CHAPTER VIII. AN INTERRUPTED THEATRE PARTY
Seated upon a roomy lounge in the foyer of the Savoy were threewomen who attracted more than an average amount of attention from thepassers-by. In the middle was the Duchess of Devenham, erect, stately,and with a figure which was still irreproachable notwithstanding herwhite hair. On one side sat her daughter, Lady Grace Redford, tall,fair, and comely; on the other, Miss Penelope Morse. The two girls wereamusing themselves, watching the people; their chaperon had her eye uponthe clock.
"To dine at half-past seven," the Duchess remarked, as she looked aroundthe _entresol_ of the great restaurant through her lorgnettes, "iscertainly a little trying for one's temper and for one's digestion, butso long as those men accepted, I certainly think they ought to have beenhere. They know that the play begins at a quarter to nine."
"It isn't like Dicky Vanderpole in the least," Penelope said. "Since hebegan to tread the devious paths of diplomacy, he has brought exactnessin the small things of life down to a fine art."
"He isn't half so much fun as he used to be," Lady Grace declared.
"Fun!" Penelope exclaimed. "Sometimes I think that I never knew a moretrying person."
"I have never known the Prince unpunctual," the Duchess murmured. "Iconsider him absolutely the best-mannered young man I know."
Lady Grace smiled, and glanced at Penelope.
"I don't think you'll get Penelope to agree with you, mother," she said.
"Why not, my dear?" the Duchess asked. "I heard that you were quite rudeto him the other evening. We others all find him so charming."
Penelope's lip curled slightly.
"He has so many admirers," she remarked, "that I dare say he will notnotice my absence from the ranks. Perhaps I am a little prejudiced.At home, you know, we have rather strong opinions about this fusion ofraces."
The Duchess raised her eyebrows.
"But a Prince of Japan, my dear Penelope!" she said. "A cousin of theEmperor, and a member of an aristocracy which was old before we werethought of! Surely you cannot class Prince Maiyo amongst those to whomany of your country people could take exception."
Penelope shrugged her shoulders slightly.
"Perhaps," she said, "my feeling is the result of hearing you all praisehim so much and so often. Besides, apart from that, you must rememberthat I am a patriotic daughter of the Stars and Stripes, and there isn'tmuch friendship lost between Washington and Tokio just now."
The Duchess turned away to greet a man who had paused before their couchon his way into the restaurant.
"My dear General," she said, "it seems to me that one meets every onehere! Why was not restaurant dining the vogue when I was a girl!"
General Sherrif smiled. He was tall and thin, with grizzled hair andworn features. Notwithstanding his civilian's clothes, there was nopossibility of mistaking him anywhere, or under any circumstances, foranything but a soldier.
"It is a delightful custom," he admitted. "It keeps one always on the_qui vive_; one never knows whom one may see. Incidentally, I find itinterferes very much with my digestion."
"Digestion!" the Duchess murmured. "But then, you soldiers lead suchirregular lives."
"Not always from choice," the General reminded her. "The Russo-Japanesewar finished me off. They kept us far enough away from the fighting,when they could, but, by Jove, they did make us move!"
"We are waiting now for Prince Maiyo," the Duchess remarked. "You knowhim?"
"Know him!" the General answered. "Duchess, if ever I have to writemy memoirs, and particularly my reminiscences of this war, I fancy youwould find the name of your friend appear there pretty frequently. Therewasn't a more brilliant feat of arms in the whole campaign than hisflanking movement at Mukden. I met most of the Japanese leaders, and Ihave always said that I consider him the most wonderful of them all."
The Duchess turned to Penelope.
"Do you hear that?" she asked.
Penelope smiled.
"The Fates are against me," she declared. "If I may not like, I shall atleast be driven to admire."
