An Introduction and a Promenade
Warm and fair dawned the morning; and having, at its leisure, duly
arisen, bathed and breakfasted, the unemployed population of
Weet-sur-Mer, male and female, sallied forth to throng the beach and
Digue, to inhale the fresh air, to shake off so far as possible the
effects of the evening's dissipations, and to exchange such toadstool
growths of gossip as had sprung up over night.
To join this parade there presently came Lord Vernon, reclining
languidly in his invalid chair, and muffled in many rugs; but his eyes
were eagerly alert and he gazed with evident anticipation down the long
promenade of the Digue. He was attended by Blake, Collins, and Sir John,
all of them determined, no doubt, to prevent a second contretemps. But
Sir John presently descried a learned fellow-Aesculapian and stopped for
a chat with him; while Blake soon afterward succumbed to the glance and
smile of a red-cheeked English beauty. Collins, however, stuck grimly to
his post, being above--or below--such human weaknesses.
"There they are!" cried Vernon, suddenly, with brightening eyes.
"Who?" asked Collins, following his gaze. "Oh, the Rush ford girls. I
suppose it will be polite to show our gratitude. I think we owe them a
vote of thinks, don't you?"
"I certainly do," agreed Vernon, straightening himself in his chair with
a vigour which had nothing of the invalid about it. "Will you introduce
me?"
"If I can snare them without being too intrusive," assented Collins,
who, since the success of his stratagem of the afternoon before, had
been in an unusually complaisant mood.
But fate willed that they should be snared without any effort on his
part whatever, for just then a porter came by with a truck piled high
with luggage, and it and the invalid chair combined to form an impasse
from which there was no escaping. Not that either of the young ladies
displayed any very evident anxiety to escape.
"Good-morning," said Collins, in his best manner. "My lord," he
continued, turning to his companion, "these are the Misses Rushford, to
whom we owe so much. I hope I may introduce Lord Vernon to you," he
added.
Both of them were laughing as they took, in turn, the hand which Vernon
rather eagerly held out.
"I'm awfully glad to meet you," he said, looking from one to the other
and trying to decide which was the prettier. "I feel that we _do_ owe
you a great deal. When Collins came back yesterday afternoon and told me
what he'd had the impudence to ask you, I was--I was--"
"Very wrathy, to put it mildly," said Collins. "But I took it meekly; it
was in a good cause."
"And we didn't think it impudent at all," said Sue. "Since we had caused
all the trouble, it was only fair that we should bear a part of it.
Besides, it wasn't by any means so difficult as Mr. Collins thought it
would be."
"You don't mean that Markeld actually asked you! I didn't believe he'd
do that, despite Collins's prophecy. He seemed to have too much of high
politeness about him."
"I was sure he would," put in Collins, triumphantly. "He couldn't afford
to neglect such an obvious way of making certain, and he's much too
clever to have overlooked it."
"You were quite right, Lord Vernon," said Susie, very quietly, though
there was a dangerous sparkle in her eyes. "The Prince did not ask
us--but a French creature did--a detective--"
"One of his emissaries," suggested Collins. "I know him--his name is
Tellier."
"I have no reason to think him an emissary," retorted Susie, curtly,
beginning to dislike the secretary. "I don't in the least believe the
Prince would choose such a one. Dad pointed him out to us in the
dining-room last night--a thing of mustachios and eyes--just the kind
one sees at the vaudeville, but which I hadn't the least idea existed in
real life.--Oh!" she cried, with a little start, "there he is now,
almost near enough to hear!"
Collins swore softly between his teeth, for there, indeed, Monsieur
Tellier was, leaning with elaborate negligence against the balustrade,
apparently intent upon the crowd below. His countenance was quite
inscrutable--calm as a summer day--which might mean much or nothing, for
he had an immense pride in keeping it always so. Vernon took him in
with a quick glance.
"I recognise the type," he said. "Can't we go on, Miss Rushford? Collins
might form a rear guard. And James is blind, deaf, and dumb toward
everything that doesn't concern him," he added, as she glanced at the
stalwart footman behind the chair. "I'm very anxious to hear the story.
But, of course, if it's asking too much--"
"It isn't," answered Susie, promptly, and fell in beside the chair,
while Collins and her sister followed at a distance of a few paces.
"Now, I think, we can talk without fear of being overheard by Monsieur
Tellier. But there is really very little to tell. He sent up his card
just before dinner yesterday evening; we sent it back. Then, being
persistent and not easily snubbed, he sent up a note which asked 'Are
the Misses Rushford acquainted with the gentleman who came to their
assistance this afternoon?' To which the Misses Rushford added a line,
'They are not,' and sent it back to him. It was too absurd. It reminded
me of the agony column in the _Herald_."
