X.
After parting from the rest, Dove and the two Cayhills continued theirway in silence: they were in the shadow thrown by the steep vaulting ofthe THOMASKIRCHE, before a word was exchanged between them. Johanna hadseveral times glanced inquiringly at her sister, but Ephie had turnedaway her head, so that only the outline of her cheek was visible, andas Dove had done exactly the same, Johanna could only conclude that thetwo had fallen out. It was something novel for her to be obliged totalk when Ephie was present, but it was impossible for them to walk thewhole way home as mum as this, especially as Dove had already heavedmore than one deep sigh.
So, as they turned into the PROMENADE, Johanna said with a jerk, andwith an aggressiveness that she could not subdue: "Well, that is thefirst and the last time anyone shall persuade me to go to a so-calledopera by Wagner."
"Is not that just a little rash?" asked Dove. He smiled, unruffled,with a suggestion of patronage; but there was also a preoccupation inhis manner, which showed that he was thinking of other things.
"You call that music," said Johanna, although he had done nothing ofthe kind. "I call it noise. I am not musical myself, thank goodness,but at least I know a tune when I hear one."
"If my opinion had been asked, I should certainly have suggestedsomething lighter--LOHENGRIN OR TANNHAUSER, for instance," said Dove.
"You would have done us a favour if you had," replied Johanna; and shemeant what she said, in more ways than one. She had been at a loss toaccount for Ephie's sudden longing to hear DIE WALKURE, and had gone tothe theatre against her will, simply because she never thwarted Ephieif she could avoid it. Now, after she had heard the opera, she feltaggrieved with Dove as well; as far as she had been able to gather fromhis vague explanations, from the bawling of the singers, and fromsubsequent events, the first act treated of relations so infamous that,by common consent, they are considered non-existent; and Johanna was ofthe opinion that, instead of being so ready to take tickets for them,Dove might have let drop a hint of the nature of the piece Ephie wishedto see.
After this last remark of Johanna's there was another lengthy pause.Then Dove, looking fondly at what he could see of Ephie's cheek, said:"I am afraid Miss Ephie has not enjoyed it either; she is so quiet--sounlike herself."
Ephie, who had been staring into the darkness, bit her lip: he was atit again. After the unfriendly way in which Maurice Guest had desertedher, and forced her into Dove's company, Dove had worried her rightdown the GRIMMAISCHESTRASSE, to know what the matter was, and how hehad offended her. She felt exasperated with every one, and if he beganhis worryings again, would have to vent her irritation somehow.
"Ephie has only herself to blame if she didn't enjoy it; she was benton going," said Johanna, in the mildly didactic manner she invariablyused towards her sister. "But I think she is only tired--or a littlecross."
"Oh, that is not likely," Dove hastened to interpose.
"I am not cross, Joan," said Ephie angrily. "And if it was my fault youhad to come--I've enjoyed myself very much, and I shall go again, asoften as I like. But I won't be teased--I won't indeed!"
This was the sharpest answer Johanna had ever received from Ephie. Shelooked at her in dismay, but made no response, for of nothing wasJohanna more afraid than of losing the goodwill Ephie bore her.Mentally she put her sister's pettishness down to the noise and heat ofthe theatre, and it was an additional reason for bearing Wagner and hismusic a grudge. Dove also made no further effort to converseconnectedly, but his silence was of a conciliatory kind, and, as theyadvanced along the PROMENADE, he could not deny himself the pleasure ofdrawing the pretty, perverse child's attention to the crossings, theruts in the road, the best bits of pavement, with a: "Walk you here,Miss Ephie," "Take care," "Allow me," himself meanwhile dancing fromone side of the footpath to the other, until the young girl was almostdistracted.
"I can see for myself, thank you. I have eyes in my head as well asanyone else," she exclaimed at length; and to Johanna's amazed:"Ephie!" she retorted: "Yes, Joan, you think no one has a right to berude but yourself."
Johanna was more hurt by these words than she would have confessed. Shehad hitherto believed that Ephie--affectionate, lazy littleEphie--accepted her individual peculiarities as an integral part of hernature: it had not occurred to her that Ephie might be standing aloofand considering her objectively--let alone mentally using such anunkind word as rudeness of her. But Ephie's fit of ill-temper, for suchit undoubtedly was, made Johanna see things differently; it hinted atunsuspected, cold scrutinies in the past, and implied a somewhat lamingcare of one's words in the days to come, which would render itdifficult ever again to be one's perfectly natural self.
