THE FRUIT THAT IS OF GOLD
At precisely the hour agreed upon Harcutt and Densham met in one of the
ante-rooms leading into the "Milan" restaurant. They surrendered their
coats and hats to an attendant, and strolled about waiting for
Wolfenden. A quarter of an hour passed. The stream of people from the
theatres began to grow thinner. Still, Wolfenden did not come. Harcutt
took out his watch.
"I propose that we do not wait any longer for Wolfenden," he said. "I
saw him this afternoon, and he answered me very oddly when I reminded
him about to-night. There is such a crowd here too, that they will not
keep our table much longer."
"Let us go in, by all means," Densham agreed. "Wolfenden will easily
find us if he wants to!"
Harcutt returned his watch to his pocket slowly, and without removing
his eyes from Densham's face.
"You're not looking very fit, old chap," he remarked. "Is anything
wrong?"
Densham shook his head and turned away.
"I am a little tired," he said. "We've been keeping late hours the last
few nights. There's nothing the matter with me, though. Come, let us go
in!"
Harcutt linked his arm in Densham's. The two men stood in the doorway.
"I have not asked you yet," Harcutt said, in a low tone. "What fortune?"
Densham laughed a little bitterly.
"I will tell you all that I know presently," he said.
"You have found out something, then?"
"I have found out," Densham answered, "all that I care to know! I have
found out so much that I am leaving England within a week!"
Harcutt looked at him curiously.
"Poor old chap," he said softly. "I had no idea that you were so hard
hit as all that, you know."
They passed through the crowded room to their table. Suddenly Harcutt
stopped short and laid his hand upon Densham's arm.
"Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "Look at that! No wonder we had to wait for
Wolfenden!"
Mr. Sabin and his niece were occupying the same table as on the previous
night, only this time they were not alone. Wolfenden was sitting there
between the two. At the moment of their entrance, he and the girl were
laughing together. Mr. Sabin, with the air of one wholly detached from
his companions, was calmly proceeding with his supper.
"I understand now," Harcutt whispered, "what Wolfenden meant this
afternoon. When I reminded him about to-night, he laughed and said:
'Well, I shall see you, at any rate.' I thought it was odd at the time.
I wonder how he managed it?"
Densham made no reply. The two men took their seats in silence.
Wolfenden was sitting with his back half-turned to them, and he had not
noticed their entrance. In a moment or two, however, he looked round,
and seeing them, leaned over towards the girl and apparently asked her
something. She nodded, and he immediately left his seat and joined them.
There was a little hesitation, almost awkwardness in their greetings. No
one knew exactly what to say.
"You fellows are rather late, aren't you?" Wolfenden remarked.
"We were here punctually enough," Harcutt replied; "but we have been
waiting for you nearly a quarter of an hour."
"I am sorry," Wolfenden said. "The fact is I ought to have left word
when I came in, but I quite forgot it. I took it for granted that you
would look into the room when you found that I was behind time."
"Well, it isn't of much consequence," Harcutt declared; "we are here
now, at any rate, although it seems that after all we are not to have
supper together."
Wolfenden glanced rapidly over his shoulder.
"You understand the position, of course," he said. "I need not ask you
to excuse me."
Harcutt nodded.
"Oh, we'll excuse you, by all means; but on one condition--we want to
know all about it. Where can we see you afterwards?"
"At my rooms," Wolfenden said, turning away and resuming his seat at the
other table.
Densham had made no attempt whatever to join in the conversation. Once
his eyes had met Wolfenden's, and it seemed to the latter that there was
a certain expression there which needed some explanation. It was not
anger--it certainly was not envy. Wolfenden was puzzled--he was even
disturbed. Had Densham discovered anything further than he himself knew
about this man and the girl? What did he mean by looking as though the
key to this mysterious situation was in his hands, and as though he had
nothing but pity for the only one of the trio who had met with any
success? Wolfenden resumed his seat with an uncomfortable conviction
that Densham knew more than he did about these people whose guest he
had become, and that the knowledge had damped all his ardour. There was
a cloud upon his face for a moment. The exuberance of his happiness had
received a sudden check. Then the girl spoke to him, and the memory of
Densham's unspoken warning passed away. He looked at her long and
searchingly. Her face was as innocent and proud as the face of a child.
