She held out her hand mechanically, and Usk kissed it, in the way he had learned from his uncle. The Queen laughed.
“I ought to play my part better by this time, at any rate in my own family, ought I not?” she said. “Are you going to see that poor Mr Nicholson, Usk? If there is anything he would like, flowers or fruit, or books, you will tell me, won’t you? It seems sad to be so ill away from home, and all alone.”
Nicholson was a college friend of Usk’s, who was now at Nice as a hopeless invalid. Usk had not cared for him particularly at Cambridge, but had been startled and touched to meet him in the hall that morning, and learn that he was alone save for a servant. Nicholson himself protested that the Riviera had done him no end of good, and that he was going to join in the Carnival gaieties on Shrove Tuesday, but his appearance made the words seem a bitter mockery.
“Thanks awfully,” said Usk. “I was just going to sit with him a bit, and I’m sure he’ll think it tremendously kind of you. I was wondering whether I might ask him in to tea one afternoon? I thought he would like to talk to you a little. He doesn’t know in the least who you are, of course, but his people don’t seem to realise how ill he is, any more than he does himself, and there seems to be no one——”
“I understand. Yes, of course, ask him to come in to-morrow if he feels well enough, and we will take care not to invite any one else.”
Usk took his departure, and spent an hour with his sick friend, whose society was harrowing enough, owing to the ghastly contrast between his plans and ambitions and his state of health. But there was a reward for Usk when he returned to his own room, for a tiny note was awaiting him from Félicia. It was written with purple ink upon paper of a lighter shade, and perfumed with heliotrope—all the very latest Parisian fancy of the moment—but Usk tore it open without a glance at anything but the direction.
“Dear Boy,” it ran, “Did you think me awfully mean this afternoon? This is to make up. I have told Sadie that I am just not going to the fêtes Tuesday, but I haven’t told her that I am coming riding with you instead. I am, if you ask me nicely.—Yours,
Félicia.”
Naturally, the only thing to do on receiving such a letter was to hasten to secure the smartest possible vehicle for a long country drive. But Usk found to his dismay that not a single proprietor would let out a carriage of any description on the day mentioned save for use at the Carnival, and he was obliged to invite himself to tea at the villa instead. Félicia pouted when he told her of the change, and kept him for some time in anxiety as to whether she would allow him to come or not, averring that the ideal lover would have purchased a complete turn-out rather than disappoint his mistress of the drive on which she had set her heart. Usk pleaded that he had not the money, whereupon she retorted that an American would have made the purchase on credit, and resold the cart and horse at a profit immediately afterwards, thus combining business with pleasure. However, she was at last induced to promise to be at home, and Usk felt his self-respect restored. He would have Félicia to himself, without the intervention of Maimie, or Mrs van Zyl, or the King, and his uncle would be forced to see that his suspicions were unfounded.
But when the Tuesday afternoon arrived, a note was brought to Usk as he sat in Nicholson’s room reading to the invalid, who had got as far as the Jardin Publique in the morning, and there discovered that his strength was at an end. This note was written with crimson ink upon rose-scented pink paper, and Usk found that it came from Mrs van Zyl. It was very short.