Chapter 27

"Oh course," went on Phyllis modestly, "Nell's a hundred times prettier and more interesting than I am (though, thank goodness, Robert doesn't think so), but she snubbed the Jonkheer so dreadfully at first, and then, after she'd changed and been nice to him for a day or two, she got worse than ever. At least, she hardly ever speaks to him at all. She just keeps out of his way, and leaves him to--others. So his self-respect may have been hurt (I can't say vanity as I might with some men, because Jonkheer Brederode isn't a bit vain, though he has a right to be) and he may have turned his thoughts toward one who sympathized with him. Several little things lately have looked as if it were so; but I do pray it's not, now that I'm so happy. It would be too hard if he were to bear a double disappointment, after the trouble he has taken, and the sacrifices he has made--leaving his beautiful home and all its luxuries, and the friends who appreciate him as a splendid fellow and a grand sportsman, to be skipper week after week on this little boat."

"You forget that he has had the privilege of _my_ society," I reminded her.

"Oh yes, I know you must be great chums, or he wouldn't have come. But Robert says----"

"What does Robert say?"

"Nothing. Only that he and Jonkheer Brederode have known each other so long, he thinks it odd never to have heard him mention your name as his friend."

"Alb is singularly reserved," I remarked.

"So I said to Robert, and he admitted it. But it was rather a coincidence that he wanted to know us, wasn't it? However, I suppose your friendship must have made up to him for everything he's suffered. I did dread his learning about Robert and me, for fear it might hurt him, and Robert did too, a little; for Robert is so adorably foolish, he thinks every one must care for me. But he told him this morning."

"What did Alb say?" I asked.

"He congratulated Robert as sweetly as possible; but Robert said his face changed when he heard the news. I didn't dare to look up when the Jonkheer came and made me nice wishes, for fear he might be looking sad; and there _was_ a heavy sound in his voice, I thought. Oh dear, life's very complicated, isn't it?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Even in Holland."

Perhaps these women are right. Perhaps Alb's heart has been caught in the rebound; but, lest it hasn't, and he undertakes to cut me out with Nell, it is necessary that I lose no time in using my best wiles with her.

While Phyllis was hanging in the balance, she was as desirable as a rosy apple just out of reach; but now that she is smugly satisfied to be in the hands of another her ethereal charm is fled.

"I must congratulate van Buren," I said, "or he will believe I'm jealous."

So I shook hands with the Viking, having blessed the pair, and was in the act of annexing Nell when the alleged Lady MacNairne found it convenient to give me Freule Menela's message.

"You wanted to hear it, didn't you?" she asked, when Nell had drifted away to the twins, whose society, though not enlivening, she apparently preferred to poor Alb's.

"I've waited so long, that I could have waited a little longer," I said, following the copper-gold head with wistful eyes.

"This is your gratitude!" exclaimed the L.C.P. "You don't seem to realize that I've saved you."

I looked at her, only to be baffled as usual by the blue barrier of glass.

"You don't deserve all the trouble I've taken," she went on. "Or that I should tell you anything about it. Come, Tibe, let's go below. Darling doggie, you've spoiled me for everybody else. _You_ are always appreciative. Nobody else is."

"You think that, because he happens to have a tail to wag, and others haven't," said I. "I consider myself as good as Tibe, any day, though handicapped in some ways. I'll soon show you that I'm not ungrateful, when you've let me know exactly what cause I have for gratitude. Have you murdered the late fiancee, and thrown her out of your hotel window into the canal?"

"I've got rid of her just as effectively," returned the L.C.P. "I went and talked to her in her room last night, when she was undressing. Ugh! but she was plain in her wrapper. It was a pink flannellet one. Imagine it, with her skin."

"I'd rather not," said I.

