The ceremony with which we were installed in the Royal box was worthy of the Regent himself. But then Madame was a very great lady. The lights in the house did not go down for a minute, and I peered over the rim of the balcony to see if I could locate Berry and Co. Suddenly I saw Jill, and Berry next to her. He was staring straight at the Royal box, and his face was a study. He must have seen me come in. Then the lights died, and the curtain went up.
The singing of Madame I cannot describe. It was not of this world. And we knew her. We were her friends. She was our hostess. To the house she was the great artiste—a name to whisper, a figurehead to bow before. For us, we were listening to the song of a friend. As she had promised, she sang to us. There was no mistaking it. And the great charm of her welled out in that wonderful voice. All the spirit of melody danced in her notes. When she was singing, there seemed to be none but us in the theatre, and soon no theatre—only us in the world. We two only stepped by her side, walked with her, understood.
Actually the girl and I sat spellbound, smiling down as shesmiled up from the stage. We knew afterwards that we had been sitting hand-in-hand, as children do.
At the end of it all the house rose at her. Never was there such a scene. We rose, too, and stood smiling. Somehow we did not applaud. She just smiled back.
"Shall we go?" said I.
"Yes."
As I turned to the door, I caught sight of four faces looking earnestly up from the stalls. I bowed gravely. An attendant was waiting in the corridor, and we were escorted through the iron door the way we had come.
Madame sat in a deep arm-chair in the sitting-room, her hair all about her shoulders. She looked tired. Virtue had gone out of her.
"Ah, my dears," she said. My companion kneeled by her side and put her arms round her neck. Then she spoke and kissed her. I do not know what she said. The other held her very close for a moment, then looked at me and smiled. I raised her hand to my lips.
"I cannot say anything, Madame."
"It is all said. We have spoken together for the last half-hour. Is it not so?"
"It is so, Madame."
After a little, my companion said we must be going.
"He will see me to my hotel," she said.
"I do not like letting you go," said our hostess, "but I take long to dress. My car shall carry you home and return for me. Yvonne, see to that. Yes, there will be plenty of time. Besides, you have driven enough in taxis for to-day. What have you lost, my dear?"
The girl was looking about her.
"I think I must have left it in the box—my chain bag. How silly!"
"My dear, I leave everything everywhere"
"I will get it," said I. Yvonne had gone for the car. Besides, I wanted to go.
"Oh, thank you. It's quite a small gold—"
"I know it," said I, smiling.
"Can you find your way?" said Madame. "The house will be almost in darkness."
"Oh, yes, Madame."
A moment later I was in the corridor beyond the iron door. It was quite dark, but twenty paces away a faint suggestion of light showed where the door of the Royal box stood open. When I reached it, I saw that a solitary lamp was burning on the far side of the stalls. After glancing at it, the darkness of the box seemed more impenetrable. I felt for the little gold bag—on the balcony, on the chair, on the floor. It was nowhere. I stood up and peered into the great, dim auditorium, wondering whether I dared strike a match. Fearing that there might be a fireman somewhere in the darkness, I abandoned the idea. The sudden flash might be seen, and then people would come running, and there would have to be explanations. I went down on my hands and knees, and felt round her chair and then mine, and then all over the box. Just as I got up, my right hand encountered something hard and shiny. Clearly it wasn't what I was looking for, but out of curiosity I stooped to feel it again. I groped in vain for a moment; then I put my hand full on the buckle of a patent-leather shoe. As my fingers closed about a warm ankle:
"Pardon, monsieur!" came a quick whisper.
I let go. "Is that you, Yvonne?"
"Si, monsieur."
"I never heard you come in."
"I have come this moment, and did not see monsieur in the dark. Madame has sent me. Monsieur cannot find that little bag?"
"No. Do you think I might strike a match?"
"Ah, no, monsieur, not in the Opera House, They are so particular."
"I see—at least, I don't, and that's the trouble. However—"
I felt over the balcony again. No good.
"Where did mademoiselle sit, monsieur?"
"Where are you?"
I groped in the direction of the whisper and found an arm.
"In that chair there," I said, guiding her to it.
"Here, monsieur?"
"Yes, that's right."
I heard her hands groping about the chair and turned to try the floor on the other side again.
"I have it, monsieur."
"Well," said I, "I could have sworn I'd felt everywhere round that chair."
She chinked the bag by way of answer.
"Anyway, we've got it," said I. "Come on." And I made for the door. Then I stopped to take one more look at the great house. As I did so, a woman appeared on the far side of the stalls. She paused for a second to glance at herself in a mirror immediately under the solitary electric light. I recognized Yvonne. Then she passed on. Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then:
"Why did you say you were Yvonne?" said I.
"Yvonne is my name, too."
"Were you afraid I might have a lucid interval?"
"Perhaps."
"Your fears are realized. I have—I'm having one now."
"How awful!"
"Isn't it? And now we've found your bag, would you mind if I looked for something else?"
"Something of yours or mine?"
"Something of yours?"
"Can I help you?" she said slowly.
"Materially."
With a little half laugh, half sob, a warm arm slid round my neck.
"Here they are!" she whispered.
