There had been a dinner party and a very small reception afterwards
at the great Embassy in Carlton House Terrace. The Ambassador, Prince
Terniloff, was bidding farewell to his wife's cousin, the Princess
Eiderstrom, the last of his guests. She drew him on one side for a
moment.
“Your Excellency,” she said, “I have been hoping for a word with you all
the evening.”
“And I with you, dear Stephanie,” he answered. “It is very early. Let us
sit down for a moment.”
He led her towards a settee but she shook her head.
“You have an appointment at half-past eleven,” she said. “I wish you to
keep it.”
“You know, then?”
“I lunched to-day at the Carleton grill room. In the reception-room I
came face to face with Leopold Von Ragastein.”
The Ambassador made no remark. It seemed to be his wish to hear first
all that his companion had to say. After a moment's pause she continued:
“I spoke to him, and he denied himself. To me! I think that those were
the most terrible seconds of my life. I have never suffered more. I
shall never suffer so much again.”
“It was most unfortunate,” the Prince murmured sympathetically.
“This evening,” she went on, “I received a visit from a man whom I took
at first to be an insignificant member of the German bourgeoisie. I
learnt something of his true position later. He came to me to explain
that Leopold was engaged in this country on secret service, that he
was passing under the name which he gave me,--Sir Everard Dominey, an
English baronet, long lost in Africa. You know of this?”
“I know that to-night I am receiving a visit from Sir Everard Dominey.”
“He is to work under your auspices?”
“By no means,” the Prince rejoined warmly. “I am not favourably inclined
towards this network of espionage. The school of diplomacy in which I
have been brought up tries to work without such ignoble means.”
“One realises that,” she said. “Leopold is coming, however, to-night, to
pay his respects to you.”
“He is waiting for me now in my study,” the Ambassador asserted.
“You will do me the service of conveying to him a message from me,”
she continued. “This man Seaman pointed out to me the unwisdom of any
association between myself and Leopold, under present conditions. I
listened to all that he had to say. I reserved my decision. I have
now considered the matter. I will compromise with necessity. I will be
content with the acquaintance of Sir Everard Dominey, but that I will
have.”
“For myself,” the Ambassador reflected, “I do not even know what Von
Ragastein's mission over here is, but if in Berlin they decide that, for
the more complete preservation of his incognito, association between you
and him is undesirable--”
She laid her fingers upon his arm.
“Stop!” she ordered. “I am not of Berlin. I am not a German. I am not
even an Austrian. I am Hungarian, and though I am willing to study your
interests, I am not willing to place them before my own life. I make
terms, but I do not surrender. Those terms I will discuss with Leopold.
Ah, be kind to me!” she went on, with a sudden change of voice. “Since
these few minutes at midday I have lived in a dream. Only one thing can
quiet me. I must speak to him. I must decide with him what I will do.
You will help?”
“An acquaintance between you and Sir Everard Dominey,” he admitted, “is
certainly a perfectly natural thing.”
“Look at me,” she begged.
He turned and looked into her face. Underneath her beautiful eyes were
dark lines; there was something pitiful about the curve of her mouth. He
remembered that although she had carried herself throughout the evening
with all the dignity which was second nature to her, he had overheard
more than one sympathetic comment upon her appearance.
“I can see that you are suffering,” he remarked kindly.
“My eyes are hot, and inside I am on fire,” she continued. “I must speak
to Leopold. Freda has asked me to stay and talk to her for an hour. My
car waits. Arrange that he drives me home. Oh! believe me, dear friend,
I am a very human woman, and there is nothing in the world to be gained
by treating me as though I were of wood or stone. To-night I can see
him without observation. If you refuse, I shall take other means. I
will make no promises. I will not even promise that I will not call out
before him in the streets that he is a liar, that his life is a lie. I
will call him Leopold Von Ragastein--”
“Hush!” he begged her. “Stephanie, you are nervous. I have not yet
answered your entreaty.”
“You consent?”
“I consent,” he promised. “After our interview, I shall bring the young
man to Freda's room and present him. You will be there. He can offer you
his escort.”
She suddenly stooped and kissed his hand. An immense relief was in her
face.
“Now I will keep you no longer. Freda is waiting for me.”
The Ambassador strolled thoughtfully away into his own den at the back
of the house, where Dominey was waiting for him.
“I am glad to see you,” the former said, holding out his hand. “For five
minutes I desire to talk to your real self. After that, for the rest of
your time in England, I will respect your new identity.”
