The day after the wonderful rejoicing which the homecoming of Amaryllis had been the occasion of at Ardayre, she was sitting waiting for her husband in that exquisite cedar parlour which led from her room.
They would breakfast cosily there, she had arranged, and nothing was wanting in the setting of a love scene. The bride wore the most alluring cap and daintiest Paris négligé, and her fair and pure skin gleamed through the diaphanous stuff.
How she longed for John to notice it all, and make love to her! She had apprehended a number of delightful possibilities in Paris, none of which had materialised, alas! in her case.
John was the same as ever—quiet, dignified, polite and unmoved. She had taken to turning out the light before he came to her at night, to hide the disappointment and chagrin which she felt might show in her eyes. It would be so humiliating if he should see this. There would soon be nothing left for her to do but pretend that she was as cold as he was, if this last effort offroufrousleft him as stolid as usual.
She smoothed out the pale chiffon draperies with a tender hand. She got up and looked at herself in the mirror. It was fortunate that the reflection of snowy nose and throat and chin, and the pink velvet cheeks, required no art to perfect them; it was all natural and quite nice, she felt. What a bore it must be to have to touch up like Madame Boleski!
But what was the meaning of all the imputations she had read of in those interesting French novels in Paris?—the languors and lassitudes and tremors of breakfasting love! There was just such a scene as this in one she had devoured on the boat. Adéjeunerof _amants—_certainly they had not been married, there was that want of resemblance, but surely this could not matter? For a fortnight, three weeks, a month, surely even a husband could be as a lover—especially to a mistress who took such pains to please his eye!
Would Elsie Goldmore spend such dull breakfasts when she espoused Harry Kahn? Elsie Goldmore was a Jewess, perhaps that made the difference, perhaps Jews were more expansive—But the people in the novels were not Jews. Of course, though, they were French, that must be it! Could it be that all Englishmen, to their wives, were like John? This she must presently find out.
Meanwhile she would try—oh, try so hard to entice him to be lovely to her! He was her own husband; there was absolutely no harm in doing this. And how glorious it would be to turn him into a lover! Here in this perfectly divine old house! John was so good-looking, too, and had the most attractive deep voice, but heavens! the matter-of-factness of everything about him!
How long would it all go on?
John came in presently withThe Timesunder his arm. He was immaculately dressed in a blue serge suit. Amaryllis had hoped to see him in that subduedly gorgeous dressing gown she had persuaded him to order at Charvets during their first days. It would have been so suitable and intimate and lover-like. But no! there was the blue serge suit—andThe Times.
A shadow fell upon her mood. Her own pink chiffons almost seemed out of place!
John glanced at them, and at the glowing, living, delicious bit of young womanhood which they adorned. He saw the rebellious ripe cherry of a mouth, and the warm, soft tenderness in the grey eyes, and then he quickly looked out of the window—his own blue ones expressionless, but the hand which held the newspaper clenched rather hard.
"Amn't I a pet!" cooed Amaryllis, deliberately subduing the chill of her first disappointment. "Dearest, see I have kept this last and loveliest set of garments for the morning of our home-coming—and for you!" and she crept close to him and laid her cheek against his cheek.
He encircled her with his arm and kissed her calmly.
"You look most beautiful, darling," he said. "But then, you always do, and your frills are perfection. Now I think we ought to have breakfast; it is most awfully late."
She sat down in her place and she felt stupid tears rise in her eyes.
She poured out the tea and buttered herself some toast, while John was apparently busy at a side table where dwelt the hot dishes.
He selected the daintiest piece of sole for her, and handed her the plate.
"I am not hungry," she protested, "keep it for yourself."
He did not press the matter, but took his place and began to talk quietly upon the news of the day—in a composed fashion between glances atThe Timesand mouthfuls of sole.
Amaryllis controlled herself. She was too proud and too just to make a foolish scene. If this was John's way and her little effort at enticement was a failure, she must put up with it. Marriage was a lottery she had always heard, and it might be her luck to have drawn a blank. So she choked down the rising emotion and answered brightly, showing interest in her husband's remarks—and she even managed to eat some omelette, and when the business of breakfast was quite over she went to the window and John followed her there.
The view which met their eyes was exquisite.
Beyond the perfect stately garden, with its quaint clipped yews and masses of spring flowers and velvet lawns, there stretched the vast park with its splendid oaks and browsing deer. It was a possession which any man could feel proud to own.
John slipped his arm round her waist and drew her to him.
"Amaryllis," he said, and his voice vibrated, "to-day I am going to show you everything I love here at Ardayre—because I want you to love it all, too. You are of the family, so it must mean something to you, dear."
Amaryllis kindled with re-awakening hope.
"Indeed, it will mean everything to me, John."
He kissed her forehead and murmured something about her dressing quickly, and that he would wait for her there in the cedar room. And when she returned in about a quarter of an hour in the neatest country clothes, he placed her hand on his arm and led her down the great stairs and on through the hall into the picture gallery.
It was a wonderful place of green silk and chestnut wainscoting, and all the walls of its hundred feet of length were hung with canvases of value—portraits principally of those Ardayres who had gone on. Face after face looked down on Amaryllis of the same type as John's and her own—the brown hair and eyes of grey or blue. Some were a little fairer, some a little darker, but all unmistakably stamped "Ardayre."
John pointed out each individual to her, while she hung fondly on his arm, from some doubtful crude fourteenth century wooden panels of Johns and Denzils, on to Benedict in a furred Henry VII. gown. Then came Henrys and Denzils in Elizabethan armour and puffed white satin, and through Stuart and Commonwealth to Stuart again, and so to William and Mary numbers of Benedicts, and lastly to powdered Georgian James' and Regency Denzils and Johns. And the name Amaryllis recurred more than once in stately dame or damsel, called after that fair Amaryllis of Elizabeth's days who had been maid of honour to the virgin Queen, and had sonnets written to her nut brown locks by the gallants of her time.
"How little the women they married seem to have altered the type!" the young living Amaryllis exclaimed, when they came nearly to the end. "It goes on Ardayre, Ardayre, Ardayre, ever since the very first one. Oh! John, if we ever have a son he ought to be even more so—you and I being of the same blood—" and then she hesitated and blushed crimson. This was the first time she had ever spoken of such a thing.
John held her arm very tightly to his side for a second, and his voice was uncertain as he answered:
"Amaryllis, that is the profound desire of my heart, that we should have a son."
A strange feeling of exaltation came over Amaryllis, half-innocent, wholly ignorant as she was.