"If it weren't for me, probably you'd often have had to see her in it. Well, I made an excuse that she'd looked tired, and complained of the noise under her windows preventing her sleeping. I offered her some trional, and then--I just lingered. She thought it wise to be nice to--_your_ aunt, and I turned the conversation to you. She said you were charming. I said you would be, if you hadn't such a terrible temper. I said you were almost mad with it sometimes, when you were a little boy. Yes, I did, really--you ought to thank me. I dare say you _were_ a horrid little boy. But she didn't seem to mind that much. She told me that she got along splendidly with bad-tempered people: they were always nice to her. That discouraged me a tiny bit, but I hadn't played any really high trumps yet. I went on to say you were very delicate, but she seemed quite pleased at that, although, if she only knew it, she'd be _hideous_ in black. She said she thought delicate men were the most interesting, so that drove me to desperation, and after I'd praised you a little, just enough to be realistic for an aunt, I said what a shame it was about that will of your father's. She pricked up her ears then, and wanted to know what I meant. 'Hasn't he _told_ you?' I asked. And I was shocked to hear you hadn't, because, I said, it would be more honest to let people know how one stood, the position being so peculiar. Your father had left every _red cent_ away from you, I said, in case you married a foreigner; and it was such a blow that she didn't even notice that I'd committed an Americanism. She couldn't speak for a whole minute, and then she asked if you hadn't tried to dispute the will. That would have been no use, said I. It wasn't the kind you could dispute. You often fell in love with girls, not Americans, but you were bound to marry a compatriot in the end, unless you could find a foreigner with enough money to support you. Even after all that she held on to you by the ragged edge. Couldn't you make a lot of money, she asked, with your pictures, which are so famous? They weren't _popular_, I said, and though the critics always praise them, you could hardly ever sell. 'Besides,' said I, 'he's so lazy, he doesn't paint a decent-sized picture once in three years.'"

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "What a character you gave me. It's a wonder she didn't rush to Robert van Buren's door, and cry to him that she'd reconsidered."

"I saved him, too, for Phyllis's sake. It was too late for her to go to him at that hour, or even send a note, as I saw by her eye she thought of doing. I stayed with her till after twelve, on purpose. And the last thing I said was, that I thought her decision not to accept Mr. van Buren so wise, as such an intelligent woman as she might marry any one. It showed, said I, how undeserving he was, that the minute she took herself from him, he asked another girl to be his wife. 'Has he?' she almost screamed. 'Yes,' said I. 'Didn't you know? He is now engaged to Miss Rivers, with the approval of his sisters, and a telegram has been sent to his mother, telling her _all_.'"

This was news worth hearing, and I forgave the L.C.P. the inopportuneness of her interruption with Nell.

"Who told you about van Buren's engagement to Phyllis?" I asked.

"No one. But I thought they ought to be engaged, if they weren't, and knew they never would be if Menela weren't got rid of.

"But about the telegram to Mrs. van Buren----"

"The minute I went to my room, I sent for a waiter, and wrote one, without signing it. I hoped she'd think it came from her son, and that, in his excitement, he'd forgotten to put his name."

"She'll be furious," said I. "Freule Menela told me--and probably it's true--that her future mother-in-law had done everything she could to bring about the match."

"Perhaps. But she's tremendously proud of Robert, so the twins say. Once she knows that Menela deliberately threw him over, she'd never want him to have anything to do with the girl again. And Phyllis Rivers isn't penniless, you know. You've paid a generous half of the expenses of this trip, for which, it seems, some money she'd had left to her was to be used. She's kept most of that; and she has about a hundred and fifty pounds sterling a year besides. She'll have enough for pocket-money, when she and Robert are married; and she comes of very good people: her great-great-grandfather was a viscount, or baron, or something. That will appeal to old lady van Buren, when she finds it out."

"And if Nell should happen to marry a rich man, he would be charmed to do something for the sweet little stepsister," I added.

The L.C.P. turned on me shrewdly. "You seem to be very sure of that. I suppose you judge him by _yourself_. You think Nell's husband may be a rich _American_?"

