The Courtship of Morrice Buckler Part 22

I protested with some confusion that she could count on far more than my sympathies.

"It may be," she replied. "But I believe, Mr. Buckler, the whole story of woman might be written in one phrase. 'Tis the continual mistaking of lath for steel."

"And never steel for lath?" I asked.

"At times, no doubt," she answered, recovering herself with an easy laugh. "But we only find that error out when the steel cuts us. So either way are we unfortunate. Therefore, I will e'en pursue my inquiries," and she stepped off into the inner room, whither presently I went to join her.

"Well, what have you discovered?" I asked.

"Nothing," she replied, with a plaintive shake of the head. "You disappoint me sorely, Mr. Buckler. A student from the University of Leyden should line his walls with volumes and folios, and I have found but one book of Latin poems in that room, and not so much as a pamphlet in this."

I started. The book of poems could be no other than my copy of Horace, and it contained the plan of Lukstein Castle. I reflected, however, that the plan was a mere diagram of lines, without even a letter to explain it, and with only a cross at the point of ascent. The Countess, moreover, had spoken in all levity; her tone betrayed no hint of an afterthought.

A small package fastened with string lay on the table before her, and beside of it a letter in Elmscott's handwriting. She picked up the package.

"And what new purchase is this?" she asked, with a smile.

"I know nothing of it. It is no purchase, and I gather from the inscription of the letter it comes from my cousin."

"I shall open it," said she, "and you must blame my s.e.x for its inquisitiveness."

"Madame," I replied, "the inquisitiveness implies an interest in the object of it, and so pays me a compliment."

"Tis the sweetest way of condoning a fault that ever I met with," she laughed, and dropped me a sweeping curtsey.

I broke the seal of Elmscott's letter while she untied the parcel.

"Marston's conversation at the theatre," he wrote, "reminded me of these buckles. They belong of right to you, and since it seems your turn has come to need luck's services, I send them gladly in the hope that they may repeat their office on your behalf."

The parcel contained a s.h.a.green case which Ilga unfastened. The diamond buckles from it flashed with a thousand rays, and she tipped them to and fro so that the stones might catch the light.

"Your cousin must have a great liking for you," she said. "For in truth they are very beautiful."

"Elmscott is a gambler," I laughed, "with all a gambler's superst.i.tions," and I handed her the letter.

She read it through. "These buckles were your cousin's last stake, Mr.

Marston related," she said. "Do you believe that they will bring you luck?"

"To believe would be presumption. I have no more courage than suffices me to copy Elmscott's example, and hope."

She returned me no answer, giving, so it seemed, all her attention to the brilliant jewels in her hands. But I saw the colour mounting in her cheeks.

"Meanwhile," she said, after a pause, with a little nervous laugh, "you are copying my bad example, and leaving your guests to divert themselves."

Not knowing surely whether I had offended her or not, I deemed it best to add nothing further or more precise to my hints, and got me back into the larger room. Ilga remained standing where I left her, and through the doorway I could see her still flas.h.i.+ng the buckles backwards and forwards. Her evident admiration raised an idea in my mind. My guests were amusing themselves without any need of help from me. Some new scandal concerning the King and the Countess of Dorchester was being discussed for the tenth time that day with an enthusiasm which expanded as the story grew, so that I was presently able to slip back unnoticed. The inner room, however, was empty; but the gla.s.s door which gave on to the garden stood open, and picking up the s.h.a.green case, I stepped out on to the lawn. Ilga was seated in a low chair about the centre of the gra.s.s-plot, and the sun, which hung low and red just above the ivied wall, burnished her hair, and was rosy on her face.

"Madame," said I, advancing towards her, "I have discovered how best to dispose of the buckles so that they may bring me luck."

"Indeed?" she asked indifferently. "And which way is it?"

"They are too fine for a plain gentleman's wearing," said I. "Sweet looks and precious jewels go best together." With that, and awkwardly enough, I dare say, for I always stumbled at a compliment, I opened the case and offered it.

She looked at me for a s.p.a.ce as though she had not understood, and then:

"No, no," she cried, with extraordinary vehemence, repulsing my gift so that the case flew out of my grasp, and the buckles sparkled through the air in two divergent arcs, and dropped some few feet away into the gra.s.s. She rose from her seat and drew herself up to her full height, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng and her bosom heaving. "How dare you?" she exclaimed, and yet again, "How dare you?"

Conscious of no intention but to please her by a gift which she plainly admired, I stared dumbfounded at the outburst.

"Madame!" I faltered out at last; and with a great effort she recovered a part of her self-control.

"Mr. Buckler," she said, speaking with difficulty, while the blood swirled in and out of her cheeks, "the present hurts me sorely, even though--nay, all the more _because_, it comes from you. It is the fas.h.i.+on, I know well, to believe that a few gems will bribe the good will of any woman. But I hardly thought that--that you held me in such poor esteem."

I protested that nothing could have been further from my designs than the notion which she attributed to me, and went so far as to hint that there was something extravagant and unreasonable in her anger. For, said I, the gift was no bribe but a tribute, and, I continued, with greater confidence as her pride diminished, if either of us had a right to feel hurt, it was myself, whom she insulted by the imputation of so mean a spirit.

"Then I am to humbly beg your pardon, I suppose," she cried, with another flash of anger.

"Oh, there's no arguing with you," I burst out in a heat no less violent than her own. "Who bids you beg my pardon? What makes you suppose I need you should, unless it be your own proper and fitting compunction? There's no moderation in your thoughts. You jump from one extreme to the other as nimbly as--as----"

I was turning away with the sentence unfinished, when:

"I could supply the simile you want," she said, with a whimsical demureness as sudden and inexplicable as her wrath, "only 'tis something indelicate," and she broke into a ringing laugh.

To a man of my slow disposition, whose very pa.s.sions have a certain [oe]conomy which delays their growth, the rapid transitions of a woman's humours have ever been confusing, and now I stood stockish and dumb, gazing at the Countess open-mouthed, and vainly endeavouring, like a fool, to reduce the various emotions she had expressed into a logical continuity.

"And there!" she continued, "now I have shocked you by lack of breeding!"

And once more she commenced to laugh with a mirth so natural and infectious that presently it gained on me, and for no definite reason that I could name I found myself laughing to her tune and with equal heartiness. 'Twas none the less a wiser action than any deliberation could have prompted me to, for here was our quarrel ended decisively, and no words said.

For a while we strolled up and down the lawn, Ilga inters.p.a.cing her talk with little spirts of laughter, as now and again she looked at my face, until we stopped at the end of the garden, just before a small postern-door in the wall.

"It leads into the Park?" she asked.

"Yes! Shall we slip out?"

She looked back at the house.

"The host can hardly run away from his guests."

"There is no one in the room to notice us."

"But the room above? 'Twould look strange, whoever saw us."

"Nay, there can be no one there, for it is my dressing-room."

She took hold of the handle doubtfully and tried it.

"It is locked."

"But the key is on the mantelshelf. I will get it."