CHAPTER V.
On the following day Claudius and Mr. Barker received each a note. Thesecommunications were in square, rough envelopes, and directed in a largefeminine handwriting. The contents intimated that the Countess Margaretwould be glad to see them at dinner at half-past seven on Thursday.
"That is to-morrow," said Mr. Barker pensively.
Claudius, who was generally the calmest of the calm, made a remark inGerman to the effect that he fervently desired a thousand millionbushels of thunder-weather to fly away with him that very instant.
"Did you say anything, Professor?" inquired Mr. Barker blandly.
"I did. I swore," answered Claudius. "I have half a mind to swearagain."
"Do it. Profanity is the safety-valve of great minds. Swear loudly, andput your whole mind to it."
Claudius strode to the window of their sitting-room and looked out.
"It is extremely awkward, upon my word," he said.
"What is awkward, Professor? The invitation?"
"Yes--very."
"Why, pray? I should think you would be very much pleased."
"Exactly--I should be: but there is a drawback."
"Of what nature? Anything I can do?"
"Not exactly. I cannot wear one of your coats."
"Oh! is that it?" said Mr. Barker; and a pleasant little thrill oftriumph manifested itself, as he pushed out his jaw and exhibited hiscircular wrinkle. "Of course--how stupid of me! You are here as apedestrian, and you have no evening dress. Well, the sooner we go andsee a tailor the better, in that case. I will ring for a carriage." Hedid so, remarking internally that he had scored one in putting theDoctor into a position which forced him to dress like a Christian.
"Do you never walk?" asked Claudius, putting a handful of cigarettesinto his pocket.
"No," said the American, "I never walk. If man were intended by anall-wise Providence to do much walking he would have four legs."
The tailor promised upon his faith as a gentleman to make Claudiuspresentable by the following evening. Baden tailors are used toproviding clothes at short notice; and the man kept his word.
Pending the event, Barker remarked to Claudius that it was a pity theymight not call again before the dinner. Claudius said in some countrieshe thought it would be the proper thing; but that in Germany Barker wasundoubtedly right--it would not do at all.
"Customs vary so much in society," said Barker; "now in America we havesuch a pretty habit."
"What is that?"
"Sending flowers--we send them to ladies on the smallest provocation."
"But is not the Countess an American?" asked Claudius.
"Yes, certainly. Old Southern family settled north."
"In that case," said Claudius, "the provocation is sufficient. Let ussend flowers immediately." And he took his hat from the table.
Thought Mr. Barker, "My show Doctor is going it;" but he translated histhoughts into English.
"I think that is a good idea. I will send for a carriage."
"It is only a step," said Claudius, "we had much better walk."
"Well, anything to oblige you."
Claudius had good taste in such things, and the flowers he sent werejust enough to form a beautiful _ensemble_, without producing animpression of lavish extravagance. As Mr. Barker had said, the sendingof flowers is a "pretty habit,"--a graceful and gentle fashion mostpeculiar to America. There is no country where the custom is carried tothe same extent; there is no other country where on certain occasions itis requested, by advertisement in the newspapers, "that no flowers besent." Countess Margaret was charmed, and though Miss Skeat, who lovedroses and lilies, poor thing, offered to arrange them and put them inwater, the dark lady would not let her touch them. She was jealous oftheir beauty.
The time seemed long to Claudius, though he went in the meanwhile withBarker and the British aristocracy to certain races. He rather liked theracing, though he would not bet. The Duke lost some money, and Barkerwon a few hundred francs from a Russian acquaintance. The Duke drankcuracao and potass water, and Mr. Barker drank champagne, while Claudiussmoked innumerable cigarettes. There were a great many bright dresses,there was a great deal of shouting, and the congregation of thehorse-cads was gathered together.
"It does not look much like Newmarket, does it?" said the Duke.
"More like the Paris Exposition, without the exposition," said Barker.
"Do you have much racing in America?" asked Claudius.
"Just one or two," answered Barker, "generally on wheels."
