The Primadonna Read online

  CHAPTER VIII

  Lord Creedmore had begun life as a poor barrister, with no particularprospects, had entered the House of Commons early, and had been ahard-working member of Parliament till he had inherited a title and arelatively exiguous fortune when he was over fifty by the unexpecteddeath of his uncle and both the latter's sons within a year. He hadmarried young; his wife was the daughter of a Yorkshire countrygentleman, and had blessed him with ten children, who were all alive,and of whom Lady Maud was not the youngest. He was always obliged tomake a little calculation to remember how old she was, and whethershe was the eighth or the ninth. There were three sons and sevendaughters. The sons were all in the army, and all stood betweensix and seven feet in their stockings; the daughters were allgood-looking, but none was as handsome as Maud; they were all married,and all but she had children. Lady Creedmore had been a beauty too,but at the present time she was stout and gouty, had a bad temper, andalternately soothed and irritated her complaint and her disposition byfollowing cures or committing imprudences. Her husband, who was nowover sixty, had never been ill a day in his life; he was as lean andtough as a greyhound and as active as a schoolboy, a good rider, and acrack shot.

  His connection with this tale, apart from the friendship which grewup between Margaret and Lady Maud, lies in the fact that his landin Derbyshire adjoined the estate which Mr. Van Torp had bought andre-named after himself. It was here that Lady Maud and the Americanmagnate had first met, two years after her marriage, when she had comehome on a long visit, very much disillusionised as to the supposedadvantages of the marriage bond as compared with the freedom of ahandsome English girl of three-and-twenty, who is liked in her set andhas the run of a score of big country houses without any chaperonialencumbrance. For the chaperon is going down to the shadowy kingdom ofthe extinct, and is already reckoned with dodos, stagecoaches, muzzleloaders, crinolines, Southey's poems, the Thirty-nine Articles,Benjamin Franklin's reputation, the British workman, and the lateHerbert Spencer's philosophy.

  On the previous evening Lady Maud had not told Margaret that LordCreedmore lived in Surrey, having let his town house since hisyoungest daughter had married. She now explained that it would beabsurd to think of driving such a distance when one could go almostall the way by train. The singer was rather scared at the prospect ofpossibly missing trains, waiting in draughty stations, and getting wetby a shower; she was accustomed to think nothing of driving twentymiles in a closed carriage to avoid the slightest risk of a wetting.

  But Lady Maud piloted her safely, and showed an intimate knowledgeof the art of getting about by public conveyances which amazed hercompanion. She seemed to know by instinct the difference between onetrain and another, when all looked just alike, and when she had toask a question of a guard or a porter her inquiry was met withbusiness-like directness and brevity, and commanded the respect whichall officials feel for people who do not speak to them without areally good reason--so different from their indulgent superiority whenwe enter into friendly conversation with them.

  The journey ended in a walk of a quarter of a mile from the station tothe gate of the small park in which the house stood. Lady Maud saidshe was sorry she had forgotten to telephone for a trap to be sentdown, but added cheerfully that the walk would do Margaret good.

  'You know your way wonderfully well,' Margaret said.

  'Yes,' answered her companion carelessly. 'I don't think I could losemyself in London, from Limehouse to Wormwood Scrubs.'

  She spoke quite naturally, as if it were not in the least surprisingthat a smart woman of the world should possess such knowledge.

  'You must have a marvellous memory for places,' Margaret ventured tosay.

  'Why? Because I know my way about? I walk a great deal, that's all.'

  Margaret wondered whether the Countess Leven habitually took her walksin the direction of Limehouse in the east or Shepherd's Bush in thewest; and if so, why? As for the distance, the thoroughbred lookedas if she could do twenty miles without turning a hair, and Margaretwished she would not walk quite so fast, for, like all great singers,she herself easily got out of breath if she was hurried; it was notthe distance that surprised her, however, but the fact that Lady Maudshould ever visit such regions.

