XX
Henri Graillot had made himself thoroughly comfortable. He was ensconcedin the largest of John's easy chairs, his pipe in his mouth, a recentlyrefilled teacup--Graillot was English in nothing except his predilectionfor tea--on the small table by his side. Through a little cloud oftobacco-smoke he was studying his host.
"So you call yourself a Londoner now, my young friend, I suppose," heremarked, taking pensive note of John's fashionable clothes. "It is atransformation, beyond a doubt! Is it, I wonder, upon the surface only,or have you indeed become heart and soul a son of this corrupt city?"
"Whatever I may have become," John grumbled, "it's meant three months ofthe hardest work I've ever done!"
Graillot held out his pipe in front of him and blew away a dense cloudof smoke.
"Explain yourself," he insisted.
John stood on the hearth-rug, with his hands in his pockets. His morningclothes were exceedingly well-cut, his tie and collar unexceptionable,his hair closely cropped according to the fashion of the moment. He hadan extremely civilized air.
"Look here, Graillot," he said, "I'll tell you what I've done, althoughI don't suppose you would understand what it means to me. I've visitedpractically every theater in London."
"Alone?"
"Sometimes with Miss Maurel, sometimes with her little friend, SophyGerard, and sometimes alone," John replied. "I have bought a Baedeker,taken a taxicab by the day, and done all the sights. I've spent weeks inthe National Gallery, picture-gazing, and I've done all those moremodern shows up round Bond Street. I have bought a racing-car andlearned to drive it. I have been to dinner parties that have bored mestiff. I have been introduced to crowds of people whom I never wish tosee again, and made one or two friends," he added, smiling at his guest,"for whom I hope I am properly grateful."
"The prince has been showing you round a bit, hasn't he?" Graillotgrunted.
"The prince has been extraordinarily kind to me," John admitted slowly,"for what reason I don't know. He has introduced me to a great manypleasant and interesting people, and a great many whom I suppose a youngman in my position should be glad to know. He has shown me one side ofLondon life pretty thoroughly."
"And what about it all?" Graillot demanded. "You find yourself somethingmore of a citizen of the world, eh?"
"Not a bit," John answered simply. "The more I see of the life up here,the smaller it seems to me. I mean, of course, the ordinary life ofpleasure, the life to be lived by a young man like myself, who hasn'tany profession or work upon which he can concentrate his thoughts."
"Then why do you stay?"
John made no immediate reply. Instead, he walked to the window of hissitting room and stood looking out across the Thames with adiscontented frown upon his face. Between him and the Frenchman acurious friendship had sprung up during the last few months.
"Tell me, then," Graillot continued, taking a bite from his piece ofcake and shaking the crumbs from his waistcoat, "what do you find inLondon to compensate you for the things you miss? You are cooped up herein this little flat--you, who are used to large rooms and open spaces;you have given up your exercise, your sports--for what?"
"I get some exercise," John protested. "I play rackets at Ranelagh mostmornings, and I bought a couple of hacks and ride occasionally in thepark before you're out of bed."
"That's all right for exercise," Graillot observed. "What aboutamusements?"
"Well, I've joined a couple of clubs. One's rather a swagger sort ofplace--the prince got me in there; and then I belong to the Lambs, whereyou yourself go sometimes. I generally look in at one or the other ofthem during the evening."
"You see much of Miss Maurel?"
John shook his head gloomily.
"Not as much as I should like," he confessed. "She seems to think anddream of nothing but this play of yours. I am hoping that when it isonce produced she will be more free."
"I gather," Graillot concluded, "that, to put it concisely andtruthfully, you are the most bored man in London. There is somethingbehind all this effort of yours, my friend, to fit yourself, the roundhuman being, into the square place. Speak the truth, now! Treat me as afather confessor."
John swung round upon his heel. In the clear light it was obvious thathe was a little thinner in the face and that some of the tan had gonefrom his complexion.
"I am staying up here, and going on with it," he announced doggedly,"because of a woman."
Graillot stopped eating, placed the remains of his cake in the saucer ofhis teacup, and laid it down. Then he leaned back in his chair andbalanced his finger-tips one against the other.
