She was waiting, when Armitage, who was leaning back in his seat in the most professional manner, shut off power under theporte cochèreand glanced at her for directions.
"To Mrs. Van Valkenberg's," she said. "Do you know where she lives?"
"No, I don't, Miss Wellington."
"No matter, I 'll direct you."
As they entered the Ocean Drive through an archway of privet, Miss Wellington indicated a road which dived among the hills and disappeared.
"Drive quite slowly," she said.
It was a beautiful road, dipping and rising, but hidden at all times by hills, resplendent with black and yellow and purple gorse, or great gray bowlders, so that impressions of Scotch moorlands alternated with those of an Arizona desert. The tang of September was in the breeze; from the moorlands which overlooked the jagged Brenton reefs came the faint aroma of burning sedge; from the wet distant cliff a saline exhalation was wafted. It was such a morning as one can see and feel only on the island of Newport.
As an additional charm to Anne Wellington, there was the tone of time about it all. From childhood she had absorbed all these impressions of late Summer in Newport; they had grown, so to speak, into her life, had become a part of her nature. She drew a deep breath and leaned forward.
"Stop here a moment, will you please."
They were at the bottom of a hollow with no sign of habitation about, save the roof of a villa which perched upon a rocky eminence, half a mile to one side.
"Will you get out and lift the radiator cover and pretend to be fixing something, McCall? I want to talk to you."
Without a word, Jack left his seat, went to the tool box and was soon viewing the internal economy of the car, simulating search for an electrical hiatus with some fair degree of accuracy.
The girl bent forward, her cheek suffused but a humorous smile playing about her face.
"McCall," she said, "I feel I should assure you at the outset that I am quite aware of certain things."
Armitage glanced at her and then quickly lowered his eyes. She gazed admiringly at his strong, clean face and the figure sharply defined by the close-fitting livery.
"Your name is not McCall and I have not the slightest idea that you are by profession a physical instructor, or a driver either."
Armitage unscrewed a wrench and then screwed the jaws back into their place.
"We are what conditions make us, Miss Wellington," he said.
"Yes, that is true," she replied, "but tell me truthfully. Did you seek employment here only because of my—of my interest in—I mean, because of the note I wrote, or did you come because my note put you in the way of obtaining a needed position?"
Armitage started to speak and then stopped short. "Oh," he said finally, "I really needed the position."
The girl gazed at him a moment. Armitage, bending low, could see a patent leather pump protruding from the scalloped edge of her skirt, tapping the half-opened door of the tonneau.
"You will then pardon me," she said, "if I call to your mind the fact that you are now employed as driver of my car: I feel I have the right to ask you who you really are."
"Your mother—Mrs. Wellington, catechised me quite fully and I don't think I could add anything to what I told her."
"And what was that? I was not present during the inquisition," said the girl.
Armitage laughed.
"Why, I told her I was Jack McCall, that I came from Louisville, that I had trained the Navy eleven of 19—."
An exclamation from the girl interrupted him and he looked up. She was staring at him vacantly, as though ransacking the depths of memory.
"The Navy eleven of 19—," she said thoughtfully. Then she smiled. "McCall, you are so clever, really."
Armitage's eyes fell and he fumbled with the wrench.
"Thank you," he said, dubiously.
"Not at all, McCall," she said sweetly. "Listen," speaking rapidly, "I have always been crazy over football. Father was at Yale, '79, you know." She studied his face again, and then nodded. "When I was a girl, still in short dresses, father took a party of girls in Miss Ellis's school to Annapolis in his private car to see a Harvard-Navy game. A cousin of mine, Phil Disosway, was on the Harvard team. They were much heavier than Annapolis; but the score was very close, particularly because of the fine work of one of the Navy players who seemed to be in all parts of the field at once. I have forgotten his name,"—Miss Wellington gazed dreamily over the hills,—"but I can see him now, diving time after time into the interference and bringing down his man; catching punts and running—it was all such a hopeless fight, but such a brave, determined one." She shrugged her shoulders. "Really, I was quite carried away. As girls will, I—we, all of us—wove all sort of romantic theories concerning him. Toward the end of the game we could see him giving in under the strain and at last some coaches took him out. He walked tottering down the side lines past our stand, his face drawn and streaked with blood and dirt. I snapshotted that player. It was a good picture. I had it enlarged and have always kept it in my room. 'The Dying Gladiator,' I have called it. I wonder if you have any idea who that girlhood hero of mine was?"
"Was he a hero?" Armitage was bending over the carburetor. He waited a moment and then as Miss Wellington did not reply he added; "Now that you have placed me, I trust I shan't lose my position."
