Chapter 13

At ten o'clock I was waiting for her in the sitting-room, and I was thinking of that other time when I waited in anxiety, in case she did not return at all. I was very excited, but it was more the exhilaration I used to feel when we were going to have some stunning marauding expeditions over No-Man's Land. The old zest was in my veins.

I heard Alathea's ring, and after she had taken off her hat she came into the room. I believed that her anxieties must be assuaged because George Harcourt had telephoned late on Thursday night to say that he had been successful, and that he had four thousand francs to hand back to me, the affair having been concluded for twenty-six thousand. So what was my surprise to see Alathea's face below her glasses more woebegone than ever! At first it gave me a stab of pain. Does she really hate me so? She did not mention the money, so I wonder if it is that she does not yet know her father is cleared? I bowed as coldly as I used always to do, and she asked me if I had a chapter ready for her to type? I answered that I had not, because I had been too busy with other things to have composed anything.

"I think we had better discuss the necessary arrangements for our marriage before we can settle down to our old work," I said.

"Very well."

"I shall have to have your full name and your father's and mother's and all that, you know, to make it legal. My lawyer will attend to all the formalities--they are quite considerable, I believe. He arrives from London on Monday. I got him a passport by pulling a lot of strings."

She actually trembled. It seemed as if the idea of all this had not come to her, some of the value of her sacrifice would be diminished if the family skeleton should be laid bare, I could see she felt, so I reassured her.

"Believe me, I do not wish you to tell me anything about your family. As long as you can give just sufficient facts to satisfy the law, I have no curiosity to see them unless I can be of use."

"Thank you."

"I think a fortnight is the quickest that everything can be settled in.--Will you marry me on the seventh of November, Miss Sharp?"

"Yes."

"Do you care for the church ceremony, or will the one at the Consulate do?"

"I should think that would be quite enough for us."

The ring cases were all lying upon the table by me--I pointed to them.

"I wonder if you would choose an engagement ring?" and I began opening the lids. "It is customary, you know," I went on as she started reluctantly. I intended to be firm with her in all the points where I had rights.

"Don't you think it is a little ridiculous?" she asked. "A ring for a mere business arrangement?"

I would not allow myself to be hurt, but I was conscious that I felt a little angry.

"You would prefer not to choose a ring then? Very well, I will decide for you," and I took up one really magnificent single stone diamond, set as only Cartier can set stones.

"This is the last thing in modernity," and I handed it to her. "A hard white diamond of egregious size, it cannot fail to be a reminder of our hard business bargain, and I shall ask you to be good enough to wear it."

I suppose she saw that I was not pleased, for she drew in her lips a little, but she took the ring.

Her hands seemed very restless as she held it, they were certainly not nearly so red as they formerly were.

"Am I to put it on now?"

"Please."

She did so, only she put it on her right third finger, her cheeks growing pink.

"Why do you do that?" I asked.

"What?"

"Put the ring on the wrong hand."

She changed it reluctantly, then she burst out:

"I suppose I ought to thank you for such a very splendid gift, but I can't, because I would much rather not have it, please do let us keep to business in every way, and please don't give me any more presents. I am going to be just your secretary, with my wages commuted into some lump sum, I suppose."

I felt more angry, and I think she saw it. I remained silent, which forced her to speak.

"Do you intend that I shall live here, in the flat?"

"Of course. Will you please choose which of the two guest rooms you would prefer, they both have bathrooms, and you will have the decoration re-done as you wish."

Silence.

My exasperation augmented.

"Will you also please engage a maid, and go and order every sort of clothes which you ought to have. I know by the way you were dressed when I saw you in the _Bois_ that Sunday, that your taste is perfect."

She stiffened as I spoke. It was quite plain to be seen that she loathed taking anything from me, but I had no intention of ceding a single point where I had the right to impose my will.

"You see you will be known as my wife, therefore you must dress according to the position, and have everything my mother used to have. Otherwise, people would not respect you, and only think that you were invidiously placed."