"A woman!" he murmured. "How you astonish me!"
"Why?"
"Candor is so good," Graillot continued, "so stimulating to the moralsystem. It is absolute candor which has made friends of two people sofar apart in most ways as you and myself. You surprise me simply becauseof your reputation."
"What about my reputation?"
Graillot smiled benignly.
"In France," he observed, "you would probably be offered your choice oflunatic asylums. Here your weakness seems to have made you rather thevogue."
"What weakness?"
"It is to a certain extent hearsay, I must admit," Graillot proceeded;"but the report about you is that, although you have had some of themost beautiful women in London almost offer themselves to you, you stillremain without a mistress."
"What in the world do you mean?" John demanded.
"I mean," Graillot explained frankly, "that for a young man of your age,your wealth, and your appearance to remain free from any feminineentanglement is a thing unheard of in my country, and, I should imagine,rare in yours. It is not so that young men were made when I was young!"
"I don't happen to want a mistress," John remarked, lighting acigarette. "I want a wife."
"But meanwhile--"
"You can call me a fool, if you like," John interrupted. "I may be one,I suppose, from your point of view. All I know is that I want to be ableto offer the woman whom I marry, and who I hope will be the mother of mychildren, precisely what she offers me. I want a fair bargain, from herpoint of view as well as mine."
Graillot, who had been refilling his pipe, stopped and glowered at hishost.
"What exactly do you mean?" he asked.
"Surely my meaning is plain enough," John replied. "We all have ourpeculiar tastes and our eccentricities. One of mine has to do with theother sex. I cannot make an amusement of them. It is against all myprejudices."
Graillot carefully completed the refilling of his pipe and lit itsatisfactorily. Then he turned once more to John.
"Let us not be mistaken," he said. "You are a purist!"
"You can call me what you like," John retorted. "I do not believe in onelaw for the woman and another for the man. If a man wants a woman, andwe all do more or less, it seems to me that he ought to wait until hefinds one whom he is content to make the mother of his children."
Graillot nodded ponderously.
"Something like this I suspected," he admitted. "I felt that there wassomething extraordinary and unusual about you. If I dared, my youngfriend, I would write a play about you; but then no one would believeit. Now tell me something. I have heard your principles. We are face toface--men, brothers, and friends. Do you live up to them?"
"I have always done so," John declared.
Graillot was silent for several moments. Then he opened his lips tospeak and abruptly closed them. His face suddenly underwent anextraordinary change. A few seconds ago his attitude had been that of aprofessor examining some favorite object of study; now a more personalnote had humanized his expression. Whatever thought or reflection it wasthat had come into his mind, it had plainly startled him.
"Who is the woman?" he asked breathlessly.
"There is no secret about it, so far as I am concerned," John answered."It is Louise Maurel. I thought you must have guessed."
The two men looked at each other
in silence for some moments. Out on theriver a little tug was hooting vigorously. The roar of the Strand camefaintly into the room. Upon the mantelpiece a very ornate French clockwas ticking lightly. All these sounds seemed suddenly accentuated. Theybeat time to a silence almost tragical in its intensity.
Graillot took out his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. He hadwritten many plays, and the dramatic instinct was strongly developed inhim.
"Louise!" he muttered under his breath.
"She is very different, I know," John went on, after a moment'shesitation. "She is very clever and a great artist, and she lives in anatmosphere of which, a few months ago, I knew nothing. I have come uphere to try to understand, to try to get a little nearer to her."
There was another silence, this time almost an awkward one. ThenGraillot rose suddenly to his feet.
"I will respect your confidence," he promised, holding out his hand."Have no fear of that. I am due now at the theater. Your tea isexcellent, and such little cakes I never tasted before."
"You will wish me good luck?"
"No!"
"Why not?" John demanded, a little startled.
"Because," Graillot pronounced, "from what I have seen and know of youboth, there are no two people in this world less suitable for eachother."
"Look here," John expostulated, "I don't want you to go away thinkingso. You don't understand what this means to me."
"Perhaps not, my friend," Graillot replied, "but remember that it is atleast my trade to understand men and women. I have known Louise Maurelsince she was a child."
