REVELATIONS
In the hall I met together two men whom I knew well. The first was
Adams of the American Embassy in London; the second Cathcart of the
British Embassy at Washington, now on leave. I had not seen either
for two years, and it was with mutual pleasure that we met. After our
preliminary handshaking, and the inevitable drink at the American's
request, Adams slapped me on the shoulder and said heartily:
"Well, old fellow, I congratulate you; or rather am I to congratulate
you?"
"What do you mean?" I asked in feeble embarrassment.
"All right, old chap!" he said heartily. "Your blush is enough. I see it
hasn't come off yet at all events!" A man never lets well alone when he
is in an awkward position. If I had only held my tongue I might not have
made a guy of myself; but as I was in doubt as to what might be the
issue of my suit to Marjory, I felt additionally constrained to affect
ignorance of his meaning. So I floundered on:
"'Come off yet'? What on earth do you mean?" Again he slapped me on the
back as he said in his chaffing way:
"My dear boy I saw you come in over the bridge. You had had a long ride
I could see by your wheels; and I am bound to say that you did seem on
excellent terms with each other!" This was getting dangerous ground, so
I tried to sheer off. "Oh," I said, "you mean my bike ride with Miss
Anita"--I was interrupted by his sudden whistle.
"Oh," he said in exact imitation of my own manner. "You mean Miss Anita!
So it has come to that already! Anyhow I congratulate you heartily,
whether it has come, or may come, or will come to anything else."
"I don't see," I said, with a helpless feeling of having been driven
into a corner, "that there is anything especially remarkable in a man
having a bicycle ride with a young lady of his acquaintance."
"Keep your hair on, old man!" he said with a smile. "There is nothing
remarkable about a man riding with a young lady; but there is something
very remarkable about any man riding with this particular young lady.
Why, man alive, don't you know that there isn't a man in America, or out
of it, that wouldn't give the eyes out of his head to take your place on
such an occasion. To ride alone with Marjory Drake--"
"With whom?" I said impulsively; and having spoken could have bitten
out my tongue. Adams paused; he was silent so long that I began to grow
uneasy. His face grew very grave, and there spread over it that look
between cunning and dominance which was his official expression. Then he
spoke, but his words had not the same careless ring in them. There was a
manifest caution and a certain indefinable sense of distance.
"Look here, Archie Hunter! Is it possible that you don't know who it is
that you were with. All right! I know of course that you are acquainted
with her personally," for he saw I was about to protest, "the very fact
of your being with her and your knowing the name that she seldom uses
answer for that; and you may take it from me that the lady needs no
character for discretion from me. But how is it that you are on such
good terms with her, and yet don't seem even to know her name?" For
fully a minute there was silence between us. Cathcart had as yet
said not a word, and Adams was thinking. For myself I was in a sea of
multitudinous concerns; whichever way I turned I was face to face with
some new difficulty. It would not do to leave these men under the
impression that there was any social irregularity in my friendship with
Marjory; I was too jealous of her good name to allow such a thing to be
possible. And yet I could not explain at length how we had come to be
such good friends. Already there were so many little mysteries; right up
to this very evening when she and Mrs. Jack had gone away so strangely,
leaving me in the ridiculous position of a guest with no host. It was
not easy to explain these things; it was impossible to avoid them. In
the midst of this chaotic whirl of thoughts Adams spoke:
"I think I had better say no more, anyhow. After all, if Miss Drake
chooses to keep a secret, or to make one, it is not my business to give
it, or her, away. She knows what she's doing. You will excuse me, old
fellow, won't you; but as it is manifestly a lady's wish, I think I can
do best by holding my tongue."
"Any wish of that lady's," said I, and I felt that I must seem to speak
grandiloquently, "can only have my most loyal support."
There was an awkward silence which was relieved by Cathcart, who said to
me:
"Come up to my room, Archie; I want to tell you something. You'll join
us, too, Sam, won't you?"
"All right, Billy," said Adams, "I'll come in a few minutes. I want to
give some directions about a horse for to-morrow."
When we were in Cathcart's room, he closed the door and said to me with
the most genuine good feeling:
"I didn't like to say a word downstairs, old chap; but I could see you
were in some difficulty. Of course I know it's all right; but ought you
not to know something of the lady? With any one else but Sam and myself
such a thing might have conveyed a false impression. Surely you can best
protect the lady by knowing how to avoid anything that might embarrass
her!" This was all good sound common sense. For a moment I weighed up
the matter against the possibility of Marjory's wishing to keep her name
a secret. Looking back, however, I could see that any concealment that
had been was rather positive than negative. The original error had been
mine; she had simply allowed it to pass. The whole thing had probably
been the passing fancy of a bright, spirited young girl; to take it too
seriously, or to make too much of it might do harm. Why, even these
men might, were I to regard it as important, take it as some piece of
deliberate deceit on her part. Thus convinced of the wisdom of
Cathcart's proposition I spoke:
"You are quite right! and I shall be much obliged if you will--if you
will enlighten me." He bowed and smiled, and went on genially:
"The lady you called Miss Anita, you so far called quite correctly. Her
name is Anita; but it is only her second Christian name. She is known to
the world as Miss Marjory Drake, of Chicago."
