The Price of Things. Glyn Elinor

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СКАЧАТЬ simply and calmly, and she had not dreamed of refusing him. It was obviously her duty, and it had always been her intention to marry well, if the chance came her way, and so leave a not too congenial home.

      She had been to a few London balls with the maiden aunt, a personage of some prestige and character. But invitations do not flow to a penniless young woman from the country, nor do partners flock to be presented to strangers in those days, and Amaryllis had spent many humiliating hours as a wall-flower and had grown to hate balls. She was not expansive in herself and did not make friends easily, and pretty as she was, as a girl, luck did not come her way.

      When she had said "Yes" in as matter-of-fact a voice as the proposal of marriage had been made to her, Sir John had replied: "You are a dear," and that had seemed to her a most ordinary remark. He had leaned over—they were climbing a steep pitch in search of a fugitive golf ball—and had taken her hand respectfully, and then he had kissed her forehead—or her ear—she forgot which—nothing which mattered much, or gave her any thrill!

      "I hope I shall make you happy," he had added. "I am a dull sort of a fellow, but I will try."

      Then they had talked of the usual things that they talked about, the most every-day—and they had returned to the house, and by the evening every one knew of the engagement, and she was congratulated on all sides, and petted by the hostess, and she and John were left ostentatiously alone in a smaller drawing-room after dinner, and there was not a grain of excitement in the whole conventional thing!

      There was always a shadow, too, in John's blue eyes. He was the most reserved creature in this world, she supposed. That might be all very well, but what was the good of being so reserved with the woman you liked well enough to make your wife, if it made you never able to get beyond talking on general subjects!

      This she had asked herself many times and had determined to break down the reserve. But John never changed and he was always considerate and polite and perfectly at ease. He would talk quietly and with commonsense to whoever he was placed next, and very seldom a look of interest flickered in his eyes. Indeed, Amaryllis had never seen him really interested until he spoke of Ardayre—then his very voice altered.

      He spoke of his home often to her during their engagement, and she grew to know that it was something sacred to him, and that the Family and its honour, and its traditions, meant more to him than any individual person could ever do.

      She almost became jealous of it all.

      Her trousseau was quite nice—the maiden aunt had seen to that. Her niece had done well and she did not grudge her pinchings.

      Amaryllis felt triumphant as she walked up the aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square, on the arm of a scapegrace sailor uncle—she would not allow her stepfather to give her away.

      Every one was so pleased about the wedding! An Ardayre married to an Ardayre! Good blood on both sides and everything suitable and rich and prosperous, and just as it should be! And there stood her handsome, stolid bridegroom, serenely calm—and the white flowers, and the Bishop—and her silver brocade train—and the pages, and the bridesmaids. Oh! yes, a wedding was a most agreeable thing!

      And could she have penetrated into the thoughts of John Ardayre, this is the prayer she would have heard, as he knelt there beside her at the altar rails: "Oh, God, keep the axe from falling yet, give me a son."

      The most curious emotions of excitement rose in her when they went off in the smart new automobile en route for that inevitable country house "lent by the bridegroom's uncle, the Earl de la Paule, for the first days of the honeymoon."

      This particular mansion was on the river, only two hours' drive from her aunt's Charles Street door. Now that she was his wife, surely John would begin to make love to her, real love, kisses, claspings, and what not. For Elsie Goldmore had presumed upon their schoolgirl friendship and been quite explicate in these last days, and in any case Amaryllis was not a miss of the Victorian era. The feminine world has grown too unrefined in the expression of its private affairs and too indiscreet for any maiden to remain in ignorance now.

      It is true John did kiss her once or twice, but there was no real warmth in the embrace, and when, after an excellent dinner her heart began to beat with wonderment and excitement, she asked herself what it meant. Then, all confused, she murmured something about "Good-night," and retired to the magnificent state suite alone.

      When she had left him John Ardayre drank down a full glass of Benedictine and followed her up the stairs, but there was no lover's exaltation, but an anguish almost of despair in his eyes.

      Amaryllis thought of that night—and of other nights since—as she sat there at Arménonville, in the luminous sensuous dusk.

      So this was being married! Well, it was not much of a joy—and why, why did John sit silent there? Why?

      Surely this is not how the Russian would have sat—that strange Russian!

CHAPTER III

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      It was nearing sunset in the garden below the Trocadéro. A tall German officer waited impatiently not far from the bronze of a fierce bull in a secluded corner under the trees; he was plainly an officer although he was clothed in mufti of English make. He was a singularly handsome creature in spite of his too wide hips. A fine, sensual, brutal male.

      He swore in his own language, and then, through the glorious light, a woman came towards him. She wore an unremarkable overcoat and a thick veil.

      "Hans!" she exclaimed delightedly, and then went on in fluent German with a strong American accent.

      He looked round to be sure that they were alone, and then he clasped her in his arms. He held her so tightly that she panted for breath; he kissed her until her lips were bruised, and he murmured guttural words of endearment that sounded like an animal's growl.

      The woman answered him in like manner. It was as though two brute beasts had met.

      Then presently they sat upon a seat and talked in low tones. The woman protested and declaimed; the man grumbled and demanded. An envelope passed between them, and more crude caresses, and before they parted the man again held her in close embrace—biting the lobe of her ear until she gave a little scream.

      "Yes—if there was time—" she gasped huskily. "I should adore you like this—but here—in the gardens—Oh! do mind my hat!"

      Then he let her go—they had arranged a future meeting. And left alone, he sat down upon the bench again and laughed aloud.

      The woman almost ran to the road at the bottom and jumped into a waiting taxi, and once inside she brought out a gold case with mirror and powder puff, and red greases for her lips.

      "My goodness! I can't say that's a mosquito!" and she examined her ear. "How tiresome and imprudent of Hans! But Jingo, it was good!—if there only had been time—"

      Then she, too, laughed as she powdered her face, and when she alighted at the door of the Hotel du Rhin, no marks remained of conflict except the telltale ear.

      But on encountering her maid, she was carrying her minute Pekinese dog in her arms and was beating him well.

      "Regardez, Marie! la vilaine bête m'a СКАЧАТЬ