‘It’s an outrage!’ cried Margaret, breaking out. ‘How did you dare to take money from him for me?’
Mrs. Rushmore seemed really surprised now, though she did not say she was.
‘My dear!’ she exclaimed, ‘you would not have had me refuse, would you? Money is money, you know.’
The good lady’s inherited respect for the stuff was discernible in her tone.
‘Money!’ Margaret repeated the word with profound contempt and a good deal of anger.
‘Yes, my dear,’ retorted Mrs. Rushmore severely. ‘Yes, money. It is because your father and mother spoke of it in that silly, contemptuous way that they died so poor. And now that you’ve got it, take my advice and don’t turn up your nose at it.’
‘Do you suppose I’ll keep it, now that I know where it comes from? I’ll give it back to him to-day!’
‘No, you won’t,’ answered Mrs. Rushmore, with the conviction of certainty.
‘I tell you I will!’ Margaret cried. ‘I could not sleep to-night if I knew that I had money in my possession that was given me — given me like a gift — by a man who wants to marry me! Ugh! It’s disgusting!’
‘Margaret, this is ridiculous. Monsieur Logotheti came to see me and explained the whole matter. He said that he had made a very good bargain and expected to realise a large sum by the transaction. Do you suppose that such a good man of business would think of making any one a present of a hundred thousand pounds? You must be mad! A hundred thousand pounds is a great deal of money, Margaret. Remember that.’
‘So much the better for him! I shall give it back to him at once!’
Mrs. Rushmore smiled.
‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘You’ve never even asked me where it is, and while you are out of your mind, I shall certainly not tell you. You seem to forget that when I undertook to bring suit against Alvah Moon you gave me a general power of attorney to manage your affairs. I shall do whatever is best for you.’
‘I don’t understand business,’ Margaret answered, ‘but I’m sure you have no power to force Monsieur Logotheti’s money upon me. I won’t take it.’
‘You have taken it and I have given a receipt for it, my dear, so it’s of no use to talk nonsense. The best thing you can do is to give up this silly idea of going on the stage, and just live like a lady, on your income.’
‘And marry my benefactor, I suppose!’ Margaret’s eyes flashed. ‘That’s what he wants — what you all want — to keep me from singing! He thought that if he made me independent, I would give it up, and you encouraged him! I see it now. As for the money itself, until I really have it in my hands it’s not mine; but just as soon as it is I’ll give it back to him, and I’ll tell him so to-day.’
The carriage rolled through the pretty woods of Fausses Reposes, and the sweet spring breeze fanned Margaret’s cheeks in the shade. But she felt fever in her blood and her heart beat fast and angrily as if it were a conscious creature imprisoned in a cage. She was angry with herself and with every one else, with Logotheti, with Mrs. Rushmore, with poor Lushington for making such a fool of himself just when she was prepared to like him better than ever. She was sure that she had good cause to hate every one, and she hated accordingly, with a good will. She wished that she might never spend another hour under Mrs. Rushmore’s roof, that she might never see Logotheti again, that she were launched in her artistic career, free at last and responsible to no one for her actions, her words or her thoughts.
But Mrs. Rushmore began to think that she had made a mistake in letting her know too soon who had bought out Alvah Moon, and she wondered vaguely why she had betrayed the secret, trying to account for her action on the ground of some reasonably thought-out argument, which was quite impossible, of course. So they both maintained a rather hostile silence during the rest of the homeward drive.
CHAPTER XVI
UNTIL THE CARRIAGE was out of sight, Logotheti and Lushington stood still where Margaret had left them. Then Lushington looked at his adversary coolly for about four seconds, stuck his hands into his pockets, turned his back and deliberately walked off without a word. Logotheti was so little prepared for such an abrupt closure that he stood looking after the Englishman in surprise till the latter had made a dozen steps.
‘I say!’ said the Greek, calling after him then and affecting an exceedingly English tone. ‘I say, you know! This won’t do.’