Had Johanna not been so occupied with her own feelings, she would haveheard the near tears in Ephie's voice; it was with the utmostdifficulty that the girl kept them back, and at the house-door, she hadvanished up the stairs long before Dove had finished saying good-night.In the corridor, she hesitated whether or no, according to custom, sheshould go to her mother's room. Then she put a brave face on it, andopened the door.
"Here we are, mummy. Good night. I hope the evening wasn't too long."
Long?--on the contrary the hours had flown. Mrs. Cayhill, left toherself, had all the comfortable sensations of a tippler in the companyof his bottle. She could forge ahead, undeterred by any sense of duty;she had not to interrupt herself to laugh at Ephie's wit, nor was shetroubled by Johanna's cold eye--that eye which told more plainly thanwords, how her elder daughter regarded her self-indulgence. Propped upin bed on two pillows, she now laid down her book, and put out her handto draw Ephie to her.
"Did you enjoy it, darling? Were you amused? But you will tell me allabout it in the morning."
"Yes, mother, in the morning. I am a little tired--but it was verysweet," said Ephie bravely. "Good night."
Mrs. Cayhill kissed her, and nodded in perfect contentment at thepretty little figure before her. Ephie was free to go. And at last shewas in her own room--at last!
She hastily locked both doors, one leading to the passage and one toher sister's room. A moment later, Johanna was at the latter, trying toopen it.
"Ephie! What is the matter? Why have you locked the door? Open it atonce, I insist upon it," she cried anxiously, and as loudly as shedared, for fear of disturbing the other inmates of the house.
But Ephie begged hard not to be bothered; she had a bad headache, andonly wanted to be quiet.
"Let me give you a powder," urged her sister. "You are so excited--I amsure you are not well;" and when this, too, was refused: "You hadnothing but some tea, child--you must be hungry. And they have left oursupper on the table."
No, she was not hungry, didn't want any supper, and was very sleepy.
"Well, at least unlock your door," begged Johanna, with visions of thedark practices which Ephie, the soul of candour, might be contemplatingon the other side. "I will not come in, I promise you," she added.
"Oh, all right," said Ephie crossly. But as soon as she heard thatJohanna had gone, she returned to the middle of the room withouttouching the door; and after standing undecided for a moment, as if notquite sure what was coming next, she sat down on a chair at the foot ofthe bed, and suddenly began to cry. The tears had been in waiting forso long that they flowed without effort, abundantly, rolling one overanother down her cheeks; but she was careful not to make a sound; for,even when sobbing bitterly, she did not forget that at any momentJohanna might enter the adjoining room and overhear her. And then, whata fuss there would be! For Ephie was one of those fortunate people whoalways get what they want, and but rarely have occasion to cry. All herdesires had moved low, near earth, and been easily fulfilled. Did shebreak her prettiest doll, a still prettier was forthcoming; didanything happen to cross wish or scheme of hers, half a dozen brainswere at work to think out a compensation.
But now she wept in earnest, behind closed doors, for she had receivedan injury which no one could make good. And the more she thought of it,the more copiously h
er tears flowed. The evening had been one longtragedy of disappointment: her fevered anticipation beforehand, herearly throbs of excitement in the theatre, her growing consternation asthe evening advanced, her mortification at being slighted--a sensationwhich she experienced for the first time. Again and again she askedherself what she had done to be treated in this way. What had happenedto change him?
She was sitting upright on her chair, letting the tears streamunchecked; her two hands lay upturned on her knee; in one of them was adiminutive lace handkerchief, rolled to a ball, with which now and thenshe dabbed away the hottest tears. The windows of the room were stillopen, the blinds undrawn, and the street-lamps threw a flickering meshof light on the wall. In the glass that hung over the washstand, shesaw her dim reflection: following an impulse, she dried her eyes, and,with trembling fingers, lighted two candles, one on each side of themirror. By this uncertain light, she leant forward with both hands onthe stand, and peered at herself with a new curiosity.
