Part 21 (2/2)
”Think of whom?”
”This Mr. Courtlandt.”
”Oh, I didn't pay much attention to him,” carelessly. But once alone with Celeste, she seized her by the arm, a little roughly. ”Celeste, I love you better than any outsider I know. But if you ever discuss that man in my presence again, I shall cease to regard you even as an acquaintance. He has come here for the purpose of annoying me, though he promised the prefect in Paris never to annoy me again.”
”The prefect!”
”Yes. The morning I left Versailles I met him in the private office of the prefect. He had powerful friends who aided him in establis.h.i.+ng an alibi. I was only a woman, so I didn't count.”
”Nora, if I have meddled in any way,” proudly, ”it has been because I love you, and I see you unhappy. You have nearly killed me with your sphinx-like actions. You have never asked me the result of my spying for you that night. Spying is not one of my usual vocations, but I did it gladly for you.”
”You gave him my address?” coldly.
”I did not. I convinced him that I had come at the behest of Flora Desimone. He demanded her address, which I gave him. If ever there was a man in a fine rage, it was he as he left me to go there. If he found out where we lived, the Calabrian a.s.sisted him, I spoke to him rather plainly at tea. He said that he had had nothing whatever to do with the abduction, and I believe him. I am positive that he is not the kind of man to go that far and not proceed to the end. And now, will you please tell Carlos to bring my dinner to my room?”
The impulsive Irish heart was not to be resisted. Nora wanted to remain firm, but instead she swept Celeste into her arms. ”Celeste, don't be angry! I am very, very unhappy.”
If the Irish heart was impulsive, the French one was no less so. Celeste wanted to cry out that she was unhappy, too.
”Don't bother to dress! Just give your hair a pat or two. We'll all three dine on the balcony.”
Celeste flew to her room. Nora went over to the cas.e.m.e.nt window and stared at the darkening mountains. When she turned toward the dresser she was astonished to find two bouquets. One was an enormous bunch of violets. The other was of simple marguerites. She picked up the violets. There was a card without a name; but the phrase scribbled across the face of it was sufficient. She flung the violets far down into the grape-vines below. The action was without anger, excited rather by a contemptuous indifference.
As for the simple marguerites, she took them up gingerly. The arc these described through the air was even greater than that performed by the violets.
”I'm a silly fool, I suppose,” she murmured, turning back into the room again.
It was ten o'clock when the colonel bade his guests good night as they tumbled out of his motor-boat. They were in more or less exuberant spirits; for the colonel knew how to do two things particularly well: order a dinner, and avoid the many traps set for him by scheming mamas and eligible widows. Abbott, the Barone and Harrigan, arm in arm, marched on ahead, whistling one tune in three different keys, while Courtlandt set the pace for the padre.
All through the dinner the padre had watched and listened. Faces were generally books to him, and he read in this young man's face many things that pleased him. This was no night rover, a fool over wine and women, a spendthrift. He straightened out the lines and angles in a man's face as a skilled mathematician elucidates an intricate geometrical problem. He had arrived at the basic knowledge that men who live mostly out of doors are not volatile and irresponsible, but are more inclined to reserve, to reticence, to a philosophy which is broad and comprehensive and generous.
They are generally men who are accomplis.h.i.+ng things, and who let other people tell about it. Thus, the padre liked Courtlandt's voice, his engaging smile, his frank unwavering eyes; and he liked the leanness about the jaws, which was indicative of strength of character. In fact, he experienced a singular jubilation as he walked beside this silent man.
”There has been a grave mistake somewhere,” he mused aloud, thoughtfully.
”I beg your pardon,” said Courtlandt.
”I beg yours. I was thinking aloud. How long have you known the Harrigans?”
”The father and mother I never saw before to-day.”
”Then you have met Miss Harrigan?”
”I have seen her on the stage.”
”I have the happiness of being her confessor.”
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