A Woman's Will Part 18

"It's all my fault, monsieur. Rosina wanted to go to the Victoria; she wept when she found that she couldn't, but I was here already and we wanted to be together, and so she consented to come with me and live by the lake."

Von Ibn turned his eyes upon the new speaker, and their first expression was one of deep displeasure. But Molly's eyes were of that brown which is almost bronze, and fringed by eyelashes that were irresistibly long and curly, and she furthermore possessed a smile that could have found its way anywhere alone, and yet was rendered twice wise in the business of hearts by two attendant dimples, to the end that the combination was powerful enough to slowly smooth out some of the deepest lines of anger in the face before her, and to vastly ameliorate its generally offended air.

From the evidently pardoned Irish girl the caller turned his somewhat softened gaze towards the young American, and then, and then only, it appeared that a fresh storm-centre had gathered force unto itself in that one small salon, and that it was now Rosina who had decided to exhibit _her_ temper, beginning by saying, with a very haughty coolness:

"It's nice of mademoiselle to try and make a joke out of all this, but she knows that I never thought for a minute of going anywhere except where she might chance to be. And as to you, monsieur, I cannot see how you could have expected or demanded that I should pay any attention whatever to your wishes. You told me last night that we might never meet again--"

"And that could have truthed itself by chance," he interrupted eagerly.

"--And I believed you, and you know it," she finished, not noticing his interpolation.

He stood still, looking straight at her, and when she was altogether silent he stepped forward and raised her hand within his own.

"Does one meet a real friends.h.i.+p on Sat.u.r.day to let it go from him for always after Monday?" he asked her, speaking with a simple dignity that suddenly swept the atmosphere free from clouds and storms.

Molly crossed the room hastily.

"I hear madame calling," she explained.

Rosina knew that madame was down a corridor well around the corner, and that she was not in the habit of calling for anything or anybody, but she felt no desire to cover her friend with shame by forcing her to admit that she was lying. Indeed, just at that particular moment Molly's absence appeared to be a very desirable quota in the general scheme of things. So the girl went away and stayed away--being wise in her views as to life and love affairs.

When they were alone Von Ibn flung himself into an arm-chair and stretched forth his hand almost as if to command her approach to his side. She stood still, but she could feel her color rising and was desperately annoyed that it should be so.

"You are not angry that I be here?" he asked.

She drew a quick little breath and then turned to seat herself.

"You must have known that I must come," he continued.

She felt her lips tremble, and was furious at them for it.

"I played the 'Souvenir' last night," he said, dropping his eyes and sinking his voice; "it is then plain to me that I must travel to-day."

Something dragged her gaze upward until their eyes met.

He smiled, and she blushed deeply....

Chapter Six

It was very late that night--indeed the hour was dangerously close upon the morning after--before the two friends found themselves alone together again. Rosina lay up among the pillows, the centre of a ma.s.s of blue cambric, with tiny bands of lace confining the fulness here and there; while Molly, in such a dressing-gown as grows only in the Rue de la Paix, sat on the foot of the narrow continental bed and thoughtfully bound the braids of her bonny brown hair.

"Well, you know him now," Rosina said at last, the inflection of her voice rampant with interrogative meaning.

"Yes," was the non-committal answer.

"Don't be horrid, Molly; you know I want so much to know what you think of him? Isn't he delicious? Isn't he grand? Didn't he impress you as being just an ideal sort of a celebrity?"

Molly opened her eyes to an exceeding width.

"I don't know," she said slowly.

"Don't know! then you don't like him? What don't you like about him?"

"Well, I'd prefer a Russian myself."

"Why! what do you mean?"

"They're not so fierce, and if one likes fierceness they're plenty fierce enough."

"What are you talking about?"

"The way that he came bursting in on us to-day."

"But that was splendid! it was lovely to see him so worked up."

"You never can count on when he'll work up, though."

"But I like men you can't count on."

"Do you?"

"You see, I could always count on my husband, and that sort of arithmetic isn't to my taste any more."

"Well, dear, from the little I've seen of Herr von Ibn I should say that it would be impossible to ever work him by any other rule than that of his own sweet--or otherwise--will."

"But I like that."

"Yes, so I gathered from your actions."

"And, after all, whatever he is--" Rosina paused and ran her fingers through her hair. "It doesn't any of it amount to anything, you know,"

she added.

"Oh, dear no. That's evident enough."

Rosina started.

"What do you mean?" she cried.

"Oh, nothing as far as he's concerned;--only as far as you are."

"But," Rosina insisted, "you did mean something. What was it? You mean--"

"I don't mean anything," said Molly; "if he don't mean anything and you don't mean anything, how in Heaven's name could _I_ mean anything?"

"I only met him Sat.u.r.day, you know," Rosina reminded her. "And this is Monday," she reminded her further. "Nothing ever can happen in such a short time," she wound up airily.