THEODORA'S 
 HUSBAND 
 
 LOUISE MACK
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND
 
 THEODORA'S 
 HUSBAND 
 
 BY 
 
 LOUISE MACK 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ' THE RED ROSE OF A SUMMER," "AN AUSTRALIAN GIRL IN LONDON, 1 
 
 "CHILDREN OF THE SUN," "TEENS," "GIRLS TOGETHER," 
 
 " THE WORLD IS ROUND," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 JOHN LANE COMPANY 
 MCMX
 
 PRINTED IN ENGLAND BY 
 WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
 
 TO 
 
 K. M C I. 
 
 WHO HAS TAUGHT ME ACROSS SEAS AND 
 YEARS THE MEANING OF FRIENDSHIP 
 
 2137243 '
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 " HOME comforts, bright and cheerful society of un- 
 exceptionable tone, hot and cold water, whist- drive 
 every Thursday, beautiful sea-views, excellent French 
 cooking ; moderate terms during the season, and 
 special low terms during the winter ; en pension from 
 five francs a day inclusive." 
 
 Thus ran the alluring advertisement that filled 
 Pension Ducre up to the garrets and down to 
 the basements all through the summer season at 
 Boulogne. 
 
 It was not Mme. White's fault that Pension 
 Ducr was mostly recruited from elderly spinsters and 
 abnormally dull families, and she could no more 
 be made responsible for the characteristics of her 
 " gentlemen guests " than for the cook's unexpected 
 moods or the chambermaid's absent-mindednesses. 
 Those things were as inevitable a part of a pension 
 as were the odours of dinners that lurked about the 
 salle a manger. Certainly there was the Princess 
 nee Golsky and her beautiful young daughter, 
 Theodora. They counted for a good deal. As 
 Mme. White said whenever she got a chance, " The 
 Princess has known better days ! " 
 
 Poor Princess! If it was true she had known 
 better days, she had also known better meals ! To-day 
 the lunch was specially bad. The grilled mackerel 
 was red on the bones. The " haricots verts " were
 
 2 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 unsalted and under-cooked. The potatoes would not 
 go round. 
 
 " Is rhubarb a fruit or a vegetable ? " demanded a 
 spinster, whose long neck was adorned with beads 
 and exotic shells. 
 
 The very ancient gentleman at one end of the 
 table looked at her anxiously, then turned to his 
 wife, the lady with the lace-curtain frock. 
 
 " What does she say, dear ? She always talks in 
 a whisper." 
 
 "She is wondering if rhubarb is a fruit or a 
 vegetable," shouted his wife in an ear-trumpet. 
 
 "Oh, I see, I see." He paused a second. Every- 
 body listened politely. " Why ! it is a fruit, of course, 
 as we eat it as a sweet," said he, as if that were an 
 irrefutable proof. 
 
 Three ladies seemed disappointed, and ready to 
 argue. But he was too deaf. 
 
 There were only two men at Pension Ducre, the 
 deaf colonel and Mr. Lee Gage, an Army tutor now 
 out of work who sat next to the Princess's beautiful 
 daughter at meals and tried to make himself pleasant 
 to her. He was bald, made bad puns and what 
 Theodora described as "colonel noises," coughing 
 intermittently in a stentorian fashion, as though he 
 were a retired Anglo-Indian. 
 
 At the far end of the table the other ladies had 
 exhausted an interesting theme offered to them by 
 the shrieking-voiced spinster. They had no more to 
 say on the subject. They had talked about it a good 
 deal without coming to any understanding. 
 
 Neither the Princess nor Theodora followed that 
 placid flock into the drawing-room. The former 
 went straight to her room, the terrible little five- 
 franc room, with the furniture that creaked if you 
 looked at it, the deal washstand with the basin that 
 always seemed to her like a bitter joke, it was so 
 small and chipped, the everlasting French prints on 
 the wall representative of Victor Hugo's funeral, the
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 3 
 
 Eiffel Tower, Rouget de 1'Isle singing the Marseillaise. 
 There she would smoke her after-lunch Russian 
 cigarette, her only real pleasure in the day. 
 
 Theodora disappeared down the steps and out of 
 the garden gate. 
 
 It was now half-past one. Boulogne lay fast 
 asleep in the drowsy stillness of the summer midday, 
 and the great blue, lazy fields of the sea, glittering 
 and smooth as glass, were stretched out northwards 
 in a dreamless, waveless slumber. 
 
 Through the fierce glare of the July sunlight 
 Theodora dashed along like one in a dream. She 
 was deaf to the low thunder of the tramway-cars that 
 rolled past her down the hilly street as she made her 
 way upwards through the sleeping French township 
 towards the Ramparts. She was unconscious of the 
 heat. 
 
 With the terrible concentration of youth her whole 
 being was possessed at that moment with just one 
 idea. Nothing else existed in the world for her but 
 the fact that she had decided to marry Sir George, 
 and was now on her way to tell him so. 
 
 Right in the middle of to-day's lunch she had 
 leapt, with a wildfire impulse of the brain, to this 
 decision. For weeks she had been turning the matter 
 over and over in her mind. Sir George had millions. 
 He belonged to a good family. He was nice looking. 
 He was eminently respectable, yet highly respected. 
 He was madly in love with her. Her mother liked 
 him. To marry him would instantly change their 
 existence in sordid pensions at five francs a day to 
 a glittering life, where every luxury imaginable would 
 be lavished upon mother and daughter alike, for Sir 
 George had promised that Theodora should never be 
 separated from the Princess except by her own wish. 
 But against all those prepossessing " fors " were too 
 formidable "againsts." And one was that she did 
 not love Sir George in the very least. 
 
 For three months she had hesitated, vacillated,
 
 4 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 veered, and kept the infatuated Sir George and the 
 Princess too in a state of most painful suspense. 
 
 And then to-day, quite suddenly, she had looked 
 round the table of Pension Ducr6, and an awful panic 
 had seized her. Suppose it should be her destiny, 
 and poor, dear mamma's also, never to escape from 
 scenes like these, but to pass all the rest of their lives 
 among these dreadful people ? Suppose that day after 
 day, month after month, year after year, they were to 
 go on living in cheap Continental pensions on their 
 pitiful little income of^ 180 a year until poor mamma 
 grew into a deplorable-looking person in remnants, 
 and she, Theodora, was an old maid like the one at 
 the table, with a shell necklace and a shrieking voice ? 
 
 Suppose their lives were to be henceforth and for 
 ever made up of dirty tablecloths, scarcities of towels, 
 difficulties about baths, afternoon tea made over a 
 spirit-lamp in a back bedroom, and the sort of con- 
 versation they had listened to to-day ? 
 
 Suppose the one way of escape was suddenly 
 closed ? Suppose Sir George changed his mind, and 
 no longer wanted to marry her and shower luxuries 
 on her ? At that point lunch had come to an end, 
 and, seizing her parasol from the hall-stand, she had 
 escaped from the house like one possessed. 
 
 ' Theodora ! " a voice exclaimed suddenly. 
 
 ' Oh ! Sir George." 
 
 ' Is it you ? " 
 
 ' Is it you ? " 
 
 ' Where are you going ? " 
 
 1 To the Ramparts." 
 
 ' To meet me ? " 
 
 ' Yes of course." 
 
 ' I wasn't sure, you know. I asked you to come, 
 but you never replied." 
 
 " I know. But but I was coming." 
 
 They stood facing each other in the middle of the 
 Rue Melherbe. 
 
 " I " began Theodora, impulsively.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 5 
 
 She looked down, then up, then down again. 
 
 " Yes ? " said Sir George, eagerly. 
 j 
 
 "You what?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know." 
 
 " Tell me." 
 
 "No, I can't. It's nothing." 
 
 She whisked round suddenly and moved on to- 
 wards the Ramparts, and Sir George fell into step 
 at her side. She had begun to blush. It was in- 
 tolerable. But he, infatuated as only a man of forty 
 can be over the mystery of a girl of nineteen, would 
 have liked nothing better than to stand still for ever 
 and watch that tide of palest pink rising in her lovely 
 face. 
 
 " My cheeks feel quite red, it is so hot." 
 
 " You have hurried." 
 
 " I thought I was late." 
 
 A clock struck a quarter to two. She was early 
 by a quarter of an hour. The pink deepened. 
 
 " This is the hottest time of the day." 
 
 She swung the scarlet parasol down between them 
 to hide her face. 
 
 " Yes, it's intolerable of me to name such an hour. 
 But I can't talk to you alone at your pension. And 
 and I'm leaving this afternoon." 
 
 " Leaving ! " 
 
 She started. She stood dead still for a moment. 
 Everything went slipping away from her. And so 
 her strange intuition was right after all ! He had 
 come to tell her he was leaving. That sharp and 
 horrible vision of the lunch-table had had its root in 
 deadly actuality. He had changed his mind. 
 
 " Yes ? You are going to Paris ? " She was 
 moving on now. " Excuse me my foot hurt or to 
 London ? " 
 
 "Paris," said Sir George. "What's the matter 
 with the foot ? " 
 
 " A tight shoe."
 
 6 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 She laughed gaily. Her eyes sparkled. Her 
 cheeks were exquisitely tinted. 
 
 In the same tone she added, " So you have come 
 to say good-bye ? " 
 
 She was quite mistress of herself now. It was 
 not for nothing that she was the daughter of Irma 
 Golsky. But behind just behind those smiling 
 eyes of heavenly violet was the blackest abyss a young 
 soul ever looked into. Twice not once in her brief 
 lifetime, but twice men had told her they loved her 
 above everything in the world,' and then had come 
 like this to bid her good-bye, and put her out of their 
 lives. She was nineteen, and it had happened 
 twice ! 
 
 The terror of it was so great that she dared not 
 stop smiling for one little moment. Still less dared 
 she think, or the indignity would send her hot Slav 
 blood to her brain and change her into the wild 
 elemental^creature that she knew herself to be under 
 all her airs of high-breeding and repose. 
 
 " But Paris will be dull now, riest-ce pas ? " she 
 said lightly. " August is no kinder to Paris than to 
 London." 
 
 " I don't care. I have some big things to see 
 about airships and things." 
 
 And then once again during that walk to the 
 Ramparts she stopped suddenly and stood dead still. 
 But this time she was quite off guard. Her eyes 
 looked into Sir George's. He was astounded. They 
 were full of a strange, almost terrified surprise. Some- 
 thing had wrecked her courage and torn off the mask. 
 
 "Airships!" 
 
 He caught her by the arm. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, what is it, Theodora ? Are 
 you fainting ? " 
 
 " No, no. It's nothing." 
 
 " Lean against me." 
 
 " It's only the heat." 
 
 He put his arm round her to steady her.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 7 
 
 She tried to draw herself away." But he held her 
 firmly. She could not help herself. She was obliged 
 to stay there a minute within the circle of that strong 
 arm. Her head was against his shoulder. 
 
 " What do you know of airships ? " asked Sir 
 George. 
 
 He put the question without the slightest inten- 
 tion of doing so. He had no idea why he should 
 ask that. He was utterly unconscious that he was 
 being carried straight on to the word by a telepathic 
 wave beating from Theodora's brain to his own. 
 
 " Nothing. Cest drole, riest-ce pas ?" she replied. 
 
 She drew herself forcibly away and leaned against 
 the old brown wall, and now outside the hold of those 
 arms she realised that a strange feeling of being 
 immensely protected had passed away from her. 
 Even in dear mamma's arms she had never experienced 
 that sense of absolute safety, for was not poor dear 
 mamma's heart always distracted with bills and money 
 worries ? And those other arms they had thrilled 
 her. But they had never protected her. Instead 
 they had always filled her with the wildest unrest. 
 
 What was happening to her throat ? And her 
 head ? Both seemed about to burst. She dug her 
 nails into her little soft, pink palms till the blood 
 came. But in vain. The scene just passed had 
 mastered her. She heard her breath catch suddenly 
 in a strange wild sound that filled her with shame. 
 Then a sob burst forth a loud, fierce sob such as a 
 terrified child might give. She dropped her head on 
 her arms and leaned low on the wall. 
 
 Sir George was distracted. 
 
 " Theodora, Theodora ! What is it ? Listen, 
 listen. George loves you. Can't you trust him ? 
 There's something the matter. Can't you tell me 
 what it is ? You're scaring the very life out of me, 
 Theodora, by crying like that." 
 
 No answer. Nothing but choked sobs. 
 
 " I simply can't go, dearest, while you cry and are
 
 8 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 in trouble. Oh, if you were my wife and I could take 
 care of you ! I wish to Heaven it were so." 
 
 He leaned on the wall and bent his head down 
 till he brought it on a level with hers. All he could 
 see of her were those wonderful rippling clouds of 
 rosy gold-brown hair under her white hat. 
 
 " Speak to me," he pleaded. 
 
 "Are you really going away?" she muttered at 
 last. 
 
 Sir George started. 
 
 " Heaven knows I don't want to," he answered. 
 
 What could she mean by that question ? 
 
 "I am only going so that you shall not be 
 bothered. I want to stay. I want never to leave 
 you." 
 
 He waited. 
 
 " Surely you know that, Theodora ? " 
 
 " Is it true ? " came from under the hat. 
 
 "True?" 
 
 Was he dreaming? Was it beautiful, mocking, 
 tormenting Theodora who was asking in a stifled 
 voice if it was true that he wanted to stay where she 
 was ? 
 
 " Don't you know it's true ? Doesn't every one 
 that knows me know it's true ? Haven't I shown 
 ridiculously plainly that I'm your slave, Theodora 
 an old fool of forty enslaved by a girl of nineteen ? " 
 
 Her reply seemed to him the most extraordinary 
 thing he had heard in his life. 
 
 "I'm crying because you were going away," she 
 said. 
 
 The sentries paced lazily to and fro, wondering 
 what these foolish English were doing here at this 
 hour of day. 
 
 A companionless wasp went buzzing and humming 
 mournfully through the fragrant air. The breath of 
 white roses came to them more and more poignantly 
 from the gardens below. The vast panorama of city 
 and shining sea wore the look of profound indifference
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 9 
 
 that nature is given to assuming in the face of human 
 emotions. 
 
 " You care, then, if I go ? " asked Sir George at 
 last, stumbling about among the strange wild things 
 he desired to give voice to, and choosing this com- 
 monplace little question out of a sheer instinct for 
 self-preservation. 
 
 No reply came. Theodora remained in that same 
 dejected, childish position, but the sobbing had 
 ceased. 
 
 " Theodora, listen." He put his hand on her arm. 
 "You must look up, you must let me see your face. 
 You must tell me " 
 
 "What shall I tell you?" 
 
 With a swift, lithe movement she raised her head, 
 and then her whole tall, slender body, and sprang to 
 her full height before him. 
 
 " What shall I tell you ? " she repeated. 
 
 She looked up, and her tear-stained face broke 
 out suddenly into a dazzling smile. The wonderful 
 beauty that was destined to make her famous in all 
 Europe heralded itself. The radiant sweetness of a 
 child, coquetry, pride, diablerie and a haunting sad- 
 ness were mixed in that smile, to the utter undoing 
 of any man so smiled upon. 
 
 Sir George instantly lost his head. 
 
 " You beauty ! " he breathed. " I believe I would 
 kill any man who took you from me." 
 
 "No one wants to," she murmured. With her 
 head on his breast for a second in the inevitable 
 moment that followed her smile, she whispered low, 
 " Take care of me. ... I will marry you when you 
 like . . . that's what I came to-day to tell you."
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 As Theodora entered the pension that afternoon the 
 odour of methylated spirits and the dim, dispirited 
 clink of china in various bedrooms betrayed the fact 
 that the guests at Pension Ducre were preparing their 
 own afternoon teas. She paused a moment in the 
 hall. The methylated spirits seemed to rise at her 
 like mournful ghosts, telling sad stories of faded 
 pasts, and an image of mamma flashed across her 
 mamma boiling her little kettle with her own white 
 hands over the spirit-lamp in her awful bedroom and 
 meagrely measuring out a spoonful of tea, and care- 
 fully looking over the biscuits to see if there would 
 be enough for to-morrow too. 
 
 "Thank Heaven, it's all over now!" she said to 
 herself. There was a mirror in the hall, and she 
 caught sight of her face. She paused a moment and 
 looked dreamily at herself, taking her hat off as she 
 did so. 
 
 " Am I really beautiful ? If so, why should I not 
 have love, happiness and wealth all together ? Why 
 not ? " 
 
 Her spirits rose at the possibility. Heavy masses 
 of hair of the warmest red-gold were rippling all 
 round the classic little head that was set so proudly 
 on a long white neck. The great purply blue eyes 
 with their heavy black lashes and fine black eyebrows 
 were liquid and enticing as a siren's. Her pure 
 Greek profile was cold and haughty ; but the pecu- 
 liarly expressive mouth, with vivid scarlet lips, con- 
 tradicted that coldness. A tall and slender figure
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 11 
 
 that moved with the lightness and grace of a cloud 
 before a gentle wind, little hands and feet, two rows 
 of perfect teeth, and a voice with a honey sweetness 
 in its tones such was Theodora at nineteen, as she 
 stood there carefully inspecting herself in the mirror 
 of the hat-stand at Pension Ducre. 
 
 " There's a gentleman in the drawing-room waiting 
 to see you." 
 
 The English parlourmaid had suddenly appeared 
 in the hall. 
 
 "Forme?" 
 
 Theodora stared in surprise. 
 
 " He has been here five minutes. He said he'd 
 wait." 
 
 Theodora moved towards the drawing-room. 
 
 On the threshold, a premonition of something 
 eventful that was going to happen on the other side 
 of the door seized her ; she put her hand to her heart, 
 the colour ebbed from her face ; her hands trembled 
 a little, then she turned the handle of the door and 
 went in. 
 
 "Theodora!" 
 
 Some one rose from a sofa across the room. He 
 was young, not more than twenty-five, with black hair 
 and a pale face, and a pair of extraordinary blazing 
 eyes of mixed green and yellow, that shot forth 
 rapier-like glances as though to rip open to the very 
 bottom everything he looked at. And the thin com- 
 pressed lips had an iron firmness that was all too 
 seldom to be found with a brainy brow like his. He 
 was dressed in a light fawn tweed suit, and his big, 
 foreign-looking felt hat was tossed impatiently on the 
 floor. With two strides he had reached her and 
 caught her in his arms, before she could utter a word 
 or defend herself in any way. 
 
 " Theodora, Theodora ! " 
 
 " You ! " 
 
 " It's I Marcel. I've come to you." 
 
 "Marcel!"
 
 12 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 She put up her hands and pressed him wildly back. 
 
 " Yes, Marcel ! Don't you remember him ? " he 
 said, half vexed, half laughing. 
 
 His dark, powerful face was bent down over her 
 fair one with an expression of eager tenderness. 
 
 " You ! " 
 
 " I have frightened you ! " 
 
 " To-day ! " 
 
 She was still pressing him from her. 
 
 A wild, baffled look was creeping over the excited 
 expression of her eyes. 
 
 " Don't push me away," he said sharply. 
 
 " I must. Let me go. Why have you come ? 
 You said farewell to me a year ago. You remember, 
 Marcel, that day in the Pineto, at Viareggio. Your 
 decision was that our love was hopeless. You told 
 me you were too poor to marry. You had to give 
 yourself body and soul to your work and ambition. 
 You could not think of a wife. You said all that, 
 Marcel." 
 
 He laughed joyously. 
 
 " I know. But who could have dreamed of what 
 was going to happen ? " 
 
 " What has happened ? " 
 
 " I was poor, struggling, and unknown a year ago, 
 and I knew I might be like that for twenty years for 
 ever, perhaps. And to-day I'm rich, and successful, 
 and on my way to being famous. That's what has 
 happened." 
 
 She gazed at him in a paralysed silence. 
 
 " It was all luck, the most extraordinary, incon- 
 ceivable luck that ever fell to a human being. A 
 year ago, just after I saw you last. I was travelling 
 in a train from Genoa to Paris, and at Asti there was 
 a breakdown, and we were stuck up there for several 
 hours. While I^was standing about on the lines, 
 examining the engine, an Englishman strolled up and 
 began to do the same thing, and presently we ex- 
 changed a word or two, and mutually cursed at the
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 13 
 
 delay, and after a time he made a remark to me that 
 seemed suddenly to open up a whole world of con- 
 genial ideas between us. He said, ' I believe that the 
 only way we are intended to travel over long distances 
 is through the air, and I hope it will come in my day.' 
 After that we talked, we talked, we talked. Then 
 we travelled on together all day and half the night to 
 Paris. He was an Englishman, that man, and very 
 rich. And generous, mon Dieu ! He threw himself 
 heart and soul into my ideas which I confided to him 
 with absolute trust, for I saw he was a man one could 
 believe in to the death. I showed him my plans. 
 Then he gave me money, all the money I needed and 
 more, much more. He wanted me to have a fair 
 trial, he said/for he believed in me, and some engineer 
 friends of his to whom he introduced me expressed 
 the same opinion. Last week I gave a private trial 
 near Paris of my aeroplane, and it was a success, 
 Theodora. Experts and dilettanti and all were 
 amazed. You see," his eyes fairly burned with that 
 strange white fire from the brain behind, " I'd got 
 something in my head that no one else had. All I 
 wanted was money, financial assistance. And now 
 three millionaires have made a syndicate of them- 
 selves to protect and develop my invention, and the 
 French Government is interested, and I'm no longer 
 the unknown and penniless Marcel, with wild schemes, 
 whom you knew at Viareggio. Do you mean to say 
 you haven't read of me in the papers ? " he interrupted 
 himself naively. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Theodora's voice sounded thin and birdlike after 
 the rich stream of all that electric vitalised speech. 
 
 " Theodora ! Whatever have you done to your- 
 self ? " he burst forth. " Do you know that you're 
 lovelier than ever ? You are more beautiful than I 
 dreamed ; you are a great, great beauty, Theodora, 
 though you don't know it yet. Theo, Theo, be nice 
 to me. What's the matter ? "
 
 14 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 I can't ! " 
 
 " What is the matter ? You have changed ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Don't draw away from me." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Aren't you glad ? Don't you understand that 
 it's all come right ? " 
 
 " I am engaged to another man," she said quietly. 
 
 Next moment, finding him regarding her with an 
 expression in which amazement and an incapacity to 
 comprehend were swiftly being overswept by hot 
 anger and an undisguised and very real pain, she 
 cried out, as if to excuse herself, " It only happened 
 to-day." 
 
 But as she spoke a vision of the Ramparts rose 
 before her. She saw George's steady eyes. She 
 heard his kind, quiet voice, stirred with pity, saying, 
 ' George loves you. Can't you trust him ? " She 
 remembered how he had looked when she smiled that 
 time. Somehow, never intending to in the least, she 
 had caused him to believe that she really cared for 
 him. How else, when he thought for a moment, was 
 he to interpret all those little things the way she 
 had blushed when they met, the way she had stopped 
 dead when he told her he was going away, and 
 manufactured a story about a foot hurting, the way 
 she had given that awful sob, the way she had wept 
 and had answered him, " I am crying because you are 
 going away," and then, finally, the way she lay back 
 in his arms after she had said she would marry him, 
 just to taste again that unique and wonderful sense 
 of immense protection that had come over her when 
 he had held her a few minutes before ? And she had 
 promised him that to-night she would tell mamma, 
 and to-morrow morning he could come. 
 
 " But if it had been months ago it would make no 
 difference," she ended aloud, with sharp defiance in 
 her young voice. 
 
 He had watched her in silence.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 15 
 
 " You don't love him," he now said scornfully. 
 " Yes," breathed Theodora. 
 " You must break it off at once." 
 " Impossible. I cannot." 
 
 Her heart was pleading feverishly for George. 
 He was like a boy of twenty to-day, bubbling over 
 with happiness. He believed in her. Marcel came 
 close to her again and stood beside her. His arm 
 was touching her. But the assurance of tenderness 
 and peace that George's whole personality had suc- 
 ceeded in instilling into her to-day defied the emotions 
 that Marcell's presence was arousing. 
 
 " I will not break it off," she repeated firmly. 
 " You must. It's I for whom you care ; you know 
 you do," he said excitedly. He seized her hands. 
 She shivered, but her resolve remained firm. 
 " Who is he ? Tell me his name." 
 " Sir George Allingham." 
 
 She said it timidly, as if the very utterance of the 
 name might introduce Sir George himself into the 
 midst of this drama being played out between Marcel 
 and herself in the red-velvet drawing-room of Pension 
 Ducre, with the dim chink of china far away in the 
 distance, and the faint odours of methylated spirits 
 in the air. 
 
 " Sir George Allingham." 
 
 Her hands were dropped as though they had been 
 burning coals. Marcel had jumped back and was 
 looking at her with the most extraordinary expression 
 in his eyes. Then, before she had time to form any 
 opinion whatever about his thought, he said quietly 
 "Of course, that is an admirable match. I have 
 heard of him. He is a man any girl might be proud 
 to marry." 
 
 He turned round and looked about for his hat. 
 His sallow face was almost livid in its pallor. By 
 his quick breathing Theodora knew he was deeply 
 disturbed. She watched him stoop and pick up his 
 hat. "George, George," she kept saying to herself.
 
 16 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 But in vain. The words suddenly changed to 
 "Marcel," and when she realised he was about to 
 take his leave she rushed to him, drooped against 
 his arm, and whispered : " Oh, it's too hard ; I can't 
 marry him it's you I care for, always you." 
 
 "Don't, Theodora." 
 
 It was his turn now to push her away. 
 
 " But I can't" she repeated wildly. 
 
 " You must. You will," he answered stubbornly. 
 
 Some profound change had taken place in him. 
 
 "And I must go," he added. 
 
 " Go ! Do you mean for ever ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He took her hand in his to say good-bye, but he 
 was smitten with her nearness, her exquisite eyes, 
 her bewildering, cold, Greek profile, combined with 
 the tremble on the scarlet lips, the grace of her bend- 
 ing head, with its clouds of red-gold hair, and he 
 said, as if beside himself 
 
 " I will go now, but I will come back. There is 
 something I must decide, and I cannot decide while 
 I am here. And to-morrow I will come and tell you 
 what my decision is. I am at the Hotel de 1'Univers." 
 
 " But what does it all mean ? What decision ? 
 What is it you are talking about ? Do you mean, 
 you you don't love me ? " 
 
 "Yes, I love you, Theodora. It isn't that. But, 
 of course, I didn't know you were engaged when I 
 came. I must decide now whether I can do such a 
 thing as let you break your promise to another man. 
 To-morrow, then," and he was gone, with an air of 
 tearing himself away while he was able. 
 
 In a dream Theodora wrote a note to Sir George. 
 In a dream she told him she was not ill, only tired. 
 She could not talk it over with mamma to-day. 
 Would he be so very, very kind as not to come and 
 see her till the day after to-morrow ?
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THAT night she slept not at all. Her brain was on 
 fire. She tossed from side to side, tormented by her 
 thoughts, which, it must be confessed, touched very 
 little upon Sir George. 
 
 At what hour would Marcel come ? What would 
 he say ? 
 
 She confined herself to these questions, going 
 over them a hundred times and the mystery that 
 lay behind them, and every time she found a different 
 answer. About half-past six, feeling the uselessness 
 of staying in bed, she got up and began to dress. 
 Just as she had finished Josephine, the little French 
 chambermaid, came in with her cafe-au-lait. 
 
 " Tiens ! Mademoiselle is already up. She is 
 early this morning. Has mademoiselle slept well ? 
 Ah, but her eyes are a little tired." 
 
 " Quite well, thank you, Josephine, but the morning 
 is too fine to stay indoors." 
 
 She would like to have gone out at once, and let 
 the sun console her, away from the hated surroundings 
 of Pension Ducre, but she dared not leave the house 
 for a minute. 
 
 Lunch-time came. No messenger had yet arrived 
 to announce, " A gentleman in the drawing-room for 
 you." Everybody was already at table when she 
 entered the room. She had to sit next to the old 
 colonel, who was feeling particularly cheerful that day. 
 
 Being fully convinced that England "was going 
 to the dogs," he took a genial satisfaction in pointing 
 out the symptoms which in his opinion indicated the 
 imminence of that ambiguous catastrophe. 
 
 17 C
 
 iS THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Poor Theodora had to endure this as best she 
 could. It was torture. She felt that everybody was 
 looking at her. As soon as possible she murmured 
 some excuse and left the room. Up in her bedroom 
 she paced up and down, bitterly reproaching herself 
 for her lack of self-control. She must learn to face 
 trouble like other people. But it was little use 
 arguing with herself to-day. ,She was completely 
 unstrung. She flung herself on the bed and lay 
 there motionless for more than an hour, going over 
 and over again the same thought : " What time will 
 he come ? " 
 
 At last, without any reason, she made up her 
 mind that he would come about half-past three. 
 Two hours of waiting. She bethought herself of 
 the piano in the drawing-room, and went downstairs. 
 
 She understood and loved the tender, mournful 
 music of her great compatriot Chopin above all other 
 music. She found in it all the romantic melancholy 
 of her native temperament. To hear it hammered 
 out by some English or German Philistine in a 
 drawing-room would set her teeth on edge. Yet 
 this afternoon she played the B flat Minor Sonata 
 as badly as any one, and she knew it. She could 
 not concentrate her mind on the music, so it passed 
 her by, leaving her dissatisfied and uncomforted. 
 
 And so the afternoon dragged wearily on. Half- 
 past three. A quarter to four. Still no sign of 
 Marcel. 
 
 At four o'clock her mother came in. 
 
 " I had lunch with our solicitor, Mr. Fisher," she 
 said, throwing herself wearily into an armchair. " He 
 is here for a few days, you know." 
 
 Her voice trembled a little. 
 
 " Yes, mamma. Was he nice ? " 
 
 "He gives me very disquieting news about our 
 investments. I don't know how we shall ever get 
 through this year." 
 
 "Really!"
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 19 
 
 Theodora remained quite unmoved. Money 
 troubles were absolutely insignificant just then. She 
 was sorry, though, for her mother, and promised to 
 make tea. 
 
 Directly tea was finished she returned to her 
 room. What could she do now ? To play the piano 
 again would remind her of the dreadful afternoon 
 she had just passed. To read was even more im- 
 possible. She sat miserably by the window and 
 thought of all the reasons, possible or impossible, 
 that might have prevented Marcel from coming. 
 And so the day went by. 
 
 Dinner-time ! Yet he might still come. She 
 was dizzy with anxiety and lack of sleep. She told 
 her mother that she had a bad headache and could 
 not eat any dinner. The Princess kissed her and 
 asked no questions. To herself she said, "She is 
 making up her mind about George." Once more 
 Theodora was left sitting alone by the window. 
 
 Suddenly she felt she could bear it no longer. 
 Something must be done. If Marcel Fleur would 
 not come to her, she would go to Marcel Fleur. She 
 jumped up excitedly and began to put on her hat. 
 Her eyes gleamed and her cheeks burned as she 
 slipped quietly down the stairs. If only Josephine 
 did not come out at the critical moment ! 
 
 She stepped into the street and closed the door 
 quietly behind her.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IT was growing dark, and the lamps were being lit, 
 as she entered the hall of Hotel de 1'Univers. The 
 hall-porter, with that mixture of obsequiousness and 
 superciliousness beloved of his tribe, strolled forward 
 to proffer his valuable services. 
 
 " Could you tell me, please, if M. Fleur is in the 
 hotel?" 
 
 "I do not know, mademoiselle. He is leaving 
 to-night. But I have not seen him go out. If 
 mademoiselle will wait one little moment I will send 
 to inquire." 
 
 "No, I will go myself the number of his room, 
 please ? " 
 
 "Ah, very well. Will madame kindly step into 
 the lift ? Jean, show the lady to No. 41." 
 
 The lift stopped at the third floor, and Jean, 
 proud of the beauty of his charge, offered eagerly 
 to conduct her to the door, which was right at the 
 end of the passage, but Theodora energetically de- 
 clined his proffered services. She felt dazed and 
 half-petrified with excitement. She must be alone. 
 The door of No. 41 stood slightly ajar. She knocked 
 lightly at first, then harder, but there was no 
 answer. She could hear her heart throb as she stood 
 there, listening intently. 
 
 " Perhaps he is asleep or absorbed in his work." 
 
 But that mistrust of her reason and confidence 
 in her senses, which is innate in every human being, 
 impelled her to open the door. She must see with 
 her own eyes. Otherwise she could not believe in 
 her failure to find him. 
 
 20
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 21 
 
 Almost unconsciously she entered the room. One 
 glance told her it was empty. Some clothes and a 
 few books were heaped up on the bed, ready for 
 packing. A half-packed portmanteau stood open in 
 the middle of the floor. He was going away then, 
 going without even saying good-bye. She suffered 
 the pain of it unconsciously, as a person numbed by 
 an anaesthetic. For a few moments she stood there 
 just inside the door, a sad little smile on her face, 
 almost happy because she was among his things. 
 Then she forced herself to wake up and realise that 
 she must go. 
 
 A lady emerged from the next room just as 
 Theodora closed the door of No. 41 behind her. She 
 went on down the passage, and a cynical smile 
 played around her handsome lips. She purposely 
 delayed ringing up the liftman, so that they two 
 might be taken down together, and in the brilliant 
 light of the lift she was able to examine her beautiful 
 companion critically. Theodora's violet eyes were 
 lustrous now with sleeplessness and excitement, 
 and her cheeks were flushed. The lady gazed at 
 her in evident admiration ; but Theodora turned her 
 head away. She was angry at the notice taken of 
 her at that moment, when all that she wanted was 
 oblivion. 
 
 " Did you see the gentleman ? " asked the hall- 
 porter, who was out on the steps speeding off a 
 passenger. " He was in the office just now paying 
 his bill." 
 
 But Theodora fled past him, thinking only of the 
 comfort of the darkness. She reached home safely, 
 and slipped in unnoticed. They were at dessert 
 now. Nobody knew she had been out. 
 
 But just as she had thrown herself at full length 
 on the bed, confronted with the terror of the night 
 before her, Josephine entered with a letter. 
 
 " Theodora, I am going away. I am not coming 
 to say good-bye even, just going straight away from
 
 22 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 you, I suppose, for ever. Theodora, don't hate me. 
 Don't say all kinds of horrible things about me to 
 yourself. I don't want to go, but it is that I must go, 
 Theodora, because if I stayed I should come and see 
 you, and if I saw you I could not go, I could not give 
 you up, I should carry you away and marry you, and 
 then I should never be really happy, at any rate not 
 for a long time not for years, very likely. Theodora, 
 forget me. Listen, Theodora. You will marry Sir 
 George, and he will worship you, and of course you 
 will be far, far happier than if you had married a mad 
 vagabond person like me, whose very profession itself 
 is in the clouds, or near them, and who would be an 
 uncomfortable, selfish, impossible husband for a 
 beautiful woman who is half a child still, and needs 
 to be looked after a good deal and taken care of. 
 Theodora, you will be happy. You will make Sir 
 George happy. I am going. I will pass away, and 
 you'll forget me. You'll forget everything. It was 
 inevitable, I suppose, that we should have fallen in 
 love with each other away over there, in that strange 
 winter when you and I were the only young things, 
 and saw each other every day on the sands or in the 
 Pineto, where the mountains used to show themselves 
 in blue and purple patches through the pines. Theo- 
 dora, that was when I kissed you. But even that I 
 am going to forget ; I am going to look on you now 
 as the wife of another man, and Viareggio shall be a 
 page that is more than turned down it is torn out 
 altogether and destroyed. Theodora, good-bye. Be 
 happy, and make him happy. I've got my work I 
 shall be all right. You didn't know that I was 
 coming. You couldn't help engaging yourself to 
 him. Don't think for a moment, Theodora, that I 
 blame you. When you get this I shall be gone. 
 MARCEL." 
 
 Holding the letter in her hand, she went on 
 reading it with a dual sensation in her brain. The 
 handwriting was his. And, just because it was his
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 23 
 
 and she had not seen it for so long, it overwhelmed 
 her with a sharp delight to have it there in her own 
 hand like that. But mixed with that emotion was 
 the anger and the anguish that the things he was 
 saying gave her. 
 
 The egoism of it passed her by. She was nineteen, 
 and, of course, she was an immense egoist herself, 
 and so she had not the slightest idea of what egoism 
 was. Her own left her no time to think of any one 
 else's. She saw nothing egoistic even in such phrases 
 as, "And then I should never be really happy, at 
 any rate not for a long time," or " It was inevitable 
 that we should have fallen in love with each other," 
 or " That was when I kissed you, but even that I'm 
 going to forget," or even " I've got my work, I shall 
 be all right," and "Don't think for a moment that I 
 blame you ! " 
 
 All she saw was the one supreme fact : Marcel was 
 gone. He had given her up to another without an 
 effort to keep her. 
 
 He had given her up, though she had declared 
 her willingness to break off her engagement with Sir 
 George and make herself free for him. 
 
 He had given her up, though she had offered 
 even pleaded to let everything go. 
 
 He had given her up, though she had cried to him 
 that it was he whom she loved, though she had 
 dropped into his arms and suffered that moment of 
 unutterable shame when she had deliberately gone 
 against Sir George and her sense of honour. 
 
 She stood, tall and white, in the middle of her 
 bedroom, with the letter in her hands. All was over. 
 There was nothing left. He was really gone, and as 
 long as she lived she would see him no more. 
 
 One pale candle near her made a little golden 
 point of light in the dimness and shadow of her room. 
 All outside the little golden circlet was shadow, 
 vagueness ; and further back was utter darkness ; and 
 standing about in that darkness were her bed, her
 
 24 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 armchair, her washstand, her wardrobe, all hypnotised 
 into a state of weird stillness that was almost deathly 
 in its immovability and silence. 
 
 She felt her mind reeling, and she tried to focus 
 it upon those homely objects that would preserve her 
 balance by their very homeliness and simplicity. 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 " Oh ! dreadful terrible ! " she heard her voice 
 whisper strangely. 
 
 The sound of it aroused her, and a passionate 
 longing to be avenged on this man who had made 
 her suffer so drowned every other emotion. She was 
 almost overwhelmed, and the Slav in her was con- 
 fronted with a red, misty vision of a knife. 
 
 She left the room rapidly, and went across the 
 passage with its bare white boards to her mother's 
 bedroom. 
 
 "Mamma!" 
 
 Her voice was wild and broken. 
 
 But there was no answer, and looking round she 
 found that the room was empty. 
 
 As she came out later into the narrow corridor 
 again she heard her mother's voice coming from 
 somewhere further along the passage, in one of the 
 rooms where a gleam of candle-light shone from an 
 open door. 
 
 That was the Colonel and Mrs. Keery-Crawford's 
 room, and Mrs. Keery-Crawford's voice came floating 
 across to Theodora also. 
 
 " And this is a photograph of the Colonel at the 
 head of his regiment," she was saying. 
 
 Her voice was loud and penetrating, made so by 
 long and constant practice with the Colonel. 
 
 " This is his sword ! " she went on. 
 
 " What a beautiful sword ! " The Princess's soft, 
 clear voice had a note of divine sympathy and 
 admiration. 
 
 The listener in the passage trembled. 
 
 Her heart was weighted down beyond all endurance
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 25 
 
 with her own misery, but yet some chord within 
 her seemed to vibrate and thrill and fill her with a 
 different kind of pain as that little conversation came 
 floating out to her. 
 
 The Colonel at the head of a regiment ! That 
 deaf, tedious old bore, in carpet slippers with cats' 
 heads on them, who rilled her always with such im- 
 patience, leading his men into action ! The Colonel 
 with a sword ! Was it possible he had been some one 
 in his day ? Had he veritably lived and fought and 
 been out in the very thick of life's fray, this old man 
 whose sword hung now in the bedroom of Pension 
 Ducre, at five francs a day, with a whist-drive every 
 Thursday ? 
 
 " I said the old Anglo-Indians were snobs," she 
 said, pitifully to herself, with a lump in her throat. 
 " Why not ? Why shouldn't they be ? What else is 
 there left to them ? What is there left to any one ? " 
 
 She swayed ; she was faint. She gathered herself 
 together and crept down the stairs. 
 
 The night was breathless ; she must have air. 
 The front door stood wide open, and a long path of 
 blue electric light shot out over the dusty laurels and 
 little lawn in the black garden beyond. Some one 
 was coming up that path now. He stepped into the 
 blue light, and she saw as in a dream that it was Sir 
 George. 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " Yes, I, Theodora," he said, in a voice that was 
 not to be recognised as his. " I couldn't stand it any 
 longer." 
 
 " Oh ! I am so glad." 
 
 She swayed forward and almost fell into his arms. 
 
 "If you hadn't come I should have died," she 
 cried. 
 
 " Why, in Heaven's name, did you send me away, 
 then ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 The utter incoherence of it was stupefying. Any
 
 26 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 man must have been mystified. But Sir George 
 made his own interpretation, 
 
 In her very incoherence and inconsequence, coupled 
 with the helpless way she was clinging to him now, 
 he read the final touching surrenderor a high-spirited, 
 wilful young girl's heart to love. 
 
 The drawing-room door opened, and the Colonel 
 came strolling out to smoke his evening cigar. 
 
 But he smoked no cigar in the garden that night. 
 
 With the softest touch in the world he presently 
 moved the hall door forward till a shadow fell deli- 
 cately athwart that glaring bright blue-lit patch of 
 garden in which the Princess's beautiful daughter 
 stood so conspicuously clasped in the arms of a tall, 
 fair Englishman, who held her to his heart as though 
 Pension Ducre and all its guests were a thousand 
 leagues away. 
 
 How could he remember anything or any one 
 that tall, fair Englishman ? Theodora was whispering 
 to him, " Let us be married soon, and take me away, 
 far, far away from this."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A FEW minutes' walk from the Church of St. 
 Germain 1'Auxerrois, an eighteenth-century struc- 
 ture, which, like St. Paul's in London, carries one back 
 near to the beginning of our epoch, stands one of 
 those old houses remaining still to tell of a Paris 
 that existed before the days of the Terror. 
 
 As the town residence of an old but impoverished 
 family that had held lands in Normandy since the 
 time of Rolf the Ganger, the hotel had never been 
 much used during the generations succeeding the 
 Grand Siecle, and a few weeks in the spring and 
 early summer had been all that the Seigneurs de 
 Memlis had been accustomed to spend in Paris since 
 the last of the unteachable elder Bourbons had lost 
 his throne. Of course, it was necessary to show the 
 aristocratic inhabitants of the Faubourg St. Germain 
 that the lords of Memlis were not yet extinct ; but 
 the expense of even a short season in Paris had now 
 become too great for the slender resources of a 
 simple country gentleman, and the present head of 
 the family, Guy, Baron de Memlis, having for many 
 years spent his time and energies in directing the 
 affairs of his ancestral acres quite content with the 
 modest luxury which they afforded him had at 
 length yielded to the entreaties, and even tears, of 
 his daughters, who saw in the tempting offer of the 
 syndicate the opportunity of occasional release from 
 the dull and straitened circumstances of the ancient 
 chateau. Finally, after many consultations and much 
 misgiving of mind, De Memlis consented to accept 
 
 27
 
 28 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 an offer for this town hotel, and received a sum of 
 money which, carefully invested, promised the son 
 and heir the opportunity to deport himself among 
 his fellows as befitted his rank and lineage, and made 
 the ladies of the family free to visit at Paris or 
 Trouville or wherever they desired. 
 
 This was where Marcel Fleur, whose name was 
 burning now in the mouths of all Paris, was established. 
 
 It was early morning. Seven o'clock had just 
 sounded from the deep-toned bell of Notre Dame 
 reminding one of the ancient patroness, St. Gene- 
 vieve, who erstwhile ever watched o'er the needs of 
 her beloved Paris and Marcel Fleur was already 
 hard at work in his laboratory. 
 
 As one considered this slight, athletic figure, 
 dominated by a head which indicated ingenuity and 
 alertness in every feature, one recognised that here, 
 at least, was the possibility of a remarkable inventor. 
 
 The great salon of the old house, acquired with 
 such caution and secrecy by the syndicate for their 
 purposes, was now fitted up as a laboratory, and no 
 expense had been spared to provide a fitting equip- 
 ment and opportunity for such experiments and 
 calculations as could be carried out within four walls. 
 
 Strangely in contrast to the rococo ornamentation, 
 which the architects of the age of the great Louis 
 had thought to be the ne plus ultra of decorative art, 
 were the various prints, plans, and diagrams which, 
 without any idea of .harmony or aesthetic notion, 
 covered the walls, obscured the tapestries, and hid the 
 forms of nymphs and shepherdesses which most of 
 a former generation had neither observed nor appre- 
 ciated, though they are very much run after nowadays. 
 
 It was evident at a glance that a student of 
 aeronautics was at work in this great room. 
 
 Prints and models recording attempts at the subju- 
 gation of the air were to be seen on every side. 
 
 Marcel had studied more than the modern and 
 purely utilitarian side of the subject. There were
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 29 
 
 old prints, showing the Icarus-like blunders of early 
 aeronauts ; diagrams of Leonardo da Vinci's and other 
 medieval flying-machines ; prints of the early balloons 
 and parachutes. 
 
 In addition to these prints and cartoons, which 
 were placed on the highest level of the walls, there 
 was a systematic arrangement of engravings of the 
 various machines which have been constructed since 
 the time of Borelli for the navigation of the skies. 
 
 Here one could see both prints and models of 
 the navigable balloon of Dupuy de Lome, constructed 
 during the siege of Paris. Professor Langley, of the 
 United States, the ubiquitous and versatile Sir Hiram 
 Maxim, the unconquerable Santos Dumont, Count 
 Zeppelin, the darling of the German Army, the 
 sphinx-like Wright brothers all were represented. 
 
 One thing that might have struck the thoughtful 
 observer was that there was too much machinery. 
 Great inventive minds do not require these com- 
 plex mechanisms. What simple means did Charles 
 Darwin employ ? and Lord Rayleigh ? 
 
 But these were thoughts far from the mind of 
 Marcel Fleur, as we see him at this early hour, care- 
 fully studying a diagram on his blackboard, from 
 which he passed to consult his books and make 
 calculations. He opened portfolios and consulted 
 other designs, but all seemed unsatisfactory. 
 
 " I don't see how it can work," he exclaimed at 
 last, impatiently. " I believe the old fool Ivan has 
 lost his wits. It's a case of much ado about nothing." 
 
 He sat down moodily, disinclined for further 
 thought or exertion of any kind. 
 
 He had, he thought, looked at the subject from 
 all points of view. But there was no light ; all was 
 dark the problem seemed hopeless. 
 
 At that moment he was awakened called back 
 to life and hope. A knocking below, a short con- 
 versation at the conciergerie, followed by a quick step 
 on the stairs, aroused him.
 
 30 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Come in," shouted he in answer to a sharp knock 
 at his door. 
 
 There entered a sunny-faced youth, whose light 
 brown hair and fair moustache, well-cut tweed suit 
 and brown boots indicated his nationality. 
 
 " Oh ! Bostock, is that you ? " cried Marcel, ex- 
 citedly. "Have you brought those things from 
 Birmingham ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bostock. " I came over early this 
 morning, and thought I had better hurry along here 
 first as you might perhaps like to see me before I 
 went on to Neuilly." 
 
 "Yes, I should ; but you haven't the whole lot 
 with you ? " 
 
 " Oh no, rather not. I have only that special 
 idea of yours, which I thought you would like to 
 see. The rest of the machinery is at the Gare du 
 Nord." 
 
 "Well, come in. Mon Dieu ! come in, and let 
 me see! You people at Birmingham are so slow. 
 I might have had the thing made ten times over at 
 St. Etienne or Solingen." 
 
 Bostock, accustomed to Marcel's brusqueness, said 
 nothing, but went downstairs to his fiacre, and soon 
 reappeared, carrying with difficulty a brass-bound 
 mahogany case, which he placed on the table. 
 
 " Is that the model ? " said Marcel. 
 
 " Yes," said Bostock ; " it has been made according 
 to your design, but " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 "Well, I'm hanged if I can make out what you 
 are going to do with it. I don't see how it can fit in 
 anyhow." 
 
 " Well, it's a little experiment of my own," rejoined 
 the other. "And, you see, I like paying for my 
 little experiments. I dare say your people often have 
 similar experiences, riest-ce pas ?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," said Bostock ; " at any rate, 
 this is quite a new thing to me. But the governor
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 31 
 
 has taken" a lot of interest in it, and thought I had 
 better bring it to you myself in case of accidents." 
 
 The instant Bostock had left the hotel in fact, 
 while his step was still sounding on the stairs Marcel 
 unlocked the mahogany case, opened it, and took out 
 a beautifully finished piece of machinery in aluminium 
 bronze. 
 
 " You beauty ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 He placed it on the table, and then opened another 
 case which stood in one corner of the great salon, and 
 took from it another highly finished and delicate 
 arrangement of wheels, cranks, and eccentrics, to 
 which he proceeded to fit the piece of machinery that 
 Bostock had brought. 
 
 Having done this to his satisfaction, he brought 
 forward an electro motor and carefully connected it 
 with the machine. 
 
 Turning on the current, he carefully watched the 
 movement, keeping count of the recurrence of succes- 
 sive phases with his watch. 
 
 After five minutes he turned off the current. 
 
 There was a sort of white glow in his dark face, 
 a wild sparkle in his eye, which indicated more than 
 contentment. 
 
 He began to pace the room rapidly. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " he exclaimed, " it is wonderful. 
 Wonderful ! That difficulty is solved. I must let the 
 syndicate see this at once." 
 
 Another sharp rat-a-tat sounded at the door just 
 then. 
 
 " Come in," he shouted. 
 
 He opened the door, and there on the threshold 
 stood Sir George Allingham. 
 
 For a moment Marcel stared as if transfixed. His 
 heart seemed to have stopped beating. His faculties 
 almost deserted him. 
 
 Like a crushing blow from some unseen, unsus- 
 pected agent, came the full realisation of the fact that 
 the tall, fair Englishman who stood smilingly before
 
 32 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 him in all his pride of health, wealth and station, had 
 just returned from his honeymoon, and was now the 
 husband of Theodora for life or death the husband 
 of Theodora ! 
 
 "We are just back only got home a couple of 
 days ago. My first call is to you, Marcel," said 
 George. 
 
 Marcel was speechless. 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 Their eyes met. 
 
 They looked hard at each other. 
 
 George, in high spirits and brimming over with 
 the joy of life, thought to himself, " Why on earth 
 doesn't the beggar say something about my mar- 
 riage congratulations or something." 
 
 But Marcel, with the wild and fiery imagination 
 of an inventor, had a sudden vision of Theodora's 
 red-gold head resting against that Saxon shoulder, 
 and all he could say was 
 
 " Come and see what I have achieved." 
 
