"You are doing well, my child. Continue, for Rupert tells me this
man Misch is a positive Pierpont Morgan in financial matters.
Continue, I beg of you," besought Lord Fordingbridge furtively at
breakfast.
Vingie smiled. Men are so simple to a pretty girl.
At eleven o'clock Lord Fordingbridge, Sir Charles and Mr. Janowicz
stepped forth from the council chamber to find Vingie playing with a
fox terrier on the lawn. She stood up slender and appealing, perfect
from head to foot, and Mr. Janowicz came to her as the needle to the
magnet.
"It is impossible for the present. Misch and your Mr. Frack are
examining the details," he announced.
"There is a little island about three miles off the coast. Would you
like to picnic there with me?" she tempted.
He followed her down the cliff path, a servant placed the luncheon
basket in a motor-boat lying alongside the slipway, and Vingie
politely refused a passage to several well-meaning detectives.
"There are lines in the locker. Fish!" she commanded Mr. Janowicz,
and steered seaward across the bay she had known from babyhood.
He put out two lines and caught one bass and five mackerel. Then he
rested and gazed pensively at Vingie who sat with sleeves rolled up
and the tiller under her arm listening idly to the beat of the engine.
"I love you, Virginia," he said at last.
Her mouth curved into a smile and her eyes met his perfectly
unembarrassed.
"You don't do anything of the kind, Oscar. You mean I'm pretty, and
I attract you, and you're rather miserable and I make you happier,
and you kissed my arm yesterday and we listened to bird-songs in the
moonlight, and it all stimulated your emotions. I've had that effect
on lots of men and they all said they loved me, but they didn't any
more than you do. We shall be great pals these three days and then
you'll go home and forget all about it."
"You are not astonished that I love you--not afraid?" he asked in
surprise.
"I'm not afraid of anybody, and if you weren't attracted I should be
a little disappointed. I expected you to be, up to a point. But
people don't love quite so easily. It takes time, and a certain
amount of sacrifice. Love and adversity go together. Didn't you
know that?"
"But you know so much! How do you know?"
"'Cause I'm a girl and not a man. Get out the boat-hook and go
forward and hook on to that rock when I run alongside. It's the only
bit of deep water where we can land."
She wedged the kedge anchor between two boulders, paid out the
painter, and led him over the rocks to a little sandy bay. Manlike
he insisted on cleaning the fish and cooking them in the
Jugo-Czechian manner. Vingie sat and watched him dreamily. Finally
he offered certain charred fragments on a plate.
"There should, of course, be olives, and paprika, and a touch of
garlic, and a squeeze of orange juice, and a sauce made with white
wine, and these are the wrong kind of fish. But otherwise you have
here our great national delicacy," he explained.
Silently Vingie indicated the luncheon basket--chicken and salad,
strawberries and cream, hock cup, _petits fours_, cigarettes, coffee.
The golden sunshine blessed them as they lay on the sand in perfect
idleness. Across a three-mile strip of blue Mr. Misch and Rupert
Frack labored dismally to evolve a formula.
"Oscar," murmured Vingie at last, "you aren't amusing me. Isn't
there anything interesting in your country except fried fish?"
His eyes dwelt on her fair face, golden brown beneath the sun. "I
was thinking of the days when we shall be married," he answered.
"But we shall never be married, Oscar."
He laughed. "I have told you I love you. What else should we do but
marry?"
"You forget," she said, "that I don't want to marry you in the least.
I don't want to marry any one. Why should I?"
"Marriage is the logical end of love."
"I know marriage often does end love, logically or otherwise, Oscar,
but I'm not in love with you, so there's no need to end it."
He got up, clicked his heels and bowed ceremoniously.
"I have offered you marriage formally, Mademoiselle; you choose to be
flippant, and so I am in honor bound to terminate my mission here and
return to my own country. This is an affront I have not deserved."
She stretched out a hand and smiled up at him.
