The dangerous game
smart friends would be present. So about ten o’clock he took a taxi to
that exclusive hotel, and was soon amid a go-ahead society crowd in
which he was such a well-known figure.
He had danced twice, and was standing idly near the door just at
supper-time, when he heard a female voice behind exclaim in a soft
half-whisper:
“You’ll take me into supper, won’t you, Seton?”
He turned quickly, and found himself face to face with Elaine. A
brilliant, brown-haired figure in a striking dance-frock of gold
tissue, she stood smiling at his expression of sudden surprise.
“I thought you might come here, for I know you always go to Gladys’s
dances when you are in England. So I looked in on the chance of
finding you,” she said, regarding him with dancing eyes. “Where have
you been all this long time?”
“Abroad mostly,” he replied. “But we cannot talk here. Somebody will
see us.”
“Let’s go and have supper, and afterwards drive in the car,” the
pretty young peeress suggested. “I want to talk to you very
particularly.”
They found a corner in the supper-room, where, seated together, he
gazed across at her reflectively. Yes, that provocative smile was just
the same, and the marvelous face, which he had so admired ever since
she had been a schoolgirl, was still as beautiful as ever. He compared
her with Edris, and found at once that, while he loved the latter with
passionate devotion, Elaine merely interested him as an old friend.
The eating of supper was a sham, and, glad to be away from it, they
hurried forth, and he joined her in her fine Rolls a little way along
Brook Street.
“At last, Seton!” exclaimed Elaine when the door of the car was closed
and the driver moved towards Notting Hill Gate, according to her
directions. She placed her hand upon his, and asked very seriously,
“Why have you kept away from me all these months? Don’t you think it
has been just a little cruel of you?” she added with reproach.
“You know the reason. You recollect our parting,” he replied in a low,
tense voice. “I hoped that we should not meet again.”
“Yes,” she said in a tone of bitterness. “You love Edris Temperley--or
is it a mere passing infatuation, Seton, eh?” and she took his hand in
hers.
“I love her,” he replied in a low, tremulous voice. She saw at once
that he was not himself, and wondered whether his emotion was due to
their unexpected meeting.
“You love her, hence you have forsaken me,” Elaine said in a hard
voice.
“There has never been any actual love between us, has there?” he
asked.
“No. You are right. But we have been the firmest of friends,” she
declared. “I could always rely upon you, and now, without you, I feel
lost always.”
“You have your husband,” he pointed out, and as he uttered the words,
he felt her fingers grip his hand convulsively.
“Yes. But--but that does not bring me happiness,” she replied. “You
alone know my secrets--you know the life I lead--one of hollow sham. I
want your companionship, your sympathy, your strong, manly
protection--all that I have now lost”; and she burst into tears.
He endeavored to comfort her. He kissed her on the brow, as he so
often did in the long years of their intimate friendship. Suddenly she
gave way to a paroxysm of grief.
He glanced at the muddled, grief-stricken figure in the magnificent
ermine cloak, and felt impelled to tell her of his own load of sorrow
and anguish. Yet he feared to do so, lest he should lose his strength
of will.
“Come home with me, Seton,” she urged in a voice choked by sobs. “My
husband is in Scotland, therefore we can discuss things--the
future--together and undisturbed.”
“No, Elaine. It would be indiscreet for me to go home with you at this
hour. The servants might talk.”
“Only Kershaw will be up, and he knows you well,” she said, still
holding his hand, and as she spoke, she carried it to her lips. It was
her habit always to kiss his hand when greeting him and when bidding
him adieu.
He felt her lips upon it and drew it away, saying:
“Had we not better return? Let the man drop me at the Carlton. It’s
already getting late--two o’clock.”
With reluctance she ordered the man to take them back to the Carlton,
then she said:
“I think you are treating me very cruelly indeed, Seton. We have both
been such firm friends ever since I was a girl, and ours has been a
valued and Platonic friendship such as few women have ever
experienced. Before my marriage you stood in the place which a lover
might have occupied, and, since, you have been my best and most
devoted friend”; and she choked down a sob. “If my marriage had not
been a loveless one perhaps I might not have appreciated your devotion
to me, but, as it is, my life is unhappy, and now that you have
deserted me in favor of Edris, I feel utterly friendless and alone.
After my bitter experience,” she added, “I don’t wonder that a woman
in my circumstances should take a lover.”
“As I told you, Elaine, our friendship was becoming far too dangerous
for us both. We were too near the borderland.”
“And that is why you refuse to go home with me to talk to-night?” she
asked, raising her tear-stained face to him.
“Yes, it is.”
She drew a long breath, then, losing control of herself, in her
despair she clung to him, and in a fiercely desperate voice asked:
“Why don’t you give up Edris and return to me, Seton? I--I want you! I
can’t live without you now! I am compelled to keep a brave and smiling
face while my heart is breaking. I know that my husband cares no more
for me; he loves somebody else, and would be glad to get rid of me. I
have the villa at Antibes, and also Blacklands. Both are my own
property, besides which I have my own income. You know what it is--so
we shouldn’t starve. It would only be a nine days’ wonder to the
world, and the scandal would soon die and be forgotten. Oh, Seton,
I’ll face it--if you dare to do so!”
