“I am sorry I mentioned it, Mr. Schmidt,” she interrupted coldly. “You may rest easy, for I shall not keep you awake for a single hour. Besides, I may not go to Vienna at all.”
“I am sure you would like Vienna,” he said, somewhat chilled by her manner.
“I have been there, with my parents, but it was a long time ago. I once saw the Emperor and often have I seen the wonderful Prince Liechtenstein.”
“Have you travelled extensively in Europe?”
She was smiling once more. “I don’t know what you would consider extensively,” she said. “I was educated in Paris, I have spent innumerable winters in Rome and quite as many summers in Scotland, England, Switzerland, Germ—”
“I know who you are!” he cried out enthusiastically. To his amazement, a startled expression leaped into her eyes. “You are travelling under an assumed name.” She remained perfectly still, watching him with an anxious smile on her lips. “You are no other than Miss Baedeker, the well-known authoress.”
It seemed to him that she breathed deeply. At any rate, her brow cleared and her smile was positively enchanting. Never, in all his life, had he gazed upon a lovelier face. His heart began to beat with a rapidity that startled him, and a queer little sensation, as of smothering, made it difficult for him to speak naturally in his next attempt.
“In that case, my pseudonym should be Guide, not Guile,” she cried merrily. The dimples played in her cheeks and her eyes were dancing.
“B. stands for Baedeker, I’m sure. Baedeker Guide. If the B. isn’t for Baedeker, what is it for?”
“Are you asking what the B. really stands for, Mr. Schmidt?”
“In a round-about way, Miss Guile,” he admitted.
“My name is Bedelia,” she said, with absolute sincerity. “Me mither is Irish, d’ye see?”
“By jove, it’s worth a lot of trouble to get you to smile like that,” he cried admiringly. “It is the first really honest smile you’ve displayed. If you knew how it improves you, you’d be doing it all of the time.”
“Smiles are sometimes expensive.”
“It depends on the market.”
“I never take them to a cheap market. They are not classed as necessities.”
“You couldn’t offer them to any one who loves luxuries more than I do.”
“You pay for them only with compliments, I see, and there is nothing so cheap.”
“Am I to take that as a rebuke?”
“If possible,” she said sweetly.
At this juncture, the miserable Hobbs hove into sight, not figuratively but literally. He came surging across the deck in a mad dash from one haven to another, or, more accurately, from post to post.
“I beg pardon, sir,” he gasped, finally steadying himself on wide-spread legs within easy reach of Robin’s sustaining person. “There is a wireless for Mr. Totten, sir, but when I took it to ’im he said to fetch it to you, being unable to hold up ’is head, wot with the wretched meal he had yesterday and the—”
“I see, Hobbs. Well, where is it?”
Hobbs looked embarrassed. “Well, you see, sir, I ’esitated about giving it to you when you appear to be so—”
“Never mind. You may give it to me. Miss Guile will surely pardon me if I devote a second or two to an occupation she followed so earnestly up to a very short time ago.”
“Pray forget that I am present, Mr. Schmidt,” she said, and smiled upon the bewildered Hobbs, who after an instant delivered the message to his master.
Robin read it through and at the end whistled softly.
“Take it to Mr. Totten, Hobbs, and see if it will not serve to make him hold up his head a little.”
“Very good, sir. I hope it will. Wouldn’t it be wise for me to hannounce who it is from, sir, to sort of prepare him for—”
“He knows who it is from, Hobbs, so you needn’t worry. It is from home, if it will interest you, Hobbs.”
“Thank you, sir, it does interest me. I thought it might be from Mr. Blithers.”
Robin’s scowl sent him scuttling away a great deal more rigidly than when he came.
“Idiot!” muttered the young man, still scowling.
There was silence between the two for a few seconds. Then she spoke disinterestedly:
“Is it from the Mr. Blithers who has the millions and the daughter who wants to marry a prince?”
“Merely a business transaction, Miss Guile,” he said absently. He was thinking of Romano’s message.
“So it would appear.”
