As Jack, once more a chauffeur, drove under theporte cochèreat The Crags, shortly before one o'clock, Anne sat for a moment in her seat after her friend had alighted. Sara looked back with a little smile and then walked toward the door, which a footman had opened.
"Mr. Armitage," said Anne in a low voice, "I want to thank you for many things to-night—for one thing above all. I cannot tell you what it is, for I hardly know myself." She paused, and Jack, who was toying with the switch lever, looked at her curiously. "It's a new viewpoint, I fancy. Somehow—I have a feeling that there is more to this country, my country, than Fifth Avenue, Central Park, Tuxedo, Long Island, and Newport—something bigger and finer than railroads. I am glad to feel that, and I thank you."
Sara was waiting for Anne in the hall. She had taken off her hat and stood idly swinging it. A single globe was lighted in the chandelier overhead and the extremities of the great apartment were lost in gloom.
"Well, dear," Sara yawned broadly, "I fancy we shall sleep to-night."
Anne had thrown her arm over Sara's shoulders and they were walking toward the stairs when Koltsoff appeared from the shadow, confronting them.
"Oh! Prince Koltsoff! How you frightened me," said Anne in a low voice, drawing back.
"A thousand pardons. It would have grieved me had I thought of doing that."
Sara observed him with irritation. There was, however, so much of the exotic about the man, as to render him attractive, even to her. Tall, well—if slimly—built; in manner graceful—"silken" was the designation that occurred to her—there could be no question as to the potency of his personality: a potency, by the way, from whose spell, she had learned in various ways throughout the evening, Anne was not entirely aloof. It was perfectly clear to Sara, that with Armitage, strong and clever in a wholesome masculine way, Anne was the light-hearted, mischievous, pure-minded girl—his ideal of American young womanhood. But now she caught the other note of her character—an untrue note, but none the less positive—and the other look in her eyes. Her voice was deeper, more womanly, more surcharged with underlying things, as she spoke to the Russian, and Sara could see she was breathing more rapidly.
"I have been waiting to see you, Miss Wellington," he was saying. "I have waited so long." There was a note of pathos in his voice.
"Is it important—now?" asked Anne, and her friend tugged at her sleeve. "I am very tired and sleepy."
"For a few moments, that is all," persisted the Prince gently. "Is it too much?"
Sara, inwardly raging, detected the subtle appeal which this man, so versed apparently in the emotions of womanhood, was making to the inherent maternal, protective, sympathetic instincts of the girl, who, now they were aroused, was smiling patiently.
"Very well, Prince Koltsoff. Don't bother to wait, Sara. Good-night."
"Such a day of weariness, Miss Wellington,", said the Prince, as he followed Anne to a bench running along the foot of the staircase. "One of my men,—calf-head,—was arrested in Boston."
"Arrested! Really! What had he been doing?"
"Nothing, I assure you, save trying to leave this bestial country. He had been of service to me in Newport and elsewhere. I was worried. I am worried. He was allowed to go. But they took valuable papers concerning Austria from him. How can I get them? Am I undone?" Koltsoff raised his eyes. "How can I say? Steinberg at Boston is in Maine. And so—" Koltsoff tossed his hand in the air—"I have spent," he at last continued, "more than twenty thousand roubles on the matter. I have spent five thousand roubles on the dumbhead, Yeasky, who has not the brains or courage of a mouse. I am discouraged." He caught her hand, pressed it to his forehead, and released it. "But I oppress you with my diplomatic cares," he murmured. "It has been the first time I ever burdened a woman with them. You—you are different, because you are of the few gifted to bear, to solve them."
Anne made no reply.
"You hold safely that which I placed in your keeping?" he asked after a pause.
His hand felt its way to hers, lying inert on the cushion, his fingers closing softly upon it. She did not withdraw it, but lowered her head.
"Was it in connection with that your man was arrested in Boston?"
Koltsoff laughed.
"They thought to connect him with it. But—" he pressed Anne's fingers, "the connecting link happened to be in your—jewelry safe."
Anne, thrilled at the part she was playing in the mysterious diplomatic episode, laughed softly. Somehow it all appeared bigger even than dodging under battleships' bows,—certainly more subtle. Koltsoff gazed at her admiringly.
