VI

He found her still in the summer-house, expectant of him, it seemed, her

lips parted, her eyes glowing. Rudolph Musgrave, looking down into twin

vivid depths, for a breathing-space, found time to rejoice that he had

refused to liken them to stars. Stars, forsooth!--and, pray, what paltry

sun, what irresponsible comet, what pallid, clinkered satellite, might

boast a purple splendor such as this? For all asterial scintillations,

at best, had but a clap-trap glitter; whereas the glow of Patricia's

eyes was a matter worthy of really serious attention.

"What have you done with him, Olaf?" the girl breathed, quickly.

"I reasoned with him," said Colonel Musgrave. "Oh, I found him quite

amenable to logic. He is leaving Lichfield this evening, I think."

Thereupon Miss Stapylton began to laugh. "Yes," said she, "you must have

remonstrated very feelingly. Your tie's all crooked, Olaf dear, and your

hair's all rumpled, and there's dust all over your coat. You would

disgrace a rag-bag. Oh, I'm glad you reasoned--that way! It wasn't

dignified, but it was dear of you, Olaf. Pevensey's a beast."

He caught his breath at this. "Pevensey!" he stammered; "the Earl of

Pevensey!--the man you are going to marry!"

"Dear me, no!" Miss Stapylton answered, with utmost unconcern; "I would

sooner marry a toad. Why, didn't you know, Olaf? I thought, of course,

you knew you had been introducing athletics and better manners among the

peerage! That sounds like a bill in the House of Commons, doesn't it?"

Then Miss Stapylton laughed again, and appeared to be in a state of

agreeable, though somewhat nervous, elation. "I wrote to him two days

ago," she afterward explained, "breaking off the engagement. So he came

down at once and was very nasty about it."

"You--you have broken your engagement," he echoed, dully; and continued,

with a certain deficiency of finesse, "But I thought you wanted to be a

countess?"

"Oh, you boor, you vulgarian!" the girl cried, "Oh, you do put things so

crudely, Olaf! You are hopeless."

She shook an admonitory forefinger in his direction, and pouted in the

most dangerous fashion.

"But he always seemed so nice," she reflected, with puckered brows,

"until to-day, you know. I thought he would be eminently suitable. I

liked him tremendously until--" and here, a wonderful, tender change

came into her face, a wistful quaver woke in her voice--"until I found

there was some one else I liked better."

"Ah!" said Rudolph Musgrave.

So, that was it--yes, that was it! Her head was bowed now--her glorious,

proud little head,--and she sat silent, an abashed heap of fluffy frills

and ruffles, a tiny bundle of vaporous ruchings and filmy tucks and

suchlike vanities, in the green dusk of the summer-house.

But he knew. He had seen her face grave and tender in the twilight, and

he knew.

She loved some man--some lucky devil! Ah, yes, that was it! And he knew

the love he had unwittingly spied upon to be august; the shamed

exultance of her face and her illumined eyes, the crimson banners her

cheeks had flaunted,--these were to Colonel Musgrave as a piece of

sacred pageantry; and before it his misery was awed, his envy went

posting to extinction.

Thus the stupid man reflected, and made himself very unhappy over it.

Then, after a little, the girl threw back her head and drew a deep

breath, and flashed a tremulous smile at him.

"Ah, yes," said she; "there are better things in life than coronets,

aren't there, Olaf?"

You should have seen how he caught up the word!

"Life!" he cried, with a bitter thrill of speech; "ah, what do I know of

life? I am only a recluse, a dreamer, a visionary! You must learn of

life from the men who have lived, Patricia. I haven't ever lived. I

have always chosen the coward's part. I have chosen to shut myself off

from the world, to posture in a village all my days, and to consider its

trifles as of supreme importance. I have affected to scorn that brave

world yonder where a man is proven. And, all the while, I was afraid of

it, I think. I was afraid of you before you came."

At the thought of this Rudolph Musgrave laughed as he fell to pacing up

and down before her.

