by Elinor Glyn
CHAPTER VII
At dinner that night the lady came in after Paul was seated. She wasall in black velvet, stately and dignified and fine. She passed hischair and took her seat, not the faintest sign of recognition on herface. And although he was prepared for this, for some reason hisheart sank for a moment. Her demeanour was the same as on the firstnight he had seen her, hardly raising her eyes, eating little of themost exquisite food, and appearing totally unconscious of herneighbours or their ways.
She caused a flutter of excitement at the English table, the onlyother party, except two old men in a corner, who had dined so late,and they were half-way through their repast before she beganhers. Paul was annoyed to see how they stared--stared at _his_lady. But what joy it was to sit there and realise that she washis--his very own! And only four nights ago he had been a rudestranger, too, criticising her every movement, and drinking too muchport with annoyance over it all. And now his whole life was changed.He saw with new eyes, and heard with new ears, even his casualobservation was altered and sharpened, so that he noticed the textureof the cloth and the quality of the glass, and the shape of the roomand its decoration.
And how insupportably commonplace the good English family seemed! Thatbread-and-butter miss with her pink cheeks and fluffy hair, without ahat! Women's hair should be black and grow in heavy waves. He wascertain of that now. How like them to come into a foreign restauranthatless, just because they were English and must impose their customs!He sat and mused on it all, as he looked at his velvet-clad Queen. Asense of complete joy and satisfaction stealing over him, his wildexcitement and emotion calmed for the time.
The delightful sensation of sharing a secret with her--a love-secretknown only to themselves. Think, if these Philistines guessed at iteven! their faces. And at this thought Paul almost laughed aloud.
With passionate interest he absorbed every little detail about hislady. How exactly she knew what suited her. How refined and _grandedame_ and quiet it all was, and what an air of breeding and commandshe had in the poise of her little Greek head.
What did it matter what age she was, or of what nation? What didanything matter since she was his? And at that thought his heart beganto beat again and cause him to speculate as to his evening.
Would she let him come back to the terrace room after dinner, or musthe get through the time as best he could? When he had left her, halfdazed with joy and languor, no arrangements had been made--no definiteplans settled. But of course she could not mean him not to wish hergood-night--not _now_. For one second before she left the roomtheir eyes met, she raised a red rose, which she had taken from thesilver vase, casually to her lips, and then passed out, but Paul knewshe had meant the kiss for him, and his whole being was uplifted.
It was still pouring with rain. No possible excuse to smoke on theterrace. It might be wiser to stay in the hall. Surely Dmitry wouldcome with some message before very long, if he was patient and waitedher pleasure. But ten o'clock struck and there was no sign. Only theEnglish youth, Percy Trevellian, had got into conversation with him,and was proposing billiards to pass the time.
Paul loved billiards--but not to-night. Heavens! what an idea! Go offto the billiard-room--now--to-night!
He said he had a headache, and answered rather shortly in fact, andthen, to escape further importunity, went up to his sitting-room,there to await the turn of events, leaving poor little MabelTrevellian gazing after him with longing eyes.
"Did you see at dinner how he stared at that foreign person, mamma?"she said. "Men are such fools! Clarkson told me, as she fastened mydress to-night, she'd heard she was some Grand Duchess, or Queen,travelling incognito for her health. Very plain and odd-looking,didn't you think so, mamma? And quite old!"
"No, dear. Most distinguished. Not a girl, of course, but quite theappearance of a Princess," said Mabel's mother, who had seen theworld.
Paul meanwhile paced his room--an anxious excitement was now hisportion. Surely, surely she could not mean him not to see her--not tosay one little good-night. What should he do? What possible planinvent? As eleven chimed he could bear it no longer. Rain or no, hemust go out on the terrace!
"Those mad English!" the porter said to himself, as he watched Paul'stall figure disappear in the dripping night.
And there till after twelve he paced the path under the trees. But nolight showed; the terrace gate was locked. It was chilly and wet andmiserable, and at last he crept back utterly depressed, to bed. Butnot to sleep. Even his youth and health were not proof against the mademotions of the day. He tossed and turned, a thousand questionssinging in his brain. Was it really he who had been chosen by thisdivine woman for her lover? And if so, why was he alone now instead ofholding her in his arms? What did it all mean? Who was she? Wherewould it end? But here he refused to think further. He was living atall events--living as he had never dreamed was possible.
And yet, poor Paul, he was only on the rim of all that he was soon toknow of life.
At last he fell asleep, one sentence ringing in his ears--"Tearsand--cold steel--and blood!" But if he was young, he was a gallantgentleman, and Fear had no place in his dreams.
