Part 11 (1/2)

”After marriage?” said Jean, rising suddenly. ”Then you have decided?”

”I have not said that I had decided,” replied Lucy calmly.

Jean laughed. ”He will not be scared by the saddler. Europeans of his order take no account of our American cla.s.s distinctions. They look upon us as low-born parvenues, all alike. They weigh and value us by other standards than birth.”

”I have money, if you mean that, Jean,” said Lucy cheerfully.

”I think you had better go away, girls, if you have finished your dejeuner. He may be here at any moment now,” said Clara, looking anxiously at her watch.

Lucy went to her little chamber and sat down to work at a monstrous caricature which she was painting of the church. Jean paced up and down the stone corridor, looking out of the window into the Platz.

”He has come,” she said excitedly, appearing at Lucy's door. ”He went into the church first, to say an ave for help, poor little man! His fat face is quite pale and stern. It is a matter of life and death to him. And it's no more to you than the choosing of a new coat.”

Lucy smiled and sketched in a priest on the church steps. Her hand shook, but Jean could not see that. She went to the window again with something like an inward oath at the dolts of commonplace women who had all the best chances, but was back in a moment, laughing nervously.

”Do you know he has on that old brown suit?” She leaned against the jamb of the door. ”If I were a prince, and came a-wooing, I would have troops of my Jagers, and trumpets and banners with the arms of my House, and I'd wear all my decorations. Of course we Americans are bound to say that rank and royalty are dead things. But if I had them, I'd galvanize the corpses! If they are useful as shows, I'd make the show worth seeing. I'd cover myself with jewels like the old Romanoffs. You would never see Queen Jean in a slouchy alpaca and pork-pie hat like Victoria.” While her tongue chattered, her eyes watched Lucy keenly. ”You don't hear me! You are deciding what to do.

Why on earth should you hesitate? He is a gentleman--he loves you!”

and then to Lucy's relief she suddenly threw on her hat and rushed off for a walk.

Miss Dunbar painted the priest's robe yellow, in her agitation. But the agitation was not deep. There really seemed no reason why she should hesitate. He would be kind; he was well-bred and agreeable. A princess? She had a vague idea of a glorified region of ancestral castles and palaces in which dukes and royalties dwelt apart and discoursed of high matters. She would be one of them.

The other day there seemed to be no reason why she should not marry Mr.

Perry. In marriage then one must only consider the suitability of the man? There was nothing else to consider----

With a queer, hunted look in her soft eyes she worked on, daubing on paint liberally.

Meanwhile, in the little salle below, Miss Vance sat stiffly erect, while the prince talked in his shrill falsetto. Although he set forth his affection for the engelreine Madchen as simply as the little German baker in Weir (whom he certainly did resemble) might have done, she could find, in her agitation, no fitting words in which to answer him.

That she, Clara Vance, should be the arbiter in a princely alliance!

At last she managed to ask whether Miss Dunbar had given him any encouragement on which to found his claim.

”Ah, Fraulein Vance!” he cried, laughing. ”The hare does not call to the hounds! But I have no fear. She speaks to me in other ways than by words.

”'Mein Herz und seine Augen Verstehen sich gar so gut!'

You know the old song. Ah, ja! I understand what she would say--here!” touching his heart.

He paced up and down, smiling to himself. Suddenly he drew up before her, tossing his hands out as if to throw away some pleasant dream. ”I have come to you, gracious lady, as I would to the mother of Miss Dunbar. I show to you the heart! But before I address her it is necessary that I shall consult her guardian with regard to business.”

It was precisely, Clara said afterward, as if the baker from Weir had stopped singing, and presented his bill.

”Business?” she gasped. ”Oh, I see! Settlements. We don't have such things in the States. But I quite understand all those European social traits. I have lived abroad for years. I----”

”Who is Miss Dunbar's guardian?” the prince demanded alertly. He sat down by the table and took out a notebook and papers.

”But--settlements? Is not that a little premature?” she ventured.

”She has not accepted you.”

”HE may not accept my financial proposals. It is business, you see.