"My dear Miss Wellington," he said, "do you realize more and more, that of which I spoke to-day—your fitness for the international sphere? Your beauty—your coolness—the temper of your spirit—your ability to sway strong men, as you have swayed me—do you appreciate all? Are you proud that you have swayed me?"
"Prince Koltsoff!" Anne's voice rang with doubt and anguish and yet—pride.
She was tired and spent with the day and as his arm stole, almost snake-like, about her waist, she raised a nerveless hand, plucked feebly to remove the fingers pressing into her side, and then let her hand fall to the cushion.
His head was bending over her, his face was very close. Some vivid instinct told her that he must not kiss her. She tried to struggle but she could not. The next instant she was living that epoch which innocence may only know ere it perishes—a man's lips making free with eyes and mouth and cheeks. She lay now, half in his arms, looking at him with wide, startled eyes, her lips parched.
"Anne," he bent forward to kiss her again, but she turned her head away and then, again, her unchanging eyes sought his face. "What I have done—what I have meant, I shall make clear to your parents to-morrow. To you I can say nothing now. You—ah, of course know the European custom."
"Please let me go." There was a tired sob in Anne's voice.
"But I have not yet told you that which I wish to say." Anne tore from his arm and started up.
"You haven't! Oh, very well. I am listening."
"You were out with the torpedo boats tonight. You were upon the boat with Lieutenant Armitage."
"I—" Anne paused. Armitage, without attempting to obtain promises of secrecy as to the mission of the flotilla, had pointed out that all information of the sort was absolutely confidential and that above all the ability of a torpedo boat destroyer to get within two hundred yards of a battleship was not news that the Government would care to have disseminated, even though it were the exception rather than the rule. This thought shot through Anne's mind.
"You quite surprise me," she said finally.
"Oh, I really do not," smiled Koltsoff. "As I have informed you, we diplomats are omnipresent. Therefore I do not surprise you when I say that you and your friend were on theD'Estang; that theJeffersonhad an accident and sent two scalded men to the hospital. All that—pouf!" Koltsoff snapped his fingers. "That is immaterial—who cares about such manoeuvres as the Navy of the United States indulge in! But," and Koltsoff bent toward her with unwinking eyes, "this is important: theD'Estangbecame separated from the rest of the fleet and there are reports that she discharged a new sort of torpedo at the battleship. That is interesting—important to me. I feared I could not ascertain until I learned that my skilled coadjutor, my fellow diplomat," he nodded at her, "was present on theD'Estang."
"Why do you ask me? Why don't you apply to Mr. Armitage?"
"Ah, he would tell me, of course!" laughed Koltsoff sarcastically. "In any event, I have yet to know him. He was at Washington when I arrived in Newport, and since his return has been at the Torpedo Station but one night. My men have not been able to find him."
Anne had forgotten her weariness now.
"There seems to be something, at least, in the American Navy that you find worthy of close interest," she said.
An expression of indifference settled upon the Prince's face.
"Ah, if you know of the Navy, you know the nations are always interested in the new devices and plans of other nations. I once paid fifteen thousand roubles for the plans of an English fort."
"And so diplomacy is stealing or buying information, then?"
"Diplomacy is anything, Anne."
"You interest me, Prince Koltsoff."
"But theD'Estang—I imagine she was not successful with her torpedoing." Inwardly he was cursing Yeasky, as he had been all the evening; Yeasky had never missed a trip of theD'Estang.
Anne, beginning to see, had worked into her cool, malicious mood.
"You must not be so imaginative," she gaped [Transcriber's note: gasped?]. "And now if you 'll excuse me—it's two o'clock."
"But Anne—Miss Wellington!" The Prince was at her side. "You do not really intend to deny me!" He shook his head, as though dazed. "It cannot be possible that our understanding is so incomplete. I had dared to hope, to believe that our interests were so swiftly merging. And what is it that I ask! Merely a slight question about theD'Estang. Anne—is it upon so little a thing that you fail me? Would that you might trymewith a bigger, greater test. You should see!"