"Then it is I whom you don't understand."
"That may be so," Graillot confessed. "One makes mistakes. Let us leaveit at that. You are a young man of undeveloped temperament. You may becapable of much which at present I do not find in you."
"Tell me the one quality in which you consider me most lacking," Johnbegged. "You think that I am narrow, too old-fashioned in my views?Perhaps I am, but, on the other hand, I am very anxious to learn andabsorb all that is best in this wider life. You can't really call meprejudiced. I hated the stage before I came to London, but during thelast few months no one has been a more assiduous theatergoer. Iunderstand better than I did, and my views are immensely modified. Iadmit that Louise is a great artist, I admit that she has wonderfultalents. I am even willing, if she wished it, to allow her to remain fora time upon the stage. What could I say more? I want you on my side,Graillot."
"And I," Graillot replied, as he shook his friend's hand and hurriedoff, "want only to be on the side that will mean happiness for youboth."
He left the room a little abruptly. John walked back to the window,oppressed with a sense of something almost ominous in the Frenchman'smanner, something which he could not fathom, against which he struggledin vain. Side by side with it, there surged into his memory thedisquietude which his present relations with Louise had developed. Shewas always charming when she had any time to spare--sometimes almostaffectionate. On the other hand, he was profoundly conscious of herdesire to keep him at arm's length for the present.
He had accepted her decision without a murmur. He made but few effortsto see her alone, and when they met he made no special claim upon hernotice. He was serving his apprenticeship doggedly and faithfully. Yetthere were times like the present when he found his task both hatefuland difficult.
He walked aimlessly backward and forward, chafing against the restraintof the narrow walls and the low ceiling. A sudden desire had seized himto fly back to the hills, wreathed in mist though they might be; tostruggle on his way through the blinding rain, to drink down long gulpsof his own purer, less civilized atmosphere.
The telephone-bell rang. He placed the receiver to his ear almostmechanically.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Lady Hilda Mulloch is asking for you, sir," the hall-porter announced.
* * * * *
Lady Hilda peered around John's room through her lorgnette, and did nothesitate to express her dissatisfaction.
"My dear man," she exclaimed, "what makes you live in a hotel? Why don'tyou take rooms of your own and furnish them? Surroundings like these aredestructive to one's individuality."
"Well, you see," John explained, as he drew an easy chair up to the firefor his guest, "my stay in London is only a temporary one, and it hasn'tseemed worth while to settle anywhere."
She stretched out her graceful body in front of the fire and raised herveil. She was very smartly dressed, as usual. Her white-topped boots andwhite silk stockings, which she seemed to have no objection todisplaying, were of the latest vogue. The chinchilla around her neck andin her little toque was most becoming. She seemed to bring with her anatmosphere indefinable, in its way, but distinctly attractive. Brisk inher speech, a little commanding in her manner, she was still essentiallyfeminine.
John, at her direct invitation, had called upon her once or twice sincetheir meeting at the opera, and he had found her, from the first, moreattractive than any other society woman of his acquaintance. None theless, he was a little taken aback at her present visit.
"Exactly why are you here, anyhow?" she demanded. "I feel sure thatEugene told me the reason which had brought you from your wilds, but Ihave forgotten it."
"For one thing," John replied, "I have come because I don't want toappear prejudiced, and the fact that I had never spent a month inLondon, or even a week, seemed a little narrow-minded."
"What's the real attraction?" Lady Hilda asked. "It is a woman, isn'tit?"
"I am very fond of a woman who is in London," John admitted. "Perhaps itis true that I am here on her account."
Lady Hilda withdrew from her muff a gold cigarette-case and a little boxof matches.
"Order some mixed vermuth with lemon for me, please," she begged. "Ihave been shopping, and I hate tea. I don't know why I came to see you.I suddenly thought of it when I was in Bond Street."
"It was very kind of you," John said. "If I had known that you caredabout seeing me, I would have come to you with pleasure."
