Am Umiosiiial Love Stoiry
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
HIT II
CSV , CZ W
A IU
CHAPTER XVII Continued.
10
"You 6llly child!" Louise exclaimed.
"No one told me you were here. Have
you had any lunch?"
"Long ago," Sophy replied. "I have
been finishing your accounts."
Louise made a little grimace.
"Tell me the worst," she begged.
"Tou are overdrawn at your bank,
your bills are heavier than ever this
month, and there are five or six special
accounts one for some electric fit
tings, another for the hire of a motor
car which ought to be paid."
Louise was looking up at the celling.
She sighed.
"It would be nice," she said, "to
have someone to pay one's bills and
look after one, and see that one wasn't
too extravagant.".
"Well, you need someone badly," So
phy asserted. "I suppose you mean
to make up your mind to it some day."
"I wonder !" Louise murmured. "Did
you know that that terrible man from
the hills John Strangewey's brother
has been here this morning? He fright
ened me to death."
"What did he want?" Sophy asked
curiously.
"He was a trifle vague," Louise re
marked. "I gathered that if I don't
send John back to Cumberland, he's
going to strangle me."
Sophy leaned across the table.
"Are you going to send him back?"
she asked.
"I am In an uncertain frame of
mind," Louise confessed. "I really
can't decide about anything."
"I want to tell you this, Louise,"
Sophy said firmly. "John Is getting to
know a great many people, and you
know how men talk at the clubs.
Aren't you sometimes afraid that he
will hear things and misunderstand?"
"I am expecting It every day," Lou
ise admitted.
"Then why don't you end It?"
"Which way?"
There was a silence between the two
mien. The muffled street noises
from outside became the background
to a stillness which grew every mo
ment more oppressive. Louise returned
to her former attitude. She looked
steadfastly before her, her face sup
ported by her hands.
Sophy grew paler and paler as the
minutes passed. There was something
strange and almost beautiful in Lou
ise's face, something which had come
to her-lately, and which shone from
her eyes only at -rare Intervals.
"You care for him, I believe I" Sophy
cried at last. "You care for him 1"
Louise did not move.
"Why not?" she whispered.
There was a ring at the front door.
Louise, from her place, could see the
long, gray bonnet of John's car. Al
most before she could speak, he was
announced.
"It's an atrocious time to come, I
know " he began apologetically.
"You're in time for some coffee, any
how," Sophy told him cheerfully. "And
I know Louise is glud to see you, be
cause If you hadn't come, I was going
to make her go through some ac
counts." "You know I am always glad to see
you," Louise murmured, pointing to a
chair. "Sophy and I have been having
a most interesting discussion, hut we
have come to a cul de sue'
"I really came," John cv;ilalnvd, "to
ask If you cared to cov;.e and see a
collection of pictures. There's an Ital
ian a futurist, of course Just un
packed his little lot and set them up
over a curiosity shop in Clifford street.
He Is sending out cards for next week,
but I could take you today that Is,
If you would care about it. We , can
go somewhere for some tea afterward."
Louise made a little grimace.
"What bad luck !" she exclaimed.
"She stopped short. She felt that by
her hesitation she had, in a sense, com
mitted herself.
"I have promised to go and have tea
with the prince at Seyre nouse," she
said. "It Is an engagement we made
last week."
John set down his empty coffee cup
with a clatter. An Inexplicable but
dominating fury seemed to have sud
denly assailed him. He took out a
cigarette and tried to light it. Sophy,
after watching him, for a moment In
astonishment, slipped out of the room.
Louise came over to his side.
"Are you really so much disappoint
ed?" she asked. "I arn so sorry! If
I had known that you were coming for
me, I would have kept myself free."
"It Isn't that exactly," John an
swered. "It's something I can't alto
gether explain. If you don't mind, I
think I will be going. There is some
thing I must put right."
He left without another word. She
watched him step into his new motor
. car and drive away a little recklessly,
considering the crowded state of the
streets, lie drew up, a few minutes
later, outside the club in Pail Mall,
where, as it chanced, he had lunched
that day with the prince of Seyre.
He found the prince still sitting in
the smoking room, reading a review,
over the top of which he glanced up
as John approached, and nodded non
chalantly. "Back again?" he murmured.
"I came back to have a word with
you, prince."
The prince laid down the review,
keeping his finger In the place.
"Delighted!" .