"Wheels?"
"Yes. Trotting. Ag'd nags in sulkies. See how fast they can go a mile,"explained the Duke. "Lots of shekels on it too, very often."
At last the evening came, and Claudius appeared in Barker's room arrayedin full evening-dress. As Barker had predicted to himself, the resultwas surprising. Claudius was far beyond the ordinary stature of men, andthe close-fitting costume showed off his athletic figure, while thepale, aquiline features, with the yellow heard that looked gold atnight, contrasted in their refinement with the massive proportions ofhis frame, in a way that is rarely seen save in the races of the farnorth or the far south.
The Countess received them graciously, and Miss Skeat was animated. Theflowers that Claudius had sent the day before were conspicuously placedon a table in the drawing-room. Mr. Barker, of course, took in theCountess, and Miss Skeat put her arm in that of Claudius, inwardlywondering how she could have overlooked the fact that he was soexcessively handsome. They sat at a round table on which were flowers,and a large block of ice in a crystal dish.
"Do you understand Russian soups?" asked Margaret of Claudius, as shedeposited a spoonful of a wonderful looking _pate_ in the middle of her_consomme_.
"Alas" said the Doctor, "I am no gastronome. At least my friend Mr.Barker tells me so, but I have great powers of adaptation. I shallfollow your example, and shall doubtless fare sumptuously."
"Do not fear," said she, "you shall not have any more strange andCossack things to eat. I like some Russian things, but they are sotremendous, that unless you have them first you cannot have them atall."
"I think it is rather a good plan," said Barker, "to begin withsomething characteristic. It settles the plan of action in one's mind,and helps the memory."
"Do you mean in things in general, or only in dinner?" asked theCountess.
"Oh, things in general, of course. I always generalise. In conversation,for instance. Take the traditional English stage father. He alwaysdevotes himself to everlasting perdition before he begins asentence,--and then you know what to expect."
"On the principle of knowing the worst--I understand," said Margaret.
"As long as people understand each other," Claudius put in, "it isalways better to plunge _in medias res_ from the first."
"Yes, Dr. Claudius, you understand that very well;" and Margaret turnedtowards him as she spoke.
"The Doctor understands many things," said Barker in parenthesis.
"You have not yet reported the progress of the crusade," continued theCountess, "I must know all about it at once."
"I have been plotting and planning in the spirit, while my body has beenfrequenting the frivolities of this over-masculine world," answered theDoctor. At this point Miss Skeat attacked Mr. Barker about the NorthAmerican Indians, and the conversation paired off, as it will under suchcircumstances.
Claudius was in good spirits and talked wittily, half in jest, one wouldhave thought, but really in earnest, about what was uppermost in hismind, and what he intended should be uppermost in the world. It was asingular conversation, in the course of which he sometimes spoke veryseriously; but the Countess did not allow herself the luxury of beingserious, though it was an effort to her to laugh at the enthusiasm ofhis language, for he had a strong vitality, and something of the giftwhich carries people away. But Margaret had an impression that Claudiuswas making love, and had chosen this attractive ground upon which toopen his campaign. She could not wholly believe him diff
erent from othermen--at least she would not believe so soon--and her instinct told herthat the fair-haired student admired her greatly.
Claudius, for his part, wondered at himself, when he found a moment toreflect on what he had been saying. He tried to remember whether any ofthese thoughts had been formulated in his mind a month ago. He was,indeed, conscious that his high reverence for women in the abstract hadbeen growing in him for years, but he had had no idea how strong hisbelief had grown in this reverence as an element in social affairs.Doubtless the Doctor had often questioned why it was that women had solittle weight in the scale, why they did so little of all they might do,and he had read something of their doings across the ocean. But it hadall been vague, thick, and foggy, whereas now it was all sharp andclean-edged. He had made the first step out of his dreams in that hehad thought its realisation possible, and none but dreamers know howgreat and wide that step is. The first faint dawning, "It may be true,after all," is as different from the remote, listless view of theshadowy thought incapable of materialisation, as a landscape pictureseen by candle-light is different from the glorious reality of the sceneit represents. Therefore, when Claudius felt the awakening touch, andsaw his ideal before him, urging him, by her very existence which madeit possible, to begin the fight, he felt the blood run quickly in hisveins, and his blue eyes flashed again, and the words came flowingeasily and surely from his lips. But he wondered at his own eloquence,not seeing yet that the divine spark had kindled his genius into a broadflame, and not half understanding what he felt.