"I always knew I should see you again," said the girl as though she had not heard Armitage's banality. "I know now why I spoke to you on theGeneraland why I wrote you that note in church." Her slipper beat an impatient tattoo on the door. "But why," she began, "why are you willing to enter service as a physical instructor, or motor car driver? I don't un—"
Armitage interrupted.
"Your mother asked me if I had been in college. I told her I had, but that I preferred not to say where, or why I left."
"Oh!" she said, and her eyes suffused with pity. "I am so sorry. But youmusttell me one thing now. Was your leaving because of—of anything—that would make me sorry I had found—" she smiled, but looked at him eagerly—"the subject of the Dying Gladiator?"
"I hope not."
"You are not certain?"
"Miss Wellington, there are certain reasons why the position you helped me to obtain was vitally necessary. I am a dependant in your house. I can assure you that you will never find anything half so grievous against me as that which you have already found—your 'Dying Gladiator' a servant. You must think of that."
"But I am not so deluded as to think you cannot explain that" cried the girl. "How foolish! You are not a servant, never were, and I am sure never will be one. And I know you have n't sneaked in as a yellow newspaper reporter, or magazine writer," tentatively. "You are not a sneak."
"No, I have not the intention, nor the ability, to make copy of my experiences," said Armitage.
"Intention!" echoed the girl. "Well, since you suggest the word, just what was, or is, your intention then?—if I may ask."
Armitage straightened and looked full at the girl.
"Suppose I should say that ever since that morning on theGeneralI had—" Armitage hesitated. "I reckon I 'd rather not say that," he added.
"No, I reckon you had better not," she said placidly. "In the meantime, how long do you intend staying with us before giving notice?"
Armitage did not reply immediately. He stood for a moment in deep thought. When he looked up his face was serious.
"Miss Wellington, I have neither done nor said anything that would lead you to believe that, whatever I may have been, I am now in any way above what I appear to be, with the Wellington livery on my back. I say this in justice to you. I say it because I am grateful to you. You may regard it as a warning, if you will."
For a moment she did not reply, sitting rigidly thoughtful, while Armitage, abandoning all pretence at work, stood watching her.
"Very well," she said at length, and her voice was coldly conventional. "If you have finished your repairs, will you drive me to Mrs. Van Valkenberg's? Follow this road through; turn to your left, and I 'll tell you when to stop."
Sara Van Valkenberg was one of the most popular of the younger matrons of Newport and New York. As Sara Malalieu, daughter of a prime old family, Billy Van Valkenberg had discovered her, and their wedding had been an event from which many good people in her native city dated things. Van Valkenberg was immensely wealthy and immensely wicked. Sara had not sounded the black depths of his character when he was killed in a drunken automobile ride two years before, but she had learned enough to appreciate the kindness of an intervening fate.
Now she lived in an Elizabethan cottage sequestered among the rocks a short distance inland from the Ocean Drive. She was very good to look at, very worldly wise, and very, very popular. She was thirty years old, an age not to be despised in a woman.
When Miss Wellington's car arrived at the cottage, Tommy Osgood's motor was in front of the door, which was but a few feet from the road. With an expression of annoyance, Anne ran up the steps and rang the bell. The footman was about to take her card when Mrs. Van Valkenberg's voice sounded from the library.
"Come in, Anne, we saw you coming."
Anne entered the apartment and found her friend reclining in all her supple ease, watching flushed-face Tommy, who had been attempting to summon his nerve to tell her how little he cared to continue his course through the world without her, which was just what she did not wish to have him do, because Tommy was a manly, likable, unassuming chap and had much yet to learn, being several years her junior.
"Oh, Tommy," said Anne, "I wanted to speak to Sara alone for a moment."
"Tommy was on his way to the polo field," said Mrs. Van Valkenberg, suggestively. "Now he need have no further excuse for being civil to an old lady."
"By George," said Tommy, "that's so, I must be on my way." And he went, not without some confusion.
Sara watched him through the window as he walked to his car.
"Poor, dear boy," she said. She turned to Anne with a bright smile. "What is it, dear?"
"Prince Koltsoff is with us, as you know. I think mother would be pleased if I married him. I don't know that I am not inclined to gratify her. I have n't talked to father yet."
"Then he has not told you about the Russian railroad thingamajigs he is gunning for?" asked Mrs. Van Valkenberg.
"Really!" Anne's eyes were very wide.
"Oh, I don't know anything about it," said Sara hastily. "Only—the men were speaking of it at the Van Antwerps', the other night. And how about Koltsoff?"
"His intentions are distressingly clear," said Anne.
Mrs. Van Valkenberg whistled.
"Congratulations," she said with an upward inflection. "You 've no idea—"
"Oh, sh's'sh!" exclaimed Anne. "Don't try to be enthusiastic if you find it so difficult. Anyway, there will be nothing to justify enthusiasm if I can help it."
