Nevill had not sent word to Josette Soubise that he was coming to see
her. He wished to make the experiment of a surprise, although he
insisted that Stephen should be with him. At the door in the high white
wall of the school-garden, he asked an unveiled crone of a porteress to
say merely that two gentlemen had called.
"She'll suspect, I'm afraid," he muttered to Stephen as they waited,
"even if her sister hasn't written that I thought of turning up. But she
won't have time to invent a valid excuse, if she disapproves of the
visit."
In three or four minutes the old woman hobbled back, shuffling slippered
feet along the tiled path between the gate and the low whitewashed
house. Mademoiselle requested that ces Messieurs would give themselves
the pain of walking into the garden. She would descend almost at once.
They obeyed, Nevill stricken dumb by the thought of his coming
happiness. Stephen would have liked to ask a question or two about the
school, but he refrained, sure that if Nevill were forced into speech he
would give random answers.
This was being in love--the real thing! And Stephen dimly envied his
friend, even though Caird seemed to have small hope of winning the girl.
It was far better to love a woman you could never marry, than to be
obliged to marry one you could never love.
He imagined himself waiting to welcome Margot, beautiful Margot,
returning from Canada to him. He would have to go to Liverpool, of
course. She would be handsomer than ever, probably, and he could
picture their meeting, seven or eight weeks from now. Would his face
wear such an expression as Nevill's wore at this moment? He knew well
that it would not.
"She is coming!" said Nevill, under his breath.
The door of the schoolhouse was opening, and Nevill moved forward as a
tall and charming young woman appeared, like a picture in a dark frame.
She was slender, with a tiny waist, though her bust was full, and her
figure had the intensely feminine curves which artists have caused to be
associated with women of the Latin races; her eyes were like those of
her elder sister, but larger and more brilliant. So big and splendid
they were that they made the smooth oval of her olive face seem small.
Quantities of heavy black hair rippled away from a forehead which would
have been square if the hair had not grown down in a point like a Marie
Stuart cap. Her chin was pointed, with a deep cleft in the middle, and
the dimples Nevill had praised flashed suddenly into being, as if a ray
of sunshine had touched her pale cheeks.
"Mon bon ami!" she exclaimed, holding out both hands in token of
comradeship, and putting emphasis on her last word.
"She's determined the poor chap shan't forget they're only friends,"
thought Stephen, wishing that Caird had not insisted upon his presence
at this first meeting. And in a moment he was being introduced to
Mademoiselle Josette Soubise.
"Did I surprise you?" asked Nevill, looking at her as if he could never
tear his eyes away, though he spoke in an ordinary tone.
"Ah, I know you want me to say 'yes'," she laughed. "I'd like to tell a
white fib, to please you. But no, I am not quite surprised, for my
sister wrote that you might come, and why. What a pity you had this long
journey for nothing. My Kabyle maid, Mouni, has just gone to her home,
far away in a little village near Michélet, in la Grande Kabylia. She is
to be married to her cousin, the chief's son, whom she has always
loved--but there were obstacles till now."
"Obstacles can always be overcome," broke in Nevill.
Josette would not understand any hidden meaning. "It is a great pity
about Mouni," she went on. "Only four days ago she left. I gave her the
price of the journey, for a wedding present. She is a good girl, and I
shall miss her. But of course you can write to ask her questions. She
reads a little French."
"Perhaps we shall go ourselves," Nevill answered, glancing at Stephen's
disappointed face. "For I know Miss Ray can't be here, or you would have
said so."
"No, she is not here," echoed Josette, looking astonished. "Jeanne wrote
about the American young lady searching for her sister, but she did not
say she might visit Tlemcen."
"We hoped she would, that's all," explained Nevill. "She's left her
hotel in Algiers in a mysterious way, not telling where she meant to go,
although she assured us she'd be safe, and we needn't worry. However,
naturally we do worry."
"But of course. I see how it is." The dimples were gone, and the
brightness of Josette's eyes was overcast. She looked at Nevill
wistfully, and a flash of sympathetic understanding enlightened Stephen.
No doubt she was generously solicitous for the fate of Victoria Ray, but
there was something different from solicitude in her darkening eyes.
"Good! she's jealous. She thinks Nevill's heart's been caught in the
rebound," he told himself. But Nevill remained modestly unconscious.
"Miss Ray may arrive yet," he suggested. "We'd better stop to-day,
anyhow, on the chance; don't you think so, Stephen? and then, if there's
no news of her when we get back to Algiers, go on to interview the bride
in Grand Kabylia?"
Stephen had not the heart to dispute the wisdom of this decision, though
he was sure that, since Victoria was not in Tlemcen now, she would never
come.
"So you think we've made a long journey for nothing, Mademoiselle
Josette?" said Nevill.
"But yes. So it turns out."
"Seeing an old friend doesn't count, then?"
"Oh, well, that can seem but little--in comparison to what you hoped.
Still, you can show Monsieur Knight the sights. He may not guess how
beautiful they are. Have you told him there are things here as wonderful
as in the Alhambra itself, things made by the Moors who were in
Granada?"
"I've told him about all I care most for in Tlemcen," returned Nevill,
with that boyish demureness he affected sometimes. "But I'm not a
competent cicerone. If you want Knight to do justice to the wonders of
this place, you'll have to be our guide. We've got room for several
large-sized chaperons in the car. Do come. Don't say you won't! I feel
as if I couldn't stand it."
His tone was so desperate that Josette laughed some of her brightness
back again. "Then I suppose I mustn't refuse. And I should like
going--after school hours. Madame de Vaux, who is the bride of a French
officer, will join us, I think, for she and I are friends, and besides,
she has had no chance to see things yet. She has been busy settling in
her quarters--and I have helped her a little."
"When can you start?" asked Nevill, enraptured at the prospect of a few
happy hours snatched from fate.
"Not till five."