She was unconscious even of his close scrutiny. The man might be
anything; it might even be that every word that Felix had spoken was
true. But of the girl he would believe no evil, he would not doubt her
even for a moment.
"Your friend," remarked Mr. Sabin, helping himself to an ortolan, "is a
journalist, is he not? His face seems familiar to me although I have
forgotten his name, if ever I knew it."
"He is a journalist," Wolfenden answered. "Not one of the rank and
file--rather a _dilettante_, but still a hard worker. He is devoted to
his profession, though, and his name is Harcutt."
"Harcutt!" Mr. Sabin repeated, although he did not appear to recollect
the name. "He is a political journalist, is he not?"
"Not that I am aware of," Wolfenden answered. "He is generally
considered to be the great scribe of society. I believe that he is
interested in foreign politics, though."
"Ah!"
Mr. Sabin's interjection was significant, and Wolfenden looked up
quickly but fruitlessly. The man's face was impenetrable.
"The other fellow," Wolfenden said, turning to the girl, "is Densham,
the painter. His picture in this year's Academy was a good deal talked
about, and he does some excellent portraits."
She threw a glance at him over her gleaming white shoulder.
"He looks like an artist," she said. "I liked his picture--a French
landscape, was it not? And his portrait of the Countess of Davenport was
magnificent."
"If you would care to know him," Wolfenden said, "I should be very happy
to present him to you."
Mr. Sabin looked up and shook his head quickly, but firmly.
"You must excuse us," he said. "My niece and I are not in England for
very long, and we have reasons for avoiding new acquaintances as much as
possible."
A shade passed across the girl's face. Wolfenden would have given much
to have known into what worlds those clear, soft eyes, suddenly set in a
far away gaze, were wandering--what those regrets were which had floated
up so suddenly before her. Was she too as impenetrable as the man, or
would he some day share with her what there was of sorrow or of mystery
in her young life? His heart beat with unaccustomed quickness at the
thought. Mr. Sabin's last remark, the uncertainty of his own position
with regard to these people, filled him with sudden fear; it might be
that he too was to be included in the sentence which had just been
pronounced. He looked up from the table to find Mr. Sabin's cold, steely
eyes fixed upon him, and acting upon a sudden impulse he spoke what was
nearest to his heart.
"I hope," he said, "that the few acquaintances whom fate does bring you
are not to suffer for the same reason."
Mr. Sabin smiled and poured himself out a glass of wine.
"You are very good," he said. "I presume that you refer to yourself. We
shall always be glad that we met you, shall we not, Helene? But I doubt
very much if, after to-night, we shall meet again in England at all."
To Wolfenden the light seemed suddenly to have gone out, and the soft,
low music to have become a wailing dirge. He retained some command of
his features only by a tremendous effort. Even then he felt that he had
become pale, and that his voice betrayed something of the emotion that
he felt.
"You are going away," he said slowly--"abroad!"
"Very soon indeed," Mr. Sabin answered. "At any rate, we leave London
during the week. You must not look upon us, Lord Wolfenden, as ordinary
pleasure-seekers. We are wanderers upon the face of the earth, not so
much by choice as by destiny. I want you to try one of these cigarettes.
They were given to me by the Khedive, and I think you will admit that he
knows more about tobacco than he does about governing."
The girl had been gazing steadfastly at the grapes that lay untasted
upon her plate, and Wolfenden glanced towards her twice in vain; now,
however, she looked up, and a slight smile parted her lips as her eyes
met his. How pale she was, and how suddenly serious!
"Do not take my uncle too literally, Lord Wolfenden," she said softly.
"I hope that we shall meet again some time, if not often. I should be
very sorry not to think so. We owe you so much."
There was an added warmth in those last few words, a subtle light in her
eyes. Was she indeed a past mistress in all the arts of coquetry, or was
there not some message for him in that lowered tone and softened glance?
He sat spellbound for a moment. Her bosom was certainly rising and
falling more quickly. The pearls at her throat quivered. Then Mr.
Sabin's voice, cold and displeased, dissolved the situation.
"I think, Helene, if you are ready, we had better go," he said. "It is
nearly half-past twelve, and we shall escape the crush if we leave at
once."
She stood up silently, and Wolfenden, with slow fingers, raised her
cloak from the back of the chair and covered her shoulders. She thanked
him softly, and turning away, walked down the room followed by the two
men. In the ante-room Mr. Sabin stopped.
