The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (great book club books .txt) 📕

Nineteen?"

"I Should Give Him Less, Though He Has Read And Thought A Tremendous

Lot For A Boy."

"Men Are Not Judges Of Age, Thank Heaven. Women Are. I _Will_ Have It

That Your Friend Is Nineteen. I Should Be Too Silly To Take An

Interest In Him, Were He Less, If It Were Not Motherly; And That

Wouldn't Be Entertaining. You See, I Am Already Twenty-Two."

"You Look Eighteen," I Said; And It Was True. Widow As She Was, It Was

Not Possible To Think Of The Contessa As A Responsible, Grown Woman.

"I Told You That You Were No Judge Of Age. I Was Married At Eighteen,

A Widow At Nineteen. _Dio Mio!_ But It All Seems A Long Time Ago,

Already! Lord Lane, You Must Introduce To Me Your Friend The Boy."

Here Was A Dilemma, But I Got Out Of It By Telling The Truth, Which Is

Usually, In The End, The Best Policy, Many Wise Opinions To The

Contrary Notwithstanding. "You Will Laugh," I Said, "But I Don't Know

His Name."

"Not Possible."

"True, Nevertheless, Like Most Things That Seem Impossible; Nor Does

He Know Mine, Unless He Heard You Speak It Driving Up To The Hotel. He

Was At The Door."

"Men Are Extraordinary! But, Introduce Him. You Can Manage Somehow.

It's Not His Name I Care For. It Is Those Eyes. I Shall Invite Him To

Come And See Me In Aix. Please Bring Him To Me Now. The Baron Is

Arranging About Our Rooms, And There Is Sure To Be A Misunderstanding

Of Some Sort, As We Had Engaged For Last Night And Did Not Come. The

Baronessa? Oh, Never Mind; She Had Better Listen To Her Husband. She

Is My Friend, And Is Soon To Be My Guest, But She Has Got Upon My

Nerves To-Day."

Thus Bidden, I Could Do No Less Than Walk Away Down The Hall To Where

The Boy Stood With His Book, Leaning Against The Baluster.

"I've Done All I Could About The Bag," I Said. "The People In The

Post-Office Seemed Hopeful That The Big Reward Would Do The Trick."

"Thank You. You Are Very Good," He Returned. Something In His Tone

Made Me Look At Him Closely. There Was A Change In Him, Though For My

Life I Could Not Have Told What It Was Or Why It Had Come; There Was

Ice In His Voice, Though I Had Spent Nearly Two Dusty, Unwashed Hours

In His Service, While He Refreshed Himself At Leisure.

"I Hope It Will Be All Right," I Went On, Rather Heavily. "Look Here,

That Pretty Little Fairy Would Like To Know You. She's The Contessa Di

Ravello. Come Along And Be Introduced."

The Boy Flung Up His Head, His Blue Eyes Flashing. "Why Am I To Be

Dragged At Her Chariot Wheels?" He Demanded.

"Oh, Rot, My Child. Don't Put On Airs. Men Twice Your Age Would Snatch

At Such A Chance."

"I Can't Tell What I May Be Capable Of When I'm Twice My Age. It's

Difficult Enough To Know Myself Now. But I Know----"

"Come On, Do, Like The Dear Little Old Pal You Really Are," I Cut In.

"You Don't Want To Put Me In A False Position, Do You? Besides, I'd

Like Particularly To Get Your Opinion On The Contessa. I May Have To

Ask Your Advice About Something Connected With Her, Later."

This Fetched Him, Though With Not Too Good A Grace. "You Don't Know My

Name," He Said, With A Return Of Impishness, As We Walked Together

Towards The Contessa.

"I Think That You Have The Advantage Of Me In That Way, Now."

"If You Call It An Advantage. I Had A Presentiment You Weren't Plain

Mister, So I'm Not Surprised. You May Tell Your Countess That My Name

Is Laurence."

"Christian Name Or 'Pagan' Name?"

"Make The Christian Name Roy."

In Another Moment I Was Introducing Mr. Roy Laurence To The Contessa

Di Ravello; And As They Stood Eyeing Each Other, The Fairy Gaetà

Pulsing With Coquetry Through All Her Hot-Blooded Italian Veins, The

Boy Aloof And Critical, I Was Struck With The Picture That The Two

Figures Made.

The Boy Had Three Or Four Inches More Of Height Than The Contessa, And

Looked Almost Tall Beside Her, Though I Had Thought Of Him As Small.

Her Round, Dimpled Face Seemed No Older Than His Oval Brown One, In

This Moment Of His Gravity, And The Haughty Air Of A Young Prince

Which He Wore Now, Consciously Or Unconsciously, Had A Certain

Provoking Charm For A Spoiled Beauty Used To Conquest. The Big Blue

Stars Which Lit His Face Expressed A Resolve Not To Yield To Any

Blandishment, And This No Doubt Piqued Gaetà, Before Whom All The Boys

And Youths At Davos Had Gone Down Like Grass Before The Scythe. Helen

Blantock Came After She Had Left The Place, Otherwise She Might Have

Had To Fight For Her Rights As Queen; But As It Was, She Had Been

Without Rivals And Probably Had Known Few Dangerous Ones Elsewhere.

