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The Master Mummer, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Book 2 - Chapter 12 |
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_ BOOK II CHAPTER XII It was not often we permitted ourselves such luxuries, but as we left the theatre I caught a glimpse of Isobel's white face, more clearly visible now than in the dimly lit box, and I knew that, bravely though she had carried herself through the whole of that trying evening, she was not far from breaking down. So I called a hansom, and she sank back in a corner with a little sigh of relief. I lit a cigarette, and suddenly I felt a cold little hand steal into mine. I set my teeth and held it firmly. "Arnold," she whispered, and her voice was none too steady, "I hate that woman. I do not care if she is my aunt; and--Arnold----" "Yes." "I believe that she hates me too. She looks at me as though I were something unpleasant, as though she wished me dead. I will not go to her, Arnold. Say that I shall not." For a moment I was silent. Her little womanish airs of the last few months, the quaint effort of dignity with which it seemed to have pleased her to add all that was possible to her years, had wholly departed. She was a child again, with frightened eyes and quivering lips, the child who had walked so easily into our hearts in those first days of her terror. To think of her as such again was almost a relief. "Dear Isobel," I said, "the Archduchess has told me now two different stories concerning you. She appears to be very anxious to have you in her care, but her methods up to the present have been very strange. We shall not give you up to her unless we are obliged. But----" "Please what, Arnold?" she interrupted anxiously. "If the Archduchess is indeed your aunt, as she says she is, you must have hundreds of other relations, many of whom you would without doubt find very different people. Besides, in that case, you see, Isobel, you ought to be living altogether differently. It is absurd for you to be grubbing along with us in an attic when you ought to be living in a palace, with plenty of money and servants and beautiful frocks, and all that sort of thing. You understand me, don't you?" I concluded a little lamely, for the steady gaze of those deep blue frightened eyes was a little disconcerting. "No, I do not," she answered. "If I am a Waldenburg and the niece of the Archduchess, why was I left alone at that convent for all those years, and who was responsible for sending that man to fetch me away--that terrible man? How are they going to explain that, these wonderful relations of mine? Oh, Arnold, Arnold!" she cried, suddenly swaying over towards me in the cab, "I don't want to leave you--all. Do not send me away. Promise that you will not!" A child, I told myself fiercely, a mere child this! Nevertheless I was thankful for the darkness of the silent street into which we had turned, the darkness which hid my face from her. Her soft breath was upon my cheek, her beautiful head very near my shoulder. Oh, I had need of all my strength, of all my common-sense. "Dear Isobel," I said, looking straight ahead of me out of the cab, "I cannot make you any promise. All must depend upon what Monsieur Feurgeres tells us to-night. Nothing would make me--all of us--happier than to keep you with us always. But it may not be our duty to keep you, or yours to stay. Until we have heard Feurgeres' story we are in the dark." She shrank, as it seemed, into herself. Her eyes followed mine hauntingly. "Arnold," she said, with a little tremor in her tone, "you are not very kind to me to-night, and I feel--that I want--people to be kind to me just now." I bent down, and I raised her hands to my lips and kissed them. "My dear child," I said, "don't forget that I am your guardian, and I have to think for you--a long way ahead. As for the rest, I have not a single thought or hope in life which is not concerned for your happiness." "I like that better," she murmured; "but--you are very fond of my hands." Fortunately the cab pulled up with a jerk. I paid the man, and we commenced to climb up the stone steps towards our rooms. Isobel, who was generally a couple of flights ahead, slipped her hand through my arm and leaned heavily upon me. "Arnold," she whispered, "why would you not read your story to me. Tell me, please!" "My dear child!" I exclaimed, "what made you think of that just now?" She leaned forward. I think that she was trying to look into my face. "Never mind! Please tell me," she begged. "I will read it some day," I answered. "It is so incomplete. I think I shall have to rewrite it." She shook her head. "You have always read to me before just as you have written it. I think that you are not quite so nice to me, Arnold, as you were. I haven't done anything that you do not like, have I? Because I am sure that you are different!" "You absurd child," I answered, smiling at her as cheerfully as I could. "You are in an imaginative frame of mind to-night." "It is not that! You look at me differently, you do not seem to want to have me with you so much, and----" I