The Place of Honeymoons Part 30

"One of the keenest."

"There is no half-way with your rich American: either his money ruins him or he runs away from it."

"There's a stunner," exclaimed Harrigan. "Wonder how she got here?"

"To which lady do you refer?"

"The one in scarlet. She is Flora Desimone. She and my daughter sing together sometimes. Of course you have heard of Eleonora da Toscana; that's my daughter's stage name. The two are not on very good terms, naturally."

"Quite naturally," dryly.

"But you can't get away from the Calabrian's beauty," generously.

"No." The bearded man extinguished his cigarette and rose, laying a _carte-de-visite_ on the tabouret. "More, I should not care to get away from it. Good evening," pleasantly. The music stopped. He pa.s.sed on into the crowd.

Harrigan reached over and picked up the card. "Suffering shamrocks! if Molly could only see me now," he murmured. "I wonder if I made any breaks?

The grand duke, and me hobn.o.bbing with him like a waiter! James, this is all under your hat. We'll keep the card where Molly won't find it."

Young men began to drift in and out. The air became heavy with smoke, the prevailing aroma being that of Turkish tobacco of which Harrigan was not at all fond. But his cigar was so good that he was determined not to stir until the coal began to tickle the end of his nose. Since Molly knew where he was there was no occasion to worry.

Abbott came in, pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket, and impatiently struck a match. His hands shook a little, and the flare of the match revealed a pale and angry countenance.

"Hey, Abbott, here's a seat. Get your second wind."

"Thanks." Abbott dropped into the chair and smoked quickly. "Very stuffy out there. Too many."

"You look it. Having a good time?"

"Oh, fine!" There was a catch in the laugh which followed, but Harrigan's ear was not trained for these subtleties of sound, "How are you making out?"

"I'm getting acclimated. Where's the colonel to-night? He ought to be around here somewhere."

"I left him a few moments ago."

"When you see him again, send him in. He's a live one, and I like to hear him talk."

"I'll go at once," crushing his cigarette in the Jeypore bowl.

"What's your hurry? You look like a man who has just lost his job."

"Been steering a German countess. She was wound up to turn only one way, and I am groggy. I'll send the colonel over. By-by."

"Now, what's stung the boy?"

Nora was enjoying herself famously. The men hummed around her like bees around the sweetest rose. From time to time she saw Courtlandt hovering about the outskirts. She was glad he had come: the lepidopterist is latent or active in most women; to impale the b.u.t.terfly, the moth falls easily into the daily routine. She was laughing and jesting with the men. Her mother stood by, admiringly. This time Courtlandt gently pushed his way to Nora's side.

"May I have a dance?" he asked.

"You are too late," evenly. She was becoming used to the sight of him, much to her amazement.

"I am sorry."

"Why, Nora, I didn't know that your card was filled!" said Mrs. Harrigan.

She had the maternal eye upon Courtlandt.

"Nevertheless," said Nora sweetly, "it is a fact."

"I am disconsolate," replied Courtlandt, who had approached for form's sake only, being fully prepared for a refusal. "I have the unfortunate habit of turning up late," with a significance which only Nora understood.

"So, those who are late must suffer the consequences."

"Supper?"

"The Barone rather than you."

The music began again, and Abbott whirled her away. She was dressed in Burmese taffeta, a rich orange. In the dark of her beautiful black hair there was the green l.u.s.ter of emeralds; an Indian-princess necklace of emeralds and pearls was looped around her dazzling white throat.

Unconsciously Courtlandt sighed audibly, and Mrs. Harrigan heard this note of unrest.

"Who is that?" asked Mrs. Harrigan.

"Flora Desimone's husband, the duke. He and Mr. Harrigan were having quite a conversation in the smoke-room."

"What!" in consternation.

"They were getting along finely when I left them."

Mrs. Harrigan felt her heart sink. The duke and James together meant nothing short of a catastrophe; for James would not know whom he was addressing, and would make all manner of confidences. She knew something would happen if she let him out of her sight. He was eternally talking to strangers.

"Would you mind telling Mr. Harrigan that I wish to see him?"

"Not at all."

Nora stopped at the end of the ballroom. "Donald, let us go out into the garden. I want a breath of air. Did you see her?"

"Couldn't help seeing her. It was the duke, I suppose. It appears that he is an old friend of the d.u.c.h.ess. We'll go through the conservatory. It's a short-cut."

The night was full of moonshine; it danced upon the water; it fired the filigree tops of the solemn cypress; it laced the lawn with quivering shadows; and heavy hung the cloying perfume of the box-wood hedges.

"_O bellissima notta!_" she sang. "Is it not glorious?"

"Nora," said Abbott, leaning suddenly toward her.

"Don't say it. Donald; please don't. Don't waste your love on me. You are a good man, and I should not be worthy the name of woman if I did not feel proud and sad. I want you always as a friend; and if you decide that can not be, I shall lose faith in everything. I have never had a brother, and in these two short years I have grown to look on you as one. I am sorry.

But if you will look back you will see that I never gave you any encouragement. I was never more than your comrade. I have many faults, but I am not naturally a coquette. I know my heart; I know it well."

"Is there another?" in despair.

"Once upon a time, Donald, there was. There is nothing now but ashes. I am telling you this so that it will not be so hard for you to return to the old friendly footing. You are a brave man. Any man is who takes his heart in his hand and offers it to a woman. You are going to take my hand and promise to be my friend always."