The Port of Adventure Part 19

Mrs. Harland, his sister, who--as Nick was aware--kept house and entertained for Falconer, was as like him as a very feminine woman can be like an extremely masculine man; and, in fact, they were twins. Ralph Harland, an Englishman, who had owned a California ranch, was dead; and when his widow was not in Europe she stayed with her brother.

They all talked together for a few minutes, or Theo Dene talked and let the others speak occasionally. Then Nick said that he must take his car to the garage, but would come back for luncheon; and when he had flashed away, Miss Dene invited herself to Mrs. May's room. "Do let me go with you," she pleaded, with a girlish air which she liked to put on with married women younger than herself. She thought that amusing. It impressed upon them the fact that she was a girl--free, with life before her. And, indeed, "The Free Lance" was a nickname of hers, which she liked rather than disliked.

Of course, Angela said, "Do come." She had found out that she was tired of Miss Dene. Still, she was curious to hear what she would say.

Kate had already opened her mistress's luggage, and spread gold and crystal toilet things about. There were flowers, too, on the sitting-room tables and mantel, California poppies with flaming orange hearts. Nick had telegraphed for these; but Angela supposed that they had been ordered by the "management." This impression was unlikely to be contradicted, because Nick had wanted her to have the flowers, not to get the credit for giving them. But Theodora Dene, who was experienced and shrewd in matters of the heart, wondered about the poppies. She made no mention of them, however, to Angela.

"I wanted you to myself for a minute," she explained, "to tell you I won't forget you are Mrs. May--_toujours_ Mrs. May. And you needn't tell me--anything, unless you like."

"I have told you why I came to California," said Angela. "I came to see it."

"And I do think you're seeing it in the _nicest_ way!" Miss Dene commented, sweetly. "I came for something quite different. I don't one bit mind confessing."

"To write a book about California?"

"That was what I said to reporters. And that I was going to visit Mrs.

Harland. She's quite a dear, and I made her ask me, last time she was in England, because that was the first time I met her brother. I really came over with the idea of marrying him. He's splendid, and has loads of money--which I badly need, for I've spent every penny I've made from my books, and I've only eight hundred a year of my own. That won't buy my frocks! I took the greatest fancy to him. But I see now it's no use.

Rather a bore! One hates to fail--and I'm not used to failure. However, there's a great romance--which is one consolation. I'm thinking whether or not I shall use it for the book. I'd like to--only Mr. Falconer's so well known. Perhaps I shall pick up another plot. Anyhow, I'm recovering from the blow, and beginning to take notice--as they say of babies and widows.

That brown man of yours is a dream of beauty. Do you mind if I smoke?"

"No. And he _isn't_ mine," said Angela, taking off her motor-veil in front of the mirror.

"Well, then, dear Princess, if he isn't yours, and you don't want him to play with, do hand him over to me. I won't grab him, if you want him yourself. You were too nice to me in Rome."

"You saw in Rome that I didn't play." Angela stabbed a hatpin viciously into her hat.

"There were cats there. Here there aren't--at least not any who know the mouse."

Angela daintily ceased to be a fellow-being, in a disconcerting way she had when she chose, and became a high personage. She did this without a word, without a gesture, without even lifting her eyebrows. There was merely a change of atmosphere. Miss Dene felt it, but she did not care here as she would have cared in Rome. There, the young Princess di Sereno could have made or marred her socially. In California she was on the same ground as Mrs. May. Besides, she knew a thing about Mrs. May which, for some reason or other, Mrs. May did not want other people to know. So Theo sat on a green sofa and smoked a cigarette, hoping that she looked like a snake charmer with the sinuous, serpentine smoke-loops weaving and writhing round her head.

"Pray don't joke in that way before any one else," said Angela. "It is rather horrid, don't you think? No doubt Mr. Hilliard will be delighted to have you 'play' with him, if you see enough of each other to make it worth while wasting your energy."

As she spoke, she wrestled with a violent desire to show Miss Dene that Nick was not to be detached from his present position of guide, philosopher, and friend.

"I don't do that sort of thing with 'energy.' I do it with magnetism,"

Theo drawled. Her cigarette was smoked out, and she got up. "Well, I must run down to Mrs. Harland, I suppose. We arrived only this morning, early, from Monterey, and to-morrow we're going on to Paso Robles. That's where Mr. Falconer's romance comes in. Did you ever hear of Paso Robles?"

"Yes," said Angela. "My father owned land there, with a warm sulphur lake.

There's a legend about it, which he used to tell me. The place is sold now. But I'm going to see it--because of the legend. I had photographs of the old Mission--and of the lake, too."

"Well, perhaps you know, then, there's a big hotel at Paso Robles and a 'cure.' I never heard of it before--but apparently it's famous. If you stop there try and find out about a Mademoiselle Dobieski, and see her if you can."

"Who is she?" Angela asked. "The name sounds dimly familiar, as if she were an actress or a dancer, or somebody one has heard of."

"She _was_ a singer. She _is_ Mr. Falconer's romance. I'd give a good deal to see her."