"Don't be beastly to me, Oscar. You know I didn't mean to hurt you.
Please forgive me and sit down and let's be friends. I wanted you to
have such a happy day."
The fretful expression faded from his face. Laughing, he flung
himself down on the sand.
"'Lay by my side your bunch of purple heather,
The last red asters of an autumn day,
And let us sit and talk of love together
As once in May.'"
he quoted. "I will be very good and very devoted, Virginia, and by
and by, before I go, I will ask you again."
Late that night Vingie drifted like a wraith into the smoking-room
where Sir Charles and Rupert sat drinking whisky-and-soda. Lord
Fordingbridge, in a corner, bowed his fine head over an obstinate
game of Patience. Vingie sank wearily into an armchair and passed a
hand over her brow.
"I wish I'd never seen your Janowicz man," she announced. "Only Mr.
Misch, who insisted on a good-night talk with him, saved me from
hysterics. I gave him a rose, which he placed against his heart and
fled. I hope Rupert has had extraordinary luck with Mr. Misch. I
should like some one to be pleased."
"Misch," retorted Rupert wearily, "is a perfect fool. He insists on
a loan of fifty thousand million kronen instead of thirty and talks a
lot of nonsense about a sphere of influence on the Adriatic littoral."
"Did I tell you, Vingie, that the Lovelace filly was unplaced in the
three o'clock race yesterday?" inquired Sir Charles with a little
sigh. "She was well up while Knave of Hearts made the running, but
when he collapsed half-way and Simpson called on her for a final
effort she failed to respond. On her previous form she ought to have
won in a canter by five lengths at least."
Lord Fordingbridge shuffled his cards together and shook his head.
"I shall never get out Miss Milligan unless I cheat," he complained.
"I've tried every night for the last thirty years, but it always goes
wrong somewhere."
"Is Janowicz married?" demanded Vingie of Rupert.
"No. Why?"
"From a woman's point of view there are about a hundred thousand
reasons why, but it would take all night to tell you them, and I'm
going to bed. That doesn't make it any the less annoying," she
snapped, and departed, leaving chaos behind her.
Sir Charles yawned politely behind his hand.
"If there were any publicity connected with this affair now would be
the time to issue a statement saying that we were all in perfect
accord over everything," he murmured.
In the morning after breakfast, Vingie gave way to panic.
"If I don't get out of this atmosphere I shall go mad," she murmured,
and zigzagged feverishly from tree to tree until, coming to the
avenue gates, she passed out and began to walk along the main road.
Cheerful rustics at work in the fields, an occasional tradesman's
cart passing by, soothed her restless nerves. It all seemed so
normal.
Barely two hundred yards on her way she found a stationary car, its
bonnet uplifted in an attitude of surrender. Upon the running-board
sat what was obviously a nice man, engaged in filling a pipe. His
stocky figure adorned a suit of comfortable old clothes and when he
saw Vingie he smiled joyously, thankful for the perfect vision thus
early in the day. With the confidence of youth Vingie smiled back
and stood still before him in the sunshine.
"Is it anything very bad? Shall I ask one of our chauffeurs to
help?" she asked kindly.
The nice man, who had risen and lifted his hat in salutation, shook
his head.
"I'm afraid my little car has a diplomatic illness, Miss Lauriston,"
he confessed after a careful glance at Vingie. "You see I rather
hoped you'd come along."
"Why? Do I know you?"
The nice man shook his head again.
"But I'd rather it were you than Mr. Janowicz," he amplified, looking
steadfastly at the pipe in his fingers.
"Mr. Janowicz? I don't understand!" said Vingie in a faint voice.
Officially, only four people were aware of Mr. Janowicz's arrival.
She sat down on the running-board of the deceitful car and propped
her chin in her hands. After a second's hesitation the nice man sat
down beside her.
