The Essential Elinor Glyn Collection. Glyn Elinor
do you do with yourself all the time here?" he asked, lowering his voice to that deep note which only carries to the ear it is intended for. "May one ever see you again except at a chance meal like this?"
"I don't know," said Theodora. "I walk up and down in the side alles of the Bois in the morning with my husband, and when he has had his sleep, after djeuner, we drive nearly all the afternoon, and we have tea, at the Pr Catalan and drive again until about seven, and then we come in and dine, and I go to bed very early. Josiah is not strong enough yet for late hours or theatres."
"It sounds supernaturally gay for Paris!" said Lord Bracondale; and then he felt a brute when he saw the cloud in the blue eyes.
"No, it is not gay," she said, simply. "But the flowers are beautiful, and the green trees and the chestnut blossoms and the fine air here, and there is a little stream among the trees which laughs to itself as it runs, and all these things say something to me."
He felt rebuked--rebuked and interested.
"I would like to see them all with you," he said.
That was one of his charms--directness. He did not insinuate often; he stated facts.
"You would find it all much too monotonous," she answered. "You would tire of them after the first time. And you could if you liked, too, because I suppose you are free, being a man, and can choose your own life," and she sighed unconsciously.
And there came to Hector Bracondale the picture of her life--sacrificed, no doubt, to others' needs. He seemed to see the long years tied to Josiah Brown, the cramping of her soul, the dreary desolation of it. Then a tenderness came over him, a chivalrous tenderness unfelt by him towards women now for many a long day.
"I wonder if I can choose my life," he said, and he looked into her eyes.
"Why can you not?" She hesitated. "And may I ask you, too, what you do with yourself here?"
He evaded the question; he suddenly realized that his days were not more amusing than hers, although they were filled up with racing and varied employments--while the thought of his nights sickened him.
"I think I am going to make an immense change and learn to take pleasure in the running brooks," he said. "Will you help me?"
"I know so little, and you know so much," and her sweet eyes became soft and dreamy. "I could not help you in any way, I fear."
"Yes, you could--you could teach me to see all things with fresh eyes. You could open the door into a new world."
"Do you know," she said, irrelevantly, "Sarah--my eldest sister--Sarah told me it was unwise ever to talk to strangers except in the abstract--and here are you and I conversing about our own interests and feelings--are not we foolish!" She laughed a little nervously.
"No, we are not foolish because we are not strangers--we never were--and we never will be."
"Are not strangers--?"
"No--do you not feel that sometimes in life one's friendships begin by antipathy--sometimes by indifference--and sometimes by that sudden magnetism of sympathy as if in some former life we had been very near and dear, and were only picking up the threads again, and to such two souls there is no feeling that they are strangers."
Theodora was too entirely unsophisticated to remain unmoved by this reasoning. She felt a little thrill--she longed to continue the subject, and yet dared not. She turned hesitatingly to the Count, and for the next ten minutes Lord Bracondale only saw the soft outline of her cheek.
He wondered if he had been too sudden. She was quite the youngest person he had ever met--he realized that, and perhaps he had acted with too much precipitation. He would change his tactics.
The Count was only too pleased to engage the attention of Theodora. He was voluble; she had very little to reply. Things went smoothly. Josiah was appreciating an exceedingly good breakfast, and the playful sallies of the fair widow. All, in fact, was _couleur de rose_.
"Won't you talk to me any more?" Lord Bracondale said, after about a quarter of an hour. He felt that was ample time for her to have become calm, and, beautiful as the outline of her cheek was, he preferred her full face.
"But of course," said Theodora. She had not heard more than half what the Count had been saying; she wished vaguely that she might continue the subject of friendship, but she dared not.
"Do you ever go to Versailles?" he asked. This, at least, was a safe subject.
"I have been there--but not since--not this time," she answered. "I loved it: so full of memories and sentiment, and Old-World charm."
"It would give me much pleasure to take you to see it again," he said, with grave politeness. "I must devise some plan--that is, if you wish to go."
She smiled.
"It is a favorite spot of mine, and there are some alles in the park more full of the story of spring than your Bois even."
"I do not see how we can go," said Theodora. "Josiah would find it too long a day."
"I must discuss it with your father; one can generally arrange what one wishes," said Lord Bracondale.
At this moment Mrs. McBride leaned over and spoke to Theodora. She had, she said, quite converted Mr. Brown. He only wanted a little cheering up to be perfectly well, and she had got him to promise to dine that evening at Armenonville and listen to the Tziganes. It was going to be a glorious night, but if they felt cold they could have their table inside out of the draught. What did Theodora think about it?
Theodora thought it would be a delicious plan. What else could she think?
"I have a large party coming," Mrs. McBride said, "and among them a compatriot of mine who saw you last night and is dying to meet you."
"Really," said Theodora, unmoved.
Lord Bracondale experienced a sensation of annoyance.
"I shall not ask you, Bracondale," the widow continued, playfully. "Just to assert British superiority, you would try to monopolize Mrs. Brown, and my poor Herryman Hoggenwater would have to come in a long, long second!"
Josiah felt a rush of pride. This brilliant woman was making much of his meek little wife.
Lord Bracondale smiled the most genial smile, with rage in his heart.
"I could not have accepted in any case, dear lady," he said, "as I have some people dining with me, and, oddly enough, they rather suggested they wanted Armenonville too, so perhaps I shall have the pleasure of looking at you from the distance."
The conversation then became general, and soon after this coffee arrived, and eventually the adieux were said.
Mrs. McBride insisted upon Theodora accompanying her in her smart automobile.
"You leave your wife to me for an hour," she said, imperiously, to Josiah, "and go and see the world with Captain Fitzgerald. He knows Paris."
"My dear, you are just the sweetest thing I have come across this side of the Atlantic," she said, when they were whizzing along in her car. "But you look as if you wanted cheering too. I expect your husband's illness has worried you a good deal."
Theodora froze a little. Then she glanced at the widow's face and its honest kindliness melted her.
"Yes, I have been anxious about him," she said, simply, "but he is nearly well now, and we shall soon be going to England."
Mrs. McBride had not taken a companion on this drive for nothing, and she obtained all the information she wanted during their tour in the Bois. How Josiah Brown had bought a colossal place in the eastern counties, and intended to have parties and shoot