  They reached the house and found Lord Creedmore in the library, hislame foot on a stool and covered up with a chudder. His clear browneyes examined Margaret's face attentively while he held her hand inhis.

  'So you are little Margery,' he said at last, with a very friendlysmile. 'Do you remember me at all, my dear? I suppose I have changedalmost more than you have.'

  Margaret remembered him very well indeed as Mr. Foxwell, who usedalways to bring her certain particularly delicious chocolate waferswhenever he came to see her father in Oxford. She sat down beside himand looked at his face--clean-shaven, kindly, and energetic--the faceof a clever lawyer and yet of a keen sportsman, a type you will hardlyfind out of England.

  Lady Maud left the two alone after a few minutes, and Margaret foundherself talking of her childhood and her old home, as if nothing verymuch worth mentioning had happened in her life during the last ten ora dozen years. While she answered her new friend's questions andasked others of him she unconsciously looked about the room. Thewriting-table was not far from her, and she saw on it two photographsin plain ebony frames; one was of her father, the other was a likenessof Lady Maud. Little by little she understood that her father had beenLord Creedmore's best friend from their schoolboy days till his death.Yet although they had constantly exchanged short visits, the oneliving in Oxford and the other chiefly in town, their wives had hardlyknown each other, and their children had never met.

  'Take him all in all,' said the old gentleman gravely, 'Donne was thefinest fellow I ever knew, and the only real friend I ever had.'

  His eyes turned to the photograph on the table with a far-away manlyregret that went to Margaret's heart. Her father had been a reticentman, and as there was no reason why he should have talked much abouthis absent friend Foxwell, it was not surprising that Margaret shouldnever have known how close the tie was that bound them. But now,coming unawares upon the recollection of that friendship in the manwho had survived, she felt herself drawn to him as if he were ofher own blood, and she thought she understood why she had liked hisdaughter so much at first sight.

  They talked for more than half an hour, and Margaret did not evennotice that he had not once alluded to her profession, and that shehad so far forgotten herself for the time as not to miss the usualplatitudes about her marvellous voice and her astoundingly successfulcareer.

  'I hope you'll come and stop with us in Derbyshire in September,'he said at last. 'I'm quite ashamed to ask you there, for we aredreadfully dull people; but it would give us a great deal ofpleasure.'

  'You are very kind indeed,' Margaret said. 'I should be delighted tocome.'

  'Some of our neighbours might interest you,' said Lord Creedmore.'There's Mr. Van Torp, for instance, the American millionaire. Hisland joins mine.'

  'Really?'

  Margaret wondered if she should ever again go anywhere without hearingof Mr. Van Torp.

  'Yes. He bought Oxley Paddox some time ago and promptly re-christenedit Torp Towers. But he's not a bad fellow. Maud likes him, though LadyCreedmore calls him names. He has such a nice little girl--at least,it's not exactly his child, I believe,' his lordship ran on ratherhurriedly; 'but he's adopted her, I understand--at least, I fancy so.At all events she was born deaf, poor little thing; but he has had hertaught to speak and to understand from the lips. Awfully pretty child!Maud delights in her. Nice governess, too--I forget her name; butshe's a faithful sort of woman. It's a dreadfully hard position, don'tyou know, to be a governess if you're young and good-looking, andthough Van Torp is rather a decent sort, I never feel quite sure--Maudlikes him immensely, it's true, and that is a good sign; but Maud isutterly mad about a lot of things, and besides, she's singularly wellable to take care of herself.'

  'Yes,' said Margaret; b
ut she thought of the story Logotheti had toldher on the previous evening. 'I know Mr. Van Torp, and the little girland Miss More,' she said after a moment. 'We came over in the samesteamer.'

  She thought it was only fair to say that she had met the people ofwhom he had been speaking. There was no reason why Lord Creedmoreshould be surprised by this, and he only nodded and smiled pleasantly.

