CHAPTER VI
The dinner that evening must be counted a distinct success. Browne wasthe first to arrive at the rendezvous, and it was not wonderful that heshould have been, considering that he had spent the whole of his daywaiting for that moment. The owner of the restaurant received himpersonally.
"Well, Lallemand," said Browne, with an anxiety that was almostludicrous, "how are your preparations? Is everything ready?"
"Certainly, monsieur," Lallemand replied, spreading his hands apart."Everything is ready; Felix himself has done ze cooking, I have chosenze wine, and your own gardener has arranged ze flowers. You have zebest men-servants in London to wait upon you. I have procured you fourkinds of fruit that has only a few times been seen in England before;and now I give you ze word of Lallemand zat you will have ze mostperfect little dinner in ze city of London."
"I am glad to hear it," said Browne. "I am exceedingly obliged to youfor the trouble you have taken in the matter."
"I beg you will not mention ze trouble, monsieur," replied Lallemandpolitely. "It is ze pleasure of my life to serve you."
He had scarcely spoken before a cab drew up before the door, and JimmyFoote made his appearance, clad in immaculate evening-dress. Hegreeted Browne with a somewhat sheepish air, as if he were ashamed ofhimself for something, and did not quite know what that something was.
"Well, old man," he said. "Here I am, you see; up to time, I hope.How d'ye do, Lallemand?"
"I hope you are most well, Monsieur Foote," replied Lallemand, with oneof his inimitable bows.
"I am better than I shall be after your dinner," Foote replied, with asmile. "Human nature is weak. I am tempted, and I know that I shallfall."
Browne all this time was showing signs of impatience. He glancedrepeatedly at his watch, and as seven o'clock drew near he imaginedthat every vehicle pulling up outside must contain the two ladies forwhom he was waiting so eagerly. When at last they did arrive hehastened to the door to greet them. Madame Bernstein was the first toalight, and Katherine Petrovitch followed her a moment later. She gaveher hand to Browne, and as he took it such a thrill went through himthat it was wonderful the young man did not collapse upon the pavement.
Having conducted them to the room in which they were to take off theirwraps, Browne went in search of Foote, whom he found in the dining-room.
"Pull yourself together, old chap," said Jimmy as he glanced at him;"you are all on the jump. What on earth is the matter with you? Takemy advice and try a pick-me-up."
"I wouldn't touch a drop for worlds," said Browne, with righteousindignation. "I wonder you can suggest such a thing."
Instead, he went to the table and moved a flower-vase which was aneighth of an inch from the centrepiece farther than its companion onthe other side.
"This is as bad a case as I ever remember," said Foote to himself; andat the same moment Katherine Petrovitch and Madame Bernstein enteredthe room. A somewhat painful surprise was in store for Browne. Therecould be no doubt about one thing: Madame Bernstein had dressed herselfwith due regard to the importance of the occasion. Her gown was ofbright ruby velvet; her arms were entirely bare; and while her bodicewas supported by the most slender of shoulder-straps, it was cutconsiderably lower than most people would have considered compatiblewith either her age or her somewhat portly appearance. Round her neckand studded in her hair were many diamonds, all so palpably false as tocreate no suspicion of the means by which she had obtained them. Hercompanion's costume, on the other hand, was simplicity itself. She wasattired in black, unrelieved by any touch of colour; a plain band ofvelvet encircled her throat, and Browne confessed to himself afterwardsthat he had never in his life seen anything more becoming. Hepresented Foote to the ladies with due ceremony; and when their placeshad been allotted them they sat down to dinner, madame on Browne'sright, Katherine on his left.
Despite the knowledge that the dinner had been prepared by one of themost admirable _chefs_ in the world, and the fact that Lallemandhimself had given his assurance that everything was satisfactory,Browne was nevertheless exercised in his mind lest anything should gowrong. He might have spared himself the anxiety, however, for thedinner was perfection itself. One other thing troubled him, and thatwas that the person he was most anxious to please scarcely touchedanything. But if she did not, Madame Bernstein made ample amends forher. She allowed no dish to pass her untasted; the connoisseur wasapparent in her appreciation of the wines, while her praise of thecooking was volubility itself. From what he had seen of her, Brownehad been prepared to dislike her intensely; to his surprise, however,he discovered that she improved on acquaintance. Seemingly, she hadbeen everywhere and had seen everything; in her youth she had knownGaribaldi personally, had met Kossuth, and been brought into contactwith many other European liberators. For this reason alone herconversation could scarcely have failed to prove interesting.Katherine, on the other hand, was strangely quiet.