Dominey bowed in silence. His host pointed to the sideboard.
“Come,” he continued, “there are cigars and cigarettes at your elbow,
whisky and soda on the sideboard. Make yourself at home in that chair
there. Africa has really changed you very little. Do you remember our
previous meeting, in Saxony?”
“I remember it perfectly, your Excellency.”
“His Majesty knew how to keep Court in those days,” the Ambassador went
on. “One was tempted to believe oneself at an English country party.
However, that much of the past. You know, of course, that I entirely
disapprove of your present position here?”
“I gathered as much, your Excellency.”
“We will have no reserves with one another,” the Prince declared,
lighting a cigar. “I know quite well that you form part of a network of
espionage in this country which I consider wholly unnecessary. That is
simply a question of method. I have no doubt that you are here with the
same object as I am, the object which the Kaiser has declared to me with
his own lips is nearest to his heart--to cement the bonds of friendship
between Germany and England.”
“You believe, sir, that that is possible?”
“I am convinced of it,” was the earnest reply. “I do not know what the
exact nature of your work over here is to be, but I am glad to have
an opportunity of putting before you my convictions. I believe that
in Berlin the character of some of the leading statesmen here has been
misunderstood and misrepresented. I find on all sides of me an earnest
and sincere desire for peace. I have convinced myself that there is not
a single statesman in this country who is desirous of war with Germany.”
Dominey was listening intently, with the air of one who hears unexpected
things.
“But, your Excellency,” he ventured, “what about the matter from our
point of view? There are a great many in our country, whom you and I
know of, who look forward to a war with England as inevitable. Germany
must become, we all believe, the greatest empire in the world. She must
climb there, as one of our friends once said, with her foot upon the
neck of the British lion.”
“You are out of date,” the Ambassador declared earnestly. “I see now why
they sent you to me. Those days have passed. There is room in the world
for Great Britain and for Germany. The disintegration of Russia in the
near future is a certainty. It is eastward that we must look for any
great extension of territory.”
“These things have been decided?”
“Absolutely! They form the soul of my mission here. My mandate is one of
peace, and the more I see of English statesmen and the more I understand
the British outlook, the more sanguine I am as to the success of my
efforts. This is why all this outside espionage with which Seaman is so
largely concerned seems to me at times unwise and unnecessary.”
“And my own mission?” Dominey enquired.
“Its nature,” the Prince replied, “is not as yet divulged, but if, as I
have been given to understand, it is to become closely connected with my
own, then I am very sure you will presently find that its text also is
Peace.”
Dominey rose to his feet, prepared to take his leave.
“These matters will be solved for us,” he murmured.
“There is just one word more, on a somewhat more private matter,”
Terniloff said in an altered tone. “The Princess Eiderstrom is
upstairs.”
“In this house?”
“Waiting for a word with you. Our friend Seaman has been with her this
evening. I understand that she is content to subscribe to the present
situation. She makes one condition, however.”
“And that?”
“She insists upon it that I present Sir Everard Dominey.”
The latter did not attempt to conceal his perturbation.
“I need scarcely point out to you, sir,” he protested, “that any
association between the Princess and myself is likely to largely
increase the difficulties of my position here.”
The Ambassador sighed.
“I quite appreciate that,” he admitted. “Both Seaman and I have
endeavoured to reason with her, but, as you are doubtless aware, the
Princess is a woman of very strong will. She is also very powerfully
placed here, and it is the urgent desire of the Court at Berlin to
placate in every way the Hungarian nobility. You will understand, of
course, that I speak from a political point of view only. I cannot
ignore the fact of your unfortunate relations with the late Prince, but
in considering the present position you will, I am sure, remember the
greater interests.”
His visitor was silent for a moment.
“You say that the Princess is waiting here?”
“She is with my wife and asks for your escort home. My wife also looks
forward to the pleasure of renewing her acquaintance with you.”
“I shall accept your Excellency's guidance in the matter,” Dominey
decided.
The Princess Terniloff was a woman of world culture, an artist, and
still an extremely attractive woman. She received the visitor whom her
husband brought to her in a very charming little room furnished after
the style of the simplest French period, and she did her best to relieve
the strain of what she understood must be a somewhat trying moment.
“We are delighted to welcome you to London, Sir Everard Dominey,” she
said, taking his hand, “and I hope that we shall often see you here. I
want to present you to my cousin, who is interested in you, I must tell
you frankly, because of your likeness to a very dear friend of hers.
