Part 1 (2/2)
The girl laughed, and the company at the table smiled, half in sympathy, half with amus.e.m.e.nt. A chair was brought for her, and she sat down behind Wethermill, her lips parted, her face joyous with excitement. But all at once Wethermill's luck deserted him. He renewed his bank three times, and had lost the greater part of his winnings when he had dealt the cards through. He took a fourth bank, and rose from that, too, a loser.
”That's enough, Celia,” he said. ”Let us go out into the garden; it will be cooler there.”
”I have taken your good luck away,” said the girl remorsefully.
Wethermill put his arm through hers.
”You'll have to take yourself away before you can do that,” he answered, and the couple walked together out of Ricardo's hearing.
Ricardo was left to wonder about Celia. She was just one of those problems which made Aix-les-Bains so unfailingly attractive to him. She dwelt in some street of Bohemia; so much was clear. The frankness of her pleasure, of her excitement, and even of her distress proved it.
She pa.s.sed from one to the other while you could deal a pack of cards.
She was at no pains to wear a mask. Moreover, she was a young girl of nineteen or twenty, running about those rooms alone, as unembarra.s.sed as if she had been at home. There was the free use, too, of Christian names. Certainly she dwelt in Bohemia. But it seemed to Ricardo that she could pa.s.s in any company and yet not be overpa.s.sed. She would look a little more picturesque than most girls of her age, and she was certainly a good deal more soignee than many, and she had the Frenchwoman's knack of putting on her clothes. But those would be all the differences, leaving out the frankness. Ricardo wondered in what street of Bohemia she dwelt. He wondered still more when he saw her again half an hour afterwards at the entrance to the Villa des Fleurs.
She came down the long hall with Harry Wethermill at her side. The couple were walking slowly, and talking as they walked with so complete an absorption in each other that they were unaware of their surroundings. At the bottom of the steps a stout woman of fifty-five over-jewelled, and over-dressed and raddled with paint, watched their approach with a smile of good-humoured amus.e.m.e.nt. When they came near enough to hear she said in French:
”Well, Celie, are you ready to go home?”
The girl looked up with a start.
”Of course, madame,” she said, with a certain submissiveness which surprised Ricardo. ”I hope I have not kept you waiting.”
She ran to the cloak-room, and came back again with her cloak.
”Good-bye, Harry,” she said, dwelling upon his name and looking out upon him with soft and smiling eyes.
”I shall see you to-morrow evening,” he said, holding her hand. Again she let it stay within his keeping, but she frowned, and a sudden gravity settled like a cloud upon her face. She turned to the elder woman with a sort of appeal.
”No, I do not think we shall be here, to-morrow, shall we, madame?” she said reluctantly.
”Of course not,” said madame briskly. ”You have not forgotten what we have planned? No, we shall not be here to-morrow; but the night after--yes.”
Celia turned back again to Wethermill.
”Yes, we have plans for to-morrow,” she said, with a very wistful note of regret in her voice; and seeing that madame was already at the door, she bent forward and said timidly, ”But the night after I shall want you.”
”I shall thank you for wanting me,” Wethermill rejoined; and the girl tore her hand away and ran up the steps.
Harry Wethermill returned to the rooms. Mr. Ricardo did not follow him.
He was too busy with the little problem which had been presented to him that night. What could that girl, he asked himself, have in common with the raddled woman she addressed so respectfully? Indeed, there had been a note of more than respect in her voice. There had been something of affection. Again Mr. Ricardo found himself wondering in what street in Bohemia Celia dwelt--and as he walked up to the hotel there came yet other questions to amuse him.
”Why,” he asked, ”could neither Celia nor madame come to the Villa des Fleurs to-morrow night? What are the plans they have made? And what was it in those plans which had brought the sudden gravity and reluctance into Celia's face?”
Ricardo had reason to remember those questions during the next few days, though he only idled with them now.
CHAPTER II
A CRY FOR HELP
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