  'All the better. I shall set Maud on you to drag you down toDerbyshire in September,' he said. 'Women never have anything to do inSeptember. Let me see--you're an actress, aren't you, my dear?'

  Margaret laughed. It was positively delightful to feel that he hadnever heard of her theatrical career.

  'No; I'm a singer,' she said. 'My stage name is Cordova.'

  'Oh yes, yes,' answered Lord Creedmore, very vaguely. 'It's the samething--you cannot possibly have anything to do in September, can you?'

  'We shall see. I hope not, this year.'

  'If it's not very indiscreet of me, as an old friend, you know, do youmanage to make a living by the stage?'

  'Oh--fair!' Margaret almost laughed again.

  Lady Maud returned at this juncture, and Margaret rose to go, feelingthat she had stayed long enough.

  'Margery has half promised to come to us in September,' said LordCreedmore to his daughter, 'You don't mind if I call you Margery, doyou?' he asked, turning to Margaret. 'I cannot call you Miss Donnesince you really remember the chocolate wafers! You shall have some assoon as I can go to see you!'

  Margaret loved the name she had been called by as a child. Mrs.Rushmore had severely eschewed diminutives.

  'Margery,' repeated Lady Maud thoughtfully. 'I like the name awfullywell. Do you mind calling me Maud? We ought to have known each otherwhen we were in pinafores!'

  In this way it happened that Margaret found herself unexpectedlyon something like intimate terms with her father's friend and thelatter's favourite child less than twenty-four hours after meetingLady Maud, and this was how she was asked to their place in thecountry for the month of September. But that seemed very far away.

  Lady Maud took Margaret home, as she had brought her, without makingher wait more than three minutes for a train, without exposing her toa draught, and without letting her get wet, all of which would seemeasy enough to an old Londoner, but was marvellous in the eyes of theyoung Primadonna, and conveyed to her an idea of freedom that wasquite new to her. She remembered that she used to be proud of herindependence when she first went into Paris from Versailles alone forher singing lessons; but that trip, contrasted with the one from herown house to Lord Creedmore's on the Surrey side, was like going outfor an hour's sail in a pleasure-boat on a summer's afternoon comparedwith working a sea-going vessel safely through an intricate andcrowded channel at night.

  Margaret noticed, too, that although Lady Maud was a very strikingfigure, she was treated with respect in places where the singer knewinstinctively that if she herself had been alone she would have beenafraid that men would speak to her. She knew very well how to treatthem if they did, and was able to take care of herself if she choseto travel alone; but she ran the risk of being annoyed where thebeautiful thoroughbred was in no danger at all. That was thedifference.

  Lady Maud left her at her own door and went off on foot, though thehansom that had brought them from the Baker Street Station was stilllurking near.

  Margaret had told Logotheti to come and see her late in the afternoon,and as she entered the hall she was surprised to hear voices upstairs.She asked the servant who was waiting.

  With infinite difficulty in the matter of pronunciation the maninformed her that the party consisted of Monsieur Logotheti, HerrSchreiermeyer, Signor Stromboli, the Signorina Baci-Roventi, andFraeulein Ottilie Braun. The four professionals had come at the verymoment when Logotheti had gained admittance on the ground that he hadan appointment, which was true, and they had refused to be sent away.In fact, unless he had called the police the poor footman could nothave kept them out. The Signorina Baci-Roventi alone, black-browed,muscular, and five feet ten in her shoes, would have been almost amatch for him alone; but she was backed by Signor Pompeo Stromboli,who weighed fifteen stone in his fur coat, was as broad as he waslong, and had been seen to run off the stage with Madame Bonanniin his arms while he yelled a high G that could have been heard inWestminster if the doors had been open. Before the onslaught of suchterrific foreigners a superior London footman could only protest withdignity and hold the door open for them to pass. Braver men thanhe had quailed before Schreiermeyer's stony eye, and gentle littleFraeulein Ottilie slipped in like a swallow in the track of a storm.