The grave-faced man shook his head sorrowfully.
“We have never loved, Elaine,” he answered in a low, tremulous voice.
“I have loved once--but shall never love again.”
“You mean that?” cried the unhappy woman. “You can never love again?”
“Never.”
“But you told me you loved Edris Temperley.”
“Yes, I loved her.”
“Then you don’t love her still?” she asked, much puzzled.
“I do; but--but please do not question me, Elaine. I am in a terrible
quandary. Don’t ask me now for explanations. I may tell you everything
one day, and I know that I shall have your sympathy.”
“You have it already, whatever may be your trouble, Seton,” she
replied. “You have been my friend through all these years, and you are
my friend still. There may have been scandal and gossip about us, but
I know how strictly honorable you are towards a woman”; and she
paused. Then, in an altered voice, she said: “You are behaving
honorably to me, even now when you refuse to accede to my proposal.”
He drew her head down upon his shoulder, and, stroking her hair, said:
“I will still remain your faithful friend, Elaine. But I could never
accept what you suggest. I love Edris,” he whispered, so low and
intense was his voice.
“Then, if so, go to her, Seton! I withdraw my proposal, and I will
stand aside in favor of the girl you love, knowing that you will be
true and honorable towards her. All I hope is that she will, on her
part, appreciate your true worth as a man of character, and never
betray your affection.”
Her words cut him like a knife. They sounded like a biting sarcasm,
even though she was in entire ignorance of the situation.
Almost at that moment the car drew up in the Haymarket before the
entrance to the Carlton. Their hands were clasped, and his left hand
was upon her head.
“Elaine, pray that God will help me in my distress,” he said in a low,
despairing voice. “I may tell you all one day--not to-night. And do
believe me when I say that I am still your best friend, just as I have
ever been.”
“Yes, Seton. I will do as you wish. Go back to Edris; and may you be
very happy is the sincere wish of your Elaine.”
He pressed her hand, and raised it to his dry lips, while she did the
same. Then he stepped out, and raised his hat.
And as the car turned the corner into Pall Mall he saw her bent,
huddled figure, her streaming eyes covered with her hands, and tears
came to his own eyes as he entered the great hotel.
He walked to the lift like a man in a dream. All he knew was that his
great, all-absorbing passion for Edris, even though she had betrayed
him, had held him apart from the one woman in all the world who had
exercised any influence upon his life, and it had prevented him from
taking a step that he most certainly would have regretted.
Truly his love for Edris had that night been put into the crucible and
tested in the furnace of affection.
CHAPTER XXV.
DOUBLE CUNNING
Among his letters next morning Seton Darville opened one from his
office containing copies of two letters, one written by Edris from
Stagsden on the previous day to Karl in Switzerland, and the other
written by the man who had betrayed his friendship.
Edris’s letter breathed an undying devotion, and told her lover that,
to her delight, Darville was leaving Stagsden.
The letter from Karl contained a revelation in the sentence: “As you
so earnestly desire to see me again, darling, before I sail for
Canada, I intend to come to London on the 20th. I shall be ten days or
more in London. So get rid of old Darville, who is old enough to be
your father, and let us enjoy some further glorious days together. I
will tell you by what train I will arrive, so will you get me a room
at an hotel, and meet me? I am longing to see your dear face and kiss
your sweet lips again. Now that we are engaged, you must cut yourself
adrift from Darville! I insist upon it. He shall not come between
us--otherwise it will be the worse for him!”
Seton gritted his teeth as he read the lines. “What consummate
mendacity; what treachery; what base intrigue!” he cried aloud. “But
two can play at the same game--you swine! And I shall win, never
fear!” He gave vent to a hollow laugh quite unusual to him.
Karl’s knavery, assisted by the duplicity of the girl who, in
ignorance of Seton’s knowledge, was still posing as his fiancée and
making pretense of strong affection, had staggered him. The true,
honest nature of his own second self, apart from that marvelous tact
and cunning with which he conducted Britain’s Secret Service, revolted
against such low cunning as that low-born Swiss had displayed. He knew
that he had already lost Edris, and now his mind was bent upon a swift
and terrible revenge.
The events of the previous night, his interview with Elaine, and their
tragic parting, crowded upon him while he dressed, and he was himself
astounded at the self-possession he had displayed. Elaine had tempted
him at the very moment when he had discovered Edris’s perfidy. True,
his great love for Edris had been put to the test, and as he went
along the corridor to meet her for breakfast, he was amazed at his own
strength of will.
Edris met him, as usual, with a sweet, entrancing smile. She wore a
smart frock, and with her friend Mrs. Hatherley, equally smart,
chatted over the breakfast-table.
“What time did you come in last night, Seti?” inquired the girl.
“Oh, about two,” he replied. “There was quite a crowd of people I
knew, including Elaine, so I stayed on. I knew you’d be back, and in
bed, after the theater.”
He saw that Edris wanted to be alone with him, so, when they rose from
the table, in order to escape Mrs. Hatherley, who was a charming young
woman and a great friend of Edris’s, he made excuse, and a few minutes
later she came into his room.
“Oh, Seti!” she cried. “Before I went down to breakfast I had such