When Lushington had run over to Paris the day before the conversation
just recorded, he had entertained a vague notion of going out to
Versailles in the afternoon; for he felt that all had not been said
between himself and Margaret and that their last parting in the street
had not been really final. The fact was that he merely yielded to the
tormenting desire to see her again, if for only a few minutes and in
the presence of Mrs. Rushmore.
But the meeting in the Boulevard Pereire had chilled him like a stream
of cold water poured down his back; than which homely simile there is
none more true. He had fancied her very grave and even a little sad,
going quietly to her rehearsals with a maid, or even with Mrs.
Rushmore, speaking to no one at the theatre and returning at once to
Versailles to reflect on the vicissitudes to which human affections are
subject.
He had come upon her suddenly and unawares, in a very smart frock and a
superlatively becoming hat, smiling gaily, just stepping out of a
magnificent white motor car, resting her hand familiarly on that of the
most successful young financier in Paris, whose conquests among women
of the world were a byword, and chaperoned by a flighty little
Neapolitan teacher of singing. Truly, if some one had deliberately
rubbed the back of his neck with a large lump of ice on that warm
spring day, the chill could not have been more effectual. Morally
speaking, Lushington caught a bad cold, which 'struck in,' as old
people used to say.
He might have explained to himself that as he had insisted upon parting
from Margaret for ever, and against her will, her subsequent doings
were none of his business. But he was half an Englishman by birth and
altogether one by bringing up, and he therefore could not admit that
she should be apparently enjoying herself, while he was gloomily
brooding over the misfortunes that put her beyond his reach. The fable
of the Dog in the Manger must have been composed to describe us
Anglo-Saxons. It is sufficient that we be hindered from getting what we
want, even by our own sense of honour; we are forthwith ready to
sacrifice life and limb to prevent any other man from getting it. The
magnanimity of our renunciation is only to be compared with our
tenacity in asserting our claim to what we have renounced. Even our
charities usually have strings to them on which our hold never relaxes,
in case we should want them back.
Lushington had never trusted Logotheti, but since his instinct and the
force of circumstances had told him that the Greek was making love to
Margaret and that Margaret liked his society, he hated the man in a
most unchristian manner, and few things would have given the usually
peaceable man of letters such unmitigated satisfaction as to see the
shining white motor car blow up and scatter his rival's arms and legs
to the thirty-two points of the compass.
Logotheti, on the other hand, was as yet unaware that Lushington was
the 'some one else' of whom Margaret had spoken twice with evident
feeling. The consequence was that when the Englishman began to give
himself the bitter satisfaction of watching Logotheti, the latter was
very far from suspecting such a thing, and took no pains at all to hide
his doings; and Lushington established himself in Paris and watched
him, in his coming and going, and nursed his jealousy into hatred and
his hatred into action.
He would not have stooped to employ any one in such work, for that
would have seemed like an insult to Margaret, and a piece of cowardice
into the bargain. The time would come when the astute Greek would
discover that he was followed, and Lushington had no intention of
putting some one else in his shoes when that time came; on the
contrary, he looked forward with all a real Englishman's cool
self-confidence to the explanation that must take place some day. But
he wished to remain undiscovered as long as possible.
He had gone back to his old rooms in the Hotel des Saints Peres, but in
order to disappear more effectually from his acquaintances he took a
lodging, and walked to it, after sending on his belongings. On his way
he stopped at a quiet barber's shop and had his beard and moustache
shaved off. After that it was not likely that any of his acquaintances
would recognise him, but he took further steps towards completing his
disguise by making radical and painful changes in his dress. He bought
ready-made French clothes, he put on a pair of square kid boots with
elastic sides and patent leather tips, he wore a soft silk cravat
artificially tied in a bow knot with wide and floating ends, and he
purchased a French silk hat with a broad and curving brim. Having
satisfied himself that the effect was good, he laid in a stock of
similar articles, and further adorned his appearance with a pair of
tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles, and a green umbrella. For possibly
cool or rainy weather he provided himself with a coffee-coloured
overcoat that had a velvet collar and tails reaching almost to the
ground.
When he had been younger Lushington had tried in vain to ruffle his
naturally excessive neatness, but he now realised that he had only
lacked the courage to make a thorough change. In his present costume he
ran no risk of being taken for a smart English lounger, nor for a
French dandy. The effect of forgetting to shave, too, was frightful,
for in forty-eight hours his fair face was covered with shiny bristles
that had a positively metallic look. Though he was so unlike his mother
in most ways, he must have inherited a little of the theatrical
instinct from her, for he wore his disguise as easily as if he had
always been used to it.