  Margaret felt suddenly inclined to shut herself up in her roomand send word that she had a headache and could not see them. ButSchreiermeyer was there. He would telephone for three doctors, andwould refuse to leave the house till they signed an assurance that shewas perfectly well and able to begin rehearsing the _Elisir d'Amore_the next morning. That was what Schreiermeyer would do, and when shenext met him he would tell her that he would have 'no nonsense, nostupid stuff,' and that she had signed an engagement and must sing orpay.

  She had never shammed an illness, either, and she did not mean tobegin now. It was only that for two blessed hours and more, with herdead father's best friend and Maud, she had felt like her old selfagain, and had dreamt that she was with her own people. She had evendisliked the prospect of seeing Logotheti after that, and she felt amuch stronger repugnance for her theatrical comrades. She went to herown room before meeting them, and she sighed as she stood before thetall looking-glass for a moment after taking off her coat and hat. Inpulling out the hat-pins her hair had almost come down, and Alphonsineproposed to do it over again, but Margaret was impatient.

  'Give me something--a veil, or anything,' she said impatiently. 'Theyare waiting for me.'

  The maid instantly produced from a near drawer a peach-coloured veilembroidered with green and gold. It was a rather vivid modern Turkishone given her by Logotheti, and she wrapped it quickly over herdisordered hair, like a sort of turban, tucking one end in, andleft the room almost without glancing at the glass again. She wasdiscontented with herself now for having dreamt of ever again beinganything but what she was--a professional singer.

  The little party greeted her noisily as she entered the music-room.Her comrades had not seen her since she had left them in New York, andthe consequence was that Signorina Baci-Roventi kissed her on bothcheeks with dramatic force, and she kissed Fraeulein Ottilie on bothcheeks, and Pompeo Stromboli offered himself for a like favour and hadto be fought off, while Schreiermeyer looked on gravely, very much asa keeper at the Zoo watches the gambols of the animals in his charge;but Logotheti shook hands very quietly, well perceiving that hischance of pleasing her just then lay in being profoundly respectfulwhile the professionals were overpoweringly familiar. Hisalmond-shaped eyes asked her how in the world she could stand it all,and she felt uncomfortable at the thought that she was used to it.

  Besides, these good people really liked her. The only members of theprofession who hated her were the other lyric sopranos. Schreiermeyer,rapacious and glittering, had a photograph of her hideously enamelledin colours inside the cover of his watch, and the facsimile of herautograph was engraved across the lid of his silver cigarette-case.Pompeo Stromboli carried some of her hair in a locket which he wore onhis chain between two amulets against the Evil Eye. Fraeulein Ottilietreasured a little water-colour sketch of her as Juliet on whichMargaret had written a few friendly words, and the Baci-Roventiactually went to the length of asking her advice about the high notesthe contralto has to sing in such operas as _Semiramide_. It would behard to imagine a more sincere proof of affection and admiration thanthis.

  Margaret knew that the greeting was genuine and that she ought to bepleased, but at the first moment the noise and the kissing and therough promiscuity of it all disgusted her.

  Then she saw that all had brought her little presents, which werearranged side by side on the piano, and she suddenly rememb
ered thatit was her birthday. They were small things without value, intendedto make her laugh. Stromboli had sent to Italy for a Neapolitan clayfigure of a shepherd, cleverly modelled and painted, and vaguelyresembling himself--he had been a Calabrian goatherd. The contralto,who came from Bologna, the city of sausages, gave Margaret a tiny pigmade of silver with holes in his back, in which were stuck a number ofquill toothpicks.

  'You will think of me when you use them at table,' she said,charmingly unconscious of English prejudices.

  Schreiermeyer presented her with a bronze statuette of Shylockwhetting his knife upon his thigh.

  'It will encourage you to sign our next agreement,' he observedwith stony calm. 'It is the symbol of business. We are all symbolicnowadays.'

