"What has become," Mrs. Theodore Hastings asked her niece one afternoon
about a month later, "of your delightful friend, Mr. Lutchester?"
Pamela laid down her book and looked across at her aunt with wide-open
eyes.
"Why, I thought you didn't like him, aunt?"
"I cannot remember saying so, my dear," Mrs. Hastings replied. "I had
nothing against the man himself. It was simply his attitude with regard
to some of your uncle's plans, of which we disapproved."
Pamela nodded. They were seated on the piazza of the Hastings' country
house at Manchester.
"I see!... And uncle's plans," she went on reflectively, "have become a
little changed, haven't they?"
Mrs. Hastings coughed.
"There is no doubt," she admitted, "that your Uncle Theodore was
inveigled into supporting, to a certain extent, a party whose leaders
have shown themselves utterly irresponsible. The moment these horrible
things began to come out, however, your uncle finally cut himself loose
from them."
"Very wise of him," Pamela murmured.
"Who could have believed," Mrs. Hastings demanded, "that men like Oscar
Fischer, Max Bookam and a dozen other well-known and prominent
millionaires, would have stooped to encourage the destruction of American
property and lives, simply through blind devotion to the country of their
birth. I could understand," she went on, "both your uncle and I perfectly
understood that their sympathies were German rather than English, but
we shared a common belief that notwithstanding this they were Americans
first and foremost. It was in this belief that your uncle was led into
temporary association with them."
"Bad luck," Pamela sighed. "I am afraid it hasn't done Uncle Theodore
any good."
Mrs. Hastings went on with her knitting for a moment.
"My child," she said, "it has probably imperilled, if it has not
completely ruined, one of the great hopes which your uncle and I have
sometimes entertained. We are both of us, however, quite philosophical
about it. Even at this moment I am convinced that if these men had
acted with discretion, and been content to wield political influence
rather than to have resorted to such fanatical means, they would have
represented a great power at the next election. As things are, I admit
that their cause is lost for the time. I believe that your uncle is
contemplating an early visit to England. He is of the opinion that
perhaps he has misunderstood the Allied point of view, and he is going
to study matters at first hand."
Pamela nodded.
"I think he is very wise, aunt," she declared. "I quite expect that he
will come back a warm advocate of the Allies. No one would have a ghost
of a chance who went to the country here on the other ticket."
"I believe that that is your uncle's point of view," Mrs. Hastings
assented.... "Why don't you ask Mr. Lutchester down for a couple of
days?"
"If you mean it, I certainly will," Pamela agreed.
"Quite incidentally," her aunt continued, "I heard the nicest possible
things about him in Washington. Lady Ridlingshawe told me that the
Lutchesters are one of the oldest families in England. He is a cousin
of the Duke of Worcester, and is extraordinarily well connected in
other directions. I must say he has a most distinguished appearance.
A well-bred Englishman is so different from these foreigners."
Pamela laid down her book and drew her writing block towards her.
"I'll write and invite him down at once," she suggested.
"Your uncle will be delighted," Mrs. Hastings purred....
Lutchester received his invitation in New York and arrived in
Manchester three days later. Pamela met him at the station with a
couple of boatmen by her side.
"If you wouldn't mind sailing home?" she proposed. "The house is
practically on an island, and the tide is just right. These men will
take your luggage."
They walked down to the little dock together.
Pamela talked all the time, but Lutchester was curiously tongue-tied.
"You'll find Uncle Theodore, and aunt, too, most amusing," she
confided. "It is perfectly obvious that there is nothing uncle regrets
so much as his temporary linking up with Fischer and his friends; in
fact, he is going to Europe almost at once--I am convinced for no other
reason than to give him an excuse, upon his return, for blossoming out
as a fervent supporter of the Allies."
"Are you going too?" Lutchester inquired. "Shall I? Well, I am not
really sure," she declared, as they reached the little wooden dock. "I
suppose I shall, especially if I can find something to do. I may even
turn nurse."
