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He must really have been in readiness to depart, for he came down again almost at once, followed by a green-aproned porter carrying his luggage. "I looked into Mangles's salon," he said to Wanda, when he was seated beside her again. "He remains here alone. The ladies have already gone. They must have taken the mid-day train to Germany. He is no fool that Mangles. But this morning he is dumb.
Princess Wanda met Cartoner's serious eyes again, and in that place, where human fates are written, another page of those inscrutable books was folded over. Prince Bukaty was an affable old man, with a love of good wine and a perfect appreciation of the humorous.
I have something which I must tell you. All night, waking or sleeping, Wanda was restless and worried. She had guessed swiftly that the thing Wayne was going to tell her had something to do with Helga Strawn; it might also have something to do with Garth and Martin Leland. Garth had been strangely agitated when he burst into the house.
"So he is a male courtesan," she said to herself; and the handsome man soon required money again, and she lent it to him, until at last he left suddenly, and nobody knew where he had gone to; only this much, that he had left Vevey as the companion of an old but wealthy Wallachian lady; and so this time, clever Wanda was duped.
And, of course, they hoped. For they were young, and human, and the spring was in the air. But their hope was one of those things of which they could not speak; for it involved knowledge of which Wanda had become possessed at the hand of the prince and Martin and Kosmaroff. It touched those things which Cartoner had come to Poland to learn, but not from Wanda.
She laughed coolly, evidently quite at home with him. "If a man came in, frozen stiff, would you offer him a cup of tea?" "What do you mean?" He had started toward the kitchen, and stopped. "I mean brandy, if you've got any. It would do me a lot of good. Wanda Leland just poured some tea down me and I didn't want to shock her." Wayne stood frowning at her a moment, a question on his lips.
"That is my wish, too," she replied with a curious deceitful look. "Wanda!" I exclaimed violently, "don't drive me to extremes; you see that I am a man again." "A fire of straw," she replied, "which makes a lot of stir for a moment, and goes out as quickly as it flared up. You imagine you can intimidate me, and you only make yourself ridiculous.
For the individuality of the house must have been his. Wanda had found it there when she came back from the school in Dresden, too young to have a marked individuality of her own. The difference she brought to the house was a certain brightness and a sort of experimental femininity, which reigned supreme until her English governess came back again to live as a companion with her pupil.
"Now you are a man, and at this moment I know I still love you." "Wanda," I wept with rapture, and bent down over her, covering her dear face with kisses, and she, suddenly breaking into a loud gay laugh, said, "Have you finished with your ideal now, are you satisfied with me?" "You mean?" I stammered, "that you weren't serious?" "I am very serious," she gaily continued.
Shandon looked again at the fire; set on each side of a bed of coals were two flat stones, perched on the stones a battered, blackened old coffee pot. "I called you a witch, didn't I, Wanda?" "You might at least have called me a Fairy," she retorted, her eyes bright with the joy of a day-dream come true. "Did you conjure this out of a broken eggshell with a wand?
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