CHAPTER XX
Mr. Sabin from his seat behind a gigantic palm watched her egress fromthe supper-room with a little group of friends.
They came to a halt in the broad carpeted way only a few feet from him.Lady Carey, in a wonderful green gown, her neck and bosom ablaze withjewels, seemed to be making her farewells.
"I must go in and see the De Lausanacs," she exclaimed. "They are inthe blue room supping with the Portuguese Ambassador. I shall beat Carmarthen House within half an hour--unless my headache becomesunbearable. Au revoir, all of you. Good-bye, Laura!"
Her friends passed on towards the great swing doors. Lady Careyretraced her steps slowly towards the supper-room, and made some languidinquiries of the head waiter as to a missing handkerchief. Then she cameagain slowly down the broad way and reached Mr. Sabin. He rose to hisfeet.
"I thank you very much for your note," he said. "You have something, Ibelieve, to say to me."
She stood before him for a moment in silence, as though not unwillingthat he should appreciate the soft splendour of her toilette. The jewelswhich encircled her neck were priceless and dazzling; the soft materialof her gown, the most delicate shade of sea green, seemed to foam abouther feet, a wonderful triumph of allegoric dressmaking. She saw thathe was studying her, and she laughed a little uneasily, looking all thetime into his eyes.
"Shockingly overdressed, ain't I?" she said. "We were going straight toCarmarthen House, you know. Come and sit in this corner for a moment,and order me some coffee. I suppose there isn't any less public place!"
"I fear not," he answered. "You will perhaps be unobserved behind thispalm."
She sank into a low chair, and he seated himself beside her. She sighedcontentedly.
"Dear me!" she said. "Do men like being run after like this?"
Mr. Sabin raised his eyebrows.
"I understood," he said, "that you had something to say to me ofimportance."
She shot a quick look up at him.
"Don't be horrid," she said in a low tone. "Of course I wanted to seeyou. I wanted to explain. Give me one of your cigarettes."
He laid his case silently before her. She took one and lit it, watchinghim furtively all the time. The man brought their coffee. The place wasalmost empty now, and some of the lights were turned down.
"It is very kind of you," he said slowly, "to honour me by so muchconsideration, but if you have much to say perhaps it would be betterif you permitted me to call upon you to-morrow. I am afraid of deprivingyou of your ball--and your friends will be getting impatient."
"Bother the ball--and my friends," she exclaimed, a certain strainednote in her tone which puzzled him. "I'm not obliged to go to the thing,and I don't want to. I've invented a headache, and they won't evenexpect me. They know my headaches."
"In that case," Mr. Sabin said, "I am entirely at your service."
She sighed, and looked up at him through a little cloud of tobaccosmoke.
"What a wonderful man you are," she said softly. "You accept defeat withthe grace of a victor. I believe that you would triumph as easily witha shrug of the shoulders. Haven't you any feeling at all? Don't you knowwhat it is like to feel?"
He smiled.
"We both come," he said, "of a historic race. If ancestry is worthanything it should at least teach us to go about without pinning ourhearts upon our sleeves."
"But you," she murmured, "you have no heart."
He looked down upon her then with still cold face and steady eyes.
"Indeed," he said, "you are mistaken."
She moved uneasily in her chair. She was very pale, except for a faintspot of pink colour in her cheeks.
"It is very hard to find, then," she said, speaking quickly, her bosomrising and falling, her eyes always seeking to hold his. "To-night yousee what I have done--I have, sent away my friends--and my carriage.They may know me here--you see what I have risked. And I don't care.You thought to-night that I was your enemy--and I am not. I am not yourenemy at all."
Her hand fell as though by accident upon his, and remained there. Mr.Sabin was very nearly embarrassed. He knew quite well that if she werenot his enemy at that moment she would be very shortly.
"Lucille," she continued, "will blame me too. I cannot help it. I wantto tell you that for the present your separation from her is a certainthing. She acquiesces. You heard her. She is quite happy. She is at theball to-night, and she has friends there who will make it pleasant forher. Won't you understand?"
"No," Mr. Sabin answered.
She beat the ground with her foot.
"You must understand," she murmured. "You are not like these foolsof Englishmen who go to sleep when they are married, and wake in thedivorce court. For the present at least you have lost Lucille. You heardher choose. She's at the ball to-night--and I have come here to be withyou. Won't you, please," she added, with a little nervous laugh, "showsome gratitude?"
The interruption which Mr. Sabin had prayed for came at last. Themusicians had left, and many of the lights had been turned down. Anofficial came across to them.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, addressing Mr. Sabin, "but we areclosing now, unless you are a guest in the hotel."
"I am staying here," Mr. Sabin answered, rising, "but the lady--"
Lady Carey interrupted him.
"I am staying here also," she said to the man.
He bowed at once and withdrew. She rose slowly to her feet and laid herfingers upon his arm. He looked steadily away from her.
"Fortunately," he said, "I have not yet dismissed my own carriage.Permit me."
* * * * *
Mr. Sabin leaned heavily upon his stick as he slowly made his way alongthe corridor to his rooms. Things were going ill with him indeed. He wasnot used to the fear of an enemy, but the memory of Lady Carey's whitecheeks and indrawn lips as she had entered his carriage chilled him.Her one look, too, was a threat worse than any which her lips couldhave uttered. He was getting old indeed, he thought, wearily, whendisappointment weighed so heavily upon him. And Lucille? Had he anyreal fears of her? He felt a little catch in his throat at the barethought--in a moment's singular clearness of perception he realised thatif Lucille were indeed lost the world was no longer a place for him. Sohis feet fell wearily upon the thickly carpeted floor of the corridor,and his face was unusually drawn and haggard as he opened the door ofhis sitting-room.
And then--a transformation, amazing, stupefying. It was Lucille whowas smiling a welcome upon him from the depths of his favouriteeasy-chair--Lucille sitting over his fire, a novel in her hand, andwearing a delightful rose-pink dressing-gown. Some of her belongingswere scattered about his room, giving it a delicate air of femininity.The faint odour of her favourite and only perfume gave to her undoubtedpresence a wonderful sense of reality.
She held out her hands to him, and the broad sleeves of herdressing-gown fell away from her white rounded arms. Her eyes werewonderfully soft, the pink upon her cheeks was the blush of a girl.
"Victor," she murmured, "do not look so stupefied. Did you not believethat I would risk at least a little for you, who have risked so much forme? Only come to me! Make the most of me. All sorts of things are sureto happen directly I am found out."
He took her into his arms. It was one of the moments of his lifetime.
"Tell me," he murmured, "how have you dared to do this?"
She laughed.
"You know the Prince and his set. You know the way they bribe. Intrigueseverywhere, new and old overlapping. They have really some reason forkeeping you and me apart, but as regards my other movements, I am freeenough. And they thought, Victor--don't be angry--but I let themthink it was some one else. And I stole away from the ball, and theythink--never mind what they think. But you, Victor, are my intrigue,you, my love, my husband!"
Then all the fatigue and all the weariness, died away from Mr. Sabin'sface. Once more the fire of youth burned in his heart. And Lucillelaughed softly as her
lips met his, and her head sank upon his shoulder.
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