THE PRIMADONNA

A SEQUEL TO "FAIR MARGARET"

BY

F. MARION CRAWFORD

AUTHOR OF "SARACINESCA, " "SANT' ILARIO, " "FAIR MARGARET, " ETC. , ETC. 

1908

[Illustration]

CHAPTER I

When the accident happened, Cordova was singing the mad scene in_Lucia_ for the last time in that season, and she had never sung itbetter. _The Bride of Lammermoor_ is the greatest love-story everwritten, and it was nothing short of desecration to make a librettoof it; but so far as the last act is concerned the opera certainlyconveys the impression that the heroine is a raving lunatic. Only acrazy woman could express feeling in such an unusual way. 

Cordova's face was nothing but a mask of powder, in which her handsomebrown eyes would have looked like two holes if she had not kept themhalf shut under the heavily whitened lids; her hands were chalked too, and they were like plaster casts of hands, cleverly jointed at thewrists. She wore a garment which was supposed to be a nightdress, which resembled a very expensive modern shroud, and which wasevidently put on over a good many other things. There was a deal oflace on it, which fluttered when she made her hands shake to accompanyeach trill, and all this really contributed to the general impressionof insanity. Possibly it was overdone; but if any one in the audiencehad seen such a young person enter his or her room unexpectedly, anduttering such unaccountable sounds, he or she would most assuredlyhave rung for a doctor and a cab, and for a strait-jacket if such athing were to be had in the neighbourhood. 

An elderly man, with very marked features and iron-grey hair, sat inthe fifth row of the stalls, on the right-hand aisle. He was a bonyman, and the people behind him noticed him and thought he lookedstrong. He had heard Bonanni in her best days and many great lyricsopranos from Patti to Melba, and he was thinking that none of themhad sung the mad scene better than Cordova, who had only been on thestage two years, and was now in New York for the first time. But hehad already heard her in London and Paris, and he knew her. He hadfirst met her at a breakfast on board Logotheti's yacht at Cap Martin. Logotheti was a young Greek financier who lived in Paris and wanted tomarry her. He was rather mad, and had tried to carry her off on thenight of the dress rehearsal before her _début_, but had somehow gothimself locked up for somebody else. Since then he had grown calmer, but he still worshipped at the shrine of the Cordova. He was notthe only one, however; there were several, including the verydistinguished English man of letters, Edmund Lushington, who had knownher before she had begun to sing on the stage. 

But Lushington was in England and Logotheti was in Paris, and on thenight of the accident Cordova had not many acquaintances in the housebesides the bony man with grey hair; for though society had beenanxious to feed her and get her to sing for nothing, and to playbridge with her, she had never been inclined to accept thoseattentions. Society in New York claimed her, on the ground that shewas a lady and was an American on her mother's side. Yet she insistedon calling herself a professional, because singing was her profession, and society thought this so strange that it at once became suspiciousand invented wild and unedifying stories about her; and the reportershaunted the lobby of her hotel, and gossiped with their friends thedetectives, who also spent much time there in a professional way forthe general good, and were generally what English workmen call wetsmokers. 

Cordova herself was altogether intent on what she was doing and wasnot thinking of her friends, of Lushington, or Logotheti, nor of thebony man in the stalls; certainly not of society, though it was richlyrepresented by diamonds in the subscriber's tier. Indeed the jewellerywas so plentiful and of such expensive quality that the whole row ofboxes shone like a vast coronet set with thousands of precious stones. When the music did not amuse society, the diamonds and rubies twinkledand glittered uneasily, but when Cordova was trilling her wildestthey were quite still and blazed with a steady light. Afterwards theaudience would all say again what they had always said about everygreat lyric soprano, that it was just a wonderful instrument without aparticle of feeling, that it was an over-grown canary, a human flute, and all the rest of it; but while the trills ran on the peoplelistened in wonder and the diamonds were very quiet. 

'A-a--A-a--A-a--A-a--' sang Cordova at an inconceivable pitch. 

A terrific explosion shook the building to its foundations; the lightswent out, and there was a long grinding crash of broken glass not faroff. 

In the momentary silence that followed before the inevitable panic thevoice of Schreiermeyer, the manager, rang out through the darkness. 

'Ladies and gentlemen! There's no danger! Keep your seats! The lightswill be up directly. '

And indeed the little red lamps over each door that led out, being onanother circuit, were all burning quietly, but in the first moment offright no one noticed them, and the house seemed to be quite dark. 

Then the whole mass of humanity began to writhe and swell, as afrightened crowd does in the dark, so that every one feels as if allthe other people were growing hugely big, as big as elephants, tosmother and crush him; and each man makes himself as broad as he can, and tries to swell out his chest, and squares his elbows to keep theweight off his sides; and with the steady strain and effort every onebreathes hard, and few speak, and the hard-drawn breath of thousandstogether makes a sound of rushing wind like bellows as enormous ashouses, blowing steadily in the darkness. 

'Keep your seats!' yelled Schreiermeyer desperately. 

He had been in many accidents, and understood the meaning of thenoises he heard. There was death in them, death for the weak bysqueezing, and smothering, and trampling underfoot. It was a grimmoment, and no one who was there has forgotten it, the manager leastof all. 

'It's only a fuse gone!' he shouted. 'Only a plug burnt out!'

But the terrified throng did not believe, and the people pressed uponeach other with the weight of hundreds of bodies, thronging frombehind, towards the little red lights. There were groans now, besidesthe strained breathing and the soft shuffling of many feet on thethick carpets. Each time some one went down there was a groan, stifledas instantly and surely as though the lips from which it came werequickly thrust under water. 

Schreiermeyer knew well enough that if nothing could be done withinthe next two minutes there would be an awful catastrophe; but he washelpless. No doubt the electricians were at work; in ten minutes thedamage would be repaired and the lights would be up again; but thehouse would be empty then, except for the dead and the dying. 

Another groan was heard, and another quickly after it. The wretchedmanager yelled, stormed, stamped, entreated, and promised, but with noeffect. In the very faint red light from the doors he saw a movingsea of black and heard it surging to his very feet. He had an oldprofessional's exact sense of passing time, and he knew that a fullminute had already gone by since the explosion. No one could be deadyet, even in that press, but there were few seconds to spare, fewerand fewer. 

Then another sound was heard, a very pure strong note, high above hisown tones, a beautiful round note, that made one think of gold andsilver bells, and that filled the house instantly, like light, andreached every ear, even through the terror that was driving the crowdmad in the dark. 

A moment more, an instant's pause, and Cordova had begun Lucia's songagain at the beginning, and her marvellous trills and staccato notes, and trills again, trills upon trills without end, filled the vastdarkness and stopped those four thousand men and women, spellbound andsilent, and ashamed too. 

It was not great music, surely; but it was sung by the greatest livingsinger, singing alone in the dark, as calmly and as perfectly as ifall the orchestra had been with her, singing as no one can who feelsthe least tremor of fear; and the awful tension of the dark throngrelaxed, and the breath that came was a great sigh of relief, for itwas not possible to be frightened when a fearless woman was singing somarvellously. 

Then, still in the dark, some of the musicians struck in and supportedher, and others followed, till the whole body of harmony was complete;and just as she was at the wildest trills, at the very passage duringwhich the crash had come, the lights went up all at once; and therestood Cordova in white and lace, with her eyes half shut and shakingher outstretched hands as she always made them shake in the mad scene;and the stage was just as it had been before the accident, except thatSchreiermeyer was standing near the singer in evening dress with aperfectly new and shiny high hat on the back of his head, and hismouth wide open. 

The people were half hysterical from the past danger, and when theysaw, and realised, they did not wait for the end of the air, but sentup such a shout of applause as had never been heard in the Operabefore and may not be heard there again. 

Instinctively the Primadonna sang the last bars, though no one heardher in the din, unless it was Schreiermeyer, who stood near her. Whenshe had finished at last he ran up to her and threw both his armsround her in a paroxysm of gratitude, regardless of her powder andchalk, which came off upon his coat and yellow beard in patches ofwhite as he kissed her on both cheeks, calling her by every endearingname that occurred to his polyglot memory, from Sweetheart in Englishto Little Cabbage in French, till Cordova laughed and pushed him away, and made a tremendous courtesy to the audience. 

Just then a man in a blue jacket and gilt buttons entered from theleft of the stage and whispered a few words into Schreiermeyer's ear. The manager looked grave at once, nodded and came forward to theprompter's box. The man had brought news of the accident, he said;a quantity of dynamite which was to have been used in subterraneanblasting had exploded and had done great damage, no one yet knew howgreat. It was probable that many persons had been killed. 

But for this news, Cordova would have had one of those ovations whichrarely fall to the lot of any but famous singers, for there was not aman or woman in the theatre who had not felt that she had averted acatastrophe and saved scores of lives. As it was, several women hadbeen slightly hurt and at least fifty had fainted. Every one wasanxious to help them now, most of all the very people who had hurtthem. 

But the news of an accident in the city emptied the house in a fewminutes; even now that the lights were up the anxiety to get outto the street and to know more of the truth was great enough to bedangerous, and the strong crowd heaved and surged again and pushedthrough the many doors with little thought for the weak or for any whohad been injured in the first panic. 

But in the meantime Cordova had reached her dressing-room, supportedby the enthusiastic Schreiermeyer on one side, and by the equallyenthusiastic tenor on the other, while the singular family partyassembled in the last act of _Lucia di Lammermoor_ brought up the rearwith many expressions of admiration and sympathy. 

As a matter of fact the Primadonna needed neither sympathy norsupport, and that sort of admiration was not of the kind that mostdelighted her. She did not believe that she had done anything heroic, and did not feel at all inclined to cry. 

'You saved the whole audience!' cried Signor Pompeo Stromboli, thegreat Italian tenor, who presented an amazing appearance in hisHighland dress. 'Four thousand seven hundred and fifty-three peopleowe you their lives at this moment! Every one of them would have beendead but for your superb coolness! Ah, you are indeed a great woman!'

Schreiermeyer's business ear had caught the figures. As they walked, each with an arm through one of the Primadonna's, he leaned back andspoke to Stromboli behind her head. 

'How the devil do you know what the house was?' he asked sharply. 

'I always know, ' answered the Italian in a perfectly matter-of-facttone. 'My dresser finds out from the box-office. I never take the Csharp if there are less than three thousand. '

'I'll stop that!' growled Schreiermeyer. 

'As you please!' Stromboli shrugged his massive shoulders. 'C sharp isnot in the engagement!'

'It shall be in the next! I won't sign without it!'

'I won't sign at all!' retorted the tenor with a sneer of superiority. 'You need not talk of conditions, for I shall not come to Americaagain!'

'Oh, do stop quarrelling!' laughed Cordova as they reached the door ofher box, for she had heard similar amenities exchanged twenty timesalready, and she knew that they meant nothing at all on either side. 

'Have you any beer?' inquired Stromboli of the Primadonna, as ifnothing had happened. 

'Bring some beer, Bob!' Schreiermeyer called out over his shoulder tosome one in the distance. 

'Yes, sir, ' answered a rough voice, far off, and with a foreignaccent. 

The three entered the Primadonna's dressing-room together. It was ahideous place, as all dressing-rooms are which are never used two daysin succession by the same actress or singer; very different fromthe pretty cells in the beehive of the Comédie Française where eachpensioner or shareholder is lodged like a queen bee by herself, foryears at a time. 

The walls of Cordova's dressing-room were more or less white-washedwhere the plaster had not been damaged. There was a dingy full-lengthmirror, a shabby toilet-table; there were a few crazy chairs, thewretched furniture which is generally to be found in actresses'dressing-rooms, notwithstanding the marvellous descriptions inventedby romancers. But there was light in abundance and to excess, dazzling, unshaded, intolerable to any but theatrical eyes. There wereat least twenty strong electric lamps in the miserable place, whichilluminated the coarsely painted faces of the Primadonna and the tenorwith alarming distinctness, and gleamed on Schreiermeyer's smooth fairhair and beard, and impassive features. 

'You'll have two columns and a portrait in every paper to-morrow, ' heobserved thoughtfully. 'It's worth while to engage such people. Ohyes, damn it, I tell you it's worth while!'

The last emphatic sentence was intended for Stromboli, as if he hadcontradicted the statement, or were himself not 'worth while. '

'There's beer there already, ' said the tenor, seeing a bottle andglass on a deal table, and making for them at once. 

He undid the patent fastening, stood upright with his sturdystockinged legs wide apart, threw his head back, opened his hugepainted mouth to the necessary extent, but not to the full, andwithout touching his lips poured the beer into the chasm in a gurglingstream, which he swallowed without the least apparent difficulty. Whenhe had taken down half the contents of the small bottle he desistedand poured the rest into the glass, apparently for Cordova's benefit. 

'I hope I have left you enough, ' he said, as he prepared to go. 'Mythroat felt like a rusty gun-barrel. '

'Fright is very bad for the voice, ' Schreiermeyer remarked, as thecall-boy handed him another bottle of beer through the open door. 

Stromboli took no notice of the direct imputation. He had taken a verysmall and fine handkerchief from his sporran and was carefully tuckingit into his collar with some idea of protecting his throat. When thiswas done his admiration for his colleague broke out again without theslightest warning. 

'You were superb, magnificent, surpassing!' he cried. 

He seized Cordova's chalked hands, pressed them to his own whitenedchin, by sheer force of stage habit, because the red on his lips wouldhave come off on them, and turned away. 

'Surpassing! Magnificent! What a woman!' he roared in tremendous tonesas he strode away through the dim corridor towards the stage and hisown dressing-room on the other side. 

Meanwhile Schreiermeyer, who was quite as thirsty as the tenor, drankwhat the latter had left in the only glass there was, and set the fullbottle beside the latter on the deal table. 

'There is your beer, ' he said, calling attention to what he had done. 

Cordova nodded carelessly and sat down on one of the crazy chairsbefore the toilet-table. Her maid at once came forward and took offher wig, and her own beautiful brown hair appeared, pressed and mattedclose to her head in a rather disorderly coil. 

'You must be tired, ' said the manager, with more consideration thanhe often showed to any one whose next engagement was already signed. 'I'll find out how many were killed in the explosion and then I'llget hold of the reporters. You'll have two columns and a pictureto-morrow. '

Schreiermeyer rarely took the trouble to say good-morning orgood-night, and Cordova heard the door shut after him as he went out. 

'Lock it, ' she said to her maid. 'I'm sure that madman is about thetheatre again. '

The maid obeyed with alacrity. She was very tall and dark, andwhen she had entered Cordova's service two years ago she had beenpositively cadaverous. She herself said that her appearance had beenthe result of living many years with the celebrated Madame Bonanni, who was a whirlwind, an earthquake, a phenomenon, a cosmic force. Noone who had lived with her in her stage days had ever grown fat; itwas as much as a very strong constitution could do not to grow thin. 

Madame Bonanni had presented the cadaverous woman to the youngPrimadonna as one of the most precious of her possessions, and out ofsheer affection. It was true that since the great singer had closedher long career and had retired to live in the country, in Provence, she dressed with such simplicity as made it possible for her to existwithout the long-faithful, all-skilful, and iron-handed Alphonsine;and the maid, on her side, was so thoroughly a professional theatricaldresser that she must have died of inanition in what she would havecalled private life. Lastly, she had heard that Madame Bonanni had nowgiven up the semblance, long far from empty, but certainly vain, of awaist, and dressed herself in a garment resembling a priest's cassock, buttoned in front from her throat to her toes. 

Alphonsine locked the door, and the Primadonna leaned her elbows onthe sordid toilet-table and stared at her chalked and painted face, vaguely trying to recognise the features of Margaret Donne, thedaughter of the quiet Oxford scholar, her real self as she had beentwo years ago, and by no means very different from her everyday selfnow. But it was not easy. Margaret was there, no doubt, behind thepaint and the 'liquid white, ' but the reality was what the publicsaw beyond the footlights two or three times a week during the operaseason, and applauded with might and main as the most successful lyricsoprano of the day. 

There were moments when she tried to get hold of herself and bringherself back. They came most often after some great emotion in thetheatre, when the sight of the painted mask in the glass shocked anddisgusted her as it did to-night; when the contrasts of life werealmost more than she could bear, when her sensibilities awoke again, when the fastidiousness of the delicately nurtured girl revolted underthe rough familiarity of such a comrade as Stromboli, and rebelledagainst the sordid cynicism of Schreiermeyer. 

She shuddered at the mere idea that the manager should have thoughtshe would drink out of the glass he had just used. Even the Italianpeasant, who had been a goatherd in Calabria, and could hardly writehis name, showed more delicacy, according to his lights, which werecertainly not dazzling. A faint ray of Roman civilisation had reachedhim through generations of slaves and serfs and shepherds. But nosuch traditions of forgotten delicacy disturbed the manners ofSchreiermeyer. The glass from which he had drunk was good enough forany primadonna in his company, and it was silly for any of them togive themselves airs. Were they not largely his creatures, fed fromhis hand, to work for him while they were young, and to be turned outas soon as they began to sing false? He was by no means the worst ofhis kind, as Margaret knew very well. 

She thought of her childhood, of her mother and of her father, bothdead long before she had gone on the stage; and of that excellent andkind Mrs. Rushmore, her American mother's American friend, who hadtaken her as her own daughter, and had loved her and cared for her, and had shed tears when Margaret insisted on becoming a singer; whohad fought for her, too, and had recovered for her a small fortune ofwhich her mother had been cheated. For Margaret would have been morethan well off without her profession, even when she had made her_début_, and she had given up much to be a singer, believing that sheknew what she was doing. 

But now she was ready to undo it all and to go back; at least shethought she was, as she stared at herself in the glass while the palemaid drew her hair back and fastened it far above her forehead with abig curved comb, as a preliminary to getting rid of paint and powder. At this stage of the operation the Primadonna was neither Cordova norMargaret Donne; there was something terrifying about the exaggeratedlypainted mask when the wig was gone and her natural hair was drawntightly back. She thought she was like a monstrous skinned rabbit withstaring brown eyes. 

At first, with the inexperience of youth, she used to plunge herpainted face into soapsuds and scrub vigorously till her owncomplexion appeared, a good deal overheated and temporarily shiny;but before long she had yielded to Alphonsine's entreaties andrepresentations and had adopted the butter method, long familiar tochimney-sweeps. 

The butter lay ready; not in a lordly dish, but in a clean tin canwith a cover, of the kind workmen use for fetching beer, and commonlycalled a 'growler' in New York, for some reason which escapesetymologists. 

Having got rid of the upper strata of white lace and fine linen, artfully done up so as to tremble like aspen leaves with Lucia's madtrills, Margaret proceeded to butter her face thoroughly. It occurredto her just then that all the other artists who had appeared with herwere presumably buttering their faces at the same moment, and that ifthe public could look in upon them it would be very much surprisedindeed. At the thought she forgot what she had been thinking of andsmiled. 

The maid, who was holding her hair back where it escaped the comb, smiled too, and evidently considered that the relaxation of Margaret'sbuttered features was equivalent to a permission to speak. 

'It was a great triumph for Madame, ' she observed. 'All the paperswill praise Madame to-morrow. Madame saved many lives. '

'Was Mr. Griggs in the house?' Margaret asked. 'I did not see him. '

Alphonsine did not answer at once, and when she spoke her tone hadchanged. 

'Yes, Madame. Mr. Griggs was in the house. '

Margaret wondered whether she had saved his life too, in his ownestimation or in that of her maid, and while she pondered the questionshe buttered her nose industriously. 

Alphonsine took a commercial view of the case. 

'If Madame would appear three times more in New York, before sailing, the manager would give ten thousand francs a night, ' she observed. 

Margaret said nothing to this, but she thought it would be amusing toshow herself to an admiring public in her present condition. 

'Madame is now a heroine, ' continued Alphonsine, behind her. 'Madamecan ask anything she pleases. Several milliardaires will now offer tomarry Madame. '

'Alphonsine, ' answered Margaret, 'you have no sense. '

The maid smiled, knowing that her mistress could not see even thereflection of the smile in the glass; but she said nothing. 

'No sense, ' Margaret repeated, with conviction. 'None at all'

The maid allowed a few seconds to pass before she spoke again. 

'Or if Madame would accept to sing in one or two private houses in NewYork, we could ask a very great price, more than the manager wouldgive. '

'I daresay. '

'It is certain, ' said Alphonsine. 'At the French ball to which Madamekindly allowed me to go, the valet of Mr. Van Torp approached me. '

'Indeed!' exclaimed Cordova absently. 'How very disagreeable!'

'I see that Madame is not listening, ' said Alphonsine, taking offence. 

What she said was so true that Margaret did not answer at all. Besides, the buttering process was finished, and it was time for thehot water. She went to the ugly stationary washstand and bent over it, while the maid kept her hair from her face. Alphonsine spoke againwhen she was sure that her mistress could not possibly answer her. 

'Mr. Van Torp's valet asked me whether I thought Madame would bewilling to sing in church, at the wedding, the day after to-morrow, 'she said, holding the Primadonna's back hair firmly. 

The head moved energetically under her hands. Margaret would certainlynot sing at Mr. Van Torp's wedding, and she even tried to say so, buther voice only bubbled and sputtered ineffectually through the soapand water. 

'I was sure Madame would not, ' continued the maid, 'though Mr. VanTorp's valet said that money was no object. He had heard Mr. Van Torpsay that he would give five thousand dollars to have Madame sing athis wedding. '

Margaret did not shake her head this time, nor try to speak, butAlphonsine heard the little impatient tap of her slipper on the woodenfloor. It was not often that the Primadonna showed so much annoyanceat anything; and of late, when she did, the cause had been connectedwith this same Mr. Van Torp. The mere mention of his name irritatedher, and Alphonsine seemed to know it, and to take an inexplicablepleasure in talking about him--about Mr. Rufus Van Torp, formerly ofChicago, but now of New York. He was looked upon as the controllingintellect of the great Nickel Trust; in fact, he was the Nickel Trusthimself, and the other men in it were mere dummies compared with him. He had sailed the uncertain waters of finance for twenty years ormore, and had been nearly shipwrecked more than once, but at the timeof this story he was on the top of the wave; and as his past was evenmore entirely a matter of conjecture than his future, it would beuseless to inquire into the former or to speculate about the latter. Moreover, in these break-neck days no time counts but the present, sofar as reputation goes; good fame itself now resembles righteousnesschiefly because it clothes men as with a garment; and as we have thehighest authority for assuming that charity covers a multitude ofsins, we can hardly be surprised that it should be so generallyused for that purpose. Rufus Van Torp's charities were notorious, aggressive, and profitable. The same sums of money could not havebought as much mingled advertisement and immunity in any other way. 

'Of course, ' observed Alphonsine, seeing that Margaret would soon beable to speak again, 'money is no object to Madame either!'

This subtle flattery was evidently meant to forestall reproof. ButMargaret was now splashing vigorously, and as both taps were runningthe noise was as loud as that of a small waterfall; possibly she hadnot even heard the maid's last speech. 

Some one knocked at the door, and knocked a second time almostdirectly. The Primadonna pushed Alphonsine with her elbow, speakingbeing still impossible, and the woman understood that she was toanswer the summons. 

She asked who was knocking, and some one answered. 

'It is Mr. Griggs, ' said Alphonsine. 

'Ask him to wait, ' Margaret succeeded in saying. 

Alphonsine transmitted the message through the closed door, andlistened for the answer. 

'He says that there is a lady dying in the manager's room, who wantsMadame, ' said the maid, repeating what she heard. 

Margaret stood upright, turned quickly, and crossed the room to thedoor, mopping her face with a towel. 

'Who is it?' she asked in an anxious tone. 

'I'm Griggs, ' said a deep voice. 'Come at once, if you can, for thepoor girl cannot last long. '

'One minute! Don't go away--I'm coming out. '

Alphonsine never lost her head. A theatrical dresser who does is of nouse. She had already brought the wide fur coat Margaret always woreafter singing. In ten seconds the singer was completely clothed init, and as she laid her hand on the lock to let herself out, the maidplaced a dark Russian hood on her head from behind her and took thelong ends twice round her throat. 

Mr. Griggs was a large bony man with iron-grey hair, who looked verystrong. He had a sad face and deep-set grey eyes. He led the waywithout speaking, and Cordova walked quickly after him. Alphonsine didnot follow, for she was responsible for the belongings that lay aboutin the dressing-room. The other doors on the women's side, which is onthe stage left and the audience's right at the Opera, were all tightlyclosed. The stage itself was not dark yet, and the carpenters wereputting away the scenery of the last act as methodically as if nothinghad happened. 

'Do you know her?' Margaret asked of her companion as they hurriedalong the passage that leads into the house. 

'Barely. She is a Miss Bamberger, and she was to have been married theday after to-morrow, poor thing--to a millionaire. I always forget hisname, though I've met him several times. '

'Van Torp?' asked Margaret as they hastened on. 

'Yes. That's it--the Nickel Trust man, you know. '

'Yes, ' Margaret answered in a low tone. 'I was asked to sing at thewedding. '

They reached the door of the manager's room. The clerks from thebox-office and several other persons employed about the house werewhispering together in the little lobby. They made way for Cordova andlooked with curiosity at Griggs, who was a well-known man of letters. 

Schreiermeyer stood at the half-closed inner door, evidently waiting. 

'Come in, ' he said to Margaret. 'The doctor is there. '

The room was flooded with electric light, and smelt of very strongHavana cigars and brandy. Margaret saw a slight figure in a red silkevening gown, lying at full length on an immense red leathern sofa. Ayoung doctor was kneeling on the floor, bending down to press his earagainst the girl's side; he moved his head continually, listening forthe beating of her heart. Her face was of a type every one knows, andhad a certain half-pathetic prettiness; the features were small, andthe chin was degenerate but delicately modelled. The rather colourlessfair hair was elaborately done; her thin cheeks were dreadfully white, and her thin neck shrank painfully each time she breathed out, thoughit grew smooth and full as she drew in her breath. A short string ofvery large pearls was round her throat, and gleamed in the light asher breathing moved them. 

Schreiermeyer did not let Griggs come in, but went out to him, shutthe door and stood with his back to it. 

Margaret did not look behind her, but crossed directly to the sofa andleaned over the dying girl, who was conscious and looked at her withinquiring eyes, not recognising her. 

'You sent for me, ' said the singer gently. 

'Are you really Madame Cordova?' asked the girl in a faint tone. 

It was as much as she could do to speak at all, and the doctor lookedup to Margaret and raised his hand in a warning gesture, meaning thathis patient should not be allowed to talk. She saw his movement andsmiled faintly, and shook her head. 

'No one can save me, ' she said to him, quite quietly and distinctly. 'Please leave us together, doctor. '

'I am altogether at a loss, ' the doctor answered, speaking to Margaretas he rose. 'There are no signs of asphyxia, yet the heart does notrespond to stimulants. I've tried nitro-glycerine--'

'Please, please go away!' begged the girl. 

The doctor was a young surgeon from the nearest hospital, and hated toleave his case. He was going to argue the point, but Margaret stoppedhim. 

'Go into the next room for a moment, please, ' she saidauthoritatively. 

He obeyed with a bad grace, and went into the empty office whichadjoined the manager's room, but he left the door open. Margaret kneltdown in his place and took the girl's cold white hand. 

'Can he hear?' asked the faint voice. 

'Speak low, ' Margaret answered. 'What can I do?'

'It is a secret, ' said the girl. 'The last I shall ever have, but Imust tell some one before I die. I know about you. I know you are alady, and very good and kind, and I have always admired you so much!'

'You can trust me, ' said the singer. 'What is the secret I am to keepfor you?'

'Do you believe in God? I do, but so many people don't nowadays, youknow. Tell me. '

'Yes, ' Margaret answered, wondering. 'Yes, I do. '

'Will you promise, by the God you believe in?'

'I promise to keep your secret, so help me God in Heaven, ' saidMargaret gravely. 

The girl seemed relieved, and closed her eyes for a moment. She was sopale and still that Margaret thought the end had come, but presentlyshe drew breath again and spoke, though it was clear that she had notmuch strength left. 

'You must not keep the secret always, ' she said. 'You may tell him youknow it. Yes--let him know that you know--if you think it best--'

'Who is he?'

'Mr. Van Torp. '

'Yes?' Margaret bent her ear to the girl's lips and waited. 

Again there was a pause of many seconds, and then the voice cameonce more, with a great effort that only produced very faint sounds, scarcely above a whisper. 

'He did it. '

That was all. At long intervals the dying girl drew deep breaths, longer and longer, and then no more. Margaret looked anxiously at thestill face for some time, and then straightened herself suddenly. 

'Doctor! Doctor!' she cried. 

The young man was beside her in an instant. For a full minute therewas no sound in the room, and he bent over the motionless figure. 

'I'm afraid I can't do anything, ' he said gently, and he rose to hisfeet. 

'Is she really dead?' Margaret asked, in an undertone. 

'Yes. Failure of the heart, from shock. '

'Is that what you will call it?'

'That is what it is, ' said the doctor with a little emphasis ofoffence, as if his science had been doubted. 'You knew her, Isuppose?'

'No. I never saw her before. I will call Schreiermeyer. '

She stood still a moment longer, looking down at the dead face, andshe wondered what it all meant, and why the poor girl had sent forher, and what it was that Mr. Van Torp had done. Then she turned veryslowly and went out. 

'Dead, I suppose, ' said Schreiermeyer as soon as he saw thePrimadonna's face. 'Her relations won't get here in time. '

Margaret nodded in silence and went on through the lobby. 

'The rehearsal is at eleven, ' the manager called out after her, in hiswooden voice. 

She nodded again, but did not look back. Griggs had waited in orderto take her back to her dressing-room, and the two crossed the stagetogether. It was almost quite dark now, and the carpenters were goneaway. 

'Thank you, ' Margaret said. 'If you don't care to go all the way backyou can get out by the stage door. '

'Yes. I know the way in this theatre. Before I say good-night, do youmind telling me what the doctor said?'

'He said she died of failure of the heart, from shock. Those were hiswords. Why do you ask?'

'Mere curiosity. I helped to carry her--that is, I carried her myselfto the manager's room, and she begged me to call you, so I came toyour door. '

'It was kind of you. Perhaps it made a difference to her, poor girl. Good-night. '

'Good-night. When do you sail?'

'On Saturday. I sing "Juliet" on Friday night and sail the nextmorning. '

'On the _Leofric_?'

'Yes. '

'So do I. We shall cross together. '

'How delightful! I'm so glad! Good-night again. '

Alphonsine was standing at the open door of the dressing-room in thebright light, and Margaret nodded and went in. The maid looked afterthe elderly man till he finally disappeared, and then she went in tooand locked the door after her. 

Griggs walked home in the bitter March weather. When he was in NewYork, he lived in rooms on the second floor of an old businessbuilding not far from Fifth Avenue. He was quite alone in the house atnight, and had to walk up the stairs by the help of a little electricpocket-lantern he carried. He let himself into his own door, turnedup the light, slipped off his overcoat and gloves, and went to thewriting-table to get his pipe. That is very often the first thing aman does when he gets home at night. 

The old briar pipe he preferred to any other lay on the blotting-paperin the circle where the light was brightest. As he took it a stain onhis right hand caught his eye, and he dropped the pipe to look atit. The blood was dark and was quite dry, and he could not find anyscratch to account for it. It was on the inner side of his right hand, between the thumb and forefinger, and was no larger than an ordinarywatch. 

'How very odd!' exclaimed Mr. Griggs aloud; and he turned his handthis way and that under the electric lamp, looking for some smallwound which he supposed must have bled. There was a little more insidehis fingers, and between them, as if it had oozed through and then hadspread over his knuckles. 

But he could find nothing to account for it. He was an elderly man whohad lived all over the world and had seen most things, and he was noteasily surprised, but he was puzzled now. Not the least strange thingwas that the stain should be as small as it was and yet so dark. Hecrossed the room again and examined the front of his overcoat with themost minute attention. It was made of a dark frieze, almost black, on which a red stain would have shown very little; but after a verycareful search Griggs was convinced that the blood which had stainedhis hand had not touched the cloth. 

He went into his dressing-room and looked at his face in hisshaving-glass, but there was certainly no stain on the weather-beatencheeks or the furrowed forehead. 

'How very odd!' he exclaimed a second time. 

He washed his hands slowly and carefully, examining them again andagain, for he thought it barely possible that the skin might have beencracked somewhere by the cutting March wind, and might have bled alittle, but he could not find the least sign of such a thing. 

When he was finally convinced that he could not account for the stainhe had now washed off, he filled his old pipe thoughtfully and satdown in a big shabby arm-chair beside the table to think over otherquestions more easy of solution. For he was a philosophical man, andwhen he could not understand a matter he was able to put it away in asafe place, to be kept until he got more information about it. 

The next morning, amidst the flamboyant accounts of the subterraneanexplosion, and of the heroic conduct of Madame Margarita da Cordova, the famous Primadonna, in checking a dangerous panic at the Opera, all the papers found room for a long paragraph about Miss Ida H. Bamberger, who had died at the theatre in consequence of the shockher nerves had received, and who was to have married the celebratedcapitalist and philanthropist, Mr. Van Torp, only two days later. There were various dramatic and heart-rending accounts of her death, and most of them agreed that she had breathed her last amidst hernearest and dearest, who had been with her all the evening. 

But Mr. Griggs read these paragraphs thoughtfully, for he rememberedthat he had found her lying in a heap behind a red baize door whichhis memory could easily identify. 

After all, the least misleading notice was the one in the column ofdeaths:--

BAMBERGER. --On Wednesday, of heart-failure from shock, IDA HAMILTON, only child of HANNAH MOON by her former marriage with ISIDOREBAMBERGER. California papers please copy. 

CHAPTER II

In the lives of professionals, whatever their profession may be, theordinary work of the day makes very little impression on the memory, whereas a very strong and lasting one is often made by circumstanceswhich a man of leisure or a woman of the world might barely notice, and would soon forget. In Margaret's life there were but two sorts ofdays, those on which she was to sing and those on which she was atliberty. In the one case she had a cutlet at five o'clock, and supperwhen she came home; in the other, she dined like other people and wentto bed early. At the end of a season in New York, the evenings onwhich she had sung all seemed to have been exactly alike; the peoplehad always applauded at the same places, she had always been calledout about the same number of times, she had always felt very muchthe same pleasure and satisfaction, and she had invariably eaten hersupper with the same appetite. Actors lead far more emotional livesthan singers, partly because they have the excitement of a new piecemuch more often, with the tremendous nervous strain of a first night, and largely because they are not obliged to keep themselves in suchperfect training. To an actor a cold, an indigestion, or a headacheis doubtless an annoyance; but to a leading singer such an accidentalmost always means the impossibility of appearing at all, withserious loss of money to the artist, and grave disappointment to thepublic. The result of all this is that singers, as a rule, are muchmore normal, healthy, and well-balanced people than other musicians, or than actors. Moreover they generally have very strong bodies andconstitutions to begin with, and when they have not they break downyoung. 

Paul Griggs had an old traveller's preference for having plenty oftime, and he was on board the steamer on Saturday a full hour beforeshe was to sail; his not very numerous belongings, which looked asweather-beaten as himself, were piled up unopened in his cabin, and hehimself stood on the upper promenade deck watching the passengers asthey came on board. He was an observant man, and it interested him tonote the expression of each new face that appeared; for the factof starting on a voyage across the ocean is apt to affect peopleinversely as their experience. Those who cross often look sounconcerned that a casual observer might think they were not to startat all, whereas those who are going for the first time are eithervisibly flurried, or are posing to look as if they were not, thoughthey are intensely nervous about their belongings; or they try toappear as if they belonged to the ship, or else as if the shipbelonged to them, making observations which are supposed to benautical, but which instantly stamp them as unutterable land-lubbersin the shrewd estimation of the stewards; and the latter, as every oldhand is aware, always know everything much better than the captain. 

Margaret Donne had been the most sensible and simple of young girls, and when she appeared at the gangway very quietly dressed in brown, with a brown fur collar, a brown hat, a brown veil, and a brownparasol, there was really nothing striking to distinguish her fromother female passengers, except her good looks and her well-set-upfigure. Yet somehow it seems impossible for a successful primadonnaever to escape notice. Instead of one maid, for instance, Cordova hadtwo, and they carried rather worn leathern boxes that were evidentlyheavy jewel-cases, which they clutched with both hands and refused togive up to the stewards. They also had about them the indescribableair of rather aggressive assurance which belongs especially tohighly-paid servants, men and women. Their looks said to every one:'We are the show and you are the public, so don't stand in the way, for if you do the performance cannot go on!' They gave their ordersabout their mistress's things to the chief steward as if he werenothing better than a railway porter or a call-boy at the theatre;and, strange to say, that exalted capitalist obeyed with a docility hewould certainly not have shown to any other passenger less than royal. They knew their way everywhere, they knew exactly what the best ofeverything was, and they made it clear that the great singer wouldhave nothing less than the very, very best. She had the best cabinalready, and she was to have the best seat at table, the best stewardand the best stewardess, and her deck-chair was to be always in thebest place on the upper promenade deck; and there was to be no mistakeabout it; and if anybody questioned the right of Margarita da Cordova, the great lyric soprano, to absolute precedence during the wholevoyage, from start to finish, her two maids would know the reason why, and make the captain and all the ship's company wish they were dead. 

That was their attitude. 

But this was not all. There were the colleagues who came to seeMargaret off and wished that they were going too. In spite of thewindy weather there was Signor Pompeo Stromboli, the tenor, as broadas any two ordinary men, in a fur coat of the most terribly expensivesort, bringing an enormous box of chocolates with his best wishes; andthere was the great German dramatic barytone, Herr Tiefenbach, whosang 'Amfortas' better than any one, and was a true musician as wellas a man of culture, and he brought Margaret a book which he insistedthat she must read on the voyage, called _The Genesis of the ToneEpos_; and there was that excellent and useful little artist, FräuleinOttilie Braun, who never had an enemy in her life, who was alwaysready to sing any part creditably at a moment's notice if one of theleading artists broke down, and who was altogether one of the best, kindest, and least conceited human beings that ever joined an operacompany. She brought her great colleague a little bunch of violets. 

Least expected of them all, there was Schreiermeyer, with a basketof grape fruit in his tightly-gloved podgy hands; and he was smilingcheerfully, which was an event in itself. They followed Margaret up tothe promenade deck after her maids had gone below, and stood round herin a group, all talking at once in different languages. 

Griggs chanced to be the only other passenger on that part of the deckand he joined the party, for he knew them all. Margaret gave him herhand quietly and nodded to him. Signor Stromboli was effusive in hisgreeting; Herr Tiefenbach gave him a solemn grip; little FräuleinOttilie smiled pleasantly, and Schreiermeyer put into his hands thebasket he carried, judging that as he could not get anything else outof the literary man he could at least make him carry a parcel. 

'Grape fruit for Cordova, ' he observed. 'You can give it to thesteward, and tell him to keep the things in a cool place. '

Griggs took the basket with a slight smile, but Stromboli snatched itfrom him instantly, and managed at the same time to seize upon thebook Herr Tiefenbach had brought without dropping his own big box ofsweetmeats. 

'I shall give everything to the waiter!' he cried with exuberantenergy as he turned away. 'He shall take care of Cordova with hisconscience! I tell you, I will frighten him!'

This was possible, and even probable. Margaret looked after the broadfigure. 

'Dear old Stromboli!' she laughed. 

'He has the kindest heart in the world, ' said little Fräulein OttilieBraun. 

'He is no a musician, ' observed Herr Tiefenbach; 'but he does not singout of tune. '

'He is a lunatic, ' said Schreiermeyer gravely. 'All tenors arelunatics--except about money, ' he added thoughtfully. 

'I think Stromboli is very sensible, ' said Margaret, turning toGriggs. 'He brings his little Calabrian wife and her baby out withhim, and they take a small house for the winter and Italian servants, and live just as if they were in their own country and see only theirItalian friends--instead of being utterly wretched in a horriblehotel. '

'For the modest consideration of a hundred dollars a day, ' put inGriggs, who was a poor man. 

'I wish my bills were never more than that!' Margaret laughed. 

'Yes, ' said Schreiermeyer, still thoughtful. 'Stromboli understandsmoney. He is a man of business. He makes his wife cook for him. '

'I often cook for myself, ' said Fräulein Ottilie quite simply. 'If Ihad a husband, I would cook for him too!' She laughed like a child, without the slightest sourness. 'It is easier to cook well than tomarry at all, even badly!'

'I do not at all agree with you, ' answered Herr Tiefenbach severely. 'Without flattering myself, I may say that my wife married well; buther potato dumplings are terrifying. '

'You were never married, were you?' Margaret asked, turning to Griggswith a smile. 

'No, ' he answered. 'Can you make potato dumplings, and are you insearch of a husband?'

'It is the other way, ' said Schreiermeyer, 'for the husbands arealways after her. Talking of marriage, that girl who died the othernight was to have been married to Mr. Van Torp yesterday, and theywere to have sailed with you this morning. '

'I saw his name on the--' Schreiermeyer began, but he was interruptedby a tremendous blast from the ship's horn, the first warning fornon-passengers to go ashore. 

Before the noise stopped Stromboli appeared again, looking very muchpleased with himself, and twisting up the short black moustache thatwas quite lost on his big face. When he was nearer he desisted fromtwirling, shook a fat forefinger at Margaret and laughed. 

'Oh, well, then, ' he cried, translating his Italian literally intoEnglish, 'I've been in your room, Miss Cordova! Who is this Tom, eh?Flowers from Tom, one! Sweets from Tom, two! A telegram from Tom, three! Tom, Tom, Tom; it is full of Tom, her room! In the end, whatis this Tom? For me, I only know Tom the ruffian in the _Ballo inMaschera_. That is all the Tom I know!'

They all looked at Margaret and laughed. She blushed a little, moreout of annoyance than from any other reason. 

'The maids wished to put me out, ' laughed Stromboli, 'but they couldnot, because I am big. So I read everything. If I tell you I read, what harm is there?'

'None whatever, ' Margaret answered, 'except that it is bad manners toopen other people's telegrams. '

'Oh, that! The maid had opened it with water, and was reading when Icame. So I read too! You shall find it all well sealed again, have nofear! They all do so. '

'Pleasant journey, ' said Schreiermeyer abruptly. 'I'm going ashore. I'll see you in Paris in three weeks. '

'Read the book, ' said Herr Tiefenbach earnestly, as he shook hands. 'It is a deep book. '

'Do not forget me!' cried Stromboli sentimentally, and he kissedMargaret's gloves several times. 

'Good-bye, ' said Fräulein Ottilie. 'Every one is sorry when you go!'

Margaret was not a gushing person, but she stooped and kissed thecheerful little woman, and pressed her small hand affectionately. 

'And everybody is glad when you come, my dear, ' she said. 

For Fräulein Ottilie was perhaps the only person in the company whomCordova really liked, and who did not jar dreadfully on her at onetime or another. 

Another blast from the horn and they were all gone, leaving her andGriggs standing by the rail on the upper promenade deck. The littleparty gathered again on the pier when they had crossed the plank, andmade farewell signals to the two, and then disappeared. UnconsciouslyMargaret gave a little sigh of relief, and Griggs noticed it, as henoticed most things, but said nothing. 

There was silence for a while, and the gangplank was still in placewhen the horn blew a third time, longer than before. 

'How very odd!' exclaimed Griggs, a moment after the sound had ceased. 

'What is odd?' Margaret asked. 

She saw that he was looking down, and her eyes followed his. Asquare-shouldered man in mourning was walking up the plank in aleisurely way, followed by a well-dressed English valet, who carried adespatch-box in a leathern case. 

'It's not possible!' Margaret whispered in great surprise. 

'Perfectly possible, ' Griggs answered, in a low voice. 'That is RufusVan Torp. '

Margaret drew back from the rail, though the new comer was already outof sight on the lower promenade deck, to which the plank was laid tosuit the height of the tide. She moved away from the door of the firstcabin companion. 

Griggs went with, her, supposing that she wished to walk up and down. Numbers of other passengers were strolling about on the side next tothe pier, waiting to see the start. Margaret went on forward, turnedthe deck-house and walked to the rail on the opposite side, wherethere was no one. Griggs glanced at her face and thought that sheseemed disturbed. She looked straight before her at the closed irondoors of the next pier, at which no ship was lying. 

'I wish I knew you better, ' she said suddenly. 

Griggs looked at her quietly. It did not occur to him to make atrivial and complimentary answer to this advance, such as most men ofthe world would have made, even at his age. 

'I shall be very glad if we ever know each other better, ' he saidafter a short pause. 

'So shall I. '

She leaned upon the rail and looked down at the eddying water. Thetide had turned and was beginning to go out. Griggs watched herhandsome profile in silence for a time. 

'You have not many intimate friends, have you?' she asked presently. 

'No, only one or two. '

She smiled. 

'I'm not trying to get confidences from you. But really, that is veryvague. You must surely know whether you have only one, or whetherthere is another. I'm not suggesting myself as a third, either!'

'Perhaps I'm over-cautious, ' Griggs said. 'It does not matter. Youbegan by saying that you wished you knew me better. You meant thatif you did, you would either tell me something which you don't telleverybody, or you would come to me for advice about something, or youwould ask me to do something for you. Is that it?'

'I suppose so. '

'It was not very hard to guess. I'll answer the three cases. If youwant to tell me a secret, don't. If you want advice without tellingeverything about the case, it will be worthless. But if there isanything I can do for you, I'll do it if I can, and I won't ask anyquestions. '

'That's kind and sensible, ' Margaret answered. 'And I should not be inthe least afraid to tell you anything. You would not repeat it. '

'No, certainly not. But some day, unless we became real friends, youwould think that I might, and then you would be very sorry. '

A short pause followed. 

'We are moving, ' Margaret said, glancing at the iron doors again. 

'Yes, we are off. '

There was another pause. Then Margaret stood upright and turned herface to her companion. She did not remember that she had ever lookedsteadily into his eyes since she had known him. 

They were grey and rather deeply set under grizzled eyebrows thatwere growing thick and rough with advancing years, and they met hersquietly. She knew at once that she could bear their scrutiny for anylength of time without blushing or feeling nervous, though there wassomething in them that was stronger than she. 

'It's this, ' she said at last, as if she had been talking and hadreached a conclusion. 'I'm alone, and I'm a little frightened. '

'You?' Griggs smiled rather incredulously. 

'Yes. Of course I'm used to travelling without any one and taking careof myself. Singers and actresses are just like men in that, and it didnot occur to me this morning that this trip could be different fromany other. '

'No. Why should it be so different? I don't understand. '

'You said you would do something for me without asking questions. Willyou?'

'If I can. '

'Keep Mr. Van Torp away from me during the voyage. I mean, as muchas you can without being openly rude. Have my chair put next to someother woman's and your own on my other side. Do you mind doing that?'

Griggs smiled. 

'No, ' he said, 'I don't mind. '

'And if I am walking on deck and he joins me, come and walk beside metoo. Will you? Are you quite sure you don't mind?'

'Yes. ' He was still smiling. 'I'm quite certain that I don't dislikethe idea. '

'I wish I were sure of being seasick, ' Margaret said thoughtfully. 'It's bad for the voice, but it would be a great resource. '

'As a resource, I shall try to be a good substitute for it, ' saidGriggs. 

Margaret realised what she had said and laughed. 

'But it is no laughing matter, ' she answered, her face growing graveagain after a moment. 

Griggs had promised not to ask questions, and he expressed nocuriosity. 

'As soon as you go below I'll see about the chair, ' he said. 

'My cabin is on this deck, ' Margaret answered. 'I believe I have atiny little sitting-room, too. It's what they call a suite in theirmagnificent language, and the photographs in the advertisements makeit look like a palatial apartment!'

She left the rail as she spoke, and found her own door on the sameside of the ship, not very far away. 

'Here it is, ' she said. 'Thank you very much. '

She looked into his eyes again for an instant and went in. 

She had forgotten Signor Stromboli and what he had said, for herthoughts had been busy with a graver matter, but she smiled when shesaw the big bunch of dark red carnations in a water-jug on the table, and the little cylinder-shaped parcel which certainly contained adozen little boxes of the chocolate 'oublies' she liked, and thetelegram, with its impersonal-looking address, waiting to be opened byher after having been opened, read, and sealed again by her thoughtfulmaids. Such trifles as the latter circumstance did not disturb her inthe least, for though she was only a young woman of four and twenty, a singer and a musician, she had a philosophical mind, and consideredthat if virtue has nothing to do with the greatness of princes, moralworth need not be a clever lady's-maid's strong point. 

'Tom' was her old friend Edmund Lushington, one of the mostdistinguished of the younger writers of the day. He was the only sonof the celebrated soprano, Madame Bonanni, now retired from the stage, by her marriage with an English gentleman of the name of Goodyear, andhe had been christened Thomas. But his mother had got his name andsurname legally changed when he was a child, thinking that it would bea disadvantage to him to be known as her son, as indeed it might havebeen at first; even now the world did not know the truth about hisbirth, but it would not have cared, since he had won his own way. 

Margaret meant to marry him if she married at all, for he had beenfaithful in his devotion to her nearly three years; and his rivalrywith Constantine Logotheti, her other serious adorer, had brought somecomplications into her life. But on mature reflection she was surethat she did not wish to marry any one for the present. So many ofher fellow-singers had married young and married often, evidentlyfollowing the advice of a great American humorist, and mostly withdisastrous consequences, that Margaret preferred to be an exception, and to marry late if at all. 

In the glaring light of the twentieth century it at last clearlyappears that marriageable young women have always looked upon marriageas the chief means of escape from the abject slavery and humiliatingdependence hitherto imposed upon virgins between fifteen and fiftyyears old. Shakespeare lacked the courage to write the 'Seven Ages ofWoman, ' a matter the more to be regretted as no other writer has everpossessed enough command of the English language to describe more thanthree out of the seven without giving offence: namely, youth, whichlasts from sixteen to twenty; perfection, which begins at twenty andlasts till further notice; and old age, which women generally placebeyond seventy, though some, whose strength is not all sorrow andweakness even then, do not reach it till much later. If Shakespearehad dared he would have described with poetic fire the age of the girlwho never marries. But this is a digression. The point is that thetruth about marriage is out, since the modern spinster has shown thesisterhood how to live, and an amazing number of women look uponwedlock as a foolish thing, vainly imagined, never necessary, andrarely amusing. 

The state of perpetual unsanctified virginity, however, is not forpoor girls, nor for operatic singers, nor for kings' daughters, noneof whom, for various reasons, can live, or are allowed to live, without husbands. Unless she be a hunchback, an unmarried royalprincess is almost as great an exception as a white raven or a catwithout a tail; a primadonna without a husband alive, dead, ordivorced, is hardly more common; and poor girls marry to live. Butgive a modern young woman a decent social position, with enough moneyfor her wants and an average dose of assurance, and she becomes sofastidious in the choice of a mate that no man is good enough forher till she is too old to be good enough for any man. Even then thechances are that she will not deeply regret her lost opportunities, and though her married friends will tell her that she has made amistake, half of them will envy her in secret, the other half will notpity her much, and all will ask her to their dinner-parties, because awoman without a husband is such a convenience. 

In respect to her art Margarita da Cordova was in all ways a thoroughartist, endowed with the gifts, animated by the feelings, andafflicted with the failings that usually make up an artistic nature. But Margaret Donne was a sound and healthy English girl who had beenbrought up in the right way by a very refined and cultivated fatherand mother who loved her devotedly. If they had lived she would nothave gone upon the stage; for as her mother's friend Mrs. Rushmore hadoften told her, the mere thought of such a life for their daughterwould have broken their hearts. She was a grown woman now, and highon the wave of increasing success and celebrity, but she still hada childish misgiving that she had disobeyed her parents and donesomething very wrong, just as when she had surreptitiously got intothe jam cupboard at the age of five. 

Yet there are old-fashioned people alive even now who might think thatthere was less harm in becoming a public singer than in keeping EdmundLushington dangling on a string for two years and more. Those thingsare matters of opinion. Margaret would have answered that if hedangled it was his misfortune and not her fault, since she never, inher own opinion, had done anything to keep him, and would not havebeen broken-hearted if he had gone away, though she would have missedhis friendship very much. Of the two, the man who had disturbed hermaiden peace of mind was Logotheti, whom she feared and sometimeshated, but who had an inexplicable power over her when they met: thesort of fateful influence which honest Britons commonly ascribe to allforeigners with black hair, good teeth, diamond studs, and the otheroutward signs of wickedness. Twice, at least, Logotheti had behaved ina manner positively alarming, and on the second occasion he had verynearly succeeded in carrying her off bodily from the theatre tohis yacht, a fate from which Lushington and his mother had beeninstrumental in saving her. Such doings were shockingly lawless, butthey showed a degree of recklessly passionate admiration which wasflattering from a young financier who was so popular with women thathe found it infinitely easier to please than to be pleased. 

Perhaps, if Logotheti could have put on a little Anglo-Saxon coolness, Margaret might have married him by this time. Perhaps she would havemarried Lushington, if he could have suddenly been animated by alittle Greek fire. As things stood, she told herself that she did notcare to take a man who meant to be not only her master but her tyrant, nor one who seemed more inclined to be her slave than her master. 

Meanwhile, however, it was the Englishman who kept himself constantlyin mind with her by an unbroken chain of small attentions that oftenmade her smile but sometimes really touched her. Any one could cable'Pleasant voyage, ' and sign the telegram 'Tom, ' which gave it afriendly and encouraging look, because somehow 'Tom' is a cheerful, plucky little name, very unlike 'Edmund. ' But it was quite anothermatter, being in England, to take the trouble to have carnations ofjust the right shade fresh on her cabin table at the moment of hersailing from New York, and beside them the only sort of chocolates sheliked. That was more than a message, it was a visit, a presence, areal reaching out of hand to hand. 

Logotheti, on the contrary, behaved as if he had forgotten Margaret'sexistence as soon as he was out of her sight; and they now no longermet often, but when they did he had a way of taking up the thread asif there had been no interval, which was almost as effective as hisrival's method; for it produced the impression that he had beenthinking of her only, and of nothing else in the world since the lastmeeting, and could never again give a thought to any other woman. Thisalso was flattering. He never wrote to her, he never telegraphed goodwishes for a journey or a performance, he never sent her so much as aflower; he acted as if he were really trying to forget her, as perhapshe was. But when they met, he was no sooner in the same room with herthan she felt the old disturbing influence she feared and yetsomehow desired in spite of herself, and much as she preferred thecompanionship of Lushington and liked his loyal straightforward ways, and admired his great talent, she felt that he paled and seemed lessinteresting beside the vivid personality of the Greek financier. 

He was vivid; no other word expresses what he was, and if that onecannot properly be applied to a man, so much the worse for ourlanguage. His colouring was too handsome, his clothes were too good, his shoes were too shiny, his ties too surprising, and he not onlywore diamonds and rubies, but very valuable ones. Yet he was notvulgarly gorgeous; he was Oriental. No one would say that a Chineseidol covered with gold and precious stones was overdressed, but itwould be out of place in a Scotch kirk; the minister would be throwninto the shade and the congregation would look at the idol. Insociety, which nowadays is far from a chiaroscuro, everybody looked atLogotheti. If he had come from any place nearer than Constantinoplepeople would have smiled and perhaps laughed at him; as it was, he wasan exotic, and besides, he had the reputation of being dangerous towomen's peace, and extremely awkward to meddle with in a quarrel. 

Margaret sat some time in her little sitting-room reflecting on thesethings, for she knew that before many days were past she must meether two adorers; and when she had thought enough about both, she gaveorders to her maids about arranging her belongings. By and by she wentto luncheon and found herself alone at some distance from the otherpassengers, next to the captain's empty seat; but she was rather gladthat her neighbours had not come to table, for she got what she wantedvery quickly and had no reason for waiting after she had finished. 

Then she took a book and went on deck again, and Alphonsine found herchair on the sunny side and installed her in it very comfortably andcovered her up, and to her own surprise she felt that she was verysleepy; so that just as she was wondering why, she dozed off and beganto dream that she was Isolde, on board of Tristan's ship, and that shewas singing the part, though she had never sung it and probably neverwould. 

When she opened her eyes again there was no land in sight, and the bigsteamer was going quietly with scarcely any roll. She looked aft andsaw Paul Griggs leaning against the rail, smoking; and she turned herhead the other way, and the chair next to her own on that side wasoccupied by a very pleasant-looking young woman who was sitting upstraight and showing the pictures in a book to a beautiful little girlwho stood beside her. 

The lady had a very quiet healthy face and smooth brown hair, and wassimply and sensibly dressed. Margaret at once decided that she was notthe child's mother, nor an elder sister, but some one who had chargeof her, though not exactly a governess. The child was about nine yearsold; she had a quantity of golden hair that waved naturally, and aspiritual face with deep violet eyes, a broad white forehead and apathetic little mouth. 

She examined each picture, and then looked up quickly at the lady, keeping her wide eyes fixed on the latter's face with an expression ofwatchful interest. The lady explained each picture to her, but in sucha soft whisper that Margaret could not hear a sound. Yet the childevidently understood every word easily. It was natural to suppose thatthe lady spoke under her breath in order not to disturb Margaret whileshe was asleep. 

'It is very kind of you to whisper, ' said the Primadonna graciously, 'but I am awake now. '

The lady turned with a pleasant smile. 

'Thank you, ' she answered. 

The child did not notice Margaret's little speech, but looked up fromthe book for the explanation of the next picture. 

'It is the inside of the Colosseum in Rome, and you will see itbefore long, ' said the lady very distinctly. 'I have told you how thegladiators fought there, and how Saint Ignatius was sent all the wayfrom Antioch to be devoured by lions there, like many other martyrs. '

The little girl watched her face intently, nodded gravely, and lookeddown at the picture again, but said nothing. The lady turned toMargaret. 

'She was born deaf and dumb, ' she said quietly, 'but I have taught herto understand from the lips, and she can already speak quite well. Sheis very clever. '

'Poor little thing!' Margaret looked at the girl with increasinginterest. 'Such a little beauty, too! What is her name?'

'Ida--'

The child had turned over the pages to another picture, and now lookedup for the explanation of it. Griggs had finished his cigar and cameand sat down on Margaret's other side. 

CHAPTER III

The _Leofric_ was three days out, and therefore half-way over theocean, for she was a fast boat, but so far Griggs had not been calledupon to hinder Mr. Van Torp from annoying Margaret. Mr. Van Torp hadnot been on deck; in fact, he had not been seen at all since he haddisappeared into his cabin a quarter of an hour before the steamer hadleft the pier. There was a good deal of curiosity about him amongstthe passengers, as there would have been about the famous Primadonnaif she had not come punctually to every meal, and if she had not beenequally regular in spending a certain number of hours on deck everyday. 

