Topham’s heart was light as he approached the table of the new
arrivals. Lillian Byrd was the last person he had expected to see in
Berlin. He had supposed her 3000 miles away at her home in Washington.
He had not seen her for two years--not since the day that she had
refused to marry him. He had known her pretty nearly all his life, but
he had not thought of her as a possible sweetheart until the day when
she had come back to her Washington home from college and met him there
on his first assignment to Washington duty after leaving Annapolis.
Deliberate in all things else, he, like all the men of his family, was
impetuous in love; and he had spoken to her almost at once. She had
laughed at him, but in a way that invited further pursuit. In fact, he
told himself she had deliberately kept him in tow until she could find
someone better. Unattached young men were scarce in Washington, and few
girls had a good-looking young naval officer utterly to themselves;
and Miss Byrd did not care to lose her cavalier. For the whole of one
Washington season she kept him; but when she came back the next fall
after a summer at Newport, she had changed. Perhaps it was because she
had made many more friends; perhaps it was because she had made some
one particular friend; at any rate, she did not care so much for his
attention--and she showed it. He reproached her, and demanded immediate
acceptance or final rejection. He got rejection, and instantly applied
for sea duty, hoping that absence would ease the pain.
Two years at sea had not made him forget. Either the lack of congenial
friends or something that struck deeper had kept her face always before
him. And then, in a day, in a moment, it had dimmed.
It seemed to Topham a very wonderful thing that he should meet her
again, at almost the moment when he had first seen another woman whose
image had effaced hers. For he no longer doubted what had happened to
him that afternoon.
He passed by her chair, then faced her and raised his hat.
“Good-evening, Miss Byrd,” he said, smilingly. With perfect
self-possession, the girl stared at him; then she held out her hand
with a glad smile.
“Lieutenant Topham!” she exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. “Oh! I _am_
glad.” That was ever the way with Lillian Byrd; the little emphasis
in her tones always singled out the one addressed and made him feel
himself the most important person in her world.
“Let me present you to Lord Maxwell,” she went on, warmly. “This
is Lieutenant Topham of the United States Navy, Lord Maxwell,” she
finished, with a flash of her marvellous eyes.
Lord Maxwell rose and held out his hand. “I already have the pleasure
of Mr. Topham’s acquaintance,” he declared. “My daughter, Ellen, Mr.
Topham.”
Topham bowed, and his lordship went on. “We are about to sample an
American drink, Mr. Topham,” he said, “One highly recommended by Miss
Byrd. It is, I believe, known as ice cream soda. Of course, it is
prepared here à la German, and I can not speak as to its merits. Will
you sit down and tempt fate with us?”
Walter laughed. “I shall be delighted,” he said, “but I have a friend
with me. If I might present him--”
Lord Maxwell glanced at the table, where Ouro Preto sat. “Ah! Yes! The
Count of Ouro Preto. I have heard of him. Present him by all means.”
Topham beckoned, and the count came over. Introductions followed. Lord
Maxwell offered Topham a seat beside his own, and the ladies made room
for Ouro Preto between them.
Lady Ellen, an undeveloped English girl, paused for something to say,
and Miss Byrd, true to American canons, rushed into the breach.
“Isn’t it lovely,” she gushed, addressing Ouro Preto. “We were just
admiring it all!”
Her voice and accent, like that of most Virginians, was low and
cultured, but to Topham, there seemed something almost English in her
locutions--something he had never noticed in the old days.
The count looked around as if he had never seen the place before.
“Heavens!” he exclaimed. “So it is!”
All laughed, Lillian most brightly of all. “One can tell that you are
used to it,” she mocked. “It takes strangers to note beauties--”
“Not always, Miss Byrd.”
“Oh!” Lillian clapped her hands, gaily. “Good!” she nodded. “But I
don’t mean beauties that you can see; I mean those you can hear. Stop!
Look! Listen!”
The night was clear. A near-by fountain chuckled in the moonlight; the
leaves overhead stirred, rustling in the wind that moved along the tree
tops. Far away, the mellow notes of a bugle sounded softly above the
tinkle of the glasses. Frogs croaked in basso from the ponds. A lion in
a near-by house roared, and a chorus of lesser animals answered.
“I always see in terms of sound,” explained Miss Byrd.
The ice cream soda was brought. The English tasted it gingerly; the
Americans hopefully. Ouro Preto gulped his and swore that it was
delicious.
Lord Maxwell turned to Topham and plunged into a technical discussion
of the future of the airship in war, leaving Ouro Preto to the
girls--that is to say, to Lillian, for Lady Ellen, unable to keep up,
contented herself with an occasional “Fancy!” coupled with glances full
of admiration for the two handsome creatures by her side.
Lord Maxwell, seeing them engrossed, dropped his voice. “I’m surprised
to see the count here,” he observed. “He and his sister are to see the
Emperor at eleven o’clock, aren’t they? That’s only two hours from
now.”
Topham started. He had been listening to his lordship, but he had been
watching Lillian, wondering how he could have thought her so beautiful.
The regular features, the peachy complexion, the melting blue eyes were
all there, but something had gone out of them, leaving them insipid.
Almost without thinking, he was comparing them with the rich coloring
of the Countess Elsa.
Lord Maxwell’s words startled him. He had distinctly understood Ouro
Preto to say that his approaching audience was set for the next day;
and he had certainly said nothing about his sister.
“Not tonight! Tomorrow,” he answered. “I’m surprised that you have
heard of it. I did not know the fact was generally known.”
“It isn’t,” rejoined his lordship, drily; “and it’s not for tomorrow;
it’s for eleven o’clock tonight. I suppose your government does not
object?”
Topham stared. He remembered that Ouro Preto had also inquired as
to possible objections. “Why should it,” he questioned, in some
bewilderment. “What has the United States to do with the creation or
re-creation of a German duchy?”
Lord Maxwell glanced sharply at the American, as if wondering whether
his words were as ingenuous as his tones. For a moment he hesitated;
then went on.
“One never can tell,” he remarked, lightly. “He is an old friend of
yours, I believe?”
Topham shook his head. “Not an old friend,” he corrected. “I only met
him today. He seems a very pleasant fellow.”
Lord Maxwell choked over the last of his soda. “I--ah--believe he is
noted for his--er--affectionate nature,” he murmured, when he recovered
his voice. “I should like to know whether the count’s friendship for
you survives his meeting with the Emperor. Come and see me in a few
days, won’t you, Mr. Topham?”
Topham smiled. “I wish I could,” he declared. “But I’m off tomorrow
afternoon!”
“Ah! Is it so? I’m sorry. I should have liked to see more of you.”
Lord Maxwell rose. “If you girls have seen enough,” he remarked,
suggestively; “I think we had better be going.”
With a muttered apology, Ouro Preto glanced at his watch; then leaped
to his feet with an exclamation. “A most important engagement,” he
declared. “I must take a cab and hurry. I had no idea it was so late.
Your fair kinswomen make the time fly, Lord Maxwell,” he continued. “I
have to thank them for a most delightful hour.”