The dinner at an end, the ladies withdrew to put on their cloaks; andwhile they were absent Browne ascertained that his carriage was at thedoor. In it they drove to Covent Garden. The box was on the promptside of the house, and was the best that influence and money couldsecure. Madame Bernstein and Katherine Petrovitch took their places inthe front, while Browne managed to manoeuvre his chair into such aposition that he could speak to Katherine without the othersoverhearing what he said.
"You are fond of music, are you not?" he inquired as the orchestra tooktheir places. He felt as he said it that he need not have asked; withsuch a face she could scarcely fail to be.
"I am more than fond of it," she answered, playing with the handle ofher fan. "Music and painting are my two greatest pleasures."
She uttered a little sigh, which seemed to suggest to Browne that shehad not very much pleasure in her life. At least, that was the way inwhich he interpreted it.
Then the curtain went up, and Browne was forced to be silent. I think,if you were to ask him now which was the happiest evening of his life,he would answer, "That on which I saw Lohengrin with KatherinePetrovitch." If the way in which the time slipped by could be taken asany criterion, it must certainly have been so, for the evening seemedscarcely to have begun ere it was over and the National Anthem wasbeing played. When the curtain descended the two young men escortedthe ladies to the entrance hall, where they waited while the carriagewas being called. It was at this juncture that Jimmy proved of use.Feeling certain Browne would be anxious to have a few minutes alonewith Katherine, he managed, with great diplomacy, to draw MadameBernstein on one side, on the pretence of telling her an amusing storyconcerning a certain Continental military attache with whom they wereboth acquainted.
"How long do you think it will be before I may venture to see youagain?" Browne asked the girl when they were alone together.
"I cannot say," she replied, with an attempt at a smile. "I do notknow what Madame Bernstein's arrangements are."
"But surely Madame Bernstein does not control all your actions?" heasked, I fear a little angrily; for he did not like to think she was sodependent on the elder woman.
"No, she does not altogether control them, of course," Katherinereplied; "but I always have so much to do for her that I do not feeljustified in making any arrangements without first consulting her."
"But you must surely have some leisure," he continued. "Perhaps youshop in the High Street, or walk in the Park or Kensington Gardens onfine mornings. Might I not chance to find you in one of those places?"
"I fear not," she answered, shaking her head. "If it is fine I have mywork to do."
"And if it should be wet?" asked Browne, feeling his heart sink withinhim as he realised that she was purposely placing obstacles in the wayof their meeting. "Surely you cannot paint when the days are as gloomyas they have been lately."
"No," she answered; "that is impossible. But it gives me no moreleisure than before; for in that case I have letters to write forMadame Bernstein, and she has an enormous amo
unt of correspondence."
Though Browne wondered what that correspondence could be, he saidnothing to her on the subject, nor had he any desire to thrust hispresence upon the girl when he saw she was not anxious for it. It wasplain to him that there was something behind it all--some reason toaccount for her pallor and her quietness that evening. What thatreason was, however, he could not for the life of him understand.
They had arrived at this point when the carriage reached the door.Madame Bernstein and Foote accordingly approached them, and thequartette walked together towards the entrance.
"I thank you many times for your kindness to-night," said Katherine,looking shyly up at Browne.
"Please, don't thank me," he replied. "It is I who should thank you.I hope you have enjoyed yourself."
"Very much indeed," she answered. "I could see _Lohengrin_ a hundredtimes without growing in the least tired of it."
As she said this they reached the carriage. Browne placed the ladiesin it, and shook hands with them as he bade them good-night. He gavethe footman his instructions, and presently the carriage rolled away,leaving the two young men standing on the pavement, looking after it.It was a beautiful starlight night, with a touch of frost in the air.
"Are we going to take a cab, or shall we walk?" said Foote.
"Let us walk, that is if you don't mind," Browne replied. "I feel asif I could enjoy a ten-mile tramp to-night after the heat of thattheatre."
"I'm afraid I do not," Foote replied. "My idea is the 'Perigord' for alittle supper, and then to bed. Browne, old man, I have been through agood deal for you to-night. I like the young lady very much, butMadame Bernstein is--well, she is Madame Bernstein. I can say no more."
"Never mind, old chap," said Browne, patting his companion on theshoulder. "You have the satisfaction of knowing that your martyrdom isappreciated; the time may come when you will want me to do the samething for you. One good turn deserves another, you know."
