The Man from Brodney's

by George Barr McCutcheon

  CHAPTER XXVI

  DEPPINGHAM FALLS ILL

  That evening Lord Deppingham took to his bed with violent chills. Heshivered and burned by turns and spent a most distressing night. BobbyBrowne came in twice to see him before retiring. For some reason unknownto any one but himself, Deppingham refused to be treated by the youngman, notwithstanding the fact that Browne laid claim to a physician'scertificate and professed to be especially successful in breaking up"the ague." Lady Agnes entreated her liege lord to submit to the doses,but Deppingham was resolute to irascibility.

  "A Dover's powder, Deppy, or a few grains of quinine. Please besensible. You're just like a child."

  "What's in a Dover's powder?" demanded the patient, who had never beenill in his life.

  "Ipecac and opium, sugar of milk or sulphate of potash. It's an anodynediaphoretic," said Browne.

  "Opium, eh?" came sharply from the couch. "Good Lord, an overdose of itwould--" he checked the words abruptly and gave vent to a nervous fit oflaughter.

  "Don't be a fool, George," commanded his wife. "No one is trying topoison you."

  "Who's saying that he's going to poison me?" demanded Deppinghamshortly. "I'm objecting because I don't like the idea of taking medicinefrom a man just out of college. Now judge for yourself, Browne: wouldyou take chances of that sort, away off here where there isn't aphysician nearer than twelve hundred miles? Come now, be frank."

  Bobby Browne leaned back and laughed heartily. "I daresay you're right.I should be a bit nervous. But if we don't practise on some one, how arewe to acquire proficiency? It's for the advancement of science. Lots ofpeople have died in that service."

  "By Jove, you're cold-blooded about it!" He stared helplessly at hiswife's smiling face. "It's no laughing matter, Agnes. I'm a very sickman."

  "Then, why not take the powders?"

  "I've just given my wife a powder, old man. She's got a nervousheadache," urged Browne tolerantly.

  "Your wife?" exclaimed Deppingham, sitting up. "The devil!" He lookedhard at Browne for a moment. "Oh, I say, now, old chap, don't you thinkit's rather too much of a coincidence?"

  Browne arose quickly, a flash of resentment in his eyes. "See here,Deppingham--"

  "Don't be annoyed, Bobby," pleaded Lady Agnes. "He's nervous. Don't mindhim."

  "I'm not nervous. It's the beastly chill."

  "Just the same. Lady Agnes, I shall not give him a grain of anything ifhe persists in thinking I'm such a confounded villain as to--"

  "I apologise, Browne," said Deppingham hastily. "I'm not afraid of yourmedicine. I'm only thinking of my wife. If I _should_ happen to die,don't you know, there would be people who might say that you could havecured me. See what I mean?"

  "You dear old goose," cried his wife.

  "I fancy Selim or Baillo or even Bowles knows what a fellow doseshimself with when he's bowled over by one of these beastly islandailments. Oblige me, Agnes, and send for Bowles."

  Bowles came bowing and scraping into the room a few minutes later. Heimmediately recommended an old-fashioned Dover's powder and ventured theopinion that "good sweat" would soon put his lordship on his feet,"better than ever." Deppingham kept Bowles beside him while Brownegenerously prepared and administered the medicine.

  Later in the night the Princess came to see how the patient was gettingon. He was in a dripping perspiration.

  Genevra drew a chair up beside his couch and sat down.

  Lady Agnes was yawning sleepily over a book.

  "Do you know, I believe I'd feel better if I could have another chill,"he said. "I'm so beastly hot now that I can't stand it. Aggie, why don'tyou turn out on the balcony for a bit of fresh air? I'm a brute to havekept you moping in here all evening."

  Lady Agnes sighed prettily and--stepped out into the murky night. Therewere signs of an approaching storm in the sultry air.

  "I say, Genevra, what's the news?" demanded his lordship.

  "The latest bulletin says that you are very much improved and that youexpect to pass a comfortable night."

  "'Gad I _do_ feel better. I'm not so stuffy. Where is Chase?"

  Now, the Princess, it is most distressing to state, had wilfully avoidedMr. Chase since early that morning.

  "I'm sure I don't know. I had dinner with Mrs. Browne in her room. Ifancy he's off attending to the guard. I haven't seen him."