At first every one was anxious to have what people call a 'good look'at her, because all the usual legends were already repeated about herwherever she went. It was said that she was really an ugly woman ofthirty-five who had been married to a Spanish count of twice thatage, and that he had died leaving her penniless, so that she had beenobliged to support herself by singing. Others were equally sure thatshe was a beautiful escaped nun, who had been forced to take the veilin a convent in Seville by cruel parents, but who had succeeded ingetting herself carried off by a Polish nobleman disguised as apriest. Every one remembered the marvellous voice that used to sing sohigh above all the other nuns, behind the lattice on Sunday afternoonsat the church of the Dominican Convent. That had been the voice ofMargarita da Cordova, and she could never go back to Spain, for if shedid the Inquisition would seize upon her, and she would be torturedand probably burnt alive to encourage the other nuns. 

This was very romantic, but unfortunately there was a man who said heknew the plain truth about her, and that she was just a good-lookingIrish girl whose father used to play the flute at a theatre in Dublin, and whose mother kept a sweetshop in Queen Street. The man who knewthis had often seen the shop, which was conclusive. 

Margaret showed herself daily and the myths lost value, for everyone saw that she was neither an escaped Spanish nun nor the giftedoffspring of a Dublin flute-player and a female retailer ofbull's-eyes and butterscotch, but just a handsome, healthy, well-brought-up young Englishwoman, who called herself Miss Donne inprivate life. 

But gossip, finding no hold upon her, turned and rent Mr. Van Torp, who dwelt within his tent like Achilles, but whether brooding orsea-sick no one was ever to know. The difference of opinion about himwas amazing. Some said he had no heart, since he had not even waitedfor the funeral of the poor girl who was to have been his wife. Others, on the contrary, said that he was broken-hearted, and thathis doctor had insisted upon his going abroad at once, doubtlessconsidering, as the best practitioners often do, that it is wisestto send a patient who is in a dangerous condition to distant shores, where some other doctor will get the credit of having killed him ordriven him mad. Some said that Mr. Van Torp was concerned in theaffair of that Chinese loan, which of course explained why he wasforced to go to Europe in spite of the dreadful misfortune that hadhappened to him. The man who knew everything hinted darkly that Mr. Van Torp was not really solvent, and that he had perhaps left thecountry just at the right moment. 

'That is nonsense, ' said Miss More to Margaret in an undertone, forthey had both heard what had just been said. 

Miss More was the lady in charge of the pretty deaf child, and thelatter was curled up in the next chair with a little piece of crochetwork. Margaret had soon found out that Miss More was a very nicewoman, after her own taste, who was given neither to flattery nor toprying, the two faults from which celebrities are generally made tosuffer most by fellow-travellers who make their acquaintance. MissMore was evidently delighted to find herself placed on deck next tothe famous singer, and Margaret was so well satisfied that the decksteward had already received a preliminary tip, with instructions tokeep the chairs together during the voyage. 

'Yes, ' said Margaret, in answer to Miss More's remark. 'I don'tbelieve there is the least reason for thinking that Mr. Van Torp isnot immensely rich. Do you know him?'

'Yes. '

Miss More did not seem inclined to enlarge upon the fact, and her facewas thoughtful after she had said the one word; so was Margaret's tonewhen she answered:

'So do I. '

Each of the young women understood that the other did not care totalk of Mr. Van Torp. Margaret glanced sideways at her neighbour andwondered vaguely whether the latter's experience had been at all likeher own, but she could not see anything to make her think so. MissMore had a singularly pleasant expression and a face that made onetrust her at once, but she was far from beautiful, and would hardlypass for pretty beside such a good-looking woman as Margaret, whoafter all was not what people call an out-and-out beauty. It was oddthat the quiet lady-like teacher should have answered monosyllabicallyin that tone. She felt Margaret's sidelong look of inquiry, and turnedhalf round after glancing at little Ida, who was very busy with hercrochet. 

'I'm afraid you may have misunderstood me, ' she said, smiling. 'If Idid not say any more it is because he himself does not wish people totalk of what he does. '

'I assure you, I'm not curious, ' Margaret answered, smiling too. 'I'msorry if I looked as if I were. '

'No--you misunderstood me, and it was a little my fault. Mr. Van Torpis doing something very, very kind which it was impossible that Ishould not know of, and he has asked me not to tell any one. '

'I see, ' Margaret answered. 'Thank you for telling me. I am glad toknow that he--'

She checked herself. She detested and feared the man, for reasons ofher own, and she found it hard to believe that he could do something'very, very kind' and yet not wish it to be known. He did not strikeher as being the kind of person who would go out of his way to hidehis light under a bushel. Yet Miss More's tone had been quiet andearnest. Perhaps he had employed her to teach some poor deaf and dumbchild, like little Ida. Her words seemed to imply this, for she hadsaid that it had been impossible that she should not know; that is, he had been forced to ask her advice or help, and her help and advicecould only be considered indispensable where her profession as ateacher of the deaf and dumb was concerned. 

Miss More was too discreet to ask the question which Margaret'sunfinished sentence suggested, but she would not let the speech passquite unanswered. 

'He is often misjudged, ' she said. 'In business he may be what manypeople say he is. I don't understand business! But I have known him tohelp people who needed help badly and who never guessed that he evenknew their names. '

'You must be right, ' Margaret answered. 

She remembered the last words of the girl who had died in themanager's room at the theatre. There had been a secret. The secretwas that Mr. Van Torp had done the thing, whatever it was. She hadprobably not known what she was saying, but it had been on her mind tosay that Mr. Van Torp had done it, the man she was to have married. Margaret's first impression had been that the thing done must havebeen something very bad, because she herself disliked the man somuch; but Miss More knew him, and since he often did 'very, very kindthings, ' it was possible that the particular action of which the dyinggirl was thinking might have been a charitable one; possibly he hadconfided the secret to her. Margaret smiled rather cruelly at her ownsuperior knowledge of the world--yes, he had told the girl about that'secret' charity in order to make a good impression on her! Perhapsthat was his favourite method of interesting women; if it was, hehad not invented it. Margaret thought she could have told Miss Moresomething which would have thrown another light on Mr. Van Torp'scharacter. 

Her reflections had led her back to the painful scene at the theatre, and she remembered the account of it the next day, and the fact thatthe girl's name had been Ida. To change the subject she asked herneighbour an idle question. 

'What is the little girl's full name?' she inquired. 

'Ida Moon, ' answered Miss More. 

'Moon?' Margaret turned her head sharply. 'May I ask if she is anyrelation of the California Senator who died last year?'

'She is his daughter, ' said Miss More quietly. 

Margaret laid one hand on the arm of her chair and leaned forward alittle, so as to see the child better. 

'Really!' she exclaimed, rather deliberately, as if she had chosenthat particular word out of a number that suggested themselves. 'Really!' she repeated, still more slowly, and then leaned back againand looked at the grey waves. 

She remembered the notice of Miss Bamberger's death. It had describedthe deceased as the only child of Hannah Moon by her former marriagewith Isidore Bamberger. But Hannah Moon, as Margaret happened to know, was now the widow of Senator Alvah Moon. Therefore the little deafchild was the half-sister of the girl who had died at the theatre inMargaret's arms and had been christened by the same name. Therefore, also, she was related to Margaret, whose mother had been theCalifornia magnate's cousin. 

'How small the world is!' Margaret said in a low voice as she lookedat the grey waves. 

She wondered whether little Ida had ever heard of her half-sister, andwhat Miss More knew about it all. 

'How old is Mrs. Moon?' she asked. 

'I fancy she must be forty, or near that. I know that she was nearlythirty years younger than the Senator, but I never saw her. '

'You never saw her?' Margaret was surprised. 

'No, ' Miss More answered. 'She is insane, you know. She went quitemad soon after the little girl was born. It was very painful forthe Senator. Her delusion was that he was her divorced husband, Mr. Bamberger, and when the child came into the world she insisted thatit should be called Ida, and that she had no other. Mr. Bamberger'sdaughter was Ida, you know. It was very strange. Mrs. Moon wasconvinced that she was forced to live her life over again, year byyear, as an expiation for something she had done. The doctors say itis a hopeless case. I really think it shortened the Senator's life. '

Margaret did not think that the world had any cause to complain ofMrs. Moon on that account. 

'So this child is quite alone in the world, ' she said. 

'Yes. Her father is dead and her mother is in an asylum. '

'Poor little thing!'

The two young women were leaning back in their chairs, their facesturned towards each other as they talked, and Ida was still busy withher crochet. 

'Luckily she has a sunny nature, ' said Miss More. 'She is interestedin everything she sees and hears. ' She laughed a little. 'I alwaysspeak of it as hearing, ' she added, 'for it is quite as quick, whenthere is light enough. You know that, since you have talked with her. '

'Yes. But in the dark, how do you make her understand?'

'She can generally read what I say by laying her hand on my lips; butbesides that, we have the deaf and dumb alphabet, and she can feel myfingers as I make the letters. '

'You have been with her a long time, I suppose, ' Margaret said. 

'Since she was three years old. '

'California is a beautiful country, isn't it?' asked Margaret after apause. 

She put the question idly, for she was thinking how hard it must be toteach deaf and dumb children. Miss More's answer surprised her. 

'I have never been there. '

'But, surely, Senator Moon lived in San Francisco, ' Margaret said. 

'Yes. But the child was sent to New England when she was three, and never went back again. We have been living in the country nearBoston. '

'And the Senator used to pay you a visit now and then, of course, whenhe was alive. He must have been immensely pleased by the success ofyour teaching. '

Though Margaret felt that she was growing more curious about littleIda than she often was about any one, it did not occur to her that thequestion she now suggested, rather than asked, was an indiscreet one, and she was surprised by her companion's silence. She had alreadydiscovered that Miss More was one of those literally truthful peoplewho never let an inaccurate statement pass their lips, and who willbe obstinately silent rather than answer a leading question, quiteregardless of the fact that silence is sometimes the most directanswer that can be given. On the present occasion Miss More saidnothing and turned her eyes to the sea, leaving Margaret to make anydeduction she pleased; but only one suggested itself, namely, that thedeceased Senator had taken very little interest in the child of hisold age, and had felt no affection for her. Margaret wondered whetherhe had left her rich, but Miss More's silence told her that she hadalready asked too many questions. 

She glanced down the long line of passengers beyond Miss More and Ida. Men, women, and children lay side by side in their chairs, wrapped andpropped like a row of stuffed specimens in a museum. They were notinteresting, Margaret thought; for those who were awake all lookeddiscontented, and those who were asleep looked either ill orapoplectic. Perhaps half of them were crossing because they wereobliged to go to Europe for one reason or another; the other half weregoing in an aimless way, because they had got into the habit whilethey were young, or had been told that it was the right thing to do, or because their doctors sent them abroad to get rid of them. The greylight from the waves was reflected on the immaculate and shiny whitepaint, and shed a cold glare on the commonplace faces and on theplaid rugs, and on the vivid magazines which many of the people werereading, or pretending to read; for most persons only look at thepictures nowadays, and read the advertisements. A steward in a veryshort jacket was serving perfectly unnecessary cups of weak broth on abig tray, and a great number of the passengers took some, with a vagueidea that the Company's feelings might be hurt if they did not, orelse that they would not be getting their money's worth. 

Between the railing and the feet of the passengers, which stuck outover the foot-rests of their chairs to different lengths accordingto the height of the possessors, certain energetic people walkedceaselessly up and down the deck, sometimes flattening themselvesagainst the railing to let others who met them pass by, and sometimes, when the ship rolled a little, stumbling against an outstretched footor two without making any elaborate apology for doing so. 

Margaret only glanced at the familiar sight, but she made a littlemovement of annoyance almost directly, and took up the book that layopen and face downwards on her knee; she became absorbed in it sosuddenly as to convey the impression that she was not really readingat all. 

She had seen Mr. Van Torp and Paul Griggs walking together and comingtowards her. 

The millionaire was shorter than his companion and more clumsily made, though not by any means a stout man. Though he did not look like asoldier he had about him the very combative air which belongs to somany modern financiers of the Christian breed. There was the bull-dogjaw, the iron mouth, and the aggressive blue eye of the man who takesand keeps by force rather than by astuteness. Though his face hadlines in it and his complexion was far from brilliant he lookedscarcely forty years of age, and his short, rough, sandy hair had notyet begun to turn grey. 

He was not ugly, but Margaret had always seen something in his facethat repelled her. It was some lack of proportion somewhere, whichshe could not precisely define; it was something that was out ofthe common type of faces, but that was disquieting rather thaninteresting. Instead of wondering what it meant, those who noticed itwished it were not there. 

Margaret was sure she could distinguish his heavy step from Griggs'swhen he was near her, but she would not look up from her book till hestopped and spoke to her. 

'Good-morning, Madame Cordova; how are you this morning?' he inquired, holding out his hand. 'You didn't expect to see me on board, did you?'

His tone was hard and business-like, but he lifted his yachting cappolitely as he held out his hand. Margaret hesitated a moment beforetaking it, and when she moved her own he was already holding his outto Miss More. 

'Good-morning, Miss More; how are you this morning?'

Miss More leaned forward and put down one foot as if she would haverisen in the presence of the great man, but he pushed her back by herhand which he held, and proceeded to shake hands with the little girl. 

'Good-morning, Miss Ida; how are you this morning?'

Margaret felt sure that if he had shaken hands with a hundred peoplehe would have repeated the same words to each without any variation. She looked at Griggs imploringly, and glanced at his vacant chair onher right side. He did not answer by sitting down, because the actionwould have been too like deliberately telling Mr. Van Torp to go away, but he began to fold up the chair as if he were going to take it away, and then he seemed to find that there was something wrong with one ofits joints, and altogether it gave him a good deal of trouble, andmade it quite impossible for the great man to get any nearer toMargaret. 

Little Ida had taken Mr. Van Torp's proffered hand, and had watchedhis hard lips when he spoke. She answered quite clearly and ratherslowly, in the somewhat monotonous voice of those born deaf who havelearned to speak. 

'I'm very well, thank you, Mr. Van Torp. I hope you are quite well. '

Margaret heard, and saw the child's face, and at once decided that, ifthe little girl knew of her own relationship to Ida Bamberger, she wascertainly ignorant of the fact that her half-sister had been engagedto Mr. Van Torp, when she had died so suddenly less than a week ago. Little Ida's manner strengthened the impression in Margaret's mindthat the millionaire was having her educated by Miss More. Yet itseemed impossible that the rich old Senator should not have left herwell provided. 

'I see you've made friends with Madame Cordova, ' said Mr. Van Torp. 'I'm very glad, for she's quite an old friend of mine too. '

Margaret made a slight movement, but said nothing. Miss More saw herannoyance and intervened by speaking to the financier. 

'We began to fear that we might not see you at all on the voyage, ' shesaid, in a tone of some concern. 'I hope you have not been sufferingagain. '

Margaret wondered whether she meant to ask if he had been sea-sick;what she said sounded like an inquiry about some more or less frequentindisposition, though Mr. Van Torp looked as strong as a ploughman. 

In answer to the question he glanced sharply at Miss More, and shookhis head. 

'I've been too busy to come on deck, ' he said, rather curtly, and heturned to Margaret again. 

'Will you take a little walk with me, Madame Cordova?' he asked. 

Not having any valid excuse for refusing, Margaret smiled, for thefirst time since she had seen him on deck. 

'I'm so comfortable!' she answered. 'Don't make me get out of my rug!'

'If you'll take a little walk with me, I'll give you a prettypresent, ' said Mr. Van Torp playfully. 

Margaret thought it best to laugh and shake her head at this singularoffer. Little Ida had been watching them both. 

'You'd better go with him, ' said the child gravely. 'He makes lovelypresents. '

'Does he?' Margaret laughed again. 

'"A fortress that parleys, or a woman who listens, is lost, '" put inGriggs, quoting an old French proverb. 

'Then I won't listen, ' Margaret said. 

Mr. Van Torp planted himself more firmly on his sturdy legs, for theship was rolling a little. 

'I'll give you a book, Madame Cordova, ' he said. 

His habit of constantly repeating the name of the person with whomhe was talking irritated her extremely. She was not smiling when sheanswered. 

'Thank you. I have more books than I can possibly read. '

'Yes. But you have not the one I will give you, and it happens to bethe only one you want. '

'But I don't want any book at all! I don't want to read!'

'Yes, you do, Madame Cordova. You want to read this one, and it's theonly copy on board, and if you'll take a little walk with me I'll giveit to you. '

As he spoke he very slowly drew a new book from the depths of the widepocket in his overcoat, but only far enough to show Margaret the firstwords of the title, and he kept his aggressive blue eyes fixed on herface. A faint blush came into her cheeks at once and he let the volumeslip back. Griggs, being on his other side, had not seen it, and itmeant nothing to Miss More. To the latter's surprise Margaret pushedher heavy rug from her knees and let her feet slip from the chair tothe ground. Her eyes met Griggs's as she rose, and seeing that hislook asked her whether he was to carry out her previous instructionsand walk beside her, she shook her head. 

'Nine times out of ten, proverbs are true, ' he said in a tone ofamusement. 

Mr. Van Torp's hard face expressed no triumph when Margaret stoodbeside him, ready to walk. She had yielded, as he had been sure shewould; he turned from the other passengers to go round to the weatherside of the ship, and she went with him submissively. Just at thepoint where the wind and the fine spray would have met them if theyhad gone on, he stopped in the lee of a big ventilator. There was noone in sight of them now. 

'Excuse me for making you get up, ' he said. 'I wanted to see you alonefor a moment. '

Margaret said nothing in answer to this apology, and she met his fixedeyes coldly. 

'You were with Miss Bamberger when she died, ' he said. 

Margaret bent her head gravely in assent. His face was asexpressionless as a stone. 

'I thought she might have mentioned me before she died, ' he saidslowly. 

'Yes, ' Margaret answered after a moment's pause; 'she did. '

'What did she say?'

'She told me that it was a secret, but that I was to tell you what shesaid, if I thought it best. '

'Are you going to tell me?'

It was impossible to guess whether he was controlling any emotion ornot; but if the men with whom he had done business where large sumswere involved had seen him now and had heard his voice, they wouldhave recognised the tone and the expression. 

'She said, "he did it, "' Margaret answered slowly, after a moment'sthought. 

'Was that all she said?'

'That was all. A moment later she was dead. Before she said it, shetold me it was a secret, and she made me promise solemnly never totell any one but you. '

'It's not much of a secret, is it?' As he spoke, Mr. Van Torp turnedhis eyes from Margaret's at last and looked at the grey sea beyond theventilator. 

'Such as it is, I have told it to you because she wished me to, 'answered Margaret. 'But I shall never tell any one else. It will beall the easier to be silent, as I have not the least idea what shemeant. '

'She meant our engagement, ' said Mr. Van Torp in a matter-of-facttone. 'We had broken it off that afternoon. She meant that it was Iwho did it, and so it was. Perhaps she did not like to think that whenshe was dead people might call her heartless and say she had thrown meover; and no one would ever know the truth except me, unless I choseto tell--me and her father. '

'Then you were not to be married after all!' Margaret showed hersurprise. 

'No. I had broken it off. We were going to let it be known the nextday. '

'On the very eve of the wedding!'

'Yes. ' Mr. Van Torp fixed his eyes on Margaret's again. 'On the veryeve of the wedding, ' he said, repeating her words. 

He spoke very slowly and without emphasis, but with the greatestpossible distinctness. Margaret had once been taken to see a motor-carmanufactory and she remembered a machine that clipped bits off theend of an iron bar, inch by inch, smoothly and deliberately. Mr. VanTorp's lips made her think of that; they seemed to cut the hard wordsone by one, in lengths. 

'Poor girl!' she sighed, and looked away. 

The man's face did not change, and if his next words echoed thesympathy she expressed his tone did not. 

'I was a good deal cut up myself, ' he observed coolly. 'Here's yourbook, Madame Cordova. '

'No, ' Margaret answered with a little burst of indignation, 'I don'twant it. I won't take it from you!'

'What's the matter now?' asked Mr. Van Torp without the least changeof manner. 'It's your friend Mr. Lushington's latest, you know, and itwon't be out for ten days. I thought you would like to see it, so Igot an advance copy before it was published. '

He held the volume out to her, but she would not even look at it, noranswer him. 

'How you hate me! Don't you, Madame Cordova?'

Margaret still said nothing. She was considering how she could bestget rid of him. If she simply brushed past him and went back to herchair on the lee side, he would follow her and go on talking to her asif nothing had happened; and she knew that in that case she would losecontrol of herself before Griggs and Miss More. 

'Oh, well, ' he went on, 'if you don't want the book, I don't. I can'tread novels myself, and I daresay it's trash anyhow. '

Thereupon, with a quick movement of his arm and hand, he sent Mr. Lushington's latest novel flying over the lee rail, fully thirty feetaway, and it dropped out of sight into the grey waves. He had been agood baseball pitcher in his youth. 

Margaret bit her lip and her eyes flashed. 

'You are quite the most disgustingly brutal person I ever met, ' shesaid, no longer able to keep down her anger. 

'No, ' he answered calmly. 'I'm not brutal; I'm only logical. I took agreat deal of trouble to get that book for you because I thoughtit would give you pleasure, and it wasn't a particularly legaltransaction by which I got it either. Since you didn't want it, Iwasn't going to let anybody else have the satisfaction of reading itbefore it was published, so I just threw it away because it is saferin the sea than knocking about in my cabin. If you hadn't seen methrow it overboard you would never have believed that I had. You'renot much given to believing me, anyway. I've noticed that. Are you, now?'

'Oh, it was not the book!'

Margaret turned from him and made a step forward so that she faced thesharp wind. It cut her face and she felt that the little pain wasa relief. He came and stood beside her with his hands deep in thepockets of his overcoat. 

'If you think I'm a brute on account of what I told you aboutMiss Bamberger, ' he said, 'that's not quite fair. I broke off ourengagement because I found out that we were going to make each othermiserable and we should have had to divorce in six months; and if halfthe people who are just going to get married would do the same thingthere would be a lot more happy women in the world, not to say men!That's all, and she knew it, poor girl, and was just as glad as I waswhen the thing was done. Now what is there so brutal in that, MadameCordova?'

Margaret turned on him almost fiercely. 

'Why do you tell me all this?' she asked. 'For heaven's sake let poorMiss Bamberger rest in her grave!'

'Since you ask me why, ' answered Mr. Van Torp, unmoved, ' I tell youall this because I want you to know more about me than you do. If youdid, you'd hate me less. That's the plain truth. You know very wellthat there's nobody like you, and that if I'd judged I had theslightest chance of getting you I would no more have thought ofmarrying Miss Bamberger than of throwing a million dollars into thesea after that book, or ten million, and that's a great deal ofmoney. '

'I ought to be flattered, ' said Margaret with scorn, still facing thewind. 

'No. I'm not given to flattery, and money means something real to me, because I've fought for it, and got it. Your regular young lover willalways call you his precious treasure, and I don't see much differencebetween a precious treasure and several million dollars. I'm logical, you see. I tell you I'm logical, that's all. '

'I daresay. I think we have been talking here long enough. Shall we goback?'

She had got her anger under again. She detested Mr. Van Torp, but shewas honest enough to realise that for the present she had resented hissaying that Lushington's book was probably trash, much more than whathe had told her of his broken engagement. She turned and came back tothe ventilator, meaning to go around to her chair, but he stopped her. 

'Don't go yet, please!' he said, keeping beside her. 'Call me adisgusting brute if you like. I sha'n't mind it, and I daresay it'strue in a kind of way. Business isn't very refining, you know, and itwas the only education I got after I was sixteen. I'm sorry I calledthat book rubbish, for I'm sure it's not. I've met Mr. Lushington inEngland several times; he's very clever, and he's got a first-rateposition. But you see I didn't like your refusing the book, after I'dtaken so much trouble to get it for you. Perhaps if I hadn't thrown itoverboard you'd take it, now that I've apologised. Would you?'

His tone had changed at last, as she had known it to change before inthe course of an acquaintance that had lasted more than a year. He putthe question almost humbly. 

'I don't know, ' Margaret answered, relenting a little in spite ofherself. 'At all events I'm sorry I was so rude. I lost my temper. '

'It was very natural, ' said Mr. Van Torp meekly, but not looking ather, 'and I know I deserved it. You really would let me give you thebook now, if it were possible, wouldn't you?'

'Perhaps. ' She thought that as there was no such possibility it wassafe to say as much as that. 

'I should feel so much better if you would, ' he answered. 'I shouldfeel as if you'd accepted my apology. Won't you say it, MadameCordova?'

'Well--yes--since you wish it so much, ' Margaret replied, feeling thatshe risked nothing. 

'Here it is, then, ' he said, to her amazement, producing the new novelfrom the pocket of his overcoat, and enjoying her surprise as he putit into her hand. 

It looked like a trick of sleight of hand, and she took the book andstared at him, as a child stares at the conjuror who produces an appleout of its ear. 

'But I saw you throw it away, ' she said in a puzzled tone. 

'I got two while I was about it, ' said Mr. Van Torp, smiling withoutshowing his teeth. 'It was just as easy and it didn't cost me anymore. '

'I see! Thank you very much. '

She knew that she could not but keep the volume now, and in her heartshe was glad to have it, for Lushington had written to her about itseveral times since she had been in America. 

'Well, I'll leave you now, ' said the millionaire, resuming his stonyexpression. 'I hope I've not kept you too long. '

Before Margaret had realised the idiotic conventionality of the lastwords her companion had disappeared and she was left alone. He had notgone back in the direction whence they had come, but had taken thedeserted windward side of the ship, doubtless with the intention ofavoiding the crowd. 

Margaret stood still for some time in the lee of the ventilator, holding the novel in her hand and thinking. She wondered whether Mr. Van Torp had planned the whole scene, including the sacrifice of thenovel. If he had not, it was certainly strange that he should have hadthe second copy ready in his pocket. Lushington had once told her thatgreat politicians and great financiers were always great comedians, and now that she remembered the saying it occurred to her that Mr. VanTorp reminded her of a certain type of American actor, a type thathas a heavy jaw and an aggressive eye, and strongly resembles theportraits of Daniel Webster. Now Daniel Webster had a wide reputationas a politician, but there is reason to believe that the numerouspersons who lent him money and never got it back thought him afinancier of undoubted ability, if not a comedian of talent. Therewere giants in those days. 

The English girl, breathing the clean air of the ocean, felt as ifsomething had left a bad taste in her mouth; and the famous youngsinger, who had seen in two years what a normal Englishwoman wouldneither see, nor guess at, nor wish to imagine in a lifetime, thoughtshe understood tolerably well what the bad taste meant. Moreover, Margaret Donne was ashamed of what Margarita da Cordova knew, andCordova had moments of sharp regret when she thought of the girl whohad been herself, and had lived under good Mrs. Rushmore's protection, like a flower in a glass house. 

She remembered, too, how Lushington and Mrs. Rushmore had warned herand entreated her not to become an opera-singer. She had taken herfuture into her own hands and had soon found out what it meant to bea celebrity on the stage; and she had seen only too clearly whereshe was classed by the women who would have been her companions andfriends if she had kept out of the profession. She had learned byexperience, too, how little real consideration she could expect frommen of the world, and how very little she could really exact from suchpeople as Mr. Van Torp; still less could she expect to get it frompersons like Schreiermeyer, who looked upon the gifted men and womenhe engaged to sing as so many head of cattle, to be driven more orless hard according to their value, and to be turned out to starve themoment they were broken-winded. That fate is sure to overtake the bestof them sooner or later. The career of a great opera-singer is rarelymore than half as long as that of a great tragedian, and even when aprimadonna or a tenor makes a fortune, the decline of their glory isfar more sudden and sad than that of actors generally is. Lady Macbethis as great a part as Juliet for an actress of genius, but there areno 'old parts' for singers; the soprano dare not turn into a contraltowith advancing years, nor does the unapproachable Parsifal ofeight-and-twenty turn into an incomparable Amfortas at fifty. For theactor, it often happens that the first sign of age is fatigue; in thesinger's day, the first shadow is an eclipse, the first false note isdisaster, the first breakdown is often a heart-rending failure thatbrings real tears to the eyes of younger comrades. The exquisite voicedoes not grow weak and pathetic and ethereal by degrees, so that westill love to hear it, even to the end; far more often it is suddenlyflat or sharp by a quarter of a tone throughout whole acts, or itbreaks on one note in a discordant shriek that is the end. Down goesthe curtain then, in the middle of the great opera, and down goes thegreat singer for ever into tears and silence. Some of us have seenthat happen, many have heard of it; few can think without realsympathy of such mortal suffering and distress. 

Margaret realised all this, without any illusion, but there wasanother side to the question. There was success, glorious andfar-reaching, and beyond her brightest dreams; there was the certaintythat she was amongst the very first, for the deafening ring ofuniversal applause was in her ears; and, above all, there was youth. Sometimes it seemed to her that she had almost too much, and that somedreadful thing must happen to her; yet if there were moments when shefaintly regretted the calmer, sweeter life she might have led, sheknew that she would have given that life up, over and over again, forthe splendid joy of holding thousands spellbound while she sang. Shehad the real lyric artist's temperament, for that breathless silenceof the many while her voice rang out alone, and trilled and died awayto a delicate musical echo, was more to her than the roar of applausethat could be heard through the walls and closed doors in the streetoutside. To such a moment as that Faustus himself would have cried'Stay!' though the price of satisfied desire were his soul. And therehad been many such moments in Cordova's life. They satisfied somethingmuch deeper than greedy vanity and stronger than hungry ambition. Callit what you will, according to the worth you set on such art, it isa longing which only artists feel, and to which only something inthemselves can answer. To listen to perfect music is a feast for gods, but to be the living instrument beyond compare is to be a god oneself. Of our five senses, sight calls up visions, divine as well as earthly, but hearing alone can link body, mind, and soul with higher things, bythe word and by the word made song. The mere memory of hearing when itis lost is still enough for the ends of genius; for the poet and thecomposer touch the blind most deeply, perhaps, when other senses donot count at all; but a painter who loses his sight is as helpless inthe world of art as a dismasted ship in the middle of the ocean. 

Some of these thoughts passed through Margaret's brain as she stoodbeside the ventilator with her friend's new book in her hand, and, although her reflections were not new to her, it was the first timeshe clearly understood that her life had made two natures out of heroriginal self, and that the two did not always agree. She felt thatshe was not halved by the process, but doubled. She was two womeninstead of one, and each woman was complete in herself. She had notfound this out by any elaborate self-study, for healthy people do notstudy themselves. She simply felt it, and she was sure it was true, because she knew that each of her two selves was able to do, suffer, and enjoy as much as any one woman could. The one might like what theother disliked and feared, but the contradiction was open and natural, not secret or morbid. The two women were called respectively MadameCordova and Miss Donne. Miss Donne thought Madame Cordova very showy, and much too tolerant of vulgar things and people, if not a littletouched with vulgarity herself. On the other hand, the brilliantlysuccessful Cordova thought Margaret Donne a good girl, but rathersilly. Miss Donne was very fond of Edmund Lushington, the writer, butthe Primadonna had a distinct weakness for Constantine Logotheti, theGreek financier who lived in Paris, and who wore too many rubies anddiamonds. 

On two points, at least, the singer and the modest English girlagreed, for they both detested Rufus Van Torp, and each had positiveproof that he was in love with her, if what he felt deserved the name. 

For in very different ways she was really loved by Lushington and byLogotheti; and since she had been famous she had made the acquaintanceof a good many very high and imposing personages, whose names are tobe found in the first and second part of the _Almanack de Gotha_, inthe Olympian circle of the reigning or the supernal regions of theSerene Mediatized, far above the common herd of dukes and princes;they had offered her a share in the overflowing abundance of theiradmirative protection; and then had seemed surprised, if not deeplymoved, by the independence she showed in declining their intimacy. Some of them were frankly and contentedly cynical; some were of abrutality compared with which the tastes and manners of a bargee wouldhave seemed ladylike; some were as refined and sensitive as Englishold maids, though less scrupulous and much less shy; the one wasas generous as an Irish sailor, the next was as mean as a Normandypeasant; some had offered her rivers of rubies, and some had proposedto take her incognito for a drive in a cab, because it would be soamusing--and so inexpensive. Yet in their families and varietiesthey were all of the same species, all human and all subject to theordinary laws of attraction and repulsion. Rufus Van Torp was not likethem. 

Neither of Margaret's selves could look upon him as a normal humanbeing. At first sight there was nothing so very unusual in his face, certainly nothing that suggested a monster; and yet, whatever mood shechanced to be in, she could not be with him five minutes without beingaware of something undefinable that always disturbed her profoundly, and sometimes became positively terrifying. She always felt thesensation coming upon her after a few moments, and when it hadactually come she could hardly hide her repulsion till she felt, asto-day, that she must run from him, without the least considerationof pride or dignity. She might have fled like that before a fire or aflood, or from the scene of an earthquake, and more than once nothinghad kept her in her place but her strong will and healthy nerves. Sheknew that it was like the panic that seizes people in the presence ofan appalling disturbance of nature. 

Doubtless, when she had talked with Mr. Van Torp just now, she hadbeen disgusted by the indifferent way in which he spoke of poor MissBamberger's sudden death; it was still more certain that what he saidabout the book, and his very ungentlemanly behaviour in throwing itinto the sea, had roused her justifiable anger. But she would havesmiled at the thought that an exhibition of heartlessness, or the mostutter lack of manners, could have made her wish to run away from anyother man. Her life had accustomed her to people who had no morefeeling than Schreiermeyer, and no better manners than PompeoStromboli. Van Torp might have been on his very best behaviour thatmorning, or at any of her previous chance meetings with him; sooneror later she would have felt that same absurd and unreasoning fearof him, and would have found it very hard not to turn and make herescape. His face was so stony and his eyes were so aggressive; he wasalways like something dreadful that was just going to happen. 

Yet Margarita da Cordova was a brave woman, and had lately been calleda heroine because she had gone on singing after that explosion tillthe people were quiet again; and Margaret Donne was a sensible girl, justly confident of being able to take care of herself where men wereconcerned. She stood still and wondered what there was about Mr. VanTorp that could frighten her so dreadfully. 

After a little while she went quietly back to her chair, and sat downbetween Griggs and Miss More. The elderly man rose and packed herneatly in her plaid, and she thanked him. Miss More looked at her andsmiled vaguely, as even the most intelligent people do sometimes. ThenGriggs got into his own chair again and took up his book. 

'Was that right of me?' he asked presently, so low that Miss More didnot hear him speak. 

'Yes, ' Margaret answered, under her breath, 'but don't let me do itagain, please. '

They both began to read, but after a time Margaret spoke to him againwithout turning her eyes. 

'He wanted to ask me about that girl who died at the theatre, ' shesaid, just audibly. 

'Oh--yes!'

Griggs seemed so vague that Margaret glanced at him. He was looking atthe inside of his right hand in a meditative way, as if it recalledsomething. If he had shown more interest in what she said she wouldhave told him what she had just learned, about the breaking off of theengagement, but he was evidently absorbed in thought, while he slowlyrubbed that particular spot on his hand, and looked at it again andagain as if it recalled something. 

Margaret did not resent his indifference, for he was much more thanold enough to be her father; he was a man whom all younger writerslooked upon as a veteran, he had always been most kind and courteousto her when she had met him, and she freely conceded him the right tobe occupied with his own thoughts and not with hers. With him she wasalways Margaret Donne, and he seldom talked to her about music, or ofher own work. Indeed, he so rarely mentioned music that she fancied hedid not really care for it, and she wondered why he was so often inthe house when she sang. 

Mr. Van Torp did not show himself at luncheon, and Margaret began tohope that he would not appear on deck again till the next day. Inthe afternoon the wind dropped, the clouds broke, and the sun shonebrightly. Little Ida, who was tired of doing crochet work, and hadlooked at all the books that had pictures, came and begged Margaret towalk round the ship with her. It would please her small child's vanityto show everybody that the great singer was willing to be seen walkingup and down with her, although she was quite deaf, and could not hopeever to hear music. It was her greatest delight to be treated beforeevery one as if she were just like other girls, and her cleverness inwatching the lips of the person with her, without seeming too intent, was wonderful. 

They went the whole length of the promenade deck, as if they werereviewing the passengers, bundled and packed in their chairs, and thepassengers looked at them both with so much interest that the childmade Margaret come all the way back again. 

'The sea has a voice, too, hasn't it?' Ida asked, as they paused andlooked over the rail. 

She glanced up quickly for the answer, but Margaret did not find oneat once. 

'Because I've read poetry about the voices of the sea, ' Ida explained. 'And in books they talk of the music of the waves, and then they saythe sea roars, and thunders in a storm. I can hear thunder, you know. Did you know that I could hear thunder?'

Margaret smiled and looked interested. 

'It bangs in the back of my head, ' said the child gravely. 'But Ishould like to hear the sea thunder. I often watch the waves on thebeach, as if they were lips moving, and I try to understand what theysay. Of course, it's play, because one can't, can one? But I can onlymake out "Boom, ta-ta-ta-ta, " getting quicker and weaker to the end, you know, as the ripples run up the sand. '

'It's very like what I hear, ' Margaret answered. 

'Is it really?' Little Ida was delighted. 'Perhaps it's a languageafter all, and I shall make it out some day. You see, until I know thelanguage people are speaking, their lips look as if they were talkingnonsense. But I'm sure the sea could not really talk nonsense all dayfor thousands of years. '

'No, I'm sure it couldn't!' Margaret was amused. 'But the sea is notalive, ' she added. 

'Everything that moves is alive, ' the child said, 'and everything thatis alive can make a noise, and the noise must mean something. If itdidn't, it would be of no use, and everything is of some use. Sothere!'

Delighted with her own argument, the beautiful child laughed andshowed her even teeth in the sun. 

They were standing at the end of the promenade deck, which extendedtwenty feet abaft the smoking-room, and took the whole beam; abovethe latter, as in most modern ships, there was the boat deck, to theafter-part of which passengers had access. Standing below, it was easyto see and talk with any one who looked over the upper rail. 

Ida threw her head back and looked up as she laughed, and Margaretlaughed good-naturedly with her, thinking how pretty she was. Butsuddenly the child's expression changed, her face grew grave, and hereyes fixed themselves intently on some point above. Margaret looked inthe same direction, and saw that Mr. Van Torp was standing alone upthere, leaning against the railing and evidently not seeing her, forhe gazed fixedly into the distance; and as he stood there, his lipsmoved as if he were talking to himself. 

Margaret gave a little start of surprise when she saw him, but thechild watched him steadily, and a look of fear stole over her face. Suddenly she grasped Margaret's arm. 

'Come away! Come away!' she cried in a low tone of terror. 

CHAPTER IV

Margaret was sorry to say good-bye to Miss More and little Ida whenthe voyage was over, three days later. She was instinctively fond ofchildren, as all healthy women are, and she saw very few of them inher wandering life. It is true that she did not understand them verywell, for she had been an only child, brought up much alone, andchildren's ways are only to be learnt and understood by experience, since all children are experimentalists in life, and what often seemsto us foolishness in them is practical wisdom of the explorative kind. 

When Ida had pulled Margaret away from the railing after watching Mr. Van Torp while he was talking to himself, the singer had thoughtvery little of it; and Ida never mentioned it afterwards. As for themillionaire, he was hardly seen again, and he made no attempt topersuade Margaret to take another walk with him on deck. 

'Perhaps you would like to see my place, ' he said, as he bade hergood-bye on the tender at Liverpool. 'It used to be called OxleyPaddox, but I didn't like that, so I changed the name to Torp Towers. I'm Mr. Van Torp of Torp Towers. Sounds well, don't it?'

'Yes, ' Margaret answered, biting her lip, for she wanted to laugh. 'Ithas a very lordly sound. If you bought a moor and a river in Scotland, you might call yourself the M'Torp of Glen Torp, in the same way. '

'I see you're laughing at me, ' said the millionaire, with a quietsmile of a man either above or beyond ridicule. 'But it's all a gamein a toy-shop anyway, this having a place in Europe. I buy a doll toplay with when I have time, and I can call it what I please, andsmash its head when I'm tired of it. It's my doll. It isn't any one'selse's. The Towers is in Derbyshire if you want to come. '

Margaret did not 'want to come' to Torp Towers, even if the dollwasn't 'any one's else's. ' She was sorry for any person or thingthat had the misfortune to be Mr. Van Torp's doll, and she felt herinexplicable fear of him coming upon her while he was speaking. Shebroke off the conversation by saying good-bye rather abruptly. 

'Then you won't come, ' he said, in a tone of amusement. 

'Really, you are very kind, but I have so many engagements. '

'Saturday to Monday in the season wouldn't interfere with yourengagements. However, do as you like. '

'Thank you very much. Good-bye again. '

She escaped, and he looked after her, with an unsatisfied expressionthat was almost wistful, and that would certainly not have been in hisface if she could have seen it. 

Griggs was beside her when she went ashore. 

'I had not much to do after all, ' he said, glancing at Van Torp. 

'No, ' Margaret answered, 'but please don't think it was allimagination. I may tell you some day. No, ' she said again, after ashort pause, 'he did not make himself a nuisance, except that once, and now he has asked me to his place in Derbyshire. '

'Torp Towers, ' Griggs observed, with a smile. 

'Yes. I could hardly help laughing when he told me he had changed itsname. '

'It's worth seeing, ' said Griggs. 'A big old house, all full of otherpeople's ghosts. '

'Ghosts?'

'I mean figuratively. It's full of things that remind one of thepeople who lived there. It has one of the oldest parks in England. Lots of pheasants, too--but that cannot last long. '

'Why not?'

'He won't let any one shoot them! They will all die of overcrowding intwo or three years. His keepers are three men from the Society for thePrevention of Cruelty to Animals. '

'What a mad idea!' Margaret laughed. 'Is he a Buddhist?'

'No. ' Paul Griggs knew something about Buddhism. 'Certainly not! He'seccentric. That's all. '

They were at the pier. Half-an-hour later they were in the traintogether, and there was no one else in the carriage. Miss More andlittle Ida had disappeared directly after landing, but Margaret hadseen Mr. Van Torp get into a carriage on the window of which waspasted the label of the rich and great: 'Reserved. ' She could have hadthe same privilege if she had chosen to ask for it or pay for it, butit irritated her that he should treat himself like a superior being. Everything he did either irritated her or frightened her, and shefound herself constantly thinking of him and wishing that he would getout at the first station. Griggs was silent too, and Margaret thoughthe really might have taken some trouble to amuse her. 

She had Lushington's book on her knee, for she had found it lessinteresting than she had expected, and was rather ashamed of nothaving finished it before meeting him, since it had been given to her. She thought he might come down as far as Rugby to meet her, and shewas quite willing that he should find her with it in her hand. Aliterary man is always supposed to be flattered at finding a friendreading his last production, as if he did not know that the friend hasprobably grabbed the volume with undignified haste the instant he wason the horizon, with the intention of being discovered deep in it. Yetsuch little friendly frauds are sweet compared with the extremes ofbrutal frankness to which our dearest friends sometimes think it theirduty to go with us, for our own good. 

After a time Griggs spoke to her, and she was glad to hear his voice. She had grown to like him during the voyage, even more than she hadever thought probable. She had even gone so far as to wonder whether, if he had been twenty-five years younger, he might not have been theone man she had ever met whom she might care to marry, and she hadlaughed at the involved terms of the hypothesis as soon as she thoughtof it. Griggs had never been married, but elderly people rememberedthat there had been some romantic tale about his youth, when he hadbeen an unknown young writer struggling for life as a newspapercorrespondent. 

'You saw the notice of Miss Bamberger's death, I suppose, ' he said, turning his grey eyes to hers. 

He had not alluded to the subject during the voyage. 

'Yes, ' Margaret answered, wondering why he broached it now. 

'The notice said that she died of heart failure, from shock, ' Griggscontinued. 'I should like to know what you think about it, as you werewith her when she died. Have you any idea that she may have died ofanything else?'

'No. ' Margaret was surprised. 'The doctor said it was that. '

'I know. I only wanted to have your own impression. I believe thatwhen people die of heart failure in that way, they often makedesperate efforts to explain what has happened, and go on trying totalk when they can only make inarticulate sounds. Do you remember ifit was at all like that?'

'Not at all, ' Margaret said. 'She whispered the last words she spoke, but they were quite distinct. Then she drew three or four deepbreaths, and all at once I saw that she was dead, and I called thedoctor from the next room. '

'I suppose that might be heart failure, ' said Griggs thoughtfully. 'You are quite sure that you thought it was only that, are you not?'

'Only what?' Margaret asked with growing surprise. 

'Only fright, or the result of having been half-suffocated in thecrowd. '

'Yes, I think I am sure. What do you mean? Why do you insist so much?'

'It's of no use to tell other people, ' said Griggs, 'but you may justas well know. I found her lying in a heap behind a door, where therecould not have been much of a crowd. '

'Perhaps she had taken refuge there, to save herself, ' Margaretsuggested. 

'Possibly. But there was another thing. When I got home I found thatthere was a little blood on the palm of my hand. It was the hand I hadput under her waist when I lifted her. '

'Do you mean to say you think she was wounded?' Margaret asked, opening her eyes wide. 

'There was blood on the inside of my hand, ' Griggs answered, 'and Ihad no scratch to account for it. I know quite well that it was on thehand that I put under her waist--a little above the waist, just in themiddle of her back. '

'But it would have been seen afterwards. '

'On the dark red silk she wore? Not if there was very little of it. The doctor never thought of looking for such a wound. Why should he?He had not the slightest reason for suspecting that the poor girl hadbeen murdered. '

'Murdered?'

Margaret looked hard at Griggs, and then she suddenly shuddered fromhead to foot. She had never before had such a sensation; it was likea shock from an electric current at the instant when the contact ismade, not strong enough to hurt, but yet very disagreeable. She feltit at the moment when her mind connected what Griggs was saying withthe dying girl's last words, 'he did it'; and with little Ida's lookof horror when she had watched Mr. Van Torp's lips while he wastalking to himself on the boat-deck of the _Leofric_; and again, withthe physical fear of the man that always came over her when she hadbeen near him for a little while. When she spoke to Griggs again thetone of her voice had changed. 

'Please tell me how it could have been done, ' she said. 

'Easily enough. A steel bodkin six or seven inches long, or even astrong hat-pin. It would be only a question of strength. '

Margaret remembered Mr. Van Torp's coarse hands, and shuddered again. 

'How awful!' she exclaimed. 

'One would bleed to death internally before long, ' Griggs said. 

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. That is the reason why the three-cornered blade for duellingswords was introduced in France thirty years ago. Before that, menoften fought with ordinary foils filed to a point, and there were manydeaths from internal hemorrhage. '

'What odd things you always know! That would be just like being runthrough with a bodkin, then?'

'Very much the same. '

'But it would have been found out afterwards, ' Margaret said, 'and thepapers would have been full of it. '

'That does not follow, ' Griggs answered. 'The girl was an only child, and her mother had been divorced and married again. She lived alonewith her father, and he probably was told the truth. But IsidoreBamberger is not the man to spread out his troubles before the publicin the newspapers. On the contrary, if he found out that his daughterhad been killed--supposing that she was--he probably made up his mindat once that the world should not know it till he had caught themurderer. So he sent for the best detective in America, put the matterin his hands, and inserted a notice of his daughter's death thatagreed with what the doctor had said. That would be the detective'sadvice, I'm sure, and probably Van Torp approved of it. '

'Mr. Van Torp? Do you think he was told about it? Why?'

'First, because Bamberger is Van Torp's banker, broker, figure-head, and general representative on earth, ' answered Griggs. 'Secondly, because Van Torp was engaged to marry the girl. '

'The engagement was broken off, ' Margaret said. 

'How do you know that?' asked Griggs quickly. 

'Mr. Van Torp told me, on the steamer. They had broken it off thatvery day, and were going to let it be known the next morning. He toldme so, that afternoon when I walked with him. '

'Really!'

Griggs was a little surprised, but as he did not connect Van Torp withthe possibility that Miss Bamberger had been murdered, his thoughtsdid not dwell on the broken engagement. 

'Why don't you try to find out the truth?' Margaret asked ratheranxiously. 'You know so many people everywhere--you have so muchexperience. '

'I never had much taste for detective work, ' answered the literaryman, 'and besides, this is none of my business. But Bamberger and VanTorp are probably both of them aware by this time that I found thegirl and carried her to the manager's room, and when they are readyto ask me what I know, or what I remember, the detective theyare employing will suddenly appear to me in the shape of a newacquaintance in some out-of-the-way place, who will go to workscientifically to make me talk to him. He will very likely have alittle theory of his own, to the effect that since it was I whobrought Miss Bamberger to Schreiermeyer's room, it was probably I whokilled her, for some mysterious reason!'

'Shall you tell him about the drop of blood on your hand?'

'Without the slightest hesitation. But not until I am asked, and Ishall be very glad if you will not speak of it. '

'I won't, ' Margaret said; 'but I wonder why you have told me if youmean to keep it a secret!'

The veteran man of letters turned his sad grey eyes to hers, while hislips smiled. 

'The world is not all bad, ' he said. 'All men are not liars, and allwomen do not betray confidence. '

'It's very good to hear a man like you say that, ' Margaret answered. 'It means something. '

'Yes, ' assented Griggs thoughtfully. 'It means a great deal to me tobe sure of it, now that most of my life is lived. '

'Were you unhappy when you were young?'

She asked the question as a woman sometimes does who feels herselfstrongly drawn to a man much older than she. Griggs did not answer atonce, and when he spoke his voice was unusually grave, and his eyeslooked far away. 

'A great misfortune happened to me, ' he said. 'A great misfortune, ' herepeated slowly, after a pause, and his tone and look told Margarethow great that calamity had been better than a score of big words. 

'Forgive me, ' Margaret said softly; 'I should have known. '

'No, ' Griggs answered after a moment. 'You could not have known. Ithappened very long ago, perhaps ten years before you were born. '

Again he turned his sad grey eyes to hers, but no smile lingered nowabout the rather stern mouth. The two looked at each other quietlyfor five or six seconds, and that may seem a long time. When Margaretturned away from the elderly man's more enduring gaze, both felt thatthere was a bond of sympathy between them which neither had quiteacknowledged till then. There was silence after that, and Margaretlooked out of the window, while her hand unconsciously played with thebook on her knee, lifting the cover a little and letting it fall againand again. 

Suddenly she turned to Griggs once more and held the book out to himwith a smile. 

'I'm not an autograph-hunter, ' she said, 'but will you write somethingon the fly-leaf? Just a word or two, without your name, if you like. Do you think I'm very sentimental?'

She smiled again, and he took the book from her and produced a pencil. 

'It's a book I shall not throw away, ' she went on, 'because the manwho wrote it is a great friend of mine, and I have everything he hasever written. So, as I shall keep it, I want it to remind me that youand I grew to know each other better on this voyage. '

It occurred to the veteran that while this was complimentary tohimself it was not altogether promising for Lushington, who was theold friend in question. A woman who loves a man does not usually askanother to write a line in that man's book. Griggs set the point ofthe pencil on the fly-leaf as if he were going to write; but then hehesitated, looked up, glanced at Margaret, and at last leaned back inthe seat, as if in deep thought. 

'I didn't mean to give you so much trouble, ' Margaret said, stillsmiling. 'I thought it must be so easy for a famous author like you towrite half-a-dozen words!'

'A "sentiment" you mean!' Griggs laughed rather contemptuously, andthen was grave again. 

'No!' Margaret said, a little disappointed. 'You did not understandme. Don't write anything at all. Give me back the book. '

She held out her hand for it; but as if he had just made up his mind, he put his pencil to the paper again, and wrote four words in a smallclear hand. She leaned forwards a little to see what he was writing. 

'You know enough Latin to read that, ' he said, as he gave the bookback to her. 

She read the words aloud, with a puzzled expression. 

'"Credo in resurrectionem mortuorum. "' She looked at him for someexplanation. 

'Yes, ' he said, answering her unspoken question. '"I believe in theresurrection of the dead. "'

'It means something especial to you--is that it?'

'Yes. ' His eyes were very sad again as they met hers. 

'My voice?' she asked. 'Some one--who sang like me? Who died?'

'Long before you were born, ' he answered gently. 

There was another little pause before she spoke again, for she wastouched. 

'Thank you, ' she said. 'Thank you for writing that. '

CHAPTER V

Mr. Van Torp arrived in London alone, with one small valise, for hehad sent his man with his luggage to the place in Derbyshire. AtEuston a porter got him a hansom, and he bargained with the cabman totake him and his valise to the Temple for eighteenpence, a sum which, he explained, allowed sixpence for the valise, as the distance couldnot by any means be made out to be more than two miles. 

Such close economy was to be expected from a millionaire, travellingincognito; what was more surprising was that, when the cab stoppedbefore a door in Hare Court and Mr. Van Torp received his valise fromthe roof of the vehicle, he gave the man half-a-crown, and said it was'all right. '

'Now, my man, ' he observed, 'you've not only got an extra shilling, to which you had no claim whatever, but you've had the pleasure of asurprise which you could not have bought for that money. '

The cabman grinned as he touched his hat and drove away, and Mr. VanTorp took his valise in one hand and his umbrella in the other andwent up the dark stairs. He went up four flights without stoppingto take breath, and without so much as glancing at any of the namespainted in white letters on the small black boards beside the doors onthe right and left of each landing. 

The fourth floor was the last, and though the name on the left hadevidently been there a number of years, for the white lettering was ofthe tint of a yellow fog, it was still quite clear and legible. 

MR. I. BAMBERGER. 

That was the name, but the millionaire did not look at it any morethan he had looked at the others lower down. He knew them all byheart. He dropped his valise, took a small key from his pocket, openedthe door, picked up his valise again, and, as neither hand was free, he shut the door with his heel as he passed in, and it slammed behindhim, sending dismal echoes down the empty staircase. 

The entry was almost quite dark, for it was past six o'clock in theafternoon, late in March, and the sky was overcast; but there wasstill light enough to see in the large room on the left into which Mr. Van Torp carried his things. 

It was a dingy place, poorly furnished, but some one had dusted thetable, the mantelpiece, and the small bookcase, and the fire was laidin the grate, while a bright copper kettle stood on a movable hob. Mr. Van Torp struck a match and lighted the kindling before he took offhis overcoat, and in a few minutes a cheerful blaze dispelled thegathering gloom. He went to a small old-fashioned cupboard in a cornerand brought from it a chipped cup and saucer, a brown teapot, and acheap japanned tea-caddy, all of which he set on the table; and assoon as the fire burned brightly, he pushed the movable hob round withhis foot till the kettle was over the flame of the coals. Then he tookoff his overcoat and sat down in the shabby easy-chair by the hearth, to wait till the water boiled. 

His proceedings, his manner, and his expression would have surprisedthe people who had been his fellow-passengers on the _Leofric_, andwho imagined Mr. Van Torp driving to an Olympian mansion, somewherebetween Constitution Hill and Sloane Square, to be received at his owndoor by gravely obsequious footmen in plush, and to drink ImperialChinese tea from cups of Old Saxe, or Bleu du Roi, or Capo di Monte. 

Paul Griggs, having tea and a pipe in a quiet little hotel in ClargesStreet, would have been much surprised if he could have seen Rufus VanTorp lighting a fire for himself in that dingy room in Hare Court. Madame Margarita da Cordova, waiting for an expected visitor in herown sitting-room, in her own pretty house in Norfolk Crescent, wouldhave been very much surprised indeed. The sight would have plunged herinto even greater uncertainty as to the man's real character, and itis not unlikely that she would have taken his mysterious retreat to beanother link in the chain of evidence against him which already seemedso convincing. She might naturally have wondered, too, what he hadfelt when he had seen that board beside the door, and she could hardlyhave believed that he had gone in without so much as glancing at theyellowish letters that formed the name of Bamberger. 

But he seemed quite at home where he was, and not at all uncomfortableas he sat before the fire, watching the spout of the kettle, hiselbows on the arms of the easy-chair and his hands raised before him, with the finger-tips pressed against each other, in the attitudewhich, with most men, means that they are considering the two sides ofa question that is interesting without being very important. 

Perhaps a thoughtful observer would have noticed at once that therehad been no letters waiting for him when he had arrived, and wouldhave inferred either that he did not mean to stay at the roomstwenty-four hours, or that, if he did, he had not chosen to let anyone know where he was. 

Presently it occurred to him that there was no longer any light inthe room except from the fire, and he rose and lit the gas. Theincandescent light sent a raw glare into the farthest corners of thelarge room, and just then a tiny wreath of white steam issued from thespout of the kettle. This did not escape Mr. Van Torp's watchful eye, but instead of making tea at once he looked at his watch, after whichhe crossed the room to the window and stood thoughtfully gazingthrough the panes at the fast disappearing outlines of the roofs andchimney-pots which made up the view when there was daylight outside. He did not pull down the shade before he turned back to the fire, perhaps because no one could possibly look in. 

But he poured a little hot water into the teapot, to scald it, andwent to the cupboard and got another cup and saucer, and an oldtobacco-tin of which the dingy label was half torn off, and whichbetrayed by a rattling noise that it contained lumps of sugar. Theimaginary thoughtful observer already mentioned would have inferredfrom all this that Mr. Van Torp had resolved to put off making teauntil some one came to share it with him, and that the some onemight take sugar, though he himself did not; and further, as it wasextremely improbable, on the face of it, that an afternoon visitorshould look in by a mere chance, in the hope of finding some one inMr. Isidore Bamberger's usually deserted rooms, on the fourth floor ofa dark building in Hare Court, the observer would suppose that Mr. VanTorp was expecting some one to come and see him just at that hour, though he had only landed in Liverpool that day, and would have beenstill at sea if the weather had been rough or foggy. 

All this might have still further interested Paul Griggs, and wouldcertainly have seemed suspicious to Margaret, if she could have knownabout it. 

Five minutes passed, and ten, and the kettle was boiling furiously, and sending out a long jet of steam over the not very shapely toes ofMr. Van Torp's boots, as he leaned back with his feet on the fender. He looked at his watch again and apparently gave up the idea ofwaiting any longer, for he rose and poured out the hot water from theteapot into one of the cups, as a preparatory measure, and took offthe lid to put in the tea. But just as he had opened the caddy, hepaused and listened. The door of the room leading to the entry wasajar, and as he stood by the table he had heard footsteps on thestairs, still far down, but mounting steadily. 

He went to the outer door and listened. There was no doubt thatsomebody was coming up; any one not deaf could have heard the sound. It was more strange that Mr. Van Torp should recognise the step, for the rooms on the other side of the landing were occupied, and astranger would have thought it quite possible that the person whowas coming up should be going there. But Mr. Van Torp evidently knewbetter, for he opened his door noiselessly and stood waiting toreceive the visitor. The staircase below was dimly lighted by gas, butthere was none at the upper landing, and in a few seconds a dark formappeared, casting a tall shadow upwards against the dingy white paintof the wall. The figure mounted steadily and came directly to the opendoor--a lady in a long black cloak that quite hid her dress. She woreno hat, but her head was altogether covered by one of those thingswhich are neither hoods nor mantillas nor veils, but which serve womenfor any of the three, according to weather and circumstances. Thepeculiarity of the one the lady wore was that it cast a deep shadowover her face. 

