E. Phillips Oppenheim

“ Louise repeated, with upraised eyebrows. "Dear master, aren't we just a little—do you—melodramatic? The age of duels is past, also the age of hired bravos and assassins."
"Agreed," Graillot interrupted, "but the weapons of to-day are more dangerous. It is the souls of their enemies that men attack. If I were a friend of that young man's I would say to him: 'Beware, not of the enmity of Eugène of Seyre, but of his friendship!' And now, dear lady, I have finished. I lingered behind because the world holds no more sincere admirer of yourself and your genius than I. Don't ring. ”

“ John assured his brother. "Take art, for instance: We reach the fringe of it with our books. There are pictures, even here in London, which when you look at them, especially with one who understands, give a new vigor to your understanding, a new resource to living. You become conscious of a new beauty in the world, a new garden, as it were, into which one can wander every day and yet not explore it in a lifetime. I have seen enough, Stephen, to make me want to go to Italy. It's a shameful thing to keep one's brain and taste unemployed!" ”

“ He obeyed, and for a moment there was silence—a tense, strained silence.
"John," she continued at last, "I have no rights to receive from the Prince of Seyre. He owes me nothing. Listen! Always we have seen life differently, you and I. To me there is only one great thing, and that is love; and beyond that nothing counts. I tried to love the prince before you came, and I thought I did, and I promised him at last what you know, because I believed that he loved me and that I loved him, and that if so it was his right. Look down the road, John! ”

“ Calavera was amusing herself with him.
"The prince's party," she continued, after a long pause, "seems to be a great success, to judge by the noise they are making. So many people shout and laugh when they are happy. I myself find a more perfect expression of happiness in silence."
She was leaning a little back in her place. One arm was resting upon a pile of cushions, the other hung loosely over the side of the divan. John felt a sudden desire to rise to his feet, and a simultaneous consciousness that his feet seemed to be made of lead. ”

“ Stephen's countenance seemed to have changed into the color as well as the likeness of those granite rocks. The line of faces on either side of him appeared now curiously featureless. His eyes were still riveted upon that closed door, his eyebrows had come together in a stupendous frown.
Sophy had parted the curtain and was peeping through.
"Nothing in the world could make him understand!" she murmured. "Do you think it would be of any use if we met him outside?"
John shook his head.
"You can't convince people," he replied, "when you are unconvinced yourself." ”

“ She turned toward John, and caught the deprecating glance which flashed from him to Stephen.
"Your brother is making fun of me," she declared. "He looks at me and judges me just as I believe he would judge most people—sternly and without mercy. After all, you know, even though I am a daughter of the cities, there is another point of view—ours. Can you not believe that the call which prompts men and women to do the things in life which are really worth while is heard as often amid the hubbub of the city as in the solitude of these austere hills?" ”

“ I wish to reach London either this evening or very early in the morning."
The prince was holding himself in restraint with a visible effort. His eyes were fixed upon Louise's face, as if trying to read her thoughts.
"Is the necessity so urgent?" he asked.
"Judge for yourself," she replied. "Henri Graillot is there, waiting for me. You know how impatient he is, and all London is clamoring for his play. Night to him is just the same as day. I shall telegraph from Kendal the hour of my arrival." ”

“ John came out upon the stage. The French dramatist, with his hands behind his back, made swift mental notes of an interesting situation. He saw the coming of a man who stood like a giant among them, sunburnt, buoyant with health, his eyes bright with the wonder of his unexpected surroundings; a man in whose presence every one else seemed to represent an effete and pallid type of humanity.
The dramatist and the prince were satisfied, however, with one single glance at the newcomer. Afterward, their whole regard was focused upon Louise. ”

“ She watched him anxiously, but there was no sign in his face.
"Pull yourself together, John," she continued. "Ring for some tea, get your bath, and then have it out with Louise. Remember, life is a very big thing. You are dealing this morning with all it may mean to you."
He rose listlessly to his feet. There was a strange, dull look in his face.
"You are a dear girl, Sophy!" he said. "Don't go just yet. I have never felt like it before in my life, but just now I don't want to be left alone. Send a boy for some clothes, and I will order some tea." ”

“ Toward nine o'clock on the following morning John rose from a fitful sleep and looked around him. Even before he could recall the events of the preceding night he felt that there was a weight pressing upon his brain, a miserable sense of emptiness in life, a dull feeling of bewilderment. Although he had no clear recollection of getting there, he realized that he was in his own sitting room, and that he had been asleep upon the couch. ”

“ The prince slowly sipped the wine from the glass that he was holding to his lips. Then he set it down deliberately.
"Why not?"
"What is your interest? Is it a bet, a whim, or—enmity?"
"You may count it the latter," the prince replied deliberately.
Calavera laughed softly to herself.
"Now, for the first time," she confessed, "I feel interest. This is where one realizes that we live in the most impossible age of all history. The great noble who seeks to destroy the poor young man from the country is powerless to wreak harm upon him. You can neither make him a pauper nor have him beaten to death. ”

“ Tell me, then, because I am curious—tell me why you are so sure of what you say?"
"The world has it," he replied, "that you are the mistress of the Prince of Seyre. I came to London to satisfy myself as to the truth of that report. Do you believe that any man living, among that audience last night, could watch the play and know that you passed, night after night, into your bed-chamber to meet your lover with that look upon your face—you are a clever actress, madam—and believe that you were a woman who was living an honest life?" ”