Her cheeks flamed again at the last words.

"It is difficult to picture it all," she said; "Tell me exactly what you expect of me daily."

"I expect that when you have breakfasted, in your room if you wish, that you will come and talk to me, perhaps do a little writing, or go out to drive, or what you wish, and that we shall lunch, and in the afternoon do whatever turns up. You will want to go out and see your friends and do what you please. And perhaps you will play to me as often as you feel inclined, and after dinner we can go to the theatre, or read, or do whatever you like. And as soon as my treatments with these doctors are concluded, and I have my new leg and eye, and we shall hope war is finished, we can travel, or go back to England, and then I shall begin taking up a political career, and I shall hope you will take a real interest in that and help me as though I were your brother."

"Very well."

"You will order the clothes to-day?"

"Yes."

She was subdued now, the programme was not very formidable, except that it contained daily companionship with me.

"Have you told the Duchesse de Courville-Hautevine yet that we are engaged?" I asked after a moment's pause.

Discomfort grew in her manner.

"No."

"Do you think that she will not approve of the marriage?"

"She may not."

"Perhaps you would rather that I told her?"

"As you please."

"I want you to understand something quite clearly, Alathea." She started when I said her name, "and that is that I expect you to treat me with confidence, and tell me anything which you think that I ought to know, so that we neither of us can be put in a false position, beyond that, believe me, I have no curiosity. I desire a companionship of brain, and a sort of permanent secretary who does not feel hostile all the time, that is all."

I could see that she was controlling herself with all her will, and that she was overwrought and intensely troubled. I knew that some barrier was between us which I could not at present surmount. All she said after a minute was:

"How did you know that my name was 'Alathea'?"

"I heard your little sister call you that the day I saw you in the _Bois_. I think it a very beautiful name."

Silence.

Her discomfort seemed to come to a climax, for after a little she spoke.

"The twenty-five thousand francs beyond the twenty-five I asked you for, I cannot return to you. I feel very much about it, and that you should pay for my clothes, and give me presents. It is the hardest thing I ever had to do in my life,--to take all this."

"Do not let it bother you, I am quite content with the bargain. Perhaps you would rather go now after we have selected which room you will have."

"Thank you."

She gave me my crutch, and I led the way and she followed. I knew instinctively that she would choose the room which was furthest from mine. She did!

"This will do," she said immediately we entered it.

"The look-out is not so nice, it only gets the early morning sun," I ventured to remark.

"It is quieter."

"Very well."

"It was rather arranged for a man, and is perhaps severe. Do you wish anything changed?"

She did not appear to take any more interest in it than if it had been a hotel room. She had given it the merest glance, although it is quite a little masterpiece in its way, of William and Mary--even the panelling being English, and of the time, and the old rose silk window and bed curtains.

"I don't want anything altered, thank you."

It seemed a strange moment, to be talking thus calmly to the woman who, in a fortnight, will be my wife. I feel that a volcano is really working under our feet, and that adds to the excitement!

When we got back to the sitting-room I offered to send the carriage for her to go and do her shopping, but she refused, and I thought it was wiser to let her go. We shall have years to talk in presently, and there is always the danger of our coming to an open rupture, and the bargain being off, if we see much of one another now.

"Good-bye," she said a little nervously, and I bowed and said "Good-bye," and she went from the room.

And when she had gone I laughed aloud, and began to analyse the situation.

George Harcourt has paid the gambling debt, therefore the fifty thousand I gave Alathea cannot have been used for that. Some fresh worry is perhaps upon the wretched family. The obvious thing for me to do is to go and see the Duchesse, and yet I have some strange sort of wish that it should be Alathea herself who tells me everything, and not that she becomes aware, by inference, that I must know. I feel that our future happiness depends upon her giving up all this stubborn pride. What is at the back of her mind? I do not know. That resentment and dislike of me has only become crystallized since the Suzette affair. I am sure she thinks that Suzette is my mistress still, and this insults her, but she reasons that with the bargain as it is, she has not the smallest right to object. She is furious with herself to think that it should matter to her. That is a thought! Why indeed should it matter if she is utterly indifferent to me? Is it possible? Can it be that? No--I dare not think of it, but, in any case it will be the most thrilling situation, once she is my wife.

