"This is very nearly my idea of perfect happiness," Sophy murmured, as
she leaned across the table and listened idly while John ordered the
dinner. "Give me very little to eat, John, and talk a great deal to me.
I am depressed about myself and worried about everything!"
"And I," he declared, "am just beginning to breathe again. I don't think
I understand women, Sophy."
"Wasn't your week-end party a success?" she asked.
"Not altogether," he confessed; "but don't let's talk about it. Tell me
what is depressing you."
"About myself, or things generally?"
"Yourself, first."
"Well, the most respectable young man you ever knew in your life, who
lives in Bath, wants me to marry him. I don't think I could. I don't
think I could live in Bath, and I don't think I could marry any one. And
I've just thirteen shillings and fourpence left, I haven't paid my rent,
and my dressmaker is calling for something on account on Monday
morning."
"There's only one answer to that," John insisted cheerfully. "I am going
to lend you fifty pounds while you make your mind up about the young
man."
She made a face at him.
"I couldn't borrow money from a strange gentleman," she protested.
"Rubbish!" he exclaimed. "If you begin calling me a stranger--but
there, never mind! We'll see about that after dinner. Now what is the
other cause for depression?"
"I am not very happy about you and Louise," she observed.
"Why not?"
She hesitated. While she seemed to be pondering over her words, John
studied her almost critically. Unquestionably she was very pretty; her
fair hair was most becomingly arranged, her petite features and delicate
mouth were charming. Her complexion and coloring were exquisite, her
neck and throat very white against the plain black satin of her gown.
"In a way," she confessed at last, "it's the play that's bothering me."
"The play?" he repeated.
"You won't like it," she sighed. "The reason the production has been
delayed so long is Graillot's insistence upon calling a spade a spade.
Even with all Louise and Miles Faraday have managed to get him to leave
out, there is one scene which is certainly a little startling for
English playgoers."
"And Louise is in it?" he asked.
"Louise is the principal figure in it."
John's face darkened a little.
"I have noticed lately," he remarked gloomily, "that she rather avoids
talking about the play. I wish she'd chuck it altogether!"
Sophy shook her head.
"Louise won't do that," she said. "I sometimes think that her work is
more to her than anything else in life. I suppose you two will find a
way out of it, somehow."
"There is only one way, and Louise will have to make up her mind to
it," John declared steadfastly. "However, my time hasn't come just yet.
Until it comes, I must make the best of things. Tell me more about your
own love-affairs, Sophy."
"It isn't a love-affair at all!" she exclaimed, almost indignantly.
"Why, I am sorry. Your prospective alliance, then, shall I call it?"
"Oh, it isn't interesting," she said. "It's just a young man in Bath. He
is a lawyer and moderately well off. He has wanted me to marry him for
years. He was a friend of my brother's. Lately he has been bothering a
little more than usual--in fact, I suppose I have received what might be
called an ultimatum. He came up yesterday, and I went out with him last
night. He has gone back to Bath this morning, and I have promised to let
him know in a month. I think that is why I went out to Waterloo Bridge
in a mackintosh and got wet."
"Do you like him?" John asked practically.
"I like him, I suppose," Sophy sighed. "That's the worst of it. If I
didn't like him, there might be some chance. I can't realize myself ever
doing more than liking him in a mild sort of way; and if he expected
more, as of course he would, then I should probably hate him. He tried
to kiss me on the way to the station and I nearly scratched him. That
isn't like me, you know. I rather like being kissed sometimes."
John buried himself in the wine-list.
"Well," he admitted, "it doesn't sound very hopeful. I'm no sort of
judge in these matters, but I have heard lots of people say that one
gets on all right after marriage without caring very much before. You
don't seem to have a very comfortable life now, do you?"
"Comfortable? No, but I am free," Sophy replied quickly. "I can come in
and go out when I please, choose my own friends, give my kisses to whom
I please. Marriage--the sort of marriage mine would be--is slavery, and
nothing else. What I am afraid of," she went on, "is that when I was
down in that highly respectable old city, sitting all day in a
respectable little villa, with two servants to order about and
housekeeping-books to keep, I should feel the old pull come over me, and
some day I should chuck it all and come back here to play around under
the lights. It's rather fine to be here, you know--to be in the
atmosphere, even if the lime-light misses one."
John sighed, and regarded her thoughtfully.
"You're a queer little girl, Sophy," he said. "I don't know how to
advise you."
"Of course you don't," she answered. "No one could. As for you, I
suppose you will marry Louise. What will happen to you after that, I
don't know. Perhaps I sha'n't care so much about London then. You've
made it very nice for me, you know."
"You've made it bearable even for me," he told her. "I often think how
lonely I should have been without you to talk to. Louise sometimes is
delightfully companionable, and kind enough to turn one's head. Other
days I scarcely understand her; everything we say to one another seems
wrong. I come away and leave her simply because I feel that there is a
wall between us that I can't get over."