"Really!" Sara regarded the girl narrowly. "If you can help it! What do you mean?"
"I don't know exactly what I do mean," Anne laughed nervously. "He is so thrillingly dominant. He had not been in the house much more than thirty hours before he had lectured me on the narrowness of my life, indicated a more alluring future, kissed my hand, and reposed in me a trust upon which he said his future depended. And through all I have been as a school girl. He 's fascinating, Sara." She leaned forward and placed her hand upon her friend's knee. "Sara—now don't laugh, I 'm serious—"
"I'm not going to laugh, dear; go on."
"Sara, you know the world.… I thought I did, don't you know. But I 'm a child, a perfect simpleton. I said Prince Koltsoff was fascinating; I meant he fascinates me. He does really. Some time when he gets under full headway he is going to take me in his arms—that's the feeling; also that I shall let him, although the idea now fills me with dread."
"Why, Anne!"
"I know," continued the girl, "isn't it too absurd for words! But I am baring my soul. Do you marry a man because his eyes seem to draw you into them?—whose hand pressure seems to melt your will? Is that love?"
Sara regarded the girl for a few minutes without speaking. Then she lifted her brows.
"Isit love?" she said. "Ask yourself."
Anne shrugged her shoulders and grimaced helplessly.
"It might be, after all," she said. "I am sure I don't know."
"Yes, it might be," smiled Sara; "it's a question in which you must consider the personal equation. I am rather finicky about men who exude what seems to pass for love. They don't make good husbands. The best husband is the one who wins you, not takes you. For heaven's sake, Anne, when you marry, let your romance be clean, wholesome, natural; not a demonstration in psychic phenomena, to use a polite term."
Anne smiled.
"Oh, it is n't as bad as that. I—I—oh, I don't know what to say, Sara. His family, don't you know, are really high in Russia, and Koltsoff himself is close to the reigning family, as his father and grandfather were before him. It is rather exciting to think of the opportunity—" Anne paused and gazed at the older woman with feverish eyes. "And yet," she added, "I never before thought of things in this way. I have always been quite content that coronets and jewelled court gowns and kings and emperors and dukes and," she smiled, "princes, should fall to the lot of other women. I am afraid I have been too much of an American—in spite of mother—"
"Who really underneath is a better American than any of us," said Mrs. Van Valkenberg. She had arisen and was standing looking out of the window, toying with the silken fringe of the curtain. "There's hope for you, Anne.… Of course I shan't advise you. I could n't, don't you know, not knowing Prince Koltsoff." She paused and gazed eagerly in the direction of Anne's car. Her lips framed an exclamation, but she checked it. "By-the-bye, Anne," she said, "I see you have a new driver."
Anne nodded absently.
"Yes. Mother employed him this morning as physical instructor to the boys and I commandeered him—I believe that's the word—because Rimini is in New York and Benoir tried to knock down a telegraph pole and is in the hospital."
"What a find!" observed Mrs. Van Valkenberg. "And yet how curious!" Suddenly she turned to the girl.
"Anne, I am going to be dreadful and you must be honest with me. You know you asked me to go to you the middle of the week to stay over thefête. May I come now—today? I cannot tell you why I ask now, but when I do you will be interested. May I? I know I am preposterous."
"Preposterous! How absurd! Certainly, you may. You will do nicely as a chaperon. Mother, I am afraid, is going to insist upon all the conventions. You must know how delighted I am." She kissed her enthusiastically. "We will expect you at dinner?" she said tentatively. "Or will you come with me now?" She thought a second. "I don't know whether I told you I was to take Prince Koltsoff motoring this afternoon—unchaperoned."
"Why, Anne, if you are going to bother about me that way, I 'll withdraw my request. Please don't let me interfere in any way. I couldn't possibly go before late in the afternoon, in any event."
"That will be fine then," said Anne, holding out her hand. "Au revoir. I 'll send the car for you after we return."
After she had gone, Mrs. Van Valkenberg stood watching the car until it disappeared, and then snatching her bright-eyed Pomeranian, she ran her fingers absently through his soft hair.
"How ridiculous," she said, "how absolutely ridiculous!"
When Armitage entered the servants' dining-room he found the head footman, who presided, in something of a quandary as to where he should place him. Emilia, Miss Wellington's maid, had of course lost no time in imparting to all with whom she was on terms of confidence, that the new chauffeur was the same with whom her mistress had flirted on theGeneral. Consequently, Armitage was at once the object of interest, suspicion, respect, and jealousy. But the head footman greeted him cordially enough and after shifting and rearranging seats, indicated a chair near the lower end of the table, which Armitage accepted with a nod. He was immensely interested.