Madame would not let us go till Yvonne had returned from the manager's office with the offer of a box for Thursday.
"So it is not 'Good-bye' and you will come and see me again. I sing then for the last time in Munich. I fear you cannot have your own box, though. The Regent is coming that night. It is too bad."
We laughed and bade her farewell.
As the car slowed down at my companion's hotel, the footman slid off the front seat and opened the door. I got up and out of the car. As I turned, I saw the girl pick up her gloves and leave the precious bag on the seat.
"My dear, your bag—"
But, as she got out, the bag left the seat with her. By the lights in the car I saw that it was attached to a chain about her neck; and the chain lay beneath her dress. I handed her out thoughtfully.
"Till Thursday, then," she said.
"Till to-morrow morning," said I.
She laughed.
"I think there ought to be an interval."
"Isn't that just what I'm saying? What about a luncheon interval to-morrow?"
"Well, it mustn't be a lucid one"
"All right. I'll bring Jonah and Daphne."
"Mayn't I see the mistake?"
"If I can find him."
"Good-bye"
"Good-bye. I say—"
She turned, one small foot on the steps.
"I love your feet," I said.
"Anything else?"
"Yes. Do you always unfasten that chain and take off the bag when you go to the theatre?"
She looked down at the little foot in its shining shoe. Then:
"Only on third Tuesdays," she said.
When I reached my hotel, I passed quickly upstairs to the sitting-room.
"Here he is," said Daphne "Come along, darling, and have some supper, and tell us all about it."
"Supper!" said Berry. "Woman, you forget yourself. You are no longer on the joy-wheel. My lord has dined."
"As a matter of fact, I have," said I. "Madame gave me some dinner at the Opera House."
"Of course," said Berry.
"What did I say? We grovelling worms can gnaw our sandwiches the while he cracks bottles of—champagne, was it?"
I nodded.
Berry rose to his feet, and in a voice broken with emotion, called such shades of his ancestors "as are on night duty" to witness. "Hencefifth," he said, "I intend to lead a wicked life."
"Blackpool&msash;Conservative; no change," said Jonah.
Berry ignored the interruption. "Virtue may have its own cakes and ale. I dare say it has. What of it? I never see any of them. Vice is more generous. Its patrons actually wallow in champagne. For me, the most beastly sandwiches I ever ate, and an expensive stall. For him, dinner with the prima donna and the Royal box. By the way, who did the girl mistake you for? One of the attendants or the business manager?"
"Who was she?" said Jill.
"I don't know."
"Rot!" said Jonah.
"It's the truth."
"She looked rather a dear," said Daphne.
"She is. You'll meet her to-morrow. And Berry—she wants to meet Berry. She said so."
"There you are," said my brother-in-law. "Is my tie straight?"
I lighted a cigarette to conceal a smile.
When I had adjusted the cushions, I sank into the chair and sighed.
"What's that for?" said Daphne
"Sin," said I.
"Whose?"
"That of him who packed for me at the Blahs this morning. A sin of omission rather than commission, though he did put my sponge-bag into my collarcase," I added musingly. "They're both round, you see. Still, I pass that by."
"But what do you really complain of?" said Jill. "He's left my dressing-gown out."
"I expect he thought it was a loose cover," said Jonah. "It'll be sent on all right," said Daphne "That's nothing. What about my fan? You're not a bit sorry for me about that."
"I have already been sorry about it. I was sorry for you on Friday just by the sideboard. I remember it perfectly. All the same, if you will waste Berry's substance at places of entertainment in the West End, and then fling a priceless heirloom down in the hall of the theatre, you mustn't be surprised if some flat-footed seeker after pleasure treads on it."
"He was a very nice man, and his feet weren't a bit flat."
"I believe you did it on purpose to get into conversation with him. Where's Berry?"
At that moment the gentleman in question walked across the lawn towards us.
"Thank Heaven!" he said when he saw me. "I'm so glad you're back. I've run out of your cigarettes."
I handed him my case in silence.
"It's curious," he said, "how used one can get to inferior tobacco."
Tea appeared in serial form. After depositing the three-storied cake dish holder—or whatever the thing is called—with a to-be-completed air, the footman disappeared, to return a moment later with the teapot and hot water. As he turned to go:
"Bring me the tray that's on the billiard-table," said Berry. "Carry it carefully."
"Yes, sir.
"Without moving, we all observed one another, the eyes looking sideways. You see, the tray bore a jig-saw. When I had left on the previous Saturday for a week-end visit, we had done the top right-hand corner and half what looked as if it must be the left side. Most of this we had done on Friday evening; but artificial light is inclined to militate against the labourer, and at eleven o'clock Berry had sworn twice, shown us which pieces were missing, and related the true history of poor Agatha Glynde, who spent more than a fortnight over 'David Copperfield' before she found out that the pieces had been mixed up with those of Constable's 'Hay Wain.' This upset us so much that Jonah said he should try and get a question asked in the House about it, and we decided to send the thing back the next day and demand the return of the money."
On the way up to bed, Daphne had asked me if I thought we could get "damages, or compensation, or something," and I had replied that, if we could prove malice, they had undoubtedly brought themselves within the pale of the criminal law.
