Théo arrived rather late, and after making his bow to his hostess, came
straight to her. His fine young face was flushed and eager and his eyes
very bright.
Brigit, who was standing talking to Maytopp, felt her heart sink. She
had not yet decided what to say, and instinctively she looked round the
room for Joyselle.
"Brigit--will you dance?" Théo bowed, a trifle lower than Englishmen
bow, and offered her his arm with the very slightest suggestion of
swagger. And somehow he reminded her at that moment more of his father
than he had ever done.
He did not speak as they danced, but she knew that he was fairly
confident of her answer being a favourable one, and she tried to think
that the waltz was never going to end.
But it did end, and she found herself near the window leading to the
balcony where she had talked with his father early in the evening.
"Brigit----" he whispered gently, looking out into the darkness.
And then she heard herself answer: "Yes, Théo. But--ask your father what
he and I have decided."
"Ask papa!"
"Yes. He knows what we are going to do, and he will tell you."
Without a word he left her and she stepped out on the balcony. Leaning
against the parapet she stared down into the empty street, wondering
what Joyselle would say. She had not intended to put the responsibility
of the future on him; she had said the words almost unconsciously, but
they were said. And he, when he came?
Would the horrible courage she had felt in him prevail to the extent of
allowing him to give her to his son? Or would he refuse to settle
things? Or would he, worst of all, announce his departure for America!
He was so many men, each of whom were so strong and so individual, that
she could not know what he would say. Closing her eyes she waited. When
the two men joined her Théo was--laughing. And to her overwrought nerves
the sound seemed an insult.
"Why do you laugh?" she asked sharply.
He started. "Why--I don't remember. Papa said something amusing. Is
anything wrong, my dear?"
"No." Joyselle stood in the light and she could see his face. It looked
set and a little grim, but there was a fierce light in his eyes.
She looked at him defiantly. Yes, she had done well; he should choose.
"_Eh, bien?_" suggested Joyselle suddenly, "why have you sent for me,
Most Beautiful?"
So Théo had not explained!
"Théo is very impatient," she answered in a low voice; "he wants me to
set our wedding-day. And--I have to make up my mind, you know--I thought
as you and I had talked it over before dinner, you would not
mind--casting the die for us."
There was a pause while Joyselle deliberately moved beyond the radius of
the light.
Théo did not move, but his immobility was the motionlessness of extreme
tension. He had not observed the discrepancy in her story, Brigit saw,
and was simply waiting.
It seemed many minutes before Joyselle spoke. Then he said briskly, "The
pros and cons are many, Théo. Brigit will tell you them later. And there
are--clothes to be got, are there not? And I must go away in a few
days--to Madrid, and shall be gone three weeks. It might be well for you
to marry at once, say early in June, or--you might wait until the
autumn."
He lit a cigarette and Brigit drew a deep breath of relief. Thank God,
he was hedging, and could not make up his mind.
"I do not wish to wait," announced Théo, with unexpected and terrible
decision. "I can see no reason for it, _père_. Brigit, let it be early
in June."
Joyselle's match fell to the floor, and his cigarette was still unlit.
"I think I have been patient," pursued the young man, his voice
trembling a little. "Ah, father, I love her, and I want my wife."
Joyselle's arm jerked and the unlit cigarette flew out into the
darkness. "You are right," he began abruptly, but Brigit drew nearer to
him and in the darkness laid her hand on his.
"He is right in one way, _Beau-père_" she said, grasping his hand with
spasmodic strength, "and I am a brute, but I should so _much_ rather
wait a little longer. I have reasons, Théo."
Joyselle caught her hand in his, and gave a great laugh.
"Oh, _mes enfants, mes enfants_," he cried. "When lovers disagree, who
is to decide but--chance? Come, Théo, your chances shall be the same as
hers. Heads you win, tails you lose. Agreed?"
Staggering back into the light, his face flushed, his teeth flashing in
a broad smile, he took a sixpence from his pocket. "You both agree?"