CHAPTER XVIII
Mrs. Boyer, bursting with indignation, went to the Doctors' Club. It wastypical of the way things were going with Peter that Dr. Boyer was notthere, and that the only woman in the clubrooms should be Dr. Jennings.Young McLean was in the reading room, eating his heart out with jealousyof Peter, vacillating between the desire to see Harmony that night andfear lest Peter forbid him the house permanently if he made the attempt.He had found a picture of the Fraulein Engel, from the opera, in amagazine, and was sitting with it open before him. Very deeply andreally in love was McLean that afternoon, and the Fraulein Engel andHarmony were not unlike. The double doors between the reading room andthe reception room adjoining were open. McLean, lost in a rosy future inwhich he and Harmony sat together for indefinite periods, with no Peterto scowl over his books at them, a future in which life was one longpiano-violin duo, with the candles in the chandelier going out one byone, leaving them at last alone in scented darkness together--McLeanheard nothing until the mention of the Siebensternstrasse roused him.
After that he listened. He heard that Dr. Jennings was contemplatingtaking Anna's place at the lodge, and he comprehended after a momentthat Anna was already gone. Even then the significance of the situationwas a little time in dawning on him. When it did, however, he rose witha stifled oath.
Mrs. Boyer was speaking.
"It is exactly as I tell you," she was saying. "If Peter Byrne is tryingto protect her reputation he is late doing it. Personally I have beenthere twice. I never saw Anna Gates. And she is registered here at theclub as living in the Pension Schwarz. Whatever the facts may be, onething remains, she is not there now."
McLean waited to hear no more. He was beside himself with rage. He founda "comfortable" at the curb. The driver was asleep inside the carriage.McLean dragged him out by the shoulder and shouted an address to him.The cab bumped along over the rough streets to an accompaniment ofprotests from its frantic passenger.
The boy was white-lipped with wrath and fear. Peter's silence thatafternoon as to the state of affairs loomed large and significant. Hehad thought once or twice that Peter was in love with Harmony; he knewit now in the clearer vision of the moment. He recalled things thatmaddened him: the dozen intimacies of the little menage, the caressin Peter's voice when he spoke to the girl, Peter's steady eyes in thesemi-gloom of the salon while Harmony played.
At a corner they must pause for the inevitable regiment. McLean cursed,bending out to see how long the delay would be. Peter had been gone forhalf an hour, perhaps, but Peter would walk. If he could only see thegirl first, talk to her, tell her what she would be doing by remaining--
He was there at last, flinging across the courtyard like a madman. Peterwas already there; his footprints were fresh in the slush of the path.The house door was closed but not locked. McLean ran up the stairs. Itwas barely twilight outside, but the staircase well was dark. At theupper landing he was compelled to fumble for the bell.
Peter admitted him. The corridor was unlighted, but from the salon camea glow of lamplight. McLean, out of breath and furious, faced Peter.
"I want to see Harmony," he said without preface.
Peter eyed him. He knew what had happened, had expected it when the bellrang, had anticipated it when Harmony told him of Mrs. Boyer's visit. Inthe second between the peal of the bell and his opening the door he haddecided what to do.
"Come in."
McLean stepped inside. He was smaller than Peter, not so much shorter asslenderer. Even Peter winced before the look in his eyes.
"Where is she?"
"In the kitchen, I think. Come into the salon."
McLean flung off his coat. Peter closed the door behind him and stoodjust inside. He had his pipe as usual. "I came to see her, not you,Byrne."
"So I gather. I'll let you see her, of course, but don't you want to seeme first?"
"I want to take her away from here."
"Why? Are you better able to care for her than I am?"
McLean stood rigid. He had thrust his clenched hands into his pockets.
"You're a scoundrel, Byrne," he said steadily. "Why didn't you tell methis this afternoon?"
"Because I knew if I did you'd do just what you are doing."
"Are you going to keep her here?"
Peter changed color at the thrust, but he kept himself in hand.
"I'm not keeping her here," he said patiently. "I'm doing the best I canunder the circumstances."
"Then your best is pretty bad."
"Perhaps. If you would try to remember the circumstances, McLean,--thatthe girl has no place else to go, practically no money, and that I--"
"I remember one circumstance, that you are living here alone with herand that you're crazy in love with her."
