The Cardinal Moth

by Fred M. White

  *CHAPTER XII.*

  *A MODEL HUSBAND.*

  Isa Benstein drove in her closed car thoughtfully homewards, a littleless conscious than usual of the attractions caused wherever she went.On the whole she had enjoyed herself; she had got on far better than shehad expected. It was characteristic of her self-reliance and strengthof character that she had gone to the Duchess's party quite alone andknowing nobody there, whilst she herself was familiar by sight andreputation to everybody who would be present.

  She had directed her husband to obtain that invitation out of a purespirit of curiosity. She had read paragraphs touching the great socialfunction in the smart papers, and Isa Benstein had smiled to herself asshe remembered that but for her husband and his money-bags the greatgathering could not possibly have taken place at all.

  By instinct, by intuition, by observation, Isa had pretty well gaugedmodern society. She had seen it at Ascot and Cowes, at Hurlingham andCovent Garden, but as yet she had never actually been in it. And nowher first experience was over.

  She had almost come to the conclusion that the game was not worth thecandle, when Frobisher came up and spoke to her. With her naturalastuteness she had not long to see that Frobisher had some intention ofmaking use of her. That being so, the game should be mutual. Not forone moment was Mrs. Benstein deceived--by some magnetic process LadyFrobisher had been forced to be polite, and ask her to that fancy-dressball. Mrs. Benstein had smiled, but she had seen the rooted repugnancein Lady Frobisher's face, the constrained look in her eyes.

  "I wonder how he managed it?" she asked herself as she drove along."And what does that little creature with the brow of a Memnon and themouth of a tom-cat want to get out of me? Money is at the root of mostthings, but it can't be money in that quarter."

  Berkeley Square was reached at length, and for the moment Mrs. Bensteinbanished Frobisher from her mind. All she required now was a cup of teaand a cigarette. Most society women would have sacrificed a great dealto know the secret of Mrs. Benstein's complexion, but the secret was asimple one--she ate sparingly, and she never touched intoxicating drinksin her life. The tea was waiting in the drawing-room, the water wasboiling on the spirit-kettle. A slight, dark man rose as Mrs. Bensteinentered.

  "I'll take a cup with you, Isa," he said. "Nobody makes such tea asyours."

  "Paul Lopez," the hostess said. "I have not been honoured like thissince the day when you and I----"

  "Agreed to part. Who was wise over that business, Isa? No sugar,please. I loved you too well----"

  "Never! You are incapable of loving anybody, Paul. I gave you thewhole of my affection--and a scarlet, flaming plant it was--and youtrampled it down and killed it. Not so much as a cutting remains. Andwhy? Because you were ambitious and I had no money."

  Lopez waved the accusation aside with his Apostle spoon.

  "It was the wiser part," he said calmly. "I shall never be rich likeAaron, for instance, though I have ten times his intellect. My love ofperilous adventure prevents that. And when I look round me, I am quitepleased with myself. Persian carpets, Romneys, Knellers, Lelys, LouisQuinze furniture, Cellini silver, even Apostle spoons. Have you got acomplete set?"

  "So I understand," Isa Benstein said carelessly.

  "And there you have the keynote of this wonderful house. The exquisitepleasure you must have had in the collecting of all these beautifulthings! And yourself?"

  Mrs. Benstein smiled queerly as she bent over the teapot. When the timecame she was going to be even with this man, though, characteristically,she had no flaming anger against him. She had loved him once, and lethim see it, and he had weighed the possibilities, and coldly told her itwas not good enough, or words to that effect. The secret was theirsalone.

  "You cannot say that you are not happy," Lopez said after a long pause.

  "Well, no. Happiness is but a negative quality, after all. I amprobably a great deal happier than if I had married a scoundrel likeyourself, for instance. That is Aaron's voice in the hall. I supposeyou have come to see him on business, or you would not be here at all."

  Lopez gravely accepted his dismissal. All this wonderful beauty andintellect would have been his had he at one time chosen to take it.Slowly and thoughtfully Mrs. Benstein went up to dress for dinner. Shechose her gown and her jewels and her flowers with the utmost care; shemight have been going to a state concert or dance, from the nicety ofher selection.

  "Madame is going out to-night?" the maid suggested.

  "Madame is going to do nothing of the kind," Isa said, with one of herseductive smiles. "I am going to stay at home and dine _tete-a-tete_with my husband. Always look as nice to your husband, Minon, as toother people. You will find the trouble an excellent investment."

  Benstein was late. He had been detained so long that Isa was in thedining-room before he arrived breathlessly and full of apologies. Withhis fat, fair face, and heavy, pendulous lips, he made an almostrepulsive contrast to his wife. His dress-suit was shabby andill-fitting, suggesting that it had been bought second-hand like hislarge pumps. The red silk socks bore a pleasing resemblance to thecyclist's trousers when confined to the leg with those inevitable clips;they bulged over at the ankles. Benstein wore no diamonds; he had noteven a large stud in his crumpled shirt. It was a great deprivation,and the financier mourned over the fact in secret. But Isa wasinexorable on that point. The man was hideously common enough, withoutjewels. Besides, Isa's interference in the matter was by way of being acompliment. It showed at least that she took some sort of interest inthe man she had married.

  "Kept by business," Benstein wheezed. He raised his dyed eyebrows. Heflattered himself that the dye took from his seventy years, whereas thedeception merely added to them. "Nice you look! Lovely!"

  His little eyes appraised her. Despite his many limitations, Bensteinhad a keen love of the beautiful--_qua_ beautiful. Isa stood before hima vision of loveliness in a dress of green touched here and there withgold. The shaded lights rendered her eyes all the more brilliant.

