Dick Carleton had gone before Vanno brought Mary back to the Winters'
flat. Unconsciously he was enjoying his heartbreak. It was satisfactory
to prove the depth and acuteness of his own feelings, for sometimes he
had feared that he might not be capable of a great love, a love in the
"grand manner," such as swept off their feet men in the novels and plays
which women adored. Now he believed himself to be in the throes of such
a love and was secretly proud of his passion, but the pain of seeing
Prince Vanno with Mary was rather too real, too sharp for analytical
enjoyment; and when he could, Dick avoided twisting the knife in his
wound.
Rose and George Winter had been alone together only for a few minutes,
and there had been no time to decide upon any plan of action, when Mary
and Vanno came in.
The girl was looking radiant, for in the excitement of bargaining for
land she had forgotten, not the little procession to which men lifted
their hats, but the heavy sense of impending loss it had laid upon her
heart. Rose thought that she had never seen Mary in such beauty. She
seemed to exhale happiness; and the fancy flashed through the mind of
the older woman that the girl's body was like a transparent vase filled
to its crystal brim with the wine of joy and life. To tell the news of
Hannaford's death would be to pour into the vase a dark liquid, and
cloud the opalescent wine. Still, Mary must be told, and it would be
better, safer, for her to know before she opened the letter with the
Italian postmark; otherwise something written there might come upon her
with a shock. Rose and her husband glanced at one another. Each was
hoping that the other would find a way to begin.
Mary had come to feel very happily at home with the Winters in the short
time she had spent with them; and often at night when she dreamed of
being at the Villa Bella Vista she waked thankfully, with a sense of
escape from something unknown yet vaguely terrible. She could talk with
Rose and George Winter as with old friends, and Vanno too had the
feeling of having known them both for a long time.
They began to tell of their adventures with the Gonzales family at
Roquebrune, and Rose caught at the excuse to put off the moment she
dreaded.
"It was such fun up there!" Mary exclaimed. "I'd no idea that one bought
land by the square yard, or metre; but it's the way here, apparently;
and Vanno's going to give that handsome young man who's engaged to your
maid twelve francs a metre for his _terrain_, although there's no road
to it. But really that's a great advantage according to the father, a
large yellow old man with no hair to speak of, and only one tooth, round
which his words seem to eddy as water eddies round a stone in a pool.
It was fascinating to watch! We're to have crowds of fireflies, because
there'll be no motor dust; and the saying among the peasants is that the
_mouches brillantes_ search always with their lanterns, for a lost
brother. And birds will '_se coucher dans les roses chez nous_.' Isn't
that a darling expression? Think of having birds go to bed in your
roses! So you see, the land's quite worth the twelve francs, because
there's no road; and I almost hope there'll never be one, for Vanno and
I shan't want to come down often from our castle in the air, where the
view's so wonderful. There's no water there yet; but the most fun of all
to-day was the water-diviner the old Gonzales brought. He squatted on
the ground, holding an immense silver watch by a chain--a little gnome
of a man with a huge head thatched with gray hair. As he swung his
watch, tendons in his throat worked as chicken's claws do scratching for
worms; and whenever his watch began to swing violently it meant that he
was over a spring. He found three springs within a few yards of each
other, so we've only to dig, and get torrents of water."
"I'm sure you were children in the hands of those shrewd peasants," said
Rose, "unless your friend the curé was with you."
"No, he wasn't, but he sent a man to translate the _patois_, for the old
Gonzales can't speak much French; and it was lucky we had this man to
take our part, because of a big caroubier-tree on the place which
belongs to a distant cousin of the Gonzales, and has been in his family
for generations. Vanno must buy it separately, otherwise the owner will
have a right to come and beat it all night if he likes, or tether
animals under the branches. Fortunately the curé's friend warned us in
time."
"Gonzales is rather a celebrated old chap," George Winter remarked,
composing his mind as Mary talked on. "He made a reputation by refusing
a fortune in order to keep a tiny _baraque_ of a house which he and his
wife had lived in for forty years."
"So he told us," said Vanno. "A wonderful story; it sounded too good to
be true."
"Was it about the Russian countess who wanted to buy a large piece of
land, and all the other peasant owners were keen to sell, except
Gonzales, who had a bit about twenty yards square, exactly in the
middle?" asked Rose.
"Yes, and the countess went up and up in her bidding from two thousand
francs to four hundred thousand; but Gonzales wouldn't sell, because he
liked the view. He told us that he still lives in the _baraque_, though
he owns other houses and much land."
"Perfectly true," said Rose. "I walk up and chat with him sometimes.
He's very rich for a peasant, and shrewd, though stupid too, for he has
a horror of banks and hides his money heaven knows where. He had
thousands of francs in banknotes in a cellar among his potatoes, and
they were all eaten by rats; but he only shrugged his shoulders and said
'twas no worse than having them devoured by speculators. Oh, these
peasants of the Riviera are wonderful!"
"Vanno and I will make friends with them when we have a house up there,"
said Mary. "Maybe it will be ready next year. Who knows? Vanno says we
must come every season, if only for a few weeks, just to show ourselves
that we care for other things than the Casino. And then, how delightful
to see our friends! You, who have been so good to me, and Captain
Hannaford, if he's living in his Italian château----"
"Dear, he won't be there," said Rose, laying her hand on Mary's, as the
two sat together on the flowery chintz sofa.
"Why--what makes you think that?" Mary asked quickly, noticing at last
the pallor of Rose's face.
"I don't think. I know. George and I have been wondering how we were to
tell you, because you and Captain Hannaford were such good friends."
"Were? Oh, Mrs. Winter, he is not--dead? But no, we met him walking day
before yesterday. He looked--much as usual. Only perhaps a little pale."
"His heart must have been weak," Rose said. "You know, he didn't sleep
well. And a little while ago they found that he'd passed away in the
night quite peacefully. They believe it must have been an overdose of
veronal. He was in the habit of taking it."
Mary sprang up, her hands clasped and pressed against her breast. All
colour was drained from her face. There was a look of horror in her
eyes, as if she saw some dreadful thing which others could not see. But
Rose thought that she knew what brought the look, and hurried on before
Mary could speak. "Such accidents have been happening often lately.
People oughtn't to be allowed to buy drugs and take any dose they
choose."
"It--they do say that--that it was an accident?" Mary stammered, the
blood flowing slowly back to cheeks and lips.
"Oh, yes. Dick, who told us, said so at once. And everybody else here
will say it, you may be sure."
Vanno went to Mary, and taking her clasped hands, with gentle force drew
her against his shoulder, in true Latin indifference to the presence of
others. "Darling, don't look so desperate," he said. "Poor Hannaford
wasn't a happy man in his life. I think he must be glad to die."
"Ah, that is the reason I----" Mary stopped. She had not told him or any
one that Hannaford had wished to be more than a friend to her. It had
not seemed right to tell even Vanno about another's love and
disappointment. Almost it would have been, she felt, like boasting.
"Perhaps George and I might have let you go on being happy while you
were with us," Rose said, "if a letter hadn't come addressed to you in
Captain Hannaford's handwriting. It was better for you to know
everything before opening it, just in case----" Rose did not finish her
sentence, but, getting up, went to the mantelpiece, where she had placed
the envelope in front of a gilded French clock that looked pitifully
frivolous as a background.
"Would you like us to go out, and let you read your letter alone with
the Prince?" she asked, as she gave the envelope to Mary.