'Come in, ' said Mr. Van Torp, withdrawing into the entry to make way. 

She entered and went on directly to the sitting-room, while he shutthe outer door. Then he followed her, and shut the second door behindhim. She was standing before the fire spreading her gloved hands tothe blaze, as if she were cold. The gloves were white, and they fittedvery perfectly. As he came near, she turned and held out one hand. 

'All right?' he inquired, shaking it heartily, as if it had been aman's. 

A sweet low voice answered him. 

'Yes--all right, ' it said, as if nothing could ever be wrong withits possessor. 'But you?' it asked directly afterwards, in a tone ofsympathetic anxiety. 

'I? Oh--well--' Mr. Van Torp's incomplete answer might have meantanything, except that he too was 'all right. '

'Yes, ' said the lady gravely. 'I read the telegram the next day. Didyou get my cable? I did not think you would sail. '

'Yes, I got your cable. Thank you. Well--I did sail, you see. Take offyour things. The water's boiling and we'll have tea in a minute. '

The lady undid the fastening at her throat so that the fur-lined cloakopened and slipped a little on her white shoulders. She held it inplace with one hand, and with the other she carefully turned back thelace hood from her face, so as not to disarrange her hair. Mr. VanTorp was making tea, and he looked up at her over the teapot. 

'I dressed for dinner, ' she said, explaining. 

'Well, ' said Mr. Van Torp, looking at her, 'I should think you did!'

There was real admiration in his tone, though it was distinctlyreluctant. 

'I thought it would save half an hour and give us more time together, 'said the lady simply. 

She sat down in the shabby easy-chair, and as she did so the cloakslipped and lay about her waist, and she gathered one side of it overher knees. Her gown was of black velvet, without so much as a bit oflace, except at the sleeves, and the only ornament she wore was ashort string of very perfect pearls clasped round her handsome youngthroat. 

She was handsome, to say the least. If tired ghosts of departedbarristers were haunting the dingy room in Hare Court that night, theymust have blinked and quivered for sheer pleasure at what they saw, for Mr. Van Torp's visitor was a very fine creature to look at; and ifghosts can hear, they heard that her voice was sweet and low, like anevening breeze and flowing water in a garden, even in the Garden ofEden. 

She was handsome, and she was young; and above all she had thefreshness, the uncontaminated bloom, the subdued brilliancy ofnature's most perfect growing things. It was in the deep clear eyes, in the satin sheen of her bare shoulders under the sordid gaslight; itwas in the strong smooth lips, delicately shaded from salmon colour tothe faintest peach-blossom; it was in the firm oval of her face, inthe well-modelled ear, the straight throat and the curving neck; itwas in her graceful attitude; it was everywhere. 'No doubt, ' theghosts might have said, 'there are more beautiful women in Englandthan this one, but surely there is none more like a thoroughbred and aDerby winner!'

'You take sugar, don't you?' asked Mr. Van Torp, having got the lidoff the old tobacco-tin with some difficulty, for it had developed aninclination to rust since it had last been moved. 

'One lump, please, ' said the thoroughbred, looking at the fire. 

'I thought I remembered, ' observed the millionaire. 'The tea's good, 'he added, 'and you'll have to excuse the cup. And there's no cream. '

'I'll excuse anything, ' said the lady, 'I'm so glad to be here!'

'Well, I'm glad to see you too, ' said Mr. Van Torp, giving her thecup. 'Crackers? I'll see if there're any in the cupboard. I forgot. '

He went to the corner again and found a small tin of biscuits, whichhe opened and examined under gaslight. 

'Mouldy, ' he observed. 'Weevils in them, too. Sorry. Does it mattermuch?'

'Nothing matters, ' answered the lady, sweet and low. 'But why do youput them away if they are bad? It would be better to burn them and bedone with it. '

He was taking the box back to the cupboard. 

'I suppose you're right, ' he said reluctantly. 'But it always seemswicked to burn bread, doesn't it?'

'Not when it's weevilly, ' replied the thoroughbred, after sipping thehot tea. 

He emptied the contents of the tin upon the coal fire, and the roompresently began to smell of mouldy toast. 

'Besides, ' he said, 'it's cruel to burn weevils, I suppose. If I'dthought of that, I'd have left them alone. It's too late now. They'redone for, poor beasts! I'm sorry. I don't like to kill things. '

He stared thoughtfully at the already charred remains of theholocaust, and shook his head a little. The lady sipped her tea andlooked at him quietly, perhaps affectionately, but he did not see her. 

'You think I'm rather silly sometimes, don't you?' he asked, stillgazing at the fire. 

'No, ' she answered at once. 'It's never silly to be kind, even toweevils. '

'Thank you for thinking so, ' said Mr. Van Torp, in an oddly humbletone, and he began to drink his own tea. 

If Margaret Donne could have suddenly found herself perched among thechimney-pots on the opposite roof, and if she had then looked at hisface through the window, she would have wondered why she had ever felta perfectly irrational terror of him. It was quite plain that the ladyin black velvet had no such impression. 

'You need not be so meek, ' she said, smiling. 

She did not laugh often, but sometimes there was a ripple in her freshvoice that would turn a man's head. Mr. Van Torp looked at her in arather dull way. 

'I believe I feel meek when I'm with you. Especially just now. '

He swallowed the rest of his tea at a gulp, set the cup on the table, and folded his hands loosely together, his elbows resting on hisknees; in this attitude he leaned forward and looked at the burningcoals. Again his companion watched his hard face with affectionateinterest. 

'Tell me just how it happened, ' she said. 'I mean, if it will help youat all to talk about it. '

'Yes. You always help me, ' he answered, and then paused. 'I think Ishould like to tell you the whole thing, ' he added after an instant. 'Somehow, I never tell anybody much about myself. '

'I know. '

She bent her handsome head in assent. Just then it would have beenvery hard to guess what the relations were between the oddly assortedpair, as they sat a little apart from each other before the grate. Mr. Van Torp was silent now, as if he were making up his mind how tobegin. 

In the pause, the lady quietly held out her hand towards him. He sawwithout turning further, and he stretched out his own. She took itgently, and then, without warning, she leaned very far forward, bentover it and touched it with her lips. He started and drew it backhastily. It was as if the leaf of a flower had settled upon it, andhad hovered an instant, and fluttered away in a breath of soft air. 

'Please don't!' he cried, almost roughly. 'There's nothing to thank mefor. I've often told you so. '

But the lady was already leaning back in the old easy-chair again asif she had done nothing at all unusual. 

'It wasn't for myself, ' she said. 'It was for all the others, who willnever know. '

'Well, I'd rather not, ' he answered. 'It's not worth all that. Now, see here! I'm going to tell you as near as I can what happened, andwhen you know you can make up your mind. You never saw but one side ofme anyhow, but you've got to see the other sooner or later. No, I knowwhat you're going to say--all that about a dual nature, and Jekyll andHyde, and all the rest of it. That may be true for nervous people, butI'm not nervous. Not at all. I never was. What I know is, there aretwo sides to everybody, and one's always the business side. The othermay be anything. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. Sometimesit cares for a woman, sometimes it's a collector of art things, Babylonian glass, and Etruscan toys and prehistoric dolls. It maygamble, or drink, or teach a Sunday school, or read Dante, or shoot, or fish, or anything that's of no use. But one side's always thebusiness side. That's certain. '

Mr. Van Torp paused, and looked at his companion's empty cup. Seeingthat he was going to get up in order to give her more, she herselfrose quickly and did it for herself. He sat still and watched her, probably because the business side of his nature judged that he couldbe of no use. The fur-lined cloak was now lying in the easy-chair, andthere was nothing to break the sweeping lines of the black velvet fromher dazzling shoulders to her waist, to her knee, to her feet. Mr. VanTorp watched her in silence, till she sat down again. 

'You know me well enough to understand that, ' he said, going on. 'Myoutside's my business side, and that's what matters most. Now theplain truth is this. My engagement to Miss Bamberger was just abusiness affair. Bamberger thought of it first, and suggested it tome, and he asked her if she'd mind being engaged to me for a fewweeks; and she said she wouldn't provided she wasn't expected to marryme. That was fair and square, anyway, on both sides. Wasn't it?'

'It depends on why you did it, ' said the lady, going to the pointdirectly. 

'That was the business side, ' answered her companion. 'You see, a bigthing like the Nickel Trust always has a lot of enemies, besides aheap of people who want to get some of it cheap. This time they puttheir heads together and got up one of the usual stories. You see, Isidore H. Bamberger is the president and I only appear as a director, though most of it's mine. So they got up a story that he was operatingon his own account to get behind me, and that we were going to quarrelover it, and there was going to be a slump, and people began tobelieve it. It wasn't any use talking to the papers. We soon foundthat out. Sometimes the public won't believe anything it's told, andsometimes it swallows faster than you can feed to it. I don't knowwhy, though I've had a pretty long experience, but I generally do knowwhich state it's in. I feel it. That's what's called business ability. It's like fishing. Any old fisherman can judge in half an hour whetherthe fish are going to bite all day or not. If he's wrong once, he'llbe right a hundred times. Well, I felt talking was no good, and so didBamberger, and the shares began to go down before the storm. If thebig slump had come there'd have been a heap of money lost. I don't saywe didn't let the shares drop a couple of points further than theyneeded to, and Bamberger bought any of it that happened to be lyingaround, and the more he bought the quicker it wanted to godown, because people said there was going to be trouble and aninvestigation. But if we'd gone on, lots of people would have beenruined, and yet we didn't just see how to stop it sharp, tillBamberger started his scheme. Do you understand all that?'

The lady nodded gravely. 

'You make it clear, ' she said. 

'Well, I thought it was a good scheme, ' continued her companion, 'and as the girl said she didn't mind, we told we were engaged. Thatsettled things pretty quick. The shares went up again in forty-eighthours, and as we'd bought for cash we made the points, and the otherpeople were short and lost. But when everything was all right again wegot tired of being engaged, Miss Bamberger and I; and besides, therewas a young fellow she'd a fancy for, and he kept writing to her thathe'd kill himself, and that made her nervous, you see, and she said ifit went on another day she knew she'd have appendicitis or something. So we were going to announce that the engagement was broken. And thevery night before--'

He paused. Not a muscle of the hard face moved, there was not a changein the expression of the tremendous mouth, there was not a tremor inthe tone; but the man kept his eyes steadily on the fire. 

'Oh, well, she's dead now, poor thing, ' he said presently. 'And that'swhat I wanted to tell you. I suppose it's not a very pretty story, isit? But I'll tell you one thing. Though we made a little by the turnof the market, we saved a heap of small fry from losing all they'd putin. If we'd let the slump come and then bought we should have made apile; but then we might have had difficulty in getting the stock up toanywhere near par again for some time. '

'Besides, ' said the lady quietly, 'you would not have ruined all thoselittle people if you could help it. '

'You think I wouldn't?' He turned his eyes to her now. 

'I'm sure you would not, ' said the lady with perfect confidence. 

'I don't know, I'm sure, ' answered Mr. Van Torp in a doubtful tone. 'Perhaps I wouldn't. But it would only have been business if I had. It's not as if Bamberger and I had started a story on purpose aboutour quarrelling in order to make things go down. I draw the linethere. That's downright dishonest, I call it. But if we'd just letthings slide and taken advantage of what happened, it would only havebeen business after all. Except for that doubt about getting backto par, ' he added, as an afterthought. 'But then I should have feltwhether it was safe or not. '

'Then why did you not let things slide, as you call it?'

'I don't know, I'm sure. Maybe I was soft-hearted. We don't alwaysknow why we do things in business. There's a great deal more in theweather where big money is moving than you might think. For instance, there was never a great revolution in winter. But as for making peoplelose their money, those who can't keep it ought not to have it. They're a danger to society, and half the time it's they who upset themarket by acting like lunatics. They get a lot of sentimental pitysometimes, those people; but after all, if they didn't try to cut inwithout capital, and play the game without knowing the rules, businesswould be much steadier and there would be fewer panics. They're thepeople who get frightened and run, not we. The fact is, they oughtnever to have been there. That's why I believe in big things myself. '

He paused, having apparently reached the end of his subject. 

'Were you with the poor girl when she died?' asked the lady presently. 

'No. She'd dined with a party and was in their box, and they were thelast people who saw her. You read about the explosion. She boltedfrom the box in the dark, I was told, and as she couldn't be foundafterwards they concluded she had rushed out and taken a cab home. Itseemed natural, I suppose. '

'Who found her at last?'

'A man called Griggs--the author, you know. He carried her to themanager's room, still alive. They got a doctor, and as she wantedto see a woman, they sent for Cordova, the singer, from herdressing-room, and the girl died in her arms. They said it was heartfailure, from shock. '

'It was very sad. '

'I'm sorry for poor Bamberger, ' said Mr. Van Torp thoughtfully. 'Shewas his only child, and he doted on her. I never saw a man so cut upas he looked. I wanted to stay, but he said the mere sight of me drovehim crazy, poor fellow, and as I had business over here and my passagewas taken, I just sailed. Sometimes the kindest thing one can do isto get out. So I did. But I'm very sorry for him. I wish I could doanything to make it easier for him. It was nobody's fault, I suppose, though I do think the people she was with might have prevented herfrom rushing out in the dark. '

'They were frightened themselves. How could any one be blamed for herdeath?'

'Exactly. But if any one could be made responsible, I know Bambergerwould do for him in some way. He's a resentful sort of man if any onedoes him an injury. Blood for blood is Bamberger's motto, every time. One thing I'm sure of. He'll run down whoever was responsible forthat explosion, and he'll do for him, whoever he is, if it costs onemillion to get a conviction. I wouldn't like to be the fellow!'

'I can understand wishing to be revenged for the death of one's onlychild, ' said the lady thoughtfully. 'Cannot you?'

The American turned his hard face to her. 

'Yes, ' he said, 'I can. It's only human, after all. '

She sighed and looked into the fire. She was married, but she waschildless, and that was a constant regret to her. Mr. Van Torp knew itand understood. 

'To change the subject, ' he said cheerfully, 'I suppose you needmoney, don't you?'

'Oh yes! Indeed I do!'

Her momentary sadness had already disappeared, and there was almost aripple in her tone again as she answered. 

'How much?' asked the millionaire smiling. 

She shook her head and smiled too; and as she met his eyes shesettled herself and leaned far back in the shabby easy-chair. She waswonderfully graceful and good to look at in her easy attitude. 

'I'm afraid to tell you how much!' She shook her head again, as sheanswered. 

'Well, ' said Mr. Van Torp in an encouraging tone, 'I've brought somecash in my pocket, and if it isn't enough I'll get you some moreto-morrow. But I won't give you a cheque. It's too compromising. Ithought of that before I left New York, so I brought some Englishnotes from there. '

'How thoughtful you always are for me!'

'It's not much to do for a woman one likes. But I'm sorry if I'vebrought too little. Here it is, anyway. '

He produced a large and well-worn pocket-book, and took from it asmall envelope, which he handed to her. 

'Tell me how much more you'll need, ' he said, 'and I'll give it toyou to-morrow. I'll put the notes between the pages of a new book andleave it at your door. He wouldn't open a package that was addressedto you from a bookseller's, would he?'

'No, ' answered the lady, her expression changing a little, 'I think hedraws the line at the bookseller. '

'You see, this was meant for you, ' said Mr. Van Torp. 'There are yourinitials on it. '

She glanced at the envelope, and saw that it was marked in pencil withthe letters M. L. In one corner. 

'Thank you, ' she said, but she did not open it. 

'You'd better count the notes, ' suggested the millionaire. 'I'm opento making mistakes myself. '

The lady took from the envelope a thin flat package of new Bank ofEngland notes, folded together in four. Without separating them sheglanced carelessly at the first, which was for a hundred pounds, andthen counted the others by the edges. She counted four after thefirst, and Mr. Van Torp watched her face with evident amusement. 

'You need more than that, don't you?' he asked, when she had finished. 

'A little more, perhaps, ' she said quietly, though she could not quiteconceal her disappointment, as she folded the notes and slipped theminto the envelope again. 'But I shall try to make this last. Thank youvery much. '

'I like you, ' said Mr. Van Torp. 'You're the real thing. They'd callyou a chief's daughter in the South Seas. But I'm not so mean as allthat. I only thought you might need a little cash at once. That'sall. '

A loud knocking at the outer door prevented the lady from answering. 

She looked at Mr. Van Torp in surprise. 

'What's that?' she asked, rather anxiously. 

'I don't know, ' he answered. 'He couldn't guess that you were here, could he?'

'Oh no! That's quite out of the question!'

'Then I'll open the door, ' said the millionaire, and he left thesitting-room. 

The lady had not risen, and she still leaned back in her seat. Sheidly tapped the knuckles of her gloved hand with the small envelope. 

The knocking was repeated, she heard the outer door opened, and thesound of voices followed directly. 

'Oh!' Mr. Van Torp exclaimed in a tone of contemptuous surprise, 'it'syou, is it? Well, I'm busy just now. I can't see you till to-morrow. '

'My business will not keep till to-morrow, ' answered an oily voice ina slightly foreign accent. 

At the very first syllables the lady rose quickly to her feet, andresting one hand on the table she leant forward in the direction ofthe door, with an expression that was at once eager and anxious, andyet quite fearless. 

'What you call your business is going to wait my convenience, ' saidMr. Van Torp. 'You'll find me here to-morrow morning until eleveno'clock. '

From the sounds the lady judged that the American now attempted toshut the door in his visitor's face, but that he was hindered and thata scuffle followed. 

'Hold him!' cried the oily voice in a tone of command. 'Bring him in!Lock the door!'

It was clear enough that the visitor had not come alone, and that Mr. Van Torp had been overpowered. The lady bit her salmon-coloured lipangrily and contemptuously. 

A moment later a tall heavily-built man with thick fair hair, a longmoustache, and shifty blue eyes, rushed into the room and did not stoptill there was only the small table between him and the lady. 

'I've caught you! What have you to say?' he asked. 

'To you? Nothing!'

She deliberately turned her back on her husband, rested one elbow onthe mantelpiece and set one foot upon the low fender, drawing upher velvet gown over her instep. But a moment later she heard otherfootsteps in the room, and turned her head to see Mr. Van Torp enterthe room between two big men who were evidently ex-policemen. Themillionaire, having failed to shut the door in the face of the threemen, had been too wise to attempt any further resistance. 

The fair man glanced down at the table and saw the envelope with hiswife's initials lying beside the tea things. She had dropped it therewhen she had risen to her feet at the sound of his voice. He snatchedit away as soon as he saw the pencilled letters on it, and in a momenthe had taken out the notes and was looking over them. 

'I should like you to remember this, please, ' he said, addressing thetwo men who had accompanied him. 'This envelope is addressed to mywife, under her initials, in the handwriting of Mr. Van Torp. AmI right in taking it for your handwriting?' he inquired, in adisagreeably polite tone, and turning towards the millionaire. 

'You are, ' answered the American, in a perfectly colourless voice andwithout moving a muscle. 'That's my writing. '

'And this envelope, ' continued the husband, holding up the notesbefore the men, 'contains notes to the amount of four thousand onehundred pounds. '

'Five hundred pounds, you mean, ' said the lady coldly. 

'See for yourself!' retorted the fair man, raising his eyebrows andholding out the notes. 

'That's correct, ' said Mr. Van Torp, smiling and looking at the lady. 'Four thousand one hundred. Only the first one was for a hundred, andthe rest were thousands. I meant it for a little surprise, you see. '

'Oh, how kind! How dear and kind!' cried the lady gratefully, and withamazing disregard of her husband's presence. 

The two ex-policemen had not expected anything so interesting as this, and their expressions were worthy of study. They had been engaged, through a private agency, to assist and support an injured husband, and afterwards to appear as witnesses of a vulgar clandestine meeting, as they supposed. It was not the first time they had been employed onsuch business, but they did not remember ever having had to deal withtwo persons who exhibited such hardened indifference; and though theincident of the notes was not new to them, they had never been in acase where the amount of cash received by the lady at one time was sovery large. 

'It is needless, ' said the fair man, addressing them both, 'to askwhat this money was for. '

'Yes, ' said Mr. Van Torp coolly. 'You needn't bother. But I'll callyour attention to the fact that the notes are not yours, and that I'dlike to see them put back into that envelope and laid on that tablebefore you go. You broke into my house by force anyhow. If you takevaluables away with you, which you found here, it's burglary inEngland, whatever it may be in your country; and if you don't know it, these two professional gentlemen do. So you just do as I tell you, ifyou want to keep out of gaol. '

The fair man had shown a too evident intention of slipping theenvelope into his own pocket, doubtless to be produced in evidence, but Mr. Van Torp's final argument seemed convincing. 

'I have not the smallest intention of depriving my wife of the priceof my honour, sir. Indeed, I am rather flattered to find that you bothvalue it so highly. '

Mr. Van Torp's hard face grew harder, and a very singular light cameinto his eyes. He moved forwards till he was close to the fair man. 

'None of that!' he said authoritatively. 'If you say another wordagainst your wife in my hearing I'll make it the last you ever said toanybody. Now you'd better be gone before I telephone for the police. Do you understand?'

The two ex-policemen employed by a private agency thought the case wasbecoming more and more interesting; but at the same time they weremade vaguely nervous by Mr. Van Torp's attitude. 

'I think you are threatening me, ' said the fair man, drawing back astep, and leaving the envelope on the table. 

'No, ' answered his adversary, 'I'm warning you off my premises, andif you don't go pretty soon I'll telephone for the police. Is that athreat?'

The last question was addressed to the two men. 

'No, sir, ' answered one of them. 

'It would hardly be to your advantage to have more witnesses of mywife's presence here, ' observed the fair man coldly, 'but as I intendto take her home we may as well go at once. Come, Maud! The carriageis waiting. '

The lady, whose name was now spoken for the first time since she hadentered Mr. Van Torp's lodging, had not moved from the fireplace sinceshe had taken up her position there. Women are as clever as Napoleonor Julius Caesar in selecting strong positions when there is to be anencounter, and a fireplace, with a solid mantelpiece to lean against, to strike, to cry upon or to cling to, is one of the strongest. The enemy is thus reduced to prowling about the room and handlingknick-knacks while he talks, or smashing them if he is of a violentdisposition. 

The lady now leant back against the dingy marble shelf and laid onewhite-gloved arm along it, in an attitude that was positively regal. Her right hand might appropriately have been toying with the orb ofempire on the mantelpiece, and her left, which hung down beside her, might have loosely held the sceptre. Mr. Van Torp, who often boughtlarge pictures, was reminded of one recently offered to him inAmerica, representing an empress. He would have bought the portrait ifthe dealer could have remembered which empress it represented, but thefact that he could not had seemed suspicious to Mr. Van Torp. It wasclearly the man's business to know empresses by sight. 

From her commanding position the Lady Maud refused her husband'sinvitation to go home with him. 

'I shall certainly not go with you, ' she said. 'Besides, I'm diningearly at the Turkish Embassy and we are going to the play. You neednot wait for me. I'll take care of myself this evening, thank you. '

'This is monstrous!' cried the fair man, and with a peculiarlyun-English gesture he thrust his hand into his thick hair. 

The foreigner in despair has always amused the genuine Anglo-Saxon. Lady Maud's lip did not curl contemptuously now, she did not raiseher eyebrows, nor did her eyes flash with scorn. On the contrary, she smiled quite frankly, and the sweet ripple was in her voice, theripple that drove some men almost crazy. 

'You needn't make such a fuss, ' she said. 'It's quite absurd, youknow. Mr. Van Torp is an old friend of mine, and you have known himever so long, and he is a man of business. You are, are you not?' sheasked, looking to the American for assent. 

'I'm generally thought to be that, ' he answered. 

'Very well. I came here, to Mr. Van Torp's rooms in the Temple, before going to dinner, because I wished to see him about a matter ofbusiness, in what is a place of business. It's all ridiculous nonsenseto talk about having caught me--and worse. That money is for acharity, and I am going to take it before your eyes, and thank Mr. VanTorp for being so splendidly generous. Now go, and take those personswith you, and let me hear no more of this!'

Thereupon Lady Maud came forward from the mantelpiece and deliberatelytook from the table the envelope which contained four thousand onehundred pounds in new Bank of England notes; and she put it into thebosom of her gown, and smiled pleasantly at her husband. 

Mr. Van Torp watched her with genuine admiration, and when she lookedat him and nodded her thanks again, he unconsciously smiled too, andanswered by a nod of approval. 

The fair-haired foreign gentleman turned to his two ex-policemen withconsiderable dignity. 

'You have heard and seen, ' he said impressively. 'I shall expect youto remember all this when you are in the witness-box. Let us go. 'He made a sweeping bow to his wife and Mr. Van Torp. 'I wish you anagreeable evening, ' he said. 

Thereupon he marched out of the room, followed by his men, who eachmade an awkward bow at nothing in particular before going out. Mr. VanTorp followed them at some distance towards the outer door, judgingthat as they had forced their way in they could probably find theirway out. He did not even go to the outer threshold, for the last ofthe three shut the door behind him. 

When the millionaire came back Lady Maud was seated in the easy-chair, leaning forward and looking thoughtfully into the fire. Assuredly noone would have suspected from her composed face that anything unusualhad happened. She glanced at her friend when he came in, but did notspeak, and he began to walk up and down on the other side of thetable, with his hands behind him. 

'You've got pretty good nerves, ' he said presently. 

'Yes, ' answered Lady Maud, still watching the coals, 'they really arerather good. '

A long silence followed, during which she did not move and Mr. VanTorp steadily paced the floor. 

'I didn't tell a fib, either, ' she said at last. 'It's charity, in itsway. '

'Certainly, ' assented her friend. 'What isn't either purchase-money orinterest, or taxes, or a bribe, or a loan, or a premium, or a present, or blackmail, must be charity, because it must be something, and itisn't anything else you can name. '

'A present may be a charity, ' said Lady Maud, still thoughtful. 

'Yes, ' answered Mr. Van Torp. 'It may be, but it isn't always. '

He walked twice the length of the room before he spoke again. 

'Do you think it's really to be war this time?' he asked, stoppingbeside the table. 'Because if it is, I'll see a lawyer before I go toDerbyshire. '

Lady Maud looked up with a bright smile. Clearly she had been thinkingof something compared with which the divorce court was a delightfulcontrast. 

'I don't know, ' she answered. 'It must come sooner or later, becausehe wants to be free to marry that woman, and as he has not the courageto cut my throat, he must divorce me--if he can!'

'I've sometimes thought he might take the shorter way, ' said Van Torp. 

'He?' Lady Maud almost laughed, but her companion looked grave. 

'There's a thing called homicidal mania, ' he said. 'Didn't he shoot aboy in Russia a year ago?'

'A young man--one of the beaters. But that was an accident. '

'I'm not so sure. How about that poor dog at the Theobalds' lastSeptember?'

'He thought the creature was mad, ' Lady Maud explained. 

'He knows as well as you do that there's no rabies in the BritishIsles, ' objected Mr. Van Torp. 'Count Leven never liked that dog forsome reason, and he shot him the first time he got a chance. He'salways killing things. Some day he'll kill you, I'm afraid. '

'I don't think so, ' answered the lady carelessly. 'If he does, I hopehe'll do it neatly! I should hate to be maimed or mangled. '

'Do you know it makes me uncomfortable to hear you talk like that? Iwish you wouldn't! You can't deny that your husband's half a lunatic, anyway. He was behaving like one here only a quarter of an hour ago, and it's no use denying it. '

'But I'm not denying anything!'

'No, I know you're not, ' said Mr. Van Torp. 'If you don't know howcrazy he is, I don't suppose any one else does. But your nerves arebetter than mine, as I told you. The idea of killing anything makesme uncomfortable, and when it comes to thinking that he really mightmurder you some day--well, I can't stand it, that's all! If I didn'tknow that you lock your door at night I shouldn't sleep, sometimes. You do lock it, always, don't you?'

'Oh yes!'

'Be sure you do to-night. I wonder whether he is in earnest about thedivorce this time, or whether the whole scene was just bluff, to getmy money. '

'I don't know, ' answered Lady Maud, rising. 'He needs money, Ibelieve, but I'm not sure that he would try to get it just in thatway. '

'Too bad? Even for him?'

'Oh dear, no! Too simple! He's a tortuous person. '

'He tried to pocket those notes with a good deal of directness!'observed Mr. Van Torp. 

'Yes. That was an opportunity that turned up unexpectedly, but hedidn't know it would. How could he? He didn't come here expecting tofind thousands of pounds lying about on the table! It was easy enoughto know that I was here, of course. I couldn't go out of my own houseon foot, in a dinner-gown, and pick up a hansom, could I? I had onecalled and gave the address, and the footman remembered it and told myhusband. There's nothing more foolish than making mysteries and givingthe cabman first one address and then another. If Boris is reallygoing to bring a suit, the mere fact that there was no concealment asto where I was going this evening would be strong evidence, wouldn'tit? Evidence he cannot deny, too, since he must have learnt theaddress from the footman, who heard me give it! And people who make nosecret of a meeting are not meeting clandestinely, are they?'

'You argue that pretty well, ' said Mr. Van Torp, smiling. 

'And besides, ' rippled Lady Maud's sweet voice, as she shook out thefolds of her black velvet, 'I don't care. '

Her friend held up the fur-lined cloak and put it over her shoulders. She fastened it at the neck and then turned to the fire for a momentbefore leaving. 

'Rufus, ' she said gravely, after a moment's pause, and looking down atthe coals, 'you're an angel. '

'The others in the game don't think so, ' answered Mr. Van Torp. 

'No one was ever so good to a woman as you've been to me, ' said Maud. 

And all at once the joyful ring had died away from her voice and therewas another tone in it that was sweet and low too, but sad and tenderand grateful, all at once. 

'There's nothing to thank me for, ' answered Mr. Van Torp. 'I've oftentold you so. But I have a good deal of reason to be grateful to youfor all you've given me. '

'Nonsense!' returned the lady, and the sadness was gone again, butnot all the tenderness. 'I must be going, ' she added a moment later, turning away from the fire. 

'I'll take you to the Embassy in a hansom, ' said the millionaire, slipping on his overcoat. 

'No. You mustn't do that--we should be sure to meet some one at thedoor. Are you going anywhere in particular? I'll drop you wherever youlike, and then go on. It will give us a few minutes more together. '

'Goodness knows we don't get too many!'

'No, indeed!'

So the two went down the dismal stairs of the house in Hare Courttogether. 

CHAPTER VI

The position of a successful lyric primadonna with regard to otherartists and the rest of the world is altogether exceptional, andis not easy to explain. Her value for purposes of advertisementapparently exceeds that of any other popular favourite, not to mentionthe majority of royal personages. A respectable publisher has beenknown to bring out a book in which he did not believe, solely becausea leading lyric soprano promised him to say in an interview that itwas the book of the year. Countless brands of cigars, cigarettes, wines and liquors, have been the fashion with the flash crowd thatfrequents public billiard-rooms and consumes unlimited tobacco anddrink, merely because some famous 'Juliet' or 'Marguerite' has'consented' to lend her name to the articles in question; and halfthe grog-shops on both sides of the Atlantic display to the admiringstreet the most alarming pink and white caricatures, or monstrouslyenlarged photographs, of the three or four celebrated lyric sopranoswho happen to be before the public at any one time. In the popularmind those artists represent something which they themselves do notalways understand. There is a legend about each; she is either anangel of purity and light, or a beautiful monster of iniquity; shehas turned the heads of kings--'kings' in a vaguely royalplural--completely round on their shoulders, or she has built out ofher earnings a hospital for crippled children; the watery-sentimentaleye of the flash crowd in its cups sees in her a Phryne, a Mrs. Fry, or a Saint Cecilia. Goethe said that every man must be either thehammer or the anvil; the billiard-room public is sure that everyprimadonna is a siren or a martyred wife, or else a publicbenefactress, unless she is all three by turns, which is even moreinteresting. 

In any case, the reporters are sure that every one wants to know justwhat she thinks about everything. In the United States, for instance, her opinion on political matters is often asked, and is advertisedwith 'scare-heads' that would stop a funeral or arrest the attentionof a man on his way to the gallows. 

Then, too, she has her 'following' of 'girls, ' thousands of whom haveher photograph, or her autograph, or both, and believe in her, and areready to scratch out the eyes of any older person who suggests thatshe is not perfection in every way, or that to be a primadonna likeher ought not to be every girl's highest ambition. They not onlyworship her, but many of them make real sacrifices to hear her sing;for most of them are anything but well off, and to hear an opera meansliving without little luxuries, and sometimes without necessaries, fordays together. Their devotion to their idol is touching and true; andshe knows it and is good-natured in the matter of autographs for them, and talks about 'my matinée girls' to the reporters, as if thoseeleven thousand virgins and more were all her younger sisters andnieces. An actress, even the most gifted, has no such 'following. ' Thegreatest dramatic sopranos that ever sing Brunhilde and Kundryenjoy no such popularity. It belongs exclusively to the nightingaleprimadonnas, whose voices enchant the ear if they do not alwaysstir the blood. It may be explicable, but no explanation is at allnecessary, since the fact cannot be disputed. 

To this amazing popularity Margaret Donne had now attained; and shewas known to the matinée girls' respectful admiration as MadameCordova, to the public generally and to her comrades as Cordova, tosentimental paragraph-writers as Fair Margaret, and to her friends asMiss Donne, or merely as Margaret. Indeed, from the name each persongave her in speaking of her, it was easy to know the class to whicheach belonged. 

She had bought a house in London, because in her heart she stillthought England the finest country in the world, and had never feltthe least desire to live anywhere else. She had few relations left andnone whom she saw; for her father, the Oxford scholar, had not hadmoney, and they all looked with disapproval on the career she hadchosen. Besides, she had been very little in England since herparents' death. Her mother's American friend, the excellent Mrs. Rushmore, who had taken her under her wing, was now in Versailles, where she had a house, and Margaret actually had the audacity to livealone, rather than burden herself with a tiresome companion. 

Her courage in doing so was perhaps mistaken, considering what theworld is and what it generally thinks of the musical and theatricalprofessions; and Mrs. Rushmore, who was quite powerless to influenceMargaret's conduct, did not at all approve of it. The girl's will hadalways been strong, and her immense success had so little weakenedher belief in herself, or softened her character, that she had grownalmost too independent. The spirit of independence is not a fault inwomen, but it is a defect in the eyes of men. Darwin has proved thatthe dominant characteristic of male animals is vanity; and what isto become of that if women show that they can do without us? If theemancipation of woman had gone on as it began when we were boys, weshould by this time be importing wives for our sons from Timbuctoo orthe Friendly Islands. Happily, women are practical beings who rarelystray far from the narrow path along which usefulness and pleasure maystill go hand in hand; for considering how much most women do thatis useful, the amount of pleasure they get out of life is perfectlyamazing; and when we try to keep up with them in the chase afteramusement we are surprised at the number of useful things theyaccomplish without effort in twenty-four hours. 

But, indeed, women are to us very like the moon, which has shown theearth only one side of herself since the beginning, though she haswatched and studied our world from all its sides through uncountedages. We men are alternately delighted, humiliated, and terrified whenwomen anticipate our wishes, perceive our weaknesses, and detect ourshortcomings, whether we be frisky young colts in the field or soberstagers plodding along between the matrimonial shafts in harness andblinkers. We pride ourselves on having the strength to smash theshafts, shake off the harness, and kick the cart to pieces if wechoose, and there are men who can and do. But the man does not livewho knows what the dickens women are up to when he is going quietlyalong the road, as a good horse should. Sometimes they are driving us, and then there is no mistake about it; and sometimes they are justsitting in the cart and dozing, and we can tell that they are behindus by their weight; but very often we are neither driven by them norare we dragging them, and we really have not the faintest idea wherethey are, so that we are reduced to telling ourselves, with a littlenervousness which we do not care to acknowledge, that it is noble andbeautiful to trust what we love. 

A part of the great feminine secret is the concealment of thatindependence about which there has been so much talk in our time. Asfor suffrage, wherever there is such a thing, the woman who does notvote always controls far more men's votes than the woman-who goes tothe polls, and has only her own vote to give. 

Margaret, the primadonna, did not want to vote for or againstanything; but she was a little too ready to assert that she could andwould lead her own life as she pleased, without danger to her goodname, because she had never done anything to be ashamed of. Thenatural consequence was that she was gradually losing somethingwhich is really much more worth having than commonplace, technicalindependence. Her friend Lushington realised the change as soon as shelanded, and it hurt him to see it, because it seemed to him a greatpity that what he had thought an ideal, and therefore a naturalmanifestation of art, should be losing the fine outlines that hadmade it perfect to his devoted gaze. But this was not all. His ratherover-strung moral sense was offended as well as his artistic taste. He felt that Margaret was blunting the sensibilities of her femininenature and wronging a part of herself, and that the delicate bloomof girlhood was opening to a blossom that was somewhat too evidentlystrong, a shade too vivid and more brilliant than beautiful. 

There were times when she reminded him of his mother, and those weresome of the most painful moments of his present life. It is true thatcompared with Madame Bonanni in her prime, as he remembered her, Margaret was as a lily of the valley to a giant dahlia; yet when herecalled the sweet and healthy English girl he had known and loved inVersailles three years ago, the vision was delicate and fairy-likebeside the strong reality of the successful primadonna. She was sovery sure of herself now, and so fully persuaded that she was notaccountable to any one for her doings, her tastes, or the choice ofher friends! If not actually like Madame Bonanni, she was undoubtedlybeginning to resemble two or three of her famous rivals in theprofession who were nearer to her own age. Her taste did not run inthe direction of white fox cloaks, named diamonds, and imperial jadeplates; she did not use a solid gold toothbrush with emeralds set inthe handle, like Ismail Pacha; bridge did not amuse her at all, norcould she derive pleasure from playing at Monte Carlo; she did noteven keep an eighty-horse-power motor-car worth five thousand pounds. Paul Griggs, who was old-fashioned, called motor-cars 'sudden-deathcarts, ' and Margaret was inclined to agree with him. She cared fornone of these things. 

Nevertheless there was a quiet thoroughgoing luxury in her existence, an unseen private extravagance, such as Rufus Van Torp, themillionaire, had never dreamt of. She had first determined to be asinger in order to support herself, because she had been cheated ofa fortune by old Alvah Moon; but before she had actually made her_début_ a handsome sum had been recovered for her, and though she wasnot exactly what is now called rich, she was at least extremely welloff, apart from her professional earnings, which were very largeindeed. In the certainty that if her voice failed she would alwayshave a more than sufficient income for the rest of her life, andconsidering that she was not under the obligation of supporting anumber of poor relations, it was not surprising that she should spenda great deal of money on herself. 

It is not every one who can be lavish without going a little beyondthe finely-drawn boundary which divides luxury from extravagance; foruseless profusion is by nature as contrary to what is aesthetic as fatin the wrong place, and is quite as sure to be seen. To spend wellwhat rich people are justified in expending over and above an ampleprovision for the necessities and reasonable comforts of a largeexistence is an art in itself, and the modest muse of good taste lovesnot the rich man for his riches, nor the successful primadonna for thethousands she has a right to throw away if she likes. 

Mr. Van Torp vaguely understood this, without at all guessing how thegreat artist spent her money. He had understood at least enough tohinder him from trying to dazzle her in the beginning of the New Yorkseason, when he had brought siege against her. 

A week after her arrival in London, Margaret was alone at her pianoand Lushington was announced. Unlike the majority of musicians in realfiction she had not been allowing her fingers to 'wander over thekeys, ' a relaxation that not seldom leads to outer darkness, where theconsecutive fifth plays hide-and-seek with the falling sub-tonic tosuperinduce gnashing of teeth in them that hear. Margaret was learningher part in the _Elisir d'Amore_, and instead of using her voice shewas whistling from the score and playing the accompaniment. The oldopera was to be revived during the coming season with her and thegreat Pompeo Stromboli, and she was obliged to work hard to have itready. 

The music-room had a polished wooden floor, and the furnitureconsisted chiefly of a grand piano and a dozen chairs. The walls weretinted a pale green; there were no curtains at the windows, becausethey would have deadened sound, and a very small wood fire was burningin an almost miniature fireplace quite at the other end of the room. The sun had not quite set yet, and as the blinds were still open, a lurid glare came in from the western sky, over the houses on theopposite side of the wide square. There had been a heavy shower, butthe streets were already drying. One shaded electric lamp stood on thedesk of the piano, and the rest of the room was illuminated by theyellowish daylight. 

Margaret was very much absorbed in her work, and did not hear the dooropen; but the servant came slowly towards her, purposely making hissteps heard on the wooden floor in order to attract her attention. When she stopped playing and whistling, and looked round, the man saidthat Mr. Lushington was downstairs. 

'Ask him to come up, ' she answered, without hesitation. 

She rose from the piano, went to the window and looked out at thesmoky sunset. 

Lushington entered the room in a few moments and saw only the outlineof her graceful figure, as if she were cut out in black against theglare from the big window. She turned, and a little of the shadedlight from the piano fell upon her face, just enough to show him herexpression, and though her glad smile welcomed him, there was anxietyin her brown eyes. He came forward, fair and supernaturally neat, asever, and much more self-possessed than in former days. It was nottheir first meeting since she had landed, for he had been to see herlate in the afternoon on the day of her arrival, and she had expectedhim; but she had felt a sort of constraint in his manner then, whichwas new to her, and they had talked for half an hour about indifferentthings. Moreover, he had refused a second cup of tea, which was a suresign that something was wrong. So she had asked him to come again aweek later, naming the day, and she had been secretly disappointedbecause he did not protest against being put off so long. She wonderedwhat had happened, for his letters, his cable to her when she had leftAmerica, and the flowers he had managed to send on board the steamer, had made her believe that he had not changed since they had partedbefore Christmas. 

As she was near the piano she sat down on the stool, while he took asmall chair and established himself near the corner of the instrument, at the upper end of the keyboard. The shaded lamp cast a little lighton both their faces, as the two looked at each other, and Margaretrealised that she was not only very fond of him, but that his wholeexistence represented something she had lost and wished to get back, but feared that she could never have again. For many months she hadnot felt like her old self till a week ago, when he had come to seeher after she had landed. 

They had been in love with each other before she had begun her career, and she would have married him then, but a sort of quixotism, whichwas highly honourable if nothing else, had withheld him. He had feltthat his mother's son had no right to marry Margaret Donne, though shehad told him as plainly as a modest girl could that she was not of thesame opinion. Then had come Logotheti's mad attempt to carry her offout of the theatre, after the dress rehearsal before her début, andMadame Bonanni and Lushington between them had spirited her away justin time. After that it had been impossible for him to keep up thepretence of avoiding her, and a sort of intimacy had continued, whichneither of them quite admitted to be love, while neither would havecalled it mere friendship. 

The most amazing part of the whole situation was that Margaret hadcontinued to see Logotheti as if he had not actually tried to carryher off in his motor-car, very much against her will. And in spite offormer jealousies and a serious quarrel Logotheti and Lushington spoketo each other when they met. Possibly Lushington consented to treathim civilly because the plot for carrying off Margaret had socompletely failed that its author had got himself locked up onsuspicion of being a fugitive criminal. Lushington, feeling that hehad completely routed his rival on that occasion, could afford to begenerous. Yet the man of letters, who was a born English gentleman onhis father's side, and who was one altogether by his bringing up, wasconstantly surprised at himself for being willing to shake hands witha Greek financier who had tried to run away with an English girl; andpossibly, in the complicated workings of his mind and conflictingsensibilities, half Anglo-Saxon and half Southern French, his presentconduct was due to the fact that Margaret Donne had somehow ceased tobe a 'nice English girl' when she joined the cosmopolitan legion thatmanoeuvres on the international stage of 'Grand Opera. ' How could a'nice English girl' remain herself if she associated daily withsuch people as Pompeo Stromboli, Schreiermeyer, Herr Tiefenbach andSignorina Baci-Roventi, the Italian contralto who could pass for a manso well that she was said to have fought a real duel with sabres andwounded her adversary before he discovered that she was the very ladyhe had lately left for another--a regular Mademoiselle de Maupin! Hadnot Lushington once seen her kiss Margaret on both cheeks in a momentof enthusiastic admiration? He was not the average young man who fallsin love with a singer, either; he knew the stage and its depths onlytoo well, for he had his own mother's life always before him, aperpetual reproach. 

Though Margaret had at first revolted inwardly against the details ofher professional surroundings, she had grown used to them by sure andfatal degrees, and things that would once have disgusted her wereindifferent to her now. Men who have been educated in conditions ofordinary refinement and who have volunteered in the ranks or gone tosea before the mast have experienced something very like what befellMargaret; but men are not delicately nurtured beings whose bloom isdamaged by the rough air of reality, and the camp and the forecastleare not the stage. Perhaps nothing that is necessary shocks reallysensible people; it is when disagreeable things are perfectly uselessand quite avoidable--in theory--that they are most repugnant to menlike Edmund Lushington. He had warned Margaret of what was in storefor her, before she had taken the final step; but he had not warnedhimself that in spite of her bringing-up she might get used to itall and end by not resenting it any more than the rest of theprofessionals with whom she associated. It was this that chilled him. 

'I hope I'm not interrupting your work, ' he said as he sat down. 

'My work?'

'I heard you studying when they let me in. '

'Oh!'

His voice sounded very indifferent, and a pause followed Margaret'smild ejaculation. 

'It's rather a thankless opera for the soprano, I always think, ' heobserved. 'The tenor has it all his own way. '

'_The Elisir d'Amore_?'

'Yes. '

'I've not rehearsed it yet, ' said Margaret rather drearily. 'I don'tknow. '

He evidently meant to talk of indifferent things again, as at theirlast meeting, and she felt that she was groping in the dark forsomething she had lost. There was no sympathy in his voice, nointerest, and she was inclined to ask him plainly what was the matter;but her pride hindered her still, and she only looked at him with anexpression of inquiry. He laid his hand on the corner of the piano, and his eyes rested on the shaded lamp as if it attracted him. Perhaps he wondered why he had nothing to say to her, and why she wasunwilling to help the conversation a little, since her new part mightbe supposed to furnish matter for a few commonplace phrases. The smokysunset was fading outside and the room was growing dark. 

'When do the rehearsals begin?' he asked after a long interval, and asif he was quite indifferent to the answer. 

'When Stromboli comes, I suppose. '

Margaret turned on the piano stool, so as to face the desk, and shequietly closed the open score and laid it on the little table on herother side, as if not caring to talk of it any more, but she did notturn to him again. 

'You had a great success in New York, ' he said, after some time. 

To this she answered nothing, but she shrugged her shoulders a little, and though he was not looking directly at her he saw the movement, and was offended by it. Such a little shrug was scarcely a breach ofmanners, but it was on the verge of vulgarity in his eyes, becausehe was persuaded that she had begun to change for the worse. He hadalready told himself that her way of speaking was not what it had beenlast year, and he felt that if the change went on she would sethis teeth on edge some day; and that he was growing more and moresensitive, while she was continually becoming less so. 

Margaret could not have understood that, and would have been hurt ifhe had tried to explain it. She was disappointed, because his lettershad made her think that she was going to find him just as she had lefthim, as indeed he had been till the moment when he saw her after herarrival; but then he had changed at once. He had been disappointedthen, as she was now, and chilled, as she was now; he had felt that hewas shrinking from her then, as she now shrank from him. He suffered agood deal in his quiet way, for he had never known any woman who hadmoved him as she once had; but she suffered too, and in a much moreresentful way. Two years of maddening success had made her very surethat she had a prime right to anything she wanted--within reason! Ifshe let him alone he would sit out his half-hour's visit, making anidle remark now and then, and he would go away; but she would not lethim do that. It was too absurd that after a long and affectionateintimacy they should sit there in the soft light and exchangeplatitudes. 

'Tom, ' she said, suddenly resolving to break the ice, 'we havebeen much too good friends to behave in this way to each other. Ifsomething has come between us, I think you ought to tell me--don'tyou?'

'I wish I could, ' Lushington answered, after a moment's hesitation. 

'If you know, you can, ' said Margaret, taking the upper hand andmeaning to keep it. 

'That does not quite follow. '

'Oh yes, it does, ' retorted Margaret energetically. 'I'll tell youwhy. If it's anything on your side, it's not fair and honest to keepit from me after writing to me as you have written all winter. But ifit's the other way, there's nothing you can possibly know about mewhich you cannot tell me, and if you think there is, then some one hasbeen telling you what is not true. '

'It's nothing against you; I assure you it's not. '

'Then there is a woman in the case. Why should you not say so frankly?We are not bound to each other in any way, I'm sure. I believe I onceasked you to marry me, and you refused!' She laughed rather sharply. 'That does not constitute an engagement!'

'You put the point rather brutally, I think, ' said Lushington. 

'Perhaps, but isn't it quite true? It was not said in so many words, but you knew I meant it, and but for a quixotic scruple of yours weshould have been married. I remember asking you what we were makingourselves miserable about, since we both cared so much. It was atVersailles, the last time we walked together, and we had stopped, andI was digging little round holes in the road with my parasol. I'm notgoing to ask you again to marry me, so there is no reason in the worldwhy you should behave differently to me if you have fallen in lovewith some one else. '

'I'm not in love with any one, ' said Lushington sharply. 

'Then something you have heard about me has changed you in spite ofwhat you say, and I have a right to know what it is, because I've donenothing I'm ashamed of. '

'I've not heard a word against you, ' he answered, almost angrily. 'Whydo you imagine such things?'

'Because I'm honest enough to own that your friendship has meant agreat deal to me, even at a distance; and as I see that it has brokenits neck at some fence or other, I'm natural enough to ask what thejump was like!'

He would not answer. He only looked at her suddenly for an instant, with a slight pinching of the lids, and his blue eyes glittered alittle; then he turned away with a displeased air. 

'Am I just or not?' Margaret asked, almost sternly. 

'Yes, you are just, ' he said, for it was impossible not to reply. 

'And do you think it is just to me to change your manner altogether, without giving me a reason? I don't!'

'You will force me to say something I would rather not say. '

'That is what I am trying to do, ' Margaret retorted. 

'Since you insist on knowing the truth, ' answered Lushington, yieldingto what was very like necessity, 'I think you are very much changedsince I saw you last. You do not seem to me the same person. '

For a moment Margaret looked at him with something like wonder, andher lips parted, though she said nothing. Then they met again and shutvery tight, while her brown eyes darkened till they looked almostblack; she turned a shade paler, too, and there was something almosttragic in her face. 

'I'm sorry, ' Lushington said, watching her, 'but you made me tellyou. '

'Yes, ' she answered slowly. 'I made you tell me, and I'm glad I did. So I have changed as much as that, have I? In two years!'

She folded her hands on the little shelf of the empty music desk, bentfar forwards and looked down between the polished wooden bars at thestrings below, as if she were suddenly interested in the mechanism ofthe piano. 

Lushington turned his eyes to the darkening windows, and both sat thusin silence for some time. 

'Yes, ' she repeated at last, 'I'm glad I made you tell me. It explainseverything very well. '

Still Lushington said nothing, and she was still examining thestrings. Her right hand stole to the keys, and she pressed down onenote so gently that it did not strike; she watched the little hammerthat rose till it touched the string and then fell back into itsplace. 

'You said I should change--I remember your words. ' Her voice was quietand thoughtful, whatever she felt. 'I suppose there is something aboutme now that grates on your nerves. '

There was no resentment in her tone, nor the least intonation ofsarcasm. But Lushington said nothing; he was thinking of the time whenhe had thought her an ideal of refined girlhood, and had believed inhis heart that she could never stand the life of the stage, and wouldsurely give it up in sheer disgust, no matter how successful she mightbe. Yet now, she did not even seem offended by what he had told her. So much the better, he thought; for he was far too truthful to takeback one word in order to make peace, even if she burst into tears. Possibly, of the two, his reflections were sadder than hers just then, but she interrupted them with a question. 

'Can you tell me of any one thing I do that jars on you?' she asked. 'Or is it what I say, or my way of speaking? I should like to know. '

'It's nothing, and it's everything, ' answered Lushington, takingrefuge in a commonplace phrase, 'and I suppose no one else would evernotice it. But I'm so awfully sensitive about certain things. You knowwhy. '

She knew why; yet it was with a sort of wonder that she asked herselfwhat there was in her tone or manner that could remind him of hismother; but though she had spoken quietly, and almost humbly, a coldand secret anger was slowly rising in her. The great artist, who heldthousands spellbound and breathless, could not submit easily to losingin such a way the only friendship that had ever meant much to her. Theman who had just told her that she had lost her charm for him meantthat she was sinking to the level of her surroundings, and he was theonly man she had ever believed that she loved. Two years ago, and evenless, she would have been generously angry with him, and would havespoken out, and perhaps all would have been over; but those two yearsof life on the stage had given her the self-control of an actress whenshe chose to exercise it, and she had acquired an artificial commandof her face and voice which had not belonged to her original frank andsimple self. Perhaps Lushington knew that too, as a part of the changethat offended his taste. At twenty-two, Margaret Donne would havecoloured, and would have given him a piece of her young mind veryplainly; Margarita da Cordova, aged twenty-four, turned a triflepaler, shut her lips, and was frigidly angry, as if some ignorantmusic-hall reporter had attacked her singing in print. She wasconvinced that Lushington was mistaken, and that he was merelyyielding to that love of finding fault with what he liked which afamiliar passage in Scripture attributes to the Divinity, but withwhich many of us are better acquainted in our friends; in her opinion, such fault-finding was personal criticism, and it irritated hervanity, over-fed with public adulation and the sincere praise ofmusical critics. 'If you don't like me as I am, there are so manypeople who do that you don't count!' That was the sub-conscious formof her mental retort, and it was in the manner of Cordova, and not ofMargaret. 

Once upon a time, when his exaggerated sense of honour was driving himaway, she had said rather foolishly that if he left her she would notanswer for herself. She had felt a little desperate, but he had toldher quietly that he, who knew her, would answer for her, and her moodhad changed, and she had been herself again. But it was different thistime. He meant much more than he said; he meant that she had loweredherself, and she was sure that he would not 'answer' for her now. Onthe contrary, it was his intention to let her know that he no longerbelieved in her, and perhaps no longer respected or trusted her. Yet, little by little, during their last separation, his belief in her, andhis respect for her, had grown in her estimation, because they alonestill connected her with the maidenliness and feminine refinement inwhich she had grown up. Lushington had broken a link that had beenstrong. 

She was at one of the cross-roads of her life; she was at a turningpoint in the labyrinth, after passing which it would be hard to comeback and find the right way. Perhaps old Griggs could help her if itoccurred to him; but that was unlikely, for he had reached the agewhen men who have seen much take people as they find them. Logothetiwould certainly not help her, though she knew instinctively that shewas still to him what she had always been, and that if he ever had theopportunity he sought, her chances of escape would be small indeed. 

Therefore she felt more lonely after Lushington had spoken than shehad ever felt since her parents had died, and much more desperate. Butnothing in the world would have induced her to let him know it, andher anger against him rose slowly, and it was cold and enduring, asthat sort of resentment is. She was so proud that it gave her thepower to smile carelessly after a minute's silence, and she asked himsome perfectly idle questions about the news of the day. He shouldnot know that he had hurt her very much; he should not suspect for amoment that she wished him to go away. 

She rose presently and turned up the lights, rang the bell, andwhen the window curtains were drawn, and tea was brought, she dideverything she could to make Lushington feel at his ease; she did itout of sheer pride, for she did not meditate any vengeance, but wasonly angry, and wished to get rid of him without a scene. 

At last he rose to go away, and when he held out his hand there was adramatic moment. 

'I hope you're not angry with me, ' he said with a cheerful smile, forhe was quite sure that she bore him no lasting grudge. 

'I?'

She laughed so frankly and musically after pronouncing the syllable, that he took it for a disclaimer. 

So he went away, shutting the door after him in a contented way, not sharply as if he were annoyed with her, nor very softly andconsiderately as if he were sorry for her, but with a moderate, businesslike snap of the latch as if everything were all right. 

She went back to the piano when she was alone, and sat down on themusic-stool, but her hands did not go to the keys till she was surethat Lushington was already far from the house. 

A few chords, and then she suddenly began to sing with the full powerof her voice, as if she were on the stage. She sang Rosina's song inthe _Barbiere di Siviglia_ as she had never sung it in her life, andfor the first time the words pleased her. 

 '... Una vipera sarò!'

What 'nice English girl' ever told herself or any one else that shewould be a 'viper'?

CHAPTER VII

Two days later Margaret was somewhat surprised by an informalinvitation to dine at the Turkish Embassy. The Ambassador had latelybeen transferred to London from Paris, where she had known him throughLogotheti and had met him two or three times. The latter, as aFanariote Greek, was a Turkish subject, and although he had once toldMargaret that the Turks had murdered his father in some insurrection, and though he himself might have hesitated to spend much time inConstantinople, he nevertheless maintained friendly relations withthe representatives of what was his country; and for obvious reasons, connected with Turkish finance, they treated him with markedconsideration. On general principles and in theory Turks and Greekshate each other; in practice they can live very amicably side by side. In the many cases in which Armenians have been attacked and killed bythe Turks no Greek has ever been hurt except by accident; on the otherhand, none has lifted a hand to defend an Armenian in distress, which sufficiently proves that the question of religion has not beenconcerned at all. 

Margaret accepted the Ambassador's invitation, feeling tolerably sureof meeting Logotheti at the dinner. If there were any other women theywould be of the meteoric sort, the fragments of former social planetsthat go on revolving in the old orbit, more or less divorced, bankrupt, or otherwise unsound, though still smart, the kind of womenwho are asked to fill a table on such occasions 'because theywon't mind'--that is to say, they will not object to dining with aprimadonna or an actress whose husband has become nebulous and whosereputation is mottled. The men, of whom there might be several, wouldbe either very clever or overpoweringly noble, because all geniusesand all peers are supposed to like their birds of paradise a littlehigh. I wonder why. I have met and talked with a good many menof genius, from Wagner and Liszt to Zola and some still livingcontemporaries, and, really, their general preference for highlycorrect social gatherings has struck me as phenomenal. There are evennoblemen who seem to be quite respectable, and pretend that they wouldrather talk to an honest woman at a dinner party than drink bumpers ofbrut champagne out of Astarte's satin slipper. 

Mustapha Pasha, the Turkish Ambassador, was a fair, pale man of fifty, who had spiritual features, quiet blue eyes, and a pleasant smile. Hishands were delicately made and very white, but not effeminate. He hadbeen educated partly in England, and spoke English without difficultyand almost without accent, as Logotheti did. He came forward to meetMargaret as she entered the room, and he greeted her warmly, thankingher for being so good as to come at short notice. 