Lushington stopped, turned on his heel and faced him from a distance.
‘What won’t do?’ he asked coolly.
Seeing that he came no nearer, Logotheti went forward a little.
‘You admitted just now that you had been playing the spy,’ said the Greek, whose temper was getting beyond his control, now that the women were gone.
‘Yes,’ said Lushington, ‘I’ve been watching you.’
‘I said spying,’ answered Logotheti; ‘I used the word “spy.” Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘You don’t seem to. I’m insulting you. I mean to insult you.’
‘Oh!’ A faint smile crossed the Englishman’s face. ‘You want me to send you a couple of friends and fight a duel with you? I won’t do anything so silly. As I told you before Miss Donne, we don’t owe each other anything to speak of, so we may as well part without calling each other bad names.’
‘If that is your view of it, you had better keep out of my way in future.’ He laid his hand on the car to get in as he spoke.
Lushington’s face hardened.
‘I shall not take any pains to do that,’ he answered. ‘On the contrary, if you go on doing what you have been doing of late, you’ll find me very much in your way.’
Logotheti turned upon him savagely.
‘Do you want to marry Miss Donne yourself?’ he asked.
Lushington, who was perfectly cool now that no woman was present, was struck by the words, which contained a fair question, though the tone was angry and aggressive.
‘No,’ he answered quietly. ‘Do you?’
Logotheti stared at him.
‘What the devil did you dare to think that I meant?’ he asked. ‘It would give me the greatest satisfaction to break your bones for asking that!’
Lushington came a step nearer, his hands in his pockets, though his eyes were rather bright.
‘You may try if you like,’ he said. ‘But I’ve something more to say, and I don’t think we need fall to fisticuffs on the highroad like a couple of bargees. I’ve misunderstood you. If you are going to marry Miss Donne, I shall keep out of your way altogether. I made a mistake, because you haven’t the reputation of a saint, and when a man of your fortune runs after a young singer it’s not usually with the idea of marrying her. I’m glad I was wrong.’
Logotheti was too good a judge of men to fancy that Lushington was in the least afraid of him, or that he spoke from any motive but a fair and firm conviction; and the Greek himself, with many faults, was too brave not to be generous. He turned again to get into the car.
‘I believe you English take it for granted that every foreigner is a born scoundrel,’ he said with something like a laugh.
‘To tell the truth,’ Lushington answered, ‘I believe we do. But we are willing to admit that we can be mistaken. Good morning.’
He walked away, and this time Logotheti did not stop him, but got in and started the car in the opposite direction without looking back. He was conscious of wishing that he might kill the cool Englishman, and though his expression betrayed nothing but annoyance a little colour rose and settled on his cheek-bones; and that bodes no good in the faces of dark men when they are naturally pale. He reached home, and it was there still; he changed his clothes, and yet it was not gone; he drank a cup of coffee and smoked a big cigar, and the faint red spots were still there, though he seemed absorbed in the book he was reading.
It was not his short interview with Lushington which had so much moved him, though it had been the first disturbing cause. In men whose nature, physical and moral, harks
back to the savage ancestor, to the pirate of northern or southern seas, to the Bedouin of the desert, to the Tartar of Bokhara or the Suliote of Albania, the least bit of a quarrel stirs up all the blood at once, and the mere thought of a fight rouses every masculine passion. The silent Scotchman, the stately Arab, the courtly Turk are far nearer to the fanatic than the quick-tempered Frenchman or the fiery Italian.