I believe it would be wisest for me not to go to the Duchesse's but simply to write her a note telling her of my news, then anything she may tell me will be gratuitous.

I had just finished doing this when once again a letter was brought in from that lady, and this time it was to thank me for my cheque, and to tell me that it had been the means of preventing a most disagreeable scandal and bringing peace to a family!

Sardonic mirth overcame me. So three separate people seem to be under the impression that they have paid this gambler's debts! Each apparently unaware that there was anyone else in the running! It looks as if "Bobby" had wolfed the lot! Does Alathea know, and is this the extra cause of her worry?

I sent my note back by the Duchesse's messenger, who still waited, and went to my luncheon.

In about an hour the telephone rang--a request from the Hotel de Courville that I should repair there immediately without fail.

"Her Grace spoke herself," Burton said, "and said it was most important, Sir Nicholas."

"Very well, order the carriage. By the way. Burton, did you congratulate Miss Sharp?"

Burton coughed.

"I did make so bold, Sir Nicholas, as to tell the young lady how very glad I was, but she took it queer like, she stiffened up and said it was only a business arrangement, to be able to write your letters and do your work without people talking about it. That seemed funny to me, so I said nothing more."

"Burton it is funny for the moment, Miss Sharp is only marrying me for some reason for her family, the same one which forces her to work, but I hope I can make her think differently about it some day."

"Pardon the liberty I am taking, Sir Nicholas, but perhaps she don't like the idea of Mam'zelle, and don't know she's gone for good."

"That is probably the case."

Burton's wise old face expressed complete understanding, as he left the room, and presently I was on my way to the Hotel de Courville, a sense of exhilaration and of excitement and joy in my heart!

XX

The Duchesse was playing impatiently with her glasses when I was announced by the servant of ninety! Her face expressed some strong feeling. I was not sure if it was tinged with displeasure or no. She helped me to sit down, and then she began at once.

"Nicholas, explain yourself. You tell me you are engaged to your secretary! So this has been going on all the time, and you have not told me. I, who was your mother's oldest friend!"

"Dear Duchesse, you are mistaken, it has only just been settled. No one was more surprised at my offer than Miss Sharp herself."

"You know her real name, Nicholas? And her family history? You have guessed, of course, from my asking you for the twenty-five thousand francs, that they were in some difficulty?"

"Yes, I know Alathea is the daughter of the Honorable Robert and Lady Hilda Bulteel."

"She has told you all of the story, perhaps?--but you cannot know what the money was for, because the poor child does not know it herself. It is more just that I should inform you, since you are going to marry into the family."

"Thank you, Duchesse."

She then began, and gave me a picture of her old friendship with Lady Hilda, and of the dreadful calamity which had befallen in her going off with Bobby Bulteel.

"It was one of those cases of mad love, Nicholas, which fortunately seem to have died out of the modern world, though for the truth I must say that one more _séduisant_ than _ce joli Bulteel_, I have never met! One could not, of course, acknowledge them for a crime like that, but I have ever been fond of poor Hilda and that sweet little child. She was born here, in this hotel. Poor Hilda came to me in her great trouble, and I was in deep mourning myself then for my husband,--the house is large, and it could all pass quietly."

I reached forward and took the Duchesse's hand and kissed it, and she went on:

"Alatheé is my godchild, one of my names is Alatheé. The poor little one, she adored her father, in all those first years. They wandered much and only came to Paris at intervals, and each time they came, a little poorer, a little more troubled, and then after a lapse I heard those two were born at Nice--wretched little decadents, when my poor Hilda was a mass of nerves and disillusion. Alatheé was eleven then. It was, _par hazard_, when she was about fourteen that she heard of her father's crime. She was the gayest, most sweet child before that, through all their poverty, but from that moment her character was changed. It destroyed something in her spirit, one must believe. She set firmly to education, decided she would be a secretary, cultivated herself, worked, worked, worked! She worshipped her mother, and resented immensely her father's treatment of her."