"If you'll promise not to tell I'll put all my cards on the table,"
he coaxed. "I'm George Berriman, foreign editor of the _Daily Tale_.
I'm taking a little holiday in these parts and I thought if I had a
breakdown close to your gates some one would come out or go in who
might make a story. I knew you by sight, of course, from your
pictures. We generally call you 'the charming young society beauty.'
I'm rather interested in the Jugo-Czechian situation."
"But people don't know----"
"You mustn't say 'people.' There are no people, only readers and
potential readers," rebuked Mr. Berriman. "Of course, I know all
about Janowicz. One of my correspondents saw him get into his
aeroplane, and another saw him get out, and I could tell you the
number of the car that brought him down here. But I'd love a few
personal touches. He's an interesting fellow. He married a nobody
before the war and offended Court circles very badly."
"But he _isn't_ married!"
Mr. Berriman smiled pityingly.
"He married Fritzi Pogany, the cabaret dancer, in 1914, when she was
only sixteen years old. She's rather good-looking if I may say so."
Vingie sat up, and held out a dramatic hand.
"Give me a cigarette!" she commanded. "I knew it all the time, but
Rupert swore he wasn't. You can always tell. The married ones are
so charming and docile and pathetic. And yet he asked me to marry
him--carried away by his feelings, I s'pose. This is absolutely
confidential, of course."
"Perfectly," agreed Mr. Berriman. "The thing is, what have they
decided? We love an exclusive story in the _Daily Tale_. Mind, I'm
not trying to tempt you, because it would be useless as well as
unpardonable, but the news must be given to the world somehow.
Anything we could do in return--I suppose our ordinary rates wouldn't
appeal to you, even the high prices we pay for a scoop, but perhaps
you have a pet charity, or a worthy cause which we could assist?"
Vingie turned to Mr. Berriman and smiled at him so adorably that even
his iron nerve shook slightly.
"You've helped me a great deal this morning without knowing it," she
said. "I feel strong and calm again. I'll do as much for you if I
can. Where are you staying?"
"They make me very comfortable down in the village, at the
White-faced Goat. The telephone number is twelve. You can rely
absolutely on my discretion."
She got up, took a little puff and mirror from her wrist-bag and
powdered her face.
"Good-by. I'll remember," she said and walked back thoughtfully to
the house.
She met Rupert pacing the avenue, his face pale, his mouth set.
Although she found much in his character to criticize, and considered
him unsuitable as a husband, and felt particularly annoyed because he
had never offered himself in that capacity, and saw infinite
shortcomings in his personality it would be most fascinating to
remedy, somehow he aroused her maternal instinct.
"What's the matter, my dear old thing?" she inquired kindly.
Rupert jerked his head passionately.
"A deadlock. The whole business is finished. They won't budge. All
our trouble is wasted. Complete failure, and Fordingbridge is
furious."
"Why? It's as much his fault as yours."
"But he left Misch to me, and I worked out the entire scheme," said
Rupert Frack dismally.
"If I saved you, what would you think?" asked Vingie, a benevolent
smile softening her young mouth, a warm glow of charity and good will
stealing through her veins.
"I should think I was dreaming and expect to wake up with a thud!"
answered Rupert, bitterly sarcastic.
Vingie turned on him like a wildcat.
"Then I'll do it--not because I care what happens to you, but just to
show I've got more brains than a great thick-headed, commonplace,
unattractive lump like you!" she stormed and left him limp with
amazement.
Oscar sat on the lawn smoking a Russian cigarette, staring gloomily
into the distance. He rose and bowed philosophically.
"A diplomatic tempest rages, but you come as sunshine piercing the
clouds," he said. "Virginia, you are more adorable than ever. I can
not begin to describe it. Please sit down and let us talk about your
hair, and your eyes, and the curve of your cheek when you laugh."
"I can't stop," she answered, not half so annoyed with him as might
be supposed, "but will you please ride with me after lunch? There's
something I want to tell you."