"What does it matter?" she answered. "You are thinking, perhaps, that Irisk my reputation in coming to a young man's rooms? Those things do notcount for me. Ever since I was a child I have done exactly as I liked,and people have shrugged their shoulders and said, 'Ah, well, it is onlyLady Hilda!' I have been six months away from civilization, big-gameshooting, and haven't seen a white woman. It didn't matter, because itwas I. I traveled around the world with a most delightful man who waswriting a book, but it didn't affect my reputation in the slightest. Iam quite convinced that if I chose to take you off to Monte Carlo withme next week and spend a month with you there, I should get my pass tothe royal enclosure at Ascot when I returned, and my invitation to thenext court ball, even in this era of starch. You see, they would say,'It is only Lady Hilda!'"
The waiter brought the vermuth, which his visitor sipped contentedly.
"So there is a woman, is there?" she went on, looking across the room ather companion. "Have you committed yourself already, then? Don't youremember what I told you the first night we met after the opera--that itis well to wait?"
"Yes, I remember," John admitted.
"I meant it."
He laughed good-humoredly, yet not without some trace ofself-consciousness.
"The mischief was done then," he said.
"Couldn't it be undone?" she asked lazily. "Or are you one of thosetedious people who are faithful forever? Fidelity," she continued,knocking the ash from her cigarette, "is really, to my mind, the mostbourgeois of vices. It comes from a want of elasticity in the emotionalfibres. Nothing in life has bored me so much as the faithfulness of mylovers."
"You ought to put all this into one of your books," John suggested.
"I probably shall, when I write my reminiscences," she replied. "Tell meabout this woman. And don't stand about in that restless way at theother end of the room. Bring a chair close to me--there, close to myside!"
John obeyed, and his
visitor contemplated him thoughtfully through alittle cloud of tobacco-smoke.
"Yes," she decided, "there is no use denying it. You are hatefullygood-looking, and somehow or other I think your clothes have improvedyou. You have a little more air than when you first came to town. Areyou quite sure that you haven't made up your mind about this woman in ahurry?"
"Quite sure," John laughed. "I suppose I am rather an idiot, but I amaddicted to the vice of which you were speaking."
She nodded.
"I should imagine," she said, "that you were not an adept in the art offlirtation. Is it true that the woman is Louise Maurel?"
"Quite true," John replied.
"But don't you know--"
She broke off abruptly. She saw the face of the man by her side suddenlychange, and her instinct warned her of the danger into which she wasrushing.
"You surprise me very much," she said. "Louise Maurel is a verywonderful woman, but she seems to spend the whole of her time with mycousin, the prince."
"They are, without doubt, very friendly," John assented. "They have agood many interests in common, and the prince is connected with thesyndicate which finances the theater. I do not imagine, however, thatthe prince wishes to marry her, or she him."
Lady Hilda began to laugh, softly, but as if genuinely amused. John satand watched her in ominous silence. Not the flicker of a smile partedhis set lips. His visitor, however, was undisturbed. She leaned over andpatted his hand.
"Simple Simon!" she murmured, leaning a little toward him. "If you golooking like that, I shall pat your cheeks, too. You are really much toonice-looking to wear such thunderclouds!"
"Perhaps if we chose some other subject of conversation--" John saidstiffly.
"Oh, dear me!" she interrupted. "Very well! You really are a most tryingperson, you know. I put up with a great deal from you."
John was silent. Her face darkened a little, and an angry light flashedin her eyes.
"Well, I'll leave you alone, if you like," she decided, tossing hercigarette into the grate. "If my friendship isn't worth having, let itgo. It hasn't often been offered in vain. There are more men in Londonthan I could count who would go down on their knees for such a visit asI am paying you. And you--you," she added, with a little tremble of realanger in her tone, "you're too hatefully polite and priggish! Come andring the bell for the lift. I am going!"
She slid gracefully to her feet, shook the cigarette ash from herclothes, and picked up her muff.
"You really are an egregious, thick-headed, obstinate countryman," shedeclared, as she moved toward the door. "You haven't either manners orsensibility. I am a perfect idiot to waste my time upon you. I wouldn'thave done it," she added, as he followed her dumbly down the corridor,"if I hadn't rather liked you!"
"I am very sorry," he declared. "I don't know quite what I have done. Ido appreciate your friendship. You have been very kind to me indeed."