"Do you mean that, really?"
"As God is my judge!" cried the Prince fervently.
"Then," said Anne seriously, "say good-night to me. Pardon me, but I am tired."
"But theD'Estang," cried Koltsoff insistently. "My plans—my life—"
"What!" interrupted Anne, as a thought was born of his words. "I understood that this was merely a matter of routine naval intelligence."
Koltsoff mopped his forehead.
"That is true," he hastened to say, "but matters of routine are the greater part of the lives of such as we. Our success depends upon it, alone. Pardon me, but I must insist that you tell me what I have asked." He had almost backed her against the wainscoting.
"And I won't tell you, Prince Koltsoff."
"Why not, pray?"
"I will tell you why," her voice quivered with emotion. "This morning you convinced me pretty thoroughly that I had no right to call myself an American. I still feel that way, don't you know. But to-night I 've seen brave and devoted men risking their lives and perfecting themselves in their calling not only through professional interest but through love of their country and their flag, and dare-devil enthusiasm in serving under a flag that means so much to them. The father of the junior officer on theD'Estangis a farmer and the captain of theBarclayis the son of an insurance clerk. But they're all of one cut and out of one mould—American fighting men who would shoot or knock down any one who dared utter in their presence such words as I have listened to from you—more shame to me—without a single emotion, save amusement." She ran on breathlessly, "Whatever happened on theD'Estangto-night, important or unimportant, is the concern of the Navy of my country alone. Hereafter, in anything you say or do, Prince Koltsoff, remember I am learning to be an American—" she stopped and smiled at her own ardor, "so please don't say anything to discourage me."
Koltsoff, who had been listening in silence, without making a movement, suddenly bowed his head.
"I am sorry, Miss Wellington!" His voice was broken and sincerely so. "I misunderstood!" He sank to one knee and seized the bottom of her skirt.
"Don't, Prince Koltsoff, please!" Anne was swiftly relenting. She drew her skirt away and the Prince arising took her hand.
"Ah, please!" she said.
"Not until I hear you are not angry."
"I am not angry."
He had drawn her close to him and they were looking into each other's eyes.
"What is it?" she asked weakly. Her very personality seemed ebbing from her.
"You love me?" His voice was almost a whisper.
She smiled wanly.
"Isthis love?"
"Is it! What is love? Love is giving—yielding. Love knows neither country nor patriotism nor religion!" His glittering eyes were still holding hers. "And so," his voice was low but masterful, "I ask you—not that I care vitally for the answer of itself; you must know, must understand my motives—I ask you, did theD'Estangdischarge a torpedo to-night?"
Long they looked at each other and then slowly the girl shook her head.
"You mean no? She did not?" Koltsoff's voice was eager, his arms tightened about her.
"I do not mean anything."
Then suddenly she twisted out of his arms and stood with white face and parted lips, pointing to the stairway.
"Now," she cried, "go! Go, I tell you," she stamped her foot as Koltsoff hesitated. "Go, or I shall hate you!"
While Anne was detained below by Koltsoff, Sara had gone to her room. She lay awake for a long time and when her maid informed her that Emilia was still waiting for her mistress, she gave up the idea of seeing her and went to sleep.
Armitage in the meantime had placed the car in the garage, entered the house by the servants' door, and was now sitting in his stocking feet, smoking a pipe, waiting for quiet to fall upon the house. His nerves were still taut with the events of the evening; his mind very much awake and alert. He thrilled with the thought that in all probability he would have a commendatory letter from the Admiral to send to his father and that a duplicate would be published to the fleet. As for his position in the house, that was hourly growing more precarious. So far as he could gather, almost every one but the Prince and the Wellington boys knew his identity, and it certainly could not be long before this ignorant minority would be wiped out. There must be action, and quick action. With the Prince away for the night the opportunity could never be better. He was bent now on taking advantage of it.
It was nearly three o'clock when he left his room, walked along the heavily carpeted hall, and descended the stairs in the front of the house to the second floor. The dim light was flowing from the hall below but no lamps were lighted above. He turned, crouching, and made his way along toward Koltsoff's rooms. Footsteps sounded on the stairs and as he flattened himself against the wall the skirts of a woman fluttered past him. A second later the door of Miss Wellington's rooms opened and in the light rushing forth, he saw Anne enter. She was weeping. He heard the exclamation of the maid and Anne saying something in reply. Then the door closed.