The next morning Jill had done nearly two more square inches before breakfast, and I missed the midday train to town.
"Hullo, you have got on!" I said, as the man set the tray and its precious burden gingerly on the grass in our midst.
"Aha, my friend," said Berry, "I thought you'd sit up! Yes, sir, the tract already developed represents no less an area than thirty-six square inches—coldly calculated by me this afternoon during that fair hour which succeeds the sleep of repletion and the just—but the vast possibilities which lie hidden beneath the surface of the undeveloped expanse of picture are almost frightening. A land rich in minerals, teeming with virgin soil—a very Canaan of to-day. Does it not call you, brother?"
"It does," said I. "I wish it didn't, because it's wicked waste of time, but it does."
I kneeled down that I might the better appreciate their industry. The jig-saw was called 'A Young Diana' and was alleged to be a reproduction of the picture of that name which had appeared in the Academy the year before. I hardly remembered it. I gazed admiringly at the two clouds drifting alone at the top right-hand corner, the solitary hoof planted upon a slice of green sward, the ragged suggestion of forest land in the distance, and a ladder of enormous length, which appeared to possess something of that spirit of independence which distinguished Mahomet's coffin. In other words, it was self-supporting. After a careful scrutiny, I rose to my feet, took a pace or two backwards, and put my head on one side. Then:
"I like it," I said. "I like it. Some people might say it looked a little crude or unfinished; but, to my mind, that but preserves, as it were, the spirit of barbarism which the title suggests."
"Suggestion as opposed to realization," said Berry, "is the rule by which we work. To the jaded appet—imagination the hoof suggests a horse. It is up to you to imagine the horse. We have, as it were, with an effort set in motion the long unused machinery of your brain. It is for you, brother, to carry on the good work. Please pass out quietly. There will be collection plates at both doors."
"You're not to touch it yet," said Daphne. "I want to talk about abroad first. If we're really going, we must settle things."
"Of course we're going," said Berry. "I ordered a yachting cap yesterday."
"What's that for?" said Jill.
"Well, we're not going to fly across the Channel, are we? Besides that, supposing we go to Lucerne part of the time?"
"What about taking the car?" said Daphne.
"It's expensive," said Berry moodily, "but I don't see how else we can satisfactorily sustain the flow of bloated plutocracy which at present oozes from us."
We all agreed that the car must come. Then arose the burning question of where to go. In a rash moment Jill murmured something about Montenegro.
"Montenegro?" said Berry, with a carelessness that should have put her on her guard.
"Yes," said Jill. "I heard someone talking about it when I was dining with the Bedells. It sounded priceless. I had a sort of idea it was quite small, and had a prince, but it's really quite big, and it's got a king over it, and they all wear the old picturesque dress, and the scenery's gorgeous. And, if it was wet, we could go to the—the—"
"Kursaal," said Berry. "No, not Kursaal. It's like that, though."
"Casino?"
"That's it—Casino. And then we could go on to Nice and Cannes, and—"
"You're going too fast, aren't you? Servia comes before Cannes, doesn't it?"
"Well, Servia, too."
"All right," said Berry. "I was going to suggest that we joined the Danube at Limoges, went up as far as Milan, where the falls are, and then struck off to Toledo, taking Warsaw on the way, but—"
"That'd be rather a long way round, wouldn't it?" said Jill, all seriousness in her grey eyes.
"Ah, I mean the Spanish Toledo, not the one in the States."
"Oh, I see—"
She checked herself suddenly and looked round. "He's laughing at me," she said. "What have I said wrong?"
"If anyone asked me where we should be without our Jill," said Berry, "I couldn't tell them."
When we began to discuss the tour in good earnest, the argument proper began. I had suggested that we should make for Frankfort, to start with, and Daphne and Jonah rather favoured Germany. Berry, however, wanted to go to Austria. It was after a casual enough remark of Jonah's that the roads in Germany were very good that Berry really got going.
"The roads good?" he said. "That settles it—say no more. The survey, which is, after all, the object of our holiday (sic), will be able to be made with success. If we start at once, we shall be able to get the book published by Christmas: 'Road Surfaces in Germany,' by a Hog."
"The old German towns are fascinating," said Daphne.
"Nothing like them," said Berry. "I can smell some of them now. Can you not hear the cheerful din of the iron tires upon the cobbled streets? Can you not see the grateful smile spreading over the beer-sodden features of the cathedral verger, as he pockets the money we pay for the privilege of following an objectionable rabble round an edifice, which we shall remember more for the biting chill of its atmosphere than anything else? And then the musty quiet of the museums, and the miles we shall cover in the picture galleries, halting now and then to do a brief gloat in front of one of Van Stunk's masterpieces..."
"My heart leaps up when I behold a Van Stunk on the wall. Wordsworth knew his Englishman, didn't he?"