Never Had I Seen Her Take As Much Real Pains To Be Charming To A Grown

Man, As She Took With This Silent Boy, During The Few Moments That Her

Friends Spent In Wrestling With The Landlord. What Lamps She Lit In

The Windows Of Her Eyes, Suddenly Raising Their Curtains On Dazzling

Glances! What Rosy Flags She Hung Out In His Honour, On Dimpled

Cheeks; What Rich Display Of Pearls And Coral Her Cupid-Mouth Gave

Him! But All In Vain, So Far As Any Change In His Cold Young Face

Showed. I Had Seen It Warm For A Gleam Of Light On The Wing Of A

Swooping Bird, Or An Effect Of Cloud-Shadow On A Mountain, As It Would

Not Warm For This Galaxy Of Bewitchments, And His Quiet Civility Was

But A Sharper Pin-Prick, I Should Fancy, To A Woman's Vanity.

The Little Scene Was Not Long In Playing, However. Soon The Baronessa

Swept To Her Friend's Side, And Bore Her Away, Like A Large Steam-Tug

Making Off Against Wind And Tide With A Dainty Sailing Yacht.

Ignoring The Subject Of The Lady; Boy Began Questioning Me About The

Business Of The Bag, Thanking Me Again More Cordially For What I Had

Done, When I Had Answered.

"I Must Have A Bath And Change Now," Said I At Last. "At What Time

Shall We Dine?"

"We? You Will Be Dining With Your New Friend."

"She's An Old Friend, If One Counts By Time Of Acquaintance, And

Charming, As You've Seen; Still, We're Rather Tired Perhaps, And Not

Up To Dinner Pitch. I'm Not Sure But We'd Get On Better Alone

Together, You And I."

"I've Taken A Private Sitting-Room, And I'm Going To Dine There."

"Will You Have Me With You?"

"If You Like."

"It Will Be A Good Opportunity To Get Your Advice."

The Boy Did Not Answer; But When We Sat At Table, And Had Talked For A

While Of Indifferent Things, He Said Abruptly: "What Were You Going To

Ask Me?"

"Your Advice As To Whether It Would Be Well To Fall In Love With The

Little Contessa."

"Has She Money?"

"Hang It All, Do You Think I'm The Kind Of Man To Want A Woman For Her

Money?"

"I've Known You About Six Days."

"Don't Hedge. Can't Six Days Tell You As Much As Six Years--Such Six

Days As We've Had?"

"Yes. It's True. I Would Stake A Good Deal That You're Not That Kind

Of Man. I Don't Know Why I Said It. Something Hateful Made Me. The

Contessa Is Very Pretty. Could You--Fall In Love With Her?"

"It Would Be An Interesting Experiment To Try."

"If You Think So, You Must Already Have Begun."

"No, Not Yet. I Assure You I Have An Open Mind. But It's An Odd

Coincidence Meeting Her Like This. I Was Making The Fact That She Has

A House At Monte Carlo An Excuse For Going Down There--Sooner Or

Later--As An End To My Journey. Now, She Is To Be In Chamounix, And

She Intends To Invite Us Both, It Seems, To Visit Her In

Aix-Les-Bains, Where She Has Taken A Villa."

The Boy Looked At Me Suddenly, With A Slight Start. "She Is Going To

Chamounix?"

"So She Says."

"And--She Will Invite You To Visit Her At Her Villa In Aix-Les-Bains."

"You, Too. You Said Yesterday You Wanted To Go To Aix, As You Had

Never Been; And We Planned An Expedition By The Mule-Path Up Mont

Revard."

"I Know. But--But Would You Visit The Contessa?"

"We Might Amuse Ourselves. She Would Be Well Chaperoned, No Doubt By

The Baronessa. There's A Brother Of The Baron's In The Background.

Probably He'll Turn Up At Aix. Certainly He Will If His Relatives

Have Any Control Over His Actions. He's No Other, It Turns Out, Than

Paolo Di Nivoli, The Young Italian Whose Airship Invention Has Been

Made A Fuss About Lately. It Would Be Rather A Joke To Try And Cut Him

Out With The Contessa--If One Could."

"Oh--Cut Him Out." The Boy Seemed Thoughtful. "Though You Aren't In

Love With Her?"

"Yes."

"I See."

"Will You Go If I Do--That Is, If She Really Asks Us?"

I Expected Him To Flash Out A Refusal, But He Brooded Under A Deep

Shadow Of Eyelashes For A While, Looking Half Cross, Half Mischievous,

And Finally Said: "I'll Think It Over."

    "Desperate, Proud, Fond, Sick, . . . Rejected By Men."

                                         --Walt Whitman.

As We Drank Our _Café Double_, Tap, Tap, Came At The Door; A Message

From The Contessa Di Ravello Asking If We Would