For five minutes Armitage remained immovable. Then taking from his pocket a skeleton key and a long thin roll of wire he crept to Koltsoff's door, which he had marked in the afternoon. As he placed his hand on the knob it turned in his grasp and opened. There was a single electric bulb, burning in a crimson globe, and although Armitage had time to jump back, the light flowing from the open door fell full upon him. He stood breathing quickly, watching the newcomer, his forearm poised along his waist, the fist doubled. Without a word, the man slowly closed the door. As Armitage waited an electric dark-light flashed in his face with blinding suddenness. Then it went out.
"Not now," came a whispered voice, "Prince Koltsoff has returned. He has but gone into his room."
Jack did not reply. His hand shot into his pocket and came out with a dark-light similar to that which had been used against him. As he aimed the instrument and pressed the spring a brown seamed face with a head of heavy dark hair appeared in the centre of the illumination.
"Let us have done with lights; they are not necessary," said the man. The voice was cultivated, the manner gentle. "And besides, they are not safe."
"What do you want?" Armitage's voice rose with an impatient inflection.
"I might ask that of you," was the soft reply. "But come, a fair exchange, you know, since our quarry seems to be the same. Although passing as Prince Koltsoff's secretary, in reality I am Turnecki, of the Austrian State Department. You are of the secret service of this country."
Jack was cautious.
"I am a burglar, if you must know," he said. "And if you make any outcry, I 'll kill you."
"Oh, no you are not," smiled the man, shaking his head.
Without a word Armitage leaned forward and seized the man by the arm.
"Come to my room with me," he said.
There was great dignity in the man's voice as he placed his hand admonishingly upon Jack's arm.
"Don't do that. I am quite ready to go with you."
But Jack's fingers closed more tightly.
"I am glad you feel that way," he said grimly, "because I want to talk to you. However, I think I 'll make sure. Come on."
At the stairs he gently pushed the man ahead of him and followed him to his door. He switched on the light and then, mindful of the watchman on the grounds below, threw a heavy towel over the globe.
"Now, Herr Turnecki, or Koltsoff's secretary, or anything you please to call yourself," he said indicating a chair,—he himself stood at the bureau filling his pipe,—"tell me what I can do for you."
The man bowed, and for a moment they gazed at each other. Armitage could not dismiss an impression of suspicion concerning him, but aside from something familiar in face and figure and in some of the tones of his voice, he was unable to place him. The putative Austrian seemed to read Jack's thoughts.
"Let me first prove," he said at length, "that I am friendly to you—and perhaps to your interests. I recognized you this morning as an American naval officer I had met two years ago in Vienna. It is my business not to forget faces. You must be aware that I have not informed my—" he grimaced—"master of your identity."
"That is true," said Armitage ruefully. "As a detective I appear to be about as much of a success as a farmer at the helm of a battleship."
"Ah, well," observed the other, "it is a business." He looked at Armitage closely. "I admire the United States. Can I be of service?"
"Perhaps," said Armitage, "but you spoke of similar interests. What can I do for you?"
"Nothing, I fear," said the Austrian. "You must know that recently this man Koltsoff purchased, in some way, the mobilization plans of our army on our northeastern, that is, the Russian frontier. Possession of these by Russia will seriously affect the attitude of our chief, Baron Aehrenthal, toward the State Department at St. Petersburg. So close was the espionage, in which I have played no small part, that he was unable to get them out of his hands before his vessel sailed for New York from Fiume. I fear now, however, that such is not the case."
"You mean he has mailed or expressed them?" asked Jack.
The man shook his head.
"Such things are never transmitted in that way."
Jack's heart bounded with relief.
"Well, would n't that be a reason for attempting it?"
"I should be happy to know that the plans were on their way to the post office in St. Petersburg," shrugging his shoulders. "They would soon be on their return journey—and not by mail."
