CHAPTER VIII
THE BARONESS INTERVENES
The Baroness trifled with some grapes and looked languidly round theroom.
"My dear Louise," she declared, "it is the truth what every one tells meof your country. You are a dull people. I weary myself here."
The girl whom she had addressed as Louise shrugged her shoulders.
"So do I, so do all of us," she answered, a little wearily. "What wouldyou have? One must live somewhere."
The Baroness sighed, and from a chatelaine hung with elegant triflesselected a gold cigarette case. An attentive waiter rushed for a matchand presented it. The Baroness gave a little sigh of content as sheleaned back in her chair. She smoked as one to the manner born.
"One must live somewhere, it is true," she agreed, "but why London? Ithink that of all great cities it is the most provincial. It lacks whatyou call the atmosphere. The people are all so polite, and so deadly,deadly dull. How different in Paris or Berlin, even Brussels!"
"Circumstances are a little against us, aren't they?" Louise remarked."Our opportunities for making acquaintances are limited."
The Baroness made a little grimace.
"You, my young friend," she said, "are of the English--very English.Quite Saxon, in fact. With you there would never be any making ofacquaintances! I feel myself in the bonds of a cast-iron chaperonagewhenever I move out with you. Why is it, little one? Have you never anydesire to amuse yourself?"
"I don't quite understand you," her companion answered dryly. "If youmean that I have no desire to encourage promiscuous acquaintances, youare certainly right. I prefer to be dull."
The Baroness sighed gently.
"Some of my dearest friends," she murmured, "I have--but there, it is asubject upon which we disagree. We will talk of something else. Shall wego to the theatre to-night?"
"As you will," Louise answered indifferently. "There isn't much that wehaven't seen, is there?"
"We will send for a paper and see," the Baroness said. "We cannot sit andlook at one another all the evening. With music one can make dinner lastout till nine or even half past--an idea, my Louise!" she exclaimedsuddenly. "Cannot we go to a music-hall, the Alhambra, for example? Wecould take a box and sit back."
"It is not customary," Louise declared coldly. "If you really wish it,though, I don't--I don't--"
Her speech was broken off in a somewhat extraordinary manner. She wasleaning a little forward in her chair, all her listlessness and pallorseemed to have been swept away by a sudden rush of emotion. The colourhad flooded her cheeks, her tired eyes were suddenly bright; was it withfear or only surprise? The Baroness wasted no time in asking questions.She raised her lorgnettes and turned round, facing the direction inwhich Louise was looking. Coming directly towards them from the furtherend of the restaurant was a young man, whose eyes never swerved fromtheir table. He was pale, somewhat slight, but the lines of his mouthwere straight and firm, and there was not lacking in him that air ofdistinction which the Baroness never failed to recognize. She put downher glasses and looked across at Louise with a smile. She was quiteprepared to approve.
The young man stopped at their table and addressed himself directly toLouise. The Baroness frowned as she saw how scanty were the signs ofencouragement in her young companion's face. She leaned a little forward,ready at the first signs of an introduction to make every effort to atonefor Louise's coldness by a most complete amiability. This young manshould not be driven away if she could help it!
"I have been hoping, Miss Fitzmaurice," Wrayson said calmly, "that Imight meet you somewhere."
She shrank a little back for a moment. There flashed across her face aquiver, as though of pain.
"Why do you think," she asked, "that that is my name?"
"Your father, Colonel Fitzmaurice, is one of my best friends," heanswered gravely. "I was at his house yesterday. I only came up thismorning. I beg your pardon! You are not well!"
Every vestige of colour had left her cheeks. The Baroness touched herfoot under the table, and Louise found her voice with an effort.
"How did you know that Colonel Fitzmaurice was my father?" she askedbreathlessly.
"I found a picture in your sister's album," he answered.
The answer seemed somehow to reassure her. She leaned a little towardshim. Under cover of the music her voice was inaudible to any one else.
"Mr. Wrayson," she said, "please don't think me unkind. I know that Ihave a great deal to thank you for, and that there are certainexplanations which you have almost a right to demand from me. And yet Iask you to go away, to ask me nothing at all, to believe me when I assureyou that there is nothing in the world so undesirable as any acquaintancebetween you and me."