"Oh, well, if you're so dead against it—"
"Against it, dear. How can I be against it? Why, we may even be arrested as spies! There"—he looked round triumphantly—"who shall say that the age of romance is dead? Let us go forth and languish in a German gaol. Think of the notices we shall get in the papers! We'll give our photographs to The Daily Glass before we start. I expect we shall see one another in the chapel on Sundays, and I shall write to you in blood every day, darling, on a piece of my mattress. The letters will always be in the top left-hand corner of the steak pudding. Don't say I didn't tell you where to look."
"We shall be able to talk," said I—"by rapping on the wall, I mean."
"Certainly. Once for the letter A, twice for the chambermaid, three times for the boots. In the meantime, Jonah and you will each have removed a large stone from the floor of your cells by means of a nail which he found in his soup. Say you work sixteen hours out of the twenty-four you ought to have burrowed outside the gates in about five years."
Jill shuddered. "Austria would be rather nice, just now, wouldn't it?" she ventured.
"We could go high up if it got hot, of course," said Daphne slowly, "and the air's nice—"
"I'll find out what we do about shipping the car on Friday," said Berry.
I must have been tired, for I never heard the tea-things taken away. When I opened my eyes, Berry and Co. had gone. I looked at the jig-saw and began to wonder what had waked me.
"First of all," said a quiet voice, "I take five and three-quarters. Do you think you can remember that?"
"I'll try. Long ones, of course."
"Yes, please. Not the ordinary white kid: I like the fawn suede ones."
"With pleasure."
"And now, please, can I be shown over the house?"
I turned and regarded her. Sitting easily in a chair to my right, and a little behind me, she was holding out to me a slip of paper. I took it mechanically but I did not look at it.
"Don't move for a minute or two," I said. "You look absolutely splendid like that."
She smiled. I rather think her frock was of linen—at any rate, it was blue. Her large straw hat was blue, too, and so were her smart French gloves and her dainty shoes; her ankles were very pretty, but her complexion was the thing: She had one of the clearest skins I have ever seen, and the delicate bloom of her cheeks was a wonder in itself. I could not well see her eyes, for she was sitting with her head thrown back—her gloved right hand behind it holding down the brim of her hat—and as she was looking at me and not up into the sky, they were almost hidden by their lids. Her left arm lay carelessly along the arm of the chair, and, her sleeve being loose and open, I could see half a dozen inches of warm pink arm. I just looked at her.
"Done?" she said.
"Not quite." I have said before, and I say again, that girls of this type ought not to be allowed to raise their eyebrows and smile faintly at the same moment. It amounts to a technical assault. I fancy she saw me set my teeth, for the next moment she put up her left hand and bent the broad blue rim over her face.
"Early closing day," she said. I contemplated her ankles in silence. After a minute:
"Well?" said my companion from behind the brim.
"I hate it when the blinds are down," said I, "but—"
"But what?"
"Happily, they are only short blinds. In other words, just as the ostrich, when pursued, is said to thrust its head into the sand, believing—"
"And now please can I be shown over the house?"
I glanced at the order-to-view which she had handed me. It referred to The Grange, which stood in its own grounds about half a mile away. Its lodge gates were rather like ours. The same mistake had been made before.
"The agent at Bettshanger gave me that to-day, and I motored over this afternoon. The car's outside. I was walking up the drive—how pretty it all is!—when I saw you asleep here. I suppose I ought to have gone up to the house really, but it looked so nice and cool here that I came and sat down instead and waited for you to wake."
"I'm so glad you did."
"Why?"
"Well, you see, they're rather a queer lot up there at the house—might have said you couldn't see over, or something."
She opened her big eyes.
"But I've got an order."
"That's the worst of it. They'll take orders from no one. Once they'd caught sight of it, you would have been blindfolded and led back to the village by a circuitous route."
"Nonsense!"
"It's a fact. But I'll show you round, all right. Anything I can tell you about the place before we move?"
She regarded me suspiciously. Then:
"Is there a billiard-room?" she said.
"Certainly. And a table complete with three balls, one of latest models—slate bed, pneumatic cushions. Be careful of the top one; it bust the other day. The butler had pumped it up too tight."
"Servants' hall?"
"Every time. All the domestic offices are noble."
"Telephone?"
"Of course. In case of fire, call 'Fire Brigade.' No number required. Speak direct to fire-station. Give address of fire."
"That's useful."
"Rather! You'll have them up under the hour, if they can get the horses."
"All the same, I don't think we shall come here. You see, I didn't know it was an asylum."
"It's very cheap," said I. "I can do it at ten guineas a week—without the inspection-pit, that is."
She leaned forward and laughed. "Oh dear!" she said, "what a thing it is to be really silly sometimes!"
She got up and smoothed down her dress.
"And now, please, can I be shown over the house?"
"With pleasure," I said, getting up. "That is, unless you'd rather see The Grange first."
She stared at me for a moment, then she snatched the order out of my hand. "What's this place?" she demanded.
"White Ladies."
"Are you trying to let it?"
"Well, we haven't thought—"
"And you've let me sit here all this time making a fool of myself, when you knew perfectly well—"
"Five and three-quarters, was it?"
She stamped her foot.
"Dear pretty Girl Blue, don't be angry."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
"I know, but I'm so busy just now that it's done for me. My sister is ashamed of me every evening at eight—fifteen. Matinees on Wednesdays at two. Could you come one day?"
