Chapter 12

"The bargain," I went on, "would be quite a fair one. I am offering to buy a thing which is not for sale--therefore, I am willing to pay whatever would tempt the owner to part with it. I am not mixing up any sentiment in the affair. I want the brain of you for my scheme of life, and the laws of the quaintly civilized society to which we belong, do not permit me to hire it--I must buy it outright. I put it to you net--is there any way we can effect this deal?"

Her lips were quivering--.

"You would say this, no matter what you might hear of my family?"

"I am quite unconcerned as to their history. I have observed you, and you possess all the qualities which I want in the partner who can help me to live my new life. For me you are just a personality--" (thus I lied valiantly!) "not a woman."

"Can I believe you?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"You are thinking of that day when I kissed you--" her lips told me by their sudden drawing in, that she was agitated.

"Well--I expect really that you know men well enough, Miss Sharp, to know that they have sudden temptations--but that a strong will can overcome them. I was very much moved about your grief that afternoon, and the suppressed emotion, and the exasperation you had caused me, unbalanced me--I am quite unlikely ever to feel again--if you will marry me, I will give you my word I will never touch you, or expect anything, of you except what you agree to give in the bargain. You can lead your own life--and I can lead mine."

I felt suddenly that these last words were not very wise--for they aroused in her mind the thought that I should go on having friends like Suzette. I hastened to add--

"You will have my deepest respect, and as my wife shall be treated with every courtesy and honour."

She sat down again and raised her hands to her eyes as though to remove her glasses, and then remembered and dropped them.

"I see that you would rather not answer to-day, Miss Sharp--you might prefer to go now and think about it?"

"Thank you." She turned and walked back into the little salon without a word more, and when she went I closed my eye exhausted with the great strain.

But I did not feel altogether hopeless until Burton came in to tell me lunch was ready and said that Alathea had gone.

"The young lady said as how she would not be back she expected, and she took her own pens and things in her bag. She was as white as a lily, give you my word, Sir Nicholas."

I am ashamed to say that I felt a little faint then. Had I overstepped the mark, and should I never see her again?

A whole party of the fluffies were coming to dinner, and we were to have a very gay evening. I ordered my one horse Victoria and went for a drive in the _Bois_, to calm myself, and the trees with their early autumn tints seemed to mock at me. I could see too much beauty in them, and it hurt. Everything hurt! This was certainly the worst afternoon I have had to bear since I came to on No-Man's Land near Langemarke. But I suppose at dinner I played the game, for Coralie and the rest congratulated me.

"Getting quite well, Nicholas! And of a _chic_! _Va!_"

We played poker afterwards and the stakes were high, and I was the winner the whole time, until I could see anxiety creep into more than one eye (pair of eyes! I have got so accustomed to writing of eyes in the singular that I forget!) We had quantities of champagne and some exotic musicians Maurice had procured for me, and a nude Hindoo dancer.

Everyone went more or less mad.

They left about four in the morning, all rather drunk, if one must write it. But the more I had drunk the more hideously sober and filled with anguish I seemed to become, until when I had called the last cheery good-night and was at last alone in my bed, I felt as if the end had come, and that death would be the next and only good thing which could happen to me.

I have never before had this strange detached sense in such measure as this night. As of a hungry agonized spirit standing outside its wretched body, and watching its feeble movements, conscious of their futility, conscious of being chained to the miserable thing, and only knowing rebellion and agony.

Burton gave me a sleeping draught, and I slept far into the next day to awake more unhappy than ever, obsessed with self-contempt and degradation.

