Part 25 (2/2)
When he compared his own lowly position with that of the man who had taken his place in Liane's heart, he sighed, and was plunged into deep despair. Indeed, that very morning as he lay awake prior to his coffee being brought, he reflected whether it would not be wiser to return at once to London.
But he loved Liane. He would not yet leave her side. She loved him, too, and although this marriage might be forced upon her, yet she was nevertheless his own well-beloved.
Throughout that morning, in the hope of catching sight of Liane, he sauntered about the Promenade, sat for half-an-hour in the Posada-sur-Mer drinking vermouth, where from the open window he could watch each person who pa.s.sed. But his vigilance remained unrewarded.
Time after time he recollected the mysterious request of his unknown correspondent, and found himself half inclined to send a telegram and meet her. It would be an amusing adventure, if nothing else, he thought; and at length, while strolling back to the town, he resolved to do so, and, entering the nearest telegraph office, sent her a reply, asking her to call at his hotel at nine o'clock.
The afternoon he spent lonely and dull. There was, it was true, plenty of amus.e.m.e.nt going on, but in his frame of mind he was in no mood for concerts, or the mild form of gambling offered by the Casino Munic.i.p.al.
He sat in the public garden listening to the band until sundown, then went for a stroll through the town, dined leisurely, and went to one of the small salons in the hotel there to await his visitor.
A few minutes after nine the door was thrown open by one of the servants, behind whom stood a tall, well-dressed lady.
”M'sieur Stra-atfeeld?” she exclaimed interrogatively, with a very p.r.o.nounced French accent.
”That is my name,” he answered, bowing and inviting her into the room.
The spring nights are chilly in Nice, and she was warmly clad in furs, and wore a neat toque with black veil, but even the spotted net was insufficient to conceal that an eminently handsome face was beneath.
”Your room is warm and cosy,” she exclaimed, when he had placed an armchair for her. ”It is quite cold outside. May I be permitted to remove my cape?”
”Certainly, madame,” he answered, still standing near her, a puzzled expression upon his countenance as she unloosened her sealskin and allowed it to fall over the back of her chair, revealing a trim figure with narrow waist, neatly attired in black silk, the bodice trimmed with cream.
”You were smoking,” she said, with a smile. ”Pray do not desist on my account. I love tobacco. Indeed, if you offered I would take one of your cigarettes--or would you think me very, very shocking?”
”By all means,” he laughed. ”I shall be delighted if you'll join me,”
and he offered her his cigarette-case, and took one himself. Then he struck a vesta while she raised her veil, disclosing a pretty face and an adorable mouth, and lit up with the air of an inveterate smoker. Her fair hair was, he noticed, well-dressed, and her eyes were dark, but there was just the faintest suspicion of artificial colouring in the former, and her cheeks betrayed the use of the hare's foot and carmine.
He reflected however, that in a Frenchwoman these little aids to beauty might be forgiven. Her handsome head was well poised, her throat soft and well-rounded, her white gloves new, and her dress a model of combined neatness and elegance. Her exact age was difficult to determine, nevertheless she was still young-looking, and possessed the _chic_ of the true Parisienne, which to Englishmen seldom fails to prove attractive.
He made a movement to close the window, but with a pretty pout she detained him, declaring that the room was a little warm, and at least for the present she felt no draught.
He sank back into his chair, and regarded her with an expression half of curiosity, half of surprise. Their eyes met. The silence was awkward, and he broke it by apologising for receiving her somewhat abruptly.
”Ah, you bachelors are generally abrupt to unwelcome visitors?” she answered in her pleasant broken English, with a low rippling laugh. ”It is only my much abused s.e.x who prevent you from reverting to utter barbarity. You are not married. Ah, you should have a wife to look after you.”
”Perhaps I may have one--some day,” he answered, smiling at her frankness.
Slowly she removed the cigarette from her lips, and her gaze wandered round the brightly-furnished room.
”But you declare yourself to be an unwelcome visitor,” he continued.
”Why?”
For a moment she regarded the end of her cigarette contemplatively, then turning her dark eyes upon his, answered in a half-apologetic tone--
”Well, you must think my visit here curious, m'sieur. It is.
Nevertheless, I trust I may be forgiven for encroaching upon your time, and coming here without introduction. The object of my call is of some concern to you, inasmuch as it is in the interests of one who loves you.”
”One who loves me!” he echoed in surprise. ”Who?”
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