"Known to the world." Was this a mere phrase, or the simple expression
of a fact! I asked directly:
"How known to the world? Do you mean that is the name known amongst her
circle of acquaintances? Is--is there any cause why the great world
outside that circle should know her at all?" He smiled and laid his
hand on my shoulder in a very brotherly way as he answered:
"Yes, old fellow. There is a reason, and a good one, why the great world
should know her. I see you are all in the dark; so I had better tell you
what I know. Marjory Anita Drake is an heiress, a great heiress, a very
great heiress; perhaps a long way the greatest heiress in America, or
out of it. Her father, who died when she was a baby, left her a gigantic
fortune; and her trustees have multiplied it over and over again." He
paused; so I said--it seeming necessary to say something:
"But being an heiress is not sufficient reason why a girl should be
known to the world."
"It is a pretty good one. Most people wouldn't want any better. But this
is not the reason in her case. She is the girl who gave the battle ship
to the American Government!"
"Gave the battle ship! I don't understand!"
"It was this way. At the time the reports kept crowding in of the
Spanish atrocities on the _reconcentrados_; when public feeling was
rising in the United States, this girl got all on fire to free Cuba. To
this end she bought a battle ship that the Cramp's had built for Japan.
She had the ship armed with Krupp cannon which she bought through
friends in Italy; and went along the Eastern coast amongst the sailors
and fishermen till she had recruited a crew. Then she handed the whole
thing over to the Government as a spur to it to take some action. The
ship is officered with men from the Naval Academy at Annapolis; and
they tell me there isn't one of the crew--from the cabin boy to the
captain--that wouldn't die for the girl to-morrow."
"Bravo!" I said instinctively! "That's a girl for a nation to be proud
of!"
"She is all that!" said Cathcart enthusiastically. "Now you can
understand why Adams congratulated you; and why he was so surprised when
you did not seem to know who she was." I stood for a moment thinking,
and all the clouds which wrapped Marjory's purpose in mystery seemed to
disperse. This, then, was why she allowed the error of her name to pass.
She had not made an _incognita_; chance had done this for her, and
she had simply accepted it. Doubtless, wearied with praise and with
publicity and notoriety in all its popular forms, she was glad to get
away and hide herself for a while. Fortune had thrown in her way a man
who was manifestly ignorant of her very existence; and it was a pleasure
to play with him at hide-and-seek!
It was, after all, an up-to-date story of the Princess in disguise; and
I was the young man, all unknowing, with whom she had played.
Here a terrible doubt assailed me. Other Princesses had played
hide-and-seek; and, having had their sport, had vanished; leaving
desolation and an empty heart behind them. Was it possible that she too
was like this; that she had been all the while playing with me; that
even whilst she was being most gracious, she was taking steps to
hide even her whereabouts from me? Here was I, who had even proposed
marriage; and yet who did not even know when or where I should see her
again--if indeed I should ever see her again at all. I could not believe
it. I had looked into her eyes, and had seen the truth. Here was no
wanton playing at bowls with men's hearts. My life upon her faith!
I seemed to have lost myself in a sort of trance. I was recalled from it
by Cathcart, who seeing me in a reverie had gone over to the fireplace
and stood with his back to me, filling his pipe at the mantel-piece:
"I think I hear Adams coming. Pardon me, old fellow, but though I am
sure he knows I have told you about Miss Drake, and though he probably
made an excuse for delay so that I might have an opportunity to do so,
he wants to appear not to enter on the subject. He is _diplomat_ all
over. Remember he is of the U. S. Embassy; and Miss Drake, as an
American citizen, is theoretically under his care in this foreign
country. Let us be talking of something else when he comes in!" Sam came
along the passage softly whistling a bar of "Yankee Doodle." Cathcart
nodded to me and whispered:
"I told you so! He takes good care that he may not surprise us." When he
came in we were talking of the prospects of the Autumn fishing on the
Dee.
When we left Cathcart's room, after a cigar, I, being somewhat tired
with my long ride, went at once to my room. Adams came with me as far as
the door.
I was just getting into bed when I heard a slight tap at the door. I
unlocked it and found Adams without. He raised a warning hand, and said
in a whisper:
"May I come in? I want to say something very privately." More than ever
mystified--everything seemed a mystery now--I opened the door. He came
in and I closed it softly and locked it.