"That has nothing to do with you. As long as I treat her--"
"Bah!"
"Will you be good enough to let me finish what I am trying to say? She'ssafe with me. When I say that I mean it. She will not go away fromhere with you or with any one else if I can prevent it. And if you careenough about her to try to keep her happy you'll not let her know youhave been here. I've got a woman coming to take Anna's place. That oughtto satisfy you."
"Dr. Jennings?"
"Yes."
"She'll not come. Mrs. Boyer has been talking to her. Inside of an hourthe whole club will have it--every American in Vienna will know about itin a day or so. I tell you, Byrne, you're doing an awful thing."
Peter drew a long breath. He had had his bad half-hour before McLeancame; had had to stand by, wordless, and see Harmony trying to smile,see her dragging about, languid and white, see her tragic attemptsto greet him on the old familiar footing. Through it all he had beensustained by the thought that a day or two days would see the oldfooting reestablished, another woman in the house, life again worth theliving and Harmony smiling up frankly into his eyes. Now this hope haddeparted.
"You can't keep me from seeing her, you know," McLean persisted. "I'vegot to put this thing to her. She's got to choose."
"What alternative have you to suggest?"
"I'd marry her if she'd have me."
After all Peter had expected that. And, if she cared for the boywouldn't that be best for her? What had he to offer against that? Hecouldn't marry. He could only offer her shelter, against everythingelse. Even then he did not dislike McLean. He was a man, every slenderinch of him, this boy musician. Peter's heart sank, but he put down hispipe and turned to the door.
"I'll call her," he said. "But, since this concerns me very vitally, Ishould like to be here while you put the thing to her. After that if youlike--"
He called Harmony. She had given Jimmy his supper and was carrying out atray that seemed hardly touched.
"He won't eat to-night," she said miserably. "Peter, if he stops eating,what can we do? He is so weak!"
Peter, took the tray from her gently.
"Harry dear," he said, "I want you to come into the salon. Some onewishes to speak to you."
"To me?"
"Yes. Harry, do you remember that evening in the kitchen when--Do yourecall what I promised?"
"Yes, Peter."
"You are sure you know what I mean?"
"Yes."
"That's all right, then. McLean wants to see you."
She hesitated, looking up at him.
"McLean? You look so grave, Peter. What is it?"
"He will tell you. Nothing alarming."
Peter gave McLean a minute alone after all, while he carried the trayto the kitchen. He had no desire to play watchdog over the girl, he toldhimself savagely; only to keep himself straight with her and to saveher from McLean's impetuosity. He even waited in the kitchen to fill andlight his pipe.
McLean had worked himself into a very fair passion. He was intense,almost theatrical, as he stood with folded arms waiting for Harmony. Soentirely did the girl fill his existence that he forgot, or did not careto remember, how short a time he had known her. As Harmony she dominatedhis life and
his thoughts; as Harmony he addressed her when, ratherstartled, she entered the salon and stood just inside the closed door.
"Peter said you wanted to speak to me."
McLean groaned. "Peter!" he said. "It is always Peter. Look here,Harmony, you cannot stay here."
"It is only for a few hours. To-morrow some one is coming. And, anyhow,Peter is going to Semmering. We know it is unusual, but what can we do?"
"Unusual! It's--it's damnable. It's the appearance of the thing, don'tyou see that?"
"I think it is rather silly to talk of appearance when there is no oneto care. And how can I leave? Jimmy needs me all the time--"
"That's another idiocy of Peter's. What does he mean by putting you inthis position?"
"I am one of Peter's idiocies."
Peter entered on that. He took in the situation with a glance, andHarmony turned to him; but if she had expected Peter to support her, shewas disappointed. Whatever decision she was to make must be her own,in Peter's troubled mind. He crossed the room and stood at one of thewindows, looking out, a passive participant in the scene.
The day had been a trying one for Harmony. What she chose to considerPeter's defection was a fresh stab. She glanced from McLean, flushed andexcited, to Peter's impassive back. Then she sat down, rather limp, andthrew out her hands helplessly.
"What am I to do?" she demanded. "Every one comes with cruel things tosay, but no one tells me what to do."
Peter turned away from the window.
"You can leave here," ventured McLean. "That's the first thing. Afterthat--"
"Yes, and after that, what?"
