CHAPTER VI
YOUNG ADAM CUPID
On a red sandstone rock at the edge of the water, where the islandcurved sharply out into the sea, Prince John of Mervo sat and broodedon first causes. For nearly an hour and a half he had been engaged inan earnest attempt to trace to its source the acute fit of depressionwhich had come--apparently from nowhere--to poison his existence thatmorning.
It was his seventh day on the island, and he could remember everyincident of his brief reign. The only thing that eluded him was therecollection of the exact point when the shadow of discontent had begunto spread itself over his mind. Looking back, it seemed to him that hehad done nothing during that week but enjoy each new aspect of hisposition as it was introduced to his notice. Yet here he was, sittingon a lonely rock, consumed with an unquenchable restlessness, a kind oftrapped sensation. Exactly when and exactly how Fate, that king ofgold-brick men, had cheated him he could not say; but he knew, with acertainty that defied argument, that there had been sharp practise, andthat in an unguarded moment he had been induced to part with somethingof infinite value in exchange for a gilded fraud.
The mystery baffled him. He sent his mind back to the first definiteentry of Mervo into the foreground of his life. He had come up from hisstateroom on to the deck of the little steamer, and there in thepearl-gray of the morning was the island, gradually taking definiteshape as the pink mists shredded away before the rays of the risingsun. As the ship rounded the point where the lighthouse still flashed aneedless warning from its cluster of jagged rocks, he had had his firstview of the town, nestling at the foot of the hill, gleaming whiteagainst the green, with the gold-domed Casino towering in its midst. Inall Southern Europe there was no view to match it for quiet beauty. Forall his thews and sinews there was poetry in John, and the sight hadstirred him like wine.
It was not then that depression had begun, nor was it during thereception at the quay.
The days that had followed had been peaceful and amusing. He could notdetect in any one of them a sign of the approaching shadow. They hadbeen lazy days. His duties had been much more simple than he hadanticipated. He had not known, before he tried it, that it was possibleto be a prince with so small an expenditure of mental energy. As Mr.Scobell had hinted, to all intents and purposes he was a mere ornament.His work began at eleven in the morning, and finished as a rule atabout a quarter after. At the hour named a report of the happenings ofthe previous day was brought to him. When he had read it the stateasked no more of him until the next morning.
The report was made up of such items as "A fisherman named Lesieurcalled Carbineer Ferrier a fool in the market-place at eleven minutesafter two this afternoon; he has not been arrested, but is beingwatched," and generally gave John a few minutes of mild enjoyment.Certainly he could not recollect that it had ever depressed him.
No, it had been something else that had worked the mischief and inanother moment the thing stood revealed, beyond all question of doubt.What had unsettled him was that unexpected meeting with Betty Silverlast night at the Casino.
He had been sitting at the Dutch table. He generally visited the Casinoafter dinner. The light and movement of the place interested him. As arule, he merely strolled through the rooms, watching the play; but lastnight he had slipped into a vacant seat. He had only just settledhimself when he was aware of a girl standing beside him. He got up.
"Would you care--?" he had begun, and then he saw her face.
It had all happened in an instant. Some chord in him, numbed till then,had begun to throb. It was as if he had awakened from a dream, orreturned to consciousness after being stunned. There was something inthe sight of her, standing there so cool and neat and composed, sotypically American, a sort of goddess of America, in the heat and stirof the Casino, that struck him like a blow.
How long was it since he had seen her last? Not more than a couple ofyears. It seemed centuries. It all came back to him. It was during hislast winter at Harvard that they had met. A college friend of hers hadbeen the sister of a college friend of his. They had met several times,but he could not recollect having taken any particular notice of herthen, beyond recognizing that she was certainly pretty. The world hadbeen full of pretty American girls then. But now--
He looked at her. And, as he looked, he heard America calling to him.Mervo, by the appeal of its novelty, had caused him to forget. But now,quite suddenly, he knew that he was homesick--and it astonished him,the readiness with which he had permitted Mr. Crump to lead him awayinto bondage. It seemed incredible that he had not foreseen what musthappen.
Love comes to some gently, imperceptibly, creeping in as the tide,through unsuspected creeks and inlets, creeps on a sleeping man, untilhe wakes to find himself surrounded. But to others it comes as a wave,breaking on them, beating them down, whirling them away.
It was so with John. In that instant when their eyes met the miraclemust have happened. It seemed to him, as he recalled the scene now,that he had loved her before he had had time to frame his first remark.It amazed him that he could ever have been blind to the fact that heloved her, she was so obviously the only girl in the world.