  "Nice chap," remarked Deppingham. "Isn't that he now, speaking to Agnesout there?"

  Genevra looked up quickly. A man's voice came in to them from thebalcony, following Lady Deppingham's soft laugh.

  "No," she said, settling back calmly. "It's Mr. Browne."

  "Oh," said Deppingham, a slight shadow coming into his eyes. "Nice chap,too," he added a moment later.

  "I don't like him," said she, lowering her voice. Deppingham was silent.Neither spoke for a long time The low voices came to them indistinctlyfrom the outside.

  "I've no doubt Agnes is as much to blame as he," said his lordship atlast. "She's made a fool of more than one man, my dear. She rather likesit."

  "He's behaving like a brute. They've been married less than a year."

  "I daresay I'd better call Aggie off," he mused.

  "It's too late."

  "Too late? The deuce--"

  "I mean, too late to help Drusilla Browne. She's had an idealshattered."

  "It really doesn't amount to anything, Genevra," he argued. "It willblow over in a fortnight. Aggie's always doing this sort of thing, youknow."

  "I know, Deppy," she said sharply. "But this man is different. He's nota gentleman. Mr. Skaggs wasn't a gentleman. Blood tells. He will boastof this flirtation until the end of his days."

  "Aggie's had dozens of men in love with her--really in love," heprotested feebly. "She's not--"

  "They've come and gone and she's still the same old Agnes and you're thesame old Deppy. I'm not thinking of you or Aggie. It's Drusilla Browne."

  "I see. Thanks for the confidence you have in Aggie. I daresay I knowhow Drusilla feels. I've--I've had a bad turn or two, myself, lately,and--but, never mind." He was silent for some time, evidently turningsomething over in his mind. "By the way, what does Chase say about it?"he asked suddenly.

  She started and caught her breath. "Mr. Chase? He--he hasn't saidanything about it," she responded lamely. "He's--he's not that sort,"

  "Ah," reflected Deppingham, "he _is_ a gentleman?"

  Genevra flushed. "Yes, I'm sure he is."

  "I say, Genevra," he said, looking straight into her rebellious eyes,"you're in love with Chase. Why don't you marry him?"

  "You--you are really delirious, Deppy," she cried. "The fever has----"

  "He's good enough for any one--even you," went on his lordship coolly.

  "He may have a wife," said she, collecting her wits with rare swiftness."Who knows? Don't be silly, Deppy."

  "Rubbish! Haven't you stuffed Aggie and me full of the things you foundout concerning him before he left Thorberg--and afterward? The lettersfrom the Ambassador's wife and the glowing things your St. Petersburgfriends have to say of him, eh? He comes to us well recommended by noother than the Princess Genevra, a most discriminating person. Besides,he'd give his head to marry you--having already lost it."

  "You are very amusing, Deppy, when you try to be clever. Is there aclause in that silly old will compelling me to marry any one?"

  "Of course not, my dear Princess; but I fancy you've got a will of yourown. Where there's a will, there's a way. You'd marry him to-morrowif--if----"

  "If I were not amply prepared to contest my own will?" she suppliedairily.

  "No. If your will was not wrapped in convention three centuries old. Youwon't marry Chase because you are a princess. That's the long and theshort of it. It isn't your fault, either. It's born in you. I daresay itwould be a mistake, after a fashion, too. You'd be obliged to give upbeing a princess, and settle down as a wife. Chase wouldn't let youforget that you were a wife. It would be hanging over you all the time.Besides, he'd be a hus
band. That's something to beware of, too."

  "Deppy, you are ranting frightfully," she said consolingly. "You shouldgo to sleep."

  "I'm awfully sorry for you, Genevra."

  "Sorry for me? Dear me!"

  "You're tremendously gone on him."

  "Nonsense! Why, I couldn't marry Mr. Chase," she exclaimed, irritable atlast. "Don't put such things into my head--I mean, don't get such thingsinto that ridiculous old head of yours. Are you forgetting that I am tobecome Karl's wife in June? You are babbling, Deppy----"

  "Well, let's say no more about it," he said, lying back resignedly."It's too bad, that's all. Chase is a man. Karl isn't. You loathe him. Idon't wonder that you turn pale and look frightened. Take my advice!Take Chase!"