 "You must not work too hard," said George. 
 " Look here, Marcel, I've come to bring you an invi- 
 tation. You're to dine with us on Friday night. My 
 wife wants to meet you." 
 
 " Impossible," said Marcel. 
 
 " Nonsense," said George. 
 
 " I cannot dine out." 
 
 " I insist." 
 
 " I have no time. I beg you " 
 
 " My dear fellow, a man who's as busy as you are 
 is the only man who has any time." 
 
 " I've no time for dinners." 
 
 "But may I point out to you, Marcel, that you 
 must dine somewhere, and sometime." 
 
 " Oh ! dining doesn't trouble me," said Marcel. 
 
 George was imperturbable. 
 
 "Well, may I come in and shut the door?" he 
 said. 
 
 Marcel started.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 33 
 
 " Pardon ! " he muttered. " Won't you take this 
 chair, and a cigarette ? " 
 
 But all the while he was listening still to those 
 words of George's that were being beaten out on the 
 back of his brain. 
 
 "My wife!" 
 
 It was of Theodora George was speaking. 
 
 "And I gave her to him," said Marcel to himself. 
 
 He must do something to conquer his inclination 
 to fly like a dog at the other man's throat. 
 
 So he added to himself 
 
 " Maybe I shall take her away again." 
 
 He rose and began to pace the room. 
 
 This was a habit of his, and George watched him 
 quietly, accustomed to his eccentricities. 
 
 Marcel sighed, ran his hands through his hair, 
 glared in front of him, and came to a standstill. 
 
 " I must go out," he said. 
 
 This was scarcely polite. But George was still 
 unmoved. 
 
 " The best thing for you," he said. 
 
 " Why the best thing ? " said Marcel, testily. 
 
 " Air, fresh air you need it. You've gone quite 
 thin and haggard these last weeks. I suspect you've 
 been burning the midnight oil too indefatigably." 
 
 "When I work, I work," said Marcel. 
 
 He had found his hat. 
 
 He looked at George. Even in his present mood 
 he could scarcely walk out of the house and leave his 
 patron, who had just come to call on him, there alone. 
 
 " I am going out," he repeated. 
 
 George rose to his feet. 
 
 " May I come with you ? " he asked. 
 
 " If you like. I shall go to the station. I go to 
 Melun." 
 
 They stepped out into the street. 
 
 Paris was gay to-day. She wore a morning look of 
 happiness, and chrysanthemums and roses and violets 
 decked her mood befittingly at the street corners. 
 
 D
 
 34 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 George was more amused than anything else with 
 Marcel's mood. He found no cause for annoyance in 
 the brusqueness and bearishness of the younger man. 
 He liked to feel the rough edge of people when it 
 represented, as it often did, sincerity and depth of 
 thought. 
 
 Marcel walked along in dead silence. 
 
 George essayed to break it after a time with a 
 little talk about the subject which had brought them 
 together originally. 
 
 " When we were in Venice," he began. 
 
 Marcel started, winced, and went on glowering in 
 front of him. 
 
 "When we were in Venice," said Sir George, 
 affably, "we saw those drawings of Leonardo da 
 Vinci's. They are under a glass case in the Acca- 
 demia. Extraordinary things they are. You can 
 see, as you look at them, the kind of man who drew 
 them playing about, as it were, with his ideas. His 
 pencil ran along with his curious dreams, scrawling 
 them over the paper, almost as if they had walked 
 over it themselves." 
 
 Marcel was silent. 
 
 He had heard only one word : " We ! " 
 
 "There are all kinds of ideas of machinery and 
 weird objects and wings, and things, and you can see 
 the old chap's brain in them all. I showed them to 
 my wife. She was greatly interested." 
 
 " What time is it ? " burst in Marcel. 
 
 " Half-past eleven," said George. 
 
 " I must be off," said Marcel. 
 
 They came to a standstill. 
 
 George saw now that his companion was utterly 
 unstrung. 
 
 " I say, old man, you really must take care of 
 yourself, and not go knocking yourself to pieces in 
 this way. Come now," said George, " tell the truth. 
 You've been working half the night and all the day 
 on end, haven't you ? "
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 35 
 
 Marcel pulled himself together with a great effort. 
 
 It was overmastering him, the desire to let go 
 and give way to the mad fire that was playing havoc 
 with his brain. 
 
 " I am all right," he said dully, 
 
 " I hope so," said George. 
 
 And he added after a moment 
 
 "Anyway, you know I am always here to turn 
 to, if that is any use to you." 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 " I shall be here now for the winter." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " We must see a lot of each other." 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 " I mean outside the area of work." 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 " If there is any outside." 
 
 " For me there is no outside." 
 
 " I suppose not." 
 
 " There is nothing but work that is worth while." 
 
 "Then the only thing to do is to let me inside 
 the area," said George. 
 
 " The area belongs to you," said Marcel. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 And in his laugh was so cynical a note that 
 George attributed it to utterly overstrung nerves. 
 
 " Horton and Jabez Craigs are delighted at the 
 way things are shaping," he said, referring to the 
 syndicate. 
 
 But Marcel was in no mood to talk of business. 
 
 " I have got to go and buy something," he said 
 vaguely. 
 
 " And then you are off to Melun." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But about this dinner, old man," George said. 
 " I should like your promise before we part." 
 
 "But I hate dinners," said Marcel, bluntly. "I 
 can't eat a lot of different things at a time." 
 
 "You needn't," said George. "You shall eat
 
 36 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 whatever you like. It's my dinner, and I promise 
 you." 
 
 Suddenly a gay, clear, high-pitched voice inter- 
 rupted them. 
 
 " Who's giving a dinner ? " 
 
 The speaker was a certain Mrs. Packinthorp, well 
 known in Paris, and the widow of an old friend of 
 George. 
 
 She stood there, barring the way, looking the very 
 embodiment of all that was Parisian and artificial and 
 smart, and carefully, so carefully, thought out, even 
 to the bunch of violets in the front of her black cloth 
 Empire gown. 
 
 They both shook hands with her. 
 
 Marcel had met her several times, and had come 
 across her at the hotel at Boulogne where he had 
 gone to find Theodora. 
 
 "What dinner is it ? " she repeated. 
 
 Light and inconsequent though her tone was, 
 George grew uneasy immediately. 
 
 " Sir George and Lady Allingham are giving a 
 dinner on Friday and they want me to go," said 
 Marcel. 
 
 "And me too ? " queried Mrs. Packinthorp. " How 
 delightful ! You did mean to ask me, didn't you ? "
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHILE George was calling on Marcel, Theodora was 
 having an adventure. 
 
 She had sent away the carnage and set off at a 
 brisk walk along the quiet, quaint old Rue Cristine, 
 where chestnuts hang over the tall grey walls. She 
 had been shopping all the morning, and was now on 
 her way home. 
 
 It was delightful to be on foot again, and alone. 
 
 Whether George would approve or not, this was 
 certainly just what her mood cried for, this walk in 
 the wide, quiet, almost country-like street. The air 
 was sharp but sunny. Scents of violets stole out 
 alluringly from the high, yellowy-grey walls, and 
 breathed, as flowers do, a note of freshness and 
 eternal youth that was strangely and pathetically 
 at variance with the old walls and the hidden houses 
 beyond, set back in their formal gardens. 
 
 Life turned on Theodora at that moment a sudden 
 glittering picture of itself. 
 
 It was so bright, so beautiful, that her lovely lips 
 parted in a joyous smile, showing the gleam of the 
 little white childlike teeth within. 
 
 "To think that I was ever afraid of marrying 
 George," she mused. 
 
 A thought of Marcel tried to obtrude itself. But in 
 vain. No, no. She was mistress of her thoughts now. 
 
 " Verboten " was written large and plain over that 
 area of her memory. 
 
 With a wisdom beyond her years she had made 
 herself a talisman against the thought of Marcel. 
 
 37
 
 38 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Whenever his name came, as it must come 
 sometimes, into her mind, she drove it out without 
 delay. 
 
 Her method was very simple. She said to herself, 
 " George ! Mamma ! " and they came at once to the 
 call. Marcel's image flew ! She saw instead the 
 Princess, looking lovelier than ever in her freedom 
 from that cloud of worry ; and George, with his 
 happiness carefully put away under an Englishman's 
 usual mask, yet showing all the same in a hundred 
 little ways signs that Theodora was already learning 
 to decipher. 
 
 " Both are happy, and it is I who am the cause of 
 their happiness," thought Theodora. 
 
 And by dwelling upon that she had kept her 
 mind free, so far, from that hateful memory. 
 
 She floated along with her eyes looking far ahead, 
 full of dreams, her beautiful lips parted a little, and 
 so absorbed was she in her thoughts, which were 
 mostly concerned with the coming of the Princess 
 who was to arrive next week in Paris, that she was 
 blind to the sudden clouding of the sky and the 
 disappearance of the autumn sunlight. 
 
 All in a moment, without warning, heavy rain 
 began to fall. 
 
 The skies opened. A fierce downpour descended 
 upon Paris. 
 
 What rain ! 
 
 Like knives it cut through the air in long, sharp 
 stripes, beating and lashing the earth till the soil 
 leapt up into the air to meet it. It treated Theodora 
 without mercy. In a minute her mole-coloured 
 velvet suit was sopping. She was wet almost to the 
 skin. 
 
 The long, still street was deserted, not only by 
 carriages of all kinds, but by men and women. 
 
 The silence that brooded over the place was as 
 profound and mysterious as on Theodora's own wild, 
 native plains.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 39 
 
 She looked round her in dismay. All her bravery 
 of furs and velvet was drenched already, and she was 
 too lately a beggar maid not to feel a sharp pang at 
 the thought of her ruined gown. Because of its 
 "simplicity" it had cost what seemed to her a good- 
 sized fortune only a few days ago. 
 
 " Whatever shall I do ? This is absurd. I might 
 be away in the heart of the country instead of ten 
 minutes from the Arc de Triomphe." 
 
 The storm, defiant, arrogant, as though to show 
 how little it cared for the peace and order of earth's 
 great cities, rolled along overhead with a doubled 
 fury. 
 
 Each moment added to the fierceness of the rain, 
 and now long, sharp flashes of violet lightning broke 
 across the drab skies, and the thunder that had been 
 rolling up from the distance for a long time came 
 crashing in great, mad detonations over poor Theo- 
 dora's head. 
 
 She was terrified out of her life, more, be it said, 
 like a true woman, at the noise of the harmless 
 thunder than at the flash of the dangerous lightning. 
 
 She began to run. 
 
 The great chestnuts flecked down on her their 
 last few belated leaves, heavy with rain. The thunder 
 roared and groaned, and then pealed till the earth 
 seemed shaken to its depths. On and on she ran, 
 but never a soul appeared in sight. Not a cab was 
 to be seen anywhere. The only sound was thunder, 
 and the thin, cruel noises of the lashing rain on the 
 earth. 
 
 Suddenly, still running wildly, Theodora saw a 
 small side street cut across the unbrokenness of this 
 interminable Rue Cristine. 
 
 A gate in the wall stood open. 
 
 The black figure of a man was standing there. 
 
 She fled towards him. 
 
 " Oh ! please let me in for a moment out of this 
 dreadful storm," she cried.
 
 40 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 He stared at her and uttered a strange exclama- 
 tion. Next moment he was kneeling at her feet. 
 
 " It is I, old Ivan and you, my Princess's little 
 one." 
 
 "Old Ivan!" 
 
 In the crashing of thunder and the loud splashing 
 of the rain, she stared incredulous and amazed, and 
 saw a face that recalled to her the old familiar 
 associations of her girlhood. 
 
 Before her was old Ivan Ivolott, a former peasant 
 on the Princess's estate in Poland.
 
 CHAPTER VII ; 
 
 WHEN she recovered her breath, and regained her 
 stunned senses a little, she found herself in an 
 enormous room, surrounded on all sides by windows. 
 Dragged along by Ivan, it seemed to her she had 
 climbed innumerable stairs and swallowed enormous 
 quantities of dust before she had arrived at the 
 summit. 
 
 " Here we are now," exclaimed Ivan. 
 
 He was very excited ; his eyes were shining, his 
 hands trembling. With all his excitement, however, 
 he retained sufficient mastery of himself to remember 
 very carefully to bolt and bar the door, and to cast 
 searching glances round the room in all directions as 
 though to make absolutely sure that they were alone. 
 
 " And what are you doing here ? " said Theodora, 
 her amazement now overcoming her terror. 
 
 He made no reply. Instead, he seized a towel 
 and began wiping the rain from her clothes, begging 
 her to take off her hat, and offering, pathetically, to 
 be allowed to remove her shoes. 
 
 " But no, Ivan," cried Theodora, demurring. " I 
 cannot stay here. It is only until the storm gives 
 over. I must not take my shoes off." 
 
 " Sit in this chair, then, and rest." 
 
 But she refused even that 
 
 " In a few moments I must go," she said. " You 
 see, Ivan, I am no longer the Princess's little one, 
 Miss Theodora. I am married. I have taken me 
 a husband." 
 
 " Married, you ! The gods be praised."
 
 42 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Married to an Englishman." 
 
 "And is he rich?"' 
 
 " He is good and rich and everything that any one 
 can want, and I am now ' milady ' and the Princess 
 mamma, is coming to Paris soon to stay near me, 
 and sometimes with me," she went on, babbling these 
 domestic details with the freedom of a Continental 
 aristocrat to an old vassal. 
 
 She let her eyes survey the room again while 
 Ivan digested the information she had just given 
 him. 
 
 It was an extraordinary place for a peasant to 
 be housed in. All kinds of machinery seemed to 
 be lying about unintelligible to Theodora shining 
 aluminium bronze things wheels what looked to 
 her like little toy boats, and ships, and sails. All 
 sorts of rough charcoal drawings were on the walls, 
 some of them of immense size. One covered the 
 whole side of the wall, and seemed to Theodora's 
 fancy to represent nothing so much as a duck with 
 its wings outstretched, flying in a state of terror 
 before the wind. 
 
 In the midst of her amazed observations her eyes 
 fell upon a newspaper open on the table before her. 
 It was a Paris journal. 
 
 In the centre of the page was a large photograph. 
 
 A young man, dark, lean, with deep-set eyes, 
 black hair, and a firm, thin mouth, was represented 
 there. 
 
 And underneath was printed, "Monsieur Marcel 
 Fleur, the Young Inventor." Down the side of the 
 portrait was drawn a long blue streak from a coloured 
 pencil. 
 
 Theodora leaned over, drew the paper towards 
 her, and stared at it with all her eyes. 
 
 Ivan was watching her. 
 
 " Yes, yes, that is he, my saviour," he said, talking 
 in the language of their own country. 
 
 "You&wwhim?"
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 43" 
 
 Her hand was trembling ; it was the first time 
 she had seen that face, except in memory, since the 
 day he had held her in his arms in the drawing-room 
 of Pension Ducre. 
 
 " He is the most wonderful man," burst forth 
 Ivan. " Oh ! wonderful, wonderful genius, brain, 
 will are inside that head." 
 
 He shook his head and was silent for a moment. 
 
 "And will" he repeated louder, as if to impress 
 upon himself some idea that was necessary to be 
 emphasised. " And without will a man can do 
 nothing," he went on. 
 
 Outside the storm beat loudly still. The wind 
 shook and rattled the windows ; the rain lashed 
 unceasingly at the panes ; and overhead the thunder 
 was still groaning and crashing, though now with less 
 and less energy. 
 
 Was it a dream ? thought Theodora all this 
 great dusty silent room away at the top of some 
 building in the heart of Paris, with the storm beating 
 in at the windows, with the picture of Marcel lying 
 under her eyes, with the extraordinary, incompre- 
 hensible machinery about her, and old Ivan Ivolott, 
 from the farm at Grindolstol, standing there in front 
 of her. 
 
 " What are you doing here, Ivan ? " she asked. 
 
 She must try somehow to break through the 
 cloud of mystery enshrouding her. 
 
 "I am here for a long, long time," said Ivan, 
 proudly. " I am working." 
 
 "Working!" 
 
 "I have ideas," said Ivan, putting his hand to 
 his head. "I will tell them to you, my Princess's 
 little one. You are the only one who shall know." 
 
 He sank on his knees at her feet, and began to 
 pour out a wild stream of talk. 
 
 " Yes, it is true that I have ideas," he said. " I 
 always had them. The Princess would remember, 
 and your father, who is dead now, the Mr. Derrington
 
 44 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 he would remember that I always had ideas. But 
 what good did my ideas do me ? Nothing, nothing ! 
 Never any good. No good to a peasant like Ivan 
 Ivolott no good at all. But did I give them up? 
 No, no, never. I still kept on, and I made my plans 
 and drawings and my models and dummies. Clay 
 was there when there was nothing else to use." 
 
 Was Ivan mad ? Had she fallen into the clutches 
 of a lunatic in the shape of this old, kindly-eyed 
 peasant, for whom she had always had, as a child, 
 a distinct feeling of friendliness and affection ? 
 
 " What brought you to Paris ? " she asked, trying 
 to make some headway in this unintelligible talk. 
 
 " It was he he brought me," cried Ivan. 
 
 His excitement increased doubly. 
 
 " He has done much all for me," he said. " He 
 talked with me, encouraged me it was he who 
 brought me here. I was penniless ; he gave me 
 bread and money." 
 
 " Who is he ? " asked Theodora. > 
 
 Though she asked, she knew what the answer was 
 going to be. 
 
 "Marcel Fleur, my saviour, my benefactor," re- 
 plied Ivan. 
 
 " Marcel Fleur ! " 
 
 " Ah ! You have heard of him," said Ivan, quickly. 
 " His name is in the mouth of the whole world, and 
 I tell you, my Princess's little one, to whom I am 
 telling all these secrets with such confidence, I tell 
 you the whole world will be justified. We shall find 
 out the supreme secret of the navigation of the air." 
 
 " We!" 
 
 " I help him," said Ivan. 
 
 " With his work ? " 
 
 "Yes. He allows me to." 
 
 " How do you help him ? " 
 
 He went off into another fit of vagueness and 
 excitement 
 
 "Oh, I help him in many ways," he said. "For
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 45 
 
 I know things in visions, my Princess's little one. 
 When I sleep, machinery mixes itself with my dreams. 
 I see this going into that, and that fitting into the 
 other. That is how I help, finding out the mysteries 
 of the machinery that baffle M. Fleur on certain 
 points. And then we talk together, he and I ; he 
 questions me, and seems to drag my thoughts from 
 me. Sometimes he strikes me, as if to force them 
 from me more quickly." 
 
 " And he where is he ? where do you see him ? " 
 queried Theodora, breathlessly, under the influence of 
 Ivan's excitement. 
 
 " I see him here," said Ivan. " In this room. 
 This is his house you are in now." 
 
 There was dead silence for a moment but for the 
 rain on the window-panes and the echoes of the 
 dying-away thunder, coming as from another world. 
 
 " His house ! " said Theodora, faintly. 
 
 " It is a secret, though," whispered Ivan. He 
 nodded his head warningly. " No one knows and 
 no one must know that is what M. Fleur says. 
 My presence must be unsuspected, undreamt of by 
 the world ; that is why I am here in this room, at the 
 top of the house, which is reached by the secret stair- 
 case I brought you up by to-day." 
 
 " A secret staircase ? " 
 
 It seemed to Theodora there was nothing in the 
 world for her to do but echo in bewildered tones the 
 extraordinary assertions that Ivan was making to her. 
 
 "A secret to every one," he said confidentially. 
 " To every one except M. Fleur and me. No living 
 soul knows of the staircase or of my presence here 
 except us two, my master and myself, and now you, 
 my Princess's little one." 
 
 " Oh, Ivan ! what have you done in bringing me 
 here ? " cried Theodora. " This is something I do not 
 understand, but I feel quite sure that M. Fleur would 
 be terribly upset if he knew that you had brought a 
 stranger like myself into this secret."
 
 46 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Suddenly, to her dismay, Ivan burst into tears. 
 
 " But it is a secret ! " he cried. " A secret. True, 
 I have brought you here, but you were in the storm, 
 you were terrified of the lightning and the thunder. 
 What else could I do ? You would never betray 
 me?" 
 
 " If you ask it, of course not." 
 
 But the very sight of Ivan's tears and distress 
 confirmed her in her suspicion that behind all this 
 secrecy and mystery was something her girlish mind 
 could not grapple with. 
 
 Ivan now seemed to realise what he had done. 
 He had given away secrets which his master had 
 severely impressed upon him were never to be revealed 
 to any one. 
 
 He begged Theodora not to betray him. " If he 
 knew that I had brought you here he would turn me 
 out like a dog," he said in trembling tones. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that he is cruel to you ? " 
 said Theodora, aghast. 
 
 But although she asked she knew quite well the 
 answer. 
 
 "Yes," whispered Ivan, "when he likes. Merci- 
 less and pitiless when his mood is crossed. Terrible 
 when his will is opposed or his orders are not obeyed." 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 The words escaped mechanically from Theodora's 
 lips. 
 
 " He would even kill me, I believe, if he knew 
 that I had talked to you like this." 
 
 " Why have you talked to me, then ? " said Theo- 
 dora, sadly. 
 
 " Because you are my Princess's little one," said 
 Ivan, simply. 
 
 The rain had stopped now, the thunder died right 
 away. On the thick dust of the window-panes mud 
 was splashed in dark, discoloured patches, as though 
 to point to the length of time that these garret 
 windows had gone uncleaned.
 
 47 
 
 " I must go," said Theodora, " the storm is over. 
 My husband will be wondering what on earth has 
 become of me." 
 
 As she spoke she cast another look round this 
 strange, weird room and one glance more at that 
 dark, young pictured face on the sheet of newspaper. 
 
 " You will keep my secret," pleaded Ivan, pathetic- 
 ally, his old blue eyes still full of tears and his old 
 white moustache limp and depressed, as if in sympathy 
 with its owner's overwrought emotions. 
 
 " You may trust me," said Theodora. " And now, 
 you, Ivan, never breathe my name to M. Fleur give 
 me your word as to that." 
 
 " You know him, then ? " said Ivan. 
 
 "All the world knows of him," said Theodora, 
 evasively.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE night of the dinner had come. 
 
 '.'George ! George ! Look at me, George ! " cried 
 Theodora. " Am I nice ? Will I do ? Am I what 
 you like ? " 
 
 She came slowly into the room with that wonder- 
 ful drooping, swan-like movement of hers that put to 
 shame all the upright, tightly corseted figures with 
 their command of grace and dignity. 
 
 "Who dared to say that beauty unadorned is 
 adorned the most ? " she cried gaily, seeing herself 
 reflected from mirrors here, there, and everywhere 
 about the salon. 
 
 " Some man who paid the bills," said George. 
 
 " George ! " 
 
 She pouted ; a cloud came over the glittering 
 brilliancy of her face. Suddenly she stayed her 
 progress towards the black-coated figure at the fire- 
 side. 
 
 "You have nothing but bills to pay," she said, 
 with a sudden note that was very like shame in her 
 voice. 
 
 " Theodora ! " 
 
 George made a movement towards her. 
 
 " Dearest, what are you saying ? What are you 
 thinking of ? " 
 
 He put one arm lightly round her, lifted her head 
 with his other hand, and looked down into her face. 
 
 To his dismay he saw it was strangely clouded. 
 All the joyousness and glitter of a moment ago had 
 fled. She looked almost miserable. 
 
 48
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 49 
 
 He whispered to her, " Don't look like that It 
 makes me feel such a brute. What I said had no 
 meaning whatever." 
 
 " But it's true," said Theodora. " I know. Some- 
 times, when I think of all the money you are spend- 
 ing on me and my frocks and pleasures, I think of 
 people starving, of people who love each other and 
 are separated because of their poverty, and cannot 
 marry." 
 
 George shook her lightly. 
 
 " This is five minutes before your first dinner- 
 party in Paris," he said. "If tears come into those 
 eyes I'll never forgive myself as long as I live." 
 
 " I won't cry," said Theodora, softly. " But the 
 truth is, I do think those thoughts. Yet I love pretty 
 things. You like me to have them, don't you ? " she 
 added naively, looking up into his eyes. 
 
 "Why, that's what I live for," said George. 
 " Listen ! Do you know, I never met a woman less 
 mercenary in every way than you. It was what first 
 attracted me in your character I saw you didn't care 
 a hang for money or position I know you never 
 thought of mine. What made me say that ass of a 
 thing just now about bills was simply this : I didn't 
 know what I was saying. I was stunned by your 
 beauty as you came into the salon, in all that silver 
 and diamonds. That's the truth, Theodora." 
 
 " Stunned by your wife's beauty," said Theodora, 
 with a little half-embarrassed laugh. " That's funny, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 " Is it ? " said George. 
 
 " Isn't it ? " said Theodora. 
 
 They started apart as a footman entered. 
 
 Theodora was a vision of beauty that night. She 
 wore a gown of white film with silver softly veiled so 
 that it should not shine too brightly, and the effect 
 was indescribably beautiful and radiant. Diamonds 
 sparkled in her hair and corsage. The only colour 
 about her was her wonderful hair, gleaming like 
 
 E
 
 50 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 burnished gold, and dressed very high in an old- 
 world fashion, which lent a strange piquancy to her 
 dazzling young loveliness. 
 
 The Duke and Duchess of Ailes were the first to 
 arrive, and scarcely were their greetings over when 
 Marcel Fleur was announced. 
 
 Theodora greeted him calmly. Her hand lay in 
 his. Her eyelashes were lifted, and her eyes looked 
 into his. But instead of a pair of eyes, it seemed to 
 her that she looked into a furnace, and her brain 
 shrank in terror. 
 
 The great salon, lit by hundreds of candles, swam 
 round. But George's voice broke through the mist. 
 He was laughing and saying 
 
 " At last you have met him, Theodora the famous 
 Monsieur Fleur." 
 
 He stood beside them, looking from one to the 
 other. 
 
 " At last ! " said Marcel, gravely. 
 
 "At last!" echoed Theodora. 
 
 She put great emphasis on the words, and the 
 effort of doing so brought her completely to herself 
 again. 
 
 " I have heard so much of you," said Marcel. 
 
 Theodora found herself filled with amazement. 
 He had said that so naturally. She had never sus- 
 pected him of being an actor. 
 
 Somehow, for a moment, she had almost expected 
 him to break forth into some mad words, and perhaps 
 to call her " Theodora" before every one. 
 
 'And I of you," she replied. 
 
 ' You have just returned ? " said Marcel. 
 
 ' Four days ago," said Theodora. 
 
 ' You like Paris ? " asked Marcel. 
 
 ' I love it," said Theodora. " And you ? " 
 
 ' I, too," said Marcel. 
 
 'I am very happy to be in Paris," went on 
 Theodora. 
 
 Since she was speaking a part in a play, the best
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 51 
 
 thing she could do the only thing was to say her 
 lines simply and clearly, and to give no sign that she 
 knew she was on the stage acting. 
 
 " In Paris one meets every one," she went on ; 
 " all the world." 
 
 "All the world and Lady Allingham," said Marcel. 
 
 He bowed as he spoke. 
 
 More and more did this little conversation seem 
 to Theodora to have nothing at all to do with real 
 life. She was not Theodora, George's wife ; she was 
 just the leading lady saying to some one the villain 
 in the play, was it ? it could not be the hero ! 
 
 "All the world and Monsieur Marcel Fleur." 
 
 "Oh! but " said Marcel, with a slight shrug. 
 
 " He is very important," said Theodora. 
 
 " Not at all," said Marcel. 
 
 " Very important," repeated Theodora. " You 
 must not shrug him aside like that." 
 
 George had turned away, and was talking to the 
 Duke and Duchess, and Theodora and Marcel seemed 
 quite isolated. She had a feeling that there was no one 
 else for hundreds of miles round them, and the space 
 appeared, to her excited fancy, rilled with dead silence. 
 
 "I hear you have been doing wonderful things," 
 she said. 
 
 " Who told you of them ? " said Marcel. 
 
 He asked the question with intention. 
 
 "My husband," she replied softly. 
 
 There was something about saying those words 
 that acted on her like magic. 
 
 The great space round them broke up. 
 
 The silence ended. 
 
 This was George's house she was in. She was 
 George's wife Theodora Allingham. 
 
 She turned with a slight, unconscious movement, 
 and brought herself and Marcel into the other group. 
 
 " Mrs. Packinthorp ! " 
 
 The door swung open to admit a tall, black-haired 
 woman, in a gorgeous frock of scarlet tulle, who came
 
 52 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 gliding across the salon, with a face brimful of ex- 
 pectancy of the delightful welcome she was going to 
 receive. 
 
 " Dear Lady Allingham, how sweet of you to let 
 me come ! " 
 
 She held Theodora's hand in both of hers. 
 
 Just behind them Marcel was standing, watching. 
 
 They were an extraordinary contrast, these two 
 women. Both tall, graceful, willowy ; one with coal- 
 black hair and a strange white face, high cheek-bones, 
 and great black eyes, full of worldliness and self- 
 possession ; the other, with her red-gold hair, a lovely 
 creamy-white pallor, her entrancing eyes that had 
 something of a faun's look in them eyes that seemed 
 as if they had never looked on anything but leaves 
 and flowers and streamlets. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp was beaming on Theodora, and 
 Theodora was taking it all a little shyly, as befitted a 
 bride, but with a certain air of aplomb that would 
 never desert her in social matters. She had the 
 instinct for always looking and doing, and, above all, 
 saying the right thing : it was in the blood. The 
 Princess had brought it from long generations back, 
 and Theodora's inheritance of it was one of her 
 greatest charms, combined, as it was now, with the 
 beautiful freshness of youth. 
 
 But her heart was full of fear. In one moment 
 she had recognised this woman. Hers was an unfor- 
 gettable type. They were all so near each other 
 Marcel, Theodora, and Mrs. Packinthorp that she 
 almost believed some strange current might begin to 
 flow between all three, and show others the hidden 
 links connecting them. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp was speaking to Marcel now. 
 
 Theodora turned to the lovely little Duchess, who 
 was one of her oldest friends, and began to talk 
 to her. 
 
 " Who is she ? " asked the Duchess, looking at 
 Mrs. Packinthorp.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 53 
 
 "She's a Mrs. Packinthorp," said Theodora, 
 vaguely. " George knew her husband." 
 
 The Duchess nodded wisely. 
 
 "Very reech, very pretty, very facksinating," she 
 said, in her pretty broken English. 
 
 She always spoke English on every possible occa- 
 sion. She was one of the few who had the art of 
 making the English language sound adorable and 
 charming and musical beyond all its deserts when she 
 spoke it. 
 
 " Very facksinating," she repeated. " Present us 
 to each other, dear." 
 
 Some more people came in. 
 
 Dinner was announced. 
 
 Theodora and Marcel were not near each other, 
 but for that very reason Marcel was afforded a better 
 opportunity of gazing at her. 
 
 As dinner went on, her extraordinary, haunting 
 beauty played more and more havoc with his senses. 
 She was too beautiful, that Theodora. . . . To-night 
 she was beautiful beyond all words, beyond all 
 imagination. 
 
 As Marcel said to himself, looking at her, while 
 he talked in his own peculiar brusque way to his 
 dinner companion, the Comtesse de Mirabeau, " She 
 is so exquisite that no one could possibly look at 
 anything else while she is in the room." 
 
 It seemed to him he had never realised her beauty 
 before, and yet he had always thought her lovely. In 
 the Pineto, surrounded by the green softness of the 
 pines, with their yellow-brown trunks, and the purple 
 mountains showing between the tree spaces, he had 
 been quite aware that she was an uncommonly pretty 
 girl And on the golden sands, with the blue, glitter- 
 ing Mediterranean stretching itself out in an inimit- 
 able background towards Sardinia, he had fully 
 understood that the tall, violet-eyed maiden who 
 walked beside him, breathing in the ozone of the 
 sea, was out of the ordinary as far as looks went,
 
 54 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 pretty beyond the common acceptance of such an 
 epithet. 
 
 But to-night ! 
 
 To-night Theodora was wonderful. She glittered 
 and gleamed, it seemed to Marcel, from the top of her 
 head to the sole of her tiny foot. First the diamonds 
 in her hair, and then the red-gold hair itself, and then 
 the white and silver gown, and the eyes of ardent 
 violet, and the red, curved lips, and the little nose 
 that Phidias himself might have carved, and the way 
 that beautiful shining head was set on the long 
 white neck and the drooping shoulders were all in- 
 toxicating to any one with a sense of form and line. 
 
 Naturally Marcel Fleur had both these qualifica- 
 tions for being intoxicated with Theodora. His 
 brain was full of graceful, beautiful visions. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " he muttered under his breath, " she 
 is more than a lovely woman. She is an inspiration. 
 She is a fantasy yes, that is what she is, a fantasy, 
 and I " 
 
 He drank a little more Pommery sec, trh sec 
 but still it seemed as if his blood ran at a doubly 
 lively metre. 
 
 " After dinner," muttered he to himself, while the 
 Comtesse de Mirabeau chatted buoyantly to him of 
 the things of the day " after dinner I shall and will 
 speak to her. I have something to say to her. She 
 must listen." 
 
 And when dinner was over at last, and the men 
 rejoined the ladies in the salon, he made his way 
 straight to Theodora's side. 
 
 " I want to say something to you," he said. 
 
 In her violet eyes he saw something that looked 
 like fear.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "You remember the day I came to see you at 
 Pension Ducre ? " 
 
 Marcel threw himself down beside her on the 
 Louis Quinze settee. 
 
 Everybody wanted to talk to her, and he realised 
 it quite well in all this extraordinary confusion of 
 his thoughts. But what did it matter ? He wanted 
 to talk to her ; he was Marcel Fleur. He would and 
 should talk to her. 
 
 After all, who else was there at that dinner but 
 himself and Theodora ? 
 
 " Pension Ducre ! " 
 
 She had a great fan in her hands, a wonderful 
 thing of dull gold and palest rose-pink and ivory. 
 It had belonged to some dead Maharajah, but was 
 too beautiful to die with its owner. 
 
 She waved it softly, with a rhythmical, alluring 
 motion, and Marcel found himself setting the move- 
 ment of the fan as an accompaniment to this 
 Theodora of the red-gold hair and the glittering 
 diamonds and white and silver. 
 
 " Of course I remember Pension Ducre," she said. 
 " I should think so. The Colonel ! Poor dear ! A 
 real colonel, you know. He led his regiment into 
 tight places in days gone by, and, oh ! the irony of it 
 at Pension Ducr he wore carpet slippers with cats' 
 heads on them, and squabbled with Mme. White over 
 the bill. And at night he smoked cigars in the 
 garden, and was just as tame a cat as the pussies on 
 his slippers." 
 
 55
 
 56 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 She laughed gaily, a sweet, rippling laugh, full 
 of spontaneous amusement, which annoyed Marcel 
 extremely. 
 
 " I do not know him," he said. " I never met 
 him, and never want to." 
 
 " Really ! " said Theodora. 
 
 She fanned herself lightly. 
 
 " He was very nice in his way. And, after all, if 
 you are in a pension at five francs a day and whist- 
 drives on Thursdays, and everything included 
 
 " What is everything ? " said Marcel. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " I mean, how would you define it ? " 
 
 " I never define." 
 
 " But if you were forced to ? " 
 
 He stopped lounging on the sofa, and sat up 
 straight and looked her in the face. 
 
 " Forced to ! " 
 
 The fan waved to and fro in gentle, undulating, 
 rhythmical movements. 
 
 And then a delicate, silver voice said softly, " Do 
 you know, I am afraid I have not the slightest idea 
 of what the word ' forced ' means ? " 
 
 "Of course not," said Marcel. "Why should 
 you ? " . . . He looked at her. " Let me change 
 'forced,' then, to 'asked.' If you are asked to." 
 
 " If I were asked to ? " said Theodora. " Asked 
 to define everything ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " To me ' everything ' means well just what I 
 have got." 
 
 She threw into the word " everything " an energy 
 that, in spite of its ardour, had not the slightest 
 suspicion of unnaturalness. Her glowing face was 
 full of spontaneity and sincerity. 
 
 Under her breath she added, very faintly, " I 
 have George." 
 
 Marcel looked at her. 
 
 " Oh yes, you have George."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 57 
 
 In all his life nothing had ever irritated him so 
 much as those three words of Theodora's, " I have 
 George." 
 
 They went to his brain and set him beside 
 himself for the moment. He put out his hand and 
 laid it passionately on her wrist. 
 
 " Theodora ! " he breathed. 
 
 Her face seemed full of exquisite pallor. 
 
 The soft little wrist trembled. But the violet 
 eyes looked straight up into his. 
 
 " Monsieur Fleur, you must not call me Theo- 
 dora ! " 
 
 " Theodora ! Theodora ! " he said, " you are Theo- 
 dora. Mon Dieu ! And I let you go I gave you 
 to him. Do you guess why ? " 
 
 " It was not difficult to guess." 
 
 She had moved her arm, and was fanning herself 
 again with the great pink and gold and ivory 
 Maharajah fan. 
 
 " I swear you don't guess." 
 
 " No, I don't guess, I know." 
 
 "What do you know?" 
 
 "Why it all happened." 
 
 She laughed softly, and the gold and rose and 
 ivory fan made undulating, beautiful movements for 
 a second. 
 
 " I could put it all in one word," she said. 
 
 "Ah! so could I," said Marcel, "one short 
 word." 
 
 Theodora was still smiling softly, as though the 
 whole conversation was intensely diverting. 
 
 " I want to ask you something," she interrupted 
 calmly. "You knew Mrs. Packinthorp before this 
 evening, riest-ce pas ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He wondered impatiently why on earth Mrs. 
 Packinthorp should be suddenly introduced into a 
 conversation that was rapidly becoming to him a 
 matter of life and death.
 
 58 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Have you known her long ? 
 
 " I met her some months ago. She is a society 
 journalist, you know, and she once came to interview 
 me for one of her papers." 
 
 " Did you know her when you were at Boulogne 
 this summer?" 
 
 " Yes. In fact, she happened to be staying in 
 the very hotel I went to. I dined at her table the 
 night I left. Why do you ask ? What has she to do 
 with this ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 She had learned what she wanted to know. Mrs. 
 Packinthorp knew Marcel and knew he was there, in 
 the hotel. Supposing she should some day remember 
 where she had seen Theodora! There was some- 
 thing in the thought that annoyed her, though she 
 tried to brush it lightly on one side. 
 
 The way she put it to herself was that the 
 unconventionality of her visit there would displease 
 George extremely if by chance it ever came to his 
 knowledge. That was all she thought. Nothing 
 more disagreeable presented itself. Never for a 
 moment did her thoughts confront or even vaguely 
 opine what Mrs. Packinthorp might possibly say of 
 her visit. 
 
 " Listen to me now, Theodora," said Marcel. " I 
 must speak, I must tell you. That day I came to 
 Pension Ducre you remember I came to ask you 
 to be my wife, and you what did you reply to 
 me ? You answered me that you were engaged to 
 be married to another man. I asked you his name, 
 and you told me. You told me it was Sir George 
 Allingham, and then, you remember, all of a sudden 
 I told you I must go, and when you tried to keep me 
 I said no, no, I must go, and when you clung to me 
 and pleaded with me and told me that you loved 
 me what did I say ? I said, ' Give me a little time, 
 I must think, I will tell you to-morrow.' " 
 
 " To-morrow," breathed Theodora,
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 59 
 
 The great pink and ivory fan was in her hand, but 
 she had forgotten to wave it. 
 
 "I went away from you, and, before Heaven, 
 Theodora, this is the truth, I had the most ghastly 
 struggle that ever man went through. You repre- 
 sented to me all that was beautiful and desirable on 
 earth. I had my work. I was filled with ambition. 
 I had a feeling of certainty that I was going to succeed. 
 But all that was as nothing to me when compared 
 with you the beautiful you with the violet eyes 
 and the lips that no man could ever forget who had 
 once " 
 
 Her black eyelashes made two curves of intensest 
 blackness on the pallor of her cheeks. 
 
 "Once kissed you, Theodora," he murmured. 
 
 He could not go on for a moment. When he had 
 gathered himself together again he muttered 
 
 " Mon Dieti ! How could I have done it how 
 could I have given you up ? " 
 
 Theodora lifted her eyelashes and looked up at 
 him. 
 
 " As you say, the answer is quite a short word," 
 said she. " Five letters. That is not too long to be 
 quite short, is it ? " 
 
 " Six letters ! " said Marcel. 
 
 " Five letters ! " said Theodora. 
 
 " Tell me the five letters," said Marcel. 
 
 " M-o-n-e-y ! " said Theodora. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " said Marcel. 
 
 " Tell me the six letters," said Theodora. 
 
 " H-o-n-o-u-r ! " said Marcel. 
 
 " Honour ! " Theodora repeated the word dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 She fanned herself and smiled. 
 
 "Oh no! Monsieur Fleur. You are very clever. 
 But honour had nothing whatever to do with this 
 romantic story." 
 
 She looked into his face with a quiet self-posses- 
 sion which almost robbed him of his self-control.
 
 60 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Every one else was talking intimately to his or 
 her companion. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp was flashing her velvet eyes at 
 the sandy-haired duke with the dab of yellow beard 
 on his bony chin. 
 
 George was discussing Longchamps with pretty 
 Comtesse Mirabeau, the yellow-haired Parisian in a 
 gold-coloured frock. 
 
 The beautiful little duchess was making merry 
 with Sir Ivor Symes, an English judge and school 
 friend of George's. 
 
 Josephine de la Rue was softly singing at the 
 piano a ballad of Chaminade's which she had heard 
 in London. 
 
 Every one was interested in some one else. The 
 Allinghams' perfect dinner and inimitable wines 
 flowed happily in their veins, and nobody saw any- 
 thing especially strange in the young black-haired 
 inventor sitting beside the beautiful Lady Allingham 
 on the tiny Louis Quinze settee. 
 
 " That was a question that haunted me once for a 
 very short time nay, twice. I know the answers 
 now. Once you gave me up for ambition. Once for 
 money. The first time was in Viareggio, when you 
 broke my heart into little bits by telling me that you 
 must go away and work and make money and carve 
 out a career instead of loitering there looking into my 
 eyes. Those were your own words. Then, when 
 you came again to Pension Ducre, and I told you, 
 as I was in honour bound to do, that I was just an 
 hour ago engaged to Sir George Allingham, but 
 that I would give him up for you what did you 
 do ? " 
 
 " I left you," said Marcel. 
 
 "Exactly you left me. Left me to a horrible, 
 haunting wretchedness and doubt and suspicion. I 
 should not speak of it now only that it belongs to the 
 past and is quite over, for I could not speak of it 
 only that I am now so utterly contented and happy,
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 61 
 
 and have every single thing any woman could desire 
 
 wealth, love " 
 
 " Wealth, love. Love in the second place, I 
 observe," said Marcel. 
 
 " Really, you have no need of cynicism. It is 
 utterly wasted on me ; for I can say, with equal 
 sincerity, love, wealth. Only that it seems to me 
 unnecessary to put it like that, riest-ce pas ? " 
 
 The Maharajah's fan here made a few soft, rhyth- 
 mical motions in the air. 
 
 " I do not believe it. Lies ! lies ! lies ! You 
 have come to live in Paris, and you think you can lie, 
 and to me. But no, I know you too well. I vow and 
 swear that you are not happy. I swear you do not 
 love George Ailingham. I swear before all the gods 
 that you loved me that day you lay in my arms in 
 the salon of Pension Ducre, and clung to me, and 
 begged me not to leave . . . Oh ! Theodora," he 
 whispered, in a changed tone, without any anger or 
 cynicism in it, but full of simplicity and humbleness, 
 " I did not mean to speak, but now that I have seen 
 you I have got to make you see why I acted as I did, 
 so that you won't loathe me and despise me." 
 
 " But I know," said Theodora, quietly. " It was 
 all revealed to me so very quickly. You gave me up 
 because you cared more for Sir George Allingham's 
 patronage and money than for the heart of the penni- 
 less Theodora Derrington." 
 
 "A lie!" 
 
 " The truth ! " 
 
 " Mon DieuJ A lie, I say. The very last thing 
 in the world I thought of at that moment was money." 
 
 But he read her incredulity in her face. 
 
 " Do you mean to say you don't believe me ? " 
 
 " I merely say you are very clever." 
 
 " Then I will force you to believe me." 
 
 In spite of herself, though she looked at him with 
 cold and unutterable scorn, a little doubt now began 
 to intrude itself.
 
 62 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Till now her conviction had been so deep-rooted 
 and tremendous that it had never once occurred to 
 her that he might have had another motive in treating 
 her as he had done. 
 
 And even as she flashed her satire at him, murmur- 
 ing, " I merely say you are very clever," she was 
 facing a sharp wonder. Could she possibly have 
 misread him ? 
 
 Honour and money were so frightfully close to- 
 gether in this situation that nothing could possibly 
 disentangle them. 
 
 It was only a question of believing or not believing 
 him. 
 
 She could never prove that his motive was money. 
 
 He could always maintain that it was honour. 
 
 But while she sat there in this haze of wonder 
 and distress the proof was suddenly flashed into her 
 mind as though it were a weapon from some unseen 
 agent. 
 
 Like Porphyria's lover, "she found a thing to 
 do." 
 
 "My husband, as you are aware, does not know 
 that we knew each other before to-night," she said. 
 
 " I am aware of that." 
 
 " It is time he knew, then." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Marcel looked at her with an expression of mingled 
 amazement and alarm. Her bewildering eyes stared 
 into his with a fierce intensity. Never in her life 
 had she been more purely Slav than she was at this 
 moment. One minute two three, ticked away. 
 Theodora rose to her feet. 
 
 "I have made up my mind. I have been most 
 ridiculously silly, but now I have decided. / intend 
 to tell George everything this very evening" 
 
 With the last words she left him and went sailing 
 slowly straight across the salon to where Sir George 
 was talking with the others. 
 
 For a moment Marcel remained in hypnotised
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 63 
 
 stillness, watching her progress across the great, glitter- 
 ing salon. Then he was on his feet, moving after 
 her. He caught her up half-way across the room. 
 
 "Lady Allingham," he said, calling her by that 
 name for the first time, "there is something else I 
 want to say to you. Will you have the kindness to 
 listen to me for a moment ? " 
 
 She turned round instantly and stood still. 
 
 " What is it that you want to say ? " 
 
 " I want to say " his voice sank " What on 
 earth are you going to do ? " 
 
 Theodora laughed. " I am going to tell George," 
 she said. 
 
 " You must not." 
 
 " That is a matter for me to decide." 
 
 She was watching him critically. 
 
 " Are you serious ? " asked Marcel. 
 
 " Perfectly serious," and she broke into that gay, 
 wild little laugh of hers, that was one of the most 
 distracting of her fascinations. 
 
 " I don't mean to say that I am going to tell him 
 now, this very moment," she said. " Surely you don't 
 suspect me of such betise as that ! But by-and-by, 
 when every one is gone and George and I are alone. 
 Then I shall tell him all the story." 
 
 Into the young inventor's dark, sallow face came 
 an expression of unmistakable fear, and his voice 
 trembled with eagerness as he said to her 
 
 " I beg, I implore you not to." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Surely you can see why." 
 
 " I am very blind. I see no reason why ; but I 
 should be very glad if you would kindly tell me." 
 
 He stared at her in a distracted way. 
 
 "Don't you see," he burst forth, "Sir George 
 would never forgive me. It is all very well for you. 
 He will forgive you because he loves you. But is 
 it likely that he will forgive me ? He v/ill hate me 
 in spite of himself no matter how he tries not to
 
 64 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 when he knows that you cared for me more than 
 for him when you married him." 
 
 He made no attempt to disguise the nature of 
 his emotion. He was too deeply in earnest for that. 
 His long, nervous hands clenched and unclenched 
 themselves agitatedly. 
 
 " I see. That is what you fear ? " 
 
 Her eyes never left his a moment. 
 
 " And if he hates you, what then ? " 
 
 " What then ? Why " he paused a moment. 
 
 " He would perhaps withdraw his help from you. 
 Perhaps he would be spiteful and break up the syndi- 
 cate or do something of that kind," said Theodora, 
 reflectively. " That is what you mean, is it not ? " 
 
 " Exactly. I should be ruined." 
 
 " And that is what you fear ? " 
 
 They were standing facing each other in the 
 middle of the salon, and neither noticed that some 
 one was strolling slowly over in their direction. 
 
 " And that is what you fear ? " repeated Theodora. 
 " So you think I had better say nothing. Ah ! 
 Monsieur Fleur, Monsieur Fleur! Are we still to 
 speak of it as honour ? "
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 " WHAT on earth were you talking to Marcel about 
 all that time this evening ? " said George, and Theo- 
 dora knew he had heard nothing. 
 
 " He is so brilliantly clever," she replied. 
 
 " I quite agree with you. But, dearest, you never 
 said a word to the Duke, and he was a little disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 " Oh, I've known him since I was a child," said 
 Theodora. " Mamma has known his people for ever 
 so long and then he married my greatest friend, 
 Carolina." 
 
 " She is a Florentine, is she not ? " 
 
 " Yes, a Medici. We were at school together in 
 Paris and have written to each other ever since. She 
 was frightfully poor once. The Duke was frightfully 
 rich, but she married him for love, all the same." 
 
 " For love, all the same." 
 
 George repeated her last words and laughed. 
 
 " There speaks my mercenary Theodora," he said, 
 "who thinks it such an extraordinary thing that a 
 woman should marry a rich man for love." 
 
 All the dinner guests had gone. George and she 
 were sitting for a few moments on the identical sofa 
 where she and Marcel had sat earlier in the evening. 
 
 " The Due d'Ailes has taken a tremendous fancy 
 to Marcel," said George. 
 
 "And the Duchess to Mrs. Pack!" cried Theo- 
 dora. " She takes these infatuations sometimes, does 
 Carolina, but only to people who are what she calls 
 molto elegante. And she told me to-night that Mrs. 
 
 65 F
 
 66 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Pack was the most elegant woman she had seen in 
 Paris. Certainly she did look awfully well to-night, 
 didn't she ? That scarlet tulle gown must have cost 
 something. It had the most wonderful hand-em- 
 broidered panels in dull green and gold and black, 
 sewn with real rubies. Is she very rich, George ? " 
 
 " Rich ? Mrs. Pack ? Why, as far as I know, she 
 hasn't got a penny. This is a secret, dearest. She 
 gets these gowns lent her by great French dress- 
 makers as advertisements. No doubt she got that 
 frock to-night on the strength of coming here." 
 
 "Oh, how exciting! Supposing it had caught 
 fire, or had a plate of soup spilled over it." 
 
