IV

The dance was not yet at its most furious: the dowagers had scarcely

begun nudging each other the better to point their _risqué_ tales of the

days of good King Edward: Cabinet Ministers had not long been exchanging

doubtful Limericks with jaded dexterity: when the following events

happened:

Anyone penetrating to a secluded conservatory leading from a corner of

the ball-room might have espied a young lady sitting at her ease on a

bench of cedarwood beneath the dusty and unbalanced-looking growth which

is sold in civilised countries as a palm-tree. The languid young lady’s

air was that of one who is forlorn, of one who is sad, of one who is so

bored, yet decidedly that of one who would not for worlds have her

dolour interrupted by the general run of humanity, such as perspire

without suavity and go poking their tedious noses into corners of

ball-rooms, saying: “I say, will you dance? I say, do dance!” Woe and

woe to such youths, for they shall instantly be answered by the magical

words “Missing three” and their persons shall be enveloped in

forgetfulness forever.

Secure in her solitude behind a screen of plants and flowers, our young

lady had quite evaded the eye of even the most relentless dancer but for

the whisper of her white dress through the leaves. It should further be

noted that not one among all the flowers in that flaming conservatory

was more beautiful than the flowers of Cartier, Lacloche, Boucheron, and

Janesich, which graced the young lady’s slender forearm in the guise of

bracelets of diamonds, emeralds, black onyx, pink pearls and sapphires,

all wrought upon platinum in divers tender designs. Her throat was

unadorned but for a double rope of pearls, while two captive emeralds

wept from the tips of her ears. Her hair was tawny, and it glittered

like a swarm of bees. As for her eyes, they were more than adequate to

every occasion, men being what they are.

But no sudden intruder could have been more surprised to see the

Princess Baba sitting alone--for it was she--than was the Princess Baba

herself to see, by the merest hazard of a glance over her shoulder, the

curious phenomenon of the hands, the feet and the person of a young

gentleman forcing himself into the premises through one of the

conservatory windows.

She said, sighed, cried: “Oh!”

The intruder said something denoting astonishment, confusion, and grief;

while his appearance was notably devoid of that air of calm which is the

mark of your perfect rogue or practising philosopher.

“_Well!_” said the Princess Baba. “To come in by the roof!”

“Sorry,” said the young gentleman. “Sorry.”

“Sir, what _can_ this mean! It is not by saying ‘sorry’ that one is

excused for housebreaking!”

“Madam,” begged the youth, “won’t you please allow me to explain?”

“And he calls me ‘madam’!” sighed the Princess Baba with vexation. “Now

I ask you, young man, do I look like a ‘madam’?”

He said: “You look divine. You are beautiful.”

“Attractive I may be,” said the young Princess, “but beautiful, no. For,

look at it which way you like, I’ve got a turned-up nose.”

“We are all as God made us,” sighed the young gentleman.

“By no means,” said the Princess Baba, “for some people are charming and

some are not, and what does God know of charm? It is dreadful to lie

awake at nights thinking that God lacks charm. Yet the word is never so

much as mentioned in the Bible.”

“As for the Bible,” said the young gentleman, “it is nowadays the

fashion among rich men to say that it makes the most delightful reading

in the world. Perhaps one day I shall have the time to read it too. In

the meanwhile, may I sit down?”

“But this is most unusual!” cried the young Princess. “To come to a ball

through a window! May I ask, are you a burglar? You certainly do not

look like a burglar. Explain yourself, sir!”

“I am a poor writer,” quoth our young friend. We, of course, knew that.

But the Princess Baba was surprised, protesting: “Oh, come, that _must_

be nonsense! For, firstly, you are rather a dear, and so you can’t be

poor; and, secondly, you are quite well-dressed, and so you can’t be a

writer.”

“Your nonsense suits my nonsense,” said the young gentleman. “Thank

you.”

“Know, Sir Author, that I am the Princess Baba of Valeria.”

He rose and knelt and said: “Princess! What have I done!”

“Rise, my friend. Men no longer need to kneel to Royalty.”

“Princess, what shall I say! Oh, what have I done! How can I apologise

for this intrusion!”

The young Princess cried: “Why, here is an idea! You might begin by

kissing my hand. I assure you that that is quite usual. But oh, my

friend, you must please not kiss my hand while you are kneeling! That

will never, never do, for a man who is kneeling before a woman has her

at a great disadvantage. Provided, of course, that the woman has a

temperament. I am, unfortunately, full of temperament. My father is very

worried about me.”

“Princess, this is not the first time I have kissed your hand.”

“Oh!” sighed the Princess Baba, and the young writer did his part like a

man and a cavalier, whereupon she said: “You have a very pretty way of

kissing a lady’s hand, Sir Author. And I had been told it was a lost art

in England!”

“All the arts were lost in England by our fathers, Princess. Youth is

just rediscovering them.”

“Young man,” said the Princess severely, “do you think it quite wise to

be so full of self-confidence as all that?”

