She stared at him, fascinated, as she had done on the day of their reconciliation. Again his brain seemed to cast its shadow of maturity over his face. This singular effect, combined with his youthful bloom and indolent strength, entranced the blasée woman choking with the dregs of life. With a last effort she controlled herself again. He had had as much as he could stand for one evening; better she go home and mature her plans. She rose and drew herself up, looking far more the great lady than many of the homely shapeless women whose pedigrees ran back into the Holy Roman Empire. “I shall go now,” she said. “Will you tell a lackey to call my carriage?”
He went with her into the courtyard, and as he bade her good-night, she said softly: “You will come to-morrow?”
“Of course.”
“I shall expect you.”
He returned hastily to the house in the hope of a word with Margarethe Styr. But she had gone; and he took his own leave immediately, almost scowling at his many good friends, and wondering if any young man had ever been thrown into such perturbation before.
IX
EXCELLENZ, THE POTTER
The next morning he was rejoiced by the news that Fräulein Lutz was confined to the house by a severe katarrh, and he remained in bed until twelve, meditating upon the position in which he found himself. He had slept well—nothing had ever kept him awake—and he discovered that refreshed by sleep and coffee, to say nothing of the brilliant sunlight streaming over his bed, he hated his friends less than he had supposed the night before. He would be managed by nobody, but women were born matchmakers; it was not an unamiable vice; why should he resent their efforts in his behalf? He had not the least apprehension of being married against his will, and the painful picture of Fräulein von Schmidt no longer maddened him. Last night he had felt almost trapped, so communicable had been the excitement of that poor little woman.
He endeavoured to analyze his feeling for Frau von Wass. (He had never called her Hélène even in his thoughts.) Could it be that he was really fond of her? Certainly his soul had risen in arms last night as she poured out her wrongs, passionately dwelt upon her isolation. “With all the world against her.” It was a phrase to affect any man with a rag of feeling in him.
Unconsciously he shook his head. He was not in love with her. On that point at least he was quite clear. But he was uneasily sensible that events might rush too rapidly for his guidance. Were she ostracized on his account, cast out, perhaps, by an infuriated husband, there was no folly that he might not be induced to commit, particularly when his family combined in opposition. Although he had no suspicion of the plot hatching by Frau von Wass, a new light rose in his mind and played about the dangers of inspiring such a woman with a desperate passion. It is true that she had announced her complete recovery, but her eyes had betrayed her last night; moreover, he could not doubt that she had made a deliberate appeal to his pity, his tenderness, his humanity. Could it be that she wanted to elope with him? He broke into a cold perspiration. A moment later he was out of bed and writing her a note protesting that he was too ill to call on her that afternoon; he was really in a pitiable condition and must break all his engagements. Would she forgive him and let him call the instant he was presentable? Perhaps she would honour him at a little dinner he intended to give during the following week at one of the restaurants? Which did she prefer? And would Friday suit her? He would speak to Princess Nachmeister as soon as he could get out.
The Wass disposed of for at least three days, he shoved the memory of her into one of those wonderful water-tight compartments of his brain, and, returning to the pleasant places, met Margarethe Styr. Whether he wanted to know any woman again well he was not sure, but his experience of this isolated creature on the strange night of their meeting gave him hope that she had outlived the vanities and follies of her sex. He wondered that a woman to whom the fiery furnace of life had left no precipitation but mind could retain so much of feminine charm. Or was it but the magnetism of a strong brain, with the sauce piquante of fine manners? It would be worth while to discover. No beauty, so far, had appealed to his senses as odd and complex personalities did to his cool analytical brain. And how delightful even the occasional companionship of such a woman might be! Yes, he would know her if he could.