' "Not long ago," John went on, "In
this room, someone I think It was Ma
jor Charters asked you what you
were doing this afternoon. You replied
that you were engaged. There were
several others present, and they began
to chaff you. Perhaps I Joined In I
don't remember. I think that It was
Major Charters who asked you, to use
his own words, whether your appoint
ment was with a lady. You replied in
the affirmative. There was a loud vol
ley of chaff. You listened without con
tradiction to many references concern
ing the lady and the afternoon's en
gagement"
The prince nodded slightly. His face
remained quite expressionless.
"As a matter of fact," John conclud
ed, "I have discovered by the purest
accident that Miss Maurel Is to be your
guest this afternoon at Seyre House."
The prince Inclined his head gently.
He remained monosyllabic.
"Well?"
John frowned heavily.
"Can't you see," he went on bluntly,
"that If any one of those men who
were present, and heard what was said
about your guest, found out afterward
that it was Miss Maurel who came to
see you well, I need not go on, need
I? I am sure you understand. The
things which were hinted tit could not
possibly apply to her. Would you
"The Things That Were Hinted Could
Not Possibly Apply to Her."
mind sending a note to Miss Maurel
and asking her to have tea with you
some other afternoon?"
"And why the deuce should I do
that?" the prince asked, a trifle paler,
but entirely self-possessed.
"To oblige me," John replied.
The prince wiped his eyeglass care
fully upon his handkerchief.
"Mr. Strangewey, you are a very
amiable young man," he said equably,
"to whom I have tried to show some
kindness for Miss Maurel's sake. I
really do not see, however pardon my
putting it plainly what business this
Is of yours."
"It is my business," John declared,
"because I have asked Miss Maurel to
be my wife, and because I am hoping
that some day, before very long, she
will consent."
The prince sat quite still In his chair,
his eyes fixed upon a certain spot In
the carpet, ne had not even the ap
pearance of being engaged In thought.
He seemed only steeped In a sort of
passivity. Finally, with a sigh, he rose
to his feet.
"My young friend," he decided, "your
statement alters the situation. I did
not credit you with matrimonial Inten
tions. I must see what can be done I"
His lips relaxed ever so slightly so
slightly that they showed only a
glimpse of his teeth In one straight,
hard line. He looked at John mildly,
and his words seemed destitute of all
offense; yet John felt the lightnings
were playing around them.
"I shall write a note to Miss Mau
rel," the prince promised, as he made
his way toward" the writing table, "and
ask her to visit me upon some other
afternoon." "
CHAPTER XVIII.
Back again to his rooms, and, later
on, once more to Louise's little house
in Kensington; a few minutes' master
ful pleading, and then success. Louise
wrapped herself up and descended to
f'-eet by his side.
inn hour or more John drove
7 o-ofworfl ecnrpplv sneflklnff
. , -
hnn a chance word. It was twi-
ligTTTwhen he brought the car to a
standstill. Iulse raised her veil and
looked up.
"Well?" she asked inquiringly.
He pushed back the throttle on
his steering wheel and stopped the en
gine. Then he turned toward her.
"I have something to say to you," he
said. "I have brought you here that
I may say It In my own way and In my
own atmosphere."
"This Is like you I" Louise mur
mured. "You had to bring me out to
a hilltop, on the dreariest hour of a
wet March afternoon, to tell me
what?"
"First of all," John began, "I will an
swer a question which you have asked
me three times since we' started out
this afternoon. You wanted to know
how I found out that you were not go
ing to tea with the prince. Well, here
is the truth: I asked the prince to
change the day of your visit to him."
Her fine, silky eyebrows came a little
closer together.
"You asked him that?" she repeated.
John nodded.
"And he consented?"
"I will explain," John continued. "It
was a most unfortunate circumstance,
but In the club, after lunch, the subject
of spending the afternoon came up.
The prince spoke of an engagement.
He was tied at home, he said, from
four to six. Some of the men began
to chaff him, and suggested that he
was entertaining some lady friend, his
latest favorite well, I dare say you
can Imagine the rest," John broke off.
ner fingers played nervously for a
moment with the edge of the rug. She
drew It higher up.
"Well, when I left your house the
first time this afternoon, I went
straight back to the prince. I pointed
out to him that after what had been
said, as it might become known that
you were his guest of today, It would
be better for him to postpone your
visit. He agreed to do so."
"Was that all that passed between
you?"
"Not quite," John replied. "He
asked me what concern It was of mine,
and I told him I hoped that some day
you would be my wife."