It is late in the day to apostrophise love. It has been done too much bypeople who persuade themselves that they love because they say they do,and because it seems such a fine thing. Poets and cynics, and good menand bad, have had their will of the poor little god, and he has grown soshy and retiring that he would rather not be addressed, or described, orphotographed in type, for the benefit of the profane. He is chary ofusing pointed shafts, and most of his target practice is done with heavyround-tipped arrows that leave an ugly black bruise where they strike,but do not draw the generous blood. He lurks in out-of-the-way placesand mopes, and he rarely springs out suddenly on unwary youth and maid,as he used to in the good old days before Darwin and La Rochefoucaulddestroyed the beauty of the body and the beauty of the soul,--or man'sbelief in them, which is nearly the same. Has not the one taught us tosee the animal in the angel, and the other to detect the devil in thesaint? And yet we talk of our loves as angels and our departed parentsas saints, in a gentle, commonplace fashion, as we talk of our articlesof faith. The only moderns who apostrophise love with any genuinesuccess are those who smack their lips sensuously at his flesh andblood, because they are too blind to see the lovely soul that isenshrined therein, and they have too little wit to understand that souland body are one.
Mr. Barker, who seemed to have the faculty of carrying on oneconversation and listening to another at the same time, struck in whenClaudius paused.
"The Professor, Countess," he began, "is one of those rare individualswho indulge in the most unbounded enthusiasm. At the present time Ithink, with all deference to his superior erudition, that he is runninginto a dead wall. We have seen something of the 'woman's rights'question in America. Let us take him over there and show him what it allmeans."
"My friend," answered Claudius, "you are one of those hardened scepticsfor whom nothing can be hoped save a deathbed repentance. When you aremortally hit and have the alternative of marriage or death set beforeyou in an adequately lively manner, you will, of course, elect to marry.Then your wife, if you get your deserts, will rule you with a rod ofiron, and you will find, to your cost, that the woman who has got youhas rights, whether you like it or not, and that she can use them."
"Dollars and cents," said Barker grimly, "that is all."
"No, it is not all," retorted Claudius. "A wise Providence has providedwomen in the world who can make it very uncomfortable for sinners likeyou, and if you do not reform and begin a regular course of worship, Ihope that one of them will get you."
"Thanks. And if I repent and make a pilgrimage on my knees to everywoman I know, what fate do you predict? what countless blessings are instore for me?"
The Countess was amused at the little skirmish, though she knew thatClaudius was right. Barker, with all his extreme politeness and hispleasant speeches, had none of the knightly element in his character.
"You never can appreciate the 'countless blessings' until you areconverted to woman-worship, my friend," said Claudius, evading thequestion. "But," he added, "perhaps the Countess might describe them toyou."
But Margaret meant to do nothing of the kind. She did not want tocontinue the general conversation on the topic which seemed especiallyClaudius's own, particularly as Mr. Barker seemed inclined to laugh atthe Doctor's enthusiasm. So she changed the subject, and began askingthe American questions about the races on the previous day.
"Of course," she said, "I do not go anywhere now."
