The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories
Page 118
“Yes; it is quite apparent that the Blithers family intends to have a title at any cost,” she said, and her eyes flashed.
“Would you like to take a few turns, Miss Guile?” he inquired, a trace of nervousness in his manner. “I think I can take you safely over the hurdles and around the bunkers.” He indicated the outstretched legs along the promenade deck and the immovable groups of chatterers along the rail.
Before deciding, she shot an investigating glance into the corner. Mrs. Gaston was not only there but was engaged in conversation with the grey-moustached gentleman in a near-by chair. It required but half a glance to show that Mr. Totten was unmistakably interested in something the voluble lady had just said to him.
“No, thank you, Mr. Schmidt,” said Miss Guile hastily, and then hurried over to her chair, a distinct cloud on her smooth brow. Robin, considering himself dismissed, whirled and went his way, a dark flush spreading over his face. Never, in all his life, had he been quite so out of patience with the world as on this bright, sunny morning.
Miss Guile’s frown deepened when her abrupt appearance at Mrs. Gaston’s side caused that lady to look up with a guilty start and to break off in the middle of a sentence that had begun with: “International marriages, as a rule, are—Oh!”
Mr. Totten arose and bowed with courtly grace to the new arrival on the scene. He appeared to be immensely relieved.
“A lovely morning, Miss Guile,” he said as he stooped to arrange her rug. “I hear that you were not at all disturbed by yesterday’s blow.”
“I was just telling Mr. Totten that you are a wonderful sailor,” said Mrs. Gaston, a note of appeal in her voice. “He says his friend, Mr. Schmidt, is also a good sailor. Isn’t it perfectly wonderful?”
“I can’t see anything wonderful about it,” said Miss Guile, fixing the ex-governess with a look that seared.
“We were speaking of this rumoured engagement of the Prince of Graustark and—er—what’s the name?” He glanced at his newspaper. “Miss Blithers, of course. I enquired of Mrs.—er—Gaston if she happens to know the young lady. She remembers seeing her frequently as a very small child.”
“In Paris,” said Mrs. Gaston. “One couldn’t very well help seeing her, you know. She was the only child of the great Mr. Blithers, whose name was on every one’s lips at the—”
Miss Guile interrupted. “It would be like the great Mr. Blithers to buy this toy prince for his daughter—as a family plaything or human lap-dog, or something of the sort, wouldn’t it?”
Mr. Totten betrayed no emotion save amusement. Miss Guile was watching through half-closed eyes. There was a noticeable stiffening of the prim figure of Mrs. Gaston.
“I’ve no doubt Mr. Blithers can afford to buy the most expensive of toys for his only child. You Americans go in for the luxuries of life. What could be more extravagant than the purchase of a royal lap-dog? The only drawback I can suggest is that the Prince might turn out to be a cur, and then where would Mr. Blithers be?”
“It is more to the point to ask where Miss Blithers would be, Mr. Totten,” said Miss Guile, with a smile that caused the fierce old warrior to afterwards declare to Dank that he never had seen a lovelier girl in all his life.
“Ah, but we spoke of the Prince as a lap-dog or a cur, Miss Guile, not as a watch-dog,” said he.
“I see,” said Miss Guile, after a moment. “He wouldn’t sleep with one eye open. I see.”
“The lap of luxury is an enviable resting-place. I know of no prince who would despise it.”
“But a wife is sometimes a thing to be despised,” said she.
“Quite true,” said Mr. Totten. “I’ve no doubt that the Prince of Graustark will despise his wife, and for that reason will be quite content to close both eyes and let her go on searching for her heart’s desire.”
“She would be his Princess. Could he afford to allow his love of luxury to go as far as that?”
“Quite as justifiably, I should say, as Mr. Blithers when he delivers his only child into—into bondage.”
“You were about to use another term.”
“I was, but I thought in time, Miss Guile.”
R. Schmidt sauntered briskly past at this juncture, looking neither to the right nor left. They watched him until he disappeared down the deck.
“I think Mr. Schmidt is a perfectly delightful young man,” said Mrs. Gaston, simply because she couldn’t help it.