Wrayson was staggered, the words were so earnestly spoken, and the lookwhich accompanied them was so eloquent. He was never sure, when hethought it over afterwards, what manner of reply he might not have madeto an appeal, the genuineness of which was absolutely convincing. Butbefore he could frame an answer, the Baroness intervened.
"Louise," she said softly, "do you not think that this place is alittle public for intimate conversation, and will you not introduce tome your friend?"
Wrayson, who had been afraid of dismissal, turned at once, almosteagerly, towards the Baroness. She smiled at him graciously. Louisehesitated for a moment. There was no smile upon her lips. She bowed,however, to the inevitable.
"This is Mr. Wrayson," she said quietly; "the Baroness de Sturm."
The Baroness raised her eyebrows, and she bestowed upon Wrayson acomprehending look. The graciousness of her manner, however, underwent noabatement.
"I fancy," she said, "that I have heard of you somewhere lately, or isit another of the same name? Will you not sit down and take your coffeewith us--and a cigarette--yes?"
"We are keeping Mr. Wrayson from his friends, no doubt," Louise saidcoldly. "Besides--do you see the time, Amy?"
But Wrayson had already drawn up a chair to the table.
"I am quite alone," he said. "If I may stay, I shall be delighted."
"Why not?" the Baroness asked, passing her cigarette case. "You can solvefor us the problem we were just then discussing. Is it _comme-il-faut,_Mr. Wrayson, for two ladies, one of whom is almost middle-aged, to visita music-hall here in London unescorted?"
Wrayson glanced from Louise to her friend.
"May I inquire," he asked blandly, "which is the lady who is posing asbeing almost middle-aged?"
The Baroness laughed at him softly, with a little contraction of theeyebrows, which she usually found effective.
"We are going to be friends, Mr. Wrayson," she declared. "You aresitting there in fear and trembling, and yet you have dared to pay acompliment, the first I have heard for, oh! so many months. Do not beafraid. Louise is not so terrible as she seems. I will not let her sendyou away. Now you must answer my question. May we do this terriblething, Louise and I?"
"Assuredly not," he answered gravely, "when there is a man at hand who isso anxious to offer his escort as I."
The Baroness clapped her hands.
"Do you hear, Louise?" she exclaimed.
"I hear," Louise answered dryly.
The Baroness made a little grimace.
"You are in an impossible humour, my dear child," she declared."Nevertheless, I declare for the music-hall, and for the escort of yourfriend, Mr. Wrayson, if he really is in earnest."
"I can assure you," he said, "that you would be doing me a great kindnessin allowing me to offer my services."
The Baroness beamed upon him amiably, and rose to her feet.
"You have come," she avowed, "in time to save me from despair. I am notused to go about so much unescorted, and I am not so independent asLouise. See," she added, pushing a gold purse towards him, "you shall payour bill while we put on our cloaks. And will you ask afterwards for mycarriage, and we will meet in the portico?"
"With pleasure!" Wrayson answered, rising to his feet as they left thetable. "I will telephone f
or a box to the Alhambra. There is a wonderfulnew ballet which every one is going to see."
He called the waiter and paid the bill from a remarkably well-filledpurse. As he replaced the change, it was impossible for him to avoidseeing a letter addressed and stamped ready for posting, which occupiedone side of the gold bag. The name upon the envelope struck him as beingvaguely familiar; what had he heard lately of Madame de Melbain? It wasassociated somehow in his mind with a recent event. It lingered in hismemory for days afterwards.
Louise and the Baroness left the room in silence. In the cloak-room thelatter watched her friend curiously as she arranged her wrap.
"So that is Mr. Wrayson," she remarked.
"Yes!" Louise answered deliberately. "I wish that you had let him go!"
The Baroness laughed softly.
"My dear child," she protested, "why? He seems to me quite a personableyoung man, and he may be useful! Who can tell?"
Louise shrugged her shoulders. She stood waiting while the Baroness madesomewhat extensive use of her powder-puff.
"You forget," she said quietly, "that I am already in Mr. Wrayson's debtpretty heavily."
The Baroness looked quickly around. She considered her young friend alittle indiscreet.
"I find you amusing, _ma chere_," she remarked. "Since when have youdeveloped scruples?"
Louise turned towards the door.
"You do not understand," she said. "Come!"