Sir Charles Verdayne lingered for several weeks, no stronger, nor yet
perceptibly weaker. He took a sudden fancy to see his old friend,
Captain Grigsby, and the old salt was accordingly sent for. His presence
acted as a tonic upon the dying man, and the two old friends spent many
pleasant hours together, talking--as old people delight in talking--of
the days of the distant past.
"Is this widow the Isabella who once raised the devil with your Paul?"
asked Grigsby.
"Same wench!" answered Sir Charles, a twinkle in his eye.
"Hum!" said the Captain--and then said again, "Hum!" Then he added
meditatively, "Blasted unlucky kiss that! Likely wench enough,
but--never set the Thames on fire!--nor me!"
"Oh the kiss didn't count," said Sir Charles. "As I said to the boy's
mother at the time, a man isn't obliged to marry every woman he kisses!
Mighty good thing, too--eh, Grig? Besides, a kiss like that is an insult
to any flesh and blood woman!"
"An insult?"
"The worst kind! You see, Grig, no woman likes to be kissed that way.
Whether she's capable of feeling a single thrill of passion herself or
not, she likes to be sure that she can inspire it in a man. And a kiss
like that--well, it rouses all her fighting blood! Makes her feel she's
no woman at all in the man's eye--merely a doll to be kissed. D'ye see?
It's damned inconsistent, of course, but it's the woman of it!"
"The devil of it, you mean!" the old Captain chuckled in response. Then,
"Paul had a lucky escape," he said, as he looked furtively around the
room for listening ears, "mighty lucky escape! And an experience right
on the heels of it to make up for the loss of a hundred such wenches
and--say, Charles, he's got a son to be proud of! The Boy is certainly
worth all the price!"
"Any price--any price, Grig!" Then the old man went on, "If Henrietta
only knew! She thinks the world of the youngster, you know--no one could
help that--but what if she knew? Paul's been mighty cautious. I often
laugh when I see them out together--him and the Boy--and think what a
sensation one could spring on the public by letting the cat out of the
bag. And the woman would suffer. Wouldn't she, just! Wouldn't they tear
her to pieces!"
"Yes, they would," said the Captain, "they certainly would. This is a
world of hypocrites, Charles, damned rotten hypocrites!"
"That's what it is, Grig! Not one of those same old hens who would have
said, 'Ought we to visit her?' and denounced the whole 'immoral' affair,
and all that sort of thing--not one of them, I say, but would--"
"Give her very soul to know what such a love means! O they would,
Charles--they would--every damned old cat of them, who would never get
an opportunity to play the questionable--no, not one in a thousand
years--if they searched for it forever!"
"Yet women are made so, Grigsby--they can't help it! Henrietta would
faint at the mere suggestion of accepting as a daughter-in-law a woman
with a past!"
And the old man sighed.
"I'd have given my eyes--yes, I would, Grig--to have seen that woman
just once! God! the man she made out of my boy! Of course it may have
been for the best that it turned out as it did, but--damn it all, Grig,
she was worth while! There's no dodging that!"
"Nobody wants to dodge it, Charles! She was over-sexed, perhaps--but
better that than undersexed--eh?"
* * * * *
But the exhilaration caused by the coming of his old friend gradually
wore itself away, and Sir Charles began to grow weaker. And at last the
end came. He had grown anxious to see the Boy again, and the young
fellow had returned and spent much time with the old man, who loved the
sound of his voice as it expressed his fresh, frank ideas.
But Sir Charles spent his last hours with his son.
"Paul," he said, in a last confidential whisper, touching upon the theme
that had never been mentioned between them before, "I
understand--everything--you know, and I'm proud of you--and him! I have
wanted to say something, or do something for you--often--often--to help
you--but it's the sort of thing a chap has to fight out for himself,
and I thought I'd better keep out of it! But I wanted you to
know--_now_--that I've known it all--all along--and been proud of
you--both!"
And their hands clasped closely, and the eyes of both were wet, but even
on the brink of death the lips of the younger man were sealed. The
+silence of one-and-twenty years remained unbroken. +It was not a
foolish reticence that restrained him--but simply that he could not find
words to voice the memories that grew more and more sacred with the
passing of the years.
And at evening, when the family had gathered about him, the old man lay
with his son's hand in his, but his eyes looked beyond and rested on the
face of the Boy, who seemed the renewal of hit son's youth, when life
was one glad song! And thus he passed to the Great Beyond.
And his son was Sir Paul Verdayne, the last of his race.
That night, the young baronet and the Boy sat alone over their cigars.
The Boy spoke at some length of his extensive Austrian visit. The
Princess Elodie would make him a good wife, he said. She was of good
sturdy stock, healthy, strong--and, well, a little heavy and dull,
perhaps, but one couldn't expect everything! At least, her honor would
never be called into question. He would always feel sure that his name
was safe with her! He was glad he went to Austria. There were political
complications that he had not understood before which made the marriage
an absolute necessity for the salvation of his country's position among
the kingdoms of the world, and he was more resigned to it now. Yes,
indeed, he was far more resigned. The princess wasn't by any means
impossible--not a half bad sort--and--yes, he was resigned! He said it
over and over, but without convincing Sir Paul--or deceiving himself!
As for the elder man, he said but little. He had been wondering
throughout that dinner-hour whether he could ever really make Isabella
his wife. The Boy thought of Isabella, too, and was anxious to know
whether his Father Paul was going to be happy at last. He had been very
curious to see the woman who could play so cruel a part toward the man
he loved. If he had been Verdayne, he thought, he would never forgive
her--never! Still, if Father Paul loved the woman--as he certainly must
to have remained single for her sake so long--it put a different face on
the matter, and of course it was Verdayne's affair, not his! The Boy had
been disappointed in Isabella's appearance and attractions--she was not
at all the woman he had imagined his Father Paul would love--but of
course she was older now, and age changes some women, and, and--well, he
only hoped that his friend would be happy--happy in his own way,
whatever that might be.
At last, he summoned Vasili to him and called for his own particular
yellow wine--the Imperial Tokayi--and the old man filled the glasses. It
was too much for Verdayne--and all thoughts of Isabella were consigned
to eternal oblivion as he remembered the time when _he_ had sipped that
wine with his Queen in the little hotel on the Bürgenstock.
She would have no cause for jealousy--his darling!