CHAPTER XV

HERR ROSEN'S REGRETS

Herr Rosen! There was no outward reason why the name should have set a

chill on them all, turned them into expectant statues. Yet, all semblance

of good-fellowship was instantly gone. To Mrs. Harrigan alone did the name

convey a sense of responsibility, a flutter of apprehension not unmixed

with delight. She put her own work behind the piano lid, swooped down upon

the two men and snatched away the lace-hemming, to the infinite relief of

the one and the surprise of the other. Courtlandt would have liked nothing

better than to hold the lace in his lap, for it was possible that Herr

Rosen might wish to shake hands, however disinclined he might be within to

perform such greeting. The lace disappeared. Mrs. Harrigan smoothed out

the wrinkles in her dress. From the others there had been little movement

and no sound to speak of. Harrigan still waited by the door, seriously

contemplating the bit of pasteboard in his hand.

Nora did not want to look, but curiosity drew her eyes imperiously toward

Courtlandt. He had not risen. Did he know? Did he understand? Was his

attitude pretense or innocence? Ah, if she could but look behind that

impenetrable mask! How she hated him! The effrontery of it all! And she

could do nothing, say nothing: dared not tell them then and there what he

truly was, a despicable scoundrel! The son of her father's dearest friend;

what mockery! A friend of the family! It was maddening.

Herr Rosen brushed past Harrigan unceremoniously, without pausing, and

went straight over to Nora, who was thereupon seized by an uncontrollable

spirit of devilment. She hated Herr Rosen, but she was going to be as

pleasant and as engaging as she knew how to be. She did not care if he

misinterpreted her mood. She welcomed him with a hand. He went on to Mrs.

Harrigan, who colored pleasurably. He was then introduced, and he

acknowledged each introduction with a careless nod. He was there to see

Nora, and he did not propose to put himself to any inconvenience on

account of the others.

The temporary restraint which had settled upon the others at the

announcement of Herr Rosen's arrival passed away. Courtlandt, who had

remained seated during the initial formalities (a fact which bewildered

Abbott, who knew how punctilious his friend was in matters of this kind)

got up and took a third of the divan.

Harrigan dropped down beside him. It was his habit to watch his daughter's

face when any guest arrived. He formed his impression on what he believed

to be hers. That she was a consummate actress never entered into his

calculations. The welcoming smile dissipated any doubts.

"No matter where we are, they keep coming. She has as many friends as T.

R. I never bother to keep track of 'em."

"It would be rather difficult," assented Courtlandt.

"You ought to see the flowers. Loads of 'em. And say, what do you think?

Every jewel that comes she turns into money and gives to charity. Can you

beat it? Fine joke on the Johnnies. Of course, I mean stones that turn up

anonymously. Those that have cards go back by fast-mail. It's a good thing

I don't chance across the senders. Now, boy, I want you to feel at home

here in this family; I want you to come up when you want to and at any old

time of day. I kind of want to pay back to you all the kind things your

dad did for me. And I don't want any Oh-pshawing. Get me?"

"Whatever you say. If my dad did you any favors it was because he liked

and admired you; not with any idea of having you discharge the debt in the

future by way of inconveniencing yourself on my account. Just let me be a

friend of the family, like Abbott here. That would be quite enough honor

for me."

"You're on! Say, that blacksmith yarn was a corker. He was a game old

codger. That was scrapping; no hall full of tobacco-smoke, no palm-fans,

lemonade, peanuts and pop-corn; just right out on the turf, and may the

best man win. I know. I went through that. No frame-ups, all square and on

the level. A fellow had to fight those days, no sparring, no pretty

footwork. Sometimes I've a hankering to get back and exchange a wallop or

two. Nothing to it, though. My wife won't let me, as the song goes."

Courtlandt chuckled. "I suppose it's the monotony. A man who has been

active hates to sit down and twiddle his thumbs. You exercise?"

"Walk a lot."

"Climb any?"

"Don't know that game."

"It's great sport. I'll break you in some day, if you say. You'll like it.

The mountains around here are not dangerous. We can go up and down in a

day."

"I'll go you. But, say, last night Nora chucked a bunch of daisies out of

the window, and as I was nosing around in the vineyard, I came across it.

