CHAPTER XIIICLEARING THE GROUND
WHAT could be the connection between Halsey and the Countess Rémond, Selden wondered, as he turned away. He tried to remember what he knew of Halsey, but it was not very much. They had met casually in Paris a number of times, and had dinner with him once at the Cercle Interallié, when they happened to be working on the same story, but that was all.
He had never liked Halsey’s style. TheJournalwas a sensational sheet; always seeking to play up the scandalous, never so happy as when it was able to uncover a dark corner in the life of some public man, ever eager to impute unworthy motives to the backers of any cause—and Halsey rather gave the impression that he liked that sort of thing. Certainly he was not held in very high esteem by his associates, and Selden’s own idea was that he had lived so long in a cynical circle in Paris that he had caught its tone.
Once he got hold of this affair of the prince and Myra Davis, Selden very well knew what he would make of it—more especially if he discovered the existence of Madame Ghita. But of that he was probably already aware, since the marriage had no doubt been played up by him at the time it occurred.
He wondered if the countess, for some reason ofher own, was keeping Halsey informed. But she could scarcely do that, since Halsey’s jeers would imperil the whole plan upon which her heart was so evidently set. Or was she keeping him in order? Or was he just her lover? But Selden could not imagine why such a woman as the countess....
And then all thought of Halsey and the countess vanished, for he saw approaching the woman whom, from the first moment he reached the terrace, he had hoped to see; the woman about whom his thoughts were centring more and more; who, in the last half hour, had taken on for him a new interest and a new meaning.
She saw him at the same instant, and turned and spoke a word to the man walking beside her, and Selden, looking at him, perceived it was young Davis, completely immersed in Miss Fayard, who walked on his other side, and who was certainly not unresponsive. In another moment Davis was bringing the ladies toward him.
“Selden,” he said, “I want you to meet Madame Ghita. You remember....”
“Very well,” said Selden; “I am happy indeed to meet madame.”
“I also,” she said, and gave him her hand with a charming smile. “But let us speak French. To myself I said, who can it be, that man so distinguished whom I have not seen here before, and later I inquired of M. Davis. What he told me made me more than ever curious, so when I saw you just now, I commanded him to present you.”
“That was very nice of you,” said Selden, making a mental note of that word “later.” So the princeand Davis had kept the appointment, as he had supposed they would do.
Her eyes were resting on his with the same frank and unembarrassed questioning he had noticed the first time he saw her, as though she were seeking to discover what was passing in his mind, what he was pondering about. They were a very dark brown, those eyes, almost black; and again he noted the ivory softness of her skin, innocent of make-up, and singularly glowing in spite of her lack of colour.
“This is my niece, Mlle. Fayard,” she added, and Selden bowed to the young girl. “You two may walk on and continue your French lesson, while I talk to M. Selden.”
“She is teaching me the first conjugation,” Davis explained, looking ridiculously happy. “We have started withaimer.”
“Allez, allez!” commanded madame, laughing at the blush which overspread the girl’s cheek. “With a Frenchman I could not do that,” she added, looking after them. “But with an American, yes. Why is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Selden.
“But you agree with me that it is quite safe?”
“Oh, yes,” said Selden; “for the girl, that is.”
She laughed outright.
“Are you really such a cynic?” she asked. Then she grew suddenly serious. “Do not be mistaken about her—she is a very good girl, believe me. I have taken good care of her.”
“I can see that,” said Selden, and they walked on for a moment in silence.
“Are you married?” she asked suddenly. “Forgiveme,” she added, as he stared a little; “but it is something that a woman always wishes to know about a man. I do not think you are, but I should like to be sure.”
“Well, I’m not,” said Selden. “A fellow who knocks around the world as I do has no business to be married.”
“You travel a great deal?”
“I am always looking for trouble. Whenever there is a row anywhere, I pack my bag and start.”
“Was it for trouble you came to Monte Carlo?”
“Oh, no,” said Selden. “I came here to get warm, after two months in the Balkans—also to rest a little. And I have had the good fortune to meet here some very interesting people—one superlatively so,” and he made her a little bow.
“Thank you. But you have not rested?”
“I usually find some work to do.”
“And then, of course, there are the tables.”
“Yes.”
“And the women.”
“Yes—they are wonderful, aren’t they?” he countered.
“Not all of them. But the one you were with yesterday seemed to me rather unusual. Who was she?”
“Ah, that,” said Selden, calmly, “was the Countess Rémond.”
