Those who seemed least concerned were the captain and Janet, who sat
together and were engrossed in little jokes that passed between them,
and were not heard or regarded by the rest of the company.
'This is very unfortunate,' said Mrs. Sidebottom, 'for we had made a
plan to go to the hospice together, and she would have paid her share of
the carriage.'
Salome looked into her plate; her colour came and went. She slid her
hand into that of her husband, and whispered, 'I did not mean to
reproach you. I am sure you were right.'
'I was right,' answered Philip; 'something she said appeared to me a
reflection on you and I fired up. I am your husband, and am bound to do
so.'
'I am quite sure, then, you misunderstood her,' said Salome; 'dear Miss
Durham could not--no, I do not mean that--would not say a word against
me. Of course I know I have plenty of faults, and she cannot have failed
to observe them; but she would not dream of alluding to them, least of
all to you.'
'That is possible,' answered Philip. 'And I will say or do something to
pass it off. But, I hope you see that I did the correct thing in taking
your part, even if no slight was intended.'
'Of course, Philip.'
Then Salome stood up and said, 'I will go to her. I will tell her there
was a misunderstanding. It will come best from me, as I was the
occasion.'
Philip nodded. It was certainly best that Salome should do this, and
save him the annoyance and--well, yes, the humiliation of an apology.
When Salome was gone, Philip spoke to the eldest Labarte girl, but found
her uninteresting; and the younger sisters looked at him with
ill-concealed dissatisfaction. He had come to Andermatt and spoiled
their party. They had been cheerful and united before. Miss Durham had
been infinitely amusing, and now Philip had introduced discord, was
wooden and weariful. They wished he had remained at home in smoky,
foggy England; if he came--he should have left the fog and chill behind
him, instead of diffusing it over a contented and merry party. Mrs.
Sidebottom had left the table to haggle with the head waiter over a
paper-cutter with a chamois leg as handle, that she wanted to buy and
send as a present to Jeremiah, but was indisposed to pay for it the
price asked by the waiter.
'But, madam,' said the waiter, 'if you do not take him at de price,
Mademoiselle Durham vill; she have admired and wanted to buy him, and
she goes away to-day.'
'Miss Durham going!' exclaimed Mrs. Sidebottom, and rushed back to the
table to announce the news. 'Why--who will go halves with us in
vehicles! This is your doing, Philip. You have offended her, and are
driving her away.'
The announcement produced silence; and all eyes were turned on Philip,
those of the Labarte girls with undisguised indignation. Even the
captain and Janet ceased their conversation. An angel may have passed
through the room, but he must have been a crippled one, so long did he
take in traversing it; nor can he have been a good one, so little light
and cheerfulness did he diffuse.
'Well!' said Philip, 'what if she be going? That is no concern of
ours.'
Then he stood up and left the room. He was in an unamiable mood. This
party did not show him the consideration that was due to him; and found
fault with him about trifles. He left the hotel, and wandered to the
aviary, where he remained contemplating the scowling eagle. The bird
perhaps recognised a similarity of mood in his visitor, for he turned
his head, ruffled his feathers, and looked at Philip.
'Well,' said Philip, 'that is the king of the birds, is it? To my mind
a bumptious, ill-conditioned, dissatisfied, and uninteresting fowl.'
Then he moved in front of the marmot cage. 'And these are marmots, that
spend more than half their life in sleep. Very like Lambert Sidebottom
or Pennycomequick, as he is pleased to call himself now.'
He looked at the eagle again. 'Pshaw! Pluck him of his
self-consciousness as Aquila--and what is he? What is he?'
Then he wandered away among the flower-beds and bushes of syringa
without a purpose, grumbling to himself at the manners of those
Labartes, and the figures that Lambert and Janet made, laughing over
inane jokes, and regretting that he had allowed Salome to go in search
of the Chicago lady.
Salome in the meantime had hastened to her friend's room, the number of
which she knew, and found her packing her portmanteau and dress-boxes.
The room was strewn with dresses.
'But,' exclaimed Salome on entering, 'what is the meaning of this? Miss
Durham! You are surely not going to leave?'
'Certainly I am,' answered the American lady. 'I have been insulted
here, and shall leave the place for one where there are better manners.'
'Oh, don't go. My husband did not mean to offend you. I do not know
what he said, but I am quite sure he would do nothing ungentlemanly,
unkind. He has had a long journey, and this and other matters had just
put him in a condition of nervous excitement. If you wish it he will
explain, but surely you will take my word that no impertinence was
intended.'
Miss Durham looked at Salome steadily.
'The word has been said.'
'But,' pleaded Salome, 'my husband will unsay it. I entreat you forget
and forgive.'
'I cannot. It is not in my nature.'
'Not forgive? Oh, Miss Durham, half the sweetness and happiness of life
is made up of forgiveness.'
'Tastes differ,' said the American, and stooped to her work again.
