Part 16 (2/2)

Courtlandt went into the shop, rather blindly. He stared at the shelves of paper-covered novels and post-cards, and when the polite proprietor offered him a dozen of the latter, he accepted them without comment.

Indeed, he put them into a pocket and turned to go out.

”Pardon, sir; those are one franc the dozen.”

”Ah, yes.” Courtlandt pulled out some silver. It was going to be terribly difficult, and his heart was heavy with evil presages. He had seen Celeste. He understood the amusing if mysterious comedy now. Nora had recognized him and had sent her friend to follow him and learn where he went. And he, poor fool of a blunderer, with the best intentions in the world, he had gone at once to the Calabrian's apartment! It was d.a.m.nable of fate. He had righted nothing. In truth, he was deeper than ever in the quicksands of misunderstanding. He shut his teeth with a click. How neatly she had waylaid and trapped him!

”Those are from Lucerne, sir.”

”What?” bewildered.

”Those wood-carvings which you are touching with your cane, sir.”

”I beg your pardon,” said Courtlandt, apologetically, and gained the open.

He threw a quick glance down the street. There they were. He proceeded in the opposite direction, toward his hotel. Tea at the colonel's? Scarcely.

He would go to Menaggio with the hotel motor-boat and return so late that he would arrive only in time for dinner. He was not going to meet the enemy over tea-cups, at least, not under the soldier's tactless supervision. He must find a smoother way, calculated, under the rose, but seemingly accidental. It was something to ponder over.

”Nora, who was that?” asked Mrs. Harrigan.

”Who was who?” countered Nora, snuggling the wriggling dachel under her arm and throwing the sunshade across her shoulder.

”That fine-looking young man who stood by the door as we pa.s.sed out. He raised his hat.”

”Oh, bother! I was looking at Fritz.”

Celeste searched her face keenly, but Nora looked on ahead serenely; not a quiver of an eyelid, not the slightest change in color or expression.

”She did not see him!” thought the musician, curiously stirred. She knew her friend tolerably well. It would have been impossible for her to have seen that man and not to have given evidence of the fact.

In short, Nora had spoken truthfully. She had seen a man dressed in white flannels and canvas shoes, but her eyes had not traveled so far as his face.

”Mother, we must have some of those silk blankets. They're so comfy to lie on.”

”You never see anything except when you want to,” complained Mrs.

Harrigan.

”It saves a deal of trouble. I don't want to go to the colonel's this afternoon. He always has some frump to pour tea and ask fool questions.”

”The frump, as you call her, is usually a countess or a d.u.c.h.ess,” with asperity.

”Fiddlesticks! n.o.bility makes a specialty of frumps; it is one of the species of the caste. That's why I shall never marry a t.i.tle. I wish neither to visit nor to entertain frumps. Frump,--the word calls up the exact picture; frump and fatuity. Oh, I'll go, but I'd rather stay on my balcony and read a good book.”

”My dear,” patiently, ”the colonel is one of the social laws on Como. His sister is the wife of an earl. You must not offend him. His Sundays are the most exclusive on the lake.”

”The word exclusive should be properly applied to those in jail. The social ladder, the social ladder! Don't you know, mother mine, that every rung is sawn by envy and greed, and that those who climb highest fall farthest?”

”You are quoting the padre.”

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