The Essential Writings of Marie Belloc Lowndes. Marie Belloc Lowndes

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      "Yes, Gerald. I am, for the present, inclined not only to believe the Poulains' clear and consistent story, but to share Madame Poulain's view of the case--"

      "And what is her view?" asked Daisy eagerly.

      "Well, my dear, her view--the view, let me remind you, of a sensible woman who, I fancy, has seen a good deal of life--is that Mr. Dampier did accompany his wife here, as far as the hotel, that is. That then, as the result of what our good landlady calls a 'querelle d'amoureux,' he left her--knowing she would be quite safe of course in so respectable a place as the Hôtel Saint Ange."

      Daisy Burton only said one word--but that word was "Brute!" and her father saw that there was the light of battle in her eyes.

      "My dear," he said gently, "you forget that it was an Englishman who wrote 'The Taming of the Shrew.'"

      "And yet American girls--of a sort--are quite eager to marry Englishmen!"

      The Senator quickly pursued his advantage. "Now is it likely that Madame Poulain would make such a suggestion if she were not telling the truth? Of course her view is that this Mr. Dampier will turn up, safe and sound, when he thinks he has sufficiently punished his poor little wife for her share in their 'lovers' quarrel.'"

      But at this Gerald Burton shook his head. "We know nothing of this man Dampier," he said, "but I would stake my life on Mrs. Dampier's truthfulness."

      The Senator rose from his chair. Gerald's attitude was generous; he would not have had him otherwise but still he felt irritated by his son's suspicion of the Poulains.

      "Well, it's getting late, and I suppose we ought all to go to bed now, especially as they begin moving about so early in this place. As for you, my boy, I hope you've secured a good room outside, eh?"

      Gerald Burton also got up. He smiled and shook his head.

      "No, father, I haven't found a place at all yet! The truth is I've been so tremendously taken up with this affair that I forgot all about having to find a room to-night."

      "Oh dear!" cried Daisy in dismay. "Won't you find it very difficult? They say Paris is absolutely full just now. Why, a lot of people who have never let before are letting out rooms just now--so Madame Poulain says."

      "Don't worry about me. I shall be all right," said Gerald quickly. "I suppose my things have been moved into your room, father?"

      Daisy nodded. "Yes, I saw to all that. In fact I did more--" she smiled; the brother and sister were very fond of one another. "I packed your bag for you, Ger."

      "Thanks," he said. And then going quickly round the table, he bent down and kissed her. "I'll be in early to-morrow morning," he said, nodding to his father.

      Then he went out.

      Daisy Burton felt surprised. Gerald was the best of brothers, but he didn't often kiss her good-night. There had been a strange touch of excitement, of emotion, in his manner to-night. It was natural that she herself should be moved by Nancy Dampier's distress. But Gerald? Gerald, who was generally speaking rather nonchalant, and very, very critical of women?

      "Gerald's tremendously excited about this thing," said Daisy thoughtfully. She was two years younger in years than her brother, but older, as young women are apt to be older, in all that counts in civilised life. "I've never seen him quite so--so keen about anything before."

      "I hope he will have got a comfortable room," said the Senator a little crossly. Then fondly he turned and took his daughter's hand. "Sleep well, my darling," he said. "You two have been very kind to that poor little soul. And I love you both for it. Whatever happens, kindness is never lost."

      "Why, what d'you mean, father?" she looked down at him troubled, rather disturbed by his words.

      "Well, Daisy, the truth is,"--he hesitated--"I can't make out whether this Mrs. Dampier is all she seems to be. And I want to prepare you for a possible disappointment, my dear. When I was a young man I once took a great fancy to someone who--well, who disappointed me cruelly--" he was speaking very gravely. "It just spoilt my ideal for a time--I mean my ideal of human nature. Now I don't want anything of that kind to happen to you or to our boy in connection with this--this young lady."

      "But, father? You know French people aren't as particular about telling the truth as are English people. I can't understand why you believe the Poulains' story--"

      "My dear, I don't know what to believe," he said thoughtfully.

      She was twenty-four years old, this grey-eyed, honest, straightforward girl of his; and yet Senator Burton, much as he loved her, knew very little as to her knowledge of life. Did Daisy know anything of the ugly side of human nature? Did she know, for instance, that there are men and women, especially women, who spend their lives preying on the honest, the chivalrous, and the kind?

      "The mystery is sure to be cleared up very soon," he said aloud. "If what our new friend says is true there must be as many people in England who know her to be what she says she is, as there are people in Paris who evidently know all about the artist, John Dampier."

      "Yes, that's true. But father?"

      "Yes, my dear."

      "I am quite sure Mrs. Dampier is telling the truth."

      Somehow the fact that Daisy was anxious to say that she disagreed with him stung the Senator.

      "Then what do you think of the Poulains?" he asked quietly--"the Poulains, whom you have known, my dear, ever since you were fifteen--on whose honesty and probity I personally would stake a good deal. What do you think about them?"

      Daisy began to look very troubled. "I don't know what to think," she faltered. "The truth is, father, I haven't thought very much of the Poulains in the matter. You see, Madame Poulain has not spoken to me about it at all. But you see that Gerald believes them to be lying."

      "Gerald," said the Senator rather sharply, "is still only a boy in many things, Daisy. And boys are apt, as you and I know, to take sides, to feel very positive about things. But you and I, my darling--well, we must try to be judicial--we must try to keep our heads, eh?"

      "Yes, father, yes--we must, indeed"; but even as she said the words she did not quite know what her father meant by "judicial."

      And Gerald Burton? For a while, perhaps for an hour, holding his heavy bag in his hand, he wandered about from hostelry to hostelry, only to be told everywhere that there was no room.

      Then, taking a sudden resolution, he went into a respectable little café which was still open, and where he and his father, in days gone by, had sometimes strolled in together when Daisy was going about with friends in Paris. There he asked permission to leave his bag. Even had he found a room, he could not have slept--so he assured himself. He was too excited, his brain was working too quickly.

      Talking busily, anxiously, argumentatively to himself as he went, he made his way to the river--to the broad, tree-lined quays which to your true lover of Paris contain the most enchanting and characteristic vistas of the city.

      Once there, his footsteps became slower. He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked along, with eyes bent on the ground.

      What manner of man could John Dampier be to leave his young wife--such a beautiful, trusting, confiding creature as was evidently СКАЧАТЬ