“I beg pardon? I was—er—thinking—”
“It was of no consequence, Mr. Schmidt,” she said airily.
He picked up the thread once more. “As a matter of fact, I’ve heard it said that Miss Blithers refused to marry the Prince.”
“Is it possible?” with fine irony. “Is he such a dreadful person as all that?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” murmured Robin uncomfortably. “He may be no more dreadful than she.”
“I cannot hear you, Mr. Schmidt,” she persisted, with unmistakeable malice in her lovely eyes.
“I’m rather glad that you didn’t,” he confessed. “Silly remark, you know.”
“Well, I hope she doesn’t marry him,” said Miss Guile.
“So do I,” said R. Schmidt, and their eyes met. After a moment, she looked away, her first surrender to the mysterious something that lay deep in his.
“It would prove that all American girls are not so black as they’re painted, wouldn’t it?” she said, striving to regain the ground she had lost by that momentary lapse.
“Pray do not overlook the fact that I am half American,” he said. “You must not expect me to say that they paint at all.”
“Schmidt is a fine old American name,” she mused, the mischief back in her eyes.
“And so is Bedelia,” said he.
“Will you pardon me, Mr. Schmidt, if I express surprise that you speak English without the tiniest suggestion of an accent?”
“I will pardon you for everything and anything, Miss Guile,” said he, quite too distinctly. She drew back in her chair and the light of raillery died in her eyes.
“What an imperial sound it has!”
“And why not? The R stands for Rex.”
“Ah, that accounts for the King’s English!”
“Certainly,” he grinned. “The king can do no wrong, don’t you see?”
“Your servant who was here speaks nothing but the King’s English, I perceive. Perhaps that accounts for a great deal.”
“Hobbs? I mean to say,’Obbs? I confess that he has taught me many tricks of the tongue. He is one of the crown jewels.”
Suddenly, and without reason, she appeared to be bored. As a matter of fact, she hid an incipient yawn behind her small gloved hand.
“I think I shall go to my room. Will you kindly unwrap me, Mr. Schmidt?”
He promptly obeyed, and then assisted her to her feet, steadying her against the roll of the vessel.
“I shall pray for continuous rough weather,” he announced, with as gallant a bow as could be made under the circumstances.
“Thank you,” she said, and he was pleased to take it that she was not thanking him for a physical service.
A few minutes later he was in his own room, and she was in hers, and the promenade deck was as barren as the desert of Sahara.
He found Count Quinnox stretched out upon his bed, attended not only by Hobbs but also the reanimated Dank. The crumpled message lay on the floor.
“I’m glad you waited awhile,” said the young lieutenant, getting up from the trunk on which he had been sitting. “If you had come any sooner you would have heard words fit only for a soldier to hear. It really was quite appalling.”
“He’s better now,” said Hobbs, more respectfully than was his wont. It was evident that he had sustained quite a shock.
“Well, what do you think of it?” demanded the Prince, pointing to the message.
“Of all th
e confounded impudence—” began the Count healthily, and then uttered a mighty groan of impotence. It was clear that he could not do justice to the occasion a second time.
Robin picked up the Marconigram, and calmly smoothed out the crinkles. Then he read it aloud, very slowly and with extreme disgust in his fine young face. It was a lengthy communication from Baron Romano, the Prime Minister in Edelweiss.
“‘Preliminary agreement signed before hearing Blithers had bought London, Paris, Berlin. He cables his immediate visit to G. Object now appears clear. All newspapers in Europe print despatches from America that marriage is practically arranged between R. and M. Interviews with Blithers corroborate reported engagement. Europe is amused. Editorials sarcastic. Price on our securities advance two points on confirmation of report. We are bewildered. Also vague rumour they have eloped, but denied by B. Dawsbergen silent. What does it all mean? Wire truth to me. People are uneasy. Gourou will meet you in Paris.’”
In the adjoining suite, Miss Guile was shaking Mrs. Gaston out of a long-courted and much needed sleep. The poor lady sat up and blinked feebly at the excited, starry-eyed girl.