For a long time Constantine Logotheti had been playing at civilisation, at civilised living and especially at the more or less gentle diversion of civilised love-making; but he was suddenly tired of it all, because it had never been quite natural to him, and he grew bodily hungry and thirsty for what he wanted. The round flushed spots on his cheeks were the outward signs of something very like a fever which had seized him within the last two hours. Until then he would hardly have believed that his magnificent artificial calm could break down, and that he could wish to get his hands on another man’s throat, or take by force the woman he loved, and drag her away to his own lawless East. He wondered now why he had not fallen upon Lushington and tried to kill him in the road. He wondered why, when Margaret had been safe in the motor car, he had not put the machine at full speed for Havre, where his yacht was lying. His artificial civilisation had hindered him of course! It would not check him now, if Lushington were within arm’s length, or if Margaret were in his power. It would be very bad for any one to come between him and what he wanted so much, just then, that his throat was dry and he could hear his heart beating as he sat in his chair. He sat there a long time because he was not sure what he might do if he allowed himself the liberty of crossing the room. If he did that, he might write a note, or go to the telephone, or ring for his secretary, or do one of fifty little things whereby the train of the inevitable may be started in the doubtful moments of life.
It did not occur to him that he was not the arbiter of his actions in that moment, free to choose between good and evil, which he, perhaps, called by other names just then. He probably could not have remembered a moment in his whole life at which he had not believed himself the master of his own future, with full power to do this, or that, or to leave it undone. And now he was quite sure that he was choosing the part of wisdom in resisting the strong temptation to do something rash, which made it a physical effort to sit still and keep his eyes on his book. He held the volume firmly with both hands as if he were clinging to something fixed which secured him from being made to move against his will.
One of fate’s most amusing tricks is to let us work with might and main to help her on, while she makes us believe that we are straining every nerve and muscle to force her back.
If Logotheti had not insisted on sitting still that afternoon nothing might have happened. If he had gone out, or if he had shut himself up with his statue, beyond the reach of visitors, his destiny might have been changed, and one of the most important events of his life might never have come to pass.
But he sat still with his book, firm as a rock, sure of himself, convinced that he was doing the best thing, proud of his strength of mind and his obstinacy, perfectly pharisaical in his contempt of human weakness, persuaded that no power in earth or heaven could force him to do or say anything against his mature judgment. He sat in his deep chair near a window that was half open, his legs stretched straight out before him, his flashing patent leather feet crossed in a manner which showed off the most fantastically over-embroidered silk socks, tightly drawn over his lean but solid ankles.
From the wall behind him the strange face in the encaustic painting watched him with drooping lids and dewy lips that seemed to quiver; the ancient woman, ever young, looked as if she knew that he was thinking of her and that he would not turn round to see her because she was so like Margaret Donne.
His back was to the picture, but his face was to the door. It opened softly, he looked up from his book and Margaret was before him, coming quickly forward. For an instant he did not move, for he was taken unawares. Behind her, by the door, a man-servant gesticulated apologies — the lady had pushed by him before he had been able to announce her. Then another figure appeared, hurrying after Margaret; it was little Madame De Rosa, out of breath.
Logotheti got up now, and when he was on his feet, Margaret was already close to him. She was pale and her eyes were bright, and when she spoke he felt the warmth of her breath in his face. He held out his hand mechanically, but he hardly noticed that she did not take it.
‘I want to speak to you alone,’ she said.
Madame De Rosa evidently understood that nothing more was expected of her for the present, and she sat down and made herself comfortable.
‘Will you come with me?’ Logotheti asked, controlling his voice.
Margaret nodded; he led the way and they left the room together. Just outside the door there was a small lift. He turned up the electric light, and Margaret stepped in; then he followed and worked the lift himself. In the narrow space there was barely room for two; Logotheti felt a throbbing in his temples and the red spots on his cheek-bones grew darker. He could hear and almost feel Margaret’s slightest movement as she stood close behind him while he faced the shut door of the machine. He did not know why she had come, he did not guess why she wished to be alone with him, but that was what she had asked, and he was taking her where they would really be alone together; and it was not his fault. Why had she come?