The talk was of cricket. Some of the cottagers whose main object in life was aping the ways of the English, had organized a cricket team, and as there were not enough of them for an opposing eight, they had been compelled to resort to the grooms. There were weekly matches in which the hirelings invariably triumphed. One of the Wellington grooms, an alert young cockney, was the bowler, and his success, as well as the distinguished social station of his opponents, appeared to Armitage to have quite turned his pert little head.
There was a pretty Irish chambermaid at Jack's elbow whose eyes were as gray as the stones in the Giants' Causeway, but glittering now with scorn. For heretofore, Henry Phipps had been an humble worshipper. She permitted several of his condescending remarks to pass without notice, but finally when he answered a question put by another groom with a bored monosyllable, the girl flew to the latter's defence.
"'Yes' and 'no,' is it?" she blazed. "Henry Phipps, ye 're like the ass in the colored skin—not half as proud as ye 're painted. A bowler, ye are! But ye take yer hat off after the game, just the same, and bowl out yer masters with a 'thank ye, sur; my misthake!' Ye grovellin' thing, ya!"
"Really," yawned Henry in his rich dialect.
"Really!" mocked the girl. "I could give ye talk about a real Prince—none of yer Rensselaers or Van Antwerps and the like—had I—"
Armitage leaned forward, but anything more the maid might have been tempted to say was interrupted by a footman from the superintendent's table.
"Mr. Dawson says you 're to come to his table," he said nodding to Armitage, who arose with real reluctance, not because of any desire for intimate knowledge of the servants' hall, but because he had decided he could use the Irish maid to the ends he had in view. Now that lead was closed for the time at least and he took his place at the side of the decorous butler, uncheered by Mr. Dawson's announcement that Miss Wellington had ordered his promotion.
"It was very good of Miss Wellington," he said in a perfunctory manner.
"Oh, not at all," replied the butler. "Frequently the chauffeur sits at our table." He shrugged his shoulders. "It depends upon the manner of men. They are of all sorts and constantly changing."
Armitage glanced at Buchan and grinned.
"Thanks," he said.
The butler nodded and thenaproposof some thought passing through his mind he glanced tentatively at the housekeeper.
"We 'll wake up, I suppose, with the Prince here. I hope so. I have never seen everybody in Newport so quiet."
"Yes, I imagine so," replied Mrs. Stetson. "Several are coming the middle of the week and of course you know of the Flower Ball for Friday night."
"Of course," said the butler, who a second later belied his assumption of knowledge by muttering, "Flower Ball, eh! Gracious, I wonder what won't Mrs. Wellington be up to next!"
"I don't think I like Prince Koltsoff," said Miss Hatch.
"Well," agreed the superintendent, "he's a Russian."
"Oh, I don't care aboutthat," replied the young woman. "He is going to marry Miss Wellington—and he 's not the man for her. He 's not the man for any girl as nice as Anne Wellington. Think of it. Ugh!"
"So!" interjected the tutor, Dumois, who had turned many a dollar supplying the newspapers with information, for which they had been willing to pay liberally. "International alliance! How interesting. The latest, eh?"
"No, it's not the latest," replied the secretary. "If it were, I should have said nothing. It's only a baseless fear; but a potent one."
"Oh," Dumois turned ruefully to his plate.
"He attracts her," resumed the secretary.
"That is to be seen plainly—and she attracts him. That is as far as it has gone."
"That is quite far," observed the tutor, glancing up hopefully.
"Oh, no," said Armitage warmly. He paused, and then finding every one looking at him he applied himself to his luncheon not without confusion.
"I wish I could agree with you," sighed Miss Hatch. "She is a dear girl. But you don't understand girls of her class. They have the queerest ideas."
"Oh, I don't think they differ from other girls," said Mrs. Stetson. "It is merely that they have the actual opportunity for realizing what to other girls are mere dreams. I can imagine what my daughter would have done if a foreign nobleman had paid court to her. I will say this for Miss Wellington though; she would marry her chauffeur if she took the whim."
Armitage, caught off his guard, looked up quickly.
"You don't say!" he exclaimed, whereat every one laughed and Dawson shook his head in mock seriousness at him.
"See here, young man, if you make an attempt to demonstrate Mrs. Stetson's theory, Ronald Wellington will drive you out of the country."
Armitage laughed.
"Well," he said, "I 'll pick Vienna."
As they were leaving the table, Miss Hatch caught Armitage's eye. She had lingered behind the rest, bending over some ferns which showed signs of languishing. Her eyeglasses glittered humorously at Armitage as he sauntered carelessly to her side.
"It is all right, Mr. McCall," she said.
"All right?"
"I mean the incident in the garage. Master Ronald applied vigorously for your discharge."
Armitage smiled.
