The Place of Honeymoons Part 13

"_Pouf!_ For ten minutes?" Celeste laughed bravely. "He leaves me quickly enough when you begin to sing."

"Glamour, glamour!"

"Well, I should not care for the article second-hand."

The arrival of Harrigan put an end to this dangerous trend of conversation. He walked in tight proper pumps, and sat down. He was only hungry now; the zest for dining was gone.

"Don't go sitting out in the night air, Nora," he warned.

"I sha'n't."

"And don't dance more than you ought to. Your mother would let you wear the soles off your shoes if she thought you were attracting attention.

Don't do it."

"James, that is not true," the mother protested.

"Well, Molly, you do like to hear 'em talk. I wish they knew how to cook a good club steak."

"I brought up a book from the village for you to-day," said Mrs. Harrigan, sternly.

"I'll bet a dollar it's on how to keep the creases in a fellow's pants."

"Trousers."

"Pants," helping himself to the last of the romaine. "What time do you go over?"

"At nine. We must be getting ready now," said Nora. "Don't wait up for us."

"And only one cigar," added the mother.

"Say, Molly, you keep closing in on me. Tobacco won't hurt me any, and I get a good deal of comfort out of it these days."

"Two," smiled Nora.

"But his heart!"

"And what in mercy's name is the matter with his heart? The doctor at Marienbad said that father was the soundest man of his age he had ever met." Nora looked quizzically at her father.

He grinned. Out of his own mouth he had been nicely trapped. That morning he had complained of a little twinge in his heart, a childish subterfuge to take Mrs. Harrigan's attention away from the eternal society page of the _Herald_. It had succeeded. He had even been cuddled.

"James, you told me..."

"Oh, Molly, I only wanted to talk to you."

"To do so it isn't necessary to frighten me to death," reproachfully. "One cigar, and no more."

"Molly, what ails you?" as they left the dining-room. "Nora's right. That sawbones said I was made of iron. I'm only smoking native cigars, and it takes a bunch of 'em to get the taste of tobacco. All right; in a few months you'll have me with the stuffed canary under the gla.s.s top. What's the name of that book?" diplomatically.

"_Social Usages._"

"Break away!"

Nora laughed. "But, dad, you really must read it carefully. It will tell you how to talk to a d.u.c.h.ess, if you chance to meet one when I am not around. It has all the names of the forks and knives and spoons, and it tells you never to use sugar on your lettuce." And then she threw her arm around her mother's waist. "Honey, when you buy books for father, be sure they are by Dumas or Haggard or Doyle. Otherwise he will never read a line."

"And I try so hard!" Tears came into Mrs. Harrigan's eyes.

"There, there, Molly, old girl!" soothed the outlaw. "I'll read the book.

I know I'm a stupid old stumbling-block, but it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, that is, at the ring of the gong. Run along to your party. And don't break any more hearts than you need, Nora."

Nora promised in good faith. But once in the ballroom, that little son of Satan called malice-aforethought took possession of her; and there was havoc. If a certain American countess had not patronized her; if certain lorgnettes (implements of torture used by said son of Satan) had not been leveled in her direction; if certain fans had not been suggestively spread between pairs of feminine heads,--Nora would have been as harmless as a playful kitten.

From door to door of the ballroom her mother fluttered like a hen with a duckling. Even Celeste was disturbed, for she saw that Nora's conduct was not due to any light-hearted fun. There was something bitter and ironic cloaked by those smiles, that tinkle of laughter. In fact, Nora from Tuscany flirted outrageously. The Barone sulked and tore at his mustache.

He committed any number of murders, by eye and by wish. When his time came to dance with the mischief-maker, he whirled her around savagely, and never said a word; and once done with, he sternly returned her to her mother, which he deemed the wisest course to pursue.

"Nora, you are behaving abominably!" whispered her mother, pale with indignation.

"Well, I am having a good time ... Your dance? Thank you."

And a tender young American led her through the mazes of the waltz, as some poet who knew what he was about phrased it.

It is not an exaggeration to say that there was not a woman in the ballroom to compare with her, and some of them were marvelously gowned and complexioned, too. She overshadowed them not only by sheer beauty, but by exuberance of spirit. And they followed her with hating eyes and whispered scandalous things behind their fans and wondered what had possessed the Marchesa to invite the bold thing: so does mediocrity pay homage to beauty and genius. As for the men, though madness lay that way, eagerly as of old they sought it.

By way of parenthesis: Herr Rosen marched up the hill and down again, something after the manner of a certain warrior king celebrated in verse.

The object of his visit had gone to the ball at Cadenabbia. At the hotel he demanded a motor-boat. There was none to be had. In a furious state of mind he engaged two oarsmen to row him across the lake.

And so it came to pa.s.s that when Nora, suddenly grown weary of the play, full of bitterness and distaste, hating herself and every one else in the world, stole out to the quay to commune with the moon, she saw him jump from the boat to the landing, scorning the steps. Instantly she drew her lace mantle closely about her face. It was useless. In the man the hunter's instinct was much too keen.

"So I have found you!"

"One would say that I had been in hiding?" coldly.

"From me, always. I have left everything--duty, obligations--to seek you."

"From any other man that might be a compliment."

"I am a prince," he said proudly.

She faced him with that quick resolution, that swift forming of purpose, which has made the Irish so difficult in argument and persuasion. "Will you marry me? Will you make me your wife legally? Before all the world?

Will you surrender, for the sake of this love you profess, your right to a great inheritance? Will you risk the anger and the iron hand of your father for my sake?"

"_Herr Gott!_ I am mad!" He covered his eyes.

"That expression proves that your Highness is sane again. Have you realized the annoyances, the embarra.s.sments, you have thrust upon me by your pursuit? Have you not read the scandalous innuendoes in the newspapers? Your Highness, I was not born on the Continent, so I look upon my work from a point of view not common to those of your caste. I am proud of it, and I look upon it with honor, honor. I am a woman, but I am not wholly defenseless. There was a time when I thought I might number among my friends a prince; but you have made that impossible."

"Come," he said hoa.r.s.ely; "let us go and find a priest. You are right. I love you; I will give up everything, everything!"

For a moment she was dumb. This absolute surrender appalled her. But that good fortune which had ever been at her side stepped into the breach. And as she saw the tall form of the Barone approach, she could have thrown her arms around his neck in pure gladness.