"With pleasure, if I may," he answered, looking a rather arrogant
inquiry at Sidney.
"I shall be delighted, too. I am my sister's guest."
As the lights went out, the major took his place so close to Diana's
side that he could whisper in her ear, very softly, hardly moving his
lips as he spoke:
"You are simply wonderful!"
"Thanks."
"I've always been on the look-out for you. I knew that some day or
other you'd return."
"And here I am."
"But you never wrote a line...."
"I could not. It had to be one thing or the other.-- Still
suffering from jealousy?"
"Horribly!"
"It really is my brother."
"Swear?"
"On your sword," she breathed, placing her hand on the hilt of his
weapon as it thrust forward among the folds of her dress.
"Diana," he urged, pressing closer.
"No!"
Ostentatiously she drew away from him, and turned towards Sidney.
The latter had heard the whispered exchange of words and had been
watching the couple, wondering where he had seen the man before.
Slowly came the remembrance of a somewhat shady night club. Yes, it
was there they had met; the officer was in mufti, the encounter
lasted no more than a few seconds. Could the man really have been an
intimate of Diana's. Sisters should be sexless!
The major continued to whisper in Diana's ear, until the great scene
in the second act, where Carmen sings her most seductive song,
compelled him to silence. Then all she heard at her side was the
heavy breathing of a man who was exercising fierce control over
himself. But even this sound faded from the circle of her
perceptions when the toreador embarked upon his triumphant pæan. She
closed her eyes in the sensuous enjoyment of the final F. It seemed
to her at that moment as if rushing wings drew near, to fold her in
an embrace. Present experiences became less real to her than the
premonitory murmur of the unknown future.
During the interval, Diana had made for the balcony with her two
companions in order to enjoy a breath of fresh air, for the late
spring weather was mild and the opera house felt hot and stuffy. As
the trio strolled along, the major saluted a friend whom Diana
recognized as Scherer, her chief. She was aware that the latter
turned to look after her, and she hurried out on to the balcony. She
was not a little annoyed at the encounter. The next thing would be
that the publisher would question the major as to her identity, and
then it would be all up with her incognito. This might cost her her
employer's confidence which, during the week she had been working
directly under him, she had won as much by her behaviour as by the
excellence of her work.
The warm evening air was wafted up to them as they leaned upon the
balustrade. The breeze caressed Diana's bare shoulders and arms so
that she shivered slightly. She drew her wrap closer about her. The
women as they walked to and fro were obviously living in the
atmosphere of Seville; they coquetted with fans, flaunted their
laces, displayed their uncomprehended passions in such a way as would
have shocked their worthy burgher souls had they been consciously
aware of what they were doing. The voluptuousness of the music and
the balminess of the air were responsible for lingering touch of hand
on hand as the men helped the ladies with cloak or shawl. But the
major, whose erotic temperament was never allowed to encroach upon
his courtesy and formal politeness, was careful to avoid any contact
with Diana.
Now the opera pursued its course, ominous, poignant. As Carmen,
laying out the cards, pronounced the word of doom, Diana shuddered.
It seemed to her that all of a sudden she was quite alone, no longer
young, cut off from liberty. She was annoyed at the meeting of these
two men, a meeting which had at first seemed to her so piquant. Yet
she could not leave the house until once again she had drunk the
intoxicating rhythm of the toreador music; had seen the brilliant
sunlight illuminating the bull ring; had relished to the full the
medley of horses, soldiers, flags; had thrilled responsively to the
hymn of triumph and the glamour of the bloodthirsty sport. Amid all
the noise and brilliancy, she had been snatched away into another
realm by the exquisite tenderness of Micaela's appeal....
At last the curtain fell on the final act. Clapping of hands, bows
before the footlights, a rush to the exits. All were still under the
spell of the music and the drama; all were silent; all seemed for the
moment to be rudderless, adrift.
As the three friends pressed forward in the crowd, their movements
were closely followed by Scherer. For a week now he had had this
amazing woman under observation, and the more he was tempted to
utilize her for his purposes, the more he was struck with the
qualities chance happenings revealed. He had noticed the meeting in
the box, had instantly recognized the woman as Diana and the officer
as an old acquaintance; the younger man was unknown to him. Their
gestures and general behaviour showed the trio to hail from cultured
circles; but he was puzzled as to the relationship of one to the
other.
"I wonder how they are going to spend the remainder of the evening,"
he mused. "To which of those men does she belong?"
The question continued to occupy his mind for the rest of the night.
He followed them into one of the larger restaurants, and engaged a
table near the wall whence he could watch them unobserved.
After the second glass of Chambertin, the spirits of the three rose.
It was as if they had thrown off a load. The major began to feel
that this brother of Diana's was not in his way, after all; while
Sidney saw that the officer was a gentleman although their first
encounter had taken place in so dubious a spot. Both men placed
implicit faith in Diana, and she for her part was able by her tactful
management to bring the two to a better understanding.
"Sidney, do you remember where we last met?"
"Yes, in London."
"Whereabouts?"
"In the British Museum, before the Assyrian fresco with the lion.
You were showing me around. I was keen to learn. Three times a week
for at least two months...."
"Do you still draw?..."
