The Gay Adventure Part 5

Her petulance annoyed him.

"Really, madam," he said bitingly, "I am sorry to have spoiled it--to have 'let down the scene,' as they say on the stage. But as I seem to have offended you I shall take my leave."

"If you do," she cried, "I shall never speak to you again. I swear it!"

He stood irresolute. After all, she looked such a darling when she was angry....

"Well," he said, temporizing, "if I stay for a while, will you promise to be sensible?"

"Never!" she flashed, stamping her foot, and darted from the room.

Amus.e.m.e.nt and anger struggled for the victory in Lionel's heart.

"Confound her for her folly!" he thought, and then, "Bless her for her inconsequence!" He sat down and lighted a cigarette, expecting her return at any minute, determined to stick to his resolve and sleep at home.

When twenty minutes had pa.s.sed he reflected, "She is standing on her dignity. How foolis.h.!.+" Ten minutes later he murmured, with a pained accent, "She is human after all." By the time his fourth cigarette was half-consumed he had fairly lost his temper. "This is not good enough,"

he said; "I will let myself out and call to-morrow. If she refuses to see me, at least I shall have kept my self-respect. No woman shall treat me like a dog."

Grumbling, he opened the door and went quietly out into the hall. He listened for a moment, waiting to give her the chance to reappear and part as friends. There was no sound: if it had not been for the light still burning in the hall he would have sworn that the household had gone to sleep.

With a sigh he put on his hat and opened the inner door. He antic.i.p.ated no trouble with the outer barrier, but in this he was wrong. It was padlocked, and flight was impossible. His sense of humor conquered resentment, and he smiled. "I give in," he thought: "well, I have tried to be a good boy." He hung up his hat again and returned to the sitting-room. Then he rang the bell. As he had expected, it was answered by the maid.

"Monsieur wishes to retire?" she asked, with a polite sympathy for a handsome man.

"I should prefer to be let to go home," he said pleasantly, "but I suppose I'm to be kept a prisoner."

The maid looked puzzled.

"Madame has locked the door and gone to sleep this half-hour. I dare not wake her for the keys. Besides, she expects you to remain."

"Then will you show me my room, please?" he said, accepting defeat.

Whether Mizzi was as innocent as she seemed he could not decide, but now he was determined to let things take their course. She held the door open for him, and as he pa.s.sed he caught an amused twinkle in her eyes.

He yearned to give her a good shaking and say "Explain!" and presently kiss her heartily, for she was exceedingly attractive. This impulse he controlled, and the next moment found himself in his bedroom.

"Breakfast is at half past nine," said Mizzi, as she drew a curtain. "At what time does monsieur wish to be called?"

"Oh ... about nine o'clock ... thank you ... good night."

"Good night, monsieur," said the maid demurely as she tripped to the door, and then a lamentable accident occurred. It was due to the eccentricities of modern fas.h.i.+on. For several years Lionel had carried his handkerchief secreted in his cuff. As Mizzi stepped daintily past, the handkerchief, which had been working loose, fell to the ground. He and she stooped together for its recovery, and their heads approached nearer than was discreet. Her fingers reached the handkerchief first, and she restored it as they were rising. This was pardonable, but she ought not to have looked him in the face. Her eyes telegraphed "I like you," and his, something more. Without judicious reflection Lionel clasped her. "You are a perfect darling!" he whispered, "and I simply must kiss you--it is what you were made for."

"Oh, monsieur!" gasped Mizzi, "it is a scandal!"

"Yes," agreed Lionel, "I suppose it is. But it would be a graver scandal not to kiss such a bouquet of charms. There, my attractive morsel--another ... a b.u.t.terfly salutation on your charming eyes, and ... good night."

Mizzi, with a stifled laugh, kissed him lightly in return, freed herself and escaped. Lionel, his sleepiness a thing of the past, sat down on the bed.

"Dash it!" he thought, wagging his head, "I oughtn't to have done that ... but it was exceedingly pleasant ... exceedingly pleasant ... yet I ought not to have yielded to temptation, for I was under the vague impression that I was in love with the maid's mistress. If so, I was disloyal, a creature of no account. Let us see whether there is not something to be said for the defense....