She hesitated as his finger touched the bell of the lift, and glanced atthe watch on her wrist.
"Well," she said, "if you want to be friends, I will give you one lastchance. I am doing what sounds rather a ghastly thing--I am having alittle week-end party down at my cottage at Bourne End. It will berather like camping out, but some interesting people are coming. Willyou motor down on Saturday evening and stay till Sunday night orMonday?"
"I shall be very pleased indeed," John replied. "It is very good of youto ask me. When I come, I'd like, if I may," he went on, "to tell youabout myself, and why I am here, and about Louise."
She sighed, and watched the top of the lift as it came up. Then shedropped her veil.
"You will find me," she assured him, as she gave him the tips of herfingers, "a most sympathetic listener."
* * * * *
Louise and Sophy came to dine that evening with John in the grill-roomat the Milan. They arrived a little late and were still in morningclothes. Louise was looking pale and tired, and her greeting was almostlistless.
"We are dead beat," Sophy exclaimed. "We've been having a secretrehearsal this afternoon without Graillot, and he came in just as wewere finishing. He was perfectly furious!"
"He was here to tea with me," John remarked, as he led the way to theirtable.
"My dear man," Louise exclaimed, "if you could have kept him half anhour longer you'd have earned our undying gratitude! You see, there areseveral little things on which we shall never agree, he and myself andthe rest of the company; so we decided to run over certain passages inthe way we intend to do them, without him. Of course, he saw through itall when he arrived, tore up his manuscript on the stage, and generallybehaved like a madman."
"I am sorry," John said, as they took their seats and he handed Louisethe menu of the dinner that he had ordered. "Won't the play be producedto-morrow night, then?"
"Oh, it will be produced all right," Louise told him; "but you don'tknow how we've all worn ourselves out, trying to make that old bear seereason. We've had to give way on one scene, as it is. What a delightfullittle dinner, John! You're spoiling us. You know how I love that bigwhite asparagus. And strawberries, too! Well, I think we've earned itanyhow, Sophy!"
"You have," the latter declared. "You were the only one who could sootheGraillot at all."
"I can get my way with most people," Louise remarked languidly; "but itsimply means that the more difficult they are, the more you have tospend yourself in getting it. John," she went on, after a moment'spause, "you are coming to-morrow night, I suppose?"
"Of course. Didn't I take my box two months ago?"
"And now that my part after the first act has been cut out, I am comingwith him," Sophy put in. "I may, mayn't I?"
"Of course," John assented.
Louise sighed dejectedly.
"I am not at all sure that I shall like having you there," she said. "Ishouldn't be at all surprised if it made me nervous."
He laughed incredulously.
"It's all very well," she went on, watching the champagne poured in toher glass, "but you won't like the play, you know."
"Perhaps I sha'n't understand it altogether," John agreed. "It's verysubtle, and, as you know, I don't find problem plays of that sortparticularly attractive; but with you in it, you can't imagine that Isha'n't find it interesting!"
"We were talking about it, coming up in the taxi," Louise continued,"and we came to the conclusion that you'd hate it. We've had to give wayto Graillot with regard to the last act. Of course, there is reallynothing in it, but I don't know just what you will say."
"Well, you needn't be afraid that I shall stand up in my box and orderthe performance to cease," John assured them, smiling. "Besides, I amnot quite such an idiot, Louise. I know very well that you may have tosay and do things on the stage which in private life would offend yourtaste and your sense of dignity. I am quite reconciled to that. I amprepared to accept everything you do and everything that you say. There!I can't say more than that, can I?"
Louise smiled at him almost gratefully. She drew her hand over his,caressingly.
"You are a dear!" she declared. "You've really made me feel much morecomfortable. Now please tell me what you have been doing all day."
"Well, Graillot came in and spent most of the afternoon," John answered."Since then, Lady Hilda Mulloch has been here."
Louise looked up quickly.
"What, here in your rooms?"
"I didn't ask her," John said. "I have been to see her once or twice,and she has been very nice, but I never dreamed of her coming here."
