They were called by the porter early the next morning. The train was
pulling into Washington, five hours late. Grenfall wondered, as he
dressed, whether fortune would permit him to see much of her during her
brief day in the capital. He dreamed of a drive over the avenues, a
trip to the monument, a visit to the halls of congress, an inspection of
public buildings, a dinner at his mother's home, luncheon at the Ebbitt,
and other attentions which might give to him every moment of her day in
Washington. But even as he dreamed, he was certain that his hopes could
not be gratified.
After the train had come to a standstill he could hear the rustle of
her garments in the next compartment. Then he heard her sweep into the
passage, greet her uncle and aunt, utter a few commands to the maid,
and, while he was adjusting his collar and necktie, pass from the car.
No man ever made quicker time in dressing than did Lorry. She could
hardly have believed him ideal had she seen his scowling face or heard
the words that hissed through his impatient teeth.
“She'll get away, and that'll be the end of it,” he growled, seizing his
traps and rushing from the train two minutes after her departure. The
porter attempted to relieve him of his bags on the platform, but he
brushed him aside and was off toward the station.
“Nice time for you, to call a man, you idiot,” was his parting shot for
the porter, forgetting of course, that the foreigners had been called
at the same time. With eyes intent on the crowd ahead, he plunged along,
seeing nobody in his disappointed flight. “I'll never forgive myself if
I miss her,” he was wailing to himself. She was not to be seen in the
waiting rooms, so he rushed to the sidewalk.
“Baggage transferred?”
“Cab, sir?”
“Go to the devil--yes, here! Take these traps and these checks and rush
my stuff to No.----, W---- Avenue. Trunks just in on B.& O.,” he cried,
tossing his burdens to a transfer man and giving him the checks so
quickly that the fellow's sleepy eyes opened wider than they had been
for a month. Relieved of his impedimenta, he returned to the station.
“Good morning, Mr. Lorry. Are you in too much of a hurry to see your
friends?” cried a clear, musical voice, and he stopped as if shot. The
anxious frown flew from his brow and was succeeded instantaneously by a
glad smile. He wheeled and beheld her, with Aunt Yvonne, standing near
the main entrance to the station. “Why, good morning,” he exclaimed,
extending his hand gladly. To his amazement she drew herself up
haughtily and ignored the proffered hand. Only for a brief second did
this strange and uncalled--for hauteur obtain. A bright smile swept over
her face, and her repentant fingers sought his timidly, even awkwardly.
Something told him that she was not accustomed to handshaking; that same
something impelled him to bend low and touch the gloved fingers with his
lips. He straightened, with face flushed, half fearful lest his act
had been observed by curious loungers, and he had taken a liberty in
a public place which could not be condoned. But she smiled serenely,
approvingly. There was not the faintest sign of embarrassment or
confusion in the lovely face. Any other girl in the world, he thought,
would have jerked her hand away and giggled furiously. Aunt Yvonne
inclined her head slightly, but did not proffer her hand. He wisely
refrained from extending his own. “I thought you had left the station,”
he said.
“We are waiting for Uncle Caspar, who is giving Hedrick instructions.
Hedrick, you know, is to go on to New York with our boxes. He will have
them aboard ship when we arrive there. All that we have with us is hand
luggage. We leave Washington to-night.”
“I had hoped you might stay over for a few days.”
“It is urgent business that compels us to leave so hastily, Mr. Lorry.
Of all the cities in the world, I have most desired to see the capital
of your country. Perhaps I may return some day. But do not let us detain
you, if you are in a hurry.”
He started, looked guilty, stammered something about baggage, said he
would return in a moment, and rushed aimlessly away, his ears fiery.
“I'm all kinds of a fool,” he muttered, as he raced around the
baggage-room and then back to where he had left the two ladies. Mr.
Guggenslocker had joined them and they were preparing to depart. Miss
Guggenslocker's face expressed pleasure at seeing him.
“We thought you would never return, so long were you gone,” she cried,
gaily. He had been gone just two minutes by the watch! The old gentleman
greeted him warmly, and Lorry asked them to what hotel they were going.
On being informed that they expected to spend the day at the Ebbitt,
he volunteered to accompany them, saying that he intended to breakfast
there. Quicker than a flash a glance, unfathomable as it was brief,
passed between the three, not quickly enough, however, to escape
his keen, watchful eyes, on the alert since the beginning of his
acquaintance with them, in conjunction with his ears, to catch something
that might satisfy, in a measure, his burning curiosity. What was the
meaning of that glance? It half angered him, for in it he thought he
could distinguish annoyance, apprehension, dismay or something equally
disquieting. Before he could stiffen his long frame and give vent to
the dignified reconsideration that flew to his mind, the young lady
dispelled all pain and displeasure, sending him into raptures, by
saying:
“How good of you! We shall be so delighted to have you breakfast with
us, Mr. Lorry, if it is convenient for you. You can talk to us of your
wonderful city. Now, say that you will be good to us; stay your hunger
and neglect your personal affairs long enough to give us these early
morning hours. I am sure we cannot trouble you much longer.”
