FELICIA
It seemed to me that Felicia that night was in her most charming
mood. She wore a dress of some soft white material, and a large black
hat, under which her face--a little paler even than usual--wore almost
a pathetic aspect. Her fingers touched my arm as we entered the
restaurant together. She seemed, in a way, to have lost some of her
self-control,--the exclusiveness with which she had surrounded
herself,--and to have become at once more natural and more girlish. I
noticed that she chose a seat with her back to the room, and I
understood her reason even before she told me.
"I think," she said, "that to-night it would be pleasant to forget
that there is any one here who disturbs me. I think it would be
pleasant to remember only that this great holiday of mine, which I
have looked forward to so long, has really begun."
"You have looked forward to coming to London so much?" I asked.
"Yes!" she answered. "I have lived a very quiet life, Capitaine
Rotherby. After the Sisters had finished with me--and I stayed at the
school longer than any of the others--I went straight to the house of
a friend of my uncle's, where I had only a _dame de compagnie_.
My uncle--he was so long coming, and the life was very dull. But
always he wrote to me, 'Some day I will take you to London!' Even
when we were in Paris together he would tell me that."
"Tell me," I asked, "what is your uncle's Christian name?"
"I have three uncles," she said, after a moment's
hesitation,--"Maurice, Ferdinand, and Nicholas. Nicholas lives all the
time in South America. Maurice and Ferdinand are often in Paris."
"And the uncle with whom you are now?" I asked.
I seemed to have been unfortunate in my choice of a conversation. Her
eyes had grown larger. The quivering of her lips was almost pitiful.
"I am a clumsy ass!" I interrupted quickly. "I am asking you questions
which you do not wish to answer. A little later on, perhaps, you will
tell me everything of your own accord. But to-night I shall ask you
nothing. We will remember only that the holiday has begun."
She drew a little sigh of relief.
"You are so kind," she murmured, "so very kind. Indeed I do not want
to think of these things, which I do not understand, and which only
puzzle me all the time. We will let them alone, is it not so? We will
let them alone and talk about foolish things. Or you shall tell me
about London, and the country--tell me what we will do. Indeed, I may
go down to your home in Norfolk."
"I think you will like it there," I said. "It is too stuffy for London
these months. My brother's house is not far from the sea. There is a
great park which stretches down to some marshes, and beyond that the
sands."
"Can one bathe?" she asked breathlessly.
"Of course," I answered. "There is a private beach, and when we have
people in the house at this time of the year we always have the
motor-car ready to take them down and back. That is for those who
bathe early. Later on it is only a pleasant walk. Then you can learn
games if you like,--golf and tennis, cricket and croquet."
"I should be so stupid," she said, with a little regretful sigh. "In
France they did not teach me those things. I can play tennis a little,
but oh! so badly; and in England," she continued, "you think so much
of your games. Tell me, Capitaine Rotherby, will you think me very
stupid in the country if I can do nothing but swim a little and play
tennis very badly?"
"Rather not!" I answered. "There is the motor, you know. I could take
you for some delightful drives. We should find plenty to do, I am
sure, and I promise you that if only you will be as amiable as you are
here I shall not find any fault."
"You will like to have me there?" she asked.
Her question came with the simplicity of a child. She laughed softly
with pleasure when I leaned over the table and whispered to her,--
"Better than anything else in the world!"
"I am not sure, Capitaine Rotherby," she said, looking at me out of
her great eyes, "whether you are behaving nicely."
"If I am not," I declared, "it is your fault! You should not look so
charming."
She laughed softly.
"And you should not make such speeches to a poor little foreign girl,"
she said, "who knows so little of your London ways."
Louis stood suddenly before us. We felt his presence like a cold
shadow. The laughter died away from her eyes, and I found it difficult
enough to address him civilly.
"Monsieur is well served?" he asked. "Everything all right, eh?"
"Everything is very good, as usual, Louis," I answered. "The only
thing that is amiss you cannot alter."
"For example?" he asked.
"The atmosphere," I answered. "It is no weather for London."
"Monsieur is right," he admitted. "He is thinking of departing for the
country soon?"
"It depends a little upon mademoiselle," I answered.
Louis shook his head very slowly. He had the air of a man who
discusses something with infinite regret.
"It would be very delightful indeed," he said, "if it were possible
for mademoiselle to go into Norfolk to your brother's house. It would
be very good for mademoiselle, but I am not sure--I fear that her
uncle--"
"How the mischief did you know anything about it?" I asked in
amazement.