“ I am Graillot, who for thirty years have written dramas on one subject and one subject only—men and women. It has been given to me to study many varying types of the human race, to watch the outcome of many strange situations. I have watched the prince draw you nearer and nearer to him. What there is or may be between you I do not know. It is not for me to know. But if not now, some day Eugène of Seyre means you to be his, and he is not a person to be lightly resisted. ”

“ He left the house by the back door, passed quickly through the orchard, where the tangled moonlight lay upon the ground in strange, fantastic shadows; across the narrow strip of field, a field now of golden stubble; up the rough ascent, across the road, and higher still up the hill which looked down upon the farm-buildings and the churchyard.
He sat grimly down upon a great boulder, filled with a hateful sense of unwreaked passion, yet with a queer thankfulness in his heart that he had escaped the miasma of evil thoughts which Stephen's words seemed to have created. ”

“ He watched in silence the twitching of her lips, the filling of her eyes. A momentary remorse struck him. Why should he afflict her at this moment with his own secret? He closed his eyes, and deliberately shut out the vision which had lured his tongue into the byways of unwonted sentiment. He spoke firmly and without emotion.
"Louise," he begged, "let me be your confidant! No man knows more of the game of life as it is played out between men and women. There is no one in whom you can place a greater trust." ”

“ His motor was waiting at the door, and he left Sophy at her rooms. Before she got out, she held his arm for a moment.
"John," she said, "remember that Louise is very high-strung and very sensitive. Be careful!"
"There is only one thing to do or to say," he answered. "There is only one way in which I can do it."
He drove the car down Piccadilly like a man in a dream, steering as carefully as usual through the traffic, and glancing every now and then with unseeing eyes at the streams of people upon the pavements. ”

“ Do you know that if I consented to think of your brother as my husband, there is not a man in London who would not envy him? Look at me! I am beautiful, am I not? I am a great artist. I am Louise Maurel, and I have made myself famous by my own work and my own genius. What has your brother done in life to render him worthy of the sacrifice I should make if I chose to give him my hand? You had better go back to Cumberland, Mr. Strangewey. You do not see life as we see it up here!"
"And what about John?" ”

“ Stephen admitted, blowing out dense volumes of smoke from his pipe; "but are you sure that it's toward those great things that she is pointing you?"
"I am sure of it," John answered earnestly. "I appreciate that in my heart. Let us talk together, Stephen, as we used. I will admit that I have found most of the time up here wearisome. On the other hand, I am beginning to understand that I have been, and still am, very ignorant. There is so much in the world that one can only learn by experience." ”

“ Although conscious of this atmosphere of antagonism, Louise looked around her with frank admiration as she took her place in the high-backed chair which John was holding for her. The correctness of the setting appealed strongly to her artistic perceptions. The figures and features of the two men—Stephen, tall, severe, stately; John, amazingly handsome, but of the same type; the black-raftered ceiling; the Jacobean sideboard; the huge easy chairs; the fine prints upon the walls; the pine log which burned upon the open hearth—nowhere did there seem to be a single alien or modern note. ”

“ Sometimes life seems so stable, a thing one can make a little chart of and hang up on the wall, and put one's finger here and there—'To-day I will do this, to-morrow I will feel that'—and the next morning comes and the chart is in the fire. I wish I understood myself a little better, Eugène!"
"Self-understanding is the rarest of all gifts," the prince remarked. "It is left for those who love us to understand us." ”

“ I think I told you that there were better things."
"There is no better thing in the world," John said simply, "than to give every feeling of which you are capable to the woman you love."
She frowned and threw her cigarette into the hearth.
"You talk," she declared, "either like George Alexander on the stage, or like a country bumpkin! Why doesn't some one teach you the manners of civilized life?"
"Lady Hilda," he replied, "I am past teaching. You see, the fact of it is that a country bumpkin is exactly what I am." ”

“ John told her, after he had ordered the cocktails. "Louise has been quite lost without you, too."
"I didn't want to go away," she sighed, "but I do get so tired of not working! Although my part wasn't worth anything, I hated it being cut out. It makes one feel so aimless. One has too much time to think."
He laughed at her, pleasantly but derisively.
"Time to think!" he repeated. "Why, I have never seen you serious for five minutes in your life, except when you've been adding up Louise's housekeeping-books!" ”

“ Supposing it were true, John," she went on, "remember that it was before you knew her. Supposing it should be true, remember this—your idea of life is too absurd. Is one creed made to fit human beings who may differ in a million different ways? A woman may be as good as any ever born into the world, and yet take just a little love into her life, if [Pg 302] she be true and faithful in doing it. I don't believe there is a dearer or sweeter woman breathing than Louise, but one must have love. Don't I know it? A man may be strong enough to live without it, but a woman—never!" ”

“ Strangewey, and you may not be quite the sort of person I think you are, but I am seldom mistaken. I am an artist, you see, and we have perceptions. I think that even here the time will come when the great unrest will seize you, too, in its toils. Though the color may not fade from your hills, and though the apple-blossom may still glorify your orchard, and your flowers bloom and smell as sweetly, and your winds bring you the same music, I think that the time will come when the note in you which answers to these things, and which gives you contentment, will fail to respond. ”