The Place of Honeymoons
And thus, without having originally the least intent to do so, they broke
the mutual contract on which they had separately and secretly agreed:
never to speak directly to each other. Nora was first to realize what she
had done, and she was furiously angry with herself. She left the piano.
As if her mind had opened suddenly like a book, Courtlandt sprang from the
divan and reached for the fat ball of lace-hemming. He sat down in Nora's
chair and nodded significantly to the Barone, who blushed. To hold the
delicate material for Nora's unwinding was a privilege of the gods, but to
hold it for this man for whom he held a dim feeling of antagonism was
altogether a different matter.
"It is horribly tangled," he admitted, hoping thus to escape.
"No matter. You hold the ball. I'll untangle it. I never saw a fish-line I
could not straighten out."
Nora laughed. It was not possible for her to repress the sound. Her sense
of humor was too strong in this case to be denied its release in laughter.
It was free of the subtler emotions; frank merriment, no more, no less.
And possessing the hunter's extraordinarily keen ear, Courtlandt
recognized the quality; and the weight of a thousand worlds lightened its
pressure upon his heart. And the Barone laughed, too. So there they were,
the three of them. But Nora's ineffectual battle for repression had driven
her near to hysteria. To escape this dire calamity, she flung open a
casement window and stood within it, breathing in the heavy fragrance of
the rain-laden air.
This little comedy had the effect of relaxing them all; and the laughter
became general. Abbott's smile faded soonest. He stared at his friend in
wonder not wholly free from a sense of evil fortune. Never had he known
Courtlandt to aspire to be a squire of dames. To see the Barone hold the
ball as if it were hot shot was amusing; but the cool imperturbable manner
with which Courtlandt proceeded to untangle the snarl was disturbing. Why
the deuce wasn't he himself big and strong, silent and purposeful, instead
of being a dawdling fool of an artist?
No answer came to his inquiry, but there was a knock at the door. The
managing director handed Harrigan a card.
"Herr Rosen," he read aloud. "Send him up. Some friend of yours, Nora;
Herr Rosen. I told Mr. Jilli to send him up."
The padre drew his feet under his cassock, a sign of perturbation;
Courtlandt continued to unwind; the Barone glanced fiercely at Nora, who
smiled enigmatically.
CHAPTER XV
HERR ROSEN'S REGRETS
Herr Rosen! There was no outward reason why the name should have set a
chill on them all, turned them into expectant statues. Yet, all semblance
of good-fellowship was instantly gone. To Mrs. Harrigan alone did the name
convey a sense of responsibility, a flutter of apprehension not unmixed
with delight. She put her own work behind the piano lid, swooped down upon
the two men and snatched away the lace-hemming, to the infinite relief of
the one and the surprise of the other. Courtlandt would have liked nothing
better than to hold the lace in his lap, for it was possible that Herr
Rosen might wish to shake hands, however disinclined he might be within to
perform such greeting. The lace disappeared. Mrs. Harrigan smoothed out
the wrinkles in her dress. From the others there had been little movement
and no sound to speak of. Harrigan still waited by the door, seriously
contemplating the bit of pasteboard in his hand.
Nora did not want to look, but curiosity drew her eyes imperiously toward
Courtlandt. He had not risen. Did he know? Did he understand? Was his
attitude pretense or innocence? Ah, if she could but look behind that
impenetrable mask! How she hated him! The effrontery of it all! And she
could do nothing, say nothing: dared not tell them then and there what he
truly was, a despicable scoundrel! The son of her father's dearest friend;
what mockery! A friend of the family! It was maddening.
Herr Rosen brushed past Harrigan unceremoniously, without pausing, and
went straight over to Nora, who was thereupon seized by an uncontrollable
spirit of devilment. She hated Herr Rosen, but she was going to be as
pleasant and as engaging as she knew how to be. She did not care if he
misinterpreted her mood. She welcomed him with a hand. He went on to Mrs.
Harrigan, who colored pleasurably. He was then introduced, and he
acknowledged each introduction with a careless nod. He was there to see
Nora, and he did not propose to put himself to any inconvenience on
account of the others.
The temporary restraint which had settled upon the others at the
announcement of Herr Rosen's arrival passed away. Courtlandt, who had
remained seated during the initial formalities (a fact which bewildered
Abbott, who knew how punctilious his friend was in matters of this kind)
got up and took a third of the divan.
Harrigan dropped down beside him. It was his habit to watch his daughter's
face when any guest arrived. He formed his impression on what he believed
to be hers. That she was a consummate actress never entered into his
calculations. The welcoming smile dissipated any doubts.
"No matter where we are, they keep coming. She has as many friends as T.
R. I never bother to keep track of 'em."
"It would be rather difficult," assented Courtlandt.
"You ought to see the flowers. Loads of 'em. And say, what do you think?
Every jewel that comes she turns into money and gives to charity. Can you
beat it? Fine joke on the Johnnies. Of course, I mean stones that turn up
anonymously. Those that have cards go back by fast-mail. It's a good thing
I don't chance across the senders. Now, boy, I want you to feel at home
here in this family; I want you to come up when you want to and at any old
time of day. I kind of want to pay back to you all the kind things your
dad did for me. And I don't want any Oh-pshawing. Get me?"