Louis smiled--that subtle, half-concealed smile which seemed scarcely
to part his lips.
"Why should not mademoiselle have told me?" he asked.
"But I have not!" she declared suddenly. "I have not seen Louis since
you were here this afternoon, Capitaine Rotherby."
Louis extended his hands.
"It is true," he admitted. "It is not from mademoiselle that I had the
news. But there, one cannot tell. Things may alter at any moment. It
may be very pleasant for Monsieur Delora that his niece is able to
accept this charming invitation."
"So you have been in communication with Mr. Delora, Louis?" I asked.
"Naturally," Louis answered. "He told me of mademoiselle's request. He
told me that he had promised to reply at ten o'clock this evening."
"Perhaps you can tell us," I remarked, "what that reply will be?"
Louis' face remained absolutely expressionless. He only shook his
head.
"Mr. Delora is his own master," he said. "It may suit him to be
without mademoiselle, or it may not. Pardon, monsieur!"
Louis was gone, but he had left his shadow behind.
"He does not think," she murmured, "that I may come!"
"Felicia,--" I said.
"But I did not say that you might call me Felicia!" she interrupted.
"Then do say so," I begged.
"For this evening, then," she assented.
"For this evening, then, Felicia," I continued. "I do not wish to
worry you by talking about certain things, but do you not think
yourself that your uncle is very inconsiderate to leave you here alone
on your first visit to London,--not to come near the place, or provide
you with any means of amusement? Why should he hesitate to let you
come to us?"
"We will not talk of it," she begged, a little nervously. "I must do
as he wishes. We will hope that he says yes, will we not?"
"He must say yes!" I declared. "If he doesn't I'll find out where he
is, somehow, and go and talk to him!"
She shook her head.
"He is very much engaged," she said. "He would not like you to find
him out, nor would he have any time to talk to you."
"Selling his coffee?" I could not help saying.
"To-night, Capitaine Rotherby," she answered softly, "we do not talk
of those things. Tell me what else we shall do down at your brother's
house?"
"We shall go for long walks," I told her. "There are beautiful gardens
there--a rose garden more than a hundred years old, and at the end of
it a footpath which leads through a pine plantation and then down to
the sea marshes. We can sit and watch the sea and talk, and when you
find it dull we will fill the house with young people, and play games
and dance--dance by moonlight, if you like. Or we can go fishing," I
continued. "There is a small yacht there and a couple of
sailing-boats."
She listened as though afraid of losing a single word.
"Tell me," I asked, "have you been lonely all your life, child?"
"All my life," she answered, and somehow or other her voice seemed to
me full of tears, so that I was almost surprised to find her eyes
dry. "Yes, I have always been lonely!" she murmured. "My uncle has
been kind to me, but he has always some great scheme on hand, and
Madame Muller--she would be kind if she knew how, I think, but she is
as though she were made of wood. She has no sympathy, she does not
understand."
"I wonder," I said reflectively, "what made your uncle bring you
here."
"It was a promise," she said hurriedly,--"a promise of long ago. You
yourself must know that. Your letter from your brother in South
America said, 'Mr. Delora and his niece.'"
"It is true," I admitted. "But why he should want to bring you and
then neglect you like this--But I forgot," I interrupted. "We must not
talk so. Tell me, you have been often to the theatre in Paris?"
"Very seldom," she answered, "and I love it so much. Madame Muller and
I go sometimes, but where we live is some distance from Paris, and it
is difficult to get home afterwards, especially for us two alone. My
uncle takes us sometimes, but he is generally so occupied."
"He is often in Paris, then?" I asked.
She started a little.
"Yes!" she said hurriedly. "He is often there, of course. But please
do not forget,--to-night we do not talk about my uncle. We talk about
ourselves. May I ask you something?"
"Certainly!" I answered.
"If my uncle says 'No!'--that I may not come--do you go away
altogether, then, to-morrow?"
"No," I answered, "I do not! I shall not leave you alone here. So long
as you stay, I shall remain in London."
She drew a little breath, and with a quick, impetuous movement her
hand stole across the table and pressed mine.
"It is so good of you!" she murmured.
"I am afraid that it is selfishness, Felicia," I answered. "I should
not care to go away and leave you here. I am beginning to find," I
added, "that the pleasures in life which do not include you count for
very little."
"You will turn my head," she declared, with a delightful little laugh.
"It is the truth," I assured her.
"I am quite sure now," she murmured, "that my great holiday has
commenced!"