She sat quite still, looking down
upon the flaring lights. She was filled
with a restless desire to escape, to
start the motor herself, and rush
through the wet air into London and
safety. And side by side with that
desire she knew that there was noth
ing In the world she wanted so much
as to stay Just where she was, and to
hear Just the words she was going to
hear.
"So mucli for that !" John proceeded.
"And now please listen. I have brought
you out here because under these con
ditions I feel more master of myself
and my thoughts, and of things I want
to say to you. Something takes me by
the throat in your little drawing-room,
with Its shaded lights, Its perfume of
flowers, and Its atmosphere of perfec
tion. You sit enthroned there like the
queen of a world I know nothing of,
and all the time letters and flowers
and flattering invitations are showered
upon you from the greatest men In
London. The atmosphere there stifles
me, Louise. Out here you are a woman
and I a man, and those other things
fall away. I have tried my best to
come a little way into sympathy with
your life. I want you now to make up
your mind to come down a little way
Into mine!"
She felt the sudden snapping of ev
ery nerve In her body, the passing
away of all sense of will or resistance.
She was conscious only of the little
movement toward him, the involuntary
yielding of herself. She lay back In
his arms, and the kisses which closed
her eyes and lips seemed to be work
ing some strange miracle.
She was in some great empty space,
breathing wonderful things. She was
on the hilltops, and from the heights
she looked ?wn at herself as she had
been a poor little white-faced puppet,
strutting about an overheated stage, in
a fetid atmosphere of adulation, with
a brain artificially stimulated, and a
heart growing cold with selfishness.
She pitied herself as she had been.
Then sh opened her eyes with a start
of Joy.
"How wonderful it all Is!" she mur
mured. "You brought me here to tell
me this?"
"And to hear something!" he insist
ed. "I have tried not to, John," she con
fessed, amazed at the tremble of her
sweet, low voice. Her words seemed
like the confession of a weeping child.
"I cannot help it. I do love you! I
have tried not to so hard, but now
now I shall not try any more !"
They drove quietly down the long
hill and through the dripping streets.
Not another word passed between
them till they drew up outside her
door. She felt a new timidity as he
handed her out, an Immense gratitude
for his firm tone and Intuitive tact.
"No, I won't come In, thanks," he de
clared. "You have so little time to
rest and get ready for the theater."
"You will be there tonight?" she
asked.
He laughed as if there were humor
In the suggestion of his absence.
"Of course!" .
He slipped in his clutch and drove
off through the rain-gleaming streets
with the smile and air of a conqueror.
Louise passed Into her little house to
find a visitor waiting for her there. .
.
Eugene, prince of Seyre, had spent
the early part of that afternoon in a
manner wholly strange to him. In pur
suance of an order given to his major
domo immediately on his return from
his club after lunch, the great recep
tion rooms of Seyre House, the picture
gallery and the ballroom were pre
pared as if for a reception. Dust-sheets
were swept aside, masterpieces of
painting and sculpture were uncovered,
the soft brilliance of concealed electric
lights lit up many dark corners.
He was forty-one years old that
day, and the few words which John
had spoken-to him barely an hour ago
had made him realize that there was
only one thing in life that he desired.
The sight of his treasures merely
soothed his vanity. It left empty and
unsatisfied his fuller and deeper de
sire of living. He told himself that
his time had come. Others of his race
had paid a great price for the things
they had coveted in life. He, too, must
follow their example.
He was in Louise's drawing-room
when she returned Louise, with hair
and cheeks a little damp, but with a
wonderful light in her eyes and with
footsteps that seemed to fall upon air.
"Some tea and a bath this mo
ment. Aline!" she called out, as she
ran lightly up the stairs. "Never mind
about dinner, I am so late. I will
have some toast. Be quick!"
"Madame " Aline began.
"Don't bother me about anything
now," Louise interrupted. "I will
throw my things off while you get the
bath ready."
She stepped Into her little room,
throwing off her cloak as she entered.
Then she stopped short, almost upon
the threshold. The prince had risen
to his feet
"Eugene!"
ne came toward her. Even as he
stooped to kiss her fingers, his eyes
seemed to take in her disheveled con
dition, the little patches of color In
her cheeks, the radiant happiness
which shone In her eyes.
"I am not an unwelcome Intruder,
I hope," he said. "But how wet you
are !"
The fingers which he released fell
nervelessly to her side. She stood
looking at him as if confronted with
a sudden nightmare. It was as if this
new-found life were being slowly
drained from her veins.
