The Hillman

  XXVII

  Louise glanced at her watch, sat up in bed, and turned reproachfullytoward Aline.

  "Aline, do you know it is only eleven o'clock?" she exclaimed.

  "I am very sorry, _madame_," the latter hastened to explain, "but thereis a gentleman down-stairs who wishes to see you. He says he will waituntil you can receive him. I thought you would like to know."

  "A gentleman at this hour of the morning?" Louise yawned. "How absurd!Anyhow, you ought to know better than to wake me up before the propertime."

  "I am very sorry, _madame_," Aline replied. "I hesitated for some time,but I thought you would like to know that the gentleman was here. It isMr. Stephen Strangewey--Mr. John's brother."

  Louise clasped her knees with her fingers and sat thinking. She was wideawake now.

  "He has been here some time already, _madame_," Aline continued. "I didnot wish to disturb you, but I thought perhaps it was better for you toknow that he was here."

  "Quite right, Aline," Louise decided. "Go down and tell him that I willsee him in half an hour, and get my bath ready at once."

  Louise dressed herself simply but carefully. She could conceive of butone reason for Stephen's presence in her house, and it rather amusedher. It was, of course, no friendly visit. He had come either tothreaten or to cajole. Yet what could he do? What had she to fear? Shewent over the interview in her mind, imagining him crushed and subduedby her superior subtlety and finesse.

  With a little smile of coming triumph upon her lips she descended thestairs and swept into her pleasantly warmed and perfumed littledrawing-room. She even held out her hand cordially to the dark, grimfigure whose outline against the dainty white wall seemed soinappropriate.

  "This is very nice of you indeed, Mr. Strangewey," she began. "I had noidea that you had followed your brother's example and come to town."

  She told herself once more that her slight instinct of uneasiness hadbeen absurd. Stephen's bow, although a little formal and austere, wasstill an acknowledgment of her welcome. The shadows of the room,perhaps, had prevented him from seeing her outstretched hand.

  "Mine is a very short visit, Miss Maurel," he said. "I had no otherreason for coming but to see John and to pay this call upon you."

  "I am greatly flattered," she told him. "You must please sit down andmake yourself comfortable while we talk. See, this is my favoriteplace," she added, dropping into a corner of her lounge. "Will you sitbeside me? Or, if you prefer, draw up that chair."

  "My preference," he replied, "is to remain standing."

  She raised her eyebrows. Her tone altered.

  "It must be as you wish, of course," she continued; "only I have suchpleasant recollections of your hospitality at Peak Hall that I shouldlike, if there was any possible way in which I could return it--"

  "Madam," he interrupted, "you must admit that the hospitality of PeakHall was not willingly offered to you. Save for the force ofcircumstances, you would never have crossed our threshold."

  She shrugged her shoulders. She was adapting her tone and manner to thebelligerency of his attitude.

  "Well?"

  "You want to know why I have found my way to London?" he went on. "Icame to find out a little more about you."

  "About me?"

  "To discover if there was anything about you," he proceededdeliberately, "concerning which report had lied. I do not place my faithin newspapers and gossip. There was always a chance that you might havebeen an honest woman. That is why I came to London, and why I went tosee your play last night."

  She was speechless. It was as if he were speaking to her in some foreigntongue.

  "I have struggled," he continued, "to adopt a charitable view of yourprofession. I know that the world changes quickly, while we, who preferto remain outside its orbit, of necessity lose touch with its new ideasand new fashions. So I said to myself that there should be no mistake.For that reason I sat in a theater last night almost for the first timein my life. I saw you act."

  "Well?" she asked almost defiantly.

  He looked down at her. All splendid self-assurance seemed ebbing away.She felt a sudden depression of spirit, a sudden strange sense ofinsignificance.

  "I have come," he said, "if I can, to buy my brother's freedom."

  "To buy your brother's freedom?" she repeated, in a dazed tone.

  "My brother is infatuated with you," Stephen declared. "I wish to savehim."

  Her woman's courage began to assert itself. She raised her eyes to his.

  "Exactly what do you mean?" she asked calmly. "In what way is any man tobe saved from me? If your brother should care for me, and I, by anychance, should happen to care for him, in what respect would that be astate from which he would require salvation?"

  "You make my task more difficult," he observed deliberately. "Does itamuse you to practise your profession before one so ignorant and sounappreciative as myself? If my brother should ever marry, it is my firmintention that he shall marry an honest woman."

