CHAPTER XII
THE HARLEQUIN'S ERRAND
Lady Huntingford, alarmed by his manner, arose and steadied herselfagainst the deck-house. His exclamation rang in her ears, filling themwith its horror. At length he roughly grasped her arm, thrusting hisface close to hers, fairly grated out the words:
"You think she is a wife?"
"I feared so."
"She is not! Do you hear me? She is not!" he cried so fiercely thatthere was no room for doubt. "She is the purest, dearest girl in theworld, and she has done all this for me. For God's sake, do not exposeus." He dropped back in the chair. "It's not for my sake that I ask it,but for hers," he went on quickly.
"I'm sure I have wronged her and I have wronged you. Will you believeme?"
He did not answer at once. His turbulent brain was endeavoring to findwords with which to convince her of the innocence of the escapade.Looking up into her eyes, he was struck by their tender staunchness.Like a flash came to him the decision to tell her the true story, frombeginning to end.
"Lady Huntingford, I will tell you everything there is to tell. It isnot a long tale, and you may say it is a very foolish one. I am sure,however, that it will interest you."
"You shall not tell me a word if you do so in order to appease mycuriosity," she began earnestly.
"I think it is best that you should know," he interrupted. "One favorfirst. You will earn my eternal gratitude if you do not allow Grace tofeel that you have discovered our secret."
"You have my promise. I have kept many secrets, Mr. Ridge." He drew hischair quite close to hers. Then he told her the full story of theadventure, from first to last. She scarcely breathed, so deeply was herinterest centred in this little history of an impulse. He spokehurriedly, excitedly. Not once did she take her eyes from his earnestface, almost indistinguishable in the darkness; nor could he remove hisfrom hers.
"And here we are approaching Aden, your Ladyship," he concluded. Her bigdark eyes had held him enthralled, inspiring him to paint in gloriouscolors every detail of the remarkable journey. As he drew to a close,her hand fell involuntarily on his knee. A tremor dashed through hisveins, and his heart throbbed fiercely.
"How glorious it must be to love like that," she almost whispered. Therewas a catch in her voice, as she uttered that soft, dreamy sentence,almost a sigh. She turned her face away suddenly and then arose, cryingin tones so low and despairing that he could hardly believe they camefrom the usually merry lips: "Oh, how I envy her this life and love!How wonderful it all is!"
"It has its drawbacks," he lamented. "As a brother I am a nonentity,Lady Huntingford; it's not altogether relishable, you know. It's a sortof pantomime, for me, by Jove. I'm the fool, and this seems to be thefool's errand."
"If you will play a part in the pantomime, Mr. Ridge, let anEnglishwoman suggest that you be the harlequin. How I loved theharlequin in the Drury Lane pantomimes at Christmas time! He was alwaysthe ideal lover to me, for there was no trick, no prank this bespangledhero could not play to success. He always went incognito, for he worehis narrow mask of black. He performed the most marvellous things forhis Columbine,--and was she not a worthy sweetheart? No, no, Mr.Ridge:--not the fool, I pray. Please be the harlequin," she cried inrare good humor.
"As you like it," he said, reflecting her spirits. "I am the harlequinand this is, perforce, the harlequin's errand." They were silent for along time, then he said soberly:
"It was such a foolish thing to do, after all." She looked up at him fora moment, the bitterness fading from her hungry eyes, a smile strugglingfeebly into power. Then came the radiance of enthusiasm.
"Foolish!" she exclaimed, with eyes sparkling and breast heaving. "Itwas magnificent! What a brave girl she is! Oh, how clever you both areand how much you will enjoy the memory of this wonderful trip. It willalways be fresh and novel to you--you will never forget one moment ofits raptures. How I wish I could have done something like this. If Idared, I would kiss that brave, lucky girl a thousand times."
"But you must not let her suspect," cautioned he.
