"You must not kiss me," she whispered.
"I----"
"Please.... It is a sign of troth plighted.... And is desecration
else.... Troth plighted is a holy thing. And that cannot be between
us, Michael. That cannot happen.... And so, you must not touch my lips
with yours--dear Michael.... Only my hand--if you do care for me----"
I kissed her hand--then, slowly, each finger and the fragrant palm,
until it seemed to disconcert her and she withdrew it.
"Now take me back," she said in an uncertain voice that trembled
slightly, "and remain my dear, frank, boyish friend.... And let me
plague you a little, Michael. Won't you? And not be angry?" She asked
so sweetly that I began to laugh--covered her hand with kisses--and
laughed again.
"You little girl," I exclaimed--"oddly mature in some ways--a child in
others--you may torment me and laugh at me now to your heart's content.
Isn't laughter, after all, your heaven born privilege?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Oh, Thusis! Thusis! I am more convinced than ever of what I have half
believed. Before I ever set eyes on you I had begun to care for you.
Before I ever heard your voice I had begun to fall in love with you.
Thusis--my Thusis--loveliest--most wonderful of God's miracles since
Eden bloomed--_you_ are The Laughing Girl!"
"Michael----"
"You _are_!"
Suddenly, as she walked lightly beside me, resting on my arm, she flung
up her head with a reckless, delicious little laugh: "I am The Laughing
Girl!"
A slight yet exquisite shock went clean through me as I realized that
even to the instant of her avowal I had not been absolutely convinced of
her identity with the picture.
"And I wish to tell you," she went on, her smile changing, "that when
the photograph--which unhappily has become so notorious--was taken, I
never dreamed that it would be stolen, reproduced in thousands, and sold
in every city of Europe!"
"Stolen!"
"Certainly! Do you imagine that I would have permitted its publicity
and sale? Never has such an exasperating incident occurred in my life!
And I am helpless. I can't prevent it."
"Who stole it?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. It was this way, Michael; it happened in
my own home on the island of Naxos, and my sister Clelia and I were
amusing ourselves with our cameras, dressing each other up and posing
each other.
"And she dressed me--or rather almost _un_-dressed me--that way--isn't
it enough to make a saint swear--for when I had developed the plate and
had started to print, somebody stole the plate from the sill of the open
window. And the next thing we knew about it was when all Europe was
flooded with my picture under which was printed that dubious
caption--'The Laughing Girl.' Can you imagine my astonishment and rage?
Could anything more utterly horrid happen to a girl? Had I at least
been fully dressed--but no: there I was in every shop window among
actresses, queens, demi-mondaines, and dissipated dukes just as Clelia
had posed me in the intimacy of our own rooms, all over jewels, some of
me mercifully veiled in a silk scarf, audaciously at ease in my apparent
effrontery--oh, Michael, it nearly killed me!"
"Didn't you do anything about it?"
"Indeed I did! But where these photographs were being printed we never
could find out. All we were able to do was to forbid their importation
into Italy."
"How did you manage that?" I asked curiously.
She hesitated, then carelessly: "We had some slight influence at
court----"
"_Influence?_"
"Possibly it amounted to that," she said indifferently.
"You are known at court, Thusis?"
She shrugged: "We are not, I believe, completely unknown." She walked
on beside me in silence for a few moments, then:
"I do not wish to convey to you that I am _persona grata_ in Italian
court circles."
"But if you are known at court, dear Thusis, how can you be otherwise
than welcome there?"
"I am _not_ welcome there."
"That is impossible."
"You adorable boy," she laughed, "I must beg of you to occupy yourself
with your own affairs and not continue to occupy yourself with mine."
"That's a heartless snub, Thusis."
"I don't mean it so," she said, her hand tightening impulsively on my
arm. "But, Michael dear, I don't wish you to speculate about my
affairs. It does no good. Besides, the situation in which I find
myself is fearfully complex, and you couldn't help me out of it."
"Perhaps I can, Thusis."
She laughed: "You are delightfully romantic. You almost resemble one of
the old time cloak-and-sword lovers of that dear Romance which died so
long ago on the printed page as well as in human hearts."