"I hope so," said I. "And a generous one. But talking of generosity--I promised to prove to you that I am no less grateful than Tibe, though I may not have as effective ways of showing it. Strange little stage-aunt of mine, I _do_ thank you for saving me. I _do_ realize that, if it weren't for you, Freule van der Windt at all events, would have secured a rich American husband, no matter what Miss Van Buren's luck may be. I do realize that, but for your fibs and fancies, I should have been a lost man, for certainly I should not have been equal to saving myself from that woman. By this one night's work alone, if by nothing else, you've more than earned your aunt-salary and extras. That ring you helped me choose last night----"

"Don't go on," she cut me short. "Didn't I tell you the other day when you were offering me a bribe, that I didn't want anything, and wouldn't have it--not a diamond ring, a pearl ring--nor even a ruby ring. I know you think me a mercenary little wretch, and that you've put up with me all this time only because you couldn't do without me; while as for you, of course you're only an _episode_ in my life. Still, I'd like you to understand that I haven't done this thing for what I could get out of it. I've done it--for you. Please remember that, when you're counting up how much I've cost you on this trip. Count what I've saved you, too."

"By Jove, I'm not likely to forget _that_!" said I. "If the thing had ended by _my_ being the fiance--it doesn't bear dwelling on. But I want you to have the ring. I saw, all yesterday afternoon and evening, what you were up to on my behalf, and I bought the ring on purpose to give to you, if you pulled me through, as I half thought you would."

"It was born and bred for an engagement ring," she said. "Give it to--the girl you're going to marry."

"I haven't asked her yet."

"You mean to, I suppose."

"I suppose so. But she may not accept me. Do you think she will?"

"If I have an opinion, I'm not going to tell you. Only--keep your ring."

So I had to keep it. And all day, while again we passed flowery Boskoop (not so flowery now) quaint Gouda, and the other little towns which carried me back in mind to the beginning of our trip, I wondered and puzzled over the change in that lady of mystery, the L.C.P.

XXXIII

We slept in Rotterdam, at the old hotel in the park where the Angels were staying when first they came into my life.

The next day was a memorable one in van Buren annals, for the new fiancee was to be received as such, into the bosom of the family.

Robert and the twins had left us on our arrival in Rotterdam, for the town house is still closed for the summer, and the "residence" is at Scheveningen. It was for the brother and sisters to pave the way for Phyllis, and solve (if they could) the mystery which must have wrapped the unsigned telegram announcing the engagement.

In the morning, before any of us had had breakfast, back came Robert in one of Brederode's cast-off automobiles (Alb seems to shed motor-cars and motor-boats along the path of life, as most people shed old shoes) bringing a note from Madame at the Villa van Buren.

What it said I shall probably never know, but Robert's too handsome face was a shade less tranquil than usual, and I guessed that, as Nell would say, he had had to be very Frisian before he succeeded in persuading his still more Frisian mother that Phyllis Rivers is a desirable substitute for Freule Menela van der Windt.

In any case, he had persuaded her--he wouldn't be the Viking that he is, if he hadn't; and though by the shadow round his calm gray eyes, it had probably taken half, or all of the night, the note he produced must have been satisfactory, for Phyllis brightened as she read it.

Soon after, the visit to Scheveningen was arranged; but Robert had, no doubt, prepared the girls for the necessity of making it, for Nell and Phyllis both came down to breakfast in their prettiest dresses, looking irresistible. And an hour later, with motor-veils over their hats, they went off with Robert in the automobile.

They were to spend the day, for people in the Hollow Land enjoy their pleasures as much by quantity as quality, especially their friends' society; and I could only hope that a certain wistfulness of expression, as she looked back from the _tonneau_ of the red car, meant that Nell would rather have remained with some of those who were left behind.

If she had stayed in Rotterdam, and relied upon me for entertainment, I should certainly have proposed to her. As it was, I passed the day somewhat gloomily, reflecting on the time I had wasted, while I had her by my side. Now, I reminded myself, the trip as planned was drawing to a close. There remained the visit to Zeeland--an affair of a few days. After that, what? Getting back to Rotterdam again, for the last time. Good-bys. Selling the boat, perhaps--at least, Nell used to talk of that in the first days, when the end seemed far-off and vague.