He also had the advantage of speaking French like a native, though
possibly with a very slight southern accent caught from his mother, who
originally came from Provence. As for his name, it was useless to
assume another, for Paris is full of Parisians of foreign descent,
whose names are English, German, Polish and Italian; and in a really
great city no one takes the least notice of a man unless he does
something to attract attention. Besides, Lushington had no idea of
disappearing from his own world, or of cutting himself off from his
regular correspondents.
He had not any fixed plan, for he was not sure what he wanted; he only
knew that he hated and distrusted Logotheti, and that while he could
not forgive Margaret for liking the Greek's society, he meant, in an
undetermined way, to save her from destruction. Probably, if he had
attempted to put his thoughts into words, he could have got no further
than Mrs. Rushmore, who suspected Logotheti of designs, and at the root
of his growing suspicion he would have found the fine old Anglo-Saxon
prejudice that a woman might as well trust herself to Don Juan, an
Italian Count, or Beelzebub, as to the offspring of Cadmus or Danaus.
Englishmen have indolent minds and active bodies, as a rule, but on the
other hand, when they are really roused, no people in the world are
capable of greater mental concentration and energy. They are therefore
not good detectives as a rule, but there are few better when they are
deeply and selfishly interested in the result.
Incidentally, Lushington meant to do his utmost to prevent Margaret
from going on the stage, and he would have been much surprised to learn
that in this respect he was Logotheti's ally, instead of his enemy,
against Margaret's fixed determination. If there was to be a struggle,
therefore, it was to be a three-cornered one, in which the two men
would be pitted against each other, and both together against the
resolution of the woman they both loved. Unfortunately for Lushington,
he had begun by withdrawing from Margaret's surroundings and had made
way for his adversary.
Meanwhile Logotheti made the running. He had offered Margaret his motor
car for coming in to her rehearsals, and a chauffeur appeared with it
in good time, masked, coated and gloved in the approved fashion.
Margaret supposed that Logotheti meant to ask her to luncheon again
with Madame De Rosa, and she made up her mind to refuse, for no
particular reason except that she did not wish to seem too willing to
do whatever he proposed. Mrs. Rushmore thought it bad enough that she
should accept the offer of the motor car, but was beginning to
understand that the machine had quite irresistible temptations for all
persons under fifty. She was even a little shocked that Margaret should
go alone to Paris under the sole protection of the chauffeur, though
she would have thought it infinitely worse if Logotheti himself had
appeared.
The man held the door open for Margaret to get in, when she came out
upon the step with Mrs. Rushmore, who seemed anxious to keep an eye on
her as long as possible; as if she could project an influence of
propriety, a sort of astral chaperonage, that would follow the girl to
the city. She detained her at the last minute, holding her by the
elbow. The chauffeur stood impassive with his hand on the door, while
she delivered herself of her final opinion in English, which of course
he could not understand.
'I must say that your sudden intimacy with this suspicious Greek is
most extraordinary,' she said.
'Don't you think there is just a little prejudice in your opinion of
him?' asked Margaret sweetly.
'No,' answered Mrs. Rushmore with firmness, 'I don't, and I think it
very strange that a clever girl like you should be so easily taken in
by a foreigner. Much worse than a foreigner, my dear! A Greek is almost
as bad as a Turk, and we all know what Turks are! Fancy a decent young
woman trusting herself alone with a Turk! I declare, it's not to be
believed! Your dear mother's daughter too! You'll end in a harem,
Margaret, mark my word.'
'And be sewn up in a sack and thrown into the Bosphorus,' laughed
Margaret, trying to get away.
'Such things have happened before now,' said Mrs. Rushmore gloomily.
'Greeks don't have harems,' Margaret objected.
'Don't catch cold,' said Mrs. Rushmore, by way of refuting Margaret's
argument. 'It looks as if it might rain.'
The morning was still and soft and overcast, and the air was full of
the scent of the flowers and leaves, and fresh-clipped grass. The small
birds chirped rather plaintively from the trees on the lawn, or stood
about the edge of the little pond apparently expecting something to
happen, hopping down to the water occasionally, looking down at the
reflections in it and then hopping back again with a dissatisfied air;
and they muffled themselves up in their feathers as if they meant to go
to sleep, and then suddenly spread their wings out, without flying, and
scraped the grass with them. The elms were quite green already, and the
oaks were pushing out thousands of bright emerald leaves. There is a
day in every spring when the maiden year reaches full girlhood, and
pauses on the verge of woman's estate, to wonder at the mysterious
longings that disquiet all her being, and at the unknown music that
sings through her waking dreams.