"To talk of bravery when one speaks of that war," the General remarked,"seems invidious, for it is my belief that throughout the whole of theJapanese army such a thing as fear did not exist. They simply did notknow what the word meant. But I shall never forget that the only pieceof hand-to-hand fighting I saw during the whole time was a cavalrycharge led by Prince Maiyo against an immensely superior force ofRussians. Duchess," the General declared, "those Japanese on their queerlittle horses went through the enemy like wind through a cornfield. Thatyoung man must have borne a charmed life. I saw him riding and cheeringhis men on when he must have had at least half a dozen wounds in hisbody. You will pardon me, Duchess? I see that my party are waiting."
The General hurried away. The Duchess shut up her lorgnettes with asnap, and held out her hand to a newcomer who had come from behind thepalms.
"My dear Prince," she exclaimed, "this is charming of you! Some one toldme that you were not well,--our wretched climate, of course--and I wasso afraid, every moment, that we should receive your excuses."
The newcomer, who was bowing over her hand, was of medium height or atrifle less, dark, and dressed with the quiet exactness of an Englishgentleman. Only a slight narrowness of the eyes and a greateralertness of movement seemed to distinguish him in any way, as regardsnationality, from the men by whom he was surrounded. His voice, whenhe spoke, contained no trace of accent. It was soft and singularlypleasant. It had, too, one somewhat rare quality--a delightful ring oftruth. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why Prince Maiyo was justthen, amongst certain circles, one of the most popular persons inSociety.
"My dear Duchess," he said, "my indisposition was nothing. And as foryour climate, I am beginning to delight in it,--one never knows whatto expect, or when one may catch a glimpse of the sun. It is only thegrayness which is always the same."
"And even that," the Duchess remarked, smiling, "has been yellow for thelast few days. Prince, you know my daughter Grace, and I am sure thatyou have met Miss Penelope Morse? We are waiting for two other men, SirCharles Somerfield and Mr. Vanderpole."
The Prince bowed, and began to talk to his hostess' daughter,--a tall,fair girl, as yet only in her second season.
"Here comes Sir Charles, at any rate!" the Duchess exclaimed. "Really, Ithink we shall have to go in. We can leave a message for Dicky; they allknow him at this place. I am afraid he is one of those shocking youngmen who entertain the theatrical profession here to supper."
A footman at that moment brought a note to the Duchess, which she toreopen.
"This is from Dicky!" she exclaimed, glancing it throughquickly,--"Savoy notepaper, too, so I suppose he has been here. He saysthat he may be a few minutes late and that we are not to wait. He willpick us up either here or at the theatre. Prince, shall we let theseyoung people follow us? I haven't heard your excuses yet. Do you knowthat you were a quarter of an hour late?"
He bent towards her with troubled face.
"Dear Duchess," he said, "believe me, I am conscious of my fault. Anunexpected matter, which required my personal attention, presenteditself at the last moment. I think I can assure you that nothing ofits sort was ever accomplished so quickly. It would only weary you if Itried to explain."
"Please don't," the Duchess begged, "so long as you are here at last.And after all, you see, you are not the worst sinner. Mr. Vanderpole hasnot yet arrived."
The Prince walked on, for a few steps, in silence.
"Mr. Vanderpole is a great friend of yours, Duchess?" he asked.
The Duchess shook her head.
"I do not know him very well," she said. "I asked him for Penelope."
The Prince looked puzzled.
"But I thought," he said, "that Miss Morse and Sir Charles--"
The Duchess interrupted him with a smile.
"Sir Charles is very much in earnest," she whispered, "but very veryslow. Dicky is just the sort of man to spur him on. He
admires Penelope,and does not mind showing it. She is such a dear girl that I should loveto have her comfortably settled over here."
"She is very intelligent," the Prince said. "She is a young lady,indeed, for whom I have a great admiration. I am only sorry," heconcluded, "that I do not seem able to interest her."
"You must not believe that," the Duchess said. "Penelope is a littlebrusque sometimes, but it is only her manner."
They made their way through the foyer to the round table which had beenreserved for them in the centre of the restaurant.