stopped her. We had reached the fourth floor, where our apartments were. With the key in the lock I turned and faced her for a moment. She was as tall as I, and a certain grace of carriage which she had always possessed, and which had grown with her years, redeemed her completely from the _gaucherie_ of her uncomfortable age. Her features had gained in strength, and lost nothing in delicacy. She wore even her simple clothes with the nameless grace which must surely have come to her from inheritance. I spoke to her then seriously. Yet if I had tried I could not have kept the kindness from my tone. "Dear Isobel," I said, "if there is any difference--think! A year ago you were a child. To-day you are a woman. You must understand that, side by side with the pleasure of having you with us--the greatest pleasure that has ever come into our lives, Isobel--has come a certain amount of responsibility." "I am becoming a trouble to you, then!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "A trouble, Isobel!" I suppose I weakened for a moment. Some trick of tone or expression must have let in the daylight, for she suddenly held out her hands with a soft little cry. And then as she stood there, her eyes shining, the old delightful smile curving her lips, the door before which she stood was thrown open, and Arthur stood there. He had on his hat and coat, and I saw at once that he was not himself. His cheeks were flushed with anger, and he looked at us with a black frown. "So you've come back, then!" he exclaimed. "Allan and I got tired of waiting. Just in time to say good-bye, Isobel. I'm off!" "Off? But where?" she asked, looking at him in surprise. I left them, and passed on into our studio sitting-room, where Mabane was filling his pipe. "What's the matter with Arthur?" I asked. "Off his chump," Allan answered gravely. "Don't take any notice of him." Isobel and he were still talking together. Arthur's voice was a little raised--then it suddenly dropped. "I think," Allan said, "that you had better interfere. Arthur has lost his temper. I am afraid----" "He will break the compact?" I exclaimed. "I am afraid so!" I stepped back into the little hall. They were talking together earnestly. Arthur looked up and glared at me. "Arthur," I said, "Allan and I want a few words with you before you go--if you are going out to-night." "In a moment," he answered. "I have something to say to Isobel." But Isobel had gone. He looked for a moment at the door of her room through which she had vanished, and then he turned on his heel and followed me. He threw his hat upon the table and faced us both defiantly. "It is I," he said, "who have something to say to you, and I'd like to get it over quick. D--n your hypocritical compact, Arnold Greatson! There! You're in love with Isobel! Any fool can see it, and you want to keep the child all to yourself." Allan took a quick step forward, but I held out my hand. "Don't interfere, Allan," I said. "Let him say all that he has to say." "I mean to!" Arthur continued, "and I hope you'll like it. The compact was a fraud from beginning to end, and I'll have no more to do with it. Isobel's too old to live here with you fellows, and I'm going to ask her to marry me. I'm going to advise her to go and stay with Lady Delahaye, who wants her, and I'm going to marry her from there if she'll have me." "Lady Delahaye," I repeated thoughtfully. "You have been in communication with her, have you?" "Yes, I have! And I think she's right. Isobel ought to have some women friends. She may have enemies, but I'm not so sure about that. Lady Delahaye isn't one of them, at any rate. The people who want to get her away from here may be her best friends, after all." "Is that all, Arthur?" "It's enough, isn't it?" he answered doggedly. "Quite! Now listen," I said. "To-night we are going to hear Isobel's history. We are going to know who she is, and all about her. Stay with us, and you shall share the knowledge. As for the rest, you have been talking like a fool. We do not wish to take you seriously. We took up the charge of Isobel jointly. If the time has come now for us to give her up, I should like us all to be in agreement. It is very likely that the time has come. I, too, think that in many ways it would be for her benefit. We are prepared to give her up when we know the proper people to undertake the care of her--but never, Arthur, to Lady Delahaye." Arthur smiled slowly, but it was not a pleasant smile. "Ah!" he said, "I forgot. Lady Delahaye is an old friend of yours, isn't she?" "Your insinuations are childish, Arthur," I answered. "Lady Delahaye is an old friend of the Archduchess's, and their interest in Isobel is identical. For many reasons I am going to know Isobel's history before I give her up to either of them." "And who is going to tell it to you?" he asked. "Feurgeres," I answered. "He sent for us at the theatre to-night. He is coming on here." There was a sharp tapping at the door. I moved across the room to open it. Arthur threw his hat upon the table. "I will wait!" he declared. _ |
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