Part 30 (1/2)

”Honestly. And how you have gone all these years without marrying a grand duke, is something I can't figure out.”

”Perhaps I have been waiting for the man. There was no real hurry.”

”Lucky chap, when you find him. By the way, our romantic Parrot & Co.

have gone.”

”Gone?” Elsa stared at him.

”Yes. Sailed for Saigon at dawn.”

”Saigon,” she repeated.

”And I am rather glad to see him go. I was afraid he might interest you too much. You'll deny it, but you'll never outgrow the fairy-story age.”

”Saigon.”

”Good heavens, Elsa, what is the matter?”

”No, no! Don't touch me. I'm not the fainting kind. Did you know last night that he was going?”

”Yes.”

”I shall never forgive you.”

”Why, Elsa . . .”

”Never, never! You knew and did not tell me. Do you know who Paul Ellison is? He is the brother of the man at home. You knew he was stealing away and did not tell me.”

She could not have made the truth any plainer to him. He sat back in his chair, stunned, voiceless.

”I am going to my room,” she said. ”Do not follow. Please act as if nothing had happened.”

He saw her walk bravely the length of the dining-room, out into the office. What a misfortune! Argument was out of the question. Elsa was not a child, to be reasoned with. She was a woman, and she had come to a woman's understanding of her heart. To place before her the true angles of the case, the heartless banishment from the world she knew, the regret which would be hers later, no matter how much she loved the man . . . He pushed back his chair, leaving his coffee untasted.

He possessed the deep understanding of the kindly heart, and his one thought was Elsa's future happiness. As men go, Warrington was an honorable man; honorable enough to run away rather than risk the danger of staying where Elsa was. He was no longer an outlaw; he could go and come as he would. But there was that misstep, not printed in s.h.i.+fting sand but upon the granite of recollection. Single, he could go back to his world and pick up the threads again, but not with a wife at his side. Oh, yes; they would be happy at first. Then Elsa would begin to miss the things she had so gloriously thrown away. The rift in the lute; the canker in the rose. They were equally well-born, well-bred; politeness would usurp affection's hold. Could he save her from the day when she would learn Romance had come from within? No. All he could do was to help her find the man.

He sent five cablegrams to Saigon, to the consulate, to the princ.i.p.al hotels: the most difficult composition he had ever attacked. But because he had forgotten to send the sixth to meet the packet-boat, against the possibility of Warrington changing his mind and not landing, his labor was thrown to the winds.

Meantime Elsa stopped at the office-desk. ”I left a note for Mr.

Warrington who has gone to Saigon. I see it in his key-box. Will you please return it to me?”

The clerk did not hesitate an instant. He gravely returned the note to her, marveling at her paleness. Elsa crushed the note in her hand and moved toward the stairs, wondering if she could reach her room before she broke down utterly. He had gone. He had gone without knowing that all he wanted in life was his for the taking. In her room she opened the note and through blurred vision read what she had so happily inscribed the night before. ”Paul--I love you. Come to me. Elsa.”

She had written it, unashamed.

She flung herself upon the bed, and there Martha found her.

”Elsa, child, what is it?” Martha cried, kneeling beside the bed.

”Child, what has happened?”