“Princess, forgive me! But I am so poor that I have to be full of what

costs me least.”

“And may I ask what was that idiotic remark you just made about this

not being the first time you have kissed my hand? Why, you had never so

much as set eyes on me until a moment ago!”

“I have kissed your hand in a dream,” said the young writer gravely, and

then he told how one afternoon he had seen her hand and in her hand a

flower, and how he had woven such a web of romance about that hand and

flower that he had never a wink of sleep from night to night.

“But you _must_ sleep!” cried the young Princess. “Oh, dear, and so you

are miserable, too! Ah, the misery of vain desire, and oh, the misery of

delight cut short! But you certainly must get some sleep to-night. You

can’t be allowed to go about kissing women’s hands as prettily as you do

and getting no sleep for your pains. Now wait here a few moments while I

go and get you some aspirin.”

But the youth dissuaded her, asking her how she could have the heart to

put an aspirin between them when he had dared all the legal penalties

for trespass for the sake of speech with her, nay, even for sight of

her.

“Well, I think you are very bold,” sighed she, but he humbly protested

that never was a man less bold than he by ordinary, but that the fires

of chivalry had burned high in him at sight of her hand at the window,

for, said he, could any but an unhappy heart sit with a hand drooping

out of a window on the only sunny afternoon of an English summer?

“There is certainly something in that,” said the young Princess, and

then she told him how miserable she was and how miserable she must

always be, for her heart was engaged in a battle with superior odds. And

she made him sit beside her on the bench of cedarwood, telling him of

her father and mother and the gay Court of Valeria, “which is so gay,”

she said, “that some of the most respectable ladies of the Court are

goaded into getting themselves divorced just for the sake of the peace

and quiet of being _déclassée_.”

And she told how it was to this Court that one fine day there came an

English lord with the very best introductions and such very excellent

white waist-coats for evening wear as were the envy of every cavalier in

Valeria.

“Like this one of mine?” asked the young gentleman, for is he a proper

man who will not belittle another by claiming an equal degree of

eminence in the sartorial abyss?

“That is not the point,” said the Princess Baba, “but the point is that

my Lord Quorn, for such was my lover’s name, was the handsomest man I

ever saw, and I loved him and he loved me and I lost him and he lost me.

That may seem a very reasonable combination of events to you, who are

young and cynical, but to me it was a matter of the utmost wretchedness.

My friend, know that this English lord had to fly for his life, for a

jealous lady of the Court had gone to my parents saying he had seduced

me.”

“The liar!” cried our hero.

“Oh, it was quite true!” sighed the Princess Baba.

“The cad!” cried our hero.

“I can’t agree with you,” said the Princess Baba. “I adore him. I adore

him. I adore him. And, oh, I am so very unhappy!”

He rose and knelt and said: “Princess, mayn’t I be of some use? Can’t I

help you? Please command me, for I would die for you.”

“At this very moment,” she sobbed, “he is very probably either dead or

dying, for how can he hope to survive a duel with the best swordsman of

Valeria, Captain Count Rupprecht Saxemünden von Maxe-Middengräfen?”

“It certainly does sound rather improbable,” said the youth dismally.

“And when it is all over and my lover lies dead--ah, how can I even say

it!--my betrothal to his murderer will be formally announced.”

“What, you are actually to marry a man with a name like that!”

“Yes, isn’t it dreadful!” sobbed the Princess Baba, whereupon the young

gentleman rose and stood before her with respectful determination,

saying that he for one could not bear the idea of her marrying Captain

Count Rupprecht God-knöws-what von Whät-not, and would therefore do all

in his power to preserve life in the person of Lord Quorn, since the

same was so delightful to her.

“For even at the risk of your grave displeasure,” said our hero, “I must

tell you, Princess, that I like you frightfully and shall never again

know delight but in your presence.”

“Now you are making love to a breaking heart!” pitifully cried the

Princess Baba. “So this is chivalry!”

“Princess,” said he firmly, “I do but owe it to myself to ask you to

make a note of the fact that I love you. And it is because I love you

that I will do all in my power to save Lord Quorn.”

“But, my friend,” said she with very wide eyes, “however will you manage

that?”

“I am just thinking, Princess. But shall we, while I am thinking,

dance?”

“What, you would have me dance while my love lies bleeding? I had

thought my confidence was placed in a more understanding mind. Ah

listen, oh look!”

And with a cry the Princess tore aside the flowers that screened the

conservatory windows and both looked down with eyes of horror on the

figures grouped in the garden below. Within, the rout was at its height

and the saxophone ever raised its frightful cry to the glory of the gods

of Africa. Without, was silence and the ring of steel.

“Oh, I can’t bear it, but I _can’t_ bear it!” sobbed the young Princess,

holding a cry to her lips with a handkerchief plaintive with scent. The

antagonists in the dark garden were plain to see, the whiteness of their

vests moving dimly in the darkness; and the tall figure of Lord Quorn

was seen to be forced back against a tree-trunk, so that there could be

no doubt but that he must presently be run through.

