The Captain's Dol

mystified her. What did he really mean?

  'And I'm even less important than that,' she said bitterly.

  'Oh no, you're not. Oh no, you're not. You're very important.

  You're very important indeed, I assure you.'

  'And your wife?'--the question came rebelliously. 'Your wife?

  Isn't she important?'

  'My wife? My wife?' He seemed to let the word stray out of him as

  if he did not quite know what it meant. 'Why, yes, I suppose she

  is important in her own sphere.'

  'What sphere?' blurted Hannele, with a laugh.

  'Why, her own sphere, of course. Her own house, her own home, and

  her two children: that's her sphere.'

  'And you?--where do you come in?'

  'At present I don't come in,' he said.

  'But isn't that just the trouble,' said Hannele. 'If you have a

  wife and a home, it's your business to belong to it, isn't it?'

  'Yes, I suppose it is, if I want to,' he replied.

  'And you DO want to?' she challenged.

  'No, I don't,' he replied.

  'Well, then?' she said.

  'Yes, quite,' he answered. 'I admit it's a dilemma.'

  'But what will you DO?' she insisted.

  'Why, I don't know. I don't know yet. I haven't made up my mind

  what I'm going to do.'

  'Then you'd better begin to make it up,' she said.

  'Yes, I know that. I know that.'

  He rose and began to walk uneasily up and down the room. But the

  same vacant darkness was on his brow. He had his hands in his

  pockets. Hannele sat feeling helpless. She couldn't help being in

  love with the man: with his hands, with his strange, fascinating

  physique, with his incalculable presence. She loved the way he put

  his feet down, she loved the way he moved his legs as he walked,

  she loved the mould of his loins, she loved the way he dropped his

  head a little, and the strange, dark vacancy of his brow, his not-

  thinking. But now the restlessness only made her unhappy. Nothing

  would come of it. Yet she had driven him to it.

  He took his hands out of his pockets and returned to her like a

  piece of iron returning to a magnet. He sat down again in front of

  her and put his hands out to her, looking into her face.

  'Give me your hands,' he said softly, with that strange, mindless,

  soft, suggestive tone which left her powerless to disobey. 'Give

  me your hands, and let me feel that we are together. Words mean so

  little. They mean nothing. And all that one thinks and plans

  doesn't amount to anything. Let me feel that we are together, and

  I don't care about all the rest.'

  He spoke in his slow, melodious way, and closed her hands in his.

  She struggled still for voice.

  'But you'll HAVE to care about it. You'll HAVE to make up your

  mind. You'll just HAVE to,' she insisted.

  'Yes, I suppose I shall. I suppose I shall. But now that we are

  together, I won't bother. Now that we are together, let us forget

  it.'

  'But when we CAN'T forget it any more?'

  'Well--then I don't know. But--tonight--it seems to me--we might

  just as well forget it.'

  The soft, melodious, straying sound of his voice made her feel

  helpless. She felt that he never answered her. Words of reply

  seemed to stray out of him, in the need to say SOMETHING. But he

  himself never spoke. There he was, a continual blank silence in

  front of her.

  She had a battle with herself. When he put his hand again on her

  cheek, softly, with the most extraordinary soft half-touch, as a

  kitten's paw sometimes touches one, like a fluff of living air,

  then, if it had not been for the magic of that almost indiscernible

  caress of his hand, she would have stiffened herself and drawn away

  and told him she could have nothing to do with him, while he was so

  half-hearted and unsatisfactory. She wanted to tell him these

  things. But when she began he answered invariably in the same

  soft, straying voice, that seemed to spin gossamer threads all over

  her, so that she could neither think nor act nor even feel

  distinctly. Her soul groaned rebelliously in her. And yet, when

  he put his hand softly under her chin, and lifted her face and

  smiled down on her with that gargoyle smile of his--she let him

  kiss her.

  'What are you thinking about tonight?' he said. 'What are you

  thinking about?'

  'What did your Colonel say to you, exactly?' she replied, trying to

  harden her eyes.

  'Oh, that!' he answered. 'Never mind that. That is of no

  significance whatever.'