McLean glanced at Peter. Then he took a step toward the girl.
"You could marry me, Harmony," he said unsteadily. "I hadn't expectedto tell you so soon, or before a third person." He faltered beforeHarmony's eyes, full of bewilderment. "I'd be very happy if you--if youcould see it that way. I care a great deal, you see."
It seemed hours to Peter before she made any reply, and that her voicecame from miles away.
"Is it really as bad as that?" she asked. "Have I made such a mess ofthings that some one, either you or Peter, must marry me to straightenthings out? I don't want to marry any one. Do I have to?"
"Certainly you don't have to," said Peter. There was relief in hisvoice, relief and also something of exultation. "McLean, you mean well,but marriage isn't the solution. We were getting along all right untilour friends stepped in. Let Mrs. Boyer howl all over the colony; therewill be one sensible woman somewhere to come and be comfortable herewith us. In the interval we'll manage, unless Harmony is afraid. In thatcase--"
"Afraid of what?"
The two men exchanged glances, McLean helpless, Peter triumphant.
"I do not care what Mrs. Boyer says, at least not much. And I am notafraid of anything else at all."
McLean picked up his overcoat.
"At least," he appealed to Peter, "you'll come over to my place?"
"No!" said Peter.
McLean made a final appeal to Harmony.
"If this gets out," he said, "you are going to regret it all your life."
"I shall have nothing to regret," she retorted proudly.
Had Peter not been there McLean would have made a better case, wouldhave pleaded with her, would have made less of a situation that rousedher resentment and more of his love for her. He was very hard hit, veryyoung. He was almost hysterical with rage and helplessness; he wantedto slap her, to take her in his arms. He writhed under the restraint ofPeter's steady eyes.
He got to the door and turned, furious.
"Then it's up to you," he flung at Peter. "You're old enough to knowbetter; she isn't. And don't look so damned superior. You're human, likethe rest of us. And if any harm comes to her--"
Here unexpectedly Peter held out his hand, and after a sheepish momentMcLean took it.
"Good-night, old man," said Peter. "And--don't be an ass."
As was Peter's way, the words meant little, the tone much. McLean knewwhat in his heart he had known all along--that the girl was safe enough;that all that was to fear was the gossip of scandal-lovers. He tookPeter's hand, and then going to Harmony stood before her very erect.
"I suppose I've said too much; I always do," he said contritely. "Butyou know the reason. Don't forget the reason, will you?"
"I am only sorry."
He bent over and kissed her hand lingeringly. It was a tragic moment forhim, poor lad! He turned and went blindly out the door and down the darkstone staircase. It was rather anticlimax, after all that, to have Peterdiscover he had gone without his hat and toss it down to him a flightbelow.
All the frankness had gone out of the relationship between Harmony andPeter. They made painful efforts at ease, talked during the meal ofcareful abstractions, such as Jimmy, and Peter's proposed trip toSemmering, avoided each other's eyes, ate little or nothing. Once whenHarmony passed Peter his coffee-cup their fingers touched, and betweenthem they dropped the cup. Harmony was flushed and pallid by turns,Peter wretched and silent.
Out of the darkness came one ray of light. Stewart had wired fromSemmering, urging Peter to come. He would be away for two days. In twodays much might happen; Dr. Jennings might come or some one else. In twodays some of the restraint would have worn off. Things would never bethe same, but they would be forty-eight hours better.
Peter spent the early part of the evening with Jimmy, reading aloud tohim. After the child had dropped to sleep he packed a valise for thenext day's journey and counted out into an envelope half of the money hehad with him. This he labeled "Household Expenses" and set it up onhis table, leaning against his collar-box. There was no sign of Harmonyabout. The salon was dark except for the study lamp turned down.
Peter was restless. He put on his shabby dressing-gown and worn slippersand wandered about. The Portier had brought coal to the landing; Petercarried it in. He inspected the medicine bottles on Jimmy's standand wrote full directions for every emergency he could imagine. Then,finding it still only nine o'clock, he turned up the lamp in the salonand wrote an exciting letter from Jimmy's father, in which a lost lamb,wandering on the mountain-side, had been picked up by an avalanche andcarried down into the fold and the arms of the shepherd. And becausehe stood so in loco parentis, and because it seemed so inevitable thatbefore long Jimmy would be in the arms of the Shepherd, and, of course,because it had been a trying day all through, Peter's lips were none toosteady as he folded up the letter.