"I suppose I ought to apologize for giving you dinner at such an hour,"the Duchess remarked, "but it is our theatrical managers who are toblame. Why they cannot understand that the best play in the world isnot worth more than two hours of our undivided attention, and begineverything at nine or a quarter-past, I cannot imagine."
The Prince smiled.
"Dear Duchess," he said, "I think that you are a nation of sybarites.Everything in the world must run for you so smoothly or you are notcontent. For my part, I like to dine at this hour."
"But then, you take no luncheon, Prince," Lady Grace reminded him.
"I never lunch out," the Prince answered, "but I have always what issufficient for me."
"Tell me," the Duchess asked, "is it true that you are thinking ofsettling down amongst us? Your picture is in the new illustrated paperthis week, you know, with a little sketch of your career. We are givento understand that you may possibly make your home in this country."
The Prince smiled, and in his smile there seemed to be a certainmysticism. One could not tell, indeed, whether it came from somepleasant thought flitting through his brain, or whether it was that theidea itself was so strange to him.
"I have no plans, Duchess," he said. "Your country is very delightful,and the hospitality of the friends I have made over here is toowonderful a thing to be described; but one never knows."
Lady Grace bent towards Sir Charles, who was sitting by her side.
"I can never understand the Prince," she murmured. "Always he seems asthough he took life so earnestly. He has a look upon his face which Inever see in the faces of any of you other young men."
"He is a bit on the serious side," Sir Charles admitted.
"It isn't only that," she continued. "He reminds me of that man whom weall used to go and hear preach at the Oratory. He was the same inthe pulpit and when one saw him in the street. His eyes seemed to seethrough one; he seemed to be living in a world of his own."
"He was a religious Johnny, of course," Sir Charles remarked. "They dowalk about with their heads in the air."
Lady Grace smiled.
"Perhaps it is religion with the Prince," she said,--"religion of asort."
"I tell you what I do think," Sir Charles murmured. "I think hispretence at having a good time over here is all a bluff. He doesn'treally cotton to us, you know. Don't see how he could. He's nevertouched a polo stick in his life, knows nothing about cricket, isindifferent to games, and doesn't even understand the meaning of theword 'Sportsman.' There's no place in this country for a man like that."
Lady Grace nodded.
"I think," she said, "that his visit to Europe and his stay amongstus is, after all, in the nature of a pilgrimage. I suppose he wants tocarry back some of our civilization to his own people."
Penelope, who overheard, laughed softly and leaned across the table.
"I fancy," she murmured, "that the person you are speaking of would notlook at it in quite the same light."
"Has any one seen the evening paper?" the Duchess asked. "It is thereany more news about that extraordinary murder?"
"Nothing fresh in the early editions," Sir Charles answered.
"I think," the Duchess declared, "that it is perfectly scandalous. Ourpolice system must be in a disgraceful state. Tell me, Prince,--couldanything like that happen in your country?"
"Without doubt," the Prince answered, "life moves very much in the Eastas with you here. Only with us," he added a little thoughtfully, "thereis a difference, a difference of which one is reminded at a time likethis, when one reads your newspapers and hears the conversation of one'sfriends."
"Tell us what you mean?" Penelope asked quickly.
He looked at her as one might have looked at a child,--kindly, eventolerantly. He was scarcely so tall as she was, and Penelope's attitudetowards him was marked all the time with a certain frigidity. Yet hespoke to her with the quiet, courteous confidence of the philosopher whounbends to talk to a child.
"In this country," he said, "you place so high a value upon the gift oflife. Nothing moves you so greatly as the killing of one man by another,or the death of a person whom you know."
"There is no tragedy in the world so great!" Penelope declared.
The Prince shrugged his shoulders very slightly.
"My dear Miss Morse," he said, "it is so that you think about life anddeath here. Yet you call yourselves a Christian country--you have a verybeautiful faith. With us, perhaps, there is a little more philosophy andsomething a little less definite in the trend of our religion. Yet we donot dress Death in black clothes or fly from his outstretched hand. Wefear him no more that we do the night. It is a thing that comes--a thingthat must be."