In the afternoon, I received a note from Maurice, telling me that he had inadvertently heard that a fellow in the American Red Cross had seen Miss Sharp's passport, when she had been sent down to Brest for them, and the name on it was Alathea Bulteel Sharp, and judging that the second name sounded as if it might be a well-known English one, he hastened to tell me, in case it should be a clue. I could not think where I had heard it before, or with what memory it was connecting in my brain. I had a feeling it was something to do with George Harcourt. I puzzled for a while, and then I looked back over the pages of my journal, and there found what I had written of his conversation--Bobby Bulteel--Hartelford's brother--cheating at cards--and married to Lady Hilda Marchant----

Of course!--The whole thing became plain to me! This would account for everything. I hobbled up and got down the peerage. I turned to the Hartelford title, and noted the brothers--the Hon'bles--John Sinclair, Charles Henry, and Robert Edgar. This last must be "Bobby" Then I read the usual things--"Educated at Eton and Christchurch, etc., etc." "Left the Guards in 1893." "Married in 1894--Lady Hilda Farwell, only daughter of the Marquess of Braxted (title extinct) and divorced wife of William Marchant, Esquire." "Issue--"

"Alathea--born 1894, John Robert born 1905, and Hilda born 1907."

So the whole tragic story seemed to unfold itself before me.

Alathea is the child of that great love and sacrifice of her Mother--I read again the words George had used: "She adored the fellow who had every charm." All the world might cast him out, but that one faithful woman gave up home and name and honour, to follow him in his disgrace. That was love indeed, however misplaced! I looked again at the dates and made a calculation of the time divorces took then, and I saw that my little darling girl could only have escaped illegitimacy by perhaps a few hours!

What had her life been? I pictured it. They must have hidden diminished heads in hole and corner places during the dreary years. Such a man as Bobby Bulteel must have been, as George said, a weakling. The Hartlefords were poor as church mice, and were not likely to assist a scapegrace, who had dishonoured them. I remembered hearing that on the old Lord Braxted's death years ago, Braxted was sold to the Merrion-Walters, Ironfounders from Leeds. No doubt the old man had cut his daughter off without the traditional shilling, but even so, some hundreds a year must have been theirs. What then did the poverty of Alathea suggest? That some constant drain must be going on all the time. Could the scapegrace still be a gambler, and that could account for it? This seemed the most probable explanation.

Then all over me there rushed a mad worship for my little love. Her splendid unselfishness, her noble self-sacrifice, her dignity, her serenity. I could have kissed the ground under her feet.

I made Burton spend untold time telephoning to the Embassy, and then to Versailles to Colonel Harcourt--would he not dine with me? He was sorry he was engaged but he would lunch the next day. Then when the long evening was in front of me alone--I could hardly bear it. And, driven to desperation at last, when Burton was undressing me, I said to him:

"Did you ever know anything of the Hartlefords, Burton--Bulteel is the family name?"

"Can't say as I did personally, Sir Nicholas," he answered, "but of course, when I was a young boy taking my first fourth-footman's place, before I came to your father, Sir Guy, at Her Grace of Wiltshire's, I could not help hearing of the scandal about the cheating at cards. The whole nobility and gentry was put to about it, and nothing else was talked of at dinner."

"Try and tell me what you remember of the story."

So Burton held forth in his own way for a quarter of an hour. There had been no possible doubt of the crime, it was the week after the Derby, and Bulteel had lost heavily it was said. He was caught red-handed and got off abroad that night, and the matter would have been hushed up probably but for the added sensation of Lady Hilda's elopement with him. That set society by the ears, and the thing was the thrill of the season. Mr. Marchant had been "all broken-up" by it, and delayed the divorce so that as far as Burton could remember, Captain Bulteel could not marry Lady Hilda for more than a year afterwards. All this coincided with what I already knew. Lord Braxted too, "took on fearful," and died of a broken heart it was said, leaving every cent to charity. The entail had been cut in the generation before and the title became extinct at his death.

I did not tell Burton then of my discovery, and lay long hours in the dark, thinking and thinking.