The L.C.P. kept to her sitting-room on the plea that she had "a lot of writing to do," and Tibe was on guard. As for the Albatross, he went off without excuse to seek the friends of his past, with which the Mariner has no connection.

A premonition of the future came upon me. I remembered the Prince in the fairy tale, who was given by the Fates three magic citrons, and told that each one contained a beautiful sylph, who would appear to him as he cut the rind of her prison. She would ask for a drink of water, and if he wished to keep her for his wife he must instantly obey or she would vanish, never to return, even in response to the most fervent prayer. When the Prince cut the first citron, the fairy vision which flashed before his eyes was so dazzling, that, bewildered, he let her go. With the second the same thing happened, and it was only by the greatest effort of self-control that he preserved the third beauty for his own, eventually marrying her, as a virtuous Prince should.

"Now," said I to myself, "I'm not as well off as that Prince. Being only a commoner, I ought to consider that I'm lucky to have two citrons, where he had three. I've let the first sylph vanish, and if I don't secure the second, I need never hope to get such another present of fairy citrons, for they'll have run out of stock."

The thought of going gray-haired to my grave, bereft of Phyllis and Nell citrons, all through my own folly, made me feel elderly at twenty-seven; and perhaps my day of gloom was not wasted, because, long before the red car brought back the girl I have lost and the girl I have still to win, I had made up my mind to propose to Miss Van Buren before I should be twenty-four hours older.

When Alb appeared, it seemed that he had been among his aquatic friends, tactfully seeking news of Sir Alec MacNairne and "Wilhelmina." But he had learned nothing; and we had to console each other by saying that "no news is good news." There's a chance, of course, of running across him again in Zeeland: but it's only one in ten, for there are other places where he is more likely to be pursuing us, since he lost the trail in Leeuwarden. Or perhaps he has given up the idea that Aunt Fay is on Rudolph Brederode's boat, and has gone to search for her in some other less watery country. In any case, the trip will be over in a few days now; and once the L.C.P. has vanished with Tibe into the vast obscurity whence she emerged in answer to my advertisement, poor hot-tempered Alec may pounce upon me when he likes.

If I can persuade Nell that she and I were born for each other, as Robert seems without difficulty to have persuaded Phyllis in his regard, it ought to be easy to convince her that a sin for her sake is no sin. Having confessed all, and been forgiven, I can defy Alec to do his worst.

As for Alb, he has had his fun for his wages. And there are many beautiful girls in Holland and other countries, who ask nothing better than to become Jonkheeresses.

XXXIV

Robert came on board with us as a matter of course in starting for Zeeland. Has he not more right than I to the deck of "Mascotte," as the cousin of the owner and the fiance of her stepsister? He and Phyllis were the only ones among us who had the same air of cheerful, light-hearted anticipation at setting off for new scenes, which all used to have when the trip was but a few days old. For them there is no thought of any end, since the tour of life together is just beginning, full petrol ahead.

Even when she was "Lorelei," and had no concealments from the world, "Mascotte" never sped more bravely. Through the wide Noord Canal she took us as unconcernedly as if our hopes and fears for the future were nothing to her. Out of sheer spite at her lack of sympathy, I enjoyed my private knowledge that, whatever happens to her, she is certain to lose her companion, "Waterspin." But she didn't know that; so she jogged on, purring, in blissful ignorance of the separation in store for her.

If Dordrecht had come under our eyes when they were fresh to Dutch waterways, we could not have passed it. Even now, _blase_ with sight-seeing, and preoccupied with private heartburnings, it seemed rather like passing Venice without troubling to stop; for Dordrecht appeared to me more reminiscent of Venice than any other place seen during the trip.

So attractive did it look, as we peered up its pink-and-green canals, that I did suggest pausing.

"It would give us one more day together," I said, "if we took this for exploring Dordrecht and arrived at Middelburg to-morrow. Why are we in a hurry?"

Brederode laughed. "Ask Robert," he said.

