The Red Rat's Daughter by Guy Boothby (books to read in your 20s .txt) 📕

wait outside. When you reappeared you acted the part of an amiable lunatic; talked a lot of bosh about preferring fogs to sunshine; and when I informed you that you were on the high-road to an asylum, said it was better than that--you were going to the German Park Road. Our yachting cruise has been thrown to the winds; and now, to make up for it, you have the impudence to ask me to play gooseberry for you, and try to propitiate me with one of Lallemand's dinners, which invariably upset me for a week, and a dose of Wagner which will drive me crazy for a month."

"How do you know I want you to play gooseberry?" asked Browne savagely. "It's like your impudence to say such a thing."

"How do I know anything?" said Jimmy, with delightful calmness. "Why, by the exercise of my own common-sense, of course--a commodity you will never possess if you go on like this. You are spoons on this girl, I suppose, and since there's another coming with her, it's pretty plain to me somebody must be there to keep that other out of the way."

"You grow very coarse," retorted Browne, now thoroughly on his dignity.

"It's a coarse age, they say," Foote replied. "Don't I know by experience exactly what that second party will be like!"

"If you do you are very clever," said Browne.

"One has to be clever to keep pace with the times," Jimmy replied. "But, seriously, old man, if you want me, I shall be only too glad to come to your dinner; but, mind, I take no responsibility for what happens. I am not going to be called to account by every London mother who possesses a marriageable daughter."

"You needn't be afraid," said Browne. "I will absolve you from all responsibility. At any rate you assure me that I can depend upon you?"

"Of course you can, and anything else you like besides," Foote replied. Then, laying his hand upon Browne's shoulder, he added: "My dear old Jack, in spite of our long acquaintance, I don't think you quite know me yet. I talk a lot of nonsense, I'm afraid; but as far as you are concerned you may depend the heart's in the right place. Now I come to think of it, I am not quite certain it would not be better for you to be decently married and out of harm's way. Of course, one doesn't like to see one's pals hurried off like that; but in your case it's different."

"My dear fellow," said Browne, "as you said just now, you certainly do talk a lot of nonsense. Whoever said anything about marriage? Of course I'm not going to be married. I have never contemplated such a thing. It's always the way; directly a man shows a little extra courtesy to a woman, talks to her five minutes longer than he is accustomed to do, perhaps, or dances with her twice running, you immediately get the idea that everything is settled between them, and that all you have to do is to wonder what sort of wedding present you ought to give them."

"When a man gives himself away as completely as you have done in this particular instance, it is not to be wondered that his friends think there is something in the air," said Jimmy. "However, you know your own business best. What time is the dinner?"

"Seven o'clock sharp," said Browne. "You had better meet me there a few minutes before. Don't forget we go to the Opera afterwards."

"I am not likely to forget it," said Jimmy, with a doleful face.

"Very well, good-bye until to-morrow evening."

There was a little pause, and then Browne held out his hand.

"Thank you, Jimmy," he said with a sincerity that was quite inconsistent with the apparent importance of the subject. "I felt sure I could rely upon you."

"Rely upon me always," Jimmy replied. "I don't think you'll find me wanting."

With that Browne bade him good-bye, and went out into the street. He hailed a cab, and bade the man drive him to Park Lane.