"There isn't really," Sophy sighed. "Louise is a dear. Considering
everything, I think she is wonderful. But you are utterly different. She
is very complex, very emotional, and she has her own standards of life.
You, on the other hand, are very simple, very faithful and honest, and
you accept the standards which have been made for you--very, very
rigidly, John."
"I wonder!" he murmured, as he looked into his wine-glass. "Sometimes I
think I am a fool. Sometimes I think I'd do better to let go the strings
and just live as others do. Sometimes ideas come into one's head that
upset principles and everything. I don't know!"
Sophy leaned across the table toward him.
"Be a little more human, John," she begged. "You must feel kind things
sometimes. Couldn't you say them? I am depressed and gloomy. Be like
other men, for once, and flirt with me a little! Try to say things, even
if you don't mean them--just for once, for a few short hours!"
He held her hand for a moment. The fingers seemed to respond to his
touch with a little thrill.
"You silly child!" he exclaimed. "If I were to begin to say all the kind
things I feel about you--"
"Begin, then--begin!" she interrupted. "What do you think of me, really?
Am I pretty? Do you like to have me here at the table with you, or is
your mind too full of Louise? Do you notice that I've a pretty frock on,
and my hair is nicely arranged? I have taken so much trouble to-night.
What are you looking at?"
John's whole expression had suddenly changed. His eyes were fixed upon
the door, his face was stern as a granite block. Sophy turned quickly
around. The _maitre d'hotel_, with another satellite in his rear, was
welcoming with much ceremony two lately arrived guests. Sophy clutched
at the table-cloth. The newcomers were Louise and the Prince of Seyre.
"I don't understand this!" John muttered, his lips twitching.
Sophy Gerard said nothing. Her cheeks were pink with excitement.
Suddenly Louise saw John and Sophy. She stood quite still for a moment;
then she came toward them, slowly and a little languidly. The prince was
still studying through his eye-glass the various tables which the head
waiter was offering for his consideration.
"What an astonishing meeting!" Louise remarked, as she laid her hand for
a moment on Sophy's shoulder. "What is going on behind my back?"
John rose very slowly to his feet. He seemed taller than ever, and
Louise's smile remained unanswered.
"The rain broke up my week-end party," he explained, "and I met Sophy in
the Strand. In any case, I intended returning to-night. I understood
that you would not be here until to-morrow about eleven o'clock."
"Those were my plans," Louise replied; "but, as you see, other things
have intervened. Our little house party, too, was broken up by this
abominable weather, and we all motored up to town. The Faradays have
gone home. The prince heard from Miles that I was at home, and
telephoned me to dine. _Me voici!_"
John was struggling with a crowd of hateful thoughts. Louise was wearing
a wonderful gown; her hair was beautifully arranged; she had the air of
a woman whose toilet was complete and perfect down to the slightest
detail. The prince's slow drawl reached them distinctly.
"It was my servant's fault, I suppose," he said. "I told him to ring up
last night and order the table for two in that corner. However, we will
take the vacant one near your desk."
He looked around and, as if for the first time, missed Louise. He came
toward them at once.
"The prince seems to have ordered his table last night," John remarked,
his tone, even to himself, sounding queer and strained.
Louise made no reply. The prince was already shaking hands with Sophy.
"I thought you were spending the week-end with my cousin, Strangewey,"
he remarked, turning to John.
"We did spend part of it together," John replied. "The weather drove us
back this afternoon."
"I congratulate you both on your good taste," said the prince. "There is
nothing more abominable than a riverside retreat out of season. We are
taking the table on the left, Louise."
He led her away, and they passed down the room. John slowly resumed his
seat.
"Sophy," he demanded hoarsely, "tell me the truth. Is there anything
between the prince and Louise?"
Sophy nervously crumbled up the toast by her side.
"The prince admires Louise, and has done so for many years," she
answered. "No one knows anything else. Louise never speaks of him to me.
I cannot tell you."
"But you must know," he persisted, with a little break in his voice.
"Forgive me, Sophy, if I make an ass of myself. First Lady Hilda, and
then Graillot, and then--well, I thought Louise might have rung up to
see whether I was at home, if she came back sooner than she expected;
and the prince took the table last night!"
She leaned over and patted him on the hand.
"Don't worry," she begged. "If Louise has to choose some day between him
and you, I don't think she'll hesitate very long. And please remember
that you were commencing to flirt with me. I insist upon it! I won't be
put off. Don't look so stern, please. You look very statuesque and
perfect, but I don't want to dine with a piece of sculpture. Remember
that I am really looking very pretty, and that I am finding you too
attractive for my peace of mind. There's your text!"
He poured a glass of wine and drank it off.
"I'll do my best," he agreed. "If it sounds like rubbish, you can still
believe that I appreciate everything you've told me. You are pretty, and
I am lucky to have you here. Now I'll try to make you believe that I
think so."
She leaned over so that her head almost touched his.
"Go on, please!" she murmured. "Even if it hurts afterward, it will be
heavenly to listen to!"