"Suppose I do love her--the mistress, I mean--I must not kiss her, because she is married. Doubtless it would be a fine thing to be loyal to the husband, the lady and the ideal--in short, neither kiss her nor any one else. In a word, become a sort of gra.s.s-bachelor.... A hard matter, for I am not cast in the ascetic mold, and Mizzi's lips are devilish tempting.... Suppose, now, the husband died (and I regret that I can not regard this contingency with disgust) and there were at least a sporting chance of my stepping into his shoes--oh! of course not at once, but later--later--why, then I could face permanent loyalty and temporary asceticism with a light heart.... But to go through the world refusing all sweets because my favorite sweet has been appropriated, surely that were foolish.

"Again, am I in love with her? Can one fall in love so suddenly, outside the realm of fiction? Is there not a great truth in the popular ballad that treats of 'a tiny seed of love'? Surely love is a seed, planted by chance or design--for example, by a match-making mama? The seed needs opportunity for gradual growth--the sun of frequent intercourse--the rain of timely separation--the fertilizer of presents of flowers and bonbons--before it can grow to a splendid harvest.... This harvest of mine can not be love; it must be pa.s.sion. If so, it must be crushed....

She is too perfect to sully even in thought."

His brow grew gloomy, and he paced the room with feverish steps.

"No!" he said presently, "I feel pretty sure it is not pa.s.sion pure and simple--or impure and complex if you like. Critics may sneer, but I can not help thinking it may soon be love, if it is not that already.

Wherefore, I had better fly to do her errands as soon as possible....

But I can not accept the ascetic ideal ... yet. Hypothetical Mizzis may cross my path, and if they do I feel sure I shall kiss them, but the moment I see a possible chance of winning _her_, why, then I shall be very good.

"... 'Myes ... not very lofty ... but I want to be honest, and feel pretty sure that is what I shall do.... No doubt I shall not be happy, but...?"

With a dissatisfied growl he began to undress, and soon he was in bed.

To quiet his uneasy conscience before he fell asleep he muttered, "And of course I shall do anything she tells me."

The unheroic but truthful pleasure-seeker then gave an unromantic snore.

CHAPTER V

THE PLOT THICKENS

A knock on his door roused Lionel at half past eight, and he sprang up clear-eyed and joyous to meet the sun. The events of the previous day sped pleasantly through his brain; and now that the morning was upon him and the London sparrows twittering optimism, he could not dwell seriously on the indignation of his hostess. "Oh, it is bound to be all right!" he said to himself, stropping a razor that he found on the dressing-table and whistling a merry tune. The cold tub strung him to a higher mood, and as he plied the towel he broke into song. "_Horchen Sie doch!_" said Mizzi approvingly to the cat, as she prepared breakfast and heard the melodious strain: "_Er ist ein braver Kerl, der sich nicht erzurnt. Er ist ein l.u.s.tiger Geist, wirklich. Die anderen habe ich zum Besten._" No doubt she was right.

Lionel breakfasted alone. Mizzi said that her mistress begged to be excused for an hour; after that she would be ready. The maid lingered a moment more than was necessary after bringing in the coffee, and seemed markedly a.s.siduous for his comfort. But Lionel did not detain her in conversation; he had no intention of elaborating the _affaire_ of the previous night. What amus.e.m.e.nt fell to his share he was ready to accept with a youthful zest, but he was old enough not to pursue happiness too zealously nor to magnify trifles. A kiss was well enough, provided it embarra.s.sed neither the recipient nor himself. He was never a man to raise false hopes or win success by lies or a pretended love. His philosophy embraced the theory that girls, or some of them at least, liked being petted, and he was not averse from the kindly office. Only, there must be a clear, if unspoken, understanding that he was not to be taken _au serieux_. This philosophy, of course, did not apply to Beatrice Blair: she was altogether outside routine. He was a b.u.t.terfly, if you like, but at any rate honest.