 " It was probably insured." 
 
 "And that was why she made a point of saying 
 to Carolina and me, ' This is the first frock I've had 
 from Mayeux. I'm so pleased, and he's so reason- 
 able ! ' Rich people always love to say things are 
 reasonable, so Carolina and I were properly impressed, 
 and Carolina has asked her to call." 
 
 "Heavens!" groaned George. 
 
 "I told her her husband was an old friend of 
 yours." 
 
 '' So he was a friend of my father's, rather. But 
 well, to tell you the truth, dearest, I don't like Mrs. 
 Pack. I don't approve of her. And there you have 
 the whole story ! " 
 
 " But that's no story at all," demurred Theodora, 
 
 " No. But it's a preface," said George. 
 
 "To what?" asked Theodora. "To the first 
 chapter, or a book, or a serial story ? " 
 
 " Well, I scarcely know how to put it. To my 
 wishes, I suppose. The fact is, I don't want you to 
 be very friendly with Mrs. Pack, Theodora. I don't 
 want her to get into the way of coming here. That 
 is all. I have nothing against her except that I don't 
 like her tone, and I don't want my wife to have too 
 much to do with her. It was silly of me not to tell 
 you before ; but well, one often lets things go by
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 67 
 
 for a while, waiting for the best time for speaking of 
 them." 
 
 Now was her chance to tell him about Marcel. 
 He himself had given her an opening for her tale. 
 
 " Yes, I will tell him," she said to herself. " It is 
 too silly to think that I have never told him before. 
 I will just say straight out, George a propos of things 
 we let go by I was once upon a time in love with 
 Marcel Fleur ! He broke it off. He came back to 
 me at Boulogne the very day I was engaged to you ; 
 and I told him I was engaged to you ; and then " 
 
 And then ? 
 
 After that, what should she say ? 
 
 Should she say, " I told him that I loved him 
 better than you, and I offered to give you up, but he 
 would not let me, because he was afraid you would 
 revenge yourself on him by withdrawing your money 
 and support from him, and ruining his chances ? " 
 
 Was that what she was to say to George ? 
 
 She turned her head a little and looked at him. 
 Their eyes met. Utter confidence in her, and an 
 immense content with life, were mirrored in those 
 quiet steel-grey depths. She looked into them ; that 
 new glorious sensation of entire security from harm or 
 trouble swept over her, and the sharp emotions of the 
 evening gradually subsided. The scene with Marcel 
 receded into an infinite distance. After all, what did 
 it matter ? She hated and despised Marcel. She 
 read him like a book now, and except for his genius 
 she saw nothing in him to admire. 
 
 Why should she disturb George's peace ? Why 
 should she wreck this delightful atmosphere of happi- 
 ness and calm by raking up an old and silly story of 
 her girlhood that was quite left behind her now ? 
 
 " Do you admire Marcel very much, George ? " she 
 said. 
 
 "Immensely," replied George. "I consider him 
 one of the unique personalities of the age. Think of 
 what he has done. He is only twenty-four, He has
 
 68 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 earned his living as best he could since he was a 
 child. With never a soul to give him a helping hand, 
 in fact, with everything against him, he fought on, 
 never letting go of his ideas." 
 
 " And are his ideas so very valuable ? " 
 
 "They are extraordinary," said George. "And 
 not only that, but whenever any one else has an idea 
 any of these other great airship-makers Marcel in 
 a moment makes that idea his own, and improves 
 upon it. He goes one further." 
 
 He plunged into a technical criticism of Marcel's 
 characteristic points. Theodora listened. Warm 
 words of praise and spontaneous whole-souled admi- 
 ration poured from George's lips as he descanted on 
 the extraordinary things that Marcel was accomplish- 
 ing in the field of aerostatics. 
 
 " The wonderful part about him," said George, " is 
 that he works so utterly alone. I mean to say he never 
 consults, nor is helped by the advice of any human 
 being. He experiments, plans, dreams, all off his 
 own bat. He works half the night, and then wakes 
 up next morning with a fresh store of inspirations. 
 They seem to come in his brief sleep." 
 
 "Wonderful ! " breathed Theodora. 
 
 But though she was listening to every word 
 George said, her brain was following its own line of 
 thought. 
 
 " I don't believe in Marcel," she was thinking. 
 
 " He is a wild, untrammelled creature, but abso- 
 lutely sincere," went on George. 
 
 " To-night," thought Theodora, " I read Marcel as 
 I have never done before. While George is praising 
 him like this an instinct tells me there is something 
 going on that George is absolutely unconscious of." 
 
 " He is perfectly straight ! " said George. 
 
 " I never dreamed he could have proved such a 
 master at deception ! " thought Theodora. 
 
 She recalled the fire in his eyes to-night as he 
 had cried passionately, " Lies ! lies ! lies ! " And
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 69 
 
 then her mind travelled to the way his voice had 
 changed and trembled and implored her to believe 
 in him. 
 
 "And I almost did! I almost believed that I 
 was wronging him, so cleverly did he manage his 
 role. I was on the verge of being convinced." 
 
 " He is a brick ! " said George. 
 
 " I believe there is some trickery going on. Why 
 should Ivan's presence be kept a secret? What is 
 the meaning of all that mystery ? Obviously, Ivan 
 is working, too, in the syndicate's house, helping 
 Marcel. And yet George knows nothing about it ! " 
 
 Side by side they sat there, very close to each 
 other, one talking, the other responding, but each 
 following an utterly different line of thought. 
 
 " To-morrow," said George, taking her little white 
 hand in both his, " I'm going to leave you for a whole 
 day, alas ! " 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 "The Duke and I are going with Marcel to Melun 
 to see the progress of the machine." 
 
 Theodora jumped up suddenly. 
 
 " Don't look so gloomy," she cried. " A flying- 
 machine is a much newer toy for mankind than a 
 wife." 
 
 " I'm not mankind," said George. 
 
 " But perhaps you're mankind in the making," she 
 cried flippantly ; and as George moved after her 
 she laughed and threw out over her shoulder, " I can 
 fly, too. I am going to write to mamma to tell her 
 what a success the dinner has been." 
 
 With that she flew down the room like the wind ; 
 but for all her swiftness George caught her before she 
 reached the door. He seized her in his arms and 
 kissed her several times. 
 
 " You seem to forget that I am forty," he said. 
 " Are you bent on making me young again ? Whether 
 or not that is your intention, it is what you are 
 doing, Theodora. . . . To-morrow, while I am away,
 
 70 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 promise me you won't get lost in any more mysterious 
 houses ? " 
 
 She smiled, but made no answer. Standing there 
 in George's arms, with the great empty salon behind 
 her, the dying candles shedding gold light into the 
 shadows, and midnight striking over the city, she was 
 seized with a sudden determination. 
 
 "To-morrow I will go and see Ivan," she was 
 thinking. " While they are all away at Melun I will 
 seize the opportunity to go and unravel this mystery 
 for George's sake." 
 
 That was how she put it.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 " IVAN, are you not surprised to see me ? " 
 
 " No ! I knew you would come." 
 
 " But I said I should not." 
 
 " Yes, but I knew you would." 
 
 He stood before her in a humble, deprecating 
 attitude, holding his hands together. 
 
 The roseate, tell-tale hue still tinged his cheek and 
 other parts of his face that needed no such tingeing ; 
 but his old blue eyes were full of that strange look 
 of dogged persistence, mingled with deep kindliness, 
 that made one overlook everything else about him. 
 
 " I want to talk to you," she said. " Ivan ! " 
 
 Leaning forward a little, she looked into his face. 
 Her radiant beauty, set off against her Russian sables, 
 seemed to fill the vast room with light. A bewitch- 
 ing sweetness played about her lips. Her eyes were 
 full of a soft appeal. 
 
 She looked just what she was at that moment a 
 lovely child, going to ask a favour of an old man. 
 
 " Ivan, I want you to help me," she said. 
 
 She expected him to break into a perfect flood of 
 incoherent assurances of his joy at doing anything 
 to help her, but instead he sat still, looking at her in 
 silence. 
 
 " Did you hear me, Ivan ? " she asked in surprise. 
 
 She was astonished at his reply. 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " but will you tell me what it is 
 before I answer ? " 
 
 "But, Ivan ' 
 
 Well, after all, she had no right to command him 
 7i
 
 72 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 now ! He was no longer a peasant at Grindolstol ! 
 She had no shadow of authority over him under the 
 present conditions ! Yet for all that the blood flew 
 to her cheeks, and her eyes flashed for a moment 
 at the thought that Ivan should hesitate to obey 
 her. 
 
 " What do you mean by that, Ivan ? " she asked, 
 making a direct onslaught. 
 
 "She knows what I mean, my Princess's little 
 one," he said sagely, "she understands. No need 
 for Ivan to tell her." 
 
 " Understands what ? " 
 
 But Ivan had his own refuge, to which he always 
 escaped when hard pressed. 
 
 It was a grey, rambling, ramshackle mansion of 
 the brain, and over its portal was written " Haze and 
 Vagueness," and underneath that inscription might 
 have been added " Only lunatics are admitted here." 
 Was he a lunatic, Ivan ? He had flown to the ram- 
 shackle house on the instant, and was so vague and 
 incoherent that Theodora boiled with impatience. 
 
 She grew quite petulant as he went rambling on 
 in a long, disconnected apostrophe about nothing in 
 particular, with occasional hints at mysterious secrets, 
 of cruelty and orders that he dared not disobey. 
 
 " I know very well there are secrets," said Theo- 
 dora. " It does not take much gumption to discover 
 that." 
 
 " But I must keep them to myself," said Ivan. 
 
 She was perfectly aware that by a little cunning 
 and cajolery she could win from Ivan the most deadly 
 secret imaginable. 
 
 But could she stoop to cunning and cajolery ? 
 Her mind fought a rapid battle with the question. 
 No ! It was impossible to act like that. 
 
 She leaned back in her chair and stared per- 
 plexedly before her. 
 
 " You want to know why I am here, and what I 
 am doing," said Ivan. "It must be that you have
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 73 
 
 come to find out. I would tell you if I could. You 
 believe that, don't you ? " He broke off. 
 
 " Yes," said Theodora, humouring him. 
 
 " I can't tell you." 
 
 "Never mind." 
 
 " I daren't." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 "Believe me, he has been my saviour," he went 
 on. "I say this because I know that you suspect 
 him. I read that in your eyes. It is written in the 
 atmosphere about you. Hatred and suspicion ! They 
 are quite clear to Ivan's eyes. Ah, tell me, my 
 Princess's little one," he said pleadingly, "why do 
 you hate Marcel Fleur so ? " 
 
 She had no time to answer him. 
 
 Some one was at the door. Next moment it was 
 thrown open, and there in the doorway, looking in 
 on them, was the young inventor. 
 
 "You have forgotten to lock Marcel Fleur out," 
 he said in a low voice. 
 
 Theodora stared at him in petrified silence. 
 
 " I thought you were at Melun," she said, recover- 
 ing herself with a tremendous effort. 
 
 " And that is why you are here," said Marcel. 
 
 " Exactly. An excellent reason, is it not ? " 
 
 Ivan had crept into the background. 
 
 " Excellent," said Marcel. 
 
 " But, good as it is, it is not my only reason," said 
 Theodora, spiritedly. 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "My reason in chief for coming here to-day is 
 to discover to what extent you are imposing on my 
 husband." 
 
 Her eyes flashed into his with a glance that he 
 did his best to meet without wavering. 
 
 " You talk like a penny dreadful," he said with a 
 shrug. 
 
 But her look held him captive. It never left him 
 for a second.
 
 74 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " I want to find out what you are doing with 
 Ivan, and why you have kept his presence a profound 
 secret from my husband, who has been your best 
 friend." 
 
 As she spoke she was struck with the peculiar 
 pallor of Marcel's face. Always colourless and un- 
 healthy looking, it was now more than ordinarily 
 pale. He looked desperately ill. 
 
 While she was thinking this, he put out his hand 
 and laid it on the table to steady himself. 
 
 " Are you ill ? " she cried involuntarily. 
 
 " No, no ! " But as he spoke he gave a deep sigh. 
 
 It flashed across her that never in her life before 
 had she heard him sigh. 
 
 She had seen him white with rage and ablaze 
 with determination, and she had seen him in the 
 deepest depths of melancholy and depression that 
 time at Viareggio, when he decided that he must 
 keep his mind free from love and devote himself 
 wholly to ambition. And she had seen his eyes full 
 of sorrow, and soft with an indescribable tenderness 
 but that was rarely but never had she known him 
 to sigh. 
 
 " I am sure you are ill," she cried impetuously. 
 
 He put out his hand with a groping movement, 
 feeling in the air about him for something to cling 
 to. She made a step forward involuntarily. 
 
 " Oh ! " she breathed. 
 
 He was swaying. 
 
 " Marcel ! " she cried. 
 
 But before she could move a step he was down 
 like a log. 
 
 " Ivan ! " she cried distractedly over her shoulder. 
 But where was Ivan ? 
 
 He made no sign. And when her eyes swept 
 round the room in search of him, she found, to her 
 terror, that he had disappeared. 
 
 For a moment she was frightened, but she had 
 sufficient self-possession to drag Marcel into an easier
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 75 
 
 posture, and then to throw open one of the windows. 
 At last she found some brandy in a bottle, probably 
 of Ivan's ownership. 
 
 After fanning him with a newspaper for several 
 moments, she saw his eyelids quiver a little. Then a 
 few deep sighs followed. 
 
 " It was Ivan," he murmured in a faint voice that 
 was little more than a sigh. 
 
 " What was Ivan ? " asked Theodora, gently. 
 
 " It was Ivan who told you." 
 
 " What was there to tell me ? " 
 
 A sudden resolution seized her. 
 
 Bending over him, she whispered in tones of melt- 
 ing sweetness, " While you have the chance, Marcel, 
 won't you confess the truth to me about Ivan ? Why 
 do you keep him secret here ? " 
 
 His eyes looked up at her fearfully. 
 
 ' ' I have guessed the truth," she went on. 
 
 She was exquisitely gentle. 
 
 " It is that you could do nothing without him." 
 
 " Cruel," he said weakly. 
 
 " Yes, I am horribly cruel," said Theodora, " and 
 I know it. But" she paused and sighed heavily 
 " well, I can't help it. I stumbled on this thing by 
 the merest accident. But now I have begun to 
 understand I must know the truth." 
 
 She would hypnotise him into confession. His 
 mental and physical condition put him at her mercy. 
 He had been working early and late without food, 
 and brooding over her marriage at the same time. 
 And here he was at the end of his tether for the 
 moment, used-up, over-strained, almost collapsing. 
 
 " Ivan drinks like a fish," he murmured. " He 
 could never arrive." 
 
 " And are you helping him to arrive ? " said 
 Theodora, sternly. "You are hanging on him, 
 using him, paying him as little as possible, I suppose. 
 Making lots of money yourself, and deceiving every 
 one."
 
 76 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 She had helped him to an armchair now, and was 
 seating herself near him, 
 
 " Ah, Marcel, I little dreamt I should find you out 
 like this." 
 
 He bent his head on his hand, resting his elbow 
 on the arm of his chair. 
 
 Theodora looked at him. She could see the 
 black, straight hair, as fine as silk, that she remem- 
 bered so well. The deep eyes, narrow, and as cold at 
 times as they were warm at others, were hidden. But 
 she knew them capable of tenderness as well as pene- 
 tration, and of kindness and cruelty. There were the 
 two deep lines down the side of his mouth. There 
 was the inscrutable mouth devilish, wise, yet some- 
 how suggestive of nothing blast or bored or boring, 
 but intensely alive. It was like Vasari's portrait of 
 Lorenzo di Medici in the Uffizzi. He was just enough 
 like the portrait to show where there were limits to 
 his penetration and subtlety, where there was a drying 
 up of his tenderness, where there was an end of his 
 fascination. 
 
 " If I could explain to you the mechanism of my 
 brain," he began, in a broken voice, " and make you 
 see the tricks that fate plays with me, you would have 
 nothing but pity. Mon Dieu / How I have suffered ! 
 ... I get the idea. ... It dances before me like a 
 sort of will-o'-the-wisp. I rush at it. It is gone. . . . 
 I can't carry out the suggestion. ... A cloud comes 
 down, overshadowing the keen, bright edge of thought 
 that would have cut its way through any mist, through 
 any difficulty, if I could only have kept it bright. . . ." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " It seems like a sort of intermittent catalepsy,' he 
 said. " Oh, sometimes, Theodora, there are moments 
 when I could dash my head against a wall to get rid 
 of the incubus, whatever it is. It is like a nightmare. 
 Yes ! It is like one of those dreams where you see 
 gold lying at your feet. Heaps of shining sovereigns 
 are all over the path in front of you, and you are
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 77 
 
 a poor and desperate wretch. You stoop in an agony 
 of delight to pick them up. A gorgeous vision of 
 filled pockets and heavy purse drives you to the 
 seventh heaven. You stoop. Your hand goes out. 
 But you cannot stoop low enough. They are out of 
 your reach. You wake. They are gone." 
 
 " I know that dream," said Theodora, quickly. 
 
 " Every one knows it," said Marcel. 
 
 "Every one who has been poor enough," said 
 Theodora, sadly. " How often have I dreamt it 
 myself ! At the Pension Ducre, for instance." 
 
 " You know it is a dream," said Marcel. " It has 
 come to you in your sleep time. Painful and horrible 
 as it is, it has never been anything more than a night- 
 mare. But think what it is to have that nightmare, 
 not in your sleep, but in your waking hours, when 
 your highest vitality is demanded ! Think what it is 
 to be stopped from picking up the magic gold which 
 your own unusual inventive faculties promise you with 
 such lavishness ! Think what it is, Theodora, to live 
 day by day with that sort of horror ! Then you will 
 understand what it meant to me to find some one 
 who could always go on just where I left off. That 
 some one was Ivan. Ivan could revive the image 
 that had faded. He could give me back in its fullest 
 efficacy my lost idea that had grown nebulous and 
 vague." 
 
 She had turned in her chair, and was gazing at 
 him intently. 
 
 " Do you understand me ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am trying to." 
 
 " A flying machine should attack and subdue the 
 air, and never give the air an opportunity of attack- 
 ing or subduing it," he went on, growing excited as 
 he spoke. " It should smite the air intelligently and 
 as a master. Its well-directed thrusts should elicit 
 in every instance an upward and forward recoil." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Nothing pleases a woman more than any sort of
 
 ;8 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 technical disquisition from a man about his work. 
 The more technical it is, the less she understands it. 
 And the less she understands it, the more she is 
 flattered. Her ignorance passes her by. She soars 
 above it. And up there, in sublime regions, she 
 sweeps round with a heavenly smile. She is full of 
 wonder and delight at the dizzy pinnacle to which 
 the confiding man has raised her. 
 
 Her eyes told him to go on. 
 
 " Mine is no mere aeroplane whose fine move- 
 ments could be controlled by machinery that was 
 delicate enough. No ! I have been able to subjugate 
 crass materials to my will Ivan and I. By a subtle 
 combination of the ability to appreciate the value of 
 radio-active elements, with an unerring power of con- 
 tinued mathematical analysis, we are achieving that 
 final conquest of the air which men have dreamed of 
 since the time of Daedalus and Icarus ! " 
 
 All the poetry in Theodora's nature responded to 
 those last words, that went echoing through the attic, 
 " Which men have dreamed of since the time of 
 Daedalus and Icarus." 
 
 "It is a mistake that flight is a mere matter of 
 levity and power. That is all wrong. No machine, 
 however light and powerful, will ever fly whose travel- 
 ling surfaces are not properly fashioned and properly 
 applied to the air. Our invention imitates the motion 
 of a great bird like the albatross. The movements 
 are so exactly regulated and controlled that it appears 
 as if it is animated by a brain. There is no necessity 
 for air-sacs, so well have Ivan and I thought out the 
 intricate details of construction." 
 
 Again the poetry in Theodora had been touched 
 and responded. This time it was the words " Like the 
 albatross" They fired her imagination. She forgot 
 the attic and all the surroundings. 
 
 " Yet, magnificent as appears the movement of the 
 albatross, that great bird which Coleridge's poem has 
 endeared to all the world, Ivan and I both think that
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 79 
 
 for the student of aviation the ungainly Australian 
 stork, with its comparatively heavy body and short 
 spreading wings, affords a more useful example of the 
 far-reaching ideas of natural design, in greatest accom- 
 plishment with the least means least mechanism. 
 That was the model that Hargrave, of Sydney, studied 
 in his careful and unselfish experiments. His was the 
 true scientific spirit, giving all his results to the world 
 without hope of gain or reward. There are few like 
 him (like Charles Darwin, too Darwin and Hargrave 
 to compare the antipodes !). If only the co- 
 ordinating movements which are necessary to the 
 complete control of the air by a machine are once 
 recognised the whole problem is solved. We have 
 worked out thoroughly the idea of the vibration of 
 the wings and the material of which they must be 
 composed. It only remains to find a way in which 
 the impulse can be immediately transmitted from the 
 peripheral parts of the machine to myself the god 
 of the machine. And then again, that the necessary 
 orders and impulses should be sent out to its motoring 
 appliances. Insoluble that seems. But we will find it." 
 
 With fingers gentle as a monk's, dusk touched the 
 chairs, the table, the walls, the floor, as if to make 
 all sacred. Harshness went out of everything, slowly 
 and imperceptibly stolen away by those creeping 
 fingers. Walls and floor deepened in tone. They 
 grew soft and impalpable as a sky or a sea, or some 
 rare velvet from old Venice, with shadows deep as 
 abysses in its folds. 
 
 The motionless chairs whispered of dreams as 
 wonderful as De Quincey's Easter Sunday. 
 
 How often had Theodora watched this hour and 
 longed to delay it ; to enchain it in a girdle of old 
 wrought iron, with mauve lights in its shadows ; to 
 prison it for eternity in the immutable walls of her 
 heart. 
 
 And every day one could see this coming of dusk 
 into a room. It never lost its spell.
 
 So THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 But to-night dusk and dark and light were all one 
 to Theodora. 
 
 For trouble in its onslaught slays first the aesthetic 
 sense, choking it hard and quickly, tossing it scorn- 
 fully aside, as a thing of no value at all. 
 
 " In the beginning I used Ivan simply as a means 
 of bringing me more quickly to you," said Marcel. 
 " You ! You ! You were all I thought of then. But 
 now you are the wife of another man. In honour 
 bound, I have to put you out of my dreams. I must 
 tear you out of my heart. I must learn that you are 
 not my lodestar. Work ! Just the work itself, that's 
 got to be everything now. I am right, am I not, 
 Theodora ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I can do it. I can tear you out of my heart." 
 
 " You have done it." 
 
 " Yes, let us say that I have done it," said Marcel. 
 
 " Now you have a greater motive, work itself." 
 
 " Yes, but Theodora, I can't work without Ivan. 
 I can no more do without him now than a man can 
 do without air. He is absolutely necessary to me. 
 Without him I should go to pieces. I have made 
 you understand, haven't I ? " 
 
 He was standing beside her now, looking down. 
 His eyes were flashing with their old fire. All his 
 faintness and prostration had passed. He was the 
 old, impetuous, wild Marcel, and his face was full of 
 appeal. 
 
 " If Sir George knew, I should be ruined," he said. 
 
 Theodora was silent. Here before her was rising 
 up another immense deception which she was to 
 participate in towards Sir George. 
 
 " All would be over with me," said Marcel, " if I 
 give up Ivan." 
 
 " But why need you give him up ? " 
 
 " I need not give him up as long as no one 
 knows." 
 
 " But that's wicked."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 81 
 
 " What ! Dare you say that after all I have told 
 you ? " 
 
 " It is so unjust to Ivan." 
 
 " The only alternative is I mean if you are going 
 to betray me to Sir George that I acknowledge Ivan 
 and sink into obscurity myself. And that well," 
 with a bitter laugh, "you can imagine what that 
 would mean." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " I should blow my brains out." 
 
 " No, no ! " she cried. 
 
 " But of course." 
 
 He watched her closely. 
 
 " What else do you expect ? " 
 
 Was she going to give in ? 
 
 " Once we were all the world to each other," he 
 said, " you and I. Won't you keep silent about it for 
 the sake of that ? " 
 
 Her great violet eyes looked up into his. For 
 a long moment they looked at each other she and 
 Marcel. 
 
 The psychological moment that comes to us all, 
 deciding the trend of a long chain of events in resist- 
 less movement, had arrived. Theodora's answer was 
 to make all the difference to her life and Sir George's. 
 
 " I promise you that I will not say anything to 
 any one," she said at last.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 LITTLE did the driver dream, as he deposited Mrs. 
 Packinthorp at the door of her hotel and drove away 
 into the night, what Mrs. Packinthorp was about to 
 go through. Even had he brought his imagination 
 to bear on the matter, which he was far from doing, 
 he could never have quite pictured to himself what 
 lay in store for that tall, svelte figure in black, gliding 
 gracefully up the steps of the little Hotel de la Ville. 
 
 As soon as the glass doors swung aside and Mrs. 
 Packinthorp found herself in the dimly lighted vesti- 
 bule, she knew that something was wrong. 
 
 Her instinct, sharpened by multitudinous experi- 
 ences, told her so immediately. 
 
 What struck her at once was the total absence of 
 smiles. When she came in they always smiled. 
 Everybody smiled. There was a smile from the hall- 
 porter, and there was a smile from the tall black 
 waiter, who was always hovering about in these 
 regions, though he really belonged to somewhere far 
 in the background. And then there was a smile from 
 Signer Baldisari, the proprietor, who was generally 
 propping up the pillars of the vestibule while he 
 twirled his little black moustache, and curled and 
 uncurled an extraordinary pair of thin legs and great 
 grey check trousers. There he was to-night, as usual. 
 But there was no smile from him. His face had a 
 cold look. The eyes never lightened at the sight of 
 the tall slim lady in the large hat, who came gliding 
 through the swing glass doors. 
 
 And then the wife of the proprietor, Signora 
 82
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 83 
 
 Baldisari ! The most extraordinary thing of all was 
 that there should be no smile from her! For her 
 small round face, brown and cosy as a nut, was 
 usually only too ready to burst into a perfect ripple 
 of smiles and flashing white teeth and sparkling eyes. 
 She was as solemn as a judge to-night. Not a 
 suspicion of brightness was to be detected in the severe 
 and gloomy countenance which she presented to Mrs. 
 Packinthorp, as the lady leaned over the little counter 
 of the office and asked for her key. 
 
 " Something is wrong," thought Mrs. Packinthorp. 
 
 Her heart sank. 
 
 She had picked out this hotel, cheap and obscure 
 as it was, simply for the reason that the proprietors 
 were Florentines. And her worldly instinct had told 
 her that she would find life an easier thing among 
 people from Florence than people from Paris. 
 
 In fact, she had said to herself when she came 
 here : " I shall get away from that awful business 
 instinct and thriftiness of the Parisian, and instead 
 well, instead I shall have, maybe, a little less smart- 
 ness and cleanliness a different kind of cooking, and 
 a certain air of ' let things go ' ; but, on the other 
 hand, I shall have smiles, always smiles, and for a 
 woman who is pushed and worried as I am, the 
 value of a smile is beyond all computation." 
 
 That is what Mrs. Packinthorp had said to 
 herself when she chose the Hdtel de la Ville and 
 Signer and Signora Baldisari for her winter 
 quarters. 
 
 " Are there any letters for me ? " she queried at 
 the counter. 
 
 "Yes, madame. I have sent them up to 
 madame's room," she added. 
 
 " Oh. Thank you so much." 
 
 She turned away, and was about to go towards 
 the lift. 
 
 " Madame ! " Signora Baldisari was speaking to 
 her.
 
 S 4 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Yes, Signora," she said, turning back. 
 
 Her heart sank. 
 
 She knew only too well what was coming. 
 
 Before her eyes floated a vision of three figures. 
 
 They grew larger and larger. 
 
 They seemed to swell and cover the whole 
 universe. 
 
 6 8 6 ! she saw scrawled in enormous figures 
 before her mind's eye. 
 
 " May I speak to you for a moment?" the Signora 
 was saying. " I haf very sorry . . . must be I must 
 ask you " she looked frightfully gloomy, and dropped 
 her voice " your bill," she said. 
 
 " My bill. Ah ! yes ; of course ! " 
 
 " Of course, for me, madame, it is not matter. But 
 my husband, the Signore, he ask me about it ... 
 allora and so it will be a very great convenience, 
 madame, if madame would settle her bill to-night." 
 
 " To-night ! " Mrs. Packinthorp repeated the 
 words stupidly. 
 
 " It is six hundred and eighty-six francs," said 
 the Signora. 
 
 " Six hundred and eighty-six francs," repeated 
 Mrs. Packinthorp. 
 
 She felt dazed. With a tremendous effort she 
 collected herself and managed to curl her lips in a 
 rather pathetic semblance of a smile. 
 
 " Cara Signora," she said, leaning ingratiatingly 
 on the counter, " do please forgive me for letting my 
 account run on like that . . . yes, I know, it is 
 simply dreadful of me . . . but, you see, I was 
 waiting for some money." 
 
 " I am sorry." 
 
 The little dark figure on the other side of the 
 counter seemed to grow stiffer and sterner. She 
 puffed out her little chest as a pigeon might, and her 
 small, squeezed-in waist receded. The great black 
 eyes opened wide, and the eyebrows went up some- 
 where into the region of the heavy black fringe above.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 85 
 
 At the same time her shoulders shrugged themselves 
 up to her ears, and the little creamy hands were flung 
 out in a gesture that seemed to indicate despair, 
 protest, and resignation all together. 
 
 " Must be madame settles her account to-night," 
 she said. 
 
 " To-night ! " 
 
 The words struck Mrs. Packinthorp like a blow 
 from a weapon. She felt faint. The vestibule, the 
 counter, the dim light, and the little pigeon-like 
 figure of the Signora swam before her. In the back- 
 ground the Signore was leaning up against the pillar 
 with his twisted legs and little moustache. 
 
 " To-night is quite impossible, cara Signora. For 
 instance, look at the hour now, and I must dress and 
 go out to dinner and there are several receptions 
 and balls afterwards." 
 
 " To-night ! " replied the implacable Signora. 
 
 " But I cannot. It is out of the question ! " cried 
 Mrs. Packinthorp. 
 
 " Why is it impossible ? " 
 
 Why ? Her mind revolved desperately round 
 a score of reasons, and ultimately she held up one 
 to the Signora. 
 
 " Because the banks are shut." 
 
 The Signora laughed. She threw out her hands 
 and shook her shoulders. 
 
 " True, the banks are shut, madame ; but what 
 does that matter ? Madame keeps no money in 
 a bank." 
 
 The words and tone seemed to Mrs. Packinthorp 
 the acme of cruelty. As a matter of fact, she had 
 just deluded herself into the idea she had a banking 
 account, and that in the morning she could write 
 out a cheque and give it to the Signora, as other 
 people did. 
 
 " How do you know that ? " 
 
 " My husband, he knows." 
 
 " What business is it of his ? "
 
 86 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 "Madame, it is his business that his bills are 
 paid." 
 
 " I tell you, Signora, your bill will be paid ; but 
 you ask the impossible when you ask me to pay 
 it to-night." 
 
 " When, then, madame ? When ? Yes, when ? 
 That is what I want to know. If not to-night, when ? 
 You understand, madame, there can be no more of 
 this putting off. We are poor people poverini 
 my Mario and I. It is not that we are grasping. 
 It is not that we are greedy. It is that we want 
 the money. We have bills : we must meet them ; 
 obligations, things to pay here, there, and everywhere. 
 How can we do this if our clientele keep us waiting 
 for hundreds of francs ? Be reasonable, madame. 
 Say to me now, frankly, if you do not pay your bill 
 to-night, will you pay it to-morrow ? " 
 
 To-morrow ! Mrs. Packinthorp's mind swept 
 wildly round the world of Paris. How was she to 
 pay that bill to-morrow ? 
 
 The Signora was watching her as a cat watches 
 a mouse. 
 
 " If not," she said softly, leaning her dimpled 
 elbows on the counter, and resting her little face in 
 her small brown hand, " if not, madame, you must go" 
 
 At that moment the Signore uncurled himself 
 from his post in the background, and, with a silent 
 movement, placed himself beside Mrs. Packinthorp 
 at the counter. 
 
 " Is it not so, Mario ? " said his wife, appealing to 
 him. "I tell the Signora she must pay her bill 
 to-night. She say she cannot. She say she must 
 wait till the morning for the bank." 
 
 Mario shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, 
 and as Mrs. Packinthorp turned to look at him, she 
 saw an expression of fierce resentment in his little 
 black eyes. 
 
 " Can you pay in the morning ? " he demanded. 
 His tone was full of studied insolence.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 87 
 
 "Certainly!" She drew herself up. "I shall 
 certainly settle your bill to-morrow," she said, sum- 
 moning up every vestige of dignity which she could 
 command. She stepped to the lift, and ordered the 
 page-boy to take her up to her room. 
 
 "You understand, madame," cried the Signore, 
 following her. " We wait till to-morrow, but no 
 longer. After to-morrow madame pays or she must 
 be made to pay." 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp opened the door of her room 
 with a heart of lead and spirits correspondingly dead 
 and heavy. Turning on the electric light, she dis- 
 covered at once that the fire was not lit. The next 
 thing that struck her was a large blue envelope on 
 the mantelpiece marked " Urgent," and in the corner 
 the name of a firm of solicitors. A pile of letters lay 
 on her table. She opened them one after the other. 
 Each one had the same story to tell. Bills ! bills ! 
 bills ! Most of them were accompanied with threats. 
 
 After she had gone through half a dozen of them, 
 her lips still wearing that forced, unnatural smile, 
 she suddenly gave way, and dropping her arms on 
 to the table, let her head fall in helpless misery, while 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 " Dio mio ! What am I going to do ? " 
 
 There was no time for tears. Even that solace 
 was denied her. A loud rap sounded at her door. 
 She jumped to her feet, wiped her eyes, and cried, 
 " One moment, I am coming." She opened the door. 
 The tall black waiter, fed on scraps, stood there, with 
 a cold gleam in his eye. And beside him, in the 
 shadow, stood a vague man, who looked as if he had 
 no silhouette, so flabby and disjointed and utterly 
 without outline was he. He stepped forward. 
 
 " Is it Mrs. Packinthorp ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You are she? Thank you, madame." He laid 
 in her hands a document, 
 
 " For me ? "
 
 88 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 "Yes, madame, for you. You will please attend 
 to it, riest-ce pas, to-day?" 
 
 The tall black waiter bowed. They disappeared 
 into the gloomy corridor. Mrs. Packinthorp re- 
 entered her room. She opened the document She 
 tossed it to the floor with a desperate energy. It 
 informed her that a legal process was served upon 
 her by Mme. Claude Donot, to whom she owed up- 
 wards of 2000 francs for hats, cloaks, and underwear. 
 
 She threw herself back into the chair and lay 
 there like a log for fully half an hour. In the whirl 
 of her thoughts no solution came to the problem that 
 was pressing on her. How could she get rid of this 
 terrible incubus ? How could she pay these people ? 
 What sop could she throw to these ravening wolves ? 
 They seemed, to her excited imagination, to stretch 
 out over league after league of country, yelping, with 
 open mouths and lolling tongues, for her very life- 
 blood itself. She had gone too far. Her gambling, 
 her extravagances, her wilful hoping that things 
 would and must turn out differently had come to 
 a climax at last. She had borrowed from every one 
 she knew. She had exhausted her own capacities. 
 She had even scared away her luck. What was left ? 
 Nothing. 
 
 Suddenly, across the grey misery of her thoughts 
 came a vision of the beautiful Lady Allingham, with 
 the red-gold hair and the exquisite Greek profile, 
 dressed in white and silver, with diamonds glittering 
 on her radiant head, and the ineffable loveliness of 
 youth written in her violet eyes. 
 
 " She has everything any one could desire or 
 imagine, and I I have nothing." 
 
 Her eyes, sweeping desperately round her bed- 
 room, fell on the newspaper on the sofa beside her. 
 She picked it up and opened it mechanically. The 
 first thing that met her sight was an article headed 
 in conspicuous letters, " Blackmail." 
 
 The words struck into her senses. She began to
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 89 
 
 read. There was a report of a speech of a judge, 
 who had expressed himself very plainly on an evil 
 which was threatening to grow apace nowadays. She 
 read on, fascinated. But each sentence, uttered by 
 the learned legal light as a warning to mankind, was 
 received by Mrs. Packinthorp in quite a contrary 
 manner. Instead of warning, she drew inspiration 
 from it. Instead of being made to feel horrified at 
 the evil, she seized upon it with all her mind, and 
 saw in it her means of escape from the present mass 
 of difficulties. Little did that judge dream what 
 effect those remarks of his would have on one whom 
 they might well have been intended to warn. But 
 it is often so in life. To air an evil has its dangers. 
 The more Mrs. Packinthorp read, the clearer grew an 
 intention in her mind. 
 
 The recollection of her first meeting with Lady 
 Allingham had returned to her. 
 
 That was something she had often thought of. 
 Many and many a time had she wondered what on 
 earth Theodora had been doing there in the hotel. 
 Why was she coming out of Monsieur Fleur's room, 
 a young girl, alone and unchaperoned, at eight o'clock 
 in the evening ? True, she knew that Monsieur 
 Fleur was not there. It happened that she had met 
 him in the office downstairs a moment later. But 
 still there must have been something some romance, 
 some secret story. How much and how little of all 
 this had been kept a secret from George ? 
 
 Then she thought again of the Baldisaris down- 
 stairs, of the Signora, with her set face, and the 
 Signore, with his implacable eyes, demanding pay- 
 ment of her bill on the morrow. 
 
 " Money ! " she said to herself. " Money, money ! 
 I must have money ! " 
 
 Next afternoon she presented herself at Theodora's 
 house, to find Marcel Fleur there alone with his 
 hostess. 
 
 The moment Marcel had disappeared she plunged
 
 90 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 straight into her story to Theodora, with variations to 
 suit the situation and her listener. 
 
 " Do you mean you want me to to lend it to 
 you ? " said Theodora. 
 
 " Exactly. A loan, not a gift, of course." 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp had a sudden catch of the 
 breath. 
 
 " Is it not dreadful of me to ask you ? " she said. 
 " If you only knew how I feel ! It seems to me I 
 could sink into the earth with humiliation. And yet 
 and yet what can I do ? I must have it. I have come 
 to a point where I simply cannot go on any further 
 without." 
 
 "Do you mean you must have ^300 at once?" 
 said Theodora, aghast. 
 
 "Yes," she nodded, "at once." 
 
 " When do you mean by at once ? Next 
 week ? " 
 
 " I mean to-night at the latest. If it is to be of 
 any use at all, if it is to save me, it must be to-night. 
 Otherwise " she paused. 
 
 " What will happen otherwise ? " asked Theodora. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Otherwise," said Mrs. Packinthorp, slowly, at last 
 " well, there must not be any otherwise." 
 
 Theodora met her eyes, and a cold shiver ran 
 through her. Something desperate and unmasked 
 was looking at her out of those great black velvet 
 orbs. 
 
 " I have no money of my own. I shall have to 
 ask George for it," she said. 
 
 "You will see about it at once," went on Mrs. 
 Packinthorp. " How kind of you ! A special messenger 
 after dinner to-night, perhaps " 
 
 Theodora was silent. How on earth was she to 
 do this at a moment's notice ? What would George 
 say ? 
 
 " I suppose I can do it," she said hesitatingly. 
 
 " You must do it," said Mrs. Packinthorp. " There
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 91 
 
 are reasons why it is in your interests as well as 
 mine that you should send me that cheque to-night. 
 For instance" she leaned forward and dropped her 
 voice " there's that evening at Boulogne when I saw 
 you coming down the corridor of Monsieur Fleur's 
 hotel you remember ? "
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MRS. PACKINTHORP, with 300 in her pocket, felt like 
 a beleaguered general to whom a strong reinforcement 
 has suddenly arrived. She could face the enemy. In 
 fact, there was no enemy. By sheer force of numbers, 
 otherwise money, she was going to conquer the world. 
 Three hundred pounds ! There it was, in a cheque 
 signed " George Allingham," on the Credit Lyonnais. 
 
 A messenger brought it round about eight o'clock, 
 and she immediately went downstairs to the desk and 
 had an interview with the proprietress. 
 
 There was a little incredulity on the part of the 
 latter, but a judicious exhibition of the cheque con- 
 vinced her that this was genuine. Her smiles, and 
 those of her husband, reappeared as if by magic. It 
 only remained for Mrs. Packinthorp to be a little 
 patronising in her manner, and slightly pitiful, but 
 forgiving. And that she could easily be, under the 
 circumstances. 
 
 As a matter of fact, she was beside herself with 
 happiness and excitement. It was a long time she 
 could scarcely remember how long, in fact since she 
 had had three hundred pounds in her possession. 
 
 Next morning she awoke early, after what the 
 French call a nuit blanche, an almost sleepless night 
 But she was not tired. On the contrary, she was 
 buoyed up with happiness and that joyous feeling of 
 possessing the world. 
 
 " What a thing it is to have money," she said to 
 herself. 
 
 After her coffee she rose and dressed carefully, 
 92
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 93 
 
 and then, hailing a taxi, she hastened away to the 
 bank to get the cheque cashed. After that she returned 
 to the hotel and settled her account with madame. 
 
 "And what shall I do now?" she thought. It 
 was Saturday afternoon. The first thing that occurred 
 to her was that, after all the strain and worry and 
 annoyance, she was fairly entitled to a little pleasure. 
 She thought for a moment. Then she went to the 
 telephone and rang up Ernest Chetwynd, a journalist 
 friend of hers. 
 
 " What are you doing this afternoon ? " she asked. 
 
 " I am busy till six," he said. " After that I am 
 at your disposal." 
 
 " Till six," she thought rapidly. " Well, then, come 
 for me at seven, and we will dine together at the club." 
 
 " What club ? " 
 
 " Ah yes ! You know what I mean the Villa 
 Rose." 
 
 At seven o'clock she was ready, dressed in a 
 shimmering and very conspicuous Directoire gown 
 of orange chiffon, hung with a tunic of gold and green 
 beads. The corsage was studded with heavy gold 
 trimmings. Over this she threw a magnificent cloak 
 of black crepe and marabout. 
 
 They drove away in a taxi. The driver muttered 
 under his breath, " Pleased to drive madame to the 
 end of the earth " when he received his orders. He 
 was overcome, like a true Parisian, by her superb 
 toilette and her inimitable chic. 
 
 They sped along the boulevard, past the Opera, 
 with its flaring lights, the wondrous illuminated 
 advertisements surrounding the Place de 1'Opera and 
 the Cafe de la Paix at the corner, with its curious 
 crowd, where Greeks jostled Japanese, and Englishmen 
 sat back to back with Mexicans ; past Olympia, with 
 its hordes of unscrupulous guides waiting for the 
 unwary traveller, and its flare of music-hall lights 
 and posters ; past the beautiful church of the Made- 
 leine, whose dignity contrasted so strikingly with
 
 94 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 the loud glare of the boulevards ; past the Arc de 
 Triomphe. The cab went sharply round the Avenue 
 Victor Hugo. 
 
 Few of the passers-by in this much frequented 
 thoroughfare ever turn down Square Corday. 
 Although dignified by the name of " square," it is 
 really a cul-de-sac. A few charming little villas 
 stand about it. Behind their high walls, with their 
 iron gates, they wear an air of seclusion not often 
 to be met with in Paris ; and when one does meet 
 with it, the charm seems intensified a hundredfold by 
 contrast with the whirl of the gay metropolis. 
 
 Down this cul-de-sac, otherwise Square Corday, 
 went the smooth wheels of the taxi, awaking gentle 
 echoes in the secluded neighbourhood. 
 
 It stopped at last before the gates of a little quiet- 
 looking house, with " Les Roses " painted in small 
 white letters on the black gate. 
 
 " Merci, madame, mille fois, merci," said the cabby, 
 as they paid him. Mrs. Packinthorp smiled softly. 
 The words pleased her. 
 
 The gate opened with a gentle click, and a small 
 garden was revealed, shining softly in the light that 
 fell from the house beyond. They walked along a 
 tiled path between tiny beds of violets and little bare 
 rose trees, whose time for blossoming was over now, 
 but to which the villa owed its name. 
 
 The front door stood open, and a manservant 
 was bowing on the threshold as they came into the 
 light. 
 
 He looked at Mr. Chetwynd with a slight air of 
 hesitation, but Mrs. Packinthorp murmured softly in 
 French, " It's all right, Friend ! " 
 
 That was the password for " Les Roses." 
 
 Quiet, modest, inoffensive little "Les Roses." 
 In reality it was one of the most audacious private 
 gambling clubs in Paris. The police knew it well. 
 It was not only there was no limit to the play, but 
 there was all too often a certain shadiness about its
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 95 
 
 gambling transactions. Indeed, only the fact that it 
 was frequented by people in the highest society, could 
 account for the way in which the guardians of the 
 law winked at its existence. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp and her companion dined in a 
 charming room with little tables set out with shaded 
 candles and flowers. Everything was very quiet. 
 The dinner was perfect. Very few people were about, 
 but it was a little early yet. 
 
 " What a dream this man's ices are ! " sighed Mrs. 
 Packinthorp over her Poire Melba. 
 
 But she was thinking very little of the dinner. As 
 a matter of fact, she was relieved when the little 
 glasses with their green chartreuse arrived, catching 
 a glimmer of the shaded candles, and the gleam of 
 her own sequins in their glittering green depths. 
 
 All the afternoon and evening one thought had 
 been steadily growing in her mind. 
 
 All through the drive and the dinner the same 
 idea kept recurring " Now I can play again ! " It 
 beat on the portals of her mind like a bird at the 
 door of its cage ; and as she chattered and laughed 
 over the champagne to her companion, she vividly 
 pictured the room above, with its tables set out 
 for play. In imagination she heard the click of the 
 roulette, which sounded in her ear like sweetest 
 music. 
 
 It was a great relief when Lord Ludlaw strolled 
 across the room and began to talk to her and her 
 companion. She was dying to escape now. She 
 knew Chetwynd would not play. She seized the 
 opportunity to glide away up the stairs. As soon as 
 she reached the roulette table everything was for- 
 gotten. The hours went by in a dream. 
 
 Ten ! eleven ! twelve 1 
 
 Three times Ernest Chetwynd came and asked 
 if she was ready to go. 
 
 She played on and on. Sometimes she lost, and 
 sometimes won. But at last a run of bad luck set
 
 96 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 in. At one o'clock in the morning she had staked 
 her last louis and lost. 
 
 The whole ^300 was gone. 
 
 It was two o'clock when she reached the little 
 Hotel de la Ville. Dingy and dim it looked in the 
 flickering light. 
 
 The waiter uncurled himself from his bed across 
 the vestibule and came forward at her ring. 
 
 Late as it was he smiled. That struck her 
 curiously. She understood the full significance of it. 
 Last night they had had no smiles at this hotel for 
 her. 
 
 " Bonne nuit, madame," he said, handing her her 
 candle. 
 
 " Bonne nuit." 
 
 The words re-echoed through the darkness of her 
 mind as she dragged herself wearily upstairs, and the 
 infinite irony of it struck her like a knife. " Bonne 
 nuit ! " To her ! She who had had 300 in her 
 pocket that very morning had now just one franc. 
 
 As she opened her door and entered her room, 
 there stole out to her an odour of dying flowers from 
 the great bunch of yellow roses that she had bought 
 in the afternoon and then tossed carelessly aside. 
 The air was full of their scent. She went in and 
 closed the door. Everything was in confusion. Over 
 the bed was flung a gorgeous scarlet cloak that she 
 had thought of wearing that night. Another evening 
 gown was lying on the chair. There were hats that 
 she had been trying on, laden with great feathers and 
 enormous flowers, some of them half in and half out 
 of their band-boxes. The whole place was in an 
 indescribable state of confusion, and over it all was 
 breathing out the poignant odour of the yellow roses 
 that lay in a drooping bunch on the sofa. 
 
 There was something about the whole atmosphere 
 of the room that made her shiver. Its melancholy was 
 terrible. Only a few hours ago she had dressed in 
 this room, in such high spirits, with hundreds of
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 97 
 
 pounds in her pocket, and her heart full of radiant 
 hope. She had been so happy as she dressed her 
 black hair before the looking-glass, and powdered her 
 white face till it took on the unearthly pallor that she 
 affected. 
 
 The bills were lying there on the table still, and 
 the legal documents kept them company. 
 
 And somehow it had seemed to her that all those 
 bills were paid. Now it came back to her with 
 terrible bitterness that they were all just as she had 
 left them, unpaid, and clamorous for payment. 
 
 She pressed her hands to her temples, and stood, 
 a sad, swaying figure, in the middle of the room. 
 
 " Three hundred pounds all gone ! " 
 
 She was too faint to stand up and too excited to 
 sleep. She threw herself on her bed, and began 
 thinking feverishly. She must do something. . . . 
 What could she do ? ... Suddenly her mind reverted 
 to Lady Allingham. . . . The hours stole on. . . . 
 Morning broke over Paris, and Mrs. Packinthorp had 
 made her decision. There was nothing else for it. ... 
 She must go again to Lady Allingham. "And this 
 time," she said to herself, " I think I had better raise 
 the sum. I will ask five hundred pounds. Why 
 not ? She will have to give it to me." 
 
 After all, what was the difference to Lady 
 Allingham between three hundred pounds and five 
 hundred pounds ? One was just the same as the 
 other. Mrs. Packinthorp's mind began to be inflated 
 with delightful visions. It seemed to her that a 
 wonderful and inexhaustible source of wealth was 
 suddenly opening itself out before her, and quite 
 legitimately. Oh quite ! Never for a moment did 
 she say to herself, " This is blackmail." She simply 
 saw the Allinghams' wealth and her own poverty. 
 For the rest, it was already becoming the most 
 natural thing that her hand should be stretched out 
 towards that wealth, and what she wanted should 
 be given to her. 
 
 H
 
 9 3 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 At four o'clock that day she presented herself at 
 the Allinghams' house, and asked if Lady Allingham 
 was at home and could see her alone for five minutes. 
 She was taken into the library. Presently Theodora 
 came in, with her hat and furs on. 
 
 " Ah, how sorry I am to disturb you. You are 
 just going out," murmured Mrs. Packinthorp. " Can 
 you give me just three minutes, quite alone ? " 
 
 " We are quite alone here," said Theodora, coldly. 
 
 A sudden thought struck her. 
 
