Part 41 (1/2)
”So it appears. I didn't think of her when I entered this delightful prison.”
”You had no choice.”
”It wasn't altogether that. I wanted to be near you, Vittoria.”
Her glance was level and cool, her voice steady. ”It was chivalrous to try to spare me the necessity of explaining. The situation was trying; but we were both to blame, and now we must make the best of it. Myra Nell's misunderstanding is complete, and she will be unhappy unless you devote yourself to her.”
”I simply can't. I think I'll keep to myself as much as possible.”
”You don't know that girl,” Vittoria said. ”You think she is frivolous and inconsequent, that she has the brightness of a sunbeam and no more substance; but you are mistaken. She is good and true and steadfast underneath, and she can feel deeply.”
Blake found that it was impossible to isolate himself. Mr. La Branche clung to him like a drowning man; his business affairs called him repeatedly to the telephone; Myra Nell appropriated him with all the calm a.s.surance of a queen, and Madame La Branche insisted upon seeing personally to his every want. The only person of whom he saw little was Vittoria Fabrizi.
His disappearance, of course, required much explaining and long conversations with his office, with his a.s.sociates, and with police headquarters, where his plight was regarded as a great joke. This was all very well; but there were other and unforeseen consequences.
Bernie Dreux heard of the affair with blank amazement, which turned into something resembling rage. His duty, however, was plain. He packed a valise and set out for the quarantined house like a man marching to his execution; for he had a deathly horror of disease, and smallpox was beyond compare the most loathsome.
But the Health Department had given strict orders, and he was turned away; nay, he was rudely repulsed. Crushed, humiliated, he retired to his club, and there it was that Rilleau found him, steeped in melancholy and a very insidious brand of Kentucky Bourbon.
When Lecompte accused Blake of breaking the rules of the game, the little bachelor rose resolutely to his sister's defense.
”Norvin's got a perfect right to protect her,” he lied, ”and I honor him for it.”
”You mean he's engaged to her?” Rilleau inquired, blankly.
Bernie nodded.
”Well, so am I, so are Delevan and Mangny, and the others.”
”Not this way.” Mr. Dreux's alcoholic flush deepened. ”He thought she was in danger, so he flew to her side. Mighty unselfish to sacrifice his business and brave the disease. He did it with my consent, y'understand? When he asked me, I said, 'Norvin, my boy, she needs you.' So he went. Unselfish is no word for it; he's a man of honor, a hero.”
Mr. Rilleau's gloom thickened, and he, too, ordered the famous Bourbon. He sighed.
”I'd have done the same thing; I offered to, and I'm no hero. I suppose that ends us. It's a great disappointment, though. I hoped-- during Carnival week that she'd--Well, I wanted her for my real queen.”
Bernie undertook to clap the speaker on the shoulder and admonish him to buck up; but his eye was wavering and his aim so uncertain that he knocked off Mr. Rilleau's hat. With due apologies he ran on:
”She couldn't have been queen at all, only for him. He made it possible.”
”I had as much to say about it as he did.”
Bernie whispered: ”He lent me the money, y'understand? It was all right, under the circ.u.mstances, everything being settled but the date, y'understand?”
Rilleau rose at last, saying: ”You're all to be congratulated. He is the best fellow in New Orleans, and there's only one man I'd rather see your sister marry than him; that's me. Now I'm going to select a present before the rush commences. What would you think of an onyx clock with gold cupids straddling around over it?”
”Fine! I'm sorry, old man--I like you, y'understand?” Bernie upset his chair in rising to embrace his friend, then catching sight of August Kulm, who entered at the moment, he made his way to him and repeated his explanations.
Mr. Kulm was silent, attentive, despairing, and spoke vaguely of suicide, whereupon Dreux set himself to the task of drowning this Teutonic instinct in the flowing bowl.
”I don't know what has happened to the boys,” Myra Nell complained to Norvin, on the second day after his arrival. ”Lecompte was going to read me the Rubaiyat, and Raymond Cline promised me a bunch of orchids; but n.o.body has shown up.”