"Life!" he cried, again, with a helpless gesture; and then smiled at

her, very sadly. "'Didn't I know there was something better in life than

grubbing after musty tribes and customs and folk-songs?'" he quoted.

"Why, what a question to ask of a professional genealogist! Don't you

realize, Patricia, that the very bread I eat is, actually, earned by the

achievements of people who have been dead for centuries? and in part, of

course, by tickling the vanity of living snobs? That constitutes a nice

trade for an able-bodied person as long as men are paid for emptying

garbage-barrels--now, doesn't it? And yet it is not altogether for the

pay's sake I do it," he added, haltingly. "There really is a fascination

about the work. You are really working out a puzzle,--like a fellow

solving a chess-problem. It isn't really work, it is amusement. And when

you are establishing a royal descent, and tracing back to czars and

Plantagenets and Merovingians, and making it all seem perfectly

plausible, the thing is sheer impudent, flagrant art, and _you_ are the

artist--" He broke off here and shrugged. "No, I could hardly make you

understand. It doesn't matter. It is enough that I have bartered youth

and happiness and the very power of living for the privilege of grubbing

in old county records."

He paused. It is debatable if he had spoken wisely, or had spoken even

in consonance with fact, but his outburst had, at least, the saving

grace of sincerity. He was pallid now, shaking in every limb, and in his

heart was a dull aching. She seemed so incredibly soft and little and

childlike, as she looked up at him with troubled eyes.

"I--I don't quite understand," she murmured. "It isn't as if you were an

old man, Olaf. It isn't as if--"

But he had scarcely heard her. "Ah, child, child!" he cried, "why did

you come to waken me? I was content in my smug vanities. I was content

in my ignorance. I could have gone on contentedly grubbing through my

musty, sleepy life here, till death had taken me, if only you had not

shown me what life might mean! Ah, child, child, why did you waken me?"

"I?" she breathed; and now the flush of her cheeks had widened,

wondrously.

"You! you!" he cried, and gave a wringing motion of his hands, for the

self-esteem of a complacent man is not torn away without agony. "Who

else but you? I had thought myself brave enough to be silent, but still

I must play the coward's part! That woman I told you of--that woman I

loved--was you! Yes, you, you!" he cried, again and again, in a sort of

frenzy.

And then, on a sudden, Colonel Musgrave began to laugh.

"It is very ridiculous, isn't it?" he demanded of her. "Yes, it is

very--very funny. Now comes the time to laugh at me! Now comes the time

to lift your brows, and to make keen arrows of your eyes, and of your

tongue a little red dagger! I have dreamed of this moment many and many

a time. So laugh, I say! Laugh, for I have told you that I love you. You

are rich, and I am a pauper--you are young, and I am old, remember,--and

I love you, who love another man! For the love of God, laugh at me and

have done--laugh! for, as God lives, it is the bravest jest I have ever

known!"

But she came to him, with a wonderful gesture of compassion, and caught

his great, shapely hands in hers.

"I--I knew you cared," she breathed. "I have always known you cared. I

would have been an idiot if I hadn't. But, oh, Olaf, I didn't know you

cared so much. You frighten me, Olaf," she pleaded, and raised a tearful

face to his. "I am very fond of you, Olaf dear. Oh, don't think I am not

fond of you." And the girl paused for a breathless moment. "I think I

might have married you, Olaf," she said, half-wistfully, "if--if it

hadn't been for one thing."

Rudolph Musgrave smiled now, though he found it a difficult business.

"Yes," he assented, gravely, "I know, dear. If it were not for the other

man--that lucky devil! Yes, he is a very, very lucky devil, child, and

he constitutes rather a big 'if,' doesn't he?"

Miss Stapylton, too, smiled a little. "No," said she, "that isn't quite

the reason. The real reason is, as I told you yesterday, that I quite

fail to see how you can expect any woman to marry you, you jay-bird, if

you won't go to the trouble of asking her to do so."

And, this time, Miss Stapylton did not go into the house.