"Yes. It's Ruxton Farlow speaking. How-do-you-do? Most extraordinary coincidence. I was just writing out a telegram to you. I was wond—— Yes, it's ages. I've a lot to tell you about—things. Eh? You must see me to-night. Why, that's delightful. I am in great good luck. Not sure about the luck?" He laughed confidently. "I am. Eh?" His laugh had died out abruptly. "Bad news. That's—— Well, where shall I see you? Not at—all right. Could you manage dinner with me somewhere? Ah, anywhere you choose. What's that? The Oberon? The West Room? Will that be all right in view of the—bad news? Yes, I agree. It is sufficiently secluded. Shall we say at eight o'clock? You're sure it quite suits you? Splendid. Yes. Then good-bye—till eight o'clock."
Ruxton replaced the receiver, and, for a moment, sat staring out at the sunlit square. His eyes were half smiling still, but there was a puzzled, slight elevation of his level brows. He was thinking, speculating as to the nature of the bad news. But even bad news which again brought him into contact with the Princess Vita was robbed of more than half its significance.
Whatever Ruxton Farlow's impressions, drawn from his earlier encounters with Vita von Hertzwohl, they became totally eclipsed by the delight in her perfect beauty as it appeared to him when he kept his appointment for dinner that night.
Her tall figure, so beautifully rounded, so perfect in its delicate proportions, and so full of a delicious sinuous grace, was gowned to perfection. Her wonderful red-gold hair, tinged with its soft sheen of burnished copper, was a perfect setting for the delicate tracery of jewels which completed its exquisitely unconventional dressing. Her wonderful grey eyes shone eagerly up into his, lighting the essentially foreign complexion which was hers with a warm fire of virile mentality. Such were the feelings she inspired that he wondered absurdly that he could ever have taken her for anything less than the princess he now knew her to be. So great was her effect upon him that it was not until her own low-spoken words, reminding him of the bad news of which she was the bearer, permitted the memory of the affairs he was engaged upon to return to their paramount place in his consideration.
They were seated at a small round table in a remote corner of the great West Room. The table next to them was unoccupied, but, for the rest, the room was fairly full, and amongst the diners were a considerable number of notables who preferred the quiet harmonious charm of tasteful surroundings and excellent cooking to the blatancy of the more advertised caravansaries.
It was not until the pêches-melba had been served, and the order for coffee had been given to the waiter, that the cloud was allowed to descend upon Ruxton's perfect enjoyment. They had talked of all he had seen upon his visit to Borga. They had talked of Vita's father, and the services he yearned to perform for humanity. Ruxton had described in detail their flight from the great arsenal and its Prussian commandant. And all the time Vita had withheld her news, fearing for herself, as much as for her companion, the complete banishment of the delight of this moment of their meeting again.
But it had to come, and she faced it resolutely. There had fallen a pause in their talk, and she drew a deep sigh.
"And now—now for the purpose of this meeting," she said.
Then with a resolute air she rested her elbows upon the table and clasped her beautiful shapely hands.
"Is there any other purpose than—the present?" enquired Ruxton, following her example and leaning forward. His smile was one of whimsical protest. He knew that the moment had come when he must once more return to the harness of his office. "I feel rather like a navvy," he proceeded. "After tremendous exertions I have just been lounging away my dinner hour. The whistle has blown, and I must get to work again. You have blown the whistle."