She had been stupid—French novels were all nonsense. Marriages in real life were always like this—of course they must be—since John said plainly and with such deep feeling that his profoundest desire was that they should have a son! That meant that she would surely have one. This was perfectly glorious, and it must simply be those silly books and Elsie Goldmore's too uxorious imagination which had given her some ridiculously romantic exaggerated ideas of what love hours would be. She would now be contented and never worry again. She nestled closer to her husband and looked up at him with eyes sweet and fond, the brown, curly lashes wet with tender dew.
"Oh!—darling, when, when do you think we shall have a son?"
Then, for the first time in their lives, John Ardayre clasped her in his arms passionately and held her to his heart.
"Ah, God," he whispered hoarsely, as he kissed her fresh young lips."Pray for that, Amaryllis—pray for that, my own."
Then he restrained himself and drew her on to the four last pictures at the end of the room. They were of his grandfather and grandmother, and his father and mother. And then there was a blank space, and the brighter colour of the damask showed that a canvas had been removed.
"Who hung there, John?"
"The accursed snake charmer woman whom my father disgraced the family with by bringing home. She was his wife by the law, and a Frenchman painted her. It was a fine picture with the bastard Ferdinand in her arms—the proof of our shame. I had it taken down and burnt the day the place was mine."
Amaryllis was receiving surprises to-day—John's face was full of emotion, his eyes were sparkling with hate as he spoke. How he must love everything connected with his home, and its honour, and its name—he could not be so very cold after all!
She thought of the Russian's words about a family—the uselessness of its going on for generations, piling up possessions and narrowing its interests. What had the aims been of all these handsome men? She knew the earlier history a little, for even though she was of a distant branch they had been proud of the connection, and treasured the traditions belonging to it. But these were just dry facts of history which she knew, so now she asked:
"John, what did any of them do? Did they accomplish great deeds?"
He took her back to the beginning again and began to tell her of the achievements of each one. There would be three perhaps, one after another, who had filled high posts in the State, and indeed had been worthy of the name. Then would come one or two quiet plodding ones, who seemed to have done little but sit still and hold on.
Then Denzil Ardayre, knight of Elizabeth's time, pleased Amaryllis most of all—though there had been greater soldiers, and more able politicians than he later on, culminating in Sir John Ardayre of George IV. days, who had hammered against pocket boroughs and corruption until he died an old man, the hour the Reform Bill swept aside abuses and the road to freedom was won.
"How strange it seems that different ages produce more accentuated stamps of breeding than others," Amaryllis said, "even in the same families where the blood is all blue. Look, John! that Denzil and the rest of the Elizabethans are the most refined, aristocratic creatures you could imagine, in their little ruffs. Absolutely intellectual and cultivated faces and of old race—and then comes a James period, less intelligent, more round featured. And a Cavalier one, gay and gallant, aristocratic and chiselled also, but not nearly so clever looking as the Elizabethan. Then we get cadaverous William and Mary ones, they might be lawyers or business men, not that look of great gentlemen, and the Anne's and the first George's are really bucolic! And then that wonderfully refined, cultivated, intellectual finish seems to crop up in the later eighteenth century again. Have you noticed this, John? You can see it in every collection of miniatures and portraits even in the museums."
John responded interestedly:
"The Elizabethans were supremely cultivated gentlemen—no wonder that they look as they do—and their lives were always in their hands which gives them that air of insouciance."
When the history of the family achievements had been told her down toJohn's father, she paused, still clinging to his arm, and said:
"I am so glad that they did splendid things, aren't you? And we shall not drift either. You must teach me to be the most perfect mistress of Ardayre, and the most perfect wife for the greatest of them all—because your achievement is the finest, John, to have won it all back and redeemed it by the work of your own brain."
He pressed the hand on his arm.
"It was hard work—and the home times were ugly in those days, Amaryllis, though the goal was worth it, and now we must carry on…." And then his reserve seemed to fall upon him again, and he took her through the other rooms, and kept to solid facts, and historic descriptions, and his bride had continuously the impression that he was mastering some emotion in himself, and that this stolidity was a mask.
When lunch time came the usual relations of obvious and commonplace goodfellowship had been fully restored between them, and that atmosphere of aloofness which seemed impossible to banish enveloped John once more.
Amaryllis sighed—but it was too soon to despair she thought, after the hope of John's words, and with her serene temperament she decided to leave things as they were for the present and trust to time.
But as her maid brushed out the soft brown hair that night, an unrest and longing for something came over her again—what she knew not, nor could have put into words. She let herself re-live that one moment when John had pressed herewith passion to his heart. Perhaps, perhaps that was the beginning of a change in him—perhaps—presently—
But the clock in the long gallery had chimed two, and there was yet no sound of John in the dressing-room beyond.
Amaryllis lay in the great splendid gilt bed in the warm darkness, and at last tears trickled down her cheeks.
What could keep him so long away from her? Why did he not come?
The large Queen Anne windows were wide open, and soft noises of the night floated in with the zephyrs. The whole air seemed filled with waiting expectancy for something tender and passionate to be.
What was that? Steps upon the terrace—measured steps—and then silence, and then a deep sigh. It must be John—out there alone!—when she would have loved to have stayed with him, to have woven sweet fancies in the luminous darkness, to have taken and given long kisses, to have buried her face in the honeysuckle which grew there, steeped in dew. But he had said to her after their stately dinner in the great dining-hall:
"Play to me a little, Amaryllis, and then go to bed, child—you must be tired out."
And after that he had not spoken more, but pushed her gently towards the door with a solemn kiss on the forehead, and just a murmur of "Good-night." And she had deceived herself and thought that it meant that he would come quickly, and so she had run up the stairs.
But now it was after two in the morning, and would soon be growing towards dawn—and John was out there sighing alone!
She crept to the window and leaned upon the sill. She thought that she could distinguish his tall figure there by the carved stone bench.
"John!" she called softly, "I am, so lonely—John, dearest—won't you come?"
Then she felt that her ears must be deceiving her, for there was the sound of a faint suppressed sob, and then, a second afterwards, her husband's voice answering cheerily, with its usual casual note:
"You naughty little night bird! Go back to bed—and to sleep—yes—I am coming immediately now!"
But when he did steal in silently from the dressing-room an hour later in a grey dawn, Amaryllis, worn out with speculation and disappointment, had fallen asleep.
