Part 14 (1/2)

My face fell. ”Oh!” said I, and got no further for a moment or two.

”I--I--please don't tell me you are married!”

”What would you think of me if I were to tell you I'm not?” she cried indignantly.

”I beg your pardon,” I stammered, blus.h.i.+ng to the roots of my hair.

”Stupid a.s.s!” I muttered.

Crossing to the fireplace, she stood looking down into the coals for a long time, while I remained where I was, an awkward, gauche spectator, conscious of having put my clumsiest foot into my mouth every time I opened it and wondering whether I could now safely get it out again without further disaster.

Her back was toward me. She was dressed in a dainty, pinkish house gown--or maybe it was light blue. At any rate it was a very pretty gown and she was wonderfully graceful in it. Ordinarily in my fiction I am quite clever at describing gowns that do not exist; but when it comes to telling what a real woman is wearing, I am not only as vague as a savage, but painfully stupid about colors. Still, I think it was pink. I recall the way her soft brown hair grew above the slender neck, and the lovely white skin; the smooth, delicate contour of her half-averted cheek and the firm little chin with the trembling red lips above it; the shapely back and shoulders and the graceful curves of her hips, suggestive of a secret perfection. She was taller than I had thought at first sight, or was it that I seemed to be getting smaller myself? A hasty bit of comparison placed her height at five feet six, using my own as something to go by. She couldn't have been a day over twenty-two. But she had a baby!

Facing me once more she said: ”If you will sit down, Mr. Smart, and be patient and generous with me, I shall try to explain everything.

You have a right to demand it of me, and I shall feel more comfortable after it is done.”

I drew up a chair beside the table and sat down. She sank gracefully into another, facing me. A delicate frown appeared on her brow.

”Doubtless you are very much puzzled by my presence in this gloomy old castle. You have been asking yourself a thousand questions about me, and you have been shocked by my outrageous impositions upon your good nature. I confess I have been shockingly impudent and--”

”Pardon me; you are the only sauce I've had for an excessively bad bargain.”

”Please do not interrupt me,” she said coldly. ”I am here, Mr. Smart, because it is the last place in the world where my husband would be likely to look for me.”

”Your husband? Look for you?”

”Yes. I shall be quite frank with you. My husband and I have separated.

A provisional divorce was granted, however, just seven months ago. The final decree cannot be issued for one year.”

”But why should you hide from him?”

”The--the court gave him the custody of our child during the probationary year. I--I have run away with her. They are looking for me everywhere. That is why I came here. Do you understand?”

I was stunned. ”Then, I take it, the court granted _him_ the divorce and not you,” I said, experiencing a sudden chill about the heart. ”You were deprived of the child, I see. Dear me!”

”You are mistaken,” she said, a flash in her eyes. ”It was an Austrian court. The Count--my husband, I should say--is an Austrian subject.

His interests must be protected.” She said this with a sneer on her pretty lips. ”You see, my father, knowing him now for what he really is, has refused to pay over to him something like a million dollars, still due for the marriage settlement. The Count contends that it is a just and legal debt and the court supports him to this extent: the child is to be his until the debt is cleared up, or something to that effect. I really don't understand the legal complications involved.

Perhaps it were better if I did.”

”I see,” said I, scornful in spite of myself. ”One of those happy international marriages where a bride is thrown in for good measure with a couple of millions. Won't we ever learn!”

”That's it precisely,” she said, with the utmost calmness and candour.

”American dollars and an American girl in exchange for a t.i.tle, a lot of debts and a ruined life.”

”And they always turn out just this way. What a lot of blithering fools we have in the land of the free and the home of the knave!”

”My father objected to the whole arrangement from the first, so you must not speak of him as a knave,” she protested. ”He doesn't like Counts and such things.”

”I don't see that it helps matters. I can hardly subst.i.tute the word 'brave' for the one I used,” said I, trying to conceal my disgust.