The dinner passed off very pleasantly. Miss Skeat was instructed in theKnickerbocker and Boston peerage, so to speak, by the intelligent Mr.Barker, who did not fail, however, to hint at the superiority ofDebrett, who does not hesitate to tell, and boldly to print in black andwhite, those distinctions of rank which he considers necessary to thesalvation of society; whereas the enterprising compilers of the "BostonBlue Book" and the "New York List" only divide society up into streets,mapping it out into so many square feet and so much frontage of dukes,marquesses, generals, and "people we don't know." Miss Skeat listenedto the disquisition on the rights of birth with rapt attention, and theyellow candle-light played pleasantly on her old corners, and herancient heart fluttered sympathetically. Margaret, on the other side,made Claudius talk about his youth, and took infinite pleasure inlistening to his tales of the fresh Northern life he had led as a boy.The Doctor had the faculty of speech and told his stories with a certainvigour that savoured of the sea.
"I hope you will both come and see me," said the Countess, as the twomen took their departure; but as she spoke she looked at Barker.
Half an hour later they sat in their sitting-room at the hotel, andBarker sipped a little champagne while Claudius smoked cigarettes, asusual. As usual, also, they were talking. It was natural that twoindividuals endowed with the faculty of expressing their thoughts, andholding views for the most part diametrically opposed, should have agood deal to say to each other. The one knew a great deal, and the otherhad seen a great deal; both were given to looking at life ratherseriously than the reverse. Barker never deceived himself for a momentabout the reality of things, and spent much of his time in the practicaladaptation of means to ends he had in view; he was superficial in hisknowledge, but profound in his actions. Claudius was an intellectualseeker after an outward and visible expression of an inward andspiritual truth which he felt must exist, though he knew he might spenda lifetime in the preliminary steps towards its attainment. Just nowthey were talking of marriage.
"It is detestable," said Claudius, "to think how mercenary the marriagecontract is, in all civilised and uncivilised countries. It ought notto be so--it is wrong from the very beginning."
"Yes, it is wrong of course," answered Barker, who was always ready toadmit the existence and even the beauty of an ideal, though he nevertook the ideal into consideration for a moment in his doings. "Of courseit is wrong; but it cannot be helped. It crops up everywhere, as thequestion of dollars and cents will in every kind of business; and Ibelieve it is better to be done with it at first. Now you have to pay aFrenchman cash down before he will marry your daughter."
"I know," said Claudius, "and I loathe the idea."
"I respect your loathing, but there it is, and it has the greatadvantage that it is all over, and there is no more talk about it. Nowthe trouble in our country is that people marry for love, and when theyget through loving they have got to live, and then somebody must pay thebills. Supposing the son of one rich father marries the daughter ofanother rich father; by the time they
have got rid of the novelty of thething the bills begin to come in, and they spend the remainder of theiramiable lives in trying to shove the expense off on to each other. Withan old-fashioned marriage contract to tie them up, that would nothappen, because the wife is bound to provide so many clothes, and thehusband has to give her just so much to eat, and there is an end of it.See?"
"No, I do not see," returned Claudius. "If they really loved eachother--"
"Get out!" interrupted Barker, merrily. "If you mean to take theimmutability of the human affections as a basis of argument, I havedone."
"There your cynicism comes in," said the other, "and denies you thepleasure and profit of contemplating an ideal, and of following it upto its full development."
"Is it cynical to see things as they are instead of as they might be inan imaginary world?"
"Provided you really see them as they are--no," said Claudius. "But ifyou begin with an idea that things, as they are, are not very good, youwill very soon be judging them by your own inherent standard of badness,and you will produce a bad ideal as I produce a good one, farther stillfrom the truth, and extremely depressing to contemplate."
"Why?" retorted Barker; "why should it be depressing to look ateverything as it is, or to try to? Why should my naturally gaydisposition suffer on making the discovery that the millennium is notbegun yet? The world may be bad, but it is a merry little place while itlasts."
"You are a hopeless case," said Claudius, laughing; "if you had aconscience and some little feeling for humanity, you would feeluncomfortable in a bad world."
"Exactly. I am moderately comfortable because I know that I am just likeeverybody else. I would rather, I am sure."
"I am not sure that you are," said Claudius thoughtfully.
