Part 3 (1/2)

CHAPTER III

Paul was never quite sure of what happened that evening--everything was so wonderful, so unusual, so unlike his ordinary life. The gate was unlocked he found when he got there, but no one appeared to be inside, and he bounded up the steps and on to the terrace. Silence and darkness--was she fooling him then? No, there she was by one of the windows; he could dimly see her outline as she pa.s.sed into the room beyond, through some heavy curtains. That was why no light came through to the terrace. He followed, dropping them after him also, and then he found himself in a room as unlike a hotel as he could imagine. It may have had the usual brocade walls and gilt chairs of the ”best suite,” but its aspect was so transformed by her subtle taste and presence, it seemed to him unique, and there were ma.s.ses of flowers--roses, big white ones--tuberoses--lilies of the valley, gardenias, late violets. The light were low and shaded, and a great couch filled one side of the room beyond the fireplace. Such a couch!

covered with a tiger-skin and piled with pillows, all shades of rich purple velvet and silk, embroidered with silver and gold--unlike any pillows he had ever seen before, even to their shapes. The whole thing was different and strange--and intoxicating.

The lady had reached the couch, and sank into it. She was in black still, but gauzy, clinging black, which seemed to give some gleam of purple underneath. And if he had not been sure that in daylight he had thought they were green, he would have sworn the eyes which now looked into his were deepest violet, too.

”Come,” she said. ”You may sit here beside me and tell me what you think.”

And her voice was like rich music--but she had hardly any accent. She might have been an Englishwoman almost, for that matter, and yet he somehow knew that she was not. Perhaps it was she p.r.o.nounced each word; nothing was slurred over. Without her hat she looked even more attractive, and certainly younger. But what was age or youth? And what was beauty itself, when a woman whose face was neither young nor beautiful could make him feel he was looking at a divine G.o.ddess, and thrilling as he had never dreamt of doing in his short life?

If any one had told Paul this was going to happen to him, this experience, he would have laughed them to scorn. To begin with, he was rather shy with ladies as a rule, and had not learnt a trick of _entreprenance_. It took him quite a while to know one well enough to even talk at ease. And yet here he was, embarked upon an adventure which savoured of the Arabian Nights.

He came forward and sat down, and he could feel the pulse beating in his throat. It all seemed perfectly natural at the time, but afterwards he wondered how she had known his name was Paul--and how it had all come to pa.s.s.

”For three days you have thought of me, Paul--is it not so?” she said, half closing her lids.

But he could only blurt out ”Yes!” while he devoured her with his eyes.

”We are both--how shall I say--drifting--holiday-making--trying to forget. And we must talk a little together, _n'est-ce pas_? Tell me?”

”Oh, yes!” said Paul.

”You are beautiful, you know, Paul,” she went on. ”So tall and straight like you English, with curly hair of gold. Your mother must have loved you as a baby.”

”I suppose she did,” said Paul.

”She is well? Your mother, the stately lady?”

”Very well--do you know her?” he asked, surprised.

”Long ago I have seen her, and I knew you at once, so like you are--and to your uncles, especially the Lord Hubert.”

”Uncle Hubert is a rotter!”

”A--rotter?” inquired the lady. ”And what is that?” And she smiled a divine smile.

Paul felt ashamed. ”Oh! well, it _is_ a rotter, you know--that _is_--like Uncle Hubert, I mean.”

She laughed again. ”You do not explain well, but I understand you. And so you only resemble the Uncle Hubert on the outside--that is good.”

Paul felt jealous. Lord Hubert Aldringham's reputation--for some things--was European. ”I hope so,” he said with emphasis. ”And you knew him well then, too?”

”I never said so,” replied the lady. ”I saw him once--twice perhaps--years ago--at the marriage of a princess. There, it has made you frown, we will speak no more of the Uncle Hubert!” and she leant back and laughed.

Paul felt very young. He wanted to show her he was grown up, and he wanted a number of things which had never even formed themselves in his imagination before. But she went on talking.

”And your _cotelettes_ were tough, Paul, and you were so cross that first evening, and hated me! And oh! Paul, you had far too much wine for a boy like you!”

He reddened to the roots of his fair wavy hair, and then he hung his head.