CHAPTER VIII
THE FIRST ENGAGEMENT BY THE CHARM
"Artill. 38 ans, celib., ser., demande marraine affect, desinteressee."
La Vie Parisienne.
Astonishment, incredulity, excitement and delight, reigned in the hotelat Les Pins.
One thought only pervaded the place, from the topmost attics inhabitedby Marie the Bretonne and the other _femmes-de-chambre_, down throughthe other floors to the wide _salons_ and to the shut-off wing that wasthe domain of the management. One topic alone set all tongues therechattering, in English, French, or Canadian-Scots. One piece of news wasnow being discussed before any _communique_ from any of the fronts.
It was the news about Miss Agatha Walsh and the nephew of "themanagement," Sergeant Tronchet.
They were engaged to be married.
This was sudden, as everybody commented one after another. This wasquick work. For, how long had Miss Walsh been staying at the hotel?Two--three days? And had she ever met this man before? Never?
One moonlight walk in the pine-forest, one expedition by motor-boatacross the lagoon, half a dozen conversations at table d'hote, anencounter at the post office where Miss Walsh had gone to buy picturepostcards of the Cote d'Azur, another stroll in the forest, a game ofdraughts together--this had been all the preparation necessary for adeclaration from the bull-necked, swarthy French sergeant to the Englishlady-all-alone. The deed was done. He had asked her to become his wife.She had accepted him. No; there was no mistake. The pair were goingabout looking as if they were newly-elected king and queen of theGironde, and those visitors to whom the engagement had not beenannounced in French by Sergeant Tronchet, had been told in English bythe radiant, tremulous, blissful Miss Walsh herself.
Madame Leroux, all smiles, had confirmed the news herself in eachinstance. Monsieur Leroux had taken the little tramway into Arcachon toblaze it abroad at his cafe. The three little pigtailed daughtersfluttered about the villas of Les Pins in their red-and-white checkfrocks, twittering like starlings on the subject of the _fiancailles_,and spreading the news that Mademoiselle Ouallshe was sending to Parisfor presents for each of them, and had said that they were to call herTante Agathe! The wedding was for soon--for almost immediately!
Excitement rose higher and higher; it might be observed that the delightseemed, if anything, on the French side; the astonishment on that of theEnglish visitors.
Little Mr. Brown turned from his plans for furnishing the woodcutter'shut for himself to open his candid and bulging blue eyes upon this newevent in the hotel. He was, as a matter of fact, the first of those whoheard the news to refer to a certain element in it.
"I say; look here," was his comment. "That chap's all right, I daresay;but are his people and all that quite class enough for the lady'sfamily? I don't know about foreigners, of course. And of course I don'tpretend to be Anybody, myself. But what'll her people at home think?Won't they----Well, _socially_, I should have thought it would have beenconsidered a bit _Rum_!"
Mrs. Cartwright told him, quickly and quietly, that this marriage wasnot complicated, on "the lady's" side, by any people at home, and turnedto Olwen to confirm it. Olwen, who was wide-eyed with a mixture offeelings, which she was surprised to find were not all happy ones,agreed that Miss Walsh hadn't any relations.
And presently Mrs. Cartwright was writing to her sisters: "_A marriagehas been arranged between the French Sergeant and the Hotel Spinster Idescribed to you in my last. I think an excellent plan. She wantsmarriage, he wants money. Translated into English, it is brutal andhorrible. But these clear-eyed French make something so different out ofall that._
"_She is madly in love with him, for the same reason that Eve fell inlove with Adam in that Garden; he's the first man she's ever seen. Thegap between their worlds is no wider than the gap between her and theworld generally. Up to now (35, my dear!) she's belonged to the GreatUnkissed._
"_He is proud of his achievement, and, consequently, proud of her. Iexpect he will make her an admirable husband. They'll live in thiscountry, his people will be her people. He will be affectionate, andgenuinely fond of her, as only a Frenchman can be fond of the wife whohas brought him money, and at whom he would not have looked, but for herincome!_"
Olwen, behind that startled gaze of hers, was realizing that she, andshe alone, was responsible for this projected marriage and for the wayin which it would turn out, whether for good or ill.