He looked down upon her charming face—the long, curly brown lashes sweeping the flushed cheek, and at the rounded, beautiful girlish form—all his very own to clasp and to kiss and to hold in his arms—and two scalding tears gathered in his blue eyes, and he took his place beside her without making a sound.
"Here are the papers, Hans, but I think the whole thing stupid nonsense. What does it matter to any one what Poland wants? What a nuisance all these old boring political things are! They always spoiled our happiness since the beginning—and now if it wasn't for them we could have a glorious time here together. I would love managing to come out to meet you under Stanislass' nose. None of the others I have ever had are as good in the way of a lover as you."
The man swore in German under his breath.
"Of a lightness always, Harietta! Nodévouement, no patriotism…. Should I have agreed to the divorce, loving your body as I do, had it not been a serious matter? The pig-dog who now owns you must be sucked dry of information—and then I shall take you back again."
A cunning look came into Madame Boleski's hazel eyes. She had not the slightest intention of permitting this—to go back to Hans! To the difficulty of making both ends meet! Even though he did cause every inch of her well-preserved body to tingle! They had suggested her getting the divorce for their own stupid political ends, to be able to place her in the arms of Stanislass Boleski, and there she meant to stay! It was infinitely more agreeable to be a grande dame in Paris, and presently in London, than to be the spouse of Hans in Berlin, where, whatever his secret power might be with the authorities, he could give her no great social position; and social position was the goal of all Harietta Boleski's desires!
She could attract lovers in any class of life—that had never been her difficulty. Her trouble had been that she could never force herself into good American society, even after she had married Hans, and they had dwelt there for a year or more. Her own compatriots would have none of her, and so she wanted triumph in other lands. She hated to remember her youth of humiliation, trying to play a social game on the earnings of any work that she could pick up, between discreet outings with—friends who failed to suggest matrimony. Hans, on some secret mission to San Francisco, where she had gone as companion to a friend, had seemed a veritable Godsend and Prince Charming, when, in her thirtieth year, he actually offered legal marriage, completely overcome by her great physical charm. But although she loved Hans with whatever of that emotion such a nature could be capable of, five years of him and more or less genteel poverty had been enough, and now she was free of that, and could still enjoy surreptitiously the pleasure of his passion, and reign as apersona gratawife of one of the richest men in Poland at the same time. That those in authority who had arranged the divorce required of her certain tiresome obligations in return for their services, was one of those annoying parts of life! She took not the slightest interest in the affairs of any country. Nothing really mattered to her, but herself. Her whole force was concentrated upon the betterment of the position and physical pleasure of Harietta Boleski.
It was this instinct alone which had prompted her to acquire a smattering of education—and with the quick, adaptive faculty of a monkey she had been able to use this to its utmost limits, as well as her histrionic talent—no mean one—to gain her ends. She was now playing the rôle of a lady, and playing it brilliantly she knew—and here was Hans back again, and suggesting that when she had secured all the information that he required from Stanislass she should return to him!
"Tra la la!" she said to herself, there in the room at the Hotel Astoria, where she had gone to meet him, "think this if it pleases you! It will keep you quiet and won't hurt me!"
For the moment she wanted Hans—the man, and was determined to waste no further time on useless discussion. So she began her blandishments, taking pride in showing him her beautiful garments, and her string of big pearls; each thing exhibited between her voluptuous kisses, until Hans grew intoxicated with desire, and became as clay in her hands.
"It is not thy pig-dog of a husband I wish to kill!" he said, after one hour had gone by in inarticulate murmurings. "Him I do not fear—it is the Russian, Verisschenzko, who fills me with hate—we have regard of him, he does not go unobserved, and if you allure him also among the rest, beyond the instructions which you had, then there will be unpleasantness for you, my little cat—thy Hans will twist his bear's neck, and thine also, if need be!"
"Verisschenzko!" laughed Harietta, "why, I hardly know him; he don't amount to a row of pins! He's Stanislass' friend—not mine."
Then she smoothed back Hans' rather fierce, fair moustache from his lips and kissed him again—her ruby ring flashing in a ray of sunlight.
"Look! isn't this a lovely jewel, Hans! My old Stannie gave it to me only some days ago—it is my new toy—see—"
Hans examined it:
"Thou art a creature of the devil, Harietta, there is not one of thy evil qualities of greed and extortion which I do not know. Thou liest to me and to all men—the only good thing in thee is thy body—and for that all men let thee lie."
Harietta pouted.
"I can't understand when you talk like that, Hans—it's all warbash, as we said out West. What are qualities? What is there but the body anyway? Great sakes! that's enough for me, and the devil is only in story books to frighten children—I'm just like every other woman and I want to have a good time."
"I hear that you are going to London soon," said Hans, dropping the tutoyage and growing brutally severe, "to conquer new lovers and to wear more dresses? But there you will be of great use to me. Your instructions will be all ready in cypher by Tuesday night, when you must meet me at whatever point is convenient to you, after nine o'clock—here, perhaps?"
Harietta frowned—she had other views for Tuesday night.
"What shall I gain by coming, or by going on with this spying on Stan? I'm tired of it all; it breaks my head trying to take in your horrid old cypher. I don't think I'll do it any more."
The Prussian's face grew livid and his mouth set like an iron spring. He looked at her straight between the eyes, as a lion tamer might have done, and he took a cane from where it laid on a bureau near.
"Until you are black and blue, I will beat you, woman," he said, "as I have done before—if you fail us in a single thing—and do not think we are powerless! It shall be that you are exposed and degraded, and so lose your game. Now tell me, will you go on?"
Harietta crouched in fear, just animal, physical fear—she had felt that stick, it was a nightmare to her, as it might have been to a child. She knew that Hans would keep his word. His physical strength had been one of the things she had adored in him—but to be degraded and exposed, as well as beaten, touched her sensibilities, after all the trouble she had taken to become a lady of the world! This was too much. No! Tiresome as all these old papers were, she would have to go on—but since he threatened her she would pay him out! The Russian should have papers as well! And so there was good in all things, since now material advantage would come from both sides. Was it not right that you looked to yourself, especially when menaced with a stick?
She laughed softly; this was humorous and she could appreciate such kind of humour.
Hans crushed her in his arms.
"Answer!" he ordered gutturally. "Answer, you fiend!"
Harietta became cajoling—no one could have looked more frank or simple, as simple as she looked to all great ladies when she would disarm them and win her way. She would look up at them gently, and ask their advice, and say that of course she was only a newcomer and very ignorant, not clever like they!
