Her behavior with Hungerford puzzled me. There was not a trace of the calculated reserve which dominated all our meetings and to which, if for a momentshe forgot herself, she inevitably returned. A little jealousy sprang up in me, for I was quite blind then to the real reason. I felt that in me there was some lack of spontaneous appeal to a woman. Before the irresistible good spirits of the younger man I felt a heaviness of experience and wondered why in all my attempts at friendship I should be so constantly saying the things that sent her into the shell of her reserve, when she would listen with her grave smile to Joe’s amusing patter. I was blind, indeed, and though I took pains to hide it, I was weakly hurt at this unconscious camaraderie with another.
She consented to our accompanying her in her walks when Joe assumed it as a matter of course, though she did refuse, and I remember it with a secret delight, to permit him the privilege alone. Here again her personality dominated us. When Hungerford, with the free and easy catch-as-catch-can manner of the younger generation, started to assume possession of her arm, she disengaged herself quietly, and said:
“Messieurs, if you will offer meyourarms.”
Any one but Hungerford would have been discountenanced. As it was, though he was a bit flustered, he gave her an exaggerated sweep of his hat.
“Style Louis XIV, Marquise!”
And, with her hands resting lightly on our arms, we adapted our impulsive strides to the leisurely grace of her choosing. Whatever her reason for assuming the name and position she did (I had never believed in it from the first), it was by such little things as this that she betrayed the quality of her breeding. Brinsmade and Peter Magnus were drawn to her instinctively, and often in the long afternoons we formed a circle of animated discussion. The opportunities to talk to her alone were rare and always she avoided them. When I did find a moment’s intimacy it was always to be made aware ofthe ever present sadness back of her eyes and the weight of some oppressing memory.
*****
The afternoon after her first introduction to Hungerford, a curious incident happened, which, to this day, remains inexplicable to me. For neither of us ever after referred to it.
We were walking the upper deck, under the open sky, the crisp tingling air setting our cheeks to glowing. Despite herself, she was smiling at Hungerford’s whimsical instructions on American society, while I, feeling a little out of it, walked silently at her side, wondering at the ease with which Joe had plunged into her acquaintance.
“And remember, in America, a young lady of fashion, who is properly brought up, never marries until she has had a dozen proposals.”
“Never?”
“Never. It isn’t done. Oh, American girls are brought up to take care of themselves! When she is bored, do you think she waits for the men to come round? Not at all: she goes to the ’phone and says: ‘Jack, come up and take me out to dinner and a show; I want to be amused’.”
“And she pays the bill?” said Mademoiselle Duvernoy innocently.
“The what?”
“The bill.”
“Mademoiselle—I am living in hopes—”
At this moment a gust of wind caught a large woman and bore her down the deck, screaming for help. Hungerford dashed ahead, while we, sheltering ourselves in the lee of a lifeboat, stood laughing at the difficulties of the rescue. A sailor passed us and then a boy, carrying a pot of grease, slipped, and, to save himself, caught at my arm. When I had righted him, I saw such an expressionof astonishment on his face as he gazed at Mademoiselle Duvernoy that I said, still laughing:
“I say, this young fellow seems to know you.”
“Eh, Bonne Dame; que c’est notre Mamzelle!”
She turned, and her face went blank: then, recovering herself, she said something rapidly in the Breton dialect which I could not understand. The effect was instantaneous. The boy drew up straight, snatched off his cap, and with marks of great respect backed away.
“Take my arm,” I said, going to her instantly.
She made no resistance and once as we started she swayed against my side. We crossed the deck and I found her a seat where she was sheltered from sight. There was no mistaking the effect on her. The lips were twitching, and the lines under her staring eyes were quivering with a haunting pain.
“Don’t try to speak. Don’t worry. No one saw you—not even I. Do you understand?”
“Monsieur—” She tried to speak and then put her hand to her throat.
“Don’t try to explain. Believe me, it isn’t necessary.”
She looked up at me, weak and shaken, and for the first time that I remembered her eyes held mine in a long, searching, mute appeal.
“But you will think—”
“Let me be your friend that far, Mademoiselle,” I said impulsively. “Trust me. I have forgotten.”
Hungerford swung around the deck and stopped short.
“Hello. What’s wrong?”
“Too much motion, you unfeeling brute, or perhaps the sight of your gyrations.”
I sent him for a chair and rugs, which gave her time to regain her self-control. Then I tucked her away in a sheltered corner, without opposition. She was stunned and did not seem to notice my presence for the long hourduring which I religiously kept my eyes from her face, turning my back and staring over the driven waves. Later she called to me in a voice still weak and I helped her to the lower deck. The incident remained in my memory, obsessing it, deepening the film of mystery which had been about her from the first.