The Stolen Singer Part 4

Van Camp seated himself on a spindle-legged, gilt chair by Madame Reynier's side, and begged to know how they were enduring the New York climate, which had formerly proved intolerable to Madame Reynier. As he seated himself she stretched out saving hands.

"I can endure the climate, thank you; but I can't endure to see your life endangered on that silly chair, my dear Mr. Van Camp. There--thank you."

And when he was seated in a solid mahogany, he was rewarded with Madame Reynier's confidential chat. They had returned to their New York apartment in the midst of the summer season, she said, "for professional advice." She and her niece liked the city and never minded the heat.

Melanie, her aunt explained, had been enabled to see several old friends, and, for her own part, she liked home at any time of the year better than the most comfortable of hotels.

"This is quite like home," she added, "even though we are really exiles."

Aleck ventured to hope that the "professional advice" had not meant serious trouble of any sort.

"A slight indisposition only."

"And are you much better now?" Aleck inquired solicitously.

"Oh, it wasn't I; it was Melanie," Madame smiled. "I became my own physician many years ago, and now I never see a doctor except when we ask one to dine. But youth has no such advantage." Madame fairly beamed with benevolence while explaining one of her pet idiosyncrasies. Before Aleck could make any headway in gleaning information concerning her own and Melanie's movements, as he was shamelessly trying to do, Lloyd-Jones had persuaded Miss Reynier to sing.

"Some of those quaint old things, please," he was saying; and Aleck wondered if he never would hang himself with his own rope. But Lloyd-Jones' cheerful voice went on:

"Some of those Hungarian things are jolly and funny, even though you can't understand the words. Makes you want to dance or sing yourself."

Aleck groaned, but Melanie began to sing, with Jones hovering around the piano. By the time Melanie had sung everybody's favorites, excluding Aleck's, Mr. Chamberlain rose to depart. He was an Englishman, a serious, heavy gentleman, very loyal to old friends and very slow in making new ones. He made an engagement to dine with Aleck on the following evening, and, as he went out, threw back to the remaining gentlemen an offer of seats in his machine.

"I ought to go," said Jones; "but if Van Camp will stay, I will. That is," he added with belated punctiliousness, "if the ladies will permit?"

"Thank you, Chamberlain, I'm walking," drawled Aleck; then turning to the company with his cheerful grin he stated quite impersonally: "I was thinking of staying long enough to put one question--er, a matter of some little importance--to Miss Reynier. When she gives me the desired information, I shall go."

"Me, too," chirped Mr. Lloyd-Jones. "I came expressly to talk over that plan of building up friendly adjoining estates out in Idaho; sort of private shooting and hunting park, you know. And I haven't had a minute to say a word." Jones suddenly began to feel himself aggrieved. As the door closed after Chamberlain, Melanie motioned them back to their seats.

"It's not so very late," she said easily. "Come back and make yourselves comfortable, and I'll listen to both of you," she said with a demure little devil in her eye. "I haven't seen you for ages, and I don't know when the good moment will come again." She included the two men in a friendly smile, waved a hand toward the waiting chairs, and adjusted a light shawl over the shoulders of Madame Reynier.

But Aleck by this time had the bit in his teeth and would not be coaxed.

His ordinarily cool eye rested wrathfully on the broad shoulders of Mr.

Lloyd-Jones, who was lighting a cigarette, and he turned abruptly to Miss Reynier. His voice was as serious as if Parliament, at least, had been hanging on his words.

"May I call to-morrow, Miss Reynier, at about twelve?"

"Oh, I say," put in Jones, "all of you come to luncheon with me at the Little Gray Fox--will you? Capital place and all sorts of nice people.

Do come. About one."

Van Camp could have slain him.

"I think my proposition a prior one," he remarked with dogged precision; "but, of course, Miss Reynier must decide." He recovered his temper enough to add, quite pleasantly, considering the circ.u.mstances, "Unless Madame Reynier will take my part?" turning to the older woman.

"Oh, no, not fair," shouted Jones. "Madame Reynier's always on my side.

Aren't you, Madame?"

Madame Reynier smiled inscrutably. "I'm always on the side of virtue in distress," she said.