Logotheti was the next to take her hand, and she looked at himattentively when her eyes met his, wondering whether he, too, wouldthink her changed. He himself was not, at all events. Mustapha Pasha, a born Musalman and a genuine Turk, never arrested attention in anEnglish drawing-room by his appearance; but Constantino Logotheti, theGreek, was an Oriental in looks as well as in character. His beautifuleyes were almond-shaped, his lips were broad and rather flat, and thesmall black moustache grew upwards and away from them so as not tohide his mouth at all. He had an even olive complexion, and any judgeof men would have seen at a glance that he was thoroughly sound andas strong as a professional athlete. His coat had a velvet collar; asingle emerald stud, worth several thousand pounds, diffused a greenrefulgence round itself in the middle of his very shiny shirt front;his waistcoat was embroidered and adorned with diamond buttons, histrousers were tight, and his name, with those of three or four otherEuropean financiers, made it alternately possible or impossible forimpecunious empires and kingdoms to raise money in England, France andGermany. In matters of business, in the East, the Jew fears the Greek, the Greek fears the Armenian, the Armenian fears the Persian, andthe Persian fears only Allah. One reason why the Jews do not care toreturn to Palestine and Asia Minor is that they cannot get a livingamongst Christians and Mohammedans, a plain fact which thoseeminent and charitable European Jews who are trying to draw theirfellow-believers eastward would do well to consider. Even in Europethere are far more poor Jews than Christians realise; in Asia thereare hardly any rich ones. The Venetians were too much for Shylock, and he lost his ducats and his daughter; amongst Christian Greeks, Christian Armenians, and Musalman Persians, from Constantinople toTiflis, Teheran, Bagdad and Cairo, the poor man could not have savedsixpence a year. 

This is not a mere digression, since it may serve to defineLogotheti's position in the scale of the financial forces. 

Margaret took his hand and looked at him just a little longer than shehad looked at Mustapha Pasha. He never wrote to her, and never tookthe trouble to let her know where he was; but when they met his timewas hers, and when he could be with her he seemed to have no otherpre-occupation in life. 

'I came over from Paris to-day, ' he said. 'When may I come and seeyou?'

That was always the first question, for he never wasted time. 

'To-morrow, if you like. Come late--about seven. '

The Ambassador was on her other side. A little knot of men and onelady were standing near the fire in an expectant sort of way, ready tobe introduced to Margaret. She saw the bony head of Paul Griggs, andshe smiled at him from a distance. He was talking to a very handsomeand thoroughbred looking woman in plain black velvet, who had the mostperfectly beautiful shoulders Margaret had ever seen. 

Mustapha Pasha led the Primadonna to the group. 

'Lady Maud, ' he said to the beauty, 'this is my old friend Señorita daCordova. Countess Leven, ' he added, for Margaret's benefit. 

She had not met him more than three times, but she did not resentbeing called his old friend. It was well meant, she thought. 

Lady Maud held out her hand cordially. 

'I've wanted to know you ever so long, ' she said, in her sweet lowvoice. 

'That's very kind of you, ' Margaret answered. 

It is not easy to find a proper reply to people who say they have longhoped to meet you, but Griggs came to the rescue, as he shook hands inhis turn. 

'That was not a mere phrase, ' he said with a smile. 'It's quite true. Lady Maud wanted me to give her a letter to you a year ago. '

'Indeed I did, ' asseverated the beauty, nodding, 'but Mr. Griggs saidhe didn't know you well enough!'

'You might have asked me, ' observed Logotheti. 'I'm less cautious thanGriggs. '

'You're too exotic, ' retorted Lady Maud, with a ripple in her voice. 

The adjective described the Greek so well that the others laughed. 

'Exotic, ' Margaret repeated the word thoughtfully. 

'For that matter, ' put in Mustapha Pasha with a smile, 'I can hardlybe called a native!'

The Countess Leven looked at him critically. 

'You could pass for one, ' she said, 'but Monsieur Logotheti couldn't. 'The other men, whom Margaret did not know, had been listening insilence, and maintained their expectant attitude. In the pause whichfollowed Lady Maud's remark the Ambassador introduced them in foreignfashion: one was a middle-aged peer who wore gold-rimmed spectaclesand looked like a student or a man of letters; another was the mostsuccessful young playwright of the younger generation, and he wore avery good coat and was altogether well turned out, for in his heart heprided himself on being the best groomed man in London; a third wasa famous barrister who had a crisp and breezy way with him that madeflat calms in conversation impossible. Lastly, a very disagreeableyoung man, who seemed a mere boy, was introduced to the Primadonna. 

'Mr. Feist, ' said the Ambassador, who never forgot names. 

Margaret was aware of a person with an unhealthy complexion, thickhair of a dead-leaf brown colour, and staring blue eyes that made herthink of glass marbles. The face had an unnaturally youthful look, andyet, at the same time, there was something profoundly vicious aboutit. Margaret wondered who in the world the young man might be and whyhe was at the Turkish Embassy, apparently invited there to meet her. She at once supposed that in spite of his appearance he must have someclaim to celebrity. 

'I'm a great admirer of yours, Señorita, ' said Mr. Feist in a womanishvoice and with a drawl. 'I was in the Metropolitan in New York whenyou sang in the dark and prevented a panic. I suppose that was aboutthe finest thing any singer ever did. '

Margaret smiled pleasantly, though she felt the strongest repulsionfor the man. 

'I happened to be on the stage, ' she said modestly. 'Any of the otherswould have done the same. '

'Well, ' drawled Mr. Feist, 'may be. I doubt it. '

Dinner was announced. 

'Will you keep house for me?' asked the Ambassador of Lady Maud. 

'There's something rather appropriate about your playing Ambassadresshere, ' observed Logotheti. 

Margaret heard but did not understand that her new acquaintance wasa Russian subject. Mustapha Pasha held out his arm to take her in todinner. The spectacled peer took in Lady Maud, and the men straggledin. At table Lady Maud sat opposite the Pasha, with the peer on herright and the barrister on her left. Margaret was on the right of theAmbassador, on whose other side Griggs was placed, and Logothetiwas Margaret's other neighbour. Feist and the young playwright weretogether, between Griggs and the nobleman. 

Margaret glanced round the table at the people and wondered aboutthem. She had heard of the barrister and the novelist, and the peer'sname had a familiar sound that suggested something unusual, though shecould not quite remember what it was. It might be pictures, or thenorth pole, or the divorce court, or a new idiot asylum; it wouldnever matter much. The new acquaintances on whom her attention fixeditself were Lady Maud, who attracted her strongly, and Mr. Feist, who repelled her. She wished she could speak Greek in order to askLogotheti who the latter was and why he was present. To judge byappearances he was probably a rich young American who travelled andfrequented theatres a good deal, and who wished to be able to saythat he knew Cordova. He had perhaps arrived lately with a letterof introduction to the Ambassador, who had asked him to the firstnondescript informal dinner he gave, because the man would not havefitted in anywhere else. 

Logotheti began to talk at once, while Mustapha Pasha plunged into apolitical conversation with Griggs. 

'I'm much more glad to see you than you can imagine, ' the Greek said, not in an undertone, but just so softly that no one else could hearhim. 

'I'm not good at imagining, ' answered Margaret. 'But I'm glad you arehere. There are so many new faces. '

'Happily you are not shy. One of your most enviable qualities is yourself-possession. '

'You're not lacking in that way either, ' laughed Margaret. 'Unless youhave changed very much. '

'Neither of us has changed much since last year. I only wish youwould!'

Margaret turned her head to look at him. 

'So you think I am not changed!' she said, with a little pleasedsurprise in her tone. 

'Not a bit. If anything, you have grown younger in the last twoyears. '

'Does that mean more youthful? More frisky? I hope not!'

'No, not at all. What I see is the natural effect of vast success on avery, nice woman. Formerly, even after you had begun your career, you had some doubts as to the ultimate result. The future made yourestless, and sometimes disturbed the peace of your face a little, when you thought about it too much. That's all gone now, and you areyour real self, as nature meant you to be. '

'My real self? You mean, the professional singer!'

'No. A great artist, in the person of a thoroughly nice woman. '

Margaret had thought that blushing was a thing of the past with her, but a soft colour rose in her cheeks now, from sheer pleasure at whathe had said. 

'I hope you don't think it impertinent of me to tell you so, ' saidLogotheti with a slight intonation of anxiety. 

'Impertinent!' cried Margaret. 'It's the nicest thing any one has saidto me for months, and thank goodness I'm not above being pleased. '

Nor was Logotheti above using any art that could please her. Hisinstinct about women, finding no scruples in the way, had led him intopresent favour by the shortest road. It is one thing to say brutallythat all women like flattery; it is quite another to foresee just whatform of flattery they will like. People who do not know professionalartistic life from the inner side are much too ready to cry out thatfirst-class professionals will swallow any amount of undiscriminatingpraise. The ability to judge their own work is one of the gifts whichplace them above the second class. 

'I said what I thought, ' observed Logotheti with a sudden air ofconscientious reserve. 'For once in our acquaintance, I was notthinking of pleasing you. And then I was afraid that I had displeasedyou, as I so often have. '

The last words were spoken with a regret that was real. 

'I have forgiven you, ' said Margaret quietly; 'with conditions!' sheadded, as an afterthought, and smiling. 

'Oh, I know--I'll never do it again. '

'That's what a runaway horse seems to say when he walks quietly home, with his head down and his ears limp, after nearly breaking one'sneck!'

'I was a born runaway, ' said Logotheti meekly, 'but you have curedme. '

In the pause that followed this speech, Mr. Feist leaned forward andspoke to Margaret across the table. 

'I think we have a mutual friend, Madame, ' he said. 

'Indeed?' Margaret spoke coolly; she did not like to be called'Madame' by people who spoke English. 

'Mr. Van Torp, ' explained the young man. 

'Yes, ' Margaret said, after a moment's hesitation, 'I know Mr. VanTorp; he came over on the same steamer. '

The others at the table were suddenly silent, and seemed to belistening. Lady Maud's clear eyes rested on Mr. Feist's face. 

'He's quite a wonderful man, I think, ' observed the latter. 

'Yes, ' assented the Primadonna indifferently. 

'Don't you think he is a wonderful man?' insisted Mr. Feist, with hisdisagreeable drawl. 

'I daresay he is, ' Margaret answered, 'but I don't know him verywell. '

'Really? That's funny!'

'Why?'

'Because I happen to know that he thinks everything of you, MadameCordova. That's why I supposed, you were intimate friends. '

The others had listened hitherto in a sort of mournful silence, distinctly bored. Lady Maud's eyes now turned to Margaret, but thelatter still seemed perfectly indifferent, though she was wishing thatsome one else would speak. Griggs turned to Mr. Feist, who was next tohim. 

'You mean that he is a wonderful man of business, perhaps, ' he said. 

'Well, we all know he's that, anyway, ' returned his neighbour. 'He'snot exactly a friend of mine, not exactly!' A meaning smile wrinkledthe unhealthy face and suddenly made it look older. 'All the same, Ithink he's quite wonderful. He's not merely an able man, he's a man ofpowerful intellect. '

'A Nickel Napoleon, ' suggested the barrister, who was bored to deathby this time, and could not imagine why Lady Maud followed theconversation with so much interest. 

'Your speaking of nickel, ' said the peer, at her elbow, 'reminds me ofthat extraordinary new discovery--let me see--what is it?'

'America?' suggested the barrister viciously. 

'No, ' said his lordship, with perfect gravity, 'it's not that. Ah yes, I remember! It's a process for making nitric acid out of air. '

Lady Maud nodded and smiled, as if she knew all about it, but her eyeswere again scrutinising Mr. Feist's face. Her neighbour, whose hobbywas applied science, at once launched upon a long account of theinvention. From time to time the beauty nodded and said that she quiteunderstood, which was totally untrue, but well meant. 

'That young man has the head of a criminal, ' said the barrister on herother side, speaking very low. 

She bent her head very slightly, to show that she had heard, and shecontinued to listen to the description of the new process. By thistime every one was talking again. Mr. Feist was in conversation withGriggs, and showed his profile to the barrister, who quietly studiedthe retreating forehead and the ill-formed jaw, the latter plainlydiscernible to a practised eye, in spite of the round cheeks. Thebarrister was a little mad on the subject of degeneracy, and knew thatan unnaturally boyish look in a grown man is one of the signs of it. In the course of a long experience at the bar he had appeared indefence of several 'high-class criminals. ' By way of comparing Mr. Feist with a perfectly healthy specimen of humanity, he turned to lookat Logotheti beside him. Margaret was talking with the Ambassador, andthe Greek was just turning to talk to his neighbour, so that theireyes met, and each waited for the other to speak first. 

'Are you a judge of faces?' asked the barrister after a moment. 

'Men of business have to be, to some extent, ' answered Logotheti. 

'So do lawyers. What should you say was the matter with that one?'

It was impossible to doubt that he was speaking of the only abnormalhead at the table, and Logotheti looked across the wide table at Mr. Feist for several seconds before he answered. 

'Drink, ' he said in an undertone, when he had finished hisexamination. 

'Yes. Anything else?'

'May go mad any day, I should think, ' observed Logotheti. 

'Do you know anything about him?'

'Never saw him before. '

'And we shall probably never see him again, ' said the Englishman. 'That's the worst of it. One sees such heads occasionally, but onevery rarely hears what becomes of them. '

The Greek did not care a straw what became of Mr. Feist's head, for hewas waiting to renew his conversation with Margaret. 

Mustapha Pasha told her that she should go to Constantinople some dayand sing to the Sultan, who would give her a pretty decoration indiamonds; and she laughed carelessly and answered that it might bevery amusing. 

'I shall be very happy to show you the way, ' said the Pasha. 'Wheneveryou have a fancy for the trip, promise to let me know. '

Margaret had no doubt that he was quite in earnest, and would enjoythe holiday vastly. She was used to such kind offers and knew how tolaugh at them, though she was very well aware that they were not madein jest. 

'I have a pretty little villa on the Bosphorus, ' said the Ambassador, 'If you should ever come to Constantinople it is at your disposal, with everything in it, as long as you care to use it. '

'It's too good of you!' she answered. 'But I have a small house of myown here which is very comfortable, and I like London. '

'I know, ' answered the Pasha blandly; 'I only meant to suggest alittle change. '

He smiled pleasantly, as if he had meant nothing, and there was apause, of which Logotheti took advantage. 

'You are admirable, ' he said. 

'I have had much more magnificent invitations, ' she answered. 'Youonce wished to give me your yacht as a present if I would only makea trip to Crete--with a party of archaeologists! An archduke onceproposed to take me for a drive in a cab!'

'If I remember, ' said Logotheti, 'I offered you the owner with theyacht. But I fancy you thought me too "exotic, " as Countess Levencalls me. '

'Oh, much!' Margaret laughed again, and then lowered her voice, 'bythe bye, who is she?'

'Lady Maud? Didn't you know her? She is Lord Creedmore's daughter, oneof seven or eight, I believe. She married a Russian in the diplomaticservice, four years ago--Count Leven--but everybody here calls herLady Maud. She hadn't a penny, for the Creedmores are poor. Leven wassupposed to be rich, but there are all sorts of stories about him, andhe's often hard up. As for her, she always wears that black velvetgown, and I've been told that she has no other. I fancy she gets a newone every year. But people say--'

Logotheti broke off suddenly. 

'What do they say?' Margaret was interested. 

'No, I shall not tell you, because I don't believe it. '

'If you say you don't believe the story, what harm can there be intelling it?'

'No harm, perhaps. But what is the use of repeating a bit of wickedgossip?'

Margaret's curiosity was roused about the beautiful Englishwoman. 

'If you won't tell me, I may think it is something far worse!'

'I'm sure you could not imagine anything more unlikely!'

'Please tell me! Please! I know it's mere idle curiosity, but you'veroused it, and I shall not sleep unless I know. '

'And that would be bad for your voice. '

'Of course! Please--'

Logotheti had not meant to yield, but he could not resist her winningtone. 

'I'll tell you, but I don't believe a word of it, and I hope you willnot either. The story is that her husband found her with Van Torpthe other evening in rooms he keeps in the Temple, and there was anenvelope on the table addressed to her in his handwriting, in whichthere were four thousand one hundred pounds in notes. '

Margaret looked thoughtfully at Lady Maud before she answered. 

'She? With Mr. Van Torp, and taking money from him? Oh no! Not withthat face!'

'Besides, ' said Logotheti, 'why the odd hundred? The story gives toomany details. People never know as much of the truth as that. '

'And if it is true, ' returned Margaret, 'he will divorce her, and thenwe shall know. '

'For that matter, ' said the Greek contemptuously, 'Leven would not beparticular, provided he had his share of the profits. '

'Is it as bad as that? How disgusting! Poor woman!'

'Yes. I fancy she is to be pitied. In connection with Van Torp, may Iask an indiscreet question?'

'No question you can ask me about him can be indiscreet. What is it?'

'Is it true that he once asked you to marry him and you refused him?'

Margaret turned her pale face to Logotheti with a look of genuinesurprise. 

'Yes. It's true. But I never told any one. How in the world did youhear it?'

'And he quite lost his head, I heard, and behaved like a madman--'

'Who told you that?' asked Margaret, more and more astonished, and notat all pleased. 

'He behaved so strangely that you ran into the next room and boltedthe door, and waited till he went away--'

'Have you been paying a detective to watch me?'

There was anger in her eyes for a moment, but she saw at once that shewas mistaken. 

'No, ' Logotheti answered with a smile, 'why should I? If a detectivetold me anything against you I should not believe it, and no one couldtell me half the good I believe about you!'

'You're really awfully nice, ' laughed Margaret, for she could not helpbeing flattered. 'Forgive me, please!'

'I would rather that the Nike of Samothrace should think dreadfulthings of me than that she should not think of me at all!'

'Do I still remind you of her?' asked Margaret. 

'Yes. I used to be quite satisfied with my Venus, but now I want theVictory from the Louvre. It's not a mere resemblance. She is you, andas she has no face I see yours when I look at her. The other day Istood so long on the landing where she is, that a watchman took me foran anarchist waiting to deposit a bomb, and he called a policeman, whoasked me my name and occupation. I was very near being arrested--onyour account again! You are destined to turn the heads of men ofbusiness!'

At this point Margaret became aware that she and Logotheti weretalking in undertones, while the conversation at the table had becomegeneral, and she reluctantly gave up the idea of again asking where hehad got his information about her interview with Mr. Van Torp in NewYork. The dinner came to an end before long, and the men went out withthe ladies, and began to smoke in the drawing-room, standing round thecoffee. 

Lady Maud put her arm through Margaret's. 

'Cigarettes are bad for your throat, I'm sure, ' she said, 'and I hatethem. '

She led the Primadonna away through a curtained door to a small roomfurnished according to Eastern ideas of comfort, and she sat down on alow, hard divan, which was covered with a silk carpet. The walls werehung with Persian silks, and displayed three or four texts from theKoran, beautifully written in gold on a green ground. Two small inlaidtables stood near the divan, one at each end, and two deep Englisheasy-chairs, covered with red leather, were placed symmetricallybeside them. There was no other furniture, and there were no gimcracksabout, such as Europeans think necessary in an 'oriental' room. 

With her plain black velvet, Lady Maud looked handsomer than ever inthe severely simple surroundings. 

'Do you mind?' she asked, as Margaret sat down beside her. 'I'm afraidI carried you off rather unceremoniously!'

'No, ' Margaret answered. 'I'm glad to be quiet, it's so long since Iwas at a dinner-party. '

'I've always hoped to meet you, ' said Lady Maud, 'but you're quitedifferent from what I expected. I did not know you were really soyoung--ever so much younger than I am. '

'Really?'

'Oh, yes! I'm seven-and-twenty, and I've been married four years. '

'I'm twenty-four, ' said Margaret, 'and I'm not married yet. '

She was aware that the clear eyes were studying her face, but she didnot resent their scrutiny. There was something about her companionthat inspired her with trust at first sight, and she did not evenremember the impossible story Logotheti had told her. 

'I suppose you are tormented by all sorts of people who ask things, aren't you?'

Margaret wondered whether the beauty was going to ask her to sing fornothing at a charity concert. 

'I get a great many begging letters, and some very amusing ones, ' sheanswered cautiously. 'Young girls, of whom I never heard, writeand ask me to give them pianos and the means of getting a musicaleducation. I once took the trouble to have one of those requestsexamined. It came from a gang of thieves in Chicago. '

Lady Maud smiled, but did not seem surprised. 

'Millionaires get lots of letters of that sort, ' she said. 'Think ofpoor Mr. Van Torp!'

Margaret moved uneasily at the name, which seemed to pursue her sinceshe had left New York; but her present companion was the first personwho had applied to him the adjective 'poor. '

'Do you know him well?' she asked, by way of saying something. 

Lady Maud was silent for a moment, and seemed to be considering thequestion. 

'I had not meant to speak of him, ' she answered presently. 'I likehim, and from what you said at dinner I fancy that you don't, so weshall never agree about him. '

'Perhaps not, ' said Margaret. 'But I really could not have answeredthat odious man's question in any other way, could I? I meant tobe quite truthful. Though I have met Mr. Van Torp often since lastChristmas, I cannot say that I know him very well, because I have notseen the best side of him. '

'Few people ever do, and you have put it as fairly as possible. WhenI first met him I thought he was a dreadful person, and now we'reawfully good friends. But I did not mean to talk about him!'

'I wish you would, ' protested Margaret. 'I should like to hear theother side of the case from some one who knows him well. '

'It would take all night to tell even what I know of his story, ' saidLady Maud. 'And as you've never seen me before you probably would notbelieve me, ' she added with philosophical calm. 'Why should you? Theother side of the case, as I know it, is that he is kind to me, andgood to people in trouble, and true to his friends. '

'You cannot say more than that of any man, ' Margaret observed gravely. 

'I could say much more, but I want to talk to you about other things. '

Margaret, who was attracted by her, and who was sure that the storyLogotheti had told was a fabrication, as he said it was, wished thather new acquaintance would leave other matters alone and tell her whatshe knew about Van Torp. 

'It all comes of my having mentioned him accidentally, ' said LadyMaud. 'But I often do--probably because I think about him a gooddeal. '

Margaret thought her amazingly frank, but nothing suggested itself inthe way of answer, so she remained silent. 

'Did you know that your father and my father were friends at Oxford?'Lady Maud asked, after a little pause. 

'Really?' Margaret was surprised. 

'When they were undergrads. Your name is Donne, isn't it? MargaretDonne? My father was called Foxwell then. That's our name, you know. He didn't come into the title till his uncle died, a few years ago. '

'But I remember a Mr. Foxwell when I was a child, ' said Margaret. 'Hecame to see us at Oxford sometimes. Do you mean to say that he wasyour father?'

'Yes. He is alive, you know--tremendously alive!--and he remembers youas a little girl, and wants me to bring you to see him. Do you mindvery much? I told him I was to meet you this evening. '

'I should be very glad indeed, ' said Margaret. 

'He would come to see you, ' said Lady Maud, rather apologetically, 'but he sprained his ankle the other day. He was chivvying a catthat was after the pheasants at Creedmore--he's absurdly young, youknow--and he came down at some hurdles. '

'I'm so sorry! Of course I shall be delighted to go. '

'It's awfully good of you, and he'll be ever so pleased. May I comeand fetch you? When? To-morrow afternoon about three? Are you quitesure you don't mind?'

Margaret was quite sure; for the prospect of seeing an old friend ofher father's, and one whom she herself remembered well, was pleasantjust then. She was groping for something she had lost, and the merestthread was worth following. 

'If you like I'll sing for him, ' she said. 

'Oh, he simply hates music!' answered Lady Maud, with unconsciousindifference to the magnificence of such an offer from the greatestlyric soprano alive. 

Margaret laughed in spite of herself. 

'Do you hate music too?' she asked. 

'No, indeed! I could listen to you for ever. But my father is quitedifferent. I believe he hears half a note higher with one ear thanwith the other. At all events the effect of music on him is dreadful. He behaves like a cat in a thunderstorm. If you want to please him, talk to him about old bindings. Next to shooting he likes bindingsbetter than anything in the world--in fact he's a capital bookbinderhimself. '

At this juncture Mustapha Pasha's pale and spiritual face appearedbetween the curtains of the small room, and he interrupted theconversation by a single word. 

'Bridge?'

Lady Maud was on her feet in an instant. 

'Rather!'

'Do you play?' asked the Ambassador, turning to Margaret, who rosemore slowly. 

'Very badly. I would rather not. '

The diplomatist looked disappointed, and she noticed his expression, and suspected that he would feel himself obliged to talk to herinstead of playing. 

'I'm very fond of looking on, ' she added quickly, 'if you will let mesit beside you. '

They went back to the drawing-room, and presently the celebratedSeñorita da Cordova, who was more accustomed to being the centre ofinterest than she realised, felt that she was nobody at all, asshe sat at her host's elbow watching the game through a cloud ofsuffocating cigarette smoke. Even old Griggs, who detested cards, had sacrificed himself in order to make up the second table. As forLogotheti, he was too tactful to refuse a game in which every one knewhim to be a past master, in order to sit out and talk to her the wholeevening. 

Margaret watched the players with some little interest at first. Thedisagreeable Mr. Feist lost and became even more disagreeable, andMargaret reflected that whatever he might be he was certainly not anadventurer, for she had seen a good many of the class. The Ambassadorlost even more, but with the quiet indifference of a host who playsbecause his guests like that form of amusement. Lady Maud and thebarrister were partners, and seemed to be winning a good deal; thepeer whose hobby was applied science revoked and did dreadful thingswith his trumps, but nobody seemed to care in the least, except thebarrister, who was no respecter of persons, and had fought his way tocelebrity by terrorising juries and bullying the Bench. 

At last Margaret let her head rest against the back of her comfortablechair, and when she closed her eyes because the cigarette smoke madethem smart, she forgot to open them again, and went sound asleep; forshe was a healthy young person, and had eaten a good dinner, and onevenings when she did not sing she was accustomed to go to bed at teno'clock, if not earlier. 

No one even noticed that she was sleeping, and the game went on tillnearly midnight, when she was awakened by the sound of voices, andsprang to her feet with the impression of having done somethingterribly rude. Every one was standing, the smoke was as thick as ever, and it was tempered by a smell of Scotch whisky. The men looked moreor less tired, but Lady Maud had not turned a hair. 

The peer, holding a tall glass of weak whisky and soda in his hand, and blinking through his gold-rimmed spectacles, asked her if she weregoing anywhere else. 

'There's nothing to go to yet, ' she said rather regretfully. 

'There are women's clubs, ' suggested Logotheti. 

'That's the objection to them, ' answered the beauty with more sarcasmthan grammatical sequence. 

'Bridge till all hours, though, ' observed the barrister. 

'I'd give something to spend an evening at a smart women's club, ' saidthe playwright in a musing tone. 'Is it true that the Crown Prince ofPersia got into the one in Mayfair as a waiter?'

'They don't have waiters, ' said Lady Maud. 'Nothing is ever true. Imust be going home. '

Margaret was only too glad to go too. When they were downstairs sheheard a footman ask Lady Maud if he should call a hansom for her. Heevidently knew that she had no carriage. 

'May I take you home?' Margaret asked. 

'Oh, please do!' answered the beauty with alacrity. 'It's awfully goodof you!'

It was raining as the two handsome women got into the singer'scomfortable brougham. 

'Isn't there room for me too?' asked Logotheti, putting his head inbefore the footman could shut the door. 

'Don't be such a baby, ' answered Lady Maud in a displeased tone. 

The Greek drew back with a laugh and put up his umbrella; Lady Maudtold the footman where to go, and the carriage drove away. 

'You must have had a dull evening, ' she said. 

'I was sound asleep most of the time, ' Margaret answered. 'I'm afraidthe Ambassador thought me very rude. '

'Because you went to sleep? I don't believe he even noticed it. And ifhe did, why should you mind? Nobody cares what anybody does nowadays. We've simplified life since the days of our fathers. We think more ofthe big things than they did, and much less of the little ones. '

'All the same, I wish I had kept awake!'

'Nonsense!' retorted Lady Maud. 'What is the use of being famous ifyou cannot go to sleep when you are sleepy? This is a bad world asit is, but it would be intolerable if one had to keep up one'sschool-room manners all one's life, and sit up straight and spellproperly, as if Society, with a big S, were a governess that couldsend us to bed without our supper if we didn't!'

Margaret laughed a little, but there was no ripple in Lady Maud'sdelicious voice as she made these singular statements. She wasprofoundly in earnest. 

'The public is my schoolmistress, ' said Margaret. 'I'm so used tobeing looked at and listened to on the stage that I feel as if peoplewere always watching me and criticising me, even when I go out todinner. '

'I've no right at all to give you my opinion, because I'm nobody inparticular, ' answered Lady Maud, 'and you are tremendously famous andall that! But you'll make yourself miserable for nothing if you getinto the way of caring about anybody's opinion of you, except on thestage. And you'll end by making the other people uncomfortable too, because you'll make them think that you mean to teach them manners!'

'Heaven forbid!' Margaret laughed again. 

The carriage stopped, and Lady Maud thanked her, bade her good-night, and got out. 

'No, ' she said, as the footman was going to ring the bell, 'I have alatch-key, thank you. '

It was a small house in Charles Street, Berkeley Square, and thewindows were quite dark. There was not even a light in the hall whenMargaret saw Lady Maud open the front door and disappear within. 

Margaret went over the little incidents of the evening as she drovehome alone, and felt better satisfied with herself than she had beensince Lushington's visit, in spite of having deliberately gone tosleep in Mustapha Pasha's drawing-room. No one had made her feel thatshe was changed except for the better, and Lady Maud, who was mostundoubtedly a smart woman of the world, had taken a sudden fancy toher. Margaret told herself that this would be impossible if she wereever so little vulgarised by her stage life, and in this reflectionshe consoled herself for what Lushington had said, and nursed herresentment against him. 

The small weaknesses of celebrities are sometimes amazing. There was amoment that evening, as she stood before her huge looking-glass beforeundressing and scrutinised her face in it, when she would have givenher fame and her fortune to be Lady Maud, who trusted to a passinghansom or an acquaintance's carriage for getting home from an Embassy, who let herself into a dark and cheerless little house with alatch-key, who was said to be married to a slippery foreigner, andabout whom the gossips invented unedifying tales. 

Margaret wondered whether Lady Maud would ever think of changingplaces with her, to be a goddess for a few hours every week, to havemore money than she could spend on herself, and to be pursued withrequests for autographs and grand pianos, not to mention invitationsto supper from those supernal personages whose uneasy heads wearcrowns or itch for them; and Señorita da Cordova told herself ratherpetulantly that Lady Maud would rather starve than be the mostsuccessful soprano that ever trilled on the high A till the houseyelled with delight, and the royalties held up their stalking-glassesto watch the fluttering of her throat, if perchance they might see howthe pretty noise was made. 

But at this point Margaret Donne was a little ashamed of herself, andwent to bed; and she dreamt that Edmund Lushington had suddenly takento wearing a little moustache, very much turned up and flattened onhis cheeks, and a single emerald for a stud, which cast a greenishrefulgence round it upon a shirt-front that was hideously shiny;and the effect of these changes in his appearance was to make himperfectly odious. 

CHAPTER VIII

Lord Creedmore had begun life as a poor barrister, with no particularprospects, had entered the House of Commons early, and had been ahard-working member of Parliament till he had inherited a title and arelatively exiguous fortune when he was over fifty by the unexpecteddeath of his uncle and both the latter's sons within a year. He hadmarried young; his wife was the daughter of a Yorkshire countrygentleman, and had blessed him with ten children, who were all alive, and of whom Lady Maud was not the youngest. He was always obliged tomake a little calculation to remember how old she was, and whethershe was the eighth or the ninth. There were three sons and sevendaughters. The sons were all in the army, and all stood betweensix and seven feet in their stockings; the daughters were allgood-looking, but none was as handsome as Maud; they were all married, and all but she had children. Lady Creedmore had been a beauty too, but at the present time she was stout and gouty, had a bad temper, andalternately soothed and irritated her complaint and her disposition byfollowing cures or committing imprudences. Her husband, who was nowover sixty, had never been ill a day in his life; he was as lean andtough as a greyhound and as active as a schoolboy, a good rider, and acrack shot. 

His connection with this tale, apart from the friendship which grewup between Margaret and Lady Maud, lies in the fact that his landin Derbyshire adjoined the estate which Mr. Van Torp had bought andre-named after himself. It was here that Lady Maud and the Americanmagnate had first met, two years after her marriage, when she had comehome on a long visit, very much disillusionised as to the supposedadvantages of the marriage bond as compared with the freedom of ahandsome English girl of three-and-twenty, who is liked in her set andhas the run of a score of big country houses without any chaperonialencumbrance. For the chaperon is going down to the shadowy kingdom ofthe extinct, and is already reckoned with dodos, stagecoaches, muzzleloaders, crinolines, Southey's poems, the Thirty-nine Articles, Benjamin Franklin's reputation, the British workman, and the lateHerbert Spencer's philosophy. 

On the previous evening Lady Maud had not told Margaret that LordCreedmore lived in Surrey, having let his town house since hisyoungest daughter had married. She now explained that it would beabsurd to think of driving such a distance when one could go almostall the way by train. The singer was rather scared at the prospect ofpossibly missing trains, waiting in draughty stations, and getting wetby a shower; she was accustomed to think nothing of driving twentymiles in a closed carriage to avoid the slightest risk of a wetting. 

But Lady Maud piloted her safely, and showed an intimate knowledgeof the art of getting about by public conveyances which amazed hercompanion. She seemed to know by instinct the difference between onetrain and another, when all looked just alike, and when she had toask a question of a guard or a porter her inquiry was met withbusiness-like directness and brevity, and commanded the respect whichall officials feel for people who do not speak to them without areally good reason--so different from their indulgent superiority whenwe enter into friendly conversation with them. 

The journey ended in a walk of a quarter of a mile from the station tothe gate of the small park in which the house stood. Lady Maud saidshe was sorry she had forgotten to telephone for a trap to be sentdown, but added cheerfully that the walk would do Margaret good. 

'You know your way wonderfully well, ' Margaret said. 

'Yes, ' answered her companion carelessly. 'I don't think I could losemyself in London, from Limehouse to Wormwood Scrubs. '

She spoke quite naturally, as if it were not in the least surprisingthat a smart woman of the world should possess such knowledge. 

'You must have a marvellous memory for places, ' Margaret ventured tosay. 

'Why? Because I know my way about? I walk a great deal, that's all. '

Margaret wondered whether the Countess Leven habitually took her walksin the direction of Limehouse in the east or Shepherd's Bush in thewest; and if so, why? As for the distance, the thoroughbred lookedas if she could do twenty miles without turning a hair, and Margaretwished she would not walk quite so fast, for, like all great singers, she herself easily got out of breath if she was hurried; it was notthe distance that surprised her, however, but the fact that Lady Maudshould ever visit such regions. 

They reached the house and found Lord Creedmore in the library, hislame foot on a stool and covered up with a chudder. His clear browneyes examined Margaret's face attentively while he held her hand inhis. 

'So you are little Margery, ' he said at last, with a very friendlysmile. 'Do you remember me at all, my dear? I suppose I have changedalmost more than you have. '

Margaret remembered him very well indeed as Mr. Foxwell, who usedalways to bring her certain particularly delicious chocolate waferswhenever he came to see her father in Oxford. She sat down beside himand looked at his face--clean-shaven, kindly, and energetic--the faceof a clever lawyer and yet of a keen sportsman, a type you will hardlyfind out of England. 

Lady Maud left the two alone after a few minutes, and Margaret foundherself talking of her childhood and her old home, as if nothing verymuch worth mentioning had happened in her life during the last ten ora dozen years. While she answered her new friend's questions andasked others of him she unconsciously looked about the room. Thewriting-table was not far from her, and she saw on it two photographsin plain ebony frames; one was of her father, the other was a likenessof Lady Maud. Little by little she understood that her father had beenLord Creedmore's best friend from their schoolboy days till his death. Yet although they had constantly exchanged short visits, the oneliving in Oxford and the other chiefly in town, their wives had hardlyknown each other, and their children had never met. 

'Take him all in all, ' said the old gentleman gravely, 'Donne was thefinest fellow I ever knew, and the only real friend I ever had. '

His eyes turned to the photograph on the table with a far-away manlyregret that went to Margaret's heart. Her father had been a reticentman, and as there was no reason why he should have talked much abouthis absent friend Foxwell, it was not surprising that Margaret shouldnever have known how close the tie was that bound them. But now, coming unawares upon the recollection of that friendship in the manwho had survived, she felt herself drawn to him as if he were ofher own blood, and she thought she understood why she had liked hisdaughter so much at first sight. 

They talked for more than half an hour, and Margaret did not evennotice that he had not once alluded to her profession, and that shehad so far forgotten herself for the time as not to miss the usualplatitudes about her marvellous voice and her astoundingly successfulcareer. 

'I hope you'll come and stop with us in Derbyshire in September, 'he said at last. 'I'm quite ashamed to ask you there, for we aredreadfully dull people; but it would give us a great deal ofpleasure. '

'You are very kind indeed, ' Margaret said. 'I should be delighted tocome. '

'Some of our neighbours might interest you, ' said Lord Creedmore. 'There's Mr. Van Torp, for instance, the American millionaire. Hisland joins mine. '

'Really?'

Margaret wondered if she should ever again go anywhere without hearingof Mr. Van Torp. 

'Yes. He bought Oxley Paddox some time ago and promptly re-christenedit Torp Towers. But he's not a bad fellow. Maud likes him, though LadyCreedmore calls him names. He has such a nice little girl--at least, it's not exactly his child, I believe, ' his lordship ran on ratherhurriedly; 'but he's adopted her, I understand--at least, I fancy so. At all events she was born deaf, poor little thing; but he has had hertaught to speak and to understand from the lips. Awfully pretty child!Maud delights in her. Nice governess, too--I forget her name; butshe's a faithful sort of woman. It's a dreadfully hard position, don'tyou know, to be a governess if you're young and good-looking, andthough Van Torp is rather a decent sort, I never feel quite sure--Maudlikes him immensely, it's true, and that is a good sign; but Maud isutterly mad about a lot of things, and besides, she's singularly wellable to take care of herself. '

'Yes, ' said Margaret; but she thought of the story Logotheti had toldher on the previous evening. 'I know Mr. Van Torp, and the little girland Miss More, ' she said after a moment. 'We came over in the samesteamer. '

She thought it was only fair to say that she had met the people ofwhom he had been speaking. There was no reason why Lord Creedmoreshould be surprised by this, and he only nodded and smiled pleasantly. 

'All the better. I shall set Maud on you to drag you down toDerbyshire in September, ' he said. 'Women never have anything to do inSeptember. Let me see--you're an actress, aren't you, my dear?'

Margaret laughed. It was positively delightful to feel that he hadnever heard of her theatrical career. 

'No; I'm a singer, ' she said. 'My stage name is Cordova. '

'Oh yes, yes, ' answered Lord Creedmore, very vaguely. 'It's the samething--you cannot possibly have anything to do in September, can you?'

'We shall see. I hope not, this year. '

'If it's not very indiscreet of me, as an old friend, you know, do youmanage to make a living by the stage?'

'Oh--fair!' Margaret almost laughed again. 

Lady Maud returned at this juncture, and Margaret rose to go, feelingthat she had stayed long enough. 

'Margery has half promised to come to us in September, ' said LordCreedmore to his daughter, 'You don't mind if I call you Margery, doyou?' he asked, turning to Margaret. 'I cannot call you Miss Donnesince you really remember the chocolate wafers! You shall have some assoon as I can go to see you!'

Margaret loved the name she had been called by as a child. Mrs. Rushmore had severely eschewed diminutives. 

'Margery, ' repeated Lady Maud thoughtfully. 'I like the name awfullywell. Do you mind calling me Maud? We ought to have known each otherwhen we were in pinafores!'

In this way it happened that Margaret found herself unexpectedlyon something like intimate terms with her father's friend and thelatter's favourite child less than twenty-four hours after meetingLady Maud, and this was how she was asked to their place in thecountry for the month of September. But that seemed very far away. 

Lady Maud took Margaret home, as she had brought her, without makingher wait more than three minutes for a train, without exposing her toa draught, and without letting her get wet, all of which would seemeasy enough to an old Londoner, but was marvellous in the eyes of theyoung Primadonna, and conveyed to her an idea of freedom that wasquite new to her. She remembered that she used to be proud of herindependence when she first went into Paris from Versailles alone forher singing lessons; but that trip, contrasted with the one from herown house to Lord Creedmore's on the Surrey side, was like going outfor an hour's sail in a pleasure-boat on a summer's afternoon comparedwith working a sea-going vessel safely through an intricate andcrowded channel at night. 

Margaret noticed, too, that although Lady Maud was a very strikingfigure, she was treated with respect in places where the singer knewinstinctively that if she herself had been alone she would have beenafraid that men would speak to her. She knew very well how to treatthem if they did, and was able to take care of herself if she choseto travel alone; but she ran the risk of being annoyed where thebeautiful thoroughbred was in no danger at all. That was thedifference. 

Lady Maud left her at her own door and went off on foot, though thehansom that had brought them from the Baker Street Station was stilllurking near. 

Margaret had told Logotheti to come and see her late in the afternoon, and as she entered the hall she was surprised to hear voices upstairs. She asked the servant who was waiting. 

With infinite difficulty in the matter of pronunciation the maninformed her that the party consisted of Monsieur Logotheti, HerrSchreiermeyer, Signor Stromboli, the Signorina Baci-Roventi, andFräulein Ottilie Braun. The four professionals had come at the verymoment when Logotheti had gained admittance on the ground that he hadan appointment, which was true, and they had refused to be sent away. In fact, unless he had called the police the poor footman could nothave kept them out. The Signorina Baci-Roventi alone, black-browed, muscular, and five feet ten in her shoes, would have been almost amatch for him alone; but she was backed by Signor Pompeo Stromboli, who weighed fifteen stone in his fur coat, was as broad as he waslong, and had been seen to run off the stage with Madame Bonanniin his arms while he yelled a high G that could have been heard inWestminster if the doors had been open. Before the onslaught of suchterrific foreigners a superior London footman could only protest withdignity and hold the door open for them to pass. Braver men thanhe had quailed before Schreiermeyer's stony eye, and gentle littleFräulein Ottilie slipped in like a swallow in the track of a storm. 

Margaret felt suddenly inclined to shut herself up in her roomand send word that she had a headache and could not see them. ButSchreiermeyer was there. He would telephone for three doctors, andwould refuse to leave the house till they signed an assurance that shewas perfectly well and able to begin rehearsing the _Elisir d'Amore_the next morning. That was what Schreiermeyer would do, and when shenext met him he would tell her that he would have 'no nonsense, nostupid stuff, ' and that she had signed an engagement and must sing orpay. 

She had never shammed an illness, either, and she did not mean tobegin now. It was only that for two blessed hours and more, with herdead father's best friend and Maud, she had felt like her old selfagain, and had dreamt that she was with her own people. She had evendisliked the prospect of seeing Logotheti after that, and she felt amuch stronger repugnance for her theatrical comrades. She went to herown room before meeting them, and she sighed as she stood before thetall looking-glass for a moment after taking off her coat and hat. Inpulling out the hat-pins her hair had almost come down, and Alphonsineproposed to do it over again, but Margaret was impatient. 

'Give me something--a veil, or anything, ' she said impatiently. 'Theyare waiting for me. '

The maid instantly produced from a near drawer a peach-coloured veilembroidered with green and gold. It was a rather vivid modern Turkishone given her by Logotheti, and she wrapped it quickly over herdisordered hair, like a sort of turban, tucking one end in, andleft the room almost without glancing at the glass again. She wasdiscontented with herself now for having dreamt of ever again beinganything but what she was--a professional singer. 

The little party greeted her noisily as she entered the music-room. Her comrades had not seen her since she had left them in New York, andthe consequence was that Signorina Baci-Roventi kissed her on bothcheeks with dramatic force, and she kissed Fräulein Ottilie on bothcheeks, and Pompeo Stromboli offered himself for a like favour and hadto be fought off, while Schreiermeyer looked on gravely, very much asa keeper at the Zoo watches the gambols of the animals in his charge;but Logotheti shook hands very quietly, well perceiving that hischance of pleasing her just then lay in being profoundly respectfulwhile the professionals were overpoweringly familiar. Hisalmond-shaped eyes asked her how in the world she could stand it all, and she felt uncomfortable at the thought that she was used to it. 

Besides, these good people really liked her. The only members of theprofession who hated her were the other lyric sopranos. Schreiermeyer, rapacious and glittering, had a photograph of her hideously enamelledin colours inside the cover of his watch, and the facsimile of herautograph was engraved across the lid of his silver cigarette-case. Pompeo Stromboli carried some of her hair in a locket which he wore onhis chain between two amulets against the Evil Eye. Fräulein Ottilietreasured a little water-colour sketch of her as Juliet on whichMargaret had written a few friendly words, and the Baci-Roventiactually went to the length of asking her advice about the high notesthe contralto has to sing in such operas as _Semiramide_. It would behard to imagine a more sincere proof of affection and admiration thanthis. 

Margaret knew that the greeting was genuine and that she ought to bepleased, but at the first moment the noise and the kissing and therough promiscuity of it all disgusted her. 

Then she saw that all had brought her little presents, which werearranged side by side on the piano, and she suddenly remembered thatit was her birthday. They were small things without value, intendedto make her laugh. Stromboli had sent to Italy for a Neapolitan clayfigure of a shepherd, cleverly modelled and painted, and vaguelyresembling himself--he had been a Calabrian goatherd. The contralto, who came from Bologna, the city of sausages, gave Margaret a tiny pigmade of silver with holes in his back, in which were stuck a number ofquill toothpicks. 

'You will think of me when you use them at table, ' she said, charmingly unconscious of English prejudices. 

Schreiermeyer presented her with a bronze statuette of Shylockwhetting his knife upon his thigh. 

'It will encourage you to sign our next agreement, ' he observedwith stony calm. 'It is the symbol of business. We are all symbolicnowadays. '

Fräulein Ottilie Braun had wrought a remarkable little specimen ofGerman sentiment. She had made a little blue pin-cushion and hadembroidered some little flowers on it in brown silk. Margaret had nodifficulty in looking pleased, but she also looked slightly puzzled. 

'They are forget-me-nots, ' said the Fräulein, 'but because my name isBraun I made them brown. You see? So you will remember your littleBraun forget-me-not!'

Margaret laughed at the primitively simple little jest, but she wastouched too, and somehow she felt that her eyes were not quite dryas she kissed the good little woman again. But Logotheti could notunderstand at all, and thought it all extremely silly. He did not likeMargaret's improvised turban, either, though he recognised the veil asone he had given her. The headdress was not classic, and he did notthink it becoming to the Victory of Samothrace. 

He also had remembered her birthday and he had a small offering inhis pocket, but he could not give it to her before the others. Schreiermeyer would probably insist on looking at it and would guessits value, whereas Logotheti was sure that Margaret would not. Hewould give it to her when they were alone, and would tell her that itwas nothing but a seal for her writing-case, a common green stone ofsome kind with a little Greek head on it; and she would look at it andthink it pretty, and take it, because it did not look very valuable toher unpractised eye. But the 'common green stone' was a great emerald, and the 'little Greek head' was an intaglio of Anacreon, cut some twothousand and odd hundred years ago by an art that is lost; and thesetting had been made and chiselled for Maria de' Medici when shemarried Henry the Fourth of France. Logotheti liked to give Margaretthings vastly more rare than she guessed them to be. 

Margaret offered her visitors tea, and she and Logotheti took theirswhile the others looked on or devoured the cake and bread and butter. 

'Tea?' repeated Signor Stromboli. 'I am well. Why should I take tea?The tea is for to perspire when I have a cold. '

The Signorina Baci-Roventi laughed at him. 

'Do you not know that the English drink tea before dinner to givethemselves an appetite?' she asked. 'It is because they drink tea thatthey eat so much. '

'All the more, ' answered Stromboli. 'Do you not see that I am fat? Whyshould I eat more? Am I to turn into a monument of Victor Emanuel?'

'You eat too much bread, ' said Schreiermeyer in a resentful tone. 

'It is my vice, ' said the tenor, taking up four thin slices of breadand butter together and popping them all into his mouth without theleast difficulty. 'When I see bread, I eat it. I eat all there is. '

'We see you do, ' returned Schreiermeyer bitterly. 

'I cannot help it. Why do they bring bread? They are in league to makeme fat. The waiters know me. I go into the Carlton; the head-waiterwhispers; a waiter brings a basket of bread; I eat it all. I go intoBoisin's, or Henry's; the head-waiter whispers; it is a basket ofbread; while I eat a few eggs, a chicken, a salad, a tart or two, somefruit, cheese, the bread is all gone. I am the tomb of all the breadin the world. So I get fat. There, ' he concluded gravely, 'it is as Itell you. I have eaten all. '

And in fact, while talking, he had punctuated each sentence with atiny slice or two of thin bread and butter, and everybody laughed, except Schreiermeyer, as the huge singer gravely held up the emptyglass dish and showed it. 

'What do you expect of me?' he asked. 'It is a vice, and I am notSaint Anthony, to resist temptation. '

'Perhaps, ' suggested Fräulein Ottilie timidly, 'if you exercised alittle strength of character--'

'Exercise?' roared Stromboli, not understanding her, for they spokea jargon of Italian, German, and English. 'Exercise? The more Iexercise, the more I eat! Ha, ha, ha! Exercise, indeed! You talk likecrazy!'

'You will end on wheels, ' said Schreiermeyer with cold contempt. 'Youwill stand on a little truck which will be moved about the stage frombelow. You will be lifted to Juliet's balcony by a hydraulic crane. But you shall pay for the machinery. Oh yes, oh yes! I will have itin the contract! You shall be weighed. So much flesh to move, so muchmoney. '

'Shylock!' suggested Logotheti, glancing at the statuette andlaughing. 

'Yes, Shylock and his five hundred pounds of flesh, ' answeredSchreiermeyer, with a faint smile that disappeared again at once. 

'But I meant character--' began Fräulein Ottilie, trying to go backand get in a word. 

'Character!' cried the Baci-Roventi with a deep note that made theopen piano vibrate. 'His stomach is his heart, and his character ishis appetite!'

She bent her heavy brows and fixed her gleaming black eyes on him witha tragic expression. 

'"Let them cant about decorum who have characters to lose, "' quotedLogotheti softly. 

This delicate banter went on for twenty minutes, very much toSchreiermeyer's inward satisfaction, for it proved that at least fourmembers of his company were on good terms with him and with eachother; for when they had a grudge against him, real or imaginary, theybecame sullen and silent in his presence, and eyed him with the coldlyferocious expression of china dogs. 

At last they all rose and went away in a body, leaving Margaret withLogotheti. 

'I had quite forgotten that it was my birthday, ' she said, when theywere gone. 

'I've brought you a little seal, ' he answered, holding out theintaglio. 

She took it and looked at it. 

'How pretty!' she exclaimed. 'It's awfully kind of you to haveremembered to-day, and I wanted a seal very much. '

'It's a silly little thing, just a head on some sort of green stone. But I tried it on sealing-wax, and the impression is not so bad. Ishall be very happy if it's of any use, for I'm always puzzling mybrain to find something you may like. '

'Thanks very much. It's the thought I care for. ' She laid the seal onthe table beside her empty cup. 'And now that we are alone, ' she wenton, 'please tell me. '

'What?'

'How you found out what you told me at dinner last night. '

She leant back in the chair, raising her arms and joining her handsabove her head against the high top of the chair, and stretchingherself a little. The attitude threw the curving lines of her figureinto high relief, and was careless enough, but the tone in which shespoke was almost one of command, and there was a sort of expectantresentfulness in her eyes as they watched his face while she waitedfor his answer. She believed that he had paid to have her watched bysome one who had bribed her servants. 

'I did not find out anything, ' he said quietly. 'I received ananonymous letter from New York giving me all the details of the scene. The letter was written with the evident intention of injuring Mr. VanTorp. Whoever wrote it must have heard what you said to each other, and perhaps he was watching you through the keyhole. It is barelypossible that by some accident he overheard the scene through thelocal telephone, if there was one in the room. Should you care to seethat part of the letter which concerns you? It is not very delicatelyworded!'

Margaret's expression had changed; she had dropped her hands and wasleaning forward, listening with interest. 

'No, ' she said, 'I don't care to see the letter, but who in the worldcan have written it? You say it was meant to injure Mr. Van Torp--notme. '

'Yes. There is nothing against you in it. On the contrary, the writercalls attention to the fact that there never was a word breathedagainst your reputation, in order to prove what an utter brute VanTorp must be. '

'Tell me, ' Margaret said, 'was that story about Lady Maud in the sameletter?'

'Oh dear, no! That is supposed to have happened the other day, but Igot the letter last winter. '

'When?'

'In January, I think. '

'He came to see me soon after New Year's Day, ' said Margaret. ' I wishI knew who told--I really don't believe it was my maid. '

'I took the letter to one of those men who tell character byhandwriting, ' answered Logotheti. 'I don't know whether you believe inthat, but I do a little. I got rather a queer result, considering thatI only showed half-a-dozen lines, which could not give any idea of thecontents. '

'What did the man say?'

'He said the writer appeared to be on the verge of insanity, if notactually mad; that he was naturally of an accurate mind, with ordinarybusiness capacities, such as a clerk might have, but that he hadreceived a much better education than most clerks get, and must at onetime have done intellectual work. His madness, the man said, wouldprobably take some violent form. '

'There's nothing very definite about all that, ' Margaret observed. 'Why in the world should the creature have written to you, of allpeople, to destroy Mr. Van Torp's character?'

'The interview with you was only an incident, ' answered Logotheti. 'There were other things, all tending to show that he is not a safeperson to deal with. '

'Why should you ever deal with him?'

Logotheti smiled. 

'There are about a hundred and fifty men in different countries whoare regarded as the organs of the world's financial body. The very bigones are the vital organs. Van Torp has grown so much of late that heis probably one of them. Some people are good enough to think that I'manother. The blood of the financial body--call it gold, or credit, oranything you like--circulates through all the organs, and if one ofthe great vital ones gets out of order the whole body is likely tosuffer. Suppose that Van Torp wished to do something with the NickelTrust in Paris, and that I had private information to the effect thathe was not a man to be trusted, and that I believed this information, don't you see that I should naturally warn my friends against him, andthat our joint weight would be an effective obstacle in his way?'

'Yes, I see that. But, dear me! do you mean to say that all financiersmust be strictly virtuous, like little woolly white lambs?'

Margaret laughed carelessly. If Lushington had heard her, his teethwould have been set on edge, but Logotheti did not notice the shade ofexpression and tone. 

'I repeat that the account of the interview with you was a mereincident, thrown in to show that Van Torp occasionally loses his headand behaves like a madman. '

'I don't want to see the letter, ' said Margaret, 'but what sort ofaccusations did it contain? Were they all of the same kind?'

'No. There was one other thing--something about a little girl calledIda, who is supposed to be the daughter of that old Alvah Moon whorobbed your mother. You can guess the sort of thing the letter saidwithout my telling you. '

Margaret leaned forward and poked the small wood fire with a pair ofunnecessarily elaborate gilt tongs, and she nodded, for she rememberedhow Lord Creedmore had mentioned the child that afternoon. He hadhesitated a little, and had then gone on speaking rather hurriedly. She watched the sparks fly upward each time she touched the log, andshe nodded slowly. 

'What are you thinking of?' asked Logotheti. 

But she did not answer for nearly half a minute. She was reflecting ona singular little fact which made itself clear to her just then. Shewas certainly not a child; she was not even a very young girl, attwenty-four; she had never been prudish, and she did not affect thepre-Serpentine innocence of Eve before the fall. Yet it was suddenlyapparent to her that because she was a singer men treated her as ifshe were a married woman, and would have done so if she had beeneven five years younger. Talking to her as Margaret Donne, in Mrs. Rushmore's house, two years earlier, Logotheti would not haveapproached such a subject as little Ida Moon's possible relation toMr. Van Torp, because the Greek had been partly brought up in Englandand had been taught what one might and might not say to a 'niceEnglish girl. ' Margaret now reflected that since the day she had setfoot upon the stage of the Opera she had apparently ceased to be a'nice English girl' in the eyes of men of the world. The profession ofsinging in public, then, presupposed that the singer was no longer themore or less imaginary young girl, the hothouse flower of the socialgarden, whose perfect bloom the merest breath of worldly knowledgemust blight for ever. Margaret might smile at the myth, but she couldnot ignore the fact that she was already as much detached from it inmen's eyes as if she had entered the married state. The mere fact ofrealising that the hothouse blossom was part of the social legendproved the change in herself. 

'So that is the secret about the little girl, ' she said at last. Thenshe started a little, as if she had made a discovery. 'Good heavens!'she exclaimed, poking the fire sharply. 'He cannot be as bad asthat--even he!'

'What do you mean?' asked Logotheti, surprised. 

'No--really--it's too awful, ' Margaret said slowly, to herself. 'Besides, ' she added, 'one has no right to believe an anonymousletter. '

'The writer was well informed about you, at least, ' observedLogotheti. 'You say that the details are true. '

'Absolutely. That makes the other thing all the more dreadful. '

'It's not such a frightful crime, after all, ' Logotheti answered witha little surprise. 'Long before he fell in love with you he may haveliked some one else! Such things may happen in every man's life. '

'That one thing--yes, no doubt. But you either don't know, or youdon't realise just what all the rest has been, up to the death of thatpoor girl in the theatre in New York. '

'He was engaged to her, was he not?'

'Yes. '

'I forget who she was. '

'His partner's daughter. She was called Ida Bamberger. '

'Ida? Like the little girl?'

'Yes. Bamberger divorced his wife, and she married Senator Moon. Don'tyou see?'

'And the girls were half-sisters--and--?' Logotheti stopped andstared. 

'Yes. ' Margaret nodded slowly again and poked the fire. 

'Good heavens!' The Greek knew something of the world's wickedness, but his jaw dropped. 'Oedipus!' he ejaculated. 

'It cannot be true, ' Margaret said, quite in earnest. 'I detest him, but I cannot believe that of him. '

For in her mind all that she knew and that Griggs had told her, andthat Logotheti did not know yet, rose up in orderly logic, and joinedwhat was now in her mind, completing the whole hideous tale ofwickedness that had ended in the death of Ida Bamberger, who hadbeen murdered, perhaps, in desperation to avert a crime even moremonstrous. The dying girl's faint voice came back to Margaret acrossthe ocean. 

'He did it--'

And there was the stain on Paul Griggs' hand; and there was littleIda's face on the steamer, when she had looked up and had seen VanTorp's lips moving, and had understood what he was saying to himself, and had dragged Margaret away in terror. And not least, there was theindescribable fear of him which Margaret felt when he was near her fora few minutes. 

