Part 9 (1/2)
”She is married and lives on Saaron Island. But you know this, of course? You who seem to know everything about us.”
”My sister writes me all the news.... So now,” she added smiling, ”it is all explained, and there is no mystery about me after all. Are you so very much disappointed?”
But the Commandant continued to stare. No mystery? That the fisherman's daughter with the Island lilt in her voice--well he recalled it!--should have turned into this apparition of furs and jewels?... And yet the metamorphosis lay not in the furs and jewels, but in her careless air of command, of reliance upon her power, beauty, charm--whatever her woman's secret might be; an air of one accustomed to move in courts, maybe, or to control great audiences, or to live habitually with lofty thoughts; an air of one, above all, sure of herself. The poor Commandant had lived the better part of his life in exile, but by instinct of breeding he recognised this air at once.
Vashti, however, seemed to mistake his astonishment, for she frowned.
”Well?” she asked, a trifle impatiently.
”Your sister never told us,” he stammered. ”At least--that is to say----”
”Do you suppose she was ashamed of me?”
”Ashamed?” he echoed, for indeed no such thought had occurred to him.
If ever a man could have taken _honi soit qui mal y pense_ for his motto, it was our Commandant.
”Ah, to be sure!” she said slowly, but less in indignation (it seemed) than in disappointment with him. ”Naturally that would be the explanation to occur to you, living so long in such a place.”
She turned on her heel, half contemptuously, and resumed her way, walking with a yet quicker step than before. The Commandant, aware that he had offended, but not in the least understanding how, toiled after her up the steep incline to the garrison gate.
They reached the door of the Barracks. To his surprise it was standing open, and from behind the ragged blind of his sitting-room--to the left of the entrance hall--a light shone feebly out upon the fog. He could not remember that he had lit the lamp there, nor that he had left the front door open.
Vashti paused upon the doorstep and turned to him:
”My good sir,” she said curtly, ”run and fetch Mrs. Treacher to me, for goodness' sake.”
He hesitated, on the point of stepping past her to open the door of the lighted room. Her manner forbade him, and he stood still, there by the doorstep, gazing after her a moment as she disappeared into the dark hall. Then, as he heard the door latch rattle gently, he turned to hurry in search of Mrs. Treacher.
He had taken but a dozen steps, however, when her light footfall sounded again close behind him. She, too, had turned and was following him almost at a run.
”Why didn't you tell me?” she gasped.
He swung up his lantern. Her eyes were wide with a kind of horror; and yet she seemed to be laughing, or ready to laugh.
”Tell you?” he echoed.
”Oh, but it was unkind!”
”But--but, excuse me--what on earth----”
”Why, that you were entertaining ladies!”
”Ladies!”
She nodded, still round-eyed, reproachful. ”Two of them--sitting on your sofa! And, I think--I rather think--one of them is Miss Gabriel!”
CHAPTER VII
TRIBULATIONS OF MRS. POPE AND MISS GABRIEL