"It is not dead in my breast, Thusis."
"It is dead in every breast. Only its frail ghost haunts our hearts at
moments."
"When I offered you my heart, Thusis, did you suppose it empty save for
a trace of selfish passion?"
"Men are men.... I do not understand their hearts."
"Take mine; tear it apart, look into it,--even if I die of it. Will
you?"
Her laugh became less genuine and there was no gaiety in it.
"Tell me what I should find in your heart if I dissected it?"
"Love--and a sword!"
"You--you offer me your life, Michael?"
"This life--and the next."
She made no answer, walking slowly on beside me, her arm linked in mine,
the starlight glimmering on her bent head. Down the road beyond us the
illuminated windows of my house glimmered. As we moved toward them
along the stony highroad, I said:
"Thusis dear, I know nothing about you or about your affairs. I do not
even guess your identity. But that you and your sister are here for the
purpose of taking these miserable kings across the frontier into France,
by violence, I do know.
"And this, also, I have learned, that, if you attempt to execute this
_coup-de-main_, my friend Shandon Smith will do all he can to prevent
it."
The girl stopped as though I had struck her and stared at me in the
silvery lustre of the stars.
"What?" she said slowly.
"I have told you what Smith told me. He said that he didn't care
whether or not I informed you. He added that, in case I chose to inform
you, I should also repeat to you the following couplet:
'Grecian gift and Spanish fig
Help the Fool his grave to dig.'"
A bright flush stained her face yet she seemed to be more astounded than
angry.
"Is it possible," she said, "that your friend Mr. Smith--this Norwegian
promoter--repeated that couplet to you?"
"He certainly did repeat it to me, Thusis."
"Did he--did he tell you what it meant? Did he tell you anything more?"
"He mentioned a secret society called the AEgean League."
"This is amazing," she murmured, looking up the road at the lights of
the house.
"Of all people," she added, "that man Smith, the last person on earth we
could suspect." She passed her hand across her eyes--a gesture of
perplexity and consternation:
"I wish to find Mr. Smith, Michael. I desire to see him immediately.
Please let us walk faster."
We fell into a quick pace and she released my arm as the light from the
windows fell on us.
"He was sitting by the fountain," I began.
"He is there now, with Clelia," she exclaimed, and walked directly
toward him where he was seated near Clelia on the stone rim of the pool.
They looked up as we approached, and Smith rose.
"Mr. Smith," said Thusis with a trace of excitement in her voice, "have
you any knowledge concerning my identity?"
If the blunt question were a shock to him he did not show it. He
answered in his pleasant, even voice:
"I don't know who you are, Thusis."
"Have you any idea?"
"None."
"How can that be," she asked, flushing, "when you send me such a
couplet?"
"I've told you the truth," he said simply; "I don't know who you are,
Thusis. I don't even suspect." He turned and looked at Clelia who had
risen from her seat on the fountain's edge.
"You do not like me, Clelia, and now you are going to like me less. You
resented it when I preached at you concerning proper behavior for a
young girl. And now that you learn I am going to interfere in your
political and military maneuvers, I suppose you hate me."
Nobody moved or spoke for a moment. Then Clelia took a step toward
Smith, and I saw her face had become deadly pale.
"No," she said, "I don't hate you. On the contrary I am beginning to
like you. Because it takes a real man to tell the woman he loves that
he means to ruin her."
"Clelia, you and Thusis are ruined only if I hold my hand."
"We are done for _unless_ you hold your hand!" she said. She stepped
nearer.
"Mr. Smith?" she said sweetly, "you think you are on your honor. You
are not. He who has sent you here to thwart us is deceiving you."
"He who sent _you_ here, Clelia,--and _you_, Thusis, is deceiving you,"
he rejoined very quietly.
Thusis said: "You know who sent us, and yet you don't know who we are!
How can this be, Monsieur?"
"It's true. I _do_ know who sent you here. But you _don't_!"
Clelia, still very pale, bent her gaze on him.
"Mr. Smith?"
"Yes, I hear you, Clelia."
"Suppose--suppose--I prove kinder to you."
"No," he said, grim and flushed.