  'But what IS of any significance?' she insisted. She almost hated

  him.

  'What is of any significance? Well, nothing to me, outside of this

  room at this minute. Nothing in time or space matters to me.'

  'Yes, THIS MINUTE!' she repeated bitterly. 'But then there's the

  future. I'VE got to live in the future.'

  'The future! The future! The future is used up every day. The

  future to me is like a big tangle of black thread. Every morning

  you begin to untangle one loose end--and that's your day. And

  every evening you break off and throw away what you've untangled,

  and the heap is so much less: just one thread less, one day less.

  That's all the future matters to me.'

  'Then nothing matters to you. And I don't matter to you. As you

  say, only an end of waste thread,' she resisted him.

  'No, there you're wrong. You aren't the future to me.'

  'What am I then?--the past?'

  'No, not any of those things. You're nothing. As far as all that

  goes, you're nothing.'

  'Thank you,' she said sarcastically, 'if I'm nothing.'

  But the very irrelevancy of the man overcame her. He kissed her

  with half discernible, dim kisses, and touched her throat. And the

  meaninglessness of him fascinated her and left her powerless. She

  could ascribe no meaning to him, none whatever. And yet his mouth,

  so strange in kissing, and his hairy forearms, and his slender,

  beautiful breast with black hair--it was all like a mystery to her,

  as if one of the men from Mars were loving her. And she was heavy

  and spellbound, and she loved the spell that bound her. But also

  she didn't love it.

  II

  Countess zu Rassentlow had a studio in one of the main streets.

  She was really a refugee. And nowadays you can be a grand-duke and

  a pauper, if you are a refugee. But Hannele was not a pauper,

  because she and her friend Mitchka had the studio where they made

  these dolls, and beautiful cushions of embroidered coloured wools,

  and such-like objects of feminine art. The dolls were quite

  famous, so the two women did not starve.

  Hannele did not work much in the studio. She preferred to be alone

  in her own room, which was another fine attic, not quite so large

  as the captain's, under the same roof. But often she went to the

  studio in the afternoon, and if purchasers came, then they were

  offered a cup of tea.

  The Alexander doll was never intended for sale. What made Hannele

  take it to the studio one afternoon, we do not know
. But she did

  so, and stood it on a little bureau. It was a wonderful little

  portrait of an officer and gentleman, the physique modelled so that

  it made you hold your breath.

  'And THAT--that is genius!' cried Mitchka. 'That is a chef

  d'oeuvre! That is thy masterpiece, Hannele. That is really

  marvellous. And beautiful! A beautiful man, what! But no, that

  is TOO real. I don't understand how you DARE. I always thought

  you were GOOD, Hannele, so much better-natured than I am. But now

  you frighten me. I am afraid you are wicked, do you know. It

  frightens me to think that you are wicked. Aber nein! But you

  won't leave him there?'

  'Why not?' said Hannele, satiric.

  Mitchka made big dark eyes of wonder, reproach, and fear.

  'But you MUST not,' she said.

  'Why not?'

  'No, that you MAY not do. You love the man.'

  'What then?'

  'You can't leave his puppet standing there.'

  'Why can't I?'

  'But you are really wicked. Du bist wirklich b�s. Only think!--

  and he is an English officer.'

  'He isn't sacrosanct even then.'

  'They will expel you from the town. They will deport you.'

  'Let them, then.'

  'But no! What will you do? That would be horrible if we had to go

  to Berlin or to Munich and begin again. Here everything has

  happened so well.'

  'I don't care,' said Hannele.

  Mitchka looked at her friend and said no more. But she was angry.

  After some time she turned and uttered her ultimatum.

  'When you are not there,' she said, 'I shall put the puppet away in

  a drawer. I shall show it to nobody, nobody. And I must tell you,

  it makes me afraid to see it there. It makes me afraid. And you

  have no right to get me into trouble, do you see. It is not I who

  look at the English officers. I don't like them, they are too cold

  and finished off for me. I shall never bring trouble on MYSELF

  because of the English officers.'