But Robert's face and Phyllis's both answered before the question could be put. I guessed that Robert would have liked to stop the tour at Rotterdam (for what to him are the joys of traveling with a party compared to the bliss of the honeymoon?), but that Phyllis would not cheat Nell of Zeeland, which has always been talked of as the climax of the trip; Zeeland the mysterious, Zeeland the strange, proud daughter of the sea.

"Some time we shall meet again, for you must all join in paying a visit to Phyllis and me. Then we will take you to Dordrecht, and we will all speak together of this day," said Robert.

That settled it, for though Nell is owner of the boat and mistress of the situation, she would do nothing to postpone Phyllis's happiness. Something of the sort she murmured to me as we puffed past Dordrecht; but I could see by her face that Phyllis's idea of happiness is not hers.

"Good excuse to get in my entering wedge," I thought. "Ask her if she doesn't think it a risk for a girl to marry anybody but one of her own countrymen. If she says 'yes,' there's my chance. If she's inclined to argue, try to convince her, with our case in point."

No sooner, however, had I got my blue-serge shoulder closer to her white serge shoulder, as we both leaned over the rail, looking back toward the old town founded by great Count Dietrich, than up sidled the lady who sometimes over-estimates her duties as chaperon. She wanted to know about Dordrecht and John of Brabant and the siege, and the inundation that set the town upon an island; nor would she be discouraged when I told her flatly that I knew nothing about it, and advised application to Baedeker.

She lingered, prattling pleasantly of the Merevede, and of the peace and watery silence into which we had passed, now that Dordrecht was left behind. She drew Tibe's attention to the low-skimming gulls, and our attention to Tibe. She asked if we did not smell salt, and insisted on our sniffing actively to make sure; then cried, "I told you so!" when, after slipping under a huge railway-bridge, hanging so high that the train upon it looked like a child's toy, we turned westward and floated out upon a wide arm of the sea.

Altogether, she would not let us forget her presence for a moment, and blandly refused to understand when my raised eyebrows telegraphed, "I didn't hire you for this."

We seemed now to have said good-by to the sheltered coziness of Holland, just as we had said good-by to several other pleasant dreams of the past. On either side the land ran away from us and hid beneath the dancing waves which ruffled the sea's sleeve, so that we saw of it only long stripes of green, which were great dykes, and irregular frillings of red, which were steeples and tiled roofs of houses.

The tide was in our favor, and we moved so quickly that Alb thought we would have no difficulty in reaching Middelburg by nightfall. Large steamers passed us, their decks piled with cargo, passengers crowding to the side to stare curiously down upon us as we rocked coquettishly in their wash. Save for these big floating houses, and broad bowed, coughing motor-barges, "Mascotte" and "Waterspin" had the wide waterway to themselves; and when we had taken a southerly course, to enter a channel between low-lying islands, we were in Zeeland. Still, though we were skirting the shore of the island of Schouwen, it was as if it ducked its head rather than submit to the ignominy of being seen by strangers. It was just as Alb said, "Zeeland was witch-like, illusive, with the power of making herself invisible." The endless, straight lines of the dykes protecting Schouwen and Tholen from the terrible power of the sea, stretched like close-drawn ranks of devoted soldiers--each stone a knight in armor--defending their liege ladies from an invading giant, hiding the besieged damsels' beauty behind their shields, so that the monster's appetite might not be whetted by their charms.

Schouwen on the one hand, Tholen on the other, seemed to fall apart as Brederode cast us upon the broad bosom of the Oster Scheldt, steering for North Beveland, and told us legends the while of that strange archipelago which has for its arms a lion swimming in deep waters. He told of the yellow-haired Siren, who would sing to lure sailors to her rock because she was bored by the society of the Merman, her husband; how some fisherman one night caught her in a net, and, because she was beautiful, would not give her back to the Merman, though he begged and prayed, offering a rich bribe of pearls and coral; how the Merman swam away at last, cursing the fishermen and their country, vowing never to rest till he and his brothers, with their own hands, had brought enough sand to choke all the city ports.