Castle Craneycrow Part 13

Have I attempted to exert it over you?"

"You are talking nonsense, Phil," she said, spiritedly.

"I said I'd feel sorry for the girl if she didn't happen to love me, you know. Well, I couldn't force her to love me if she didn't love me, could I?"

"Certainly not. That is what I meant," she cried, immensely relieved.

"But my point is that she might love me without knowing it and would simply have to be brought to the realization."

"Oh," she said, "that is different."

"You take back what you said, then?" he asked, maliciously.

"If she loved you and did not know it, she'd be a fool and you could exert any kind of power over her. You see, we didn't quite understand each other, did we?"

"That is for you to say," he said, smiling significantly. "I think I understand perfectly."

By this time they were opposite the Rue Lesbroussart, and he drove toward the Place Ste. Croix. As they made the turn she gave a start and peered excitedly up the Avenue Louise, first in front of her companion, then behind.

"Oh, Phil, there is Ugo!" she cried, clasping his arm. "See! In the trap, coming toward us." He looked quickly, but the trees and houses now hid the other trap from view.

"Are you sure it is he?"

"Oh, I am positive. He has come to surprise me. Is there no way we can reach the house first? By the rear--anyway," she cried, excitedly. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were sparkling.

"Was he alone?" asked he, his jaw setting suddenly.

"That has nothing to do with it. We must hurry home. Turn back, Phil; we may be able to overtake him on the avenue."

"I wanted to take you to the Park, Dorothy."

"Well?"

"That's all," he went on, calmly. "The prince can leave his card and call later in the--well, this evening."

"What--you don't mean--Philip Quentin, take me home instantly," she blazed.

"Not for all the princes in the universe," he said. "This is my afternoon, and I will not give up a minute of it."

"But I command, sir!"

"And I refuse to obey."

"Oh--oh, this is outrageous----" she began, frantically.

Suddenly his gloved left hand dropped from the reins and closed over one of hers. The feverish clasp and the command in his eyes compelled her to look up into his face quickly. There she saw the look she feared, admired, deserved.

"There was a time when you wanted to be with me and with no other. I have not forgotten those days, nor have you. They were the sweetest days of your life and of mine. It is no age since I held this hand in mine, and you would have gone to the end of the world with me. It is no age since you kissed me and called me a king. It is no age since you looked into my eyes with an expression far different from the one you now have. You remember, you remember, Dorothy."

She was too surprised to answer, too overcome by the suddenness of his a.s.sault to resist. The power she had undertaken to estimate was in his eyes, strong, plain, relentless.

"And because you remember I can see the hardness going from your eyes, the tenderness replacing it. The flush in your cheek is not so much of anger as it was, your heart is not beating in rebellion as it was, and all because you cannot forget--you will not forget."

"This is madness," she cried, s.h.i.+vering as with a mighty chill.

"Madness it may be, Dorothy, but--well, because we have not forgotten the days when we were sweethearts, I am claiming this day of you and you must give it to me for the same reason. You must say to me that you give it willingly," he half whispered, intensely. She could only look helplessly into his eyes.

From the rumble Turk saw nothing, neither did he hear.

XIII. SOME UGLY LOOKING MEN

Prince Ugo Ravorelli was not, that day, the only one whose coming to Brussels was of interest to Quentin. d.i.c.key Savage came in from Ostend and was waiting at the Bellevue when he walked in soon after six o'clock. Mr. Savage found a warm welcome from the tall young man who had boldly confiscated several hours that belonged properly to the n.o.ble bridegroom, and it was not long until, dinner over, he was lolling back in a chair in Quentin's room, his feet c.o.c.ked on the window sill, listening with a fair and increasing show of interest to the confidences his friend was pouring forth.

"So you deliberately drove off and left the prince, eh? And she didn't sulk or call you a nasty, horrid beast? I don't know what the devil you want me here for if you've got such a start as that. Seems to me I'll be in the way, more or less," said d.i.c.key, when the story reached a point where, to him, finis was the only appropriate word.

"That's the deuce of it, d.i.c.key. I can't say that I've got a safe start at all, even with her, and I've certainly got some distance to go before I can put the prince out of the running. You may think this is a nice, easy, straightaway race, but it isn't. It's going to be a steeplechase, and I don't know the course. I'm looking for a wide ditch at any turn, and I may get a nasty fall. You see, I've some chance of getting my neck broken before I get to the stretch."

"And some noted genius will be grinding out that Lohengrin two-step just about the time you get within hearing distance, too. You won't be two-stepping down the aisle at St. Gudule, but you'll agree that it's a very pretty party. That will be all, my boy--really all. I don't want to discourage you and I'm willing to stay by you till that well-known place freezes over, but I think an ocean voyage would be very good for you if you can arrange to start to-morrow."

"If you're going into this thing with that sort of spirit, you'll be a dead weight and I'll be left at the post," said Quentin, ruefully.

"Was the prince at the house when you returned from the drive?"

"No; and Mrs. Garrison almost glared a hole through me. There were icicles on every word when she told poor Dorothy he had been there and would return this evening."

"Was she satisfied to finish the drive with you after she had seen the prince?" Quentin had not told him of the conversation which followed her demand to be taken home.

"She was very sensible about it," he admitted, carefully. "You see, she had an engagement with me, and as a lady she could not well break it. We got along very nicely, all things considered, but I'm afraid she won't go out again with me."

"She won't slam the door in your face if you go to the house, will she?"

"Hardly," said the other, smiling. "She has asked me to come. The prince likes me, it seems."

"But he likes to be alone with her, I should say. Well, don't interfere when he is there. My boy, give him a chance," said d.i.c.key, with a twinkle.

The duke headed off the two Americans as they left the hotel half an hour later. He was evidently watching for them, and his purpose was clear. It was his duty to prevent Quentin from going to the Garrison home, if possible. After shaking hands with Savage, the little man suggested a visit to a dance house in the lower end, promising an evening of rare sport. He and Count Sallaconi, who came up from Paris with the prince, had planned a little excursion into unusual haunts, and he hoped the Americans had a few dull hours that needed brightening. Phil savagely admitted to himself that he antic.i.p.ated a good many dull hours, but they could not be banished by the vulgarity of a dance hall. The long, bony, fierce-mustached count came up at this moment and joined in imploring the young men to go with them to the "gayest place in all Brussels."

"Let's go, Phil, just to see how much worse our New York places are than theirs," said d.i.c.key.

"But I have a--er--sort of an engagement," remonstrated Quentin, reluctantly. The duke gave him a sharp look.

"Do not be afraid," he said, laughing easily. "We will not permit the dancing girls to harm you."

"He's not afraid of girls," interposed d.i.c.key. "Girls are his long suit. You didn't tell me you had an engagement?" Quentin gave him a withering look.