"For many reasons, of which you know nothing.""That is what you always say," pursued the sleepy voice; "and that is why, when I am to be married, there shall also be a pity.""Greta!" Miss Naylor cried, "it is not proper for a girl of your age to talk like that.""Why?" said Greta."Because it is the truth?"Miss Naylor made no reply to this, but vexedly cut off a sound rose, which she hastily picked up and regarded with contrition.Greta spoke again:
"Chris said: 'I have got the pictures, I shall tell her'; but I shall tell you instead, because it was I that told the story."Miss Naylor stared, wrinkling her nose, and holding the scissors wide apart....
"Last night," said Greta slowly, "I and Chris went to his studio and took his pictures, and so, because the gate was shut, I came back to tell it; and when you asked me where Chris was, I told it; because she was in the studio all night, and I and Scruff sat up all night, and in the morning we brought the pictures, and hid them under our beds, and that is why--we--are--so--sleepy."Over the rose-bush Miss Naylor peered down at her; and though she was obliged to stand on tiptoe this did not altogether destroy her dignity.
"I am surprised at you, Greta; I am surprised at Christian, more surprised at Christian.The world seems upside down."Greta, a sunbeam entangled in her hair, regarded her with inscrutable, innocent eyes.
"When you were a girl, I think you would be sure to be in love," she murmured drowsily.
Miss Naylor, flushing deeply, snipped off a particularly healthy bud.
"And so, because you are not married, I think--"The scissors hissed.
Greta nestled down again."I think it is wicked to cut off all the good buds," she said, and shut her eyes.
Miss Naylor continued to peer across the rosebush; but her thin face, close to the glistening leaves, had become oddly soft, pink, and girlish.At a deeper breath from Greta, the little lady put down her basket, and began to pace the lawn, followed dubiously by Scruff.It was thus that Christian came on them.
Miss Naylor slipped her arm into the girl's and though she made no sound, her lips kept opening and shutting, like the beak of a bird contemplating a worm.
Christian spoke first:
"Miss Naylor, I want to tell you please--""Oh, my dear! I know; Greta has been in the confessional before you." She gave the girl's arm a squeeze."Isn't it a lovely day?
Did you ever see 'Five Fingers' look so beautiful?" And she pointed to the great peaks of the Funffingerspitze glittering in the sun like giant crystals.
"I like them better with clouds about them.""Well," agreed Miss Naylor nervously, "they certainly are nicer with clouds about them.They look almost hot and greasy, don't they....
My dear!" she went on, giving Christian's arm a dozen little squeezes, "we all of us--that is, we all of us--"Christian turned her eyes away.
"My dear," Miss Naylor tried again, "I am far--that is, I mean, to all of us at some time or another--and then you see--well--it is hard!"Christian kissed the gloved hand resting on her arm.Miss Naylor bobbed her head; a tear trickled off her nose.
"Do let us wind your skein of woof!" she said with resounding gaiety.
Some half-hour later Mrs.Decie called Christian to her room.
"My dear!" she said; "come here a minute; I have a message for you."Christian went with an odd, set look about her mouth.
Her aunt was sitting, back to the light, tapping a bowl of goldfish with the tip of a polished finger-nail; the room was very cool.She held a letter out."Your uncle is not coming back tonight."Christian took the letter.It was curtly worded, in a thin, toppling hand:
"DEAR CON--Can't get back to-night.Sending Dominique for things.
Tell Christian to come over with him for night if possible.--Yr.
aff.brother, NICLS.TREFFRY."
"Dominique has a carriage here," said Mrs.Decie."You will have nice time to catch the train.Give my love to your uncle.You must take Barbi with you, I insist on that." She rose from her chair and held Christian's hand: "My dear! You look very tired--very! Almost ill.I don't like to see you look like that.Come!" She thrust her pale lips forward, and kissed the girl's paler cheek.
Then as Christian left the room she sank back in her chair, with creases in her forehead, and began languidly to cut a magazine.
'Poor Christian!' she thought, 'how hardly she does take it! I am sorry for her; but perhaps it's just as well, as things are turning out.Psychologically it is interesting!'
Christian found her things packed, and the two servants waiting.In a few minutes they were driving to the station.She made Dominique take the seat opposite.
"Well?" she asked him.
Dominique's eyebrows twitched, he smiled deprecatingly.
"M'mselle, Mr.Treffry told me to hold my tongue.""But you can tell me, Dominique; Barbi can't understand.""To you, then, M'mselle," said Dominique, as one who accepts his fate; "to you, then, who will doubtless forget all that I shall tell you--my master is not well; he has terrible pain here; he has a cough; he is not well at all; not well at all."A feeling of dismay seized on the girl.
"We were a caravan for all that night," Dominique resumed."In the morning by noon we ceased to be a caravan; Signor Harz took a mule path; he will be in Italy--certainly in Italy.As for us, we stayed at San Martino, and my master went to bed.It was time; I had much trouble with his clothes, his legs were swollen.In the afternoon came a signor of police, on horseback, red and hot; I persuaded him that we were at Paneveggio, but as we were not, he came back angry--Mon Die! as angry as a cat.It was not good to meet him--when he was with my master I was outside.There was much noise.I do not know what passed, but at last the signor came out through the door, and went away in a hurry." Dominique's features were fixed in a sardonic grin; he rubbed the palm of one hand with the finger of the other.