She was still just as she had come out of the theatre: a many-colouredsilk scarf was twisted round her head, and the brilliant, danglingfringes, and the stray tendrils of hair that escaped, made a frame forthe rounded oval of her face. And then her skin was so fine, her eyeswere so bright, the straight lashes so black and so long!--she put herhead back, looked at herself through half-closed lids, turned her facethis way and that, even smiling, wet though her cheeks were, in orderthat she might see the even line of teeth, with their slightly notchededges. The smile was still on her lips when the tears welled up again,ran over, trickled down and dropped with a splash, she watching them,until a big, unexpected sob rose in her throat, and almost choked her.Yes, she was pretty--oh, very, very pretty! But it made what hadhappened all the harder to understand. How had he had the heart totreat her so cruelly?
She knelt down by the open window, and laid her head on the sill. Themoon, a mere sharp line of silver, hung fine and slender, like apolished scimitar, above the dark mass of houses opposite. Turning herhot face up to it, she saw that it was new, and instantly felt a throbof relief that she had not caught her first glimpse of it throughglass. She bowed her head to it, quickly, nine times running, and sentup a prayer to the deity of fortune that had its home there. Goodluck!--the fulfilment of one's wish! She wished in haste, withtight-closed eyes--and who knew but what, the very next day, her wishmight come true! Tired with crying, above all, tired of the griefitself, she began more and more to let her thoughts stray to themorrow. And having once yielded to the allurements of hope, she evenendeavoured to make the best of the past evening, telling herself thatshe had not been alone for a single instant; he had really had nochance of speaking to her. In the next breath, of course, she remindedherself that he might easily have made a chance, had he wished; and ahealthier feeling of resentment stole over her. Rising from her crampedposition, she shut the window. She resolved to show him that she wasnot a person who could be treated in this off-hand fashion; he shouldsee that she was not to be trifled with.
But she played with her unhappiness a little longer, and even had anidea of throwing herself on the bed without undressing. She was verysleepy, though, and the desire to be between the cool, soft sheets wastoo strong to be withstood. She slipped out of her clothes, leavingthem just where they fell on the floor, like round pools; and beforeshe had finished plaiting her hair, she was stifling a hearty yawn. Butin bed, when the light was out, she lay and stared before her.
"I am very, very unhappy. I shall not sleep a wink," she said toherself, and sighed at the prospect of the night-watch.
But before five minutes had passed her closed hand relaxed, and layopen and innocent on the coverlet; her breath came regularly--she wasfast asleep. The moon was visible for a time in the setting of theunshuttered window; and when she wakened next day, toward nine o'clock,the full morning sun was playing on the bed.
For several months prior to this, Ephie had worshipped Schilsky at adistance. The very first time she saw him play, he had made a profoundimpression on her: he looked so earnest and melancholy, so supremelyindifferent to every one about him, as he stood with his head bent tohis violin. Then, too, he had beautiful hands; and she did not knowwhich she admired more, his auburn hair with the big hat set sojauntily on it, or the thrillingly impertinent way he had of staring atyou--through half-closed eyes, with his head well back--in a manner atonce daring and irresistible.
Having come through a period of low spirits, caused by an acuteconsciousness of her own littleness and inferiority, Ephie so farrecovered her self-confidence that she was able to look at her divinitywhen she met him; and soon after this, she made the intoxicatingdiscovery that not only did he return her look, but that he also tooknotice of her, and deliberately singled her out with his gaze. And thebelief was pardonable on Ephie's part, for Schilsky made it a point ofhonour to stare any pretty girl into confusion; besides which, he had ahabit of falling into sheep-like reveries, in which he saw no more ofwhat or whom he looked at, than do the glassy eyes of the blind. Morethan once, Ephie had blushed and writhed in blissful torture underthese stonily staring eyes.
From this to persuading herself that her feelings were returned wasonly a step. Events and details, lighter than puff-balls, were to herlinks of iron, which formed a wonderful chain of evidence. She wentabout nursing the idea that Schilsky desired an introduction as much asshe did; that he was suffering from a romantic and melancholyattachment, which forbade him attempting to approach her.
At this date, she became an adept at inventing excuses to go to theConservatorium when she thought he was likely to be there; and,suddenly grown rebellious, she shook off Johanna's protectorship, whichuntil now had weighed lightly on her. She grew fastidious about herdress, studied before the glass which colours suited her best, and theeffect of a particular bow or ribbon; while on the days she had herviolin-lessons, she developed a coquetry which made nothing seem goodenough to wear, and was the despair of Johanna. When Schilsky played atan ABENDUNTERHALTUNG, she sat in the front row of seats, and made herhands ache with applauding. Afterwards she lay wakeful, with hotcheeks, and dreamt extravagant dreams of sending him great baskets andbouquets of flowers, with coloured streamers to them, such as thesingers in the opera received on a gala night. And though no name wasgiven, he would know from whom they came. But on the only occasion shetried to carry out the scheme, and ventured inside a florist's shop,her scant command of German, and the excessive circumstantiality of thematter, made her feel so uncomfortable that she had fled precipitately,leaving the shopman staring after her in surprise.
