by Elinor Glyn
CHAPTER II
Paul's head ached a good deal next morning and he was disinclined torise. However, the sun blazed in at his windows, and a bird sang in atree.
His temper was the temper of next day--sodden, and sullen, andashamed. He even resented the sunshine.
But what a beautiful creature he looked, as later he stepped into aboat for a row on the lake! His mother, the Lady Henrietta, had trulyreason to be proud of him. So tall and straight, and fair andstrong. And at the risk of causing a second fit among some of thecritics, I must add, he probably wore silk socks, and was "beautifullygroomed," too, as all young Englishmen are of his class and age. Andhow supple his lithe body seemed as he bent over the oars, while theboat shot out into the blue water.
The mountains were really very jolly, he thought, and it was not toohot, and he was glad he had come out, even though he had eaten nobreakfast and was feeling rather cheap still. Yes, very glad.
After he had advanced a few hundred yards he rested on his oars, andlooked up at the hotel. Then wonder came back to him, where was sheto-day--the lady with the eyes? Or had he dreamed it--and was there nolady at all?
It should not worry him anyway--so he rowed ahead, and ceased tospeculate.
The first thing he did when he came in for lunch was to finish hisletter to Isabella.
"P. S.--Monday," he added. "It is finer to-day, and I have had someexercise. The view isn't bad now the mist has gone. I shall do someclimbing, I think. Take care of yourself, dear girl. Good-bye.
"Love from
"PAUL."
It was with a feeling of excitement that he entered the restaurant for_dejeuner_. Would she be there? How would she seem in daylight?
But the little table where she had sat the night before wasunoccupied. There were the usual cloth and glass and silver, but nopreparations for any specially expected guest upon it. Paul feltannoyed with himself because his heart sank. Had she gone? Or did sheonly dine in public? Perhaps she lunched in the sitting-room beyondthe terrace, where he had seen her eyes the night before.
The food was really very good, and the sun shone, and Paul was youngand hungry, so presently he forgot about the lady and enjoyed hismeal.
The appearance of the Buergenstock across the lake attracted him, asafterwards he smoked another cigar under the trees. He would hire anelectric launch and go there and explore the paths. If only Pike werewith him--or--Isabella!
This idea he put into execution.
What a thing was a funicular railway. How steep and unpleasant, buthow quaint the tree-tops looked when one was up among them. Yes--Lucernewas a good deal jollier than Paris. And he roamed about amongthe trees, never noticing their beautiful colours. Presently he pausedto rest. He was soothed--even peaceful. If he had Pike he couldreally be quite happy, he thought.
What was that rustle among the leaves above him? He looked up, andstarted then as violently almost as he had done the nightbefore. Because there, peeping at him from the tender green of theyoung beeches, was the lady in black. She looked down upon him throughthe parted boughs, her black hat and long black veil making a sharpsilhouette against the vivid verdure, her whole face in tender shadowand framed in the misty gauze.
Paul's heart beat violently. He felt a pulse in his throat--for a fewseconds.
He knew he was gazing into her eyes, and he thought he knew they weregreen. They looked larger than he had imagined them to be. They wereset so beautifully, too, just a suspicion of rise at the corners. Andtheir expression was mocking and compelling--and--But she let go thebranches and disappeared from view.
Paul stood still. He was thrilling all over. Should he bound in amongthe trees and follow her? Should he call out and ask her to come back?Should he--? But when he had decided and gained the spot where shemust have stood, he saw it was a junction of three paths, and he wasin perfect ignorance which one she had taken. He rushed down thefirst of them, but it twisted and turned, and when he had gone farenough to see ahead--there was no one in sight. So he retraced hissteps and tried the second. This, too, ended in disappointment. Andthe third led to an opening where he could see the descending_funiculaire_, and just as it sank out of view he caught sight ofa black dress, almost hidden by a standing man's figure, whom herecognised as the elderly silver-haired servant.
Paul had learnt a number of swear-words at Eton and Oxford. And he letthe trees hear most of them then.
He could not get down himself until the train returned, and by thattime where would she be? To go by the paths would take aneternity. This time circumstance had fairly done him.
Presently he sauntered back to the little hotel whose terrace commandsthe lake far below, and eagerly watching the craft upon it, he thoughthe caught sight of a black figure reclining in an electric launchwhich sped over the blue water.
Then he began to reason with himself. Why should the sight of thiswoman have caused him such violent emotion? Why? Women were jollythings that did not matter much--except Isabella. She mattered, ofcourse, but somehow her mental picture came less readily to his mindthan usual. The things he seemed to see most distinctly were herhands--her big red hands. And then he unconsciously drifted from allthought of her.
"She certainly looks younger in daylight," he said to himself. "Notmore than thirty perhaps. And what strange hats with that shadow overher eyes. What is she doing here all alone? She must be somebody fromthe people in the hotel making such a fuss--and that servant--Then whyalone?" He mused and mused.
She was not a _demi-mondaine_. The English ones he knew were veryordinary people, but he had heard of some of the French ladies asbeing quite _grande dame_, and travelling _en prince_. Yet he wasconvinced this was not one of them. Who _could_ she be? He must know.