What did the Duchesse's attitude mean? In the eyes of the Duchesse de Courville-Hautevine, _neé_ Adelaide de Mont Orgeuil--to cheat at cards would be the worst of all the cardinal sins. Such a man as Bobby Bulteel must be separated from his kind. She knew Lady Hilda probably (the Duchesse often stayed in England with my mother) and she probably felt a disapproving pity for the poor lady. The great charity of her mind would be touched by suffering, if the suffering was apparent, and perhaps she had some affection for the girl Alathea. But no affection could bridge the gulf which separated the child of an outcast from her world. The sins of the father would inevitably be visited upon the children by an unwritten law, and although she might love Alathea herself, she could not countenance her union with me. The daughter of a man who had cheated at cards should go into a convent. I instinctively felt somehow that this would be her viewpoint.

Does Alathea know this tragedy about her father? Has she had to live always under this curse? Oh! The pity of it all.

Morning found me more restless and miserable than I have ever been, and it brought no sign of my love!

XVIII

George Harcourt was called suddenly to Rome that morning and so even hearing him talk further about the Bulteels was denied me for the time. I passed some days of the cruelest unrest. There was no sign of Alathea. I allowed Maurice to drag me out into the world and spent my evenings among my kind.

A number of my old pals have been killed lately, such an irony when the war seems to be drawing to a close! There is still an atmosphere of tension and unrestfulness in the air, though.

After an awful week George Harcourt came back and dropped in to see me. I opened fire at once, and asked him to tell me all that he knew of the Bulteels, especially his old brother officer Bobby.

"I have a particular reason for asking, George," I said.

"Very curious your speaking of them, Nicholas, because there has just been the devil of a fuss in the French Foreign Legion about that infernal blackguard; it came to my knowledge in my work."

"Has he been cheating at cards again?"

George nodded.

"Tell me from the beginning."

So he started--many of the bits I already knew. Lady Hilda had been a great friend of his and he dwelt upon the life of suffering she had had.

"There were a few years of frantic love and some sort of happiness, I expect, and then funds began to give out, and Bobbie's insane desire to gamble led him into the shadiest society, at Baden-Baden and Nice, and other warm spots. Poor Hilda used to go about with him then in a shamed, defiant way, running from any old friend, or staring over his head. I happened upon them once or twice in my wanderings; then I lost sight of them for some years, and the next thing was someone told me the poor woman had broken down and was a nervous wreck, and two children had been born in quick succession, when the first one was about eleven years old, and the whole family were in miserable straits. I think relations paid up that time--with the understanding that never again were they to be applied to. And since then I have heard nothing until the other day it came to my ears that the eldest girl--she must be over twenty now, was supporting the entire family. One of the children died lately, and now Bobby has put the cap on it. I am sorry for them, but Bobby is impossible."

Oh! My poor little girl, what a life! How I longed to take her out of it!

He went on.

"Strange how certain instincts show themselves under every condition. Bobby was no physical coward, and to talk to and mix with casually, the most perfect gentleman you ever met. Awfully well read and a topper at classics and history, and sang like a bird. He had the grand manner, and could attract any woman, though to give the devil his due--I believe for some years he was faithful to Lady Hilda."

"I should think so!" I said indignantly. "After accepting her great sacrifice!"

"Nothing lasts, my dear boy, that is not fundamental. Bobby was a rotter through and through, and so he couldn't even behave decently to the woman who had given up everything for him, once her charm went. But--that something in human beings which is unaccountable, when they are well bred, made him join the French Foreign Legion immediately war broke out, and behave with great gallantry."

"What brought on the last episode?"

"He was probably bored in the dull post where he was, with not much fighting to do lately, and resorted to his old game to cover up losses, which he could not pay, and had the bad luck to be caught for the second time. I told you he was a fool and did not know how to calculate the price of his follies."

"When did you hear of this?"

"Only last night on my return, and there will be a disgusting scandal, and the old story will be raked up and it is pretty beastly for Englishmen."

"Can money keep it quiet, George?"

"I expect so, but who would be fool enough to pay for such a fellow?"

"I would, and will, if you can manage it without letting my name appear."

"My dear boy, how does it interest you? Why should you do such a quixotic thing? It is twenty-five thousand francs."

"Only twenty-five thousand francs! I'll give you the cheque this minute George, if you can, in your own way, free the poor devil."