Things were at this pass when, one day late in May, Ephie went as usualto take her lesson. It was two o'clock on a cloudless afternoon, and sowarm that the budding lilac in squares and gardens began to give outfragrance. In the whitewashed, many-windowed corridors of theConservatorium, the light was harsh and shadowless; it jarred on one,wounded the nerves. So at least thought Schilsky, who was hanging aboutthe top storey of the building, in extreme ill-humour. He had beenforced to make an appointment with a man to whom he owed money; thelatter had not yet appeared, and Schilsky lounged and swore, with histwo hands deep in his pockets, and his sulkiest expression. Butgradually, he found himself listening to the discordant tones of aviolin--at first unconsciously, as we listen when our thoughts areelsewhere engaged, then more and more intently. In one of the juniormasters' rooms, some one had begun to play scales in the thirdposition, uncertainly, with shrill feebleness, seeking out each note,only to produce it falsely. As this scraping worked on him, Schilskycould not refrain from rubbing his teeth together, and screwing up hisface as though he had toothache; now that the miserable little toneshad successfully penetrated his ear, they hit him like so many blows.
"Damn him for a fool!" he said savagely to himself, and found an outletfor his irritation in repeating these words aloud. Then, however, as anETUDE was commenced, with an impotence that struck him as purelyvicious, he could endure the torment no longer. He had seen in theBUREAU the particular master,
and knew that the latter had not yet comeupstairs. Going to the room from which the sounds issued, he stealthilyopened the door.
A girl was standing with her back to him, and was so engrossed inplaying that she did not hear him enter. On seeing this, he proposed tohimself the schoolboy pleasure of creeping up behind her and giving hera well-deserved fright. He did so, with such effect that, had he notcaught it, her violin would have fallen to the floor.
He took both her wrists in his, held them firm, and, from his superiorheight--he was head and shoulders taller than Ephie--looked down on themiscreant. He recognised her now as a pretty little American whom hehad noticed from time to time about the building; but--but ... well,that she was as astoundingly pretty as this, he had had no notion. Hiseyes strayed over her face, picking out all its beauties, and he felthimself growing as soft as butter. Besides, she had crimsoned down toher bare, dimpled neck; her head drooped; her long lashes covered hereyes, and a tremulous smile touched the corners of her mouth, whichseemed uncertain whether to laugh or to cry--the short, upper-liptrembled. He felt from her wrists, and saw from the uneasy movement ofher breast, how wildly her heart was beating--it was as if one held abird in one's hand. His ferocity died away; none of the hard words hehad had ready crossed his lips; all he said, and in his gentlest voice,was: "Have I frightened you?" He was desperately curious to know thecolour of her eyes, and, as she neither answered him nor looked up, butonly grew more and more confused, he let one of her hands fall, andtaking her by the chin, turned her face up to his. She was forced tolook at him for a moment. Upon which, he stooped and kissed her on themouth, three times, with a pause between each kiss. Then, at a noise inthe corridor, he swung hastily from the room, and was just in time toavoid the master, against whom he brushed up in going out of the door.
Herr Becker looked suspiciously at his favourite pupil's tell-tale faceand air of extreme confusion; and, throughout the lesson, his manner toher was so cold and short that Ephie played worse than ever before.After sticking fast in the middle of a passage, she stopped altogether,and begged to be allowed to go home. When she had gone, and some oneelse was playing, Herr Becker stood at the window and shook his head:round this innocent baby face he had woven several pretty fancies.
Meanwhile Ephie flew rather than walked home, and having reached herroom unseen, flung herself on the bed, and buried her burning cheeks inthe white coolness of the pillows. Johanna, finding her thus, a shorttime after, was alarmed, put questions of various kinds, felt sure thesun had been too hot for her, and finally stood over the bed, holdingher unfailing remedy, a soothing powder for the nerves.
"Oh, do for goodness' sake, leave me alone, Joan," said Ephie. "I don'twant your powders. I am all right. Just let me be."
