The woman leaned across the table towards her companion.
"My friend," she said, "when we first met--I am ashamed, considering that
I dine alone with you to-night, to reflect how short a time ago--you
spoke of your removal here from Paris very much as though it were a
veritable exile. I told you then that there might be surprises in store
for you. This restaurant, for instance! We both know our Paris, yet do we
lack anything here which you find at the Ritz or Giro's?"
The young man looked around him appraisingly. The two were dining at one
of the newest and most fashionable restaurants in Berlin. The room
itself, although a little sombre by reason of its oak panelling, was
relieved from absolute gloom by the lightness and elegance of its
furniture and appointments, the profusion of flowers, and the soft grey
carpet, so thickly piled that every sound was deadened. The delicate
strains of music came from an invisible orchestra concealed behind a
canopy of palms. The head-waiters had the correct clerical air, half
complacent, half dignified. Among the other diners were many beautiful
women in marvellous toilettes. A variety of uniforms, worn by the
officers at different tables, gave colour and distinction to a _tout
ensemble_ with which even Norgate could find no fault.
"Germany has changed very much since I was here as a boy," he confessed.
"One has heard of the growing wealth of Berlin, but I must say that I
scarcely expected--"
He hesitated. His companion laughed softly at his embarrassment.
"Do not forget," she interrupted, "that I am Austrian--Austrian, that is
to say, with much English in my blood. What you say about Germans does
not greatly concern me."
"Of course," Norgate resumed, as he watched the champagne poured into his
glass, "one is too much inclined to form one's conclusions about a nation
from the types one meets travelling, and you know what the Germans have
done for Monte Carlo and the Riviera--even, to a lesser extent, for Paris
and Rome. Wherever they have been, for the last few years, they seem to
have left the trail of the _nouveaux riches_. It is not only their
clothes but their manners and bearing which affront."
The woman leaned her head for a moment against the tips of her slim and
beautifully cared for fingers. She looked steadfastly across the table at
her vis-à-vis.
"Now that you are here," she said softly, "you must forget those things.
You are a diplomatist, and it is for you, is it not, outwardly, at any
rate, to see only the good of the country in which your work lies."
Norgate flushed very slightly. His companion's words had savoured almost
of a reproof.
"You are quite right," he admitted. "I have been here for a month,
though, and you are the first person to whom I have spoken like this. And
you yourself," he pointed out, "encouraged me, did you not, when you
insisted upon your Austro-English nationality?"
"You must not take me too seriously," she begged, smiling. "I spoke
foolishly, perhaps, but only for your good. You see, Mr. Francis Norgate,
I am just a little interested in you and your career."
"And I, dear Baroness," he replied, smiling across at her, "am more than
a little interested in--you."
She unfurled her fan.
"I believe," she sighed, "that you are going to flirt with me."
"I should enter into an unequal contest," Norgate asserted. "My methods
would seem too clumsy, because I should be too much in earnest."
"Whatever the truth may be about your methods," she declared, "I rather
like them, or else I should not be risking my reputation in this still
prudish city by dining with you alone and without a chaperon. Tell me a
little about yourself. We have met three times, is it not--once at the
Embassy, once at the Palace, and once when you paid me that call. How old
are you? Tell me about your people in England, and where else you have
served besides Paris?"
"I am thirty years old," he replied. "I started at Bukarest. From there
I went to Rome. Then I was second attaché at Paris, and finally, as you
see, here."
"And your people--they are English, of course?"
"Naturally," he answered. "My mother died when I was quite young, and my
father when I was at Eton. I have an estate in Hampshire which seems to
get on very well without me."
"And you really care about your profession? You have the real feeling for
diplomacy?"
"I think there is nothing else like it in the world," he assured her.
"You may well say that," she agreed enthusiastically. "I think you might
almost add that there has been no time in the history of Europe so
fraught with possibilities, so fascinating to study, as the present."
He looked at her keenly. It is the first instinct of a young diplomatist
to draw in his horns when a beautiful young woman confesses herself
interested in his profession.
"You, too, think of these things, then?" he remarked.
She shrugged her shoulders.
"But naturally! What is there to do for a woman but think? We cannot act,
or rather, if we do, it is in a very insignificant way. We are lookers-on
at most of the things in life worth doing."
"I will spare you all the obvious retorts," he said, "if you will tell me
why you are gazing into that mirror so earnestly?"
"I was thinking," she confessed, "what a remarkably good-looking
couple we were."
He followed the direction of her eyes. He himself was of a recognised
type. His complexion was fair, his face clean-shaven and strong almost to
ruggedness. His mouth was firm, his nose thin and straight, his grey eyes
well-set. He was over six feet and rather slim for his height. But if his
type, though attractive enough, was in its way ordinary, hers was
entirely unusual. She, too, was slim, but so far from being tall, her
figure was almost petite. Her dark brown hair was arranged in perfectly
plain braids behind and with a slight fringe in front. Her complexion was
pale. Her features were almost cameo-like in their delicacy and
perfection, but any suggestion of coldness was dissipated at once by the
extraordinary expressiveness of her mouth and the softness of her deep
blue eyes. Norgate looked from the mirror into her face. There was a
little smile upon his lips, but he said nothing.
