The party of four started for the embassy on foot, taking their way
to where the Charlottenburg Drive cut straight through the noble
Thiergarten to the Branderberger Thor and the streets of old Berlin. A
few yards from the zoological garden the dazzle of the lamps died away,
and only the big stars, flaring in the heavens, lighted the broad white
road.
Divining the Americans’ wish to exchange reminiscences, Lord Maxwell
and his daughter stepped ahead, leaving the other two to follow.
The wind was rustling through the leaves; the air was damp but warm
and languorous; the night seemed made for sentiment. Topham felt it
and wondered what Miss Byrd expected him to say. Not knowing, he said
nothing.
Miss Byrd, however, either did not feel sentimental or preferred to
take another way to show it. “Well, Walter,” she began, “I suppose I
ought to ask about everybody and then you ought to ask about everybody
and by the time we have learned all about everybody, we should be at
the embassy saying good-night, without either of us knowing anything
we really wanted to know. So suppose we take everybody’s health for
granted and talk of things we really care about.”
Topham started. This girl was not the Lillian Byrd he had known.
Bright, witty, and attractive she yet seemed to him almost a stranger.
Perhaps, he pondered, it was because he no longer loved her, and
yet--and yet--the Lillian Byrd he had known of old had possessed a
very special air of refinement--one bringing memories of lavender and
stately homes and dear old-fashioned ladies, while this girl seemed
hardened, metallic, with a laugh that tinkled out of tune. He was
silent, not knowing what to say.
Miss Byrd noticed his hesitation and attributed it instantly to the
right cause.
“You think I’m changed, don’t you?” she demanded. “Oh! you needn’t
trouble to deny it! I _am_ changed. Goodness knows I’ve had enough to
change anybody. You didn’t know that I was that dreadful thing--a lady
journalist--did you? I am! I’m on the New York Gazette.”
“Good Heavens! You--you don’t mean that you are corresponding for
Risdon’s paper. How in the world--”
“That’s what I mean. I’ve been doing it for two years, and working for
the Gazette is mighty hard on refinement. I can pretend still if the
atmosphere is right. I haven’t forgotten the old airs and graces, and
I put them on at times--when I go back to Washington to see dear Aunt
Polly or when--well, tonight, for instance, when I had an object. But
they don’t fit any more, Mr. Topham; they don’t fit!”
There was a tremble in the girl’s voice that suggested tears and made
Topham feel acutely uncomfortable. The darkness hid his distress while
he sought unreadily for some response and found none.
Nor did the girl speak again at once. In silence the two walked on
through the fragrant night, the massed foliage rising on either side, a
network against the sky. Here and there white statues gleamed, ghostly
in the darkness, and at long intervals a street lamp cast a circle of
yellow light. From off to the right came the noise of running water
and the distant creak of oars or of cordage as some huge barge crept
slowly along the invisible Spree. Now and then an electric car swept
brilliantly along the drive.
At last the girl, with an obvious attempt at flippancy, spoke again.
“The new style comes easy to me,” she said; “so easy that I guess it
must be nearer my real self than the older one you used to know. I like
it, though I know I ought to be ashamed of it. I look back on the old
days as--as a divorceè looks back on her first honeymoon, I suppose--as
a mighty pleasant time but not for her any more.”
“But--but why--”
“Don’t you know. Hadn’t you heard about father? Really? Well, he lost
his place in the War Department and then the panic came along and took
his money; and then his health failed; and it was up to sister Eleanor
and poor silly me to look after him and Aunt Polly. There was nobody
else to do it, you see. Sister Eleanor got a job as social secretary
to one of those wild western senators, but nobody seemed to want yours
truly. I couldn’t get a Government post because dad had been in the
service so long that he had lost his residence in Kentucky, and of
course nobody from the District has a chance for appointment. So at
last it came down to a choice between seeing dad and Aunt Polly suffer
and becoming a reportress--how I used to loathe them! Mr. McNew liked
my style and sent me over to write up Europe six months ago. I’ve lived
and dad has had some comforts and I don’t think Europe has suffered
much. Anyway, it’s got to take its chance. I made friends with Lady
Ellen in England, and she invited me to visit her in Berlin, and here I
am. They like me because I am ‘so American’--when I want to be.”