She drank the mixture, however, and catching sight of Johanna's anxiousface, and aware that she had been cross, she threw her arms round hersister, hugged her, and called her a "dear old darling Joan." But therewas something in the stormy tenderness of the embrace, in the flushedcheeks and glittering eyes that made Johanna even more uneasy. Sheinsisted upon Ephie lying still and trying to sleep; and, after takingoff her shoes for her, and noiselessly drawing down the blinds, shewent on tiptoe out of the room.
Ephie burrowed more deeply in her pillow, and putting both hands to hercars, to shut out the world, went over the details of what hadhappened. It was like a fairy-story. She walked lazily down the sunnycorridor, entered the class-room, and took off her hat, which HerrBecker hung up for her, after having playfully examined it. She hadjust taken her violin from its case, when he remembered something hehad to do in the BUREAU, and went out of the room, bidding her practiseher scales during his absence; she heard again and smiled at the funnyaccent with which he said: "Just a moment." She saw the bare walls ofthe room, the dust that lay white on the lid on the piano, wasconscious of the difficulties of C sharp minor. She even knew the verynote at which HE had been beside her--without a word of warning, assuddenly as though he had sprung from the earth. She heard the cry shehad given, and felt his hands--the hands she had so oftenadmired--clasp her wrists. He was so close to her that she felt hisbreath, and knew the exact shape of the diamond ring he wore on hislittle finger. She felt, too, rather than saw the audacious admirationof his eyes; and his voice was not the less caressing because a littlethick. And then--then--she burrowed more firmly, held her ears moretightly to, laughed a happy, gurgling laugh that almost choked her:never, as long as she lived, would she forget the feel of his moustacheas it scratched her lips!
When she rose and looked at herself in the glass, it seemedextraordinary that there should be no outward difference in her; andfor several days she did not lose this sensation of being mysteriouslychanged. She was quieter than usual, and her movements were a littlelanguid, but a kind of subdued radiance peeped through and shone in hereyes. She waited confidently for something to happen: she did notherself know what it would be, but, after the miracle that hadoccurred, it was beyond belief that things could jog on in their oldfamiliar course; and so she waited and expected--at every letter thepostman brought, each time the door-bell rang, whenever she went intothe street.
But after a week had dragged itself to an end, and she had not evenseen Schilsky again, she grew restless and unsure; and sometimes atnight, when Johanna thought she was asleep, she would stand at herwindow, and, with a very different face from that which she wore byday, put countless questions to herself, all of which began with whyand how. And Johanna was again beset by the fear that Ephie wassickening for an illness, for the child would pass from bursts ofrather forced gaiety to fits of real fretfulness, or sink into brownstudies, from which she wakened with a start. But if, on some suchoccasion, Johanna said to her: "Where ARE your thoughts, Ephie?" shewould only laugh, and answer, with a hug: "Wool-gathering, you dear oldbumble-bee!"
From the lesson following the eventful one, Ephie played truant, on theground of headache, partly because her fancy pictured him lying in waitlike an ogre to eat her up, and partly from a poor little foolish fearlest he should think her too easily won. Now, however, she blamedherself for not having given him an opportunity to speak to her, andbegan to frequent the Conservatorium assiduously. When, after ten longdays, she saw him again, an unfailing instinct guided her aright.
It was in the vestibule, as she was leaving the building, and they metface to face. Directly she espied him, though her heart thumpedalarmingly, Ephie tossed her head, gazed fixedly at some distantobject, and was altogether as haughty as her parted lips would allowof. And she played her part so well that Schilsky's attention wasarrested; he remembered who she was, and stared hard at her as shepassed. Not only this, but pleased, he could not have told why, heturned and followed her out, and standing on the steps, looked afterher. She went down the street with her head in the air, holding herdress very high to display a lace-befrilled petticoat, and clatteringgracefully on two high-heeled, pointed shoes. He screwed up his eyesagainst the sun, in order to see her better--he was short-sighted, too,but vanity forbade him to wear glasses--and when, at the corner of thestreet, Ephie rather spoilt the effect of her behaviour by throwing ahasty glance back, he laughed and clicked his tongue against the roofof his mouth.
"VERDAMMT!" he said with expression.
And both on that day and the next, when he admired a well-turned ankleor a pretty petticoat, he was reminded of the provoking littleAmerican, with the tossed head and baby mouth.
A few days later, in the street that ran alongside the Gewandhaus, hesaw her again.