"I imagined he would. The application was not sustained?"
"Hardly. At first, of course, Mrs. Wellington was quite indignant. Then Miss Wellington came in and really she was a perfect fury in your behalf. She made Master Ronald confess he had been smoking and showed quite clearly that you were right."
"Bully for her! As a matter of fact, I don't think it was any of my business. But that chap got on my nerves."
"He gets on all our nerves. But I 'm quite sure he 's all right at heart. It's a disagreeable age in a boy." She paused and gazed steadily at Armitage for a second. "I cannot imagine why you are here, Mr. McCall. And yet—and yet, I wonder." She shrugged her shoulders. "Pray don't think me rude," she said and smiled, "but I really am—hoping. I can read Anne Wellington at times, and you—oh, Iamrude—but I seem to read you like an open book."
Armitage was looking at her curiously, but obviously he was not offended. She stepped towards him impulsively.
"Oh, Mr. Arm—McCall—-" she stopped, blushing confusedly.
The break was too much even for Armitage's presence of mind. He jerked his head upward, then collecting himself resumed his expression of amused interest. The secretary made no attempt to dissemble her agitation.
"I am so sorry," she said, "but you must know now that I know whom you are."
Never in his life had Jack felt quite so ill at ease, or so utterly foolish.
"Who else knows?" he asked lamely.
"Only one, beside myself—Mrs. Wellington."
"Mrs. Wellington!"
"Naturally," said Miss Hatch placidly. "Did you suppose for a moment you could successfully hide anything from her? Chief Roberts was in the house an hour after you were employed."
"Oh!" A great white light illumined Jack's mind. He turned to the woman eagerly. "Do you know what Roberts told her?"
"Why, everything, I imagine," said Miss Hatch, laughing.
"Everything! But what?" Armitage gestured impatiently. "Please don't think me inquisitive, but I must know—it will depend upon what our loquacious chief said, whether I stay here one more minute."
"The chief was not loquacious," smiled Miss Hatch. "He was quite the reverse. You would have enjoyed the grilling Mrs. Wellington gave him. He was no willing witness, but finally admitted you were a naval officer, a son of Senator Armitage, and that you were here to observe the actions of one of the grooms, formerly in the Navy, whom the Government thought needed watching."
Inwardly relieved, Armitage grinned broadly.
"I like that chief," he said. "He is so secretive. But Mrs. Wellington can't be pleased at having a Navy man masquerading about. Why hasn't she discharged me?"
"I can't imagine," said Miss Hatch frankly, "unless—yes, I think she has taken a liking to you. Then, for a woman of her mental processes, discharging you off-hand, come to think of it, would be the one thing she would not do. I think she is interested in awaiting developments. I am sure of it, for she commanded me to speak to no one concerning your identity."
"Miss Wellington?" Armitage looked at the woman quickly.
"Her daughter was very particularly included in the orders Mrs. Wellington gave."
Armitage made no attempt to conceal the pleasure this statement gave him. Then a thought occurred to him.
"By the way," he said, looking at Miss Hatch keenly, "if I recall, you said you could not imagine why I am here. In view of all you have told me, why could n't you?"
Miss Hatch turned and walked toward the door. At the sill she glanced back over her shoulder and smiled significantly.
"Oh, that was an introductory figure of speech," she said. "I think, I think I can—imagine."
Then she turned and walking along the hall, with Armitage following, she sang as though to herself:
"In days of old when knights were boldAnd barons held their sway,A warrior bold with spurs of goldSang merrily his lay.'Oh, what care I though death be nigh,For love—'"
But Armitage had disappeared.
"Oh, the little more and how much it is,And the little less and what worlds away."
Prince Koltsoff had enjoyed his luncheon, as only an exacting gourmet whose every canon of taste has been satisfied, can. His appetite was a many-stringed instrument upon which only the most gifted culinary artist could play. Now as he sat dallying daintily with hiscompoteof pears it was patent that Rambon, the Wellington chef, had achieved a dietary symphony.
"Mrs. Wellington," he said at length, "you have asaucier par excellence. Thatsauce de cavitar! If I may say so, it lingers. Who is he? It seems almost—yet it cannot be true—that I recognize the genius of Jules Rambon."
"Very well done, Prince Koltsoff," replied Mrs. Wellington, employing phraseology more noncommittal than Koltsoff realized.
Anne, who had been gazing languidly out a window giving on Brenton's Reef lightship, where several black torpedo boats and destroyers were manoeuvring, smiled and glanced at the Prince.
"You have the instincts of a virtuoso. That was really clever of you. The Duchess d'Izes sent him to mother two years ago. You must speak to him. I 'm afraid he feels he is not altogether appreciated here."
The Prince raised his hands.