Margaret sat in the motor car wrapped in a wide thin cloak and covering
her mouth lest the rush of air should affect her voice; but the quick
motion was pleasant, and she felt all the illusion of accomplishing
something worth doing, merely because she was spinning along at
breakneck speed. Somehow, too, the still air and the smell of the
flowers had made her restless that morning before starting, and the
rapid movement soothed her. If she had been offered her choice just
then, she would perhaps have been on horseback for a gallop across
country, but the motor car was certainly the next best thing to that.
For some minutes the chauffeur kept his eyes on the road ahead and both
hands on the steering-gear. Then one hand moved, the speed of the car
slackened suddenly, and the man turned and spoke over the back of his
seat.
'I hope you'll forgive me,' he said in English.
Margaret started and sat up straight, for the voice was Logotheti's.
The huge goggles, the protecting curtain over half the face, the
wide-visored cap and the turned-up coat collar, had disguised him
beyond all recognition. Even his usually smooth black moustache was
ruffled out of shape, and hid his characteristic mouth.
Margaret uttered an exclamation of surprise, not quite sure whether she
ought to smile or frown.
'I thought Mrs. Rushmore would not like it, if I came for you myself,'
he continued, looking at her through his goggles.
'I'm sure she wouldn't,' Margaret assented readily.
'In point of fact,' Logotheti continued, with a grin, 'she expressed
her opinion of me with extraordinary directness. Suspicious Greek!
Worse than a foreigner! As bad as a Turk! The unprincipled owner of a
harem! It's really true that eavesdroppers never hear any good of
themselves! I never tried it before, and it served me right.'
'You cannot say that I said anything against you,' laughed Margaret. 'I
took your defence.'
'Not with enthusiasm.' Logotheti joined in her laugh.
'You thought there might be just a little prejudice in her opinion and
you told her that Greeks don't have harems. Yes--yes--I suppose that
might be called defending an absent friend.'
The car was moving very slowly now.
'If I had known it was you, I would have called you all sorts of
names,' Margaret answered. 'Should you mind taking that thing off your
face for a moment? I don't like talking to a mask, and you may be some
one else after all.'
'No,' said Logotheti, 'I'm not "some one else".' He emphasised the
words that had become familiar to them both. 'I wish I were! But if I
take off my glasses and cap, you will be frightened, for my hair is not
smooth and I'm sure I look like a Greek pirate!'
'I should like to see one, and I shall not be frightened.'
He pulled off his cap and glasses, and faced her. She stared at him in
surprise, for she was not sure that she should have recognised him. His
thick black hair stuck up all over his head like a crest, his heavy
eyebrows were as bushy as an animal's fur and his rough and bristling
moustache lent his large mouth and massive jaws a look approaching to
ferocity. The whole effect was rather startling, and Margaret opened
her eyes wide in astonishment. Logotheti smiled.
'Now you understand why I smooth my hair and dress like a tailor's
manikin,' he said quietly. 'It's enough to cow a mob, isn't it?'
'Do you know, I'm not sure that I don't like you better so. You're more
natural!'
'You're evidently not timid,' he answered, amused. 'But you can fancy
the effect on Mrs. Rushmore's nerves, if she had seen me.'
'I should not have dared to come with you. As it is----' She hesitated.
'Oh, as it is, you cannot help yourself,' Logotheti said. 'You can't
get out and walk.'
'I could get out when you have to stop at the petrol station; and I
assure you that I can refuse to come with you again!'
'Of course you can. But you won't.'
'Why not?'
'Because you're much too sensible. Have I offended you, or frightened
you? What have I done to displease you?'
'Nothing--but----' She laughed and shook her head as she broke off.
'I haven't even asked you to marry me to-day! I should think that I was
taking an unfair advantage, if I did, since I could easily carry you
off just now. The car will run sixty miles at a stretch without any
trouble at all, and I don't suppose you would risk your neck to jump,
merely for the sake of getting away from me, would you?'
'Not if you behaved properly,' Margaret answered.