"It would ruin everything for her if she even dreamed that you had toldme, and I would not mar her happiness for the world. Really, Mr. Ridge,I am so excited over your exploit that I can scarcely contain myself. Itseems so improbable, so immense, yet so simple that I can hardlyunderstand it at all. Why is it other people have not found this way torevolutionize life? Running around the world to get married without thefaintest excuse save an impulse--a whim. How good, how glorious! It isbetter than a novel!"
"I hope it is better than some novels."
"It is better than any, because it is true."
"I am afraid you are trying to lionize me," he jested.
"You have faced a British lion," she said slowly.
"My only regret is that he is old and clawless."
"We are retracing our steps over dangerous ground," she said with acatch in her breath.
"You would have me to believe that I am a brave man, so I am determinedto court the danger of your displeasure. How did you happen to marrythis old and clawless lion?"
She did not exhibit the faintest sign of surprise or discomfiture,certainly not of anger. Instead, she looked frankly into his eyes andanswered: "That is what I thought you would ask me. I shall not refuseto answer. I married because I wanted to do so."
"What!" exclaimed he incredulously. "I had hoped--er--I mean, fearedthat you had been--ah--sort of forced into it, you know."
"Since my marriage I have discovered, however, that there is no foollike the ambitious fool," she went on as if he had not spoken. "Do youunderstand what I mean?"
"That you married for position?"
"That I married simply to become Lady Huntingford."
"And you did not love him at all?" There was something like disgust,horror in Hugh's voice.
"Love him?" she exclaimed scornfully, and he knew as much as if she hadspoken volumes. Then her face became rigid and cold. For the first timehe saw the hard light of self-mastery in her eyes. "I made my choice; Ishall abide by it to the end as steadfastfully as if I were the realrock which you may think me to be. There is nothing for me totell--nothing more that I will tell to you. Are you not sorry that youknow such a woman as I? Have you not been picking me to pieces andcasting me with your opinions to the four winds?"
"I am truly sorry for you," was all that he could say.
"You mean that you despise me," she cried bitterly. "Men usually thinkthat of such women as I. They do not give us a hearing with the heart,only with the cruel, calculating brain. Think of it, Mr. Ridge, I havenever known what it means to love. I have been loved; but in all my lifethere has been no awakening of a passion like that which sends GraceVernon around the world to give herself to you. I know that love existsfor other people. I have seen it--have almost felt it in them when theyare near me. And yet it is all so impossible to me."
"You are young--very young," he said. "Love may come to you--some day."
"It will be envy--not love, I fear. I threw away every hope for love twoyears ago--when I was transformed from the ambitious Miss Beresford toLady Huntingford, now thoroughly satiated. It was a bad bargain and ithas wounded more hearts than one. I am not sorry to have told you this.It gives relief to--to something I cannot define. You despise me, Iam sure--"
"No, no! How can you say that? You are paying the penalty for your--ofyour--"
"Say it! Crime."
"For your mistake, Lady Huntingford. We all make mistakes. Some of uspay for them more bitterly than others, and none of us is a judge ofhuman nature except from his own point of view. I am afraid you don'tfeel the true sympathy I mean to convey. Words are faulty with meto-night. It shall be my pleasure to forget what you have confessed tome. It is as if I never had heard."
"Some men would presume greatly upon what I have told to you. You aretoo good, I know, to be anything but a true friend," she said.
"I think I understand you," he said, a flush rising to his temples.After all, she was a
divine creature. "You shall always find me the truefriend you think I am."
"Thank you." They were silent for a long time, gazing out over thesombre plain of water in melancholy review of their own emotions. Atlast she murmured softly, wistfully, "I feel like an outcast. My lifeseems destined to know none of the joys that other women have in theirpower to love and to be loved." The flush again crept into his cheek.
"You have not met the right man, Lady Huntingford," he said.
"Perhaps that is true," she agreed, smiling faintly.
"The world is large and there is but one man in it to whom you can giveyour heart," he said.
"Why should any man desire possession of a worthless bit of ice?" sheasked, her eyes sparkling again.
"The satisfaction of seeing it melt," he responded.
She thought long over this reply.
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