The Place of Honeymoons Part 29

"Out of love for me?"

"Out of love for you, and because the play no longer interests me."

"I wonder what new devilment is at work in your mind?"

"Michael, I do not want to get into a temper. It makes lines in my face. I hate this place. It is dead. I want life, and color, and music. I want the rest of September in Ostend."

"Paris, Capri, Taormina, Ostend; I marvel if ever you will be content to stay in one place long enough for me to get my breath?"

"My dear, I am young. One of these days I shall be content to sit by your great Russian fireplace and hold your hand."

"Hold it now."

She laughed and pressed his hand between her own. "Michael, look me straight in the eyes." He did so willingly enough. "There is no other man.

And if you ever look at another woman ... Well!"

"I'll send over for the invitation." He stuffed his pockets with nuts and put on his hat.

Flora then proceeded secretly to polish once more the Apple of Discord which, a deal tarnished for lack of use, she had been compelled to bring down from the promontory.

"Am I all right?" asked Harrigan.

Courtlandt nodded. "You look like a soldier in mufti, and more than that, like the gentleman that you naturally are," quite sincerely.

The ex-gladiator blushed. "This is the reception-room. There's the ballroom right out there. The smoking-room is on the other side. Now, how in the old Harry am I going to get across without killing some one?"

Courtlandt resisted the desire to laugh. "Supposing you let me pilot you over?"

"You're the referee. Ring the gong."

"Come on, then."

"What! while they are dancing?" backing away in dismay.

The other caught him by the arm. "Come on."

And in and out they went, hither and thither, now dodging, now pausing to let the swirl pa.s.s, until at length Harrigan found himself safe on sh.o.r.e, in the dim cool smoking-room.

"I don't see how you did it," admiringly.

"I'll drop in every little while to see how you are getting on,"

volunteered Courtlandt. "You can sit by the door if you care to see them dance. I'm off to see Mrs. Harrigan and tell her where you are. Here's a cigar."

Harrigan turned the cigar over and over in his fingers, all the while gazing at the young man's diminishing back. He sighed. _That_ would make him the happiest man in the world. He examined the carnelian band encircling the six-inches of evanescent happiness. "What do you think of that!" he murmured. "Same brand the old boy used to smoke. And if he pays anything less than sixty apiece for 'em at wholesale, I'll eat this one."

Then he directed his attention to the casual inspection of the room. A few elderly men were lounging about. His sympathy was at once mutely extended; it was plain that they too had been dragged out. At the little smoker's tabouret by the door he espied two chairs, one of which was unoccupied; and he at once appropriated it. The other chair was totally obscured by the bulk of the man who sat in it; a man, bearded, blunt-nosed, pa.s.sive, but whose eyes were bright and twinkling. Hanging from his cravat was a medal of some kind. Harrigan lighted his cigar, and gave himself up to the delights of it.

"They should leave us old fellows at home," he ventured.

"Perhaps, in most cases, the women would much prefer that."

"Foreigner," thought Harrigan. "Well, it does seem that the older we get the greater obstruction we become."

"What is old age?" asked the thick but not unpleasant voice of the stranger.

"It's standing aside. Years don't count at all. A man is as young as he feels."

"And a woman as old as she looks!" laughed the other.

"Now, I don't feel old, and I am fifty-one."

The man with the beard shot an admiring glance across the tabouret. "You are extraordinarily well preserved, sir. You do not seem older than I, and I am but forty."

"The trouble is, over here you play cards all night in stuffy rooms and eat too many sauces." Harrigan had read this somewhere, and he was pleased to think that he could recall it so fittingly.

"Agreed. You Americans are getting out in the open more than any other white people."

"Wonder how he guessed I was from the States?" Aloud, Harrigan said: "You don't look as though you'd grow any older in the next ten years."

"That depends." The bearded man sighed and lighted a fresh cigarette.

"There's a beautiful young woman," with an indicative gesture toward the ballroom.

Harrigan expanded. It was Nora, dancing with the Barone.

"She's the most beautiful young woman in the world," enthusiastically.

"Ah, you know her?" interestedly.

"I am her father!"--as Louis XIV might have said, "I am the State."

The bearded man smiled. "Sir, I congratulate you both."

Courtlandt loomed in the doorway. "Comfortable?"

"Perfectly. Good cigar, comfortable chair, fine view."

The duke eyed Courtlandt through the pall of smoke which he had purposefully blown forth. He questioned, rather amusedly, what would have happened had he gone down to the main hall that night in Paris? Among the few things he admired was a well-built handsome man. Courtlandt on his part pretended that he did not see.

"You'll find the claret and champagne punches in the hall," suggested Courtlandt.

"Not for mine! Run away and dance."

"Good-by, then." Courtlandt vanished.

"There's a fine chap. Edward Courtlandt, the American millionaire." It was not possible for Harrigan to omit this awe-compelling elaboration.

"Edward Courtlandt." The stranger stretched his legs. "I have heard of him. Something of a hunter."