CHAPTER X
The party of four started for the embassy on foot, taking their way to where the Charlottenburg Drive cut straight through the noble Thiergarten to the Branderberger Thor and the streets of old Berlin. A few yards from the zoological garden the dazzle of the lamps died away, and only the big stars, flaring in the heavens, lighted the broad white road.
Divining the Americans’ wish to exchange reminiscences, Lord Maxwell and his daughter stepped ahead, leaving the other two to follow.
The wind was rustling through the leaves; the air was damp but warm and languorous; the night seemed made for sentiment. Topham felt it and wondered what Miss Byrd expected him to say. Not knowing, he said nothing.
Miss Byrd, however, either did not feel sentimental or preferred to take another way to show it. “Well, Walter,” she began, “I suppose I ought to ask about everybody and then you ought to ask about everybody and by the time we have learnedall about everybody, we should be at the embassy saying good-night, without either of us knowing anything we really wanted to know. So suppose we take everybody’s health for granted and talk of things we really care about.”
Topham started. This girl was not the Lillian Byrd he had known. Bright, witty, and attractive she yet seemed to him almost a stranger. Perhaps, he pondered, it was because he no longer loved her, and yet—and yet—the Lillian Byrd he had known of old had possessed a very special air of refinement—one bringing memories of lavender and stately homes and dear old-fashioned ladies, while this girl seemed hardened, metallic, with a laugh that tinkled out of tune. He was silent, not knowing what to say.
Miss Byrd noticed his hesitation and attributed it instantly to the right cause.
“You think I’m changed, don’t you?” she demanded. “Oh! you needn’t trouble to deny it! Iamchanged. Goodness knows I’ve had enough to change anybody. You didn’t know that I was that dreadful thing—a lady journalist—did you? I am! I’m on the New York Gazette.”
“Good Heavens! You—you don’t mean thatyou are corresponding for Risdon’s paper. How in the world—”
“That’s what I mean. I’ve been doing it for two years, and working for the Gazette is mighty hard on refinement. I can pretend still if the atmosphere is right. I haven’t forgotten the old airs and graces, and I put them on at times—when I go back to Washington to see dear Aunt Polly or when—well, tonight, for instance, when I had an object. But they don’t fit any more, Mr. Topham; they don’t fit!”
There was a tremble in the girl’s voice that suggested tears and made Topham feel acutely uncomfortable. The darkness hid his distress while he sought unreadily for some response and found none.
Nor did the girl speak again at once. In silence the two walked on through the fragrant night, the massed foliage rising on either side, a network against the sky. Here and there white statues gleamed, ghostly in the darkness, and at long intervals a street lamp cast a circle of yellow light. From off to the right came the noise of running water and the distant creak of oars or of cordage as some huge barge crept slowly along the invisibleSpree. Now and then an electric car swept brilliantly along the drive.
At last the girl, with an obvious attempt at flippancy, spoke again.
“The new style comes easy to me,” she said; “so easy that I guess it must be nearer my real self than the older one you used to know. I like it, though I know I ought to be ashamed of it. I look back on the old days as—as a divorceè looks back on her first honeymoon, I suppose—as a mighty pleasant time but not for her any more.”
“But—but why—”
“Don’t you know. Hadn’t you heard about father? Really? Well, he lost his place in the War Department and then the panic came along and took his money; and then his health failed; and it was up to sister Eleanor and poor silly me to look after him and Aunt Polly. There was nobody else to do it, you see. Sister Eleanor got a job as social secretary to one of those wild western senators, but nobody seemed to want yours truly. I couldn’t get a Government post because dad had been in the service so long that he had lost his residence in Kentucky, and of course nobody from the District has a chance for appointment. So at last it came down to a choice betweenseeing dad and Aunt Polly suffer and becoming a reportress—how I used to loathe them! Mr. McNew liked my style and sent me over to write up Europe six months ago. I’ve lived and dad has had some comforts and I don’t think Europe has suffered much. Anyway, it’s got to take its chance. I made friends with Lady Ellen in England, and she invited me to visit her in Berlin, and here I am. They like me because I am ‘so American’—when I want to be.”