She had been the first person in the hotel to whom Miss Walsh hadconfided the great news. With the tremulous face of a girl, with agirl's faltering delight, the Spinster had called into her room an hourbefore.
"Oh, Olwen, come here a minute. (I'm going to call you Olwen.) Oh, Imust tell you first. You were the first person who spoke to me here,"she cried. "Oh, can you believe that it was only last Thursday?You said that it would bring me luck--that Charm you gave me. Oh, mylittle Olwen, it's brought me all the luck and happiness in the world!That's nonsense--I suppose! Still, I _am_ the happiest person in theworld. Kiss me. Pierre is so wonderful! You see what's happened? Oh,yes, you must guess----"
Olwen, hardly believing her ears, still guessed. She left Miss Walsh,her small ears buzzing with the woman's pathetic gush of confidences,her mind a welter of emotions. Perhaps the chief feeling was fright....
It was so powerful, then, that Charm? She had not expected this. Notonly the swiftness of the wooing, but a definite engagement!...
And a marriage to be expected shortly.... And to--well, _not_ the sortof person whom Olwen, the disposer of the Charm, had meant to seeattracted to the wearer of her amulet. At least, she had not expected tosee him _accepted_----! She had hoped--for what? Well, not the first manwho asked Miss Walsh; not the man who--who looked rather like theirvillage policeman at home! and not for it to happen in three days! Itwas rather frightening. Could one count so little upon the way in whichthat Charm was going to act? Perhaps after all it was not going to provethe unmitigated blessing of the human race which Olwen had at first seenit.... Oh.... Misgivings thronged upon her. For a moment she feltinclined to wish that she could take the Charm by force, if necessary,from Miss Walsh--undo what she had done. That she could steal the Charmaway from Mr. Brown's tunic-pocket. That she could snip the ribbon thattied the Charm round Mrs. Cartwright's long slender neck....
As for the Charm that rose and fell with the gentle curve of Olwen's ownbreast, where it lay, well, that would be all right. For her, Charm orno Charm, there was no question of attracting the wrong man. For herthere was only one man in the world; his right sleeve was tucked intohis jacket-pocket, and as he smiled teasingly down at her his teeth werea flash of snow across the brown of his self-confident face. For her theCharm that attracted him could only be a beneficent thing.
But what about those others? she mused, doubtfully, over her typewriter.
In Mrs. Cartwright's case, the Charm was not working as swiftly as inthe case of Miss Walsh. She seemed, so far, on the same terms with theProfessor that she had always been; as ready to listen to hisinterpretations of Welsh names--"Olwen," for instance, meaning "WhiteTrack," and belonging to a maid of Celtic mythology in whose pathdaisies were wont to spring up--as interested in his special subjects.As friendly at table d'hote or in the evenings; yes, as friendly ... butno more so! At their age, Olwen thought, people strolled into Love,perhaps, instead of falling into it, as they did at nineteen.
In her own case, she thought--and she hugged the thought!--the Charm didseem to be working. Not at that perilous speed with which it had servedMiss Agatha Walsh; not yet with results which meant these definite andpole-axing announcements! Still ... wasn't it working a little?
Without looking at him, the girl had several times been aware thatCaptain Ross's dark quick glance had sought her out as soon as sheappeared, and that it had followed her as she went out. Several timessince the encounter in the hall, when she had told him that he "didn'tknow everything about girls," he had stopped to talk to her; always to"rag" her with some question or comme
nt. But he had stopped.
Often she thought: "That means nothing! He never could think of meseriously. Why should he?"
Then again she felt that a time must come when he would stop longer, saymore.
She waited for that time, outwardly indifferent, just as a branchstudded with the brown scentless swellings of mid-winter waits for thespring that shall see them break into sweetest buds. She waited, fixingher bright gaze upon some point beyond her idol's broad shoulder as sheanswered his greeting with some snippy girlish flippancy, while herheart whispered--ah! what volumes of tenderness. She just waited; bidingher time as a girl needs must, whether or not she knows of some secretCharm that backs her power.
She waited ... but now waiting and secret watching, uttered retort andunuttered yearning, were all alike tinged with a new apprehension.
That Charm! What unexpected way of its own was it going to take _next_?