“American! I thought you were very English tonight. You had the accent
pat.”
Miss Byrd laughed, a little harshly. “I always was a good mimic, wasn’t
I?” she asked. “Of course, it’s hard for Americans to learn English;
it’s so much like their own language. But, my word, old chappy, I
fawncy I’ve caught the bally idea, don’t you know?”
Topham chuckled. “You surely have!” he declared. “You fooled Ouro Preto
completely. He thinks you are English. Indeed, I shouldn’t wonder if he
thought you kin to Lord Maxwell.”
“Nor I,” returned Miss Byrd, drily. “You needn’t bother to undeceive
him, Walter. His belief may come in handy. He’s from Brazil, you know,
and I’m going to that out-of-the-way country, pretty soon.”
“Really?”
“Really! I’m going to do the east coast and perhaps the west coast for
the Gazette--write it up commercially, you know, in my racy style.”
The girl hesitated; then: “Oh! how I hate it all!” she burst out. “Oh!
Walter! Walter! Why didn’t you marry me while I was a real lady?”
Topham hesitated. He was not a ready talker, and such an opening called
for quick wit or mature consideration.
“Never mind! You needn’t answer! You dear good fellow! It was my fault,
of course. I had ideas above a young navy officer in those days. I
haven’t now. But don’t be afraid. I’m not fishing for a proposal. I
couldn’t live up to you now any more than I can live up to Aunt Polly’s
befo’ de wah standards.”
Topham looked at the girl with sadly mixed feelings. He assured
himself that his feeling for her, such as it was, had vanished. Yet
her seemingly cheerful renunciation was not altogether as welcome as
it should have been. While he was considering his answer, Miss Byrd
glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Who is she, Walter?” she
demanded.
Topham started in good earnest. Was his secret as plainly to be read as
that. “She?” he stammered.
“Of course! The one, the only she. Don’t tell me you haven’t met her,
for I know better.”
Topham found his tongue. “I never really saw ‘her’ till today,” he
said, hypocritically, with a smile and a bow. “Now that you have come--”
“Oh! nonsense! Walter! You never did know how to flirt. None of your
family ever did. Their directness in love is a tradition in Virginia.
You never were in love with me, really. So”--with a sudden change of
tone--“so you only ‘really’ met her today, did you? I suppose you’ll
ran off with her tomorrow--as your father did. But there! I won’t tease
you. Are you going back to God’s country soon?”
Topham drew a breath of relief. Most navy and army officers are
professional squires of dames and either flirt, gossip, or drivel
whenever they come into touch with a petticoat. But Topham, as
Miss Byrd had suggested, did none of these. Women, especially the
empty-headed ones who talked only personalities, thought him heavy.
Just what Miss Byrd thought did not appear.
“Not for a year, at least, I think,” he answered. “I am on my way now
to Tokio. My ship leaves Brindisi day after tomorrow and I must leave
tomorrow night to be sure to catch her. I came overland from Hamburg
and stopped over here to see Rutile, the secretary of our embassy. He
and your chief, Risdon, were both in my class at the naval academy.”
Miss Byrd listened carelessly. “So you are going to Japan, are you?
That means San Francisco sooner or later, of course. You’ll probably be
back in the United States before I am.”
“How long will you stay in Berlin?”
“No time at all. I go to England tomorrow, and sail for Brazil in a
month. Now that I’ve seen you and learned that you’ve found another
and are her’n, there’s nothing more for me to do here!” And Miss Byrd
laughed, not quite genuinely, perhaps.
Topham, however, noticed nothing amiss in her tones. “It’s superfluous
for me to say that I’m sorry you’re going,” he answered; “seeing that I
won’t be here myself. May I call and say good-by tomorrow?”
Miss Byrd hesitated. “You probably wouldn’t find me,” she declared
frankly. “I’m a working woman now and I’ve got to go and interview two
or three fussy old diplomats. I don’t know when I’ll be at home. But
I’m going to be at the American embassy some time in the afternoon,
and I’ll probably get a chance to say ‘auf wiedersehen’ there. Now,
good-night! Here we are at Lord Maxwell’s.”