"What a fate!" he exclaimed. "When Rambon wascheffor President Carnot, kings and emperors bestowed upon him decorations. I recall that when he created theParfait Rambon—ah!—the governor of his Province set aside a day of celebration. Rambon unappreciated—it is to say that genius is unappreciated!" He turned apologetically to Mrs. Wellington. "America—what would you?"
Mrs. Wellington sniffed ever so slightly. She had become a bit weary of the Russian's assumption of European superiority. She recognized that in Prince Koltsoff she had a guest, her possession of whom had excited among the cottage colony the envy of all those whose envy she desired. So far as she was concerned, that was all she wanted. Now that Anne and the Prince appeared to be hitting it off, she was content to let that matter take its course as might be, with, however, a pretty well defined conviction that her daughter was thoroughly alive to the desirability, not to say convenience, of such an alliance. In her secret heart, however, she rather marvelled at Anne's open interest in the Koltsoff. To be frank, the Prince was boring her and she had come to admit that she, personally, had far rather contemplate the noble guest as a far-distant son-in-law, than as a husband, assuming that her age and position were eligible.
So—she sniffed.
"My dear Prince," she said, "I will take you to a hundred tables in Newport and—I was going to say ten thousand—a thousand in New York, where the food is better cooked than in any private house in Europe."
Touched upon a spot peculiarly tender, Koltsoff all but exploded.
"Pouf!" he cried. Then he laughed heartily. "You jest, surely, my dear madame."
"No, I fancy not," replied Mrs. Wellington placidly.
"Oh, but how can you know! Where is it that the writings of Careme are studied and known? Where is it that the memory of Beauvilliers and the reputations of Ranhofer and Casimir and Mollard are preserved? In Europe—"
"In Paris," corrected Mrs. Wellington.
"Well. And from Paris disseminated glowingly throughout Europe—'"
"And the United States."
Koltsoff struggled with himself for a moment.
"Pardon," he said, "but, bah! It cannot be."
"Naturally, you are at the disadvantage of not having had the experience at American tables that I have had abroad," observed Mrs. Wellington rising. "But we shall hope to correct that while you are here.… As for the sauce you praised, it was not by Rambon—who is out to-day—but by Takakika, his assistant, a Japanese whom Mr. Wellington brought on from the Bohemian Club, I think, in San Francisco."
If Koltsoff did not catch Mrs. Wellington's intimation that he must have learned of the presence of Rambon in her kitchen,—which might have been more accurately described as a laboratory,—Anne Wellington did, and she hastened to intervene.
"Oh, Prince Koltsoff," she said, "I have been so interested in those torpedo boats out there. They 've been dashing about the lightship all through lunch. What is the idea, do you know?"
The Prince glanced out of the window.
"I cannot imagine." He gazed over the ocean in silence for several minutes. "Have you a telescope?" he said at length.
Anne nodded.
"The large glass is on that veranda. And you 'll excuse me until half after three, won't you?"
"Until half after three," said the Prince, still rather ruffled as the result of his duel with the mother.
Then he went out on the porch and for an hour had the torpedo boats under his almost continuous gaze.
"Nothing but hide and seek," he muttered as he finally snapped the shutter of the glass and went to his room to dress.
He had quite recovered his spirits when he handed Anne Wellington into the motor car. Armitage had half turned and she caught his eyes. Just the faintest suspicion of a smile appeared on her face as she leaned forward.
"Along the Ocean Drive, McCall, down Bellevue Avenue, past Easton's Beach, and out through Paradise. Drive slowly, please."
Armitage touched his cap and the car was soon rolling along the Ocean Drive. They had not turned Bateman's Point when Anne had proof of the interest which the advent of the Prince had excited among her set. The Wadsworth girls with young Pembroke, Delaney Drew on horseback, and several others were gathered on the grass of the Point, watching the finish of the race for the Astor cups off Brenton's Reef. As the Wellington car rolled slowly by, every one withdrew attention from the exciting finish which three of the yachts were making, and gazed so hard at the Prince that some of them forgot to return Anne's nod. But the girl understood and smiled inwardly, not altogether without pride.
On Bellevue Avenue old Mrs. Cunningham-Jones all but fell out of her carriage, while Minnie Rensselaer, who had been cool lately, was all smiles. And the entrance to the Casino, as Miss Wellington afterward described it, might have been pictured as one great staring eye.
She did not attempt to deny to herself that she was enjoying all this. She was a normal girl with a normal girl's love of distinction and of things that thrill pleasurably. She left nothing undone to heighten the effect she and the Prince, or the Prince and she, were creating. Mrs. Rensselaer saw her gazing into the face of her guest with kindling eyes. "Old Lady" Cunningham-Jones saw her touch his arm to emphasize a remark.