The fire was dead in the stove; Peter put out the salon lamp and closedthe shutters. In the warm darkness he put out his hand to feel his waythrough the room. It touched a little sweater coat of Harmony's, hangingover the back of a chair. Peter picked it up in a very passion oftenderness and held it to him.
"Little girl!" he choked. "My little girl! God help me!"
He was rather ashamed, considerably startled. It alarmed him to findthat the mere unexpected touch of a familiar garment could rouse such astorm in him. It made him pause. He put down the coat and pulled himselfup sharply. McLean was right; he was only human stuff, very poor humanstuff. He put the little coat down hastily, only to lift it again gentlyto his lips.
"Good-night, dear," he whispered. "Goodnight, Harmony."
Frau Schwarz had had two visitors between the hours of coffee andsupper that day. The reason of their call proved to be neither rooms norpension. They came to make inquiries.
The Frau Schwarz made this out at last, and sat down on the edge ofthe bed in the room that had once been Peter's and that still lacked anoccupant.
Mrs. Boyer had no German; Dr. Jennings very little and that chieflymedical. There is, however, a sort of code that answers instead oflanguage frequently, when two or three women of later middle lifeare gathered together, a code born of mutual understanding, mutualdisillusion, mutual distrust, a language of outspread hands, raisedeyebrows, portentous shakings of the head. Frau Schwarz, on the edge ofPeter's tub-shaped bed, needed no English to convey the fact that Peterwas a bad lot
. Not that she resorted only to the sign language.
"The women were also wicked," she said. "Of a man what does one expect?But of a woman! And the younger one looked--Herr Gott! She had the eyesof a saint! The little Georgiev was mad for her. When the three of themleft, disgraced, as one may say, he came to me, he threatened me. TheHerr Schwarz, God rest his soul, was a violent man, but never spoke heso to me!"
"She says," interpreted Dr. Jennings, "that they were a bad lot--thatthe younger one made eyes at the Herr Schwarz!"
Mrs. Boyer drew her ancient sables about her and put a tremulous hand onthe other woman's arm.
"What an escape for you!" she said. "If you had gone there to live andthen found the establishment--queer!"
From the kitchen of the pension, Olga was listening, an ear to the door.Behind her, also listening, but less advantageously, was Katrina.
"American ladies!" said Olga. "Two, old and fat."
"More hot water!" growled Katrina. "Why do not the Americans stay intheir own country, where the water, I have learned, comes hot from theearth."
Olga, bending forward, opened the door a crack wider.
"Sh! They do not come for rooms. They inquire for the Herr Doktor Byrneand the others!"
"No!"
"Of a certainty."
"Then let me to the door!"
"A moment. She tells them everything and more. She says--how she iswicked, Katrina! She says the Fraulein Harmony was not good, that shesent them all away. Here, take the door!"
Thus it happened that Dr. Jennings and Mrs. Boyer, having shaken off thedust of a pension that had once harbored three malefactors, and havingretired Peter and Anna and Harmony into the limbo of things bestforgotten or ignored, found themselves, at the corner, confronted by aslovenly girl in heelless slippers and wearing a knitted shawl over herhead. "The Frau Schwarz is wrong," cried Olga passionately in Viennadialect. "They were good, all of them!"
"What in the world--"
"And, please, tell me where lives the Fraulein Harmony. The HerrGeorgiev eats not nor sleeps that he cannot find her."
Dr. Jennings was puzzled.
"She wishes to know where the girl lives," she interpreted to Mrs.Boyer. "A man wishes to know."
"Naturally!" said Mrs. Boyer. "Well, don't tell her."
Olga gathered from the tone rather than the words that she was not tobe told. She burst into a despairing appeal in which the Herr Georgiev,Peter, a necktie Peter had forgotten, open windows, and hot water wereinextricably confused. Dr. Jennings listened, then waved her back with agesture.
"She says," she interpreted as they walked on, "that Dr. Peter--by whichI suppose she means Dr. Byrne--has left a necktie, and that she'll be inhot water if she does not return it."
Mrs. Boyer sniffed.
"In love with him, probably, like the others!" she said.
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