 "You you got the cheque, didn't you ? " she asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Yes. Oh ! but, Lady Allingham, such a terrible 
 thing has happened I lost all that money. It was 
 stolen from me in a crowd. I am fearfully hard up 
 penniless again, in fact." 
 
 " Penniless ? " 
 
 It was hard to tell which of the two faces was 
 the whiter, Mrs. Packinthorp's or Theodora's. The 
 younger woman trembled a little. 
 
 " How dreadful ! " she heard herself exclaim. 
 
 " Indeed, it is shocking ; too shocking for words. 
 To think that after all your generosity and kindness 
 such a horrible thing as that should happen to me." 
 
 " Is there any chance of recovering it ? " asked 
 Theodora. 
 
 But even as she spoke, she felt convinced that the 
 question was vain. She did not believe the story ; 
 that was the truth of it. And she saw the inevitable 
 moment coming when Mrs Packinthorp was going to 
 ask her again for money. 
 
 "You were so kind to me yesterday," went on 
 Mrs. Packinthorp, " that I have come to you again 
 to-day. I know you are generous, and you have the 
 luck to have money. You will help me, I am sure." 
 
 They looked into each other's eyes. 
 
 " I am afraid I cannot," said Theodora. 
 
 " But you must." 
 
 " I am sure that it is quite impossible."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 99 
 
 "You must." 
 
 " I could give you fifty pounds, perhaps." 
 
 " I want five hundred." 
 
 " Five hundred ! Oh, impossible ! How can you 
 ask me for such a sum ? " 
 
 " I am very sorry, but I want five hundred pounds, 
 and I think I must have it, Lady Allingham. Five 
 hundred pounds is as easy to you as fifty pounds. 
 All you have to do is to ask Sir George, and he will 
 give you whatever you want." 
 
 " I cannot ask him," said poor Theodora, closing 
 and unclosing her hands. 
 
 "Then," said Mrs. Packinthorp, "/will ask him. 
 Yes, I. How will that do ? It would be quite easy, 
 you know. I could just go to him and say well, I 
 should say several things." 
 
 She looked at Theodora with a meaning that 
 could not possibly be misunderstood. 
 
 It was no use playing a half game, she thought. 
 This moment was hers. Lady Allingham was here, 
 now, within her reach. She must make the most of 
 the chance. 
 
 " Of course, this is all very silly," she said softly. 
 " So much simpler and easier for you to send me 
 another cheque to-day, and then that will end the 
 matter." 
 
 " How do you mean, end the matter ? " queried 
 Theodora. 
 
 " I mean, my dear, that I shall not bother you any 
 more, and that your mind can be set quite at ease." 
 
 Theodora was white to the lips. 
 
 " I mean that as far as I am concerned, everything 
 shall be henceforth and for ever a sealed book. I 
 will forget that I saw you in the hotel at Boulogne. 
 I will forget you understand ? " 
 
 "How dare you!" blazed Theodora. "This is 
 infamous. I have read of women like you, but I 
 never dreamed that there were really such people." 
 
 " And I will never mention either," went on Mrs.
 
 ioo THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Packinthorp, " that I saw you and Monsieur Fleuf the 
 other night as you came out of that gate in the Rue 
 Cristine. I quite understand that it would be better 
 for you if I kept silent. You see, I have probed Sir 
 George a little. That was not difficult. Quite easily 
 and quickly I discovered that he has not the slightest 
 idea that you and Monsieur Fleur knew each other 
 had ever met before your marriage. What a sur- 
 prise the truth would be, would it not ? Poor Sir 
 George, why should we trouble him ? I know I am 
 playing the part of a horrid wretch at present, but it 
 is simply that I am driven beyond myself by the 
 pressure of circumstances. Otherwise, I assure you, 
 this is the very last kind of thing I would ever dream 
 of doing. And surely, I need not add, I don't like 
 doing it." 
 
 She paused. 
 
 " And now the cheque," she said softly. " This 
 afternoon or to-morrow morning, if you will be so 
 kind." 
 
 " Impossible ! I refuse." 
 
 " Very well, then, as you please. I shall tell Sir 
 George my story." 
 
 "Your story," blazed Theodora. "You have no 
 story." 
 
 " Sir George shall be the judge of that." 
 
 Theodora looked at her full in the eyes. " And 
 do you suppose," she said slowly, " that my husband 
 would listen to anything you said against me ? " 
 
 " I suppose nothing," said Mrs. Packinthorp. " I 
 only know that I want five hundred pounds very 
 badly, and that Sir George perhaps would let me 
 have it." 
 
 " This is sheer blackmail 1 " cried Theodora. 
 
 " Do you give me the money, or do you not ? " 
 
 " I will not give yon the money" said Theodora. 
 
 " Good. Then at the earliest opportunity I must 
 see Sir George. I can't wait, so it must be to-night." 
 
 " You may go and tell him. I was a fool not to
 
 IOI 
 
 let you do so when you first threatened. You may go 
 and pour forth your iniquitous stories into my hus- 
 band's ears and learn how a man of honour treats 
 with women such as you ! " 
 
 " I see." 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp nodded slowly. 
 
 " The worm turns, eh ? " she said. " It's very 
 charming and heroic. You win my deepest admira- 
 tion, dear Lady Allingham. The only thing is how 
 are you going to account to George for the fact thai you 
 have already paid me three hundred pounds to keep 
 silent ! " 
 
 There was her trump card. So her tone pro- 
 claimed. 
 
 " I am not going to account for it," said Theodora. 
 " It accounts for itself." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that it shows unmistakably to any 
 reasonable human being that you have tried upon me 
 a process of blackmail." 
 
 " Blackmail ! My dear, what a word ! It may be 
 usual among foreigners, but really we well, we don't 
 use that word." 
 
 The studied insolence of her words was so artfully 
 belied by the honeyed sweetness of her tones, that 
 Theodora could scarcely credit her senses at such 
 a phrase, "usual among foreigners." It was all she 
 could do to sit still in her chair. 
 
 " Well," went on Mrs. Packinthorp. " I want your 
 ultimatum." 
 
 " I have given it. I refuse." 
 
 " Really. Ah, well, then, I fear I must bring 
 other measures to bear. For instance, Lady Alling- 
 ham, what would you say if I placed in Sir George's 
 hand such a charming document as the follow- 
 ing?" 
 
 Opening a letter, she read aloud, in a light, half- 
 mocking tone
 
 102 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " DEAR THEODORA, 
 
 "... Our secret shared only by you and 
 me. . . . Come by the private way as soon as you 
 can. . . . You know how to get in. . . . Ivan has 
 been taken ill and may talk. ... It seems like a 
 fever, but I don't dare to call in any one, as he is so 
 dangerous when he babbles. He has great love for 
 you. Any moment Sir George might know. ... I 
 want you to see what you think, and come and give 
 me a helping hand. 
 
 " MARCEL." 
 
 She paused and looked up. 
 
 " Now what do you say to that ? " she asked 
 coolly. 
 
 " You must have stolen that letter out of this room 
 the day before yesterday," breathed Theodora. "I 
 missed it. I " 
 
 " Theodora ! " 
 
 Sir George had opened the door, and was stand- 
 ing on the threshold.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IT seemed to George that the spectacle presented to 
 him as he came into the blue boudoir was the most 
 malignantly significant scene he had ever witnessed 
 in his life, blind as he was to its full meaning. 
 
 There stood Theodora, pale as a ghost. She had 
 been weeping, but was now at a white heat of anger. 
 Mrs. Packinthorp confronted her, with a crimson spot 
 burning in either cheek, and black eyes glittering 
 with excitement and rage. 
 
 The whole atmosphere of the room breathed such 
 a sinister message of disturbance that George almost 
 lost his self-possession. All its ordinary deep peace 
 had fled. These two beautiful women, in their alter- 
 cation, had sent vibrating cross-currents through the 
 quiet air, till the very cushions and curtains and rugs 
 themselves seemed animated by some evil spirit of 
 unrest. 
 
 Blind as George knew himself to be to the real 
 meaning of all this, a sudden strange premonition of 
 the vast extent of his blindness flashed across him as 
 he stood there on the threshold. 
 
 How much must have happened that he knew 
 nothing of ! 
 
 That was the thought that cut its way, like a 
 blade, through the mist of amaze in his startled 
 brain. 
 
 What clouds of deception had he been moving in ? 
 How was it that he had never dreamed that Theodora 
 was keeping secrets from him ? To what extent had 
 
 103
 
 104 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 she been pretending, while they lived side by side, 
 in such apparent confidence and trust ? 
 
 " Am I disturbing you ? " he managed to ask. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp regained her self-control in a 
 moment. She was smiling already, perfectly cool 
 and composed, giving her nerves their only relief with 
 a little extra gushingness in her manner as she swept 
 towards him. 
 
 " Oh, how nice to see you ! " she said, holding out 
 her hands. " Did you know I was here ? Or am I 
 expecting too much in thinking you came expressly 
 to have a chat with poor little me ? " 
 
 " I was looking for my wife," said George, gravely. 
 
 Theodora was speechless, and that was all George 
 was noticing. 
 
 Her violet eyes were wide with terror ; her little 
 white hands were pressed to her heart. Her breath 
 came in a panting way through her half-open lips. 
 
 "I did not know you had a visitor, Theodora, or 
 I should not have disturbed you." 
 
 He looked and spoke directly to her. 
 
 Still she was speechless. 
 
 But Mrs. Packinthorp was equal to the occasion. 
 
 She airily took up the tale. 
 
 " Oh, but you're not," she cried. "Now do sit down 
 and talk for awhile. One never sees you nowadays." 
 
 She motioned him to a chair, and sank back 
 gracefully on the deep sofa with its pile of pale blue 
 cushions. 
 
 "And you won't you sit down, dearest ? " 
 
 George addressed himself again directly to the 
 silent, white-faced Theodora, still standing there with 
 her hands pressed to her heart. 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 She seemed to come out of her silence by a 
 tremendous effort, and seated herself mechanically 
 on a little stool. 
 
 "That's not very comfortable." He wheeled a 
 big chair towards her.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 105 
 
 She stood up, and he saw she was trembling. 
 She sank into the chair. As he bent over her to 
 slip a cushion behind her, he accidentally touched 
 her hand, and found it cold as ice. 
 
 His keen, masculine brain, awake and alive at 
 last to suspicion, after its long spell of security and 
 joy, was beating desperately at the closed gate between 
 him and the meaning of his wife's extraordinary 
 agitation. Why was she white and trembling like 
 a leaf? Why were her hands ice-cold? Why had 
 she lost her very voice itself at the sight of him ? 
 
 "We were having such a delightful talk, dear 
 Lady Allingham and I," Mrs. Packinthorp was saying 
 complacently from her nest of pale blue cushions. 
 " I was telling her of a wonderful book I have just 
 been reading describing a woman's travels in Tibet." 
 
 "Hers must have been rather a ghastly experi- 
 ence," said George, deliberately, "to judge from the 
 agitation I find you both labouring under." 
 
 But Mrs. Packinthorp was quite equal to that attack. 
 
 " Agitation ? Dear Sir George, what are you 
 talking about? . . . Ah, you're looking at Lady 
 Allingham ! Yes, she does look a little pale. I'm 
 so sorry. Well now, I must confess that when I told 
 her the story of the tortures that poor lady was 
 rescued from, it made us both feel rather queer." 
 She shivered a little. 
 
 " "Who was the lady ? " George eyed her fixedly. 
 
 "A friend of mine. But the book was anony- 
 mous," she went on, with that dangerous command 
 of details that makes a good memory such a necessity 
 for a ready liar. " It was published in Paris by a 
 new man I forget his name." 
 
 " It seems a strange book for two charming ladies 
 to be discussing by a boudoir fire," said George. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Women are strange creatures. What appeals 
 to them most is it not so, Lady Allingham? is 
 the combination of terrifically dangerous elements
 
 106 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 with pale blue ribbon, shall we say ? It is quite 
 an exploded old notion that women like peace and 
 tameness. They don't. Men do. Men are always 
 looking for that kind of thing in their women, while 
 a woman is always more or less on the hunt for a 
 tiger either in the shape of a man, or a difficulty, 
 or an adventure." 
 
 She looked at the clock and uttered a little 
 scream. 
 
 " Good gracious ! I must simply fly. I have 
 piles of work waiting for me at home." 
 
 George went with her to the door, and, to his 
 surprise, she beckoned to him to come into the hall, 
 and there whispered to him that she had something 
 desperately important to tell him. Could he come 
 round to her hotel at five ? 
 
 When he returned he found Theodora had disap- 
 peared. 
 
 He stood a moment lost in thought. He would 
 go and see Mrs. Packinthorp, and talk to her alone ! 
 He would get at the bottom of this matter that was 
 causing his wife such evident distress. After all, it 
 was he who had introduced Mrs. Packinthorp to 
 Theodora. He was the responsible one, and she, 
 Theodora she was but a child. He was a man in 
 his prime. His duty was to shield her in every 
 way. 
 
 It was past five as he was shown into the dingy 
 salon of the Hotel de la Ville. An infinitesimal fire 
 burnt dimly. The light was poor and watery. But 
 George was blind to all these sordid details, and saw 
 only that Mrs. Packinthorp herself was looking up 
 at him with welcoming eyes from the writing-desk 
 across the room. 
 
 " How charming ! " 
 
 She rose and moved towards two chairs near the 
 fire. 
 
 "Ah, I see, you guessed that something a little 
 distressing had happened, and that I was doing my
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 107 
 
 best to hide it to-day. Well, Theodora was entertain- 
 ing me most charmingly, as usual, when the subject 
 turned on letters or handwritings, or something 
 apropos of that case the other day Mrs. Dick Wol- 
 singham's, you know and I quite innocently men- 
 tioned the torn half of a letter that a friend of mine 
 had left in my writing-case, I suppose unintentionally, 
 the other day, when he came to see me and begged 
 to write a note before leaving. And as I said that, 
 quite innocently and without thinking, I took it out 
 of my purse, where I had placed it, knowing that 
 I should be seeing him to-night and could then 
 return it. And I said to Lady Allingham, ' Well, my 
 dear, you say that hardly two persons write alike, 
 yet here is part of a letter written to a friend of 
 mine ! Now look at it, and admit that it is like the 
 handwriting of Monsieur Marcel Fleur. And yet my 
 friend does not know him at all ! And I was just 
 going to tell her who I thought had written it, when 
 she cried, 'That is mine! How did you get it? 
 How dare you pry into my private concerns ! ' . . . 
 I realised that she was very excited about some- 
 thing. . . . But I do not see any need to dwell on 
 that now." 
 
 She paused. 
 
 George sat silent. 
 
 " I was endeavouring to calm her," she went on, 
 " by taking the whole affair as a joke, when she came 
 up to me, and, seizing me by the arm, demanded the 
 other half of the letter, saying that I had stolen it, 
 and that I knew well enough it was from Monsieur 
 Fleur. And, really, I am concluding that it must be 
 from him, and her property, as she insisted with such 
 vehemence on it, when you came in and put an end 
 to the scene. That is the whole story. And here is 
 the offending scrap of paper, at whose door must 
 lie the blame of this silly quarrel between Lady 
 Allingham and myself." 
 
 George's eyes were glued to the torn sheet.
 
 io8 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Rue Vaugirard . . . Theodora . . . and the . . . 
 it is dangerous . . . love for you . . . me at once . . . 
 our secret . . . aeroplane ruined ... by the private 
 way . . . MARCEL." 
 
 " Dear Sir George," said Mrs. Packinthorp, sym- 
 pathetically, after a moment, " how worried you look. 
 What is the matter ? Surely, it is not this stupid 
 letter with its few meaningless sentences ? " 
 
 "You know that this is a letter which might be 
 extremely harmful to my wife," said George, sternly, 
 " were it to fall into unscrupulous or curious hands. 
 Where did you get it ? And where is the other half 
 of it?" 
 
 "Dear Sir George, I forgive you because I realise 
 how fond you are of our dearest Theodora," calmly 
 interrupted Mrs. Packinthorp. " But did I not know 
 this, I should perhaps say that you are hardly being 
 quite courteous to me. I have already told you," 
 she added, with dignity, "all I know of that letter 
 and how I became possessed of it. If you do not 
 believe me, I cannot help it." 
 
 "Will you be so good, then, as to give me the 
 other half, so that the stupidity of this torn fragment 
 may be removed ? " 
 
 " But, dear Sir George, I haven't got it ! " 
 
 "Where is it, then?" 
 
 "My friend has it. And he well, I fear, he 
 would want a price." 
 
 Then, as George looked at her as if unable to 
 comprehend what she was saying, she added sadly 
 
 " There are men like that in the world, you know, 
 dear Sir George." 
 
 " And you call them your friends ! " 
 
 He rose, bowed, and quietly left the room without 
 a word or a glance. 
 
 " You shall pay for that ! " said Mrs. Packinthorp, 
 between her teeth.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE same afternoon, while George was having his 
 interview with Mrs. Packinthorp, Lady Allingham 
 had promised to go with her mother to a smart 
 matinee which was to be given at the Theatre Sarah 
 Bernhardt in aid of the starving poor in Warsaw, 
 their native town. 
 
 The Avenue des Champs Elysees lay magnificent 
 and bare in the red rays of the rare November sun. 
 As they passed swiftly along, the double rows of 
 chestnut trees seemed to stand like silent sentinels 
 from the great Arc de Triomphe, their sweeping 
 lines extending to meet the gardens of the Champs 
 Elyse'es, with their beds now denuded of all their 
 lovely flowers. Their garish summer music-halls, 
 now closed and silent, no longer roused the echoes 
 of the night as the latest cafe-chantant star sang 
 her newest Parisian waltz-song to the crowd within, 
 while outside, the penny chairs around the hall, out- 
 lining the beds of summer blooms and flowering 
 shrubs, were filled with the typical Parisian crowd 
 Madame la Concierge, free for an hour ; street 
 loafers, sweepings from the boulevards ; police, tourists, 
 clerks, smart men in evening dress on their way to 
 some party, or strolling after dinner in the charming 
 gardens ; the young girl with her fiance and her 
 mother sitting placidly talking with them, as is the 
 custom, discussing future plans ; in fact, a typical 
 little crowd, only to be met with in a gay city. 
 
 The car glided on, across the vast Place de la 
 Concorde, down the Rue de Rivoli, with its long 
 colonnade sheltering the multitudinous shops, some 
 
 109
 
 i io THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 full of priceless wares, others of worthless postcards 
 and cheap jewellery, past the huge Musee du Louvre, 
 with its vast storehouse of treasures, on through the 
 now more crowded and busy street towards the theatre. 
 
 Theodora and the Princess made their way through 
 the bare entrance hall up the stairs towards the 
 fanteuils d? orchestre. The theatre, like most Parisian 
 theatres, is large, lofty, and old-fashioned, and the 
 great actress, from whom it takes its name, has beau- 
 tified it as no one else could do. The scheme of 
 decoration, pale blue and old gold and tapestry, with 
 the shaded orange lights, is delightful. 
 
 Down the gangway in the centre of the stalls 
 mother and daughter swept silently, but their entrance 
 nevertheless attracted much attention. Theodora, in a 
 cream-coloured clinging afternoon gown, embroidered 
 with silver, with a long black scarf draping it from 
 shoulder to knee, a daring touch, one of Worth's 
 triumphs, looked exquisite. Her red-gold hair and 
 Grecian profile were shaded by a huge black hat. 
 
 All heads were turned in their direction. 
 
 They made their way to the stalls near the stage, 
 just in time to witness the finish of an act from 
 La Sorctire, with the incomparable Sarah, who was 
 giving her services and the theatre with her usual 
 generosity. The crowded and delighted house covered 
 her with applause, and then settled down to criticise 
 its neighbours and discuss things in general, before 
 the next item on the programme. 
 
 Amid the buzz of conversation and the flutter of 
 innumerable programmes, the curtain rose once more 
 on the empty stage for a short song by Brahms by 
 an unknown Polish singer. 
 
 An almost audible titter was heard, as a man, 
 plain, badly dressed, almost unkempt, crossed the 
 stage, and stood waiting awkwardly and nervously, 
 while the accompanist played those four soft chords 
 which precede the " Sapphic Ode." 
 
 The audience awaited with curiosity and incredulity
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND in 
 
 the singing of this strange performer. It came 
 floating towards them. 
 
 " He has no voice," murmured Theodora in 
 amazement. 
 
 For a moment every one was astounded at such 
 a singer being allowed to appear. A shiver of annoy- 
 ance passed over the audience. But almost imme- 
 diately something intensely beautiful and pathetic 
 came stealing out of the singer's tones. 
 
 He did scarcely more than whisper the lovely 
 melody. But so supreme was his extraordinary art 
 that the restless house was silent in an instant. 
 
 Theodora leaned forward in her seat, catching her 
 breath. The exquisite little verse, so marvellously 
 treated by the pure art of that unkempt man, was 
 beautiful beyond description. The voice ceased. 
 The accompanist continued the opening to the 
 second verse. An audible " Bravo ! Ravissant ! " was 
 breathed sibilantly over the hall, as always happens 
 when the Parisian public is really touched. Then 
 in breathless silence came the second lovely verse, 
 finishing amid a wild hurricane of applause. 
 
 The Princess turned to Theodora with a strange, 
 excited movement. 
 
 But whatever she was going to say died away on 
 her lips. 
 
 Her daughter was pale and trembling, and her 
 great eyes were full of tears. 
 
 " Let us go, mamma," she said feverishly. 
 
 "Already?" 
 
 " There is nothing more I want to hear . . . for- 
 give me ... if you don't mind," she added. 
 
 They made their way out of the heated theatre 
 with its chattering throng, and were swiftly driven 
 back to the Elysee Palace Hotel. 
 
 They were both silent during the drive, each 
 occupied with her own thoughts. 
 
 "Let us have tea in the hall," suggested the 
 Princess. " It is always so bright."
 
 H2 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " No, mother, darling, let us go up to your room, 
 where we can be alone," said Theodora, with a little 
 catch in her voice. 
 
 Scarcely had they entered the room and closed 
 the door when Theodora broke down completely and, 
 sobbing, threw herself into her mother's arms. 
 
 " What is it, my darling ? Tell me," the Princess 
 murmured softly, when the torrent of sobs had 
 quieted somewhat. 
 
 " Oh, mother, I am so unhappy ! " 
 
 " Unhappy ? " she asked amazed. 
 
 " I want money." 
 
 " Money ! My dear ? " The Princess could scarcely 
 believe her ears. 
 
 " Yes, and I must have it to-day ! " 
 
 " But, Theodora, what do you mean ? Why ? 
 What is it for ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 " But why on earth do you not ask George ? 
 You know that you have only to say one word, and 
 he will give you almost any amount." 
 
 Theodora trembled. " Oh, no, no ! I can't I 
 daren't ask him. Mamma, will yon lend it me ? I 
 can easily pay you back in a month or so." 
 
 " How much do you want ? " 
 
 " Five hundred pounds." 
 
 " Five hundred pounds ! My dear ! What a 
 sum!" 
 
 " I must have it." 
 
 Princess Golsky was a woman of the world, and 
 perceived that this was no time for talking or 
 reasoning, so without further question she replied 
 
 44 1 have the money representing the sale of my 
 small property in the bank. It was sold when George 
 so kindly provided for me. You are welcome to it. 
 It is only lying idle. I will give you a cheque 
 now." 
 
 11 Oh, how can I thank you ! Mother, darling, you 
 don't know how you have relieved my mind."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 113 
 
 The Princess walked to the writing-desk. 
 
 " To whom shall I make it out ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, to bearer, please," said Theodora, quickly. 
 
 " Here it is." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," cried Theodora, ex- 
 citedly. " I will send it off immediately." 
 
 She wrote a few lines, and, ringing, gave orders 
 that it should be taken by messenger immediately. 
 She was excited. Her eyes were bright. 
 
 Princess Golsky stood watching her silently for a 
 moment. But she made no reference whatever to the 
 scene just past. Instead she changed the subject 
 completely. 
 
 " Dear Theodora," she said, seating herself on the 
 big sofa beside her daughter, and enfolding the latter 
 in her arms. " I want to speak to you about Monsieur 
 Fleur." 
 
 Theodora started. " Yes ? " she asked, somewhat 
 apprehensively. 
 
 " What is this little mystery you are making about 
 him ? " 
 
 " What little mystery ? " 
 
 "You know, dear, what I mean. Why did you 
 ask me to ignore him the other night and pretend 
 that we had not met before ? What does it mean ? 
 Why did you wish George to think that we were 
 both strangers to this man ? " 
 
 " I had very good reasons." 
 
 " But that is just what I want to know, and it is 
 what George should know also. This air of mystery 
 is absurd." 
 
 " I cannot help it." 
 
 "My darling Theodora," said her mother, ten- 
 derly, " I do not mind your having secrets from 
 me, but there should be none between you and 
 George." 
 
 " Every one has secrets," said Theodora, evasively. 
 
 " One must. No life can be lived without." 
 
 " The less you have the better. Misunderstandings
 
 ii 4 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 and mysteries and things hidden away, with people 
 who are living their lives hand in hand with us, can 
 result in nothing but unhappiness. Misery ! Tragedy ! 
 Heaven knows what ! " 
 
 Her voice broke with emotion. 
 
 "I can say this to you because I know. ... I 
 have never told you the story. . . . Yes . . . there is 
 a story ... a sad, sad story. But never mind that 
 now. That was long ago, long ago. . . . Ah, it all 
 came back to me this afternoon as I heard that Krik- 
 offsky sing. . . . How he has changed ! " suddenly 
 forgetting herself and Theodora, and lapsing into an 
 excited reflection. 
 
 " Changed! Did you ever know him before, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 The Princess was silent for a moment. 
 
 " In Poland," she added, after a time ..." years 
 ago, if he's the same man. But I thought he was 
 dead. . . . His appearance to-day on the platform 
 was to me like a ghost rising out of the grave. I 
 thought he was dead." 
 
 Theodora looked at her in amazement. A 
 strange emotion was working in that beautiful pale 
 face. 
 
 " Mamma, you are upset," she cried, impulsively. 
 " It's I ! It's my fault ! What a beast I am to 
 plague you with my worries ! " 
 
 " No, no ; it isn't that," said the Princess. " It's 
 the ghost of a worry from long, long ago." Then, 
 quickly changing the subject, she went on : " You'll 
 remember what I said, dearest. You have no secrets 
 from George. You must not. That is the fact of the 
 matter. You simply must not. I am your mother, 
 you see, and I know your temperament. It's mine, 
 too, as well as yours. We can't stand secrets, we 
 Golskys ; we are not made for lies, manoeuvring, and 
 intrigues. You must tell George ! I don't ask you 
 to tell me. That doesn't matter. Tell me nothing ! 
 But George is different."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 115 
 
 She paused, and looked into Theodora's face. 
 
 "Tell me, dearest, you you care for George ?" 
 
 But she knew her world too well to need any 
 answer. One look into Theodora's eyes was quite 
 enough to tell her, and just then the maid came and 
 announced that Sir George Allingham had come for 
 Miladi, and was waiting below. 
 
 "Remember," murmured the Princess as Theo- 
 dora took a hurried nervous leave.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 " HAVE you forgotten we are dining to-night with the 
 Duchesse d'Ailes ? " asked George. 
 
 "To-night, to-night." . . . Theodora looked dis- 
 tressed. 
 
 " I was afraid it had slipped your memory. That 
 is why I came to you." 
 
 " How dreadful of me to forget ! My head seems 
 like a sieve to-day. I am idiotically stupid. I even 
 forgot to look in my engagement book." 
 
 "You have had other things to think of," said 
 George. 
 
 They were sitting side by side in the big white 
 car. For a moment the traffic had locked them in 
 its embrace and their progress was stayed. All 
 around them were the lights of Paris and its shadows. 
 Yet it seemed to Theodora as if they two were alone 
 on some desert island she and George. The rush 
 and hurry of the night around them lent the car and 
 its occupants a more complete isolation. 
 
 " There is always a lot to think of," said Theodora. 
 
 She roused herself, and began to talk at random. 
 
 " I do wish the Due d'Ailes wasn't so vain," she 
 said. "He's such a good creature, really. But as 
 soon as he talks to women he becomes much less 
 nice." 
 
 " That's interesting," said George. " A point of 
 view shut off from a man." 
 
 " Yes ! But to see the utter futility of vain love 
 I mean love of making conquests you must see the 
 
 116
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 117 
 
 man's case from the woman's point of view, and the 
 woman's from the man's. 
 
 " To a woman, nothing on earth is stranger, sillier, 
 more inexplicable and incomprehensible than a man 
 priding himself on the thoughts of women whose 
 hearts he has won. I remember in Italy once, an 
 Italian said to mamma of a famous Italian, ' Every 
 woman he loved always loved him. He has had 
 great success ! ' His voice was full of nai've envy. I 
 remember the feeling his words gave me. Insuffer- 
 able idea ! Great success ! Yet I believe that men 
 find equally unintelligible the fact that women are 
 vain of men's scalps." 
 
 Outside the windows were the bare, black trees of 
 some gardens, motionless in the heavy air. In the 
 heart of the great city they had some wild quality as of 
 plains and forests. There was an atmospheric illusion, 
 too, out there. Lights were veiled by mists into far 
 distance. . . . Far across the gardens Paris glimmered 
 dimly through trees. . . . Theodora thought of vil- 
 lages, dreamy and remote, seen vaguely across great 
 stretches of unknown country at dusk. 
 
 Suddenly George turned to her and found her 
 hand. 
 
 "Dearest," he said, steadily, holding it in his, 
 " why are we talking like this ? . . . Why am I 
 saying things to you I don't in the least mean ? . . . 
 And you why are " 
 
 " I don't know," said Theodora, faintly. 
 
 But she was glad her hand was in his. They were 
 close together after all. Nightmares had surrounded 
 her. Half an hour ago she was begging her mother 
 for money. Ten minutes ago she was being warned 
 against the danger of keeping secrets from George. 
 And now she was here alone with him. She sighed, 
 and slowly, gently let her head droop sideways till it 
 rested on his shoulder. " George ! " 
 
 Her voice was struggling for composure. 
 
 "Yes, dearest. . . . Ah, for pity's sake don't
 
 ii8 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 hesitate. . . . Tell me ... what is it you are going 
 to tell me, Theodora ? " 
 
 " I am glad you are here." 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 He could not repel that. 
 
 But he wanted so much more. He had fancied 
 she was going to speak of Marcel. And that was 
 what his whole brain and being demanded, that she 
 should broach that subject to him now. 
 
 It was dark in the car, and he slipped his arm 
 around her. 
 
 " You belong to me, dearest," he said. 
 
 Theodora had closed her eyes and was listening 
 just to the sound of his voice. It lulled her. There 
 was a quality in it that thrilled her the deep male 
 note that all her femininity responded to sweetly. 
 As he talked she said to herself softly, " George's 
 voice ! " Her lips curved. This was Heaven here in 
 the car, with the great world so near them, yet 
 removed into an eternity of distance. This Paradise 
 was partly a dream, and dreamland must be all one's 
 own country. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp and her demands for money. 
 . . . Marcel and his grievous trouble over old Ivan's 
 illness ... his second letter in her pocket, imploring 
 her to come and see what she could do ... the 
 Princess and her anger . . . the cheques . . . the letter 
 in Mrs. Packinthorp's possession ... all vanished. . . 
 they took on a ghost-like strain ... they had nothing 
 to do with her, and this. 
 
 " You belong to me," George was saying. " Some- 
 times I think you care almost as much as I do ... 
 then sometimes I don't know. . . . Sometimes I'm 
 afraid. . . . You're so young and I'm so middle-aged. 
 ... I can't see how you really can. . . . ' 
 
 She made no answer. Her eyes were closed. 
 The white lids shut out the softness in those violet 
 depths. She was very still there, with her cheek on 
 George's shoulder.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 119 
 
 " But you do," breathed George. 
 
 He held her a little closer. 
 
 " I know you do," he added. 
 
 He turned his head, and it seemed as if her face 
 lifted itself a little. . . . ; Their lips met. . . . The 
 kiss was long. ... It wiped out hours of wretched- 
 ness, and made the terrible tangle of life that we 
 must all face grow clearer and happily blossoming 
 as a garden in spring. With George's head bent over 
 her, his lips on hers, and his arm round her, she had 
 her first clear vision of the tremendous depth of love 
 that had been slowly waking in her heart all these 
 months. 
 
 George had fought and conquered his inclination 
 to speak to her about that letter. 
 
 " All that I really care about in the world," said 
 he, "is you. But because I have got you, every- 
 thing else in the world seems to have doubled its 
 value. It's magic. . . . My only fear is that I may 
 fail in wisdom . , . that I may not know quite the 
 best thing to do always for you. . . . You see, I want 
 so to shield you and guard you and give you the 
 best happiness life can offer. . . . For life was meant 
 for happiness no matter what the poets say and 
 the women," he added with a little laugh, and his 
 cheek against hers. 
 
 The tall iron gates swung back as the car arrived 
 at its destination, and Theodora stepped out into the 
 foggy gloom of the November evening. She went 
 quickly up the steps into the brilliantly lighted hall, 
 past the servants, towards her boudoir. Sir George 
 followed more leisurely. Theodora threw her sables 
 on to a chair and went over to the blazing fire. 
 
 She was happier that night than she had been for 
 days. She felt once more her husband's all-powerful 
 love for her, and rejoiced in it. Somehow she felt 
 no one could harm her while he was by to protect 
 and guard her. As he entered the room she turned 
 her head, and the firelight caught the delicate profile
 
 120 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 and the glints of her lovely hair as she knelt before 
 the fire. 
 
 " Are you going to dress now, dearest ? " he asked. 
 
 " No, not for ten minutes yet," she cried brightly. 
 " Let us sit by the fire." 
 
 He threw himself down in a low-cushioned chair 
 and leant forward, and taking her hand in his, drew 
 her gently toward him until her head rested against 
 his knee. 
 
 A little sigh of content escaped her. 
 
 " What does that mean ? " he asked softly. 
 
 " I am so happy." 
 
 For some moments they sat in silence, watching 
 the blue and gold flames curling round the blazing 
 logs. 
 
 George broke the silence at last. 
 
 " I shall be busy next week." 
 
 " The aeroplane ? " she asked smilingly. 
 
 "Yes. So much depends on these trials, you 
 know. It is anxious work. The great public has 
 its eye on us now to such an extent that one feels 
 the tremendous responsibility almost a national affair 
 it has become." 
 
 " Yes," she said softly. 
 
 " I am going up with Marcel next week," he went 
 on. " You see, to place yourself in the demonstration 
 is an experience that might give a nervous system a 
 severe shock. It might make him quite helpless, in 
 fact. But I have no nerves never had of that 
 kind. Too much mountain climbing all over the 
 globe. So it is decided I shall accompany him in 
 the aeroplane." 
 
 " Is it quite safe ? " asked Theodora, anxiously. 
 
 " Quite, of course ! How strange it all seems, 
 doesn't it ? ... Such results to have sprung from 
 so casual a meeting. Why, think, if I had not spoken 
 in the train through sheer boredom to a dark and 
 intelligent-looking boy whom chance had placed near 
 me, one of the greatest inventors the world has ever
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 121 
 
 known would probably have been lost. Yes, the 
 Fates play many strange pranks with us. But for 
 them I should never have opened a conversation that 
 day when we stopped for so long at what was the 
 name of the place- 
 
 " Asti," said Theodora. 
 
 The word slipped from her. 
 
 She bit her lip. 
 
 In a second she realised what she had done ! 
 
 " How did you know ? " he asked in amazement. 
 
 " I suppose you told me," she answered, with an 
 attempt at self-possession. 
 
 " But I have never mentioned it ! Indeed, I never 
 could remember the name myself have never been 
 able to recall it. The results so far overshadowed 
 the circumstances that I had quite forgotten the stupid 
 little place ! " 
 
 "Oh, I am sure you must have told me," she 
 answered vaguely. " I could not know otherwise. 
 But it is time to dress," she cried, jumping up. " I 
 must fly." 
 
 He looked at her. 
 
 Was she acting ? Only one person could have 
 told her that name ! At that moment, as though 
 summoned there by George's thought, the door 
 opened and Marcel Fleur entered. 
 
 Sir George started, and with difficulty hid his 
 annoyance as Theodora went forward hastily to meet 
 the new-comer. 
 
 " I thought I would ask you to be so good as to 
 let me drive to the Duke's with you to-night," said 
 Marcel ; " but I am early, I see." 
 
 He was excited, face pale, eyes burning. 
 
 " Yes, we are just going to dress. Well, I must 
 be off, Theodora," said George, hardly looking at them 
 as he left the room. 
 
 " I will wait, if I may," said Marcel, looking at 
 Theodora steadily. 
 
 ' Do "
 
 122 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 The door closed on Sir George. 
 
 Marcel's dark face underwent a sudden trans- 
 formation. Anxiety, fear, anger, passion, chased 
 themselves over his features. His narrow, gleaming 
 eyes fixed her in a relentless stare. 
 
 "You must come," he cried, quivering with sup- 
 pressed passion. " Only you can calm him. Ivan is 
 worse ! I am ruined if he dies. Mon Dieu ! But 
 I am ruined even while he lives. He will not 
 speak, and when he does he cries our secret aloud 
 to the world, and laughs in his delirium. Sacre 
 bleu, let him die!" he almost screamed, "so long as 
 for a few short hours he may recover consciousness 
 and save me. These trials which come on next 
 week ..." 
 
 He grasped her wrist, his strong fingers bruising 
 the delicate skin. 
 
 " I cannot direct them alone. Only he can manage 
 all the details ! Come. You must, you shall ! " he 
 cried, dragging her towards the door, his voice 
 suffocated with emotion and rage. 
 
 " You are mad ! " she said. 
 
 She wrenched her arm free. Her presence of mind 
 did not desert her. 
 
 " You are mad," she repeated quietly and firmly, 
 looking at him. "You know I cannot do so 
 now." 
 
 " You " he burst forth, furiously. 
 
 She held up her hand imperiously. 
 
 "Be silent," she said, "and listen. I cannot go 
 with you now. What do you think ? You must be 
 stark, staring mad. If I did, George would be certain 
 to follow. Surely you see that. Of course he would. 
 Come ... be calm ... be reasonable." 
 
 She put her hand on his arm to soothe him. He 
 stared at her. She hardly knew if he understood 
 what she was saying, so wild were his eyes. 
 
 " Help me," he said piteously. 
 
 " Yes, yes. I am going to help you. . . ."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 123 
 
 " Then you will come ? " 
 
 "Yes, I will come. To-night is impossible, but 
 to-morrow." 
 
 She wrenched herself away at last and flew upstairs 
 to dress. It was very late. Her maid was waiting. 
 A long black empire evening garment was lying 
 ready on the bed, with little black satin shoes near 
 it. But, late as it was, she merely looked into her 
 room, stared at the things, and disappeared. 
 
 "What on earth has happened to madame ?" said 
 the maid, overcome with fear that madame would be 
 very, very late for this dinner to-night if she did not 
 begin her preparations soon. 
 
 Theodora had gone in search of George. She did 
 not mean to. She had every intention of dressing. 
 She knew she was late. 
 
 But something stronger than herself was dragging 
 her to her husband. 
 
 She knocked at his dressing-room door. 
 
 " It's I, Theodora ! Can I come in ? " 
 
 She saw at once that a change had come over 
 him. His face was different ; he scarcely looked like 
 the same man. It was hard and cold, and the kind- 
 ness in the steel-grey eyes had receded into an 
 infinite distance or disappeared altogether. 
 
 " Do you want me ? " he asked quietly. 
 
 And then she realised that she had not the 
 slightest idea what she had come for. 
 
 " Yes," she said stupidly. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 She was afraid of him. This George was some 
 one she had never met before. 
 
 But, after all, he was George ; and only half an 
 hour ago they had been together in the wonderful 
 isolation of the big white car, with the gleaming 
 lights of Paris round them, and the crowds outside, 
 and the black trees ; and his arm had held her, and 
 his voice had whispered the things that she must
 
 124 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 remember . . . now at this moment she must recall 
 them ; she must not be afraid. 
 
 " I came to ask you not to be angry with me," 
 she said childishly. 
 
 " Why should I be angry with you ? " said George. 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Are there reasons ? " said George. " What have 
 you been doing that you should think I could be 
 angry ? " 
 
 " I thought you were angry because Marcel had 
 come." 
 
 " Marcel ! When did you learn to call him 
 Marcel ? " he said quietly.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 MRS. PACKINTHORP had left Monte Carlo the 
 preceding day, and had just arrived in Paris, en route 
 for London. But the journey, she had decided, 
 would be delightful if she broke it by staying the 
 night in Paris, and, according to her usual custom 
 when she had money, she was thoroughly enjoying 
 herself. Five thousand pounds all made at the 
 tables ! No longer need she cudgel her brains to get 
 money ; perhaps never again, in fact. This sum 
 could do so much, and she meant that it should. 
 
 In her smart dark-blue cloth tailor-made travelling 
 costume, fitting her to perfection, she was a notice- 
 able figure as she slowly walked down the street, 
 revelling in the store of beautiful and expensive 
 things always to be seen in the Rue de la Paix. It 
 was so delightful to feel that she could go into any 
 shop and buy almost anything. 
 
 A gold pencil-case, the ends studded with 
 diamonds and emeralds, caught her eye, and she 
 walked into the shop and secured the exquisite little 
 toy, and then proceeded in a cab to the office of 
 a fashionable paper for which she was writing. 
 
 The lady editor welcomed her with open arms, 
 for she knew the value of this clever woman, with her 
 exquisite clothes, her strange, fascinating personality, 
 and her handsome pale face. Mrs.^Packinthorp had 
 reasons of her own for keeping in with Mme. de 
 Villiers, and was particularly charming to her, insisting 
 on her accepting her invitation to lunch then and 
 
 125
 
 126 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 there, and presenting her with the little gold pencil- 
 case. 
 
 "But I am in such a hurry," exclaimed Mme. 
 de Villiers, with a charming little French gesture ; 
 " I have only a how do you say it ? a demi- 
 henre ! " 
 
 " Never mind. We will go somewhere quite near, 
 and will be very quick. You must eat, you poor 
 thing," said Mrs. Packinthorp, gaily. "Let us go 
 into that corner restaurant near the Vaudeville." 
 
 She had her way, and together they had one of 
 those delicious little lunches which almost any French 
 restaurant seems able to conjure up to fit one's mood 
 at a moment's notice. 
 
 " You often see Sir George and Lady Allingham, 
 then ? " asked the Frenchwoman, with interest. 
 "Then can you not write me something in your 
 charming style about them ? On parle beaucoup 
 d'eux d ce moment-ci" she said, breaking into her 
 own language. " But they are so interesting. The 
 aeroplane, Sir George, and the beautiful Lady 
 Allingham. Anything will do. Do get me some 
 photographs," she said, laying her hand on the 
 perfectly fitting sleeve of Mrs. Packinthorp's gown. 
 
 "Yes, I think I can manage it," replied Mrs, 
 Packinthorp. 
 
 " Ah ! Cest cJiarmant ! " cried Mme. de Villiers, 
 enthusiastically. 
 
 They separated. Mrs. Packinthorp was soon 
 skimming in a taxi through the long beautiful 
 avenue of trees which line the banks of the Seine, 
 towards her friends' flat. Her visit was unsuccessful, 
 but she did not mind. She determined to take the 
 Mdtro. back into town and go early up to the station. 
 There was not much time, anyway. She walked 
 down the steps to the station, bought her 25-centime 
 first-class ticket, and stood watching the train cross 
 the bridge and come thundering between the tall 
 houses into the station, whence it would go on its
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 127 
 
 mysterious underground way through this Paris which 
 clattered and rushed above it. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp stepped briskly in, as the smart 
 little conductor threw the doors open with an un- 
 intelligible yell which only dimly recalled the name 
 of the station. The long car, with its bright and shiny 
 brass and wood and its warm-coloured red leather 
 covers, looked curiously chic and Parisian. The 
 touch of art nouveau in the panelling, which the 
 French seem unable to resist its dubious charms 
 fascinating even the railway - carriage designers 
 added to the effect. 
 
 As she entered some one bowed to her at the other 
 end of the carriage, and there was Mme. de Villiers ! 
 
 At the same moment she saw, to her surprise, 
 Sir George Allingham, seated alone in one of the 
 little high-backed four-seated divisions. 
 
 He looked at her. 
 
 Their eyes met. 
 
 Not the slightest sign of recognition came into 
 his face. 
 
 In a flash she understood the meaning of his 
 manner. He had cut her. 
 
 She rose to the situation. Mme. de Villiers was 
 watching from down the car. There was no time 
 to lose. With a delighted smile she glided into the 
 seat beside Sir George. 
 
 " Sir George, how charming ! " she cried with a 
 little air of affected surprise. 
 
 George neither moved nor spoke. 
 
 She leaned forward and began to speak im- 
 mediately. Any moment someone might sit next 
 them, or George might leave the train, and her 
 opportunity would be gone. But for the next few 
 moments he was at her mercy. 
 
 " I have been so wanting to see you," she said, 
 " it was so unfortunate about that wretched letter the 
 other day, but I can still hope to get it. Indeed, I 
 am certain that I can."
 
 128 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 She spoke rapidly and quietly, turning her head 
 towards him, and making her voice carry through all 
 the rattle of the train as it swayed down the lighted 
 tunnel and screamed its way along. 
 
 "You see, I had no idea then that it was so 
 important. . . . 
 
 " Of course I should have suspected there was 
 something when I saw Lady Allingham calling 
 on Monsieur Fleur at his hotel one night in Boulogne. 
 But how could I know that she was at one time 
 engaged to him, and that probably this letter was 
 years old ! " 
 
 George, hemmed in at her side, was absolutely 
 expressionless. 
 
 " Of course, that explains everything, and how 
 stupid I have been ! But you mustn't really blame 
 poor me quite so much, dear Sir George, for the 
 absolutely innocent part I played in this little 
 comedy, which I see is ending up quite happily. 
 After all, are you not the lucky man who won the 
 fair lady eventually? How fortunate that things 
 turned out so beautifully ! Dear Lady Allingham, 
 with her delicate artistic tastes, could never have 
 been really happy with Monsieur Fleur, gifted though 
 he undoubtedly is. But without a sou at that time. 
 Whereas you ! " 
 
 She paused. 
 
 Then she added with an air of charming sincerity. 
 " You had everything. There was nothing you could 
 not give her. Love, happiness, and wealth. What 
 a delightful picture ! I know Lady Allingham is like 
 me in many ways. She loves comfort and luxury, 
 and to be surrounded with beautiful things. To 
 some women that is more than half life, almost more 
 than love. And who shall say that they are not right ? 
 Not that I mean to infer that of Lady Allingham. 
 She adores you. Her devotion is perfectly sweet. 
 Ah, here is my station," she said, rising quickly as 
 the train stopped with a jerk at the Place d'Alma.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 " RIDICULOUS ! Absurd ! All lies ! " George kept 
 saying to himself as he made his way home. And 
 then he would hear Mrs. Packinthorp's voice . . . 
 " at his hotel at Boulogne " ..." of course he had 
 not a sou " ..." I did not know they were engaged " 
 . . . and so on. Every word seemed alive. Try as 
 he would he could not get away from them. And he 
 knew that at last he had arrived at a climax of some 
 kind or other. 
 
 He went straight into the blue boudoir, and found 
 Theodora there alone, reading by the fire. 
 
 " I have just come in," she said, looking up. But 
 whatever else she was about to say was frozen on her 
 lips. Something in George's face arrested her first, 
 then terrified her. 
 
 " Theodora, I want to talk to you," he said. His 
 face was white, and his mouth had taken the set line 
 that she knew herself to be afraid of. 
 
 He seated himself beside her on the sofa and 
 looked straight into her eyes. She could not meet 
 his gaze. Her eyelids fell. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake look at me ! " said George. 
 " Don't look down. Look straight at me. Why should 
 you hide your eyes ? What have you got to be afraid 
 of from me ? " 
 
 His voice was almost rough. An unpleasant 
 experience it was to Theodora to know that voice 
 could change so, and the fact that thousands of women 
 through all time had had the same unpleasant sur- 
 prise with their dear ones, held no alleviation. She 
 
 129 K
 
 130 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 was frightened. She dared not look away, but her lips 
 quivered, and her hands clasped themselves in her lap. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " she said. 
 
 "That is what I want to know," said George, 
 " and what I think you ought to let me know." 
 
 His steel-grey eyes held hers cruelly hard, she 
 thought. 
 
 " Are you keeping secrets from me ? " he asked. 
 " No, no ! Don't look away ! Look at me." 
 
 " I am not a child to be spoken to like that," 
 flashed Theodora. 
 
 " Are you not ? I am glad to hear it. It is not 
 a particularly pleasant thing to find childishness the 
 characteristic note in one's wife.'* 
 
 " George ! " Her voice broke. " How can you 
 speak to me like that ? " 
 
 " I have been upset . . . that's why. I scarcely 
 know where I am." 
 
 " Tell me what has happened." 
 
 " I'll begin at the end. The beginning's too 
 unpleasant. Were you ever engaged to Marcel 
 Fleur?" 
 
 He knew the truth at once. 
 
 It was written as plainly in her face as if she had 
 answered " Yes." She stared at him without speaking, 
 seeming incapable of making any reply. 
 
 " So it is true," said George, in a low voice. 
 
 He looked at her, scarcely comprehending that he 
 had so easily come upon the truth. 
 
 " I told you in Venice ... I had a secret . . . 
 and that I couldn't tell you," she said at last. 
 
 " Why couldn't you tell me ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Why should you have kept a secret from me ? 
 Were you ashamed of it ? Where were you engaged 
 to him, and when ? How on earth did it happen ? 
 Where on earth did you meet ? Why on earth was 
 it broken off?" 
 
 " It was long ago," muttered poor Theodora. She
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 131 
 
 was trying vainly to control herself. She made a 
 desperate effort to find words. A careful speech and 
 delicate handling were absolutely necessary at this 
 moment. And here she was speechless, her brain in 
 a whirl. All her thoughts were flying in disorder 
 before George's expression. 
 
 She half rose from the sofa, but George im- 
 mediately leaned towards her, and, catching her arm, 
 pressed her gently back to her seat. 
 
 " Don't move. Can't you see you'll drive me mad 
 if you get up and walk away just now ? " 
 
 " I am hot ... I want a fan." 
 
 He reached over and gave her one that was 
 lying on top of her little galleried table of inlaid 
 marquetry. 
 
 " Now let us get at the bottom of this. No more 
 evasions, and secrets, and mysteries. I am the wrong 
 kind of man to be treated to that sort of thing. And 
 I thought well I thought you were the wrong kind 
 of woman. But tell me the whole story." 
 