“Oh, have I to watch him die!” cried the young Princess, and was

suddenly made to stare incredulously at the youth beside her, for he had

whispered in accents of triumph:

“By Heaven, I’ve got an idea, a marvellous idea! You want to be happy,

Princess? Then come with me! Come, we will dance through the crowd to

the door and then we will see about my plan.”

“But what is it, what is it, why do you keep me in such suspense? Ah;

you are cruel!” sighed the Princess Baba. “But you certainly do dance

very well. Oh, how I love dancing! When I was very young I used to dream

that I would like to be loved by a fairy prince with finger-nails of

lapis-lazuli, but lately I have dreamed that I would like to be an

exhibition-dancer in a night-club. But are you sure this is the nearest

way to the door? It is so very crowded that I can’t see it, but how well

you guide, almost as well as you kiss a lady’s hand! But quick, quick,

to the door!”

“I am doing my best, Princess, guiding you through this crowd. It is

amazing how generously middle-aged people dance these days, denying

their elbows and feet to no one who comes near them.”

“But my lover dies--the door, the door!” cried the Princess Baba.

“And by Heaven, through it!”

“And now your plan?”

“Ah, you may well ask!” laughed our hero.

V

The tall figure of Lord Quorn lay crumpled and inert where he had fallen

against the tree-trunk. Only his eyes retained the magic gift of life,

and they looked upon the scene with sardonic resignation. Who shall

describe what thoughts then passed through the dying gallant’s mind? He

was mortally wounded.

Count Rupprecht lay stretched on his back a few yards away, the grass

about him soaked with the blood that flowed from his pierced lung. He

was dead. Above him stood the Duke, silently. Mr. Woodhouse Adams was on

his knees beside his dying friend.

“You got him, anyhow,” said he. “He’ll never know Christmas from Easter

again.”

“Fluke,” sighed Lord Quorn. “I always had the luck.”

“Luck, do you call it,” cried his friend, “to be killed!”

“It is better to be killed than to die,” said Lord Quorn faintly.

His Highness called grimly: “Ho, there! Ho, page!”

“_Altesse!_”

“Boy, go call my chaplain instantly.”

“Pester me with no priests, sir, I beg you!” cried the wicked Lord

Quorn. “I was born without one, I have lived without one, I have loved

without one, and I can damn well die without one.”

“Then has death no terrors for you, Lord Quorn?”

“Why, sir, I go to meet my Maker with the best heart in the world! I

have lived a perfectly delightful life in the best possible way. Can

Paradise show a more consummate achievement! Or must one have been bored

to death in this world to win eternal life in the next?”

“Then, page,” grimly said His Highness, “go tell the Princess Baba the

issue of the duel. Do not spare the truth. Count Rupprecht lies dead in

defence of her honour and the honour of Valeria; and Lord Quorn will

shortly be answering to God for his sins. And further tell the Princess

that she is permitted to say farewell to her lover. Begone!”

“Thank you very much,” sighed Lord Quorn.

But the page was not gone above a moment before he was returned, saying

breathlessly:

“_Altesse_, I bear this message from the Platinum-Stick-in-Waiting. The

Princess Baba was seen leaving the house a few minutes ago in a hired

vehicle, and with her was a young gentleman with an unknown face and

utterly devoid of decorations. Her Highness left word behind her with

the attendant of the Gentlemen’s Cloak-Room to the effect that she could

so little bear to await the issue of a duel in which her heart was so

deeply engaged that she had eloped with one who would understand her

grief.”

“Good!” sighed Lord Quorn into the livid silence.

“What’s that you say!” snapped the Duke.

“I was merely thanking my God, sir, that I die at last convinced of the

truth of what I have always suspected, that nothing in this world means

anything at all.”

“Except, of course, dogs and horses,” said Mr. Woodhouse Adams, and that

will do well enough for the end of the tale of the hand and the flower,

which is called _Prologue_ because nobody ever reads a Prologue and how

can it be to anyone’s advantage to sit out so improbable a tale without

the accompaniment of a Viennese waltz?

As for our hero and his darling, there are, naturally, no words to

describe the happiness they had in each other. It was not long, however,

before the young writer ceased to be a writer, for there was no money in

it; but with what his young wife made by selling the story of her

elopement for to make a musical-comedy they opened a night-club in

Golden Square called _Delight is my Middle Name_ and lived happily ever

after, the whilom Princess Baba making a great name for herself as a

dancer, for she was all legs and no hips and her step was as light as

her laughter and her laughter was as light as the breath of Eros.

In conclusion, may he who is still young enough and silly enough to have

told this tale be some day found worthy to be vouchsafed that which will

make him, too, live happily ever after in peace and good-will with his

heart, his lady and his fellows; and may the like good fortune also

befall such youths and maidens as, turning aside for a moment from the

realities of life, shall read this book.