You know how a chap will absently pick a bunch of flowers apart. What do

you think I found?"

"A note?"

"This." Harrigan exhibited the emerald. "Who sent it? Where the dickens

did it come from?"

Courtlandt took the stone and examined it carefully. "That's not a bad

stone. Uncut but polished; oriental."

"Oriental, eh? What would you say it was worth?"

"Oh, somewhere between six and seven hundred."

"Suffering shamrocks! A little green pebble like this?"

"Cut and flawless, at that size, it would be worth pounds instead of

dollars."

"Well, what do you think of that? Nora told me to keep it, so I guess I

will."

"Why, yes. If a man sends a thing like this anonymously, he can't possibly

complain. Have it made into a stick pin." Courtlandt returned the stone

which Harrigan pocketed.

"Sometimes I wish Nora'd marry and settle down."

"She is young. You wouldn't have quit the game at her age!"

"I should say not! But that's different. A man's business is to fight for

his grub, whether in an office or in the ring. That's a part of the game.

But a woman ought to have a home, live in it three-fourths of the year,

and bring up good citizens. That's what we are all here for. Molly used to

stay at home, but now it's the social bug, gadding from morning until

night. Ah, here's Carlos with the tea."

Herr Rosen instantly usurped the chair next to Nora, who began to pour the

tea. He had come up from the village prepared for a disagreeable

half-hour. Instead of being greeted with icy glances from stormy eyes, he

encountered such smiles as this adorable creature had never before

bestowed upon him. He was in the clouds. That night at Cadenabbia had

apparently knocked the bottom out of his dream. Women were riddles which

only they themselves could solve for others. For this one woman he was

perfectly ready to throw everything aside. A man lived but once; and he

was a fool who would hold to tinsel in preference to such happiness as he

thought he saw opening out before him. Nora saw, but she did not care.

That in order to reach another she was practising infinite cruelty on this

man (whose one fault lay in that he loved her) did not appeal to her pity.

But her arrow flew wide of the target; at least, there appeared no result

to her archery in malice. Not once had the intended victim looked over to

where she sat. And yet she knew that he must be watching; he could not

possibly avoid it and be human. And when he finally came forward to take

his cup, she leaned toward Herr Rosen.

"You take two lumps?" she asked sweetly. It was only a chance shot, but

she hit on the truth.

"And you remember?" excitedly.

"One lump for mine, please," said Courtlandt, smiling.

She picked up a cube of sugar and dropped it into his cup. She had the air

of one wishing it were poison. The recipient of this good will, with

perfect understanding, returned to the divan, where the padre and Harrigan

were gravely toasting each other with Benedictine.

Nora made no mistake with either Abbott's cup or the Barone's; but the two

men were filled with but one desire, to throw Herr Rosen out of the

window. What had begun as a beautiful day was now becoming black and

uncertain.

The Barone could control every feature save his eyes, and these openly

admitted deep anger. He recollected Herr Rosen well enough. The encounter

over at Cadenabbia was not the first by many. Herr Rosen! His presence in

this room under that name was an insult, and he intended to call the

interloper to account the very first opportunity he found.

Perhaps Celeste, sitting as quiet as a mouse upon the piano-stool, was the

only one who saw these strange currents drifting dangerously about. That

her own heart ached miserably did not prevent her from observing things

with all her usual keenness. Ah, Nora, Nora, who have everything to give

and yet give nothing, why do you play so heartless a game? Why hurt those

who can no more help loving you than the earth can help whirling around

the calm dispassionate sun? Always they turn to you, while I, who have so

much to give, am given nothing! She set down her tea-cup and began the

aria from _La Boheme_.

Nora, without relaxing the false smile, suddenly found emptiness in

everything.

"Sing!" said Herr Rosen.

"I am too tired. Some other time."

He did not press her. Instead, he whispered in his own tongue: "You are

the most adorable woman in the world!"

And Nora turned upon him a pair of eyes blank with astonishment. It was as

though she had been asleep and he had rudely awakened her. His infatuation

blinded him to the truth; he saw in the look a feminine desire to throw

the others off the track as to the sentiment expressed in his whispered

words.

The hour passed tolerably well. Herr Rosen then observed the time, rose

and excused himself. He took the steps leading abruptly down the terrace

to the carriage road. He had come by the other way, the rambling stone

stairs which began at the porter's lodge, back of the villa.

