The Place of Honeymoons
Slyly from the corner of her eye Nora looked at Courtlandt, who was at
that moment staring thoughtfully into his tea-cup and stirring the
contents industriously. His face was a little thinner, but aside from that
he had changed scarcely at all; and then, because these two years had left
so little mark upon his face, a tinge of unreasonable anger ran over her.
"Men have died and worms have eaten them," she thought cynically. Perhaps
the air between them was sufficiently charged with electricity to convey
the impression across the intervening space; for his eyes came up quickly,
but not quickly enough to catch her. She dropped her glance to Abbott,
transferred it to the Barone, and finally let it rest on her father's
face. Four handsomer men she had never seen.
"You never told me you knew Courtlandt," said Harrigan, speaking to
Abbott.
"Just happened that way. We went to school together. When I was little
they used to make me wear curls and wide collars. Many's the time
Courtlandt walloped the school bullies for mussing me up. I don't see him
much these days. Once in a while he walks in. That's all. Always seems to
know where his friends are, but none ever knows where he is."
Abbott proceeded to elaborate some of his friend's exploits. Nora heard,
as if from afar. Vaguely she caught a glimmer of what the contest was
going to be. She could see only a little way; still, she was
optimistically confident of the result. She was ready. Indeed, now that
the shock of the meeting was past, she found herself not at all averse to
a conflict. It would be something to let go the pent-up wrath of two
years. Never would she speak to him directly; never would she permit him
to be alone with her; never would she miss a chance to twist his heart, to
humiliate him, to snub him. From her point of view, whatever game he chose
to play would be a losing one. She was genuinely surprised to learn how
eager she was for the game to begin so that she might gage his strength.
"So I have heard," she was dimly conscious of saying.
"Didn't know you knew," said Abbott.
"Knew what?" rousing herself.
"That Courtlandt nearly lost his life in the eighties."
"In the eighties!" dismayed at her slip.
"Latitudes. Polar expedition."
"Heavens! I was miles away."
The padre took her hand in his own and began to pat it softly. It was the
nearest he dared approach in the way of suggesting caution. He alone of
them all knew.
"Oh, I believe I read something about it in the newspapers."
"Five years ago." Abbott set down his tea-cup. "He's the bravest man I
know. He's rather a friendless man, besides. Horror of money. Thinks every
one is after him for that. Tries to throw it away; but the income piles up
too quickly. See that Indian, passing the cakes? Wouldn't think it, would
you, that Courtlandt carried him on his back for five miles! The Indian
had fallen afoul a wounded tiger, and the beaters were miles off. I've
been watching. They haven't even spoken to each other. Courtlandt's
probably forgotten all about the incident, and the Indian would die rather
than embarrass his savior before strangers."
"Your friend, then, is quite a hero?"
What was the matter with Nora's voice? Abbott looked at her wonderingly.
The tone was hard and unmusical.
"He couldn't be anything else, being Dick Courtlandt's boy," volunteered
Harrigan, with enthusiasm. "It runs in the family."
"It seems strange," observed Nora, "that I never heard you mention that
you knew a Mr. Courtlandt."
"Why, Nora, there's a lot of things nobody mentions unless chance brings
them up. Courtlandt--the one I knew--has been dead these sixteen years. If
I knew he had had a son, I'd forgotten all about it. The only graveyard
isn't on the hillside; there's one under everybody's thatch."
The padre nodded approvingly.
Nora was not particularly pleased with this phase in the play. Courtlandt
would find a valiant champion in her father, who would blunder in when
some fine passes were being exchanged. And she could not tell him; she
would have cut out her tongue rather. It was true that she held the
principal cards in the game, but she could not table them and claim the
tricks as in bridge. She must patiently wait for him to lead, and he, as
she very well knew, would lead a card at a time, and then only after
mature deliberation. From the exhilaration which attended the prospect of
battle she passed into a state of depression, which lasted the rest of the
afternoon.
"Will you forgive me?" asked Celeste of Courtlandt. Never had she felt
more ill at ease. For a full ten minutes he chatted pleasantly, with never
the slightest hint regarding the episode in Paris. She could stand it no
longer. "Will you forgive me?"
"For what?"
"That night in Paris."
"Do not permit that to bother you in the least. I was never going to
recall it."
"Was it so unpleasant?"
"On the contrary, I was much amused."
"I did not tell you the truth."
"So I have found out."
"I do not believe that it was you," impulsively.
"Thanks. I had nothing to do with Miss Harrigan's imprisonment."
"Do you feel that you could make a confidant of me?"
He smiled. "My dear Miss Fournier, I have come to the place where I
distrust even myself."
"Forgive my curiosity!"
Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. "I am glad to see you again."
"Ah, Sahib!"
The little Frenchwoman was torn with curiosity and repression. She wanted
to know what causes had produced this unusual drama which was unfolding
before her eyes. To be presented with effects which had no apparent causes
was maddening. It was not dissimilar to being taken to the second act of a
modern problem play and being forced to leave before the curtain rose upon
the third act. She had laid all the traps her intelligent mind could
invent; and Nora had calmly walked over them or around. Nora's mind was
Celtic: French in its adroitness and Irish in its watchfulness and
tenacity. And now she had set her arts of persuasion in motion (aided by a
piquant beauty) to lift a corner of the veil from this man's heart.