"My watch," he remarked, "was fast. You will have time after all for a
cigarette with your friends. Good-night."
Wolfenden had no alternative but to accept his dismissal. A little,
white hand, flashing with jewels, but shapely and delicate, stole out
from the dark fur of her cloak, and he held it within his for a second.
"I hope," he said, "that at any rate you will allow me to call, and say
goodbye before you leave England?"
She looked at him with a faint smile upon her lips. Yet her eyes were
very sad.
"You have heard what my inexorable guardian has said, Lord Wolfenden,"
she answered quietly. "I am afraid he is right. We are wanderers, he and
I, with no settled home."
"I shall venture to hope," he said boldly, "that some day you will make
one--in England."
A tinge of colour flashed into her cheeks. Her eyes danced with
amusement at his audacity--then they suddenly dropped, and she caught up
the folds of her gown.
"Ah, well," she said demurely, "that would be too great a happiness.
Farewell! One never knows."
She yielded at last to Mr. Sabin's cold impatience, and turning away,
followed him down the staircase. Wolfenden remained at the top until she
had passed out of sight; he lingered even for a moment or two
afterwards, inhaling the faint, subtle perfume shaken from her gown--a
perfume which reminded him of an orchard of pink and white apple
blossoms in Normandy. Then he turned back, and finding Harcutt and
Densham lingering over their coffee, sat down beside them.
Harcutt looked at him through half-closed eyes--a little cloud of blue
tobacco smoke hung over the table. Densham had eaten little, but smoked
continually.
"Well?" he asked laconically.
"After all," Wolfenden said, "I have not very much to tell you fellows.
Mr. Sabin did not call upon me; I met him by chance in Bond Street, and
the girl asked me to supper, more I believe in jest than anything.
However, of course I took advantage of it, and I have spent the evening
since eleven o'clock with them. But as to gaining any definite
information as to who or what they are, I must confess I've failed
altogether. I know no more than I did yesterday."
"At any rate," Harcutt remarked, "you will soon learn all that you care
to know. You have inserted the thin end of the wedge. You have
established a visiting acquaintance."
Wolfenden flicked the end from his cigarette savagely.
"Nothing of the sort," he declared. "They have not given me their
address, or asked me to call. On the contrary, I was given very clearly
to understand by Mr. Sabin that they were only travellers and desired no
acquaintances. I know them, that is all; what the next step is to be I
have not the faintest idea."
Densham leaned over towards them. There was a strange light in his
eyes--a peculiar, almost tremulous, earnestness in his tone.
"Why should there be any next step at all?" he said. "Let us all
drop this ridiculous business. It has gone far enough. I have a
presentiment--not altogether presentiment either, as it is based
upon a certain knowledge. It is true that these are not ordinary
people, and the girl is beautiful. But they are not of our lives!
Let them pass out. Let us forget them."
Harcutt shook his head.
"The man is too interesting to be forgotten or ignored," he said. "I
must know more about him, and before many days have passed."
Densham turned to the younger man.
"At least, Wolfenden," he said, "you will listen to reason. I tell you
as a man of honour, and I think I may add as your friend, that you are
only courting disappointment. The girl is not for you, or me, or any of
us. If I dared tell you what I know, you would be the first to admit it
yourself."
Wolfenden returned Densham's eager gaze steadfastly.
"I have gone," he said calmly, "too far to turn back. You fellows both
know I am not a woman's man. I've never cared for a girl in all my life,
or pretended to, seriously. Now that I do, it is not likely that I shall
give her up without any definite reason. You must speak more plainly,
Densham, or not at all."
Densham rose from his chair.
"I am very sorry," he said.
Wolfenden turned upon him, frowning.
"You need not be," he said. "You and Harcutt have both, I believe, heard
some strange stories concerning the man; but as for the girl, no one
shall dare to speak an unbecoming word of her."
"No one desired to," Densham answered quietly. "And yet there may be
other and equally grave objections to any intercourse with her."
Wolfenden smiled confidently.
"Nothing in the world worth winning," he said, "is won without an
effort, or without difficulty. The fruit that is of gold does not drop
into your mouth."
The band had ceased to play and the lights went out. Around them was all
the bustle of departure. The three men rose and left the room.