"Oh! not as you imagine everybody else, certainly. Medieval persons whohave a hankering after tournaments and crawl about worshipping women."
"I do not deny the softer impeachment," answered the Doctor, "but Ihardly think I crawl much."
"No, but the people you imagine do--the male population of this merryglobe, as you represent it to the Countess."
"I think Countess Margaret understands me very well."
"Yes," said Barker, "she understands you very well." He did notemphasise the remark, and his voice was high and monotonous; but therepetition was so forcible that Claudius looked at his companion rathercuriously, and was silent. Barker was examining the cork of his littlepint bottle of champagne--"just one square drink," as he would haveexpressed it--and his face was a blank.
"Don't you think, Professor," he said at last, "that with your viewsabout the rights of women you might make some interesting studies inAmerica?"
"Decidedly."
"You might write a book."
"I might," said Claudius.
"You and the Countess might write a book together."
"Are you joking?"
"No. What I have heard you saying to each other this evening and theother day when we called would make a very interesting book, though Idisagree with you both from beginning to end. It would sell, though."
"It seems to me you rather take things for granted when you infer thatthe Countess would be willing to undertake anything of the kind."
Barker looked at the Doctor steadily, and smiled.
"Do you really think so? Do you imagine that if you would do the workshe would have any objection whatever to giving you the benefit of herviews and experience?"
"In other words," Claudius said, "you are referring to the possibilityof a journey to America, in the company of the charming woman to whomyou have introduced me."
"You are improving, Professor; that is exactly what I mean. Let usadjourn from the bowers of Baden to the wind-swept cliffs of Newport--wecan be there before the season is over. But I forgot, you thought youwould not like Newport."
"I am not sure," said Claudius. "Do you think the Countess would go?"
"If you will call there assiduously, and explain to her the gloriousfuture that awaits your joint literary enterprise, I believe she mightbe induced."
Claudius went to bed that night with his head full of this new idea,just as Mr. Barker had intended. He dreamed he was writing with theCountess, and travelling with her and talking to her; and he woke upwith the determination that the thing should be done if it werepossible. Why not? She often made a trip to her native country, as sheherself had told him, and why should she not make another? For aught heknew, she might be thinking of it even now.
Then he had a reaction of despondency. He knew nothing of her ties or ofher way of life. A woman in her position probably made engagements longbeforehand, and mapped out her year among her friends. She would havepromised a week here and a month there in visits all over Europe, andthe idea that she would give up her plans and consent, at the instanceof a two days' acquaintance, to go to America was preposterous. Thenagain, he said to himself, as he came back from his morning walk in thewoods, there was nothing like trying. He would call as soon as it wasdecent after the dinner, and he would call again.
Mr. Barker was a man in whom a considerable experience of mensupplemented a considerable natural astuteness. He was not always rightin the judgments he formed of people and their aims, but he was moreoften right than wrong. His way of dealing with men was calculated onthe majority, and he knew that there are no complete exceptions to befound in the world's characters. But his standard was necessarilysomewhat low, and he lacked the sympathetic element which enables onehigh nature to understand another better than it understands itsinferiors. Barker would know how to deal with the people he met;Claudius could understand a hero if he ever met one, but he bore himselftoward ordinary people by fixed rules of his own, not caring orattempting to comprehend the principles on which they acted.
If any one had asked the Doctor if he loved the Countess, he would haveanswered that he certainly did not. That she was the most beautifulwoman in the world, that she represented to him his highest ideal, andthat he was certain she came up to that ideal, although he knew her solittle, for he felt sure of that. But love, the Doctor thought, wasquite a different affair. What he felt for Margaret bore no resemblanceto what he had been used to call love. Besides, he would have said, didever a man fall in love at such short notice? Only in books. But as noone asked him the question, he did not ask it of himself, but only wenton thinking a great deal of her, and recalling all she said. He was inan unknown region, but he was happy and he asked no questions.Nevertheless his nature comprehended hers, and when he began to go oftento the beautiful little villa, he knew perfectly well that Barker wasmistaken, and that the dark Countess would think twice and three timesbefore she would be persuaded to go to America, or to write a book, orto do anything in the world for Claudius, except like him and show himthat he was welcome. She would have changed the subject had Claudiusproposed to her to do any of the things he seemed to think she was readyto do, and Claudius knew it instinctively. He was bold with women, buthe never transgressed, and his manner allowed him to say many thingsthat would have sounded oddly enough in Mr. Barker's mouth. He impressedwomen with a sense of confidence that he might be trusted to honour themand respect them under any circumstances.