 The whole story ! 
 
 She looked at him piteously. " I don't know what 
 to tell you." 
 
 " Tell me the whole story of your engagement to 
 Marcel Fleur." 
 
 It seemed to George that he was doing an in- 
 credible thing in putting together such words as those 
 " Your engagement to Marcel Fleur ! " As 
 they issued from his lips he was struck with a sharp 
 sense of unreality that began with the words and 
 rushed onwards till it attacked himself, and Theodora, 
 and the blue boudoir, and sucked the life out of them, 
 and turned them all into shadows. How could this 
 shadowy girl-woman, here by the boudoir fire, ever 
 have loved any one so far out of the picture as 
 Marcel Fleur? It seemed impossible. For Marcel 
 was no shadow. He had remained outside the pro- 
 cess. George saw him as alive and dangerous, press- 
 ing his vitality painfully on his kind. He was the
 
 1 32 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 only unmistakably real thing that George's mind was 
 capable of focusing just then. 
 
 " When was it ? Where was it ? Come, Theo- 
 dora ! . . . You must see now that the time has 
 arrived when the fool must play his part. I'm the 
 fool ! Let me have my cue." 
 
 " We were engaged in a sort of a way yes it's 
 quite true." 
 
 For a moment George nearly gave way to his 
 desire to cry out : " Tell me no more. I can't bear it." 
 
 " Go on," he said quietly. 
 
 "It was before you knew me. It was all over. 
 We parted ... we said good-bye. . . ." 
 
 " Why did you say good-bye ? " 
 
 "He was so poor 
 
 " You gave him up, then, because he was poor ? " 
 
 " That is not true." 
 
 " What is the truth ? Why did you give him 
 up?" 
 
 " I didn't. It was he who gave me up." 
 
 " Why did he give you up ? " 
 
 ' ' Because he was so poor." 
 
 "Was that a reason, then, between two who 
 loved?" 
 
 " It was to him." 
 
 " And not to you ? " 
 
 "No ... not to me." 
 
 " Then you wished not to give him up ? " 
 
 She made no answer. 
 
 " I must ask you to answer me," said George. 
 
 " I did not wish to give him up." 
 
 He took a cigarette from his case and lit it. It 
 went out, and he did not notice. "He insisted. He 
 gave you up. What then ? " 
 
 " He went away." 
 
 " What did you do ? " 
 
 "I I did nothing." The fan had fallen into 
 her lap. She was cold now. Was he going to con- 
 tinue this examination on and on ... till he reached
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 133 
 
 his own entrance into the story ? . . . On and on ... 
 till he came to that day at Boulogne ? 
 
 ' You met no more ? " 
 
 'No." 
 
 ' When did you see him next ? " 
 
 ' A long time after," she answered low. 
 
 ' Before your marriage ? " 
 
 'Yes." 
 
 'Where?" 
 
 'In France." 
 
 ' Was it in Boulogne ? " 
 - 'Yes." 
 
 'Did you go to see him at the Hotel de 1'Uni- 
 vers ? " The appalling cruelty of the question struck 
 him the instant he had asked it. It was too poisoned, 
 too pointed, too direct. He would have drawn the 
 arrow back. But it had gone. He watched it. He 
 was perfectly calm. He saw it wing across to Theo- 
 dora and strike her straight in the heart. It was 
 simply impossible for him to look at her at that 
 moment. 
 
 "Yes. It is quite true that I went to see him 
 at his hotel." 
 
 He was astounded to find that she was capable of 
 speech. 
 
 " I do not like the way you are speaking to me," 
 she said in a changed tone. " It is quite true that I 
 went to see Marcel Fleur at his hotel. But that is no 
 reason why you should speak to me in such a tone as 
 you allowed yourself to use just now." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! Do you consider this a time 
 for tones ! I am asking you questions of the most 
 vital importance to me. I can't think about the tone 
 of my voice." 
 " I must ask you to do so," said Theodora. 
 
 She knew no more, now, whether she was hot or 
 cold. She was as unconscious of it as George of his 
 gone-out cigarette. 
 
 " Who has been telling you this ? " she asked.
 
 134 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " That really is beside the matter," said George. 
 " It is ourselves we are concerned with." 
 
 " And you let them ! You listened ! " she said 
 vehemently. " Oh, I never dreamed that you could 
 do such a thing as that ! " The scorn in her voice 
 and eyes filled George with amazement. " I would 
 have died rather than have listened to anything any- 
 one said of you!" she went on. "If they had told 
 me the most dreadful stories, the most awful things 
 about you, I would not have listened. I would 
 have" she could scarcely speak in her agitation 
 " I would have killed them," she burst out, clenching 
 her little white hands, while her face, with all the 
 terror gone out of it now, stared proudly into his. 
 "Yes, I would have killed anyone who dragged up 
 things out of your past and came to me with them. 
 But nobody would! People know better than to 
 come to women when they have got cruel stories to 
 tell. It's men they go to always men. Men are so 
 ready to listen, I suppose. Even you you listened." 
 
 " I had to listen ! " 
 
 George had a vision of himself and Mrs. Packin- 
 thorp in the Metro. Never had a man been so at the 
 mercy of a scandal-maker as he, hemmed in there by 
 that woman ! 
 
 " No, no ! There's no such thing as ' had to ' ! 
 Wherever you were you could have gone away, or 
 if you couldn't have moved you could have put your 
 fingers in your ears and shouted at the top of your 
 voice so that you could not hear. And if they 
 dragged your hands down from your ears you could 
 have got them by the throat and choked them." 
 
 The attack had completely changed. The invader 
 was now the invaded. It was George who defended 
 himself. 
 
 " I did more than listen," he said angrily ; " I 
 read." 
 
 Theodora laughed. " They always read ! " she 
 tossed out scornfully. "When they can't read any-
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 135 
 
 thing else they read letters. I would rather die than 
 read a letter that wasn't meant for me." 
 
 " So you admit then that that letter was for you ?" 
 
 " What letter ? " 
 
 "The torn letter in which M. Fleur invited you 
 to come and see him, and spoke of some secret you 
 shared in common." 
 
 As George said the word " torn " it flashed across 
 Theodora that, although he had read the letter as 
 she had already guessed he had not read it all, and 
 he had not discovered what the secret was. It showed 
 to what a tremendous extent her loyalty was involved 
 that she could feel glad even now, at this tense and 
 critical moment, that the secret of the aeroplane and 
 its inventors was still preserved. 
 
 "What else did your informers tell you?" she 
 asked bitterly. 
 
 " I come to you for information," said George, 
 steadily. " Heroics are out of the question here. We 
 have got to tell each other the truth. I should like 
 to know why you met M. Fleur again in Boulogne. 
 Did you ask him to come ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " Was it before or after you were engaged to me 
 that he came ? " 
 
 "After." 
 
 " Then it was after you were engaged to me that 
 you went to see him at his hotel ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was after." 
 
 " How soon after ? " said George, doggedly. 
 
 She could have answered, " I don't remember," 
 but she would not. Some sharp emotion had been 
 roused in her. It was half-anger, half a sense of 
 being injured. The whole result was an immense 
 longing for just the plain truth. 
 
 "If you want to know exactly when it was, it was 
 the night after after the Ramparts." 
 
 " But I came to see you that night." 
 
 " I know."
 
 136 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 "Then it was before I arrived. I remember, it 
 was about nine o'clock when I got to the Pension 
 DucreV' 
 
 " Yes ; it was just before you came. I had just 
 been and come back." 
 
 " Why had you gone ? " asked George. 
 
 "To see Marcel. But why should I explain to 
 you ? " she burst out. " He wasn't there. I didn't 
 see him. That's all that matters." 
 
 She could have no idea from George's face what 
 it meant to him when she said angrily, " He was not 
 there ; I did not see him." 
 
 Everything was returning to him now ... he saw 
 her coming towards him down the blue-lit garden of 
 the Pension . . . she rushed towards him . . . she 
 threw herself into his arms ... "I should have died 
 if you hadn't come." . . . And then ..." Marry me 
 soon and take me away from all this." 
 
 So it was grief that had sent her into his arms. 
 Marcel had gone. She was heart-broken. . . . He 
 pieced that much of the story together. 
 
 " Please tell me, why did he come to Boulogne ? " 
 
 " To see me." 
 
 " Then why did he go away ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Did you send him away ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " If you did not send him away, why did he go ? " 
 
 And quickly on top of that he asked the supreme 
 question : " Why did you not send him away ? " 
 
 " I couldn't," said Theodora. 
 
 Let the truth come now. She was not going to 
 lift her little finger to delay it. The sooner George 
 knew all, the better. The Princess had said, " Tell 
 George all ! " How little she had dreamed of the 
 manner in which George would drag the truth from 
 her ! How far she was from realising that such a 
 scene as this could be enacted between these two 
 people who she believed loved each other !
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 137 
 
 " I couldn't send him away because I wanted him 
 to stay." 
 
 " You mean you cared for him ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Not for me ? " 
 
 Poor George ! His forty years fell off him and 
 left him pitiful as a little child. 
 
 " George, this is impossible ! " cried Theodora, 
 suddenly. " You must ask nothing more. I won't I 
 can't answer. We're torturing each other to death." 
 
 "Answer me one thing. Did you, or did you 
 not, care a hang about me when you married me ? " 
 
 Oh, how glad she was that he put it like that! 
 Of course, she had "cared a hang." There was her 
 loophole, and she rushed at it. 
 
 " I should not have married you if I had not." 
 
 "Would you have married me if I had been 
 without a sou ? " 
 
 No man asks that question unless he is quite 
 certain of the answer. Before he puts it he knows 
 definitely that the reply is yes, or no, as the case 
 may be. He goes not out into the slippery dark 
 with a problem like that in his brain, and it is all 
 decided before he speaks. The sharp edge must 
 be gone before he ventures. And George was no 
 exception. He knew the answer while he asked the 
 question. 
 
 "I am sorry you asked me ... I'm not going 
 to lie ... I did think about money ... I did think 
 about your money ... we were poor, mamma and 
 I ... you were rich . . ." 
 
 She could not get on. A tremendous wave of 
 feeling, the deepest she had ever known in all her 
 life, broke over her suddenly, and she rushed to 
 George and flung her arms round him. 
 
 " George, George . . . don't look like that ! That 
 was all long ago. And I love you now ... oh, I 
 love you dearly now, George . . . don't you know it ? " 
 
 " Who knows anything?" George answered coldly, 
 not touching her.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 IT was long past midnight, and George and Theodora 
 had just come in from a reception at the Embassy. 
 The Princess, who was staying a few days with her 
 daughter, had driven home with them, so the em- 
 barrassment of a tete-d-tete had been avoided, but 
 she had gone straight to her own rooms on entering 
 the house, pleading her great fatigue and asking to 
 be excused from joining them by the fire in the 
 library, where their custom was to have refreshments 
 served when they came in late from parties ; and 
 now the husband and wife were alone. 
 
 " I should like just a glass of iced water," said 
 Theodora, coming over to the little round table near 
 the fire, spread with wine and liqueurs and cold 
 chicken and sandwiches. 
 
 To-night she was all in white, and nothing suited 
 her better. Here in the intimacy of the library, with 
 her wraps thrown off, and her warm hair and white 
 arms and shoulders gleaming in the fire-light, she 
 again reminded George of Tintoretto's Eve. He 
 tried not to look at her, but that was impossible. 
 Her loveliness caught his glance and kept it, how- 
 ever unwillingly. She held out the glass for more 
 water. It was almost the very gesture of that fair 
 Venetian Eve in the Accademia, holding the apple 
 towards Adam, who sits watching her spellbound, 
 speechless before her beauty as well as her audacity. 
 
 Slowly she drank the water, staring into the fire, 
 but knowing quite well that George was watching her. 
 
 He was seated in a big armchair near the fire, 
 138
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 139 
 
 and Theodora, without looking at him, felt her heart 
 swell with pleasure at his nearness and their alone- 
 ness. It was the first time they had been alone since 
 that painful scene in the afternoon. The arrival 
 of the Princess had occupied Theodora completely 
 for some time afterwards, and then one thing and 
 another had intervened, and they had spoken no 
 more together. And now ? t Were they going to 
 continue that subject ? Was it to be reopened and 
 further held up to the light ? Or was it to be 
 for ever banned between them and buried where it 
 belonged, in the rather bitter past ? 
 
 George sat silent, smoking a homely pipe, and 
 Theodora presently, without turning her head, peeped 
 at him. 
 
 And then, as she looked, and let her gaze slowly 
 rest wholly on him, there was something about the 
 way he smoked that appealed strangely to her sense 
 of pity. The firelight played about his fair, clean- 
 shaven face, with its message of absolute honesty 
 that no one could ever fail to read, even at first 
 glance, and showed him tired to-night. He looked 
 almost forlorn, clinging to his pipe as to his only 
 friend, and as she watched she saw that he had 
 been deeply and cruelly hurt. All the old light- 
 heartedness had gone out of his eyes. A cloud had 
 come down and crushed back the buoyant youthful- 
 ness that had characterised him ever since that after- 
 noon on the Ramparts when he first held Theodora 
 in his arms. He was not morose, not angry-looking. 
 It was something more than that. He looked as if 
 the well-spring of his happiness had suddenly been 
 tampered with, and do what he would he could not 
 disguise the change. 
 
 " George ! " 
 
 She rose suddenly and glided towards him. 
 
 Down on her knees by his chair she went, throw- 
 ing her arms round his neck and letting her cheek 
 rest against his breast.
 
 140 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Oh, we can't, we mustn't quarrel," she murmured. 
 
 " Are we doing so ? " said George, coldly. " I 
 thought we had neither of us spoken a word for 
 several moments." 
 
 " Oh, George, George ! You are angry with me. 
 You almost hate me." 
 
 But in spite of her assertion she still clung to 
 him, her white, silken drapery sweeping round her 
 on the floor, and her red-gold hair in a cloud on his 
 breast. 
 
 "I can't bear it if you are not going to make 
 friends with me," she went on quickly. " I know I 
 deserve to be punished. Nobody ever deserved it 
 more ; and yet oh ! George, try to listen to what 
 I am saying. Try to understand ! My reason for 
 never telling you that I knew Marcel before and that 
 we were engaged once was not a mean one not a 
 culpable one. It was simply idiotically childish 
 idiotically puerile impossibly childish it seems to 
 me now. It was just this. I could not bear to speak 
 of Marcel. The whole affair had hurt me too much, 
 and was too recent a smart to be opened before any 
 eye even yours. And then I hadn't the slightest 
 idea that you knew him. I never dreamed for one 
 moment that our lives were going to be all inter- 
 mingled later on. I thought he was passing out 
 of my life for ever. I determined to look upon 
 the whole episode as something that was irrevocably 
 finished. That seemed the only way. And so 
 well that is my explanation of why I kept it all 
 a secret from you." 
 
 She paused. " Had I known that you and Marcel 
 were intimate, I should have told you all about it." 
 
 " You knew it in Venice," said George, quietly ; 
 " why did you not tell me then ? " 
 
 That was difficult to answer. 
 
 She confronted the question. She was over- 
 whelmed at her enormous folly in not having done 
 so. Why, indeed, had she not told him then ? In
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 141 
 
 the light of all these later developments, it seemed 
 to her now that it would have been the easiest 
 thing in the world to have said to him on that well- 
 remembered day in Venice when he had first spoken 
 about Marcel to her, " I was once engaged to him." 
 
 But, then, looking desperately hard into the 
 matter, in her efforts to disentangle the motives and 
 plead her case forcibly with her husband, she caught 
 a glimmer of the truth. It was because her love for 
 George was waking that she did not wish to drag 
 Marcel and that old story forward where it might 
 come between them. 
 
 " Will you tell me one thing ? " said George, when 
 she did not answer his question. " Will you tell me 
 what your present feeling is for Monsieur Fleur ? " 
 
 " My present feeling ! " She started, and, lifting 
 her head, looked at him. The violet eyes under the 
 curly black lashes were full of confusion. " I have no 
 feeling," she said hastily. " None at all." 
 
 " Is not that curious ? " said George, coldly. 
 
 " Or, if I have " she cried, carried away by her 
 emotion "it is a feeling that I would rather not 
 speak of. I am not proud of it. On the contrary, I 
 heartily despise myself for allowing such an emotion 
 to master me ; but the truth is, George I had better 
 tell you I hate Marcel I despise him." She threw 
 into her voice a note of passionate vehemence. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you say that," said George. 
 
 " George, why are you speaking in that hateful, 
 sarcastic voice ? It is quite true. I do hate and 
 despise him. Why shouldn't I say so ? " 
 
 To herself she was thinking, " If you knew what 
 good reason I have for my scorn of your wonder- 
 ful aeronaut, you would not sit there looking so 
 cold and satirical you would be angry indignant. 
 Heaven alone knows what storm of wrath would 
 break out in you if you knew the truth as I know 
 it about Marcel and his inventions " 
 
 " No doubt you have reasons," said George ; " but
 
 142 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 as you do not honour me with your confidences, I 
 prefer not to guess at them." 
 
 " Ah ! George, George ! " All the woman in her 
 was roused now, and the colder and quieter he was 
 the more she was determined to break through this 
 mask of chilling politeness and come on the old 
 George who cared for her. She rose from her knees 
 and seated herself on the arm of his chair. Bending 
 towards him, she put her arms round his neck and 
 laid her cheek against his. 
 
 " There is only one thing that really matters," she 
 said, "and that is that we understand each other. 
 Listen." One little white hand came down on his 
 hair softly. " Have I or have I not made you believe, 
 George, that" her words sank to a low whisper 
 " I love you beyond all words it cannot be told ? 
 What I felt for Marcel was simply the blind hysteria 
 of a schoolgirl. But you you have me wholly and 
 truly I more than love you, I respect and worship 
 you with every fibre of my being and every ideal 
 of my spirit. Surely you believe me why, it must 
 be evident to you and every one, I should think. In 
 fact " her voice went still lower " I am ashamed of 
 myself sometimes for caring for you so ridiculously 
 much. I almost wish that we were poor that we 
 hadn't a penny that we lived alone on a desert 
 island, or something like that," with a little laugh, 
 " so that I could prove to you what it means for me 
 to be always with you. It is happiness it is joy 
 it is life itself, George, being with you." 
 
 No man could have listened to that appeal un- 
 moved. George's arms went round her in spite of 
 himself and drew her close. 
 
 " Is it true ? Is it absolutely, entirely true ? " he 
 whispered. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She nodded her head, and her arms clung still 
 closer round his neck. 
 
 "So true," she whispered, "that I wish you had
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 143 
 
 been penniless like Marcel and I had married you 
 then." 
 
 There was silence in the library. The red fire, 
 dying down low, cast scarlet and bronze light on the 
 back of the books that lined the walls towards the 
 ceiling. The clock struck one. In the dead still- 
 ness came from outside a faint hum of traffic 
 carriages, fiacres, motors whirling home with their 
 gay worldlings. 
 
 " But it is true, isn't it," said George, " that you 
 married me without loving me ? I suppose there is 
 no mistake about that, is there ? " 
 
 He felt her cheek grow hot against his. 
 
 " I was too foolish that is the truth, and so I 
 did not say to myself, when I married you, ' I love 
 George, but I did without knowing it, I did." 
 
 " Then if you care for me now, give me the proof," 
 said George. 
 
 "What proof? " she cried gladly. 
 
 He put his hand under her chin and lifted her 
 head and looked straight into her eyes. " Clear up 
 all this mystery," he said. "Explain that letter of 
 Marcel's to you. Tell me straight out, without any 
 further concealments and doubtfulnesses, why he was 
 writing to you to come to him. What was his mean- 
 ing when he alluded in that letter to ' our secret ' 
 yours and his ? " 
 
 As he watched her he saw, to his horror, that all 
 the colour faded out of her cheeks, leaving her as 
 white as death. She drew a sharp breath, and her 
 eyelashes came down on her cheeks. She shivered, 
 and then she crept close and clung to him " Don't 
 don't ask me that, George." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I can't tell you." 
 
 " You can't tell me ! " he repeated. " What does 
 that mean ? " 
 
 " It isn't my secret. If it were my secret," she 
 said piteously, " but it isn't."
 
 144 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Do you know what it is ? " asked George. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " It is a secret, then, that you share with Marcel ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I see. You share it with Marcel you refuse to 
 share it with me ? " 
 
 Suddenly his cold tone changed, and he began to 
 plead with her, for he realised that this was a critical 
 moment in the lives of both, and that no half measures 
 would suffice. 
 
 " Dearest, I am going to do my very best to 
 understand," he said tenderly, " but you are terribly 
 puzzling. I am absolutely in the dark. You are my 
 wife, and we care for each other, let us say. How is 
 it possible for me to endure the fact that you keep 
 things secret from me, and share them confidentially 
 with a man you once loved, refusing me your confid- 
 ence entirely ? What on earth do you think I am 
 made of, that I can see a letter like that one in Mrs. 
 Packinthorp's possession without being maddened ? 
 Come, dearest," said George, " break through it all, 
 make the effort for my sake, be candid and sincere 
 with me. What right has Marcel to write to you 
 like that ? How dare he say to you, ' Come to me ' ? 
 What does he mean by ' the secret way ' ? and who 
 is Ivan ? " 
 
 She held her breath. 
 
 " Answer me," said George. " Trust me now and 
 tell me everything. I refuse to say to you it is your 
 duty. I simply say to you, do it if you love me as 
 you say you do." 
 
 She burst into tears, but remained firm. 
 
 As that pleading voice ran on in her ear she 
 longed desperately to cast everything aside and tell 
 him the story of Marcel and Ivan. A fierce struggle 
 went on in her breast, but never for a moment was 
 the issue in doubt. She would die. She would suffer 
 tortures. But she would not betray Marcel Fleur's 
 secret.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 145 
 
 " Do you see what is in front of us if you do not 
 give way to me now?" said George, after a time. 
 " I tell you frankly, as far as I am concerned, it is 
 inevitable that an estrangement begins between us. 
 I am a man a man and a human being, and whether 
 I am right or not, I know myself too well to pretend 
 that I can go on living with you day after day, year 
 after year, caring for you as I have done, while you 
 refuse to tell me something that obviously" he 
 paused and he repeated the word emphatically 
 " obviously I ought to know." 
 
 " Can't you trust me ? " breathed Theodora. 
 
 " It isn't a question of trusting you. It is a 
 question of your trusting me. Why can't you trust 
 me ? Why can't you tell me this ? Why can't you 
 tell me all ? " 
 
 He had thrown his pride aside again and was 
 pleading with her once more. " Trust me, tell me, 
 dearest," he whispered. " You know very well that I 
 am safe where anything needs to be kept secret. I 
 can say that much of myself at any rate," with a rue- 
 ful laugh, " though I don't seem to be a great success 
 at other things." 
 
 " I can't tell you," was all she could say. 
 
 Is it because you have promised not to ? " asked 
 George at last. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You have promised Marcel Fleur ; is that what 
 you mean ? " 
 
 " I can't say whom I have promised," came the 
 answer. 
 
 "And is that your final decision in spite of all 
 we have said to-night ? In spite of your assurances 
 that you care for me is it possible that you are able 
 and willing to allow the matter to end like this ? " 
 
 " I can't help it," said Theodora, dolefully. 
 
 " Then you must take the consequences," said 
 George, rising. " It is you not I who are respon- 
 sible if things go wrong in our lives together." 
 
 L
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 MRS. PACKINTHORP breathed a deep sigh of content 
 as the boat train steamed slowly into Charing Cross 
 and came to a standstill in the dingy station. The 
 long line of porters, each eager for the most profit- 
 able passenger, dashed at the carriage doors, and 
 she stepped quickly out of her first-class carriage. 
 The long journey from Monte Carlo the day before 
 had not tired her in the least ; she had been far 
 too happy for fatigue, and as usual she was smart 
 and chic in the extreme, even though she had been 
 travelling for hours. Her admirably cut gown of 
 dark-blue serge and her trim little beaver hat were 
 eminently suitable for travelling, and to look at her 
 as she stood calmly and smilingly giving her orders 
 to the porter, one could not help noticing how fresh 
 and well-turned-out she was. She looked well, and 
 she felt well. Coming from Monte Carlo she had 
 been in one long dream, as she sat, clutching her 
 precious little bag. 
 
 She tipped the porter liberally, for she was always 
 good to servants and dependants, feeling perhaps a 
 certain sympathy with them in their struggle for a 
 living, and finding in her own mind some analogy 
 between her hazardous life and their hard one. 
 
 " Tell him to drive to the hotel, please," she said, 
 naming the famous place where she had decided to 
 stay. 
 
 As the cab, burdened with her luggage, slowly 
 made its way out of the station yard, she leant 
 forward and looked into the streets with an amused 
 
 146
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 147 
 
 expression. Oh, it was heavenly to be in town again 
 for a few days! She clutched still tighter, with 
 nervous hands, the little morocco bag, which had 
 never left her for an instant. 
 
 Everything seemed delightful to her. She looked 
 at the brilliantly-lighted streets, the swaying omni- 
 buses overtopped by the great and noisy motor- 
 omnibuses flying along as though they wished to 
 run over the people scurrying across the roads, like 
 huge Juggernaut cars. Her cab passed the sweep 
 of Trafalgar Square and came upon the crowded 
 Hay market with its two theatres disgorging their 
 laughing, hurrying throng. The lines of waiting 
 carriages, the shouts of the attendants hurrying to 
 and fro, searching vainly, blowing shrill calls, and the 
 flying footmen trying to find their masters among 
 the seeking mob of well-dressed people, all thrilled 
 her now. 
 
 To-morrow she promised herself she would go 
 round the shops. There was much that she needed, 
 and she could give herself a free hand for once. She 
 wanted the sense of absolute freedom that London 
 gives more than any other city in the world. 
 
 Paris was a tiny bit too small for her just then. 
 The Allinghams, for instance, and others. . . . She 
 would return there, of course, presently. The cab 
 drew up at the hotel, and she went into the office 
 and asked for a bedroom and sitting-room. 
 
 "No. 208 is a most charming suite, madame," 
 replied the clerk. " It is on the third floor." 
 
 " No ; I wish to be on the first floor." 
 
 She was determined to have a good time for once, 
 and gave her orders en princesse. 
 
 With an apology the clerk offered her another 
 suite on the first floor, and she was shown up to 
 the charming rooms without delay. She felt far too 
 wideawake to go to bed at that hour. " Why should 
 I not go down and get some supper ? " she exclaimed 
 aloud. The idea pleased her. In a few moments
 
 148 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 she had unlocked her boxes and chosen from out 
 their contents a gorgeous Directoire frock of dull 
 gold cloth, with a glittering gold-worked shawl draped 
 over it, and falling to the ground in sinuous folds 
 a Paris triumph from a well-known house, which she 
 had bought and paid for in Nice. 
 
 Throwing over her white shoulders a beautiful 
 cloak of the same glowing shade and lined with 
 ermine, she went down into the hall. She was wearing 
 a long white feather, set far back in her dark hair, 
 its ends sweeping down and emphasising the curve 
 of her long neck. As she sat there quietly watching 
 the rapidly filling hall she listened lazily to two men 
 talking near her. One of them explained, " Ah, that's 
 Rigos, the Mexican. . . . They say he's worth two 
 millions now." 
 
 " Lucky beggar ! " rejoined the other carelessly. 
 
 Two millions ! The words rang in Mrs. Packin- 
 thorp's ears. She looked at the man who was 
 approaching. 
 
 He was very young, twenty-two at the most, and 
 was slight and graceful, with a lazy, attractive walk. 
 He had a handsome face, with brown eyes and black 
 hair, and an expression of extreme sadness. He 
 seated himself at a little table and ordered coffee. 
 
 The two men got up and went into the restaurant. 
 Mrs. Packinthorp watched them as they disappeared. 
 She rose and moved along the hall. A slight accident 
 occurred just then. 
 
 The exquisite gold-worked shawl of her gown, its 
 filmy folds floating in the air as she moved, caught 
 on one of the little tables and swept over a coffee-cup 
 standing on the edge. The coffee streamed over her 
 gown, making an ugly dark stain on the delicate 
 material. She gave a sharp exclamation of dismay. 
 
 " Oh, I'm so sorry ! " a voice exclaimed with a 
 charming foreign accent. " What can I say ? It is 
 all my fault for so carelessly placing my cup at the 
 edge of the table."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 149 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp did not at first look up. She 
 was ruefully examining her gown, ruined beyond all 
 hope ; but after a second she had regained her usual 
 manner. One of her axioms was that it never paid 
 to look angry, especially with men. 
 
 " It is of no consequence whatever, thank you," 
 she said, raising her eyes. Observing the penitent 
 look in his face, she continued sympathetically and 
 charmingly : " It was all the fault of my stupid gown, 
 and it deserves its fate." 
 
 " I shall never forgive myself." 
 
 "Oh, please, don't think any more about it. 
 Really, it doesn't matter. I've got another one ! " 
 she added laughingly. 
 
 She was thinking he looked frightfully unhappy, 
 and was wondering what was the matter with him. 
 It occurred to her that he wanted to talk to some- 
 body. 
 
 " It is too kind of you to put it like that," he said 
 nervously ; "but I feel such a clumsy fool. Bad luck 
 seems to follow me everywhere. I have only just 
 arrived at the hotel, and I am the cause of this 
 accident and give you all this annoyance." 
 
 " What does it matter ? " she said, " since no one 
 saw it happen, and I don't mind ? " 
 
 "Oh, it is of you I am thinking. I don't care 
 who may have seen it. I know no one here," he 
 replied. 
 
 " Don't you ? " said Mrs. Packinthorp. " No, more 
 do I ! Isn't it dull ? " she added, laughing once again 
 sympathetically. 
 
 There was silence for a moment, and she began 
 to move slowly away. He made a step forward. 
 
 " I do wish you would stay and talk to me for 
 five minutes," he said quickly and almost excitedly. 
 " Will you please ? " he added beseechingly. 
 
 She looked at him brightly. "Well, we are two 
 lonely mortals ; why shouldn't I ? " she said suddenly 
 with an air of bonhomie.
 
 150 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Do," he said. " I am so lonely in this desert." 
 
 " Surely it's an oasis," she replied. " Look at the 
 palm-trees and flowers." 
 
 "Yes, and the monkeys I mean waiters," he 
 laughed, catching her mood. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp smiled. " Let us ask one of 
 them to bring you some more coffee," she suggested. 
 
 "No; I don't want any now. I only ordered it 
 to pass the time," he answered with his charming 
 smile. 
 
 As they sat there and talked on ordinary subjects, 
 Mrs. Packinthorp was not blind to the fact that Rigos 
 was staring at her, not rudely, but with quite open 
 admiration. The tall, composed woman, with her 
 striking oval ivory-white face, fascinated him. Her 
 soft voice was so soothing, and she was so amusing, 
 and yet kind and sympathetic, saying a good word 
 for everything and everybody, in spite of her fine 
 criticism and the accuracy of her views, which, 
 curiously, coincided with his own. After a few 
 moments she rose to go. She was not one to spoil 
 a situation. 
 
 "I must be off," she said, " I'm so tired." 
 
 He looked genuinely concerned. 
 
 " Oh, how selfish of me to keep you here talking 
 when you are tired after your long journey ! " 
 
 " Good-night," she said, holding out her hand 
 frankly. 
 
 " Good-night. But may I not call on you to- 
 morrow and introduce myself properly ? " 
 
 "That will be charming," she exclaimed. " Stay, 
 let us be unconventional. Pay your duty call in the 
 morning and come to tea with me. My sitting-room 
 is No. 38." 
 
 He laughed quite gaily. " How delightful ! I 
 will come with pleasure. Good-night, then." His 
 melancholy air had vanished. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp went slowly and gracefully 
 towards the lift. Not until she got into the privacy
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 151 
 
 of her rooms did she laugh softly to herself as she 
 puffed her Russian cigarette and settled down by the 
 fire in an exquisite peignoir to read and think. 
 
 She awoke early. The room was still enveloped 
 in the darkness of a chill December morning. She 
 reached out and touched the button of the light above 
 her bed and saw by her little travelling-clock that 
 it was not quite eight o'clock. For a while she lay 
 thinking. 
 
 To-day was to be a day of luxurious content. 
 She would go out and shop and buy lots of things. 
 The many little luxuries which smart women deem 
 necessities and which she had so often to forego would 
 be hers to-day. Then Count de Rigos would call in 
 the afternoon, and that would all be charming, and 
 then 
 
 But she thought no more. The present was 
 always enough for her. There was so much to do. 
 Life was so interesting if one were really alive and 
 had just won a small fortune at Monte Carlo. She 
 smiled and touched the bell, and ordered her bath 
 and breakfast ; and presently, full of life and energy, 
 she was sitting by the fire looking fresh and radiant, 
 wrapped in a rose-pink kimono, enjoying her ctijeuner 
 and skimming the columns of the Morning Post. 
 
 An hour later, dressed in a tailor-made gown of 
 Austrian blue cloth trimmed with military braiding, 
 and a huge hat covered with ostrich plumes, she 
 sauntered out of the hotel and walked leisurely up 
 the Haymarket. 
 
 It was quite a charming morning for December, 
 and as she strolled along everything seemed wonder- 
 fully delightful. There were so many things she 
 wanted a visit to a famous firm for glimpses at some 
 tailor-made gowns, which she could describe in her 
 articles, was an absolute necessity, and thither she 
 went. After that she went to see some hats. A 
 lovely one of real musquash and roses, with a brim 
 lifted coquettishly on one side, suited her dark
 
 152 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 beauty to perfection, and a velvet toque to match the 
 coat of sapphire velvet she had just bought captured 
 her fancy. She ordered both to be sent to the hotel 
 immediately. Then, hailing a taxicab, she drove to 
 a stationer's in Sloane Street and ordered her gold 
 monogrammed notepaper. 
 
 As she was leaving the shop a delicate little 
 edition of Browning's "The Ring and the Book," 
 bound in soft mauve-coloured leather, caught her eye. 
 "That will do for me to read this afternoon," she 
 said to herself, with a slow smile, as she bought it. 
 She dismissed the cab and strolled down Sloane 
 Street until she reached a curio shop. The window 
 was full of lovely things, and for some moments 
 Mrs. Packinthorp gazed, for once with real and 
 unaffected admiration, at the old silver and china 
 displayed. Suddenly her eyes narrowed. 
 
 " How sweet ! " she said aloud, and went into 
 the shop. 
 
 " I want that little ivory and enamelled crucifix, 
 please," she said. The shopman named an exagger- 
 ated price, but rather to his amazement it was paid 
 without a murmur. An exquisite sketch of Donatello's 
 " St. Francis " perhaps the most ascetic and purely 
 beautiful face in the world of sculptured art com- 
 pleted her purchases. " Really, I feel quite devotional," 
 she murmured to herself. " I wonder what St. Francis 
 did. He certainly looks hungry." 
 
 It was getting late, and hastily calling another 
 cab she was swiftly driven back to the hotel with her 
 purchases, stopping on the way to buy a profusion of 
 pale-pink roses and great Parma violets. 
 
 After lunch she changed her gown for a black one 
 of soft cashmere, almost startling in its simplicity and 
 plainness, and falling in beautiful lines around her 
 slim graceful form. 
 
 She had been able at Monte Carlo to redeem her 
 jewellery and breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped 
 two diamond rings on her fingers.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 153 
 
 About four o'clock a servant came bringing a card 
 to her, saying that the gentleman was below. 
 
 " El Conte di Rigos." 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp was sitting on the lounge in front 
 of the fire. A great bunch of violets carelessly 
 tucked into her gown, filled the room with their 
 fragrance. She laid down the little mauve-bound 
 volume of Browning as the Count entered. 
 
 " You were reading, and I interrupted you," he 
 said with his quick, nervous manner. 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed you have not," she smiled, 
 stretching out her hand and making room for him on 
 the great lounge. " I was only reading something I 
 have read many times before." 
 
 He took up the little book. " Ah, it is Browning," 
 he said with his quaint, soft accent. " Oh, but it is 
 very difficult to understand for me." 
 
 " There is something so spiritual and uplifting in 
 the lines I was reading," murmured Mrs. Packinthorp, 
 who opened the book haphazard and had not the 
 smallest idea what it was about. 
 
 "Tell me about it," he said eagerly. 
 
 " No. Tell me about yourself," she replied gaily. 
 ' Let us live in the present." 
 
 "I? What have I to tell?" Count de Rigos 
 started, as if at his own words. "No, my story is 
 too sad it is not interesting, and it is ugly, too. 
 Oh, talk of beautiful things," he cried impulsively. 
 " Speak of yourself, or at least talk to me. For you 
 love beautiful things," he added, as Mrs. Packinthorp, 
 with a charming smile, held up a white hand as though 
 to ward off his flatteries. " I see you do by your 
 flowers and that lovely little sketch which you place 
 alone on the mantelpiece, where most women crowd 
 their silly photographs and china." He rose and 
 examined it. 
 
 " I always love that St. Francis," she cried with 
 enthusiasm. " Wherever I go I take it. It helps one 
 at least to strive after better things."
 
 154 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " That you should talk of striving for good almost 
 makes me laugh," he said, looking down into her 
 upturned, ivory-tinted face, with its fathomless eyes 
 which looked up so frankly to his. 
 
 " Why ? Must not we all strive ? " 
 
 " Most of us, yes, but you " 
 
 She laughed gaily. " Come, we are getting morbid. 
 Let me give you some tea." The glittering diamond 
 rings flashed in the firelight as her long, shapely 
 hands busied themselves among the teacups. 
 
 Count de Rigos did not answer. He was standing 
 with his back to her looking into the fire. 
 
 " Come," she said, " I am going to be very stern 
 with you. Here is your tea ; you are to drink it and 
 smile and talk to me." 
 
 He turned, and she was surprised to see the 
 change that had come over his dark, fascinating face. 
 It was white and drawn. His lips were pressed 
 together and there were tears in his dark eyes. 
 In one hand he held the little crucifix that Mrs. 
 Packinthorp had bought that morning. He kissed it. 
 
 She laid down the teacup, and rose softly. 
 
 "You have something troubling you," she said, 
 her voice vibrating with sympathy. " Tell me about 
 it." 
 
 He was silent still. 
 
 She touched his arm and motioned him to the 
 lounge. 
 
 For a few minutes they sat in silence. Presently 
 she said softly, " There is so much sorrow in the 
 world, and one meets with it every day, but it always 
 touches some chord in me. My heart goes out to 
 any one suffering. . . . There is so much grief and 
 pain around us ! " 
 
 " There is more remorse," he said quickly and 
 nervously. The word struck Mrs. Packinthorp. Then 
 he had a story to tell. She waited sympathetically, 
 never moving. He seemed to be summoning up his 
 courage, and almost brusquely he said at last
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 155 
 
 " It was long ago in Mexico. There was a girl ! 
 Ah, but she was lovely. Dios ! And I loved her 
 and " 
 
 He was silent again. His voice seemed choked 
 with emotion. 
 
 " She did not love you ? " murmured his companion 
 softly. 
 
 " Ah, but she did once ! " he burst out. 
 
 " And " she leant forward in quick sympathy. 
 
 " She tired of me and " 
 
 "And you cannot forget her. You love her still ! 
 How generous ! " said the soft, low voice. 
 
 " No," he replied in his nonchalant gentle voice, 
 " I killed her !"
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 " I KILLED her," said the Mexican. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp's face did not move a muscle. 
 She gripped the little book she was holding in her 
 hand, but that was the only outlet to her feelings she 
 allowed herself. So he had killed her ! She was 
 sitting on the couch in a delightful pink-walled sitting- 
 room in a fashionable London hotel with a murderer ! 
 The idea seemed for a moment almost humorous. 
 She longed to laugh outright and loudly. Instead, 
 she merely sat silent. 
 
 Her wits did not desert her, however. Like 
 lightning she saw the part best suited to the situation, 
 and played it. 
 
 She turned to De Rigos, her eyes soft with sym- 
 pathy. No words issued from her lips, but everything 
 was in her look. 
 
 De Rigos stared at her and rose. " I ought not 
 to have told you. I have horrified you. You will 
 never speak to me again." 
 
 She shook her head slightly as if to reassure him. 
 
 " Perhaps some day you will let me tell you the 
 whole story. You will not think so hardly of me 
 then," he said. 
 
 " I do not think hardly of you now." He thought 
 her face reminded him of one of Murillo's Madonnas 
 hanging in the gallery of his southern home. " Yes, 
 some day you shall tell me all about it. After all it 
 was a crime passionnel, and I am a woman of the 
 world, and understand," she said, laying her long 
 
 156
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 157 
 
 white hand, with its sparkling diamonds, over his for 
 a second. 
 
 " It is no secret, you know," he added in his slow 
 voice that always seemed to have a touch of hopeless- 
 ness and helplessness in it. " It's quite an old story 
 in our country. My people managed to get me out 
 of it, however." 
 
 "You will come and see me again," said Mrs. 
 Packinthorp. 
 
 " You want me to ? " eagerly, turning quickly 
 towards her. 
 
 She nodded, smiling frankly. 
 
 " Yes, I will. Oh, but you have given me hope. 
 You are my good angel ! " He kissed her hand 
 impulsively. 
 
 Next morning, as she lazily turned over her letters 
 and sat by the fire enjoying her early morning 
 chocolate, with that enjoyment which only buoyant 
 health can give at breakfast time, she found a note 
 among them. It was short and hurriedly written. 
 She turned to the signature, " Ignace de Rigos," and 
 then read it with interest. " I am going away, but I 
 shall return in a few days. I cannot summon up the 
 courage to see you again just yet, after yesterday. 
 Yet somehow I feel that I shall be welcome when I 
 return. Until then, with all my most heartful thanks, 
 au revoir." 
 
 He would have been surprised indeed had he seen 
 the reception of his note. Mrs. Packinthorp laughed. 
 " What a charming little note ! " she exclaimed aloud. 
 " Just the right tone for the situation. Yes, I think 
 I must welcome him on his return. Anyway, it's 
 well worth stopping on for. Thank Heaven, I won 
 that money at Monte. I needn't worry in the least 
 about the wretched bill," she said complacently, 
 looking round at the charming sitting-room. With 
 a few touches in the way of satin cushions, masses 
 of flowers, and pieces of dull gold-worked satin 
 Japanese embroidery thrown carelessly over the
 
 158 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 lounge and armchairs, she had now quite made it 
 her own. 
 
 Three days later, as Mrs. Packinthorp was dressing 
 for a smart dinner given at the Carlton that night, a 
 magnificent bouquet of pale yellow roses was brought 
 her with a note 
 
 " I have returned. Accept these flowers if I am 
 welcome. IGNACE DE RIGOS." 
 
 " How beautiful ! " exclaimed Mrs. Packinthorp, 
 looking at the flowers and thinking of the note. 
 
 That rose dinner and dance were an unqualified 
 success. Everything was a triumph of taste and 
 luxury. Thousands of yellow roses covered the walls 
 and ceilings. The papers had duly chronicled it, 
 saying that the cotillon presents were worth a king's 
 ransom, so an enormous crowd had gathered outside 
 to watch the guests arrive. A famous divine had 
 preached against the waste and extravagance, and 
 nothing was wanting to make it the clou of the winter 
 season. 
 
 And yet Mrs. Packinthorp left early. She had 
 seen De Rigos watching her as she walked across the 
 hall on her way to dinner, and she expected to have 
 a word or two with him that night. She was right in 
 her surmise. 
 
 As she was slowly making her way along the 
 corridor in her sheath-like yellow gown, with the trail 
 of roses encircling her from shoulders to hem, a voice 
 exclaimed quietly, " How beautiful you look ! " 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp started, although she had seen 
 him coming. 
 
 " Oh, you frightening person," she said, laughing. 
 "My thoughts were far away. I had no idea you 
 were anywhere near." 
 
 " I have watched for you all the evening," he said, 
 looking at her intently. " You carry my roses ! Then 
 I am more than happy ! " 
 
 " How sweet of you to say that ! " she exclaimed
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 159 
 
 delightedly. "No one ever pays me compliments 
 nowadays. I suppose I'm getting too old." 
 
 " It was no compliment. It was real happiness. 
 But you must be tired. I must not detain you now." 
 
 " Shall we lunch together to-morrow ? " she said, 
 looking at him kindly. " Or stay. Let us go for a 
 walk in the morning. Will you take me to the City ? 
 I never go there. One gets so tired of the park. 
 Let us go and see the old churches, and museums, 
 and things. Come at eleven," she said gaily, as she 
 wished him good-night, and went up to her rooms. 
 
 The next day punctually at eleven, Count de 
 Rigos called and was announced. He found Mrs. 
 Packinthorp already dressed in a simple tailor-made 
 gown and close-fitting little astrakhan cap. 
 
 " How delightfully punctual ! " She seemed over- 
 flowing with gaiety and friendliness to-day. " Where 
 shall we go ? Suppose we get on a bus and pretend 
 we are American tourists and go to St. Paul's." 
 
 De Rigos acquiesced gladly. He had been about 
 London very little, and Mrs. Packinthorp would 
 be a most vivacious guide. Everything seemed to 
 interest her ; the people in the streets, the motor- 
 omnibus upon whose heights they climbed, the build- 
 ings they were passing. She was so extraordinarily 
 different from the society women he knew. Her 
 opinions were so bright and reliable, her nature so 
 frank and charming. 
 
 " Do you know I have never met a woman like 
 you," he said, as they walked down the beautiful nave 
 of St. Paul's. 
 
 " How nice of you ! " she said softly. 
 
 " I wish you and I could always go about like 
 this, and I wish I felt worthy of all your goodness." 
 
 " Now you're getting sad again. What shall I do 
 with you?" she answered with a charming little 
 puzzled air. 
 
 They wandered about for some time, and then 
 out through the Churchyard and into Cheapside,
 
 160 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 among the rush of clerks, and business men, and type- 
 writing girls, and office boys, all jostling each other 
 in their race for their favourite luncheon place. 
 They looked into the windows. The tie-shops fasci- 
 nated De Rigos with their wealth of wares at wonder- 
 fully cheap prices. Mrs. Packinthorp insisted on 
 their going in here and there to buy things, and 
 together they laughingly chose a multitude of objects 
 and ordered them to be sent to the Carlton. Through 
 the Guildhall they wandered, and then an idea seized 
 Mrs. Packinthorp. 
 
 "I will take you to an A.B.C.," she said, "and 
 we will have a simple lunch." 
 
 That idea of hers was a brilliant success. 
 
 " It's so nice that you like these simple pleasures," 
 he said. " It makes me understand you better. 
 Somehow, I didn't think that night when I first saw 
 you that you could be interested in the small things 
 of life. I saw in your eyes only that you knew the 
 higher things." 
 
 " It is the simple things which are the greatest," 
 said Mrs. Packinthorp with a touch of sadness. 
 
 She had not the least idea what he meant by the 
 higher things, but the tone of her voice was admirable 
 as she looked at him candidly. 
 
 " You are right as you always are," he answered 
 with his eyes fixed upon her. 
 
 Then at Mrs. Packinthorp's suggestion they took 
 a cab home. . . . They drove almost in silence. . . . 
 De Rigos felt no need for words with this dear 
 sympathetic woman. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp did not ask many visitors to the 
 hotel that week, although she went out a great deal. 
 De Rigos had begged her to dine with him whenever 
 she was not engaged, and they went to theatres and 
 concerts together. The latter bored her rather. She 
 was no lover of music. De Rigos, on the contrary, 
 loved the beautiful in everything pictures, statuary, 
 flowers, music, life. Mrs. Packinthorp cared for the
 
 luxurious and costly. That was the difference between 
 them. But she cleverly hid her yawns at the " Three 
 Fates " and " Demeter and Persephone " in the British 
 Museum, and smiled her way past the treasures of the 
 National Gallery. The Hogarth caricatures she said 
 she could not look at on the same day as the Turners 
 and Titians. " It is sacrilege ! " she exclaimed. And 
 De Rigos looked at her with an admiration he no 
 longer took pains to conceal. 
 
 A week went by in this halcyon way. 
 
 Then came Mrs Packinthorp's next move. 
 
 Quite casually one morning she mentioned that 
 she must return to Paris now, as she had business 
 matters connected with property there. 
 
 The look on De Rigos' face filled her with the 
 keenest pleasure. 
 
 " It is such a nuisance ! " she said. "My lawyers 
 over there wish me to go, and I do not see how I can 
 avoid it." 
 
 She changed the subject. 
 
 " Will you take me out for the afternoon and 
 amuse me ? " she cried gaily. " Let us start out on 
 foot and wander, and wherever we get we will enjoy 
 ourselves. I am a little sad to-day, for a wonder," 
 she added, looking at him with a pathetic look in her 
 great dark eyes. 
 
 He needed no second asking. He was ready 
 enough to do anything for her. This woman, with 
 her soft, caressing voice, and the beautiful hands 
 which she sometimes laid upon his arm for a moment 
 in sympathy, was rapidly becoming a necessity to 
 him. Life without her would be almost unbearable. 
 And she was going away ! 
 
 They walked up Regent-street and then turned 
 down along Oxford-street, and visited the glittering 
 Christmas bazaars in the great shops. The ingenious 
 and beautiful toys fascinated and delighted them. 
 
 " I must buy some for my little godchild," said 
 Mrs. Packinthorp. "How sweet those great bears 
 
 M
 
 162 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 are ! And these lovely, lovely clockwork dolls ! How 
 she will love them ! I adore children," she added, 
 and she ordered the toys to be sent off to the hotel. 
 
 She did not add, of course, that the little child to 
 whom she was playing fairy godmother existed only 
 in her imagination. 
 
 " The toys can go to some hospital," she thought. 
 " I suppose they always want them there." 
 
 The Mexican watched her with admiring eyes as 
 she talked to the girl who was wrapping up the things. 
 
 " I am so sorry to be such a nuisance," she was 
 saying sweetly as she changed something. 
 
 " Kind and good to every one," he thought. " Ah, 
 if I only had not that hanging over me ! " 
 
 They wandered out again into Oxford-street, and 
 made their way across Tottenham Court-road, with 
 its seething crowd, into Holborn. They paused a 
 moment to look down the bare, empty space of 
 Kingsway, speculating on the beauties of the avenue 
 when it should be finished. Everything interested 
 them. Because was it ? each was so tremendously 
 interested in the other. 
 
 As they were crossing the road near the top of 
 Chancery-lane the clang of a fire-engine bell broke 
 upon them. 
 