He expostulated gallantly and delightedly, and then hurried forth to
call a cab. At eight o'clock he breakfasted with them, his infatuation
growing deeper and stronger as he sat for the hour beneath the spell of
those eyes, the glorious face, the sweet, imperial air that was a part
of her, strange and unaffected. As they were leaving the dining-room he
asked her if she would not drive with him.
His ardent gallantry met with a surprising rebuke. The conversation
up to that moment had been bright and cheery, her face had been the
constant reflector of his own good spirits, and he had every reason in
the world to feel that his suggestion would be received with pleasure.
It was a shock to him, therefore, to see the friendly smile fade from
her eyes and a disdainful gleam succeed it. Her voice, a moment ago
sweet and affable, changed its tone instantly to one so proud and
arrogant that he could scarcely believe his ears.
“I shall be engaged during the entire day, Mr. Lorry,” she said, slowly,
looking him fairly in the eyes with cruel positiveness. Those eyes of
his were wide with surprise and the glowing gleam of injured pride.
His lips closed tightly; little red spots flew to his cheeks and
then disappeared, leaving his face white and cold; his heart throbbed
painfully with the mingled emotions of shame and anger. For a moment he
dared not speak.
“I have reason to feel thankful that you are to be engaged,” he said
at last, calmly, without taking his eyes from hers. “I am forced to
believe, much to my regret, that I have offended when I intended to
please. You will pardon my temerity.”
There was no mistaking the resentment in his voice or the glitter in his
eyes. Impulsively her little hand was stretched forth, falling upon his
arm, while into her eyes came again the soft glow and to her lips the
most pathetic, appealing smile, the forerunner of a pretty plea for
forgiveness. The change startled and puzzled him more than ever. In one
moment she was unreasonably rude and imperious, in the next gracious and
imploring.
“Forgive me,” she cried, the blue eyes battling bravely against the
steel in the grey ones above. “I was so uncivil! Perhaps I cannot make
you understand why I spoke as I did, but, let me say, I richly deserved
the rebuke. Pray forgive me and forget that I have been disagreeable. Do
not ask me to tell you why I was so rude to you just now, but overlook
my unkind treatment of your invitation. Please, Mr. Lorry, I beg of
you--I beg for the first time in my life. You have been so good to me;
be good to me still.”
His wrath melted away like snow before the sunshine. How could he resist
such an appeal? “I beg for the first time in my life,” whirled in his
brain. What did she mean by that?
“I absolve the penitent,” he said, gravely.
“I thank you. You are still my ideal American--courteous, bold and
gentle. I do not wonder that Americans can be masterful men. And now I
thank you for your invitation, and ask you to let me withdraw my implied
refusal. If you will take me for the drive, I shall be delighted and
more than grateful.”
“You make me happy again,” he said, softly, as they drew near the elder
members of the party, who had paused to wait for them. “I shall ask your
uncle and aunt to accompany us.”
“Uncle Caspar will be busy all day, but I am sure my aunt will be
charmed. Aunt Yvonne, Mr. Lorry has asked us to drive with him over the
city, and I have accepted for you. When are we to start, Mr. Lorry?”
Mr. and Mrs. Guggenslocker stared in a bewildered sort of manner
at their niece. Then Aunt Yvonne turned questioning eyes toward her
husband, who promptly bowed low before the tall American and said:
“Your kind offices shall never be forgotten, sir. When are the ladies to
be ready?”
Lorry was weighing in his mind the advisability of asking them to dine
in the evening with his mother, but two objections presented themselves
readily. First, he was afraid of this perverse maid; second, he had not
seen his mother. In fact, he did not know that she was in town.
“At two o'clock, I fancy. That will give us the afternoon. You leave at
nine to-night, do you not?”
“Yes. And will you dine with us this evening?” Her invitation was so
unexpected, in view of all that had happened, that he looked askance.
“Ach, you must not treat my invitation as I did yours!” she cried,
merrily, although he could detect the blush that returns with the
recollection of a reprimand. “You should profit by what I have been
taught.” The girl abruptly threw her arm about her aunt and cried, as
she drew away in the direction of her room: “At two, then, and at dinner
this evening. I bid you good morning, Mr. Lorry.”