The Countess was accustomed to have men at her feet, but she had nevertreated a man unjustly, and if they had sometimes lost their heads itwas not her fault. She was a loyal woman, and had loved her husband asmuch as most good wives, though with an honest determination to love himbetter; for she was young when they married, and she thought her lovestronger than it really was. She had mourned him sincerely, but thewound had healed, and being a brave woman, with no morbid sensitivenessof herself, she had contemplated the possibility of marrying again,without, however, connecting the idea with any individual. She had likedClaudius from the first, and there had been something semi-romanticabout their meeting in the Schloss at Heidelberg. On nearer acquaintanceshe liked him better, though she knew that he admired her, and by thetime a fortnight had passed Claudius had become an institution. They
read together and they walked together, and once she took him with herin the black phaeton, whereupon Barker remarked that it was "an immensething on wheels."
Mr. Barker, seeing that his companion was safe for the present, leftBaden for a time and lighted on his friend the Duke at Como, where thelatter had discovered some attractive metal. The Duke remarked that Comowould be a very decent place if the scenery wasn't so confoundedly bad."I could beat it on my own place in the west," he added.
The British aristocracy liked Mr. Barker, because he was alwaysinventing original ways of passing the time, and because, though he wasso rich, he never talked about money except in a vague way as "lots ofshekels," or "piles of tin." So they said they would go back to Badentogether, which they did, and as they had talked a good deal aboutClaudius, they called on the Countess the same afternoon, and there,sure enough, was the Swede, sitting by the Countess's side in thegarden, and expounding the works of Mr. Herbert Spencer. Barker and theDuke remained half an hour, and Claudius would have gone with them, butMargaret insisted upon finishing the chapter, so he stayed behind.
"He's a gone 'coon, Duke," remarked Barker, beginning to smoke as soonas he was in the Victoria.
"I should say he was pretty hard hit, myself. I guess nothing bettercould have happened." The Duke, in virtue of his possessions in America,affected to "guess" a little now and then when none of those horridpeople were about.
"Come on, Duke," said Barker, "let us go home, and take them with us."
"I could not go just now. Next month. Autumn, you know. Glories of theforest and those sort of things."
"Think they would go?"
"Don't know," said the Duke. "Take them over in the yacht, if theylike."
"All right. We can play poker while they bay the moon."
"Hold on, though; she won't go without some other woman, you know. Itwould be in all the papers."
"She has a lady-companion," said Barker.
"That won't do for respectability."
"It is rather awkward, then." There was silence for a few moments.
"Stop a bit," said the Duke suddenly. "It just strikes me. I have got asister somewhere. I'll look her up. She is never ill at sea, and theyhave sent her husband off to Kamtchatka, or some such place."
"That's the very thing," said Barker. "I will talk to Claudius. Can youmanage the Countess, do you think? Have you known her long?"
"Rather. Ever since she married poor Alexis."
"All right, then. You ask her." And they reached their hotel.
So these two gentlemen settled things between them. They both wanted togo to America, and they were not in a hurry, so that the prospect of apleasant party, with all the liberty and home feeling there is on boardof a yacht, was an immense attraction. Barker, of course, was amused andinterested by his scheme for making Claudius and the Countess fall inlove with each other, and he depended on the dark lady for his show.Claudius would not have been easily induced to leave Europe by argumentor persuasion, but there was little doubt that he would follow theCountess, if she could be induced to lead. The Duke, on the other hand,thought only of making up a well-arranged party of people who wanted tomake the journey in any case, and would not be on his hands after helanded. So two or three days later he called on the Countess to open thecampaign. It was not altogether new ground, as they had crossed togetheronce before. The Duke was not very good at leading the conversation upto his points, so he immediately began talking about America, in orderto be sure of hitting somewhere near the mark.