"Padre," whispered Courtlandt, "I am going. Do not follow. I shall explain

to you when we meet again."

The padre signified that he understood. Harrigan protested vigorously, but

smiling and shaking his head, Courtlandt went away.

Nora ran to the window. She could see Herr Rosen striding along, down the

winding road, his head in the air. Presently, from behind a cluster of

mulberries, the figure of another man came into view. He was going at a

dog-trot, his hat settled at an angle that permitted the rain to beat

squarely into his face. The next turn in the road shut them both from

sight. But Nora did not stir.

Herr Rosen stopped and turned.

"You called?"

"Yes." Courtlandt had caught up with him just as Herr Rosen was about to

open the gates. "Just a moment, Herr Rosen," with a hand upon the bars. "I

shall not detain you long."

There was studied insolence in the tones and the gestures which

accompanied them.

"Be brief, if you please."

"My name is Edward Courtlandt, as doubtless you have heard."

"In a large room it is difficult to remember all the introductions."

"Precisely. That is why I take the liberty of recalling it to you, so that

you will not forget it," urbanely.

A pause. Dark patches of water were spreading across their shoulders.

Little rivulets ran down Courtlandt's arm, raised as it was against the

bars.

"I do not see how it may concern me," replied Herr Rosen finally with an

insolence more marked than Courtlandt's.

"In Paris we met one night, at the stage entrance of the Opera, I pushed

you aside, not knowing who you were. You had offered your services; the

door of Miss Harrigan's limousine."

"It was you?" scowling.

"I apologize for that. To-morrow morning you will leave Bellaggio for

Varenna. Somewhere between nine and ten the fast train leaves for Milan."

"Varenna! Milan!"

"Exactly. You speak English as naturally and fluently as if you were born

to the tongue. Thus, you will leave for Milan. What becomes of you after

that is of no consequence to me. Am I making myself clear?"

"_Verdampt!_ Do I believe my ears?" furiously. "Are you telling me to

leave Bellaggio to-morrow morning?"

"As directly as I can."

Herr Rosen's face became as red as his name. He was a brave young man, but

there was danger of an active kind in the blue eyes boring into his own.

If it came to a physical contest, he realized that he would get the worst

of it. He put his hand to his throat; his very impotence was choking him.

"Your Highness...."

"Highness!" Herr Rosen stepped back.

"Yes. Your Highness will readily see the wisdom of my concern for your

hasty departure when I add that I know all about the little house in

Versailles, that my knowledge is shared by the chief of the Parisian

police and the minister of war. If you annoy Miss Harrigan with your

equivocal attentions...."

"_Gott!_ This is too much!"

"Wait! I am stronger than you are. Do not make me force you to hear me to

the end. You have gone about this intrigue like a blackguard, and that I

know your Highness not to be. The matter is, you are young, you have

always had your way, you have not learnt restraint. Your presence here is

an insult to Miss Harrigan, and if she was pleasant to you this afternoon

it was for my benefit. If you do not go, I shall expose you." Courtlandt

opened the gate.

"And if I refuse?"

"Why, in that case, being the American that I am, without any particular

reverence for royalty or nobility, as it is known, I promise to thrash you

soundly to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, in the dining-room, in the

bureau, the drawing-room, wherever I may happen to find you."

Courtlandt turned on his heel and hurried back to the villa. He did not

look over his shoulder. If he had, he might have felt pity for the young

man who leaned heavily against the gate, his burning face pressed upon his

rain-soaked sleeve.

When Courtlandt knocked at the door and was admitted, he apologized. "I

came back for my umbrella."

"Umbrella!" exclaimed the padre. "Why, we had no umbrellas. We came up in

a carriage which is probably waiting for us this very minute by the

porter's lodge."

"Well, I am certainly absent-minded!"

"Absent-minded!" scoffed Abbott. "You never forgot anything in all your

life, unless it was to go to bed. You wanted an excuse to come back."

"Any excuse would be a good one in that case. I think we'd better be

going, Padre. And by the way, Herr Rosen begged me to present his regrets.

He is leaving Bellaggio in the morning."

Nora turned her face once more to the window.