She laughed in spite of herself. Then:
"And now where is this Grange place?"
"Next but one on the right, but it looks rotten in the evening."
"It's only just five."
"Besides, they had measles there last May—stacks of them."
"Stacks of what?"
"Measles. One of them escaped one day and was brought back by the village corner-boy. He said he'd have kept it, only he hadn't got a dog licence."
"But The Grange has got a ghost, hasn't it? And I love ghosts."
"The Grey Lady? My dear, she's gone. Always used to walk the back stairs on third Fridays, and one night the servants left the lights on. She gave notice the next day. Wanted a change, I think. You see, she'd been in one place nearly two hundred years. Besides, the stairs were bad."
"It's a nice house, isn't it?"
"Pretty well. But it hasn't got a priest's hole."
"What does that matter?"
"Well, where are you going to keep the gorgonzolas?"
She leaned on the back of a chair and began to laugh helplessly. Presently:
"You wretched man!" she said. "I'm really awfully angry with you."
"I knew it."
"Be quiet. You've wasted my time here until it's too late for me to see The Grange, and what on earth I shall tell father I don't know."
"He's not outside?"
"In the car? You don't think I should still be here if he was? No, I came over alone."
"That's all right. Now you'll be able to help me with this jig-saw."
She gave rather a good gasp at that.
"Girl Blue, please. You've heaps of time, because, if you'd gone to The Grange, you wouldn't have got away yet. And it's a nice jig-saw, quite one of the family."
"Eats out of your hand, I suppose?"
"Rather. And sits up and barks for Baldwin and all the rest of it. 'A Young Diana' it's called. Appeared in last year's Academy, and—"
But she was down on her knees on the lawn, staring at the tray by now. I joined her, wondering a little.
"That's a bit of Merrylegs," she said, picking up one of the pieces, "and there's another. That's a bit of her dear nose, and there's her white stocking. Look here, we'll do her first."
I sat down on the turf and looked at her. "Either," I said slowly—"either you're a witch, and that isn't allowed, or else you've had to learn this picture some time as a punishment."
She laughed. "I sat for it," she explained. "That's all."
It was my turn to gasp.
"It's hanging in the dining-room at home now. Come along. There's a bit of my habit. Keep it with Merrylegs. I'll fit them together in a minute."
I took off my coat, kneeled down beside her, and began to receive Merrylegs piecemeal. When she had picked out all of the mare, she cleared a little space, and began fitting the bits together at a rate that was astonishing. Then she turned her attention to the background. Laid upon its side, the mysterious ladder became a distant fence, and little by little a landscape grew into being under her small fingers. Suddenly she caught my arm.
"Somebody's coming!" she whispered.
I heard footsteps crunch on a path's gravel, then all was silent again. Whoever it was, was coming towards us over the lawn. A clump of rhododendrons hid us from them, and them from us.
"Behind there!" I whispered, pointing to three tall elms at our back, which grew so close together that they formed a giant screen. She was out of sight in a second, and I had just time to throw my coat over the jig-saw and sit down upon the glove she had dropped before Berry appeared.
"Hullo!" he said.
"Hullo!" said I.
"What are you doing?"
"Doing?"
"Yes, you know—executing, performing, carrying out?"
"Go away!" I said. "You are trespassing upon a private reverie. Didn't you see the notice?"
He shook his head. "You have, as it were, burst rudely open the door of the brown study in which I am communing with Nature and one or two of my imagination's friends. Kindly apologize and withdraw, closing the door as you go."
"All right, Omar. Where's your Thou?"
"You frightened her away."
Berry grinned. "Heard the pattering of my little feet, I suppose!"
"Yes. She wouldn't believe it was only footsteps, but let that pass. If she were to hear the same noise—forgive me—retreating, she would probably return."
"Really think so?"
"That is my steadfast conviction."
"Well, you go indoors, and we'll see. If I don't follow you in five minutes, you'll know you're right."
"Friend," said I, "the indecency of your suggestion is almost grotesque. To impose upon a timid, trusting Thou is either base or dastardly—I forget which. I am glad none of the others were here to hear what I feel sure to have been but a thoughtless, idle word. I shan't say anything about it, so no one, except you and me, will ever know; and even if I cannot ever forget, I shall come to forgive it in years to come."
"Time will heal the wound, brother. Till then, where's the jig-saw?"
"An evil beast hath devoured it. It is, without doubt, rent in pieces."
"In which case I shall prefer a bill of indictment against you as accessory for mutilation next autumn assize. I warn you."
"Thanks! I shall see you at dinner, shan't I? Not that I want to, but I just shall."
Berry sighed. "From your manner, more than from what you say, anyone would think you wanted me to go, old chap. Of course, I know you, so it doesn't matter; but you ought to be more careful. No, I've not taken offence, because I know none was meant; but I'm going to go just to teach you a lesson. Yes, I am. Give my love to Thou, won't you?"
"Certainly not! She's had one shock already this afternoon."
"Oh, was to-day the first time she'd seen you?"