Salome went to her and arrested her hands. 'I will not, I cannot allow
you to go. I should ever feel an ache in my heart to think that you had
gone away without reconciliation.' Half laughing, half crying, she
added: 'I thought that if it could possibly be that you and my husband
should meet, you would become close friends--but I never supposed he
would come out here to me--I mean I did not think he could leave his
business. And now that he is here, instead of making friends with you,
a quarrel is picked and you are almost enemies.'
'Quite,' said Miss Durham coolly.
'Not so with him. If he knew how to obtain your forgiveness he would do
that thing. Is there no way in which you can be satisfied?'
'Oh yes, by obtaining satisfaction.'
Salome looked at her. The handsome face was much altered, there was a
bitterness and scorn in it she had never seen before. The dark eyebrows
were drawn together, forming a sombre, threatening bar across her face
above her splendid eyes.
'When a man has offended another, he that is injured calls out the
offender, and there is an exchange of pistol-shots. Had I here anyone
who belonged to me, anyone to stand by me and defend my character, I
would send him with a challenge to your husband, and they would fight
the matter out on the green sward by the chapel, or better,' she
laughed, 'on the Devil's Bridge. But as I have neither father, nor
brother, nor husband, I must fight for my own honour, or----'
'Or what, Miss Durham?'
'Or run away.'
Both were silent; presently Salome laughed a little nervously, and said:
'But you never fight? no woman fights.'
'Does she not?'
'Not with pistols.
'Perhaps not.'
'Nor with swords.'
'Oh no.'
'Then--with what?'
'With her proper weapons.'
'You may be quite sure my husband would throw down his arms and yield at
discretion.'
'I have little doubt.'
Salome closed the box on which Miss Durham had been engaged, and seated
herself upon it. Then she looked up with childlike entreaty into her
friend's face, and said:
'I will not allow you to go. We had schemed to have such pleasant
excursions together. We have been so happy since we have known each
other, and----I have not yet had the delight of showing you my baby--my
best treasure.'
'You will not let me run away?'
'No, no! You will forget this little affair; it was nothing. Come and
be with us again. My husband is a great reader, and knows a great deal
about things of which I am ignorant, and you have travelled and seen so
much that your society will interest him immensely. Oh, do stay, do not
go away.'
The American girl went to the window, leaned both her arms folded on it,
and looked out. She could see into the garden, and she observed Philip
there, standing before the eagle's cage. He had a little twig in his
hand, and he was thrusting it between the bars at the bird. She turned
and said to Salome:
'No--I will go. There are several reasons which urge me to go. The
insult which I received from your husband for one--and already he had
allowed me to see that he disliked and despised me----'
'No, indeed,' interrupted Salome. 'I had written to him in all my
letters about you, and--perhaps he was a little jealous of you.'
'Jealous of _me_?'
'It is a fancy of mine.'
Salome lowered her eyes.
'Oh, you fresh, you green dear!' laughed Miss Durham. 'Do you know what
jealousy is?'
'By experience? No.'
'Come,' said the American girl, seating herself beside her on the same
box, still with folded arms, resting now on her lap. 'Come! Supposing
that I, instead of being hated and despised by your husband, were
admired and loved by him. Would you not be madly jealous then?'
Salome looked round at her without flinching.
'Admire you he might, but love you----'
'More than he loved _you_!'
'He could not do it.'
The girl burst into a mocking laugh.
'What, you also hold me cheap, think there is nothing in me beside
you--beside you--to love?'
'On the contrary,' answered Salome, crimsoning to the roots of her hair,
'I am nothing, nothing at all; ignorant, foolish, fresh, and green, as
you say--and you are so beautiful, so clever, so experienced. I am
nothing whatever in comparison with you, but then Philip, I mean my
husband, you know _could_ not love you more than me, because I am his
wife.'
'Oh!' There was a depth of mockery in the tone.
Then up stood Miss Durham again, and as Salome also rose, the stranger
seized her by the shoulders, and held her at arm's length from her, and
said:
'Shall I go, or shall I stay? Shall I run away, or----'
'You shall not run away. I will clasp you in my arms and stay you,'
exclaimed Salome, and suited the action to the word.
Miss Durham loosed herself from her almost roughly.
'It were better for both that I should go.'
Again she went to the window to gasp for air. She saw Philip still
before the eagle's cage--straight, stiff, and every inch a mercantile
man. Her lip curled.
'I will go,' she said. Then she saw Beaple Yeo stalk across the
terrace. 'No'--she corrected herself hastily--'I will stay.'
*CHAPTER XLV.*
*OBER-ALP.*
After Philip had looked sufficiently long at the caged eagle, he went in
search of the captain, and found him smoking in the veranda of the
hotel.
'Lambert,' said he, 'there's a deal of fuss being made about this
American lady, but who is she?'
'Comes from Chicago,' answered the captain.
'I know that, but I want to know something more concerning her.'