"Oh," cried Armitage, suddenly remembering his conversation with Thornton. "I think I can put you in the way of recovering your stolen plans." Thereupon he told of the capture of Yeasky and of the papers taken from him, already in the keeping of the secret service men in Boston.
As he spoke Turnecki leaned forward, his eyes blazing, uttering subdued German exclamations. When Armitage had concluded he sprang forward and seized Jack by the hand and then after the manner of his country, kissed him on the cheek.
"A thousand thanks!" he cried. "My servitude ends now; for when Koltsoff awakens I shall been routefor Boston. You said that you would send on an order for their delivery."
"Yes, I 'll write that now—and then I 'll tell you what you can do for me. Of course, you understand that the secret service chaps will require the Austrian Consul to vouch for you."
"Oh, I understand that, of course," said the man.
"All right." Armitage took his fountain pen from his coat lying on the bed and leaned across the bureau, about to write, when he abruptly laid the pen down and half closed his eyes. Some new thought seemed filling his mind and moving him deeply.
"Just a second," he said at length. He walked across the room, jerked the towel from the lamp, gazed closely at the man for an instant, and then with an exclamation continued to the door, which he locked, placing the key in his pocket. Returning he stood directly in front of the man, who had arisen.
"Well," he said, "of all fools, commend me! How do you feel, Yeasky, with your beard off and wig on; your German dialect and your painted scar?"
The man looked at Armitage with face utterly expressionless.
"You are mistaken," he said.
"Am I?" sneered Jack. "I have been mistaken so far as you are concerned several times in the past." He laughed grimly. "But not this time, old boy. Come, pass out that control."
"I have n't it."
"You lie. Take off your coat."
Yeasky deliberately divested himself of his coat and threw it at Jack's feet. Then he slapped all his pockets.
"You see," he said, "I have not got it."
"Who has?"
"Koltsoff, I suppose. He did not speak of it to me."
"What did he speak of? What are you here for? You were released upon condition that you leave this country. I suppose you know I can put you in the way of spending several years in an American jail."
"I had intended going, but I received his orders and had to come to him. So I escaped from the steamship, and returned to Newport."
"Did you want to come?"
"No, I am sick of the service. It is all work and danger and no credit. He receives it all."
"Then why did you obey his orders?"
Yeasky raised his shoulders and smiled significantly.
"Siberia," he said. "The arms of such as Koltsoff are very long in cases of those who fail them."
"What did Koltsoff want you here for?"
"To confer with me. He thought we would be safe from spies here. When I saw you I hoped to get an order for the return of the Austrian plans."
"Ump! You nearly succeeded. Did you tell Koltsoff I suspected him?"
"No, that would have made my work appear even more bungling. Listen," added the man earnestly, "I told him I thought my capture had been due to the Austrians, whose system of espionage is really wonderful. That is God's truth," raising his hand solemnly. "I should have believed it myself had I not known you knew."
"If that is true you have done me rather a good turn," said Armitage watching his face closely.
Yeasky drew from his breast a silver ichon.
"It is true." He knelt. "I swear it by this."
"A man's oath is no better than his deeds," replied Armitage musingly. "Look here, Yeasky," he added presently. "I tell you what I am going to do. I am going to turn you over to Chief Roberts of the Newport police and he will hold you for two or three days under an assumed name on the charge of burglary. No one but the watchman and the police and myself will know of your arrest. When I recover the control you will be released, free to stay in this country or go where you please. The only condition is that you attempt in no way to communicate with Koltsoff."
The man bowed his head thoughtfully.
"Besides," resumed Armitage, "I don't know how the secret service people feel about the Austrian plans. I imagine Koltsoff has been making representations to the State Department, and since this Government has no business with them, they may hand them over. If I can help you there, I shall do so. Now," he concluded, "there is the proposition; take it or leave it."
"I'll take it!" replied Yeasky. "As for the Austrian plans, you need not bother about them. You have promised me freedom after two or three days if I keep silent. That is all I ask. Ever since I have been in this country I have been on the point of making up my mind to become a citizen. The Russian Government cannot touch me here, can it?"
"Not unless you have committed a crime."