Stephanie, this is Sir Everard Dominey--the Princess Eiderstrom.”
Stephanie, who was seated upon the couch from which her cousin had just
risen, held out her hand to Dominey, who made her a very low and formal
bow. Her gown was of unrelieved black. Wonderful diamonds flashed around
her neck, and she wore also a tiara fashioned after the Hungarian style,
a little low on her forehead. Her manner and tone still indicated some
measure of rebellion against the situation.
“You have forgiven me for my insistence this morning?” she asked. “It
was hard for me to believe that you were not indeed the person for whom
I mistook you.”
“Other people have spoken to me of the likeness,” Dominey replied. “It
is a matter of regret to me that I can claim to be no more than a simple
Norfolk baronet.”
“Without any previous experience of European Courts?”
“Without any at all.”
“Your German is wonderfully pure for an untravelled man.”
“Languages were the sole accomplishment I brought away from my misspent
school days.”
“You are not going to bury yourself in Norfolk, Sir Everard?” the
Princess Terniloff enquired.
“Norfolk is very near London these days,” Dominey replied, “and I have
experienced more than my share of solitude during the last few years. I
hope to spend a portion of my time here.”
“You must dine with us one night,” the Princess insisted, “and tell us
about Africa. My husband would be so interested.”
“You are very kind.”
Stephanie rose slowly to her feet, leaned gracefully over and kissed her
hostess on both cheeks, and submitted her hand to the Prince, who raised
it to his lips. Then she turned to Dominey.
“Will you be so kind as to see me home?” she asked. “Afterwards, my car
can take you on wherever you choose to go.”
“I shall be very happy,” Dominey assented.
He, too, made his farewells. A servant in the hall handed him his hat
and coat, and he took his place in the car by Stephanie's side. She
touched the electric switch as they glided off. The car was in darkness.
“I think,” she murmured, “that I could not have borne another moment of
this juggling with words. Leopold--we are alone!”
He caught the flash of her jewels, the soft brilliance of her eyes as
she leaned towards him. His voice sounded, even to himself, harsh and
strident.
“You mistake, Princess. My name is not Leopold. I am Everard Dominey.”
“Oh, I know that you are very obstinate,” she said softly, “very
obstinate and very devoted to your marvellous country, but you have a
soul, Leopold; you know that there are human duties as great as any your
country ever imposed upon you. You know what I look for from you, what I
must find from you or go down into hell, ashamed and miserable.”
He felt his throat suddenly dry.
“Listen,” he muttered, “until the hour strikes, I must remain to you as
to the world, alone or in a crowd--Everard Dominey. There is one way and
one way only of carrying through my appointed task.”
She gave a little hysterical sob.
“Wait,” she begged. “I will answer you in a moment. Give me your hand.”
He opened the fingers which he had kept clenched together, and he felt
the hot grip of her hand, holding his passionately, drawing it toward
her until the fingers of her other hand, too, fell upon it. So she sat
for several moments.
“Leopold,” she continued presently, “I understand. You are afraid that
I shall betray our love. You have reason. I am full of impulses and
passion, as you know, but I have restraint. What we are to one another
when we are alone, no soul in this world need know. I will be careful.
I swear it. I will never even look at you as though my heart ached for
your notice, when we are in the presence of other people. You shall come
and see me as seldom as you wish. I will receive you only as often as
you say. But don't treat me like this. Tell me you have come back. Throw
off this hideous mask, if it be only for a moment.”
He sat quite still, although her hands were tearing at his, her lips and
eyes beseeching him.
“Whatever may come afterwards,” he pronounced inexorably, “until the
time arrives I am Everard Dominey. I cannot take advantage of your
feelings for Leopold Von Ragastein. He is not here. He is in Africa.
Perhaps some day he will come back to you and be all that you wish.”
She flung his hands away. He felt her eyes burning into his, this time
with something more like furious curiosity.
“Let me look at you,” she cried. “Let me be sure. Is this just some
ghastly change, or are you an imposter? My heart is growing chilled. Are
you the man I have waited for all these years? Are you the man to whom
I have given my lips, for whose sake I offered up my reputation as a
sacrifice, the man who slew my husband and left me?”
“I was exiled,” he reminded her, his own voice shaking with emotion.
“You know that. So far as other things are concerned, I am exiled now. I
am working out my expiation.”
She leaned back in her seat with an air of exhaustion. Her eyes closed.
