"I--I--well--there was a good deal of talk at the time--but then you
know, Lee, I told you the very first time we both saw her that there
had been stories about Mary."
"Well, as it happens, she told me about this man, although not his
name. Enough, however, for me to know at once this morning who he was.
I don't intend she shall see him."
"You don't mean to tell me that you are jealous of Hohenhauer. Why,
that was nearly twenty years ago, and he is almost as old as I am."
"I'm not jealous, but I've got a hunch." He scowled again, for he
fancied he could see that old story unrolling itself in Dinwiddie's
mind. It is one thing to dismiss the past with a lordly gesture and
another to see it rise from the dead and peer from old eyes. He went
on calmly, however. "I've no faith, myself, in the making of bonfires
out of dead ashes, but all the same I scent danger and I intend to get
her away and keep her away until the day before she sails; and I'll
marry her the morning she does. I'll take no chances of their
travelling on the same steamer."
"I see. Perhaps you are right. He's a damn good-looking chap, too,
and has that princely distinction peculiar to Austrians. Some European
princes look like successful businessmen of the Middle-West. I was
once stranded at Abbazia, Austria's Riviera, during a rainy spell, and
as there were only two other people in the vast dining-room I thought
I'd speak to them. I took for granted they were Americans. He was a
big heavy man, with one of those large, round, fat, shrewd, weary faces
you see by the hundreds in the lobbies of Chicago hotels. She looked
like a New England school-marm, and wore a red plaid waist. Well--he
was the reigning prince of Carlstadt-Rudolfstein, one of those
two-by-six German principalities, and she was an Austrian archduchess.
She was the only Austrian I ever saw that didn't look like one, but her
manners were charming and we became great friends and they took me home
with them to their beautiful old castle. . . . Ah, those wonderful old
German castles! Profiteers living in them today, I suppose. But
Hohenhauer is a perfect specimen of his class--and then some. I met
him once in Paris. Intensely reserved, but opened up one night at a
small dinner. I never met a more charming man in my life. And
unquestionably one of the ablest men in Europe. . . . However, he's
sixty and you're thirty-four. If he has any influence over her it's
political, and in European politics one never knows what dark business
is going on under the surface. Good idea to get Mary away. I'll get
some fun out of it, too. Who'll you ask?"
"None of your crowd. How many bedrooms have you? I don't remember."
"Ten. If you want a large party you can turn in with me. There are
twin beds in every room. I don't know how Mary'll like it; she's a
luxurious creature, you know, and we don't go to the woods to be
comfortable----"
"You forget she got pretty well used to worse while she was running
that hospital. And hardy people never do mind."
"True. I'll give her a room to herself, for I don't see her
doubling-up, at all events. That would leave eight good-sized rooms.
Don't ask all married couples, Lee, for heaven's sake. Let's have two
girls, at least. But the season is still on. Sure you can get
anybody?"
"Of course. They're not all pinned down to regular jobs, and will be
only too glad to get out of New York after a grinding winter. The
novelty of a house party in the mountains at this season will appeal to
them. I'll call up Gora first."
He was crossing the room to the telephone when Mr. Dinwiddie said
hesitatingly: "And so--so--you're really going to marry Mary? Have you
thought what it means? I mean your own career. She'll never live
here--she's out of the picture and knows it."
Clavering took down the receiver and called Miss Dwight's number. Mr.
Dinwiddie sighed and shrugged his shoulders. But his eyes were bright.
He would have a love drama under his very nose.