  Fraeulein Ottilie Braun had wrought a remarkable little specimen ofGerman sentiment. She had made a little blue pin-cushion and hadembroidered some little flowers on it in brown silk. Margaret had nodifficulty in looking pleased, but she also looked slightly puzzled.

  'They are forget-me-nots,' said the Fraeulein, 'but because my name isBraun I made them brown. You see? So you will remember your littleBraun forget-me-not!'

  Margaret laughed at the primitively simple little jest, but she wastouched too, and somehow she felt that her eyes were not quite dryas she kissed the good little woman again. But Logotheti could notunderstand at all, and thought it all extremely silly. He did not likeMargaret's improvised turban, either, though he recognised the veil asone he had given her. The headdress was not classic, and he did notthink it becoming to the Victory of Samothrace.

  He also had remembered her birthday and he had a small offering inhis pocket, but he could not give it to her before the others.Schreiermeyer would probably insist on looking at it and would guessits value, whereas Logotheti was sure that Margaret would not. Hewould give it to her when they were alone, and would tell her that itwas nothing but a seal for her writing-case, a common green stone ofsome kind with a little Greek head on it; and she would look at it andthink it pretty, and take it, because it did not look very valuable toher unpractised eye. But the 'common green stone' was a great emerald,and the 'little Greek head' was an intaglio of Anacreon, cut some twothousand and odd hundred years ago by an art that is lost; and thesetting had been made and chiselled for Maria de' Medici when shemarried Henry the Fourth of France. Logotheti liked to give Margaretthings vastly more rare than she guessed them to be.

  Margaret offered her visitors tea, and she and Logotheti took theirswhile the others looked on or devoured the cake and bread and butter.

  'Tea?' repeated Signor Stromboli. 'I am well. Why should I take tea?The tea is for to perspire when I have a cold.'

  The Signorina Baci-Roventi laughed at him.

  'Do you not know that the English drink tea before dinner to givethemselves an appetite?' she asked. 'It is because they drink tea thatthey eat so much.'

  'All the more,' answered Stromboli. 'Do you not see that I am fat? Whyshould I eat more? Am I to turn into a monument of Victor Emanuel?'

  'You eat too much bread,' said Schreiermeyer in a resentful tone.

  'It is my vice,' said the tenor, taking up four thin slices of breadand butter together and popping them all into his mouth without theleast difficulty. 'When I see bread, I eat it. I eat all there is.'

  'We see you do,' returned Schreiermeyer bitterly.

  'I cannot help it. Why do they bring bread? They are in league to makeme fat. The waiters know me. I go into the Carlton; the head-waiterwhispers; a waiter brings a basket of bread; I eat it all. I go intoBoisin's, or Henry's; the head-waiter whispers; it is a basket ofbread; while I eat a few eggs, a chicken, a salad, a tart or two, somefruit, cheese, the bread is all gone. I am the tomb of all the breadin the world. So I get fat. There,' he concluded gravely, 'it is as Itell you. I have eaten all.'

  And in fact, while talking, he had punctuated each sentence with atiny slice or two of thin bread and butter, and everybody laughed,except Schreiermeyer, as the huge singer gravely held up the emptyglass dish and showed it.

  'What do you expect of me?' he asked. 'It is a vice, and I am notSaint Anthony, to resist temptation.'

  'Perhaps,' suggested Fraeulein Ottilie timidly, 'if you exercised alittle strength of character--'

  'Exercise?' roared Stromboli, not understanding her, for they spokea jargon of Italian, German, and English. 'Exercise? The more Iexercise, the more I eat! Ha, ha, ha! Exercise, indeed! You talk likecrazy!'

  'You will end on wheels,' said Schreiermeyer with cold contempt. 'Youwill stand on a little truck which will be moved about the stage frombelow. You will be lifted to Juliet's balcony by a hydraulic crane.But you shall pay for the machinery. Oh yes, oh yes! I will have itin the contract! You shall be weighed. So much flesh to move, so muchmoney.'