"I have committed many crimes; none, however, against the Russian Government. I am weary of Koltsoff, weary of this service, weary of this life. There is much money for me here in the practice of my profession."
"You 've already worked in this country, have n't you. Your letter of recommendation from the Eastern Electric—"
"Was forged," said Yeasky quietly. "No, I have never been employed here. I came from Fiume with Prince Koltsoff. I had some thought at the time of deserting; but I was afraid. Now my mind is made up. I want to remain here; I shall remain. I have a brother in Chicago."
"Good," said Armitage. "Come on, now, quickly."
Softly they went down the stairs, and after switching off the burglar alarm, Jack escorted the man out of the servants' door, where he whistled softly. The watchman came up on the run.
"Here's a burglar I caught," said Jack cheerfully. "He was lurking in the second floor hallway."
The watchman, a former New York policeman, was not excited.
"All right," he said. "We 'll take him to the gate house and telephone for the patrol."
This was done and within half an hour the sidelights of the heavy vehicle plunged out of the darkness to the gate.
"Now, don't worry," whispered Armitage, as the man was bundled into the wagon. "I 'll have the chief on the 'phone within five minutes. Remember your part."
Yeasky nodded, and the wagon rumbled away.
It was a very angry chief that Jack, sitting in the butler's hallway, got on the 'phone. But within a few minutes he was laughing and promising to obey Armitage's wishes in every respect.
The clock was striking four when Armitage arose from the telephone. He stood, stretching himself and yawning for a moment, and then stole to the stairs.
"I have spent eventful days before this," he smiled, "but this one breaks all records." As he slipped past the door of Anne's suite, he stopped just an instant.
"Good-night, Anne," he said.
Armitage gained next morning a very perfect idea of the regard which the Wellington household held for the head of it. Mr. Wellington had waited in New York for theMayfair, and not only Anne, but Mrs. Wellington and the boys took their post on the southeastern veranda soon after nine o'clock, while Ronald glued his eyes to the big telescope. After he had alternately picked up a white Lackawanna tug and a Maine-bound steamship as theMayfair, Anne lost patience.
"Mother," she said, "why not send for McCall? He used to be a sailor, I believe, and will, no doubt, be able to pick up the yacht miles farther away than we can."
Something resembling a smile crossed the mother's face.
"Very well, Anne; send for him."
A footman was summoned and within a few minutes Armitage was the centre of an interested group. He swept the Narragansett shore for a few minutes and then turned to Mrs. Wellington.
"There 's a large white yacht with a yellow funnel, which has a silver band on top, this side of Point Judith," he said. "I can see the red glint of her house flag."
"Why, that's theMayfair!" cried Anne. "Come on, mother, Sara."
"She won't be up for three-quarters of an hour, Anne," said her mother.
"I don't care. Come, Sara, we 'll raise the flags on the landing ourselves."
As Sara and Anne and the two boys trouped down the path to the cleft in the cliffs, Mrs. Wellington nodded at Jack.
"Quinn reports that you captured a burglar last night, McCall."
Jack smiled.
"Yes, Mrs. Wellington. I caught him in the hall on the second floor. I had him before he could lift a hand and turned him over to the watchman."
"I am indebted to you. What were you doing on the second floor at that hour?"
"I could n't sleep and was smoking in my room when I heard some one pass my door. I went out and saw him flashing a dark lantern below. My shoes were off and I had him before he heard me."
"That was really clever of you. Chief Roberts has informed me that he is a professional, wanted on several other charges. When he sends word I want you to press the charge for me. Of course this will not appear in the newspapers, so please say nothing to any one about it."
As Armitage nodded, she looked at him closely.
"How long do you intend to stay with us, McCall?"
Armitage started.
"Why—I—I—" he paused.
"Oh, no matter. I thought, perhaps, you might be ambitious to join the police force. I think I could help you."
Jack, inwardly raging, flushed and glanced at her uncertainly.
"Thank you," he said, "I 'll consider—I—I 'll let you know."
"Hang her," he said to himself as he walked toward the garage. "Deliver me from an old woman who thinks she has a sense of humor."
