“Now, Monsieur Browne,” said Madame Bernstein, as she seated herself with her back to the window, “we can talk in comfort, and, what is better still, without fear of being disturbed. It is indeed kind of you to come and see me, for I expect you were considerably surprised at receiving my poor little note yesterday. What you must have thought of it I dare not think; but I must console myself with the reflection, that it was written in the interests of another person, whose happiness is dearer to me than I can make you understand. To tell you the truth, it is a most delicate matter. I think you will admit as much when you have heard what I have to say.”
Browne accordingly reserved his judgment. His distrust of the woman, however, was rapidly coming back upon him, and he could not help feeling that, plausible as her words were, and desirous as she appeared to be of helping a third person, she was in some way attempting to deceive himself.
“I beg that you will not consider me at all in the matter,” he said, seeing that he was expected to say something. “I am, as you know, only too glad to do anything I can to help you. Perhaps it is regarding Mademoiselle Petrovitch that you desire to speak to me?”
“You have guessed correctly,” said madame. “It is about Katherine. The poor child, as I have reason to know, is in terrible trouble just now.”
“I am indeed sorry to hear that,” said Browne, a fear of he knew not what taking possession of him. “But I hope the trouble is one that can be easily set right.”
“It is possible it may,” madame replied. “But I think it depends, if you will permit me to say so, in a very great measure upon yourself.”
“Upon me?” cried the young man, this time with real surprise. “How can that be? I should never forgive myself if I thought I had made Miss Petrovitch unhappy.”
“Not perhaps exactly in the sense you mean,” said madame, moving a little nearer him, and speaking in a tone that was low and confidential; “but still you have done so in another way, Monsieur Browne. Before I go any further, however, it is necessary that I should remind you that I am an old woman.” Here she smiled a little coquettishly, as if to remind him that her words, in this particular instance, must not be taken too literally. “I am an old woman,” she continued —“old enough to be your mother, perhaps; at any rate, old enough to be able to say what I am going to say, without fear of giving offence, or of having my motives misconstrued. Monsieur Browne, as you are well aware, Katherine is only a young girl, and, like other young girls, she has her dreams. Into those dreams you have come, and what is the result? I will leave it to your common-sense, and perhaps a little to your vanity, to read between the lines. Had you been differently situated it would not have mattered. At the time that you rendered her that great service on the mountains above Merok, she had no idea who you were. But later on, when you were so kind to us in London, though you did your best to prevent it, we discovered all about you. Immediately, as is often the way with young girls, a change came. She is simplicity itself. She is also the soul of honour. She feared to let her true soul be seen, lest you might think that we were cultivating your acquaintance for the sake of your wealth.”
“I never dreamt of such a thing,” Browne replied indignantly. “That is the worst part of being a rich man, Madame Bernstein. One-half of the world preys upon you for your money, while a large number will not be friendly to you lest they may be supposed to be doing the same. I should be a cad of the first water if I had ever thought for a moment, that Miss Petrovitch was capable of such a thing.”
From the way he spoke Madame Bernstein saw that she had overshot her mark, and she was quick to make up for her mistake.
“I do not think I said that we thought so, Monsieur Brown,” she said. “I only remarked that I feared my ward was afraid lest you might do so.”
“She might have known me better than that,” said Browne a little reproachfully. “But perhaps you will tell me what it is you wish me to do?”
“Ah! In asking that question you bring me to the most difficult point in our interview,” she replied. “I will show you why. Before I do so, however, I want you to give me your promise that you will not be offended at what I am about to say to you.”
“I will certainly promise that,” Browne answered.
“I am going to put your friendship to a severe test,” Madame continued. She paused for a moment as if to collect her thoughts. When she spoke again it was with an abruptness that was most disconcerting. “You must be blind indeed,” she said, “if you cannot see, Monsieur Browne, that Katherine loves you.”
The revulsion of feeling caused by her announcement of this fact was so strong that, though Browne tried to speak, he found he was incapable of uttering a word. And yet, though she seemed so certain of what she said, there was something in the way she said it that did not ring quite true.
“Monsieur Browne,” she went on, leaning a little forward and speaking with still greater earnestness, “I feel sure you will understand how much all this means, not only to her but to me. Since my poor husband’s death she has been all I have had to live for, and it cuts my heart in pieces to see her so unhappy.”
“But what would you have me do?” inquired Browne.
“That is the very subject I wished to speak to you about,” Madame replied. Then, shaking her head sadly, she continued: “Ah, Monsieur Browne, you do not know what it is to love, and to love in vain. The favour I am going to ask of you is that you should go away; that you should not let Katherine see you again.”
“But, madame,” said Browne, “why should I go away? What if I love her as you say she loves me?”
The lady uttered a little cry as if of astonishment.
“If you loved her all would be different,” she cried, clasping her hands together —“so very, very different.”
“Then let it be as different as you please,” cried Browne, springing to his feet. “For I do love her, and with my whole heart and soul, as I should have told her, had she not left London so suddenly the other day.”
Looking back on it now, Browne is obliged to confess that the whole scene was theatrical in the extreme. Madame Bernstein, on hearing the news, behaved with a most amiable eccentricity; she sprang from her chair, and, taking his hand in hers, pressed it to her heart. If her behaviour counted for anything, this would seem to have been the happiest moment of her life. In the middle of it all the sound of a light footstep reached them from the corridor outside.
“Hush!” said Madame Bernstein, holding up her finger in warning. “It is Katherine! I implore you not to tell her that I have said this to you.”
“You may depend upon my not doing so,” Browne answered.
An instant later the girl, whose happiness they appeared to be so anxious to promote, entered the room. Her surprise and confusion at finding Browne there may be better imagined than described. But if the position were embarrassing for her, how much more so was it for Browne! He stood before her like a schoolboy detected in a fault, and who waits to be told what his punishment will be.
“Monsieur Browne was kind enough to take pity on my loneliness,” said Madame Bernstein, by way of explanation, but with a slight falter in her voice which told the young man that, although she wished him to think otherwise, she really stood in some awe of her companion. “We have had a most interesting discussion on modern French art. I had no idea that Monsieur Browne was so well acquainted with the subject.”
“It is the one thing of all others in which I take the greatest possible interest,” replied Browne, with corresponding gravity. But he dared not look at Katherine’s face, for he knew she was regarding him with a perplexed and somewhat disappointed look, as if she were not quite certain whether he was telling the truth. She did not know how to account for his presence there, and in some vague way it frightened her. It was plain, at any rate, that she placed no sort of reliance in her guardian’s somewhat far-fetched explanation.
Seeing that she was likely to be de trop, that lady made an excuse and left the room. After she had gone, and the door had closed behind her, things passed from bad to worse with the couple she had left behind. Browne knew exactly what he wanted to say, but he did not know how to say it. Katherine said ............