He strolled back to the house. When I heard his footsteps on the gravel again, I got up and peered through the rhododendrons. I watched him go indoors, and turned to see the girl once more on her knees by the jig-saw. I kneeled opposite her and watched her at work. After a moment she glanced up and met my eyes.
"You'll see the picture better from this side," she said.
"Which picture?"
"Round you come!"
I crawled to her side with a sigh. On she went at a wonderfulpace. Old elms rose up in the background, a splash of red and brown resolved itself into a sunny farm, and four pieces which Berry had recognized as water went to make up a sheltered haystack. When it was nearly finished, she leaned across me and looked at my wrist-watch.
"I'll just have time," she whispered half to herself.
"Only just?"
"Only just. Did you speak?"
"Yes, I did. I said 'Damn!' And I'll say it again."
She leaned on my shoulder and laughed for a second. Then:
"I'm sure you wouldn't find that in the Rubaiyat."
"Perhaps Thou didn't have to be back in time for dinner."
She fell to work again, but I could see she was smiling. The loose pieces left were very few now. A tuft of grass fell into place, a wisp of smoke stole out of the farmhouse chimney, a quick-set hedge sprang up in the distance, landscape and sky merged on the horizon, and the thing was done.
She sat back on her heels and regarded it for a moment. Then she slipped sideways on to the lawn, smoothed down her frock, and looked at me.
"Not bad, is it?" she said.
"It's sweet!"
"You ought to see the original."
"I have. That's why I love it. I shall have it framed and keep it in memory of this private view."
"Sentiment, with a vengeance."
"What if it is, Girl Blue?"
For answer, she began to pull on her gloves. I watched her insilence. When they were both on, she rose, and so did I.
"I'll go as I came," she said. "Don't come with me to the gate."
I bowed. She put out her hand. I bent over it.
"Good-bye," I said.
"Good-bye, and—and thanks for—"
"For what, Girl Blue?"
"For not asking any questions."
I smiled and turned away. Then I kneeled down suddenly and kissed the face that looked up out of the picture, the face that would have meant nothing two hours before, the face that looked out into the clear breeze and over the open country, the face that—
"As this is quite a private view," said the original, speaking very slowly, "and as to-morrow you won't be able to—"
I didn't hear the rest of the sentence.
Before I had finished my second cigarette, Berry, Daphne, and Jill came round the bank of rhododendrons.
"Why, Boy," said Jill, "have you been here all the time?"
A cry from Daphne interrupted her.
The next moment they were all down on their knees poring over my late companion's handiwork. A moment later, as with one consent, they all looked up and stared at me. I looked away and smoked with careless deliberation.
"How on earth have you done it?" gasped Daphne.
"Done what?" said I. "Oh, that? Oh, it wasn't very hard!"
"You must be better at them than you were on Saturday," said Jill. "Have you been practising at the Blahs?"
I felt Berry was looking at me, and waited.
"Then it was a glove you were sitting on," he said slowly. Berry's a nut—every time.
It was the first week in October, and we were back in town. They were all out but me. Sunday afternoon it was, and I was alone in the library finishing a little work. I do work sometimes. Suddenly the telephone went. I picked up the receiver.
"Is that the garage?" said Girl Blue.
"No, dear. It's me. How are you?"
"Why, it's you!"
"I know. I said so just now. You're looking splendid. Oh, I am glad! I've waited such a long time!"
"You must thank the Exchange, not me."
"Don't rub it in!"
"Well, good-bye."
"I don't think you're very kind, Girl Blue."
"No?"
"No, I don't! I've got the gloves, by the way."
"Thank you."
"I'll send them to you, care of Charing Cross Post Office, if you like, unless you'd rather I buried them six paces due east of the fourteenth lamp-post on the west side of Edgware Road."
"I think," she said slowly, "I think I may as well take them with me."
"Certainly, madam. Sign, please! But when, dear?"
"Well, I shall be at the Albert Hall next Friday."
"Girl Blue!"
"I don't suppose you're going, but perhaps you could send them by someone who—"
"Under what symbol shall I meet her?"
"Wait a moment! You shall have the seventh waltz—"
"Only seven? Where is he? What is his name?"
"You heard what I said. And we'll meet under—oh, under—"
"Mistletoe," said I. "Good-bye!"
"Good-bye! Oh, Girl Blue, I forgot to say—"
"Number, please!" said Exchange.
"You've cut me off!" I roared.
"Sorry."
A pause. Then:
"Here you are."
"Hullo, dear!" I said.
"Is that the cab rank?" said a man's fat voice.
"No, it isn't," said I. "And you've got an ugly face and flat feet, and I hate you!"
Then I rang off.
I had seen her but once before, and that was at the Savoy on New Year's Eve. She had been with her party at one table, and I with mine at another. And in the midst of the reveling I had chanced to look up and into one of the great mirrors which made a panel upon the wall. There I had seen the girl, sitting back in her chair, smiling and fresh and white-shouldered, in a dress of black and gold, her fingers about the stem of her goblet. Not talking, listening, rather, to the words of a man at her side, whose eyes were watching her smiling lips somewhat greedily. He had red hair, I remember, and a moustache brushed up to hide a long upper lip. And, as I looked, she also had looked up, and our eyes had met. There and then I had raised my wine and toasted her—her of the looking-glass. The smile had deepened. Then she had raised her glass, and drunk to me in return. That was all. And when Berry had leaned across the table and asked:
"Who's your friend?"