“You really think he will marry Miss Blithers, Mr. Totten?” ventured Miss Guile.
“He? Oh, I see—the Prince?” Mr. Totten came near to being no diplomat. “How should I know, Miss Guile?”
“Of course! How should you know?” she cried.
Mr. Totten found something to interest him in the printed sheet and proceeded to read it with considerable avidity. Miss Guile smiled to herself and purposely avoided the shocked look in Mrs. Gaston’s eyes.
“Bouillon at last,” cried the agitated duenna, and peremptorily summoned one of the tray-bearing stewards. “I am famished.”
Evidently Mr. Totten did not care for his mid-morning refreshment, for, with the most courtly of smiles, he arose and left them to their bouillon.
“Here comes Mr. Schmidt,” whispered Mrs. Gaston excitedly, a few moments later, and at once made a movement indicative of hasty departure.
“Sit still,” said Miss Guile peremptorily.
R. Schmidt again passed them by without so much as a glance in their direction. There was a very sweet smile on Miss Guile’s lips as she closed her eyes and lay back in her chair. Once, twice, thrice, even as many as six times R. Schmidt strode rapidly by their corner, his head high and his face aglow.
At last a queer little pucker appeared on the serene brow of the far from drowsy young lady whose eyes peeped through half closed lids. Suddenly she threw off her rug and with a brief remark to her companion arose and went to her cabin. Mrs. Gaston followed, not from choice but because the brief remark was in the form of a command.
Soon afterward, R. Schmidt who had been joined by Dank, threw himself into his chair with a great sigh of fatigue and said:
“’Gad, I’ve walked a hundred miles since breakfast. Have you a match?”
“Hobbs has made a very curious discovery,” said the young lieutenant, producing his match-box. There was a perturbed look in his eyes.
“If Hobbs isn’t careful he’ll discover a new continent one of these days. He is always discovering something,” said Robin, puffing away at his pipe.
“But this is really interesting. It seems that he was in the hold when Miss Guile’s maid came down to get into one of her mistress’s trunks. Now, the first letter in Guile is G, isn’t it? Well, Hobbs says there are at least half-a-dozen trunks there belonging to the young lady and that all of them are marked with a large red B. What do you make of it?”
The Prince had stopped puffing at his pipe.
“Hobbs may be mistaken in the maid. Dank. It is likely that they are not Miss Guile’s trunks, at all.”
“He appears to be absolutely sure of his ground. He heard the maid mention Miss Guile’s name when she directed the men to get one of the trunks out of the pile. That’s what attracted his attention. He confided to me that you are interested in the young lady, and therefore it was quite natural for him to be similarly affected. ‘Like master, like man,’ d’ye see?”
“Really, you know, Dank, I ought to dismiss Hobbs,” said Robin irritably. “He is getting to be a dreadful nuisance. Always nosing around, trying to—”
“But after all, sir, you’ll have to admit that he has made a puzzling discovery. Why should her luggage be marked with a B?”
“I should say because her name begins with a B,” said Robin shortly.
“In that case, it isn’t Guile.”
“Obviously.” The young man was thinking very hard.
“And if it isn’t Guile, there must be an excellent reason for her sailing under a false name. She doesn’t look like an adventuress.”
The lieutenant flushed. “I have not had the same opportunity for observation that you’ve enjoyed, sir, but I should say, off-hand, that she looks like a very dangerous young person.”
“Do you mean to imply that she is—er—not altogether what one would call right?”
Dank grinned. “Don’t you regard her as rather perilously beautiful?”
“Oh, I see. That’s what you mean. I suppose you got that from Hobbs, too.”
“Not at all. I have an excellent pair of eyes.”
“What are you trying to get at, Dank?” demanded Robin abruptly.
“I’m trying to get to the bottom of Miss Guile’s guile, if it please your royal highness,” said the lieutenant coolly. “It is hard to connect the B and the G, you know.”
“But why should we deny her a privilege that we are enjoying, all three of us? Are we not in the same boat?”
“Literally and figuratively. That explains nothing, however.”