He spoke so softly, and yet with so much conviction, that it seemed hardto answer him. Penelope, however, was conscious of an almost feverishdesire either to contradict him or to prolong the conversation by somemeans or other.
"Your point of view," she said, "is well enough, Prince, for those whofall in battle, fighting for their country or for a great cause. Don'tyou think, though, that the horror of death is a more real thing ina case like this, where a man is killed in cold blood for the sake ofrobbery, or perhaps revenge?"
"One cannot tell," the Prince answered thoughtfully. "The battlefieldsof life are there for every one to cross. This mysterious gentleman whoseems to have met with his death so unexpectedly--he, too, may have beenthe victim of a cause, knowing his dangers, facing them as a man shouldface them."
The Duchess sighed.
"I am quite sure, Prince," she said, "that you are a romanticist. But,apart from the sentimental side of it, do things like this happen inyour country?"
"Why not?" the Prince answered. "It is as I have been saying: for aworthy cause, or a cause which he believed to be worthy, there is noman of my country worthy of the name who would not accept death withthe same resignation that he lays his head upon the pillow and waits forsleep."
Sir Charles raised his glass and bowed across the table.
"To our great allies!" he said, smiling.
The Prince drank his glass of water thoughtfully. He drank wine onlyon very rare occasions, and then under compulsion. He turned to theDuchess.
"A few days ago," he said, "I heard myself described as being muchtoo serious a person. Tonight I am afraid that I am living up to myreputation. Our conversation seems to have drifted into somewhat gloomychannels. We must ask Miss Morse, I think, to help us to forget. Theysay," he continued, "that it is the young ladies of your country whohold open the gates of Paradise for their menkind."
He was looking into her eyes. His tone was half bantering, half serious.From across the table Penelope knew that Somerfield was watching herclosely. Somehow or other, she was irritated and nervous, and sheanswered vaguely. Sir Charles intervened with a story about some oftheir acquaintances, and the conversation drifted into more ordinarychannels.
"Some day, I suppose," the Duchess remarked, as the service of dinnerdrew toward a close, "you will have restaurants like this in Tokio?"
The Prince assented.
"Yes," he said without enthusiasm, "they will come. Our heritage fromthe West is a sure thing. Not in my days, perhaps, or in the days ofthose that follow me, but they will come."
"I think that it is absolutely wicked of Dicky," the Duchess declared,as they rose from the table. "I shall never rely upon him again."
"After all, perhaps, it isn't his fault," Penelope sa
id, breathing alittle sigh of relief as she rose to her feet. "Mr. Harvey is not alwaysconsiderate, and I know that several of the staff are away on leave."
"That's right, my dear," the Duchess said, smiling, "stick up for yourcountrymen. I suppose he'll find us sometime during the evening. We canall go to the theatre together; the omnibus is outside."
The little party passed through the foyer and into the hall of thehotel, where they waited while the Duchess' carriage was called. Mr.Coulson was there in an easy chair, smoking a cigar, and watchingthe people coming and going. He studied the passers-by with ah air ofimpersonal but pleased interest. Penelope and Lady Grace were certainlyadmirable foils. The latter was fair, with beautiful complexion--atrifle sunburnt, blue eyes, good-humored mouth, and features excellentin their way, but a little lacking in expression. Her figure was good;her movements slow but not ungraceful; her dress of white ivory satin alittle extravagant for the occasion. She looked exactly what she was,--awell-bred, well-disposed, healthy young Englishwoman, of aristocraticparentage. Penelope, on the other hand, more simply dressed, savefor the string of pearls which hung from her neck, had the look of acreature from another world. She had plenty of animation; a certainnervous energy seemed to keep her all the time restless. She talkedceaselessly, sometimes to the Prince, more often to Sir Charles. Hergray-green eyes were bright, her cheeks delicately flushed. She spokeand looked and moved as one on fire with the joy of life. The Prince,noticing that Lady Grace had been left to herself for the lastfew moments, moved a little towards her and commenced a courteousconversation. Sir Charles took the opportunity to bend over hiscompanion.
