A Rock in the Baltic

“It is nice of you to say that. Praise from—I won’t name Sir Hubert Stanley—but rather Lady Hubert Stanley—is praise, indeed. And now, Miss Amhurst, since I have confessed my fruitless wanderings through Bar Harbor, may I not have the pleasure of calling upon you to-morrow or next day?”

Her eyes were dreamily watching the dancers.

“I suppose,” she said slowly, with the flicker of a smile curving those enticing lips, “that since you were so very friendly with Captain Kempt to-night he may expect you to smoke a cigar with him, and it will possibly happen that Katherine and I, who are very fond of the Captain, may chance to come in while you are there.”

“Katherine? Ah, Katherine is the name of the young lady who was with you here—Miss Kempt?”

“Yes.”

“You are stopping with the Kempts, then?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if they’d think I was taking a liberty if I brought Jack Lamont with me?”

“The Prince?” laughed Dorothy. “Is he a real prince?”

“Oh, yes, there’s no doubt about that. I shouldn’t have taken the liberty of introducing him to you as Prince Lermontoff if he were not, as we say in Scotland, a real Mackay—the genuine article. Well, then, the Prince and I will pay our respects to Captain Kempt to-morrow afternoon.”

“Did you say the Prince is going with you to Russia?”

“Oh, yes. As I told you, I intend to live very quietly in St. Petersburg, and the Prince has his shop and a pair of rooms above it in a working quarter of the city. I shall occupy one of the rooms and he the other. The Prince is an excellent cook, so we shan’t starve, even if we engage no servant.”

“Has the Prince given his estates away also?”

“He hasn’t given them away exactly, but he is a very indulgent landlord, and he spends so much money on his experiments and travel that, although he has a formidable income, he is very frequently quite short of money. Did you like him?”

“Yes. Of course I saw him for a moment only. I wonder why they haven’t returned. There’s been several dances since they left.”

“Perhaps,” said the Lieutenant, with a slight return of his stammering, “your friend may be as fond of dancing as Jack is.”

“You are still determined to go to Russia?”

“Quite. There is absolutely no danger. I may not accomplish anything, but I’ll have a try at it. The Prince has a good deal of influence in St. Petersburg, which he will use quietly on my behalf, so that I may see the important people. I shall be glad when the Captain ceases frowning—”

Drummond was interrupted by a fellow-officer, who raised his cap, and begged a word with him.

“I think, Drummond, the Captain wanted to see you.”

“Oh, did he say that?”

“No, but I know he has left a note for you in your cabin. Shall I go and fetch it?”

“I wish you would, Chesham, if you don’t mind, and it isn’t too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Delighted, I’m sure,” said Chesham, again raising his cap and going off.

“Now, I wonder what I have forgotten to do.”

Drummond heaved a sigh proportionate to himself.

“Under the present condition of things a bit of neglect that would go unnoticed with another man is a sign of unrepentant villainy in me. Any other Lieutenant may steal a horse while I may not look over a hedge. You see how necessary it is for me to go to Russia, and get this thing smoothed over.”

“I think, perhaps, you are too sensitive, and notice slights where nothing of the kind is meant,” said the girl.

Chesham returned and handed Drummond a letter.

“Will you excuse me a moment?” he said, and as she looked at him he flattered himself that he noticed a trace of anxiety in her eyes. He tore open the missive.

“By Jove!” he cried.

“What is it?” she could not prevent herself from saying, leaning forward.

“I am ordered home. The Admiralty commands me to take the first steamer for England.”

“Is that serious?”

He laughed with well-feigned hilarity.

“Oh, no, not serious; it’s just their way of doing things. They might easily have allowed me to come home in my own ship. My only fear is I shall have to take the train for New York early to-morrow morning. But,” he said, holding out his hands, “it is not serious if you allow me to write to you, and if you will permit me to hope that I may receive an answer.”

She placed her hand in his, this time without hesitation.

“You may write,” she said, “and I will reply. I trust it is not serious.”

CHAPTER V —AFTER THE OPERA IS OVER

IN mid-afternoon of the day following the entertainment on board the “Consternation” our two girls were seated opposite one another under the rafters of the sewing room, in the listless, desultory manner of those who have not gone home till morning, till daylight did appear. The dominant note of a summer cottage is the rocking-chair, and there were two in the sewing room, where Katherine and Dorothy swayed gently back and forth as they talked. They sat close to the low, broad window which presented so beautiful a picture of the blue Bay and the white shipping. The huge “Consternation” lay moored with her broadside toward the town, all sign of festivity already removed from hull and rigging, and, to the scarcely slumber-satisfied eyes of the girls, something of the sadness of departure seemed to hang as a haze around the great ship. The girls were not discussing the past, but rather anticipating the future; forecasting it, with long, silent pauses intervening.

“So you will not stay with us? You are determined to turn your wealthy back on the poor Kempt family?” Katherine was saying.

“But I shall return to the Kempt family now and then, if they will let me. I must get away for a time and think. My life has suddenly become all topsy-turvy, and I need to get my bearings, as does a ship that has been through a storm and lost her reckoning.”

“‘She dunno where she are,’ as the song says.”

“Exactly: that is the state of things.”

“I think it’s too bad, Dorothy, that you did not allow us to make public announcement of your good fortune. Just imagine what an ovation you would have had on board the cruiser last night if it had been known that the richest woman in that assemblage was a pretty, shy little creature sitting all by herself, and never indulging in even one dance.”

“I shouldn’t in the least care for that sort of ovation, Kate, and if every one present were as well pleased with the festivities as I, they must all have enjoyed themselves immensely. I believe my friend Kate did my share of the dancing as well as her own.”

“‘She danced, and she danced, and she danced them a’ din.’ I think those are the words of the Scottish song that the Prince quoted. He seems up in Scottish poetry, and does not even resent being called a Scotchman. This energetic person of the song seems to have danced them all to a standstill, as I understood him, for he informs me ‘a’ means ‘all’ and ‘din’ means ‘done,’ but I told him I’d rather learn Russian than Scotch; it was so much easier, and his Highness was good enough to laugh at that. Didn’t the Lieutenant ask you to dance at all?”

“Oh, yes, he did.”

“And you refused?”

“I refused.”