The Dark Star

She felt herself flushing, tried to smile:

“It couldn’t resemble anything,” she explained with quaint honesty, “because I am sailing for Europe tomorrow morning; I am going on board in less than an hour. And also – also, I–”

“Also?” – he prompted her, amused, yet oddly touched by her childishly literal reply.

“I am – married.”

“Good Lord!” he said.

“This morning,” she added, tasting her ice.

“And you’re sailing for Europe on your honeymoon!” he exclaimed. “Well, upon my word! And what is your ship?”

“The Lusitania.”

“Really! I have a friend who is sailing on her – a most charming woman. I sent flowers to her only an hour ago.”

“Did you?” asked Rue, interested.

“Yes. She is a widow – the Princess Mistchenka – a delightful and pretty woman. I am going to send a note to the steamer tonight saying that – that my very particular friend, Ruhannah Carew, is on board, and won’t she ask you to tea. You’d love her, Rue. She’s a regular woman.”

“But – oh, dear! – a Princess!”

“You won’t even notice it,” he said reassuringly. “She’s a corker; she’s an artist, too. I couldn’t begin to tell you how nice she has been to me. By the way, Rue, whom did you marry?”

“Mr. Brandes.”

“Brandes? I don’t remember – was he from up-state?”

“No; New York – I think–”

As she bent forward to taste her ice again he noticed for the first time the childlike loveliness of her throat and profile; looked at her with increasing interest, realising that she had grown into a most engaging creature since he had seen her.

Looking up, and beyond him toward the door, she said:

“I think your friend is waiting for you. Had you forgotten him?”

“Oh, that’s so!” he exclaimed. Then rising and offering his hand: “I wish you happiness, Rue. You have my address. When you return, won’t you let me know where you are? Won’t you let me know your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Please do. You see you and I have a common bond in art, another in our birthplace. Gayfield folk are your own people and mine. Don’t forget me, Rue.”

“No, I won’t.”

So he took his leave gracefully and went away through the enthralling, glittering unreality of it all leaving a young girl thrilled, excited, and deeply impressed with his ease and bearing amid awe-inspiring scenes in which she, too, desired most ardently to find herself at ease.

Also she thought of his friend, the Princess Mistchenka. And again, as before, the name seemed to evoke within her mind a recollection of having heard it before, very long ago.

She wondered whether Neeland would remember to write, and if he did she wondered whether a real princess would actually condescend to invite her to take tea.

CHAPTER XI

THE BREAKERS

The east dining-room was almost empty now, though the lobby and the café beyond still swarmed with people arriving and departing. Brandes, chafing at the telephone, had finally succeeded in getting Stull on the wire, only to learn that the news from Saratoga was not agreeable; that they had lost on every horse. Also, Stull had another disquieting item to detail; it seemed that Maxy Venem had been seen that morning in the act of departing for New York on the fast express; and with him was a woman resembling Brandes’ wife.

“Who saw her?” demanded Brandes.

“Doc. He didn’t get a good square look at her. You know the hats women wear.”

“All right. I’m off, Ben. Good-bye.”

The haunting uneasiness which had driven him to the telephone persisted when he came out of the booth. He cast a slow, almost sleepy glance around him, saw no familiar face in the thronged lobby, then he looked at his watch.

The car had been ordered for ten; it lacked half an hour of the time; he wished he had ordered the car earlier.

For now his uneasiness was verging on that species of superstitious inquietude which at times obsesses all gamblers, and which is known as a “hunch.” He had a hunch that he was “in wrong” somehow or other; an overpowering longing to get on board the steamer assailed him – a desire to get out of the city, get away quick.

The risk he had taken was beginning to appear to him as an unwarranted piece of recklessness; he was amazed with himself for taking such a chance – disgusted at his foolish and totally unnecessary course with this young girl. All he had had to do was to wait a few months. He could have married in safety then. And even now he didn’t know whether or not the ceremony performed by Parson Smawley had been an illegally legal one; whether it made him a bigamist for the next three months or only something worse. What on earth had possessed him to take such a risk – the terrible hazard of discovery, of losing the only woman he had ever really cared for – the only one he probably could ever care for? Of course, had he been free he would have married her. When he got his freedom he would insist on another ceremony. He could persuade her to that on some excuse or other. But in the meanwhile!

He entered the deserted dining-room, came over to where Rue was waiting, and sat down, heavily, holding an unlighted cigar between his stubby fingers.

“Well, little girl,” he said with forced cheerfulness, “was I away very long?”

“Not very.”

“You didn’t miss me?” he inquired, ponderously playful.

His heavy pleasantries usually left her just a little doubtful and confused, for he seldom smiled when he delivered himself of them.

He leaned across the cloth and laid a hot, cushiony hand over both of hers, where they lay primly clasped on the table edge:

“Don’t you ever miss me when I’m away from you, Rue?” he asked.

“I think – it is nice to be with you,” she said, hotly embarrassed by the publicity of his caress.

“I don’t believe you mean it.” But he smiled this time. At which the little rigid smile stamped itself on her lips; but she timidly withdrew her hands from his.

“Rue, I don’t believe you love me.” This time there was no smile.

She found nothing to answer, being without any experience in give-and-take conversation, which left her always uncertain and uncomfortable.

For the girl was merely a creature still in the making – a soft, pliable thing to be shaped to perfection only by the light touch of some steady, patient hand that understood – or to be marred and ruined by a heavy hand which wrought at random or in brutal haste.

Brandes watched her for a moment out of sleepy, greenish eyes. Then he consulted his watch again, summoned a waiter, gave him the parcels-room checks, and bade him have a boy carry their luggage into the lobby.

As they rose from the table, a man and a woman entering the lobby caught sight of them, halted, then turned and walked back toward the street door which they had just entered.