"Hans, darling, I was only joking, am I not devoted to your interests and always ready to serve you and the higher powers whom you serve? Of course, I will come on Tuesday night and, of course, I will go on."
She let her lip tremble and her eyes fill with tears; they were quite real tears. She felt the hardship of having to weary her brain with a new cypher, and self-pity inflames the lachrymose glands.
"To business then,mein liebchen—attend carefully to every word. In England you must be received by Royalty itself, and you must go into the highest circles of the diplomatic and political world. The men are indiscreet there; they trust their women and tell them secret things. It is the women you must please. The English are a race of fools; numbers are aristocrats in all classes and therefore too stupid to suspect craft, and those who are not are trying to appear to be, and too conceited to use their wits. You can be of enormous use to our country, Harietta, my wife," and he walked up and down the room in his excitement, his hands clasped behind him—he would have been a very handsome man but for his too wide hips.
Marietta looked at him out of the corner of her eye; she did not notice this defect in him, for her he was a splendid male, with a delightful quality of savagery in love which she had found in no other man except Verisschenzko—Verisschenzko! Her thoughts hesitated when they came to him—Verisschenzko was adorable, but he was a man to be feared—much more than Hans. Him she could always cajole if she used passion enough, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that Verisschenzko gave way to her only when—and because—he wanted to, not for the reason that she had conquered him.
"Of great use to our country, Harietta, my wife," Hans murmured again, clearing his throat.
"I am not your wife, my pretty Hans!" and she raised her eyebrows, and curled one corner of her upper lip. "You gave me up at the bidding of the higher command—I am your mistress now and then, when I feel inclined—but I am Stanislass' wife. I like a man better when I am his mistress; there are no tiresome old duties along with it."
Hans growled, he hated to realise this.
"You must be more careful with your speech, Harietta. When you get to England you must not say 'along with it'—after the pains I have taken with your grammar, too! You can use Americanisms if they are apt, and even a literal translation of another language—but bad grammar—common phrases—pah! that is to give the show away!"
Harietta reddened—her vanity disliked criticism.
"I take very good care of my language when it is necessary in the world—I am considered to have a lovely voice—but when I'm with you I guess I can enjoy a holiday—it's kind of a rest to let yourself go," her pronunciation lapsed into the broadest American, just to irritate him, and she stood and laughed in his face.
He caught her in his arms. She never failed to appeal to his senses; she had won him by that force and so held his brute nature even after five years. This was always the reason of whatever success she secured. A man had no smallest doubt as to why he was drawn; it was a direct appeal to the most primitive animal nature in him. The birth of Love is ever thus if we would analyse it truly, but the spirit fortunately so wraps things in illusion that generally both participants really believe that the mutual attraction is because of higher emotions of the mind, and so they are doomed to disappointment when passion is sated, unless the mind fulfills the ideal. But if the reality fails to make good, the refined spirit turns in disgust from the material, unconsciously resentful in that it has suffered deception. With Harietta this disappointment could never occur, since she created no illusion that she was appealing to the mind at all, and so a man if he were attracted faced no unknown quality, but was aware that it was only the animal in him which was drawn, and if his senses were his masters, not his servants, her victory was complete.
After some more fierce caresses had come to an end—there was no delicacy about Harietta—Hans continued his discourse.
"There has come here to Paris a young man of the name of Ardayre—Ferdinand Ardayre—he is slippery, but he can be of the greatest value to us. See that you become friends—you can reach him through Abba Bey. He hates his brother who is the head of the family and he hates his brother's wife—for family reasons which it is not necessary to waste time in telling you. I knew him in Constantinople. Underneath I believe he hates the English—there is a slur on him."
"I have already met him," and Harietta's eyes sparkled. "I hate the wife also for my own reasons—yes—how can I help you with this?"
"It is Ferdinand you must concentrate on; I am not concerned with the brother or his wife, except in so far as his hate for them can be used to our advantage. Do not embark upon this to play games of your own for your hate—you may be foolish then and upset matters."
"Very well." The two objects could go together, Harietta felt; she never wasted words. It would be a pleasure one day, perhaps, to be able to injure that girl whom Verisschenzko certainly respected, if he was not actually growing to love her. Harietta did not desire the respect of men in the abstract; it could be a great bore—what they thought of her never entered her consideration, since she was only occupied with her own pleasure in them and how they affected herself. Respect was one of the adjuncts of a good social position; and of value merely in that aspect. But as Verisschenzko respected no one else, as far as she knew, that must mean something annoyingly important.
Seven o'clock struck; she had thoroughly enjoyed being with Hans, he satisfied her in many ways, and it was also a relaxation, as she need not act. But the joys of the interview were over now, and she had others prepared for later on, and must go back to the Rhin to dress. So she kissed Hans and left, having arranged to meet him on the Tuesday night here in his rooms, and having received precise instructions as to the nature of the information to be obtained from Ferdinand Ardayre.
Life would be a paradise if only it were not for these ridiculous and tiresome political intrigues. Harietta had no taste for actual intrigue, its intricacies were a weariness to her. If she could have married a rich man in the beginning, she always told herself, she would never have mixed herself up in anything of the kind, and now that shehadmarried a rich man, she would try to get out of the nuisance as soon as possible. Meanwhile, there was Ferdinand—and Ferdinand was becoming in love with her—they had met three times since the Montivacchini ball.
"He'll be no difficulty," she decided, with a sigh of relief. It would not be as it had been with Verisschenzko, whom she had been directed to capture. For in Verisschenzko she had found a master—not a dupe.
When she reached the beautiful Champs-Elysées, she looked at her diamond wrist watch. It was only ten minutes past seven, the dinner at the Austrian Embassy was not until half-past eight. Dressing was a serious business to Harietta, but she meant to cut it down to half an hour to-night, because there was a certain apartment in the Rue Cambon which she intended to visit for a few minutes.
"What an original street to have an apartment in!" people always said to Verisschenzko. "Nothing but business houses and model hotels for travellers!" And the shabby lookingporte-cochèregave no evidence of the old Louis XV. mansion within, converted now into a series of offices, all but the top flooring looking on to the gardens of theMinistère.
Verisschenzko had taken it for its situation and its isolation, and had converted it into a thing of great beauty of panelling and rare pictures and the most comfortable chairs. There was absolute silence, too, there among the tree tops.
Madame Boleski ascended leisurely the shallow stairs—there was no lift—and rang her three short rings, which Peter, the Russian servant, was accustomed to expect. The door was opened at once, and she was taken through the quaint square hall into the master's own sitting-room, a richly sombre place of oak boiserie and old crimson silk.