So when Mizzi hoped that monsieur had slept well, he said gravely, "Perfectly, _ma p't.i.te_," and asked for the morning's newspaper. She brought it, with a pout of resentment, and as she handed it to him discovered a fly on his collar. This she was allowed to remove with the most absolute decorum; but when the operation was finished and she smiled persuasively, he stroked her hair paternally and said, "You must not be foolish, my child." Mizzi retired with a heightened color, and he sat down with satisfaction to the cricket reports and deviled kidneys.

To tell the truth, in spite of his arguments he felt slightly ashamed of the momentary swerve from loyalty.

His hostess appeared in due course, looking exceedingly pretty and self-possessed. She was dressed smartly in blue, a color that contrasted favorably with her hair and eyes. Lionel thrilled with gladness at the sight of her, for in brief moments of doubt he had thought that perhaps his imagination had played tricks: the night and artificial lights might possibly have lent her a fascination that would pa.s.s with the dawn.

Could there indeed be so delightful a creature in London? These doubts, it must be insisted, had been exceedingly brief; still, they had had existence, and the joy of seeing them dissolve like frost in sunlight made life more desirable than ever.

There was no embarra.s.sment at the meeting. Both were highly civilized, educated, up-to-date; with a kindred instinct of what to admit or ignore, a knowledge of the times when silence or speech was best. The lady made no reference to the _impa.s.se_ of the night before, and Lionel was too full of the present to dwell churlishly on the past. Instead, they talked cheerfully of trivialities for a time, and then Miss Blair announced her intention of going out to do some shopping. "I will not ask you to come with me," she observed smiling, "for I can guess how bored you would be. But I shall be with you again for lunch. For the present, au revoir."

Lionel, who would cheerfully have carried a score of parcels or hat-boxes for the pleasure of her company, had no choice but to acquiesce. There was no pressing reason for returning to his lodgings--indeed, there was every reason for staying away until he could earn some money. True, there was no immediate prospect of acquiring any; but at least he was in the middle of an interesting experience, and he had promised to help in a burglary. So with a fine disregard of circ.u.mstances he chose the most comfortable armchair and the lightest novel he could find, and put the cigarette-box within easy reach. Thus he pa.s.sed an unprofitable but pleasant morning.

Miss Blair returned soon after one o'clock, and they had lunch together.

In the afternoon they went for a drive in a hired motor to Thames Ditton. They stopped there for tea and got back to Bloomsbury about seven. Lionel was put down at the flat and Miss Blair went on to the theater, from which she returned late at night. Supper followed, and then they smoked and chatted for half an hour before going to bed.

Lionel had expected to hear more of the conspiracy and projected felony, but nothing was said. Wherefore he kept silence, awaited events, and went to sleep, wondering whether a farce or tragedy was being played.

This uneventful life went on for several days, during which he had plenty of time to study his hostess. He learned nothing more than he knew already. A brilliant and charming personality, grave or humorous as occasion demanded, apparently sincere in her conviction of a great conspiracy, devoted to her absent husband, resolute to strike when opportunity offered--such was Beatrice Blair. When he was in her company he could not doubt her; alone, he could not help wondering what this Arabian Night might mean. The utter fantasy of it all bewildered him, but even if false he could not conceive her motive. In the end he usually came back to the conclusion that the apparently absurd was true, and always that at all costs he would see it through to the end.

Her att.i.tude to him was that of a gay comrade. There were no more "grat.i.tude" kisses--no hint of danger. She had referred only once again to his act of stopping the runaway horse and her wish to do something to show her thankfulness. This he had laughed at; now that the opportunity had come he was loath to use it; but in a subsequent conversation she had learned that he had written several plays, all unacted, perhaps even unread. One lay at that moment in the office of Ashford Billing, a prominent manager; she knew him, and promised to spur him to read Lionel's play himself. Lionel thanked her, but did not build any castles on so flimsy a foundation. He had been knocking at managers' doors too many years to have any illusions.

So day followed day without anything to break the pleasant monotony.

Lionel and Beatrice were rapidly cementing a friends.h.i.+p that was more than a friends.h.i.+p to him. Only the remembrance of Lukos kept him from showing something more of his real feelings--the remembrance of Lukos and the aloof friendliness of Beatrice herself. There was but one fly in the amber of that perfect week, and that was the att.i.tude of Mizzi.