When a terrible accident happens to a man, the memory of all his life may pass before his eyes in the interval of a second or two. I once knew a man who fell from the flying trapeze in a circus in Berlin, struck on one of the ropes to which the safety net was laced and broke most of his bones. He told me that he had never before understood the meaning of eternity, but that ever afterwards, for him, it meant the time that had passed after he had missed his hold and before he struck and was unconscious. He could associate nothing else with the word. Logotheti remembered, as long as he lived, the interminable interval between Margaret’s request to see him alone, and the noiseless closing of the sound-proof door when they had entered the upper room, where Aphrodite stood in the midst and the soft light fell from high windows that were half-shaded.
Even then, though her anger was hot and her thoughts were chasing one another furiously, Margaret could not repress an exclamation of surprise when she first saw the statue facing her in its bare beauty, like a living thing.
Logotheti laid one hand very lightly upon her arm, and was going to say something, but she sprang back from his touch as if it burnt her. The colour deepened in his dark cheeks and his eyes seemed brighter and nearer together. When a woman comes to a man’s house and asks to be alone with him, she need not play horror because the tips of his fingers rest on her sleeve for a moment. Why did she come?
Margaret spoke first.
‘How did you dare to settle money on me?’ she asked, standing back from him.
Logotheti understood for the first time that she was angry with him, and that her anger had brought her to his house. The fact did not impress him much, though he wished she were in a better temper. The sound of her voice was sweet to him whatever she said.
‘Oh?’ he ejaculated with a sort of thoughtful interrogation. ‘Has she told you? She had agreed to say nothing about it. How very annoying!’
His sudden calm was exasperating, for Margaret did not know him well enough to see that below the surface his blood was boiling. She tapped the blue tiled floor sharply with the toe of her shoe.
‘It’s outrageous!’ she said with energy.
‘I quite agree with you. Won’t you sit down?’ Logotheti looked at the divan. Margaret half sat upon the arm of a big leathern chair.
‘Oh, you agree with me? Will you please explain?’
‘I mean, it is outrageous that Mrs. Rushmore should have told you — —’
‘You’re quibbling!’ Margaret broke in angrily. ‘You know very well what I mean. It’s an outrage that a man should put a woman under an enormous obligation in spite of herself, without her even knowing
it!’
Logotheti had seated himself where he could watch her; the fashion of dress was close-fitting; his eyes followed the graceful lines of her figure. If she had not come to drive him mad, why did she take an attitude which of all others is becoming to well-made women and fatal to all the rest?
‘I’m sorry,’ said Logotheti, rather absently and as if her anger did not affect him in the least, if he even noticed it. ‘I happened to want the invention for a company in which I am interested. You stood in the way of my having the whole thing, so I was obliged to buy you out. I’m very sorry that it happened to be you, and that Mrs. Rushmore could not keep the fact to herself. I knew you wouldn’t be pleased if you ever found it out.’
‘I don’t believe a word of what you are telling me,’ Margaret answered.
‘Really not?’ Logotheti seemed momentarily interested. ‘That’s generally the way when one speaks the truth,’ he added, more carelessly again. ‘Nobody believes it.’
His eyes caressed her as he spoke. He was not thinking much of what he said.
‘I’ve come here to make you take back the money,’ Margaret said. ‘I won’t keep it another day.’
‘Have you come all the way from Versailles again to say that?’ asked Logotheti, laughing.
Again, as she sat on the arm of the big chair, she tapped the dark blue tiles with the toe of her shoe. The slight movement transmitted itself through her whole figure, and for an instant each beautiful line and curve quivered and was very slightly modified. Logotheti saw and drew his breath sharply between his teeth.
‘Yes,’ Margaret was saying impatiently. ‘When Mrs. Rushmore had told me the truth, I walked to the station and took the first train. I only stopped to get Madame De Rosa.’
‘She is not a very powerful ally,’ observed Logotheti. ‘She is probably asleep in her arm-chair in the drawing-room by this time. Are you still angry with me? Yes, I believe you are. Please forgive me. I had not the least idea of offending you, because I trusted that old —— I mean, because I was so sure that Mrs. Rushmore would never tell.’
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 1123