Part 24 (1/2)
Twice to-day she had caught a light in his eyes that had suggested this to her--a clean, white light that had hinted of a Monte with a destination. But would not that destroy the very poise that made him just Monte?
It was too puzzling a question for her own peace of mind. She turned away from it and slowly began to take down her hair.
On and on they went the third day--straight on--with their destination still hidden. That night, when again alone, she sat even longer by her open window than she had yesterday, instead of going to bed and to sleep, which would have been the sensible thing to do. In some ways this had been rather a more exciting day than the others. Again she had risen early and come down to order his coffee; but he too must have risen early, for he had come upon her as she was giving her instructions. It had been an embarra.s.sing moment for her, and she had tried to carry it off with a laugh. That she was not to do so surprised her and added a still deeper flush to her cheeks.
”So this is the secret of my good coffee?” he asked.
”There is so very little I can do for you,” she faltered.
”That is a whole lot more than I deserve,” he answered.
However, he was pleased by this trivial attention, and she knew it. It was an absurdly insignificant incident, and yet here she was recalling it with something like a thrill. Not only that, but she recalled another and equally preposterous detail of the day. She had dropped her vanity-box in the car, and as they both stooped for it his cheek had brushed hers. He laughed lightly and apologized--forgetting it the next second. Eight hours later she dared remember it, like any schoolgirl. Small wonder that she glanced about to make sure the room was empty. It sent her to bed shamefaced.
The fourth day came, with the golden road still unfolding before them and her fairy prince still beside her. Then the fifth day, and that night they stopped within sight of the ocean. It came as a surprise to both of them. It was as if, after all, they had reached a destination, when as a matter of fact they had done nothing of the sort. It meant, to be sure, that the next day would find them in Nice, which would end their ride, because they intended to remain there for a day or two until they arranged for a villa in etois, which, being in the mountains, they must reach afoot. But if she did not like it she had only to nod and they could move on to somewhere else. There was nothing final even about etois.
That evening they walked by the sh.o.r.e of the sea, and Monte appeared quieter than usual.
”I have wired ahead for rooms at the Hotel des Roses,” he announced.
”Yes, Monte,” she said.
”It's where I've stopped for ten years. The last time I was there I found Edhart gone, and was very uncomfortable.”
”You were as dependent upon him as that?” she asked.
”It was what lured me on to Paris--and you,” he smiled.
”Then I must be indebted to Edhart also.”
”I think it would be no more than decent to look up his grave and place a wreath of roses there,” he observed.
”But, Monte,” she protested, ”I should hate to imagine he had to give up his life--for just this.”
”At any rate, if he hadn't died I'm sure I should have kept to my schedule,” he said seriously.
”And then?”
”I should not have been here.”
”You speak regretfully?” she asked.
He stopped abruptly and seized her arm.
”You know better,” he answered.
For a moment she looked dizzily into his eyes. Then he broke the tension by smiling.
”I guess we'd better turn back,” he said below his breath.
It was evident that Monte was not quite himself at that moment. That night she heard the roll of the ocean as she tried to sleep, and it said many strange things to her. She did not sleep well.