Whatever may have been the exact degree of Koltsoff's attractions for Anne, it was certain that in the course of the drive, thus far, the situation and not the Russian's personality constituted the strong appeal. The girl was far from a snob and yet this—yes, public parading—of a man whose prospective sojourn in Newport had excited so many tea tables for the past fortnight, had furnished so much pabulum for the digestion of society journalists, involved many elements that appealed to her. Chiefly, it must be confessed, she saw the humor of it; otherwise pride might have obtained mastery—there was pride, of course. There was a whirl of things, in fact, and all enjoyable; also, perhaps, a trifle upsetting, inasmuch as her assumption of more than friendly interest in her guest was not altogether the part of wisdom.
The Prince was elated, exalted. It would not have taken a close observer to decide that in his devotion there was no element of the spurious and in his happiness, no flaw. As for Armitage, unseeing, but sensing clearly the drift of things, his eyes were grimly fixed ahead, the muscles of his jaws bulging in knots on either side. This chauffeur business, he felt, was fast becoming a bore.
As he started to turn the corner of the Casino block, Anne, seized by a sudden inspiration, ordered him to back around to the entrance.
"Would n't you like to stop in the Casino for a few minutes and meet a few people?" she asked, smiling at Koltsoff.
The Prince would be only too happy to do anything that Miss Wellington suggested, and so with a warninghonk! honk!Armitage ran his car up to the curb. At their side the tide of motor cars, broughams, victorias, coaches, jaunting cars and what not swept unceasingly by. Three sight-seeing barges had paused in their "twelve miles for fifty cents" journey around the island. As the Prince and Anne alighted, a small body of curious loiterers moved forward, among them several photographers, seeing which, Anne lowered an opaque veil over her face, a precaution which the beautiful or famous or notorious of the Newport colony invariably find necessary when abroad.
The sight-seeing drivers, with whips poised eagerly, viewed the alighting couple and then turning to their convoy, announced in voices not too subdued:
"Miss Anne Wellington, daughter of Ronald Wellington, the great railroad magnate, and the Prince of Rooshia are just gettin' out," indicating the car with their whips. "They say they 're engaged to be married—so far only a rumor. Miss Wellington is the one who put little pinchin' crabs in Mrs. Minnie Rensselaer's finger bowls last year and made a coolness between these two great families."
Miss Wellington, whose cheeks felt as though they would burn her veil, saw Armitage's shoulders quivering with some emotion, as she hurried from the sidewalk into the doorway of the low, dark-shingled building and out into the circle of trim lawn and garden.
There were groups around a few of the tables in the two tiers of the encircling promenade, but Anne did not know any of them. They strolled on to a passageway under the structure leading to several acres of impeccable lawn, with seats under spreading trees and tennis courts on all sides. An orchestra was playing Handel's "Largo." The low hanging branches sheltered many groups, dotting the green with vivid color notes. A woman with gray veil thrown back and with a wonderful white gown held court under a spreading maple, half a dozen gallants in white flannels paying homage. All about were gowns of white, of pink, of blue, of light green, Dresden colors, tones of rare delicacy mingling with the emerald turf and the deeper green of the foliage. The spell of mid-summer was everywhere present. To Anne it seemed as if the Summer would last for always and that the Casino would never be deserted again, the grass sere and brown or piled with drifts of snow.
"Isn't it beautiful!" she exclaimed, as the Prince shook his head negatively at a red-coated page with an armful of camp chairs.
"The women," smiled the Prince, "they are superb! I concede freely the supremacy of the American girl." He paused, "Itisbeautiful. Yet certainly, what place would not be beautiful where you are, Miss Wellington! Do I say too much? Ah, how can I say less!" His eyes were suffused with his emotions.
"Don't, please, Prince Koltsoff," she said, lowering her eyes to the turf. "Not here—oh, I mean not—"
"Here! I would willingly kneel here and kiss the hem of your skirt. I should be proud that all should see, Anne.… Ah, let us not dissemble—"
Anne, thoroughly agitated, suddenly faced the Prince.
"Stop! I want you to," she interrupted. "You must. You must not say such things—" she paused, conscious that the eyes of many to whom she had purposed presenting the Prince were turned curiously upon them, although fortunately, from distances comparatively remote. She forced a vivacious smile for the benefit of observers and continued, "You must not say these things until I tell you you may.… Now, please!" as the Prince showed indications of disobeying her wishes.
He kept silence and as some manifestations of sulkiness, not inclined to encourage Anne in her intentions of introducing him generally, revealed themselves, she turned and led the way back to the car, where Armitage sat hunched, in no blithe mood himself.