"I have not been over since the autumn," he said, "and I really ought togo."
"When will you start?" asked Margaret.
"I meant to go next month. I think I will take the yacht."
"I wonder you do not always do that. It is so much pleasanter, and youfeel as if you never had gone out of your own house."
"The fact is," said he, plunging, "I am going to take my sister, and Iwould like to have a little party. Will you not join us yourself,Countess, and Miss Skeat?"
"Really, Duke, you are very kind. But I was not thinking of going homejust yet."
"It is a long time since you have been there. Not since--"
"Yes, I know," said Margaret gravely. "And perhaps that is why Ihesitate to go now."
"But would it not be different if we all went together? Do you not thinkit would be much nicer?"
"Did you say your sister was going?"
"Oh yes, she will certainly go."
"Well," said the Countess after a moment's thought, "I will not say justyet. I need not make up my mind yet; need I? Then I will take a few daysto think of it."
"I am sure you will decide to join us," said the Duke pressingly.
"Perhaps I ought to go, and it is so kind of you, really, to give mesuch a delightful chance." She had a presentiment that before long shewould be on her way to join the yacht, though at first sight it seemedrather improbable, for, as Claudius had guessed, she had a great manyengagements for visits. If any one had suggested to her that morningthat she might make a trip to America, she would have said it was quiteimpossible. The idea of the disagreeable journey, the horror of beingcast among an immense crowd of unknown travellers; or, still worse, ofbeing thrown into the society of some chance acquaintance who would makethe most of knowing her--it was all sufficient, even in the absence ofother reasons, to deter her from undertaking the journey. But in theparty proposed by the Duke it was all very different. He was agentleman, besides being a peer, and he was an old friend. His sisterwas a kind-hearted gentlewoman of narrow views but broad humanity; andnot least, the yacht was sure to be perfection, and she would be thehonoured guest. She would be sorry to leave Baden for some reasons; sheliked Claudius very much, and he made her feel that she was leading anintellectual life. But she had not entirely realised him yet. He was toher always the quiet student whom she had met in Heidelberg, and duringthe month past the feeling she entertained for him had developed more inthe direction of intellectual sympathy than of personal friendship. Shewould not mind parting with him any more than she would mind laying downan interesting book before she had half read it. Still that wassomething, and the feeling had weight.
"Miss Skeat," she said, when they were alone, "you have never been inAmerica?"
"No, dear Countess, I have never been there, and until lately I havenever thought I would care to go."
"Would you like to go now?"
"Oh!" exclaimed the ancient one, "I would like it of all things!"
"I am thinking of going over next month," said Margaret, "and of courseI would like you to go with me. Do you mind the sea very much?"
"Oh dear, no! I used to sail a great deal when I was a girl, and theAtlantic cannot be worse than our coast."
Miss Skeat's assent was a matter of real importance to Margaret, for theold gentlewoman was sincerely attached to her, and Margaret would havebeen very unwilling to turn her faithful companion adrift, even for atime, besides the minor consideration that without a companion she wouldnot go at all. The end of it was that by dinner-time she had made up hermind to write excuses to all the people who expected her, and to acceptthe Duke's invitation. After all, it was not until next month, and shecould finish the book she was reading with Claudius before that. Shepostponed writing to the Duke until the following day, in order to makea show of having considered the matter somewhat longer. But herresolution did not change, and in the morning she despatched a friendlylittle note to the effect that she found her engagements would permither, etc. etc.
When Margaret told Miss Skeat that they were going in one of the finestyachts afloat, with the Duke and his sister, her companion fairlycrackled with joy.