  "Don't!" she cried, a break in her voice. She arose and went swiftlytoward the window. Then she stopped and turned upon him, her lips partedas if to give utterance to the thing that was stirring her heart soviolently. The words would not come. She smiled plaintively and saidinstead: "Good-night! Get a good sleep."

  "The same to you," he called feverishly.

  "Deppy," she said firmly, a red spot in each cheek, her voice tense andstrained to a high pitch of suppressed decision, "I shall marry KarlBrabetz. That will be the end of your Mr. Chase."

  "I hope so," he said. "But I'm not so sure of it, if you continue tolove him as you do now."

  She went out with her cheeks burning and a frightened air in her heart.What right, what reason had he to say such things to her? Her thoughtsraced back to Neenah's airy prophecy.

  Bobby Browne and Agnes were approaching from the lower end of thebalcony. She drew back into the shadow suddenly, afraid that they mightdiscover in her flushed face the signs of that ugly blow to her prideand her self-respect. "I'm not so sure of it," was whirling in herbrain, repeating itself a hundred times over, stabbing her each time ina new and even more tender spot.

  "If you continue to love him as you do now," fought its way through themaze of horrid, disturbing thoughts. How could she face the charge: "I'mnot so sure of it," unless she killed the indictment "if you love him asyou do now?"

  Lady Agnes and Browne passed by without seeing her and entered thewindow. She heard him say something to his companion, softly,tenderly--she knew not what it was. And Lady Agnes laughed--yes,nervously. Ah, but Agnes was playing! She was not in love with this man.It was different. It was not what Neenah meant--nor Deppingham, honestfriend that he was.

  Down below she heard voices. She wondered--inconsistently alert--whether_he_ was one of the speakers. Thomas Saunders and Miss Pelham werecoming in from the terrace. They were in love with each other! They_could_ be in love with each other. There was no law, no convention thatsaid them nay! They could marry--and still love! "If you continue tolove him as you do now," battered at the doors of her conscience.

  Silently she stole off to her own rooms; stealthily, as if afraid ofsomething she could not see but felt creeping up on her with an evilgrin. It was Shame!

  Her maid came in and she prepared for bed. Left alone, she perchedherself in the window seat to cool her heated face with the breezes thatswept on ahead of the storm which was coming up from the sea. Her heartwas hot; no breeze could cool it--nothing but the ice of decision coulddrive out the fever that possessed it. Now she was able to reason calmlywith herself and her emotions. She could judge between them. Threesentences she had heard uttered that day crowded upon each other to beuppermost: not the weakest of which was one which had fallen from thelips of Hollingsworth Chase.

  "It is impossible--incredible!" she was saying to herself. "I could notlove him like that. I should hate him. God above me, am I not differentfrom those women whom I have known and pitied and despised? Am I notdifferent from Guelma von Herrick? Am I not different from PrinceHenri's wife? Ah, and they loved, too! And is _he_ not different fromthose other men--those weak, unmanly men, who came into the lives ofthose women? Ah, yes, yes! He _is_ different."

  She sat and stared out over the black sea, lighted fitfully by thedistant lightning. There, she pronounced sentence upon him--and herself.There was no place for him in her world. He should feel her disdain--heshould suffer for his presumption. Presumption? In what way had heoffended? She put her hands to her eyes but her lips smiled--smiled withthe memory of the kiss she had returned!

  "What a fool! What a fool I am," she cried aloud, springing upresolutely. "I _must_ forget. I told him I couldn't, but I--I can." Halfway across the room she stopped, her hands clenched fiercely. "If--ifKarl were only such as he!" she moaned.

  'No' she said to herself, 'I told him I was keeping themfor him.']

  She went to her dressing table and resolutely unlocked one of thedrawers, as one would open a case in which the most precious oftreasures was kept. A cautious, involuntary glance over her shoulder,and then she ran her hand into the bottom of the drawer.

  "It was so silly of me," she muttered. "I shall not keep them for him."The drawer was partly filled with cigarettes. She took one from amongthe rest and placed its tip in her red lips, a reckless light in hereyes. A match was struck and then her hand seemed to be in the clutch ofsome invisible force. The light flickered and died in her fingers. Ablush suffused her face, her eyes, her neck. Then with a guilty, shamed,tender smile she dropped the cigarette into the drawer. She turned thekey.

  "No," she said to herself, "I told him that I was keeping them for him."