Ronald Wellington was a man past fifty, a man whose stature was as large as his mind. He had a shock of gray hair; brilliant hazel eyes like Anne's, but overshadowed by shaggy brows; high cheek bones, and straight lips hidden by a heavy gray mustache. It was said of him that his clothing was only pressed when new and that he purchased a new hat only under the combined pressure of his wife and daughter. He had an immense voice which could be gruff or pleasing, as he willed; in all, a big, strong, wholesome personality, unconventional, but in no sense unrefined. He was in striking contrast to his dapper crony, Robert Marie, who accompanied him from the yacht, a man whose distinction lay in his family, his courtly manners of the old school, and his connoisseurship of wines.
Mrs. Wellington waited on the veranda, but Anne, her brothers, and Sara were at the landing as the gangway of the yacht was lowered. Ronald Wellington seized Anne by the elbows, an old trick of his, and as she stiffened them he lifted her to his face and kissed her. Ronald he slapped on the back, and as for the more sturdy little Royal, he lifted him high in the air and placed him on his shoulder, smiling and nodding pleasantly to Sara. Sara waited for Robert Marie, and thus the party walked to the house. Mrs. Wellington advanced to the rail, smiling, and her husband, setting Royal on the ground, reached up, seized her hands, and drew her face down to his.
"Well, girl," he said, "glad to see me?"
She withdrew her lips and as Sara looked at her, with perhaps a little pathos in her eyes, she saw, spreading over her face that expression, the beauty and charm and inspiration of which are ever the same, in youth and in age, in the countenances of those in whom love still abides unchanging.
They sat on the porch for a few minutes and then, having breakfasted on theMayfair, Mr. Wellington went to his study off the library, where Mrs. Wellington joined him.
"Well, Ronald," she said, "Prince Koltsoff is here."
"Yes," he said, "so you—and the newspapers have told me. What is he—another Ivan?"
"Not in any way. He and Anne seem to be getting on finely."
Mr. Wellington looked at her.
"My mind was so filled with that Northern Atlantic matter last month when you talked of your prince," he said, "that I don't think I did the question justice. It was too far off—and the railroad mess was so confoundedly near. Now then, let's have it."
"How—what do you mean?" asked Mrs. Wellington, a bit uneasily.
"What have you been trying to do, Belle?"
"Why, I have n't been trying to do anything. The situation has shaped itself without any effort on my part."
"You mean Anne loves the Russian! Bosh! How long has he been here—this is the third day!" The room rang with his laughter.
"I did not say that she loved him. I said they seemed to be getting on."
Mr. Wellington clasped his big hands over his knees and gazed at the floor. "Belle," he said, after a few minutes, "the idea of Anne living away off in a foreign country does n't swallow easily. Life is too short—and, Belle, I don't think you have ever loved Anne quite as I have."
Mrs. Wellington thought for a moment of the adoration which this big man had always held for their daughter—an emotion in no way conflicting with his conjugal devotion and yet equally tremendous, and smiled without a trace of jealousy.
"Yes, I think that is true," she said. "Yet of course you cannot question my love for her. I certainly would be the last to thwart her ambitions."
"Nor I," returned Wellington with a sigh. "And yet, Belle, so far as you are concerned, you don't need such a match. Your position certainly needs no assurance, either here or abroad. We are not in the business of buying foreign titles, you know. We don't have to. Besides, we thrashed all that out when Anne was a child. The girl must marry, of course; for years that has hung over me like a bad dream. But it's natural and right and for the best. But, Belle, since she has grown up and her marriage has become a question of narrowing time—especially since that French nobleman, De Joinville, was buzzing around last year—I have had an ambition for grandchildren that can say 'grandpa' in a language I understand. That is the way I feel about it."
His wife laughed at this characteristic speech and reaching out, patted his hand. He, in turn, seized and held her hand, quite covering it.
"Naturally, Ronald, I feel just as you do about having to purchase foreign titles. But it has pleased me to have the Prince here, in view of the fact that several others wanted him. It's akin to the satisfaction you feel, I imagine, when you suddenly appear before the public as owner of the controlling interest in a competitor's railroad."