  'Shylock!' suggested Logotheti, glancing at the statuette andlaughing.

  'Yes, Shylock and his five hundred pounds of flesh,' answeredSchreiermeyer, with a faint smile that disappeared again at once.

  'But I meant character--' began Fraeulein Ottilie, trying to go backand get in a word.

  'Character!' cried the Baci-Roventi with a deep note that made theopen piano vibrate. 'His stomach is his heart, and his character ishis appetite!'

  She bent her heavy brows and fixed her gleaming black eyes on him witha tragic expression.

  '"Let them cant about decorum who have characters to lose,"' quotedLogotheti softly.

  This delicate banter went on for twenty minutes, very much toSchreiermeyer's inward satisfaction, for it proved that at least fourmembers of his company were on good terms with him and with eachother; for when they had a grudge against him, real or imaginary, theybecame sullen and silent in his presence, and eyed him with the coldlyferocious expression of china dogs.

  At last they all rose and went away in a body, leaving Margaret withLogotheti.

  'I had quite forgotten that it was my birthday,' she said, when theywere gone.

  'I've brought you a little seal,' he answered, holding out theintaglio.

  She took it and looked at it.

  'How pretty!' she exclaimed. 'It's awfully kind of you to haveremembered to-day, and I wanted a seal very much.'

  'It's a silly little thing, just a head on some sort of green stone.But I tried it on sealing-wax, and the impression is not so bad. Ishall be very happy if it's of any use, for I'm always puzzling mybrain to find something you may like.'

  'Thanks very much. It's the thought I care for.' She laid the seal onthe table beside her empty cup. 'And now that we are alone,' she wenton, 'please tell me.'

  'What?'

  'How you found out what you told me at dinner last night.'

  She leant back in the chair, raising her arms and joining her handsabove her head against the high top of the chair, and stretchingherself a little. The attitude threw the curving lines of her figureinto high relief, and was careless enough, but the tone in which shespoke was almost one of command, and there was a sort of expectantresentfulness in her eyes as they watched his face while she waitedfor his answer. She believed that he had paid to have her watched bysome one who had bribed her servants.

  'I did not find out anything,' he said quietly. 'I received ananonymous letter from New York giving me all the details of the scene.The letter was written with the evident intention of injuring Mr. VanTorp. Whoever wrote it must have heard what you said to each other,and perhaps he was watching you through the keyhole. It is barelypossible that by some accident he overheard the scene through thelocal telephone, if there was one in the room. Should you care to seethat part of the letter which concerns you? It is not very delicatelyworded!'

  Margaret's expression had changed; she had dropped her hands and wasleaning forward, listening with interest.

  'No,' she said, 'I don't care to see the letter, but who in the worldcan have written it? You say it was meant to injure Mr. Van Torp--notme.'

  'Yes. There is nothing against you in it. On the contrary, the writercalls attention to the fact t
hat there never was a word breathedagainst your reputation, in order to prove what an utter brute VanTorp must be.'

  'Tell me,' Margaret said, 'was that story about Lady Maud in the sameletter?'

  'Oh dear, no! That is supposed to have happened the other day, but Igot the letter last winter.'

  'When?'

  'In January, I think.'

  'He came to see me soon after New Year's Day,' said Margaret.' I wishI knew who told--I really don't believe it was my maid.'

  'I took the letter to one of those men who tell character byhandwriting,' answered Logotheti. 'I don't know whether you believe inthat, but I do a little. I got rather a queer result, considering thatI only showed half-a-dozen lines, which could not give any idea of thecontents.'

  'What did the man say?'

  'He said the writer appeared to be on the verge of insanity, if notactually mad; that he was naturally of an accurate mind, with ordinarybusiness capacities, such as a clerk might have, but that he hadreceived a much better education than most clerks get, and must at onetime have done intellectual work. His madness, the man said, wouldprobably take some violent form.'

  'There's nothing very definite about all that,' Margaret observed.'Why in the world should the creature have written to you, of allpeople, to destroy Mr. Van Torp's character?'