The young man, delighted with the turn of affairs, but dismayed by what
seemed a summary dismissal, bowed low. He waited until the strange trio
entered the elevator and then sauntered downstairs, his hands in his
pockets, his heart as light as air. Unconsciously he jingled the coins.
A broad smile came over his face as he drew forth a certain piece.
Holding it between his thumb and forefinger he said:
“You are what it cost her to learn my name, are you? Well, my good
fellow, you may be very small, but you bought something that looks
better than Guggenslocker on a hotel register. Your mistress is an odd
bit of humanity, a most whimsical bit, I must say. First, she's no and
then she's yes. You're lucky, my coin, to have fallen into the custody
of one who will not give you over to the mercy of strangers for the sake
of a whim. You are now retired on a pension, well deserved after valiant
service in the cause of a most capricious queen.”
In an hour he was at home and relating to his mother the story of his
wanderings, neglecting, for reasons best known to himself, the events
which occurred after Denver had been left behind, except for a casual
allusion to “a party of foreigners.” At one o'clock, faultlessly
attired, he descended to the brougham, telling Mrs. Lorry that he
had invited some strangers to see the city. On the way downtown he
remembered that he was in business, the law business--and that it would
be well to drop in and let his uncle know he was in the city. On second
thought, however, he concluded it was too near two o'clock to waste any
time on business, so the office did not know that he was in town until
the next day, and then to no great extent.
For several hours he reveled in her society, sitting beside her in that
roomy brougham, Aunt Yvonne opposite, explaining to her the many places
of interest as they passed. They entered the Capitol; they saw the White
House, and, as they were driving back to the hotel, passed the President
of the United States.
Miss Guggenslocker, when informed that the President's carriage was
approaching, relaxed gracefully from the stately reserve that had
been puzzling him, and revealed an eager curiosity. Her eyes fastened
themselves upon the President, Lorry finding entertainment in the
changes that came over her unconscious face. Instead of noting the
veneration he had expected, he was astonished and somewhat provoked to
see a slight curl of disgust at the corners of her mouth, a pronounced
disappointment in her eyes. Her face expressed ridicule, pure and
simple, and, he was shocked to observe, the exposure was unconscious,
therefore sincere.
“You do not like our ruler?” he said, as the carriage whirled by. He was
returning his hat to his head as he spoke.
“I cannot say. I do not know him,” she replied, a tinge of sarcasm in
her voice. “You Americans have one consolation; when you tire of a ruler
you can put another in his place. Is it not wise to do so quite often?”
“I don't think wise is the word. Expedient is better. I am to infer that
you have no politics.”
“One house has ruled our land for centuries. Since I came to your land
I have not once seen a man wave his hat with mad adulation and cry from
his heart: 'Long live the President!' For centuries, in my country,
every child has been born with the words: 'Long live the Prince!' in his
heart, and he learns to say them next after the dear parental words are
mastered. 'Long live the Prince!' 'Long live the Princess!' are tributes
of love and honor that greet our rulers from birth to death. We are not
fickle, and we have no politics.”
“Do your rulers hear tin horns, brass bands, campaign yells,
firecrackers and stump speeches every four years? Do they know what it
means to be the voluntary choice of a whole nation? Do they know what
it is to rule because they have won the right and not because they were
born to it? Has there ever been a homage-surfeited ruler in your land
who has known the joy that comes with the knowledge that he has earned
the right to be cheered from one end of the country to the other? Is
there not a difference between your hereditary 'Long live the Prince'
and our wild, enthusiastic, spontaneous 'Hurrah for Cleveland!' Miss
Guggenslocker? All men are equal at the beginning in our land. The man
who wins the highest gift that can be bestowed by seventy millions of
people is the man who had brains and not title as a birthright.” He was
a bit exasperated.
“There! I have displeased you again. You must pardon my antiquated
ideas. We, as true and loyal subjects of a good sovereign, cannot forget
that our rulers are born, not made. Perhaps we are afflicted at times
with brainless monarchs and are to be pitied. You are generous in
your selection of potentates, be generous, then, with me, a benighted
royalist, who craves leniency of one who may some day be President of
the United States.”
“Granted, without discussion. As possible, though not probable,
President of the United States, I am magnanimous to an unfortunate who
can never hope to be princess, no matter how well she might grace the
gilded throne.”
