The Strollers Part 30

"How importunate you are! Call when you will."

"But if you are out"--he insisted.

"That will make it the more delightfully uncertain," she said gaily.

"So it will!" Rubbing his hands. "Delightfully uncertain!" he repeated. And he departed with many protestations, taking no more notice of the thick-set man than if he were a block of wood.

"What an old ape!" growled the latter, viciously, as the marquis ambled from their stall.

"Do you think so?" answered Susan, tossing her head. "He has that air of distinction which only persons of rank and t.i.tle can command."

"Distinction!" said the other, who was but a well-to-do merchant. "I should call it bad manners."

"Because he never noticed you!" laughed Susan, spitefully. "But why are we standing here? I believe you expect to take me home, don't you?"

Although she chattered like a magpie on the road, he was silent and sullen, nursing his injured pride and wounded self-sufficiency. Susan, who was interested in him for the novel reason she disliked him so heartily, parted from him with the air of a d.u.c.h.ess, and entered the hotel, holding her head so high that he swore under his breath as he drove away. And, as a result of the quarrel with the lad, he would probably have to risk being "pinked" for this jade! Susan, on the other hand, was as happy as a lark when she entered the dining-room of the St. Charles, that great eating-place and meeting-place of all cla.s.ses of people.

As she seated herself at a table, a smile lurked around the corners of her mouth and flickered faintly upon the waiter who forthwith became a Mercury for expedition and a prodigal for variety. Her quarrel on the road with her companion had in nowise interfered with that appet.i.te which the fresh air and the lateness of the hour had provoked, nor were her thoughts of a character to deter from the zest of eating.

From the present to the past was but an instant's flight of the mind--thus may the once august years swiftly and unceremoniously be marshaled by!--and she dwelt in not unpleasing retrospection on an endless field of investigation and discovery and the various experiences which had befallen her in arriving at the present period of mature knowledge; a proficiency which converted her chosen researches into an exact science.

Thus meditating and dining--counting on her fingers twice over the fair actresses who had become t.i.tled ladies, and enviously disbelieving she would join that triumphant company--Susan was still seated at the table some time later when the soldier glanced in. Imperatively she motioned him to her side and he obeyed with not entirely concealed reluctance, and was so preoccupied, she rallied him upon his reserve.

"I believe you and Constance had a quarrel on the road." Maliciously.

"I hope you were more amiable than my companion. He hardly spoke a word, and, when I left him"--her voice sank to a whisper--"I heard him swear."

"He pleased you so much earlier in the day that a duel will probably be the outcome."

Susan laughed gaily.

"A duel! Then my fortune is made. All the newspapers will contain paragraphs. It is too good to be true." And she clapped her hands.

"When is it to take place? Tell me about it!"

Then noting his manner, she continued with an a.s.sumption of plaintiveness: "Now you are cross with me! You think me heartless. Is it my fault? I care nothing for either of them and I am not to be blamed if they are so foolish. It might be different if either had touched my heart." And she a.s.sumed a coquettish demeanor, while Saint-Prosper coolly studied her through the wreaths of smoke from his weed.

"You are wondering what sort of a person I am!" she continued, merrily, raising her gla.s.s of wine with: "To unrequited pa.s.sion!"

Her roguish face sparkled as he asked; "Whose?"

She drained the gla.s.s and set it down demurely. "Mine!"

The cigar was suspended; the veil cleared between them.

"For whom?" he said.

"You!" Offering him the limpid depths of her blue eyes. "Is my liking returned?"

"Liking? Perhaps!"

"My love?"

"Love? No." Coldly.

"You do not fear a woman scorned?" Her lips curved in a smile, displaying her faultless teeth.

"Not when the avenging angel is so charming and so heartless!" he added satirically.

Her lashes veiled the azure orbs.

"You think to disarm her with a compliment? How well you understand women!" And, as he rose, the pressure of the hand she gave him at parting was lingering.

Above in his room, Barnes, with plays and ma.n.u.scripts scattered around him, was engaged in writing in his note and date book, wherein autobiography, ledger and journal accounts, and such miscellaneous matter mingled indiscriminately. "To-day she said to me: 'I am going to the races with Mr. Saint-Prosper.' What did I say? 'Yes,' of course. What can there be in common between Lear and Juliet?

Naturally, she sometimes turns from an old fellow like me--now, if she were only a slip of a girl again--with her short frock--her disorder of long ringlets--running and romping--

"A thousand details pa.s.s through my mind, reminiscences of her girlhood, lightening a lonesome life like glimmerings of sunshine in a secluded wood; memories of her mother and the old days when she played in my New York theater--for Barnes, the stroller, was once a metropolitan manager! Her fame had preceded her and every admirer of histrionic art eagerly awaited her arrival.

"But the temple of art is a lottery. The town that had welcomed her so wildly now went Elssler-mad. The gossamer floatings of this French _danseuse_ possessed everyone. People courted trash and trumpery.

Greatness gave way to triviality. This pitiful condition preyed upon her. The flame of genius never for a moment became less dim, but her eyes grew larger, brighter, more melancholy. Sometimes she would fall into a painful reverie and I knew too well the subject of her thoughts. With tender solicitude she would regard her daughter, thinking, thinking! She was her only hope, her only joy!

"'The town wants dancers, not tragedians, Mr. Barnes,' she said sadly one day.

"'Nonsense,' I replied. 'The town wants a change of bill. We will put on a new piece next week.'

"'It will be but subst.i.tuting one tragedy for another,' she retorted.

'One misfortune for a different one! You should import a rival dancer.

You are going down; down hill! I will leave you; perhaps you will discover your dancer, and your fortune is made!'

"'And you? What would you do?' I demanded. 'And your child?'

"At this her eyes filled and she could not answer. 'And now, Madam,' I said firmly, 'I refuse once and for all to permit you to break your contract. Pooh! The tide will change. Men and women are sometimes fools; but they are not fools all the time. The dancer will have had her day. She will twirl her toes to the empty seats and throw her kisses into unresponsive s.p.a.ce. Our patrons will gradually return; they will grow tired of wriggling and twisting, and look again for a more substantial diet.'

"Matters did, indeed, begin to mend somewhat, when to bring the whole fabric tumbling down on our heads, this incomparable woman fell ill.

"'You see? I have ruined you,' she said sadly.

"'I am honored, Madam,' was all I could reply.

"She placed her hand softly on mine and let her luminous eyes rest on me.

"'Dear old friend!' she murmured.

"Then she closed her eyes and I thought she was sleeping. Some time elapsed when she again opened them.

"'Death will break our contract, Mr. Barnes,' she said softly.

"I suppose my hand trembled, for she tightened her grasp and continued firmly: 'It is not so terrible, after all, or would not be, but for one thing.'