“Have you a theory?”
“There are many that we could advance, but, of course, only one of them could be the right one, even if we were acute enough to include it in our list of guesses. She may have an imperative reason for not disclosing her identity. For instance, she may be running away to get married.”
“That’s possible,” agreed Robin.
“But not probable. She may be a popular music-hall favourite, or one of those peculiarly clever creatures known as the American newspaper woman, against whom we have been warned. Don’t you regard it as rather significant that of all the people on this ship she should be one to attach herself to the unrecognised Prince of Graustark? Put two and two together, sir, and—”
“I find it singularly difficult to put one and one together, Dank,” said the Prince ruefully. “No; you are wrong in both of your guesses. I’ve encountered music-hall favourites and I can assure you she isn’t one of them. And as for your statement that she attached herself to me, you were never so mistaken in your life. I give you my word, she doesn’t care a hang whether I’m on the ship or clinging to a life preserver out there in the middle of the Atlantic. I have reason to know, Dank.”
“So be it,” said Dank, but with doubt in his eyes. “You ought to know. I’ve never spoken to her, so—”
“She thinks you are a dreadfully attractive chap, Dank,” said Robin mischievously. “She said so only yesterday.”
Dank gave his prince a disgusted look, and smoked on in silence. His dignity was ruffled.
“Her Christian name is Bedelia,” ventured Robin, after a pause.
“That doesn’t get us anywhere,” said Dank sourly.
“And her mother is Irish.”
“Which accounts for those wonderful Irish blue eyes that—”
“So you’ve noticed them, eh?”
“Naturally.”
“I consider them a very dark grey.”
“I think we’d better get back to the luggage,” said Dank hastily. “Hobbs thinks that she—”
“Oh, Lord, Dank, don’t tell me what Hobbs thinks,” growled Robin. “Let her make use of all the letters in the alphabet if it pleases her. What is it to us? Moreover, she may be utilising a lot of borrowed trunks, who knows? Or B may have been her initial before she was divorced and—”
“Divorced?”
“—her maiden name restored,” concluded Robin airily. “Simple deduction, Dank. Don’t bother your head about her any longer. What we know isn’t going to hurt us, and what we don’t know isn’t—”
“Has it occurred to you that Russia may have set spies upon you—”
“Nonsense!”
“It isn’t as preposterous as you—”
“Come, old fellow, let’s forget Miss Guile,” cried Robin, slapping the lieutenant on the shoulder. “Let’s think of the real peril,—Maud Applegate Blithers.” He held up the ship’s paper for Dank to see and then sat back to enjoy his companion’s rage.
An hour later Dank and Count Quinnox might have been seen seated side by side on the edge of a skylight at the tip-top of the ship’s structure, engaged in the closest conversation. There was a troubled look in the old man’s eyes and the light of adventure in those of his junior. The sum and substance of their discussion may be given in a brief sentence: Something would have to be done to prevent Robin from falling in love with the fascinating Miss Guile.
“He is young enough and stubborn enough to make a fool of himself over her,” the Count had said. “I wouldn’t blame him, ’pon my soul I wouldn’t. She is very attractive—ahem! You must be his safeguard, Dank. Go in and do as I suggest. You are a good looking chap and you’ve nothing to lose. So far as she is concerned, you are quite as well worth while as the fellow known as R. Schmidt. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t make the remainder of the passage pleasant for her, and at the same time enjoy yourself at nobody’s expense.”
“They know by instinct, confound ’em,” lamented Dank; “they know the real article, and you can’t fool ’em. She knows that he is the high muck-a-muck in this party and she won’t even look at me, you take my word for it.”
“At any rate, you can try, can’t you?” said the Count impatiently.
“Is it a command, sir?”
“It is.”
“Very well, sir. I shall do my best.”
“We can’t afford to have him losing his head over a pretty—er—a nobody, perhaps an adventuress,—at this stage of the game. I much prefer the impossible Miss Blithers, Dank, to this captivating unknown. At least we know who and what she is, and what she represents. But we owe it to our country and to Dawsbergen to see that he doesn’t do anything—er—foolish. We have five days left of this voyage, Dank. They may be fatal days for him, if you do not come to the rescue.”
