The Eagle's Shadow by James Branch Cabell (rm book recommendations TXT) 📗

going to help
yourself?"

"Simplest thing in the world," he assured her. "You see this match,
don't you, Peggy? Well, now you're going to give me that paper I see
in that bag-thing at your waist, and I'm going to burn it till it's
all nice, soft, feathery ashes that can't ever be probated. And then
the first will, which is practically the same as the last, will be
allowed to stand, and I'll tell your father all about the affair,
because he ought to know, and you'll have to settle with those
colleges. And in that way," Mr. Woods submitted, "Uncle Fred's last
wishes will be carried out just as he expressed them, and there
needn't be any trouble--none at all. So give me the will, Peggy?"

It is curious what a trivial matter love makes of felony.

Margaret's heart sank.

However, "Yes?" said she, encouragingly; "and what do you intend doing
afterward?--"

"I--I shall probably live abroad," said Billy. "Cheaper, you know."


[Illustration: "Miss Hugonin pouted. 'You needn't be such a
grandfather,' she suggested, helpfully"]

And here (he thought) was an excellent, an undreamed-of opportunity to
inform her of his engagement. He had much better tell her now and have
done. Mr. Woods opened his mouth and looked at Margaret, and closed
it. Again she was pouting in a fashion that distracted one's mind.

"That would be most unattractive," said Miss Hugonin, calmly. "You're
very stupid, Billy, to think of living abroad. Billy, I think you're
almost as stupid as I am. I've been very stupid, Billy. I thought I
liked Mr. Kennaston. I don't, Billy--not that way. I've just told him
so. I'm not--I'm not engaged to anybody now, Billy. But wasn't it
stupid of me to make such a mistake, Billy?"

That was a very interesting mosaic there in the summer-house.

"I don't understand," said Mr. Woods. His voice shook, and his hands
lifted a little toward her and trembled.

Poor Billy dared not understand. Her eyes downcast, her foot tapping
the floor gently, Margaret was all one blush. She, too, was trembling
a little, and she was a little afraid and quite unutterably happy; and
outwardly she was very much the tiny lady of Oberon's court, very much
the coquette quintessentialised.

It is pitiable that our proud Margaret should come to such a pass. Ah,
the men that you have flouted and scorned and bedeviled and mocked at,
Margaret--could they see you now, I think the basest of them could
not but pity and worship you. This man is bound in honour to another
woman; yet a little, and his lips will open--very dry, parched lips
they are now--and he will tell you, and your pride will drive you mad,
and your heart come near to breaking.

"Don't you understand--oh, you silly Billy!" She was peeping at him
meltingly from under her lashes.

"I--I'm imagining vain things," said Mr. Woods. "I--oh, Peggy, Peggy,
I think I must be going mad!"

He stared hungrily at the pink, startled face that lifted toward his.
Ah, no, no, it could not be possible, this thing he had imagined for a
moment. He had misunderstood.

And now just for a little (thought poor Billy) let my eyes drink in
those dear felicities of colour and curve, and meet just for a little
the splendour of those eyes that have the April in them, and rest just
for a little upon that sanguine, close-grained, petulant mouth; and
then I will tell her, and then I think that I must die.

"Peggy----" he began, in a flattish voice.

"They have evidently gone," said the voice of Mr. Kennaston; "yes,
those beautiful, happy young people have foolishly deserted the very
prettiest spot in the gardens. Let us sit here, Kathleen."

"But I'm not an eavesdropper," Mr. Woods protested, half angrily.

I fear Margaret was not properly impressed.

"Please, Billy," she pleaded, in a shrill whisper, "please let's
listen. He's going to propose to her now, and you've no idea how
funny he is when he proposes. Oh, don't be so pokey, Billy--do let's
listen!"

But Mr. Woods had risen with a strange celerity and was about to leave
the summer-house.

Margaret pouted. Mrs. Saumarez and Mr. Kennaston were seated not
twenty feet from the summer-house, on the bench which Miss Hugonin had
just left. And when that unprincipled young woman finally rose to her
feet, it must be confessed that it was with a toss of the head and
with the reflection that while to listen wasn't honourable, it would
at least be very amusing. I grieve to admit it, but with Billy's
scruples she hadn't the slightest sympathy.

Then Kennaston cried, suddenly: "Why, you're mad, Kathleen! Woods
wants to marry you! Why, he's heels over head in love with Miss
Hugonin!"

Miss Hugonin turned to Mr. Woods with a little intake of the breath.

No, I shall not attempt to tell you what Billy saw in her countenance.
Timanthes-like, I drape before it the vines of the summer-house. For
a brief space I think we had best betake ourselves outside,
leaving Margaret in a very pitiable state of anger, and shame, and
humiliation, and heartbreak--leaving poor Billy with a heart that
ached, seeing the horror of him in her face.



XXIII

Mrs. Saumarez laughed bitterly.

"No," she said, "Billy cared for me, you know, a long time ago. And
this morning he told me he still cared. Billy doesn't pretend to be
a clever man, you see, and so he can afford to practice some of the
brute virtues, such as constancy and fidelity."

There was a challenging flame in her eyes, but Kennaston let the stab
pass unnoticed. To do him justice, he was thinking less of himself,
just now, than of how this news would affect Margaret; and his face
was very grave and strangely tender, for in his own fashion he loved
Margaret.

"It's nasty, very nasty," he said, at length, in a voice that was
puzzled. "Yet I could have sworn yesterday----" Kennaston paused and
laughed lightly. "She was an heiress yesterday, and to-day she is
nobody. And Mr. Woods, being wealthy, can afford to gratify the
virtues you commend so highly and, with a fidelity that is most
edifying, return again to his old love. And she welcomes him--and the
Woods millions--with open arms. It is quite affecting, is it not,
Kathleen?"