  'The interview with you was only an incident,' answered Logotheti.'There were other things, all tending to show that he is not a safeperson to deal with.'

  'Why should you ever deal with him?'

  Logotheti smiled.

  'There are about a hundred and fifty men in different countries whoare regarded as the organs of the world's financial body. The very bigones are the vital organs. Van Torp has grown so much of late that heis probably one of them. Some people are good enough to think that I'manother. The blood of the financial body--call it gold, or credit, oranything you like--circulates through all the organs, and if one ofthe great vital ones gets out of order the whole body is likely tosuffer. Suppose that Van Torp wished to do something with the NickelTrust in Paris, and that I had private information to the effect thathe was not a man to be trusted, and that I believed this information,don't you see that I should naturally warn my friends against him, andthat our joint weight would be an effective obstacle in his way?'

  'Yes, I see that. But, dear me! do you mean to say that all financiersmust be strictly virtuous, like little woolly white lambs?'

  Margaret laughed carelessly. If Lushington had heard her, his teethwould have been set on edge, but Logotheti did not notice the shade ofexpression and tone.

  'I repeat that the account of the interview with you was a mereincident, thrown in to show that Van Torp occasionally loses his headand behaves like a madman.'

  'I don't want to see the letter,' said Margaret, 'but what sort ofaccusations did it contain? Were they all of the same kind?'

  'No. There was one other thing--something about a little girl calledIda, who is supposed to be the daughter of that old Alvah Moon whorobbed your mother. You can guess the sort of thing the letter saidwithout my telling you.'

  Margaret leaned forward and poked the small wood fire with a pair ofunnecessarily elaborate gilt tongs, and she nodded, for she rememberedhow Lord Creedmore had mentioned the child that afternoon. He hadhesitated a little, and had then gone on speaking rather hurriedly.She watched the sparks fly upward each time she touched the log, andshe nodded slowly.

  'What are you thinking of?' asked Logotheti.

  But she did not answer for nearly half a minute. She was reflecting ona singular little fact which made itself clear to her just then. Shewas certainly not a child; she was not even a very young girl, attwenty-four; she had never been prudish, and she did not affect thepre-Serpentine innocence of Eve before the fall. Yet it was suddenlyapparent to her that because she was a singer men treated her as ifshe were a married woman, and would have done so if she had beeneven five years younger. Talking to her as Margaret Donne, in Mrs.Rushmore's house, two years earlier, Logotheti would not haveapproached such a subject as little Ida Moon's possible relation toMr. Van Torp, because the Greek had been partly brought up in Englandand had been taught what one might and might not say to a 'niceEnglish girl.' Margaret now reflected that since the day she had setfoot upon the stage of the Opera she had apparently ceased to be a'nice English girl' in the eyes of men of the world. The profession ofsinging in public, then, presupposed that the singer was no longer themore or less imaginary young girl, the hothouse flower of the socialgarden, whose perfect bloom the merest breath of worldly knowledgemust blight for ever. Margaret might smile at the myth, but she couldnot ignore the fact that she was already as much detached from it inmen's eyes as if she had entered the married state. The mere fact ofrealising that the hothouse blossom was part of the social legendproved the change in herself.

  'So that is the secret about the little girl,' she said at last. Thenshe started a little, as if she had made a discovery. 'Good heavens!'she exclaimed, poking the fire sharply. 'He cannot be as bad asthat--even he!'

  'What do you mean?' asked Logotheti, surprised.

  'No--really--it's too awful,' Margaret said slowly, to herself.'Besides,' she added, 'one has no right to believe an anonymousletter.'

  'The writer was well informed about you, at least,' observedLogotheti. 'You say that the details are true.'

  'Absolutely. That makes the other thing all the more dreadful.'

  'It's not such a frightful crime, after all,' Logotheti answered witha little surprise. 'Long before he fell in love with you he may haveliked some one else! Such things may happen in every man's life.'