She greeted this glowing remark with a smile so intoxicating that he
felt himself the most favored of men. He saw that smile in his mind's
eye for months afterward, that maddening sparkle of joy, which flashed
from her eyes to the very bottom of his heart, there to snuggle forever
with Memory's most priceless treasures. Their dinner was but one more
phase of this fascinating dream. More than once he feared that he was
about to awake to find bleak unhappiness where exquisite joy had reigned
so gloriously. As it drew to an end a sense of depression came over him.
An hour at most was all that he could have with her. Nine o'clock
was drawing nigh with its regrets, its longings, its desolation. He
determined to retain the pleasures of the present until, amid the
clanging of bells and the roll of car wheels, the dismal future began.
His intention to accompany them to the station was expressed as they
were leaving the table. She had begun to say good-by to him when
he interrupted, self-consciousness forcing the words hurriedly and
disjointedly from his lips:
“You will let me go to the station with you. I shall--er--deem it a
pleasure.”
She raised her eyebrows slightly, but thanked him and said she would
consider it an honor. His face grew hot and his heart cold with the
fancy that there was in her eyes a gleam which said: “I pity you, poor
fellow.”
Notwithstanding his strange misgiving and the fact that his pride had
sustained quite a perceptible shock, he drove with them to the station.
They went to the sleeping car a few minutes before the time set for the
train's departure, and stood at the bottom of the steps, uttering the
good-bys, the God-speeds and the sincere hope that they might meet
again. Then came the sharp activity of the trainmen, the hurry of
belated passengers. He glanced soberly at his watch.
“It is nine o'clock. Perhaps you would better get aboard,” he said, and
proceeded to assist Aunt Yvonne up the steps. She turned and pressed his
hand gently before passing into the car.
“Adieu, good friend. You have made it so very pleasant for us,” she
said, earnestly.
The tall, soldierly old gentleman was waiting to assist his niece into
the coach.
“Go first, Uncle Caspar,” the girl made Lorry happy by saying. “I can
easily come up unaided.”
“Or I can assist her,” Lorry hastened to add, giving her a grateful look
which she could not misunderstand. The uncle shook hands warmly with the
young man and passed up the steps. She was following when Lorry cried,
“Will you not allow me?”
She laughingly turned to him from the steps and stretched forth her
hand.
“And now it is good-by forever. I am so sorry that I have not seen more
of you,” she said. He took her hand and held it tightly for a moment.
“I shall never forget the past few days,” he said, a thrill in his
voice. “You have put something into my life that can never be taken
away. You will forget me before you are out of Washington, but I--I
shall always see you as you are now.”
She drew her hand away gently, but did not take her eyes from his
upturned face.
“You are mistaken. Why should I forget you--ever? Are you not the ideal
American whose name I bought? I shall always remember you as I saw
you--at Denver.”
“Not as I have been since?” he cried.
“Have you changed since first I saw you?” she asked, quaintly.
“I have, indeed, for you saw me before I saw you. I am glad I have not
changed for the worse in your eyes.”
“As I first knew you with my eyes I will say that they are trustworthy,”
she said tantalizingly.
“I do not mean that I have changed externally.”
“In any other case my eyes would not serve,” she cried, with mock
disappointment. “Still,” she added, sweepingly, “you are my ideal
American. Good-by! The man has called 'all aboard!'”
“Good-by!” he cried, swinging up on the narrow step beside her. Again he
clasped her hand as she drew back in surprise. “You are going out of my
land, but not out of my mind. If you wish your eyes to see the change in
me, you have only to look at them in a mirror. They are the change--they
themselves! Goodby! I hope that I may see you again.”
She hesitated an instant, her eyes wavering beneath his. The train was
moving slowly now.
“I pray that we may meet,” she said, softly, at last,--so softly that he
barely heard the words. Had she uttered no sound he could have been
sure of her response, for it was in her telltale eyes. His blood leaped
madly. “You will be hurt if you wait till the train is running at full
speed,” she cried, suddenly returning to the abandoned merry mood. She
pushed him gently in her excitement. “Don't you see how rapidly we are
moving? Please go!” There was a terror in her eyes that pleased him.
“Good-by, then,” he cried.
“Adieu, my American,” she cried quickly.
As he swung out, ready to drop to the ground, she said, her eyes
sparkling with something that suggested mischief, her face more
bewitching than ever under the flicker of the great arc lights:
“You must come to Edelweiss to see me. I shall expect you!” He thought
there was a challenge in the tones. Or was it mockery?
“I will, by heaven, I will!” he exclaimed.
A startled expression flashed across her face, and her lips parted as
if in protestation. As she leaned forward, holding stoutly to the
hand-rail, there was no smile on her countenance.
A white hand fluttered before his eyes, and she was gone. He stood, hat
in hand, watching the two red lights at the end of the train until they
were lost in the night.