The Gay Adventure: A Romance
resolved to be simple, original and daring. I hid the treaty in a house
not far from here. How it was done I will tell you another time. What I
want you to do is to help me regain it. I would go alone, but now I have
begun to think it better to have an aide, in case I fail. You realize
what it may mean if we are caught? A prison--for you must not explain.
Can you do that?"
"I am ready," he said with a laugh. When she looked at him like that he
felt that nothing mattered. Besides, it would be a thrill.
"Good," she said with enormous appreciation. "And now I am going to bed.
I am very sleepy."
He rose, gloomily wondering when he should see her again. "Well," he
said, with an attempt at cheerfulness, "good night."
"You are going?" she asked in surprise. "But why? I want you to stop
here."
Lionel's heart bounded, and then he looked at her. He was tempted to
stay, for she was unlike any other girl he had ever met. But that very
reason made him pause. He knew he wanted to kiss her and that he must
not. He thought he was not in love with her, because he ought not to be.
He knew that he would be in love with her if Lukos were dead. And
because he felt that she mattered, he was resolved not to hurt her.
"I am sorry," he said, dropping his light tone. "I should like to,
but--no!"
"Why not?" she asked, looking steadily at him. He looked as steadily at
her.
"Convention," he said frankly. "If I stop here and people get to know,
you will be slandered. That is why."
She was silent for a moment and then said softly: "You are better than I
thought.... You must certainly stop. As for 'people'--well, I know the
world and its miry ways. I know and I do not care."
"Your friends?" he suggested, rejoicing in her.
"I have only acquaintances, and they do not matter. Will that satisfy
you?"
He fought against the temptation with a jest, for he felt that the
pretty creature could not really know: "You forget the disappointment of
Mrs. Barker."
She repeated the name wonderingly and he explained. "My landlady. If I
do not return she will imagine I have run away to cheat her."
It was a poor jest, but only a jest, and he was benumbed at its effect.
The lady frowned terribly upon him. Anger swept her lovely features like
a thunder-cloud.
"How could you?" she cried in heavenly wrath. "How paltry! How pitiable!
I knew you for a cheerful gentleman, but to find you a trivial
scoffer----"
"Why, what have I done?" he stammered, amazed. "It was a mere joke--a
laughing phrase--a word----"
"Done!" she echoed. "We were both upon the heights, and with your
phrase--your joke--your word, you drag us down to the abyss of banality
again. I----"
Her petulance annoyed him.
"Really, madam," he said bitingly, "I am sorry to have spoiled it--to
have 'let down the scene,' as they say on the stage. But as I seem to
have offended you I shall take my leave."
"If you do," she cried, "I shall never speak to you again. I swear it!"
He stood irresolute. After all, she looked such a darling when she was
angry....
"Well," he said, temporizing, "if I stay for a while, will you promise
to be sensible?"
"Never!" she flashed, stamping her foot, and darted from the room.
Amusement and anger struggled for the victory in Lionel's heart.
"Confound her for her folly!" he thought, and then, "Bless her for her
inconsequence!" He sat down and lighted a cigarette, expecting her
return at any minute, determined to stick to his resolve and sleep at
home.
When twenty minutes had passed he reflected, "She is standing on her
dignity. How foolish!" Ten minutes later he murmured, with a pained
accent, "She is human after all." By the time his fourth cigarette was
half-consumed he had fairly lost his temper. "This is not good enough,"
he said; "I will let myself out and call to-morrow. If she refuses to
see me, at least I shall have kept my self-respect. No woman shall treat
me like a dog."
Grumbling, he opened the door and went quietly out into the hall. He
listened for a moment, waiting to give her the chance to reappear and
part as friends. There was no sound: if it had not been for the light
still burning in the hall he would have sworn that the household had
gone to sleep.
With a sigh he put on his hat and opened the inner door. He anticipated
no trouble with the outer barrier, but in this he was wrong. It was
padlocked, and flight was impossible. His sense of humor conquered
resentment, and he smiled. "I give in," he thought: "well, I have tried
to be a good boy." He hung up his hat again and returned to the
sitting-room. Then he rang the bell. As he had expected, it was answered
by the maid.
"Monsieur wishes to retire?" she asked, with a polite sympathy for a
handsome man.
"I should prefer to be let to go home," he said pleasantly, "but I
suppose I'm to be kept a prisoner."
The maid looked puzzled.
"Madame has locked the door and gone to sleep this half-hour. I dare not
wake her for the keys. Besides, she expects you to remain."
"Then will you show me my room, please?" he said, accepting defeat.
Whether Mizzi was as innocent as she seemed he could not decide, but now
he was determined to let things take their course. She held the door
open for him, and as he passed he caught an amused twinkle in her eyes.
He yearned to give her a good shaking and say "Explain!" and presently
kiss her heartily, for she was exceedingly attractive. This impulse he
controlled, and the next moment found himself in his bedroom.
"Breakfast is at half past nine," said Mizzi, as she drew a curtain. "At
what time does monsieur wish to be called?"
"Oh ... about nine o'clock ... thank you ... good night."