"Some day," she said, "not in the restaurant here but when we are
alone and have time, I should so much like to talk with you on really
serious matters."
"There is one serious matter," he assured her, "which I should like to
discuss with you now or at any time."
She made a little grimace at him.
"Let it be now, then," she suggested, leaning across the table. "We will
leave my sort of serious things for another time. I am quite certain
that I know where your sort is going to lead us. You are going to make
love to me."
"Do you mind?" he asked earnestly.
She became suddenly grave.
"Not yet," she begged. "Let us talk and live nonsense for a few more
weeks. You see, I really have not known you very long, have I, and this
is a very dangerous city for flirtations. At Court one has to be so
careful, and you know I am already considered far too much of a Bohemian
here. I was even given to understand, a little time ago, by a very great
lady, that my position was quite precarious."
"Does that--does anything matter if--"
"It is not of myself alone that I am thinking. Everything matters to one
in your profession," she reminded him pointedly.
"I believe," he exclaimed, "that you think more of my profession than you
do of me!"
"Quite impossible," she retorted mockingly. "And yet, as I dare say you
have already realised, it is not only the things you say to our statesmen
here, and the reports you make, which count. It is your daily life among
the people of the nation to which you are attached, the friends you make
among them, the hospitality you accept and offer, which has all the time
its subtle significance. Now I am not sure, even, that I am, a very good
companion for you, Mr. Francis Norgate."
"You are a very bad one for my peace of mind," he assured her.
She shook her head. "You say those things much too glibly," she declared.
"I am afraid that you have served a very long apprenticeship."
"If I have," he replied, leaning a little across the table, "it has been
an apprenticeship only, a probationary period during which one struggles
towards the real thing."
"You think you will know when you have found it?" she murmured.
He drew a little breath. His voice even trembled as he answered her. "I
know now," he said softly.
Their heads were almost touching. Suddenly she drew apart. He glanced at
her in some surprise, conscious of an extraordinary change in her face,
of the half-uttered exclamation strangled upon her lips. He turned his
head and followed the direction of her eyes. Three young men in the
uniform of officers had entered the room, and stood there as though
looking about for a table. Before them the little company of head-waiters
had almost prostrated themselves. The manager, summoned in breathless
haste, had made a reverential approach.
"Who are these young men?" Norgate enquired.
His companion made no reply. Her fine, silky eyebrows were drawn a
little closer together. At that moment the tallest of the three
newcomers seemed to recognise her. He strode at once towards their
table. Norgate, glancing up at his approach, was simply conscious of the
coming of a fair young man of ordinary German type, who seemed to be in
a remarkably bad temper.
"So I find you here, Anna!"
The Baroness rose as though unwillingly to her feet. She dropped the
slightest of curtseys and resumed her place.
"Your visit is a little unexpected, is it not, Karl?" she remarked.
"Apparently!" the young man answered, with an unpleasant laugh.
He turned and stared at Norgate, who returned his regard with
half-amused, half-impatient indifference. The Baroness leaned
forward eagerly.
"Will you permit me to present Mr. Francis Norgate to you, Karl?"
Norgate, who had suddenly recognised the newcomer, rose to his feet,
bowed and remained standing. The Prince's only reply to the introduction
was a frown.
"Kindly give me your seat," he said imperatively. "I will conclude your
entertainment of the Baroness."
For a moment there was a dead silence. In the background several of
the _maîtres d'hôtel_ had gathered obsequiously around. For some
reason or other, every one seemed to be looking at Norgate as though
he were a criminal.
"Isn't your request a little unusual, Prince?" he remarked drily.
The colour in the young man's face became almost purple.
"Did you hear what I said, sir?" he demanded. "Do you know who I am?"
"Perfectly," Norgate replied. "A prince who apparently has not learnt how
to behave himself in a public place."
The young man took a quick step forward. Norgate's fists were clenched
and his eyes glittering. The Baroness stepped between them.
"Mr. Norgate," she said, "you will please give me your escort home."
The Prince's companions had seized him, one by either arm. An older man
who had been dining in a distant corner of the room, and who wore the
uniform of an officer of high rank, suddenly approached. He addressed the
Prince, and they all talked together in excited whispers. Norgate with
calm fingers arranged the cloak around his companion and placed a hundred
mark note upon his plate.
"I will return for my change another evening," he said to the dumbfounded
waiter. "If you are ready, Baroness."
They left the restaurant amid an intense hush. Norgate waited
deliberately whilst the door was somewhat unwillingly held open for him
by a _maître d'hôtel,_ but outside the Baroness's automobile was summoned
at once. She placed her fingers upon Norgate's arm, and he felt that she
was shivering.
"Please do not take me home," she faltered. "I am so sorry--so
very sorry."
He laughed. "But why?" he protested. "The young fellow behaved like a
cub, but no one offered him any provocation. I should think by this time
he is probably heartily ashamed of himself. May I come and see you
to-morrow?"
"Telephone me," she begged, as she gave him her hand through the window.
"You don't quite understand. Please telephone to me."
She suddenly clutched his hand with both of hers and then fell back out
of sight among the cushions. Norgate remained upon the pavement until the
car had disappeared. Then he looked back once more into the restaurant
and strolled across the brilliantly-lit street towards the Embassy.