On the other side, what was there to be said for him? Miss More, quiet, good, conscientious Miss More, devoting her life to the child, said that he was one of the kindest men living. There was Lady Maud, with her clear eyes, her fearless ways, and her knowledge of the worldand men, and she said that Van Torp was kind, and good to people introuble and true to his friends. Lord Creedmore, the intimate friendof Margaret's father, a barrister half his life, and as keen as ahawk, said that Mr. Van Torp was a very decent sort of man, and heevidently allowed his daughter to like the American. It was true thata scandalous tale about Lady Maud and the millionaire was alreadygoing from mouth to mouth, but Margaret did not believe it. If shehad known that the facts were accurately told, whatever their meaningmight be, she would have taken them for further evidence against theaccused. As for Miss More, she was guided by her duty to her employer, or her affection for little Ida, and she seemed to be of thecharitable sort, who think no evil; but after what Lord Creedmore hadsaid, Margaret had no doubt but that it was Mr. Van Torp who providedfor the child, and if she was his daughter, the reason for SenatorMoon's neglect of her was patent. 

Then Margaret thought of Isidore Bamberger, the hard-working man ofbusiness who was Van Torp's right hand and figure-head, as Griggs hadsaid, and who had divorced the beautiful, half-crazy mother of the twoIdas because Van Torp had stolen her from him--Van Torp, his partner, and once his trusted friend. She remembered the other things Griggshad told her: how old Bamberger must surely have discovered that hisdaughter had been murdered, and that he meant to keep it a secret tillhe caught the murderer. Even now the detectives might be on the rightscent, and if he whose child had been killed, and whose wife had beenstolen from him by the man he had once trusted, learnt the whole truthat last, he would not be easily appeased. 

'You have had some singular offers of marriage, ' said Logotheti in atone of reflection. 'You will probably marry a beggar some day--anice beggar, who has ruined himself like a gentleman, but a beggarnevertheless!'

'I don't know, ' Margaret said carelessly. 'Of one thing I am sure. Ishall not marry Mr. Van Torp. '

Logotheti laughed softly. 

'Remember the French proverb, ' he said. '"Say not to the fountain, Iwill not drink of thy water. "'

'Proverbs, ' returned Margaret, 'are what Schreiermeyer calls stupidstuff. Fancy marrying that monster!'

'Yes, ' assented Logotheti, 'fancy!'

CHAPTER IX

Three weeks later, when the days were lengthening quickly and Londonwas beginning to show its better side to the cross-grained people whoabuse its climate, the gas was lighted again in the dingy rooms inHare Court. No one but the old woman who came to sweep had visitedthem since Mr. Van Torp had gone into the country in March, after LadyMaud had been to see him on the evening of his arrival. 

As then, the fire was laid in the grate, but the man in black who satin the shabby arm-chair had not put a match to the shavings, and thebright copper kettle on the movable hob shone coldly in the raw glarefrom the incandescent gaslight. The room was chilly, and the man hadnot taken off his black overcoat or his hat, which had a broad bandon it. His black gloves lay on the table beside him. He wore patentleather boots with black cloth tops, and he turned in his toes as hesat. His aquiline features were naturally of the melancholic type, andas he stared at the fireplace his expression was profoundly sad. Hedid not move for a long time, but suddenly he trembled, as a man doeswho feels the warning chill in a malarious country when the sun goesdown, and two large bright tears ran down his lean dark cheeks andwere quickly lost in his grizzled beard. Either he did not feel them, or he would not take the trouble to dry them, for he sat quite stilland kept his eyes on the grate. 

Outside it was quite dark and the air was thick, so that thechimney-pots on the opposite roof were hardly visible against thegloomy sky. It was the time of year when spring seems very near inbroad daylight, but as far away as in January when the sun goes down. 

Mr. Isidore Bamberger was waiting for a visitor, as his partner Mr. Van Torp had waited in the same place a month earlier, but he made nopreparations for a cheerful meeting, and the cheap japanned tea-caddy, with the brown teapot and the chipped cups and saucers, stoodundisturbed in the old-fashioned cupboard in the corner, while thelonely man sat before the cold fireplace and let the tears trickledown his cheeks as they would. 

At the double stroke of the spring door-bell, twice repeated, hisexpression changed as if he had been waked from a dream. He dried hischeeks roughly with the back of his hand, and his very heavy blackeyebrows were drawn down and together, as if the tension of the man'swhole nature had been relaxed and was now suddenly restored. The lookof sadness hardened to an expression that was melancholy still, butgrim and unforgiving, and the grizzled beard, clipped rather close atthe sides, betrayed the angles of the strong jaw as he set his teethand rose to let in his visitor. He was round-shouldered and slightlybow-legged when he stood up; he was heavily and clumsily built, but hewas evidently strong. 

He went out into the dark entry and opened the door, and a momentlater he came back with Mr. Feist, the man with the unhealthycomplexion whom Margaret had seen at the Turkish Embassy. IsidoreBamberger sat down in the easy-chair again without ceremony, leavinghis guest to bring up a straight-backed chair for himself. 

Mr. Feist was evidently in a very nervous condition. His hand shookperceptibly as he mopped his forehead after sitting down, and he movedhis chair uneasily twice because the incandescent light irritated hiseyes. He did not wait for Bamberger to question him, however. 

'It's all right, ' he said, 'but he doesn't care to take steps tillafter this season is over. He says the same thing will happen again toa dead certainty, and that the more evidence he has the surer he'll beof the decree. I think he's afraid Van Torp has some explanation uphis sleeve that will swing things the other way. '

'Didn't he catch her here?' asked the elder man, evidently annoyed. 'Didn't he find the money on this table in an envelope addressedto her? Didn't he have two witnesses with him? Or is all that aninvention?'

'It happened just so. But he's afraid there's some explanation--'

'Feist, ' said Isidore Bamberger slowly, 'find out what explanation theman's afraid of, pretty quick, or I'll get somebody who will. It's mybelief that he's just a common coward, who takes money from his wifeand doesn't care how she gets it. I suppose she refused to pay oneday, so he strengthened his position by catching her; but he doesn'twant to divorce the goose that lays the golden egg as long as he'sshort of cash. That's about the measure of it, you may depend. '

'She may be a goose, ' answered Feist, 'but she's a wild one, andshe'll lead us a chase too. She's up to all sorts of games, I'veascertained. She goes out of the house at all hours and comes homewhen she's ready, and it isn't to meet your friend either, for he'snot been in London again since he landed. '

'Then who else is it?' asked Bamberger. 

Feist smiled in a sickly way. 

'Don't know, ' he said. 'Can't find out. '

'I don't like people who don't know and can't find out, ' answered theother. 'I'm in a hurry, I tell you. I'm employing you, and paying youa good salary, and taking a great deal of trouble to have you pushedwith letters of introduction where you can see her, and now you comehere and tell me you don't know and you can't find out. It won't do, Feist. You're no better than you used to be when you were my secretarylast year. You're a pretty bright young fellow when you don't drink, but when you do you're about as useful as a painted clock--and even apainted clock is right twice in twenty-four hours. It's more than youare. The only good thing about you is that you can hold your tongue, drunk or sober. I admit that. '

Having relieved himself of this plain opinion Isidore Bamberger waitedto hear what Feist had to say, keeping his eyes fixed on the unhealthyface. 

'I've not been drinking lately, anyhow, ' he answered, 'and I'll tellyou one thing, Mr. Bamberger, and that is, that I'm just as anxious asyou can be to see this thing through, every bit. '

'Well, then, don't waste time! I don't care a cent about the divorce, except that it will bring the whole affair into publicity. At soon asall the papers are down on him, I'll start in on the real thing. Ishall be ready by that time. I want public opinion on both sides ofthe ocean to run strong against him, as it ought to, and it's justthat it should. If I don't manage that, he may get off in the end inspite of your evidence. '

'Look here, Mr. Bamberger, ' said Feist, waking up, 'if you want myevidence, don't talk of dropping me as you did just now, or you won'tget it, do you understand? You've paid me the compliment of telling methat I can hold my tongue. All right. But it won't suit you if I holdmy tongue in the witness-box, will it? That's all, Mr. Bamberger. I'venothing more to say about that. '

There was a sudden vehemence in the young man's tone which portrayedthat in spite of his broken nerves he could still be violent. ButIsidore Bamberger was not the man to be brow-beaten by any one heemployed. He almost smiled when Feist stopped speaking. 

'That's all right, ' he said half good-naturedly and halfcontemptuously. 'We understand each other. That's all right. '

'I hope it is, ' Feist answered in a dogged way. 'I only wanted you toknow. '

'Well, I do, since you've told me. But you needn't get excited likethat. It's just as well you gave up studying medicine and took tobusiness, Feist, for you haven't got what they call a pleasant bedsidemanner. '

Mr. Feist had once been a medical student, but had given up theprofession on inheriting a sum of money with which he at once began tospeculate. After various vicissitudes he had become Mr. Bamberger'sprivate secretary, and had held that position some time in spite ofhis one failing, because he had certain qualities which made himinvaluable to his employer until his nerves began to give away. One ofthose qualities was undoubtedly his power of holding his tongueeven when under the influence of drink; another was his reallyextraordinary memory for details, and especially for letters he hadwritten under dictation, and for conversations he had heard. He wasskilful, too, in many ways when in full possession of his faculties;but though Isidore Bamberger used him, he despised him profoundly, as he despised every man who preferred present indulgence to futureprofit. 

Feist lit a cigarette and blew a vast cloud of smoke round him, butmade no answer to his employer's last observation. 

'Now this is what I want you to do, ' said the latter. 'Go to thisCount Leven and tell him it's a cash transaction or nothing, and thathe runs no risk. Find out what he'll really take, but don't cometalking to me about five thousand pounds or anything of that kind, forthat's ridiculous. Tell him that if proceedings are not begun by thefirst of May his wife won't get any more money from Van Torp, and hewon't get any more from his wife. Use any other argument that strikesyou. That's your business, because that's what I pay you for. What Iwant is the result, and that's justice and no more, and I don't careanything about the means. Find them and I'll pay. If you can't findthem I'll pay somebody who can, and if nobody can I'll go to the endwithout. Do you understand?'

'Oh, I understand right enough, ' answered Feist, with his bad smile. 'If I can hit on the right scheme I won't ask you anything extrafor it, Mr. Bamberger! By the bye, I wrote you I met Cordova, thePrimadonna, at the Turkish Embassy, didn't I? She hates him as muchas the other woman likes him, yet she and the other have struck up afriendship. I daresay I shall get something out of that too. '

'Why does Cordova hate him?' asked Bamberger. 

'Don't quite know. Thought perhaps you might. '

'No. '

'He was attentive to her last winter, ' Feist said. 'That's all I knowfor certain. He's a brutal sort of man, and maybe he offended hersomehow. '

'Well, ' returned Isidore Bamberger, 'maybe; but singers aren't oftenoffended by men who have money. At least, I've always understood so, though I don't know much about that side of life myself. '

'It would be just one thing more to break his character if Cordovawould say something against him, ' suggested Feist. 'Her popularity issomething tremendous, and people always believe a woman who says thata man has insulted her. In those things the bare word of a pretty ladywho's no better than she should be is worth more than an honest man'scharacter for thirty years. '

'That's so, ' said Bamberger, looking at him attentively. 'That's quitetrue. Whatever you are, Feist, you're no fool. We may as well have thepretty lady's bare word, anyway. '

'If you approve, I'm nearly sure I can get it, ' Feist answered. 'Atleast, I can get a statement which she won't deny if it's publishedin the right way. I can furnish the materials for an article on herthat's sure to please her--born lady, never a word against her, highlyconnected, unassailable private life, such a contrast to several othercelebrities on the stage, immensely charitable, half American, halfEnglish--every bit of that all helps, you see--and then an anecdote ortwo thrown in, and just the bare facts about her having had to escapein a hurry from a prominent millionaire in a New York hotel--fairlyran for her life and turned the key against him. Give his name if youlike. If he brings action for libel, you can subpoena Cordova herself. She'll swear to it if it's true, and then you can unmask your big gunsand let him have it hot. '

'No doubt, no doubt. But how do you propose to find out if it istrue?'

'Well, I'll see; but it will answer almost as well if it's not true, 'said Feist cynically. 'People always believe those things. '

'It's only a detail, ' said Bamberger, 'but it's worth something, and if we can make this man Leven begin a suit against his wife, everything that's against Van Torp will be against her too. That's notjustice, Feist, but it's fact. A woman gets considerably less pity formaking mistakes with a blackguard than for liking an honest man toomuch, Feist. '

Mr. Bamberger, who had divorced his own wife, delivered these opinionsthoughtfully, and, though she had made no defence, he might besupposed to know what he was talking about. 

Presently he dismissed his visitor with final injunctions to lose notime, and to 'find out' if Lady Maud was interested in any one besidesVan Torp, and if not, what was at the root of her eccentric hours. 

Mr. Feist went away, apparently prepared to obey his employer withall the energy he possessed. He went down the dimly-lighted stairsquickly, but he glanced nervously upwards, as if he fancied thatIsidore Bamberger might have silently opened the door again to lookover the banister and watch him from above. In the dark entry below hepaused a moment, and took a satisfactory pull at a stout flask beforegoing out into the yellowish gloom that had settled on Hare Court. 

When he was in the narrow alley he stopped again and laughed, withoutmaking any sound, so heartily that he had to stand still till the fitpassed; and the expression of his unhealthy face just then would havedisturbed even Mr. Bamberger, who knew him well. 

But Mr. Bamberger was sitting in the easy-chair before the fireplace, and his eyes were fixed on the bright point at which the shiny copperkettle reflected the gaslight. His head had fallen slightly forward, so that his bearded chin was out of sight below the collar of hisovercoat, leaving his eagle nose and piercing eyes above it. He waslike a bird of prey looking down over the edge of its nest. He had nottaken off his hat for Mr. Feist, and it was pushed back from his bonyforehead now, giving his face a look that would have been half comicif it had not been almost terrifying: a tall hat set on a skull, alittle back or on one side, produces just such an effect. 

There was no moisture in the keen eyes now. In the bright spot on thecopper kettle they saw the vision of the end towards which he wasstriving with all his strength, and all his heart, and all his wealth. It was a grim little picture, and the chief figure in it was athick-set man who had a queer cap drawn down over his face and hishands tied; and the eyes that saw it were sure that under the capthere were the stony features of a man who had stolen his friend'swife and killed his friend's daughter, and was going to die for whathe had done. 

Then Isidore Bamberger's right hand disappeared inside the breast ofhis coat and closed lovingly upon a full pocket-book; but there wasonly a little money in it, only a few banknotes folded flat againsta thick package of sheets of notepaper all covered with clear, closewriting, some in ink and some in pencil; and if what was written therewas all true, it was enough to hang Mr. Rufus Van Torp. 

There were other matters, too, not written there, but carefullyentered in the memory of the injured man. There was the story of hismarriage with a beautiful, penniless girl, not of his own faith, whomhe had taken in the face of strong opposition from his family. Shehad been an exquisite creature, fair and ethereal, as degeneratessometimes are; she had cynically married him for his money, deceivinghim easily enough, for he was willing to be blinded; but differenceshad soon arisen between them, and had turned to open quarrelling, andMr. Van Torp had taken it upon himself to defend her and to reconcilethem, using the unlimited power his position gave him over his partnerto force the latter to submit to his wife's temper and caprice, as theonly alternative to ruin. Her friendship for Van Torp grew stronger, till they spent many hours of every day together, while her husbandsaw little of her, though he was never altogether estranged from herso long as they lived under one roof. 

But the time came at last when Bamberger had power too, and Van Torpcould no longer hold him in check with a threat that had become vain;for he was more than indispensable, he was a part of the Nickel Trust, he was the figure-head of the ship, and could not be discarded atwill, to be replaced by another. 

As soon as he was sure of this and felt free to act, Isidore Bambergerdivorced his wife, in a State where slight grounds are sufficient. Forthe sake of the Nickel Trust Van Torp's name was not mentioned. Mrs. Bamberger made no defence, the affair was settled almost privately, and Bamberger was convinced that she would soon marry Van Torp. Instead, six weeks had not passed before she married Senator Moon, a man whom her husband had supposed she scarcely knew, and toBamberger's amazement Van Torp's temper was not at all disturbed bythe marriage. He acted as if he had expected it, and though he hardlyever saw her after that time, he exchanged letters with her duringnearly two years. 

Bamberger's little daughter Ida had never been happy with herbeautiful mother, who had alternately spoilt her and vented her temperon her, according to the caprice of the moment. At the time of thedivorce the child had been only ten years old; and as Bamberger wasvery kind to her and was of an even disposition, though never verycheerful, she had grown up to be extremely fond of him. She neverguessed that he did not love her in return, for though he was cynicalenough in matters of business, he was just according to his lights, and he would not let her know that everything about her recalled hermother, from her hair to her tone of voice, her growing caprices, andher silly fits of temper. He could not believe in the affection of adaughter who constantly reminded him of the hell in which he hadlived for years. If what Van Torp told Lady Maud of his own pretendedengagement to Ida was true, it was explicable only on that ground, sofar as her father was concerned. Bamberger felt no affection forhis daughter, and saw no reason why she should not be used as aninstrument, with her own consent, for consolidating the position ofthe Nickel Trust. 

As for the former Mrs. Bamberger, afterwards Mrs. Moon, she had goneto Europe in the autumn, not many months after her marriage, leavingthe Senator in Washington, and had returned after nearly a year'sabsence, bringing her husband a fine little girl, whom she hadchristened Ida, like her first child, without consulting him. It soonbecame apparent that the baby was totally deaf; and not very longafter this discovery, Mrs. Moon began to show signs of not being quitesane. Three years later she was altogether out of her mind, and assoon as this was clear the child was sent to the East to be taught. The rest has already been told. Bamberger, of course, had never seenlittle Ida, and had perhaps never heard of her existence, and SenatorMoon did not see her again before he died. 

Bamberger had not loved his own daughter in her life, but since hertragic death she had grown dear to him in memory, and he reproachedhimself unjustly with having been cold and unkind to her. Below thesurface of his money-loving nature there was still the deep andunsatisfied sentiment to which his wife had first appealed, and byplaying on which she had deceived him into marrying her. Her treatmentof him had not killed it, and the memory of his fair young daughternow stirred it again. He accused himself of having misunderstood her. What had been unreal and superficial in her mother had perhaps beentrue and deep in her. He knew that she had loved him; he knew it now, and it was the recollection of that one being who had been devoted tohim for himself, since he had been a grown man, that sometimes broughtthe tears from his eyes when he was alone. It would have been acomfort, now, to have loved her in return while she lived, and to havetrusted in her love then, instead of having been tormented by thebelief that she was as false as her mother had been. 

But he had been disappointed of his heart's desire; for, strange as itmay seem to those who have not known such men as Isidore Bamberger, his nature was profoundly domestic, and the ideal of his youth hadbeen to grow old in his own home, with a loving wife at his side, surrounded by children and grandchildren who loved both himself andher. Next to that, he had desired wealth and the power money gives;but that had been first, until the hope of it was gone. Looking backnow, he was sure that it had all been destroyed from root to branch, the hope and the possibility, and even the memory that might havestill comforted him, by Rufus Van Torp, upon whom he prayed that hemight live to be revenged. He sought no secret vengeance, either, nopitfall of ruin dug in the dark for the man's untimely destruction;all was to be in broad daylight, by the evidence of facts, under theverdict of justice, and at the hands of the law itself. 

It had not been very hard to get what he needed, for his formersecretary, Mr. Feist, had worked with as much industry andintelligence as if the case had been his own, and in spite of thevice that was killing him had shown a wonderful power of holding histongue. It is quite certain that up to the day when Feist called onhis employer in Hare Court, Mr. Van Torp believed himself perfectlysafe. 

CHAPTER X

A fortnight later Count Leven informed his wife that he was going homeon a short leave, but that she might stay in London if she pleased. Anaunt of his had died in Warsaw, he said, leaving him a small property, and in spite of the disturbed state of his own country it wasnecessary that he should go and take possession of the land withoutdelay. 

Lady Maud did not believe a word of what he said, until it becameapparent that he had the cash necessary for his journey withoutborrowing of her, as he frequently tried to do, with varying success. She smiled calmly as she bade him good-bye and wished him a pleasantjourney; he made a magnificent show of kissing her hand at parting, and waved his hat to the window when he was outside the house, beforegetting into the four-wheeler, on the roof of which his voluminousluggage made a rather unsafe pyramid. She was not at the window, andhe knew it; but other people might be watching him from theirs, andthe servant stood at the open door. It was always worth while, inCount Leven's opinion, to make an 'effect' if one got a chance. 

Three days later Lady Maud received a document from the RussianEmbassy informing her that her husband had brought an action to obtaina divorce from her in the Ecclesiastical Court of the Patriarch ofConstantinople, on the ground of her undue intimacy with Rufus VanTorp of New York, as proved by the attested depositions of detectives. She was further informed that unless she appeared in person or byproxy before the Patriarch of Constantinople within one month of thedate of the present notice, to defend herself against the charges madeby her husband, judgment would go by default, and the divorce would bepronounced. 

At first Lady Maud imagined this extraordinary document to be a stupidpractical joke, invented by some half-fledged cousin to tease her. She had a good many cousins, among whom were several beardlessundergraduates and callow subalterns in smart regiments, who wouldthink it no end of fun to scare 'Cousin Maud. ' There was no mistakingthe official paper on which the document was written, and it borethe seal of the Chancery of the Russian Embassy; but in Lady Maud'sopinion the mention of the Patriarch of Constantinople stamped it asan egregious hoax. 

On reflection, however, she decided that it must have been perpetratedby some one in the Embassy for the express purpose of annoying her, since no outsider could have got at the seal, even if he could haveobtained possession of the paper and envelope. As soon as this viewpresented itself, she determined to ascertain the truth directly, andto bring down the ambassadorial wrath on the offender. 

Accordingly she took the paper to the Russian clerk who was in chargeof the Chancery, and inquired who had dared to concoct such a paperand to send it to her. 

To her stupefaction, the man smiled politely and informed her that thedocument was genuine. What had the Patriarch to do with it? That wasvery simple. Had she not been married to a Russian subject by theGreek rite in Paris? Certainly. Very well. All marriages of Russiansubjects out of their own country took place under the authority ofthe Patriarch of Constantinople, and all suits for divorcing personsthus married came under his jurisdiction. That was all. It was such asimple matter that every Russian knew all about it. The clerk askedif he could be of service to her. He had been stationed inConstantinople, and knew just what to do; and, moreover, he had afriend at the Chancery there, who would take charge of the case if theCountess desired it. 

Lady Maud thanked him coldly, replaced the document in its envelope, and left the Embassy with the intention of never setting foot in itagain. 

She understood why Leven had suddenly lost an aunt of whom she hadnever heard, and had got out of the way on pretence of an imaginaryinheritance. The dates showed plainly that the move had been preparedbefore he left, and that he had started when the notice of the suitwas about to be sent to her. The only explanation that occurred to herwas that her husband had found some very rich woman who was willing tomarry him if he could free himself; and this seemed likely enough. 

She hesitated as to how she should act. Her first impulse was to goto her father, who was a lawyer and would give her good advice, but amoment's thought showed her that it would be a mistake to go to him. Being no longer immobilised by a sprained ankle, Lord Creedmore wouldprobably leave England instantly in pursuit of Leven himself, and noone could tell what the consequences might be if he caught him; theywould certainly be violent, and they might be disastrous. 

Then Lady Maud thought of telegraphing to Mr. Van Torp to come to townto see her about an urgent matter; but she decided against that coursetoo. Whatever her relations were with the American financier this wasnot the moment to call attention to them. She would write to him, andin order to see him conveniently she would suggest to her father tohave a week-end house party in the country, and to ask his neighbourover from Oxley Paddox. Nobody but Mr. Van Torp and the post-officecalled the place Torp Towers. 

She had taken a hansom to the Embassy, but she walked back to CharlesStreet because she was angry, and she considered nothing so good for arage as a stiff walk. By the time she reached her own door she was ascool as ever, and her clear eyes looked upon the wicked world withtheir accustomed calm. 

As she laid her hand on the door-bell, a smart brougham drove upquickly and stopped close to the pavement, and as she turned her headMargaret was letting herself out, before the footman could get roundfrom the other side to open the door of the carriage. 

'May I come in?' asked the singer anxiously, and Lady Maud saw thatshe seemed much disturbed, and had a newspaper in her hand. 'I'm soglad I just caught you, ' Margaret added, as the door opened. 

They went in together. The house was very small and narrow, and LadyMaud led the way into a little sitting-room on the right of the hall, and shut the door. 

'Is it true?' Margaret asked as soon as they were alone. 

'What?'

'About your divorce--'

Lady Maud smiled rather contemptuously. 

'Is it already in the papers?' she asked, glancing at the one Margarethad brought. 'I only heard of it myself an hour ago!'

'Then it's really true! There's a horrid article about it--'

Margaret was evidently much more disturbed than her friend, who satdown in a careless attitude and smiled at her. 

'It had to come some day. And besides, ' added Lady Maud, 'I don'tcare!'

'There's something about me too, ' answered Margaret, 'and I cannothelp caring. '

'About you?'

'Me and Mr. Van Torp--the article is written by some one who hateshim--that's clear!--and you know I don't like him; but that's noreason why I should be dragged in. '

She was rather incoherent, and Lady Maud took the paper from her handquietly, and found the article at once. It was as 'horrid' as thePrimadonna said it was. No names were given in full, but there couldnot be the slightest mistake about the persons referred to, who wereall clearly labelled by bits of characteristic description. It was allin the ponderously airy form of one of those more or less true storiesof which some modern weeklies seem to have an inexhaustible supply, but it was a particularly vicious specimen of its class so far asMr. Van Torp was concerned. His life was torn up by the roots andmercilessly pulled to pieces, and he was shown to the public as aLeicester Square Lovelace or a Bowery Don Juan. His baleful career wastraced from his supposed affair with Mrs. Isidore Bamberger and herdivorce to the scene at Margaret's hotel in New York, and from thatto the occasion of his being caught with Lady Maud in Hare Court by ajustly angry husband; and there was, moreover, a pretty plain allusionto little Ida Moon. 

Lady Maud read the article quickly, but without betraying any emotion. When she had finished she raised her eyebrows a very little, and gavethe paper back to Margaret. 

'It is rather nasty, ' she observed quietly, as if she were speaking ofthe weather. 

'It's utterly disgusting, ' Margaret answered with emphasis. 'Whatshall you do?'

'I really don't know. Why should I do anything? Your position isdifferent, for you can write to the papers and deny all that concernsyou if you like--though I'm sure I don't know why you should care. It's not to your discredit. '

'I could not very well deny it, ' said the Primadonna thoughtfully. Almost before the words had left her lips she was sorry she hadspoken. 

'Does it happen to be true?' asked Lady Maud, with an encouragingsmile. 

'Well, since you ask me--yes. ' Margaret felt uncomfortable. 

'Oh, I thought it might be, ' answered Lady Maud. 'With all his goodqualities he has a very rough side. The story about me is perfectlytrue too. '

Margaret was amazed at her friend's quiet cynicism. 

'Not that about the--the envelope on the table--'

She stopped short. 

'Oh yes! There were four thousand one hundred pounds in it. My husbandcounted the notes. '

The singer leaned back in her chair and stared in unconcealedsurprise, wondering how in the world she could have been so completelymistaken in her judgment of a friend who had seemed to her the besttype of an honest and fearless Englishwoman. Margaret Donne had notbeen brought up in the gay world; she had, however, seen some aspectsof it since she had been a successful singer, and she did notexaggerate its virtues; but somehow Lady Maud had seemed to be aboveit, while living in it, and Margaret would have put her hand into thefire for the daughter of her father's old friend, who now acknowledgedwithout a blush that she had taken four thousand pounds from Rufus VanTorp. 

'I suppose it would go against me even in an English court, ' said LadyMaud in a tone of reflection. 'It looks so badly to take money, youknow, doesn't it? But if I must be divorced, it really strikes meas delightfully original to have it done by the Patriarch ofConstantinople! Doesn't it, my dear?'

'It's not usual, certainly, ' said Margaret gravely. 

She was puzzled by the other's attitude, and somewhat horrified. 

'I suppose you think I'm a very odd sort of person, ' said Lady Maud, 'because I don't mind so much as most women might. You see, I neverreally cared for Leven, though if I had not thought I had a fancy forhim I wouldn't have married him. My people were quite against it. Thetruth is, I couldn't have the husband I wanted, and as I did not meanto break my heart about it, I married, as so many girls do. That's mylittle story! It's not long, is it?'

She laughed, but she very rarely did that, even when she was amused, and now Margaret's quick ear detected here and there in the sweetripple a note that did not ring quite like the rest. The intonationwas not false or artificial, but only sad and regretful, as genuinelaughter should not be. Margaret looked at her, still profoundlymystified, and still drawn to her by natural sympathy, thoughhorrified almost to disgust at what seemed her brutal cynicism. 

'May I ask one question? We've grown to be such good friends thatperhaps you won't mind. '

Lady Maud nodded. 

'Of course, ' she said. 'Ask me anything you please. I'll answer if Ican. '

'You said that you could not marry the man you liked. Was he--Mr. VanTorp?'

Lady Maud was not prepared for the question. 

'Mr. Van Torp?' she repeated slowly. 'Oh dear no! Certainly not! Whatan extraordinary idea!' She gazed into Margaret's eyes with a look ofinquiry, until the truth suddenly dawned upon her. 'Oh, I see!' shecried. 'How awfully funny!'

There was no minor note of sadness or regret in her rippling laughternow. It was so exquisitely true and musical that the great sopranolistened to it with keen delight, and wondered whether she herselfcould produce a sound half so delicious. 

'No, my dear, ' said Lady Maud, as her mirth subsided. 'I never was inlove with Mr. Van Torp. But it really is awfully funny that you shouldhave thought so! No wonder you looked grave when I told you that I wasreally found in his rooms! We are the greatest friends, and no man wasever kinder to a woman than he has been to me for the last two years. But that's all. Did you really think the money was meant for me? Thatwasn't quite nice of you, was it?'

The bright smile was still on her face as she spoke the last words, for her nature was far too big to be really hurt; but the littlerebuke went home sharply, and Margaret felt unreasonably ashamed ofherself, considering that Lady Maud had not taken the slightest painsto explain the truth to her. 

'I'm so sorry, ' she said contritely. 'I'm dreadfully sorry. It wasabominably stupid of me!'

'Oh no. It was quite natural. This is not a pretty world, and there'sno reason why you should think me better than lots of other women. Andbesides, I don't care!'

'But surely you won't let your husband get a divorce for such a reasonas that without making a defence?'

'Before the Patriarch of Constantinople?' Lady Maud evidently thoughtthe idea very amusing. 'It sounds like a comic opera, ' she added. 'Whyshould I defend myself? I shall be glad to be free; and as for thestory, the people who like me will not believe any harm of me, and thepeople who don't like me may believe what they please. But I'm veryglad you showed me that article, disgusting as it is. '

'I was beginning to be sorry I had brought it. '

'No. You did me a service, for I had no idea that any one was going totake advantage of my divorce to make a cowardly attack on my friend--Imean Mr. Van Torp. I shall certainly not make any defence before thePatriarch, but I shall make a statement which will go to the rightpeople, saying that I met Mr. Van Torp in a lawyer's chambers inthe Temple, that is, in a place of business, and about a matter ofbusiness, and that there was no secret about it, because my husband'sservant called the cab that took me there, and gave the cabman theaddress. I often do go out without telling any one, and I let myselfin with a latch-key when I come home, but on that particular occasionI did neither. Will you say that if you hear me talked about?'

'Of course I will. '

Nevertheless, Margaret thought that Lady Maud might have given her alittle information about the 'matter of business' which hadinvolved such a large sum of money, and had produced such importantconsequences. 

CHAPTER XI

Mr. Van Torp was walking slowly down the Elm Walk in the park at OxleyPaddox. The ancient trees were not in full leaf yet, but there weremyriads of tiny green feather points all over the rough brown branchesand the smoother twigs, and their soft colour tinted the luminousspring air. High overhead all sorts and conditions of little birdswere chirping and trilling and chattering together and by turns, andon the ground the sparrows were excessively busy and talkative, whilethe squirrels made wild dashes across the open, and stopped suddenlyto sit bolt upright and look about them, and then dashed on again. 

Little Ida walked beside the millionaire in silence, trustfullyholding one of his hands, and as she watched the sparrows she triedto make out what sort of sound they could be making when they hoppedforward and opened their bills so wide that she could distinctly seetheir little tongues. Mr. Van Torp's other hand held a newspaper, andhe was reading the article about himself which Margaret had shown toLady Maud. He did not take that particular paper, but a marked copyhad been sent to him, and in due course had been ironed and laid onthe breakfast-table with those that came regularly. The article wasmarked in red pencil. 

He read it slowly with a perfectly blank expression, as if itconcerned some one he did not know. Once only, when he came uponthe allusion to the little girl, his eyes left the page and glancedquietly down at the large red felt hat with its knot of ribbandsthat moved along beside him, and hid all the child's face except thedelicate chin and the corner of the pathetic little mouth. She did notknow that he looked down at her, for she was intent on the sparrows, and he went back to the article and read to the end. 

Then, in order to fold the paper, he gently let go of Ida's hand, andshe looked up into his face. He did not speak, but his lips moveda little as he doubled the sheet to put it into his pocket; andinstantly the child's expression changed, and she looked hurt andfrightened, and stretched up her hand quickly to cover his mouth, asif to hide the words his lips were silently forming. 

'Please, please!' she said, in her slightly monotonous voice. 'Youpromised me you wouldn't any more!'

'Quite right, my dear, ' answered Mr. Van Torp, smiling, 'and Iapologise. You must make me pay a forfeit every time I do it. Whatshall the forfeit be? Chocolates?'

She watched his lips, and understood as well as if she had heard. 

'No, ' she answered demurely. 'You mustn't laugh. When I've doneanything wicked and am sorry, I say the little prayer Miss More taughtme. Perhaps you'd better learn it too. '

'If you said it for me, ' suggested Mr. Van Torp gravely, 'it would bemore likely to work. '

'Oh no! That wouldn't do at all! You must say it for yourself. I'llteach it to you if you like. Shall I?'

'What must I say?' asked the financier. 

'Well, it's made up for me, you see, and besides, I've shortened it awee bit. What I say is: "Dear God, please forgive me this time, andmake me never want to do it again. Amen. " Can you remember that, doyou think?'

'I think I could, ' said Mr. Van Torp. 'Please forgive me and make menever do it again. '

'Never want to do it again, ' corrected little Ida with emphasis. 'Youmust try not even to want to say dreadful things. And then you mustsay "Amen. " That's important. '

'Amen, ' repeated the millionaire. 

At this juncture the discordant toot of an approaching motor-car washeard above the singing of the birds. Mr. Van Torp turned hishead quickly in the direction of the sound, and at the same timeinstinctively led the little girl towards one side of the road. Sheapparently understood, for she asked no questions. There was a turn inthe drive a couple of hundred yards away, where the Elm Walk ended, and an instant later an enormous white motor-car whizzed into sight, rushed furiously towards the two, and was brought to a standstill inan uncommonly short time, close beside them. An active man, in theusual driver's disguise of the modern motorist, jumped down, and atthe same instant pushed his goggles up over the visor of his capand loosened the collar of his wide coat, displaying the face ofConstantino Logotheti. 

'Oh, it's you, is it?' Mr. Van Torp asked the wholly superfluousquestion in a displeased tone. 'How did you get in? I've givenparticular orders to let in no automobiles. '

'I always get in everywhere, ' answered Logotheti coolly. 'May I seeyou alone for a few minutes?'

'If it's business, you'd better see Mr. Bamberger, ' said Van Torp. 'I came here for a rest. Mr. Bamberger has come over for a few days. You'll find him at his chambers in Hare Court. '

'No, ' returned Logotheti, 'it's a private matter. I shall not keep youlong. '

'Then run us up to the house in your new go-cart. '

Mr. Van Torp lifted little Ida into the motor as if she had been arather fragile china doll instead of a girl nine years old and quiteable to get up alone, and before she could sit down he was beside her. Logotheti jumped up beside the chauffeur and the machine ran up thedrive at breakneck speed. Two minutes later they all got out more thana mile farther on, at the door of the big old house. Ida ran away tofind Miss More; the two men entered together, and went into the study. 

The room had been built in the time of Edward Sixth, had beendecorated afresh under Charles the Second, the furniture was of thetime of Queen Anne, and the carpet was a modern Turkish one, wovenin colours as fresh as paint to fit the room, and as thick as a downquilt: it was the sort of carpet which has come into existence withthe modern hotel. 

'Well?' Mr. Van Torp uttered the monosyllable as he sat down in hisown chair and pointed to a much less comfortable one, which Logothetitook. 

'There's an article about you, ' said the latter, producing a paper. 

'I've read it, ' answered Mr. Van Torp in a tone of stony indifference. 

'I thought that was likely. Do you take the paper?'

'No. Do you?'

'No, it was sent to me, ' Logotheti answered. 'Did you happen to glanceat the address on the wrapper of the one that came to you?'

'My valet opens all the papers and irons them. '

Mr. Van Torp looked very bored as he said this, and he stared stonilyat the pink and green waistcoat which his visitor's unfastened coatexposed to view. Hundreds of little gold beads were sewn upon it atthe intersections of the pattern. It was a marvellous creation. 

'I had seen the handwriting on the one addressed to me before, 'Logotheti said. 

'Oh, you had, had you?'

Mr. Van Torp asked the question in a dull tone without the slightestapparent interest in the answer. 

'Yes, ' Logotheti replied, not paying any attention to his host'sindifference. 'I received an anonymous letter last winter, and thewriting of the address was the same. '

'It was, was it?'

The millionaire's tone did not change in the least, and he continuedto admire the waistcoat. His manner might have disconcerted a personof less assurance than the Greek, but in the matter of nerves the twofinanciers were well matched. 

'Yes, ' Logotheti answered, 'and the anonymous letter was about you, and contained some of the stories that are printed in this article. '

'Oh, it did, did it?'

'Yes. There was an account of your interview with the Primadonna at ahotel in New York. I remember that particularly well. '

'Oh, you do, do you?'

'Yes. The identity of the handwriting and the similarity of thewording make it look as if the article and the letter had been writtenby the same person. '

'Well, suppose they were--I don't see anything funny about that. '

Thereupon Mr. Van Torp turned at last from the contemplation of thewaistcoat and looked out of the bay-window at the distant trees, as ifhe were excessively weary of Logotheti's talk. 

'It occurred to me, ' said the latter, 'that you might like to stop anyfurther allusions to Miss Donne, and that if you happened to recognizethe handwriting you might be able to do so effectually. '

'There's nothing against Madame Cordova in the article, ' answered Mr. Van Torp, and his aggressive blue eyes turned sharply to his visitor'salmond-shaped brown ones. 'You can't say there's a word against her. '

'There may be in the next one, ' suggested Logotheti, meeting the lookwithout emotion. 'When people send anonymous letters about broadcastto injure men like you and me, they are not likely to stick at such amatter as a woman's reputation. '

'Well--maybe not. ' Mr. Van Torp turned his sharp eyes elsewhere. 'Youseem to take quite an interest in Madame Cordova, Mr. Logotheti, ' heobserved, in an indifferent tone. 

'I knew her before she went on the stage, and I think I may callmyself a friend of hers. At all events, I wish to spare her anyannoyance from the papers if I can, and if you have any regard for heryou will help me, I'm sure. '

'I have the highest regard for Madame Cordova, ' said Mr. Van Torp, andthere was a perceptible change in his tone; 'but after this, I guessthe best way I can show it is to keep out of her track. That's aboutall there is to do. You don't suppose I'm going to bring an actionagainst that paper, do you?'

'Hardly!' Logotheti smiled. 

'Well, then, what do you expect me to do, Mr. Logotheti?'

Again the eyes of the two men met. 

'I'll tell you, ' answered the Greek. 'The story about your visit toMiss Donne in New York is perfectly true. '

'You're pretty frank, ' observed the American. 

'Yes, I am. Very good. The man who wrote the letter and the articleknows you, and that probably means that you have known him, though youmay never have taken any notice of him. He hates you, for some reason, and means to injure you if he can. Just take the trouble to find outwho he is and suppress him, will you? If you don't, he will throw moremud at honest women. He is probably some underling whose feelings youhave hurt, or who has lost money by you, or both. '

'There's something in that, ' answered Mr. Van Torp, showing a littlemore interest. 'Do you happen to have any of his writing about you?I'll look at it. '

Logotheti took a letter and a torn piece of brown paper from hispocket and handed both to his companion. 

'Read the letter, if you like, ' he said. 'The handwriting seems to bethe same as that on the wrapper. '

Mr. Van Torp first compared the address, and then proceeded to readthe anonymous letter. Logotheti watched his face quietly, but it didnot change in the least. When he had finished, he folded the sheet, replaced it in the envelope, and returned it with the bit of paper. 

'Much obliged, ' he said, and he looked out of the window again and wassilent. 

Logotheti leaned back in his chair as he put the papers into hispocket again, and presently, as Mr. Van Torp did not seem inclined tosay anything more, he rose to go. The American did not move, and stilllooked out of the window. 

'You originally belonged to the East, Mr. Logotheti, didn't you?' heasked suddenly. 

'Yes. I'm a Greek and a Turkish subject. '

'Do you happen to know the Patriarch of Constantinople?'

Logotheti stared in surprise, taken off his guard for once. 

'Very well indeed, ' he answered after an instant. 'He is my uncle. '

'Why, now, that's quite interesting!' observed Mr. Van Torp, risingdeliberately and thrusting his hands into his pockets. 

Logotheti, who knew nothing about the details of Lady Maud's pendingdivorce, could not imagine what the American was driving at, andwaited for more. Mr. Van Torp began to walk up and down, with hisrather clumsy gait, digging his heels into vivid depths of the newSmyrna carpet at every step. 

'I wasn't going to tell you, ' he said at last, 'but I may just aswell. Most of the accusations in that letter are lies. I didn't blowup the subway. I know it was done on purpose, of course, but I hadnothing to do with it, and any man who says I had, takes me for afool, which you'll probably allow I'm not. You're a man of business, Mr. Logotheti. There had been a fall in Nickel, and for weeks beforethe explosion I'd been making a considerable personal sacrifice tosteady things. Now you know as well as I do that all big accidentsare bad for the market when it's shaky. Do you suppose I'd havedeliberately produced one just then? Besides, I'm not a criminal. Ididn't blow up the subway any more than I blew up the Maine to bringon the Cuban war! The man's a fool. '

'I quite agree with you, ' said the Greek, listening with interest. 

'Then there's another thing. That about poor Mrs. Moon, who's goneout of her mind. It's nonsense to say I was the reason of Bamberger'sdivorcing his wife. In the first place, there are the records of thedivorce, and my name was never mentioned. I was her friend, that'sall, and Bamberger resented it--he's a resentful sort of man anyway. He thought she'd marry me as soon as he got the divorce. Well, shedidn't. She married old Alvah Moon, who was the only man she evercared for. The Lord knows how it was, but that wicked old scarecrowmade all the women love him, to his dying day. I had a high regard forMrs. Bamberger, and I suppose she was right to marry him if she likedhim. Well, she married him in too much of a hurry, and the child thatwas born abroad was Bamberger's and not his, and when he found it outhe sent the girl East and would never see her again, and didn't leaveher a cent when he died. That's the truth about that, Mr. Logotheti. Itell you because you've got that letter in your pocket, and I'd ratherhave your good word than your bad word in business any day. '

'Thank you, ' answered Logotheti. 'I'm glad to know the facts in thecase, though I never could see what a man's private life can have todo with his reputation in the money market!'

'Well, it has, in some countries. Different kinds of cats havedifferent kinds of ways. There's one thing more, but it's not in theletter, it's in the article. That's about Countess Leven, and it's theworst lie of the lot, for there's not a better woman than she is fromhere to China. I'm not at liberty to tell you anything of the mattershe's interested in and on which she consults me. But her father ismy next neighbour here, and I seem to be welcome at his house; he's apretty sensible man, and that makes for her, it seems to me. As forthat husband of hers, we've a good name in America for men like him. We'd call him a skunk over there. I suppose the English word ispolecat, but it doesn't say as much. I don't think there's anythingelse I want to tell you. '

'You spoke of my uncle, the Patriarch, ' observed Logotheti. 

'Did I? Yes. Well, what sort of a gentleman is he, anyway?'

The question seemed rather vague to the Greek. 

'How do you mean?' he inquired, buttoning his coat over the wonderfulwaistcoat. 

'Is he a friendly kind of a person, I mean? Obliging, if you take himthe right way? That's what I mean. Or does he get on his ear rightaway?'

'I should say, ' answered Logotheti, without a smile, 'that he gets onhis ear right away--if that means the opposite of being friendly andobliging. But I may be prejudiced, for he does not approve of me. '

'Why not, Mr. Logotheti?'

'My uncle says I'm a pagan, and worship idols. '

'Maybe he means the Golden Calf, ' suggested Mr. Van Torp gravely. 

Logotheti laughed. 

'The other deity in business is the Brazen Serpent, I believe, ' heretorted. 

'The two would look pretty well out there on my lawn, ' answered Mr. Van Torp, his hard face relaxing a little. 

'To return to the point. Can I be of any use to you with thePatriarch? We are not on bad terms, though he does think me a heathen. Is there anything I can do?'

'Thank you, not at present. Much obliged. I only wanted to know. '

Logotheti's curiosity was destined to remain unsatisfied. He refusedMr. Van Torp's not very pressing invitation to stay to luncheon, givenat the very moment when he was getting into his motor, and a fewseconds later he was tearing down the avenue. 

Mr. Van Torp stood on the steps till he was out of sight and then camedown himself and strolled slowly away towards the trees again, hishands behind him and his eyes constantly bent upon the road, threepaces ahead. 

He was not always quite truthful. Scruples were not continuallyuppermost in his mind. For instance, what he had told Lady Maud abouthis engagement to poor Miss Bamberger did not quite agree with what hehad said to Margaret on the steamer. 

In certain markets in New York, three kinds of eggs are offered forsale, namely, Eggs, Fresh Eggs, and Strictly Fresh Eggs. I have seenthe advertisement. Similarly in Mr. Van Torp's opinion there werethree sorts of stories, to wit, Stories, True Stories, and StrictlyTrue Stories. Clearly, each account of his engagement must havebelonged to one of these classes, as well as the general statement hehad made to Logotheti about the charges brought against him in theanonymous letter. The reason why he had made that statement was plainenough; he meant it to be repeated to Margaret because he reallywished her to think well of him. Moreover, he had recognised thehandwriting at once as that of Mr. Feist, Isidore Bamberger's formersecretary, who knew a good many things and might turn out a dangerousenemy. 

But Logotheti, who knew something of men, and had dealt with somevery accomplished experts in fraud from New York and London toConstantinople, had his doubts about the truth of what he had heard, and understood at once why the usually reticent American had talkedso much about himself. Van Torp, he was sure, was in love with thesinger; that was his weak side, and in whatever affected her he mightbehave like a brute or a baby, but would certainly act with somethinglike rudimentary simplicity in either case. In Logotheti's opinionNorthern and English-speaking men might be as profound as Persians inmatters of money, and sometimes were, but where women were concernedthey were generally little better than sentimental children, unlessthey were mere animals. Not one in a thousand cared for the societyof women, or even of one particular woman, for its own sake, for thecompanionship, and the exchange of ideas about things of which womenknow how to think. To the better sort, that is, to the sentimentalones, a woman always seemed what she was not, a goddess, a saint, ora sort of glorified sister; to the rest, she was an instrument ofamusement and pleasure, more or less necessary and more or lesspurchasable. Perhaps an Englishman or an American, judging Greeks fromwhat he could learn about them in ordinary intercourse, would getabout as near the truth as Logotheti did. In his main conclusion thelatter was probably right; Mr. Van Torp's affections might be of suchexuberant nature as would admit of being divided between two or threeobjects at the same time, or they might not. But when he spoke ofhaving the 'highest regard' for Madame Cordova, without denying thefacts about the interview in which he had asked her to marry him andhad lost his head because she refused, he was at least admitting thathe was in love with her, or had been at that time. 

Mr. Van Torp also confessed that he had entertained a 'high regard'for the beautiful Mrs. Bamberger, now unhappily insane. It wasnoticeable that he had not used the same expression in speaking ofLady Maud. Nevertheless, as in the Bamberger affair, he appeared asthe chief cause of trouble between husband and wife. Logotheti wasconsidered 'dangerous' even in Paris, and his experiences had notbeen dull; but, so far, he had found his way through life withoutinadvertently stepping upon any of those concealed traps through whichthe gay and unwary of both sexes are so often dropped into the divorcecourt, to the surprise of everybody. It seemed the more strange tohim that Rufus Van Torp, only a few years his senior, should now findhimself in that position for the second time. Yet Van Torp was nota ladies' man; he was hard-featured, rough of speech, and clumsy offigure, and it was impossible to believe that any woman could thinkhim good-looking or be carried away by his talk. The case of Mrs. Bamberger could be explained; she might have had beauty, but shecould have had little else that would have appealed to such a man asLogotheti. But there was Lady Maud, an acknowledged beauty in London, thoroughbred, aristocratic, not easily shocked perhaps, but easilydisgusted, like most women of her class; and there was no doubt butthat her husband had found her under extremely strange circumstances, in the act of receiving from Van Torp a large sum of money for whichshe altogether declined to account. Van Torp had not denied that storyeither, so it was probably true. Yet Logotheti, whom so many womenthought irresistible, had felt instinctively that she was one of thosewho would smile serenely upon the most skilful and persistent besiegerfrom the security of an impregnable fortress of virtue. Logotheti didnot naturally feel unqualified respect for many women, but since hehad known Lady Maud it had never occurred to him that any one couldtake the smallest liberty with her. On the other hand, though he wasgenuinely in love with Margaret and desired nothing so much as tomarry her, he had never been in the least afraid of her, and he haddeliberately attempted to carry her off against her will; and if shehad looked upon his conduct then as anything more serious than a madprank, she had certainly forgiven it very soon. 

The only reason for his flying visit to Derbyshire had been his desireto keep Margaret's name out of an impending scandal in which heforesaw that Mr. Van Torp and Lady Maud were to be the centralfigures, and he believed that he had done something to bring aboutthat result, if he had started the millionaire on the right scent. Hejudged Van Torp to be a good hater and a man of many resources, whowould not now be satisfied till he had the anonymous writer of theletter and the article in his power. Logotheti had no means ofguessing who the culprit was, and did not care to know. 

He reached town late in the afternoon, having covered something likethree hundred miles since early morning. About seven o'clock hestopped at Margaret's door, in the hope of finding her at home and ofbeing asked to dine alone with her, but as he got out of his hansomand sent it away he heard the door shut and he found himself face toface with Paul Griggs. 

'Miss Donne is out, ' said the author, as they shook hands. 'She's beenspending the day with the Creedmores, and when I rang she had justtelephoned that she would not be back for dinner!'

'What a bore!' exclaimed Logotheti. 

The two men walked slowly along the pavement together, and for sometime neither spoke. Logotheti had nothing to do, or believed sobecause he was disappointed in not finding Margaret in. The elder manlooked preoccupied, and the Greek was the first to speak. 

'I suppose you've seen that shameful article about Van Torp, ' he said. 

'Yes. Somebody sent me a marked copy of the paper. Do you know whetherMiss Donne has seen it?'

'Yes. She got a marked copy too. So did I. What do you think of it?'

'Just what you do, I fancy. Have you any idea who wrote it?'

'Probably some underling in the Nickel Trust whom Van Torp hasoffended without knowing it, or who has lost money by him. '

Griggs glanced at his companion's face, for the hypothesis struck himas being tenable. 

'Unless it is some enemy of Countess Leven's, ' he suggested. 'Herhusband is really going to divorce her, as the article says. '

'I suppose she will defend herself, ' said Logotheti. 

'If she has a chance. '

'What do you mean?'

'Do you happen to know what sort of man the present Patriarch ofConstantinople is?'

Logotheti's jaw dropped, and he slackened his pace. 

'What in the world--' he began, but did not finish the sentence. 'That's the second time to-day I've been asked about him. '

'That's very natural, ' said Griggs calmly. 'You're one of the very fewmen in town who are likely to know him. '

'Of course I know him, ' answered Logotheti, still mystified. 'He's myuncle. '

'Really? That's very lucky!'

'Look here, Griggs, is this some silly joke?'

'A joke? Certainly not. Lady Maud's husband can only get a divorcethrough the Patriarch because he married her out of Russia. You knowabout that law, don't you?'

Logotheti understood at last. 

'No, ' he said, 'I never heard of it. But if that is the case I maybe able to do something--not that I'm considered orthodox at thePatriarchate! The old gentleman has been told that I'm trying torevive the worship of the Greek gods and have built a temple toAphrodite Xenia in the Place de la Concorde!'

'You're quite capable of it, ' observed Griggs. 

'Oh, quite! Only, I've not done it yet. I'll see what I can do. Areyou much interested in the matter?'

'Only on general principles, because I believe Lady Maud is perfectlystraight, and it is a shame that such a creature as Leven should beallowed to divorce an honest Englishwoman. By the bye--speaking of herreminds me of that dinner at the Turkish Embassy--do you remember adisagreeable-looking man who sat next to me, one Feist, a countrymanof mine?'

'Rather! I wondered how he came there. '

'He had a letter of introduction from the Turkish Minister inWashington. He is full of good letters of introduction. '

'I should think they would need to be good, ' observed Logotheti. 'With that face of his he would need an introduction to a Port Saidgambling-hell before they would let him in. '

'I agree with you. But he is well provided, as I say, and he goeseverywhere. Some one has put him down at the Mutton Chop. You never gothere, do you?'

'I'm not asked, ' laughed Logotheti. 'And as for becoming a member, they say it's impossible. '

'It takes ten or fifteen years, ' Griggs answered, 'and then you won'tbe elected unless every one likes you. But you may be put down asa visitor there just as at any other club. This fellow Feist, forinstance--we had trouble with him last night--or rather this morning, for it was two o'clock. He has been dropping in often of late, towardsmidnight. At first he was more or less amusing with his stories, forhe has a wonderful memory. You know the sort of funny man who rattleson as if he were wound up for the evening, and afterwards you cannotremember a word he has said. It's all very well for a while, but yousoon get sick of it. Besides, this particular specimen drinks like awhale. '

'He looks as if he did. '

'Last night he had been talking a good deal, and most of the men whohad been there had gone off. You know there's only one room at theMutton Chop, with a long table, and if a man takes the floor there'sno escape. I had come in about one o'clock to get something to eat, and Feist poured out a steady stream of stories as usual, though onlyone or two listened to him. Suddenly his eyes looked queer, and hestammered, and rolled off his chair, and lay in a heap, either deaddrunk or in a fit, I don't know which. '

'And I suppose you carried him downstairs, ' said Logotheti, for Griggswas known to be stronger than other men, though no longer young. 

'I did, ' Griggs answered. 'That's usually my share of the proceedings. The last person I carried--let me see--I think it must have been thatpoor girl who died at the Opera in New York. We had found Feist'saddress in the visitors' book, and we sent him home in a hansom. Iwonder whether he got there!'

'I should think the member who put him down would be rather annoyed, 'observed Logotheti. 

'Yes. It's the first time anything of that sort ever happened at theMutton Chop, and I fancy it will be the last. I don't think we shallsee Mr. Feist again. '

'I took a particular dislike to his face, ' Logotheti said. 'I rememberthinking of him when I went home that night, and wondering who he wasand what he was about. '

'At first I took him for a detective, ' said Griggs. 'But detectivesdon't drink. '

'What made you think he might be one?'

'He has a very clever way of leading the conversation to a point andthen asking an unexpected question. '

'Perhaps he is an amateur, ' suggested Logotheti. 'He may be a spy. IsFeist an American name?'

'You will find all sorts of names in America. They prove nothing inthe way of nationality, unless they are English, Dutch, or French, andeven then they don't prove much. I'm an American myself, and I feelsure that Feist either is one or has spent many years in the country, in which case he is probably naturalised. As for his being a spy, Idon't think I ever came across one in England. '

'They come here to rest in time of peace, or to escape hanging inother countries in time of war, ' said the Greek. 'His being at theTurkish Embassy, of all places in the world, is rather in favour ofthe idea. Do you happen to remember the name of his hotel?'

'Are you going to call on him?' Griggs asked with a smile. 

'Perhaps. He begins to interest me. Is it indiscreet to ask what sortof questions he put to you?'

'He's stopping at the Carlton--if the cabby took him there! We gavethe man half-a-crown for the job, and took his number, so I supposeit was all right. As for the questions he asked me, that's anothermatter. '

Logotheti glanced quickly at his companion's rather grim face, and wassilent for a few moments. He judged that Mr. Feist's inquiries musthave concerned a woman, since Griggs was so reticent, and it requiredno great ingenuity to connect that probability with one or both of theladies who had been at the dinner where Griggs and Feist had firstmet. 

'I think I shall go and ask for Mr. Feist, ' he said presently. 'Ishall say that I heard he was ill and wanted to know if I could doanything for him. '

'I've no doubt he'll be much touched by your kindness!' said Griggs. 'But please don't mention the Mutton Chop Club, if you really seehim. '

'Oh no! Besides, I shall let him do the talking. '

'Then take care that you don't let him talk you to death!'

Logotheti smiled as he hailed a passing hansom; he nodded to hiscompanion, told the man to go to the Carlton, and drove away, leavingGriggs to continue his walk alone. 

The elderly man of letters had not talked about Mr. Feist with anyspecial intention, and was very far from thinking that what he hadsaid would lead to any important result. He liked the Greek, becausehe liked most Orientals, under certain important reservations and at acertain distance, and he had lived amongst them long enough not to besurprised at anything they did. Logotheti had been disappointed in notfinding the Primadonna at home, and he was not inclined to put up withthe usual round of an evening in London during the early part of theseason as a substitute for what he had lost. He was the more put out, because, when he had last seen Margaret, three or four days earlier, she had told him that if he came on that evening at about seveno'clock he would probably find her alone. Having nothing that lookedat all amusing to occupy him, he was just in the mood to do anythingunusual that presented itself. 

Griggs guessed at most of these things, and as he walked along hevaguely pictured to himself the interview that was likely to takeplace. 

CHAPTER XII

Opinion was strongly against Mr. Van Torp. A millionaire is almostas good a mark at which to throw mud as a woman of the world whosereputation has never before been attacked, and when the two can bepilloried together it is hardly to be expected that ordinary peopleshould abstain from pelting them and calling them bad names. 

Lady Maud, indeed, was protected to some extent by her father andbrothers, and by many loyal friends. It is happily still doubtful howfar one may go in printing lies about an honest woman without gettinginto trouble with the law, and when the lady's father is not only apeer, but has previously been a barrister of reputation and a popularand hard-working member of the House of Commons during a long time, it is generally safer to use guarded language; the advisability ofmoderation also increases directly as the number and size of thelady's brothers, and inversely as their patience. Therefore, on thewhole, Lady Maud was much better treated by the society columns thanMargaret at first expected. 