Verisschenzko was writing and just glanced up while he murmured Napoleon's famous order to Mademoiselle George—but Harietta Boleski pushed out her full underlip and sat down in a deep armchair.
"No—not this evening, I have only a moment. I have merely come, Stépan, you darling, to tell you that I have something interesting to say."
"Not possible!" and he carefully sealed down a letter he had been writing and put it ready to be posted. Then he came over and took some cigarettes from a Faberger enamel box and offered her one.
Harietta smoked most of the day but she refused now.
"You have come, not for pleasure, but to talk! Sapristi! I am duly amazed!"
Another woman would have been insulted at the tone and the insinuation in the words, but not so Harietta. She did not pretend to have a brain, that was one of her strong points, and she understood and appreciated the crudest methods, so long as their end was for the pleasure of herself.
She nodded, and that was all.
Verisschenzko threw himself into the opposite chair, his yellow-green eyes full of a mocking light.
"I have seen a brooch even finer than the ruby ring at Cartier's just now—I thought perhaps if I were very pleased with you, it might be yours."
Harietta bounded from her chair and sat upon his knee.
"You perfect angel, Stépan, I adore you!" she said. He did not return the caresses at all, but just ordered:
"Now talk."
She spoke rapidly, and he listened intently. He was weighing her words and searching into their truth. He decided that for some reason of her own she was not lying—and in any case it did not matter if she were not, because he had resources at his command which would enable him to test the information, and if it were true it would be worth the brooch.
"She has been wounded in some way, probably physically, since nothing less material would affect her. Physically and in her vanity—but who can have done it?" the Russian asked himself. "Who is her German correspondent? This I must discover—but since it is the first time she has knowingly given me information, it proves some revenge in her goat's brain. Now is the time to obtain the most."
He encircled her with his arm and kissed her with less contemptuous brutality than usual, and he told her that she was a lovely creature, and the desire of all men—while he appeared to attach little importance to the information she vouchsafed, asking no questions and re-lighting a cigarette. This forced her to be more explicit, and at last all that she meant to communicate was exposed.
"You imagine things, my child," he scoffed. "I would have to have proof—and then if it all should be as you say. Why, that brooch must be yours—for I know that it is out of real love for me that you talk, and I always pay lavishly for—love."
"Indeed, you know that I adore you, Stépan—and that brooch is just what I want. Stanislass has been niggardly beyond words to me lately, and I am tired of all my other things."
"Bring me some proof to the reception to-night. I am not dining, but I shall be there by eleven for a few moments."
She agreed, and then rose to go—but she pouted again and the convexobstinécurve below her under lip seemed to obtrude itself.
"She has gone back to England—your precious bride—I suppose?"
"She has."
"We shall all meet there in a week or so—Stanislass is going to see some of his boring countrymen in London—the conference you know about—and we have taken a house in Grosvenor Square for some months. I do not know many people yet—will you see to it that I do?"
"I will see that you have as many of these handsome Englishmen as will completely keep your hands full."
She laughed delightedly.
"But it is women I want; the men I can always get for myself."
"Fear nothing, your reception will be great."
Then she flung herself into his arms and embraced him, and then moved towards the door.
"I will telephone to Cartier in the morning," and Verisschenzko opened the door for her, "if you bring me some interesting proof of your love for me—to-night."
And when she had gone he took up his letter again and looked at the address,
ToLady Ardayre,Ardayre Chase,North Somerset,Angleterre.
"I must keep to the things of the spirit with you, precious lady. And when I cannot subdue it, there is Harietta for the flesh—wough! but she sickens me—even for that!"
Denzil Ardayre could not get any more leave for a considerable time and remained quartered in the North, where he played cricket and polo to his heart's content, but the head of the family and his charming wife went through the feverish season of 1914 in the town house in Brook Street. Ardayre was too far away for week-end parties, but they had several successful London dinners, and Amaryllis was becoming quite a capable hostess, and was much admired in the world.
Very fine of instinct and apprehension at all times she was developing by contact with intelligent people—for John had taken care that she only mixed with the most select of his friends. The de la Paule family had been more than appreciative of her and had guided her and supervised her visiting list with care.
Everything was too much of a rush for her to think and analyse things, and if she had been asked whether she was happy, she would have thought that she was replying with honesty when she affirmed that she was. John was not happy and knew it, but none of his emotions ever betrayed themselves, and the mask of his stolid content never changed.
They had gone on with their matter-of-fact relations, and when they returned to London after a week at Ardayre, all had been much easier, because they were seldom alone—and at last Amaryllis had grown to accept the situation, and try not to speculate about it. She danced every night at balls and continued the usual round, but often at the Opéra, or the Russian ballet, or driving back through the park in the dawn, some wild longing for romance would stir in her, and she would nestle close to John. And John would perhaps kiss her quietly and speak of ordinary things. He went everywhere with her though, and never failed in the kindest consideration. He seldom danced himself, and therefore must often have been weary, but no suggestion of this ever reached Amaryllis.
"What does he talk to his friends about, I wonder?" she asked herself, watching him from across a room, in a great house after dinner one night.
John was seated beside the American Lady Avonwier, a brilliant person who did not allow herself to be bored. He appeared calm as usual, and there they sat until it was time to go on to a ball.
Everything he said was so sensible, so well informed—perhaps that was a nice change for people—and then he was very good-looking and—but oh! what was it—what was it which made it all so disappointing and tame!
A week after they had come up to Brook Street, the Boleskis arrived at the Mount Lennard House which they had taken in Grosvenor Square, armed with every kind of introduction, and Harietta immediately began to dazzle the world.
Her dresses and jewels defied all rivalry; they were in a class alone, and she was frank and stupid and gracious—and fitted in exactly with the spirit of the time.
She restrained her movements in dancing to suit the less advanced English taste; she gave to every charity and organized entertainments of a fantastic extravagance which whetted the appetite of society, grown jaded with all the old ways. The men of all ages flocked round her, and she played with them all—ambassadors, politicians, guardsmen, all drawn by her own potent charm, and she disarmed criticism by her stupidity and good nature, and the lavish amusements she provided for every one—while the chef they had brought over with them from Paris would have insured any hostess's success!
Harietta had never been so happy in all the thirty-six years of her life. This was her hour of triumph. She was here in a country which spoke her own language—for her French was deplorably bad—she had an unquestioned position, and all would have been without flaw but for this tiresome information she was forced to collect.