  'That one thing--yes, no doubt. But you either don't know, or youdon't realise just what all the rest has been, up to the death of thatpoor girl in the theatre in New York.'

  'He was engaged to her, was he not?'

  'Yes.'

  'I forget who she was.'

  'His partner's daughter. She was called Ida Bamberger.'

  'Ida? Like the little girl?'

  'Yes. Bamberger divorced his wife, and she married Senator Moon. Don'tyou see?'

  'And the girls were half-sisters--and--?' Logotheti stopped andstared.

  'Yes.' Margaret nodded slowly again and poked the fire.

  'Good heavens!' The Greek knew something of the world's wickedness,but his jaw dropped. 'Oedipus!' he ejaculated.

  'It cannot be true,' Margaret said, quite in earnest. 'I detest him,but I cannot believe that of him.'

  For in her mind all that she knew and that Griggs had told her, andthat Logotheti did not know yet, rose up in orderly logic, and joinedwhat was now in her mind, completing the whole hideous tale ofwickedness that had ended in the death of Ida Bamberger, who hadbeen murdered, perhaps, in desperation to avert a crime even moremonstrous. The dying girl's faint voice came back to Margaret acrossthe ocean.

  'He did it--'

  And there was the stain on Paul Griggs' hand; and there was littleIda's face on the steamer, when she had looked up and had seen VanTorp's lips moving, and had understood what he was saying to himself,and had dragged Margaret away in terror. And not least, there was theindescribable fear of him which Margaret felt when he was near her fora few minutes.

  On the other side, what was there to be said for him? Miss More,quiet, good, conscientious Miss More, devoting her life to the child,said that he was one of the kindest men living. There was Lady Maud,with her clear eyes, her fearless ways, and her knowledge of the worldand men, and she said that Van Torp was kind, and good to people introuble and true to his friends. Lord Creedmore, the intimate friendof Margaret's father, a barrister half his life, and as keen as ahawk, said that Mr. Van Torp was a very decent sort of man, and heevidently allowed his daughter to like the American. It was true thata scandalous tale about Lady Maud and the millionaire was alreadygoing from mouth to mouth, but Margaret did not believe it. If shehad known that the facts were accurately told, whatever their meaningmight be, she would have taken them for further evidence a
gainst theaccused. As for Miss More, she was guided by her duty to her employer,or her affection for little Ida, and she seemed to be of thecharitable sort, who think no evil; but after what Lord Creedmore hadsaid, Margaret had no doubt but that it was Mr. Van Torp who providedfor the child, and if she was his daughter, the reason for SenatorMoon's neglect of her was patent.

  Then Margaret thought of Isidore Bamberger, the hard-working man ofbusiness who was Van Torp's right hand and figure-head, as Griggs hadsaid, and who had divorced the beautiful, half-crazy mother of the twoIdas because Van Torp had stolen her from him--Van Torp, his partner,and once his trusted friend. She remembered the other things Griggshad told her: how old Bamberger must surely have discovered that hisdaughter had been murdered, and that he meant to keep it a secret tillhe caught the murderer. Even now the detectives might be on the rightscent, and if he whose child had been killed, and whose wife had beenstolen from him by the man he had once trusted, learnt the whole truthat last, he would not be easily appeased.

  'You have had some singular offers of marriage,' said Logotheti in atone of reflection. 'You will probably marry a beggar some day--anice beggar, who has ruined himself like a gentleman, but a beggarnevertheless!'

  'I don't know,' Margaret said carelessly. 'Of one thing I am sure. Ishall not marry Mr. Van Torp.'

  Logotheti laughed softly.

  'Remember the French proverb,' he said. '"Say not to the fountain, Iwill not drink of thy water."'

  'Proverbs,' returned Margaret, 'are what Schreiermeyer calls stupidstuff. Fancy marrying that monster!'

  'Yes,' assented Logotheti, 'fancy!'