"I understand," he replied, and gazed at his wife admiringly. "If I had been as good a railroad man as you are a social diplomat, I should be the only railroad man in the country." He laughed his hearty laugh and then glanced at her seriously. "Well, what about Anne?" he asked.
Mrs. Wellington was about to reply when her secretary entered.
"Prince Koltsoff is in the library waiting to pay his respects," said the young woman. "He seemed a little impatient and I told him I would tell you."
"Oh," said Mr. Wellington, as an expression of annoyance crossed his wife's face, "let him come right in."
As he towered over the Prince, seizing his hand with a grip that made the latter wince, Mrs. Wellington could not help noticing a veiled expression of contempt in the nobleman's face. She was aware that to him, her husband represented, of course, the highest plane of existence that Americans attain to, and she could see that the things in him, the things he stood for and had done, which would impress the average American or perhaps the Englishman, carried no appeal to this Russian. To him, she read, Ronald Wellington, in his great, bagging, ill-fitting clothes, was merely an embodiment of the American pig, whose only title to consideration was the daughter he had to give, and his only warrant of respect, his wealth.
"Sit down, Koltsoff," said her husband heartily, but studying him keenly from under his shaggy brows.
"Thank you," replied the Prince, seating himself luxuriously in a great leather chair. "As you must know, Mr. Wellington," he said, at the same time inclining his head toward Mrs. Wellington, "time presses for men in my sphere of life—the diplomatic; that is why I felt I must speak to you at once."
"Certainly," said Mr. Wellington, glancing at his wife, "fire away."
"Your daughter," began the Prince, "I am deeply interested in her. I—" he stopped and smiled.
Mr. Wellington nodded.
"Go on," he said gruffly, now.
"I—I believe I love her."
"You believe?"
"In fact, I do love her. It is about that I wish to speak to you—as to the dower. Naturally the sum you would propose—"
"Wait just a second. Not so fast," said Mr. Wellington. "Does my daughter love—wish to marry you?"
"I have reason to believe she loves me,"—Koltsoff shrugged his shoulders,—"excellent reasons. As to marriage—of course I have no doubt as to her wishes. But first, I must, of course, reach an understanding with you."
"How do you mean?" asked Mr. Wellington, bending forward and impaling the Prince with his eyes. "Did Anne tell you how much she would be willing to have me pay for you?"
"Certainly not," snapped Koltsoff.
"Well, then, listen, Prince Koltsoff. You are here now as our guest and we hope to make your sojourn quite pleasant. But," he took a cigar from a box, lighted it, and thrust the box across the table to Koltsoff. "But we might as well have a clear understanding. It will be better in every way. I have felt that Americans have been altogether too willing to subscribe to European customs in marrying off their daughters. I am going to establish a new precedent, if I can. Am I clear?"
"What do you mean?" Koltsoff's voice quivered with rising indignation. Mrs. Wellington could not have analyzed her emotions had she tried. All she could do was to sit and watch the tottering of the structure she had reared, under the blows of one who had never before interfered in her plans, but whose word was her law.
"I mean that I am unwilling to pay a single red penny for you, or any one else to marry my daughter. If she 's worth anything, she's worth everything. I 'll inform you, however, that she has some money in her own right—not enough to rehabilitate a run-down European estate, but enough to keep the wolf from the door, and, of course, when I get through with it, she 'll share in my estate, which is not inconsiderable."
"But Prince Koltsoff is a man of wealth," said Mrs. Wellington quietly. "He is not of the broken-down sort."
"Oh, I know all about that," said her husband. "All the more reason why this precedent I am trying to establish should find favor in his eyes."
The Prince rose.
"I understand you to say that you refuse the dower rights which any European must, of course, expect?"
"You do, absolutely. If Anne loves you and wants to marry you, that is her right. She is of age. But no dower. Not a cent."
"And youloveyour daughter!" Koltsoff's voice was withering.
Mr. Wellington arose quickly.
"That," he said, "we won't discuss."
"Very well," Koltsoff's voice arose almost to a shriek. "But listen, I do love Anne Wellington and I think she loves me. And with dower or without it, I 'll marry her. And—and—" he clutched at his throat, "you have heard me. I have spoken. I say no more." And he slammed out of the room.