Ephie, who, in the interval, had upbraided herself incessantly, wasnone the less, now the moment had come, about to pass as before--evenmore frigidly. But this time Schilsky raised his hat, with a tentativesmile, and, in order not to appear childish, she bowed ever soslightly. When he was safely past, she could not resist giving afurtive look behind her, and at precisely the same moment, he turned,too. In spite of her trouble, Ephic found the coincidence droll; shetittered, and he saw it, although she immediately laid the ba
ck of herhand on her lips. It was not in him to let this pass unnoticed. With afew quick steps, he was at her side.
He took off his hat again, and looked at her not quite sure how tobegin.
"I am happy to see you have not forgotten me," he said in excellentEnglish.
Ephie had impulsively stopped on hearing him come up with her, and now,colouring deeply, tried to dig a hole in the pavement with the toe ofher shoe. She, too, could not think what to say; and this, togetherwith the effect produced on her by his peculiar lisp, made her feelvery uncomfortable. She was painfully conscious of his insistent eyeson her face, as he waited for her to speak; but there was a distressingpause before he added: "And sorry to see you are still angry with me."
At this, she found her tongue. Looking, not at him, but at a passer-byon the opposite side of the street, she said: "Why, I guess I have aright to be."
She tried to speak severely, but her voice quavered, and once more theyoung man was not sure whether the trembling of her lip signified tearsor laughter.
"Are you always so cruel?" he asked, with an intentness that made hereyes seek the ground again. "Such a little crime! Is there no hope forme?"
She attempted to be dignified. "Little! I am really not accustomed----"
"Then I'm not to be forgiven?"
His tone was so humble that suddenly she had to laugh. Shooting a quickglance at him, she said:
"That depends on how you behave in future. If you promise never to----"
Before the words were well out of her mouth, she was aware of herstupidity; her laugh ended, and she grew redder than before. Schilskyhad laughed, too, quite frankly, and he continued to smile at theconfusion she had fallen into. It seemed a long time before he saidwith emphasis: "That is the last thing in the world you should ask ofme."
Ephie drooped her head, and dug with her shoe again; she had never beenso tongue-tied as to-day, just when she felt she ought to say somethingvery cold and decisive. But not an idea presented itself, and meanwhilehe went on: "The punishment would be too hard. The temptation was sogreat."
As she was still obstinately silent, he stooped and peeped under theoverhanging brim of her hat. "Such pretty lips!" he said, and then, ason the former occasion, he took her by the chin and turned her face upto his.
But she drew back angrily. "Mr. Schilskyl ... how dare you! Take yourhand away at once."
"There!--I have sinned again," he said, and folded his hands in mocksupplication. "Now I am afraid you will never forgive me.--But listen,you have the advantage of me; you know my name. Will you not tell meyours?"
Having retreated a full yard from him, Ephie regained some of hernative self-composure. For the first time, she found herself able tolook straight at him. "No," she said, with a touch of her usuallightness. "I shall leave you to find it out for yourself; it will giveyou something to do."
They both laughed. "At least give me your hand," he said; and when heheld it in his, he would not let her go, until, after much seemingreluctance on her part, she had detailed to him the days and hours ofher lessons at the Conservatorium, and where he would be likely to meether. As before, he stood and watched her go down the street, hopingthat she would turn at the corner. But, on this day, Ephie whiskedalong in a great hurry.
On after occasions, he waylaid her as she came and went, and eitherstood talking to her, or walked the length of the street beside her. Atthe early hour of the afternoon when Ephie had her lessons, he did notneed to fear being seen by acquaintances; the sunshine was undisturbedin the quiet street. The second time they met, he told her that he hadfound out what her name was; and his efforts to pronounce it affordedEphie much amusement. Their conversation was always of the same nature,half banter, half earnest. Ephie, who had rapidly recovered herassurance, invariably began in her archest manner, and it became hisspecial pleasure to reduce her, little by little, to a crimson silence.
But one day, about a fortnight later, she came upon him at a differenthour, when he was not expecting to see her. He was strolling up anddown in front of the Conservatorium, waiting for Louise, who mightappear at any moment. Ephie had been restless all the morning, and hadfinally made an excuse to go out: her steps naturally carried her tothe Conservatorium, where she proposed to study the notice-board, onthe chance of seeing Schilsky. When she caught sight of him, her eyesbrightened; she greeted him with an inviting smile, and a saucy remark.But Schilsky did not take up her tone; he cut her words short.