"When I want a turn of that description done for me, I will be sure tolet you know," Foote continued; "but if I have any sort of luck, itwill be many years before I come to you with such a request. When Iremember that, but for my folly in showing you that picture in WaterlooPlace, we should by this time be on the other side of the Eddystone,_en route_ for the Mediterranean and sunshine, I feel as if I could sitdown and weep. However, it is _kismet_, I suppose?"
Browne offered no reply.
"Are you coming in?" said Foote as they reached the doorstep of thePerigord Club.
"No, thank you, old man," said Browne. "I think, if you will excuseme, I will get home."
"Good-night, then," said Foote; "I shall probably see you in themorning."
Having bidden him good-night, Browne proceeded on his way.
Next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, he betook himself toKensington Gardens, where he wandered about for upwards of an hour, butsaw no sign of the girl he hoped to meet. Leaving the Gardens, he madehis way to the High Street, with an equally futile result. Regardlessof the time he was wasting, and of everything else, he passed on in thedirection of Addison Road. As disappointment still pursued him, hemade up his mind to attempt a forlorn hope. Turning into the MelburyRoad, he made for German Park Road, and reaching the studio, rang thebell. When the door was opened he found himself confronted with anelderly person, wearing a sack for an apron, and holding a bar ofyellow soap in her hand.
"I have called to see Miss Petrovitch," he said.
"She is not at home, sir," the woman replied. "She has not been herethis morning. Can I give her any message?"
"I am afraid not," Browne replied. "I wanted to see her personally;but you might tell her that Mr. Browne called."
"Mr. Browne," she repeated. "Very good, sir. You may be sure I willtell her."
Browne thanked her, and, to make assurance doubly sure, slipped fiveshillings into her hand. Then, passing out of the garden, he made hisway back to the High Street. He had not proceeded more than a hundredyards down that interesting thoroughfare, however, before he saw noless a person than Katherine herself approaching him.
They were scarcely a dozen paces apart when she recognised him.
"Good-morning, Miss Petrovitch," he said, raising his hat and speakinga little nervously. "I have just called at your studio in the hopethat I might see you. The woman told me that she did not know when youwould return. I thought I might possibly meet you here."
It was a poor enough excuse, but the only one he could think of at themoment.
"You wanted to see me?" she said in a tone of surprise.
"Are you angry with me for that?" he asked. "I did not think you wouldbe; but if you are I will go away again. By this time you should knowthat I have no desire save to make you happy."
This was the first time he had spoken so plainly. Her face paled alittle.
"I did not know that you were so anxious to see me," she said, "or Iwould have made a point of being at home."
All this time they had been standing on the spot where they had firstmet.
"Perhaps you will permit me to walk a little way with you?" saidBrowne, half afraid that she would refuse.
"I shall be very pleased," she answered promptly.
Thereupon they walked back in the direction of the studio.
At the gate they stopped. She turned and faced him, and as she did soshe held out her hand; it was plain that she had arrived at a decisionon some important point.
"Good-bye, Mr. Browne," she said, and as she said it Browne noticedthat her voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears. He could bearit no longer.
"Miss Petrovitch," he began, "you must forgive my rudeness; but I feelsure that you are not happy. Will you not trust me and let me helpyou? You know how gladly I would do so."
"There is no way in which you can help me," she answered, and then shebade him good-bye, and, with what Browne felt sure was a little sob,vanished into the studio. For some moments he stood waiting where hewas, overwhelmed by the suddenness of her exit, and hoping she mightcome out again; then, realising that she did not intend doing so, heturned on his heel and made his way back to the High Street, and so toPark Lane. His afternoon was a broken and restless one; he could notrid himself of the recollection of the girl's face, and he felt as sureas a man could well be that something was amiss. But how was he tohelp her? At any rate he was going to try.
The clocks in the neighbourhood were striking eleven next morning as healighted from his hansom and approached the door of the studio. Herang the bell, but no answer rewarded him. He rang again, but with thesame result.
Not being able to make any one hear, he returned to his cab and set offfor the Warwick Road. Reaching the house, the number of whichKatherine had given him, he ascended the steps and rang the bell. Whenthe maid-servant answered his summons, he inquired for Miss Petrovitch.
"Miss Petrovitch?" said the girl, as if she were surprised. "She isnot here, sir. She and Madame Bernstein left for Paris this morning."