"Good night, monsieur," said the maid demurely as she tripped to the
door, and then a lamentable accident occurred. It was due to the
eccentricities of modern fashion. For several years Lionel had carried
his handkerchief secreted in his cuff. As Mizzi stepped daintily past,
the handkerchief, which had been working loose, fell to the ground. He
and she stooped together for its recovery, and their heads approached
nearer than was discreet. Her fingers reached the handkerchief first,
and she restored it as they were rising. This was pardonable, but she
ought not to have looked him in the face. Her eyes telegraphed "I like
you," and his, something more. Without judicious reflection Lionel
clasped her. "You are a perfect darling!" he whispered, "and I simply
must kiss you--it is what you were made for."
"Oh, monsieur!" gasped Mizzi, "it is a scandal!"
"Yes," agreed Lionel, "I suppose it is. But it would be a graver scandal
not to kiss such a bouquet of charms. There, my attractive
morsel--another ... a butterfly salutation on your charming eyes,
and ... good night."
Mizzi, with a stifled laugh, kissed him lightly in return, freed herself
and escaped. Lionel, his sleepiness a thing of the past, sat down on the
bed.
"Dash it!" he thought, wagging his head, "I oughtn't to have done
that ... but it was exceedingly pleasant ... exceedingly pleasant ... yet
I ought not to have yielded to temptation, for I was under the vague
impression that I was in love with the maid's mistress. If so, I was
disloyal, a creature of no account. Let us see whether there is not
something to be said for the defense....
"Suppose I do love her--the mistress, I mean--I must not kiss her,
because she is married. Doubtless it would be a fine thing to be loyal
to the husband, the lady and the ideal--in short, neither kiss her nor
any one else. In a word, become a sort of grass-bachelor.... A hard
matter, for I am not cast in the ascetic mold, and Mizzi's lips are
devilish tempting.... Suppose, now, the husband died (and I regret that
I can not regard this contingency with disgust) and there were at least
a sporting chance of my stepping into his shoes--oh! of course not at
once, but later--later--why, then I could face permanent loyalty and
temporary asceticism with a light heart.... But to go through the world
refusing all sweets because my favorite sweet has been appropriated,
surely that were foolish.
"Again, am I in love with her? Can one fall in love so suddenly, outside
the realm of fiction? Is there not a great truth in the popular ballad
that treats of 'a tiny seed of love'? Surely love is a seed, planted by
chance or design--for example, by a match-making mama? The seed needs
opportunity for gradual growth--the sun of frequent intercourse--the
rain of timely separation--the fertilizer of presents of flowers and
bonbons--before it can grow to a splendid harvest.... This harvest of
mine can not be love; it must be passion. If so, it must be crushed....
She is too perfect to sully even in thought."
His brow grew gloomy, and he paced the room with feverish steps.
"No!" he said presently, "I feel pretty sure it is not passion pure and
simple--or impure and complex if you like. Critics may sneer, but I can
not help thinking it may soon be love, if it is not that already.
Wherefore, I had better fly to do her errands as soon as possible....
But I can not accept the ascetic ideal ... yet. Hypothetical Mizzis may
cross my path, and if they do I feel sure I shall kiss them, but the
moment I see a possible chance of winning _her_, why, then I shall be
very good.
"... 'Myes ... not very lofty ... but I want to be honest, and feel
pretty sure that is what I shall do.... No doubt I shall not be happy,
but...?"
With a dissatisfied growl he began to undress, and soon he was in bed.
To quiet his uneasy conscience before he fell asleep he muttered, "And
of course I shall do anything she tells me."
The unheroic but truthful pleasure-seeker then gave an unromantic snore.
CHAPTER V
THE PLOT THICKENS
A knock on his door roused Lionel at half past eight, and he sprang up
clear-eyed and joyous to meet the sun. The events of the previous day
sped pleasantly through his brain; and now that the morning was upon him
and the London sparrows twittering optimism, he could not dwell
seriously on the indignation of his hostess. "Oh, it is bound to be all
right!" he said to himself, stropping a razor that he found on the
dressing-table and whistling a merry tune. The cold tub strung him to a
higher mood, and as he plied the towel he broke into song. "_Horchen Sie
doch!_" said Mizzi approvingly to the cat, as she prepared breakfast and
heard the melodious strain: "_Er ist ein braver Kerl, der sich nicht
erzuernt. Er ist ein lustiger Geist, wirklich. Die anderen habe ich zum
Besten._" No doubt she was right.
Lionel breakfasted alone. Mizzi said that her mistress begged to be
excused for an hour; after that she would be ready. The maid lingered a
moment more than was necessary after bringing in the coffee, and seemed
markedly assiduous for his comfort. But Lionel did not detain her in
conversation; he had no intention of elaborating the _affaire_ of the
previous night. What amusement fell to his share he was ready to accept
with a youthful zest, but he was old enough not to pursue happiness too
zealously nor to magnify trifles. A kiss was well enough, provided it
embarrassed neither the recipient nor himself. He was never a man to
raise false hopes or win success by lies or a pretended love. His
philosophy embraced the theory that girls, or some of them at least,
liked being petted, and he was not averse from the kindly office. Only,
there must be a clear, if unspoken, understanding that he was not to be
taken _au serieux_. This philosophy, of course, did not apply to
Beatrice Blair: she was altogether outside routine. He was a butterfly,
if you like, but at any rate honest.
So when Mizzi hoped that monsieur had slept well, he said gravely,
"Perfectly, _ma p'tite_," and asked for the morning's newspaper. She