"What are you doing here to-day?" he asked with a frown of displeasure,meanwhile keeping a watchful eye on the inner staircase--visiblethrough the glass doors--down which Louise would come. "I haven't amoment to spare."
Mortally offended by his manner, Ephie drew back her extended hand, andgiving him a look of surprise and resentment, was about to pass him bywithout a further word. But this was more than Schilsky could bear; heput out his hand to stop her, always, though, with one eye on the door.
"Now, don't be cross, little girl," he begged impatiently. "It's not myfault--upon my word it isn't. I wasn't expecting to see you to-day--youknow that. Look here, tell me--this sort of thing is sounsatisfactory--is there no other place I could see you? What do you dowith yourself all day? Come, answer me, don't be angry."
Ephie melted. "Come and visit us on Sunday afternoon," she said. "Weare always at home then."
He laughed rudely, and took no notice of her words. "Come, think ofsomething--quick!" he said.
He was on tenterhooks to be gone, and showed it. Ephie grew flustered,and though she racked her brains, could make no further suggestion.
"Oh well, if you can't, you know," he said crossly, and loosened hishold of her arm.
Then, at the last moment, she had a flash of inspiration; sheremembered how, on the previous Sunday, Dove had talkedenthusiastically of an opera-performance, which, if she were notmistaken, was to take place the following night. Dove had declared thatall musical Leipzig would probably be present in the theatre. Surelyshe might risk mentioning this, without fear of another snub.
"I am going to the opera to-morrow night," she said in a small, meekvoice, and was on the verge of tears. Schilsky hardly heard her; Louisehad appeared at the head of the stairs. "The very thing," he said. "Ishall look out for you there, little girl. Good-bye. AUF WIEDERSEHEN!"
He went down the steps, without even raising his hat, and when Louisecame out, he was sauntering towards the building again, as if he hadcome from the other end of the street.
Ephie went home in a state of anger and humiliation which was new toher. For the first few hours, she was resolved never to speak toSchilsky again. When this mood passed, she made up her mind that heshould atone for his behaviour to the last iota: he should grovelbefore her; she would scarcely deign to look at him. But the nearer thetime came for their meeting, the more were her resentful feelingsswallowed up by the wish to see him. She counted off the hours till theopera commenced; she concocted a scheme to escape Johanna'ssurveillance; she had a story ready, if it should be necessary, of howshe had once been introduced to Schilsky. Her fingers trembled withimpatience as she fastened on a pretty new dress, which had just beensent home: a light, flowered stuff, with narrow bands of black velvetartfully applied so as to throw the fairness of her hair and skin intorelief.
The consciousness of looking her best gave her manner a light surenessthat was very charming. But from the moment they entered the FOYER,Ephie's heart began to sink: the crowd was great; she could not seeSchilsky; and in his place came Dove, who was not to be shaken off.Even Maurice was bad enough--what concern of his was it how she enjoyedherself? When, finally, she did discover the person she sought, he waswith some one else, and did not see her; and when she had succeeded inmaking him look, he frowned, shook his head, and made angry signs thatshe was not to speak to him, afterwards going downstairs with thesallow girl in white. What did it mean? All through the tedious secondact, Ephie wound her handkerchief round and round, and in and out ofher fingers. Would it never end? How long would the fa
t, uglyBrunnhilde stand talking to Siegmund and the woman who lay soungracefully between his knees? As if it mattered a straw what thesesham people did or felt! Would he speak to her in the next interval, orwould he not?
The side curtains had hardly swept down before she was up from herseat, hurrying Johanna away. This time she chose to stand against thewall, at the end of the FOYER. After a short time, he came in sight,but he had no more attention to spare for her than before; he did noteven look in her direction. Her one consolation was that obviously hewas not enjoying himself; he wore a surly face, was not speaking, and,to a remark the girl in white made, he answered by an angry flap of thehand. When they had twice gone past in this way, and she had each timevainly put herself forward, Ephie began to take an interest in whatDove was saying, to smile at him and coquet with him, and the moreopenly, the nearer Schilsky drew. Other people grew attentive, and Dovewent into a seventh heaven, which made it hard for him placidly toaccept the fit of pettish silence, she subsequently fell into.
The crowning touch was put to this disastrous evening by the fact thatSchilsky's companion of the FOYER walked the greater part of the wayhome with them; and, what was worse, that she took not the slightestnotice of Ephie.
Maurice Guest Page 10
