Part 12 (1/2)
”Perhaps, as she's known you some time, she feels you're sacrificing yourself,” Annesley defended the Countess. ”I don't blame her!”
”She's sharp enough to see that I'm in great luck,” said Smith. ”But I suppose there's always a dash of the cat in a woman of her race. I hope there's no need to tell you that she has no right to be jealous. If she had, I wouldn't have put you within reach of her claws. There are a.s.sorted sizes and kinds of jealousy, though. Some women want all the lime-light and grudge sparing any for a younger and prettier girl.”
Annesley laughed. ”_Prettier!_ Why, she's a beauty, and I----”
”Wait till I introduce you to Mrs. Nelson Smith, who's going to be one of the best-dressed, best-looking young women in London, and you'll be _sorry_ for the poor old Countess,” returned Smith, warmly. ”You can afford then to heap coals of fire on her head, which can't make it redder than it is. Meanwhile, it occurs to me, from the way the wind blows, you'd better go carefully with the lady! Don't let her pump you about yourself, or what happened at Mrs. Ellsworth's. It's not her business.
Don't confide any more than you need, and if she pretends to confide in _you_ understand that it will be for a purpose. The Countess is no _ingenue_!
”But enough about her,” he went on, abruptly. ”She sha'n't spoil our first breakfast together, even by reminding me of gloomy meals I used sometimes to eat with her when we happened to find ourselves in each other's society on board the _Monarchic_. I was feeling down on my luck then, and she wasn't the one to cheer me up. But things are different now. Have you noticed, by the way, that she has a nickname for me?”
”Yes,” Annesley admitted. ”She calls you 'Don.'”
”It's a name she made up because she used to say, when we first met, I was like a Spaniard; and I can jabber Spanish among other lingos. It's more her native tongue, you know, than English. I only refer to it because I want you to have a special name of your own for me, and I don't want it to be that one. It can't be Nelson, because--well, I can never be at home as Nelson with the girl I love best--the one who knows how I came to call myself that. Will you make up a name for me, and begin to get used to it to-day? I'd like it if you could.”
”May I call you 'Knight'?” Annesley asked, shyly. ”I've named you my knight already in my mind and--and heart.”
He looked at her with rather a beautiful look: clear and wistful, even remorseful.
”It's too n.o.ble a name,” he said. ”Still--if you like it, I shall. Maybe it will make me good. Jove! it would take something strong to do that!
But who knows? From now on I'm your 'Knight.' You needn't wrestle with 'Nelson' except when we're with strangers.
”And--look here!” he broke off. ”I've another favour to ask. Better get them all over at once--the big ones that are hard to grant. You reminded me last night that we wouldn't be legally married if I didn't use my own name. That may be true. I can't very well make inquiries. But just in case, I'm giving my real name and shall sign it in a register. That's why our marriage must be quietly performed in a quiet place. It shall be in church, because I know you wouldn't feel married if it wasn't, but it must be in a church where n.o.body we're likely to meet ever goes; and the parson must be one we won't stand a chance of knocking up against later.
”Managed the way I shall manage it, there'll be no difficulty. Mr. and Mrs. Blank will walk out of the vestry after they've signed their names, and--_lose themselves_. No reason why they should ever be a.s.sociated with Mr. and Mrs. Nelson Smith. Do you much mind all these complications?”
”Not if they're necessary to save you from danger,” the girl answered.
”By Jove, you're a trump! But I haven't come to the _big_ favour yet. Now for it! When I write my real name in the register, I don't want you to look. Is that the one thing too much?”
Annesley tried not to flinch under his eyes. Yet--he had put her to a severe test. Last night, when he said that it would be better for her not to know his name, she had quietly agreed.
But there was the widest difference between then and now. At that time they had been strangers flung together by a wave of fate which, it seemed, might tear them apart at any instant. In a few hours all was changed. They belonged to each other. This man's name would be her name, yet he wished her to be ignorant of it!
If the girl had not thought of him truly as her knight, if she had not been determined to trust him, the ”big favour” would indeed have been too big.
Despite her trust, and the romantic, new-born love in her heart, she was unable to answer for a moment. Her breath was s.n.a.t.c.hed away; but as she struggled to regain it and to speak, a bleak picture of the future without him rose before her eyes. She couldn't give him up, and go on living, after the glimpse he had shown her of what life might be!
”No, it's not too much,” she said, slowly. ”It's only part of the trust I've promised to--my knight.”
He gave a sigh of relief. ”Thank you--and my lucky star for the prize you are!” he exclaimed. Some men would have offered their thanks to G.o.d, or to ”Heaven.” Annesley noticed that he praised his ”star.”
This was one of many disquieting things, large and small; for she had been brought up to be a religious girl, and was mentally on her knees before G.o.d in grat.i.tude for the happiness which illuminated her gray life. She could not bear to think that G.o.d was nothing to the man who had become everything to her. She wanted to shut her eyes to all that was strange in him; but it was as difficult as for Psyche to resist lighting the lantern for a peep at her mysterious husband in his sleep.
For instance, there was the Countess de Santiago's reference to their a.s.sociation on board the _Monarchic_, which Knight had refrained from mentioning. He had spoken of it after the Countess had gone, to be sure; but briefly, and because it would have seemed odd if he had not done so.
It had struck Annesley that his annoyance with the lady was connected with that sharp little ”dig” of hers, and she could not sweep her mind clean of curiosity.
The moment the _Monarchic's_ name was brought up she remembered reading a newspaper paragraph about the last voyage of that great s.h.i.+p from New York to Liverpool. Fortunately or unfortunately, her recollection of the paragraph was nebulous, for when she read news aloud to her mistress she permitted her mind to wander, unless the subject happened to be interesting. She tried to keep up a vaguely intelligent knowledge of world politics, but small events and blatant sensations, such as murders, burglaries, and ”society” divorces, she quickly erased from her brain.
Something dramatic had occurred on the _Monarchic_. Her subconscious self recalled that. But it was less than a month ago that she had read the paragraph, therefore the sensation, whatever it was, must have happened when Knight and the Countess de Santiago were on board, coming to England, and she could easily learn what it was by inquiring.