The Silent Barrier
pretty girl whom I did not know. Miss Jaques wore an exquisite,'
etc., etc. Fill in full details of my personal appearance, and you
have the complete paragraph. The public, the stupid, addle-headed
public, fatten on that sort of thing, and it keeps me going far more
effectively than my feeble attempts to warble a couple of songs which
you could sing far better if only you made up your mind to come on the
stage. But there! After such unwonted candor I must have a smoke. You
won't try a cigarette? Well, don't look so shocked. This isn't a
church, you know."
Spencer, who had listened with interest to Miss Jaques's outspoken
views, suddenly awoke to the fact that he was playing the part of an
eavesdropper. He had all an American's chivalrous instincts where
women were concerned, and his first impulse was to betake himself
and his letters to his own room. Yet, when all was said and done, he
was in a hotel; the girls were strangers, and likely to remain so;
and it was their own affair if they chose to indulge in unguarded
confidences. So he compromised with his scruples by pouring out a
glass of water, replacing the decanter on its tray with some degree of
noise. Then he struck an unnecessary match and applied it to his cigar
before opening the first of the Denver letters.
As his glance was momentarily diverted, he did not grasp the essential
fact that neither of the pair was disturbed by his well meant efforts.
Millicent Jaques was lighting a cigarette, and this, to a woman, is an
all absorbing achievement, while her friend was so new to her palatial
surroundings that she had not the least notion of the existence of
another open floor just above the level of her eyes.
"I don't know how in the world you manage to exist," went on the
actress, tilting herself back in her chair to watch the smoke curling
lazily upward. "What was it you said the other day when we met? You
are some sort of secretary and amanuensis to a scientist? Does that
mean typewriting? And what is the science?"
"Professor von Eulenberg is a well known man," was the quiet reply. "I
type his essays and reports, it is true; but I also assist in his
classification work, and it is very interesting."
"What does he classify?"
"Mostly beetles."
"Oh, how horrid! Do you ever see any?"
"Thousands."
"I should find one enough. If it is a fair question, what does your
professor pay you?"
"Thirty shillings a week. In his own way he is as poor as I am."
"And do you mean to tell me that you can live in those nice rooms you
took me to, and dress decently on that sum?"
"I do, as a matter of fact; but I have a small pension, and I earn a
little by writing titbits of scientific gossip for 'The Firefly.' Herr
von Eulenberg helps. He translates interesting paragraphs from the
foreign technical papers, and I jot them down, and by that means I
pick up sufficient to buy an extra hat or wrap, and go to a theater or
a concert. But I have to be careful, as my employer is absent each
summer for two months. He goes abroad to hunt new specimens, and of
course I am not paid then."
"Is he away now?"
"Yes."
"And how do you pass your time?"
"I write a good deal. Some day I hope to get a story accepted by one
of the magazines; but it is so hard for a beginner to find an
opening."
"Yet when I offered to give you a start in the chorus of the best
theater in London,--a thing, mind you, that thousands of girls are
aching for,--you refused."
"I'm sorry, Millie dear; but I am not cut out for the stage. It does
not appeal to me."
"Heigho! Tastes differ. Stick to your beetles, then, and marry your
professor."
Helen laughed, with a fresh joyousness that was good to hear. "Herr
von Eulenberg is blessed with an exceedingly stout wife and five very
healthy children already," she cried.
"Then that settles it. You're mad, quite mad! Let us talk of something
else. Do you ever have a holiday? Where are you going this year? I'm
off to Champery when the theater closes."
"Champery,--in Switzerland, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Ah, that is the dream of my life,--to see the everlasting snows; to
climb those grand, solemn mountains; to cross the great passes that
one reads of in the travel books. Now at last you have made me
envious. Are you going alone? But of course that is a foolish
question. You intend to join others from the theater, no doubt?"
"Well--er--something of the sort. I fear my enthusiasm will not carry
me far on the lines that would appeal to you. I suppose you consider a
short skirt, strong boots, a Tyrolese hat, and an alpenstock to be a
sufficient rig-out, whereas my mountaineering costumes will fill five
large trunks and three hat boxes. I'm afraid, Helen, we don't run on
the same rails, as our American cousins say."
There was a little pause. Millicent's words, apparently tossed
lightly into the air after a smoke spiral, had in them a touch of
bitterness, it might be of self analysis. Her guest seemed to take
thought before she answered:
"Perhaps the divergence is mainly in environment. And I have always
inclined to the more serious side of life. Even when we were together
in Brussels----"
"You? Serious? At Madam Berard's? I like that. Who was it that kicked
the plaster off the dormitory wall higher than her head? Who put
pepper in Signor Antonio's snuff box?"
Spencer saw the outer waves of a flush on Helen's cheeks. "This is
exceedingly interesting," he thought; "but I cannot even persuade
myself that I ought to listen any longer. Yet, if I rise now and walk
away they will know I heard every word."
Nevertheless, he meant to go, at the risk of their embarrassment;
but he waited for Helen's reply. She laughed, and the ripple of her
mirth was as musical as her voice, whereas many women dowered with
pleasantly modulated notes for ordinary conversation should be careful
never to indulge in laughter, which is less controllable and therefore
natural.