In plying him with questions as to himself and his deeds, which developed a mood ardently vainglorious, Anne skilfully led Koltsoff's trend of thought from amatory channels. They stopped at Paradise and Anne and the Prince walked from the roadside across a stretch of gorse to a great crevice in the cliffs, known as the "Lover's Leap."
"Here," said the girl, imitating the manner of a guide, "legend says an Indian maiden, very beautiful, was walking with one of her suitors, when a rival accosted them. They drew their knives and were about to fight, when the girl interposed. Pointing to the chasm she declared she would marry the man who first jumped across it."
"Ah, the time-worn lover's leap! They have them in England, Russia, Germany—everywhere. America not to be behind—" the Prince wrinkled his brows. "Let me see how closely the Indians followed their European originals. Did they leap?"
"They did," smiled the girl. "Both, I believe, were killed." She peered into the dark fissure where the waters wound among the crags fifty feet below. "Ugh! What a fall! Their love must have been wonderfully compelling."
"So," replied the Prince, gallantly, "and yet I should do it for a smile from you or at most for a—" he bowed low, seized her hand, and deftly bore it to his lips.
She drew it away hastily, a wave of irritation flushing her face, and a powerful revulsion from her former mood of exaltation took possession of her whole being.
"You have improved upon knights errant of old," she said slowly. "You seize your guerdon before paying your devoir." She pointed to the chasm, which was about eight feet across at the spot where they were standing. "Your lady waits, Sir Knight."
The Prince pushed his hand through his hair and laughed.
"Miss Wellington—indeed, indeed, I appreciate your humor. It is well caught. That is to say—ha, ha! Your father will enjoy your wit."
"I am waiting," said the girl, as though she had not heard. "Knights—and gentlemen do not take from women that which they are not willing to pay for."
"But—" the Prince glanced at the yawning hole. "You surely jest. Why, my dear lady!" The Prince involuntarily stepped backward.
Anne smiled maliciously. Her meaning was clear and the Prince flushed.
"What man would attempt it!" he exclaimed. "What man indeed," he added, "save one who would throw away his life to no purpose. Come, Miss Wellington, I am sure you do not seek my life."
"By no means," said the girl beginning to relent, but still enjoying the success of hercoup. "But really that is a small leap for a man. My driver, I believe—" Her face suddenly lighted with a new inspiration. Hastily she walked to the top of the bluff. "McCall," she cried. "Will you come here a minute?"
As the two arrived at the chasm, she nodded to the opposite side.
"If you cleared that would it be a remarkable leap?"
Armitage surveyed the gap with his eye, looked behind him and studied the ground.
"Not especially, Miss Wellington, so far as distance is concerned." He had done his nineteen feet in the running broad jump.
"Ah, just so," broke in the Prince. "It is the condition which would follow a slip or mistake in judgment."
Anne shook her head impatiently at Koltsoff's obvious eagerness.
"I do not believe McCall thought of that; nervous systems vary in their intensity."
Some part of the situation Armitage grasped. It was clear that for some reason she had dared the Prince to make the jump and that he had declined. The ground upon which they were standing was a few feet above the rocks on the other side of the chasm and the three stood about a dozen feet from the mouth.
She turned to Armitage.
"Am I right, or do you share Prince Koltsoff's psychological views?"
Koltsoff, who from the beginning had chafed at the position in which she had placed him, pitting him against a servant, walked to one side with a low sibilant exclamation.
"Not at all," said Armitage, and without further words he drew back a few feet and started swiftly for the fissure. Anne, who had not intended that the incident should thus get away from her, acted upon flashing instinct, before the situation could formulate itself in her mind. She sprang at Armitage as he passed her, her hands tightly clasping about his neck, and pulled him backward with all her strength. Armitage half stumbling, stopped, and the girl, releasing her hands, stepped back with a sob of nervous anger.
"You—you—oh, you idiot!" she exclaimed. "How dare you frighten me so! Now—go back to the car!"
"I did not mean to frighten you, Miss Wellington," he replied, not altogether in the mild, impersonal tone of a servant. "It was a perfectly easy jump. I thought you—"
"Go to your car, please," interrupted the girl sternly.
As for Koltsoff, rankling with the knowledge that if he had taken her at her word and essayed to make the leap, she would have prevented him as she had her chauffeur, his mood was no enviable one. Lost opportunities of any sort are not conducive to mental equanimity. He maintained extreme taciturnity throughout the remainder of the drive and Miss Wellington, whose thoughts seemed also absorbing, made no attempt to restore his ardent spirits. When they entered the Wellington driveway, she glanced at Armitage's well-set back and shoulders and smiled.
"McCall," she said, as she stood on the veranda, "I want you to go to Mrs. Van Valkenberg's—where you were this morning—and bring her here. You may have to wait."