“American! I thought you were very English tonight. You had the accent pat.”
Miss Byrd laughed, a little harshly. “I always was a good mimic, wasn’t I?” she asked. “Of course, it’s hard for Americans to learn English; it’s so much like their own language. But, my word, old chappy, I fawncy I’ve caught the bally idea, don’t you know?”
Topham chuckled. “You surely have!” he declared. “You fooled Ouro Preto completely. He thinks you are English. Indeed, I shouldn’t wonder if he thought you kin to Lord Maxwell.”
“Nor I,” returned Miss Byrd, drily. “You needn’t bother to undeceive him, Walter. His belief may come in handy. He’s from Brazil, youknow, and I’m going to that out-of-the-way country, pretty soon.”
“Really?”
“Really! I’m going to do the east coast and perhaps the west coast for the Gazette—write it up commercially, you know, in my racy style.” The girl hesitated; then: “Oh! how I hate it all!” she burst out. “Oh! Walter! Walter! Why didn’t you marry me while I was a real lady?”
Topham hesitated. He was not a ready talker, and such an opening called for quick wit or mature consideration.
“Never mind! You needn’t answer! You dear good fellow! It was my fault, of course. I had ideas above a young navy officer in those days. I haven’t now. But don’t be afraid. I’m not fishing for a proposal. I couldn’t live up to you now any more than I can live up to Aunt Polly’s befo’ de wah standards.”
Topham looked at the girl with sadly mixed feelings. He assured himself that his feeling for her, such as it was, had vanished. Yet her seemingly cheerful renunciation was not altogether as welcome as it should have been. While he was considering his answer, Miss Byrd glanced at himout of the corner of her eye. “Who is she, Walter?” she demanded.
Topham started in good earnest. Was his secret as plainly to be read as that. “She?” he stammered.
“Of course! The one, the only she. Don’t tell me you haven’t met her, for I know better.”
Topham found his tongue. “I never really saw ‘her’ till today,” he said, hypocritically, with a smile and a bow. “Now that you have come—”
“Oh! nonsense! Walter! You never did know how to flirt. None of your family ever did. Their directness in love is a tradition in Virginia. You never were in love with me, really. So”—with a sudden change of tone—“so you only ‘really’ met her today, did you? I suppose you’ll ran off with her tomorrow—as your father did. But there! I won’t tease you. Are you going back to God’s country soon?”
Topham drew a breath of relief. Most navy and army officers are professional squires of dames and either flirt, gossip, or drivel whenever they come into touch with a petticoat. But Topham, as Miss Byrd had suggested, did none of these. Women, especially the empty-headed ones whotalked only personalities, thought him heavy. Just what Miss Byrd thought did not appear.
“Not for a year, at least, I think,” he answered. “I am on my way now to Tokio. My ship leaves Brindisi day after tomorrow and I must leave tomorrow night to be sure to catch her. I came overland from Hamburg and stopped over here to see Rutile, the secretary of our embassy. He and your chief, Risdon, were both in my class at the naval academy.”
Miss Byrd listened carelessly. “So you are going to Japan, are you? That means San Francisco sooner or later, of course. You’ll probably be back in the United States before I am.”
“How long will you stay in Berlin?”
“No time at all. I go to England tomorrow, and sail for Brazil in a month. Now that I’ve seen you and learned that you’ve found another and are her’n, there’s nothing more for me to do here!” And Miss Byrd laughed, not quite genuinely, perhaps.
Topham, however, noticed nothing amiss in her tones. “It’s superfluous for me to say that I’m sorry you’re going,” he answered; “seeing that I won’t be here myself. May I call and say good-by tomorrow?”
Miss Byrd hesitated. “You probably wouldn’t find me,” she declared frankly. “I’m a working woman now and I’ve got to go and interview two or three fussy old diplomats. I don’t know when I’ll be at home. But I’m going to be at the American embassy some time in the afternoon, and I’ll probably get a chance to say ‘auf wiedersehen’ there. Now, good-night! Here we are at Lord Maxwell’s.”