"Oh, it's you!" she cried, in a quavery voice. She was leaning forward in the chair, her eyes wide open and eager.
I advanced into the room. A look of doubt sprang into her face. She stared for a moment and then rather piteously rubbed her eyes.
"Yes, it is I," said I, spreading my arms in such a way that my hands emerged from the confines of Poopendyke's sleeves. (Upon my word, I had no idea that he was so much longer than I!) "It is still I, Countess, despite the shrinkage."
"The shrinkage?" she murmured, slowly sliding out of the chair. As she unbent her cramped3 leg, she made a little grimace4 of pain, but smiled as she limped toward me, her hand extended.
"Yes, I always shrink when I get wet," I explained, resorting to facetiousness5.
Then I bent2 over her hand and kissed it. As I neglected to release it at once, the cuff6 of Poopendyke's best coat slid down over our two hands, completely enveloping7 them. It was too much for me to stand. I squeezed her hand with painful fervour, and then released it in trepidation8.
"Poopendyke goes to church in it," I said vaguely9, leaving her to guess what it was that Poopendyke went to church in, or, perhaps, knowing what I meant, how I happened to be in it for the time being. "You've been crying!"
Her eyes were red and suspiciously moist.
As she met my concerned gaze, a wavering, whimsical smile crept into her face.
"It has been a disgustingly wet night," she said. "Oh, you don't know how happy I am to see you standing10 here once more, safe and sound, and—and amiable11. I expected you to glower12 and growl13 and—"
"On a bright, glorious, sunshiny morning like this?" I cried. "Never! I prefer to be graciously refulgent14. Our troubles are behind us."
"How good you are." After a moment's careful, scrutiny15 of my face: "I can see the traces of very black thoughts, Mr. Smart,—and recent ones."
"They were black until I came into this room," I confessed. "Now they are rose-tinted."
She bent her slender body a little toward me and the red seemed to leap back into her lips as if propelled by magic. Resolutely16 I put my awkward, ungainly arms behind my back, and straightened my figure. I was curiously17 impressed by the discovery that I was very, very tall and she very much smaller than my memory recorded. Of course, I had no means of knowing that she was in bedroom slippers18 and not in the customary high-heeled boots that gave her an inch and a half of false stature19.
"Your mother is here," I remarked hurriedly.
She glanced toward my bedroom door.
"Oh, what a night!" she sighed. "I did all that I could to keep her out of your bed. It was useless. I did cry, Mr. Smart. I know you must hate all of us."
I laughed. "'Love thy neighbour as thyself,'" I quoted. "You are my neighbour, Countess; don't forget that. And it so happens that your mother is also my neighbour at present, and your brothers too. Have you any cousins and aunts?"
"I can't understand how any one can be so good-natured as you," she sighed.
The crown of her head was on a level with my shoulder. Her eyes were lowered; a faint line of distress20 grew between them. For a minute I stared down at the brown crest21 of her head, an almost ungovernable impulse pounding away at my sense of discretion22. I do take credit unto myself for being strong enough to resist that opportunity to make an everlasting23 idiot of myself. I knew, even then, that if a similar attack ever came upon me again I should not be able to withstand it. It was too much to expect of mortal man. Angels might survive the test, but not wingless man.
All this time she was staring rather pensively24 at the second button from the top of Poopendyke's coat, and so prolonged and earnest was her gaze that I looked down in some concern, at the same time permitting myself to make a nervous, jerky and quite involuntary digital examination of the aforesaid button. She looked up with a nervous little laugh.
"I shall have to sew one on right there for poor Mr. Poopendyke," she said, poking26 her finger into the empty buttonhole. "You dear bachelors!"
Then she turned swiftly away from me, and glided27 over to the big armchair, from the depths of which she fished a small velvet28 bag. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at me.
"Please look the other way," she said. Without waiting for me to do so, she took out a little gold box, a powder puff29, and a stick of lip rouge30. Crossing to the small Florentine mirror that hung near my desk, she proceeded, before my startled eyes, to repair the slight—and to me unnoticeable—damage that had been done to her complexion31 before the sun came up.
"Woman works in a mysterious way, my friend, her wonders to perform," she paraphrased32 calmly.
"No matter how transcendently beautiful woman may be, she always does that sort of thing to herself, I take it," said I.
"She does," said the Countess with conviction. She surveyed herself critically. "There! And now I am ready to accept an invitation to breakfast. I am disgustingly hungry."
"And so am I!" I cried with enthusiasm. "Hurray! You shall eat Poopendyke's breakfast, just to penalise him for failing in his duties as host during my unavoidable—"
"Quite impossible," she said. "He has already eaten it."
"He has?"
"At half-past six, I believe. He announced at that ungodly hour that if he couldn't have his coffee the first thing in the morning he would be in for a headache all day. He suggested that I take a little nap and have breakfast with you—if you succeeded in surviving the night."
"Oh, I see," said I slowly. "He knew all the time that you were napping in that chair, eh?"
"You shall not scold him!"
"I shall do even worse than that. I shall pension him for life."
She appeared thoughtful. A little frown' of annoyance33 clouded her brow.