Checkmate!
"I should like to help you," she said, truthfully.
"In what way?"
It was useless, but she continued: "She does not know that you went to
Flora Desimone's that night."
"And yet she sent you to watch me."
"But so many things happened afterward that she evidently forgot."
"That is possible."
"I was asleep when the pistol went off. Oh, you must believe that it was
purely accidental! She was in a terrible state until morning. What if she
had killed you, what if she had killed you! She seemed to hark upon that
phrase."
Courtlandt turned a sober face toward her. She might be sincere, and then
again she might be playing the first game over again, in a different
guise. "It would have been embarrassing if the bullet had found its mark."
He met her eyes squarely, and she saw that his were totally free from
surprise or agitation or interest.
"Do you play chess?" she asked, divertingly.
"Chess? I am very fond of that game."
"So I should judge," dryly. "I suppose you look upon me as a meddler.
Perhaps I am; but I have nothing but good will toward you; and Nora would
be very angry if she knew that I was discussing her affairs with you. But
I love her and want to make her happy."
"That seems to be the ambition of all the young men, at any rate."
Jealousy? But the smile baffled her. "Will you be here long?"
"It depends."
"Upon Nora?" persistently.
"The weather."
"You are hopeless."
"No; on the contrary, I am the most optimistic man in the world."
She looked into this reply very carefully. If he had hopes of winning Nora
Harrigan, optimistic he certainly must be. Perhaps it was not optimism.
Rather might it not be a purpose made of steel, bendable but not
breakable, reinforced by a knowledge of conditions which she would have
given worlds to learn?
"Is she not beautiful?"
"I am not a poet."
"Wait a moment," her eyes widening. "I believe you know who did commit
that outrage."
For the first time he frowned.
"Very well; I promise not to ask any more questions."
"That would be very agreeable to me." Then, as if he realized the rudeness
of his reply, he added: "Before I leave I will tell you all you wish to
know, upon one condition."
"Tell it!"
"You will say nothing to any one, you will question neither Miss Harrigan
nor myself, nor permit yourself to be questioned."
"I agree."
"And now, will you not take me over to your friends?"
"Over there?" aghast.
"Why, yes. We can sit upon the grass. They seem to be having a good
time."
What a man! Take him over, into the enemy's camp? Nothing would be more
agreeable to her. Who would be the stronger, Nora or this provoking man?
So they crossed over and joined the group. The padre smiled. It was a
situation such as he loved to study: a strong man and a strong woman, at
war. But nothing happened; not a ripple anywhere to disclose the agitation
beneath. The man laughed and the woman laughed, but they spoke not to each
other, nor looked once into each other's eyes.
The sun was dropping toward the western tops. The guests were leaving by
twos and threes. The colonel had prevailed upon his dinner-guests not to
bother about going back to the village to dress, but to dine in the
clothes they wore. Finally, none remained but Harrigan, Abbott, the
Barone, the padre and Courtlandt. And they talked noisily and agreeably
concerning man-affairs until Rao gravely announced that dinner was
served.
It was only then, during the lull which followed, that light was shed upon
the puzzle which had been subconsciously stirring Harrigan's mind: Nora
had not once spoken to the son of his old friend.
CHAPTER XIII
EVERYTHING BUT THE TRUTH
"I don't see why the colonel didn't invite some of the ladies," Mrs.
Harrigan complained.
"It's a man-party. He's giving it to please himself. And I do not blame
him. The women about here treat him abominably. They come at all times of
the day and night, use his card-room, order his servants about, drink his
whisky and smoke his cigarettes, and generally invite themselves to
luncheon and tea and dinner. And then, when they are ready to go back to
their villas or hotel, take his motor-boat without a thank-you. The
colonel has about three thousand pounds outside his half-pay, and they are
all crazy to marry him because his sister is a countess. As a bachelor he
can live like a prince, but as a married man he would have to dig. He told
me that if he had been born Adam, he'd have climbed over Eden's walls long
before the Angel of the Flaming Sword paddled him out. Says he's always
going to be a bachelor, unless I take pity on him," mischievously.
"Has he...?" in horrified tones.
"About three times a visit," Nora admitted; "but I told him that I'd be a
daughter, a cousin, or a niece to him, or even a grandchild. The latter
presented too many complications, so we compromised on niece."
"I wish I knew when you were serious and when you were fooling."
"I am often as serious when I am fooling as I am foolish when I am
serious...."
"Nora, you will have me shrieking in a minute!" despaired the mother. "Did
the colonel really propose to you?"
"Only in fun."
Celeste laughed and threw her arm around the mother's waist, less ample
than substantial. "Don't you care! Nora is being pursued by little devils
and is venting her spite on us."
"There'll be too much Burgundy and tobacco, to say nothing of the awful
stories."
"With the good old padre there? Hardly," said Nora.
Celeste was a French woman. "I confess that I like a good story that isn't
vulgar. And none of them look like men who would stoop to vulgarity."
"That's about all you know of men," declared Mrs. Harrigan.