 The crowd of omnibuses and waggons turned 
 quickly to one side to make way for the headlong 
 flight of the motor engines. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp and her companion were in the 
 middle of the road at that moment. They made a 
 dash and were separated by a hansom whose terrified 
 horse, rearing and swerving at the sound of the fire- 
 engine, narrowly missed De Rigos with its hoofs as it 
 pawed the air madly. 
 
 The cab rocked, swayed, and fell. Quick as 
 lightning Mrs. Packinthorp had darted to De Rigos 
 and, thrusting her arm through his, dragged him 
 wildly aside. A moment later and the cab might 
 have fallen on him.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 163 
 
 In silence they crossed to the pavement. Mrs. 
 Packinthorp was white, but otherwise perfectly calm 
 and collected. But De Rigos was trembling. 
 
 " Come," he said. " I'll get you a little brandy or 
 something." 
 
 "No, no," she replied quickly, "I'm not hurt. 
 I'm quite all right. Let us walk down this quiet 
 little turning out of the way of the crowd." 
 
 It was De Rigos who was the more upset of the two. 
 
 " You saved my life," he said. 
 
 He spoke with difficulty. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp had quite regained her com- 
 posure, and was watching him intently, but with a 
 look of sympathy in her expression. 
 
 " Let's go into this church and have a little rest," 
 Mrs. Packinthorp said suddenly. 
 
 They turned off Holborn and entered a tall, red- 
 brick building in a little side street. Its half lights 
 and dreamy atmosphere instantly told on the Mexican. 
 
 Mrs. Packinthorp watched and waited for some 
 moments. She knew there were tears in his eyes. 
 She waited patiently till they had disappeared, and 
 he had regained his self-control. 
 
 Then she spoke to him as if to a child. 
 
 " Let us go out into the air now. It will do us 
 both good." 
 
 So they strolled out again into the little tiled court- 
 yard, with its high walls and a few bare black trees 
 silhouetted like etchings against the blue-grey sky. 
 
 An infinite peace seemed to brood over this out- 
 of-the-way corner that had about it some quality not 
 of London at all, but of some little Florentine church 
 tucked away in a vicolo, as though its beauties were 
 too fine to be called attention to. 
 
 " Oh, look at this exquisite thing 1 " said De Rigos, 
 returning to his natural manner, and standing before 
 a copy of a Delia Robbia Madonna and Child, sur- 
 rounded with the inevitable wreath of oranges and 
 green leaves, " Some one with taste has placed this
 
 164 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 in the little high-walled yard, and sheltered it with a 
 tiny roof, in Italian style." 
 
 " Beautiful," said Mrs Packinthorp, who secretly 
 considered it hideous. 
 
 " And those little trees, too, on either side," 
 continued de Rigos. " Fancy finding beauty like 
 this in such a corner of London ! Let us stay here 
 for a few minutes. Do." 
 
 They strolled up and down under the bare trees 
 of the courtyard for some moments in silence. An 
 intense quiet pervaded the spot. They might have 
 been thousands of miles away from everywhere. 
 Yet two minutes' walk would bring them into the 
 heart of London. 
 
 At last Mrs Packinthorp said quietly, " I am so 
 sorry to think this will be our last afternoon together 
 in London. I have enjoyed things so much." 
 
 " Our last afternoon ! " 
 
 He repeated the words dully. They sounded 
 like a death-knell in his ear. Surely fate was not 
 going to be so cruel as that. Was this wonderful 
 woman going away from him, out of his life altogether ? 
 
 " I suppose you will be stopping on in London," 
 said Mrs Packinthorp. 
 
 " No," said De Rigos firmly. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " You have not made any plans ? " 
 
 " I have," he said. 
 
 A sudden resolution was overmastering him. 
 
 "What do you mean? " asked Mrs. Packinthorp. 
 
 " You will know in time." 
 
 " I shall know in time ! " 
 
 Her voice was strained with horror. 
 
 Was he was he going to kill himself, as well 
 as that other ? " I shall know," she repeated 
 mechanically. 
 
 " Yes, for I am going to marry you," he said in 
 his mobt nonchalant manner, just as he had said the 
 other day : " I killed her.''
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 PARIS was watching with deepest interest the progress 
 of the Fleur airship. 
 
 The recent trials had succeeded almost beyond all 
 hopes, and if the invention kept up its first record, or 
 bettered it, as it seemed likely to do, then France 
 would stand foremost among nations in aerial navi- 
 gation. The latest successes of this wonderful 
 machine had attracted enormous attention, and 
 Marcel Fleur was now as well known a figure as the 
 President himself. His name was one to conjure with 
 in the music-hall revues. His face and figure, 
 hideously and cleverly caricatured on picture post- 
 cards, were in every window. His striking features 
 and curious personality combined to make him dear 
 to the Parisians' hearts. In fact, he was a personage. 
 
 Marcel hated publicity, although it touched his 
 vanity greatly. It was dangerous. It made him and 
 his doings too public. His house was well known. 
 The journalists had wormed out of the chattering 
 concierge nearly every detail of his private life, and he 
 feared what next they might discover. 
 
 Old Ivan, walking feebly along Rue St. Antoine 
 one afternoon, for he was still very weak after his 
 last illness, stopped and bought a newspaper from the 
 good-natured old lady who kept the kiosk round the 
 corner of the street. She smiled at him "A la bonne 
 heure, Monsieur Ivan. Ca va mieux, alors. And 
 you haven't flown away in the airship of the great 
 Monsieur Fleur ? " pointing to the illustration on the 
 front page. 
 
 165
 
 166 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Ivan nodded. He was in no mood for talking, 
 and her words had touched him in his most sensitive 
 spot, uncalculated though they were. 
 
 " The airship of Monsieur Fleur ! " The words 
 struck chill on his heart. He turned away and made 
 his way down the Boulevard St. Germain. A pathetic 
 figure he made as he trudged along the pavement, 
 supporting himself on a crooked stick. With his old 
 bent back and fair head crowned by a fur cap, from 
 which his long white hair escaped, he looked quaint 
 and remarkable, even in that quarter of Paris, where 
 there are so many quaint and remarkable characters 
 seen. 
 
 The words kept resounding dully in his brain like 
 the beat of sledge hammers, over and over again, 
 round and round, driving him almost to madness. 
 He was no longer completely master of his mind. 
 The illness had weakened his fine intellect, as well as 
 his body. Only in so far as the actual details of his 
 invention went was his mind still intact. In these 
 the master brain asserted itself and held its own. 
 
 A dull sense of some great wrong kept ringing 
 in his thoughts that day, which he could not quite 
 grasp, and there was something he was not to do. 
 They had told him not to do it. What was it ? 
 drummed out the noises in his head. He wandered 
 on unseeingly, muttering to himself in his native 
 tongue, up the Boulevard, towards the Jardins du 
 Luxembourg. 
 
 Turning down a little side street, he was passing 
 one of the little cafts so typical of that Quartier, 
 when a voice hailed him. 
 
 "Ivan! Ivan!" He looked round, and there 
 was Sergius Krikofifsky, the singer. 
 
 The sudden interruption to his train of thought 
 and the well-known face cleared the dull brain 
 instantly. 
 
 " Oh, Sergius Krikoffsky, I am glad to see you ! " 
 he exclaimed. " How long is it since we met ? But,
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 167 
 
 indeed, I read of you in the papers, of your singing 
 here in Paris, and of your success, and it made me so 
 happy. I was going to write to you and ask you to 
 meet your poor old friend somewhere, but I have 
 been so ill, and I can't remember things as I used to 
 do." 
 
 "I did not know, my friend, that you were in 
 Paris," said Sergius, laying his hand affectionately on 
 his arm, " nor that you had been ill." 
 
 They entered the cafg and ordered absinthes. 
 For some time they talked on over their long white- 
 lined glasses. There was so much to tell after all 
 these years. 
 
 "I am glad to know that you are happy and 
 prosperous," said Krikoffsky at last. " Where are you 
 living?" 
 
 Ivan was getting tired, and that dull feeling was 
 coming over his brain again. Krikoffsky's voice was 
 beginning to sound distant and far away. "I live 
 with Marcel Fleur, the aeronaut," he replied slowly. 
 
 " With Marcel Fleur ! Mais que faites vous dans 
 cette galhe ? " cried the singer with interest. " Oh, 
 but I see ! Of course you and he have met, you are 
 both of you inventors. You have both that wonderful 
 gift of invention." 
 
 " Invention ! invention ! " muttered Ivan, with 
 contempt. 
 
 His brain was going round again. 
 
 " Ha, ha," he laughed softly and mysteriously. 
 " Who has ever seen our Monsieur Fleur invent any- 
 thing ? Clever at figures ? Yes, yes, but the " 
 
 " What ? " asked Krikoffsky, looking at him with 
 interest. 
 
 He mumbled on at last. 
 
 " The brain ! Ah, the brain. That is old Ivan's. 
 He knew he knew " 
 
 Krikoffsky did not speak, but leaning forward in 
 amazement waited for him to continue. 
 
 The hammers were beginning their work again.
 
 1 68 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Ivan knew how to solve the problem, and " 
 
 He stopped his muttering and sat silent and 
 troubled, looking straight before him. His thoughts 
 had flown back to the question that had been worrying 
 him an hour before when he bought his paper. Why 
 did everything go round and round in his brain so ? 
 It never used to ! What was it ? 
 
 Ah, yes, there was something he must not tell. 
 . . . That was it. ... He would go. ... You could 
 always trust old Ivan. ... He would never tell. . . . 
 No, no, old Ivan would never tell. . . . 
 
 He rose slowly and without a word went straight 
 out of the cafe. 
 
 Sergius Krikoffsky stared after him in amazement. 
 
 A journalist attached to a great Paris paper came 
 over to his table just then and greeted him. They 
 talked on various topics. Last night's new play at 
 the Odeon and a new opera at the Opera Comique 
 having been stripped bare of any merit or anything 
 they might have to recommend them, and the mise- 
 en-stine having been proportionately praised, the 
 conversation turned on the development of the latest 
 murder case, and it was decided, as is usual in all 
 Paris mysteries, that the old woman who was 
 murdered in her chateau at St. Germain, having 
 stolen her own jewels, was done away with for 
 political reasons. 
 
 But Krikoffsky's thoughts kept wandering. 
 
 He could not get Ivan out of his mind. 
 
 "You look worried, my friend," said Armand 
 Roche, after a while. " But, then, that's not surprising. 
 La vie ! c'est t ennui / Above all for a journalist, 
 when nothing happens. Tell me, who was the old 
 man with the fur cap talking to you ? Had he dropped 
 from the North Pole ? He seemed to be telling you 
 something pretty exciting to himself, anyway." 
 
 " He was," answered Krikoffsky, slowly. 
 
 His instinct had scented some mystery and caught 
 at the hint of injustice Ivan's talk had suggested.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 169 
 
 What was it all about ? 
 
 Did Ivan really mean to imply that he had been 
 the inventor of the airship ? And that his was the 
 inventor's genius that had given the Fleur airship 
 to the world ? 
 
 To a man of Krikoffsky's artistic temperament 
 injustice was unbearable. It was a crime. And Ivan 
 was obviously suffering. 
 
 "Tell me," he said suddenly to Armand Roche, 
 "what do you know about Marcel Fleur? Is he 
 clever ? What do people say of him ? He invented 
 that airship, didn't he ? " 
 
 Armand Roche was sharp as a needle in his 
 impressionism. 
 
 In a second his enthusiasm for copy was aroused. 
 He was sure that old man had been telling Krikoffsky 
 something a propos of Fleur. 
 
 " Marcel Fleur," he said slowly, looking a little 
 preoccupied. " Oh, yes, he is clever all right, there is 
 no doubt of that. As for inventing the airship, 
 naturally he did. At least, one never knows, of 
 course! I have heard things." He stopped absent- 
 mindedly for a moment. " But how can one tell ? 
 Every one looks after himself in this world, and Fleur 
 has got the airship." 
 
 Krikoffsky listened intently. 
 
 Then there was really something in this fancy of 
 his. People did suspect something. Some people, at 
 all events. Those in the know anyway, perhaps. 
 He leaned forward eagerly. 
 
 " Listen," he said, " What do you think of this ? " 
 
 In a few sentences he described old Ivan's words 
 and his curious manner and abrupt departure. 
 
 Armand Roche was beside himself with delight. 
 
 He had instantly scented a huge and splendid 
 scandal. 
 
 Here was copy fallen from the skies. He would 
 follow it up and ferret it out to the bitter end. What 
 a prize for the paper !
 
 i/o THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 He showed none of those thoughts in his face. 
 He only turned laughingly to Krikoffsky, and said : 
 " Ah, tout ca c'est de la folie ! Don't believe it. 
 There is nothing in it, my friend." 
 
 The two men separated presently, and went their 
 different ways. 
 
 Armand Roche wandered across to the Quai du 
 Louvre, and thence made his way slowly up the 
 Avenue de TOpdra, busy and alive as usual with its 
 mass of traffic and its multitude of pedestrians, some 
 hurrying, others leisurely examining the gorgeous 
 shops. His mind was busy, too, as he walked along. 
 His observant eye was taking in every detail of the 
 passing throng ; the tourists with their Baedekers 
 who stood at the street corners in little knots, vainly 
 searching for some building which was the other side 
 of Paris ; the blue-veiled, pretty American women 
 whose penetrating accent startled the ever polite 
 policeman as they asked him, " Say now, voulez-vous 
 dire, where is the Louvre ? " the English paterfamilias 
 looking bored and cross at being taken to picture 
 galleries and made to admire things he would scorn 
 to look at at home! All this Armand Roche half 
 saw with his amused and observant eye. But the 
 thing he had in his mind was far more important, and 
 he smiled as he went his way. 
 
 He was wondering what that talk with Krikoffsky 
 might represent to him in money very soon.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 IT was no wonder that Marcel should be upset at the 
 rumours that he was getting secret assistance with his 
 inventions. The eyes of Europe were upon him. 
 
 The success of the Fleur ornithoptere was assured. 
 This machine was different in its type from any 
 hitherto designed by even the most ingenious students 
 of aeronautics. Marcel had, at a bound, achieved 
 greater results than either Count Zeppelin or the 
 mysterious Wright brothers, and his great flying 
 machine undoubtedly marked an epoch. The method 
 of commencing the flight might eventually be im- 
 proved upon, but the use of the light motor, which, 
 by the combined action of electrical force and the 
 radio-active energy stored up in the materials of its 
 construction, so far distanced all previous inventions, 
 was a great factor towards success. Even the latest 
 inspiration of other famous men fell far short of the 
 possibilities of this invention of Marcel's. 
 
 But greater far was the automatic controlling 
 apparatus. In the application of that supreme 
 device lay the surety of all safety and success. The 
 American brothers, hitherto the most successful, had 
 through many years of slow and careful experimenta- 
 tion demonstrated that it was the man and not the 
 machine that counted most in coping with the 
 varying conditions prevailing in the troubled and 
 unstable aerial sea. But through Ivan's genius the 
 uncertain " personal equation " could be disregarded ; 
 or, at any rate, reduced to the minimum. This 
 automatic controlling instrument would be relied on 
 
 171
 
 i;2 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 under all circumstances, and would be applied to any 
 species of contrivance for the navigation of the 
 skies. 
 
 And yet, successful as the various flights had been, 
 and immense as seemed the ultimate possibilities of 
 the ingenious bird-machine, Marcel was not satisfied. 
 It had pleased his imagination and gratified his 
 amour-propre to have brought this dream to materiali- 
 sation. But now there came the question of the stern 
 realities of things. In what way was the invention 
 related to the necessities of the age ? It could not 
 be denied that so far, great as the success had been, 
 there was a tremendous expenditure of energy from 
 the motor compared with the result attained, and the 
 sources of pitch-blende and its few and rare congeners 
 are not capable of infinite exploitation. 
 
 " Strange indeed," thought Marcel to himself, one 
 day, while dreaming over the chances of recruiting 
 these forces, " strange, indeed, that the idea of Poland 
 should come so continually into connection with this 
 invention ! The fair land of Poland is represented in 
 the Promethean inventor, in the tutelary goddess 
 Theodora, and in the very material substance which 
 is so potent a factor in its construction." For, as 
 every schoolboy knows, Polonium is one of the radio- 
 active elements, and its very name had acted as a 
 magnet to Marcel's experimental tendencies. 
 
 But the ornithoptere seemed impossible as a 
 practical invention. Well enough to demonstrate 
 the power of such a machine to imitate a natural 
 flight. Yet the conjunction of other methods would 
 help the more immediate applications of the intensive 
 motor and the automatic control. 
 
 Marcel had, of course, made a deep and continuous 
 study of all the different schemes of aeronautics, and 
 though, up to this time, the question of solving the 
 means of flight by a bird-like construction had 
 absorbed all his imaginative faculties, yet he had 
 always kept within his view the schemes of aviation
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 173 
 
 as from time to time they came before the notice of 
 those interested in such matters. 
 
 Finally he decided to unite ideas and to use 
 the combined types of aeroplane and dirigible balloon. 
 And instead of the wing-like mode of propulsion 
 which is hardly applicable to the aeroplane type, he 
 adopted the idea of the " vertical lifting screw." 
 
 He knew that the great defect in the aeroplane is 
 that it must travel at high speed to maintain its 
 position in the air. The helicoptere can keep aloft 
 without horizontal motion, and has also a greater 
 lifting force per h.p., while a far less bulky apparatus 
 need be used, and the gas envelope would ensure a 
 constant modicum of buoyancy. 
 
 The syndicate, of course, wished to sell this in- 
 vention at the highest price. The German Govern- 
 ment, when sounded, confessed that they were 
 perfectly satisfied with the results obtained by 
 Zeppelin and Parseval. 
 
 Then, carefully and with much misgiving of mind, 
 George had approached the British War Office. 
 But he approached the unapproachable. 
 
 " Sir," wrote one, who, after much delay, deigned 
 to hold communication with a person who did not 
 belong to that mandarin class to whom the future 
 destinies of England are entrusted, " I am instructed 
 to say that the military authorities have had experts 
 employed in watching the flights of the various 
 airships and aeroplanes, and the impression is that 
 for a long time to come there is nothing to be feared 
 from them." 
 
 "You English," said the irritated Marcel to 
 George when he heard of this, " are so self-confident ! 
 For centuries you have found yourselves safe in that 
 jewel in the sea. You have developed in that con- 
 dition of safety. What on earth will move you from 
 your state of self-satisfaction ? Since the battle of 
 Sedgemoor you have had no warlike operations 
 within your own borders. You think some of you,
 
 1/4 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 at any rate that no one wishes to fight you ! Do 
 you forget that the most terrible war of modern times 
 was a civil one ? Brother against brother ! Father 
 against son ! And among an Anglo-Saxon com- 
 munity ! And yet you think some of you that racial 
 connections will prevent war that the effect of the re- 
 peated adage, ' Blood is thicker than water ' senseless 
 as it appears on analysis will be continuous. No, 
 mon Dieu ! The country that has the greatest power 
 of attack will be the best friend to have in case of 
 necessity. After all, the final facts of existence are 
 summed up in the oft-quoted remark of the vagabond 
 to the magistrate, ' // faut vivre ! ' ' 
 
 George could not but agree. The attitude of his 
 country had troubled him considerably. 
 
 " Our experts," he said, " think there is nothing to 
 be feared for a long time to come from aerial menace. 
 There is nothing, they say, to be feared or expected 
 from a type of machine which within a year has 
 expanded its power of flight from one to fifty-six 
 miles ! That is the advance which has been attained 
 by Wright's aeroplane during that short period. How 
 can one take their observations and efforts in serious 
 guise when one compares the hopeless failure of 
 England's dirigibles with the success of the German 
 or French models ? But, indeed, when one considers 
 that the governors of our most wealthy country think 
 that 13,000 a year is enough to spend on this 
 enterprise, and seem to overlook the fact that years 
 of training are required to gain the skill neces- 
 sary for successful construction and manipulation, 
 it ' gives one furiously to think ' whether in the 
 next instance we English may be able to ' muddle 
 through ' as successfully as under previous occasions 
 of stress." 
 
 It said much for the strength and saneness of 
 George's character that he was able to keep in the 
 background just now all that bitterness and rancour 
 that attacked his heart, and to maintain calm and
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 175 
 
 unbiased and dignified relations with Marcel over the 
 airship affairs. 
 
 It was then necessary to apply these inventions to 
 the possibilities of the occasion. Germany refused 
 them. England would not admit their use or necessity. 
 The French Government had, of course, kept a con- 
 stant watch on all these developments, but of course 
 would not allow any machine on the ornithoptere 
 principle no matter how successful it seemed to be 
 submitted to the nation. " No," said the experts, 
 " this is a very wonderful and successful toy, but if it 
 fails in practice it will only bring us ridicule ! " And 
 no Frenchman can stand ridicule ! 
 
 The end of it was that Marcel had been obliged 
 to swallow his pride and combine ideas. His new 
 invention was to have a many-chambered " gas 
 envelope," of a strength and elasticity so far unknown. 
 The fabric was to be of the greatest strength and 
 lightness, and the compartments numerous and 
 absolutely gas-tight. This was to give buoyancy, 
 and save so far as possible the propelling mechanism, 
 and avoid the risk of immediate injury from pro- 
 jectiles below the balloon. The aeroplane was con- 
 structed on lines following in many ways those of 
 " the brothers," but with the automatic device which 
 saved the aeronaut from the necessity of the contin- 
 uous personal care which those original inventors had 
 found necessary. 
 
 Marcel's little electro-radio-motor would be per- 
 fectly safe under a gas envelope, and there would be 
 none of the risks inherent to the gasolene or petrol 
 motor which was used in all the latest inventions. 
 Then, in addition to this motor, and to the gyroscopes 
 which he had found so efficient in completing the 
 balancing and steering managements, he now brought 
 into play the principle of vertical lifting screws in 
 fact, the final machine became a combination of diri- 
 gible balloon and aeroplane and helicoptere. 
 
 The first voyage of the new airship was a
 
 1 76 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 memorable one. Sir George Allingham, Jabez Craigs, 
 and Marcel himself started from Melun to cross the 
 Channel. 
 
 " We are going to attempt a flight across ' la 
 Manche,' " said Marcel, to a reporter, " to make a 
 detour round London, and then return this evening. 
 It is rather an adventure, but I think we can manage 
 it. Our accumulator is charged for twelve hours at 
 the weight we are carrying, and we should do it 
 in ten." 
 
 Quickly they rose above all the house-tops, above 
 the chimneys, the poplars and the church spires. So 
 quickly did they move in mid-air that in a few minutes 
 the station was left behind in the dim distance. 
 
 The day was perfect. All the atmospheric con- 
 ditions were congenial to experiments of this sort. 
 An even, soft, westerly breeze helped Marcel's en- 
 deavours. In a few minutes the domes and towers of 
 Paris came into view, and soon afterwards the great 
 airship quietly sailed over the Isle du Palais, and 
 then onward over the heights of Montmartre to the 
 northern suburbs. 
 
 The wind veered round more to the north soon 
 after the environs had been passed. 
 
 " When birds, such as carrier pigeons, find the 
 wind force too great," said Marcel, " they always seek 
 a lower plane of flight. You will then see the homing 
 pigeon skimming along a few feet or so above the 
 ground. We will imitate the pigeon for safety." 
 
 The perfectly controlled mechanism enabled the 
 captain of the ship to move up and down at his 
 pleasure, and though the occupants of the car seemed 
 at times to pass unpleasantly near to the summits of 
 churches and high chimneys, nevertheless the air- 
 ship went steadily on its way, and as the sun's rays 
 became stronger its flight became higher. 
 
 Now the towers of the cathedral of Rouen could 
 be seen dimly appearing to the south-west, the still 
 rising sun illuminating their gilded pinnacles.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 177 
 
 '' We are just passing over Dieppe," said Marcel, 
 looking over the edge of the car, " but I am afraid we 
 are separated by cloudland from that most hospitable 
 town. Soon we will cross the silver streak and begin 
 to show Britain the possibility of invasion by means 
 of airships." 
 
 George sat still and said nothing. He thought 
 there was a great deal of rodomontade in such sug- 
 gestions, but all the time he was considering what 
 might be the ultimate effect of a fleet of contrivances 
 such as that on which he was a passenger. 
 
 Looking down over the side of the car he could 
 now with difficulty determine the uncertain line of the 
 seashore, marking a separation from the grey-green 
 haze which he recognised as sea. 
 
 " We are crossing the Channel," thought he. " Can 
 it ever be possible that such machines as this will 
 cross our dear dividing line with hostile purpose ? " 
 
 The airship again descended. 
 
 Down towards the rushing waters of the English 
 Channel it crept, and quietly pursued its appointed 
 course. Lower and lower was the continued flight. 
 
 " The air currents just above us are so strong that 
 it will be hard to resist them or make use of them. 
 We are safe at this low elevation," said Marcel. " But 
 in any case we will be ready to mount upwards or 
 skim downwards as soon as our automatic indicator 
 gives us any sign. Look ahead ! " added Marcel. 
 " Do you see the dim outline of the English shore ? 
 Those are the white cliffs of your impregnable Albion. 
 We have changed our course, and soon we shall pass 
 over Dover and give a surprise to the golfers and 
 Navy men." 
 
 Dover was passed at a high altitude, much to 
 the consternation of some of the members of the 
 Cinque Ports Club, who watched this apparition with 
 dismay. 
 
 " Evidently the first of a fleet of destroyers," 
 seemed to be the general opinion among the old boys. 
 
 N
 
 1/8 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 The sun shone brightly as the voyagers passed 
 over the Weald of Kent. 
 
 The action of the helicoptere, combined with the 
 greater buoyancy of the balloons, caused the airship 
 to rise rapidly to a height of three thousand feet. 
 
 " We shall try to keep this altitude," said Marcel, 
 "until we reach London, and then make a descent. 
 The effect will be more dramatic and convincing ! " 
 
 Nearing Croydon, the lifting screws were slowed 
 down, and the airship descended to a height of about 
 five hundred feet. 
 
 At this distance from the earth a rapid flight was 
 made over the southern suburbs. 
 
 The Thames was crossed at Battersea Park, and 
 the course was then directed to Westminster. At the 
 Houses of Parliament Marcel suggested that a halt 
 should be made. 
 
 " No," said George, " the central point is the Bank 
 of England. Let us go that far and show the citizens 
 what possibilities are in view." 
 
 The Terrace at Westminster was crowded with 
 members and their friends. 
 
 The crowded Strand and Fleet-street were as 
 thick with gazing and gaping denizens as on the 
 occasion of the Lord Mayor's show as the Fleur air- 
 ship passed quickly over the City boundary, cleared 
 the cross of St. Paul's by a hundred feet or more, and 
 quickly reached the civic centre. It stopped for a 
 minute circling slowly over the Mansion House, and 
 then crossed over to the Bank. Above the Bank 
 the airship again circled quietly and evenly, at the 
 height of about six hundred feet, around the whole 
 circumference of the building, and then was gently 
 wafted towards the centre. When above the middle 
 of the edifice the machine began to descend. 
 
 Down, down at first quickly, and then more 
 slowly came this threatening monster. The whole 
 City, from alderman to office-boy, was quickly in the 
 streets, wondering what this might portend. The
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 179 
 
 Lord Mayor was hastily summoned, and a messenger 
 was sent post haste to the Honourable Artillery Com- 
 pany to provide help in emergency. At two hundred 
 feet altitude Marcel brought the arresting and stabi- 
 lising apparatus to work. 
 
 There was now no wind, and it was easy to keep 
 the machine at rest. 
 
 " I am going to give them a fright," said Marcel. 
 
 " Don't do anything foolish," remonstrated George. 
 " You might cause trouble if you go too far." 
 
 " Oh no," said Marcel. " I think you will find 
 the denouement satisfactory." 
 
 He stooped, and took up two rounded objects, 
 which he held out to the view of the crowed city. A 
 cry ! A yell of anger and terror went up. The 
 citizens expected bombs dynamite, if not worse on 
 the head of the " Old Lady of Threadneedle-street." 
 
 Marcel grinned maliciously at George, who looked 
 half uncertain as to the result. 
 
 He then attached the two rounded objects to 
 ropes, and quickly ran them up to the level of the 
 balloon, where they unfolded themselves as the flags 
 of the two nations the Tricolour and the Union Jack. 
 The crowd was quick to see the meaning, and a great 
 " Hurrah " came hurtling upwards at this novel and 
 picturesque demonstration of V entente cordiale. 
 
 That night there was a grand dinner in Paris, of 
 which Marcel was the honoured guest and hero, and 
 ere midnight Sir George Allingham and the Syndicate 
 had the supreme satisfaction of knowing that the 
 French Government were about to make the most 
 munificent offer of modern times for any invention 
 yet known to man, for a new airship designed more or 
 less on the lines of the one that had that day made 
 the famous flight from Paris to London and back 
 again.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 IT was a strange irony of fate that the two idols of 
 Paris that winter should be the man and woman 
 whose mere existence seemed to cast danger and pain 
 in the paths of each other Marcel Fleur and the 
 lovely Lady Allingham. 
 
 Theodora, through no desire of her own, had 
 gradually been talked and paragraphed by Paris into 
 the position of professional beauty. Her photographs 
 were in all the shops and society journals. Wherever 
 she went she was recognised. Her patronage and 
 her name were asked by milliners and dressmakers 
 for their hats and gowns. Her presence was needed 
 at every social function in order to ensure its com- 
 plete success and brilliancy. And, as often happens 
 in such cases, with its growing reputation her beauty 
 seemed to have miraculously developed and increased. 
 People said of her, " She's lovelier than ever ! " And 
 it was true. For there had come into her expression 
 what is lacking so often in the face of a great beauty 
 depth and tenderness and a note of sadness that 
 intensified her charm. Beautiful eyes of a perfect 
 shape and exquisite colouring, but with no meaning in 
 them, are common enough. The violet eyes of Lady 
 Allingham were full of feeling as well as brightness. 
 
 For, in spite of her sadness, she was bright 
 enough. George, watching her sometimes secretly, 
 told himself that he had never seen her so gay and 
 light-hearted as she was in these days, revelling in 
 the wit and repartee of her delightful Parisian circle, 
 and saying good things among people who possess so 
 
 1 80
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 181 
 
 absolutely the art of saying things well that any one 
 else finds it difficult indeed to shine there. Yet 
 Theodora shone. Her wit went home and delighted 
 the Parisians ; and, encouraged by their delight and 
 admiration, she rapidly developed into a more brilliant 
 as well as beautiful woman. 
 
 At the same time there was Marcel Fleur, crown- 
 ing it in his own way over the heart of Paris. He 
 was strange, eccentric, and inordinately clever, and 
 Paris believed in him. People ran after him in the 
 streets to look at him, and wherever he went there 
 was a murmur, " M. Fleur." 
 
 They ought to have been the two happiest people 
 in the city. 
 
 Instead, they considered themselves the most 
 miserable. 
 
 Theodora knew very well that George disliked 
 the violent public admiration her beauty had excited. 
 For herself, she would have done anything she could 
 to get rid of this distasteful publicity, but she found 
 it impossible. Paris had decreed that she must have 
 her day, and she was having it. 
 
 "A man who marries a great beauty should 
 beware," said George to himself one day, cynically, 
 as he came upon Theodora's photograph in a book- 
 shop alongside that of Marcel Fleur. 
 
 A pang of fierce jealousy attacked him for the 
 moment. 
 
 But what was the use ? 
 
 It was better to be sensible. To keep one's head 
 was certainly always the wisest course, and he forced 
 himself to look at the two photographs calmly for 
 several moments before he strolled leisurely away. 
 
 It was not an easy thing to do. 
 
 In fact, every day George said to himself that life 
 was no easy matter. 
 
 Theodora was alone in her boudoir that same 
 afternoon when George had seen her photograph with 
 Marcel's, and in the paper that she was reading was
 
 i82 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 a glowing account of Marcel Fleur's famous voyage 
 to London. 
 
 Her feeling of pleasure was inevitable as she read, 
 but it suddenly came to an abrupt end. Marcel Fleur 
 himself was coming into the room. 
 
 She flushed with anger and sprang to her feet. 
 On his last visit here she so emphatically forbade 
 him ever to come again that she was astounded at 
 his audacity. 
 
 But whatever she was going to say died away on 
 her lips. His face was ghastly and his hancls were 
 trembling. She saw at once that he was in the grip 
 of some overmastering emotion. 
 
 "Ivan has disappeared! " he gasped. 
 
 "What!" 
 
 " He has gone he is completely lost. For three 
 days I have not seen him." 
 
 He was looking at her wild-eyed, imploringly, as 
 if he expected her to help him. 
 
 " Calm yourself calm yourself," she said quickly. 
 "Tell me about it. How do you mean he has 
 disappeared ? " 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! And you take it like that," he burst 
 forth, "quietly and calmly, when you know what it 
 means to me ? " 
 
 "I really fail to see what good it would do you 
 if I became mad like you," Theodora replied coldly. 
 " It is lucky for you that people keep their heads 
 sometimes. Now tell me when you saw him last." 
 
 "Three days ago at eight o'clock in the morning. 
 He went out to buy some milk and some journals- 
 he never returned ; all that day I was very busy, and 
 I scarcely gave him a thought. It happened that I 
 did not want him, and I had no time really to wonder 
 where he was or what he was doing. But when night 
 came, and he did not turn up, I began to be uneasy. 
 I stopped up all night, but he never appeared. All 
 next day I hung about waiting for him and looking 
 for him in all his little haunts where I know he had
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 183 
 
 been wont to go for drinks or tobacco no sign of 
 him anywhere. I dare not ask too many questions. 
 I did the best I could, but in vain. Not a trace of 
 him could I find, and just this afternoon I have dis- 
 covered that he has taken away his bag and most 
 of his clothes." 
 
 Theodora uttered an exclamation. 
 
 " Ah, now you are roused ! " cried Marcel, fiercely. 
 " You see at last the possible significance of that. 
 Mon Dieu ! " he burst forth ; " what on earth am I 
 going to do ? Something must be done. He has 
 got to be found he must be found. The French 
 Government are hurrying me now over my new air- 
 ship, and time is short. I have signed a contract 
 with them already to produce it at a certain time. 
 And with all this competition on the Continent, every 
 hour is of importance, and " 
 
 He stopped dead and stared at her with those 
 wild eyes of his. 
 
 "And you cannot go on," she finished for him. 
 " Is that it ? " 
 
 But she knew as she spoke that it was more than 
 that. She realised to the full what Ivan's disappear- 
 ance meant to Marcel. It not only deprived him ot 
 that talented man, with his extraordinary capacity 
 for solving problems, but it placed him also at the 
 mercy of a great fear. 
 
 Ivan might be telling all, giving away his master 
 wholesale in little drinking taverns, his brain on fire 
 with absinthe, and the strings of his tongue loosed. 
 Theodora saw this as plainly as Marcel. 
 
 " Cannot you go to the police ? " she said. 
 
 " I dare not," said Marcel. 
 
 Before he had time to answer, George came in 
 with the Due d'Ailes. 
 
 Marcel scarcely took any notice of the newcomers, 
 but paced up and down the room for several moments 
 like a wild beast. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter with you ? " asked
 
 1 84 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 the Duke, after he had watched in silence for some 
 time. " This exhibition is extraordinary, riest-ce 
 pas ? " 
 
 George had watched it too, but he made no 
 remark. 
 
 " What exhibition ? " asked Marcel, coming to a 
 standstill. " I never go to exhibitions." 
 
 "Really, my dear friend, you do not need to," 
 said the Duke, cheerfully. 
 
 With all his respect for Marcel's genius, he was 
 no lover of this young, uncouth being who treated a 
 lady's boudoir as if it were an animal's den. 
 
 "A mannerless cub," he called Marcel, and often 
 wondered how George put up with him. 
 
 Marcel seized his hat, bowed quickly, and un- 
 ceremoniously disappeared. He found it impossible 
 to stay there in that quiet atmosphere, with his brain 
 in this state of wild turmoil. He must do something 
 action, action, that was what he needed. He must 
 find Ivan. 
 
 The cold air revived him, and a touch of snow in 
 his face had a sobering effect on his fevered pulses. 
 
 His thoughts became clearer. 
 
 After all, why should not he go to the police and 
 lay the case before them ? That could not in any 
 way increase the danger. As he was thinking this 
 some one saluted him, and he saw beside him an 
 acquaintance of his in the private police force. 
 
 " The very man," he said to himself. He seized 
 this newcomer Louis Chacot by the arm excitedly, 
 and poured out a rapid, somewhat unintelligible 
 stream of questions. 
 
 " What do you do in the case of any one being 
 lost a man or a woman, for instance how do you 
 act ? " 
 
 "That wholly depends, my friend," said Louis 
 Chacot, " in what way they are lost. Have they lost 
 themselves ? Have they been lost ? Do they know 
 they are lost ? "
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 185 
 
 Marcel stared blankly at him. 
 
 " Or have they been kidnapped ? " continued 
 Chacot. 
 
 " Kidnapped ! But he is an old man." 
 
 "Still, he might be kidnapped for a purpose," 
 said Chacot ; " that, I assure you, is the commonest 
 reason for disappearance." 
 
 " But why what object ? " exclaimed Marcel. 
 " Why should they kidnap him ? " 
 
 " To get something out of him," Chacot replied. 
 
 " He has no money he is poor," said Marcel. 
 
 " Then perhaps he knows something," said Chacot. 
 " Perhaps he knows something," he repeated mean- 
 ingly. "When people know things they are invalu- 
 able. In my experience I have never known any 
 one kidnapped yet who had not much money or 
 else knew something." 
 
 Man Dieu / If they make him talk ! Could that 
 be it ? Had some one got hold of him and taken 
 him away and were they dragging the whole thing 
 out of him ? His excited fancy saw a picture of Ivan 
 with a glass of absinthe in front of him talking 
 talking 
 
 Chacot interrupted him. 
 
 " Have you seen this ? " he said. He drew a 
 paper from his pocket, and, looking through it care- 
 fully, found the paragraph he required. He laid his 
 finger upon it and showed it to Marcel. 
 
 It seemed to the inventor as he read that para- 
 graph that the skies dropped and the foundations 
 of the earth trembled under his feet. 
 
 "To be a genius is great luck. Who would 
 be foolish enough to deny it ? Is it not what we all 
 want we clever ones ? Yet it is denied us. The 
 fates insist that we shall stop at being merely clever. 
 But there is such a thing as genius. There is a man 
 who succeeds. For instance, our young, brilliant, 
 popular idol M. Marcel Fleur. Everything he 
 attempts thrives. Failure passes him by. The eyes
 
 1 86 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 of Europe are fixed upon him, and Paris has given 
 her heart as well as her intellectual reverence. It is 
 probably on account of this adoration and admiration 
 that the brilliant inventor is not altogether exempt 
 from the passing attacks of calumny and spite which 
 are the lot of all great men. He is deaf and blind to 
 it all. He is too great to hear too great to see. 
 When whispers go circulating about his fame and 
 voices ask spitefully, ' Who helps him with his work ? 
 ... Be sure he doesn't do it all himself/ he is sub- 
 limely indifferent, and goes on his course like an 
 emperor or a god." 
 
 He handed the paper back to Chacot in silence. 
 
 "Very amusing, n'est-ce pas ? I must be off," he 
 said quietly. 
 
 " How about your old man ? " asked Chacot. . 
 
 " Oh, that that was only imaginary," said Marcel. 
 " If one invents, one must be imaginary. Au revoir" 
 and he went his way quickly, afraid that Chacot would 
 notice his agitation. 
 
 Meanwhile a little blue note with portentous words 
 was speeding along its pneumatic course. 
 
 Marcel had just entered the laboratory when it 
 arrived. He took it in his shaking hands, and looked 
 wildly at the signature. It was from Mrs. Packin- 
 thorp. Whatever did she want, of all the people in 
 the world ? 
 
 What on earth did this mean ? What could she 
 have of the utmost importance to tell him ? The 
 wording seemed almost threatening ! How absurd ! 
 It was his ridiculous nerves, overstrained by this 
 trouble about Ivan, and that horrible paragraph that 
 Louis Chacot had showed him. 
 
 He threw the note aside angrily. 
 
 He would not go ! 
 
 For a few moments he sat thinking. " Something 
 of the utmost importance (to you)." The words 
 repeated themselves over and over again in his 
 brain.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 187 
 
 Perhaps after all he had better go. Yes, it was 
 stupid, but he would go. Who could tell what this 
 woman might want, or might have done ? 
 
 Perhaps perhaps she knew something of Ivan's 
 disappearance, and the horrible truth was that if he 
 did not find Ivan soon he would not be able to go on. 
 The plans of the new airship were ready, thanks to 
 Ivan's assistance, but there were a hundred and one 
 details that Marcel knew he never could successfully 
 cope with if he were to be deprived of Ivan's brain. 
 
 He rose quickly, and throwing on his great astra- 
 khan-lined coat with its enormous collar, so well 
 known by the Parisians and all frequenters of the 
 boulevards with their caricatures of him and their 
 postcards, he went out into the street. He hailed an 
 open taximeter-cab as it passed, and, jumping in, 
 was quickly borne away to his destination along the 
 muddy boulevards.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 THE cab jolted along on its way. Marcel was a 
 personage easily recognisable to the crowd, and many 
 were the glances thrown at him as he passed swiftly 
 by. Only once was there a block in the traffic as 
 they went across a crowded street, and as the driver 
 pulled up a camelot put his dirty hand on the cab 
 door and cried to his comrades : " Tiens ! C'est la 
 Fleur ! " One of the others called out, laughing : 
 " Where did you find the secret, m'sieur ? " 
 
 The words struck Marcel forcibly. Did they 
 mean anything? Was the public mind getting as 
 suspicious as all that ? Rumours might have reached 
 even the poor people. 
 
 But no it was probably only a joke, and signified 
 nothing. Everybody knew that he had discovered 
 the secret of the air, and the words did not necessarily 
 mean anything more. 
 
 This conscience of his, he told himself, magnified 
 everything. Nevertheless he was glad when the mass 
 of vehicles slowly began to move, and at last they 
 were speeding on their way. In a few minutes they 
 reached the house, and Marcel quickly made his way 
 up to the De Rigos's apartments. 
 
 He was shown straight to Countess de Rigos's 
 boudoir, an exquisite room of purple and silver, fur- 
 nished with only a few pieces, but with an almost 
 barbaric touch. This was the only room that had 
 been altered in the apartment which she and De 
 Rigos had taken over from an American millionaire. 
 She had furnished it herself in shades of purple, deep 
 
 1 88
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 189 
 
 mauve, and cream colour ; great Oriental cushions 
 lay on the floor by the open fireplace, and in the half- 
 light, with the glow of the ruddy flames upon her, the 
 Countess sat on one of these, picturesquely, looking 
 into the fire as he entered. 
 
 She made, as usual, a charming picture, with her 
 eye for theatrical effect. This was a touch she never 
 neglected : often so much depended on lighting and 
 general effects, she told herself, and combined with 
 cleverness and a little luck one could attain almost 
 anything. To-day she was wearing a gown of deep 
 orange colour, shot with purple, which seemed to 
 belong to the room and the firelight, so cleverly 
 had it been chosen. 
 
 " Cher, Monsieur Fleur ! How charming ! " she 
 exclaimed, turning towards him with outstretched 
 hands. " I simply can't get up to welcome you. I'm 
 so comfortable down here. Come," she said, hold- 
 ing his hand softly with her white fingers, " do sit 
 down here by the fire on this other cushion, and let 
 us chat and be quite informal. My husband is out. 
 I am so dull. Now tell me all the news. It is so 
 seldom that an ordinary mortal like myself gets a 
 chance to talk to such a celebrated person as the most- 
 talked-of aeronaut of the day, that I must make the 
 most of it." 
 
 "You are very kind," he said slowly, leaning his 
 arm on the cushioned rail in front of the fire, and 
 looking at her intently. 
 
 " Kind ! Oh no, I am not really, at least not in 
 this case, for here am I wasting your time while you 
 might be doing something wonderful in your labora- 
 tory, and enjoying yourself, instead of having to put 
 up with my chatter," she said with a touch of 
 coquetry, glancing at him for a moment with a charm- 
 ing smile. 
 
 " I assure you," he answered quickly, " I could not 
 be spending my time more profitably. This is rest 
 after my labours."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 He looked at her. She certainly was a handsome 
 woman, and clever too. At this moment, the grace 
 and abandon of her pose were particularly charming 
 as she leant against the rail ; one white arm, from 
 which the loose sleeve fell back, was extended along 
 the cushioned ledge, the taper fingers almost touching 
 his coat sleeve. A great band of turquoises and 
 diamonds set in dull gold on her wrist caught the 
 glint of the dancing flames. 
 
 " How sweet of you to put it like that," she 
 murmured. 
 
 Her mind was working quickly, though apparently 
 she was merely gazing lazily into the fire. This might 
 be just a little part of her revenge upon Theodora 
 and her husband. Why should Marcel not transfer 
 his affections to her, at any rate in appearance, for she 
 was by no means certain that even her powers could 
 vanquish such admiration as she knew he had for the 
 beautiful Lady Allingham. 
 
 " What are you doing now ? Are you making 
 some wonderful new experiments, or have you already 
 done so, and created something even more amazing 
 to astonish us all ? " she asked lightly. , 
 
 Marcel paused a moment before replying. What 
 had she summoned him so peremptorily for ? Surely 
 not to talk about airships. He had quickly decided 
 that she did not seem to know anything of Ivan. 
 Her tone was coquettish and flattering, not threaten- 
 ing. " Heavens," he thought suddenly, " the woman 
 has asked me here to begin a flirtation with her. 
 This is amusing, indeed." 
 
 "As a matter of fact, experiments have ceased 
 for the moment. I do not mind telling you," he said, 
 playing up to her with a meaning glance, "that I 
 have just completed the plans of the airship for the 
 French Government." 
 
 " How very splendid ! " exclaimed Countess de 
 Rigos, enthusiastically. " I think you are so wise not 
 to take that stupid pose so many people go in for
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 191 
 
 who have genius of being above money matters. 
 Ah ! you clever men what a lot of secrets you must 
 have ! What a lot of things there always are behind 
 the scenes which only a few know of." 
 
 Carelessly laying her hand on his, she pressed it 
 gently as she spoke the last few words. 
 
 Marcel started. 
 
 What did that mean ? What did she know ? 
 
 "You see, I am one of the favoured few in this 
 case. It is so charming for an ordinary woman to be 
 let into such a secret so fascinating," she murmured. 
 
 Marcel sat in petrified silence. So she knew about 
 Ivan. And it was for this that she had summoned 
 him. She was going to make her own terms. Doubt- 
 less she wanted to use him in some way. He could 
 not speak ; for a moment he was incapable almost 
 of thinking. 
 
 Meanwhile the Countess was about to proceed in 
 her soft, musical voice along her lying way. She had 
 determined to tell him that her dear Theodora had 
 confided in her, and that she no more loved him at 
 all, and had told her many things (which of course 
 were lies) about him. A plan was rapidly forming 
 in her head wherewith she would make this strange 
 and impressionable man's love turn to hate. 
 
 There was a dead silence. 
 
 " Like all women," she said, smiling slowly, " I 
 adore secrets, and when I stumbled on yours quite 
 by chance, I admit that I was delighted, and " 
 
 Marcel could stand it no longer. He rose 
 brusquely, and in a voice choking with fear and 
 anger, exclaimed, "Tell me, what do you know? 
 How much do you know ? Enough of this beating 
 about the bush. Do you, or do you not, know where 
 Ivan is ? " 
 
 It was now the turn of the woman crouching by 
 the fire in utter amazement to wonder what the other 
 meant. Ivan ! Ivan ! Where had she seen that 
 name in connection with his ? Ah, the letter ! Then
 
 192 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 there was something else he was trying to hide. 
 She neither moved nor expressed any emotion, but 
 she was on the alert. Here was something new. 
 
 A secret evidently of far more importance than 
 her stupid little one about his infatuation for Theo- 
 dora was hidden here. She must ferret it out ! 
 
 " My dear Monsieur Fleur," she said at last calmly, 
 "do not get so excited, I beg you. Let us be calm 
 and talk quietly and reasonably together. I will be 
 quite frank with you and tell you all, and then you 
 will see what a perfectly harmless person I am, and 
 one who only wishes you well." She paused slightly. 
 " You see, a letter came to me by mistake, obviously 
 put into the wrong envelope, and I read it which, 
 perhaps, I should not have done but remember," 
 she said, smiling charmingly like some innocent child, 
 "a woman's dreadful curiosity, and be lenient with 
 me. Thinking the note was of importance, I traced 
 the person to whom it was evidently addressed " 
 
 " Theodora," ejaculated Marcel, with a despairing 
 gesture. 
 
 " Yes," she replied sweetly. " I have the letter 
 here," she added, rising and taking a sheet of paper 
 from the folds of her gown. 
 
 " May I see it ? I cannot believe it. It is a lying 
 forgery. Some enemy has been trying to ruin me, 
 and sent it to you on purpose." 
 
 He snatched it from her hand quickly. The 
 movement did not appear to surprise her much. In 
 a moment he had glanced at it and torn it into a 
 hundred pieces, throwing them into the blazing fire. 
 
 " Dear Monsieur Fleur, how rude ! " exclaimed 
 the Countess, sweetly. " I did so want that copy." 
 
 "Copy!" 
 
 "Yes. You were quite right. That letter was a 
 forgery. I did it. The original is far too valuable 
 to keep lying about the house, so it reposes with 
 other precious papers in my banker's keeping ! If 
 you pick up that little piece which is not burnt you
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 193 
 
 will see that the paper is the same as my own, which 
 is specially made for me. Would you like to try ? " 
 she asked, going over to the writing-table. 
 
 " You fiend ! " he exclaimed furiously. " What 
 do you want for your silence ? " 
 
 " Mon cher, Monsieur Marcel," she replied sweetly, 
 going up to him and holding out her hands, "you 
 have nothing to fear from me. All I want is to be 
 friends. Friends remember," she repeated. " Now 
 you are a little upset, and quite unnecessarily, believe 
 me. Go home and think things over ; when you are 
 calmer you will see that fate has really played you 
 quite a good turn in sending you to me. The secret 
 of Ivan is perfectly, absolutely safe in my hands. 
 Good-bye," she smiled gently, leading him to the 
 door as she clasped his hand. 
 
 He went out stumblingly, blindly, overcome with 
 anger and a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts not 
 untouched with fear. 
 