"Shameless hussy!" Sophy exclaimed, as she set down her wine-glass."Didn't you tell her that Louise and I are the only two women in Londonwho have the entree to your rooms?"
"I am afraid it didn't occur to me to tell her that," John confessed,smiling. "All the same, I was surprised to see her. It was just a whim,I think."
"She is a clever woman," Louise sighed. "She won't know me--I can'timagine why. She is a cousin of the prince, too, you know."
&
nbsp; "She is very amusing," John agreed. "I have met some interesting peopleat her house, too. She has asked me down to Bourne End for this nextweek-end--the week-end you are spending with Mrs. Faraday," hecontinued, glancing toward Louise.
Louise nodded. She looked at John critically.
"Quite a success in town, isn't he?" she remarked to Sophy. "Peopletumble over one another to get invitations for her week-end parties inthe season. I must say I never heard of going down to Bourne End inFebruary, though."
"The idea seemed rather pleasant to me," John confessed. "So many of youpeople know nothing of the country except just in the summer!"
"If John gets talking about the country," Louise said, "we shall not beallowed our proper share in the conversation for the rest of theevening. The question is, are we to allow him to go down to Bourne End?Lady Hilda isn't exactly a Puritan where your sex is concerned, youknow, John."
"She'll expect you to flirt with her," Sophy insisted.
"She won't," John replied. "I have told her that I am in love withLouise."
"Was there ever such a man in the world?" Louise exclaimed. "Tell me,what did Lady Hilda say to that?"
"Not much," he answered. "She suggested that her cousin had a priorclaim on you."
Louise laid down her knife and fork. Her left hand clutched the piece oftoast which was lying by her side. She began to crumble it up into smallpieces.
"What did Lady Hilda say exactly?" she insisted.
"Nothing much," John replied. "She seemed surprised when I mentionedyour name. I asked her why, and she told me, or rather she hinted, thatyou and the prince are very great friends."
"Anything more?"
"Nothing at all. I pointed out that the prince is interested intheatrical affairs, and that he is the chief member of the syndicatethat runs the theaters. She seemed to understand."
There was a brief silence. Louise was once more looking a little tired.She changed the subject abruptly, and only returned to it when John wasdriving home with her.
"Do you know," she said, after a long silence, "I am not at all surethat I want you to go to Lady Hilda's!"
"Then I won't," he promised with alacrity. "I'll do just as you say."
Louise sat quite still, thinking, looking through the rain-splashedwindows of the taxicab.
"You have only to say the word," John continued. "I should be flatteredto think that you cared."
"It isn't that. Lady Hilda is very clever, and she is used to having herown way. I am afraid!"
"Afraid of what?"
"Of nothing," Louise declared suddenly. "Go, by all means, John. I amsimply a little idiot when I give way for a moment to such poisonousthoughts. Lady Hilda can say what she likes about anybody or anything.It really doesn't matter at all whether you go to Bourne End or not."
"I don't quite understand you," John confessed; "but if you mean thatyou are afraid of anything Lady Hilda might say to me about you, why, Ifeel inclined to laugh at you. Lady Hilda," he added, with a touch ofintuition, "is far too clever a woman to make such a mistake."
"I believe you are right," Louise agreed. "I shall pin my faith to LadyHilda's cleverness and to your--fidelity. Go and spend your week-endthere, by all means. I only wish I wasn't bound to go to the Faradays',but that can't possibly be helped. Come and lunch with me on Monday,"she added impulsively. "It seems a long time since we had a little talktogether."
He suddenly held her to him, and she met his lips unresistingly. It wasthe first time he had even attempted anything of the sort for months.
"You are a dear, John," she said, a little wistfully. "I am terriblydivided in my thoughts about you. Just now I feel that I have only onewish--that I could give you all that you want, all that you deserve!"
He was very loverlike. She was once more a slight, quivering thing inhis arms.
"Why need we wait any longer?" he begged. "If we told everyoneto-night--to-morrow--the Faradays would not expect you to keep yourengagement."
She shook herself free from him, but her smile was almost acompensation. The taxicab had stopped opposite her door, and her servantcame hurrying out.
"Until Monday!" she murmured.
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