  "Give me a kiss," Benstein said hoarsely. "When you look like that I canrefuse you nothing. I am getting into my dotage, men say. Well,perhaps. Good thing some of them can't see me now."

  The elaborate dinner proceeded in that perfect Tudor dining-room. Not asingle article of furniture was there that lacked historic interest. Theold oak and silver were priceless, and every bit of it had beencollected under Isa Benstein's own eye. No dealer had ever succeeded inimposing on her.

  The silk slips were drawn at length from the polished dark oak with thewonderful red tints in it, so that the nodding flowers were reflectedfrom a lake of thin blood. Here and there the decanters gleamed, aTudor model of a Spanish galleon mounted on wheels was pushed along thetable, its various compartments filled with all kinds of cigarettes.

  "No, a Virginian for me," Isa said, as the servants withdrew. Thedrawing-room was a dream of beauty, but she preferred the dining-room.For restfulness and form and artistic completeness there was no roomlike the Tudor hall, she declared. "Give me good, honest tobacco."

  "How did you get on to-day?" Benstein asked.

  "I didn't. I sat and watched the procession. Sir Clement Frobisher cameand made himself agreeable to me, and so did his wife--under compulsion.But she asked me to her dance, and I am going."

  "Hope that they won't ask me, too," Benstein said uneasily.

  "You need not go, in any case; in fact, I'd rather you didn't. I'vebeen scheming out my dress, Aaron; do you happen to be strong in rubiesjust now?"

  Benstein nodded his huge head and smiled. More or less, he had thejewels of the great world in his possession. It was his whim to keepthem at home. He trusted nobody, not even a bank. Besides, nearly everyday brought something neat and ingenious in the way of a jewel fraud.

  "I can rig you out in anything," he said. "Yes, I could pretty wellcover you in rubies. They're all on diamonds just for the mom
ent, sothat they bring their emeralds and rubies to redeem the white stones.Wonder what some of those big swells would say if they knew you had gottheir jewels to wear, Isa?"

  Isa smiled at some amusing recollection, but she held her peace. Humourwas not Benstein's strong point. He puffed away to the library,followed by his wife, and once there locked the door. Here was a largeiron sheet that, being opened, disclosed something in the nature of astrong-room. There were scores of tiny pigeon-holes, each filled withcases and bags all carefully noted and numbered, for method wasBenstein's strong point.

  "More papers," Isa exclaimed. "A fresh lot since yesterday. Is it somenew business, Aaron?"

  "Count Lefroy," Benstein wheezed. "Valuable concessions from the Shanof Koordstan. Shouldn't wonder if those papers don't become worth half amillion. Queer-looking things. Like to see them?"

  Isa expressed a proper curiosity on the point. The papers were inHindustani and English, with some cramped-looking signature and theimpression of a seal at the bottom.

  "Those signatures are both forgeries," Mrs. Benstein said, after carefulexamination. "And that seal, I feel quite sure, is a clumsy imitationof something better."

  "Doesn't matter if they are," Benstein said without emotion. "If theyare real, I only get a finger in the pie; if they are forged I bag thewhole of the pastry. Let me once get Lefroy under my thumb like that,and I'll make a pocket borough of Koordstan. Leave your Aaron alone forbusiness, my dear. Now let us see what we can do in the way of rubies,though I am a great fool to----"

  "It's too late in the day to think of that," Isa said sharply. "Turnthem out."

  The shabby cases began to yield their glittering contents. Theelectrics glowed upon the piled-up mass of rubies, bracelets, brooches,tiaras, armlets--the loot of the East, it seemed to be. Isa's slimfingers played with the shining strings lovingly.

  "This is even better than I expected," she murmured. "I shall be ableto trim my dress with them, I can have them all over my skirt, I cancover my bodice. I am going simply as 'rubies.' Give me that tiara."

  She placed the glittering crown on her head, she draped her neck andarms with the beautiful stones. Benstein gasped, and his little eyeswatered. Was there ever so lovely a woman before? he wondered. WhenIsa looked at him like that he could refuse her nothing. It wascriminally weak, but----

  "The thing is almost complete," Isa said. "Now haven't you got somethingout of the common, some black swan amongst rubies that I could attach tothe centre of my forehead, something to blaze like the sun? Aaron,you've got it; you are concealing something from me."

  The financier laughed weakly, still dazzled by that show of beauty. Ina dazed way he unlocked a little compartment and took a huge stone froma leather bag. His hands trembled as he handed it to his wife.

  "You can try it," he said hoarsely; "you can see how it goes. But youcan't have that to wear, no, no. If anything happened to it, they wouldmake an international business of it, my life wouldn't be worth a day'spurchase. You are not to ask me for that, no, no."

  He meandered on in a senile kind of way. With a low cry Isa fastened onthe gem. She pressed it to her white forehead, where it blazed andsparkled. The effect was electric, wonderful. She stood before a mirrorfascinated and entranced by her own beauty.

  "I shall have it," she said. "I couldn't go without this, Aaron. Youare going to have it set into the finest of gold wires for me. Come, Iwon't even ask you where you got it from. And from what you say, nobodyin England is likely to recognise it. Aaron, do, do."

  Her smile was subtle and pleading. Nobody could have withstood it.Benstein gabbled something, his cheeks shook.

  "Oh, Lord," he groaned. "If anything does happen! Well, well, mydarling! Unlock the door and stay here till I come back. What artfulcreatures you women are! My dear, my dear. Positively I must go intothe dining-room and treat myself to a liqueur-brandy!"