Once it had started, he laid himself back on the cushions and gave free rein to his thoughts. Though he had to all intents and purposes denied it a few minutes before, there could be no doubt that he was in love--head over ears in love. He had had many passing fancies before, it is true, but never had he experienced such a strong attack of the fever as at present. As the cab passed along the crowded street he seemed to see that sweet face, with its dark eyes and hair; that slender figure, and those beautiful white hands, with their long tapering fingers; and to hear again the soft tones of Katherine's voice as she had spoken to him in the studio that afternoon. She was a queen among women, he told himself, and was worthy to be loved as such. But if she were so beautiful and so desirable, could she be induced to have anything to do with himself? Could she ever be brought to love him? It was consistent with the man's character to be so humble, and yet it was strange that he should have been so. Ever since he had been eligible for matrimony he had been the especial prey of mothers with marriageable daughters. They had fawned upon him, had petted him, and in every way had endeavoured to effect his capture. Whether or not Katherine Petrovitch knew of his wealth it was impossible for him to say. He hoped she did not. It was his ambition in life to be loved, and be loved for himself alone. If she would trust him, he would devote his whole life to making her happy, and to proving how well founded was the faith she had reposed in him. Vitally important as the question was, I believe he had never for one moment doubted her. His nature was too open for that, while she herself, like Caesar's wife, was of course above suspicion. The fact that she had confessed to him that her family was prohibited in Russia only served to intensify his admiration for her truthful qualities. Though he knew nothing of her history or antecedents, it never for one moment caused him any uneasiness. He loved her for herself, not for her family. When he went to bed that night he dreamt of her, and when he rose in the morning he was, if possible, more in love than before. Fully occupied as his day usually was, on this occasion he found it more than difficult to pass the time. He counted the hours--nay, almost the minutes--until it should be possible for him to set off to the restaurant. By the midday post a charming little note arrived, signed Katherine Petrovitch. Browne was in his study when it was brought to him, and it was with the greatest difficulty he could contain his impatience until the butler had left the room. The instant he had done so, however, he tore open the envelope and drew out the contents. The writing was quaint and quite un-English, but its peculiarities only served to make it the more charming. It would give Madame Bernstein and the writer, it said, much pleasure to dine with him that evening. He read and re-read it, finding a fresh pleasure in it on each occasion. It carried with it a faint scent which was as intoxicating as the perfume of the Lotus Blossom.

Had the beautiful Miss Verney, who, it must be confessed, had more than once written him letters of the most confidential description, guessed for a single moment that he preferred the tiny sheet he carried in his coat-pocket to her own epistles, it is certain her feelings would have been painful in the extreme. The fact remains, however, that Browne preserved the letter, and, if I know anything of human nature, he has it still.


CHAPTER VI


The dinner that evening must be counted a distinct success. Browne was the first to arrive at the rendezvous, and it was not wonderful that he should have been, considering that he had spent the whole of his day waiting for that moment. The owner of the restaurant received him personally.

"Well, Lallemand," said Browne, with an anxiety that was almost ludicrous, "how are your preparations? Is everything ready?"

"Certainly, monsieur," Lallemand replied, spreading his hands apart. "Everything is ready; Felix himself has done ze cooking, I have chosen ze wine, and your own gardener has arranged ze flowers. You have ze best men-servants in London to wait upon you. I have procured you four kinds of fruit that has only a few times been seen in England before; and now I give you ze word of Lallemand zat you will have ze most perfect little dinner in ze city of London."

"I am glad to hear it," said Browne. "I am exceedingly obliged to you for the trouble you have taken in the matter."

"I beg you will not mention ze trouble, monsieur," replied Lallemand politely. "It is ze pleasure of my life to serve you."

He had scarcely spoken before a cab drew up before the door, and Jimmy Foote made his appearance, clad in immaculate evening-dress. He greeted Browne with a somewhat sheepish air, as if he were ashamed of himself for something, and did not quite know what that something was.

"Well, old man," he said. "Here I am, you see; up to time, I hope. How d'ye do, Lallemand?"

"I hope you are most well, Monsieur Foote," replied Lallemand, with one of his inimitable bows.

"I am better than I shall be after your dinner," Foote replied, with a smile. "Human nature is weak. I am tempted, and I know that I shall fall."

Browne all this time was showing signs of impatience. He glanced repeatedly at his watch, and as seven o'clock drew near he imagined that every vehicle pulling up outside must contain the two ladies for whom he was waiting so eagerly. When at last they did arrive he hastened to the door to greet them. Madame Bernstein was the first to alight, and Katherine Petrovitch followed her a moment later. She gave her hand to Browne, and as he took it such a thrill went through him that it was wonderful the young man did not collapse upon the pavement.

Having conducted them to the room in which they were to take off their wraps, Browne went in search of Foote, whom he found in the dining-room.

"Pull yourself together, old chap," said Jimmy as he glanced at him; "you are all on the jump. What on earth is the matter with you? Take my advice and try a pick-me-up."

"I wouldn't touch a drop for worlds," said Browne, with righteous indignation. "I wonder you can suggest such a thing."

Instead, he went to the table and moved a flower-vase which was an eighth of an inch from the centrepiece farther than its companion on the other side.

"This is as bad a case as I ever remember," said Foote to himself; and at the same moment Katherine Petrovitch and Madame Bernstein entered the room. A somewhat painful surprise