"I wish I knew."
"Pshaw!" said my brother-in-law. "I say it deliberately."
"I drank to a thought," said I. "Believe me." After all, a thought is a reflection. And now here she was, sitting in the grass by the wayside.
"She's brown, isn't she?" said I.
"As a berry. I like his breeches."
I bowed. "Thank you. And for you,'picturesque' is the word—one of the words. Shall I compare you to a summer's day?"
"I'd rather you collected that cow. She's getting too near the river for my liking. I'm looking after the dears."
"Are you?" said I. "But-"
"But what?"
"'Quis custodiet—'"
The apple she threw passed over my shoulder.
Mountains and valleys, swift rivers and curling roads, here and there a village shining in the hot sun, and once in a while a castle in the woods, white-walled, red-roofed, peaceful enough now in its old age, but hinting at wild oats sown and reaped when it was young. Hinting broadly, too. At nights shaken with the flare of torches and the clash of arms, at oaths and laughter and the tinkle of spurs on the worn steps, at threats and bloodlettings and all the good old ways, now dead, out of date, and less indebted to memory than imagination. And then at galleries with creaking floors, at arras and the rustle of a dress; whisperings, too, and the proud flash of eyes, hands lily-white, whose fingers men must kiss and in the eyes mirror themselves. But these things are not dead. Old-fashioned wrath is over—gone to its long home: love is not even wrinkled. Yet again it was before wrath...
I set out to describe the province of Krain, and now I have strayed from the highway up one of those curling roads to one of those white castles, only to lose myself in the thicket of Romance beyond. Perhaps it does not matter. Anyway, it was on the slope of a green meadow all among the mountains of Krain that the girl was sitting, herself unminded, minding her cows. And out of the woods above her a round, white tower proclaimed a chateau set on the shoulder of a hill.
Her dress was that of the country, and yet, perhaps, rather such as Croatian peasants wear. All white linen, embroidered ever so richly, cut low and round at the neck, and with the skirt falling some four inches below her knee: short sleeves, a small, white apron, and over her thick, fair hair a bright red kerchief. But her stockings were of white silk, and small, black buckled slippers kept the little feet. Clear, blue eyes hers, and a small merry mouth, and a skin after the sun's own heart. It was so brown—such an even, delicate brown. Brown cheeks and temples, brown arms and hands, brown throat. Oh, very picturesque.
I rounded up the cow errant, returned to my lady, and took my seat by her side.
"Thank you," she said. "And now, who are you and what do you want?"
"My name," said I, "is Norval. And I want to know the way to the pageant-ground, and when does your scene come on?"
"It is a nice dress, isn't it?"
She rose and stood smoothing her frock and apron.
"Sweet. Only you ought to have bare brown legs."
"My dear man, this isn't the Garden of Eden."
"No? Some other Paradise, I suppose. Old Omar's, perhaps. Besides, I forgot. Dolls never go barefoot, do they?"
"Dolls?"
"Yes. Aren't you the 'great big beautiful doll' they sing of?"
She threw back her head, and laughed at that, pleasedly. Then she began to sing softly:
"Oh, you beautiful doll, You great big beautiful doll..."
We finished the verse together, the cows watching us with big eyes.
"I think we're rather good," said I, when it was over.
"I know we're both mad," said she. "And I don't feel a bit like singing really, either."
"Oh, great and beautiful one," said I, "what is the matter? Indicate to me the fly that dares to lurk in this fair bowl of ointment."
She looked away over the river. Then:
"After all, it's nothing to do with you."
"Nothing whatever." said I.
"Then why do you ask?"
"Something to say, I suppose. Is not the clemency of the weather delightful?"
"Yes, but those cows belong to me."
I laughed scornfully. Then:
"My aunt has four eggs," I said simply.
She turned away, ostensibly to pick a flower, but I saw her shoulders shaking. At length:
"There is a pig in the grass," she said. "Its name is Norval."
"The doll is on its hind legs," I replied, getting up. "As for me, is it not that I shall have been about to go? Adieu, mademoiselle."
"Er—au revoir, monsieur."
"That's better," said I. "And now, what's the trouble, my dear?"
Well, it was about the chauffeur. You see, she was spending the summer here in the chateau. Yes, the chateau above us, white on the hillside. She and a companion—a girl—alone, with a household of their own, very happy, very comfortable...
"We are really, you know. Don't think we're suffragists. Truth is, I'd got about sick of men, and thought I'd take a rest. I heard of this old place to be let furnished, came to see if it was half as nice as it sounded, and never even went back to England to collect Betty. Just couldn't leave it. Betty followed post-haste with the servants and heavy luggage, and—and—"
"And the parrot?" I hazarded.
"No. Oh, the linen and everything. I'd got the car with me. We've been here nearly two months now, and I love it more every day. Don't miss men a bit, either."
This last in an inimitable tone, half nonchalant, half defiant.