"You will be able to find plenty to do," he assured her. "If nothing
else turns up, you can help me."
They stepped on to the yacht. Pamela, a radiant vision in white, with
white flannel skirt, white jersey and tam-o'-shanter, took the helm,
and was busy for a few moments getting clear. Afterwards she leaned
back amongst the cushions, with Lutchester by her side.
"In the agitation of missing that buoy," he reminded her, "you forgot
to answer my last suggestion."
"Is there any way in which I could help you?" she asked.
"You can help me in the greatest of all ways," he replied promptly.
"You can give me just that help which only the woman who cares can give
to the man who cares for her, and if that isn't exciting enough," he
went on, after a moment's pause, "well, I dare say I can find you some
work in the censor's department."
"Isn't censoring a little dull?" she murmured.
"Then you choose--"
Her hand slipped into his. A little breeze filled their sails at that
moment. The wonderful blue water of the bay sparkled with a million
gleams of sunshine. Lutchester drew a great breath of content.
"That's aunt on the landing-stage, watching us through her glasses,"
Pamela pointed out, making a feeble attempt to withdraw her hand.
"It will save us the trouble," he observed, resisting her effort, "of
explanations."
Lutchester found his host and hostess unexpectedly friendly. They even
accepted with cheerful philosophy the news that Lutchester's work in
America was almost finished for the time, and that Pamela was to
accompany him to Europe almost immediately. After dinner, when the two
men were left at the table, Hastings became almost confidential.
"So far as regards the sympathies of this country, Mr. Lutchester," he
said, "the final die has been cast within the last few weeks. There has
always been," he proceeded, "a certain irritation existing between even
the Anglo-Saxon Americans and your country. We have fancied so often
that you have adopted little airs of superiority towards us, and that
your methods of stating your intentions have not always taken account
of our own little weaknesses. Then America, you know, loves a good
fight, and the Germans are a wonderful military people. They were
fighting like giants whilst you in England were still slacking. But it
is Germany herself, or rather her sons and friends, who have destroyed
her chances for her. Fischer, for instance," he went on, fingering his
wineglass. "I have always looked upon Oscar Fischer as a brilliant and
far-seeing man. He was one of those who set themselves deliberately to
win America for the Germans. A more idiotic bungle than he has made of
things I could scarcely conceive. He has reproduced the diplomatic
methods which have made Germany unpopular throughout the world. He has
tried bullying, cajolery, and false-hood, and last of all he has
plunged into crime. No German-American will henceforth ever have weight
in the counsels of this country. I do not mind confessing," Mr.
Hastings continued, as he himself filled his guest's glass and then his
own, "that I myself was at one time powerfully attracted towards the
Teuton cause. They are a nation wonderful in science, wonderful in
warfare, with strong and admirable national characteristics. Yet they
are going to lose this war through sheer lack of tact, for the want of
that kindliness, that generosity of temperament, which exists and makes
friends in nations as in individuals. The world for Germany, you know,
and hell for her enemies!... But I am keeping you."
Lutchester drank his wine and rose to his feet.
"Pamela is sitting on the rocks there," Mr. Hastings observed. "I think
that she wants to sail you over to Misery Island. We get some unearthly
meal there at ten o'clock and come back by moonlight. It is a sort of
torture which we always inflict upon our guests. My wife and I will
follow in the launch."
"To Misery Island!" Lutchester repeated.
His host smiled as he led the way to the piazza steps. Pamela had
already stepped into the boat, and with the help of a boatman was
adjusting the sail. She waved her hand gaily and pointed to the level
stretch of placid water, still faintly brilliant in the dying sunlight.
"You think that we shall reach Misery Island before the tide turns?"
she called out.
Lutchester stepped lightly into the boat and took the place to which
she pointed.
"I am content," he said, "to take my chance."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's The Pawns Count, by E. Phillips Oppenheim