"But Nicholas--you must be mad my dear boy!--Or you have some strong motive I do not know of."

"Yes, I have--I want this chap freed from disaster, not for his sake, but for the sake of the family. What must that poor lady have gone through, and that poor girl!"

George looked at me with his whimsical cynical eye.

"It's awfully decent of you, Nicholas," was all he said though, and I reached for my cheque-book, and wrote a cheque for thirty thousand francs with my stylo.

"You may need the extra five thousand, George--to make sure of the thing, and I count on you to patch it up as soon as you can."

He left after that, promising to see into the affair at once, and telephone me the result--and when he had gone I tried to think over what it all means?

Alathea did not know of this when I asked her to marry me last week. She must never know that I am paying, even if that makes matters easy enough for her to refuse me. The reason of her long silence is because this fresh trouble has fallen upon them, I am sure. I feel so awfully, not being able to comfort her. The whole burden upon those young shoulders.--

Just as I wrote that yesterday, Burton came in to say that Miss Sharp was in the little salon, and wished to see me, and I sent him to pray her to come in. I rose from my chair to bow to her when she entered, she never shakes hands. I was awfully pained to see the change in her. Her poor little white face was thin and woebegone and even her lips pale, and her air was not so proud as usual.

"Won't you sit down," I said with whatever of homage I could put into my voice.

She was so humbled and miserable, that I knew she would even have taken off her glasses if I had asked her to, but of course I would not do that.

She seemed to find it hard to begin. I felt troubled for her and started.

"I am awfully glad that you have come back."

She locked her hands together, in the shabby, black suede gloves.

"I have come to tell you that if you will give me twenty-five thousand francs this afternoon, I will accept your offer, and will marry you."

I held out my hand in my infinite joy, but I tried to control all other exhibition of emotion.

"That is awfully good of you--I can't say how I thank you," I said in a voice which sounded quite stern. "Of course I will give you anything in the world you want." And again I reached for my cheque-book and wrote a cheque for fifty thousand and handed it to her.

She looked at it, and went crimson.

"I do not want all that, twenty-five thousand is enough. That is the price of the bargain."

I would not let this hurt me.

"Since you have consented to marry me, I have the right to give you what I please--you may need more than you have suggested, and I want everything to be smooth and as you would wish."

She trembled all over.

"I--I cannot argue now, I must go at once; but I will think over what I must say about it."

"If you are going to be my wife, you must know that all that is mine will be yours; so how can a few thousand francs more or less now make any difference, though if you have any feeling concerning it, you can pay me back out of your first month's dress allowance!" and I tried to smile.

She started to her feet.

"When shall I see you again?" I pleaded.

"In two days."

"When will you marry me?"

"Whenever you arrange."

"Must you go now?"

"Yes--I must--I am grateful for your generosity, I will fulfill my side of the bargain."

"And I mine."

I tried to rise, and she handed me my crutch, and then went towards the door, there she turned.

"I will come on Friday at ten o'clock as usual, Good-bye," and she bowed and left me.

What a remarkable way to become an engaged man!! But only joy filled me at that moment. I wanted to shout and sing--and thank God!

Alathea will be mine, and surely it will only be a question of time before I can make her love me, my little girl!

I rang for Burton. I must have rung vigorously for he came in hurriedly.

"Burton," I said, "Congratulate me, my old friend--Miss Sharp has promised to marry me."

For once Burton's imperturbability deserted him, he almost staggered and put his hand to his head.

"God bless my soul, Sir Nicholas," he gasped, and then went on, "Beg pardon, Sir, but that is the best piece of news I ever did hear in my life."

And his dear old eyes were full of tears while he blew his nose vigorously.

"It will be a very quiet wedding, Burton. We shall have it at the Consulate, and I suppose at the church in the _Rue d'Agesseau_, if Miss Sharp is a Protestant--I have never asked her."

"The wedding don't so much matter, Sir Nicholas. It is having the young lady always here to look after you."