"He promised faithfully to arouse me the instant you were sighted on the opposite side of the river. I made him stand in the window with a field glass. No, on second thought, I shall scold him. If he had come to the door and shouted, you wouldn't have caught me in this odious34 dressing-gown. Helene—"
"It is most fascinating," I cried. "Adorable! I love flimsy, pink things. They're so intimate. And Poopendyke knows it, bless his ingenuous35 old soul."
I surprised a queer little gleam of inquiry36 in her eyes. It flickered37 for a second and died out.
"Do you really consider him an ingenuous old soul?" she asked. And I thought there was something rather metallic38 in her voice. I might have replied with intelligence if she had given me a chance, but for some reason she chose to drop the subject. "You must be famished39, and I am dying to hear about your experiences. You must not omit a single detail. I—"
There came a gentle, discreet40 knocking on the half-open door. I started, somewhat guiltily.
"Come!"
Blatchford poked41 his irreproachable42 visage through the aperture43 and then gravely swung the door wide open.
"Breakfast is served, sir,—your ladyship. I beg pardon."
I have never seen him stand so faultlessly rigid44. As we passed him on the way out a mean desire came over me to tread on his toes, just as an experiment. I wondered if he would change expression. But somehow I felt that he would say "Thank you, sir," and there would be no satisfaction in knowing that he had had all his pains for nothing.
I shall never forget that enchanted45 breakfast—never! Not that I can recall even vaguely what we had to eat, or who served it, or how much of the naked truth I related to her in describing the events of the night; I can only declare that it was a singularly light-hearted affair.
At half-past one o'clock I was received by Mrs. Titus in my own study. The Countess came down from her eerie47 abode48 to officiate at the ceremonious function—if it may be so styled—and I was agreeably surprised to find my new guest in a most amiable frame of mind. True, she looked me over with what seemed to me an unnecessarily and perfectly49 frank stare of curiosity, but, on sober reflection, I did not hold it against her. I was still draped in Poopendyke's garments.
At first sight I suppose she couldn't quite help putting me down as one of those literary freaks who typify intellect without intelligence.
As for her two sons, they made no effort to disguise their amazement51. (I have a shocking notion that the vowel52 u might be substituted for the a in that word without loss of integrity!)
The elder of the two young men, Colingraft Titus, who being in the business with his father in New York was permitted to travel most of the time so that he couldn't interfere53 with it, was taller than I, and an extremely handsome chap to boot. He was twenty-six. The younger, Jasper, Jr., was nineteen, short and slight of build, with the merriest eyes I've ever seen. I didn't in the least mind the grin he bestowed54 upon me—and preserved with staunch fidelity55 throughout the whole interview,—but I resented the supercilious56, lordly scorn of his elder brother.
Jasper, I learned, was enduring a protracted57 leave of absence from Yale; the hiatus between his freshman58 and sophomore59 years already covered a period of sixteen months, and he had a tutor who appreciated the buttery side of his crust.
Mrs. Titus, after thanking me warmly—and I think sincerely—for all that I had done for Aline, apologised in a perfunctory sort of way for having kept me out of my bed all night, and hoped that I wouldn't catch cold or have an attack of rheumatism60.
I soon awoke to the fact that she was in the habit of centralising attention. The usually volatile61 Countess became subdued62 and repressed in her presence; the big son and the little one were respectfully quiescent63; I confess to a certain embarrassment64 myself.
She was a handsome woman with a young figure, a good complexion, clear eyes, wavy65 brown hair, and a rich, low voice perfectly modulated66. No doubt she was nearing fifty but thirty-five would have been your guess, provided you were a bachelor. A bachelor learns something about women every day of his life, but not so much that he cannot be surprised the day after.
I endeavoured to set her mind at rest by politely reminding her that I couldn't have slept in the bed any way, having been out all night, and she smilingly assured me that it was a relief to find a literary man who wasn't forever saying flat stupid things.
I took them over the castle—that is, a part of the castle. Mrs. Titus wouldn't climb stairs. She confessed to banting, but drew the line at anything more exhausting. I fear I was too palpably relieved when she declined to go higher than the second story.
"It isn't necessary, Mr. Smart," she said sweetly, "to go into the history of the wretched Rothhoefens, as a Cook's interpreter might do. You see, I know the castle quite well—and I have had all the late news from my daughter."
"Of course!" I agreed. "Stupid of me not to remember that you are descended67 from—"
"Mother isn't half as stuck up about it as you might think, Mr. Smart," interrupted Jasper, Jr., glibly68. "She prefers to let people think her ancestors were Dutch instead of merely German. Dutch ancestors are the proper thing in Jew York."
"Jappie," said his mother severely69, "how often must I caution you not to speak of New York as Jew York? Some day you will say it to a Jew. One can't be too careful. Heaven alone knows when one is in the presence of a Jew in these days."
"Oh, I'm not Hebraic," said I quickly. "My ancestors were Dutch. They came over with the original skin grafters."
She looked puzzled for a moment. The Countess laughed. Then Jasper saw the point. Colingraft was the last to see it, and then it was too late for him to smile.
We had tea in the loggia and I dined with the family in the Countess's apartment at eight that night. I think Mrs. Titus was rather favourably
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