"Penelope," he said, "you are queer tonight. Tell me what it is? Youdon't really dislike the Prince, do you?"
"Why, of course not," she answered, looking back into the restaurant andlistening, as though interested in the music. "He is odd, though, isn'the? He is so serious and, in a way, so convincing. He is like a beingtransplanted into an absolutely alien soil. One would like to laugh athim, and one can't."
"He is rather an anomaly," Sir Charles said, humming lightly to himself."I suppose, compared with us matter-of-fact people, he must seem to yoursex quite a romantic figure."
"He makes no particular appeal to me at all," Penelope declared.
Somerfield was suddenly thoughtful.
"Sometimes, Penelope," he said, "I don't quite understand you,especially when we speak about the Prince. I have come to the conclusionthat you either like him very much, or you dislike him very much, or youhave some thoughts about him which you tell to no one."
She lifted her skirts. The carriage had been called.
"I like your last suggestion," she declared. "You may believe that thatis true."
On their way out, the Prince was accosted by some friends and remainedtalking for several moments. When he entered the omnibus, there seemedto Penelope, who found herself constantly watching him closely, acertain added gravity in his demeanor. The drive to the theatre was ashort one, and conversation consisted only of a few disjointed remarks.In the lobby the Prince laid his hand upon Somerfield's arm.
"Sir Charles," he said, "if I were you, I would keep that evening paperin your pocket. Don't let the ladies see it."
Somerfield looked at him in surprise.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"To me personally it is of no consequence," the Prince answered, "butyour womenfolk feel these things so keenly, and Mr. Vanderpole is of thesame nationality, is he not, as Miss Morse? If you take my advice, youwill be sure that they do not see the paper until after they get homethis evening."
"Has anything happened to Dicky?" Somerfield asked quickly.
The Prince's face was impassive; he seemed not to have heard. Penelopehad turned to wait for them.
"The Duchess thinks that we had better all go into the box," she said."We have two stalls as well, but as Dicky is not here there is reallyroom for five. Will you get some programmes, Sir Charles?"
Somerfield stopped for a minute, under pretence of seeking some change,and tore open his paper. The Prince led Penelope down the carpeted way.
"I heard what you and Sir Charles were saying," she declared quietly."Please tell me what it is that has happened to Dicky?"
The Prince's face was grave.
"I am sorry," he replied. "I did not know that our voices would travelso far."
"It was not yours," she said. "It was Sir Charles'. Tell me quickly whatit is that has happened?"
"Mr. Vanderpole," the Prince answered, "has met with an accident,--asomewhat serious one, I fear. Perhaps," he added, "it would be as well,after all, to break this to the Duchess. I was forgetting the prejudicesof your country. She will doubtless wish that our party should be brokenup."
Penelope was suddenly very white. He whispered in her ear.
"Be brave," he said. "It is your part."
She stood still for a moment, and then moved on. His words had had acurious effect upon her. The buzzing in her ears had ceased; there wassomething to be done--she must do it! She passed into the box, the doorof which the attendant was holding open.
"Duchess," she said, "I am so sorry, but I am afraid that something hashappened to Dicky. If you do not mind, I am going to ask Sir Charles totake me home."
"But my dear child!" the Duchess exclaimed.
"Miss Morse is quite right," the Prince said quietly. "I think it wouldbe better for her to leave at once. If you will allow me, I will explainto you later."
She left the box without another word, and took Somerfield's arm.
"We two are to go," she murmured. "The Prince will explain to theDuchess."
The Prince closed the box door behind them. He placed a chair for theDuchess so that she was not in view of the house.
"A very sad thing has happened," he said quietly. "Mr. Vanderpole metwith an accident in a taxicab this evening. From the latest reports, itseems that he is dead!"