"She must always have had a wonderful character."

"For that, yes," and the Duchesse paused a moment, then went on:

"Quite a tremendous character, and as Bobby sank and poor Hilda became more ill, and wretched, that child has risen in strength, and supported them all. Since the war came they have almost lived upon her earnings. The father is without conscience, and of a selfishness unspeakable! His money all went to him for his use, and Alatheé was left to supplement the mother's wretched two or three thousand francs a year. And now that brute has again cheated at cards, and poor Hilda came to me in her great distress, and remembering your words, Nicholas, I called upon you. It would have been too cruel for the poor woman to have had to suffer again. Hilda took the money and gave it to this infamous husband, and the affair was settled that night. Alatheé knows nothing about it."

Light was dawning upon me. The admirable Bobby has evidently played upon the feelings of both wife and daughter!

"Duchesse, why did you not wish me to know the real name, and would not help me at all about 'Miss Sharp,'--won't you now tell me your reason?"

The Duchesse shaded her eyes from the fire with a hand-screen, and it came between us, and I could not see her face, but her voice changed.

"I was greatly surprised to find the girl in your flat one day. I had not understood with whom she was working. I was not pleased about it, frankly, Nicholas, because one cannot help knowing of your existence and your friends, and I feared your interest for a secretary might be as for them, and I disliked that my godchild should run such a risk. When _jeunes filles_ of the world have to take up menial positions they are of course open to such situations, and have to expect difficulties. I wished to protect her as well as I could."

Suddenly I saw myself, and the utterly rotten life I had led, that this, my old friend, even, could not be sure of my chivalry. I loathed the lax, cheap honor of the world and its hypocrisy. I could not even be indignant with the Duchesse, judging me from that standpoint. She was right, but I did tell her that men had a slightly different angle in looking upon such things in England, where women worked, and were respected in all classes, and that the idea of making love to any secretary would never have entered my head. It was the intelligence and the dignity of Alathea herself which had made me desire her for a companion.

"It is well that you are English, Nicholas. No Frenchman of family could have married the daughter of a man who had cheated at cards."

"Even if the girl was good and splendid like Alathea, Duchesse?"

"For that, no, my son, we have little left but our traditions, and our names, and those things matter to us. No, frankly, I could not have permitted the union had you been my son."

So I had been right in my analysis of what would be the bent of my old friend's mind.

"You are pleased now, though, dear Duchesse?" I pleaded.

"It seems impossible, from my point, and I would not have encouraged it, but since it is done, I can but wish my dear Alatheé and you, my dear boy true happiness."

Again I took and kissed her kind hand.

"In England, especially in this war time, questions are not asked, _n'est ce pas_? She can be 'Sharp' simply and not Bulteel, then it may pass. For the girl, herself, you have a rare jewel, Nicholas--unselfish, devoted, true, but the will of the devil! You shall not be able to turn her as you wish, if her ideas go the other way!"

"Duchesse, the situation is peculiar, there is no question of love in it. Alathea is marrying me merely that she may give money to her family. I am marrying that I may have a secretary without scandal. We are not going to be really husband and wife."

The Duchesse dropped her fire-screen, her clever-eyes were whimsical and sparkling.

"_Tiens_!" she said, and never has the delicious word conveyed so much meaning! "You believe that truly Nicholas? Alatheé is a very pretty girl when properly dressed--"

"And without glasses!"

"As you say, without glasses, which I hear cover her fine eyes when in your society!"

"I asked her to marry me under those terms, and it was only upon those terms she accepted me."

The Duchesse laughed.

"A nice romance! Well, my son, I wish you joy!"