  'Don't be afraid,' said Hannele. 'They won't trouble YOU. They

  know everything we do, well enough. They have their spies

  everywhere. Nothing will happen to you.'

  'But if they make you go away--and I am planted here with the

  studio--'

  It was no good, however; Hannele was obstinate.

  So, one sunny afternoon there was a ring at the door: a little lady

  in white, with a wrinkled face that still had its prettiness.

  'Good afternoon!'--in rather lardy-dardy, middle-class English. 'I

  wonder if I may see your things in your studio.'

  'Oh yes!' said Mitchka. 'Please come in.'

  Entered the little lady in her finery and her crumpled prettiness.

  She would not be very old: perhaps younger than fifty. And it was

  odd that her face had gone so crumpled, because her figure was very

  trim, her eyes were bright, and she had pretty teeth when she

  laughed. She was very fine in her clothes: a dress of thick

  knitted white silk, a large ermine scarf with the tails only at the

  ends, and a black hat over which dripped a trail of green feathers

  of the osprey sort. She wore rather a lot of jewellery, and two

  bangles tinkled over her white kid gloves as she put up her fingers

  to touch her hair, whilst she stood complacently and looked round.

  'You've got a CHARMING studio--CHARMING--perfectly delightful! I

  couldn't imagine anything more delightful.'

  Mitchka gave a slight ironic bow, and said in her odd, plangent

  English:

  'Oh yes. We like it very much also.'

  Hannele, who had dodged behind a screen, now came quickly forth.

  'Oh, how do you do!' smiled the elderly lady.' I heard there were

  two of you. Now which is which, if I may be so bold? This'--and

  she gave a winsome smile and pointed a white kid finger at Mitchka--

  'is the--?'

  'Annamaria von Prielau-Carolath,' said Mitchka, slightly bowing.

  'Oh!'--and the white kid finger jerked away. 'Then this--'

  'Johanna zu Rassentlow,' said Hannele, smiling.

  'Ah, yes! Countess von Rassentlow! And this is Baroness von--von--

  but I shall never remember even if you tell me, for I'm awful at

  names. Anyhow, I shall call one Countess and the other Baroness.

  That will do, won't it, for poor me! Now I should like awfully to

  see your things, if I may. I want to buy a little present to take

  back to England with me. I suppose I shan't have to pay the world

  in duty on things like these, shall I?'

  'Oh no,' said Mitchka. 'No duty. Toys, you know, they--there is--'

  Her English stammered to an end, so she turned to Hannele.

  'They don't charge duty on toys, and the embroideries they don't

  notice,' said Hannele.

  'Oh, well. Then I'm all right,' said the visitor. 'I hope I can

  buy something really nice! I see a perfectly lovely jumper over

  there, perfectly delightful. But a little too gay for me, I'm

  afraid. I'm not quite so young as I was, alas.' She smiled her

  winsome little smile, showing her pretty teeth and the old pearls

  in her ears shook.

  'I've heard so much about your dolls. I hear they're perfectly

  exquisite, quite works of art. May I see some, please?'

  'Oh yes,' came Mitchka's invariable answer, this exclamation being

  the foundation-stone of all her English.

  There were never more than three or four dolls in stock. This time

  there were only two. The famous captain was hidden in his drawer.

  'Perfectly beautiful! Perfectly wonderful!' murmured the little

  lady, in an artistic murmur. 'I think they're perfectly

  delightful. It's wonderful of you, Countess, to make them. It is

  you who make them, is it not? Or do you both do them together?'

  Hannele explained, and the inspection and the rhapsody went on

  together. But it was evident that the little lady was a cautious

  buyer. She went over the things very carefully, and thought more

  than twice. The dolls attracted her--but she thought them

  expensive, and hung fire.