"I suppose you will, if she's a friend of his, and you're going to Paso Robles in his private car."

"No. I won't be allowed. He's sending Mrs. Harland and me straight on to Del Monte, and then to San Francisco. He'll follow; and afterward he's going to take us to Shasta, and the McCloud River, where they say he has the most fascinating country house in the world. I shall probably have a relapse when I see it."

"I remember now," said Angela. "There was a Polish girl who sang in concerts, and then made her _debut_ in opera in London. I never saw or heard her, but people used to say she was divine. Then she went back to Russia, three or four years ago, and seemed to vanish into s.p.a.ce."

"She vanished into Siberia," replied Miss Dene. "Meanwhile, Mr. Falconer had had time to fall in love with her in London, just before she took her Russian engagement. It was his sister who told me this--perhaps to prove that there was no use my having Designs, with a capital D. He followed the girl to St. Petersburg; she disappeared. He put the matter into the hands of a detective--an American one, brought over on purpose--money no object.

Then Mr. Falconer couldn't stay any longer himself, on account of important interests on this side--but I believe he flashed across once in a while, during the last four years, when he was supposed to be resting and seeing Europe with his sister. She was always in the secret. Well at last they wormed out the truth: that the Dobieski'd been arrested as a Nihilist, secretly, and, in spite of her popularity on the stage as a singer, sent to Siberia. With money, or influence, or both, she was rescued from some dreadful hole, and smuggled to England. But she'd had rheumatic fever, and her beauty was gone--she was a cripple. Still the extraordinary man was faithful--though he'd never even had a chance to try and make her like him. Did you ever hear of such a lover, out of a book?"

"No," said Angela, interested. But something within her whispered, "There might be another such lover."

"Specialists--Mr. Falconer and his sister had the best--said there was practically no hope that the girl would ever be herself again. Yet the man wouldn't give up. He thought there was no place in the world like Paso Robles for performing miracles. The doctors laughed--because it was natural he should believe in his own country. However, the Dobieski consented to come. Mrs. Harland brought her over. Now she's been here two months, and is actually almost cured. Do try to get a glimpse of her. I've an evil idea that my n.o.ble host is going to drop off at the Springs, after shedding us enc.u.mbrances, for the sole purpose of proposing. If I use this for my plot, I shall give myself the satisfaction of making the story end badly."

"I dare say you'll enjoy doing that," Angela remarked, in her gentlest voice.

"I really must go!" exclaimed Theo, and threw her cigarette end into Angela's golden poppies. But she did not tell when she went downstairs, as Angela was half afraid she would, that Mrs. May was the Princess di Sereno.

Her friends had not left the veranda. Mrs. Harland was talking to some people she knew, Falconer walking up and down looking at the ships that were still trying their speed, in sight of the hotel.

"I do wonder _if the darling Angela knows about the Prince_?" Theo asked herself; and then joined Falconer in his walk, not mentioning Mrs. May.

"So you've met that handsome big boy before?" she began.

"Hilliard?" said Falconer. "Oh, yes, I've met him at Mrs. Gaylor's."

"Who's Mrs. Gaylor?" Theo had the curiosity to ask.

Falconer told her, and described Mrs. Gaylor as being a beautiful as well as immensely rich young woman.

"It must be over a year since her husband died," he added. "'Old Grizzly Gaylor' he was called; a brute, I'm afraid. His taking off must have been a relief to her. She's left with a splendid property. I've heard it said there may be a match between her and Hilliard. He used to be foreman of her husband's ranch; but now he's a landowner on his own account; struck oil, and made a pile of money selling a gusher--the biggest and longest-lived we've had yet."

"Are they engaged?" inquired Theo.

"I don't know. It isn't announced, anyhow. But it wouldn't be a bad match, even for a rich woman. Hilliard's a fine fellow, all the finer because he's a self-made man. By the way, the Gaylor place is one of the show ranches of California. I think we ought to take you to see it."

"Do!" cried Miss Dene. "I could write about it, couldn't I? I'd like to see Mrs. Gaylor. Another California type for my book!"

And again she asked herself, "I wonder if _dear_ Angela knows about the Prince?"

XIII

FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMATIC EFFECT

Somehow, Miss Dene got herself invited to spend the afternoon in seeing with Mrs. May and Hilliard all the things which Falconer and his sister had spent the whole morning in showing her. Exactly how she did this she herself might have told--with her occasional startling frankness--if she had chosen. But Mrs. May could not. Perhaps Angela had invited her, or said something which could be snapped up as an invitation; for Nick would hardly have suggested a second guest unless his first guest expressly wished for one. In any case, the fact remained that Theo Dene was going in the yellow car for a spin round Santa Barbara, to the Country Club, the Hope Ranch, and above all, to the Mission.

She stood talking on the veranda to Falconer and Mrs. Harland, as she waited for Angela to come down, and for Hilliard to bring round the car.

Her host and hostess were laughing at her change of plans, for she had announced, early in the day, that she meant to "lie down all the afternoon and rest her features."