 The door had scarcely banged after him as he 
 blundered along the corridor to the entrance, past 
 the manservant watching to show him out, when a 
 smaller door let into the panelling on the other side 
 of the room behind the piano opened and an elderly 
 woman appeared. She was evidently a servant, but 
 there was something in her entrance, despite her air 
 of frightened humility, which gave the idea that she 
 was also a person who was quite sure of her position. 
 She stood there silently, her lean hands folded over 
 one another as the Countess turned to her with an 
 interrogating smile. 
 
 " The gentleman seemed in a great state a great 
 state," said the woman slowly. 
 
 She had a peculiar trick of repeating her words, 
 which gave unthinking people the impression that 
 she was foolish, a deduction they sometimes had 
 occasion to repent afterwards. 
 
 She was rather under medium height, with lean 
 and hard features ; her mouth formed a line across 
 
 O
 
 194 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 her lined and wrinkled face, but her humble air 
 covered much of this. She stooped slightly, which 
 made her look older than she really was, and this, 
 combined with her thin, straight grey hair, and life- 
 less, dull eyes, made up the curious and unpleasant 
 personality of Mrs. Hawkins. The Countess had 
 introduced her into the new household as her old 
 nurse, who had been in the family all her life, and 
 whom she was delighted to shelter in her old age. 
 As a matter of fact, Hawkins had, it is true, been 
 a nurse, but only for a little while, and the Countess 
 had run up against her at Monte Carlo some years 
 back when she was ill, and she (Mrs. Hawkins) had 
 since then been of great use to her in various little 
 ways, for the woman in her way was devoted to her 
 mistress. 
 
 The Countess de Rigos smiled on. 
 
 "Yes, Hawk, he does seem upset, doesn't he? 
 But we will upset him more, you and I, before we 
 have done perhaps," she added musingly. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins's thin lips smiled, showing her 
 yellow teeth. She looked a little like some animal 
 when she had that expression on her thin face. 
 
 " I dare say," she said grimly. 
 
 For a moment the Countess stood silently, watch- 
 ing the dancing flames. "There is much to be 
 done. . . ." 
 
 "You can count on me," said Mrs. Hawkins, "if 
 I can be of any use ? " deprecatingly. 
 
 "Yes, I k think you can," replied the Countess, 
 continuing gaily, "I know that I can count on you 
 for any little acts of villainy I may contemplate. 
 What a comfort you are! I have a great scheme 
 on hand now. I have to pay out a woman who 
 has offended me, and I'm going to do it well and 
 thoroughly." 
 
 " I'm sure," murmured the gaunt old woman, her 
 lifeless drab eyes staring dully before her, " I'm with 
 you, dearie."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 195 
 
 When she had gone the Countess went to her desk 
 and wrote another note to Marcel Fleur. 
 
 "DEAR MONSIEUR FLEUR': 
 
 " Ignace and I will be so delighted if you 
 will come and dine with us quite informally just 
 ourselves next Thursday. . , . There are so many 
 things we have in common, so many tastes and 
 opinions ; it will be such pleasure to us both if you 
 will come that we are not going to ask any one 
 else, so that we may have you all to ourselves, 
 though, indeed, it's sadly greedy of us to ask such a 
 thing of so busy and run-after a personage. . . . We 
 dine at half-past eight. . . . You must come ; in fact, 
 we simply can't take ' no ' for an answer." 
 
 She laughed as she folded the letter, saying softly 
 to herself, " The sleeping-draught is the next thing ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE pale winter sun shone through the pink silk 
 blinds of the luxurious bedroom as the Countess de 
 Rigos lay back against the pile of silken cushions, 
 sipping her morning chocolate and opening her 
 numerous letters. 
 
 She had been very late the night before, and, 
 feeling a little fagged, followed her usual rule of allow- 
 ing herself to be lazy until her abundant energy 
 returned and she felt a wish to get up. She made 
 quite a charming picture, in spite of her fatigue, as 
 she sat propped up, her raven hair and pale face 
 against the soft pillows. Her maid had thrown an 
 exquisite wrapper of pink silk shot with copper-colour 
 around her shoulders, and she really looked adorable, 
 as her husband had exclaimed when he had come in 
 hurriedly in answer to her summons, fearing that she 
 might be ill. Everything in the room was in harmony 
 with a wonderful scheme of colouring, pink shading 
 into a red golden bronze and cream colour. A huge 
 fire burnt brightly in the grate, for the morning was 
 very cold, and its light danced upon the bronze 
 fittings. 
 
 The sun streamed through one of the uncurtained 
 windows, catching a hundred colours in the old 
 copper-framed mirrors with their wonderful designs. 
 Through an open door a glimpse was caught of a 
 superb marble bathroom, where once again the fittings 
 were all of copper. This in its turn gave into the 
 Countess's dressing-room, into which the small door 
 behind the piano in the purple room opened. 
 
 196
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 197 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Hawkins I want to see her," she said 
 to the maid, dismissing her, and than lay back with 
 closed eyes. When she opened them a few moments 
 later she found the nurse had entered silently and 
 stood watching her. 
 
 "Give me some more chocolate, Hawk, there's a 
 dear, and sit down and listen to me," said the Countess, 
 smiling. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins did as she was bid, and then sat 
 waiting with folded hands in perfect silence. 
 
 She always looked so respectable, quiet, and 
 uninteresting, not to say foolish, that no one ever 
 glanced at her a second time unless by chance they 
 knew her or ever had dealings with her. Her dull, 
 drab-coloured eyes watched intently the face of the 
 beautiful woman on the luxurious bed with its delicate 
 lace covers. 
 
 " I want your help. There is a lot to do, and only 
 you and I can do it," the Countess continued slowly, 
 her low-toned voice rising and falling melodiously, as 
 she softly laid out her plans and suggestions before 
 this silent, listening woman, whose only sign of 
 attention was to rub her bony hands together gently 
 as she noticed some special point. At last the low 
 voice ceased. 
 
 " A very good idea very good idea," said Hawkins. 
 "Old Hawk '11 see you through, dearie," she added 
 quickly, as she made the old motion with her restless 
 hands. It was only when she was deeply interested 
 in something that she dropped her acquired refined 
 accent and returned to the Cockney of her birth and 
 its slang. 
 
 " I think that will do, don't you ? " 
 
 Hawkins nodded silently and sat for a moment in 
 thought. Her mistress watched her. There was no 
 expression on her hard, lined face, with its high 
 cheek-bones and stupid dull eyes, to tell what was 
 passing through her mind, but the Countess waited in 
 patience.
 
 193 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " You shall have it by the time you dress for 
 dinner," Hawkins said at last. " I can carry out all 
 my part easily, only what will I get out of it ? " 
 
 "A hundred pounds, and in advance," answered 
 the Countess, quickly. 
 
 " A bargain," replied Hawkins.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 " LET us all go and have coffee in my room," suggested 
 the Countess, rising. " It is so cosy there, and you 
 can talk airships and things to your hearts' content 
 while I strum on the piano and amuse myself." 
 
 The two men willingly acquiesced, and they all 
 went into the delightful purple and silver room to- 
 gether. The Count and Marcel sank into two low 
 armchairs by the fire and began to talk lazily. They 
 had both had a long and tiring day, and De Rigos 
 made no pretence of hiding the fact that he felt 
 sleepy. His wife protested laughingly that he was 
 being very rude to their guest and turned to the open 
 piano. 
 
 " I will sing you a lullaby," she said gaily. " If 
 you really want to sleep we may as well do the thing 
 in style. Monsieur Fleur, I know, is too polite ; he 
 will stay awake and listen." 
 
 At that moment a servant entered with a silver 
 salver. 
 
 " But I will make you some of the Turkish coffee 
 your souls love, first. My husband," she said, turning 
 towards Marcel, "has taught me the only real and 
 true way to do it, and I look to you for congratulation 
 on the result." 
 
 She busied herself at the tray at the door for a 
 few moments, with her back to the two men, intent 
 on their discussion of some aerial experiment. 
 
 It was easy work to slip the contents of the phial 
 into two of the delicate little cups with their golden 
 
 199
 
 200 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 stands, and shortly after, with a charming smile, she 
 stood awaiting their verdict as they drank it. 
 
 " It is delicious," said Marcel, with enthusiasm, 
 draining his cup as she struck a few soft notes on the 
 piano. 
 
 " I am so glad you like it," she murmured, casting 
 down her eyes that they should not betray her 
 amusement. 
 
 Softly she began to sing a crooning Russian 
 lullaby. As her ringers wandered over the keys after 
 the first verse she looked up. 
 
 They were both sleeping soundly ! 
 
 She rose very quietly and went over to them. 
 
 They did not move, and there was silence except 
 for the regular breathing which came from the drugged 
 sleepers. 
 
 She touched their hands they did not move a 
 muscle. 
 
 Swiftly she went back to the piano, and noise- 
 lessly opened the little door leading to her dressing 
 room. 
 
 " Are you there ? " she whispered. 
 
 "Yes," came the reply, and the form of Mrs. 
 Hawkins appeared dimly in the door way. She had 
 changed her appearance greatly. A plain but rich 
 dress was concealed by the thin and dowdy black 
 cloak she was wearing over it, and beneath her large 
 hat she wore a white wig which, together with the 
 alterations she had made with a little paint and 
 powder, made her look quite a delightful old lady 
 when her thick veil was raised. " Get the keys," she 
 whispered. 
 
 The Countess glided across the room, and stooping 
 over Marcel, gently took hold of the chain at the end 
 of which he kept the keys belonging to the laboratory 
 and his rooms. 
 
 There were two bunches. 
 
 She quickly undid the smaller and put it into the 
 outstretched waiting hand.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 201 
 
 The door closed and she glided back to the piano 
 and resumed, very softly, her playing. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins made her way swiftly down the 
 back staircase, taking off her thin cloak in the next 
 street, where she hailed a passing cab and gave the 
 man an address near the laboratory, with injunctions 
 to drive fast. 
 
 Meanwhile the Countess played on. 
 
 It was a trying ordeal, and, though her nerves 
 were of iron when there was anything she wished to 
 carry out, she felt the strain more and more as the 
 time passed by. 
 
 It seemed hours. Every moment she expected 
 the two men to wake up. The clock on the mantel- 
 piece she had stopped at six o'clock that afternoon 
 purposely. 
 
 On and on the white, taper fingers moved over 
 the ivory keys. 
 
 Suddenly a light tap upon the door at her side 
 sounded. The player did not move. She had full 
 command of herself, strung up as she was. She softly 
 went on playing with her right hand, and pushed 
 open the door with her left. 
 
 " Did you succeed ? " 
 
 " Yes," came the reply in a whisper from the next 
 room. 
 
 The Countess glided over to the two motionless 
 figures by the fire. Long and intently she looked at 
 them. Neither moved ; their breathing was still 
 even and deep. Mrs. Hawkins continued in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " There is lots of time. They ought not to wake 
 for ten minutes yet. Still, hurry ! One can never tell ! 
 Here are the keys, and take this, and if they stir 
 give them each three whiffs, no more, mind," added 
 the nurse, handing her through the doorway a little 
 bottle containing chloroform. 
 
 She did not come into the room, but watched 
 through the half-open door, her mistress's movements
 
 202 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 as she glided again noiselessly towards the two 
 sleeping men. 
 
 De Rigos appeared to be wholly unconscious and 
 sleeping peacefully still. 
 
 She turned to Marcel. 
 
 Gently she drew out the chain with its bunch of 
 keys, and holding ready in her hand the chloroform, 
 she fixed the second bunch on again and slipped 
 them back into his pocket. 
 
 As she did so he stirred ever so slightly in his 
 sleep. She had only just been in time, and a cold 
 shiver ran through her as she realised her narrow 
 escape. But the fates seemed to be on her side. 
 A minute later and he would have been roused even 
 by her gentle touch. 
 
 Quick as lightning she handed the chloroform 
 back to Mrs. Hawkins. 
 
 " Go on playing, dearie," whispered the old woman, 
 " and give a sudden crash to wake 'em up. See you 
 later on." 
 
 With that she noiselessly closed the door. 
 
 The Countess's fingers glided over the keys. Then 
 a triumphant note sounded loudly through her sooth- 
 ing chords. She was playing more and more forte, 
 but in vain. She could not wake the sleepers. 
 Suddenly she knocked a book on to the keys with a 
 mighty bang. 
 
 "What on earth was that?" said the Count, 
 turning drowsily and blinking. 
 
 " I'm afraid it was my clumsiness," murmured his 
 wife without looking round. " I let this score of 
 ' Tristan and his beloved Iseulte ' fall on to the keys." 
 She added flippantly, " And it is as heavy as the two 
 singers themselves always are ! I am so sorry ! You 
 were asleep, I am sure of it. You were much too 
 quiet to be only listening to my performance. Own 
 up, dear, and apologise to me and to M. Fleur, who I 
 know is much too polite and fond of music even 
 mine," she laughed.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 203 
 
 She knew that the longer she kept talking the 
 better. It gave Marcel time to collect himself. At 
 last he spoke. 
 
 " I have been enjoying your music more than I can 
 say," he said; "you played most beautifully. You 
 are one of those lucky people who have that inde- 
 finable ' something ' in their playing. The Count 
 was 'dreadfully tired, and your music soothed him. 
 I watched him going off gradually into the land of 
 dreams. And then I listened in silence." 
 
 " How dear of you," she answered. " And that 
 is the greatest compliment you could pay me ! " 
 
 She had listened to his story with a smile of 
 delight. 
 
 His easy lying appealed to her greatly, and he 
 thought her look of pleasure arose from the compli- 
 ments he had paid to her playing, and was not 
 unpleased at the feeling that he had been able to 
 deceive her so very easily. She laughed on brightly 
 and ran her fingers over the keys as she jumped up. 
 She could afford to be generous and let him have his 
 little satisfaction. She held his secret. 
 
 " Well, anyway," she exclaimed, going over to her 
 husband and taking his arm fondly, " you were only 
 asleep ten minutes at the most, so what does it 
 matter ? " 
 
 Marcel lazily drew his watch out to examine the 
 time and see for himself how long De Rigos had 
 slumbered. The hands were at ten. It had stopped ! 
 It was ten o'clock when they came in here from 
 dinner. 
 
 " My watch has stopped ! " he exclaimed. She 
 knew that very well. When she manipulated the 
 keys she also adjusted his watch. 
 
 He glanced up at the mantelpiece. The little 
 gold clock there announced, in the shameless manner 
 of little gold empire clocks, that it was now six o'clock. 
 
 " Oh ! that," cried the Countess, gaily. " Don't 
 take any notice of that. It's never even set right
 
 204 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 now. We leave it severely alone, as a punishment 
 for its mad vagaries." 
 
 " What time do you make it ? " Marcel inquired 
 of De Rigos. 
 
 " I ? Oh, you have my watch, dear," said the 
 Count to his wife. " I lent it to you, you remember." 
 
 "Yes, it was sweet of you," she replied smilingly. 
 " You trusted me with 'a treasure that I know you 
 really hate to see out of your sight But then, think 
 of the object." 
 
 " What object ? " asked Marcel. 
 
 " The Turkish coffee," nodded the Countess. " A 
 question of minutes a question of seconds makes 
 all the difference to that ! Really," she added, with a 
 demure little laugh, " I don't believe that Ignace 
 would have trusted me with his watch for any other 
 reason than that." 
 
 As she spoke she drew the watch in question from 
 the front of her gown. She bent over it. " It's 
 exactly half-past ten," she said. 
 
 Then she looked up brightly at the two men, and 
 smiled on one first and then on the other, adding, 
 in a soothing voice, " So you were only naughty 
 enough to sleep for two minutes ! It couldn't have 
 been more." 
 
 She turned to De Rigos, and suggested they 
 should play a game called Skerra the most fascina- 
 ting game in the whole world and such a brain rest. 
 " Ignace taught it to me," she told Marcel, " and I 
 even I stupid as I am, picked it up quite quickly, so 
 I'm sure you won't have the slightest trouble, M. Fleur, 
 with your great mathematical brain, that is always 
 tackling problems." 
 
 As she spoke, almost without seeming to move, 
 she was noiselessly opening a card table, there 
 between the men. She reached back and brought 
 cards from behind her. A box of counters was 
 quickly placed beside the cards. She was so graceful. 
 She moved like a snake. One arm reached lazily
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 205 
 
 out one here, another there. Ignace and Marcel 
 watched her, fascinated. 
 
 " Now, here we are," she cried brightly. " Draw 
 your chair forward, Ignace ; you, M. Fleur, stay 
 where you are. We'll come nearer you. There, 
 that's right. Now, we are all comfy, aren't we ? 
 Let me see, have we got everything you want ? Oh, 
 no ! You two men ! I forgot you. Drinks," she 
 added merrily, and, scarcely seeming to move, she 
 pressed a bell and summoned a manservant. 
 
 Marcel and De Rigos had no inclination to dis- 
 agree with her. A beatific sensation of quiescent 
 happiness, the results of the drug, lingered in their 
 brains. To be lazy here by the fire, while this black- 
 haired siren talked to them so sweetly, was simply 
 idyllic. They drank a little of the special drink 
 prepared for them by the Countess's white hands, to 
 the making of which went various liqueurs cognac, 
 vermouth, amara, orange flower, soda-water, and 
 cracked ice. The world grew brighter as they drank. 
 
 " Do you like that ? " she asked Marcel with a 
 friendly smile. 
 
 " Delicious," he replied, " heavenly." 
 
 " That's right ; I needn't ask Ignace. He foolish 
 boy thinks everything that I give him is nectar." 
 
 She laid her white hand on De Rigos's arm and 
 smiled. 
 
 She was laying herself out to fascinate these two 
 men : all her wiles were in requisition ; and she was 
 succeeding. She knew that. She realised quite well 
 that both were under her charm. For the moment, 
 at any rate. 
 
 " Now, let's play," she said brightly. " I've put 
 the cards out, and everything's ready. Shall you 
 explain the game, Ignace, or shall I ? " 
 
 "You." 
 
 Ignace was devouring her with his fathomless 
 brown eyes. 
 
 " Yes, you, please," said Marcel.
 
 206 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Really." She smiled as though flattered. " Then 
 I hope I won't be stupid. I am not very good at 
 cards, but I will do my best to save you, my dear, 
 lazy husband." 
 
 She put her elbow on the table and leaned for- 
 ward, fixing her eyes on Marcel as she explained to 
 him the ins and outs of the game. She was very 
 patient. " Do you understand ? " she kept saying ; 
 if he did not, she explained it all over again to him, 
 with admirable sweetness and courtesy. 
 
 " What a treasure of a wife I've got ! " thought De 
 Rigos. 
 
 They soon got into the game, and the hours 
 slipped by unnoticed. The Countess plied them with 
 drinks, filled their brains with her bright and witty 
 talk, flashed her eyes at them, smiled on them, and 
 dazzled them both completely. 
 
 She, herself, lost. 
 
 Marcel was the winner. " You've got the beginner's 
 luck ! " said the Countess, sadly, as she watched him 
 sweep his little pile of gold into his pocket. 
 
 As a matter of fact, she would not allow herself to 
 win ; that would have been stupid. It paid her better 
 that Marcel should be put into a very good temper 
 than that she should win a few paltry louis. So she 
 smiled whenever she lost, and never for a moment 
 looked anything but beamingly happy and gracious. 
 
 It was the gayest game of cards imaginable. 
 
 The air of the beautiful purple and copper- 
 coloured room rang with peals of laughter. The 
 Countess told them bright little stories every now and 
 then, and kept them all in a merry mood. 
 
 It seemed to Marcel one of the most delightful 
 evenings he had ever spent. De Rigos was a charm- 
 ing host so quiet, so well bred, and always knowing 
 exactly just what was wanted. Man-like, Marcel did 
 not observe that it was De Rigos's wife who was 
 really responsible for all the charm of the entertain- 
 ment.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 207 
 
 The Countess looked at her watch at last and 
 uttered a little cry. 
 
 " What hour of the day do you think it is ? " she 
 exclaimed. " Three o'clock in the morning ! I can 
 scarcely believe it ! " 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried Marcel. 
 
 " I assure you," said the Countess, laughing. 
 
 She was dead tired herself now, and it would not 
 have surprised her if the hour had been far later even. 
 But she had gained her ends. 
 
 She had kept the two men playing until they had 
 lost all idea of time. 
 
 As a matter of fact, when they began the game it 
 was past twelve. But in the meantime she had put 
 Ignace's watch right and allowed the hours to return 
 to their proper place. Yes, she was very, very tired. 
 " If I laugh any more I shall go to pieces," she said 
 to herself. 
 
 But she had not dared let Marcel leave the house 
 and go out into the street when he woke from his 
 drugged sleep. The clocks there would have betrayed 
 her. He would have seen at once it was past twelve, 
 and not half-past ten ! 
 
 He was gone at last. The lights were out in the 
 purple room and the Countess was sinking wearily 
 into the great white chair by her dressing-room fire. 
 
 " Lock the door, Hawk," she said quietly. 
 
 " Yes, dearie, I'll see to that. Hawkll look after 
 you." 
 
 The old woman drew the pins out of her mistress's 
 hair, with an incredibly gentle movement, and the 
 long black locks fell over the slender shoulders of the 
 figure in the rose-pink peignoir. 
 " Now let me see them all ! " 
 
 Mrs. Hawkins glided noiselessly to a drawer, un- 
 locked it, and brought forward an armful of documents, 
 which she placed in her mistress's lap. 
 
 " Spray me with that scent of the Count's," mur- 
 mured the latter languidly. " It makes one forget
 
 208 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 one lives in Europe. It's so barbaric and so deliciously 
 sweet and sharp and soothing, all at once." 
 
 She was opening the documents as she spoke. 
 
 Suddenly she grew excited. " Stop spraying me ! " 
 she cried sharply. " Come here. Oh, Hawk, Hawk, 
 what a treasure you are ! " 
 
 " Am I, dearie ? " said Hawkins, coming down on 
 her knees by her mistress, and staring expressionlessly 
 with her drab eyes at the documents in the latter's 
 long white hands. 
 
 " Rather," said the Countess. 
 
 She tapped the document in her lap. 
 
 " This means well, I scarcely know what it 
 means it means such a lot," she said quietly. "If 
 I chose to turn it into money there's a fabulous 
 fortune in it." 
 
 The drab eyes glistened. 
 
 "And are you going to turn it into money, 
 dearie ? " 
 
 The Countess laughed. 
 
 Her long black hair danced with the movement of 
 her head as she threw it back. It seemed as if a 
 shower of snakes was in movement behind her. 
 
 Some women are tremendously improved by having 
 their hair let down. It gives them an appearance of 
 youth and innocence very often. But " Mrs. Pack " 
 was not of that type. With her hair unbound and 
 hanging loose over her shoulders hard lines seemed 
 to start out all over her face. Her nose grew beaky. 
 Her chin took on an ugly sharpness. There was too 
 great a discrepancy between the simplicity of the 
 hair hanging loose and the woman herself, and nature 
 refused to play a deceiving part. She looked years 
 older, years plainer, and it would be impossible to say 
 how much more wicked when her hair was down. 
 
 " No, not money, I think," she replied, in answer 
 to the nurse's question. " Not money, this time." 
 
 " I see what it is, dearie," said Hawkins. " You 
 are going to pay some one off."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 209 
 
 " Pay some one back, and not in coin exactly," 
 said the Countess, gaily. " Paying one's debts is not 
 always such a dull game as it seems, eh, Hawk ? I 
 owe Lady Allingham this. Mon Dieu ! when I think 
 that she dared to cut me at a public fete, before 
 Ignace." She clenched her hands. " Other people 
 saw that too," she continued. " There were two ladies 
 at the end of the room who witnessed it, and they have 
 talked. I know, because Mme. de Villiers a true 
 friend hinted it to me. It will be all over Paris soon." 
 
 " Never you mind, dearie ; you're the cleverest of 
 the lot." 
 
 " I'm clever enough," said the Countess, with a 
 careless laugh, poring over the documents in her 
 hand. " I've got this in my possession. And this is 
 no toy, Hawk." 
 
 " Have you looked at the other things I brought 
 you ? " asked Hawkins, quietly. 
 
 The Countess in looking at them laughed. 
 
 There was a big bundle of letters tied with a blue 
 ribbon and written in the handwriting which she 
 recognised immediately. They were from Theodora 
 to Marcel the letters of years, which the former in 
 her ignorance and innocence had never even asked 
 him to return to her. 
 
 The white face with the black hair studied them 
 gloatingly. " Dear, dearest Marcel," she read, " the 
 time is so long when I don't see you. . . . Marcel, 
 darling, do you know that your Theodora thinks only 
 of you how can you be so cruel to her ? . . . My 
 own Marcel, mamma is very angry with me because I 
 walked with you yesterday in the pine forest, but I 
 love you, and so ... I will meet you to-morrow, 
 dearest Marcel, at three o'clock at the entrance to the 
 campo santo, and let us wander over towards the 
 purple mountains and look for anemones, and forget 
 everything but that we love each other. . . . Marcel, 
 my heart is simply breaking to-day because of 
 you. ..." 
 
 P
 
 210 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 The Countess looked up. 
 
 "Hawk," she said, in a thrilling voice, "you're a 
 wonderful woman you're a treasure. I'll make it 
 another hundred pounds." 
 
 " Good, dearie, I don't object. It's the letters that 
 are pleasing you, isn't it ? You didn't tell me to 
 bring them, but I saw they were letters and letters 
 are always useful, ain't they, dearie ? So I whisked 
 them up and brought them along as wsll." 
 
 " It was wonderful of you." 
 
 She was now examining the document again. To 
 her it was absolutely unintelligible, but that mattered 
 nothing. It was the plan of Marcel Fleur's new air- 
 ship, for which the French Government was then 
 negotiating. That was all she cared about.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE gulf was rapidly deepening between George and 
 Theodora, but neither spoke of it. They lived their 
 lives in apparent happiness and peace, they went 
 everywhere together, and the world considered them 
 devoted to each other ; all the men envied George, 
 and a not inconsiderable number of women deemed 
 that Theodora had been lucky to win such a husband, 
 and yet all the time their estrangement went on in- 
 creasing. Theodora's pride was in arms now. But 
 so was George's. That was the unfortunate part of 
 it, for when two people consider themselves each the 
 injured party their affairs will necessarily be difficult 
 to adjust. 
 
 One evening the Princess was dining with the 
 Allinghams en famille when a manservant entered 
 with a telephone message. 
 
 " For Madame la Princesse," he said. " She is 
 wanted immediately at the H6pital des Petites 
 Sceurs." 
 
 " At the hospital," exclaimed the Princess, in alarm. 
 " Whatever can that mean ? Who wants me ? " 
 
 The man had written the name on paper, as it 
 was a difficult one to remember, and he read it aloud. 
 
 " Krikoffsky," he said suavely. " They say there 
 has been a slight accident and will you go without 
 delay ? They have already telephoned to your hotel 
 for you, and so a little time has been lost in finding 
 you, and every moment is of importance." 
 
 He delivered this message in a low voice, standing 
 close by the Princess's chair. 
 
 211
 
 212 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Mamma," cried Theodora, sharply, who was 
 watching the Princess's face. " Oh ! George, hold 
 her go to her, quick ; she is going to faint ! " 
 
 George was at her side in an instant, but she 
 waved him away. " No no, George, dear, ... it is 
 all right. ... I was just surprised for the moment. 
 . . ." She tried her best to collect herself, and in 
 an instant had regained her composure. " Will you 
 forgive me if I leave so unceremoniously ? " she said, 
 looking at them both and rising to her feet. " This 
 may be a matter of life and death. My dear, I must 
 not delay a moment." 
 
 " But, mamma," Theodora gasped, " what are you 
 going to do ? " 
 
 " I am going to the hospital." 
 
 " It is at the other end of Paris," said George. 
 
 " You cannot go alone," said Theodora. " May 
 I not come with you ? I cannot bear the thought of 
 you starting off on a journey like that by yourself." 
 
 The Princess hesitated. 
 
 Theodora came round and threw her arms about 
 her tenderly. "Take me with you, mamma," she 
 said ; and, in the softest, lowest voice imaginable, she 
 breathed, " You know you can trust me ! " 
 
 " Come, then," said the Princess. 
 
 She was greatly overwrought and excited, but 
 she did not forget to hold out her hands to George, 
 begging to be forgiven for causing such disturbance, 
 " and for taking Theodora away," she added sweetly. 
 She was so very charming, in spite of her agitation, 
 that George could not possibly harbour any feelings 
 of resentment or annoyance, although the thought 
 had crossed his mind rather painfully that they might 
 have asked him to accompany them. 
 
 The door closed and they were gone, and pre- 
 sently George heard the great front doors opening 
 and shutting, and knew that they had driven away. 
 
 A footman entered noiselessly. 
 
 "You are wanted at the telephone, sir," he said
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 213 
 
 respectfully. " Or, rather, it is the Princess they have 
 been asking for ; but when I told them she was not 
 here, they seemed so upset that I said I would speak 
 to the master." 
 
 " Quite right," said George, rising. " I will come 
 immediately." 
 
 He went to the telephone in the library. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "I am Sir George Allingham. 
 Who's speaking ? " 
 
 "The Hopital des Petites Soeurs," replied a 
 woman's voice. " The matron is speaking. Forgive 
 me for troubling you, but can you tell me if the 
 Princess has already started ? If not, would you 
 kindly prevent her from doing so ? " 
 
 " She has already started," said George. 
 
 Through the telephone he heard an exclamation 
 of regret. 
 
 " I am too late," said the voice. 
 
 " She is on her way there now," said George. 
 
 " I am very sorry," said the matron. " The fact 
 is, her coming now is of no importance. M. Krikoff- 
 sky is already dead. He passed away five minutes 
 ago. We did our best to keep him alive till the 
 Princess arrived, as he was so desperately anxious 
 to see her, but it was in vain. It was a clot of blood 
 on the brain the result of a fall he had lately. He 
 had reopened an old sword-wound in the knee and 
 neglected it, and was in a serious condition when he 
 came here. That is what the doctors think." 
 
 The interview was ended. The telephone rang 
 off. George put the receiver back in its place and 
 returned to the dining-room. He drank some coffee 
 and a liqueur and smoked a cigarette or two, but 
 his mind was with that conversation on the telephone 
 all the time. 
 
 In the meantime Theodora and the Princess had 
 driven rapidly through Paris in a motor-brougham, 
 the daughter supporting the mother in her arms and 
 begging her not to grieve.
 
 214 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 She felt a tremor run through the Princess's slight 
 form, and she knew there was more than ordinary 
 suffering in her mother's heart now, but not a word 
 was said ; they drove in silence through the night. 
 It was raining, and the mist of fine small drops 
 covered the windows of the brougham and made soft 
 music round them. The night was grey and oppres- 
 sive. Something ominous was lurking in the heavy 
 lowering air, out of which all the ozone and oxygen 
 seemed to have taken flight, leaving Paris to pant 
 and struggle with an enormous depression. 
 
 At last the motor turned noiselessly in through 
 the great gates of the hospital, and came to a stand- 
 still in the courtyard where the bare, leafless trees 
 stood in a circle, like sentinels. 
 
 There were a few preliminaries to be gone through 
 names to be given and taken, all of which was 
 done very quickly, and then the matron herself, 
 dressed in a spotless white gown and immaculate 
 starched cap, appeared at the carriage window. 
 
 " I am so sorry," she said quickly, breaking the 
 news immediately, " I fear your journey is a wasted 
 one." 
 
 "What! Is he " 
 
 "Dead," said the matron. "He passed away a 
 quarter of an hour ago. I tried to stop you from 
 starting, but it was too late." 
 
 "I should like to see him," said the Princess, 
 presently. "Stay here, dearest," she said to Theo- 
 dora. " I will go with the matron alone." 
 
 She disappeared, and was gone some ten minutes. 
 Her face was very white and her lips trembled when 
 she returned. Sweetly thanking the matron for her 
 kindness she entered the brougham and sank back 
 in a corner next to Theodora. 
 
 " I am glad I came I am glad I saw him," she 
 murmured presently. 
 
 Suddenly the Princess's emotions overcame her 
 self-control. Her fortitude gave way, and she broke
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 215 
 
 into an abandon of weeping, there in the corner of 
 the brougham. 
 
 Out of the shadowy past the story of Krikoffsky 
 came stealing in all its details, and her own life and 
 that of her late husband, Hugh Derrington, was 
 revived and reconstructed in her brain ... all the 
 pain ... all the old pain returned. . . . 
 
 Yet now that Krikoffsky was dead, a fresh problem 
 presented itself. 
 
 He had died of the old wound, the doctors said. 
 
 And so he died, after all, at Hugh Derrington's 
 hand ! As that thought became clear to her, she 
 struggled with an overmastering horror and trembled 
 in Theodora's arms. 
 
 " Mamma, mamma, you mustn't ! " cried her 
 daughter, in terrible distress. " Can't you tell me ? 
 Can't you confide in me ? I am a woman, like your- 
 self. Surely we two together might bear this burden 
 that you are suffering under so bitterly." 
 
 Then the Princess told her. 
 
 Sitting there in a corner of the brougham, with 
 the raindrops on the window, the great city enveloped 
 in greyness and a morose atmosphere an atmo- 
 sphere that seemed to have stolen away all its gaiety 
 for the nonce Theodora listened to a story that 
 thrilled her as she had never in her life been thrilled 
 before. Wonder amaze alarm horror chased them- 
 selves over her mind . . . the story did not take long 
 . . . and the end of it was that it was another secret 
 which she must keep from George. 
 
 " George must never know," said the Princess. 
 
 "Never," echoed Theodora, desperately. 
 
 When they got home George came into the hall 
 to greet them, and his manner was so full of such 
 deep tenderness and thoughtfulness that both women 
 were touched though differently. The Princess felt 
 the comfort of a masculine care and sympathy. Theo- 
 dora said to herself this was like the George of old 
 days. The mother went straight to her rooms and
 
 216 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 asked to be left in solitude till the morning ; Theo- 
 dora entered her boudoir and threw herself on the 
 sofa by the fire. To her surprise George followed 
 her. 
 
 " I am so sorry for the miserable time you have 
 had you two," began George, a little stiffly, but 
 evidently with the best intentions, standing opposite 
 her, looking down at her, and debating within himself 
 whether he should sit on the edge of her couch. 
 
 " Yes, it was dreadful for poor mamma." 
 
 "They telephoned to me, and I heard all about 
 it from the matron," said George. " I hope that did 
 not matter." 
 
 " What did you hear ? " said Theodora, sitting up 
 suddenly. 
 
 "That this man Krikoffsky was dead," said 
 George, quietly. 
 
 " So George knows his name," Theodora was 
 thinking. " Oh, I hope he will forget it" 
 
 She turned the subject, and began to talk of some 
 new music which she was interested in. 
 
 " Am I to be kept in the dark about this matter ? " 
 asked George, angrily. "Am I to understand from 
 your manner that this is another case of something 
 you refuse to discuss with me ? Although I am your 
 husband, and you have risen from my dinner-table 
 you and your mother and gone out of this house 
 to see a man die, when you return you maintain a 
 resolute silence about the matter, treating me as 
 though I were some absolute outsider." 
 
 " I am sorry ; I " 
 
 But she found it impossible to go on. What 
 should she say ? She mustn't even allow George to 
 imagine that there was anything hidden there. 
 
 " I am very, very tired," she broke off suddenly ; 
 " I think I will go to my rooms." 
 
 And she left him ; and the black, evil shadow 
 came creeping creeping over their house and over 
 their lives. It was like the shadow of some ugly,
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 217 
 
 unkempt building standing in a lovely garden. When 
 the sun went down the shadow grew darker and 
 longer, till it covered the bright flowers, turning the 
 white blossoms grey, and stealing the redness out of 
 the roses. 
 
 As she was crossing the hall she heard a sharp 
 voice talking at the door to the footman ; and the 
 next moment she saw, to her amazement, that a 
 man, bareheaded and cloakless, was coming in. 
 
 He caught sight of her in her white gown under 
 the shaded lights, and rushed towards her wildly. 
 
 " Theodora, where is George ? " he cried in a 
 piercing voice. " The plan of the airship is stolen." 
 
 George had come out of the boudoir and was 
 standing in the doorway, listening, and looking at 
 Marcel.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 NEXT morning at dtjeuner George showed how deeply 
 he had been angered by that scene of the night 
 before, when Marcel had called Theodora loudly 
 by her name before the listening servants, and had 
 snouted in a frenzied way that the plans of the airship 
 had been stolen. An expression of chilling reserve 
 was on his face. He refused to discuss the matter 
 with Theodora. His one comment was that, so far, 
 nothing had been discovered. 
 
 Theodora, answering to that frigid and displeased 
 look, said to him suddenly 
 
 " You may as well know if it is any satisfaction 
 to you that I had already forbidden M. Fleur ever 
 to come and see me again. The very sound of his 
 name is hateful to me," she added low, but not so 
 low that George could not hear. 
 
 He heard and remembered it for many a long 
 day after. 
 
 She sat there turning over her late-post letters, 
 and presently she opened one whose handwriting 
 was attracting her, partly by its boldness and partly 
 by its familiarity. 
 
 To her amazement she found that this note began 
 " Dear George." 
 
 But before she had had time to think, its contents, 
 which were brief, had been scanned by her eye. 
 
 " DEAR GEORGE, 
 
 " I feel I must write you a line to thank 
 you for the money you so generously gave me, and 
 to tell you how deeply sorry I am that a break should 
 
 218
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 219 
 
 occur in our friendship. Of course, I quite understand 
 that our sweet Theodora does not care for me, and 
 never will. That is easily explainable. But, then, I 
 do not blame her, nor must you. I only hope that 
 your happiness will be as great as you deserve. 
 
 " Yours, a little sadly, but ever gratefully, 
 " GWENDOLEN DE RIGOS." 
 
 Theodora's face was white, but her expression 
 was calm and indifferent when she had finished 
 reading. She looked up, then held the letter in a 
 trembling hand towards George. 
 
 "This is for you, I think," she said tranquilly. 
 " By some stupid mistake it has been addressed to 
 me. I am very sorry." 
 
 George took the letter, glanced at it, and uttered 
 a loud exclamation of annoyance. 
 
 He realised at once that this was another of that 
 impossible woman's tricks. Would she continue to 
 annoy him like this for ever ? Would nothing put a 
 stop to her half-mischievous, half-cruel, and wholly 
 unpardonable conduct ? Even her marriage with a 
 rich man who could give her every luxury did not 
 seem to have cured her. He looked furtively at 
 Theodora, uncertain quite what to say to her. 
 
 " She has done that purposely," he exclaimed. 
 
 Theodora was silent. 
 
 "The money she speaks of was long, long ago, 
 when she was in great difficulties." 
 
 Still Theodora said nothing. 
 
 He went on drinking his coffee, and lit a cigarette 
 as soon as possible to relieve his feelings, for 
 Theodora quickly escaped from the breakfast-room 
 and disappeared. 
 
 She never knew how that day went by. It seemed 
 endless, leaden of foot, and lagging dreadfully, in spite 
 of all its engagements. 
 
 In the evening before dinner she entered her 
 dressing-room with a tired look upon her lovely face.
 
 220 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Little lines of weariness were beginning to show them- 
 selves, lines which renewed happiness would quickly 
 chase away, however, for she was but a girl still. Her 
 sable cloak slipped off her shoulders into the ready 
 hands of her maid. With a gesture of despair, she 
 turned away from the long mirror, in whose truthful 
 depths she read only too clearly the traces of her 
 distress, and, as her maid held towards her a lovely 
 teagown of white crepe and ermine, she sighed, and 
 sank into a deep armchair by the fire. 
 
 She tried to quiet her thoughts, but do what 
 she could that letter of the morning would persist in 
 troubling her. Why had he paid that odious woman 
 sums of money ? Her mind went over and over the 
 phrases of the letter " How deeply sorry I am that 
 a break should occur in our friendship." That sentence 
 proved plainly the absolute camaraderie that had 
 existed between George and the Countess. And then 
 that sentence which referred to her " I do not blame 
 her nor must you." The thought of that goaded her 
 to distraction. It meant George had discussed her. 
 
 She rose quickly, and nervously began to pace up 
 and down the room. She was beginning to feel that 
 she could not much longer endure the strain she was 
 living under. Her restless movements were inter- 
 rupted by the coming of the housekeeper into the 
 room. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Theodora, almost crossly for 
 her. 
 
 " I wish to speak to your ladyship about a young 
 woman who came after a place here as under-house- 
 maid, my lady. I have seen her, but I do not think 
 she is strong enough to do the work." 
 
 " But why on earth do you bother me about it ? " 
 asked Theodora sharply, her nerves all on edge. "Are 
 you not able to manage these domestic affairs yourself?" 
 
 " Yes, my lady ; but as the young woman brought 
 a strong recommendation from the Duchess d'Ailes, 
 I was a little doubtful about refusing her until I had 
 consulted your ladyship."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 221 
 
 " Very well. Leave the Duchess's letter with me," 
 replied Theodora. " I will let you know what shall 
 be done." 
 
 The housekeeper gave it to her and retired. 
 Theodora took the letter and walked to her writing- 
 table. She sat there absently toying with an exquisite 
 jewelled penholder for a moment, but suddenly she 
 remembered that it had been a wedding present. 
 She threw it down with a nervous gesture of disgust. 
 How far away and useless all that seemed now ! And 
 yet she had not been married many months, and there 
 were years to be gone through and lived out still. 
 They seemed to stretch before her in a long, dreary 
 procession of hopeless, deadly dulness. How would 
 she have to go through them ? Hopeless, alone, 
 unloved ? The prospect seemed too terrible, and yet 
 it was all that her weary brain could see ahead of her. 
 She envied, at that moment, the poorest person in 
 the streets. What was the use of luxury and riches 
 if one had not love ? A cold shudder ran through her 
 as she shrugged her delicate shoulders as if in an 
 effort to dismiss the subject, and she absently turned 
 over the Duchess's letter of recommendation which 
 she was still holding. She smiled as she noticed the 
 well-known handwriting. 
 
 " Dear Carolina," she said to herself ; " how sweet 
 she always is, and thoughtful ! I expect she has per- 
 jured her kind little soul to give this young woman a 
 good character ! " 
 
 She read the letter through slowly. 
 
 "The Duchess d'Ailes begs to recommend the 
 bearer of this note, Miss Margaret Wood, in whom 
 she has every confidence, and whom she is certain 
 will prove satisfactory." 
 
 As she read that, a host of ideas seemed suddenly 
 to be loosened in her brain. One after another flashed 
 before her. 
 
 " I shall keep that letter," she said to herself, 
 deliberately. " It may prove useful to me."
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 WHERE was Ivan ? He had vanished as if the earth 
 had swallowed him up and left no traces anywhere 
 of the curious old man with his peculiar mixture of 
 genius and childishness. That he would have planned 
 deliberately to disappear was extremely improbable ; 
 in fact, that he could have done so was hardly pos- 
 sible, for his repeated illnesses had weakened him 
 more and more, until he had reached a stage of 
 childishness which was manifest in almost everything 
 except, fortunately, in his work connected with avia- 
 tion and the improvement of the airship. It was a 
 more than curious psychological problem this state 
 of his weakened mind, strong only on one point 
 his invention. 
 
 " Where is Ivan?" 
 
 The question rang through the fevered brain of 
 Marcel by day and became a horrible caucheinar 
 to haunt his troubled sleep by night. 
 
 What could have become of him ? A hundred 
 different useless and imaginary solutions and fancies 
 came to Marcel, the most persistent being the thought 
 that he had had some accident in the street, and had 
 been taken, unknown and dying, to some hospital, 
 there to breathe his last alone and uncared for. 
 
 Meanwhile Le Jour knew ! 
 
 Armand Roche, the journalist, had never been 
 idle since that day, weeks before, when he had met 
 Krikoffsky in the caft and had gathered from him 
 hints of old Ivan's story. 
 
 The vague things he had heard had taken root 
 
 222
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 223 
 
 in his imaginative, impulsive mind, and had flourished 
 exceedingly. He had not let the grass grow under 
 his feet. He had tracked the old Pole to his lair 
 as he put it to himself in his picturesque language. 
 Krikoffsky had said that Ivan lived in the same 
 house as Marcel Fleur, the Marcel Fleur, so it had 
 not been difficult then to track him. Every one knew 
 where the aeronaut lived ; his house was as famous 
 as the Louvre itself. Day after day the journalist 
 had watched it in whatever spare time he had at his 
 command. The concierge had become a friend of 
 his, succumbing easily to the glitter of occasional 
 five-franc pieces for her little ones, knowing him only 
 as a journalist anxious for the latest airship news, which 
 she willingly gave, together with much other useful 
 information. But Ivan seldom went out, only, in fact, 
 when it was very fine, and that was rare in December. 
 
 One sunny morning, however, the heart of Ar- 
 mand bounded within him. He saw issuing from 
 the doorway the bent, old form of the inventor. 
 
 He followed him down the street, keeping well 
 behind him. The old man walked slowly, looking 
 neither to right nor left as he went his way. Presently 
 he turned into a cafe, which was evidently a haunt of 
 his and where he was apparently well known. 
 
 Armand Roche followed and seated himself at 
 the next table, where he began reading diligently his 
 paper. After some few minutes had passed hejeant 
 over and spoke 
 
 "I think, monsieur, that we have met before. 
 We have a mutual friend, an artist." 
 
 " I do not remember," replied Ivan, suspiciously, 
 as was his nature. 
 
 " You must remember Krikoffsky, monsieur ? He 
 introduced us here." 
 
 The old man's face lit up with intelligence. 
 
 "Ah," he answered quickly. "My friend Kri- 
 koffsky ! My only friend ! Let us talk of him. You 
 know him well, then ? "
 
 224 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 The journalist was all sympathy and attention at 
 once. He talked, and talked well, interesting the old 
 man by his sympathy both for him and for the singer, 
 and his ready comprehension of the great pleasure 
 this poor lonely man had experienced in meeting his 
 old friend here in Paris. 
 
 They drank together. Armand was an artist, too, 
 he said a singer. He had lately been fortunate, and 
 things were going well. 
 
 Ivan must lunch with him. He plied him with 
 wine, and they sat talking on and on. The old man 
 grew more and more at ease under the influence of 
 the wine and the sympathetic manner of his companion. 
 
 After some time the journalist saw with delight 
 that Ivan was getting more confidential. He turned 
 the conversation again to Krikoffsky. 
 
 " He was one of my greatest friends," he said. 
 " He told me all. There are no secrets between him 
 and me. How interested he is in you ! He loves 
 you, and the admiration he has for your genius and 
 inventive powers cannot be put into words." 
 
 Ivan was touched. His feeble old brain, weakened 
 by illness and disappointment, was beginning to lose 
 its grasp again. So this man knew ! Then he could 
 talk to him without compunction. 
 
 The journalist waited in silence, trembling for the 
 words he saw were on the old man's lips, though he 
 hardly dared hope they would be uttered. 
 
 At last Ivan spoke. 
 
 " You know, then. My friend, it is a relief to speak 
 to you. Our friend Krikoffsky has told you. Then 
 I need be silent no longer to you." 
 
 " Yes, I know," Armand replied softly, laying his 
 strong young hand in the wrinkled palm of the poor 
 old man. And so the thing had been told. Bit by 
 bit little by little from a confused jumble of words 
 and phrases, Armand Roche laid the pieces of the 
 puzzle together, until it stood out clear and defined 
 in his mind. Ah, what copy for his paper ! And so
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 225 
 
 certain, so absolutely certain! It meant his fortune, 
 and a great coup for Le Jo^lr. 
 
 All Paris would speak of the brilliant young 
 journalist who had unearthed the grim secret with 
 such untiring energy in the interests of truth. He 
 was a made man with this priceless information in his 
 possession. 
 
 Old Ivan was very happy. It was long since he 
 had been able to talk as he had talked to-day. Long, 
 long, they sat there. Armand Roche left the subject 
 which had enthralled him, after he could gain no more, 
 and led the old man, through wandering paths, to 
 speak of his youth, his country, and the topics of the 
 day. Roche's remarks had something brilliant about 
 them which pleased Ivan greatly. 
 
 They made an appointment for the next day, and 
 then at last they rose to go. Ivan to his home, and 
 Roche as fast as a motor-cab could take him to the 
 great offices on the boulevard. 
 
 His chief saw him instantly in response to the few 
 hurried words he scribbled on his card. The interview 
 was long and private. The editor was quick to 
 recognise the extent of the news. 
 
 Here, indeed, was an affaire. What a scandal ! 
 For an hour they were closeted together, discussing 
 it, planning, and plotting. At last all was settled. 
 
 " Ivan must be got away from his present abode," 
 said the great man with decision ; " but it must be 
 done properly. He must leave of his own free will. 
 He must come to us to help him in his misery and 
 distress ; you understand ? " he said meaningly. " You 
 must manage this, Monsieur Roche." 
 
 " I can and will," replied the young man, with 
 assurance. 
 
 " Get him away. Say that you will befriend him. 
 Say that you have been left money ; that you will 
 pay everything ; that he shall have everything he can 
 possibly desire. You are so sorry for him ! You 
 understand ? With you he shall have peace, and 
 
 Q
 
 226 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 quiet, and no more worries. And money ; lots of it. 
 Enough to make him comfortable for the rest of his 
 life. We will pay for everything." 
 
 " I could take him to my flat. I am alone there, 
 but there is not much room, and I have no servant," 
 suggested Roche. 
 
 " Never mind. Take a furnished flat. Give him 
 his own rooms. Everything, but get him and keep 
 him ! Make yourself necessary to him. Go now. 
 Telephone us what you have done. Here is money." 
 
 Armand Roche lost no time. It was not a difficult 
 matter to persuade the old man. He was weak and 
 feeble ; here was a resting-place and a friend who 
 would care for him, and to whom he could speak 
 freely. All was easily arranged, and Ivan disappeared 
 as surely as if he had vanished into the air in one of 
 his own airships ! 
 
 Le Jour was once more going to do something 
 great. 
 
 This was the finest thing that had come its way 
 for ages, remarkable as were the coups which this 
 journal was in the habit of making. 
 
 They wanted to see what Marcel Fleur could do 
 without Ivan's help. How would he stand this test ? 
 Would he go under ? 
 
 Le Jour would wait its time. Patriotism and 
 truth! That was the keynote of the affair. Here 
 was an old man cruelly robbed by a great inventor, 
 it was true, but that could not be helped. A black- 
 guard was a blackguard whatever might be his position. 
 And Le Jour would see fair play ! 
 
 France should have the airship ; but her hands 
 should be clean. Le Joiir would guard its country 
 from a slur on her fair name. There was the English- 
 man, too, Sir George Allingham. Where did he come 
 in this affair ? Ivan had said that he knew nothing. 
 Of that they must be certain. They must work 
 silently and quickly. " Truth, Justice, and Patriotism " 
 that was their motto !
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 227 
 
 And so the days flew by. Marcel Fleur was 
 watched and shadowed. All went well. It was 
 more than evident that all was true that the old 
 man had said. 
 