"Whatever you say. If my dad did you any favors it was because he liked
and admired you; not with any idea of having you discharge the debt in the
future by way of inconveniencing yourself on my account. Just let me be a
friend of the family, like Abbott here. That would be quite enough honor
for me."
"You're on! Say, that blacksmith yarn was a corker. He was a game old
codger. That was scrapping; no hall full of tobacco-smoke, no palm-fans,
lemonade, peanuts and pop-corn; just right out on the turf, and may the
best man win. I know. I went through that. No frame-ups, all square and on
the level. A fellow had to fight those days, no sparring, no pretty
footwork. Sometimes I've a hankering to get back and exchange a wallop or
two. Nothing to it, though. My wife won't let me, as the song goes."
Courtlandt chuckled. "I suppose it's the monotony. A man who has been
active hates to sit down and twiddle his thumbs. You exercise?"
"Walk a lot."
"Climb any?"
"Don't know that game."
"It's great sport. I'll break you in some day, if you say. You'll like it.
The mountains around here are not dangerous. We can go up and down in a
day."
"I'll go you. But, say, last night Nora chucked a bunch of daisies out of
the window, and as I was nosing around in the vineyard, I came across it.
You know how a chap will absently pick a bunch of flowers apart. What do
you think I found?"
"A note?"
"This." Harrigan exhibited the emerald. "Who sent it? Where the dickens
did it come from?"
Courtlandt took the stone and examined it carefully. "That's not a bad
stone. Uncut but polished; oriental."
"Oriental, eh? What would you say it was worth?"
"Oh, somewhere between six and seven hundred."
"Suffering shamrocks! A little green pebble like this?"
"Cut and flawless, at that size, it would be worth pounds instead of
dollars."
"Well, what do you think of that? Nora told me to keep it, so I guess I
will."
"Why, yes. If a man sends a thing like this anonymously, he can't possibly
complain. Have it made into a stick pin." Courtlandt returned the stone
which Harrigan pocketed.
"Sometimes I wish Nora'd marry and settle down."
"She is young. You wouldn't have quit the game at her age!"
"I should say not! But that's different. A man's business is to fight for
his grub, whether in an office or in the ring. That's a part of the game.
But a woman ought to have a home, live in it three-fourths of the year,
and bring up good citizens. That's what we are all here for. Molly used to
stay at home, but now it's the social bug, gadding from morning until
night. Ah, here's Carlos with the tea."
Herr Rosen instantly usurped the chair next to Nora, who began to pour the
tea. He had come up from the village prepared for a disagreeable
half-hour. Instead of being greeted with icy glances from stormy eyes, he
encountered such smiles as this adorable creature had never before
bestowed upon him. He was in the clouds. That night at Cadenabbia had
apparently knocked the bottom out of his dream. Women were riddles which
only they themselves could solve for others. For this one woman he was
perfectly ready to throw everything aside. A man lived but once; and he
was a fool who would hold to tinsel in preference to such happiness as he
thought he saw opening out before him. Nora saw, but she did not care.
That in order to reach another she was practising infinite cruelty on this
man (whose one fault lay in that he loved her) did not appeal to her pity.
But her arrow flew wide of the target; at least, there appeared no result
to her archery in malice. Not once had the intended victim looked over to
where she sat. And yet she knew that he must be watching; he could not
possibly avoid it and be human. And when he finally came forward to take
his cup, she leaned toward Herr Rosen.
"You take two lumps?" she asked sweetly. It was only a chance shot, but
she hit on the truth.
"And you remember?" excitedly.
"One lump for mine, please," said Courtlandt, smiling.
She picked up a cube of sugar and dropped it into his cup. She had the air
of one wishing it were poison. The recipient of this good will, with
perfect understanding, returned to the divan, where the padre and Harrigan
were gravely toasting each other with Benedictine.
Nora made no mistake with either Abbott's cup or the Barone's; but the two
men were filled with but one desire, to throw Herr Rosen out of the
window. What had begun as a beautiful day was now becoming black and
uncertain.
The Barone could control every feature save his eyes, and these openly
admitted deep anger. He recollected Herr Rosen well enough. The encounter
over at Cadenabbia was not the first by many. Herr Rosen! His presence in
this room under that name was an insult, and he intended to call the
interloper to account the very first opportunity he found.
Perhaps Celeste, sitting as quiet as a mouse upon the piano-stool, was the
only one who saw these strange currents drifting dangerously about. That
her own heart ached miserably did not prevent her from observing things
with all her usual keenness. Ah, Nora, Nora, who have everything to give
and yet give nothing, why do you play so heartless a game? Why hurt those
who can no more help loving you than the earth can help whirling around
the calm dispassionate sun? Always they turn to you, while I, who have so
much to give, am given nothing! She set down her tea-cup and began the
aria from _La Boheme_.
Nora, without relaxing the false smile, suddenly found emptiness in
everything.
"Sing!" said Herr Rosen.
"I am too tired. Some other time."
He did not press her. Instead, he whispered in his own tongue: "You are
the most adorable woman in the world!"
And Nora turned upon him a pair of eyes blank with astonishment. It was as
though she had been asleep and he had rudely awakened her. His infatuation