XI

She opened the door as he ran up the steps. "I never ask my servants

to sit up," she said. "Judge Trent warned me that the American servant

is as difficult to keep as to get and must be humored. When I think of

the wages I pay these pampered creatures and the amount of food they

consume, and then of my half-starved friends in Austria, it makes me

sick--sick!"

There being no reply to the axiomatic truth involved in these words,

Clavering followed her silently into the library. The log fire was

still burning and he hastily replenished it. They took their little

supper standing and then seated themselves in easy chairs on either

side of the hearth.

"Why don't you bring over your own servants?" he asked. "Time and

democracy might ruin them, but meanwhile you would have comfort.

Surely you brought your maid?"

"I've had no maid until now since the beginning of the war. I rarely

left the hospital. Heaven knows where my other servants are. The

young men were mobilized and those that returned alive were either

killed in the revolution or turned revolutionists themselves. No doubt

the new government would have turned Mary's palace in Buda Pesth into a

tenement house if it had not still been a hospital. We left during the

revolution and lived in Vienna. Servants with the virus of Bolshevism

in their veins would be worse than these."

"Were you ever in danger?"

"Oh, many times," she said indifferently. "Who was not?"

"Was that what broke your cousin down?"

"That and the hard work in Vienna trying to relieve the distress--while

half-starved herself. Of course we had almost no money until the

United States Government restored our properties."

"Will she join you here when she is well?"

"No, Mary Zattiany will never be seen again."

"Ah? As bad as that? Her friends will be distressed. I understand

they saw her abroad from time to time before the war--particularly Mrs.

Oglethorpe. That old set is very loyal."

"Loyal! Oh, yes. They are loyal. Mrs. Oglethorpe was ready to give

me over to the police. She seemed to think that I had murdered

Mary--no doubt during the revolution, when it would have been quite

easy. And she seemed to resent quite bitterly my resemblance to Mary

in her youth--as if I had committed a theft."

"Probably it made her feel her age. I wonder you saw her."

"I was coming down the stairs as she crossed the hall. Be sure I would

not have seen her if I could have avoided it."

"Why?" He left his seat restlessly and leaned against the mantelshelf.

"That sounds impertinent. All my questions have been impertinent, I am

afraid. But--I should warn you--I gather that both Mr. Dinwiddie and

Mrs. Oglethorpe think there is something wrong--that is, unexplained."

"Really?" She looked intensely amused. "But that is interesting. Of

course I knew of Mr. Dinwiddie's curiosity from Judge Trent--but I

rather thought----"

"Oh, yes, you have floored him completely. But I fancy he's more

curious than ever. I--I--wish you would confide in me. I might be

better able to defend you if the necessity arose."

"Don't you believe I am what I represent myself to be?"

"It is a terrible thing to say to a woman like you, but----"

He expected her to rise in her majesty and order him to leave the

house, but she merely smiled again and said:

"You forget Judge Trent. Do you think if I were an impostor he would

vouch for me?"

"I believe you could make any man believe what you wished him to

believe."

"Except yourself."

"Remember that a newspaper man---- However, I'll speak only for

myself." He thrust his hands into his pockets and tried to summon his

saturnine expression, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that he

looked merely wistful and boyish and that this highly accomplished

woman of the world was laughing at him. "For my own sake I want to

know," he blurted out. "I haven't an idea why I suspect you, and it is

possible that you are what you say you are. Certainly you are far too

clever not to have an alibi it would be difficult to puncture. But I

_sensed_ something that first night . . . something beyond the fact

that you were a European and did a curious thing--which, however, I

understood immediately. . . . It was something more. . . . I don't

think I can put it into words . . . you were there, and yet you were

not there . . . somebody else seemed to be looking out of your

eyes . . . even when Dinwiddie thought he had explained the

matter. . . ."

"You mean when he assumed that I was the illegitimate daughter of Mary

Zattiany. Poor Mary! She always wanted a daughter--that is, when her

own youth was over. That is the reason she was so fond of me. Do you

think I am Mary's bastard?"

"I did--I don't now. . . . I don't know what to think. . . . I have

never lost that first impression--wholly."

She stirred slightly. Was it a movement of uneasiness? He was

horribly embarrassed, but determined to hold his ground, and he kept

his eyes on her face, which retained its expression of mocking

amusement.

"But you think I am an adventuress of some sort."

"The word does not apply to you. There is no question that you are a

great lady."

"Of course I might be an actress," she said coolly. "I may have been

on the stage in Vienna when the war broke out, become accidentally

associated with Countess Zattiany, won her confidence, owing to the

extraordinary resemblance--our blood may have met and mingled in

Cro-Magnon days--stolen her papers, led her to talk of her youth--of

course every one knew Countess Zattiany's record in European

Society--forged her power of attorney with the aid of an infatuated

clerk, poisoned her--and here I am!"

He laughed. "Bully plot for the movies. That is a new angle, as they

say. I hadn't thought of it. And a good actress can put over

anything. I once heard a movie queen, who was the best young

aristocrat, in looks and manner, I ever saw on the screen, say to her

director--repeating a telephone conversation--'I says and he says and

then I seen he hadn't heard me.'"

For the first time since he had known her she threw back her head and

laughed heartily. Even her eyes looked young and her laugh was musical

and thrilling.

Then she demanded: "And do you think I am an actress--who got an

education somehow?"

"I think you are an actress, but not that sort. Your imaginative

flight leaves me cold."

"Perhaps you think I had Mary's personality transferred and that it

exists side by side with my own here in this accidental shell. There

are great scientists in Vienna."

"Ah!" He looked at her sharply. "Button, button--I feel a sensation

of warmth somewhere."

She laughed again, but her eyes contracted and almost closed. "I fear

you are a very romantic young man as well as a very curious one."

"I deserved that. Well, I am curious. But not so curious

as--interested."

"I hope you are not falling in love with me." Her deep voice had risen

to a higher register and was light and gay.

"I am half in love with you. I don't know what is going to happen----"

"And you want to protect yourself by disenchantment?"

"Perhaps."

"And you think it is my duty . . ."

"Possibly I'd fall in love with you anyway, but I'd like to know where

I stand. I have a constitutional hatred of mystery outside of fiction

and the drama."

"Ah." She gazed into the fire. "Mr. Dinwiddie, no doubt, is making

investigations. If he verified my story, would you still disbelieve?"

"I should know there was something back of it all."

"You must have been a good reporter."

"One of the best."

"I suppose it is that."

"Partly. I don't think that if you were not just what you are I'd care

a hang. Other people's affairs don't excite me. I've outgrown mere

inquisitiveness."

"That is rather beside the point, isn't it? It all comes back to

this--that you are afraid of falling in love with me."

"You don't look as if it would do me any good if I did."

"Why not let it go at that?"

"I think the best thing I can do is to get out altogether."

She rose swiftly and came close to him. "Oh, no! I am not going to

let you go. You are the only person on this continent who interests

me. I shall have your friendship. And you must admit that I have done

nothing----"

"Oh, no, you have done nothing. You've only to be." He wondered that

he felt no desire to touch her. She looked lovely and appealing and

very young. But she radiated power, and that chin could not melt.