"You are overtired," he murmured,
leading her with solicitude toward an
easy chair. "One would imagine, from
your appearance, that I was the bear
er of some terrible tidings. Let me
assure you that it Is not so."
He spoke with his usual delibera
tion, but she seemed powerless to re
cover herself. She was still dazed
and white. She sank into the chair
and looked at him.
"Nothing, I trust," he went on, "has
happened to disturb you?"
"Nothing at all," she declared hast
ily. "I am tired. I ran upstairs per
haps a little too quickly. Aline had
not told me that there was anyone
here."
"I had a fancy to see you this after
noon," the prince explained, "and,
finding you out, I took the liberty of
waiting. If you would rather I went
away and came for you later, please
do not hesitate to say so."
"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I
do not know why I should have been
so silly. Aline, take my coat and
veil," she directed, turning to the
maid, who was lingering at the other
end of the room. "I am not wet
Serve some tea in here. I will have
my bath later, when I change to go to
the theater."
She spoke bravely, but fear was In
her heart She tried to tell herself
"I Beg You to Do Me the Honor of
Becoming My Wife."
that this visit was a coincidence, that
it meant nothing, but all the time she
knew otherwise.
The door closed behind Aline, and
they were alone. The prince, as If
anxious to give her time to recover
herself, walked to the window and
stood for some moments looking out.
When he turned around, Louise had
at least nerved herself to meet what
she felt was imminent, -i
The prince approached her deliber
ately. She knew what he was going
to say. '
"Louise," he began, drawing a chair
to her side, "I have found myself
thinking a great deal about you dur
ing the last few weeks."
.. She did not Interrupt him. She
simply waited and watched.
"I have come to a certain determin
ation," he proceeded; "one which, if
you will grace It with your approval,
will give me great happiness. I ask
you to forget certain things which
have passed bitween us. I have come
to you today to beg you to do me the
honor of becoming my wife."
She turned her head very slowly
until she was looking him full In the
face. ; Her lips were a little parted,
her eyes a little strained. The prince
was leaning toward her in a conven
tional attitude ; his words had been
spoken simply and in his usual con
versatlonal manner. There was some
thing about him, however, profoundly
convincing.
"Your wife!" Louise repeated.
"If you will do me that great hon
or."
It seemed at first as if her nerves
were strained to the breaking-point,
The situation was one with which her
brain, seemed unable to grapple. She
set her teeth tightly. Then she had a
sudden Interlude of wonderful clear
sightedness. She was almost cool.
"You must forgive my surprise, Eu
gene," she begged. "We have known
each other now for some twelve years,
have we not? and I believe that this
is the first time you have ever hinted
at anything of the sort I"
"One gathers wisdom, perhaps, with
the years," he replied. "I am forty
one years old today. I have spent the
early hours of this afternoon in reflec
tion, and behold the result!"
"You have spoken to me before," she
said slowly, "of different things. You
have offered me a great deal In life.
but never your name. I do not under
stand this sudden change!"
"Louise," he declared, "if I do not
tell you the truth now, you will prob
ably guess it Besides, this la the one
time in their lives when a man and
woman should speak nothing but the
truth. It is for fear of losing you
that is why."
Her self-control suddenly gave way,
She threw herself back in her chair.
She began to laugh and stopped ab
ruptly, the tears streaming from her
eyes. The prince leaned forward. He
took her hands in his, but she drew
them away.
"You are too late. Eugene 1" she
said. "I almost loved you. 1 was al
most yours to do whatever you liked
with. But somehow, somewhere, not
withstanding all your worldly knowl
edge and mine we missed it We do
not know the truth about life; you and
I at least you do not, and I did not"
He rose very slowly to his feet.
There was no visible change in his
face save a slight whitening of the
cheeks.
k "And the sequel to this?" he asked
"I have promised to marry John
Strangewey," sjietold him.
"That," he replied, "is impossible!
I have a prior claim."
The light of battle flamed suddenly
In her eyes. Her nervousness had
gone. She was a strong woman, face
to face with him now, taller than he,
seeming, indeed, to tower over him in
the splendor of her anger. She was
like a lioness threatened with the loss
of the one dear thing.
"Assert it then," she cried defiant
ly. "Do what you will. Go to him
this minute, if you have courage
enough, if it seems to you well. Claim,
indeed ! Right ! I have the one right
every woman in the world possesses
to give herself, body and soul, to the
man she loves! That is the only claim
and the only right I recognize, and I
am giving myself to him, when he
wants me, forever 1"
She stopped suddenly. Neither of
them had heard a discreet knock at
the door. Aline had entered with the
tea. There was a moment of' silence.
