" asked Browne savagely."It's like your impudence to say such a thing."
"How do I know anything?" said Jimmy, with delightful calmness. "Why,by the exercise of my own common-sense, of course--a commodity you willnever possess if you go on like this. You are spoons on this girl, Isuppose, and since there's another coming with her, it's pretty plainto me somebody must be there to keep that other out of the way."
"You grow very coarse," retorted Browne, now thoroughly on his dignity.
"It's a coarse age, they say," Foote replied. "Don't I know byexperience exactly what that second party will be like!"
"If you do you are very clever," said Browne.
"One has to be clever to keep pace with the times," Jimmy replied."But, seriously, old man, if you want me, I shall be only too glad tocome to your dinner; but, mind, I take no responsibility for whathappens. I am not going to be called to account by every London motherwho possesses a marriageable daughter."
"You needn't be afraid," said Browne. "I will absolve you from allresponsibility. At any rate you assure me that I can depend upon you?"
"Of course you can, and anything else you like besides," Foote replied.Then, laying his hand upon Browne's shoulder, he added: "My dear oldJack, in spite of our long acquaintance, I don't think you quite knowme yet. I talk a lot of nonsense, I'm afraid; but as far as you areconcerned you may depend the heart's in the right place. Now I come tothink of it, I am not quite certain it would not be better for you tobe decently married and out of harm's way. Of course, one doesn't liketo see one's pals hurried off like that; but in your case it'sdifferent."
"My dear fellow," said Browne, "as you said just now, you certainly dotalk a lot of nonsense. Whoever said anything about marriage? Ofcourse I'm not going to be married. I have never contemplated such athing. It's always the way; directly a man shows a little extracourtesy to a woman, talks to her five minutes longer than he isaccustomed to do, perhaps, or dances with her twice running, youimmediately get the idea that everything is settled between them, andthat all you have to do is to wonder what sort of wedding present youought to give them."
"When a man gives himself away as completely as you have done in thisparticular instance, it is not to be wondered that his friends thinkthere is something in the air," said Jimmy. "However, you know yourown business best. What time is the dinner?"
"Seven o'clock sharp," said Browne. "You had better meet me there afew minutes before. Don't forget we go to the Opera afterwards."
"I am not likely to forget it," said Jimmy, with a doleful face.
"Very well, good-bye until to-morrow evening."
There was a little pause, and then Browne held out his hand.
"Thank you, Jimmy," he said with a sincerity that was quit
einconsistent with the apparent importance of the subject. "I felt sureI could rely upon you."
"Rely upon me always," Jimmy replied. "I don't think you'll find mewanting."
With that Browne bade him good-bye, and went out into the street. Hehailed a cab, and bade the man drive him to Park Lane.
Once it had started, he laid himself back on the cushions and gave freerein to his thoughts. Though he had to all intents and purposes deniedit a few minutes before, there could be no doubt that he was inlove--head over ears in love. He had had many passing fancies before,it is true, but never had he experienced such a strong attack of thefever as at present. As the cab passed along the crowded street heseemed to see that sweet face, with its dark eyes and hair; thatslender figure, and those beautiful white hands, with their longtapering fingers; and to hear again the soft tones of Katherine's voiceas she had spoken to him in the studio that afternoon. She was a queenamong women, he told himself, and was worthy to be loved as such. Butif she were so beautiful and so desirable, could she be induced to haveanything to do with himself? Could she ever be brought to love him?It was consistent with the man's character to be so humble, and yet itwas strange that he should have been so. Ever since he had beeneligible for matrimony he had been the especial prey of mothers withmarriageable daughters. They had fawned upon him, had petted him, andin every way had endeavoured to effect his capture. Whether or notKatherine Petrovitch knew of his wealth it was impossible for him tosay. He hoped she did not. It was his ambition in life to be loved,and be loved for himself alone. If she would trust him, he woulddevote his whole life to making her happy, and to proving how wellfounded was the faith she had reposed in him. Vitally important as thequestion was, I believe he had never for one moment doubted her. Hisnature was too open for that, while she herself, like Caesar's wife, wasof course above suspicion. The fact that she had confessed to him thather family was prohibited in Russia only served to intensify hisadmiration for her truthful qualities. Though he knew nothing of herhistory or antecedents, it never for one moment caused him anyuneasiness. He loved her for herself, not for her family. When hewent to bed that night he dreamt of her, and when he rose in themorning he was, if possible, more in love than before. Fully occupiedas his day usually was, on this occasion he found it more thandifficult to pass the time. He counted the hours--nay, almost theminutes--until it should be possible for him to set off to therestaurant. By the midday post a charming little note arrived, signedKatherine Petrovitch. Browne was in his study when it was brought tohim, and it was with the greatest difficulty he could contain hisimpatience until the butler had left the room. The instant he had doneso, however, he tore open the envelope and drew out the contents. Thewriting was quaint and quite un-English, but its peculiarities onlyserved to make it the more charming. It would give Madame Bernsteinand the writer, it said, much pleasure to dine with him that evening.He read and re-read it, finding a fresh pleasure in it on eachoccasion. It carried with it a faint scent which was as intoxicatingas the perfume of the Lotus Blossom.
Had the beautiful Miss Verney, who, it must be confessed, had more thanonce written him letters of the most confidential description, guessedfor a single moment that he preferred the tiny sheet he carried in hiscoat-pocket to her own epistles, it is certain her feelings would havebeen painful in the extreme. The fact remains, however, that Brownepreserved the letter, and, if I know anything of human nature, he hasit still.