He felt that he had scored, although Madame Ghita certainly did not start. But there was a new expression in her eyes.
“She is an old friend of yours?” she asked.
“No; I met her Monday evening.”
“I have never met her,” said madame; “but I am going to have lunch with her to-day.”
“Are you?” said Selden. “I am very glad. So am I.”
This time she did start.
“You are sure it is for to-day that you are asked?” she questioned.
“Oh, yes. She told me that she had invited you, but that you had not as yet accepted.”
“So you are in the plot, too,” she said slowly, and the eyes with which she scanned his face were quite black. “That is a thing I had not suspected.”
“No,” answered Selden quickly, “I am not in any plot. But if I were, I should be on your side, madame; I pray you to believe it.”
She looked at him yet a moment as though striving to read his very inmost thought. Then she glanced around.
“Let us sit down,” she said, and led the way to a bench. “Now you must tell me what you know—everything. In the first place, you know, do you not, that Prince Danilo is my husband?”
“Yes; I know that.”
“As legally my husband as the woman you marry will be your wife.”
“Yes.”
“Except that I have no claim upon his estates or his title, and our children, if we had any, could not succeed to them.”
“Yes.”
“And there was, of course, the understanding that some day, if he wished, he would be free to make a marriage of state in order to carry on the title.”
“Yes.”
“Well, the prince does not wish to marry again. If he consents, it is only because the king commands it, and he conceives it to be his duty to his country.”
“I can well believe it, madame,” said Selden.
“Eh bien, I went to Nice last night to stop it; after all, I have some pride, some rights. I will not be disregarded and cast aside like that!”
“I understand,” said Selden. “You are right. Do you need my help?”
She looked at him suddenly, with curious intentness.
“You are in earnest?”
“Absolutely.”
She smiled at him, almost tenderly.
“I shall not forget that,” she said; “perhaps some day I may even call upon you. But I did not interfere last night because Danilo gave me his word that he would leave the matter in my hands to decide one way or the other, before the settlement is signed.”
“That was fine of him!”
“Oh, Danilo is a gentleman,” said madame; “and he will keep his word. Besides....”
She stopped and shrugged her shoulders, but to Selden the shrug was more eloquent than words. She meant, of course, that Danilo loved her. And she—did she love him? That was the question Selden would have liked to ask, but he did not dare.
“You have not yet made up your mind?” he asked instead.
“No,” she answered slowly, looking at him with a queer little smile; “you see there are so manythings to consider. Of course, if Danilo refuses, the king will cast him off—for a time, at least—and there will be no more money. Danilo could never earn any, and he has borrowed all that is possible. So his affection for me would grow less and less day by day—for he is like a cat; he must be comfortable; and at last the day would come when he could endure it no longer, and would tell me good-bye.”
“You are saying nothing of yourself,” Selden pointed out.
“Oh, I could endure it no more than he!” laughed his companion. “Less perhaps! So it may be the part of wisdom, for his sake and for my sake, to make the best bargain I can, now, while there is a chance. Does that seem very cynical?”
“No; just sensible.”
“But one is not supposed to be sensible in affairs of the heart—is it not so? Well, I may not be sensible in this affair—I cannot tell. But I am willing to listen to what they have to say. The Countess Rémond is an emissary from the king, is she not?”
“Yes.”
“And she is inviting me to lunch in order to discuss this affair?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so,” and again she looked at him, with her strange little smile. “What I do not understand is that you also should be there.”
“Ah, madame,” said Selden quickly, “I pointed out to her that you would not like it. I shall not come.”
“But I did not say I did not like it. On the contrary,I wish you to come. Only, if you are an ally of the countess, I must be prepared for you.”
“I am not an ally of the countess,” Selden protested; “not in any sense. I should like to be your ally, madame, if you will have me.”
She glanced at him quickly, then turned her head away for a moment, as though looking for her niece and Davis. Then she looked back at him, and her face was very tender.
“Of course I will have you!” she said, her voice a little thick.
Selden was deeply moved; he looked away, out over the sea, and for a moment there was silence between them—but it was a silence which said many things.
“Have you met her,” she asked at last, “this Miss Davis?”
“Yes.”
“Does she resemble her brother?”
“Oh, no,” said Selden; “not in the least. She is much stronger and finer.”
“You admire her then?”
“Yes—in a way.”
“Is she fond of Danilo?”
“No, I don’t think so—not especially.”
“Then it is just ambition—ambition to be a queen!”
