The Secret House Part 9

"A very stupid and foolish business engagement," he replied, "which required my personal attendance, and unfortunately that of Mr.

Farrington."

Lady Dinsmore threw up a protesting hand.

"Business has no charms to soothe my savage breast! Mr. Farrington,"

she lowered her voice confidentially, "can talk of nothing else. When he was staying with us he was for ever telegraphing, cabling to America, or decoding messages. There was no peace in the house, by day or by night.

Finally I made a stand. 'Gregory,' I said, 'you shall not pervert my servants with your odious tips, and turn my home into a public stock-exchange. Take your bulls and bears over to the Savoy and play with them there, and leave Doris to me.' And he did!" she concluded triumphantly.

Count Poltavo looked about, as if noting for the first time Farrington's preoccupation. "Is he quite well?" he inquired, in an undertone.

Lady Dinsmore shrugged her shoulders.

"Frankly, I think he had a slight indisposition, and magnified it in order to escape small talk. He hates music. Doris has been quite distrait ever since. The child adores her uncle--you know, of course, that she is his niece--the daughter of my sister. Gregory was her father's brother--we are almost related."

Her companion glanced across to the subject of their remarks. The girl sat in the front of the box, slim and elegant, her hands clasped loosely in her lap. She was watching the brilliant scene with a certain air of detachment, as if thinking of other things. Her usual lightness and gay banter seemed for the moment to have deserted her, leaving a soft brooding wistfulness that was strangely appealing.

The Count looked at her.

"She is very beautiful," he murmured under his breath.

Something in his voice caught Lady Dinsmore's attention. She eyed him keenly.

The Count met her look frankly.

"Is--is she engaged to her young friend?" he asked quietly. "Believe me, it is not vulgar curiosity which prompts the question. I--I am--interested." His voice was as composed as ever.

Lady Dinsmore averted her gaze hurriedly and thought with lightning rapidity.

"I have not her confidence," she replied at length, in a low tone; "she is a wise young woman and keeps her own counsel." She appeared to hesitate. "She dislikes you," she said. "I am sorry to wound you, but it is no secret."

Count Poltavo nodded. "I know," he said, simply. "Will you be my good friend and tell me why?"

Lady Dinsmore smiled. "I will do better than that," she said kindly. "I will be your very good friend and give you a chance to ask her why.

Frank,"--she bent forward and tapped the young man upon the shoulder with her fan,--"will you come over here and tell me what your editor means?"

The Count resigned his seat courteously, and took the vacant place beside the girl. A silence fell between them, which presently the man broke.

"Miss Gray," he began, seriously, "your aunt kindly gave me this opportunity to ask you a question. Have I your permission also?"

The girl arched her eyebrows. Her lip curled ever so slightly.

"A question to which you and my Aunt Patricia could find no answer between you! It must be subtle indeed! How can I hope to succeed?"

He ignored her sarcasm. "Because it concerns yourself."

"Ah!" She drew herself up and regarded him with sparkling eyes. One small foot began to tap the floor ominously. Then she broke into a vexed little laugh.

"I am no match for you with the foils, Count. I admit it freely. I should have learned by this time that you never say what you mean, or mean what you say."

"Forgive me, Miss Gray, if I say that you mistake me utterly. I mean always what I say--most of all to you. But to say all that I mean--to put into speech all that one hopes or dreams--or dares,"--his voice dropped to a whisper--"to turn oneself inside out like an empty pocket to the gaze of the mult.i.tude--that is--imbecile." He threw out his hands with an expressive gesture.

"But to speak concretely--I have unhappily offended you, Miss Gray.

Something I have done, or left undone--or my unfortunate personality does not engage your interest. Is it not true?"

There was no mistaking his sincerity now.

But the girl still held aloof, her blue eyes cool and watchful. For the moment, her face, in its young hardness, bore a curious resemblance to her uncle's.

"Is that your question?" she demanded.

The Count bowed silently.

"Then I will tell you!" She spoke in a low voice surcharged with emotion. "I will give you candour for candour, and make an end of all this make-believe."

"That," he murmured, "is what I most desire."

Doris continued, heedless of the interruption. "It is true that I dislike you. I am glad to be able to tell you as much openly. And yet, perhaps, I should use another word. I dislike your secrecy--something dark and hidden within you--and I fear your influence over my uncle. You have known me less than a fortnight--Mr. Farrington, less than a week--yet you have made what I can only conceive to be impertinent proposals of marriage to me. To-day you were for three hours with my uncle. I can only guess what your business has been."

"You would probably guess wrong," he said coolly.

Farrington, at the other end of the box, shot a swift, suspicious glance across. Poltavo turned to the girl again.

"I want only to be a friend of yours in the day of your need," he said, in a low voice; "believe me, that day is not far distant."

"That is true?" She leaned toward him, a little troubled.

He bowed his head in a.s.sent.

"If I could believe you," she faltered. "I need a friend! Oh, if you could know how I have been torn by doubts--beset by fears--oppressions."

Her voice quivered. "There is something wrong somewhere--I can't tell you everything--if you would help me--wait. May I test you with a question?"

"A thousand if you like."

"And you will answer--truthfully?" In her eagerness she was like a child.

He smiled. "If I answer at all, be sure it will be truthful."

"Tell me then, is Dr. Fall your friend?"

"He is my dearest enemy," he returned, promptly.

He had only the dimmest notion as to the ident.i.ty of Dr. Fall, but it seemed that a lie was demanded--Poltavo could lie very easily.

"Or Mr. Gorth?" she asked, and he shook his head.

She drew a deep breath of relief. "And my uncle?" The question was a whisper. She appeared to hang upon his reply.

The Count hesitated. "I do not know," he admitted finally. "If he were not influenced by Dr. Fall, I believe he would be my friend." It was a bow at a venture. He was following the bent of her inclination.