'And then,' Logotheti continued, 'I could put her at full speed and
say, "If you won't swear to marry me, I'll give myself the satisfaction
of being killed with you at the very next bridge we come to!" Most
women would rather marry a man than be smashed to atoms with him, even
if he looks like a pirate.'
'Possibly!'
'But that would be unfair. Besides, an oath taken under compulsion is
not binding. I should have to find some other way.'
'Shall we go on?' Margaret asked. 'I shall be late for the rehearsal.'
'Give it up,' suggested Logotheti calmly. 'We'll spend the morning at
St. Cloud. Much pleasanter than tiring yourself out in that wretched
theatre! I want to talk to you.'
'You can talk to me when I am not singing.'
'No. Singing will distract your attention, and you won't listen to what
I tell you. You have no idea what delightful things I can say when I
try!'
'I wonder!' Margaret laughed lightly. 'You might begin trying while you
take me to Paris. We haven't run a mile in the last ten minutes, and
it's getting late.'
'Unless you are always a little late nobody will respect you. I'll go a
little faster, just to prove to you that you can do anything you like
with me, even against my judgment. Let me put on my glasses first.'
At that moment a man met them on a bicycle, and passed at a leisurely
pace. There was not much traffic on the Versailles road at that hour,
and Margaret let her eyes rest idly on the man, who merely glanced at
her and looked ahead again. Logotheti had taken off his cap in order to
adjust his goggles and shield. When the bicycle had gone by he laughed.
'There goes a typical French bookworm, bicycling to get an appetite,'
he observed. 'I wonder why a certain type of Frenchman always wears kid
boots with square patent leather toes, and a Lavalliere tie, and
spectacles with tortoise-shell rims!'
'If he could see you as you generally are,' answered Margaret, 'he
would probably wonder why a certain type of foreigner plasters his hair
down and covers himself with diamonds and rubies! Do go a little
faster, it's getting later every moment.'
'It always does.'
'Especially when one doesn't wish it to! Please go on!'
'Say at once that I've bored you to death.' He put the car at
half-speed.
'No. You don't bore me at all, but I want to get to the theatre.'
'To please you, I am going there--for no other reason. I'll do anything
in the world to give you pleasure. I only wish you would do the
smallest thing for me!'
'What, for instance? Perhaps I may do some very little thing. You'll
get nothing if you don't ask for it!'
'Some people take without asking. Greek pirates always do, you know!
But I can't drive at this rate and talk over my shoulder.'
The way was clear and for several minutes he ran at full speed, keeping
his eyes on the road. Margaret turned sideways and kept behind him as
much as possible, shielding her face and mouth from the tremendous
draught.
She had told the truth when she had said that he did not bore her. The
whole thing had a savour of adventure in it, and it amused her to think
how shocked Mrs. Rushmore would have been if she had guessed that the
chauffeur was Logotheti himself. There was something in the man's
coolness that attracted her very much, for though there was no danger
on the present occasion, she felt that if there had been any, he would
have been just as indifferent to it if it stood in the way of his
seeing her alone. Poor Lushington had always been so intensely proper,
so morbidly afraid of compromising her, and above all, so deadly in
earnest!
She did not quite like to admit that the Greek was altogether in
earnest, too, and that she was just a little afraid of him; still less
that her unacknowledged fear gave her rather a pleasant sensation. But
it was quite true that she had liked him better than before, from the
moment when he had pulled off his cap and glasses and shown his face as
nature had made it. However he might appear hereafter when she met him,
she would always think of him as she had seen him then.
Most women are much more influenced by strength in a man than by
anything which can reasonably be called beauty. Actually and
metaphorically every woman would rather be roughly carried off her feet
by something she cannot resist than be abjectly worshipped and
flattered; yet worship and flattery, though second-best, are much
better than the terribly superior and instructive affection which the
born prig bestows upon his idol with the air of granting a favour on
moral grounds.
Men, on the other hand, detest being carried away, almost as much as
being led. The woman who lets a man guess that she is trying to
influence him is lost, and generally forfeits for ever any real
influence she may have had. The only sort of cleverness which is
distinctly womanly is that which leads a man to do with energy,
enthusiasm and devotion the very thing which he has always assured
everybody that he will not think of doing. The old-fashioned way of
making a pig go to market is to pull his tail steadily in the opposite
direction. If you do that, nothing can save him from his fate; for he
will drag you off your feet in his effort to do what he does not want
to do at all; and there is more 'psychology' in that plain fact than in
volumes of subtle analysis.