The Red Symbol. Ironside John

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ towards the door all together, Anne and her hostess with their hands full of red and white flowers. The “Savages” had raided the table decorations, and presented the spoils to their guests.

      Cassavetti intercepted Anne.

      “Good night, Miss Pendennis,” he said in a low voice, adding, in French, “Will you give me a flower as souvenir of our first meeting?”

      She glanced at her posy, selected a spray of scarlet geranium, and presented it to him with a smile, and a word that I did not catch.

      He looked at her more intently than ever as he took it.

      “A thousand thanks, mademoiselle. I understand well,” he said, with a queer thrill in his voice, as of suppressed excitement.

      As she passed on I heard him mutter in French: “The symbol! Then it is she! Yes, without doubt it is she!”

      CHAPTER III

      THE BLOOD-STAINED PORTRAIT

      In the vestibule I hung around waiting till Anne and Mrs. Dennis Sutherland should reappear from the cloak-room.

      It was close on the time when I was due at Whitehall Gardens, but I must have a parting word with Anne, even at the risk of being late for the appointment with my chief.

      Jim and Mary passed through, and paused to say good night.

      “It’s all right, Maurice?” Mary whispered. “And you’re coming to us to-morrow, anyhow?”

      “Yes; to say good-bye, if I have to start on Monday.”

      “Just about time you were on the war-path again, my boy,” said Jim, bluffly. “Idleness is demoralizing, ’specially in London.”

      Now this was scarcely fair, considering that it was little more than a month since I returned from South Africa, where I had been to observe and report on the conditions of labor in the mines; nor had I been by any means idle during those weeks of comparative leisure. But I knew, of course, that this was an oblique reference to my affair with Anne; though why Jim should disapprove of it so strongly passed my comprehension. If Anne chose to keep me on tenter-hooks, well that was my affair, not his! Still, I wasn’t going to quarrel with Jim over his opinion, as I should have quarrelled with any other man.

      Anne joined me directly, and we had two precious minutes together under the portico. Mrs. Sutherland’s carriage had not yet come into the courtyard, and she herself was chatting with folks she knew.

      There were plenty of people about, coming and going, but Anne and I paced along out of the crowd, and paused in the shadow of one of the pillars.

      She looked ethereal, ghostlike, in her long white cloak, with a filmy hood thing drawn loosely over her shining hair.

      I thought her paler than usual – though that might have been the effect of the electric lights overhead – and her face was wistful, but very fair and sweet and innocent. One could scarcely believe it the same face that, a few minutes before, had been animated by audacious mischief and coquetry. Truly her moods were many, and they changed with every fleeting moment.

      “I’ve behaved abominably to you all the evening,” she whispered tremulously. “And yet you’ve forgiven me.”

      “There’s nothing to forgive. The queen can do no wrong,” I answered. (How Jim Cayley would have jeered at me if he could have heard!) “Anne, I love you. I think you must know that by this time, dear.”

      “Yes, I know, and – and I am glad – Maurice, though I don’t deserve that you should love me. I’ve teased you so shamefully – I don’t know what possessed me!”

      If I could only have kissed those faltering lips! But I dare not. We were within range of too many curious eyes. Still, I held her hand in mine, and our eyes met. In that brief moment we saw each into the other’s soul, and saw love there, the true love passionate and pure, that, once born, lasts forever, through life and death and all eternity.

      She was the first to speak, breaking a silence that could have lasted but a fraction of time, but there are seconds in which one experiences an infinitude of joy or sorrow.

      “And you are going away – so soon! But we shall meet to-morrow?”

      “Yes, we’ll have one day, at least; there is so much to say – ”

      Then, in a flash, I remembered the old man and Cassavetti, – the mystery that enshrouded them, and her.

      “I may not be able to come early, darling,” I continued hurriedly. “I have to see that old man in the morning. He says he knows you, – that you are in danger; I could not make out what he meant. And he spoke of Cassavetti; he came to see him, really. That was why I dare not tell you the whole story just now – ”

      “Cassavetti!” she echoed, and I saw her eyes dilate and darken. “Who is he – what is he? I never saw him before, but he came up and talked to Mr. Cayley, and asked to be introduced to me; and – and I was so vexed with you, Maurice, that I began to flirt with him; and then – oh, I don’t know – he is so strange – he perplexes – frightens me!”

      “And yet you gave him a flower,” I said reproachfully.

      “I can’t think why! I felt so queer, as if I couldn’t help myself. I just had to give him one, – that one; and when I looked at him, – Maurice, what does a red geranium mean? Has it – ”

      “Mrs. Dennis Sutherland’s carriage!” bawled a liveried official by the centre steps.

      Mrs. Sutherland swept towards us.

      “Come along, Anne,” she cried, as we moved to meet her. “Perhaps we shall see you later, Mr. Wynn? You’ll be welcome any time, up to one o’clock.”

      I put them into the carriage, and watched them drive away; then started, on foot, for Whitehall Gardens. The distance was so short that I could cover it more quickly walking than driving.

      The night was sultry and overcast; and before I reached my destination big drops of rain were spattering down, and the mutter of thunder mingled with the ceaseless roll of the traffic.

      I was taken straight to Lord Southbourne’s sanctum, a handsomely furnished, but almost ostentatiously business-like apartment.

      Southbourne himself, seated at a big American desk, was making hieroglyphics on a sheet of paper before him while he dictated rapidly to Harding, his private secretary, who manipulated a typewriter close by.

      He looked up, nodded to me, indicated a chair, and a table on which were whiskey and soda and an open box of cigarettes, and invited me to help myself, all with one sweep of the hand, and without an instant’s interruption of his discourse, – an impassioned denunciation of some British statesman who dared to differ from him – Southbourne – on some burning question of the day, Tariff Reform, I think; but I did not listen. I was thinking of Anne; and was only subconsciously aware of the hard monotonous voice until it ceased.

      “That’s all, Harding. Thanks. Good night,” said Southbourne, abruptly.

      He rose, yawned, stretched himself, sauntered towards me, subsided into an easy-chair, and lighted a cigarette.

      Harding gathered up his typed slips, exchanged a friendly nod with me, and quietly СКАЧАТЬ