Verisschenzko had been detained in Paris. The events of the twenty-eighth of June at Serajevo were of deep moment to him, and it was not until the second week in July that he arrived at the Ritz, full of profound preoccupation.
Amaryllis had been to Harietta's dinners and dances, and now the Boleskis had been asked down to Ardayre in return for the three days at the end of the month, when the coming of age of the young Marquis of Bridgeborough would give occasion for great rejoicings, and Amaryllis herself would give a ball.
"You cannot ask people down to North Somerset in these days just for the pleasure of seeing you, my dear child," Lady de la Paule had said to her nephew's wife. "Each season it gets worse; one is flattered if one's friends answer an invitation to dinner even, or remain for half an hour when it is done. I do not know what things are coming to, etiquette of all sorts went long ago—now manners, and even decency have gone. We are rapidly becoming savages, openly seizing whatever good thing is offered to us no matter from whom, and then throwing it aside the instant we catch sight of something new. But one must always go with the tide unless one is strong enough to stem it, and franklyIam not. Now Bridgeborough's coming of age will make a nice excuse for you to have a party at Ardayre. How many people can you put up? Thirty guests and their servants at least, and seven or eight more if you use the agent's house."
So thus it had been arranged, and John expressed his pleasure that his sweet Amaryllis should show what a hostess she could be.
None but the most interesting people were invited, and the party promised to be the greatest success.
Two or three days before they were to go down, Amaryllis coming in late in the afternoon, found Verisschenzko's card.
"Oh! John!" she cried delightedly, "that very thrilling Russian whom we met in Paris has called. You remember he wrote to me some time ago and said he would let us know when he arrived. Oh! would not it be nice to have him at our party—let us telephone to him now!"
Verisschenzko answered the call himself, he had just come in; he expressed himself as enchanted at the thought of seeing her—and yes—with pleasure he would come down to Ardayre for the ball.
"We shall meet to-night, perhaps, at Carlton House Terrace at the GermanEmbassy," he said, "and then we can settle everything."
Amaryllis wondered why she felt rather excited as she walked up the stairs—she had often thought of Verisschenzko, and hoped he would come to England. He was vivid and living and would help her to balance herself. She had thought while she dressed that her life had been one stupid rush with no end, since that night when they had talked of serious things at the Montivacchini hôtel. She had need of the counsel he had promised to give her, for this heedless racket was not adding lustre to her soul.
Verisschenzko seemed to find her very soon—he was not one of those persons who miss things by vagueness. His yellow-green eyes were blazing when they met hers, and without any words he offered her his arm, foreign fashion, and drew her out on to the broad terrace to a secluded seat he had apparently selected beforehand, as there was no hesitancy in his advance towards this goal.
He looked at her critically for an instant when they were seated in the soft gloom.
"You are changed, Madame. Half the soul is awake now, but the other half has gone further to sleep."
"—Yes, I felt you would say that—I do not like myself," and she sighed.
"Tell me about it."
"I seem to be drifting down such a useless stream—and it is all so mad and aimless, and yet it is fun. But every one is tired and restless and nobody cares for anything real—I am afraid I am not strong enough to stand aside from it though, and I wonder sometimes what I shall become."
Verisschenzko looked at her earnestly—he was silent for some seconds.
"Fate may alter the atmosphere. There are things hovering, I fear, of which you do not dream, little protected English bride. Perhaps it is good that you live while you can."
"What things?"
"Sorrows for the world. But tell me, have you seen Harietta Boleski in her London rôle?"
"Yes—she is the greatest success—every one goes to her parties; she is coming to mine at Ardayre."
Verisschenzko raised his eyebrows, and nothing could have been more sardonically whimsical than his smile.
"I saw Stanislass this morning—he is almostgaganow—a mere cypher—she has destroyed his body, as well as his soul."
"They are both coming on the twenty-third."
"It will be an interesting visit I do not doubt—and I shall see theFamily house!"
"I hope you will like it—I shall love to show it to you, and the pictures. It means so much to John."
"Have you met your cousin Denzil yet?".
Verisschenzko was studying her face; it had gained something, it was a little finer—but it had lost something too, and there was a shadow in her eyes.
"Denzil Ardayre? No—What made you mention him now?"
"I shall be curious as to what you think of him, he is so like—your husband, you know."
The subject did not interest Amaryllis; she wanted to hear more of theRussian's unusual views.
"You know London well, do you not?" she asked.
"Yes—I often came up from Oxford when I was there, and I have revisited it since. It is a sane place generally, but this year it would seem to be almost asdéséquilibréas the rest of the world."
"You give me an uneasy feeling, as though you knew that something dreadful was going to happen. What is it? Tell me."
"One can only speculate how soon a cauldron will boil over, one cannot be certain in what direction the liquid will fly. The whole world seems feverish; the spirit of progress has awakened after hundreds of years of sleep, and is disturbing everything. In all boilings the scum rises to the top; we are at the period when this has occurred—we can but wait—and watch."
"If we had a new religion?"
"It will come presently, the reign of mystical make-believe is past."
"But surely it is mysticism and idealism which make ordinary things divine!"
"Certainly when they are emplanted upon a true basis. I said 'make-believe'—that is what kills all good things—make-believe. Most of the present-day leaders are throwing dust in their followers' eyes—or their own. Priests and politicians, lawyers and financiers—all of them are afraid of the truth. Every one lives in a stupid atmosphere of self-deception. The religion of the future will teach each individual to be true to himself, and when that is accomplished the sixth root race will be born. Look at that man over there talking to a woman with haggard eyes—can you see them in the gloom? They have all the ugly entities around them, the spirits of morphine and nicotine—drawing misfortune and bodily decay. Every force has to have its congenial atmosphere, or it cannot exist; fishes cannot breathe on land."
Amaryllis looked at the pair; they were well-known people, the man celebrated in the literary and artistic section of the world of fashion—the woman of high rank and of refined intelligence.
Verisschenzko looked also. "I do not know either of their names," he said, "I am simply judging by the obvious deductions to be made by their appearances to any one who has developed intuition."
"How I wish I could learn to have that!"
"Read Voltaire's 'Zadig.' Deductive methods are shown in it useful to begin upon—observe everything about people, and then having seen results, work back to causes, and then realise that all material things are the physical expression of an etheric force, and as we can control the material, we need thus only attract what etheric waves we desire."
Amaryllis looked again at the pair—both were smoking idly, and she remembered having heard that they both "took drugs." It was a phrase which had meant nothing to her until now.