“Her mother is ambitious, and of course urges her on. But I think what Miss Davis cares for most is the opportunity to do good with her money.”
“No, no,” said Madame Ghita quickly; “a man might believe that, but not a woman! There issomething beside that—there must be—something more personal, more passionate. I am sure of it. If I could only see her! Well, it may be possible—why not? I would invite her to open her heart to me, as I should open mine to her, and together we would decide. Yes, yes—that would make it easy!”
A donkey-engine which had been unloading coal from a steamer beside the quay gave a shrill shriek with its whistle and abruptly stopped. There came a tinkle of bells from the ships in the harbour.
“Twelve o’clock!” cried Madame Ghita. “Can it be? I must be going! Where are those children? Come, we must look for them.”
The children were discovered not far away, leaning over the balustrade, watching a low Italian destroyer which was steaming rapidly along the coast, and working assiduously at their languages—French for Davis, English for Cicette. They seemed to be progressing very satisfactorily among the tenses of “aimer”—though Cicette found it difficult to get exactly the correct sound of the “o” in love, and Davis thought the way she said it much prettier than the right way—as, indeed, on her lips it was.
Madame Ghita broke in upon them without compunction.
“Come, Cicette,” she said. “Bid adieu to the gentlemen—we must be going. It is very late.”
Selden, looking at her more carefully than he had taken the trouble to do before, found her much less ordinary than she had seemed at first glance. Her face was yet a girl’s, but it gave promise of character as well as beauty. Davis might well do worse!
“But look here,” Davis protested, “I won’t see you again till evening, then! Why can’t I take Cicette to lunch?”
“Impossible!” said madame firmly. “I have her reputation to consider,” and she led her charge away.
The two men watched them as they went up the steps—the elder woman so straight, so graceful, so full of ease; the younger fluttering beside her like a butterfly, her feet scarce touching the ground. It was difficult to realize that the actual difference in their ages was probably not more than five or six years, and that the impression of maturity which Madame Ghita gave was due almost wholly to her finish, her ease, her perfect poise. As they passed from sight, Davis took off his hat and wiped his forehead and breathed a deep sigh.
“Is it as bad as that?” inquired Selden, with a smile.
“Oh, I’m in love all right,” Davis answered, “and I’m going to marry her—I don’t give a damn what anybody says. I’ve never met a girl who could hold a candle to her.”
“Look here,” said Selden, “if you can get your mind off that young woman for a minute or two, I’d like to talk to you about something else. What about this engagement between your sister and Danilo?”
“Well, what about it?” asked Davis, a little truculently.
“Does she know about Madame Ghita?”
“I don’t know—probably not.”
“Don’t you think she ought to know?”
“What for? When the prince marries again, Madame Ghita becomes his widow, that’s all.”
“Perhaps so,” assented Selden, scenting the baron’s teaching. “Just the same she ought to know there is a widow. It would be squarer.”
“Oh, well, I can tell mother,” said Davis.
“I think she already knows.”
“Well then, it’s none of my business,” said Davis, impatiently. “And don’t you worry about sis; she’s perfectly able to take care of herself, and always has been. If you think she would take any advice from her loving brother you’re greatly mistaken—she looks down upon me as a kind of insect to be pitied but not respected. Also, if she has made up her mind to marry Danilo, she’ll marry him just the same if she knew he had ten widows! See here, though—I’ll tell her if you want me to, provided you’ll do something for me.”
“What is it?” asked Selden.
“Help me to get mother’s consent to marry Cicette. I’m of age, and I can marry anybody I want to—but dad never had much confidence in me, and my money is all tied up so I can’t touch it. Beastly, I call it. Of course I’d have enough to live on, but if I married Cicette, I’d want to show her the time of her life. Will you?”
Selden looked appraisingly into the pleading face. Perhaps Davis wasn’t such a bad sort, after all. The right kind of wife might make a man of him. Even a big brother might do something. Selden had never had a kid brother, and the thought rather appealed to him.
“I won’t promise,” he said. “I want to look youboth over a bit more first—I haven’t spoken two words to Cicette and not many more to you.”
Davis must have seen a certain sympathy in Selden’s eyes, for he caught his hand and wrung it delightedly.
“All right!” he shouted. “I agree. The more you see of Cicette, the more you will like her. I’m not afraid of that. But you’ve got to convince mother that she’s good enough for me.”
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that!” Selden retorted. “The only question in my mind is whether you are good enough for her! Now I’ve got to go,” and he left Davis staring after him in delighted amazement.