"The agony column?"
"Yes--'Will the lady dressed in blue, who took a Broadway car
yesterday,'--and so on."
"Oh," said Vernon, with a smile. "Yes--we have the same thing in
England."
"And, after all," continued Susie, "our reply was the exact and literal
truth--of a kind which, I should imagine, is well known to diplomats."
The occupant of the chair had quite made up his mind that Susie was the
prettier.
"It is their favourite kind," he assured her; "nothing delights them
more than to lie while telling the truth."
"Them? But aren't you a diplomat?"
"There are many who doubt it. Perhaps they will doubt it more than ever
before we are out of this tangle. It's awfully good of you and your
sister to take an interest in it."
"But of course we'd take an interest!"
"And keep a secret."
"Ah--well, perhaps that _is_ a little unusual."
"Especially after my rudeness," he added.
"Your rudeness?"
"In running away and hiding behind my paper. What did you think of me?"
"We didn't know what to think," admitted Susie, candidly; "though, of
course, afterwards we were able to guess."
"And I am pardoned?"
"Oh, quite; you had to escape, you know. It's a perfectly delightful
muddle, isn't it? Dad understood it at once."
"Did he?" The occupant of the chair moved a little uneasily.
"Yes--we talked it over, you know, after Mr. Collins left. But then dad
is up on politics and we are not. Only it's a little rough on the
Prince of Markeld, don't you think?"
"Yes, it _is_ rough on him, but--well, it would be rougher to turn him
down--rougher on all concerned!"
"You'd have to turn him down? But there; I mustn't meddle with affairs
of state!"
"Sentiment hasn't much show in the foreign office," said Vernon, with
some bitterness; "not even the sentiment of friendship. We're trying to
find the easiest way out."
Susie nodded, her eyes sparkling. This was a new and delicious
experience, this weighing the fate of nations, as it were. She even
skipped a little, unconscious of Lord Vernon's eyes upon her glowing
face.
"Of course," she agreed, judicially, "I suppose one must always try to
find the easiest way out. Only dad seemed to think--"
She hesitated.
"Go ahead," he encouraged her. "I don't doubt that your father was
entirely right."
"Well, then, dad seemed to think that Prince Ferdinand is much the
better of the two men."
"There is no question of that," assented Lord Vernon, gloomily. "But let
me put a case, Miss Rushford. Suppose your best friend were set upon by
thieves and just as you started to help him, another thief came up
behind you and, putting a pistol to your head, commanded you to stand
still. What would you do?"
"I'd stand still," laughed Sue.
"Yes; but your friend can't see the thief behind you, and when he sees
you standing there, not offering to help him, he thinks you are a coward
and a traitor. Perhaps he tells you so in the most emphatic language at
his command."
"It would be a very difficult position," agreed Sue, still laughing at
the picture presented by the words. "On second thought, I don't believe
I'd stand still for long; I'd try to give my thief a knock-out blow and
then go help my friend."
"But you would have to wait till your thief was off his guard. Well,
that is pretty much the position that England is in, as I understand it.
Prince Ferdinand is our friend, but we've got to wait till the man with
the pistol makes a false move. We're doing the best we can--and in the
meantime, Prince Ferdinand's misguided friends are calling us hard
names."
"But," inquired Susie, "who is the man with the pistol? He must be a
pretty big fellow to be able to hold you prisoner, and yet I must
confess that I'm like Prince Ferdinand--I can't perceive him, either."
Lord Vernon hesitated a moment.
"I'm afraid, Miss Rushford," he said, slowly, at last, "that I can't
tell you, just yet. I'd like to, but if I did, I'd have all these
diplomatic sharps down on me in short order. I thought maybe you could
guess."
"Oh, don't apologise!" cried Susie. "I hadn't any right to ask.
Though," she added, regretfully, "I'm not at all good at guessing."
Lord Vernon smiled as he looked at her.
"I don't think we'll have any more trouble," he said. "Markeld and I
have called a truce for a week, and by that time--"
He paused again, evidently on the verge of another indiscretion. Chance
saved him the necessity of going on, for at that moment a tall, military
figure loomed ahead, approached, hesitated, stopped, and uncovered.
"I hope I see you better this morning, Lord Vernon," said a pleasant
voice.
"Why, yes, thank you, Your Highness," answered Vernon, colouring a
little. "I feel much better. Let me introduce to you Miss Rushford," he
added, catching the other's admiring glance and interpreting it aright.
"Miss Rushford, this is the Prince of Markeld."