XX

The Duchesse was playing impatiently with her glasses when I was

announced by the servant of ninety! Her face expressed some strong

feeling. I was not sure if it was tinged with displeasure or no. She

helped me to sit down, and then she began at once.

"Nicholas, explain yourself. You tell me you are engaged to your

secretary! So this has been going on all the time, and you have not told

me. I, who was your mother's oldest friend!"

"Dear Duchesse, you are mistaken, it has only just been settled. No one

was more surprised at my offer than Miss Sharp herself."

"You know her real name, Nicholas? And her family history? You have

guessed, of course, from my asking you for the twenty-five thousand

francs, that they were in some difficulty?"

"Yes, I know Alathea is the daughter of the Honorable Robert and Lady

Hilda Bulteel."

"She has told you all of the story, perhaps?--but you cannot know what

the money was for, because the poor child does not know it herself. It

is more just that I should inform you, since you are going to marry into

the family."

"Thank you, Duchesse."

She then began, and gave me a picture of her old friendship with Lady

Hilda, and of the dreadful calamity which had befallen in her going off

with Bobby Bulteel.

"It was one of those cases of mad love, Nicholas, which fortunately seem

to have died out of the modern world, though for the truth I must say

that one more _séduisant_ than _ce joli Bulteel_, I have never met! One

could not, of course, acknowledge them for a crime like that, but I have

ever been fond of poor Hilda and that sweet little child. She was born

here, in this hotel. Poor Hilda came to me in her great trouble, and I

was in deep mourning myself then for my husband,--the house is large,

and it could all pass quietly."

I reached forward and took the Duchesse's hand and kissed it, and she

went on:

"Alatheé is my godchild, one of my names is Alatheé. The poor little

one, she adored her father, in all those first years. They wandered much

and only came to Paris at intervals, and each time they came, a little

poorer, a little more troubled, and then after a lapse I heard those two

were born at Nice--wretched little decadents, when my poor Hilda was a

mass of nerves and disillusion. Alatheé was eleven then. It was, _par

hazard_, when she was about fourteen that she heard of her father's

crime. She was the gayest, most sweet child before that, through all

their poverty, but from that moment her character was changed. It

destroyed something in her spirit, one must believe. She set firmly to

education, decided she would be a secretary, cultivated herself, worked,

worked, worked! She worshipped her mother, and resented immensely her

father's treatment of her."

"She must always have had a wonderful character."

"For that, yes," and the Duchesse paused a moment, then went on:

"Quite a tremendous character, and as Bobby sank and poor Hilda became

more ill, and wretched, that child has risen in strength, and supported

them all. Since the war came they have almost lived upon her earnings.

The father is without conscience, and of a selfishness unspeakable! His

money all went to him for his use, and Alatheé was left to supplement

the mother's wretched two or three thousand francs a year. And now that

brute has again cheated at cards, and poor Hilda came to me in her great

distress, and remembering your words, Nicholas, I called upon you. It

would have been too cruel for the poor woman to have had to suffer

again. Hilda took the money and gave it to this infamous husband, and

the affair was settled that night. Alatheé knows nothing about it."

Light was dawning upon me. The admirable Bobby has evidently played upon

the feelings of both wife and daughter!

"Duchesse, why did you not wish me to know the real name, and would not

help me at all about 'Miss Sharp,'--won't you now tell me your reason?"

The Duchesse shaded her eyes from the fire with a hand-screen, and it

came between us, and I could not see her face, but her voice changed.

"I was greatly surprised to find the girl in your flat one day. I had

not understood with whom she was working. I was not pleased about it,

frankly, Nicholas, because one cannot help knowing of your existence and

your friends, and I feared your interest for a secretary might be as for

them, and I disliked that my godchild should run such a risk. When

_jeunes filles_ of the world have to take up menial positions they are

of course open to such situations, and have to expect difficulties. I

wished to protect her as well as I could."

Suddenly I saw myself, and the utterly rotten life I had led, that this,

my old friend, even, could not be sure of my chivalry. I loathed the

lax, cheap honor of the world and its hypocrisy. I could not even be

indignant with the Duchesse, judging me from that standpoint. She was

right, but I did tell her that men had a slightly different angle in

looking upon such things in England, where women worked, and were

respected in all classes, and that the idea of making love to any

secretary would never have entered my head. It was the intelligence and

the dignity of Alathea herself which had made me desire her for a

companion.

"It is well that you are English, Nicholas. No Frenchman of family could

have married the daughter of a man who had cheated at cards."

"Even if the girl was good and splendid like Alathea, Duchesse?"

"For that, no, my son, we have little left but our traditions, and our

names, and those things matter to us. No, frankly, I could not have

permitted the union had you been my son."

So I had been right in my analysis of what would be the bent of my old

friend's mind.

"You are pleased now, though, dear Duchesse?" I pleaded.

"It seems impossible, from my point, and I would not have encouraged it,

but since it is done, I can but wish my dear Alatheé and you, my dear

boy true happiness."

Again I took and kissed her kind hand.