Then the car drove in through some iron gates and stopped in front
of her door, which was immediately opened. A footman hurried out. She
turned to Dominey.
“You will not enter,” she pleaded, “for a short time?”
“If you will permit me to pay you a visit, it will give me great
pleasure,” he answered formally. “I will call, if I may, on my return
from Norfolk.”
She gave him her hand with a sad smile.
“Let my people take you wherever you want to go,” she invited, “and
remember,” she added, dropping her voice, “I do not admit defeat. This
is not the last word between us.”
She disappeared in some state, escorted through the great front door of
one of London's few palaces by an attractive major-domo and footman in
the livery of her House. Dominey drove back to the Carlton, where in the
lounge he found the band playing, crowds still sitting around, amongst
whom Seaman was conspicuous, in his neat dinner clothes and with his
cherubic air of inviting attention from prospective new acquaintances.
He greeted Dominey enthusiastically.
“Come,” he exclaimed, “I am weary of solitude! I have seen scarcely a
face that I recognise. My tongue is parched with inaction. I like to
talk, and there has been no one to talk to. I might as well have opened
up my little house in Forest Hill.”
“I'll talk to you if you like,” Dominey promised a little grimly,
glancing at the clock and hastily ordering a whisky and soda. “I
will begin by telling you this,” he added, lowering his tone. “I
have discovered the greatest danger I shall have to face during my
enterprise.”
“What is that?”
“A woman--the Princess Eiderstrom.”
Seaman lit one of his inevitable cigars and threw one of his short, fat
legs over the other. He gazed for a moment with an air of satisfaction
at his small foot, neatly encased in court shoes.
“You surprise me,” he confessed. “I have considered the matter. I cannot
see any great difficulty.”
“Then you must be closing your eyes to it willfully,” Dominey retorted,
“or else you are wholly ignorant of the Princess's temperament and
disposition.”
“I believe I appreciate both,” Seaman replied, “but I still do not see
any peculiar difficulty in the situation. As an English nobleman
you have a perfect right to enjoy the friendship of the Princess
Eiderstrom.”
“And I thought you were a man of sentiment!” Dominey scoffed. “I
thought you understood a little of human nature. Stephanie Eiderstrom is
Hungarian born and bred. Even race has never taught her self-restraint.
You don't seriously suppose that after all these years, after all she
has suffered--and she has suffered--she is going to be content with an
emasculated form of friendship? I talk to you without reserve, Seaman.
She has made it very plain to-night that she is going to be content with
nothing of the sort.”
“What takes place between you in private,” Seaman began--
“Rubbish!” his companion interrupted. “The Princess is an impulsive, a
passionate, a distinctly primitive woman, with a good deal of the wild
animal in her still. Plots or political necessities are not likely to
count a snap of the fingers with her.”
“But surely,” Seaman protested, “she must understand that your country
has claimed you for a great work?”
Dominey shook his head.
“She is not a German,” he pointed out. “On the contrary, like a great
many other Hungarians, I think she rather dislikes Germany and Germans.
Her only concern is the personal question between us. She considers that
every moment of the rest of my life should be devoted to her.”
“Perhaps it is as well,” Seaman remarked, “that you have arranged to go
down to-morrow to Dominey. I will think out a scheme. Something must be
done to pacify her.”
The lights were being put out. The two men rose a little unwillingly.
Dominey felt singularly indisposed for sleep, but anxious at the same
time to get rid of his companion. They strolled into the darkened hall
of the hotel together.
“I will deal with the matter for you as well as I can,” Seaman promised.
“To my mind, your greatest difficulty will be encountered to-morrow. You
know what you have to deal with down at Dominey.”
Dominey's face was very set and grave.
“I am prepared,” he said.
Seaman still hesitated.
“Do you remember,” he asked, “that when we talked over your plans at
Cape Town, you showed me a picture of--of Lady Dominey?”
“I remember.”
“May I have one more look at it?”
Dominey, with fingers that trembled a little, drew from the breast
pocket of his coat a leather case, and from that a worn picture. The
two men looked at it side by side beneath one of the electric standards
which had been left burning. The face was the face of a girl, almost a
child, and the great eyes seemed filled with a queer, appealing light.
There was something of the same suggestion to be found in the lips, a
certain helplessness, an appeal for love and protection to some stronger
being.
Seaman turned away with a little grunt, and commented:
“Permitting myself to reassume for a moment or two the ordinary
sentiments of an ordinary human being, I would sooner have a dozen of
your Princesses to deal with than the original of that picture.”