On the other hand, they vented their spleen and sharpened theirEnglish on the American financier, who had no relations and scarcelyany friends to stand by him, and was, moreover, in a foreign country, which always seems to be regarded as an aggravating circumstance whena man gets into any sort of trouble. Isidore Bamberger and Mr. Feisthad roused and let loose upon him a whole pack of hungry reporters andparagraph writers on both sides of the Atlantic. 

The papers did not at first print his name except in connection withthe divorce of Lady Maud. But this was a landmark, the smallestreference to which made all other allusions to him quite clear. Itwas easy to speak of Mr. Van Torp as the central figure in a _causecélèbre_: newspapers love the French language the more as theyunderstand it the less; just as the gentle amateur in literature triesto hide his cloven hoof under the thin elegance of italics. 

Particular stress was laid upon the millionaire's dreadful hypocrisy. He taught in the Sunday Schools at Nickelville, the big village whichhad sprung up at his will and which was the headquarters of hissanctimonious wickedness. He was compared to Solomon, not for hiswisdom, but on account of his domestic arrangements. He was indeed afather to his flock. It was a touching sight to see the little onesgathered round the knees of this great and good man, and to notehow an unconscious and affectionate imitation reflected his facein theirs. It was true that there was another side to this trulypatriarchal picture. In a city of the Far West, wrote an eloquentparagraph writer, a pale face, once divinely beautiful, was often seenat the barred window of a madhouse, and eyes that had once looked tootenderly into those of the Nickelville Solomon stared wildly atthe palm-trees in the asylum grounds. This paragraph was rich insentiment. 

There were a good many mentions of the explosion in New York, too, andhints, dark, but uncommonly straight, that the great Sunday Schoolteacher had been the author and stage-manager of an awful comedydesigned expressly to injure a firm of contractors against whom he hada standing grudge. In proof of the assertion, the story went on to saythat he had written four hours before the 'accident' happened to givewarning of it to the young lady whom he was about to marry. She wasa neurasthenic young lady, and in spite of the warning she died verysuddenly at the theatre from shock immediately after the explosion, and his note was found on her dressing-table when she was brought homedead. Clearly, if the explosion had not been his work, and if he hadbeen informed of it beforehand, he would have warned the police andthe Department of Public Works at the same time. The young lady'suntimely death had not prevented him from sailing for Europe three orfour days later, and on the trip he had actually occupied alone thesame 'thousand dollar suite' which he had previously engaged forhimself and his bride. From this detail the public might form someidea of the Nickelville magnate's heartless character. In fact, ifone-half of what was written, telegraphed, and printed about Rufus VanTorp on both sides of the Atlantic during the next fortnight was to bebelieved, he had no character at all. 

To all this he answered nothing, and he did not take the trouble toallude to the matter in the few letters he wrote to his acquaintances. Day after day numbers of marked papers were carefully ironed and laidon the breakfast-table, after having been read and commented on in theservants' hall. The butler began to look askance at him, Mrs. Dubbs, the housekeeper, talked gloomily of giving warning, and the footmengossiped with the stable hands; but the men all decided that it wasnot derogatory to their dignity to remain in the service of a masterwho was soon to be exhibited in the divorce court beside such a 'reallady' as Lord Creedmore's daughter; the housemaids agreed in thisview, and the housekeeper consulted Miss More. For Mrs. Dubbs was animposing person, morally and physically, and had a character to lose;and though the place was a very good one for her old age, because themaster only spent six weeks or two months at Oxley Paddox each year, and never found fault, yet Mrs. Dubbs was not going to have her nameassociated with that of a gentleman who blew up underground works andtook Solomon's view of the domestic affections. She came of very goodpeople in the north; one of her brothers was a minister, and the otherwas an assistant steward on a large Scotch estate. 

Miss More's quiet serenity was not at all disturbed by what washappening, for it could hardly be supposed that she was ignorant ofthe general attack on Mr. Van Torp, though he did not leave the paperslying about, where little Ida's quick eyes might fall on a markedpassage. The housekeeper waited for an occasion when Mr. Van Torphad taken the child for a drive, as he often did, and Miss More wasestablished in her favourite corner of the garden, just out of sightof the house. Mrs. Dubbs first exposed the situation, then expresseda strong opinion as to her own respectability, and finally asked MissMore's advice. 

Miss More listened attentively, and waited till her large and sleekinterlocutor had absolutely nothing more to say. Then she spoke. 

'Mrs. Dubbs, ' she said, 'do you consider me a respectable youngwoman?'

'Oh, Miss More!' cried the housekeeper. 'You! Indeed, I'd put my handinto the fire for you any day!'

'And I'm an American, and I've known Mr. Van Torp several years, though this is the first time you have seen me here. Do you think Iwould let the child stay an hour under his roof, or stay here myself, if I believed one word of all those wicked stories the papers arepublishing? Look at me, please. Do you think I would?'

It was quite impossible to look at Miss More's quiet healthy face andclear eyes and to believe she would. There are some women of whomone is sure at a glance that they are perfectly trustworthy in everyimaginable way, and above even the suspicion of countenancing anywrong. 

'No, ' answered Mrs. Dubbs, with honest conviction, 'I don't, indeed. '

'I think, then, ' said Miss More, 'that if I feel I can stay here, youare safe in staying too. I do not believe any of these slanders, andI am quite sure that Mr. Van Torp is one of the kindest men in theworld. '

'I feel as if you must be right, Miss More, ' replied the housekeeper. 'But they do say dreadful things about him, indeed, and he doesn'tdeny a word of it, as he ought to, in my humble opinion, though it'snot my business to judge, of course, but I'll say this, Miss More, andthat is, that if the butler's character was publicly attacked in thepapers, in the way Mr. Van Torp's is, and if I were Mr. Van Torp, which of course I'm not, I'd say "Crookes, you may be all right, butif you're going to be butler here any longer, it's your duty to defendyourself against these attacks upon you in the papers, Crookes, because as a Christian man you must not hide your light under abushel, Crookes, but let it shine abroad. " That's what I'd say, MissMore, and I should like to know if you don't think I should be right. '

'If the English and American press united to attack the butler'scharacter, ' answered Miss More without a smile, 'I think you wouldbe quite right, Mrs. Dubbs. But as regards Mr. Van Torp's presentposition, I am sure he is the best judge of what he ought to do. '

These words of wisdom, and Miss More's truthful eyes, greatlyreassured the housekeeper, who afterwards upbraided the servants forpaying any attention to such wicked falsehoods; and Mr. Crookes, thebutler, wrote to his aged mother, who was anxious about his situation, to say that Mr. Van Torp must be either a real gentleman or a veryhardened criminal indeed, because it was only forgers and realgentlemen who could act so precious cool; but that, on the whole, he, Crookes, and the housekeeper, who was a highly respectable person andthe sister of a minister, as he wished his mother to remember, hadmade up their minds that Mr. V. T. Was Al, copper-bottomed--Mrs. Crookes was the widow of a seafaring man, and lived at Liverpool, and had heard Lloyd's rating quoted all her life--and that they, thewriter and Mrs. Dubbs, meant to see him through his troubles, thoughhe was a little trying at his meals, for he would have butter onthe table at his dinner, and he wanted two and three courses servedtogether, and drank milk at his luncheon, like no Christian gentlemandid that Mr. Crookes had ever seen. 

The financier might have been amused if he could have read thisletter, which contained no allusion to the material attractionsof Torp Towers as a situation; for like a good many Americanmillionaires, Mr. Van Torp had a blind spot on his financial retina. He could deal daringly and surely with vast sums, or he could screwtwice the normal quantity of work out of an underpaid clerk; but thehousehold arithmetic that lies between the two was entirely beyond hiscomprehension. He 'didn't want to be bothered, ' he said; he maintainedthat he 'could make more money in ten minutes than he could save in ayear by checking the housekeeper's accounts'; he 'could live on coffeeand pie, ' but if he chose to hire the chef of the Cafe Anglais to cookfor him at five thousand dollars a year he 'didn't want to know theprice of a truffled pheasant or a chaudfroid of ortolans. ' That washis way, and it was good enough for him. What was the use of havingmade money if you were to be bothered? And besides, he concluded, 'itwas none of anybody's blank blank business what he did. '

Mr. Van Torp did not hesitate to borrow similes from another worldwhen his rather limited command of refined language was unequal to theoccasion. 

But at the present juncture, though his face did not change, andthough he slept as soundly and had as good an appetite as usual, nowords with which he was acquainted could express his feelings at all. He had, indeed, consigned the writer of the first article to perditionwith some satisfaction; but after his interview with Logotheti, when he had understood that a general attack upon him had begun, hegathered his strength in silence and studied the position with all theconcentration of earnest thought which his exceptional nature couldcommand. 

He had recognised Feist's handwriting, and he remembered the man ashis partner's former secretary. Feist might have written the letterto Logotheti and the first article, but Van Torp did not believehim capable of raising a general hue and cry on both sides of theAtlantic. It undoubtedly happened sometimes that when a fire had beensmouldering long unseen a single spark sufficed to start the blaze, but Mr. Van Torp was too well informed as to public opinion about himto have been in ignorance of any general feeling against him, if ithad existed; and the present attack was of too personal a nature tohave been devised by financial rivals. Besides, the Nickel Trust hadrecently absorbed all its competitors to such an extent that it had norivals at all, and the dangers that threatened it lay on the one handin the growing strength of the Labour Party in its great movementagainst capital, and on the other in its position with regard torecent American legislation about Trusts. From the beginning Mr. VanTorp had been certain that the campaign of defamation had not beenbegun by the Unions, and by its nature it could have no connectionwith the legal aspect of his position. It was therefore clear thatwar had been declared upon him by one or more individuals on purelypersonal grounds, and that Mr. Feist was but the chief instrument inthe hands of an unknown enemy. 

But at first sight it did not look as if his assailant were IsidoreBamberger. The violent attack on him might not affect the credit ofthe Nickel Trust, but it was certainly not likely to improve it andMr. Van Torp believed that if his partner had a grudge against him, any attempt at revenge would be made in a shape that would not affectthe Trust's finances. Bamberger was a resentful sort of man, but onthe other hand he was a man of business, and his fortune depended onthat of his great partner. 

Mr. Van Torp walked every morning in the park, thinking over thesethings, and little Ida tripped along beside him watching the squirrelsand the birds, and not saying much; but now and then, when she feltthe gentle pressure of his hand on hers, which usually meant that hewas going to speak to her, she looked up to watch his lips, and theydid not move; only his eyes met hers, and the faint smile that cameinto his face then was not at all like the one which most people sawthere. So she smiled back, happily, and looked at the squirrels again, sure that a rabbit would soon make a dash over the open and cross theroad, and hoping for the rare delight of seeing a hare. And the tamered and fallow deer looked at her suspiciously from a distance, as ifshe might turn into a motor-car. In those morning walks she did notagain see his lips forming words that frightened her, and she began tobe quite sure that he had stopped swearing to himself because she hadspoken to him so seriously. 

Once he looked at her so long and with so much earnestness that sheasked him what he was thinking of, and he gently pushed back thebroad-brimmed hat she wore, so as to see her forehead and beautifulgolden hair. 

'You are growing very like your mother, ' he said, after a littlewhile. 

They had stopped in the broad drive, and little Ida gazed gravely upat him for a moment. Then she put up her arms. 

'I think I want to give you a kiss, Mr. Van Torp, ' she said with theutmost gravity. 'You're so good to me. '

Mr. Van Torp stooped, and she put her arms round his short neck andkissed the hard, flat cheek once, and he kissed hers rather awkwardly. 

'Thank you, my dear, ' he said, in an odd voice, as he straightenedhimself. 

He took her hand again to walk on, and the great iron mouth was drawna little to one side, and it looked as if the lips might have trembledif they had not been so tightly shut. Perhaps Mr. Van Torp had neverkissed a child before. 

She was very happy and contented, for she had spent most of her lifein a New England village alone with Miss More, and the great Englishcountry-house was full of wonder and mystery for her, and the park wascertainly the Earthly Paradise. She had hardly ever been with otherchildren and was rather afraid of them, because they did not alwaysunderstand what she said, as most grown people did; so she was not atall lonely now. On the contrary, she felt that her small existencewas ever so much fuller than before, since she now loved two peopleinstead of only one, and the two people seemed to agree so welltogether. In America she had only seen Mr. Van Torp at intervals, whenhe had appeared at the cottage near Boston, the bearer of toys andchocolates and other good things, and she had not been told till aftershe had landed in Liverpool that she was to be taken to stop with himin the country while he remained in England. Till then he had alwayscalled her 'Miss Ida, ' in an absurdly formal way, but ever since shehad arrived at Oxley Paddox he had dropped the 'Miss, ' and had neverfailed to spend two or three hours alone with her every day. Thoughhis manner had not changed much, and he treated her with a sort ofqueer formality, much as he would have behaved if she had been twentyyears old instead of nine, she had been growing more and more surethat he loved her and would give her anything in the world she askedfor, though there was really nothing she wanted; and in return shegrew gratefully fond of him by quick degrees, till her affectionexpressed itself in her solemn proposal to 'give him a kiss. '

Not long after that Mr. Van Torp found amongst his letters one fromLady Maud, of which the envelope was stamped with the address of herfather's country place, 'Craythew. ' He read the contents carefully, and made a note in his pocket-book before tearing the sheet and theenvelope into a number of small bits. 

There was nothing very compromising in the note, but Mr. Van Torpcertainly did not know that his butler regularly offered first andsecond prizes in the servants' hall, every Saturday night, for the'best-put-together letters' of the week--to those of his satellites, in other words, who had been most successful in piecing togetherscraps from the master's wastepaper basket. In houses where thepost-bag has a patent lock, of which the master keeps the key, thisdiversion has been found a good substitute for the more thrillingentertainment of steaming the letters and reading them before takingthem upstairs. If Mrs. Dubbs was aware of Mr. Crookes' weeklydistribution of rewards she took no notice of it; but as she rarelycondescended to visit the lower regions, and only occasionally askedMr. Crookes to dine in her own sitting-room, she may be allowed thebenefit of the doubt; and, besides, she was a very superior person. 

On the day after he had received Lady Maud's note, Mr. Van Torp rodeout by himself. No one, judging from his looks, would have taken himfor a good rider. He rode seldom, too, never talked of horses, and wasnever seen at a race. When he rode he did not even take the trouble toput on gaiters, and, after he had bought Oxley Paddox, the first timethat his horse was brought to the door, by a groom who had never seenhim, the latter could have sworn that the millionaire had never beenon a horse before and was foolishly determined to break his neck. Onthat occasion Mr. Van Torp came down the steps, with a big cigar inhis mouth, in his ordinary clothes, without so much as a pair ofstraps to keep his trousers down, or a bit of a stick in his hand. Theanimal was a rather ill-tempered black that had arrived from Yorkshiretwo days previously in charge of a boy who gave him a bad character. As Mr. Van Torp descended the steps with his clumsy gait, the horselaid his ears well back for a moment and looked as if he meant tokick anything within reach. Mr. Van Torp looked at him in a dull way, puffed his cigar, and made one remark in the form of a query. 

'He ain't a lamb, is he?'

'No, sir, ' answered the groom with sympathetic alacrity, 'and if I wasyou, sir, I wouldn't--'

But the groom's good advice was checked by an unexpected phenomenon. Mr. Van Torp was suddenly up, and the black was plunging wildly aswas only to be expected; what was more extraordinary was that Mr. VanTorp's expression showed no change whatever, the very big cigar wasstuck in his mouth at precisely the same angle as before, and heappeared to be glued to the saddle. He sat perfectly erect, with hislegs perpendicularly straight, and his hands low and quiet. 

The next moment the black bolted down the drive, but Mr. Van Torp didnot seem the least disturbed, and the astonished groom, his mouth wideopen and his arms hanging down, saw that the rider gave the beast hishead for a couple of hundred yards, and then actually stopped himshort, bringing him almost to the ground on his haunches. 

'My Gawd, 'e's a cowboy!' exclaimed the groom, who was a Cockney, and had seen a Wild West show and recognised the real thing. 'Andme thinkin' 'e was goin' to break his precious neck and wastin' mybloomin' sympathy on 'im!'

Since that first day Mr. Van Torp had not ridden more than a score oftimes in two years. He preferred driving, because it was less trouble, and partly because he could take little Ida with him. It was thereforealways a noticeable event in the monotonous existence at Torp Towerswhen he ordered a horse to be saddled, as he did on the day after hehad got Lady Maud's note from Craythew. 

He rode across the hilly country at a leisurely pace, first by lanesand afterwards over a broad moor, till he entered a small beech woodby a bridle-path not wide enough for two to ride together, and linedwith rhododendrons, lilacs, and laburnum. A quarter of a mile fromthe entrance a pretty glade widened to an open lawn, in the middleof which stood a ruin, consisting of the choir and chancel arch of achapel. Mr. Van Torp drew rein before it, threw his right leg over thepommel before him, and remained sitting sideways on the saddle, forthe very good reason that he did not see anything to sit on if he gotdown, and that it was of no use to waste energy in standing. His horsemight have resented such behaviour on the part of any one else, butaccepted the western rider's eccentricities quite calmly and proceededto crop the damp young grass at his feet. 

Mr. Van Torp had come to meet Lady Maud. The place was lonely andconveniently situated, being about half-way between Oxley Paddox andCraythew, on Mr. Van Torp's land, which was so thoroughly protectedagainst trespassers and reporters by wire fences and special watchmenthat there was little danger of any one getting within the guardedboundary. On the side towards Craythew there was a gate with a patentlock, to which Lady Maud had a key. 

Mr. Van Torp was at the meeting-place at least a quarter of an hourbefore the appointed time. His horse only moved a short step every nowand then, eating his way slowly across the grass, and his rider satsideways, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at nothingparticular, with that perfectly wooden expression of his whichindicated profound thought. 

But his senses were acutely awake, and he caught the distant sound ofhoofs on the soft woodland path just a second before his horse liftedhis head and pricked his ears. Mr. Van Torp did not slip to theground, however, and he hardly changed his position. Half a dozenyoung pheasants hurled themselves noisily out of the wood on the otherside of the ruin, and scattered again as they saw him, to perch onthe higher boughs of the trees not far off instead of settling onthe sward. A moment later Lady Maud appeared, on a lanky and elderlythoroughbred that had been her own long before her marriage. Herold-fashioned habit was evidently of the same period too; it had beenmade before the modern age of skirted coats, and fitted her figure ina way that would have excited open disapproval and secret admirationin Rotten Row. But she never rode in town, so that it did not matter;and, besides, Lady Maud did not care. 

Mr. Van Torp raised his hat in a very un-English way, and at the sametime, apparently out of respect for his friend, he went so far as tochange his seat a little by laying his right knee over the pommel andsticking his left foot into the stirrup, so that he sat like a woman. Lady Maud drew up on his off side and they shook hands. 

'You look rather comfortable, ' she said, and the happy ripple was inher voice. 

'Why, yes. There's nothing else to sit on, and the grass is wet. Doyou want to get off?'

'I thought we might make some tea presently, ' answered Lady Maud. 'I've brought my basket. '

'Now I call that quite sweet!' Mr. Van Torp seemed very much pleased, and he looked down at the shabby little brown basket hanging at hersaddle. 

He slipped to the ground, and she did the same before he could goround to help her. The old thoroughbred nosed her hand as if expectingsomething good, and she produced a lump of sugar from the tea-basketand gave it to him. 

Mr. Van Torp pulled a big carrot from the pocket of his tweed jacketand let his horse bite it off by inches. Then he took the basket fromLady Maud and the two went towards the ruin. 

'We can sit on the Earl, ' said Lady Maud, advancing towards a low tombon which was sculptured a recumbent figure in armour. 'The horseswon't run away from such nice grass. '

So the two installed themselves on each side of the stone knight'sarmed feet, which helped to support the tea-basket, and Lady Maud tookout her spirit-lamp and a saucepan that just held two cups, and a tinbottle full of water, and all the other things, arranging them neatlyin order. 

'How practical women are!' exclaimed Mr. Van Torp, looking on. 'Now Iwould never have thought of that. '

But he was really wondering whether she expected him to speak first ofthe grave matters that brought them together in that lonely place. 

'I've got some bread and butter, ' she said, opening a smallsandwich-box, 'and there is a lemon instead of cream. '

'Your arrangements beat Hare Court hollow, ' observed the millionaire. 'Do you remember the cracked cups and the weevilly biscuits?'

'Yes, and how sorry you were when you had burnt the little beasts! Nowlight the spirit-lamp, please, and then we can talk. '

Everything being arranged to her satisfaction, Lady Maud looked up ather companion. 

'Are you going to do anything about it?' she asked. 

'Will it do any good if I do? That's the question. '

'Good? What is good in that sense?' She looked at him a moment, butas he did not answer she went on. 'I cannot bear to see you abused inprint like this, day after day, when I know the truth, or most of it. '

'It doesn't matter about me. I'm used to it. What does your fathersay?'

'He says that when a man is attacked as you are, it's his duty todefend himself. '

'Oh, he does, does he?'

Lady Maud smiled, but shook her head in a reproachful way. 

'You promised me that you would never give me your business answer, you know!'

'I'm sorry, ' said Mr. Van Torp, in a tone of contrition. 'Well, yousee, I forgot you weren't a man. I won't do it again. So your fatherthinks I'd better come out flat-footed with a statement to the press. Now, I'll tell you. I'd do so, if I didn't feel sure that all thiscircus about me isn't the real thing yet. It's been got up with anobject, and until I can make out what's coming I think I'd best keepstill. Whoever's at the root of this is counting on my losing mytemper and hitting out, and saying things, and then the real attackwill come from an unexpected quarter. Do you see that? Under thecircumstances, almost any man in my position would get interviewed andtalk back, wouldn't he?'

'I fancy so, ' answered Lady Maud. 

'Exactly. If I did that, I might be raising against another man'sstraight flush, don't you see? A good way in a fight is never to dowhat everybody else would do. But I've got a scheme for getting behindthe other man, whoever he is, and I've almost concluded to try it. '

'Will you tell me what it is?'

'Don't I always tell you most things?'

Lady Maud smiled at the reservation implied in 'most. '

'After all you have done for me, I should have no right to complain ifyou never told me anything, ' she answered. 'Do as you think best. Youknow that I trust you. '

'That's right, and I appreciate it, ' answered the millionaire. 'Inthe first place, you're not going to be divorced. I suppose that'ssettled. '

Lady Maud opened her clear eyes in surprise. 

'You didn't know that, did you?' asked Mr. Van Torp, enjoying herastonishment. 

'Certainly not, and I can hardly believe it, ' she answered. 

'Look here, Maud, ' said her companion, bending his heavy brows in away very unusual with him, 'do you seriously think I'd let you bedivorced on my account? That I'd allow any human being to play trickswith your good name by coupling it with mine in any sort of way? IfI were the kind of man about whom you had a right to think that, Iwouldn't deserve your friendship. '

It was not often that Rufus Van Torp allowed his face to show feeling, but the look she saw in his rough-hewn features for a moment almostfrightened her. There was something Titanic in it. 

'No, Rufus--no!' she cried, earnestly. 'You know how I have believedin you and trusted you! It's only that I don't see how--'

'That's a detail, ' answered the American. 'The "how" don't matterwhen a man's in earnest. ' The look was gone again, for her words hadappeased him instantly. 'Well, ' he went on, in his ordinary tone, 'you can take it for granted that the divorce will come to nothing. There'll be a clear statement in all the best papers next week, sayingthat your husband's suit for a divorce has been dismissed with costsbecause there is not the slightest evidence of any kind against you. It will be stated that you came to my partner's chambers in Hare Courton a matter of pure business, to receive certain money, which was dueto you from me in the way of business, for which you gave me the usualbusiness acknowledgment. So that's that! I had a wire yesterday to sayit's as good as settled. The water's boiling. '

The steam was lifting the lid of the small saucepan, which stoodsecurely on the spirit-lamp between the marble knight's greaved shins. But Lady Maud took no notice of it. 

'It's like you, ' said she. 'I cannot find anything else to say!'

'It doesn't matter about saying anything, ' returned Mr. Van Torp. 'Thewater's boiling. '

'Will you blow out the lamp?' As she spoke she dropped a batteredsilver tea-ball into the water, and moved it about by its littlechain. 

Mr. Van Torp took off his hat, and bent down sideways till his flatcheek rested on the knight's stone shin, and he blew out the flamewith one well-aimed puff. Lady Maud did not look at the top of hishead, nor steal a furtive glance at the strong muscles and sinews ofhis solid neck. She did nothing of the kind. She bobbed the tea-ballup and down in the saucepan by its chain, and watched how the hotwater turned brown. 

'But I did not give you a "business acknowledgment, " as you call it, 'she said thoughtfully. 'It's not quite truthful to say I did, youknow. '

'Does that bother you? All right. '

He produced his well-worn pocket-book, found a scrap of white paperamongst the contents, and laid it on the leather. Then he took hispencil and wrote a few words. 

'Received of R. Van Torp £4100 to balance of account. '

He held out the pencil, and laid the pocket-book on his palm for herto write. She read the words with out moving. 

'"To balance of account"--what does that mean?'

'It means that it's a business transaction. At the time you couldn'tmake any further claim against me. That's all it means. '

He put the pencil to the paper again, and wrote the date of themeeting in Hare Court. 

'There! If you sign your name to that, it just means that you had nofurther claim against me on that day. You hadn't, anyway, so you mayjust as well sign!'

He held out the paper, and Lady Maud took it with a smile and wroteher signature. 

'Thank you, ' said Mr. Van Torp. 'Now you're quite comfortable, Isuppose, for you can't deny that you have given me the usual businessacknowledgment. The other part of it is that I don't care to keep thatkind of receipt long, so I just strike a match and burn it. ' He didso, and watched the flimsy scrap turn black on the stone knight'sknee, till the gentle breeze blew the ashes away. 'So there!' heconcluded. 'If you were called upon to swear in evidence that yousigned a proper receipt for the money, you couldn't deny it, couldyou? A receipt's good if given at any time after the money has beenpaid. What's the matter? Why do you look as if you doubted it? What istruth, anyhow? It's the agreement of the facts with the statement ofthem, isn't it? Well, I don't see but the statement coincides with thefacts all right now. '

While he had been talking Lady Maud had poured out the tea, and hadcut some thin slices from the lemon, glancing at him incredulously nowand then, but smiling in spite of herself. 

'That's all sophistry, ' she said, as she handed him his cup. 

'Thanks, ' he answered, taking it from her. 'Look here! Can you denythat you have given me a formal dated receipt for four thousand onehundred pounds?'

'No--'

'Well, then, what can't be denied is the truth; and if I choose topublish the truth about you, I don't suppose you can find fault withit. '

'No, but--'

'Excuse me for interrupting, but there is no "but. " What's good in lawis good enough for me, and the Attorney-General and all his angelscouldn't get behind that receipt now, if they tried till they wereblack in the face. '

Mr. Van Torp's similes were not always elegant. 

'Tip-top tea, ' he remarked, as Lady Maud did not attempt to sayanything more. 'That was a bright idea of yours, bringing the lemon, too. '

He took several small sips in quick succession, evidently appreciatingthe quality of the tea as a connoisseur. 

'I don't know how you have managed to do it, ' said Lady Maud at last. 'As you say, the "how" does not matter very much. Perhaps it's just aswell that I should not know how you got at the Patriarch. I couldn'tbe more grateful if I knew the whole story. '

'There's no particular story about it. When I found he was the man tobe seen, I sent a man to see him. That's all. '

'It sounds very simple, ' said Lady Maud, whose acquaintance withAmerican slang was limited, even after she had known Mr. Van Torpintimately for two years. 'You were going to tell me more. You saidyou had a plan for catching the real person who is responsible forthis attack on you. '

'Well, I have a sort of an idea, but I'm not quite sure how the landlays. By the bye, ' he said quickly, correcting himself, 'isn't thatone of the things I say wrong? You told me I ought to say how the land"lies, " didn't you? I always forget. '

Lady Maud laughed as she looked at him, for she was quite sure that hehad only taken up his own mistake in order to turn the subject fromthe plan of which he did not mean to speak. 

'You know that I'm not in the least curious, ' she said, 'so don'twaste any cleverness in putting me off! I only wish to know whether Ican help you to carry out your plan. I had an idea too. I thought ofgetting my father to have a week-end party at Craythew, to which youwould be asked, by way of showing people that he knows all about ourfriendship, and approves of it in spite of what my husband has beentrying to do. Would that suit you? Would it help you or not?'

'It might come in nicely after the news about the divorce appears, 'answered Mr. Van Torp approvingly. 'It would be just the same if Iwent over to dinner every day, and didn't sleep in the house, wouldn'tit?'

'I'm not sure, ' Lady Maud said. 'I don't think it would, quite. Itmight seem odd that you should dine with us every day, whereas if youstop with us people cannot but see that my father wants you. '

'How about Lady Creedmore?'

'My mother is on the continent. Why in the world do you not want tocome?'

'Oh, I don't know, ' answered Mr. Van Torp vaguely. 'Just like that, I suppose. I was thinking. But it'll be all right, and I'll come anyway, and please tell your father that I highly appreciate the kindinvitation. When is it to be?'

'Come on Thursday next week and stay till Tuesday. Then you will bethere when the first people come and till the last have left. Thatwill look even better. '

'Maybe they'll say you take boarders, ' observed Mr. Van Torpfacetiously. 'That other piece belongs to you. '

While talking they had finished their tea, and only one slice of breadand butter was left in the sandwich-box. 

'No, ' answered Lady Maud, 'it's yours. I took the first. '

'Let's go shares, ' suggested the millionaire. 

'There's no knife. '

'Break it. '

Lady Maud doubled the slice with conscientious accuracy, gentlypulled the pieces apart at the crease, and held out one half to hercompanion. He took it as naturally as if they had been children, andthey ate their respective shares in silence. As a matter of fact Mr. Van Torp had been unconsciously and instinctively more interested inthe accuracy of the division than in the very beautiful white fingersthat performed it. 

'Who are the other people going to be?' he asked when he had finishedeating, and Lady Maud was beginning to put the tea-things back intothe basket. 

'That depends on whom we can get. Everybody is awfully busy just now, you know. The usual sort of set, I suppose. You know the kind ofpeople who come to us--you've met lots of them. I thought of askingMiss Donne if she is free. You know her, don't you?'

'Why, yes, I do. You've read those articles about our interview in NewYork, I suppose. '

Lady Maud, who had been extremely occupied with her own affairs oflate, had almost forgotten the story, and was now afraid that she hadmade a mistake, but she caught at the most evident means of setting itright. 

'Yes, of course. All the better, if you are seen stopping in the samehouse. People will see that it's all right. '

'Well, maybe they would. I'd rather, if it'll do her any good. Butperhaps she doesn't want to meet me. She wasn't over-anxious to talkto me on the steamer, I noticed, and I didn't bother her much. She's alovely woman!'

Lady Maud looked at him, and her beautiful mouth twitched as if shewanted to laugh. 

'Miss Donne doesn't think you're a "lovely" man at all, ' she said. 

'No, ' answered Mr. Van Torp, in a tone of child-like and almostsheepish regret, 'she doesn't, and I suppose she's right. I didn'tknow how to take her, or she wouldn't have been so angry. '

'When? Did you really ask her to marry you?' Lady Maud was smilingnow. 

'Why, yes, I did. Why shouldn't I? I guess it wasn't very well done, though, and I was a fool to try and take her hand after she'd saidno. '

'Oh, you tried to take her hand?'

'Yes, and the next thing I knew she'd rushed out of the room andbolted the door, as if I was a dangerous lunatic and she'd just foundit out. That's what happened--just that. It wasn't my fault if I wasin earnest, I suppose. '

'And just after that you were engaged to poor Miss Bamberger, ' saidLady Maud in a tone of reflection. 

'Yes, ' answered Mr. Van Torp slowly. 'Nothing mattered much just then, and the engagement was the business side. I told you about all that inHare Court. '

'You're a singular mixture of several people all in one! I shall neverquite understand you. '

'Maybe not. But if you don't, nobody else is likely to, and I mean tobe frank to you every time. I suppose you think I'm heartless. Perhaps I am. I don't know. You have to know about the business sidesometimes; I wish you didn't, for it's not the side of myself I likebest. '

The aggressive blue eyes softened a little as he spoke, and there wasa touch of deep regret in his harsh voice. 

'No, ' answered Lady Maud, 'I don't like it either. But you are notheartless. Don't say that of yourself, please--please don't! Youcannot fancy how it would hurt me to think that your helping me wasonly a rich man's caprice, that because a few thousand pounds arenothing to you it amused you to throw the money away on me and myideas, and that you would just as soon put it on a horse, or play withit at Monte Carlo!'

'Well, you needn't worry, ' observed Mr. Van Torp, smiling in areassuring way. 'I'm not given to throwing away money. In fact, theother people think I'm too much inclined to take it. And why shouldn'tI? People who don't know how to take care of money shouldn't have it. They do harm with it. It is right to take it from them since theycan't keep it and haven't the sense to spend it properly. However, that's the business side of me, and we won't talk about it, unless youlike. '

'I don't "like"!' Lady Maud smiled too. 

'Precisely. You're not the business side, and you can have anythingyou like to ask for. Anything I've got, I mean. '

The beautiful hands were packing the tea-things. 

'Anything in reason, ' suggested Lady Maud, looking into the shabbybasket. 

'I'm not talking about reason, ' answered Mr. Van Torp, gouging hiswaistcoat pockets with his thick thumbs, and looking at the top of herold grey felt hat as she bent her head. 'I don't suppose I've donemuch good in my life, but maybe you'll do some for me, because youunderstand those things and I don't. Anyhow, you mean to, and I wantyou to, and that constitutes intention in both parties, which is themain thing in law. If it happens to give you pleasure, so much thebetter. That's why I say you can have anything you like. It's anunlimited order. '

'Thank you, ' said Lady Maud, still busy with the things. 'I know youare in earnest, and if I needed more money I would ask for it. ButI want to make sure that it is really the right way--so many peoplewould not think it was, you know, and only time can prove that I'mnot mistaken. There!' She had finished packing the basket, and shefastened the lid regretfully. 'I'm afraid we must be going. It wasawfully good of you to come!'

'Wasn't it? I'll be just as good again the day after to-morrow, ifyou'll ask me!'

'Will you?' rippled the sweet voice pleasantly. 'Then come at the sametime, unless it rains really hard. I'm not afraid of a shower, youknow, and the arch makes a very fair shelter here. I never catch cold, either. '

She rose, taking up the basket in one hand and shaking down the foldsof her old habit with the other. 

'All the same, I'd bring a jacket next time if I were you, ' said hercompanion, exactly as her mother might have made the suggestion, andscarcely bestowing a glance on her almost too visibly perfect figure. 

The old thoroughbred raised his head as they crossed the sward, andmade two or three steps towards her of his own accord. Her foot resteda moment on Mr. Van Torp's solid hand, and she was in the saddle. Theblack was at first less disposed to be docile, but soon yielded at thesight of another carrot. Mr. Van Torp did not take the trouble toput his foot into the stirrup, but vaulted from the ground with noapparent effort. Lady Maud smiled approvingly, but not as a womanwho loves a man and feels pride in him when he does anything verydifficult. It merely pleased and amused her to see with what ease andindifference the rather heavily-built American did a thing which manya good English rider, gentleman or groom, would have found it hard todo at all. But Mr. Van Torp had ridden and driven cattle in Californiafor his living before he had been twenty. 

He wheeled and came to her side, and held out his hand. 

'Day after to-morrow, at the same time, ' he said as she took it. 'Good-bye!'

'Good-bye, and don't forget Thursday!'

They parted and rode away in opposite directions, and neither turned, even once, to look back at the other. 

CHAPTER XIII

The _Elisir d'Amore_ was received with enthusiasm, but the tenorhad it all his own way, as Lushington had foretold, and when PompeoStromboli sang 'Una furtiva lacrima' the incomparable Cordova was foronce eclipsed in the eyes of a hitherto faithful public. Covent Gardensurrendered unconditionally. Metaphorically speaking, it rolled overon its back, with its four paws in the air, like a small dog that hasgot the worst of a fight and throws himself on the bigger dog's mercy. 

Margaret was applauded, but as a matter of course. There was noelectric thrill in the clapping of hands; she got the formal applausewhich is regularly given to the sovereign, but not the enthusiasmwhich is bestowed spontaneously on the conqueror. When she butteredher face and got the paint off, she was a little pale, and hereyes were not kind. It was the first time that she had not carriedeverything before her since she had begun her astonishing career, andin her first disappointment she had not philosophy enough to consoleherself with the consideration that it would have been infinitelyworse to be thrown into the shade by another lyric soprano, insteadof by the most popular lyric tenor on the stage. She was alsouncomfortably aware that Lushington had predicted what had happened, and she was informed that he had not even taken the trouble to cometo the first performance of the opera. Logotheti, who knew everythingabout his old rival, had told her that Lushington was in Paris thatweek, and was going on to see his mother in Provence. 

The Primadonna was put out with herself and with everybody, after themanner of great artists when a performance has not gone exactly asthey had hoped. The critics said the next morning that the Señorita daCordova had been in good voice and had sung with excellent taste andjudgment, but that was all: as if any decent soprano might not do aswell! They wrote as if she might have been expected to show neitherjudgment nor taste, and as if she were threatened with a cold. Thenthey went on to praise Pompeo Stromboli with the very words theyusually applied to her. His voice was full, rich, tender, vibrating, flexible, soft, powerful, stirring, natural, cultivated, superb, phenomenal, and perfectly fresh. The critics had a severe attack of'adjectivitis. '

Paul Griggs had first applied the name to that inflammation oflanguage to which many young writers are subject when cutting theirliterary milk-teeth, and from which musical critics are never quiteimmune. Margaret could no longer help reading what was written abouther; that was one of the signs of the change that had come over her, and she disliked it, and sometimes despised herself for it, thoughshe was quite unable to resist the impulse. The appetite for flatterywhich comes of living on it may be innocent, but it is never harmless. Dante consigned the flatterers to Inferno, and more particularly to avery nasty place there: it is true that there were no musical criticsin his day; but he does not say much about the flattered, perhapsbecause they suffer enough when they find out the truth, or lose thegift for which they have been over-praised. 

The Primadonna was in a detestably uncomfortable state of mind on theday after the performance of the revived opera. Her dual nature washopelessly mixed; Cordova was in a rage with Stromboli, Schreiermeyer, Baci-Roventi, and the whole company, not to mention Signor Bambinellithe conductor, the whole orchestra, and the dead composer of the_Elisir d'Amore_; but Margaret Donne was ashamed of herself forcaring, and for being spoilt, and for bearing poor Lushington a grudgebecause he had foretold a result that was only to be expected withsuch a tenor as Stromboli; she despised herself for wickedly wishingthat the latter had cracked on the final high note and had madehimself ridiculous. But he had not cracked at all; in imagination shecould hear the note still, tremendous, round, and persistently drawnout, as if it came out of a tenor trombone and had all the world'slungs behind it. 

In her mortification Cordova was ready to give up lyric opera andstudy Wagner, in order to annihilate Pompeo Stromboli, who did noteven venture _Lohengrin_. Schreiermeyer had unkindly told him that ifhe arrayed his figure in polished armour he would look like a silverteapot; and Stromboli was very sensitive to ridicule. Even if he hadpossessed a dramatic voice, he could never have bounded about thestage in pink tights and the exiguous skin of an unknown wild animalas Siegfried, and in the flower scene of _Parsifal_ he would havelooked like Falstaff in _The Merry Wives of Windsor_. But Cordovacould have made herself into a stately Brunhilde, a wild and lovelyKundry, or a fair and fateful Isolde, with the very least amount ofartificial aid that theatrical illusion admits. 

Margaret Donne, disgusted with Cordova, said that her voice was aboutas well adapted for one of those parts as a sick girl's might be forgiving orders at sea in a storm. Cordova could not deny this, and fellback upon the idea of having an opera written for her, expressly toshow off her voice, with a _crescendo_ trill in every scene and a highD at the end; and Margaret Donne, who loved music for its own sake, was more disgusted than ever, and took up a book in order to get ridof her professional self, and tried so hard to read that she almostgave herself a headache. 

Pompeo Stromboli was really the most sweet-tempered creature in theworld, and called during the afternoon with the idea of apologisingfor having eclipsed her, but was told that she was resting and wouldsee no one. Fräulein Ottilie Braun also came, and Margaret wouldprobably have seen her, but had not given any special orders, so thekindly little person trotted off, and Margaret knew nothing of hercoming; and the day wore on quickly; and when she wanted to go out, itat once began to rain furiously; and, at last, in sheer impatience ateverything, she telephoned to Logotheti, asking him to come and dinealone with her if he felt that he could put up with her temper, which, she explained, was atrocious. She heard the Greek laugh gaily at theother end of the wire. 

'Will you come?' she asked, impatient that anybody should be in a goodhumour when she was not. 

'I'll come now, if you'll let me, ' he answered readily. 

'No. Come to dinner at half-past eight. ' She waited a moment and thenwent on. 'I've sent down word that I'm not at home for any one, and Idon't like to make you the only exception. '

'Oh, I see, ' answered Logotheti's voice. 'But I've always wanted to bethe only exception. I say, does half-past eight mean a quarter pastnine?'

'No. It means a quarter past eight, if you like. Good-bye!'

She cut off the communication abruptly, being a little afraid that ifshe let him go on chattering any longer she might yield and allow himto come at once. In her solitude she was intensely bored by her ownbad temper, and was nearer to making him the 'only exception' than shehad often been of late. She said to herself that he always amused her, but in her heart she was conscious that he was the only man in theworld who knew how to flatter her back into a good temper, and wouldtake the trouble to do so. It was better than nothing to look forwardto a pleasant evening, and she went back to her novel and her cup oftea already half reconciled with life. 

It rained almost without stopping. At times it poured, which reallydoes not happen often in much-abused London; but even heavy rainis not so depressing in spring as it is in winter, and when thePrimadonna raised her eyes from her book and looked out of the bigwindow, she was not thinking of the dreariness outside but of whatshe should wear in the evening. To tell the truth, she did not oftentrouble herself much about that matter when she was not going to sing, and all singers and actresses who habitually play 'costume parts' areconscious of looking upon stage-dressing and ordinary dressing fromtotally different points of view. By far the larger number of themhave their stage clothes made by a theatrical tailor, and only anoccasional eccentric celebrity goes to Worth or Doucet to be dressedfor a 'Juliet, ' a 'Tosca, ' or a 'Doña Sol. '

Margaret looked at the rain and decided that Logotheti should not findher in a tea-gown, not because it would look too intimate, but becausetea-gowns suggest weariness, the state of being misunderstood, and acraving for sympathy. A woman who is going to surrender to fate putson a tea-gown, but a well-fitting body indicates strength of characterand virtuous firmness. 

I remember a smart elderly Frenchwoman who always bestowed unusualcare on every detail of her dress, visible and invisible, before goingto church. Her niece was in the room one Sunday while she was dressingfor church, and asked why she took so much trouble. 

'My dear, ' was the answer, 'Satan is everywhere, and one can neverknow what may happen. '

Margaret was very fond of warm greys, and fawn tints, and dove colour, and she had lately got a very pretty dress that was exactly to hertaste, and was made of a newly invented thin material of pure silk, which had no sheen and cast no reflections of light, and was slightlyelastic, so that it fitted as no ordinary silk or velvet ever could. Alphonsine called the gown a 'legend, ' but a celebrated painter whohad lately seen it said it was an 'Indian twilight, ' which might meananything, as Paul Griggs explained, because there is no twilight tospeak of in India. The dress-maker who had made it called the colour'fawn's stomach, ' which was less poetical, and the fabric, 'veil ofnun in love, ' which showed little respect for monastic institutions. As for the way in which the dress was made, it is folly to rush intocompetition with tailors and dress-makers, who know what they aretalking about, and are able to say things which nobody can understand. 

The plain fact is that the Primadonna began to dress early, out ofsheer boredom, had her thick brown hair done in the most becoming wayin spite of its natural waves, which happened to be unfashionable justthen, and she put on the new gown with all the care and considerationwhich so noble a creation deserved. 

'Madame is adorable, ' observed Alphonsine. 'Madame is a dream. Madamehas only to lift her little finger, and kings will fall into ecstasybefore her. '

'That would be very amusing, ' said Margaret, looking at herself in theglass, and less angry with the world than she had been. 'I have neverseen a king in ecstasy. '

'The fault is Madame's, ' returned Alphonsine, possibly with truth. 

When Margaret went into the drawing-room Logotheti was already there, and she felt a thrill of pleasure when his expression changed at sightof her. It is not easy to affect the pleased surprise which the suddenappearance of something beautiful brings into the face of a man who isnot expecting anything unusual. 

'Oh, I say!' exclaimed the Greek. 'Let me look at you!'

And instead of coming forward to take her hand, he stepped back inorder not to lose anything of the wonderful effect by being too near. Margaret stood still and smiled in the peculiar way which is a woman'sequivalent for a cat's purring. Then, to Logotheti's still greaterdelight, she slowly turned herself round, to be admired, like a statueon a pivoted pedestal, quite regardless of a secret consciousness thatMargaret Donne would not have done such a thing for him, and probablynot for any other man. 

'You're really too utterly stunning!' he cried. 

In moments of enthusiasm he sometimes out-Englished Englishmen. 

'I'm glad you like it, ' Margaret said. 'This is the first time I'veworn it. '

'If you put it on for me, thank you! If not, thank you for putting iton! I'm not asking, either. I should think you would wear it if youwere alone for the mere pleasure of feeling like a goddess. '

'You're very nice!'

She was satisfied, and for a moment she forgot Pompeo Stromboli, the_Elisir d'Amore_, the public, and the critics. It was particularly'nice' of him, too, not to insist upon being told that she had put onthe new creation solely for his benefit. Next to not assuming rashlythat a woman means anything of the sort expressly for him, it is wiseof a man to know when she really does, without being told. At least, so Margaret thought just then; but it is true that she wanted him toamuse her and was willing to be pleased. 

She executed the graceful swaying movement which only a well-madewoman can make just before sitting down for the first time in aperfectly new gown. It is a slightly serpentine motion; and as thereis nothing to show that Eve did not meet the Serpent again after shehad taken to clothes, she may have learnt the trick from him. There iscertainly something diabolical about it when it is well done. 

Logotheti's almond-shaped eyes watched her quietly, and he stoodmotionless till she was established on her chair. Then he seatedhimself at a little distance. 

'I hope I was not rude, ' he said, in artful apology, 'but it's notoften that one's breath is taken away by what one sees. Horrid weatherall day, wasn't it? Have you been out at all?'

'No. I've been moping. I told you that I was in a bad humour, but Idon't want to talk about it now that I feel better. What have you beendoing? Tell me all sorts of amusing things, where you have been, whomyou have seen, and what people said to you. '

'That might be rather dull, ' observed the Greek. 

'I don't believe it. You are always in the thick of everything that'shappening. '

'We have agreed to-day to lend Russia some more money. But thatdoesn't interest you, does it? There's to be a European conferenceabout the Malay pirates, but there's nothing very funny in that. Itwould be more amusing to hear the pirates' view of Europeans. Let mesee. Some one has discovered a conspiracy in Italy against Austria, and there is another in Austria against the Italians. They are thesame old plots that were discovered six months ago, but people hadforgotten about them, so they are as good as new. Then there is thesad case of that Greek. '

'What Greek? I've not heard about that. What has happened to him?'

'Oh, nothing much. It's only a love-story--the same old thing. '

'Tell me. '

'Not now, for we shall have to go to dinner just when I get tothe most thrilling part of it, I'm sure. ' Logotheti laughed. 'Andbesides, ' he added, 'the man isn't dead yet, though he's not expectedto live. I'll tell you about your friend Mr. Feist instead. He hasbeen very ill too. '

'I would much rather know about the Greek love-story, ' Margaretobjected. 'I never heard of Mr. Feist. '

She had quite forgotten the man's existence, but Logotheti recalledto her memory the circumstances under which they had met, and Feist'sunhealthy face with its absurdly youthful look, and what he hadsaid about having been at the Opera in New York on the night of theexplosion. 

'Why do you tell me all this?' Margaret asked. 'He was adisgusting-looking man, and I never wish to see him again. Tell meabout the Greek. When we go to dinner you can finish the story inFrench. We spoke French the first time we met, at Madame Bonanni's. Doyou remember?'

'Yes, of course I do. But I was telling you about Mr. Feist--'

'Dinner is ready, ' Margaret said, rising as the servant opened thedoor. 

To her surprise the man came forward. He said that just as he wasgoing to announce dinner Countess Leven had telephoned that she wasdining out, and would afterwards stop on her way to the play in thehope of seeing Margaret for a moment. She had seemed to be in a hurry, and had closed the communication before the butler could answer. Anddinner was served, he added. 

Margaret nodded carelessly, and the two went into the dining-room. Lady Maud could not possibly come before half-past nine, and there wasplenty of time to decide whether she should be admitted or not. 

'Mr. Feist has been very ill, ' Logotheti said as they sat down totable under the pleasant light, 'and I have been taking care of him, after a fashion. '

Margaret raised her eyebrows a little, for she was beginning to beannoyed at his persistency, and was not much pleased at the prospectof Lady Maud's visit. 

'How very odd!' she said, rather coldly. 'I cannot imagine anythingmore disagreeable. '

'It has been very unpleasant, ' Logotheti answered, 'but he seemed tohave no particular friends here, and he was all alone at an hotel, andreally very ill. So I volunteered. '

'I've no objection to being moderately sorry for a young man who fallsill at an hotel and has no friends, ' Margaret said, 'but are you goingin for nursing? Is that your latest hobby? It's a long way from art, and even from finance!'

'Isn't it?'

'Yes. I'm beginning to be curious!'

'I thought you would be before long, ' Logotheti answered coolly, butsuddenly speaking French. 'One of the most delightful things in lifeis to have one's curiosity roused and then satisfied by very slowdegrees!'

'Not too slow, please. The interest might not last to the end. '

'Oh yes, it will, for Mr. Feist plays a part in your life. '

'About as distant as Voltaire's Chinese Mandarin, I fancy, ' Margaretsuggested. 

'Nearer than that, though I did not guess it when I went to see him. In the first place, it was owing to you that I went to see him thefirst time. '

'Nonsense!'

'Not at all. Everything that happens to me is connected with you insome way. I came to see you late in the afternoon, on one of youroff-days not long ago, hoping that you would ask me to dine, but youwere across the river at Lord Creedmore's. I met old Griggs at yourdoor, and as we walked away he told me that Mr. Feist had fallen downin a fit at a club, the night before, and had been sent home in a cabto the Carlton. As I had nothing to do, worth doing, I went to seehim. If you had been at home, I should never have gone. That is what Imean when I say that you were the cause of my going to see him. '

'In the same way, if you had been killed by a motor-car as you wentaway from my door, I should have been the cause of your death!'

'You will be in any case, ' laughed Logotheti, 'but that's a detail! Ifound Mr. Feist in a very bad way. '

'What was the matter with him?' asked Margaret. 

'He was committing suicide, ' answered the Greek with the utmost calm. 'If I were in Constantinople I should tell you that this turbot isextremely good, but as we are in London I suppose it would be very badmanners to say so, wouldn't it? So I am thinking it. '

'Take the fish for granted, and tell me more about Mr. Feist!'

'I found him standing before the glass with a razor in his hand andquite near his throat. When he saw me he tried to laugh and said hewas just going to shave; I asked him if he generally shaved withoutsoap and water, and he burst into tears. '

'That's rather dreadful, ' observed Margaret. 'What did you do?'

'I saved his life, but I don't think he's very grateful yet. Perhapshe may be by and by. When he stopped sobbing he tried to kill me forhindering his destruction, but I had got the razor in my pocket, andhis revolver missed fire. That was lucky, for he managed to stick themuzzle against my chest and pull the trigger just as I got him down. I wished I had brought old Griggs with me, for they say he can bend agood horse-shoe double, even now, and the fellow had the strength ofa lunatic in him. It was rather lively for a few seconds, and then hebroke down again, and was as limp as a rag, and trembled with fright, as if he saw queer things in the room. '

'You sent for a doctor then?'

'My own, and we took care of him together that night. You may laugh atthe idea of my having a doctor, as I never was ill in my life. I havehim to dine with me now and then, because he is such good company, andis the best judge of a statue or a picture I know. The habit of takingthe human body to pieces teaches you a great deal about the shape ofit, you see. In the morning we moved Mr. Feist from the hotel to asmall private hospital where cases of that sort are treated. Of coursehe was perfectly helpless, so we packed his belongings and papers. '

'It was really very kind of you to act the Good Samaritan toa stranger, ' Margaret said, but her tone showed that she wasdisappointed at the tame ending of the story. 

'No, ' Logotheti answered. 'I was never consciously kind, as you callit. It's not a Greek characteristic to love one's neighbour as one'sself. Teutons, Anglo-Saxons, Latins, and, most of all, Asiatics, arecharitable, but the old Greeks were not. I don't believe you'll findan instance of a charitable act in all Greek history, drama, andbiography! If you did find one I should only say that the exceptionproves the rule. Charity was left out of us at the beginning, and wenever could understand it, except as a foreign sentiment imported withChristianity from Asia. We have had every other virtue, includinghospitality. In the _Iliad_ a man declines to kill his enemy on theground that their people had dined together, which is going ratherfar, but it is not recorded that any ancient Greek, even Socrateshimself, ever felt pity or did an act of spontaneous kindness! I don'tbelieve any one has said that, but it's perfectly true. '

'Then why did you take all that trouble for Mr. Feist?'

'I don't know. People who always know why they do things are greatbores. It was probably a caprice that took me to see him, and thenit did not occur to me to let him cut his throat, so I took away hisrazor; and, finally, I telephoned for my doctor, because my misspentlife has brought me into contact with Western civilisation. But whenwe began to pack Mr. Feist's papers I became interested in him. '

'Do you mean to say that you read his letters?' Margaret inquired. 

'Why not? If I had let him kill himself, somebody would have readthem, as he had not taken the trouble to destroy them!'

'That's a singular point of view. '

'So was Mr. Feist's, as it turned out. I found enough to convince methat he is the writer of all those articles about Van Torp, includingthe ones in which you are mentioned. The odd thing about it is that Ifound a very friendly invitation from Van Torp himself, begging Mr. Feist to go down to Derbyshire and stop a week with him. '

Margaret leaned back in her chair and looked at her guest in quietsurprise. 

'What does that mean?' she asked. 'Is it possible that Mr. Van Torphas got up this campaign against himself in order to play some trickon the Stock Exchange?'

Logotheti smiled and shook his head. 

'That's not the way such things are usually managed, ' he answered. 'Ahundred years ago a publisher paid a critic to attack a book in orderto make it succeed, but in finance abuse doesn't contribute to oursuccess, which is always a question of credit. All these scurrilousarticles have set the public very much against Van Torp, from Paristo San Francisco, and this man Feist is responsible for them. He iseither insane, or he has some grudge against Van Torp, or else he hasbeen somebody's instrument, which looks the most probable. '

'What did you find amongst his papers?' Margaret asked, quiteforgetting her vicarious scruples about reading a sick man's letters. 

'A complete set of the articles that have appeared, all neatly filed, and a great many notes for more, besides a lot of stuff written incypher. It must be a diary, for the days are written out in full andgive the days of the week. '

'I wonder whether there was anything about the explosion, ' saidMargaret thoughtfully. 'He said he was there, did he not?'

'Yes. Do you remember the day?'

'It was a Wednesday, I'm sure, and it was after the middle of March. My maid can tell us, for she writes down the date and the opera in alittle book each time I sing. It's sometimes very convenient. But it'stoo late now, of course, and, besides, you could not have read thecypher. '

'That's an easy matter, ' Logotheti answered. 'All cyphers can be readby experts, if there is no hurry, except the mechanical ones that arewritten through holes in a square plate which you turn round till thesheet is full. Hardly any one uses those now, because when the squareis raised the letters don't form words, and the cable companies willonly transmit real words in some known language, or groups of figures. The diary is written hastily, too, not at all as if it were copiedfrom the sheet on which the perforated plate would have had to beused, and besides, the plate itself would be amongst his things, forhe could not read his own notes without it. '

'All that doesn't help us, as you have not the diary, but I shouldreally be curious to know what he had to say about the accident, sincesome of the articles hint that Mr. Van Torp made it happen. '

'My doctor and I took the liberty of confiscating the papers, and weset a very good man to work on the cypher at once. So your curiosityshall be satisfied. I said it should, didn't I? And you are not sodreadfully bored after all, are you? Do say that I'm very nice!'

'I won't!' Margaret answered with a little laugh. 'I'll only admitthat I'm not bored! But wasn't it rather a high-handed proceeding tocarry off Mr. Feist like that, and to seize his papers?'

'Do you call it high-handed to keep a man from cutting his throat?'

'But the letters--?'

'I really don't know. I had not time to ask a lawyer's opinion, and soI had to be satisfied with my doctor's. '

'Are you going to tell Mr. Van Torp what you've done?'

'I don't know. Why should I? You may if you like. '

Logotheti was eating a very large and excellent truffle, and aftereach short sentence he cut off a tiny slice and put it into hismouth. The Primadonna had already finished hers, and watched himthoughtfully. 

'I'm not likely to see him, ' she said. 'At least, I hope not!'

'My interest in Mr. Feist, ' answered Logotheti, 'begins and ends withwhat concerns you. Beyond that I don't care a straw what happens toMr. Van Torp, or to any one else. To all intents and purposes I havegot the author of the stories locked up, for a man who has consentedto undergo treatment for dipsomania in a private hospital, by theadvice of his friends and under the care of a doctor with a greatreputation, is as really in prison as if he were in gaol. Legally, hecan get out, but in real fact nobody will lift a hand to release him, because he is shut up for his own good and for the good of the public, just as much as if he were a criminal. Feist may have friends orrelations in America, and they may come and claim him; but as thereseems to be nobody in London who cares what becomes of him, it pleasesme to keep him in confinement, because I mean to prevent any furthermention of your name in connection with the Van Torp scandals. '

His eyes rested on Margaret as he spoke, and lingered afterwards, witha look that did not escape her. She had seen him swayed by passion, more than once, and almost mad for her, and she had been frightenedthough she had dominated him. What she saw in his face now was notthat; it was more like affection, faithful and lasting, and it touchedher English nature much more than any show of passion could. 

'Thank you, ' she said quietly. 

They did not talk much more while they finished the short dinner, butwhen they were going back to the drawing-room Margaret took his arm, in foreign fashion, which she had never done before when they werealone. Then he stood before the mantelpiece and watched her in silenceas she moved about the room; for she was one of those women who alwaysfind half a dozen little things to do as soon as they get back fromdinner, and go from place to place, moving a reading lamp half an inchfarther from the edge of a table, shutting a book that has been leftopen on another, tearing up a letter that lies on the writing-desk, and slightly changing the angle at which a chair stands. It is an oddlittle mania, and the more people there are in the room the less themistress of the house yields to it, and the more uncomfortable shefeels at being hindered from 'tidying up the room, ' as she probablycalls it. 

