The Price of Things. Glyn Elinor
claspings, and what not. For Elsie Goldmore had presumed upon their schoolgirl friendship and been quite explicate in these last days, and in any case Amaryllis was not a miss of the Victorian era. The feminine world has grown too unrefined in the expression of its private affairs and too indiscreet for any maiden to remain in ignorance now.
It is true John did kiss her once or twice, but there was no real warmth in the embrace, and when, after an excellent dinner her heart began to beat with wonderment and excitement, she asked herself what it meant. Then, all confused, she murmured something about "Good-night," and retired to the magnificent state suite alone.
When she had left him John Ardayre drank down a full glass of Benedictine and followed her up the stairs, but there was no lover's exaltation, but an anguish almost of despair in his eyes.
Amaryllis thought of that night—and of other nights since—as she sat there at Arménonville, in the luminous sensuous dusk.
So this was being married! Well, it was not much of a joy—and why, why did John sit silent there? Why?
Surely this is not how the Russian would have sat—that strange Russian!
CHAPTER III
It was nearing sunset in the garden below the Trocadéro. A tall German officer waited impatiently not far from the bronze of a fierce bull in a secluded corner under the trees; he was plainly an officer although he was clothed in mufti of English make. He was a singularly handsome creature in spite of his too wide hips. A fine, sensual, brutal male.
He swore in his own language, and then, through the glorious light, a woman came towards him. She wore an unremarkable overcoat and a thick veil.
"Hans!" she exclaimed delightedly, and then went on in fluent German with a strong American accent.
He looked round to be sure that they were alone, and then he clasped her in his arms. He held her so tightly that she panted for breath; he kissed her until her lips were bruised, and he murmured guttural words of endearment that sounded like an animal's growl.
The woman answered him in like manner. It was as though two brute beasts had met.
Then presently they sat upon a seat and talked in low tones. The woman protested and declaimed; the man grumbled and demanded. An envelope passed between them, and more crude caresses, and before they parted the man again held her in close embrace—biting the lobe of her ear until she gave a little scream.
"Yes—if there was time—" she gasped huskily. "I should adore you like this—but here—in the gardens—Oh! do mind my hat!"
Then he let her go—they had arranged a future meeting. And left alone, he sat down upon the bench again and laughed aloud.
The woman almost ran to the road at the bottom and jumped into a waiting taxi, and once inside she brought out a gold case with mirror and powder puff, and red greases for her lips.
"My goodness! I can't say that's a mosquito!" and she examined her ear. "How tiresome and imprudent of Hans! But Jingo, it was good!—if there only had been time—"
Then she, too, laughed as she powdered her face, and when she alighted at the door of the Hotel du Rhin, no marks remained of conflict except the telltale ear.
But on encountering her maid, she was carrying her minute Pekinese dog in her arms and was beating him well.
"Regardez, Marie! la vilaine bête m'a mordu l'oreil!"
"Tiens!" commented the affronted Marie, who adored Fou-Chou. "Et le cher petit chien de Madame est si doux!"
* * * * *
Stanislass Boleski was poring over a voluminous bundle of papers when his wife, clad in a diaphanous wrap, came into his sitting room. They had a palatial suite at the Rhin. The affairs of Poland were not prospering as he had hoped, and these papers required his supreme attention—there was German intrigue going on somewhere underneath. He longed for Harietta's sympathy which she had been so prodigal in bestowing before she had secured her divorce from that brute of a Teutonic husband, whom she hated so much. Now she hardly ever listened, and yawned in his face when he spoke of Poland and his high aims. But he must make allowances for her—she was such a child of impulse, so lovely, so fascinating! And here in Paris, admired as she was, how could he wonder at her distraction!
"Stanislass! my old Stannie," she cooed in his ear, "what am I to wear to-night for the Montivacchini ball? You will want me to look my best, I know, and I just love to please you."
He was all attention at once, pushing the documents aside as she put her arms around his neck and pulled his beard, then she drew his head back to kiss the part where the hair was growing thin on the top—her eyes fixed on the papers.
"You don't want to bother with those tiresome old things any more; go and get into your dressing-gown, and come to my room and talk while I am polishing my nails—we can have half an hour before I must dress. I'll wait for you here—I must be petted to-night, I am tired and cross."
Stanislass Boleski rose with alacrity. She had not been kind to him for days—fretful and capricious and impossible to please. He must not lose this chance—if it could only have been when he was not so busy—but—
"Run along, do!" she commanded, tapping her foot.
And putting the papers hastily in a drawer with a spring lock, he went gladly from the room.
Her whole aspect changed; she lit a cigarette and hummed a tune, while she fingered a key which dangled from her bracelet.
No one eclipsed Madame Boleski in that distinguished crowd later on. Her clinging silver brocade, and the one red rose at the edge of the extreme décolletage, were simply the perfection of art. She did not wear gloves, and on her beautifully manicured hands she wore no rings except a magnificent ruby on the left little finger. It was her caprice to refuse an alliance. "Wedding rings!" she had said to Stanislass. "Bosh! they spoil the look. Sometimes it is chic to have a good jewel on one finger, sometimes on another, but to be tied down to that band of homely gold! Never!"
Stanislass had argued in those early days—he seldom argued now.
"My love!" he cried, as she burst upon his infatuated vision, when ready for the ball, "let me admire you!"
She turned about; she knew that she was perfection.
Her husband kissed her fingers, and then he caught sight of the ruby ring. He examined it.
"I had not seen this ruby before," he exclaimed in a surprised voice, "and I thought I knew all your jewel case!"
She held out her hand while her big, stupid, appealing hazel eyes expressed childish innocence.
"No—I'd put it away, it was of other days—but I do love rubies, and so
I got it out to-night, it goes with my rose!"
He had perceived this. Had he not become educated in the subtleties of a woman's apparel? For was it not his duty often, and his pleasure sometimes, to have to assist at her toilet, and to listen for hours to discussions of garments, and if they could suit or not. He was even accustomed now to waiting in the hot salons in the Rue de la Paix, while these stately perfections were being essayed. But the ruby ring worried him. Why had she asked him to give her just such a one only last month, if she already possessed its fellow? … He had refused because her extravagance had grown fantastic, but he had meant to cede later. Every pleasure of the senses he always had to secure by bribes.
"I do not understand why?—" he began, but she put her hand over his mouth and then kissed him voluptuously before she turned and shrilly cried to Marie to bring her ermine cloak.
The maid's eyes were round and sullen with resentment; she had not forgotten the beating of Fou-Chou! "As for the ear of Madame!" she said,