  Louise sat quite still for a moment. A flash of lightning had glitteredbefore her eyes, and in her ears was the crash of thunder. Her face wassuddenly strained. She saw nothing but the stern, forbidding expressionof the man who looked down at her.

  "You dare to say this to me, here in my own house?"

  "Dare? Why not? Don't people tell you the truth here in London, then?"

  She rose a little unsteadily to her feet, motioning him toward the door,and moving toward the bell. Suddenly she sank back into her formerplace, breathless and helpless.

  "Why do you waste your breath?" he asked calmly. "We are alone here, andI--we know the truth!"

  She sat quite still, shivering a little.

  "Do we? Tell me, then, because I am curious--tell me why you are so sureof what you say?"

  "The world has it," he replied, "that you are the mistress of the Princeof Seyre. I came to London to satisfy myself as to the truth of thatreport. Do you believe that any man living, among that audience lastnight, could watch the play and know that you passed, night after night,into your bed-chamber to meet your lover with that look upon yourface--you are a clever actress, madam--and believe that you were a womanwho was living an honest life?"

  "That seems impossible to you?" she demanded.

  "Utterly impossible!"

  "And to John?"

  "I am speaking for myself and not for my brother," Stephen replied. "Menlike him, who are assailed by a certain madness, are best left alonewith it. That is why I came to you to bargain, if I could. Is thereanything that you lack--anything which your own success and your lover,or lovers, have failed to provide for you?"

  It was useless to try to rise; she was powerless in all her limbs. Sideby side with the anger and horror that his words aroused was a sense ofsomething almost grotesque, something which seemed to force an unnaturallaugh from her lips.

  "So you want to buy me off?"

  "I should be glad to believe that it was within my power to do so. Ihave not John's great fortune, but I have money, the accumulated savingsof a lifetime, for which I have no better purpose. There is one morething, too, to be said."

  "Another charge?"

  "Not that," he told her; "only it is better for you to understand thatif you turn me from your house this morning, I shall still feel thenecessity of saving my brother from you."

  "Saving him from me?" she exclaimed, rising suddenly and throwing outher arms. "Do you know what you are talking about? Do you know that if Iconsented to think of your brother as my husband, there is not a man inLondon who would not envy him? Look at me! I am beautiful, am I not? Iam a great artist. I am Louise Maurel, and I have made myself famous bymy own work and my own genius. What has your brother done in life torender him worthy of the sacrifice I should make if I chose to give himmy hand? You had better go back to Cumberland, Mr. Strangewey. You donot see life as we see it up here!"

  "And what about John?" he asked, without moving. "You tempted him away.Was it fro
m wantonness, or do you love him?"

  "Love him?" she laughed. "I hate you both! You are boors--you areignorant people. I hate the moment I ever saw either of you. Take Johnback with you. Take him out of my life. There is no place there forhim!"

  Stephen picked up his hat from the sofa where it lay. Louise remainedperfectly still, her breath coming quickly, her eyes lit with passion.

  "Madam," he said, "I am sorry to have distressed you, but the truthsometimes hurts the most callous of us. You have heard the truth fromme. I will take John back to Cumberland with me, if he will come. If hewill not--"

  "Take him with you!" she broke in fiercely. "He will do as I bid him--doyou hear? If I lift my little finger, he will stay. It will be I whodecide, I--"

  "But you will not lift your little finger," he interrupted grimly.

  "Why shouldn't I, just to punish you?" she demanded. "There are scoresof men who fancy themselves in love with me. If I choose, I can keepthem all their lives hanging to the hem of my skirt, praying for a word,a touch. I can make them furious one day and penitent the next--wretchedalways, perhaps, but I can keep them there. Why should I not treat yourbrother in the same way?"

  He seemed suddenly to dilate. She was overcome with a sense of somelatent power in the man, some commanding influence.

  "Because," he declared, "I am the guardian of my brother's happiness.Whoever trifles with it shall in the future reckon with me!"

  His eyes were fixed upon her soft, white throat. His long, lean fingersseemed suddenly to be drawing near to her. She watched him, fascinated.She was trying to scream. Even after he had turned away and left her,after she had heard his measured tramp descending the stairs, herfingers flew to her throat. She held herself tightly, standing therewith beating heart and throbbing pulses. It was not until the front doorhad closed that she had the strength to move, to throw herself facedownward upon the couch.