Logotheti watched Margaret with keen pleasure, as every step andlittle movement showed her figure in a slightly different attitude andlight, indiscreetly moulded in the perfection of her matchless gown. In less than two minutes she had finished her trip round the room andwas standing beside him, her elbows resting on the mantelpiece, whileshe moved a beautiful Tanagra a little to one side and then to theother, trying for the twentieth time how it looked the best. 

'There is no denying it, ' Logotheti said at last, with profoundconviction. 'I do not care a straw what becomes of any living creaturebut you. '

She did not turn her head, and her fingers still touched the Tanagra, but he saw the rare blush spread up the cheek that was turned to him;and because she stopped moving the statuette about, and looked at itintently, he guessed that she was not colouring from annoyance at whathe had said. She blushed so very seldom now, that it might mean muchmore than in the old days at Versailles. 

'I did not think it would last so long, ' she said gently, after alittle while. 

'What faith can one expect of a Greek!'

He laughed, too wise in woman's ways to be serious too long just then. But she shook her head and turned to him with the smile he loved. 

'I thought it was something different, ' she said. 'I was mistaken. Ibelieved you had only lost your head for a while, and would soon runafter some one else. That's all. '

'And the loss is permanent. That's all!' He laughed again as herepeated her words. 'You thought it was "something different"--do youknow that you are two people in one?'

She looked a little surprised. 

'Indeed I do!' she answered rather sadly. 'Have you found it out?'

'Yes. You are Margaret Donne and you are Cordova. I admire Cordovaimmensely, I am extremely fond of Margaret, and I'm in love with both. Oh yes! I'm quite frank about it, and it's very unlucky, for whicheverone of your two selves I meet I'm just as much in love as ever!Absurd, isn't it?'

'It's flattering, at all events. '

'If you ever took it into your handsome head to marry me--please, I'monly saying "if"--the absurdity would be rather reassuring, wouldn'tit? When a man is in love with two women at the same time, it reallyis a little unlikely that he should fall in love with a third!'

'Mr. Griggs says that marriage is a drama which only succeeds ifpeople preserve the unities!'

'Griggs is always trying to coax the Djin back into the bottle, likethe fisherman in the _Arabian Nights_, ' answered Logotheti. 'He hasread Kant till he believes that the greatest things in the world canbe squeezed into a formula of ten words, or nailed up amongst theCategories like a dead owl over a stable door. My intelligence, suchas it is, abhors definitions!'

'So do I. I never understand them. '

'Besides, you can only define what you know from past experienceand can reflect upon coolly, and that is not my position, nor yourseither. '

Margaret nodded, but said nothing and sat down. 

'Do you want to smoke?' she asked. 'You may, if you like. I don't minda cigarette. '

'No, thank you. '

'But I assure you I don't mind it in the least. It never hurts mythroat. '

'Thanks, but I really don't want to. '

'I'm sure you do. Please--'

'Why do you insist? You know I never smoke when you are in the room. '

'I don't like to be the object of little sacrifices that make peopleuncomfortable. '

'I'm not uncomfortable, but if you have any big sacrifice to suggest, I promise to offer it at once. '

'Unconditionally?' Margaret smiled. 'Anything I ask?'

'Yes. Do you want my statue?'

'The Aphrodite? Would you give her to me?'

'Yes. May I telegraph to have her packed and brought here from Paris?'

He was already at the writing-table looking for a telegraph form. Margaret watched his face, for she knew that he valued the wonderfulstatue far beyond all his treasures, both for its own sake and becausehe had nearly lost his life in carrying it off from Samos, as has beentold elsewhere. 

As Margaret said nothing, he began to write the message. She reallyhad not had any idea of testing his willingness to part with the thinghe valued most, at her slightest word, and was taken by surprise;but it was impossible not to be pleased when she saw that he was inearnest. In her present mood, too, it restored her sense of power, which had been rudely shaken by the attitude of the public on theprevious evening. 

It took some minutes to compose the message. 

'It's only to save time by having the box ready, ' he said, as he rosewith the bit of paper in his hand. 'Of course I shall see the statuepacked myself and come over with it. '

She saw his face clearly in the light as he came towards her, andthere was no mistaking the unaffected satisfaction it expressed. Heheld out the telegram for her to read, but she would not take it, andshe looked up quietly and earnestly as he stood beside her. 

'Do you remember Delorges?' she asked. 'How the lady tossed her gloveamongst the lions and bade him fetch it, if he loved her, and how hewent in and got it--and then threw it in her face? I feel like her. '

Logotheti looked at her blankly. 

'Do you mean to say you won't take the statue?' he asked in adisappointed tone. 

'No, indeed! I was taken by surprise when you went to thewriting-table. '

'You did not believe I was in earnest? Don't you see that I'mdisappointed now?' His voice changed a little. 'Don't you understandthat if the world were mine I should want to give it all to you?'

'And don't you understand that the wish may be quite as much to me asthe deed? That sounds commonplace, I know. I would say it better if Icould. '

She folded her hands on her knee, and looked at them thoughtfullywhile he sat down beside her. 

'You say it well enough, ' he answered after a little pause. 'Thetrouble lies there. The wish is all you will ever take. I havesubmitted to that; but if you ever change your mind, please rememberthat I have not changed mine. For two years I've done everything I canto make you marry me whether you would or not, and you've forgiven mefor trying to carry you off against your will, and for several otherthings, but you are no nearer to caring for me ever so little than youwere the first day we met. You "like" me! That's the worst of it!'

'I'm not so sure of that, ' Margaret answered, raising her eyes for amoment and then looking at her hands again. 

He turned his head slowly, but there was a startled look in his eyes. 

'Do you feel as if you could hate me a little, for a change?' heasked. 

'No. '

'There's only one other thing, ' he said in a low voice. 

'Perhaps, ' Margaret answered, in an even lower tone than his. 'I'm notquite sure to-day. '

Logotheti had known her long, and he now resisted the strong impulseto reach out and take the hand she would surely have let him hold inhis for a moment. She was not disappointed because he neitherspoke nor moved, nor took any sudden advantage of her rather timidadmission, for his silence made her trust him more than any passionatespeech or impulsive action could have done. 

'I daresay I am wrong to tell you even that much, ' she went onpresently, 'but I do so want to play fair. I've always despised womenwho cannot make up their minds whether they care for a man or not. Butyou have found out my secret; I am two people in one, and thereare days when each makes the other dreadfully uncomfortable! Youunderstand. '

'And it's the Cordova that neither likes me nor hates me just at thismoment, ' suggested Logotheti. 'Margaret Donne sometimes hates me andsometimes likes me, and on some days she can be quite indifferent too!Is that it?'

'Yes. That's it. '

'The only question is, which of you is to be mistress of the house, 'said Logotheti, smiling, 'and whether it is to be always the same one, or if there is to be a perpetual hide-and-seek between them!'

'Box and Cox, ' suggested Margaret, glad of the chance to say somethingfrivolous just then. 

'I should say Hera and Aphrodite, ' answered the Greek, 'if it did notlook like comparing myself to Adonis!'

'It sounds better than Box and Cox, but I have forgotten mymythology. '

'Hera and Aphrodite agreed that each should keep Adonis one-third ofthe year, and that he should have the odd four months to himself. Nowthat you are the Cordova, if you could come to some such understandingabout me with Miss Donne, it would be very satisfactory. But I amafraid Margaret does not want even a third of me!'

Logotheti felt that it was rather ponderous fun, but he was in such ananxious state that his usually ready wit did not serve him very well. For the first time since he had known her, Margaret had confessed thatshe might possibly fall in love with him; and after what had passedbetween them in former days, he knew that the smallest mistake on hispart would now be fatal to the realisation of such a possibility. Hewas not afraid of being dull, or of boring her, but he was afraid ofwakening against him the wary watchfulness of that side of her naturewhich he called Margaret Donne, as distinguished from Cordova, of the'English-girl' side, of the potential old maid that is dormant inevery young northern woman until the day she marries, and wakes totorment her like a biblical devil if she does not. There is no miserlike a reformed spendthrift, and no ascetic will go to such extremesof self-mortification as a converted libertine; in the same way, thereare no such portentously virginal old maids as those who might havebeen the most womanly wives; the opposite is certainly true also, forthe variety 'Hemiparthenos, ' studied after nature by Marcel Prévost, generally makes an utter failure of matrimony, and becomes, in fact, little better than a half-wife. 

Logotheti took it as a good sign that Margaret laughed at what hesaid. He was in the rather absurd position of wishing to leave herwhile she was in her present humour, lest anything should disturb itand destroy his advantage; yet, after what had just passed, itwas next to impossible not to talk of her, or of himself. He hadexceptionally good nerves, he was generally cool to a fault, and hehad the daring that makes great financiers. But what looked like themost important crisis of his life had presented itself unexpectedlywithin a few minutes; a success which he reckoned far beyond allother successes was almost within his grasp, and he felt that he wasunprepared. For the first time he did not know what to say to a woman. 

Happily for him, Margaret helped him unexpectedly. 

'I shall have to see Lady Maud, ' she said, 'and you must either gowhen she comes or leave with her. I'm sorry, but you understand, don'tyou?'

'Of course. I'll go a moment after she comes. When am I to see youagain? To-morrow? You are not to sing again this week, are you?'

'No, ' the Primadonna answered vaguely, 'I believe not. '

She was thinking of something else. She was wondering whetherLogotheti would wish her to give up the stage, if by any possibilityshe ever married him, and her thoughts led her on quickly to theconsideration of what that would mean, and to asking herself what sortof sacrifice it would really mean to her. For the recollection of the_Elisir d'Amore_ awoke and began to rankle again just then. 

Logotheti did not press her for an answer, but watched her cautiouslywhile her eyes were turned away from him. At that moment he felt likea tamer who had just succeeded in making a tiger give its paw for thefirst time, and has not the smallest idea whether the creature will doit again or bite off his head. 

She, on her side, being at the moment altogether the artist, wasthinking that it would be pleasant to enjoy a few more triumphs, tomake the tour of Europe with a company of her own--which is always theprimadonna's dream as it is the actress's--and to leave the stageat twenty-five in a blaze of glory, rather than to risk one moreperformance of the opera she now hated. She knew quite well thatit was not at all an impossibility. To please her, and with theexpectation of marrying her in six months, Logotheti would cheerfullypay the large forfeit that would be due to Schreiermeyer if she brokeher London engagement at the height of the season, and the Greekfinancier would produce all the ready money necessary for gettingtogether an opera company. The rest would be child's play, she wassure, and she would make a triumphant progress through the capitals ofEurope which should be remembered for half a century. After that, saidthe Primadonna to herself, she would repay her friend all the money hehad lent her, and would then decide at her leisure whether she wouldmarry him or not. For one moment her cynicism would have surprisedeven Schreiermeyer; the next, the Primadonna herself was ashamed ofit, quite independently of what her better self might have thought. 

Besides, it was certainly not for his money that her old inclinationfor Logotheti had begun to grow again. She could say so, truly enough, and when she felt sure of it she turned her eyes to see his face. 

She did not admire him for his looks, either. So far as appearance wasconcerned, she preferred Lushington, with his smooth hair and faircomplexion. Logotheti was a handsome and showy Oriental, that was all, and she knew instinctively that the type must be common in the East. What attracted her was probably his daring masculineness, whichcontrasted so strongly with Lushington's quiet and rather bashfulmanliness. The Englishman would die for a cause and make no noiseabout it, which would be heroic; but the Greek would run away with awoman he loved, at the risk of breaking his neck, which was romanticin the extreme. It is not easy to be a romantic character in the eyesof a lady who lives on the stage, and by it, and constantly givesutterance to the most dramatic sentiments at a pitch an octave higherthan any one else; but Logotheti had succeeded. There never was awoman yet to whom that sort of thing has not appealed once; for onemoment she has felt everything whirling with her as if the centre ofgravity had gone mad, and the Ten Commandments might drop out of thesolid family Bible and get lost. That recollection is probably theonly secret of a virtuously colourless existence, but she hides it, like a treasure or a crime, until she is an old and widowed woman;and one day, at last, she tells her grown-up granddaughter, with afar-away smile, that there was once a man whose eyes and voice stirredher strongly, and for whom she might have quite lost her head. But shenever saw him again, and that is the end of the little story; and thetall girl in her first season thinks it rather dull. 

But it was not likely that the chronicle of Cordova's youth shouldcome to such an abrupt conclusion. The man who moved her now had beennear her too often, the sound of his voice was too easily recalled, and, since his rival's defection, he was too necessary to her; and, besides, he was as obstinate as Christopher Columbus. 

'Let me see, ' she said thoughtfully. 'There's a rehearsal to-morrowmorning. That means a late luncheon. Come at two o'clock, and if it'sfine we can go for a little walk. Will you?'

'Of course. Thank you. '

He had hardly spoken the words when a servant opened the door and LadyMaud came in. She had not dropped the opera cloak she wore over herblack velvet gown; she was rather pale, and the look in her eyes toldthat something was wrong, but her serenity did not seem otherwiseaffected. She kissed Margaret and gave her hand to Logotheti. 

'We dined early to go to the play, ' she said, 'and as there's acurtain-raiser, I thought I might as well take a hansom and join themlater. '

She seated herself beside Margaret on one of those little sofas thatare measured to hold two women when the fashions are moderate, and arewide enough for a woman and one man, whatever happens. Indeed theymust be, since otherwise no one would tolerate them in a drawing-room. When two women instal themselves in one, and a man is present, itmeans that he is to go away, because they are either going to makeconfidences or are going to fight. 

Logotheti thought it would be simpler and more tactful to go at once, since Lady Maud was in a hurry, having stopped on her way to the play, presumably in the hope of seeing Margaret alone. To his surprise sheasked him to stay; but as he thought she might be doing this out ofmere civility he said he had an engagement. 

'Will it keep for ten minutes?' asked Lady Maud gravely. 

'Engagements of that sort are very convenient. They will keep anylength of time. '

Logotheti sat down again, smiling, but he wondered what Lady Maud wasgoing to say, and why she wished him to remain. 

'It will save a note, ' she said, by way of explanation. 'My fatherand I want you to come to Craythew for the week-end after this, ' shecontinued, turning to Margaret. 'We are asking several people, so itwon't be too awfully dull, I hope. Will you come?'

'With pleasure, ' answered the singer. 

'And you too?' Lady Maud looked at Logotheti. 

'Delighted--most kind of you, ' he replied, somewhat surprised by theinvitation, for he had never met Lord and Lady Creedmore. 'May I takeyou down in my motor?' he spoke to Margaret. 'I think I can do itunder four hours. I'm my own chauffeur, you know. '

'Yes, I know, ' Margaret answered with a rather malicious smile. 'No, thank you!'

'Does he often kill?' inquired Lady Maud coolly. 

'I should be more afraid of a runaway, ' Margaret said. 

'Get that new German brake, ' suggested Lady Maud, not understanding atall. 'It's quite the best I've seen. Come on Friday, if you can. Youdon't mind meeting Mr. Van Torp, do you? He is our neighbour, youremember. '

The question was addressed to Margaret, who made a slight movement andunconsciously glanced at Logotheti before she answered. 

'Not at all, ' she said. 

'There's a reason for asking him when there are other people. I'mnot divorced after all--you had not heard? It will be in the _Times_to-morrow morning. The Patriarch of Constantinople turns out to be avery sensible sort of person. '

'He's my uncle, ' observed Logotheti. 

'Is he? But that wouldn't account for it, would it? He refused tobelieve what my husband called the evidence, and dismissed the suit. As the trouble was all about Mr. Van Torp my father wants people tosee him at Craythew. That's the story in a nutshell, and if any of youlike me you'll be nice to him. '

She leaned back in her corner of the little sofa and looked first atone and then at the other in an inquiring way, but as if she werefairly sure of the answer. 

'Every one likes you, ' said Logotheti quietly, 'and every one will benice to him. '

'Of course, ' chimed in Margaret. 

She could say nothing else, though her intense dislike of the Americanmillionaire almost destroyed the anticipated pleasure of her visit toDerbyshire. 

'I thought it just as well to explain, ' said Lady Maud. 

She was still pale, and in spite of her perfect outward coolness andself-reliance her eyes would have betrayed her anxiety if she had notmanaged them with the unconscious skill of a woman of the world whohas something very important to hide. Logotheti broke the shortsilence that followed her last speech. 

'I think you ought to know something I have been telling Miss Donne, 'he said simply. 'I've found the man who wrote all those articles, andI've locked him up. '

Lady Maud leaned forward so suddenly that her loosened opera-cloakslipped down behind her, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. Her eyeswere wide open in her surprise, the pupils very dark. 

'Where?' she asked breathlessly. 'Where is he? In prison?'

'In a more convenient and accessible place, ' answered the Greek. 

He had known Lady Maud some time, but he had never seen her in theleast disturbed, or surprised, or otherwise moved by anything. It wastrue that he had only met her in society. 

He told the story of Mr. Feist, as Margaret had heard it duringdinner, and Lady Maud did not move, even to lean back in her seatagain, till he had finished. She scarcely seemed to breathe, andLogotheti felt her steady gaze on him, and would have sworn thatthrough all those minutes she did not even wink. When he ceasedspeaking she drew a long breath and sank back to her former attitude;but he saw that her white neck heaved suddenly again and again, andher delicate nostrils quivered once or twice. For a little while therewas silence in the room. Then Lady Maud rose to go. 

'I must be going too, ' said Logotheti. 

Margaret was a little sorry that she had given him such preciseinstructions, but did not contradict herself by asking him to staylonger. She promised Lady Maud again to be at Craythew on Friday ofthe next week if possible, and certainly on Saturday, and Lady Maudand Logotheti went out together. 

'Get in with me, ' she said quietly, as he helped her into her hansom. 

He obeyed, and as he sat down she told the cabman to take her to theHaymarket Theatre. Logotheti expected her to speak, for he was quitesure that she had not taken him with her without a purpose; the moreso, as she had not even asked him where he was going. 

Three or four minutes passed before he heard her voice asking him aquestion, very low, as if she feared to be overheard. 

'Is there any way of making that man tell the truth against his will?You have lived in the East, and you must know about such things. '

Logotheti turned his almond-shaped eyes slowly towards her, but hecould not see her face well, for it was not very light in the broadWest End street. She was white; that was all he could make out. But heunderstood what she meant. 

'There is a way, ' he answered slowly and almost sternly. 'Why do youask?'

'Mr. Van Torp is going to be accused of murder. That man knows who didit. Will you help me?'

It seemed an age before the answer to her whispered question came. 

'Yes. '

CHAPTER XIV

When Logotheti and his doctor had taken Mr. Feist away from the hotel, to the no small satisfaction of the management, they had left preciseinstructions for forwarding the young man's letters and for informinghis friends, if any appeared, as to his whereabouts. But Logotheti hadnot given his own name. 

Sir Jasper Threlfall had chosen for their patient a privateestablishment in Ealing, owned and managed by a friend of his, a placefor the treatment of morphia mania, opium-eating, and alcoholism. 

To all intents and purposes, as Logotheti had told Margaret, Charles Feist might as well have been in gaol. Every one knows howindispensable it is that persons who consent to be cured of drinkingor taking opium, or whom it is attempted to cure, should be absolutelyisolated, if only to prevent weak and pitying friends from yieldingto their heart-rending entreaties for the favourite drug and bringingthem 'just a little'; for their eloquence is often extraordinary, andtheir ingenuity in obtaining what they want is amazing. 

So Mr. Feist was shut up in a pleasant room provided with double doorsand two strongly barred windows that overlooked a pretty garden, beyond which there was a high brick wall half covered by a brightcreeper, then just beginning to flower. The walls, the doors, theceiling, and the floor were sound-proof, and the garden could not inany way be reached without passing through the house. 

As only male patients were received, the nurses and attendants wereall men; for the treatment needed more firmness and sometimes strengththan gentleness. It was uncompromising, as English methods often are. Except where life was actually in danger, there was no drink and noopium for anybody; when absolutely necessary the resident doctorgave the patient hypodermics or something which he called by anunpronounceable name, lest the sufferer should afterwards try to buyit; he smilingly described it as a new vegetable poison, and in factit was nothing but dionine, a preparation of opium that differs butlittle from ordinary morphia. 

Now Sir Jasper Threlfall was a very great doctor indeed, and hisname commanded respect in London at large and inspired awe in thehospitals. Even the profession admitted reluctantly that he didnot kill more patients than he cured, which is something for onefashionable doctor to say of another; for the regular answer to anyinquiry about a rival practitioner is a smile--'a smile more dreadfulthan his own dreadful frown'--an indescribable smile, a meaning smile, a smile that is a libel in itself. 

It had been an act of humanity to take the young man into medicalcustody, as it were, and it had been more or less necessary for thesafety of the public, for Logotheti and the doctor had found him in areally dangerous state, as was amply proved by his attempting to cuthis own throat and then to shoot Logotheti himself. Sir Jasper said hehad nothing especial the matter with him except drink, that whenhis nerves had recovered their normal tone his real character wouldappear, so that it would then be possible to judge more or lesswhether he had will enough to control himself in future. Logothetiagreed, but it occurred to him that one need not be knighted, andwrite a dozen or more mysterious capital letters after one's name, andlive in Harley Street, in order to reach such a simple conclusion; andas Logotheti was a millionaire, and liked his doctor for his own sakerather than for his skill, he told him this, and they both laughedheartily. Almost all doctors, except those in French plays, have somesense of humour. 

On the third day Isidore Bamberger came to the door of the privatehospital and asked to see Mr. Feist. Not having heard from him, he hadbeen to the hotel and had there obtained the address. The doorkeeperwas a quiet man who had lost a leg in South Africa, after having beenotherwise severely wounded five times in previous engagements. Mr. Bamberger, he said, could not see his friend yet. A part of the cureconsisted in complete isolation from friends during the first stagesof the treatment. Sir Jasper Threlfall had been to see Mr. Feist thatmorning. He had been twice already. Dr. Bream, the resident physician, gave the doorkeeper a bulletin every morning at ten for the benefit ofeach patient's friend; the notes were written on a card which the manheld in his hand. 

At the great man's name, Mr. Bamberger became thoughtful. A smartbrougham drove up just then and a tall woman, who wore a thick veil, got out and entered the vestibule where Bamberger was standing by theopen door. The doorkeeper evidently knew her, for he glanced at hisnotes and spoke without being questioned. 

'The young gentleman is doing well this week, my lady, ' he said. 'Sleeps from three to four hours at a time. Is less excited. Appetiteimproving. '

'Can I see him?' asked a sad and gentle voice through the veil. 

'Not yet, my lady. '

She sighed as she turned to go out, and Mr. Bamberger thought itwas one of the saddest sighs he had ever heard. He was rather asoft-hearted man. 

'Is it her son?' he asked, in a respectful sort of way. 

'Yes, sir. '

'Drink?' inquired Mr. Bamberger in the same tone. 

'Not allowed to give any information except to family or friends, sir, ' answered the man. 'Rule of the house, sir. Very strict. '

'Quite right, of course. Excuse me for asking. But I must see Mr. Feist, unless he's out of his mind. It's very important. '

'Dr. Bream sees visitors himself from ten to twelve, sir, after he'sbeen his rounds to the patients' rooms. You'll have to get permissionfrom him. '

'But it's like a prison!' exclaimed Mr. Bamberger. 

'Yes, sir, ' answered the old soldier imperturbably. 'It's just like aprison. It's meant to be. '

It was evidently impossible to get anything more out of the man, whodid not pay the slightest attention to the cheerful little noise Mr. Bamberger made by jingling sovereigns in his waistcoat pocket; therewas nothing to do but to go away, and Mr. Bamberger went out very muchannoyed and perplexed. 

He knew Van Torp well, or believed that he did, and it was likethe man whose genius had created the Nickel Trust to have boldlysequestrated his enemy's chief instrument, and in such a clever wayas to make it probable that Mr. Feist might be kept in confinementas long as his captor chose. Doubtless such a high-handed act wouldultimately go against the latter when on his trial, but in themeantime the chief witness was locked up and could not get out. SirJasper Threlfall would state that his patient was in such a state ofhealth, owing to the abuse of alcohol, that it was not safe to sethim at liberty, and that in his present condition his mind was sounsettled by drink that he could not be regarded as a sane witness;and if Sir Jasper Threlfall said that, it would not be easy to getCharles Feist out of Dr. Bream's establishment in less than threemonths. 

Mr. Bamberger was obliged to admit that his partner, chief, and enemyhad stolen a clever march on him. Being of a practical turn of mind, however, and not hampered by much faith in mankind, even in the mosteminent, who write the mysterious capital letters after their names, he wondered to what extent Van Torp owned Sir Jasper, and he went tosee him on pretence of asking advice about his liver. 

The great man gave him two guineas' worth of thumping, auscultating, and poking in the ribs, and told him rather disagreeably that hewas as healthy as a young crocodile, and had a somewhat similarconstitution. A partner of Mr. Van Torp, the American financier?Indeed! Sir Jasper had heard the name but had never seen themillionaire, and asked politely whether he sometimes came to England. It is not untruthful to ask a question to which one knows the answer. Mr. Bamberger himself, for instance, who knew that he was perfectlywell, was just going to put down two guineas for having been told so, in answer to a question. 

'I believe you are treating Mr. Feist, ' he said, going more directlyto the point. 

'Mr. Feist?' repeated the great authority vaguely. 

'Yes. Mr. Charles Feist. He's at Dr. Bream's private hospital in WestKensington. '

'Ah, yes, ' said Sir Jasper. 'Dr. Bream is treating him. He's not apatient of mine. '

'I thought I'd ask you what his chances are, ' observed IsidoreBamberger, fixing his sharp eyes on the famous doctor's face. 'He usedto be my private secretary. '

He might just as well have examined the back of the doctor's head. 

'He's not a patient of mine, ' Sir Jasper said. 'I'm only one of thevisiting doctors at Dr. Bream's establishment. I don't go there unlesshe sends for me, and I keep no notes of his cases. You will have toask him. If I am not mistaken his hours are from ten to twelve. And now'--Sir Jasper rose--'as I can only congratulate you on yoursplendid health--no, I really cannot prescribe anything--literallynothing--'

Isidore Bamberger had left three patients in the waiting-room and wasobliged to go away, as his 'splendid health' did not afford him theslightest pretext for asking more questions. He deposited his twoguineas on the mantelpiece neatly wrapped in a bit of note-paper, while Sir Jasper examined the handle of the door with a stony gaze, and he said 'good morning' as he went out. 

'Good morning, ' answered Sir Jasper, and as Mr. Bamberger crossed thethreshold the single clanging stroke of the doctor's bell was heard, summoning the next patient. 

The American man of business was puzzled, for he was a good judge ofhumanity, and was sure that when the Englishman said that he had neverseen Van Torp he was telling the literal truth. Mr. Bamberger wasconvinced that there had been some agreement between them to make itimpossible for any one to see Feist. He knew the latter well, however, and had great confidence in his remarkable power of holding histongue, even when under the influence of drink. 

When Tiberius had to choose between two men equally well fitted for apost of importance, he had them both to supper, and chose the one whowas least affected by wine, not at all for the sake of seeing thematch, but on the excellent principle that in an age when heavydrinking was the rule the man who could swallow the largest quantitywithout becoming talkative was the one to be best trusted with asecret; and the fact that Tiberius himself had the strongest head inthe Empire made him a good judge. 

Bamberger, on the same principle, believed that Charles Feist wouldhold his tongue, and he also felt tolerably sure that the formersecretary had no compromising papers in his possession, for his memoryhad always been extraordinary. Feist had formerly been able to carryin his mind a number of letters which Bamberger 'talked off' to himconsecutively without even using shorthand, and could type themafterwards with unfailing accuracy. It was therefore scarcely likelythat he kept notes of the articles he wrote about Van Torp. 

But his employer did not know that Feist's memory was failing fromdrink, and that he no longer trusted his marvellous faculty. Van Torphad sequestrated him and shut him up, Bamberger believed; but neitherVan Torp nor any one else would get anything out of him. 

And if any one made him talk, what great harm would be done, afterall? It was not to be supposed that such a man as Isidore Bambergerhad trusted only to his own keenness in collecting evidence, or to afew pencilled notes as a substitute for the principal witness himself, when an accident might happen at any moment to a man who led such alife. The case for the prosecution had been quietly prepared duringseveral months past, and the evidence that was to send Rufus Van Torpto execution, or to an asylum for the Criminal Insane for life, was inthe safe of Isidore Bamberger's lawyer in New York, unless, at thatvery moment, it was already in the hands of the Public Prosecutor. Acouple of cables would do the rest at any time, and in a few hours. In murder cases, the extradition treaty works as smoothly as thetelegraph itself. The American authorities would apply to the EnglishHome Secretary, the order would go to Scotland Yard, and Van Torpwould be arrested immediately and taken home by the first steamer, tobe tried in New York. 

Six months earlier he might have pleaded insanity with a possiblechance, but in the present state of feeling the plea would hardly beadmitted. A man who has been held up to public execration in the pressfor weeks, and whom no one attempts to defend, is in a bad case if awell-grounded accusation of murder is brought against him at such amoment; and Isidore Bamberger firmly believed in the truth of thecharge and in the validity of the evidence. 

He consoled himself with these considerations, and with the reflectionthat Feist was actually safer where he was, and less liable toaccident than if he were at large. Mr. Bamberger walked slowly downHarley Street to Cavendish Square, with his head low between hisshoulders, his hat far back on his head, his eyes on the pavement, andthe shiny toes of his patent leather boots turned well out. His bowedlegs were encased in loose black trousers, and had as many angles asthe forepaws of a Dachshund or a Dandie Dinmont. The peculiarities ofhis ungainly gait and figure were even more apparent than usual, andas he walked he swung his long arms, that ended in large black gloveswhich looked as if they were stuffed with sawdust. 

Yet there was something in his face that set him far beyond and aboveridicule, and the passers-by saw it and wondered gravely who andwhat this man in black might be, and what great misfortune and stillgreater passion had moulded the tragic mark upon his features; andnone of those who looked at him glanced at his heavy, ill-made figure, or noticed his clumsy walk, or realised that he was most evidentlya typical German Jew, who perhaps kept an antiquity shop in WardourStreet, and had put on his best coat to call on a rich collector inthe West End. 

Those who saw him only saw his face and went on, feeling that they hadpassed near something greater and sadder and stronger than anything intheir own lives could ever be. 

But he went on his way, unconscious of the men and women he met, andnot thinking where he went, crossing Oxford Street and then turningdown Regent Street and following it to Piccadilly and the Haymarket. Just before he reached the theatre, he slackened his pace and lookedabout him, as if he were waking up; and there, in the cross street, just behind the theatre, he saw a telegraph office. 

He entered, pushed his hat still a little farther back, and wrote acable message. It was as short as it could be, for it consisted of oneword only besides the address, and that one word had only two letters:

'Go. '

That was all, and there was nothing mysterious about the syllable, for almost any one would understand that it was used as in startinga footrace, and meant, 'Begin operations at once!' It was the wordagreed upon between Isidore Bamberger and his lawyer. The latter hadbeen allowed all the latitude required in such a case, for he hadinstructions to lay the evidence before the District Attorney-Generalwithout delay, if anything happened to make immediate action seemadvisable. In any event, he was to do so on receiving the messagewhich had now been sent. 

The evidence consisted, in the first place, of certain irrefutableproofs that Miss Bamberger had not died from shock, but had beenkilled by a thin and extremely sharp instrument with which she hadbeen stabbed in the back. Isidore Bamberger's own doctor had satisfiedhimself of this, and had signed his statement under oath, andBamberger had instantly thought of a certain thin steel letter-openerwhich Van Torp always had in his pocket. 

Next came the affidavit of Paul Griggs. The witness knew the OperaHouse well. Had been in the stalls on the night in question. Had notmoved from his seat till the performance was over, and had been one ofthe last to get out into the corridor. There was a small door in thecorridor on the south side which was generally shut. It opened upon apassage communicating with the part of the building that is let forbusiness offices. Witness's attention had been attracted by part ofa red silk dress which lay on the floor outside the door, the latterbeing ajar. Suspecting an accident, witness opened door, found MissBamberger, and carried her to manager's room not far off. On reachinghome had found stains of blood on his hands. Had said nothing of this, because he had seen notice of the lady's death from shock in nextmorning's paper. Was nevertheless convinced that blood must have beenon her dress. 

The murder was therefore proved. But the victim had not been robbedof her jewellery, which demonstrated that, if the crime had not beencommitted by a lunatic, the motive for it must have been personal. 

With regard to identity of the murderer, Charles Feist deposed that onthe night in question he had entered the Opera late, having only anadmission to the standing room, that he was close to one of the doorswhen the explosion took place and had been one of the first to leavethe house. The emergency lights in the corridors were on a separatecircuit, but had been also momentarily extinguished. They were upagain before those in the house. The crowd had at once become jammedin the doorways, so that people got out much more slowly than mighthave been expected. Many actually fell in the exits and were trampledon. Then Madame Cordova had begun to sing in the dark, and the panichad ceased in a few seconds. The witness did not think that more thanthree hundred people altogether had got out through the several doors. He himself had at once made for the main entrance. A few personsrushed past him in the dark, descending the stairs from the boxes. Oneor two fell on the steps. Just as the emergency lights went up again, witness saw a young lady in a red silk dress fall, but did not see herface distinctly; he was certain that she had a short string of pearlsround her throat. They gleamed in the light as she fell. She wasinstantly lifted to her feet by Mr. Rufus Van Torp, who must have beenfollowing her closely. She seemed to have hurt herself a little, and he almost carried her down the corridor in the direction ofthe carriage lobby on the Thirty-Eighth Street side. The two thendisappeared through a door. The witness would swear to the door, andhe described its position accurately. It seemed to have been leftajar, but there was no light on the other side of it. The witness didnot know where the door led to. He had often wondered. It was notfor the use of the public. He frequently went to the Opera and wasperfectly familiar with the corridors. It was behind this door thatPaul Griggs had found Miss Bamberger. Questioned as to a possiblemotive for the murder, the witness stated that Rufus Van Torp wasknown to have shown homicidal tendencies, though otherwise perfectlysane. In his early youth he had lived four years on a cattle-ranch asa cow-puncher, and had undoubtedly killed two men during that time. Witness had been private secretary to his partner, Mr. IsidoreBamberger, and while so employed Mr. Van Torp had fired a revolver athim in his private office in a fit of passion about a message witnesswas sent to deliver. Two clerks in a neighbouring room had heard theshot. Believing Mr. Van Torp to be mad, witness had said nothing atthe time, but had left Mr. Bamberger soon afterwards. It was alwayssaid that, several years ago, on board of his steam yacht, Mr. VanTorp had once violently pulled a friend who was on board out of hisberth at two in the morning, and had dragged him on deck, saying thathe must throw him overboard and drown him, as the only way of savinghis soul. The watch on deck had had great difficulty in overpoweringMr. Van Torp, who was very strong. With regard to the late MissBamberger the witness thought that Mr. Van Torp had killed her to getrid of her, because she was in possession of facts that would ruin himif they were known and because she had threatened to reveal them toher father. If she had done so, Van Torp would have been completely inhis partner's power. Mr. Bamberger could have made a beggar of him asthe only alternative to penal servitude. Questioned as to the natureof this information, witness said that it concerned the explosion, which had been planned by Van Torp for his own purposes. Either in amoment of expansion, under the influence of the drug he was in thehabit of taking, or else in real anxiety for her safety, he had toldMiss Bamberger that the explosion would take place, warning her toremain in her home, which was situated on the Riverside Drive, veryfar from the scene of the disaster. She had undoubtedly been sohorrified that she had thereupon insisted upon dissolving herengagement to marry him, and had threatened to inform her father ofthe horrible plot. She had never really wished to marry Van Torp, buthad accepted him in deference to her father's wishes. He was knownto be devoting himself at that very time to a well-known primadonnaengaged at the Metropolitan Opera, and Miss Bamberger probably hadsome suspicion of this. Witness said the motive seemed sufficient, considering that the accused had already twice taken human life. Hischoice lay between killing her and falling into the power of hispartner. He had injured Mr. Bamberger, as was well known, and Mr. Bamberger was a resentful man. 

The latter part of Charles Feist's deposition was certainly more inthe nature of an argument than of evidence pure and simple, and itmight not be admitted in court; but Isidore Bamberger had instructedhis lawyer, and the Public Prosecutor would say it all, and more also, and much better; and public opinion was roused all over the UnitedStates against the Nickel Tyrant, as Van Torp was now called. 

In support of the main point there was a short note to Miss Bambergerin Van Torp's handwriting, which had afterwards been found on herdressing-table. It must have arrived before she had gone out todinner. It contained a final and urgent entreaty that she would not goto the Opera, nor leave the house that evening, and was signed withVan Torp's initials only, but no one who knew his handwriting would belikely to doubt that the note was genuine. 

There were some other scattered pieces of evidence which fitted therest very well. Mr. Van Torp had not been seen at his own house, nor in any club, nor down town, after he had gone out on Wednesdayafternoon, until the following Friday, when he had returned to makehis final arrangements for sailing the next morning. Bamberger hademployed a first-rate detective, but only one, to find out all thatcould be discovered about Van Torp's movements. The millionaire hadbeen at the house on Riverside Drive early in the afternoon to seeMiss Bamberger, as he had told Margaret on board the steamer, butBamberger had not seen his daughter after that till she was broughthome dead, for he had been detained by an important meeting at whichhe presided, and knowing that she was dining out to go to the theatrehe had telephoned that he would dine at his club. He himself had triedto telephone to Van Torp later in the evening but had not been able tofind him, and had not seen him till Friday. 

This was the substance of the evidence which Bamberger's lawyer andthe detective would lay before the District Attorney-General onreceiving the cable. 

CHAPTER XV

When Lady Maud stopped at Margaret's house on her way to the theatreshe had been dining at Princes' with a small party of people, amongstwhom Paul Griggs had found himself, and as there was no formality tohinder her from choosing her own place she had sat down next to him. The table was large and round, the sixty or seventy other diners inthe room made a certain amount of noise, so that it was easy to talkin undertones while the conversation of the others was general. 

The veteran man of letters was an old acquaintance of Lady Maud's; andas she made no secret of her friendship with Rufus Van Torp, it wasnot surprising that Griggs should warn her of the latter's danger. Ashe had expected when he left New York, he had received a visit from a'high-class' detective, who came to find out what he knew about MissBamberger's death. This is a bad world, as we all know, and it is madeso by a good many varieties of bad people. As Mr. Van Torp had said toLogotheti, 'different kinds of cats have different kinds of ways, ' andthe various classes of criminals are pursued by various classes ofdetectives. Many are ex-policemen, and make up the pack that huntsthe well-dressed lady shop-lifter, the gentle pickpocket, the agileburglar, the Paris Apache, and the common murderer of the Bill Sykestype; they are good dogs in their way, if you do not press them, though they are rather apt to give tongue. But when they are notex-policemen, they are always ex-something else, since there is nocollege for detectives, and it is not probable that any young man everdeliberately began life with the intention of becoming one. Edgar Poeinvented the amateur detective, and modern writers have developed himtill he is a familiar and always striking figure in fiction and on thestage. Whether he really exists or not does not matter. I have heard agreat living painter ask the question: What has art to do with truth?But as a matter of fact Paul Griggs, who had seen a vast deal, hadnever met an amateur detective; and my own impression is that if oneexisted he would instantly turn himself into a professional because itwould be so very profitable. 

The one who called on Griggs in his lodgings wrote 'barrister-at-law'after his name, and had the right to do so. He had languished inchambers, briefless and half starving, either because he had no talentfor the bar, or because he had failed to marry a solicitor's daughter. He himself was inclined to attribute his want of success to thelatter cause. But he had not wasted his time, though he was more thanmetaphorically threadbare, and his waist would have made a sensationat a staymaker's. He had watched and pondered on many curious casesfor years; and one day, when a 'high-class' criminal had baffled thepolice and had well-nigh confounded the Attorney-General and provedhimself a saint, the starving barrister had gone quietly to work inhis own way, had discovered the truth, had taken his information tothe prosecution, had been the means of sending the high-class one topenal servitude, and had covered himself with glory; since when he hadgrown sleek and well-liking, if not rich, as a professional detective. 

Griggs had been perfectly frank, and had told without hesitation allhe could remember of the circumstances. In answer to further questionshe said he knew Mr. Van Torp tolerably well, and had not seen him inthe Opera House on the evening of the murder. He did not know whetherthe financier's character was violent. If it was, he had never seenany notable manifestation of temper. Did he know that Mr. Van Torp hadonce lived on a ranch, and had killed two men in a shootingaffray? Yes, he had heard so, but the shooting might have been inself-defence. Did he know anything about the blowing up of the worksof which Van Torp had been accused in the papers? Nothing more thanthe public knew. Or anything about the circumstances of Van Torp'sengagement to Miss Bamberger? Nothing whatever. Would he read thestatement and sign his name to it? He would, and he did. 

Griggs thought the young man acted more like an ordinary lawyer than adetective, and said so with a smile. 

'Oh no, ' was the quiet answer. 'In my business it's quite as importantto recognise honesty as it is to detect fraud. That's all. '

For his own part the man of letters did not care a straw whether VanTorp had committed the murder or not, but he thought it very unlikely. On general principles, he thought the law usually found out the truthin the end, and he was ready to do what he could to help it. He heldhis tongue, and told no one about the detective's visit, because hehad no intimate friend in England; partly, too, because he wished tokeep his name out of what was now called 'the Van Torp scandal. '

He would never have alluded to the matter if he had not accidentallyfound himself next to Lady Maud at dinner. She had always liked himand trusted him, and he liked her and her father. On that evening shespoke of Van Torp within the first ten minutes, and expressed herhonest indignation at the general attack made on 'the kindest man thatever lived. ' Then Griggs felt that she had a sort of right to knowwhat was being done to bring against her friend an accusation ofmurder, for he believed Van Torp innocent, and was sure that LadyMaud would warn him; but it was for her sake only that Griggs spoke, because he pitied her. 

She took it more calmly than he had expected, but she grew a littlepaler, and that look came into her eyes which Margaret and Logothetisaw there an hour afterwards; and presently she asked Griggs if he toowould join the week-end party at Craythew, telling him that Van Torpwould be there. Griggs accepted, after a moment's hesitation. 

She was not quite sure why she had so frankly appealed to Logothetifor help when they left Margaret's house together, but she was notdisappointed in his answer. He was 'exotic, ' as she had said of him;he was hopelessly in love with Cordova, who disliked Van Torp, and hecould not be expected to take much trouble for any other woman; shehad not the very slightest claim on him. Yet she had asked him to helpher in a way which might be anything but lawful, even supposing thatit did not involve positive cruelty. 

For she had not been married to Leven four years without learningsomething of Asiatic practices, and she knew that there were moremeans of making a man tell a secret than by persuasion or wilycross-examination. It was all very well to keep within the bounds ofthe law and civilisation, but where the whole existence of her bestfriend was at stake, Lady Maud was much too simple, primitive, andfeminine to be hampered by any such artificial considerations, andshe turned naturally to a man who did not seem to be a slave to themeither. She had not quite dared to hope that he would help her, andhis readiness to do so was something of a surprise; but she would havebeen astonished if he had been in the least shocked at the impliedsuggestion of deliberately torturing Charles Feist till he revealedthe truth about the murder. She only felt a little uncomfortable whenshe reflected that Feist might not know it after all, whereas she hadboldly told Logotheti that he did. 

If the Greek had hesitated for a few seconds before giving his answer, it was not that he was doubtful of his own willingness to do what shewished, but because he questioned his power to do it. The requestitself appealed to the Oriental's love of excitement and to his tastefor the uncommon in life. If he had not sometimes found occasions forsatisfying both, he could not have lived in Paris and London at all, but would have gone back to Constantinople, which is the last refugeof romance in Europe, the last hiding-place of mediaeval adventure, the last city of which a new Decameron of tales could still be told, and might still be true. 

Lady Maud had good nerves, and she watched the play with her friendsand talked between the acts, very much as if nothing had happened, except that she was pale and there was that look in her eyes; but onlyPaul Griggs noticed it, because he had a way of watching the smallchanges of expression that may mean tragedy, but more often signifyindigestion, or too much strong tea, or a dun's letter, or a tightshoe, or a bad hand at bridge, or the presence of a bore in the room, or the flat failure of expected pleasure, or sauce spilt on a new gownby a rival's butler, or being left out of something small and smart, or any of those minor aches that are the inheritance of the socialflesh, and drive women perfectly mad while they last. 

But Griggs knew that none of these troubles afflicted Lady Maud, andwhen he spoke to her now and then, between the acts, she felt hissympathy for her in every word and inflection. 

She was glad when the evening was over and she was at home in herdressing-room, and there was no more effort to be made till the nextday. But even alone, she did not behave or look very differently; shetwisted up her thick brown hair herself, as methodically as ever, andlaid out the black velvet gown on the lounge after shaking it out, so that it should be creased as little as possible; but when she wasready to go to bed she put on a dressing-gown and sat down at hertable to write to Rufus Van Torp. 

The letter was begun and she had written half a dozen lines when shelaid down the pen, to unlock a small drawer from which she took an oldblue envelope that had never been sealed, though it was a good dealthe worse for wear. There was a photograph in it, which she laidbefore her on the letter; and she looked down at it steadily, restingher elbows on the table and her forehead and temples in her hands. 

It was a snapshot photograph of a young officer in khaki and puttees, not very well taken, and badly mounted on a bit of white pasteboardthat might have been cut from a bandbox with a penknife; but it wasall she had, and there could never be another. 

She looked at it a long time. 

'You understand, dear, ' she said at last, very low; 'you understand. '

She put it away again and locked the drawer before she went on withher letter to Van Torp. It was easy enough to tell him what she hadlearned about Feist from Logotheti; it was even possible that he hadfound it out for himself, and had not taken the trouble to inform herof the fact. Apart from the approval that friendship inspires, she hadalways admired the cool discernment of events which he showed whengreat things were at stake. But it was one thing, she now told him, tobe indifferent to the stupid attacks of the press, it would be quiteanother to allow himself to be accused of murder; the time had comewhen he must act, and without delay; there was a limit beyond whichindifference became culpable apathy; it was clear enough now, shesaid, that all these attacks on him had been made to ruin him in theestimation of the public on both sides of the Atlantic before strikingthe first blow, as he himself had guessed; Griggs was surely not analarmist, and Griggs said confidently that Van Torp's enemies meantbusiness; without doubt, a mass of evidence had been carefully gottogether during the past three months, and it was pretty sure that anattempt would be made before long to arrest him; would he do nothingto make such an outrage impossible? She had not forgotten, she couldnever forget, what she owed him, but on his side he owed something toher, and to the great friendship that bound them to each other. Whowas this man Feist, and who was behind him? She did not know why shewas so sure that he knew the truth, supposing that there had reallybeen a murder, but her instinct told her so. 

Lady Maud was not gifted with much power of writing, for she was notclever at books, or with pen and ink, but she wrote her letterwith deep conviction and striking clearness. The only point of anyimportance which she did not mention was that Logotheti had promisedto help her, and she did not write of that because she was not reallysure that he could do anything, though she was convinced that he wouldtry. She was very anxious. She was horrified when she thought of whatmight happen if nothing were done. She entreated Van Torp to answerthat he would take steps to defend himself; and that, if possible, hewould come to town so that they might consult together. 

She finished her letter and went to bed; but her good nerves failedher for once, and it was a long time before she could get to sleep. It was absurd, of course, but she remembered every case she had everheard of in which innocent men had been convicted of crimes they hadnot committed and had suffered for them; and in a hideous instant, between waking and dozing, she saw Rufus Van Torp hanged before hereyes. 

The impression was so awful that she started from her pillow with acry and turned up the electric lamp. It was not till the light floodedthe room that the image quite faded away and she could let herhead rest on the pillow again, and even then her heart was beatingviolently, as it had only beaten once in her life before that night. 

CHAPTER XVI

Sir Jasper Threlfall did not know how long it would be before Mr. Feist could safely be discharged from the establishment in whichLogotheti had so kindly placed him. Dr. Bream said 'it was as bad acase of chronic alcoholism as he often saw. ' What has grammar to dowith the treatment of the nerves? Mr. Feist said he did not want to becured of chronic alcoholism, and demanded that he should be let outat once. Dr. Bream answered that it was against his principles todischarge a patient half cured. Mr. Feist retorted that it was aviolation of personal liberty to cure a man against his will. Thephysician smiled kindly at a view he heard expressed every day, andwhich the law shared, though it might not be very ready to support it. Physically, Mr. Feist was afraid of Dr. Bream, who had played footballfor Guy's Hospital and had the complexion of a healthy baby and aquiet eye. So the patient changed his tone, and whined for somethingto calm his agitated nerves. One teaspoonful of whisky was all hebegged for, and he promised not to ask for it to-morrow if he mighthave it to-day. The doctor was obdurate about spirits, but felt hispulse, examined the pupils of his eyes, and promised him a calminghypodermic in an hour. It was too soon after breakfast, he said. Mr. Feist only once attempted to use violence, and then two large men cameinto the room, as quiet and healthy as the doctor himself, and gentlybut firmly put him to bed, tucking him up in such an extraordinary waythat he found it quite impossible to move or to get his hands out; andDr. Bream, smiling with exasperating calm, stuck a needle into hisshoulder, after which he presently fell asleep. 

He had been drinking hard for years, so that it was a very bad case;and besides, he seemed to have something on his mind, which made itworse. 

Logotheti came to see him now, and took a vast deal of trouble to beagreeable. At his first visit Feist flew into a rage and accused theGreek of having kidnapped him and shut him up in a prison, wherehe was treated like a lunatic; but to this Logotheti was quiteindifferent; he only shook his head rather sadly, and offered Feist avery excellent cigarette, such as it was quite impossible to buy, evenin London. After a little hesitation the patient took it, and theeffect was very soothing to his temper. Indeed it was wonderful, forin less than two minutes his features relaxed, his eyes became quiet, and he actually apologised for having spoken so rudely. Logotheti hadbeen kindness itself, he said, had saved his life at the very momentwhen he was going to cut his throat, and had been in all respects thegood Samaritan. The cigarette was perfectly delicious. It was aboutthe best smoke he had enjoyed since he had left the States, he said. He wished Logotheti to please to understand that he wanted to settleup for all expenses as soon as possible, and to pay his weekly billsat Dr. Bream's. There had been twenty or thirty pounds in notes in hispocket-book, and a letter of credit, but all his things had been takenaway from him. He concluded it was all right, but it seemed ratherstrenuous to take his papers too. Perhaps Mr. Logotheti, who was sokind, would make sure that they were in a safe place, and tell thedoctor to let him see any other friends who called. Then he askedfor another of those wonderful cigarettes, but Logotheti was awfullysorry--there had only been two, and he had just smoked the otherhimself. He showed his empty case. 

'By the way, ' he said, 'if the doctor should happen to come in andnotice the smell of the smoke, don't tell him that you had one ofmine. My tobacco is rather strong, and he might think it would do youharm, you know. I see that you have some light ones there, on thetable. Just let him think that you smoked one of them. I promise tobring some more to-morrow, and we'll have a couple together. '

That was what Logotheti said, and it comforted Mr. Feist, whorecognised the opium at once; all that afternoon and through all thenext morning he told himself that he was to have another of thosecigarettes, and perhaps two, at three o'clock in the afternoon, whenLogotheti had said that he would come again. 

Before leaving his own rooms on the following day, the Greek put fourcigarettes into his case, for he had not forgotten his promise; hetook two from a box that lay on the table, and placed them so thatthey would be nearest to his own hand when he offered his case, but hetook the other two from a drawer which was always locked, and of whichthe key was at one end of his superornate watch-chain, and he placedthem on the other side of the case, conveniently for a friend to take. All four cigarettes looked exactly alike. 

If any one had pointed out to him that an Englishman would not thinkit fair play to drug a man deliberately, Logotheti would have smiledand would have replied by asking whether it was fair play to accuse aninnocent man of murder, a retort which would only become unanswerableif it could be proved that Van Torp was suspected unjustly. But tothis objection, again, the Greek would have replied that he had beenbrought up in Constantinople, where they did things in that way;and that, except for the trifling obstacle of the law, there wasno particular reason for not strangling Mr. Feist with the Englishequivalent for a bowstring, since he had printed a disagreeable storyabout Miss Donne, and was, besides, a very offensive sort of personin appearance and manner. There had always been a certain directnessabout Logotheti's view of man's rights. 

He went to see Mr. Feist every day at three o'clock, in the most kindway possible, made himself as agreeable as he could, and gave himcigarettes with a good deal of opium in them. He also presented Feistwith a pretty little asbestos lamp which was constructed to purifythe air, and had a really wonderful capacity for absorbing the ratherpeculiar odour of the cigarettes. Dr. Bream always made his roundin the morning, and the men nurses he employed to take care of hispatients either did not notice anything unusual, or supposed thatLogotheti smoked some 'outlandish Turkish stuff, ' and, because he wasa privileged person, they said nothing about it. As he had broughtthe patient to the establishment to be cured, it was really not to besupposed that he would supply him with forbidden narcotics. 

Now, to a man who is poisoned with drink and is suddenly deprived ofit, opium is from the beginning as delightful as it is nauseous tomost healthy people when they first taste it; and during the next fouror five days, while Feist appeared to be improving faster than mighthave been expected, he was in reality acquiring such a craving forhis daily dose of smoke that it would soon be acute suffering to bedeprived of it; and this was what Logotheti wished. He would havesupplied him with brandy if he had not been sure that the contrabandwould be discovered and stopped by the doctor; but opium, in thehands of one who knows exactly how it is used, is very much harderto detect, unless the doctor sees the smoker when he is under theinfluence of the drug, while the pupils of the eye are unnaturallycontracted and the face is relaxed in that expression of beatitudewhich only the great narcotics can produce--the state which Baudelairecalled the Artificial Paradise. 

During these daily visits Logotheti became very confidential; that isto say, he exercised all his ingenuity in the attempt to make Feisttalk about himself. But he was not very successful. Broken as the manwas, his characteristic reticence was scarcely at all relaxed, and itwas quite impossible to get beyond the barrier. One day Logotheti gavehim a cigarette more than usual, as an experiment, but he went tosleep almost immediately, sitting up in his chair. The opium, as amoderate substitute for liquor, temporarily restored the habitual toneof his system and revived his natural self-control, and Logotheti soongave up the idea of extracting any secret from him in a moment ofgarrulous expansion. 

There was the other way, which was now prepared, and the Greek hadlearned enough about his victim to justify him in using it. The cypherexpert, who had been at work on Feist's diary, had now completed hiskey and brought Logotheti the translation. He was a rather shabbylittle man, a penman employed to do occasional odd jobs about theForeign Office, such as engrossing documents and the like, by which heearned from eighteenpence to half-a-crown an hour, according to thestyle of penmanship required, and he was well known in the criminalcourts as an expert on handwriting in forgery cases. 

He brought his work to Logotheti, who at once asked for the long entryconcerning the night of the explosion. The expert turned to it andread it aloud. It was a statement of the circumstances to which Feistwas prepared to swear, and which have been summed up in a previouschapter. Van Torp was not mentioned by name in the diary, but wasreferred to as 'he'; the other entries in the journal, however, fullyproved that Van Torp was meant, even if Logotheti had felt any doubtof it. 

The expert informed him, however, that the entry was not the originalone, which had apparently been much shorter, and had been obliteratedin the ordinary way with a solution of chloride of lime. Here andthere very pale traces of the previous writing were faintly visible, but there was not enough to give the sense of what was gone. Thisproved that the ink had not been long dry when it had been removed, as the expert explained. It was very hard to destroy old writing socompletely that neither heat nor chemicals would bring it out again. Therefore Feist must have decided to change the entry soon after hehad made it, and probably on the next day. The expert had not foundany other page which had been similarly treated. The shabby little manlooked at Logotheti, and Logotheti looked at him, and both nodded; andthe Greek paid him generously for his work. 

It was clear that Feist had meant to aid his own memory, and hadrather clumsily tampered with his diary in order to make it agree withthe evidence he intended to give, rather than meaning to produce thenotes in court. What Logotheti meant to find out was what the manhimself really knew and what he had first written down; that, and someother things. In conversation, Logotheti had asked him to describe thepanic at the theatre, and Cordova's singing in the dark, but Feist'sanswers had been anything but interesting. 

'You can't remember much about that kind of thing, ' he had said in hisdrawling way, 'because there isn't much to remember. There was a crashand the lights went out, and people fought their way to the doors inthe dark till there was a general squash; then Madame Cordova beganto sing, and that kind of calmed things down till the lights went upagain. That's about all I remember. '

His recollections did not at all agree with what he had entered in hisdiary; but though Logotheti tried a second time two days later, Feistrepeated the same story with absolute verbal accuracy. The Greek askedhim if he had known 'that poor Miss Bamberger who died of shock. 'Feist blew out a cloud of drugged tobacco smoke before he answered, with one of his disagreeable smiles, that he had known her prettywell, for he had been her father's private secretary. He explainedthat he had given up the place because he had come into some money. Mr. Bamberger was 'a very pleasant gentleman, ' Feist declared, andpoor Miss Bamberger had been a 'superb dresser and a first-classconversationalist, and was a severe loss to her friends and admirers. 'Though Logotheti, who was only a Greek, did not understand every wordof this panegyric, he perceived that it was intended for the highestpraise. He said he should like to know Mr. Bamberger, and was sorrythat he had not known Miss Bamberger, who had been engaged to marryMr. Van Torp, as every one had heard. 

He thought he saw a difference in Feist's expression, but was not sureof it. The pale, unhealthy, and yet absurdly youthful face was notnaturally mobile, and the almost colourless eyes always had rather afixed and staring look. Logotheti was aware of a new meaning in themrather than of a distinct change. He accordingly went on to say thathe had heard poor Miss Bamberger spoken of as heartless, and hebrought out the word so unexpectedly that Feist looked sharply at him. 

'Well, ' he said, 'some people certainly thought so. I daresay she was. It don't matter much, now she's dead, anyway. '

'She paid for it, poor girl, ' answered Logotheti very deliberately. 'They say she was murdered. '

The change in Feist's face was now unmistakable. There was a drawingdown of the corners of the mouth, and a lowering of the lids thatmeant something, and the unhealthy complexion took a greyish shade. Logotheti was too wise to watch his intended victim, and leaned backin a careless attitude, gazing out of the window at the bright creeperon the opposite wall. 

'I've heard it suggested, ' said Mr. Feist rather thickly, out of aperfect storm of drugged smoke. 

It came out of his ugly nostrils, it blew out of his mouth, it seemedto issue even from his ears and eyes. 