"You mean that because they smoke all the time, and it is said they take morphinepiqûres, that they are not only hurting their bodies, but drawing spiritual ills as well."
"Obviously. They have surrounded themselves with the drab demagnetising current which envelops the body when human beings give up their wills. It would be very difficult for anything good to pierce through such ambience. Have you ever remarked the strange ends of all people who take drugs? They seldom die natural, ordinary deaths. The evil entities which they have drawn round them by their own weakness, destroy them at last."
"I do not like the idea that there are these 'entities,' as you call them, all around us."
"There are not, they cannot come near us unless we allow them—have I not told you that the atmosphere must be congenial? Our own wills can create an armour through which nothing demagnetising can pass. It is weakness and drifting which are inexorably punished; they draw currents suitable for the vampires beyond to exist on."
"All this does sound so weird to me." Amaryllis was interested and yet repelled.
"Have you ever thought about Marconigrams and their etheric waves? No—not often. People just accept such things as facts as soon as they become commercial commodities—and only a few begin to speculate upon what such discoveries suggest, and the other possibilities which they could lead to. Nothing is supernatural; it is only that we are so ignorant. Some day I will take you to my laboratory in my home in Russia and show you the result of my experiments with vibrations and coloured lights."
"I should love that—but just now you troubled me—you seemed to include smoking in the things which brought evil—I smoke sometimes."
"So do I—will you have a Russian cigarette?"
He took out his case and offered her one, which she accepted. "Will it bring something bad?"
"Not more than a glass of wine," and he opened his lighter and bent nearer to her. "One glass of wine might be good for you, but twenty would make you very drunk and me very quarrelsome!"
They laughed softly and lit their cigarettes.
"I feel when I am with you that I am enveloped in some strong essence," and Amaryllis lay back with a satisfied sigh—"as though I were uplifted and awakened—it is very curious because you have such a wicked face, but you make me feel that I want to be good."
His queer, husky voice took on a new note.
"We have met of course in a former life—then probably I tempted you to break all vows—it was my fault. So in this life you are to tempt me—it may be—but my will has developed—I mean to resist. I want to place you as my joy of the spirit this time—something which is pure and beautiful apart from earthly things."
Into Amaryllis' mind there flashed the thought that if she saw him often, her emotions for him might not keep at that high level! Her eyes perhaps expressed this doubt, for Verisschenzko bent nearer.
"Another must fulfil that which must be denied to me. You are too young to remain free from emotion. Hold yourself until the right time comes."
Amaryllis wondered why he should speak as though it were an understood thing that she could feel no emotion for John. She resented this.
"I have my husband," she answered with dignity and a sweetly conventional air.
Verisschenzko laughed.
"You are delicious when you say things like that—loyal, and English, and proud. But listen, child—it is waste of time to have any dissimulation with me, we finished all those things when we were lovers in our other life. Now we must be frank and learn of each other. Shall it not be so?"
Amaryllis felt a number of things.
"Yes, you are right, we will always speak the truth."
"You see," he went on, "if you represent anything you must never injure it; you must destroy yourself if necessary in its service. You represent an ideal, the ideal of the perfect wife of the Ardayres. You must fulfil this rôle. I represent a leader of certain thought in my country. My soul is given to this—I must only indulge in through which nothing demagnetising can pass. It is weakness and drifting which are inexorably punished; they draw currents suitable for the vampires beyond to exist on."
"All this does sound so weird to me." Amaryllis was interested and yet repelled.
"Have you ever thought about Marconigrams and their etheric waves? No—not often. People just accept such things as facts as soon as they become commercial commodities—and only a few begin to speculate upon what such discoveries suggest, and the other possibilities which they could lead to. Nothing is supernatural; it is only that we are so ignorant. Some day I will take you to my laboratory in my home in Russia and show you the result of my experiments with vibrations and coloured lights."
"I should love that—but just now you troubled me—you seemed to include smoking in the things which brought evil—I smoke sometimes."
"So do I—will you have a Russian cigarette?"
He took out his case and offered her one, which she accepted. "Will it bring something bad?"
"Not more than a glass of wine," and he opened his lighter and bent nearer to her. "One glass of wine might be good for you, but twenty would make you very drunk and me very quarrelsome!"
They laughed softly and lit their cigarettes.
"I feel when I am with you that I am enveloped in some strong essence," and Amaryllis lay back with a satisfied sigh—"as though I were uplifted and awakened—it is very curious because you have such a wicked face, but you make me feel that I want to be good."
His queer, husky voice took on a new note.
"We have met of course in a former life—then probably I tempted you to break all vows—it was my fault. So in this life you are to tempt me—it may be—but my will has developed—I mean to resist. I want to place you as my joy of the spirit this time—something which is pure and beautiful apart from earthly things."
Into Amaryllis' mind there flashed the thought that if she saw him often, her emotions for him might not keep at that high level! Her eyes perhaps expressed this doubt, for Verisschenzko bent nearer.
"Another must fulfil that which must be denied to me. You are too young to remain free from emotion. Hold yourself until the right time comes."
Amaryllis wondered why he should speak as though it were an understood thing that she could feel no emotion for John. She resented this.
"I have my husband," she answered with dignity and a sweetly conventional air.
Verisschenzko laughed.
"You are delicious when you say things like that—loyal, and English, and proud. But listen, child—it is waste of time to have any dissimulation with me, we finished all those things when we were lovers in our other life. Now we must be frank and learn of each other. Shall it not be so?"
Amaryllis felt a number of things.
"Yes, you are right, we will always speak the truth."
"You see," he went on, "if you represent anything you must never injure it; you must destroy yourself if necessary in its service. You represent an ideal, the ideal of the perfect wife of the Ardayres. You must fulfil this rôle. I represent a leader of certain thought in my country. My soul is given to this—I must only indulge in that over which I am master. Indulgences are our recompenses, our rights, when we have obtained dominion and they have become our slaves; to be enjoyed only when, and for so long as, our wills permit. When you say a thing is'plus fort que vous'—then you had better throw up the sponge—you have lost the fight, and your indulgence will scourge you with a scorpion whip."
"You say this, and yet you are so far from being an ascetic!"
"As far as possible, I hope! They are self-acknowledged failures; they dare not permit themselves the smallest indulgence, they are weaklings afraid to enter the arena at all. To me they are at a stage further back than the sensualists—what are they accomplishing? They have withered nature, they are things of nought! A man or woman should realise what plane he or she is living on, and try to live to the highest of the best of the physical, mental and moral life on that plane, but not try to alter all its workings, and live as though in a different sphere altogether, where another scheme of nature obtained. It is colossal presumption in human beings to give examples to be followed, which, should they be followed, would end the human race. The Supreme Being will end it in His own time; it is not for us to usurp authority."