"Occasionally."
"Will you show me some of your work?..."
"Any time you please!"
"Have you tried your hand at a portrait of your sister yet?" asked
the major.
"Not as far as I can remember."
"Oh, but you did," cried Diana, laughing, "you made a sketch of me
once at Brighton when I was wearing that lilac bathing cloak." Then,
suddenly: "Oh, how I long for the sea! I want to go south, to
Athens! Not just now, later on. I know south-eastern Europe, and
nearly half the East, but I've never been to Athens, the only place
that really matters. I like all that far better than your Assyrian
lions!"
"Isn't it in Athens that one sees those riders?" asked the major, his
voice suddenly assuming a tone of genuine inquiry. "You know, the
riders you once showed me a cast of?"
Diana looked at him with lively comprehension as she replied:
"Yes, the riders are to be seen there."
Sidney thought:
"I wonder what memories the riders bring back to them?"
The major thought:
"How mad we were that day in Mecklenburg... I locked the garden
gates ... it was early morning ... and I sat her naked on the Irish
stallion ... bareback, like the Grecian riders in the museum....
Will she ever be mine again?"
Diana thought:
"I rode in the sunlight, naked, and I felt the quivering sides of the
beast against my thighs.... It was of a chestnut colour, just like a
nut freshly taken from the husk. We were like children together, he
and I. How long ago those days seem to me now."
At last she roused herself to ask:
"So you are in the garrison here?"
"I'm on the general staff," he said testily, in an endeavour to hide
the turmoil within. A pause. Then: "At that time, the last time I
had the good luck to meet you--exactly three years ago--you were kind
enough to suggest that we might meet again...."
"Yes, we did speak of the matter," answered Diana airily, hoping to
quell his excitement; for she saw while he was speaking that he
winced at the recollection of all he had made her suffer through his
jealousy and his pride, of all that had led to the final parting.
Her tone drew a look of gratitude from him, which Sidney was quick to
intercept. The young man rose, trying to find an excuse for leaving
them alone together.
"Excuse me a moment," he said, "there's old Heinz over there...."
He was away for a quarter of an hour, and amused himself by sketching
a caricature of the cloakroom attendant.
The officer seized his opportunity.
"Diana," he cried, taking her hand and covering it with kisses, "I
have you to thank for what I have become. At the time of our
parting, I hated you, yes, hated you. I could not bear you to look
at any one else.... But when you had gone I drew a line--please
don't laugh, I have not given up love, but I no longer devote all my
time to love. I started studying seriously, and in two years I got
promoted to the general staff. In the ordinary course I could not
have gone that far in less than five years, and only then by a fluke.
Meanwhile I've been devoting my leisure to opera--not just the
ballet--museums, exhibitions, books of travel." Suddenly he found he
could speak in lighter vein again as he exclaimed: "I actually read,
yes, read: a novelty in my family. My forefathers away there in the
churchyard at home would turn in their graves if they could see me!"
Diana closed her eyes, listening as her friend paid her this belated
homage, and tried to conceal his emotion under cover of a joke. When
he ceased speaking, she lifted her glass, and, with a charming and
dignified mien, toasted him thus:
"Here's to the golden laurel leaf on your red collar!"
He embraced her in his glance and raised his glass to clink with
hers, his hand trembling as he did so.
"How long shall we be alone? I do so much want to tell you what I've
been planning these three years past.--Diana, I'm sorry to make you
such a request in all this racket, but won't you share with me what
remains of my life?"
Her face stiffened; she looked thirty years old at least as she put
her glass down, and said softly:
"Never try to repeat things, my friend. Do you want the pleasant
things you have just been saying to lose their flavour? Is not this
moment of greater value than all the remainder of your life, which
may prove a hollow sham if we do what you propose? Do not try to
tame the falcon. Let me fly in a free sky."
She shot a glowing look at him, but as she emptied her glass her
companion saw that her eyes were moist with tears.
Sidney came back at this moment. Diana rose, saying:
"It is late. Good-bye. Please do not come with me."
Both men protested; but Diana, wearied of the male's everlasting
suspicion of women, beckoned them both towards her and flashed:
"Can't you trust me to go home by myself?"
She got into a taxi, and even as it was starting Scherer's big bulk
appeared in the doorway of the restaurant. He had witnessed their
farewells, and was seeking a taxi wherein to follow her and find out
what was her next move. The major, who on no account wanted to lose
her trail, bade Sidney a hasty good-night, and jumped into another
taxi which was drifting along across the street. Sidney, however,
understood the officer's manœuvre. He felt curious as to his
sister's relations with the major and in his turn hailed a taxi.
In the busier parts of the town the procession was not very
noticeable, but as soon as Diana's cab reached the quiet
neighbourhood where she lived it was evident that she was being
followed by three vehicles in fairly close formation.... When her
driver stopped in front of her door, the others drew up likewise.
Three heads were cautiously poked out of three windows. Scherer at
once knew who the other two men were, but they were puzzled as to his
identity.
As Diana stepped up to the front door she took the whole comedy in at
a glance, and laughed. She laughed again when she reached her room:
"I'll never succeed in making men believe that I am a virtuous woman!"