“Wake up!” cried Bedelia impatiently. “What do you think? I have a perfectly wonderful suspicion—perfectly wonderful.”
“How can you be so unfeeling?” moaned the limp lady.
“This R. Schmidt is Prince Robin of Graustark!” cried the girl excitedly. “I am sure of it—just as sure as can be.”
Mrs. Gaston’s eyes were popping, not with amazement but alarm.
“Do lie down, child,” she whimpered. “Marie! The sleeping powders at once! Do—”
“Oh, I’m not mad,” cried the girl. “Now listen to me and I’ll tell you why I believe—yes, actually believe him to be the—”
“Marie, do you hear me?”
Miss Guile shook her vigorously. “Wake up! It isn’t a nightmare. Now listen!”
CHAPTER XI
THE LIEUTENANT RECEIVES ORDERS
The next day brought not only an agreeable change in the weather but a most surprising alteration in the manner of Mrs. Gaston, whose attitude toward R. Schmidt and his friends had been anything but amicable up to the hour of Miss Guile’s discovery. The excellent lady, recovering very quickly from her indisposition became positively polite to the hitherto repugnant Mr. Schmidt. She melted so abruptly and so completely that the young man was vaguely troubled. He began to wonder if his incognito had been pierced, so to speak.
It was not reasonable to suppose that Miss Guile was personally responsible for this startling transition from the inimical to the gracious on the part of her companion; the indifference of Miss Guile herself was sufficient proof to the contrary. Therefore, when Mrs. Gaston nosed him out shortly after breakfast and began to talk about the beautiful day in a manner so thoroughly respectful that it savoured of servility, he was taken-aback, flabbergasted. She seemed to be on the point of dropping her knee every time she spoke to him, and there was an unmistakable tremor of excitement in her voice even when she confided to him that she adored the ocean when it was calm. He forbore asking when Miss Guile might be expected to appear on deck for her constitutional but she volunteered the information, which was neither vague nor yet definite. In fact, she said that Miss Guile would be up soon, and soon is a word that has a double meaning when applied to the movements of capricious womanhood. It may mean ten minutes and it may mean an hour and a half.
Mrs. Gaston’s severely critical eyes were no longer severe, albeit they were critical. She took him in from head to foot with the eye of an appraiser, and the more she took him in the more she melted, until at last in order to keep from completely dissolving, she said good-bye to him and hurried off to find Miss Guile.
Now it is necessary to relate that Miss Guile had been particularly firm in her commands to Mrs. Gaston. She literally had stood the excellent lady up in a corner and lectured her for an hour on the wisdom of silence. In the first place, Mrs. Gaston was given to understand that she was not to breathe it to a soul that R. Schmidt was not R. Schmidt, and she was not to betray to him by word or sign that he was suspected of being the Prince of Graustark. Moreover, the exacting Miss Guile laid great stress upon another command: R. Schmidt was never to know that she was not Miss Guile, but some one else altogether.
“You’re right, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Gaston in an excited whisper as she burst in upon her fair companion, who was having coffee and toast in her parlour. The more or less resuscitated Marie was waiting to do up her mistress’s hair, and the young lady herself was alluringly charming in spite of the fact that it was not already “done up.” “He is the—er—he is just what you think.”
“Good heavens, you haven’t gone and done it, have you,” cried the girl, a slim hand halting with a piece of toast half way to her lips.
“Gone and done it?”
“You haven’t been blabbing, have you?”
“How can you say that to me? Am I not to be trusted? Am I so weak and—”
“Don’t cry, you old dear! Forgive me. But now tell me—absolutely—just what you’ve been up to. Don’t mind Marie. She is French. She can always hold her tongue.”
“Well, I’ve been talking with him, that’s all. I’m sure he is the Prince. No ordinary male could be as sweet and agreeable and sunny as—”
“Stop!” cried Miss Guile, with a pretty moue, putting the tips of her fingers to her ears after putting the piece of toast into her mouth. “One would think you were a sentimental old maid instead of a cold-blooded, experienced, man-hating married woman.”