"You needn't be disagreeable," she observed.

"My dear Kathleen, I assure you I am not angry. I am merely a little
sorry for human nature. I could have sworn Woods was honest. But
rogues all, rogues all, Kathleen! Money rules us in the end; and now
the parable is fulfilled, and Love the prodigal returns to make merry
over the calf of gold. Confess," Mr. Kennaston queried, with a smile,
"is it not strange an all-wise Creator should have been at pains to
fashion this brave world about us for little men and women such as
we to lie and pilfer in? Was it worth while, think you, to arch the
firmament above our rogueries, and light the ageless stars as candles
to display our antics? Let us be frank, Kathleen, and confess that
life is but a trivial farce ignobly played in a very stately temple."
And Mr. Kennaston laughed again.

"Let us be frank!" Kathleen cried, with a little catch in her voice.
"Why, it isn't in you to be frank, Felix Kennaston! Your life is
nothing but a succession of poses--shallow, foolish poses meant
to hoodwink the world and at times yourself. For you do hoodwink
yourself, don't you, Felix?" she asked, eagerly, and gave him no time
to answer. She feared, you see, lest his answer might dilapidate the
one fortress she had been able to build about his honour.

"And now," she went on, quickly, "you're trying to make me think you a
devil of a fellow, aren't you? And you're hinting that I've accepted
Billy because of his money, aren't you? Well, it is true that I
wouldn't marry him if he were poor. But he's very far from being poor.
And he cares for me. And I am fond of him. And so I shall marry him
and make him as good a wife as I can. So there!"

Mrs. Saumarez faced him with an uneasy defiance. He was smiling oddly.

"I have heard it rumoured in many foolish tales and jingling verses,"
said Kennaston, after a little, "that a thing called love exists in
the world. And I have also heard, Kathleen, that it sometimes enters
into the question of marriage. It appears that I was misinformed."

"No," she answered, slowly, "there is a thing called love. I think
women are none the better for knowing it. To a woman, it means to take
some man--some utterly commonplace man, perhaps--perhaps, only an idle
poseur such as you are, Felix--and to set him up on a pedestal, and
to bow down and worship him; and to protest loudly, both to the world
and to herself, that in spite of all appearances her idol really
hasn't feet of clay, or that, at any rate, it is the very nicest clay
in the world. For a time she deceives herself, Felix. Then the idol
topples from the pedestal and is broken, and she sees that it is all
clay, Felix--clay through and through--and her heart breaks with it."

Kennaston bowed his head. "It is true," said he; "that is the love of
women."

"To a man," she went on, dully, "it means to take some woman--the
nearest woman who isn't actually deformed--and to make pretty speeches
to her and to make her love him. And after a while--" Kathleen
shrugged her shoulders drearily. "Why, after a while," said she, "he
grows tired and looks for some other woman."

"It is true," said Kennaston--"yes, very true that some men love in
that fashion."

There ensued a silence. It was a long silence, and under the tension
of it Kathleen's composure snapped like a cord that has been stretched
to the breaking point.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she cried, suddenly; "that is how I have loved you
and that is how you've loved me, Felix Kennaston! Ah, Billy told me
what happened last night! And that--that was why I--" Mrs. Saumarez
paused and regarded him curiously. "You don't make a very noble
figure, just now, do you?" she asked, with careful deliberation. "You
were ready to sell yourself for Miss Hugonin's money, weren't you? And
now you must take her without the money. Poor Felix! Ah, you poor,
petty liar, who've over-reached yourself so utterly!" And again
Kathleen began to laugh, but somewhat shrilly, somewhat hysterically.

"You are wrong," he said, with a flush. "It is true that I asked Miss
Hugonin to marry me. But she--very wisely, I dare say--declined."

"Ah!" Kathleen said, slowly. Then--and it will not do to inquire too
closely into her logic--she spoke with considerable sharpness: "She's
a conceited little cat! I never in all my life knew a girl to be quite
so conceited as she is. Positively, I don't believe she thinks there's
a man breathing who's good enough for her!"

Kennaston grinned. "Oh, Kathleen, Kathleen!" he said; "you are simply
delicious."

And Mrs. Saumarez coloured prettily and tried to look severe and
could not, for the simple reason that, while she knew Kennaston to be
flippant and weak and unstable as water and generally worthless, yet
for some occult cause she loved him as tenderly as though he had been
a paragon of all the manly virtues. And I dare say that for many of us
it is by a very kindly provision of Nature that all women are created
capable of doing this illogical thing and that most of them do it
daily.

"It is true," the poet said, at length, "that I have played no heroic
part. And I don't question, Kathleen, that I am all you think me. Yet,
such as I am, I love you. And such as I am, you love me, and it is I
that you are going to marry, and not that Woods person."

"He's worth ten of you!" she cried, scornfully.

"Twenty of me, perhaps," Mr. Kennaston assented, "but that isn't the
question. You don't love him, Kathleen. You are about to marry him for
his money. You are about to do what I thought to do yesterday. But you
won't, Kathleen. You know that I need you, my dear, and--unreasonably
enough, God knows--you love me."

Mrs. Saumarez regarded him intently for a considerable space, and
during that space the Eagle warred in her heart with the one foe
he can never conquer. Love had a worthless ally; but Love fought
staunchly.

By and bye, "Yes," she said, and her voice was almost sullen; "I love
you. I ought to love Billy, but I don't. I shall ask him to release me
from my engagement. And yes, I will marry you if you like."

He raised her hand to his lips. "You are an angel," Mr. Kennaston was
pleased to say.


"No," Mrs. Saumarez dissented, rather forlornly; "I'm simply a fool.
Otherwise, I