"You--you don't remember me," he stammered.
She was flushing a little under his stare, but her eyes were shining.
"I remember you very well, Mr. Maude," she said with a smile. "Ithought I knew your shoulders before you turned round. What are youdoing here?"
"I--"
There was a hush. The _croupier_ had set the ball rolling. Awizened little man and two ladies of determined aspect were looking updisapprovingly. John realized that he was the only person in the roomnot silent. It was impossible to tell her the story of the change inhis fortunes in the middle of this crowd. He stopped, and the momentpassed.
The ball dropped with a rattle. The tension relaxed.
"Won't you take this seat?" said John.
"No, thank you. I'm not playing. I only just stopped to look on. Myaunt is in one of the rooms, and I want to make her come home. I'mtired."
"Have you--?"
He caught the eye of the wizened man, and stopped again.
"Have you been in Mervo long?" he said, as the ball fell.
"I only arrived this morning. It seems lovely. I must exploreto-morrow."
She was beginning to move off.
"Er--" John coughed to remove what seemed to him a deposit of sawdustand unshelled nuts in his throat. "Er--may I--will you let me showyou--" prolonged struggle with the nuts and sawdust; thenrapidly--"some of the places to-morrow?"
He had hardly spoken the words when it was borne in upon him that hewas a vulgar, pushing bounder, presuming on a dead and buriedacquaintanceship to force his company on a girl who naturally did notwant it, and who would now proceed to snub him as he deserved. Hequailed. Though he had not had time to collect and examine and labelhis feelings, he was sufficiently in touch with them to know that asnub from her would be the most terrible thing that could possiblyhappen to him.
She did not snub him. Indeed, if he had been in a state of mindcoherent enough to allow him to observe, he might have detected in hereyes and her voice signs of pleasure.
"I should like it very much," she said.
John made his big effort. He attacked the nuts and sawdust which hadcome back and settled down again in company with a large lump of someunidentified material, as if he were bucking center. They broke beforehim as, long ago, the Yale line had done, and his voice rang out as ifthrough a megaphone, to the unconcealed disgust of the neighboringgamesters.
"If you go along the path at the foot of the hill," he bellowedrapidly, "and follow it down to the sea, you get a little bay full ofred sandstone rocks--you can't miss it--and there's a fine view of theisland from there. I'd like awfully well to show that to you. It'sgreat."
She nodded.
"Then shall we meet there?" she said. "When?"
John was in no mood to postpone the event.
"As early as ever you like," he roared.
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sp; "At about ten, then. Good-night, Mr. Maude."
* * * * *
John had reached the bay at half-past eight, and had been on guardthere ever since. It was now past ten, but still there were no signs ofBetty. His depression increased. He told himself that she hadforgotten. Then, that she had remembered, but had changed her mind.Then, that she had never meant to come at all. He could not decidewhich of the three theories was the most distressing.
His mood became morbidly introspective. He was weighed down by a senseof his own unworthiness. He submitted himself to a thoroughexamination, and the conclusion to which he came was that, as anaspirant to the regard, of a girl like Betty, he did not score a singlepoint. No wonder she had ignored the appointment.
A cold sweat broke out on him. This was the snub! She had notadministered it in the Casino simply in order that, by being delayed,its force might be the more overwhelming.
He looked at his watch again, and the world grew black. It was twelveminutes after ten.
John, in his time, had thought and read a good deal about love. Eversince he had grown up, he had wanted to fall in love. He had imaginedlove as a perpetual exhilaration, something that flooded life with agolden glow as if by the pressing of a button or the pulling of aswitch, and automatically removed from it everything mean and hard anduncomfortable; a something that made a man feel grand and god-like,looking down (benevolently, of course) on his fellow men as from somelofty mountain.
That it should make him feel a worm-like humility had not entered hiscalculations. He was beginning to see something of the possibilities oflove. His tentative excursions into the unknown emotion, while atcollege, had never really deceived him; even at the time a sort ofsecond self had looked on and sneered at the poor imitation.
This was different. This had nothing to do with moonlight and softmusic. It was raw and hard. It hurt. It was a thing sharp and jagged,tearing at the roots of his soul.
He turned his head, and looked up the path for the hundredth time, andthis time he sprang to his feet. Between the pines on the hillside hiseye had caught the flutter of a white dress.
The Prince and Betty Page 6