"In England, especially in this war time, questions are not asked,

_n'est ce pas_? She can be 'Sharp' simply and not Bulteel, then it may

pass. For the girl, herself, you have a rare jewel, Nicholas--unselfish,

devoted, true, but the will of the devil! You shall not be able to turn

her as you wish, if her ideas go the other way!"

"Duchesse, the situation is peculiar, there is no question of love in

it. Alathea is marrying me merely that she may give money to her family.

I am marrying that I may have a secretary without scandal. We are not

going to be really husband and wife."

The Duchesse dropped her fire-screen, her clever-eyes were whimsical and

sparkling.

"_Tiens_!" she said, and never has the delicious word conveyed so much

meaning! "You believe that truly Nicholas? Alatheé is a very pretty girl

when properly dressed--"

"And without glasses!"

"As you say, without glasses, which I hear cover her fine eyes when in

your society!"

"I asked her to marry me under those terms, and it was only upon those

terms she accepted me."

The Duchesse laughed.

"A nice romance! Well, my son, I wish you joy!"

"Duchesse," and I leaned forward, "do you really think I can make her

love me? Am I too awful? Is there a chance?"

The Duchesse patted my arm and her face shone with kindliness.

"Of course, foolish boy!" And she broke into French, using the "thee"

and "thou" again affectionately. 'I was very handsome!--that which

remained,--and all would look the same as ever when the repairing should

be complete!'

"So very tall and fine, Nicholas, and hair of a thickness, and what is

best of all, that air of a great gentleman. Yes, yes, women will always

love thee, _sans_ eye, _sans_ leg, do not disturb thyself!"

"Don't tell her I love her, Duchesse," I pleaded. "We have much to learn

of each other. If she did not believe it was a bargain equal on both

sides, she would not marry me at all!"

The Duchesse agreed about this.

"Whatever she has promised she will perform, but why she does not love

thee already I cannot tell."

"She dislikes me, she thinks I am a rotter, and I expect she was right,

but I shall not be in the future, and then perhaps she will change."

When I left the Hotel de Courville it had been arranged that the

Duchesse would receive my wife with honour, her world only knowing that

I had married an English "Miss Sharp."

I heard no more of my _fiancée_ until next morning, when she telephoned.

Did I wish her to come that day?

Burton answered that I hoped she would, about eleven o'clock.

I intended to tell her that I thought that it might be wiser now if she

did not come again until the wedding, as once we were engaged I would

not allow her to run the risk of meeting anyone and giving a false

impression. I think the strain would be too great in any case.

I did not come in to the salon until she was there, and she rose as I

entered. She was whiter than ever, and very stern.

"I have been thinking," she said, before I could speak, "that if I

promise to fulfill the bargain, and live here in the flat with you,

going through the ceremony at the Consulate is quite unnecessary. Your

caprice of having me for your wife merely in name in England, may pass,

and it seems ridiculous to be tied. I am quite indifferent to what

anyone thinks of me. I would prefer it like that."

"Why?" I asked, and wondered for a moment what had occurred.

"There are so many stupid law things, if there is a marriage, and if you

have the same from me without, surely you see that it is better."

I first thought that it was this fear of my knowing her family history

which was at the root of this suggestion, but then I remembered that she

would know that I would hear it in any case from the Duchesse. What then

could it be?

I felt cruel, I was not going to make things too easy for her. If she

has the will of the devil, she has also the pride!

"If you are indifferent to such an invidious position as your new idea

would place us in, I am not, I do not wish my friends to think that I am

such a cad as presumably to have taken advantage of your being my

secretary."

"You wish to go on with the marriage then?"

"Of course."

She clasped her hands together suddenly, as if she could control herself

no longer, and I thought of what she had said to Burton about feeling

that she could not fight any more. I would not allow myself to

sympathize with her. I was longing in every nerve of my being to take

her into my arms, and tell her that I loved her, and knew everything,

but I would not do this. I cannot let her master me, or we shall never

have any peace. I will not tell her that I love her until her pride is

broken, and I have made her love me and come to me voluntarily.

She was silent.

"I have informed the Duchesse de Courville that we are engaged. I saw

her yesterday."

She started perceptibly.

"She has told you my real name?"

"I have known that for some time. I thought I had made it plain to you

that I am not interested about the subject, we need not mention it

again, you have only to talk to old Robert Nelson, my lawyer, when he

comes on Monday. He will tell you the settlements I propose to make, and

you can discuss with him as to whether or not you think them

satisfactory. Perhaps you on your side will tell me what reason you have

strong enough to make a girl of your natural self-respect, willing to

take the position of my apparent mistress?"

She burst out for a second, throwing out her hands, then controlling

herself.

"No, I won't tell you.--I will tell you nothing, I will just stick to

the bargain if I must. You have no right to my thoughts, only my

actions!"

I bowed; disagreeable as she was, there was a distinctly pleasant zest

in fighting!

"Perhaps of your courtesy, you will take off those glasses now, since I

am aware that you only wear them to conceal your eyes, and not that they

are necessary for your sight."

She flushed with annoyance.

"And if I refuse?"