“I could hardly be an ambassador at forty-four, unless I had had uncommon opportunities.” But his eyes kindled and he smiled. He was easily diverted, and even though his ambition might not grow fast enough to conquer his indolence and love of pleasure before it was too late, his natural sense of dignity, and a pride both personal and racial, reminded him, now and again, that it was his duty to take the place among men to which his talents and his opportunities entitled him.
“Well—you might come back as Minister Resident to Bavaria, and cheer your good old friend’s last days.”
“Oh!” He had turned pale again. “I may never embark upon the diplomatic career, Countess. It—I—it is too expensive, I am afraid. It is only in the last year that I have learned the disagreeable lesson that money is not to be had for the wishing. When I chose the diplomatic career,—not, I fear, with any idea of serving my country, but as the most congenial I could think of,—I had a vague idea that money in unlimited quantities was my birthright, that it would flow in, every quarter, with the changing seasons. Intellectually, I accept the fact that I am a younger son and likely to remain one for another quarter of a century; but personally, this knowledge seems to make no impression on me whatever. I keep on spending more than my income, even here in Munich where I am a guest. How can I expect properly to maintain the position of a regular member of the staff with increasing social obligations? There is no pay at all for two years; for many it is insignificant. I scorn to be a mere hanger-on, professional diner-out. It is my disposition to entertain, to give as good as I get.”
“Young men, particularly young officials, are in such demand—that need hardly worry you. And then you can marry. High Heaven has preordained that young Englishmen of great expectations and immediate debts shall capture ambitious fortunes. Your family influence must be immense. Cause yourself to be appointed to your legation in Washington—that Mecca of the worthy and impecunious young attaché. You will have married a rich, pretty, and charming girl before your first year is out. I am beginning to feel that I have the seeds of the match-maker in the débris of my feminine soul. I fancy that half the American wives in Europe were caught in their own diplomatic pond.”
“I may never marry. I have little inclination for matrimony.” But he spoke sadly, for the alluring vision of Mabel Cutting and her millions had risen with the advice of the Styr. “Besides—well—”
Countess Tann rose and closed the window, drawing the curtains. The room looked even more friendly, more shut in from the world, than before. He had risen to assist her, and as she resumed her seat, he stood looking down at her. He had never liked any one so much, never felt so oddly at home, since the death of his father. Her atmosphere of mystery had vanished in this room where she lived her intimate woman’s life. She was not seductive nor too fascinating, but friendly, intelligent, gemütlich. A wave of boyish despair swept over him. He would have liked to put his head in her lap and pour out his troubles and receive her comfort and advice. Although he looked as impassive as the Sphinx, she knew that the time had come to speak.
“You are in trouble,” she said softly. “I knew it the moment you came in, and it has been rising to the surface at intervals ever since. I can only divert you for a few moments at a time. You are not in the least what you were at Neuschwanstein, and you have a great reputation in Munich for high spirits. New friends often make the best confidants. Something tells me that I can help you. Do let me if I can. I have given you more of my confidence than I have ever given to any one. It is your turn. And there is a bond—you must feel it as well as I. Indeed—I am almost superstitious about it, so—let me help you.”
He sat down under this assault, but instead of sinking into the deepest embrace of the easy chair, after his habit whenever he captured that triumph of modern furnishing, he leaned forward, staring at her as if magnetized, and feeling something of the gratitude he so often politely expressed.
“You are very good! Why do you take so much interest—you, of all women? You do not dwell on the same plane with poor tormented human beings.”
“But I did once! Bear that in mind, and tell me what troubles you.”