In a green path amid pine woods Vingie reined in her mare, slid from
the saddle and stood, a slight boy-girl figure, in beautiful
breeches, long mahogany-tanned boots, linen coat and felt riding hat.
She gave the reins to Oscar, seated herself on a fallen tree-trunk
and flicked a spurred heel thoughtfully with her cutting whip.
He tethered the beasts and stood looking at her; sunlight glinted
through the branches and a mid-summer hush lay all around.
"Sit down," she commanded. "I want to talk. Do you remember asking
me to marry you, Oscar?"
"It is hardly a thing one would forget, Virginia."
"Why did you?"
"Because you are the most beautiful person in the world. I love you,
and marriage is the logical end of love."
"You know perfectly well we shall never be married."
"Why not?"
Vingie laid the whip across her knees and looked at him.
"Because you're married already!"
He sat up rigidly beside her and went very pale.
"But how did you know? No one knows!" he exclaimed.
"To Fritzi Pogany, in 1914. She was sixteen and very pretty. A
cabaret dancer, I understand. Oscar, is there any reason why I
shouldn't hit you across the face with this?" She bent the cutting
whip idly between gloved fingers.
"You don't understand. It was a ridiculous _mésalliance_. I had
intended to dissolve this marriage, which was hopeless from the
first. No one would have known."
"Oscar," said Vingie icily, "do you realize you're talking to me and
not to a scullery-maid? Am I likely to want you after Fritzi's
finished with you? Am I likely to want you at all? Believe me, I'm
not."
"These diplomatic difficulties are solely on account of you," he
explained wearily. "Misch has been haggling on my instructions. I
was perfectly content with Lord Fordingbridge's original offer.
To-night I should have asked formally for us to be betrothed, and in
honor of that the concession would have been made."
Vingie's mouth quivered at the corners; she began to giggle; finally
she went off into peals of laughter. At last she became calm, laid a
small affectionate hand on her companion's shoulder and delivered her
judgment.
"Listen, Oscar! You must give way just the same. If you don't I
shall be obliged to tell Sir Charles everything, and that will be
most unpleasant for you. Remember, we've spent three whole days
together, which require some explanation. Officially, I've been
talking you over to our side."
He drew himself up very haughtily. "I can not eat my words in that
fashion. Even the foreign minister of a post-war republic has his
feelings."
"Even I have mine if it comes to that, Oscar. Of course we'll save
your face to an extent. You shall have favorable notices in the
papers and perhaps a decoration. But remember, by dinner time all
this must be settled, and I want you to do it through Mr. Frack. I
have a reason for this. Do you promise?"
Mr. Janowicz then behaved in very handsome fashion. He rose, clicked
his heels and bowed courteously.
"Miss Lauriston," he said, "although I speak as a soldier it is no
disgrace to surrender to the most beautiful girl in the world."
It was, in effect, as if the Hussars of the Guard went by in column
of sections and Major Count Oscar Janowicz at their head gave the
command: "Carry--suds! Eyes--right!"
Vingie, also rising, lifted her ineffable mouth.
"Rather a darling, aren't you?" she murmured. "You may kiss me just
once, if you like, Oscar."
They had dined ceremoniously. They had drunk to the success of the
negotiations. The Jugo-Czechian mission had retired to pack; Vingie
sat alone in the drawing-room. Presently Lord Fordingbridge entered,
and closed the door quietly. He moved across to Vingie sitting in
the shadows and smiled.
"You did very well," he said at last.
"It was all luck. I hope you give Rupert proper credit. He worked
very hard."
"Does he--er--mean a great deal?"
"I don't know. He's very immature. Not for years and years anyhow.
He means well. There's the foreign editor of the _Daily Tale_
staying in the village. May he have special facilities? He gave me
the key to the whole thing. I half promised----"
"Just as you wish."
"And Oscar has his decoration?"
"I shall advise the prime minister."