"I expect they do most of the missing."
"Thanks, awfully. However, I may tell you the family's been rather narky—"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Narky. Like a nark."
"Of course. How stupid of me! Same root as 'snirksome.' As you were."
"Well, rather ratty about it all. Said it was all ridiculous and unheard of."
"Did they use the word 'proceeding'?"
"They did."
"Ah!"
"The one thing that sort of stopped them from really doing anything was the fact that Betty was with me. Betty's dear, and they all know it. And her being here, I suppose, seemed to save it from being what's called an 'impossible position.' Well, a week ago comes a letter from the Brethes—that's my uncle and aunt—saying they're motoring through Austria to Italy, and are going to stay a night at Laipnik on the way. Would like to run over and see me, as they understand Savavic—that's me—is only thirty miles away. All very nice."
"Sweet of them." I agreed.
"Isn't it! Only, three days ago Betty gets a wire to say her mother's ill, and she has to bolt for the night train to Paris."
"Yes. So that uncle dear mustn't come to Savavic at any price. If he does, Betty's absence becomes apparent, and the good old 'impossible position' arises at once. Consequently, I send a nice letter to the one hotel at Laipnik 'to await arrival,' saying the road's so bad and hard to find that I'll come over to them instead of their coming here."
"Much as you would have loved them to see Savavic."
"Exactly. You're rather intelligent."
"Oh, I'm often like that. It's in the blood. Grandpa got his B.A.," I explained. "We've loaned his hood to the Wallace Collection. Go on."
"Well, that all sounds very nice and easy, doesn't it? Then, to put the lid on, my chauffeur breaks his arm yesterday afternoon."
"And the uncle's due when?"
"Slept at Laipnik last night. I was to have lunched with them to-day. Oh, the fat's in the fire all right this time. I may expect them any time after three." I reflected a moment. Then:
"I'll drive you to Laipnik," said I. "I'm as safe as a house at the wheel."
"You're awfully good and kind," said the girl, shaking her head, "but it's no good. Think. How on earth would I explain you?"
"It is unnecessary to explain a chauffeur."
"Oh, but you can't—"
"Certainly I can. At any rate, I'm going to. Come along and get changed, mistress."
I scrambled to my feet.
"If you'll show me the way to the garage, I'll be looking over the car. What is she, by the way? And where does your late chauffeur keep his boots?"
"Are you an angel?" said the girl, getting up.
"Who told you?" said I.
The boots were much too big and the gaiters a little small. Still, they did. A long dust-coat came down over the tops of the gaiters, making the uniform unnecessary. I took the cap to wear when we reached the town. Gloves, near enough. It was a big, open car, and all the way to Laipnik the girl, looking priceless in a fawn-coloured dress, sat by my side. We went like the wind. After a while:
"He drives well," said my companion, half to herself.
"Thank you, beautiful doll—I should say madam. Is that right?"
"Quite, thanks. How are the boots?"
"A bit spacious. I'm afraid I've lost one of my toes already."
"You poor man. Which one?"
"Baldwin," said I. "He's got separated from the others, you know. I'll be able to look for him when we get to Laipnik. Told them to keep together, too," I added bitterly.
She gave a little peal of laughter. Then:
"How tiresome" she said. "And I'm afraid your calves weren't made for those gaiters."
"I admit they don't fit as well as your stockings, but—"
"Norval."
"Madam?"
"Behave yourself."
"Very good, madam. By the way, what about my wages?"
"What do you suggest? I shan't object to anything reasonable."
"No? Well, I was getting eleven-three a yar—day in my last place, and all found—especially all."
"'All found''s rather a dangerous phrase."
"Not at all. It only means washing and beer and the English papers, when you've done with them, and meat on Sundays. A smile, too, when I'm tired, and a word of thanks after seventy miles in the rain with a head wind."
"It might cover a multitude of sins, Norval."
Here I saved a dog's life and passed two wagons before their drivers had had time to inspire the horses with the terror they felt themselves. Then:
"All found's all right, if you know your man," said I.
"But I don't."
I caught her laughing eyes in the windscreen, and straightway drank to them from an imaginary wine-glass. She smiled gently, and the eyes looked away with the look that sees at once not at all and yet farthest. She was gazing down the vista of memory.
"Then it's a compact," I said quietly. "Sealed with a drink."
"I never drank to you this time, Norval."
"Yes, you did," said I. "Only with thine eyes, doll beautiful."
"You forget yourself."
"I remember you. You were wearing a black and gold dress. Sweet you looked."
She turned away and pointed to a church we were leaving on our right.
"That," she said, "is a church."
"You amaze me. I thought it was a swimming-bath."
She bit the lip that wanted to smile.
"To return to you, who are my mutton, I wish this road wasn't so narrow. I can't look at you except in the screen."
"We first met in a looking-glass."
"True. But now I want something more—more tangible."
"Indeed?"
I glanced down. "At any rate, I've got your feet, bless them. I shall compose a sonnet to them, beautiful doll."
"And I'll write an epic about yours."
Five minutes passed. "How's the epic going?" said I.
"I've only done four lines."
"Let's have them."