"Duchesse," and I leaned forward, "do you really think I can make her love me? Am I too awful? Is there a chance?"

The Duchesse patted my arm and her face shone with kindliness.

"Of course, foolish boy!" And she broke into French, using the "thee" and "thou" again affectionately. 'I was very handsome!--that which remained,--and all would look the same as ever when the repairing should be complete!'

"So very tall and fine, Nicholas, and hair of a thickness, and what is best of all, that air of a great gentleman. Yes, yes, women will always love thee, _sans_ eye, _sans_ leg, do not disturb thyself!"

"Don't tell her I love her, Duchesse," I pleaded. "We have much to learn of each other. If she did not believe it was a bargain equal on both sides, she would not marry me at all!"

The Duchesse agreed about this.

"Whatever she has promised she will perform, but why she does not love thee already I cannot tell."

"She dislikes me, she thinks I am a rotter, and I expect she was right, but I shall not be in the future, and then perhaps she will change."

When I left the Hotel de Courville it had been arranged that the Duchesse would receive my wife with honour, her world only knowing that I had married an English "Miss Sharp."

I heard no more of my _fiancée_ until next morning, when she telephoned. Did I wish her to come that day?

Burton answered that I hoped she would, about eleven o'clock.

I intended to tell her that I thought that it might be wiser now if she did not come again until the wedding, as once we were engaged I would not allow her to run the risk of meeting anyone and giving a false impression. I think the strain would be too great in any case.

I did not come in to the salon until she was there, and she rose as I entered. She was whiter than ever, and very stern.

"I have been thinking," she said, before I could speak, "that if I promise to fulfill the bargain, and live here in the flat with you, going through the ceremony at the Consulate is quite unnecessary. Your caprice of having me for your wife merely in name in England, may pass, and it seems ridiculous to be tied. I am quite indifferent to what anyone thinks of me. I would prefer it like that."

"Why?" I asked, and wondered for a moment what had occurred.

"There are so many stupid law things, if there is a marriage, and if you have the same from me without, surely you see that it is better."

I first thought that it was this fear of my knowing her family history which was at the root of this suggestion, but then I remembered that she would know that I would hear it in any case from the Duchesse. What then could it be?

I felt cruel, I was not going to make things too easy for her. If she has the will of the devil, she has also the pride!

"If you are indifferent to such an invidious position as your new idea would place us in, I am not, I do not wish my friends to think that I am such a cad as presumably to have taken advantage of your being my secretary."

"You wish to go on with the marriage then?"

"Of course."

She clasped her hands together suddenly, as if she could control herself no longer, and I thought of what she had said to Burton about feeling that she could not fight any more. I would not allow myself to sympathize with her. I was longing in every nerve of my being to take her into my arms, and tell her that I loved her, and knew everything, but I would not do this. I cannot let her master me, or we shall never have any peace. I will not tell her that I love her until her pride is broken, and I have made her love me and come to me voluntarily.

She was silent.

"I have informed the Duchesse de Courville that we are engaged. I saw her yesterday."

She started perceptibly.

"She has told you my real name?"

"I have known that for some time. I thought I had made it plain to you that I am not interested about the subject, we need not mention it again, you have only to talk to old Robert Nelson, my lawyer, when he comes on Monday. He will tell you the settlements I propose to make, and you can discuss with him as to whether or not you think them satisfactory. Perhaps you on your side will tell me what reason you have strong enough to make a girl of your natural self-respect, willing to take the position of my apparent mistress?"

She burst out for a second, throwing out her hands, then controlling herself.

"No, I won't tell you.--I will tell you nothing, I will just stick to the bargain if I must. You have no right to my thoughts, only my actions!"

I bowed; disagreeable as she was, there was a distinctly pleasant zest in fighting!

"Perhaps of your courtesy, you will take off those glasses now, since I am aware that you only wear them to conceal your eyes, and not that they are necessary for your sight."

She flushed with annoyance.

"And if I refuse?"