CHAPTER IX
Topham’s heart was light as he approached the table of the new arrivals. Lillian Byrd was the last person he had expected to see in Berlin. He had supposed her 3000 miles away at her home in Washington. He had not seen her for two years—not since the day that she had refused to marry him. He had known her pretty nearly all his life, but he had not thought of her as a possible sweetheart until the day when she had come back to her Washington home from college and met him there on his first assignment to Washington duty after leaving Annapolis.
Deliberate in all things else, he, like all the men of his family, was impetuous in love; and he had spoken to her almost at once. She had laughed at him, but in a way that invited further pursuit. In fact, he told himself she had deliberately kept him in tow until she could find someone better. Unattached young men were scarce in Washington, and few girls had a good-looking young naval officer utterly to themselves; andMiss Byrd did not care to lose her cavalier. For the whole of one Washington season she kept him; but when she came back the next fall after a summer at Newport, she had changed. Perhaps it was because she had made many more friends; perhaps it was because she had made some one particular friend; at any rate, she did not care so much for his attention—and she showed it. He reproached her, and demanded immediate acceptance or final rejection. He got rejection, and instantly applied for sea duty, hoping that absence would ease the pain.
Two years at sea had not made him forget. Either the lack of congenial friends or something that struck deeper had kept her face always before him. And then, in a day, in a moment, it had dimmed.
It seemed to Topham a very wonderful thing that he should meet her again, at almost the moment when he had first seen another woman whose image had effaced hers. For he no longer doubted what had happened to him that afternoon.
He passed by her chair, then faced her and raised his hat.
“Good-evening, Miss Byrd,” he said, smilingly. With perfect self-possession, the girl stared athim; then she held out her hand with a glad smile.
“Lieutenant Topham!” she exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. “Oh! Iamglad.” That was ever the way with Lillian Byrd; the little emphasis in her tones always singled out the one addressed and made him feel himself the most important person in her world.
“Let me present you to Lord Maxwell,” she went on, warmly. “This is Lieutenant Topham of the United States Navy, Lord Maxwell,” she finished, with a flash of her marvellous eyes.
Lord Maxwell rose and held out his hand. “I already have the pleasure of Mr. Topham’s acquaintance,” he declared. “My daughter, Ellen, Mr. Topham.”
Topham bowed, and his lordship went on. “We are about to sample an American drink, Mr. Topham,” he said, “One highly recommended by Miss Byrd. It is, I believe, known as ice cream soda. Of course, it is prepared here à la German, and I can not speak as to its merits. Will you sit down and tempt fate with us?”
Walter laughed. “I shall be delighted,” he said, “but I have a friend with me. If I might present him—”
Lord Maxwell glanced at the table, where Ouro Preto sat. “Ah! Yes! The Count of Ouro Preto. I have heard of him. Present him by all means.”
Topham beckoned, and the count came over. Introductions followed. Lord Maxwell offered Topham a seat beside his own, and the ladies made room for Ouro Preto between them.
Lady Ellen, an undeveloped English girl, paused for something to say, and Miss Byrd, true to American canons, rushed into the breach.
“Isn’t it lovely,” she gushed, addressing Ouro Preto. “We were just admiring it all!”
Her voice and accent, like that of most Virginians, was low and cultured, but to Topham, there seemed something almost English in her locutions—something he had never noticed in the old days.
The count looked around as if he had never seen the place before.
“Heavens!” he exclaimed. “So it is!”
All laughed, Lillian most brightly of all. “One can tell that you are used to it,” she mocked. “It takes strangers to note beauties—”
“Not always, Miss Byrd.”
“Oh!” Lillian clapped her hands, gaily. “Good!” she nodded. “But I don’t mean beauties that youcan see; I mean those you can hear. Stop! Look! Listen!”
The night was clear. A near-by fountain chuckled in the moonlight; the leaves overhead stirred, rustling in the wind that moved along the tree tops. Far away, the mellow notes of a bugle sounded softly above the tinkle of the glasses. Frogs croaked in basso from the ponds. A lion in a near-by house roared, and a chorus of lesser animals answered.
“I always see in terms of sound,” explained Miss Byrd.
The ice cream soda was brought. The English tasted it gingerly; the Americans hopefully. Ouro Preto gulped his and swore that it was delicious.
Lord Maxwell turned to Topham and plunged into a technical discussion of the future of the airship in war, leaving Ouro Preto to the girls—that is to say, to Lillian, for Lady Ellen, unable to keep up, contented herself with an occasional “Fancy!” coupled with glances full of admiration for the two handsome creatures by her side.
Lord Maxwell, seeing them engrossed, dropped his voice. “I’m surprised to see the count here,” he observed. “He and his sister are to see theEmperor at eleven o’clock, aren’t they? That’s only two hours from now.”
Topham started. He had been listening to his lordship, but he had been watching Lillian, wondering how he could have thought her so beautiful. The regular features, the peachy complexion, the melting blue eyes were all there, but something had gone out of them, leaving them insipid. Almost without thinking, he was comparing them with the rich coloring of the Countess Elsa.
Lord Maxwell’s words startled him. He had distinctly understood Ouro Preto to say that his approaching audience was set for the next day; and he had certainly said nothing about his sister.
“Not tonight! Tomorrow,” he answered. “I’m surprised that you have heard of it. I did not know the fact was generally known.”
“It isn’t,” rejoined his lordship, drily; “and it’s not for tomorrow; it’s for eleven o’clock tonight. I suppose your government does not object?”
Topham stared. He remembered that Ouro Preto had also inquired as to possible objections. “Why should it,” he questioned, in some bewilderment. “What has the United States to do with the creation or re-creation of a German duchy?”
Lord Maxwell glanced sharply at the American, as if wondering whether his words were as ingenuous as his tones. For a moment he hesitated; then went on.
“One never can tell,” he remarked, lightly. “He is an old friend of yours, I believe?”
Topham shook his head. “Not an old friend,” he corrected. “I only met him today. He seems a very pleasant fellow.”
Lord Maxwell choked over the last of his soda. “I—ah—believe he is noted for his—er—affectionate nature,” he murmured, when he recovered his voice. “I should like to know whether the count’s friendship for you survives his meeting with the Emperor. Come and see me in a few days, won’t you, Mr. Topham?”
Topham smiled. “I wish I could,” he declared. “But I’m off tomorrow afternoon!”
“Ah! Is it so? I’m sorry. I should have liked to see more of you.” Lord Maxwell rose. “If you girls have seen enough,” he remarked, suggestively; “I think we had better be going.”
With a muttered apology, Ouro Preto glanced at his watch; then leaped to his feet with an exclamation. “A most important engagement,” he declared. “I must take a cab and hurry. I hadno idea it was so late. Your fair kinswomen make the time fly, Lord Maxwell,” he continued. “I have to thank them for a most delightful hour.”