“They may be fatal days for me,” said Dank, looking out over the ocean.
CHAPTER XII
THE LIEUTENANT REPORTS
Five days later as the Jupiter was discharging passengers at Plymouth, Count Quinnox and Lieutenant Dank stood well forward on the promenade deck watching the operations. The younger man was moody and distrait, an unusual condition for him but one that had been noticeably recurrent during the past two or three days. He pulled at his smart little moustache and looked out upon the world through singularly lack-lustre eyes. Something had gone wrong with him, and it was something that he felt in duty bound to lay before his superior, the grim old Minister of War and hereditary chief of the Castle Guard. Occasionally his sombre gaze shifted to a spot farther down the deck, where a young man and woman leaned upon the rail and surveyed the scene of activity below.
“What is on your mind, Dank?” asked the Count abruptly. “Out with it.”
Dank started. “It’s true, then? I do look as much of a fool as I feel, eh?” There was bitterness in his usually cheery voice.
“Feel like a fool, eh?” growled the old soldier.
“Pretty mess I’ve made of the business,” lamented Dank surlily. “Putting myself up as a contender against a fellow like Robin, and dreaming that I could win out, even for a minute! Good Lord, what an ass I am! Why we’ve only made it worse, Count. We’ve touched him with the spur of rivalry, and what could be more calamitous than that? From being a rather matter-of-fact, indifferent observer, he becomes a bewildering cavalier bent on conquest at any cost. I am swept aside as if I were a parcel of rags. For two days I stood between him and the incomparable Miss Guile. Then he suddenly arouses himself. My cake is dough. I am nobody. My feet get cold, as they say in America,—although I don’t know why they say it. What has the temperature of one’s feet to do with it? See! There they are. They are constantly together, walking, sitting, standing, eating, drinking, reading—Eh bien! You have seen with your own eyes. The beautiful Miss Guile has bewitched our Prince, and my labour is not only lost but I myself am lost. Mon dieu!”
Th
e Count stared at him in perplexity for a moment. Then a look of surprise came into his eyes,—surprise not unmingled with scorn.
“You don’t mean to say, Dank, that you’ve fallen in love with her? Oh, you absurd fledgelings. Will you—”
“Forgive my insolence, Count, but it is forty years since you were a fledgeling. You don’t see things as you saw them forty years ago. Permit me to remind you that you are a grandfather.”
“Your point is well taken, my lad,” said the Count, with a twinkle in his eye. “You can’t help being young any more than I can help being old. Youth is perennial, old age a winding-sheet. I am to take it, then, that you’ve lost your heart to the fair—”
“Why not?” broke in Dank fiercely. “Why should it appear incredible to you? Is she not the most entrancing creature in all the world? Is she not the most appealing, the most adorable, the most feminine of all her sex? Is it possible that one can be so old that it is impossible for him to feel the charm, the loveliness, the—”
“For heaven’s sake, Dank,” said the old man in alarm, “don’t gesticulate so wildly. People will think we are quarrelling. Calm yourself, my boy.”
“You set a task for me and I obey. You urge me to do my duty by Graustark. You tell me I am a handsome dog and irresistible. She will be overwhelmed by my manly beauty, my valour, my soldierly bearing,—so say you! And what is the outcome? I—I, the vain-glorious,—I am wrapped around her little finger so tightly that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men—”
“Halt!” commanded his general softly. “You are turning tail like the veriest coward. Right about, face! Would you surrender to a slip of a girl whose only weapons are a pair of innocent blue eyes and a roguish smile? Be a man! Stand by your guns. Outwardly you are the equal of R. Schmidt, whose sole—”
“That sounds very well, sir, but how can I take up arms against my Prince? He stands by his guns—as you may see, sir,—and, dammit all, I’m no traitor. I’ve just got to stand by ’em with him. That rot about all being fair in love and war is the silliest—Oh, well, there’s no use whining about it. I’m mad about her, and so is he. You can’t—”