  'I do wish,' she said wistfully, 'there had been a larger selection

  of the dolls. I feel, you know, there might have been one which I

  JUST LOVED. Of course these are DARLINGS--darlings they are: and

  worth every PENNY, considering the work there is in them. And the

  art, of course. But I have a feeling, don't you know how it is,

  that if there had been just one or two more, I should have found

  one which I ABSOLUTELY couldn't live without. Don't you know how

  it is? One is so foolish, of course. What does Goethe say--"Dort

  wo du nicht bist. . ."? My German isn't even a beginning, so you

  must excuse it. But it means you always feel you would be happy

  somewhere else, and not just where you are. Isn't that it? Ah,

  well, it's so very often true--so very often. But not always,

  thank goodness.' She smiled an odd little smile to herself, pursed

  her lips, and resumed: 'Well now, that's how I feel about the

  dolls. If only there had been one or two more. Isn't there a

  single one?'

  She looked winsomely at Hannele.

  'Yes,' said Hannele, '
there is one. But it is ordered. It isn't

  for sale.'

  'Oh, do you think I might see it? I'm sure it's lovely. Oh, I'm

  dying to see it. You know what woman's curiosity is, don't you?'--

  she laughed her tinkling little laugh. 'Well, I'm afraid I'm all

  woman, unfortunately. One is so much harder if one has a touch of

  the man in one, don't you think, and more able to bear things. But

  I'm afraid I'm all woman.' She sighed and became silent.

  Hannele went quietly to the drawer and took out the captain. She

  handed him to the little woman. The latter looked frightened. Her

  eyes became round and childish, her face went yellowish. Her

  jewels tinkled nervously as she stammered:

  'Now THAT--isn't that--' and she laughed a little, hysterical

  laugh.

  She turned round, as if to escape.

  'Do you mind if I sit down,' she said. 'I think the standing--'

  and she subsided into a chair. She kept her face averted. But she

  held the puppet fast, her small, white fingers with their heavy

  jewelled rings clasped round his waist.

  'You know,' rushed in Mitchka, who was terrified. 'You know, that

  is a life picture of one of the Englishmen, of a gentleman, you

  know. A life picture, you know.'

  'A portrait,' said Hannele brightly.

  'Yes,' murmured the visitor vaguely. 'I'm sure it is. I'm sure it

  is a very clever portrait indeed.'

  She fumbled with a chain, and put up a small gold lorgnette before

  her eyes, as if to screen herself. And from behind the screen of

  her lorgnette she peered at the image in her hand.

  'But,' she said, 'none of the English officers, or rather Scottish,

  wear the close-fitting tartan trews any more--except for fancy

  dress.'

  Her voice was vague and distant.

  'No, they don't now,' said Hannele. 'But that is the correct

  dress. I think they are so handsome, don't you?'

  'Well. I don't know. It depends'--and the little woman laughed

  shakily.

  'Oh yes,' said Hannele. 'It needs well-shapen legs.'

  'Such as the original of your doll must have had--quite,' said the

  lady.

  'Oh yes,' said Hannele. 'I think his legs are very handsome.'

  'Quite!' said the lady. 'Judging from his portrait, as you call

  it. May I ask the name of the gentleman--if it is not too

  indiscreet?'

  'Captain Hepburn,' said Hannele.

  'Yes, of course it is. I knew him at once. I've known him for

  many years.'

  'Oh, please,' broke in Mitchka. 'Oh, please, do not tell him you

  have seen it! Oh, please! Please do not tell anyone!'

  The visitor looked up with a grey little smile.

  'But why not?' she said. 'Anyhow, I can't tell him at once,

  because I hear he is away at present. You don't happen to know

  when he will be back?'

  'I believe tomorrow,' said Hannele.

  'Tomorrow!'

  'And please!' pleaded Mitchka, who looked lovely in her pleading

  distress, 'please not to tell anybody that you have seen it.'

  'Must I promise?' smiled the little lady wanly. 'Very well, then,

  I won't tell him I've seen it. And now I think I must be going.

  Yes, I'll just take the cushion-cover, thank you. Tell me again

  how much it is, please.'

  That evening Hannele was restless. He had been away on some duty

  for three days. He was returning that night--should have been back

  in time for dinner. But he had not arrived, and his room was

  locked and dark. Hannele had heard the servant light the stove

  some hours ago. Now the room was locked and blank as it had been

  for three days.

  Hannele was most uneasy because she seemed to have forgotten him in

  the three days whilst he had been away. He seemed to have quite