'I suppose we shall never know the truth, ' said Logotheti in an idletone, and not seeming to look at his companion. 'Mr. Griggs--do youremember Mr. Griggs, the author, at the Turkish Embassy, where wefirst met? Tall old fellow, sad-looking, bony, hard; you remember him, don't you?'

'Why, yes, ' drawled Feist, emitting more smoke, 'I know him quitewell. '

'He found blood on his hands after he had carried her. Had you notheard that? I wondered whether you saw her that evening. Did you?'

'I saw her from a distance in the box with her friends, ' answeredFeist steadily. 

'Did you see her afterwards?'

The direct question came suddenly, and the strained look in Feist'sface became more intense. Logotheti fancied he understood very wellwhat was passing in the young man's mind; he intended to swear incourt that he had seen Van Torp drag the girl to the place where herbody was afterwards found, and if he now denied this, the Greek, whowas probably Van Torp's friend, might appear as a witness and narratethe present conversation; and though this would not necessarilyinvalidate the evidence, it might weaken it in the opinion of thejury. Feist had of course suspected that Logotheti had some object inforcing him to undergo a cure, and this suspicion had been confirmedby the opium cigarettes, which he would have refused after the firsttime if he had possessed the strength of mind to do so. 

While Logotheti watched him, three small drops of perspirationappeared high up on his forehead, just where the parting of his thinlight hair began; for he felt that he must make up his mind what tosay, and several seconds had already elapsed since the question. 

'As a matter of fact, ' he said at last, with an evident effort, 'I didcatch sight of Miss Bamberger later. '

He had been aware of the moisture on his forehead, and had hoped thatLogotheti would not notice it, but the drops now gathered and rolleddown, so that he was obliged to take out his handkerchief. 

'It's getting quite hot, ' he said, by way of explanation. 

'Yes, ' answered Logotheti, humouring him, 'the room is warm. You musthave been one of the last people who saw Miss Bamberger alive, ' headded. 'Was she trying to get out?'

'I suppose so. '

Logotheti pretended to laugh a little. 

'You must have been quite sure when you saw her, ' he said. 

Feist was in a very overwrought condition by this time, and Logothetireflected that if his nerve did not improve he would make a badimpression on a jury. 

'Now I'll tell you the truth, ' he said rather desperately. 

'By all means!' And Logotheti prepared to hear and remember accuratelythe falsehood which would probably follow immediately on such astatement. 

But he was disappointed. 

'The truth is, ' said Feist, 'I don't care much to talk about thisaffair at present. I can't explain now, but you'll understand one ofthese days, and you'll say I was right. '

'Oh, I see!'

Logotheti smiled and held out his case, for Feist had finished thefirst cigarette. He refused another, however, to the other's surprise. 

'Thanks, ' he said, 'but I guess I won't smoke any more of those. Ibelieve they get on to my nerves. '

'Do you really not wish me to bring you any more of them?' askedLogotheti, affecting a sort of surprised concern. 'Do you think theyhurt you?'

'I do. That's exactly what I mean. I'm much obliged, all the same, butI'm going to give them up, just like that. '

'Very well, ' Logotheti answered. 'I promise not to bring any more. Ithink you are very wise to make the resolution, if you really thinkthey hurt you--though I don't see why they should. '

Like most weak people who make good resolutions, Mr. Feist did notrealise what he was doing. He understood horribly well, forty-eighthours later, when he was dragging himself at his tormentor's feet, entreating the charity of half a cigarette, of one teaspoonful ofliquor, of anything, though it were deadly poison, that could rest hisagonised nerves for a single hour, for ten minutes, for an instant, offering his life and soul for it, parching for it, burning, sweating, trembling, vibrating with horror, and sick with fear for the want ofit. 

For Logotheti was an Oriental and had lived in Constantinople; andhe knew what opium does, and what a man will do to get it, and thatneither passion of love, nor bond of affection, nor fear of man orGod, nor of death and damnation, will stand against that awful cravingwhen the poison is within reach. 

CHAPTER XVII

The society papers printed a paragraph which said that Lord Creedmoreand Countess Leven were going to have a week-end party at Craythew, and the list of guests included the names of Mr. Van Torp and Señoritada Cordova, 'Monsieur Konstantinos Logotheti' and Mr. Paul Griggs, after those of a number of overpoweringly smart people. 

Lady Maud's brothers saw the paragraph, and the one who was in theGrenadier Guards asked the one who was in the Blues if 'the Governorwas going in for zoology or lion-taming in his old age'; but thebrother in the Blues said it was 'Maud who liked freaks of nature, andGreeks, and things, because they were so amusing to photograph. '

At all events, Lady Maud had studiously left out her brothers andsisters in making up the Craythew party, a larger one than had beenassembled there for many years; it was so large indeed that the'freaks' would not have been prominent figures at all, even if theyhad been such unusual persons as the young man in the Blues imaginedthem. 

For though Lord Creedmore was not a rich peer, Craythew was a fine oldplace, and could put up at least thirty guests without crowding themand without causing that most uncomfortable condition of things inwhich people run over each other from morning to night during week-endparties in the season, when there is no hunting or shooting to keepthe men out all day. The house itself was two or three times as big asMr. Van Torp's at Oxley Paddox. It had its hall, its long drawing-roomfor dancing, its library, its breakfast-room and its morning-room, itsbilliard-room, sitting-room, and smoking-room, like many another bigEnglish country house; but it had also a picture gallery, the librarywas an historical collection that filled three good-sized rooms, andit was completed by one which had always been called the study, beyondwhich there were two little dwelling-rooms, at the end of the wing, where the librarian had lived when there had been one. For the oldlord had been a bachelor and a book lover, but the present master ofthe house, who was tremendously energetic and practical, took care ofthe books himself. Now and then, when the house was almost full, aguest was lodged in the former librarian's small apartment, and on thepresent occasion Paul Griggs was to be put there, on the ground thathe was a man of letters and must be glad to be near books, andalso because he could not be supposed to be afraid of Lady LetitiaFoxwell's ghost, which was believed to have spent the nights in thelibrary for the last hundred and fifty years, more or less, ever sincethe unhappy young girl had hanged herself there in the time of Georgethe Second, on the eve of her wedding day. 

The ancient house stood more than a mile from the high road, near thefurther end of such a park as is rarely to be seen, even in beautifulDerbyshire, for the Foxwells had always loved their trees, as goodEnglishmen should, and had taken care of them. There were ancient oaksthere, descended by less than four tree-generations from Druid times;all down the long drive the great elms threw their boughs skywards;there the solemn beeches grew, the gentler ash, and the lime; therethe yews spread out their branches, and here and there the cedar ofLebanon, patriarch of all trees that bear cones, reared his royalcrown above the rest; in and out, too, amongst the great boulders thatstrewed the park, the sharp-leaved holly stood out boldly, and theexquisite white thorn, all in flower, shot up to three and four timesa man's height; below, the heather grew close and green to blossom inthe summer-time; and in the deeper, lonelier places the blackthorn andhoe ran wild, and the dog-rose in wild confusion; the alder and thegorse too, the honeysuckle and ivy, climbed up over rocks and stems;you might see a laurel now and then, and bilberry bushes by thousands, and bracken everywhere in an endless profusion of rich, dark-greenlace. 

Squirrels there were, dashing across the open glades and running upthe smooth beeches and chestnut trees, as quick as light, and rabbits, dodging in and out amongst the ferns, and just showing the snow-whitepatch under their little tails as they disappeared, and now and againthe lordly deer stepping daintily and leisurely through the deep fern;all these lived in the wonderful depths of Craythew Park, and of birdsthere was no end. There were game birds and song birds, from thehandsome pheasants to the modest little partridges, the royalists andthe puritans of the woods, from the love-lorn wood-pigeon, cooing inthe tall firs, to the thrush and the blackbird, making long hops asthey quartered the ground for grubs; and the robin, the linnet, andlittle Jenny Wren all lived there in riotous plenty of worms andsnails; and nearer to the great house the starlings and jackdaws shotdown in a great hurry from the holes in old trees where they had theirnests, and many of them came rushing from their headquarters in theruined tower by the stream to waddle about the open lawns in theirungainly fashion, vain because they were not like swallows, but couldreally walk when they chose, though they did it rather badly. Andwhere the woods ended they were lined with rhododendrons, and lilacs, and laburnum. There are even bigger parks in England than Craythew, but there is none more beautiful, none richer in all sweet and goodthings that live, none more musical with song of birds, not one thatmore deeply breathes the world's oldest poetry. 

Lady Maud went out on foot that afternoon and met Van Torp in thedrive, half a mile from the house. He came in his motor car with MissMore and Ida, who was to go back after tea. It was by no means thefirst time that they had been at Craythew; the little girl lovednature, and understood by intuition much that would have escaped anormal child. It was her greatest delight to come over in the motorand spend two or three hours in the park, and when none of the familywere in the country she was always free to come and go, with MissMore, as she pleased. 

Lady Maud kissed her kindly and shook hands with her teacher beforethe car went on to leave Mr. Van Torp's things at the house. Then thetwo walked slowly along the road, and neither spoke for some time, norlooked at the other, but both kept their eyes on the ground beforethem, as if expecting something. 

Mr. Van Torp's hands were in his pockets, his soft straw hat waspushed rather far back on his sandy head, and as he walked he breathedan American tune between his teeth, raising one side of his upper lipto let the faint sound pass freely without turning itself into a realwhistle. It is rather a Yankee trick, and is particularly offensive tosome people, but Lady Maud did not mind it at all, though she heard itdistinctly. It always meant that Mr. Van Torp was in deep thought, andshe guessed that, just then, he was thinking more about her than ofhimself. In his pocket he held in his right hand a small envelopewhich he meant to bring out presently and give to her, where nobodywould be likely to see them. 

Presently, when the motor had turned to the left, far up the longdrive, he raised his eyes and looked about him. He had the sight of aman who has lived in the wilderness, and not only sees, but knows howto see, which is a very different thing. Having satisfied himself, hewithdrew the envelope and held it out to his companion. 

'I thought you might just as well have some more money, ' he said, 'soI brought you some. I may want to sail any minute. I don't know. Yes, you'd better take it. '

Lady Maud had looked up quickly and had hesitated to receive theenvelope, but when he finished speaking she took it quickly andslipped it into the opening of her long glove, pushing it down tillit lay in the palm of her hand. She fastened the buttons before shespoke. 

'How thoughtful you always are for me!'

She unconsciously used the very words with which she had thanked himin Hare Court the last time he had given her money. The tone told himhow deeply grateful she was. 

'Well, ' he said in answer, 'as far as that goes, it's for youyourself, as much as if I didn't know where it went; and if I'mobliged to sail suddenly I don't want you to be out of yourreckoning. '

'You're much too good, Rufus. Do you really mean that you may have togo back at once, to defend yourself?'

'No, not exactly that. But business is business, and somebodyresponsible has got to be there, since poor old Bamberger has gonecrazy and come abroad to stay--apparently. '

'Crazy?'

'Well, he behaves like it, anyway. I'm beginning to be sorry for thatman. I'm in earnest. You mayn't believe it, but I really am. Kind ofunnatural, isn't it, for me to be sorry for people?'

He looked steadily at Lady Maud for a moment, then smiled faintly, looked away, and began to blow his little tune through his teethagain. 

'You were sorry for little Ida, ' suggested Lady Maud. 

'That's different. I--I liked her mother a good deal, and when thechild was turned adrift I sort of looked after her. Anybody'd do that, I expect. '

'And you're sorry for me, in a way, ' said Lady Maud. 

'You're different, too. You're my friend. I suppose you're about theonly one I've got, too. We can't complain of being crowded out ofdoors by our friends, either of us, can we? Besides, I shouldn't putit in that way, or call it being sorry, exactly. It's another kind offeeling I have. I'd like to undo your life and make it over again foryou, the right way, so that you'd be happy. I can do a great deal, butall the cursed nickel in the world won't bring back the--' he checkedhimself suddenly, shutting his hard lips with an audible clack, andlooking down. 'I beg your pardon, my dear, ' he said in a low voice, amoment later. 

For he had been very near to speaking of the dead, and he feltinstinctively that the rough speech, however kindly meant, would havepained her, and perhaps had already hurt her a little. But as shelooked down, too, her hand gently touched the sleeve of his coat totell him that there was nothing to forgive. 

'He knows, ' she said, more softly than sadly. 'Where he is, they knowabout us--when we try to do right. '

'And you haven't only tried, ' Van Torp answered quietly, 'you've doneit. '

'Have I?' It sounded as if she asked the question of herself, or ofsome one to whom she appealed in her heart. 'I often wonder, ' sheadded thoughtfully. 

'You needn't worry, ' said her companion, more cheerily than he had yetspoken. 'Do you want to know why I think you needn't fuss about yourconscience and your soul, and things?'

He smiled now, and so did she, but more at the words he used than atthe question itself. 

'Yes, ' she said. 'I should like to know why. '

'It's a pretty good sign for a lady's soul when a lot of poorcreatures bless her every minute of their lives for fishing them outof the mud and landing them in a decent life. Come, isn't it now? Youknow it is. That's all. No further argument's necessary. The jury issatisfied and the verdict is that you needn't fuss. So that's that, and let's talk about something else. '

'I'm not so sure, ' Lady Maud answered. 'Is it right to bribe people todo right? Sometimes it has seemed very like that!'

'I don't set up to be an expert in morality, ' retorted Van Torp, 'butif money, properly used, can prevent murder, I guess that's betterthan letting the murder be committed. You must allow that. Thesame way with other crimes, isn't it? And so on, down to meremisdemeanours, till you come to ordinary morality. Now what have yougot to say? If it isn't much better for the people themselves to leaddecent lives just for money's sake, it's certainly much betterfor everybody else that they should. That appears to me to beunanswerable. You didn't start in with the idea of making those poorthings just like you, I suppose. You can't train a cart-horse to winthe Derby. Yet all their nonsense about equality rests on the theorythat you can. You can't make a good judge out of a criminal, nomatter how the criminal repents of his crimes. He's not been born theintellectual equal of the man who's born to judge him. His mind isbiassed. Perhaps he's a degenerate--everything one isn't oneself iscalled degenerate nowadays. It helps things, I suppose. And you can'texpect to collect a lot of poor wretches together and manufacturefirst-class Magdalens out of ninety-nine per cent of them, becauseyou're the one that needs no repentance, can you? I forget whether theBible says it was ninety-nine who did or ninety-nine who didn't, but you'll understand my drift, I daresay. It's logic, if it isn'tScripture. All right. As long as you can stop the evil, without doingwrong yourself, you're bringing about a good result. So don't fuss. See?'

'Yes, I see!' Lady Maud smiled. 'But it's your money that does it!'

'That's nothing, ' Van Torp said, as if he disliked the subject. 

He changed it effectually by speaking of his own present intentionsand explaining to his friend what he meant to do. 

His point of view seemed to be that Bamberger was quite mad since hisdaughter's death, and had built up a sensational but clumsy case, withthe help of the man Feist, whose evidence, as a confirmed dipsomaniac, would be all but worthless. It was possible, Van Torp said, that MissBamberger had been killed; in fact, Griggs' evidence alone wouldalmost prove it. But the chances were a thousand to one that she hadbeen killed by a maniac. Such murders were not so uncommon as LadyMaud might think. The police in all countries know how many casesoccur which can be explained only on that theory, and how diabolicallyingenious madmen are in covering their tracks. 

Lady Maud believed all he told her, and had perfect faith in hisinnocence, but she knew instinctively that he was not telling her all;and the certainty that he was keeping back something made her nervous. 

In due time the other guests came; each in turn met Mr. Van Torp soonafter arriving, if not at the moment when they entered the house; andthey shook hands with him, and almost all knew why he was there, butthose who did not were soon told by the others. 

The fact of having been asked to a country house for the expresspurpose of being shown by ocular demonstration that something is 'allright' which has been very generally said or thought to be all wrong, does not generally contribute to the light-heartedness of suchparties. Moreover, the very young element was hardly represented, andthere was a dearth of those sprightly boys and girls who think it theacme of delicate wit to shut up an aunt in the ice-box and throw thebilliard-table out of the window. Neither Lady Maud nor her fatherliked what Mr. Van Torp called a 'circus'; and besides, the modernyouths and maids who delight in practical jokes were not the peoplewhose good opinion about the millionaire it was desired to obtain, orto strengthen, as the case might be. The guests, far from being whatLady Maud's brothers called a menagerie, were for the most part of thegraver sort whose approval weighs in proportion as they are themselvessocial heavyweights. There was the Leader of the House, there werea couple of members of the Cabinet, there was the Master of theFoxhounds, there was the bishop of the diocese, and there was one ofthe big Derbyshire landowners; there was an ex-governor-generalof something, an ex-ambassador to the United States, and a famousgeneral; there was a Hebrew financier of London, and Logotheti, theGreek financier from Paris, who were regarded as colleagues of VanTorp, the American financier; there was the scientific peer who haddined at the Turkish Embassy with Lady Maud, there was the peer whosehorse had just won the Derby, and there was the peer who knew Germanand was looked upon as the coming man in the Upper House. Many hadtheir wives with them, and some had lost their wives or could notbring them; but very few were looking for a wife, and there were noyoung women looking for husbands, since the Señorita da Cordova wasapparently not to be reckoned with those. 

Now at this stage of my story it would be unpardonable to keep myreaders in suspense, if I may suppose that any of them have a littlecuriosity left. Therefore I shall not narrate in detail what happenedon Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, seeing that it was just what mighthave been expected to happen at a week-end party during the seasonwhen there is nothing in the world to do but to play golf, tennis, orcroquet, or to ride or drive all day, and to work hard at bridge allthe evening; for that is what it has come to. 

Everything went very well till Sunday night, and most of the peopleformed a much better opinion of Mr. Van Torp than those who had latelyread about him in the newspapers might have thought possible. TheCabinet Ministers talked politics with him and found him sound--foran American; the M. F. H. Saw him ride, and felt for him exactly thesympathy which a Don Cossack, a cowboy, and a Bedouin might feel foreach other if they met on horseback, and which needs no expression inwords; and the three distinguished peers liked him at once, because hewas not at all impressed by their social greatness, but was verymuch interested in what they had to say respectively about science, horse-breeding, and Herr Bebel. The great London financier, and he, and Monsieur Logotheti exchanged casual remarks which all the men whowere interested in politics referred to mysterious loans that mustaffect the armaments of the combined powers and the peace of Europe. 

Mr. Van Torp kept away from the Primadonna, and she watched himcuriously, a good deal surprised to see that most of the othersliked him better than she had expected. She was rather agreeablydisappointed, too, at the reception she herself met with LordCreedmore spoke of her only as 'Miss Donne, the daughter of his oldestfriend, ' and every one treated her accordingly. No one even mentionedher profession, and possibly some of the guests did not quite realisethat she was the famous Cordova. Lady Maud never suggested that sheshould sing, and Lord Creedmore detested music. The old piano in thelong drawing-room was hardly ever opened. It had been placed there inVictorian days when 'a little music' was the rule, and since the happyabolition of that form of terror it had been left where it stood, andwas tuned once a year, in case anybody should want a dance when therewere young people in the house. 

A girl might as well master the Assyrian language in order to composehymns to Tiglath-Pileser as learn to play the piano nowadays, butbridge is played at children's parties; let us not speak ill of theBridge that has carried us over. 

Margaret was not out of her element; on the contrary, she at firsthad the sensation of finding herself amongst rather grave and notuncongenial English people, not so very different from those with whomshe had spent her early girlhood at Oxford. It was not strange to her, but it was no longer familiar, and she missed the surroundings towhich she had grown accustomed. Hitherto, when she had been asked tojoin such parties, there had been at least a few of those personswho are supposed to delight especially in the society of sopranos, actresses, and lionesses generally; but none of them were at Craythew. She was suddenly transported back into regions where nobody seemed tocare a straw whether she could sing or not, where nobody flatteredher, and no one suggested that it would be amusing and instructiveto make a trip to Spain together, or that a charming little kioskat Therapia was at her disposal whenever she chose to visit theBosphorus. 

There was only Logotheti to remind her of her everyday life, for Griggs did not do so at all; he belonged much more to the'atmosphere, ' and though she knew that he had loved in his youth awoman who had a beautiful voice, he understood nothing of music andnever talked about it. As for Lady Maud, Margaret saw much less of herthan she had expected; the hostess was manifestly preoccupied, andwas, moreover, obliged to give more of her time to her guests thanwould have been necessary if they had been of the younger generationor if the season had been winter. 

Margaret noticed in herself a new phase of change with regard toLogotheti, and she did not like it at all: he had become necessary toher, and yet she was secretly a little ashamed of him. In that templeof respectability where she found herself, in such 'a cloister ofsocial pillars' as Logotheti called the party, he was a discordantfigure. She was haunted by a painful doubt that if he had not been avery important financier some of those quiet middle-aged Englishmenmight have thought him a 'bounder, ' because of his ruby pin, hissummer-lightning waistcoats, and his almond-shaped eyes. It was veryunpleasant to be so strongly drawn to a man whom such people probablythought a trifle 'off. '

It irritated her to be obliged to admit that the London financier, whowas a professed and professing Hebrew, was in appearance an Englishgentleman, whereas Konstantinos Logotheti, with a pedigree ofChristian and not unpersecuted Fanariote ancestors, that went back toByzantine times without the least suspicion of any Semitic marriage, might have been taken for a Jew in Lombard Street, and certainly wouldhave been thought one in Berlin. A man whose eyes suggested darkalmonds need not cover himself with jewellery and adorn himselfin naming colours, Margaret thought; and she resented his way ofdressing, much more than ever before. Lady Maud had called him exotic, and Margaret could not forget that. By 'exotic' she was sure that herfriend meant something like vulgar, though Lady Maud said she likedhim. 

But the events that happened at Craythew on Sunday evening threw suchinsignificant details as these into the shade, and brought out thetrue character of the chief actors, amongst whom Margaret veryunexpectedly found herself. 

It was late in the afternoon after a really cloudless June day, andshe had been for a long ramble in the park with Lord Creedmore, whohad talked to her about her father and the old Oxford days, till allher present life seemed to be a mere dream; and she could not realise, as she went up to her room, that she was to go back to London onthe morrow, to the theatre, to rehearsals, to Pompeo Stromboli, Schreiermeyer, and the public. 

She met Logotheti in the gallery that ran round two sides of the hall, and they both stopped and leaned over the balustrade to talk a little. 

'It has been very pleasant, ' she said thoughtfully. 'I'm sorry it'sover so soon. '

'Whenever you are inclined to lead this sort of life, ' Logothetianswered with a laugh, 'you need only drop me a line. You shall havea beautiful old house and a big park and a perfect colonnade ofrespectabilities--and I'll promise not to be a bore. '

Margaret looked at him earnestly for some seconds, and then asked avery unexpected and frivolous question, because she simply could nothelp it. 

'Where did you get that tie?'

The question was strongly emphasised, for it meant much more to herjust then than he could possibly have guessed; perhaps it meantsomething which was affecting her whole life. He laughed carelessly. 

'It's better to dress like Solomon in all his glory than to be takenfor a Levantine gambler, ' he answered. 'In the days when I wassimple-minded, a foreigner in a fur coat and an eyeglass once stoppedme in the Boulevard des Italiens and asked if I could give him theaddress of any house where a roulette-table was kept! After that Itook to jewels and dress!'

Margaret wondered why she could not help liking him; and by sheerforce of habit she thought that he would make a very good-lookingstage Romeo. 

While she was thinking of that and smiling in spite of his tie, theold clock in the hall below chimed the hour, and it was a quarter toseven; and at the same moment three men were getting out of a trainthat had stopped at the Craythew station, three miles from LordCreedmore's gate. 

CHAPTER XVIII

The daylight dinner was over, and the large party was more or lessscattered about the drawing-room and the adjoining picture-galleryin groups of three and four, mostly standing while they drank theircoffee, and continued or finished the talk begun at table. 

By force of habit Margaret had stopped beside the closed piano, andhad seated herself on the old-fashioned stool to have her coffee. LadyMaud stood beside her, leaning against the corner of the instrument, her cup in her hand, and the two young women exchanged rather idleobservations about the lovely day that was over, and the perfectweather. Both were preoccupied and they did not look at each other;Margaret's eyes watched Logotheti, who was half-way down the longroom, before a portrait by Sir Peter Lely, of which he was apparentlypointing out the beauties to the elderly wife of the scientific peer. Lady Maud was looking out at the light in the sunset sky above thetrees beyond the flower-beds and the great lawn, for the piano stoodnear an open window. From time to time she turned her head quicklyand glanced towards Van Torp, who was talking with her father at somedistance; then she looked out of the window again. 

It was a warm evening; in the dusk of the big rooms the hum of voiceswas low and pleasant, broken only now and then by Van Torp's morestrident tone. Outside it was still light, and the starlings andblackbirds and thrushes were finishing their supper, picking up theunwary worms and the tardy little snails, and making a good deal ofsweet noise about it. 

Margaret set down her cup on the lid of the piano, and at the slightsound Lady Maud turned towards her, so that their eyes met. Eachnoticed the other's expression. 

'What is it?' asked Lady Maud, with a little smile of friendlyconcern. 'Is anything wrong?'

'No--that is--' Margaret smiled too, as she hesitated--'I was going toask you the same question, ' she added quickly. 

'It's nothing more than usual, ' returned her friend. 'I think ithas gone very well, don't you, these three days? He has made a goodimpression on everybody--don't you think so?'

'Oh yes!' Margaret answered readily. 'Excellent! Could not be better!I confess to being surprised, just a little--I mean, ' she correctedherself hastily, 'after all the talk there has been, it might not haveturned out so easy. '

'Don't you feel a little less prejudiced against him yourself?' askedLady Maud. 

'Prejudiced!' Margaret repeated the word thoughtfully. 'Yes, I supposeI'm prejudiced against him. That's the only word. Perhaps it's hatefulof me, but I cannot help it--and I wish you wouldn't make me own it toyou, for it's humiliating! I'd like him, if I could, for your sake. But you must take the wish for the deed. '

'That's better than nothing!' Lady Maud seemed to be trying to laugha little, but it was with an effort and there was no ripple in hervoice. 'You have something on your mind, too, ' she went on, to changethe subject. 'Is anything troubling you?'

'Only the same old question. It's not worth mentioning!'

'To marry, or not to marry?'

'Yes. I suppose I shall take the leap some day, and probably in thedark, and then I shall be sorry for it. Most of you have!'

She looked up at Lady Maud with a rather uncertain, flickering smile, as if she wished her mind to be made up for her, and her hands layweakly in her lap, the palms almost upwards. 

'Oh, don't ask me!' cried her friend, answering the look rather thanthe words, and speaking with something approaching to vehemence. 

'Do you wish you had waited for the other one till now?' askedMargaret softly, but she did not know that he had been killed in SouthAfrica; she had never seen the shabby little photograph. 

'Yes--for ever!'

That was all Lady Maud said, and the two words were not uttereddramatically either, though gravely and without the least doubt. 

The butler and two men appeared, to collect the coffee cups; theformer had a small salver in his hand and came directly to Lady Maud. He brought a telegram for her. 

'You don't mind, do you?' she asked Margaret mechanically, as sheopened it. 

'Of course, ' answered the other in the same tone, and she lookedthrough the open window while her friend read the message. 

It was from the Embassy in London, and it informed her in the briefestterms that Count Leven had been killed in St. Petersburg on theprevious day, in the street, by a bomb intended for a high official. Lady Maud made no sound, but folded the telegram into a small squareand turned her back to the room for a moment in order to slip itunnoticed into the body of her black velvet gown. As she recovered herformer attitude she was surprised to see that the butler was stillstanding two steps from her where he had stopped after he had takenthe cups from the piano and set them on the small salver on which hehad brought the message. He evidently wanted to say something to heralone. 

Lady Maud moved away from the piano, and he followed her a littlebeyond the window, till she stopped and turned to hear what he had tosay. 

'There are three persons asking for Mr. Van Torp, my lady, ' he saidin a very low tone, and she noticed the disturbed look in his face. 'They've got a motor-car waiting in the avenue. '

'What sort of people are they?' she asked quietly; but she felt thatshe was pale. 

'To tell the truth, my lady, ' the butler spoke in a whisper, bendinghis head, 'I think they are from Scotland Yard. '

Lady Maud knew it already; she had almost guessed it when she hadglanced at his face before he spoke at all. 

'Show them into the old study, ' she said, 'and ask them to wait amoment. '

The butler went away with his two coffee cups, and scarcely any onehad noticed that Lady Maud had exchanged a few words with him by thewindow. She turned back to the piano, where Margaret was still sittingon the stool with her hands in her lap, looking at Logotheti in thedistance and wondering whether she meant to marry him or not. 

'No bad news, I hope?' asked the singer, looking up as her friend cameto her side. 

'Not very good, ' Lady Maud answered, leaning her elbow on the piano. 'Should you mind singing something to keep the party together whileI talk to some tiresome men who are in the old study? On these Juneevenings people have a way of wandering out into the garden afterdinner. I should like to keep every one in the house for a quarterof an hour, and if you will only sing for them they won't stir. Willyou?'

Margaret looked at her curiously. 

'I think I understand, ' Margaret said. 'The people in the study areasking for Mr. Van Torp. '

Lady Maud nodded, not surprised that Logotheti should have told thePrimadonna something about what he had been doing. 

'Then you believe he is innocent, ' she said confidently. 'Even thoughyou don't like him, you'll help me, won't you?'

'I'll do anything you ask me. But I should think--'

'No, ' Lady Maud interrupted. 'He must not be arrested at all. I knowthat he would rather face the detectives than run away, even for afew hours, till the truth is known. But I won't let him. It wouldbe published all over the world to-morrow morning that he had beenarrested for murder in my father's house, and it would never beforgotten against him, though he might be proved innocent ten timesover. That's what I want to prevent. Will you help me?'

As she spoke the last words she raised the front lid of the piano, and Margaret turned on her seat towards the instrument to open thekeyboard, nodding her assent. 

'Just play a little, till I am out of the room, and then sing, ' saidLady Maud. 

The great artist's fingers felt the keys as her friend turned away. Anything theatrical was natural to her now, and she began to play verysoftly, watching the moving figure in black velvet as she would havewatched a fellow singer on the stage while waiting to go on. 

Lady Maud did not speak to Van Torp first, but to Griggs, and then toLogotheti, and the two men slipped away together and disappeared. Thenshe came back to Van Torp, smiling pleasantly. He was still talkingwith Lord Creedmore, but the latter, at a word from his daughter, wentoff to the elderly peeress whom Logotheti had abruptly left alonebefore the portrait. 

Margaret did not hear what Lady Maud said to the American, but it wasevidently not yet a warning, for her smile did not falter, and helooked pleased as he came back with her, and they passed near thepiano to go out through the open window upon the broad flagged terracethat separated the house from the flower-beds. 

The Primadonna played a little louder now, so that every one heard thechords, even in the picture-gallery, and a good many men were ratherbored at the prospect of music. 

Then the Señorita da Cordova raised her head and looked over the grandpiano, and her lips parted, and boredom vanished very suddenly; foreven those who did not take much pleasure in the music were amazed bythe mere sound of her voice and by its incredible flexibility. 

She meant to astonish her hearers and keep them quiet, and she knewwhat to sing to gain her end, and how to sing it. Those who have notforgotten the story of her beginnings will remember that she was athorough musician as well as a great singer, and was one of thosevery few primadonnas who are able to accompany themselves from memorywithout a false note through any great piece they know, from _Lucia_to _Parsifal_. 

She began with the waltz song in the first act of _Romeo and Juliet_. It was the piece that had revealed her talent to Madame Bonanni, whohad accidentally overheard her singing to herself, and it suited herpurpose admirably. Such fireworks could not fail to astound, even ifthey did not please, and half the full volume of her voice was morethan enough for the long drawing-room, into which the whole partygathered almost as soon as she began to sing. Such trifles as havingjust dined, or having just waked up in the morning, have littleinfluence on the few great natural voices of the world, which beginwith twice the power and beauty that the 'built-up' ones acquire inyears of study. Ordinary people go to a concert, to the opera, to acircus, to university sports, and hear and see things that interest orcharm, or sometimes surprise them; but they are very much amazed ifthey ever happen to find out in private life what a really greatprofessional of any sort can do at a pinch, if put to it by any strongmotive. If it had been necessary, Margaret could have sung to theparty in the drawing-room at Craythew for an hour at a stretch with nomore rest than her accompaniments afforded. 

Her hearers were the more delighted because it was so spontaneous, andthere was not the least affectation about it. During these days no onehad even suggested that she should make music, or be anything exceptthe 'daughter of Lord Creedmore's old friend. ' But now, apparently, she had sat down to the piano to give them all a concert, for thesheer pleasure of singing, and they were not only pleased with her, but with themselves; for the public, and especially audiences, aremore easily flattered by a great artist who chooses to treat hishearers as worthy of his best, than the artist himself is by theapplause he hears for the thousandth time. 

So the Señorita da Cordova held the party at Craythew spellbound whileother things were happening very near them which would have interestedthem much more than her trills, and her 'mordentini, ' and her soaringruns, and the high staccato notes that rang down from the ceiling asif some astounding and invisible instrument were up there, supportedby an unseen force. 

Meanwhile Paul Griggs and Logotheti had stopped a moment in the firstof the rooms that contained the library, on their way to the old studybeyond. 

It was almost dark amongst the huge oak bookcases, and both menstopped at the same moment by a common instinct, to agree quickly uponsome plan of action. They had led adventurous lives, and were notlikely to stick at trifles, if they believed themselves to be inthe right; but if they had left the drawing-room with the distinctexpectation of anything like a fight, they would certainly not havestopped to waste their time in talking. 

The Greek spoke first. 

'Perhaps you had better let me do the talking, ' he said. 

'By all means, ' answered Griggs. 'I am not good at that. I'll keepquiet, unless we have to handle them. '

'All right, and if you have any trouble I'll join in and help you. Just set your back against the door if they try to get out while I amspeaking. '

'Yes. '

That was all, and they went on in the gathering gloom, through thethree rooms of the library, to the door of the old study, from which ashort winding staircase led up to the two small rooms which Griggs wasoccupying. 

Three quiet men in dark clothes were standing together in thetwilight, in the bay window at the other side of the room, and theymoved and turned their heads quickly as the door opened. Logothetiwent up to them, while Griggs remained near the door, looking on. 

'What can I do for you?' inquired the Greek, with much urbanity. 

'We wished to speak with Mr. Van Torp, who is stopping here, ' answeredthe one of the three men who stood farthest forward. 

'Oh yes, yes!' said Logotheti at once, as if assenting. 'Certainly!Lady Maud Leven, Lord Creedmore's daughter--Lady Creedmore is away, you know--has asked us to inquire just what you want of Mr. Van Torp. '

'It's a personal matter, ' replied the spokesman. 'I will explain it tohim, if you will kindly ask him to come here a moment. '

Logotheti smiled pleasantly. 

'Quite so, ' he said. 'You are, no doubt, reporters, and wish tointerview him. As a personal friend of his, and between you and me, I don't think he'll see you. You had better write and ask for anappointment. Don't you think so, Griggs?'

The author's large, grave features relaxed in a smile of amusement ashe nodded his approval of the plan. 

'We do not represent the press, ' answered the man. 

'Ah! Indeed? How very odd! But of course--' Logotheti pretended tounderstand suddenly--'how stupid of me! No doubt you are from thebank. Am I not right?'

'No. You are mistaken. We are not from Threadneedle Street. '

'Well, then, unless you will enlighten me, I really cannot imagine whoyou are or where you come from!'

'We wish to speak in private with Mr. Van Torp. '

'In private, too?' Logotheti shook his head, and turned to Griggs. 'Really, this looks rather suspicious; don't you think so?'

Griggs said nothing, but the smile became a broad grin. 

The spokesman, on his side, turned to his two companions andwhispered, evidently consulting them as to the course he shouldpursue. 

'Especially after the warning Lord Creedmore has received, ' saidLogotheti to Griggs in a very audible tone, as if explaining his lastspeech. 

The man turned to him again and spoke in a gravely determined tone--

'I must really insist upon seeing Mr. Van Torp immediately, ' he said. 

'Yes, yes, I quite understand you, ' answered Logotheti, looking at himwith a rather pitying smile, and then turning to Griggs again, as iffor advice. 

The elder man was much amused by the ease with which the Greek had sofar put off the unwelcome visitors and gained time; but he saw thatthe scene must soon come to a crisis, and prepared for action, keepinghis eye on the three, in case they should make a dash at the door thatcommunicated with the rest of the house. 

During the two or three seconds that followed, Logotheti reviewed thesituation. It would be an easy matter to trick the three men into theshort winding staircase that led up to the rooms Griggs occupied, andif the upper and lower doors were locked and barricaded, the prisonerscould not forcibly get out. But it was certain that the leader of theparty had a warrant about him, and this must be taken from him beforelocking him up, and without any acknowledgment of its validity; foreven the lawless Greek was aware that it was not good to interferewith officers of the law in the execution of their duty. If there hadbeen more time he might have devised some better means of attaininghis end than occurred to him just then. 

'They must be the lunatics, ' he said to Griggs, with the utmost calm. 

The spokesman started and stared, and his jaw dropped. For a moment hecould not speak. 

'You know Lord Creedmore was warned this morning that a number hadescaped from the county asylum, ' continued Logotheti, still speakingto Griggs, and pretending to lower his voice. 

'Lunatics?' roared the man when he got his breath, exasperated out ofhis civil manner. 'Lunatics, sir? We are from Scotland Yard, sir, I'dhave you know!'

'Yes, yes, ' answered the Greek, 'we quite understand. Humour them, my dear chap, ' he added in an undertone that was meant to be heard. 'Yes, ' he continued in a cajoling tone, 'I guessed at once thatyou were from police headquarters. If you'll kindly show me yourwarrant--'

He stopped politely, and nudged Griggs with his elbow, so that thedetectives should be sure to see the movement. The chief saw theawkwardness of his own position, measured the bony veteran and theathletic foreigner with his eye, and judged that if the two wereconvinced that they were dealing with madmen they would make a prettygood fight. 

'Excuse me, ' the officer said, speaking calmly, 'but you are under agross misapprehension about us. This paper will remove it at once, Itrust, and you will not hinder us in the performance of an unpleasantduty. '

He produced an official envelope, handed it to Logotheti, and waitedfor the result. 

It was unexpected when it came. Logotheti took the paper, and as itwas now almost dark he looked about for the key of the electriclight. Griggs was now close to him by the door through which they hadentered, and behind which the knob was placed. 

'If I can get them upstairs, lock and barricade the lower door, 'whispered the Greek as he turned up the light. 

He took the paper under a bracket light on the other side of the room, beside the door of the winding stair, and began to read. 

His face was a study, and Griggs watched it, wondering what wascoming. As Logotheti read and reread the few short sentences, he wasapparently seized by a fit of mirth which he struggled in vain torepress, and which soon broke out into uncontrollable laughter. 

'The cleverest trick you ever saw!' he managed to get out between hisparoxysms. 

It was so well done that the detective was seriously embarrassed; butafter a moment's hesitation he judged that he ought to get his warrantback at all hazards, and he moved towards Logotheti with a menacingexpression. 

But the Greek, pretending to be afraid that the supposed lunatic wasgoing to attack him, uttered an admirable yell of fear, opened thedoor close at his hand, rushed through, slammed it behind him, andfled up the dark stairs. 

The detective lost no time, and followed in hot pursuit, his twocompanions tearing up after him into the darkness. Then Griggs quietlyturned the key in the lock, for he was sure that Logotheti hadreached the top in time to fasten the upper door, and must bealready barricading it. Griggs proceeded to do the same, quietly andsystematically, and the great strength he had not yet lost served himwell, for the furniture in the room was heavy. In a couple of minutesit would have needed sledge-hammers and crowbars to break out by thelower entrance, even if the lock had not been a solid one. 

Griggs then turned out the lights, and went quietly back through thelibrary to the other part of the house to find Lady Maud. 

Logotheti, having meanwhile made the upper door perfectly secure, descended by the open staircase to the hall, and sent the firstfootman he met to call the butler, with whom he said he wished tospeak. The butler came at once. 

'Lady Maud asked me to see those three men, ' said Logotheti in a lowtone. 'Mr. Griggs and I are convinced that they are lunatics escapedfrom the asylum, and we have locked them up securely in the staircasebeyond the study. '

'Yes, sir, ' said the butler, as if Logotheti had been explaining howhe wished his shoe-leather to be treated. 

'I think you had better telephone for the doctor, and explaineverything to him over the wire without speaking to Lord Creedmorejust yet. '

'Yes, sir. '

'How long will it take the doctor to get here?'

'Perhaps an hour, sir, if he's at home. Couldn't say precisely, sir. '

'Very good. There is no hurry; and of course her ladyship will beparticularly anxious that none of her friends should guess what hashappened; you see there would be a general panic if it were known thatthere are escaped lunatics in the house. '

'Yes, sir. '

'Perhaps you had better take a couple of men you can trust, and pileup some more furniture against the doors, above and below. One cannotbe too much on the safe side in such cases. '

'Yes, sir. I'll do it at once, sir. '

Logotheti strolled back towards the gallery in a very unconcerned way. As for the warrant, he had burnt it in the empty fireplace in Griggs'room after making all secure, and had dusted down the black ashes socarefully that they had quite disappeared under the grate. After all, as the doctor would arrive in the firm expectation of finding threeescaped madmen under lock and key, the Scotland Yard men might, have some difficulty in proving themselves sane until they couldcommunicate with their headquarters, and by that time Mr. Van Torpcould be far on his way if he chose. 

When Logotheti reached the door of the drawing-room, Margaret wasfinishing Rosina's Cavatina from the _Barbiere di Siviglia_ in aperfect storm of fireworks, having transposed the whole piece twonotes higher to suit her own voice, for it was originally written fora mezzo-soprano. 

Lady Maud and Van Torp had gone out upon the terrace unnoticed amoment before Margaret had begun to sing. The evening was still andcloudless, and presently the purple twilight would pale under thesummer moon, and the garden and the lawns would be once more as brightas day. The friends walked quickly, for Lady Maud set the pace and ledVan Torp toward the trees, where the stables stood, quite hidden fromthe house. As soon as she reached the shade she stood still and spokein a low voice. 

'You have waited too long, ' she said. 'Three men have come to arrestyou, and their motor is over there in the avenue. '

'Where are they?' inquired the American, evidently not at alldisturbed. 'I'll see them at once, please. '

'And give yourself up?'

'I don't care. '

'Here?'

'Why not? Do you suppose I am going to run away? A man who gets out ina hurry doesn't usually look innocent, does he?'

Lady Maud asserted herself. 

'You must think of me and of my father, ' she said in a tone ofauthority Van Torp had never heard from her. 'I know you're asinnocent as I am, but after all that has been said and written aboutyou, and about you and me together, it's quite impossible that youshould let yourself be arrested in our house, in the midst of a partythat has been asked here expressly to be convinced that my fatherapproves of you. Do you see that?'

'Well--' Mr. Van Torp hesitated, with his thumbs in his waistcoatpockets. 

Across the lawn, from the open window, Margaret's voice rang out likea score of nightingales in unison. 

'There's no time to discuss it, ' Lady Maud said. 'I asked her to sing, so as to keep the people together. Before she has finished, you mustbe out of reach. '

Mr. Van Torp smiled. 'You're remarkably positive about it, ' he said. 

'You must get to town before the Scotland Yard people, and I don'tknow how much start they will give you. It depends on how long Mr. Griggs and Logotheti can keep them in the old study. It will be neckand neck, I fancy. I'll go with you to the stables. You must ride toyour own place as hard as you can, and go up to London in yourcar to-night. The roads are pretty clear on Sundays, and there'smoonlight, so you will have no trouble. It will be easy to say herethat you have been called away suddenly. Come, you must go!'

Lady Maud moved towards the stables, and Van Torp was obliged tofollow her. Far away Margaret was singing the last bars of the waltzsong. 

'I must say, ' observed Mr. Van Torp thoughtfully, as they walked on, 'for a lady who's generally what I call quite feminine, you make a mansit up pretty quick. '

'It's not exactly the time to choose for loafing, ' answered Lady Maud. 'By the bye, ' she added, 'you may as well know. Poor Leven is dead. Ihad a telegram a few minutes ago. He was killed yesterday by a bombmeant for somebody else. '

Van Torp stood still, and Lady Maud stopped with evident reluctance. 

'And there are people who don't believe in Providence, ' he saidslowly. 'Well, I congratulate you anyway. '

'Hush, the poor man is dead. We needn't talk about him. Come, there'sno time to lose!' She moved impatiently. 

'So you're a widow!' Van Torp seemed to be making the remark tohimself without expecting any answer, but it at once suggested aquestion. 'And now what do you propose to do?' he inquired. 'But Iexpect you'll be a nun, or something. I'd like you to arrange so thatI can see you sometimes, will you?'

'I'm not going to disappear yet, ' Lady Maud answered gravely. 

They reached the stables, which occupied three sides of a square yard. At that hour the two grooms and the stable-boy were at their supper, and the coachman had gone home to his cottage. A big brown retrieveron a chain was sitting bolt upright beside his kennel, and began tothump the flagstones with his tail as soon as he recognised Lady Maud. From within a fox-terrier barked two or three times. Lady Maud openeda door, and he sprang out at her yapping, but was quiet as soon as heknew her. 

'You'd better take the Lancashire Lass, ' she said to Van Torp. 'You'reheavier than my father, but it's not far to ride, and she's a clevercreature. '

She had turned up the electric light while speaking, for it was darkinside the stable; she got a bridle, went into the box herself, andslipped it over the mare's pretty head. Van Torp saw that it wasuseless to offer help. 

'Don't bother about a saddle, ' he said; 'it's a waste of time. '

He touched the mare's face and lips with his hand, and she understoodhim, and let him lead her out. He vaulted upon her back, and Lady Maudwalked beside him till they were outside the yard. 

'If you had a high hat it would look like the circus, ' she said, glancing at his evening dress. 'Now get away! I'll be in town onTuesday; let me know what happens. Good-bye! Be sure to let me know. '

'Yes. Don't worry. I'm only going because you insist, anyhow. Good-bye. God bless you!'

He waved his hand, the mare sprang forward, and in a few seconds hewas out of sight amongst the trees. Lady Maud listened to the regularsound of the galloping hoofs on the turf, and at the same time fromvery far off she heard Margaret's high trills and quick staccatonotes. At that moment the moon was rising through the late twilight, and a nightingale high overhead, no doubt judging her little self tobe quite as great a musician as the famous Cordova, suddenly begana very wonderful piece of her own, just half a tone higher thanMargaret's, which might have distressed a sensitive musician, but didnot jar in the least on Lady Maud's ear. 

Now that she had sent Van Torp on his way, she would gladly havewalked alone in the park for half an hour to collect her thoughts; butpeople who live in the world are rarely allowed any pleasant leisurewhen they need it, and many of the most dramatic things in real lifehappen when we are in such a hurry that we do not half understandthem. So the moment that should have been the happiest of all goesdashing by when we are hastening to catch a train; so the instant oftriumph after years of labour or weeks of struggling is upon us whenwe are perhaps positively obliged to write three important notesin twenty minutes; and sometimes, too, and mercifully, the pain ofparting is numbed just as the knife strikes the nerve, by the howlingconfusion of a railway station that forces us to take care ofourselves and our belongings; and when the first instant of joy, orvictory, or acute suffering is gone in a flash, memory never quitebrings back all the happiness nor all the pain. 

Lady Maud could not have stayed away many minutes longer. She wentback at once, entered by the garden window just as Margaret wasfinishing Rosina's song, and remained standing behind her till shehad sung the last note. English people rarely applaud conventionaldrawing-room music, but this had been something more, and the Craythewguests clapped their hands loudly, and even the elderly wife of thescientific peer emitted distinctly audible sounds of satisfaction. Lady Maud bent her handsome head and kissed the singer affectionately, whispering words of heartfelt thanks. 

CHAPTER XIX

Through the mistaken efforts of Isidore Bamberger, justice had gotherself into difficulties, and it was as well for her reputation, which is not good nowadays, that the public never heard what happenedon that night at Craythew, how the three best men who had beenavailable at headquarters were discomfited in their well-meant attemptto arrest an innocent man, and how they spent two miserable hourstogether locked up in a dark winding staircase. For it chanced, asit will chance to the end of time, that the doctor was out when thebutler telephoned to him; it happened, too, that he was far from home, engaged in ushering a young gentleman of prosperous parentage intothis world, an action of which the kindness might be questioned, considering that the poor little soul presumably came straight fromparadise, with an indifferent chance of ever getting there again. Sothe doctor could not come. 

The three men were let out in due time, however, and as no trace of awarrant could be discovered at that hour, Logotheti and Griggs beingalready sound asleep, and as Lord Creedmore, in his dressing-gown andslippers, gave them a written statement to the effect that Mr. VanTorp was no longer at Craythew, they had no choice but to return totown, rather the worse for wear. What they said to each other by theway may safely be left to the inexhaustible imagination of a gentleand sympathising reader. 

Their suppressed rage, their deep mortification, and their profounddisgust were swept away in their overwhelming amazement, however, when they found that Mr. Rufus Van Torp, whom they had sought inDerbyshire, was in Scotland Yard before them, closeted with theirChief and explaining what an odd mistake the justice of two nationshad committed in suspecting him to have been at the MetropolitanOpera-House in New York at the time of the explosion, since he hadspent that very evening in Washington, in the private study of theSecretary of the Treasury, who wanted his confidential opinion on aquestion connected with Trusts before he went abroad. Mr. Van Torpstuck his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets and blandly insisted thatthe cables should be kept red-hot--at international expense--till themember of the Cabinet in Washington should answer corroborating thestatement. Four o'clock in the morning in London was only eleveno'clock of the previous evening, Mr. Van Torp explained, and it wasextremely unlikely that the Secretary of the Treasury should be inbed so early. If he was, he was certainly not asleep; and with thefacilities at the disposal of governments there was no reason why theanswer should not come back in forty minutes. 

It was impossible to resist such simple logic. The lines were clearedfor urgent official business between London and Washington, and inless than an hour the answer came back, to the effect that Mr. RufusVan Torp's statement was correct in every detail; and without anyinterval another official message arrived, revoking the requestfor his extradition, which 'had been made under a most unfortunatemisapprehension, due to the fact that Mr. Van Torp's visit to theSecretary of the Treasury had been regarded as confidential by thelatter. '

Scotland Yard expressed its regret, and Mr. Van Torp smiled and beggedto be allowed, before leaving, to 'shake hands' with the three men whohad been put to so much inconvenience on his account. This democraticproposal was promptly authorised, to the no small satisfaction andprofit of the three haggard officials. So Mr. Van Torp went away, and in a few minutes he was sound asleep in the corner of his bigmotor-car on his way back to Derbyshire. 

Lady Maud found Margaret and Logotheti walking slowly together underthe trees about eleven o'clock on the following morning. Some of thepeople were already gone, and most of the others were to leave in thecourse of the day. Lady Maud had just said good-bye to a party of tenwho were going off together, and she had not had a chance to speak toMargaret, who had come down late, after her manner. Most great singersare portentous sleepers. As for Logotheti, he always had coffee in hisroom wherever he was, he never appeared at breakfast, and he got ridof his important correspondence for the day before coming down. 

'I've had a letter from Threlfall, ' he said as Lady Maud came up. 'Iwas just telling Miss Donne about it. Feist died in Dr. Bream's Homeyesterday afternoon. '

'Rather unfortunate at this juncture, isn't it?' observed Margaret. 

But Lady Maud looked shocked and glanced at Logotheti as if asking aquestion. 

'No, ' said the Greek, answering her thought. 'I did not kill him, poordevil! He did it himself, out of fright, I think. So that side of theaffair ends. He had some sealed glass capsules of hydrocyanide ofpotassium in little brass tubes, sewn up in the lining of a waistcoat, and he took one, and must have died instantly. I believe the stuffturns into prussic acid, or something of that sort, when you swallowit--Griggs will know. '

'How dreadful!' exclaimed Lady Maud. 'I'm sure you drove him to it!'

'I'll bear the responsibility of having rid the world of him, if Idid. But my share consisted in having given him opium and then stoppedit suddenly, till he surrendered and told the truth--or a large partof it--what I have told you already. He would not own that he killedMiss Bamberger himself with the rusty little knife that had a few redsilk threads sticking to the handle. He must have put it back into hiscase of instruments as it was, and he never had the courage to lookat it again. He had studied medicine, I believe. But he confessedeverything else, how he had been madly in love with the poor girl whenhe was her father's secretary, and how she treated him like a servantand made her father turn him out, and how he hated Van Torp furiouslyfor being engaged to marry her. He hated the Nickel Trust, too, because he had thought the shares were going down and had riskedthe little he had as margin on a drop, and had lost it all by theunexpected rise. He drank harder after that, till he was getting sillyfrom it, when the girl's death gave him his chance against Van Torp, and he manufactured the evidence in the diary he kept, and went toBamberger with it and made the poor man believe whatever he invented. He told me all that, with a lot of details, but I could not make himadmit that he had killed the girl himself, so I gave him his opium andhe went to sleep. That's my story. Or rather, it's his, as I got itfrom him last Thursday. I supposed there was plenty of time, but Mr. Bamberger seems to have been in a hurry after we had got Feist intothe Home. '

'Had you told Mr. Van Torp all this?' asked Lady Maud anxiously. 

'No, ' Logotheti answered. 'I was keeping the information ready in caseit should be needed. '

A familiar voice spoke behind them. 

'Well, it's all right as it is. Much obliged, all the same. '

All three turned suddenly and saw that Mr. Van Torp had crept up whilethey were talking, and the expression of his tremendous mouth showedthat he had meant to surprise them, and was pleased with his successin doing so. 

'Really!' exclaimed Lady Maud. 

'Goodness gracious!' cried the Primadonna. 

'By the Dog of Egypt!' laughed Logotheti. 

'Don't know the breed, ' answered Van Torp, not understanding, butcheerfully playful. 'Was it a trick dog?'

'I thought you were in London, ' Margaret said. 

'I was. Between one and four this morning, I should say. It's allright. ' He nodded to Lady Maud as he spoke the last words, but he didnot seem inclined to say more. 

'Is it a secret?' she asked. 

'I never have secrets, ' answered the millionaire. 'Secrets areeverything that must be found out and put in the paper right away, ain't they? But I had no trouble at all, only the bother of waitingtill the office got an answer from the other side. I happened toremember where I'd spent the evening of the explosion, that's all, andthey cabled sharp and found my statement correct. '

'Why did you never tell me?' asked Lady Maud reproachfully. 'You knewhow anxious I was!'

'Well, ' replied Mr. Van Torp, dwelling long on the syllable, 'I didtell you it was all right anyhow, whatever they did, and I thoughtmaybe you'd accept the statement. The man I spent that evening with isa public man, and he mightn't exactly think our interview was anybodyelse's business, might he?'

'And you say you never keep a secret!'

The delicious ripple was in Lady Maud's sweet voice as she spoke. Perhaps it came a little in spite of herself, and she would certainlyhave controlled her tone if she had thought of Leven just then. Butshe was a very natural creature, after all, and she could not andwould not pretend to be sorry that he was dead, though the manner ofhis end had seemed horrible to her when she had been able to thinkover the news, after Van Torp had got safely away. So far there hadonly been three big things in her life: her love for a man who wasdead, her tremendous determination to do some real good for hismemory's sake, and her deep gratitude to Van Torp, who had made thatgood possible, and who, strangely enough, seemed to her the onlyliving person who really understood her and liked her for her ownsake, without the least idea of making love. And she saw in him whatfew suspected, except little Ida and Miss More--the real humanity andfaithful kindness that dwelt in the terribly hard and coarse-grainedfighting financier. Lady Maud had her faults, no doubt, but she wastoo big, morally, to be disturbed by what seemed to Margaret Donne anintolerable vulgarity of manner and speech. 

As for Margaret, she now felt that painful little remorse that hurtsus when we realise that we have suspected an innocent person ofsomething dreadful, even though we may have contributed to theultimate triumph of the truth. Van Torp unconsciously deposited a coalof fire on her head. 

'I'd just like to say how much I appreciate your kindness in singinglast night, Madame da Cordova, ' he said. 'From what you knew andtold me on the steamer, you might have had a reasonable doubt, and Icouldn't very well explain it away before. I wish you'd some day tellme what I can do for you. I'm grateful, honestly. '

Margaret saw that he was much in earnest, and as she felt that she haddone him great injustice, she held out her hand with a frank smile. 

'I'm glad I was able to be of use, ' she said. 'Come and see me intown. '

'Really? You won't throw me out if I do?'

Margaret laughed. 

'No, I won't throw you out!'

'Then I'll come some day. Thank you. '

Van Torp had long given up all hope that she would ever marry him, butit was something to be on good terms with her again, and for the sakeof that alone he would have risked a good deal. 

The four paired off, and Lady Maud walked in front with Van Torp, while Margaret and Logotheti followed more slowly; so the couples didnot long keep near one another, and in less than five minutes theylost each other altogether among the trees. 

Margaret had noticed something very unusual in the Greek's appearancewhen they had met half an hour earlier, and she had been amazed whenshe realised that he wore no jewellery, no ruby, no emeralds, nodiamonds, no elaborate chain, and that his tie was neither green, yellow, sky-blue, nor scarlet, but of a soft dove grey which she likedvery much. The change was so surprising that she had been on the pointof asking him whether anything dreadful had happened; but just thenLady Maud had come up with them. 

They walked a little way now, and when the others were out of sightMargaret sat down on one of the many boulders that strewed the park. Her companion stood before her, and while he lit a cigarette shesurveyed him deliberately from head to foot. Her fresh lips twitchedas they did when she was near laughing, and she looked up and met hiseyes. 

'What in the world has happened to you since yesterday?' she asked ina tone of lazy amusement. 'You look almost like a human being!'

'Do I?' he asked, between two small puffs of smoke, and he laughed alittle. 

'Yes. Are you in mourning for your lost illusions?'

'No. I'm trying "to create and foster agreeable illusions" in you. That's the object of all art, you know. '

'Oh! It's for me, then? Really?'

'Yes. Everything is. I thought I had explained that the other night!'His tone was perfectly unconcerned, and he smiled carelessly as hespoke. 

'I wonder what would happen if I took you at your word, ' saidMargaret, more thoughtfully than she had spoken yet. 

'I don't know. You might not regret it. You might even be happy!'

There was a little silence, and Margaret looked down. 

'I'm not exactly miserable as it is, ' she said at last. 'Are you?'

'Oh no!' answered Logotheti. 'I should bore you if I were!'

'Awfully!' She laughed rather abruptly. 'Should you want me to leavethe stage?' she asked after a moment. 

'You forget that I like the Cordova just as much as I like MargaretDonne. '

'Are you quite sure?'

'Absolutely!'

'Let's try it!'