The Second Promenade
Again the sun rose clear and bright, and again, having dispelled the
mist and chill of the early morning, it lured forth for the inevitable
promenade such of the sojourners at Weet-sur-Mer as had managed to get
to bed before dawn. Prince Markeld, descending with the earliest, left
nothing this time to chance, but took his station at the stairfoot, and
waited there with a patience really exemplary. From which it will be
seen that Princes in love are much as other men.
And presently, descending toward him, he descried the Misses Rushford;
Susie radiant as the morning, Nell a trifle paler than her wont, but
more beautiful, if anything, because of it. The Prince hastened forward
to greet them.
"Which way shall we go?" he asked, with the comfortable certainty of
including himself in their plans. "Good-morning," he added, to the
occupant of an invalid chair which was standing just outside the door.
"Good-morning," replied Lord Vernon, his eyes on Nell's. "My outing
yesterday was such a pleasant one that I was hoping it might be
repeated."
"Going or coming?" queried Sue, with a quizzical curve of the lips.
"Both ways," answered Vernon, promptly; but his eyes were still on Nell.
Markeld also looked excellently satisfied.
"Very well," he said, in his autocratic way, "we will proceed as we did
yesterday," and he led Susie away. Strange to relate, she followed quite
meekly. Somehow, when the moment came, it seemed exceedingly difficult
to snub him.
"Do you know," he was saying, "I fell quite in love with your father
last night. His point of view is so fresh and so full of humour.
Though," he added, "I must confess that sometimes I did not entirely
understand him."
"Didn't you?" laughed Susie. "Dad _does_ use a good deal of slang. It's
an American failing."
"So I have heard. I know my aunt will like him, too--the Dowager Duchess
of Markheim, you know."
"No," said Sue, a little faintly, "I didn't know." She had never before
considered the possibility of the Prince having any women relatives; her
heart fell as she thought what dreadful creatures they would probably
prove to be.
"My aunt is the head of the family," explained the Prince, calmly,
unconscious of his companion's perturbation. "She rules us with a rod of
iron. But you will like her and I know she will like you. She adores
anything with fire in it."
"Oh," said Susie, to herself, "and how does he know I've any fire in
me?" But she judged it wisest not to utter the question aloud.
"She worships spirit," added the Prince. "She is very fond of quoting a
line of your poet, Browning. 'What have I on earth to do,' she will
demand, 'with the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly?' Sometimes, I
fear, she aims the adjectives at me."
Susie felt her heart softening, for she liked that line, too.
"I don't believe you deserve the adjectives,'' she said.
"Do you not?" he asked, eagerly, with brightened eyes.
"And I should like to meet your aunt," she continued, hastily.
"So you shall, most certainly," he assented, instantly. "As soon as it
can be arranged."
"Oh, does it have to be arranged?" inquired Susie, in some dismay.
"Not in that sense--she is very democratic--she likes people for what
they are. But until this question of the succession is concluded you
will readily understand that, through anxiety, she is not in the best of
humours--not quite herself."
"Is she, then, here?" asked Susie.
"Here? Oh, no; she is at Markheim--at the post of duty. That is another
reason--until this affair is settled, I cannot ask her to join me here."
"You will ask her to do that?"
"Certainly; she can stop here very well on her way to Ostend. She would
be at Ostend now but for this affair. Perhaps that is another reason why
she is ill-humoured. She is so fond of life and gaiety, and in summer
Markheim is rather dull. Besides, there is the tradition to maintain."
"How do you know that she is in an ill-humour," questioned Sue, "if you
have not seen her?"
"Oh, she writes to me--I had a letter from her this morning. I can see
she is not well-pleased--quite the opposite, in fact!--at the way things
are going."
"And how are they going?"
"They seem to be going against us," said the Prince, with a touch of
bitterness.
"But how _can_ they be? I thought things were at a stand-still until
Lord Vernon got--got well enough to take them up again."
"So did I--that is what one would naturally suppose. Yet it seems that
an undercurrent has set in against us. I fear that I made a mistake," he
added, gloomily, "in agreeing with Lord Vernon not to proceed further
for a week, though, under the circumstances, I could scarcely refuse. He
seems well enough," and he glanced around, "to hear what I have to say."
"He _is_ well enough!" cried Sue, indignantly; and certainly at that
moment, talking eagerly to Nell, that gentleman appeared quite the
reverse of an invalid. "_I_ will speak to him--I am under no promise--I
believe--"
She stopped, fearing that she might say too much--after all, she could
not betray Lord Vernon; she could only appeal to him, warn him.
"Yes?" her companion encouraged her, his eyes on her face.
"I believe that I can help you," she concluded, a little lamely. "I want
to help--the people. Of course, we Americans believe that a people ought
to choose their own rulers--but where that isn't possible, the next best
thing is to give them the best available. I should be proud to help do
that!"
"But you are taking my word for it," he protested. "You ought to hear
the other side. Perhaps they might convince you--"
"No, they wouldn't!" cried Susie. "Your word is all I need; you've
explained things so clearly."
"Thank you," he said, in a vibrant voice, still looking at her.
"Besides," she added, with a glance upward, "dad agrees with you, and
I've a great deal of faith in dad."
"I shall be very glad of your help on any terms," he said, refusing to
be cast down.
"And you will tell me if anything unexpected happens? I may be able to
help you more than you think."
"Yes," he promised, "I will tell you the moment I have any news."
"You haven't any real news--about the undercurrent, I mean? You don't
_really_ know--"
"No; it is just in the air; I do not know where the rumours come from,
but my aunt has heard them also. There is a vague impression that we
are losing."
"But you shan't lose!" cried Susie. "You shan't lose; not even if I have
to--to--"
"Not even if you have to--?" prompted the Prince, eagerly, as she
stammered and stopped.
"To play my trump card," she finished, with a little unsteady laugh.
"Don't ask me what it is, but it's a good one!"
* * * * *
Meanwhile, as she walked beside the invalid chair, Nell was making her
confession.
"Lord Vernon," she began, in a low voice, "for a time last night, I
feared that I had utterly ruined your cause."
He glanced up at her quickly.
"In what way?" he asked.
"You remember the note you wrote m--us the first day?"
"Perfectly," he answered, noting the stammer, and understanding it,
with a quick leap of the heart.
"I should, no doubt, have destroyed it at once, but I thought it would
be perfectly safe in my desk."
"And it was stolen? No matter, Miss Rushford. It isn't worth worrying
about. I'm sick of the whole affair, anyway--I shall rather welcome the
catastrophe. You've lost sleep over it," he continued, looking at her
keenly. "It has made you almost ill! I shall never forgive myself!"
"Thank you," she said, softly, her lips trembling, her eyes very bright.
"It is beautiful of you to be so generous. But fortunately the note was
not stolen. I found it afterwards among some note-paper, where it had
somehow found its way."
"And you destroyed it?"
"No," she said, and took it from her bosom. "I thought I would better
restore it to you, so that you yourself could destroy it. Here it is,"
and she held it out to him with fingers not wholly steady.
He took it, his eyes still on her face.
"It has caused us enough trouble," he said, and made as though to tear
it into bits.
But Nell laid her hand upon his arm.
"Without looking at it?" she protested.
"You are right," he agreed, and opened it and glanced at the contents.
His hands were trembling slightly as he folded it again.
"On second thought," he said, and there was a certain thickness in the
words which Nell was too agitated to notice, "I believe that I shall
keep it. It is the only souvenir I have, you know, of our first
meeting."
And he smiled up at her--such a smile as Meïamoun must have bent upon
Cleopatra as he drained the poisoned cup.