"Without her glasses, Burton!"

"As you say Sir, without them horn things." And there was a world of understanding in his faithful eyes.

He left the room presently with the walk of a boy, so elated was he, and I was left alone, thrilling in every nerve with triumph. How I long for Friday I cannot possibly say.

In the afternoon Maurice and Alwood Chester, and Madame de Clerté came to see me, and all exclaimed at my improved appearance.

"Why you look like a million dollars, Nicholas," Alwood said, "What is up, old bird?"

"I am getting well, that is all."

"We are going to have a party on Sunday to introduce you to the loveliest young girl in Paris," Solonge announced. "The daughter of a friend of mine without a great dot, but that does not matter for you, Nicholas. We think that you should marry and marry a _jeune fille francaise_!"

"That is sweet of you. I have shown how I appreciate young girls, have not I?"

"For that--no!" she laughed, "But the time has come--."

I felt amused, what will Alathea think of these, my friends? Solonge is the best of them.

Maurice had an air of anxiety underneath his watchful friendliness. He's fine enough to _feel_ atmospheres, or whatever it is that comes from people, not in words. He felt that some great change had taken place in me, and he was not sure what aspect it would have in regard to himself. He came back after he had seen Madame de Clerté to her coupé!--She has essence also now,--and his rather ridiculous, kindly, effeminate, little dark face was appealing.

"_Eh bien, mon ami?_" he said.

"_Eh bien?_"

"There is something, Nicholas, what? Was the clue of any use to you?"

"Yes, thank you a thousand times, Maurice, I could trace the whole thing. Miss Sharp comes of a very distinguished family, which I know all about. Her uncle is a miserable Earl! That is respectable enough, especially a tenth Earl! And her maternal grandfather was a 'Marquess.'"

"_Vrai, mon vieux?_"

"Quite true!"

Maurice was duly interested.

"You were right then about the breeding, it always does show."

I had difficulty in not telling him my news, but I thought it wiser to remain silent until after Friday! Friday! Day of days!

Maurice suspected that there was something beyond in all this, and was not sure which course would be the best to pursue; one of sympathy or unconsciousness. He decided upon the latter and presently left me.

Then I telephoned to Cartier to have some rings sent up to look at. I have a feeling that I must be very discreet about giving Alathea presents, or she will be resentful and even suspect that my bargain is not entirely a business one. I am afraid I seemed a little too pleased at our interview; I must be indifferently aloof on Friday.

I suppose I had better not give her my mother's pearls until after the ceremony. I wonder if there will be a fuss when I suggest her going to the _Rue de la Paix_ for clothes? I apprehend that there will be a stubborn resistance to almost everything I would wish to do.

How will the Duchesse take it! Probably philosophically, once it is an accomplished fact.

At that moment Burton brought me in a note from that very lady! I opened it eagerly, and its contents made me smile.

The Duchesse wrote to remind me of a request I once made her, that if a certain family were in trouble that I would assist them to any amount. Twenty-five thousand francs were now absolutely necessary on the moment, if I could send them to her by bearer, I would know that I was doing a good deed!

For the third time that day I reached for my cheque-book and wrote a cheque, but for only the sum asked on this occasion, and then when Burton had brought me note paper, I sent a little word with it, to the Duchesse, and when I was alone again I laughed aloud.

Three people determined upon it must surely save the scapegrace!--I wonder which of the three will get there first!

I would not go out anywhere to dinner, I wanted to be alone to think over the whole strange turn of fate. Do strong desires influence events? Or are all these things settled beforehand? Or is there something in reincarnation, which Alathea believes in, and the actions of one life cause that which looks like fate in the next? We shall have many talks on this subject, I hope.

I wonder, how long it will take for my little love to come voluntarily into my arms?----?

XIX

_Saturday_:

I wonder how long I shall go on writing in this Journal? I suppose once I should be happy it would not be necessary; well the moment has not yet come, in spite of my being the _fiancé_ of the woman I desire.