To go back to the hotel would be the shortest way to find out, and soby the next descending train he left the Buergenstock.
He walked up and down under the lime-trees outside the terrace of herrooms for half an hour, but was not rewarded in any way for his pains.And at last he went in. He, too, would have a dinner worth eating, hethought. So he consulted the _maitre d'hotel_ on his way up todress, and together they evolved a banquet. Paul longed to questionthe man about the unknown, but as yet he was no actor, and he found hefelt too much about it to do it naturally.
He dressed with the greatest care, and descended at exactly half-pasteight. Yes, the table was laid for her evidently--but there were giantcarnations, not roses, in the silver vase to-night. How quickly thewaiters seemed to bring things! And what a frightful lot there was toeat! And dawdle as he would, by nine o'clock he had almostfinished. Perhaps it would be as well to send for a newspaperagain. Anything to delay his having to rise and go out. An anxious,uncomfortable gnawing sense of expectancy dominated him. Howridiculous for a woman to be so late! What cook could do justice tohis dishes if they were thus to be kept waiting? She couldn't possiblyhave _ordered_ it for half past nine, surely! Gradually, as thathour passed and his second cup of coffee had been sipped to itsfinish, Paul felt a sickening sense of anger and disappointment. Hegot up abruptly and went out. In the hall, coming from the corridor ofher rooms, he met the lady face to face.
Then rage with himself seized him. Why had he not waited? For nopossible reason could he go back now. And what a chance to look at hermissed--and all thrown away.
He sat sullenly down in the hall, resisting the temptation to go intothe beautiful night. At least he would see her on her way back. But hewaited until nearly eleven, and she never appeared, and then themaddening thought came to him--she had probably passed to her roomsalong the terrace outside, under the lime-tree.
He bounded up, and stalked into the starlight. He could see throughthe windows of the restaurant, and no one was there. Then he sat onthe bench again, under the ivy--but all was darkness and silence; andthoroughly depressed, Paul at last went to bed.
Next day was so gloriously fine that youth and health sang withinhim. He was up and away quite early. Not a thought of this strangelady should cross his mind f
or the entire day, he determined as he atehis breakfast. And soon he started for the Rigi in a launch, takingthe English papers with him. Intense joy, too! A letter from Isabella!
Such a nice letter. All about Pike and Moonlighter, and the otherhorses--and Isabella was going to stay with a friend at Blackheath,where she hoped to get better golf than at home--and Lady Henriettahad been gracious to her, and given her Paul's address, and there hadbeen a "jolly big party" at Verdayne Place for Sunday, but none of his"pals." At least if there were, they were not in church, she addednaively.
All this Paul read in his launch on the way to the Rigi, and for someunexplained reason the information seemed about things a long way off,and less thrilling than usual. He had a splendid climb, and when hegot back to Lucerne in the evening he was thoroughly tired, and sohungry he flew down to his dinner.
It was nearly nine o'clock; at least if she came to-night he would bethere to see her. But of course it did not matter if she came or not,he had conquered that ridiculous interest. He would hardly look untilhe reached his table. Yes, there she was, but dipping her whitefingers in the rosewater at the very end of her repast.
And again, in spite of himself, a strange wild thrill ran throughPaul, and he knew it was what he had been subconsciously hoping forall day--and oh, alas! it mattered exceedingly.
The lady never glanced at him. She swept from the room, her statelygraceful movements delighting his eye. He could understand andappreciate movement--was he not accustomed to thoroughbreds, and ableto judge of their action and line?
How blank the space seemed when she had gone--dull and unspeakablyuninteresting. He became impatient with the slowness of the waiters,who had seemed to hurry unnecessarily the night before. But at lasthis meal ended, and he went out under the trees. The sky was so fullof stars it hardly seemed dark. The air was soft, and in the distancea band played a plaintive valse tune.
There were numbers of people walking about, and the lights from thehotel windows lit up the scene. Only the ivy terrace was in shadow ashe again sat down on the bench.
How had she got in last night? That he must find out--he rose, andpeered about him. Yes, there was a little gate, a flight of steps, aprivate entrance into this suite, just round the corner.
And as he looked at it, the lady, wrapped in a scarf of black gauze,passed him, and standing aside while the silver-haired servant openedthe little door with a key, she then entered and disappeared fromview.
It seemed as if the stars danced to Paul. His whole being wasquivering with excitement, and now he sat on the bench again almosttrembling.
He did not move for at least half an hour; then the clocks chimed inthe town. No, there was no hope; he would see her no more that night.He rose listlessly to go back to bed, tired out with his day'sclimb. And as he stood up, there, above the ivy again, he saw her facelooking down upon him.
How had she crossed the terrace without his hearing her? How long hadshe been there? But what matter? At least she was there. And thoseeyes looking into his out of the shadow, what did they say? Surelythey smiled at him. Paul jumped on to the bench. Now he was almostlevel with her face--almost--and his was raised eagerly inexpectation. Was he dreaming, or did she whisper something? The soundwas so soft he was not quite sure. He stretched out his arms to her inthe darkness, pulling himself by the ivy nearer still. And this timethere was no mistake.
"Come, Paul," she said. "I have some words to say to you."
And round to the little gate Paul flew.