"Put It down here by my side,
Aline," her mistress ordered, "and
show the prince of Seyre out"
Aline held the door open. For a
single moment the prince hesitated.
Then he picked up his hat and bowed.
"Perhaps," he said, "this may not
be the last word!"
CHAPTER XIX.
John came back to town from his
Cumberland home, telling himself that
ull had gone as well as he had expect
ed. He had done his duty. He had
told Stephen his news, and they had
parted friends. Yet all the time he
was conscious of an undercurrent of
disconcerting thoughts.
Louise -met him at the station, and
he fancied that her expression, too,
although- she welcomed him gaily
enough, was a little anxious.
"Well?" she-asked, as she took his
arm and led him to where her limou
sine was waiting. "What did that ter
rible brother of yours say?"
John made a little grimace.
"It might have been worse," he de
clared. "Stephen wasn't pleased, , of
course. He hates women like poison,
and he always will. That is because
he will insist upon dwelling upon cer
tain unhappy incidents of our family
history."
"I shall never forget the mornins
he came to call on me," Louise 6lghed.
"ne threatened all sorts of terrible
things if I did not give you up." :
"Why didn't you tell me about Itl"
John asked.
"I thought it might worry you," she
replied, "and it couldn't do any good.
Her Lips Sought His and Clung t
Them.
He believed he was doing his duty,
John, you are sure about yourself;
aren't you?"
He was a little startled "by the earn
estness of her words. Sh seemed
pale and fragile, her eyes larger and
deeper than usual, and her mouth
tremulous. She was like a child with
the shadow of some fear hanging over
her. He laughed and held her tightly
to him.
Her Hps sought his and clung to
them. A queer little wave of passion
seemed to have seized her. Half cry
ing, half laughing, she pressed her
face against his. "I do not want te
act tonight I do not want to play,
even to the most wonderful audienct
in the world. I do not want to shake
hands with many hundreds of people
at that hateful reception. I think I
want nothing else in the world but
you!" ' '
She lay, for a moment passive fa:
LI- v - a. m ' m
ma arms, lie smoouieu ner nair uh
kissed her tenderly. Then he led her
back to her place upon the couch.
Her emotional mood, while it flattered
him in a sense, did nothing to quiet
the little demons of unrest that pulled,,
every now and then, at his heart
strings. '.
"What Is this reception?" he asked.
She made a little grimace.
"It is a formal welcome from th
English stage to the French company
that has come over to play at the new;
French theater," she told him. - "Sir!
Edward and I are to receive them
You will come, will you not? I m
the hostess of the evening."
'Then I am not likely to refuse, an
I?" he asked, smiling. "Shall I com
to the theater?" '
"Come straight to the reception al
the Whitehall rooms," she begged. "Slif
Edward is calline for me. and Grailloi
will go down with us. Later, if your
care to, you can drive me home." "
"Don't you think," he suggested
that it would be rather a good oppor
tunity to announce our engagement?
"Not tonight!" she pleaded. "Yoii
know, I cannot seem to believe It my-t
self except when I am with you anc
we are alone. It seems too wonderfu;
after all these years. Do you know,
John, that I am nearly thirty?"
He laughed. 1
"How pathetic! All the more re
son, I should say, why we should lef!
people know. about it as soon as po
sible."
'There is no particular hurry," stxj
said, a' little nervously. "Let me get!
used to it myself. I don't think yotj
will hnva trt wnlf Inns TJVorvthlm?
I have been used to doing and think j
ing seems to be crumbling up arountf
me. Last night I even hated my work
or at least part of It."
Ills eyes lit up with genuine pleaat
ure.
"I can't tell you how glad I am te
hear you say that," he declared. "J
don't hate your work I've got oven
that . I don't think I am narrow about
it. I admire Graillot, and his play 1
wonderful. But I think, and I alwaf,.
shall think, that the ' denouement itj
that third act is abominable !"
She nodded understandinfc'iy. j
"I am beginning to realize how yoi;
must ieei, sue cuuicsm:u, te wuu
A. l ,, 1 1 41TTT J
taiK aoout it any more now. inv
me to the theater, will you? I wan
to be there early tonight. Just to etc
everything ready for changing atari
ward."
(TO E'U CQliTWVUDJ