"That is the worst of having a past," she said. "Let me put it, then,
that entomology as a pursuit sternly represses frivolousness."
"Does entomology mean beetles?"
"My dear, if you asked Herr von Eulenberg that question he would sate
your curiosity with page extracts from one of his books. He has
written a whole volume to prove that the only true entoma, or
insects, are Condylopoda and Hexapoda, which means----"
"Cockroaches! Good gracious! To think of Helen Wynton, who once hit a
Belgian boy very hard on the nose for being rude, wasting her life on
such rubbish! And you actually seem to thrive on it. I do believe you
are far happier than I."
"At present I am envying you that trip to Champery. Why cannot some
fairy godmother call in at No. 5, Warburton Gardens, to-night and wave
over my awed head a wand that shall scatter sleeping car tickets and
banknotes galore, or at any rate sufficient thereof to take me to the
Engadine and back?"
"Ah, the Engadine. I am not going there this year, I think."
"Haven't you planned your tour yet?"
"No--that is, not exactly."
"Do you know, that is one of my greatest pleasures. With a last year's
Continental Bradshaw and a few tattered Baedekers I journey far
afield. I know the times, the fares, and the stopping places of all
the main routes from Calais and Boulogne. I could pass a creditable
examination in most of the boat and train services by way of Ostend,
Flushing, and the Hook of Holland. I assure you, Millie, when my ship
does come home, or the glittering lady whom I have invoked deigns to
visit my lodgings, I shall call a cab for Charing Cross or Victoria
with the assurance of a seasoned traveler."
For some reason, Miss Jaques refused to share her friend's enthusiasm.
"You are easily pleased," she said listlessly. "For my part, after one
shuddering glance at the Channel, I try to deaden all sensation till I
find myself dressing for dinner at the Ritz. I positively refuse to go
beyond Paris the first day. Ah, bother! Here comes a man whom I wish
to avoid. Let us be on the move before he sees us, which he cannot
fail to do. Don't forget that I have a rehearsal at three. I haven't,
really; but we must escape somehow."
Spencer, who had salved his conscience by endeavoring to read a
technical letter on mining affairs, would be less than human if he did
not lift his eyes then. It is odd how the sense of hearing, when left
to its unfettered play by the absence of the disturbing influence of
facial expression, can discriminate in its analysis of the subtler
emotions. He was quite sure that Miss Jaques was startled, even
annoyed, by the appearance of some person whom she did not expect to
meet, and he surveyed the new arrival critically, perhaps with latent
hostility.
He saw a corpulent, well dressed man standing at the foot of the
stairs and looking around the spacious room. Obviously, he had not
come from the restaurant. He carried his hat, gloves, and stick in his
left hand. With his right hand he caressed his chin, and his glance
wandered slowly over the little knots of people in the foyer. Beyond
the fact that a large diamond sparkled on one of his plump fingers,
and that his olive tinted face was curiously opposed to the whiteness
of the uplifted hand, he differed in no essential from the hundreds of
spick and span idlers who might be encountered at that hour in the
west end of London. He had the physique and bearing of a man athletic
in his youth but now over-indulgent. An astute tailor had managed to
conceal the too rounded curves of the fourth decade by fashioning his
garments skillfully. His coat fitted like a skin across his shoulders
but hung loosely in front. The braid of a colored waistcoat was
a marvel of suggestion in indicating a waist, and the same adept
craftsmanship carried the eye in faultless lines to his verni boots.
Judged by his profile, he was not ill looking. His features were
regular, the mouth and chin strong, the forehead slightly rounded, and
the nose gave the merest hint of Semitic origin. Taken altogether, he
had the style of a polished man of the world, and Spencer smiled at
the sudden fancy that seized him.
"I am attending the first act of a little play," he thought. "Helen
and Millicent rise and move to center of stage; enter the conventional
villain."
Miss Jaques was not mistaken when she said that her acquaintance would
surely see her. She and Helen Wynton had not advanced a yard from
their corner before the newcomer discovered them. He hastened to meet
them, with the aspect of one equally surprised and delighted. His
manners were courtly, and displayed great friendliness; but Spencer
was quick to notice the air of interest with which his gaze rested on
Helen. It was possible to see now that Millicent's unexpected friend
had large, prominent dark eyes which lent animation and vivacity to a
face otherwise heavy and coarse. It was impossible to hear all that
was said, as the trio stood in the middle of the room and a couple
of men passing up the stairs at the moment were talking loudly. But
Spencer gathered that Millicent was explaining volubly how she and
Miss Wynton had "dropped in here for luncheon by the merest chance,"
and was equally emphatic in the declaration that she was already
overdue at the theater.
The man said something, and glanced again at Helen. Evidently, he
asked for an introduction, which Miss Jaques gave with an affability
that was eloquent of her powers as an actress. The unwished for
cavalier was not to be shaken off. He walked with them up the stairs
and crossed the entrance hall. Spencer, stuffing his letters into a
pocket, strolled that way too, and saw this pirate in a morning coat
bear off both girls in a capacious motor car.
Not to be balked of the denouement of the little comedy in real life