"That's me, then, isn't it? The way you're abusing me, Mademoiselle, listening here to Van Camp all the evening!"

But Melanie, tired, perhaps, of being patiently tactful, settled the matter. "I can't go to luncheon with anybody, to-morrow," she protested.

"I've had a touch of that arch-enemy, indigestion, you see; and I can't do anything but my prescribed exercises, nor drink anything but distilled water--"

"Nor eat anything but food! We know," cried the irrepressible Jones.

"But the Little Gray Fox has a special diet for just such cases as yours.

Do come!"

"Heavens! Then I don't want to go there!" groaned Aleck.

Melanie gave Jones her hand, half in thanks and half in farewell. "No, thank you, not to-morrow, but sometime soon; perhaps Thursday. Will that do?" she smiled. Then, as Jones was discontentedly lounging about the door, she did a pretty thing. Turning from the door, she stood with face averted from everybody except Van Camp, and for an instant her eyes met his in a friendly, half-humorous but wholly non-committal glance. His eyes held hers in a look that was like an embrace.

"I will see you soon," she said quietly.

Van Camp said good night to Jones at the corner, after they had walked together in silence for half a block.

"Good night, Van Camp," said Jones; then he added cordially: "By the way, I'm going back next week in my private car to watch the opening of the Liza Lu, and I'd be mighty glad if you'd go along. Anything else to do?"

"Thanks--extremely; but I'm going on a cruise."

As Aleck entered the piously exclusive hall of the club his good nature came to his aid. He wondered whether he hadn't scored something, after all.

CHAPTER V.

MELANIE'S DREAMS

Midnight and the relaxation of slumber could subtract nothing from the high-browed dignity of the club officials, and the message that was waiting for Mr. Van Camp was delivered in the most correct manner.

"Mr. Hambleton sends word to Mr. Van Camp that he has gone away on the _Jeanne D'Arc_. Mr. Hambleton may not be back for some time, and requests Mr. Van Camp to look after the _Sea Gull_."

"Very well, thank you," replied Aleck, rather absent-mindedly. He was unable to see, immediately, just what change in his own plans this sudden turn of Jim's would cause; and he was for the moment too deeply preoccupied with his own personal affairs to speculate much about it.

His thoughts went back to the events of the evening, recalled the picture of his Diana and her teasing ways, and dwelt especially upon the honest, friendly, wholly bewitching look that had flown to him at the end of the evening. Absurd as his own attempt at a declaration had been, he somehow felt that he himself was not absurd in Melanie's eyes, though he was far from certain whether she was inclined to marry him.

Aleck, on his part, had not come to his decision suddenly or impulsively; nor, having arrived there, was he to be turned from it easily. True as it was that he sincerely and affectionately desired Melanie Reynier for a wife, yet on the whole he was a very cool Romeo.

He was manly, but he was calculating; he was honorably disposed toward matrimony, but he was not reborn with love. And so, in the sober bedroom of the club, he quickly fell into the good sleep induced by fatigue and healthy nerves.

Morning brought counsel and a disposition to renew operations. A note was despatched to his Diana by a private messenger, and the boy was bidden to wait for an answer. It came presently:

"Come at twelve, if you wish.

"MELANIE REYNIER."

Aleck smiled with satisfaction. Here was a wise venture going through happily, he hoped. He was pleased that she had named the very hour he had asked for the night before. That was like her good, frank way of meeting a situation, and it augured well for the unknown emergencies of their future life. He had little patience with timidity and traditional coyness in women, and great admiration for an open and fearless spirit. Melanie's note almost set his heart thumping.

But not quite; and no one understood the cool nature of that organ better than Melanie herself. The ladies in the apartment at the Archangel had lingered at their breakfast, the austerity of which had been mitigated by a center decoration of orchids and fern, fresh-touched with dew; or so Madame Reynier had described them to Melanie, as she brought them to her with the card of Mr. Lloyd-Jones.

Miss Reynier smiled faintly, admired the blossoms and turned away.

The ladies usually spoke French with each other, though occasionally Madame Reynier dropped into the harsher speech of her native country.