“You forget that I am a widow, my dear. Besides, it is disgusting for one to speak with one’s mouth full of buttered toast. It—”
“Oh, how I used to loathe you when you kept forever ding-donging at me about the way I ate when I was almost starving. Were you never a hungry little kid? Did you never lick jam and honey off your fingers and—”
“Many and many a time,” confessed Mrs. Gaston, beaming once more and laying a gentle, loving hand on the girl’s shoulder. Miss Guile dropped her head over until her cheek rested on the caressing hand, and munched toast with blissful abandon.
“Now tell me what you’ve been up to,” she said, and Mrs. Gaston repeated every word of the conversation she had had with R. Schmidt, proving absolutely nothing but stoutly maintaining that her intuition was completely to be depended upon.
“And, oh,” she whispered in conclusion, “wouldn’t it be perfectly wonderful if you two should fall in love with each other—”
“Don’t be silly!”
“But you have said that if he should fall in love with you for yourself and not because—”
“I have also said that I will not marry any man, prince, duke, king, count or anything else unless I am in love with him. Don’t overlook that, please.”
“But he is really very nice. I should think you could fall in love with him. Just think how it would please your father and mother. Just think—”
“I won’t be bullied!”
“Am I bullying you?” in amazement.
“No; but father tries to bully me, and you know it.”
“You must admit that the—this Mr. Schmidt is handsome, charming, bright—”
“I admit nothing,” said Miss Guile resolutely, and ordered Marie to dress her hair as carefully as possible. “Take as long as you like, Marie. I shall not go on deck for hours.”
“I—I told him you would be up soon,” stammered the poor, man-hating ex-governess.
“You did?” said Miss Guile, with what was supposed to be a deadly look in her eyes.
“Well, he enquired,” said the other.
“Anything else?” domineered the beauty.
“I forgot to mention one thing. He did ask me if your name was really Bedelia.”
“And what did you tell him?” cried the girl, in sudden agitation.
“I managed to tell him that it was,” said Mrs. Gaston stiffly.
“Good!” cried Miss Guile, va
stly relieved, and not at all troubled over the blight that had been put upon a very worthy lady’s conscience.
When she appeared on deck long afterward, she found every chair occupied. A warm sun, a far from turbulent sea, and a refreshing breeze had brought about a marvellous transformation. Every one was happy, every one had come back from the grave to gloat over the grim reaper’s failure to do his worst, although in certain cases he had been importuned to do it without hesitation.
She made several brisk rounds of the deck; then, feeling that people were following her with their eyes,—admiringly, to be sure, but what of that?—she abandoned the pleasant exercise and sought the seclusion of the sunless corner where her chair was stationed. The ship’s daily newspaper was just off the press and many of the loungers were reading the brief telegraphic news from the capitals of the world.
During her stroll she passed several groups of men and women who were lightly, even scornfully employed in discussing an article of news which had to do with Mr. Blithers and the Prince of Graustark. Filled with an acute curiosity, she procured a copy of the paper from a steward, and was glancing at the head lines as she made her way into her corner. Double-leaded type appeared over the rumoured engagment of Miss Maud Applegate Blithers, the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the great capitalist, and Robin, Prince of Graustark. A queer little smile played about her lips as she folded the paper for future perusal. Turning the earner of the deck-building she almost collided with R. Schmidt, who stood leaning against the wall, scanning the little newspaper with eyes that were blind to everything else.
“Oh!” she gasped.
“I’m sorry,” he exclaimed, crumpling the paper in his hand as he backed away, flushing. “Stupid of me. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Schmidt. It wasn’t your fault. I should have looked where I was going. ‘Stop, look and listen,’ as they say at the railway crossing.”
“‘Danger’ is one of the commonest signs, Miss Guile. It lurks everywhere, especially around corners. I see you have a paper. It appears that Miss Blithers and the Prince are to be married after all.”
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 117