"You reason in this in the same way that you did about the smoking."
"Naturally—that is the only form of sensible reasoning. You must keep your judgment perfectly balanced and never let it be obscured by prejudice, tradition, custom, or anything but the actual common-sense view of the case."
"I think we English like that better than any other quality in people—common sense."
Verisschenzko looked away from her to a new stream of guests who had come out on the terrace—a splendid-looking group of tall young men and exquisite women.
"With all your faults you are a great nation, because although these latter years seem often to have destroyed the sense of duty in the individual in regard to his own life, the ingrained sense of it had become a habit and the habit still continues in regard to the community—you are not likely to have upheavals of great magnitude here. Now all other countries are moved by different spirits, some by patriotism and gallantry like the French, some by superstition and ignorance worked on by mystic religion, as in my country—some by ruthless materialism like Germany; but that dull, solid sense of duty is purely English—and it is really a glorious thing."
Amaryllis thought how John represented it exactly!
"I feel that I want to do my duty," she said softly, "but…"
"Continue to feel that and Fate will show you the way. Now I must take you back to your husband whom I see in the distance there—he is with Harietta Boleski. I wonder what he thinks of her?"
"I have asked him! He says that she is so obvious as to be innocuous, and that he likes her clothes!"
Verisschenzko did not answer, and Amaryllis wondered if he agreed with John!
They had to pass along a corridor to reach the staircase, upon the landing of which they had seen Sir John and Madame Boleski leaning over the balustrade, and when they got there they had moved on out of sight, so Verisschenzko, bowing, left Amaryllis with Lady de la Paule.
As he retraced his steps later on he saw Sir John Ardayre in earnest conversation with Lemon Bridges, the fashionable rising surgeon of the day. They stood in an alcove, and Verisschenzko's alert intelligence was struck by the expression on John Ardayre's face—it was so sad and resigned, as a brave man's who has received death sentence. And as he passed close to them he heard these words from John: "It is quite hopeless then—I feared so—"
He stopped his descent for a moment and looked again—and then a sudden illumination came into his yellow-green eyes, and he went on down the stairs.
"There is tragedy here—and how will it affect the Lady of my soul?"
He walked out of the House and into Pall Mall, and there by the Rag metDenzil Ardayre!
"We seem doomed to have unexpected meetings!" cried that young man delightedly. "Here I am only up for one night on regimental business, and I run into you!"
They walked on together, and Denzil went into the Ritz withVerisschenzko and they smoked in his sitting-room. They talked of manythings for a long time—of the unrest in Europe and the clouds in theSoutheast—of Denzil's political aims—of things in general—and at lastVerisschenzko said:
"I have just left your cousin and his wife at the German Embassy; they have now gone on to a ball. He makes an indulgent husband—I suppose the affair is going well?"
"Very well between them, I believe. That sickening cad Ferdinand is circulating rumours—that they can never have any children—but they are for his own ends. I must arrange to meet them when I come up next time—I hear that the family are enchanted with Amaryllis—"
"She is a thing of flesh and blood and flame—I could love her wildly didI think it were wise."
Denzil glanced sharply at his friend. He had not often known him to hesitate when attracted by a woman—
"What aspect does the unwisdom take?"
"Certain absorption—I have other and terribly important things to do. The husband is most worthy—one wonders what the next few years will bring. Their temperaments must be as the poles.
"No one seems to think of temperament when he marries, or heredity, or anything, but just desire for the woman—or her money—or something quite outside the actual fact." Denzil lit another cigarette. "Marriage appears a perfect terror to me—how could one know one was going to continue to feel emotion towards some one who might prove to be the most awful physical or mental disappointment on intimate acquaintance? I believeaffaires de convenanceselected with thought-out reasoning are the best."
Verisschenzko shrugged his shoulders.
"That is not necessary. If the brain is disciplined, it is in a condition to use its judgment, even when in love, and ought therefore to be able to resist the desire to mate if the woman's character or tendencies are unsuitable, but most men's brains are only disciplined in regard to mental things, and have no real control over their physical desires. I have been this morning with Stanislass Boleski—there is a case and a warning. Stanislass was a strong man with a splendid brain and immense ambition, but no dominion over his senses, so that Succubus has completely annihilated all force in him. He should have strangled her after the firstetreinteas I should have done, had I felt that she could ever have any power over me!"
Denzil smiled—Stépan was such a mixture of tenderness and complete savagery.
"I always thought the Russian character was the most headstrong and undisciplined in the world, and took what it desired regardless of costs. But you belie it, old boy!"
"I early said to myself on looking at my countrymen—and especially my countrywomen—these people are half genius, half fool; they have all the qualities and ruin most of them through being slaves, not masters to their own desires. If with his qualities a Russian could be balanced and deductive, and rule his vagrant thoughts, to what height could he not attain!"
"And you have attained."
"I am on the road, but did not affairs of vital importance occupy me at the moment I might be capable of ancient excess!"
"It is as well for the head of the Ardayre family that you are occupied then!" and Denzil smiled, and then he said, his thoughts drifting back to what interested him most:
"You think Europe will be blazing soon, Stépan? I have wondered myself in the last month if this hectic peace could continue."
"It cannot. I am here upon business with great issues, but I must not speak of facts, and what I say now is not from my knowledge of current events, but from my study of etheric currents which the thoughts and actions of over-civilised generations have engendered. You do not cram a shell with high explosives and leave it among matches with impunity."
The two men looked at one another significantly, and then Denzil said:
"I think I will not retire from the old regiment yet—I shall wait another year."
"Yes—I would if I were you."
They smoked silently for a moment—Verisschenzko's Calmuck face fixed and inscrutable and Denzil's debonnaire English one usually grave.
"Some one told me that your friend, Madame Boleski, was having a tremendous success in London. I wish I could have got leave, I should like to have seen the whole thing."
"Harietta is enjoying her luck-moment; she is in her zenith. She has baffled me as to where she receives her information from—she is capable of betraying both sides to gain some material, and possibly trivial, end. She is worth studying if you do come up, for she is unique. Most criminals have some stable point in immorality; Harietta is troubled by nothing fixed, no law of God or man means anything to her, she is only ruled by her sense of self-preservation. Her career is picturesque."
"Had she ever any children?"