 Marcel Fleur was as much in evidence as ever, 
 but nothing happened. No new trials took place. 
 Something was wrong, evidently. There was a hitch, 
 and Le Jour knew why. 
 
 On the morning of Boxing Day the telephone 
 bell rang and rang in Armand Roche's flat. It was 
 only five o'clock, but it rang until it woke him out 
 of his deep sleep. He ran to the receiver angrily 
 and answered the call. 
 
 The message he received left him standing amazed, 
 with the receiver in his hands, unheeding the repeated 
 calls of the exchange to know if he had not yet finished, 
 and unmindful of the fact that they had relentlessly 
 cut him off. The plans of the airship had been stolen. 
 Sir George Allingham had been arrested and was in 
 prison. 
 
 "Take Ivan away," had commanded his chief, 
 "and quickly! No matter where, but out of the 
 country ! It is safer to get him right away now. 
 Try Italy. He will like that. Go with him. Keep 
 him there. Take him to-day. Say you are ill. Any- 
 thing ! But go!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THEODORA sat back in the corner of the railway 
 carriage and shut her eyes, and the deafening roar 
 of the train as it rushed through the night seemed 
 to beat a fitting accompaniment to the tumultuous 
 discords of her own heart 
 
 She had left George behind her. 
 
 That was the note that throbbed and repeated 
 itself insistently over and over again in all the medley 
 of her emotions. She was here, flying through France 
 into Italy as quickly as the long black train could 
 carry her, and George remained behind, alone. 
 
 The shades were drawn over the lights in the 
 carriage. The only other occupant wished to sleep. 
 All was dim and shadowy ; a sickly, pallid little glow 
 just kept off utter darkness. Theodora sat bolt up- 
 right in one corner. Her companion a handsome 
 Russian lady of some forty years extended herself 
 at full length opposite and slept profoundly. On 
 and on flew the train, casting scarlet fire-flowers over 
 the white snow, and waking sleeping villages with 
 its demoniac shrieks and yells as it rushed along. 
 Theodora listened and shuddered. She pressed her 
 face to the window and looked out. Whiteness gleamed 
 at her, lit by the glow from the engine's great red 
 eyes. So it was snowing heavily. And in Paris ? 
 Was it snowing, snowing there ? Were the vast 
 white drifts coming softly down on the sleeping city ? 
 And was George, by chance, looking from his window 
 and watching . . . ? 
 
 228
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 229 
 
 No. She would not think of George. 
 
 "I wonder if he waited a long time for me to 
 come down and hear the carol-singers." . . . And 
 then, at last, all the carols were sung . . . the singers 
 drank their wassail within the house . . . they de- 
 parted . . . George went to the library, perhaps . . . 
 or did he go into her boudoir? . . . Did he look for 
 her? . . . Had he perhaps found out by now that 
 she was gone ? . . . 
 
 No. She must not think of George. 
 
 When he came into her boudoir was there in his 
 eyes that old look . . . did he come in quietly and 
 turn to find her, to take her in his arms and whisper, 
 " You are my love, and this is Christmas Eve " ? 
 
 No. She dared not think of George. 
 
 Why should she imagine him whispering words 
 like that to her? Why should she hear his voice 
 saying, "You are my love" instead of the chilling, 
 formal little speeches he had made her in the carriage 
 driving homewards from Carolina's reception ? Why 
 was her ear forming for her the deep tone that had 
 always come into his voice when he held her in his 
 arms, instead of the cold and distant quality that had 
 distinguished that same voice as he said to her, " It 
 is you, not I, who are responsible if things go wrong 
 in our lives together ? " 
 
 " Madame, you are in distress. . . . Pardon me. 
 ... I am so sorry. ... I too ... I have suffered. . . ." 
 
 The Russian lady had lifted herself slowly, with 
 an inimitable, panther-like grace, from her seat, and 
 was leaning towards the figure in the corner, who sat 
 there with her beautiful red-gold head bowed in her 
 hands, while her breath came in sharp, ungovernable 
 sobs, and those terrible tears that would have their 
 way at last rained down her cheeks as though she 
 were some broken-hearted child. 
 
 " I am so sorry, so sorry, madame. . . ." 
 
 Like one in a dream Theodora heard the soft 
 voice speaking, and somehow the very fact that there
 
 230 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 was another woman near her carried a dole of comfort 
 to her stricken soul. 
 
 " Let me give you a little cognac, you poor, dear 
 lady," went on the voice, after a while. " And see, I 
 have two cushions here. You must take one, and 
 then you will lie down comfortably and fall asleep 
 perhaps." 
 
 On and on went the train. Aix was left behind. 
 The peaceful grey chateaux and villas were giving 
 way to wilder scenery. Snow-clad mountains rose 
 higher and higher, and on the slopes of one appeared, 
 through the blackness of the wintry night, a huge 
 cross of light that could be seen shining for miles 
 round. Many passengers in that Christmas train, 
 looking from the windows as they fled onwards 
 through the silent, snow-covered country, were stirred 
 and uplifted and comforted strangely by the sight of 
 that great gleaming crucifix hanging out on the 
 mountain slopes for those who travel long journeys 
 on Christmas morn are not of the happiest kind 
 usually, and the cross had its own meaning to 
 many. 
 
 It was the last thing Theodora saw before she fell 
 asleep under the kindly ministrations of her Russian 
 friend. 
 
 " You will be better for a rest, my poor child." 
 
 " You are so very good," murmured Theodora. 
 She lay full length on the seat with her head on the 
 friendly Russian's little cushion and her great fur- 
 lined travelling cloak tucked in carefully all round 
 her by those white, subtle hands. She had swallowed 
 a little cognac. Now she was stupid from sheer 
 exhaustion. She would sleep and forget for a little 
 while. 
 
 Again she thought of George. 
 
 Why had he been so cruel to her? He was a 
 man, and older by many years than she. He should 
 have taken every care of her. Instead, he had treated 
 her with such coldness, such bitterness, that he had
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 231 
 
 driven her to this. It was the unfairness of it that 
 she minded so. All she had done was to be strictly 
 and rigidly honourable, and to keep Marcel Fleur's 
 secret because she had promised to do so. That was 
 her only fault. And for that she had been terribly 
 punished. She had seen George's whole nature change 
 towards her. He had taken away his love and given 
 her a half-tolerant, half-indifferent courtesy instead, 
 with coldness and contempt barely hidden underneath. 
 She had done her best. He had done his worst. He 
 had even discussed her with the Countess de Rigos ! 
 And all the while he had been warning her against 
 that awful woman, exhorting her not to make friends 
 with her, commanding her, in fact, not to take her 
 into her confidence ; he had been pursuing a friend- 
 ship with her himself, of which she, Theodora, had 
 been absurdly and ridiculously unconscious until she 
 read that letter beginning " Dear George." Then and 
 not until then had her eyes been opened. Now they 
 would never close again ! 
 
 She raised her head for a moment, searching for 
 her handkerchief, and suddenly, through the window, 
 she glimpsed the gleaming crucifix on the mountain 
 side. For a moment she stared at it breathless. 
 Then she sank down again and drew her furred cloak 
 up over her face, as though to shut herself in alone 
 with her desolation and misery. 
 
 She wished she had not seen it. What was it 
 doing out there in the night and the silence ? Was 
 it calling to people? Was it saying something to 
 her ? And if so, what was its message ? 
 
 " Peace on earth and good will." . . . Was it any- 
 thing like that ? 
 
 She shivered and drew her cloak more closely 
 round her. 
 
 And in Paris, just at that time, George was walking 
 up and down past her door, noticing the light still 
 burning there, praying that she was not very unhappy, 
 and resolving that Christmas Day must heal the
 
 232 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 breach between them, even if he had to confess him- 
 self all in the wrong. 
 
 Theodora's brain grew drowsy. Thought became 
 confused and vague. And now the great gleaming 
 cross seemed to be saying to her over and over again, 
 " George " ! As her thoughts slipped from her that 
 one idea lingered strangely. . . . Then she slept and 
 knew no more. 
 
 . . . Her companion, stooping over her lightly 
 some time later, saw that the sad young lips were 
 curved in a smile, though the long eyelashes were 
 wet on the beautiful pale cheeks. 
 
 " I am glad she is not really so miserable. No 
 one can be unhappy who is rich and as lovely as 
 that," she said to herself, drawing Theodora's dressing- 
 bag stealthily towards her as she prepared to leave 
 the train. " She is evidently a wealthy woman. I 
 only wish I could get at her luggage. But there are 
 sure to be jewels here. Well, farewell, beautiful un- 
 known ! You are doing a poor desperate wanderer a 
 good turn by your unhappiness, if that is any comfort 
 to you ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 How wonderful it is, that coming into Italy coming 
 from grey winter cities into a land flooded far and 
 wide with sunshine. To find the sun again, glittering 
 and radiant, and vivid blue in the heavens after the 
 dark skies of London and Paris, seems like a magic 
 act to one who travels by train direct from one country 
 into the other. 
 
 The little age-old city of Pietra Santa lay stretched 
 luxuriously in golden sunlight at the foot of the olive- 
 covered hills, and as Theodora wandered out of the 
 railway station on the afternoon of Boxing Day, she 
 felt a sudden uplifting of her spirits and a quite definite 
 and exquisite easing of all her troubles. 
 
 True, her dressing-bag had been stolen in the 
 night. That was a nuisance. Her kind travelling 
 companion had turned out to be a thief. That was a 
 sad affair. There she was now, alone, in a strange 
 city, with very little money, and no clothes of any 
 kind except those she was wearing. Luckily her 
 ticket had been in her tiny sachet with her handker- 
 chief and a few louis, and this had been lying under- 
 neath her as she slept in the train, and so had been 
 saved. She had the five hundred lire in Italian notes, 
 which she had exchanged at the frontier, concealed 
 in the bodice of her gown. Otherwise, she was penni- 
 less. And yet, because she was in Italy, and because 
 the great plain and the glittering Mediterranean and 
 the mountains in the background were all flooded 
 with sunlight, and the skies were pure and cloudless, 
 she was almost happy. 
 
 233
 
 234 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 It had begun badly, her adventure. Yet even the 
 incident of the dressing bag could not distress her much. 
 
 " She must have been in great straits," she mused. 
 " I hope she wasn't bitterly disappointed to find 
 nothing worth stealing but the gold appointments. 
 She probably threw it away in disgust afterwards, 
 poor lady. Anyway, she was awfully nice and kind 
 to me. And, perhaps, she too, like myself, was just 
 a soldier of fortune." 
 
 This exhilarating air, touched with snow from the 
 purple mountains in the distance, gave her strength 
 and courage, while the exquisite dreaming beauty of 
 the little Italian mountain city where the train had 
 just deposited her was entering into her very soul. 
 She had left the station, and wandered out into the 
 wide, white old Roman road that ran through the 
 middle of the town, but the amazing loveliness and 
 magnificence of this out-of-the-way little place that 
 nobody ever goes to, brought her to a sudden stand- 
 still. 
 
 It was five o'clock, and a scarlet sun was setting 
 right into the sea. The world wore a look of such 
 ineffable unworldliness that it was difficult to believe 
 one looked on real earth and sky and sea. All the 
 clouds were on fire, and rose-lights sparkled on the 
 blue glitter of the Mediterranean and on the purple 
 and snow-wreathed mountains in the background. 
 Far away in the distance, a low shadowy mass 
 seemed rising out of the sea, all blurred and in- 
 distinct, hidden away in that vast sunset haze of 
 gold and orange glory. It was Sardinia, that far-off 
 shadow darkening the dazzling waves and clouds. 
 And inland stretched a plain that gently swelled 
 upwards into low slopes covered with figs and olives 
 and beautiful little villages ; and beyond, higher still, 
 the great range of purple mountains. Out of the 
 city itself rose a tall red campanile, and a beautiful 
 old cathedral, whose white dome was like a bubble on 
 the still plain. Further down the plain, to right and
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 235 
 
 left, were clustered other wonderful little antique cities, 
 with their domes and towers rising up into the sunlight. 
 
 Theodora stood looking about her entranced. 
 Everything was delightful, so full of life and colour. 
 A little scarlet cart passed her, full of slabs of marble 
 from Carrara, a few miles off. The cart had bright 
 blue wheels, and its horse was pranked out with 
 scarlet and gold bells, and had an enormous merry- 
 looking feather over his ears, while the driver wore a 
 coat of flaming orange, such as the Italian driver so 
 dearly loves. Just opposite were the old brown gates 
 of the little walled town, maddeningly beautiful in 
 their curves and proportions. People moved about 
 lazily, yet cheerfully. There was a flashing of dark 
 eyes and white teeth. Just because the sun was 
 shining they were happy here. Theodora laughed 
 suddenly at the thought. 
 
 " I'm going to be happy too," she said to herself 
 determinately. Her mood had changed. She was 
 no longer the weeping wretched woman in the train 
 with her heart wrung beyond endurance. Now she 
 was almost gay and full of curiosity. She was out 
 in the world all alone. It was a little terrifying. 
 But still, one must not think of that! It was decidedly 
 exciting. And now that she had stopped thinking 
 about George (who was in the cells just then !), she 
 could see that life was holding out to her a most 
 fascinating adventure. 
 
 " But first of all I must get my hair cut. I wonder 
 if I can find a barber." 
 
 An old woman passing stared at her with the 
 frank admiration of the Italian peasant and bade her 
 a happy dayfelice giorno in the pretty, flower-like 
 language of her kind. 
 
 "Does the signorina like Pietra Santa?" she 
 asked, reading aright, with her subtle instinct, the 
 look in Theodora's wide violet eyes. 
 
 " I ^think it's the most beautiful place I've ever 
 seen in my life," answered Theodora.
 
 236 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 "Truly, signorina." Lively amazement showed 
 in the black eyes. " But not beautiful compared to 
 the cities the signorina must have seen," she said 
 politely, with the ineffable courtesy of the Italian 
 peasant. " Still it is beautiful," she went on. " In 
 our cathedral there, there is a marble staircase which 
 Michael Angelo himself had a hand in. Ah ! the 
 great Michael Angelo and the great Leonardo da 
 Vinci, they both lived here in their time. And see ! " 
 She pointed towards a little hamlet on the slopes 
 nestling among the mountains. "There is Valdis- 
 castello, where was born our great poet Carducci ! " 
 
 This delighted Theodora beyond words. 
 
 It was only an old peasant woman a contadina 
 but her eyes kindled when she spoke of the art of 
 the sculptor and the painter and the poet. 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for the signorina?" she 
 was asking. 
 
 "Can you tell me where I shall find a hair- 
 dresser ? " 
 
 "Si, signorina, subito. Just here, along the Via 
 Donatello, you will find an excellent one, who will 
 coif your hair in the very latest fashion." 
 
 Theodora thanked her, gave her a lira, and 
 hastened down the Via Donatello, a narrow street 
 with high, many windowed houses on either side, out 
 of which leaned innumerable women and children. 
 For to-day was Saturday afternoon, and festa. 
 
 She entered the shop and found herself the object 
 of much curiosity to the groups of youths who stood 
 about within. The barber hastened forward. When 
 he heard that she wanted her hair cut off he looked 
 horrified. 
 
 " But it would be a sin, signorina, to cut off that 
 wonderful hair ! " 
 
 " It's too heavy," said Theodora, excusing herself 
 for what she knew was an extraordinary proceeding. 
 " Please do it as quickly as you can." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders, exclaiming that he
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 237 
 
 was " desolat," but it should be as the signorina 
 wished. He put her in a chair, wrapped her up in a 
 vast sheet, took the pins out of her hair, and as it 
 fell over her shoulders, broke into a cannonade of 
 exclamations. It was so funny that she found herself 
 laughing merrily, and when she peeped back over her 
 shoulder, she discovered that the whole population 
 of Pietra Santa had come in to look at her, even the 
 little babies. 
 
 And here she was, Lady Allingham, in a little 
 barber's shop, in the far-off province of Lucca, with 
 butchers, bakers, and wine-sellers and peasants, and 
 drivers, all looking on while she had her hair cut. 
 
 " How beautiful she is ! " went like a wave over 
 the assembled company. 
 
 The barber was looking everywhere for his scissors, 
 and it amused Theodora to see how light-heartedly 
 he took their disappearance. 
 
 " They were here this morning ! " he said. 
 
 At last he found them. His face fell several 
 degrees as he advanced towards the lovely signorina 
 in the chair, with the red-gold hair floating in great 
 waves over her shoulders. 
 
 " Ah, signorina, I cannot ! " he cried. 
 
 " No ! no ! " agreed the crowd, all chipping in as 
 if it were a matter of vital importance to every one 
 of them. 
 
 " You must," said Theodora, 
 
 " I cannot," he almost wailed. 
 
 " You can, and you must," she said firmly. 
 
 " Very well, signorina," he said meekly. 
 
 He heaved a tremendous sigh and advanced. 
 Taking up a handful of her hair, he attacked it 
 furiously with the scissors. A groan burst from the 
 assembled crowd as the long tress fell to the floor. 
 
 " But that was terrible," he muttered. 
 
 He paused and wiped his face with an enormous 
 handkerchief. Then he went back to. work, and, with 
 smothered groans and sighs, slowly 'denuded that
 
 238 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 beautiful head of its wonderful gleaming hair, while 
 Pietra Santa panted and sighed and groaned and 
 sympathised in the background. 
 
 The operation was almost completed, and Theo- 
 dora was staring at herself in the mirror, when the 
 crowd parted to make way for a newcomer a tall, 
 lithe young man, deeply sunburnt, with curly brown 
 hair and merry eyes. 
 
 " This a barber's ? " he said in English. His eyes 
 met Theodora's in the glass, and he started. 
 
 Her hair, cropped round her head, had broken 
 into little clustering curls. Instead of spoiling her 
 beauty, it enhanced it a hundredfold. 
 
 She felt the colour running up into her cheeks. 
 How maddening to be caught like this by some one 
 who was obviously a gentleman ! 
 
 And yet she had not dared to go to Florence until 
 she had made the requisite changes that would turn 
 her from Lady Allingham into Miss Margaret Wood. 
 
 Suddenly a noise began in the background. They 
 were squabbling, these people. A woman had crept 
 forward slyly, and picked up one of those gleam- 
 ing tresses. Another had followed. Some one had 
 remonstrated. A scene began. The hair was worth 
 money, that was certain. If Nella and Assunta could 
 have some, why not the others ? All in a moment 
 their voices rose and rose, and eyes flashed, and 
 wildest excitement prevailed. 
 
 Theodora, in terror, sprang to her feet, and moved 
 backwards from the gesticulating and vociferating 
 crowd. 
 
 " It's all right," said a manly voice ; " you needn't 
 be in the least alarmed. It's only gas ! " 
 
 " I am a stranger here," said Theodora. 
 
 " Well, I'm an Australian," he said, " and I've got 
 a good muscle of my own, you bet, and I'll take care 
 of you. Don't you be frightened. But, truly, you've 
 not the slightest need to. They're simply wild with 
 admiration, and that's the truth of it,"
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 239 
 
 " It's very good of you," said Theodora. 
 
 " If you'll let me, I'll see you safely away from 
 here." 
 
 "What will the signorina do with her beautiful 
 hair ? " asked the barber, who was still pale from the 
 operation. "Would she wish that I gave her ten 
 francs ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Theodora, hastily, anxious only to get 
 away. " And you can give the money to the poor." 
 
 She put her hat on, and tied it over her head 
 with a big veil. A sudden change came over the 
 Australian's face as he heard her words. Why, then, 
 was this beautiful girl parting with such hair as that 
 since it was not for money ? Obviously she was not 
 selling it, as he had at first imagined. What reason, 
 then, had she in coming to this little Italian barber, 
 all alone like this, to have her hair cut off? 
 
 She was the most amazingly beautiful creature 
 he had ever seen in his life, and here in the little 
 out-of-the-way township her clothes breathed an air 
 of luxury and fashion that proclaimed her unmis- 
 takably a woman of wealth and elegance, though, as 
 a matter of fact, Theodora had expressly chosen this 
 suit of black serge, and the great mouse-coloured cloth 
 travelling-cloak, with its squirrel lining, to give her 
 an appearance of simplicity and plainness. But every- 
 thing she wore came from Paris ! Her little black hat, 
 trimmed with black wings, had that easy daring chic 
 that only Parisian ringers can impart. Even as they 
 walked out of the hairdresser's together, the Australian 
 had arrived at the quick conclusion that there was some 
 mystery connected with this lovely lady ; and, follow- 
 ing rapidly on that came the corollary that if she were 
 in distress and needed a knight, he was only too ready 
 to enter her service. 
 
 They stepped out into Via Donatello, and again 
 Theodora was thrilled with the vivid penetrating love- 
 liness of Pietra Santa, with its marble steps and monu- 
 ments, its superb old palaces, and its olive trees on
 
 240 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 the slopes, rising so steeply right up out of the city 
 that the pale towers and domes seemed to stand out 
 against a wide background of softest grey-green. 
 The sky was red, still red with sunset. The air 
 was exquisitely clear. Theodora smiled from sheer 
 pleasure. 
 
 " I am just a bird of passage here," the Australian 
 was saying. " I've come over from Pisa. A friend 
 told me that this was the place in Italy that pleased 
 and interested him most after Rome." 
 
 " It's so wild, and yet so marvellously artistic," said 
 Theodora. "I shall never be able to tear myself 
 away." 
 
 She stopped just then, and said quietly that she 
 would bid him good-bye, as she was going in here 
 to her hotel. 
 
 He took off his hat, said good-bye, and turned 
 away with that spring on the heel that characterises 
 Australian men. But why was he smiling ? Simply 
 because that was his hotel, too. He had stayed there 
 the night before, and he knew perfectly well that half 
 an hour ago he was absolutely the only person there, 
 beside the proprietor, his wife, and his bambini, and 
 he had taken his room there till Monday. 
 
 When Theodora had chosen a room looking on 
 the old piazza, with its great stone gateway, she went 
 quietly out to do some shopping. 
 
 At half-past seven that night a tall young woman, 
 with a beautiful, pale complexion, scarlet mouth, great 
 violet eyes, and a head covered with short, red- gold 
 curls, came down into the salotto to dine. She was 
 dressed in a black wool jersey and a short brown 
 linsey skirt, with cheap yellow boots and thick stock- 
 ings. She carried a scaldino a little earthenware 
 basket filled with hot coal in her hands to warm 
 her, just as all the Pietra Santa women did, and she 
 told herself contentedly that no one would take her 
 for a lady of fashion now. 
 
 Then her heart beat sickeningly. Sitting dining
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 241 
 
 at a little table near the door was the Australian, the 
 person she would have most wished not to see. He 
 had witnessed her hair being cut off. He had seen 
 her in her Paris clothes. Now he saw her in these 
 local garments, dressed like a village girl, though he 
 knew he must know very well she was nothing of 
 the sort. How annoying it was ! And, perhaps, how 
 dangerous !
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 THERE was one person in Paris who might reason- 
 ably be expected to be overwhelmed with grief at the 
 disappearance of Theodora, and that was her own 
 mother, the Princess. But, luckily for her, this charm- 
 ing lady had a secret source of consolation unknown 
 to any one in the world except herself and her 
 daughter. She knew where Theodora was. 
 
 The note left on the dressing-table which bade 
 George "keep the truth from mamma" was only 
 a blind. 
 
 It was intended to throw dust in his eyes, and to 
 make him believe that the Princess knew nothing of 
 her daughter's disappearance, so that there would be 
 no chance of him going to her and trying to drag the 
 truth from her lips. 
 
 As a matter of fact, though she was not aware 
 exactly where Theodora was going, or when she 
 would depart, she knew she intended to leave George, 
 and there had been a bitter scene on the afternoon of 
 Caroline's dinner. She had remonstrated, pleaded, 
 wept. But she had been finally won over by the look 
 of grief and misery in her daughter's eyes, and by the 
 story Theodora had sobbed out to her of Sir George 
 Allingham's harshness to her, in spite of all her efforts 
 to make him happy. And then the Princess heard, 
 too, the ugly incident of the Countess de Rigos's 
 letter, thanking George for money he had given her, 
 and mourning over the break Theodora had caused 
 in their friendship. All this, and many another little 
 detail piled up by the overstrung and unhappy girl- 
 
 242
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 243 
 
 wife, had made such a pitiable story that when Theo- 
 dora exclaimed, " I shall kill myself if I cannot get 
 away alone," her mother in terror had bade her do 
 what she thought best, and had promised to reveal 
 nothing whatever to George or to anyone. And 
 Theodora had promised, in her turn, to take the 
 utmost care of herself in every sense of the word. 
 
 "You must trust me, mamma, for I cannot tell 
 you all I have planned." 
 
 What the Princess knew was that Theodora was 
 going to stay in a quiet little hotel in Florence, and, 
 to avoid scandal, was changing her name. 
 
 She did not know the name of the little hotel, nor 
 yet the name under which Theodora was disguising 
 her identity. 
 
 Nor did she know that Theodora was going, not 
 as a " paying guest," but as a companion to an old 
 invalid English lady staying in this little hotel. 
 
 " I will write to you as soon as I am settled, and 
 perhaps later on you will join me." 
 
 " But when are you coming back to George ? " 
 
 " Never ! " was the answer from the firm young 
 wilful lips. 
 
 " Oh, but it's madness ! " burst from the agonised 
 mother. " It is ruining your whole life, and George's. 
 Don't you see, Theodora, that after such an extra- 
 ordinary deliberate step, George may well refuse to 
 let you return to him, and is almost certain to 
 do so." 
 
 " But that is just what I would wish," said Theo- 
 dora, angrily. " I wish it so. George has shown me 
 quite plainly that he almost hates me. He did love 
 me once, but it was a love that could not stand much 
 strain upon it," and she laughed bitterly. " As soon 
 as he found that I had a will of my own, and would 
 not do exactly what he wanted and tell him exactly 
 what he wanted to know, he completely changed to 
 me, and day by day I had the misery to endure of 
 seeing his coldness grow into absolute dislike."
 
 244 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " I cannot in the least understand it," said the 
 Princess, miserably. 
 
 " Neither can I," said Theodora. And then she 
 added sadly, " But, after all, I deserve it. It is only 
 my just punishment. I married George for his 
 money. Why should I expect happiness ? Why 
 should I expect to have his love ? And why " she 
 broke off in a strain of forced gaiety that somehow 
 made her mother's heart wince with pain for her 
 " why should I mind when I don't get it ? And so 
 I'm going away. Later on, this step of mine may 
 lead to a complete separation. It will, of course, 
 prove unmistakably to both George and myself what 
 our feelings are respecting each other. He will smile 
 with pleasure when he finds I am gone." 
 
 Ah, how little she guessed what would really 
 happen when George found she had left him ! 
 
 How far she was from dreaming that he was 
 going to be forced to read in her disappearance a 
 tacit confession of her guilty theft of the stolen 
 airship's plans, for which the police had come to search 
 her boudoir, and particularly her dressing-bag, acting 
 on information which Marcel Fleur had received 
 privately. 
 
 How absolutely and terribly she was at sea when 
 she uttered those words, " He will smile with pleasure 
 when he knows that I have gone ! " Instead, he had 
 taken her supposed guilt on his shoulders, and in her 
 place, to keep her honour fair and unspotted, had 
 gone to the cells. 
 
 Theodora remained at Pietra Santa for three days, 
 resting quietly till her disappearance from Paris could 
 not be made to coincide with her appearance in 
 Florence. 
 
 During that time it was inevitable that she should 
 see more of the Australian, William East. They were 
 the only English-speaking people in this little ancient 
 city that looked across the blue plain of the Mediter- 
 ranean.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 245 
 
 She understood now why she had been instantly 
 and curiously drawn towards this man. It was because 
 he reminded her of George. 
 
 He was of the same stature, a big, broad-shouldered 
 man, who wore a loose kind of grey suit such as 
 George was particularly fond of. He was fair and 
 bronzed. His eyes were grey and steady, with the 
 peculiar straight, almost hard, glance that charac- 
 terised George's eyes. And the same expression 
 of deep human kindness was there, making every 
 one feel, at the first look, absolute confidence and 
 liking for the man, just as they felt when they saw 
 George. 
 
 Theodora found herself talking to him as to a 
 brother. His attitude was charming. It was that of 
 the average Australian, who looks on womankind in 
 general as his sisters, to be protected and treated 
 with simple kindly friendliness. He is a being not 
 run after by women, in spite of his good looks and 
 splendid manliness. On the contrary ! For in his 
 country there are so many men, that to an Australian 
 woman a man can never represent the same thing as 
 he represents to the average English girl some one 
 to be captured and married. No! The Australian 
 woman looks upon mankind as her comrades until she 
 chooses to transform one of them into her husband. 
 Theodora wandered into the cathedral with William 
 East, and they looked together at the wonderful 
 marble pulpit and its staircase, and roamed about, 
 enchanted at all the exquisite things they saw there, 
 especially that wealth of incomparable carvings in 
 marble that decorates the walls, with the banner of 
 the Medici floating high above. They explored the 
 olive-coloured hills behind the city, and climbed, by 
 purest marble steps, upwards to the great overhanging 
 fortress that frowns down over Pietra Santa. They 
 sat on the enormous yellow wall, on the top of which 
 grew great fig trees and almonds, and they looked 
 out together over the vast expanse of green plains,
 
 246 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 blue sea, and purple mountains shimmering away in 
 beautiful bright sunlight. 
 
 " Where is Paris ? " a little voice seemed to whisper 
 in Theodora's brain. 
 
 She really could scarcely answer. It appeared to 
 her as if Paris and all the life there had suddenly 
 faded right away, and was nothing more real than a 
 dream. 
 
 A dream! Only that! But dreams return to 
 haunt one sometimes. 
 
 It was chiefly the reaction, after all the stress and 
 suffering of the last few weeks, that was causing her 
 to feel so intensely peaceful and happy here in Pietra 
 Santa. She was far from every one. Yet she was 
 not lonely. Her brain seemed able to fly again with 
 all its old lightness and brightness. She was free 
 from that ghastly nightmare that ugly pain of watch- 
 ing George's eyes looking at her with colder and 
 colder politeness day after day. 
 
 She saw no newspapers, and remained in blankest 
 ignorance of the terrible catastrophe that had fallen 
 on her home and her husband. 
 
 "Miss Wood, what are you thinking of all this 
 long time ? " demanded William East, after he had 
 watched her for some moments in silence. 
 
 She started. She was not accustomed yet to the 
 name, and it struck her with surprise. But she 
 must grow accustomed to it. It would not do to be 
 astonished. She looked up at him and smiled. 
 
 " I was thinking of all sorts of stupid things," she 
 answered vaguely. 
 
 Her eyes fell on her ringless hand, and it almost 
 seemed to her as if East must notice the strangeness 
 of that finger without the wedding ring. 
 
 She wondered what he thought. Surely it must 
 have occurred to him that it was a little extraordinary 
 for her to come to Pietra Santa and have her hair cut 
 off first thing, then buy simple village clothes and 
 dress accordingly to avoid attention.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 247 
 
 As if he had read her thoughts just then, he said 
 to her 
 
 " I hope you won't think it awful cheek what 
 I am going to say to you. Perhaps it is. If so, I 
 can only hope that you'll forgive me, and understand 
 that I'm not speaking out of idle curiosity, or any- 
 thing of that sort. Yet I confess I am curious about 
 you, Miss Wood. But how can I be otherwise ? And 
 yet I suppose that's just the way with tourists like 
 you and me, who meet in out-of-the-way places acci- 
 dentally and know nothing whatever of each other." 
 
 " But that's the charm of it," interrupted Theodora, 
 quickly. " It is quite true that we know nothing of 
 each other you and I but then that isn't necessary, 
 is it ? I'm just a woman, working for her living, who 
 has come to Pietra Santa to have a little rest. You 
 are a travelling Australian. And we're staying in the 
 same hotel. And by accident we spoke to each 
 other. And afterwards we found ourselves equally 
 enthusiastic over this most lovely of little old-world 
 
 cities. And " she paused and laughed gaily, her 
 
 old bright irresistible laugh that struck her; strangely, 
 it was so long since she had heard it. " Well, isn't 
 that enough ? " she ended. 
 
 " I don't know," answered East, gravely. 
 
 He was drinking in the mobile loveliness of her 
 face framed under the great spreading fig tree, and 
 for a moment he remained silent after he had spoken. 
 Theodora turned to look at him. Then she started. 
 She had seen right into his eyes, and deep within their 
 grave depths was an expression that made her heart 
 beat suddenly, hard and painfully. She caught her 
 breath. She looked away quickly across the Mediter- 
 ranean. He had looked so extraordinarily like George 
 at that moment ! 
 
 Just so had George looked at her many a time in 
 days gone by. She trembled, and the colour went 
 slowly out of her cheeks. She sat still, her hands 
 clasped, staring straight out before her.
 
 248 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 She was unable to speak for a moment. 
 
 " I would just like to say one thing," said East, 
 noting immediately the cloud that had fallen over her 
 face. " I hope it isn't presumptuous ; it's just this. 
 If ever you want a friend I mean to say a pal, a 
 comrade, someone to do you a good turn I hope 
 you'll let me know." 
 
 " You are very good," said Theodora, touched by 
 the ring of genuine kindliness in his deep voice and 
 quiet eyes. 
 
 " Will you promise me ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know about promise," she said, 
 endeavouring to turn their conversation to a lighter 
 vein. " It isn't so serious as all that, and I hope it 
 never will be." 
 
 " I hope not," said East, still seriously. " But in 
 case it is, may I give you my address ? " He took a 
 card from his pocket-book. 
 
 His address was inscribed upon it : William East, 
 Bank of New Holland, Queen Victoria-street, London. 
 
 " That's my bank address," he said. " That will 
 always find me, no matter where I am. I wander 
 about a good deal. But I suppose I shall settle down 
 one of these days." 
 
 He took out his pipe and began to fill it. Theo- 
 dora watched him. That was like George too, she 
 thought, his way of filling his pipe. 
 
 "My mother and 1 have been travelling about 
 now for the last two years, seeing Europe, and for 
 myself I confess I'm beginning to get a bit tired 
 of it." 
 
 "You're homesick," suggested Theodora, gently. 
 
 " I want a home, perhaps," he said thoughtfully, 
 still intent upon his pipe. Then he went on in his 
 slow and rather drawling voice, " I should have had 
 one long ago if fate hadn't played me a cruel trick. 
 It took away the girl I cared for. She died." 
 
 There was a long silence. Theodora could think 
 of nothing to say. That simple statement, " She
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 249 
 
 died," opened up before her such an appalling vista 
 of loneliness and misery that she grew speechless 
 before it. 
 
 " And not an ordinary death either," went on East, 
 as if thinking aloud to himself. " The fates weren't 
 satisfied in taking her from me, but they must do it 
 in a most cruel and sensational way. The terrible 
 bubonic plague broke out in Sydney. She caught it, 
 and that was the end." ' 
 
 " I am so sorry," burst from Theodora's lips, and 
 before she knew what she was doing she had turned 
 and put her hand on his, for it seemed to her that a 
 wave of her own suffering had mixed and mingled 
 indistinguishably with the pain of this quiet man 
 beside her. 
 
 He started at her touch, and laid his hand over 
 hers for a moment 
 
 " Promise me," he said, going back strangely to 
 his request of a few moments ago. 
 
 " I can't promise," said Theodora, sadly ; " I've 
 had rather an unhappy experience in my life through 
 making rash promises ; but I'll just thank you very, 
 very much. And I'll certainly remember." 
 
 " All right," he said gently, "that's all that I can 
 ask." 
 
 They rose and strolled away from the Rocca. 
 Wending their way down the hill under the olives, 
 they paused every now and then to pick the creamy- 
 white Christmas roses that spread their fragile loveli- 
 ness over the slopes. Nothing more was said, and 
 the next day they parted. 
 
 East asked her a little shyly if she would not let 
 him know her address. But she shook her head and 
 said 
 
 " I'm going to work for my living, and I'm afraid 
 I should not be able to see you, even if by chance we 
 did happen ever to be in the same city again." She 
 looked up into his eyes with a strange, appealing 
 expression. He smiled down at her.
 
 250 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " I understand that look," he said, nodding. " You 
 can trust me," and then half-humorously, half-sadly, 
 he added, " I'm not a cad, and I know it's my duty to 
 forget that I saw you having that beautiful hair cut 
 off, and assuming the garb of a village maiden here 
 in Pietra Santa. You can trust me never to speak 
 of it." 
 
 He left in the morning for Pisa, and on the even- 
 ing of the same day Theodora departed for Florence. 
 
 Night had fallen over the mountains and the 
 dreamy plains as her train came creeping, creeping, 
 down into the vast and lovely valley of the Arno. 
 Far away, in the distance, she saw the lights of Florence 
 gleaming as the beautiful city came nearer and nearer. 
 
 What should she find there, she wondered ? What 
 lay in store for her in the future ? Her heart still 
 remained strangely light, and never the slightest pre- 
 monition crossed her mind of the state of things in 
 Paris. The train came panting and groaning into the 
 station, and she saw with a joyful recognition the 
 white face of the inimitable Campanile of Giotto 
 gleaming high up in the light that fell upon it from 
 the Piazza del Duomo ; and the great dome of the 
 cathedral was vaguely seen beyond it. Her ardent 
 love of architecture thrilled within her at the sight. 
 
 "I am going to be happy here!" she said to 
 herself. 
 
 The doors were opened, and she stepped out upon 
 the platform, overwhelmed for the first few moments 
 before the indescribable deafening babel of voices and 
 the excited cries and gestures of the crowd of blue- 
 bloused facchini, or porters. 
 
 " Facchino ! Facchino ! " was heard on all sides. 
 
 She raised her voice and uttered the same cry, but 
 it died away on her lips suddenly. 
 
 Two people were coming towards her, pronouncing 
 her name, " Miss Margaret Wood." The little old 
 lady in black, with a gentle face framed under a 
 simple old-world bonnet, was holding out her hand
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 251 
 
 while beside her a tall, broad-shouldered man in grey 
 was smiling also, and exclaiming " Miss Margaret 
 Wood " in a slightly different tone. 
 
 Theodora was dazed. Was she dreaming, or was 
 that man beside her really William East ? 
 
 As if he read her thoughts he bent towards her, 
 and said rapidly ' 
 
 " This is my mother Mrs. Ellerton. I am the son 
 of her first marriage. I only heard your name when 
 I came back here this evening, and I knew it 
 must be you. So I came with her to meet you to 
 welcome you." He added softly, " My mother is deaf, 
 and cannot hear what I'm saying. Remember, you 
 can trust me ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 OLD Ivan and Armand Roche, the journalist (and for 
 the moment, perhaps, one of the most important men 
 on the staff of Le Jour}, had duly arrived in Florence 
 after a somewhat tedious journey. They had taken 
 the route via Mont Cenis, as being the easiest one 
 at this desired moment of departure, and Monsieur 
 Roche had not found it particularly interesting ; but, 
 all the same, the delight of old Ivan was almost 
 pathetic to witness, as he at last realised that he had 
 crossed the frontier and left Paris and France far 
 behind, and with them the load of care and worry 
 he had felt weighing upon his bent old shoulders 
 during the long, long months before his kind friend 
 Armand Roche had taken pity on him and cared for 
 him so well. 
 
 As the train rumbled and jolted along the coast, 
 through the numerous small tunnels that gave such 
 tantalising glimpses of gorgeous blue sea breaking in 
 featheiy foam over the blue-green rocks, he was as 
 delighted as a little child. For him the journey was 
 enthralling. He did not mind the dirt or dust, or the 
 lateness of their train. He was out of France, away 
 far from Marcel Fleur, whom he vaguely hated, for 
 his illness had not left his mind quite clear as to why 
 he disliked him ; far from airships and machinery that 
 one invented and got no credit for. Far from poverty 
 and discomfort, too, he thought, as he felt the soft 
 cushions of the wide first-class carriage, in which he 
 sat wrapped in rugs. 
 
 How good this new friend was to him ! He felt too 
 252
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 253 
 
 contented and weak even to wonder if there could 
 possibly be any motive in his kindness. And, any- 
 way, it did not matter much. He was only a poor, 
 helpless old man, and not of much good or use to 
 any one. Therefore his friend's kindness must, he 
 felt, be disinterested. 
 
 They had secured charming rooms in an hotel over- 
 looking the Arno, and there in the golden rays of the 
 wintry sunlight Ivan was sitting, silently enjoying the 
 view, and looking across the water at the quaint old 
 yellow houses and palaces reflected in the flowing 
 river. He felt supremely happy in his quiet way, and 
 asked nothing more than to be allowed to sit there 
 day by day, in his warm room, reading by the fire, or 
 watching the light play across the stream upon those 
 wonderful old yellow palaces which seemed to prop 
 each other up for fear of falling into the Arno, as 
 their stone walls adventurously hung over its edge. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon, and Ivan was enjoying 
 a cup of his own Russian tea by the window, and 
 nibbling one of those inimitable little Florentine 
 cakes for he still had a sweet tooth, even in his old 
 age when Armand Roche knocked at his door, and 
 then entered smilingly. 
 
 The old man turned, and stretched out a hand to 
 his friend with a muttered blessing in his native tongue. 
 
 " What are you calling me ? " asked the younger 
 man, affectionately patting the withered old hand, 
 whose cunning fingers even yet knew how to fashion 
 and combine the wondrous secret parts of his aero- 
 plane. 
 
 The journalist had indeed acquired a real affection 
 for this poor lonely man, whom, at first, he had got 
 under his control for his own ends and those of Le 
 Jour. He had always been kind to him ; at first out 
 of policy, and because those were his orders from his 
 chief, but afterwards on account of the real and lasting 
 admiration he had conceived both for his honest 
 simple character and his extraordinary genius.
 
 254 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Latterly it had been a real pleasure to him to 
 wait upon and tend old Ivan, and he had watched 
 and looked after him as if he had been his own father. 
 He saw that Ivan wanted for nothing. The best 
 rooms that the hotel could provide were at his dis- 
 posal. His food was of the best, better, in fact, than 
 he had ever tasted in all his life. All that kindness 
 and money could do was being done for him. 
 
 The old man did not reply to his friend's question, 
 except by pointing out over the water in admiration, 
 as he drew his companion's attention to the red rays 
 of the early setting January sun upon the houses. 
 
 " I am so happy here," he said at last, " and I 
 have only you to thank." 
 
 Armand Roche for a moment was smitten with 
 some qualms of conscience, but his quick Gallic 
 temperament soon drove these away, as he explained 
 to himself, half-humorously, that, in the main, the 
 words were perfectly true. 
 
 " Shall we not go out ? " he asked. But Ivan 
 shook his head. He wanted to rest quietly there 
 until dinner time. 
 
 "Well, let us go out to-night to dinner to some 
 nice restaurant. It will be more amusing than dining 
 in the hotel, and it is not cold to-night." 
 
 The old man assented. He loved a little jaunt ; 
 his life had been so singularly free from even the most 
 harmless amusements, and these little dinners and 
 lunches pleased him as much as if he had been a 
 schoolboy. 
 
 Armand Roche did not stop long talking to him. 
 The old man was in one of his silent moods, as Ar- 
 mand perceived, and was quite content to remain there 
 alone ; but he settled him carefully in a comfortable 
 chair by the log fire, with his papers and writing 
 materials close to hand, and saw that he needed 
 nothing before he left. 
 
 Then he wandered out to the Lung' Arno, past 
 the brilliantly lighted little shops with their strange
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 255 
 
 mixture of beautiful old things and terrible new ones. 
 He gazed into the little windows with the other 
 strangers, interestedly, and avoided, with them, the 
 furiously driven and ramshackle cabs, which always 
 seem uncertain whether they wish to drive on the 
 road or the path, and appear to take a delight in 
 terrifying the pedestrians who may be walking along 
 by the parapet of the river till they scowl and stand 
 aside, flattening themselves against the wall. 
 
 Monsieur Roche wandered idly on to the Ponte 
 Vecchio. The night was cold, but brilliantly fine, 
 and there were many people out. Tourists, English 
 and American residents, contadini selling cakes and 
 trinkets, the usual Italian boys flying recklessly round 
 corners on bicycles, a jumble of carriages and country 
 carts all the habitual delights and picturesque 
 muddle which always characterise the Ponte Vecchio 
 and the surrounding streets. 
 
 Suddenly a form hurrying by him caught the 
 attention of Armand Roche. It was a woman, and 
 he thought he recognised her. Where had he seen 
 her before ? Who was she ? 
 
 He turned quickly, and retracing his steps, fol- 
 lowed her. There was something in the graceful 
 poise of the tall, slim figure, something in the colour- 
 ing of the red-gold hair escaping from under the 
 closely drawn veil which reminded him vaguely of 
 some one he had known, or of some one who was 
 well known. 
 
 Yes, that was it, he thought. Some one who was 
 well known to the world. An actress. A singer. 
 He could not recall her. 
 
 But in a moment he laughed at his idea. That 
 could not be a well-known or famous person of the 
 kind of which he was thinking. The girl was evi- 
 dently poor. She was simply, almost meanly dressed 
 in a plain black coat, none too thick for the weather 
 either, and a short serviceable tweed skirt, evidently 
 an Italian costume.
 
 256 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 Her face was closely veiled. He could tell that 
 from the back of her simple hat from which the thick 
 folds of a black veil were hanging. 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 Then his wonderful memory for people, his infallible 
 memory, as he so often boastingly called it, had failed 
 him for once. But no ! There was something familiar 
 in the walk and carriage of that girl in front of him. 
 He would catch her up and try to see her face. 
 
 It would not be a difficult matter to pass her 
 quickly and turn again after a few steps so as to face 
 her. He lost no time in putting this plan into action. 
 He turned and faced her. Through her veil he saw 
 her vivid eyes and lips, beautiful as ever. 
 
 In a flash he knew the woman whom he was 
 gazing at open-mouthed and amazed. It was Lady 
 Allingham. 
 
 There could be no doubt of it. He had seen her 
 too often to be mistaken. Besides, he never made 
 mistakes. But how changed, he thought. Why had 
 she done that to her hair ? And why those clothes ? 
 
 A disguise, evidently. But a disguise that was no 
 disguise. 
 
 In a second he had made up his mind. He was a 
 journalist before everything. This was a lucky chance 
 for him. Once more fortune seemed to be smiling upon 
 him. Here was Lady Allingham, the Lady Alling- 
 ham of whom rumour said so many things in Paris ! 
 She was here in Florence, while her husband lay in a 
 Paris gaol. He knew that she was not at her house 
 in Paris. It had been given out that she was staying 
 with friends in the country, and until rumour had 
 sent its evil tongue abroad, no one had thought of 
 disputing it. But queer things were being said, and 
 more than one person in society had asked outright : 
 " Where is Lady Allingham ? And there had been 
 no answer. 
 
 Every one now said that she had run away, and it 
 seemed true ; for here she was, badly disguised, and
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 257 
 
 worse dressed, he thought, with a Frenchman's utter 
 contempt for ill-fitting clothes. All this flashed 
 through his agile brain. Quickly he turned to her. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Lady Allingham, for stop- 
 ping you," he said, " but I find myself most fortunate 
 to meet you here " 
 
 She had stopped, and was looking at him with 
 wide-open eyes ; in terror for a moment it was evi- 
 dent. But she recovered herself immediately, and, 
 though her face was blanched, looked calmly at him. 
 
 " I represent Le your," he went on with almost 
 impertinent persistence. " Would you not give me 
 a few moments' conversation, please, and perhaps a 
 few details concerning the situation ? You will re- 
 member, doubtless, that we can be of the greatest use 
 to your husband." 
 
 He ceased, for the girl was staring at him coldly 
 and calmly. 
 
 "I do not know in the least what you are talking 
 about, sir, nor have I ever heard of Lady Allingham," 
 she said, staring above his head and moving away 
 with dignity, just as a tall young man, irreproachably 
 dressed, and as M. Roche thought, apparently Eng- 
 lish, came up and addressed her in her own language. 
 
 The girl seemed delighted to see him ; they were 
 evidently friends, for no formal salutation passed be- 
 tween them. 
 
 The journalist wondered if he had heard the last 
 few words. He did not think so, for he had not 
 noticed the young man in his haste to carry out the 
 little manoeuvre by which he had run his quarry down. 
 But he was mistaken. East had been looking in a 
 shop-window near by, and had overheard all, and as 
 he scornfully glared at this unknown man, his glance 
 might have told the journalist that he believed his 
 story to have been a mere pretext to speak to the 
 lady. 
 
 M. Roche was taken aback, but he was not 
 abashed. He was certain now that it was she. What 
 
 S
 
 258 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 a find ! He must follow her. But while he had 
 paused she had slipped quickly down one of the little 
 turnings and had been swallowed up in the dark 
 shadows thrown by the great overhanging palaces. 
 
 It was annoying, but it could not be helped, he 
 thought. Florence was only a small place. He 
 would say nothing, and keep his eyes well open. 
 Thoughtfully, his mind full of suppositions and a 
 tangle of suggestions and ideas, he returned to the 
 hotel. 
 
 It was nearing dinner time, and he went in and 
 gently roused Ivan, who had fallen asleep by the 
 warm fire. The old man raised his head and smiled 
 his slow, sweet smile. Dinner ? Yes, he would get 
 ready, and they would go out. The air would do 
 him good. How kind his friend was! It was so 
 seldom that the young men of the present day took 
 much or any trouble about the old a tale that may 
 probably be told of every generation since the world 
 began, the sole difference being, that nowadays, the 
 younger generations are probably much better in this 
 way than their fathers were before them. 
 
 About half an hour afterwards, well wrapped up 
 and laughing and talking, they set out for the restau- 
 rant through the narrow, quaint streets, past the 
 churches and great palaces, looking huge in the 
 artificial light, and through the great modern Piazza. 
 Vittorio Emanuele, with its innumerable brilliantly 
 lighted caf&, and mixed crowd of soldiers and 
 civilians. 
 
 They turned down the Via Calzaioli, and entered 
 the Restaurant Mellini. 
 
 At the door Ivan stopped. He had forgotten to 
 get his beloved papers. He must go back and buy 
 them. He would be miserable without them, he 
 pleaded. Armand would go in and secure a table ; 
 he would only be a minute or two. 
 
 The old man had his way, and went slowly out 
 again, up the street to his paper stall, and Armand
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 259 
 
 Roche walked down the restaurant towards the jovial 
 and smiling proprietor. He asked him for a table. 
 
 " Si, signore. It is very full to-night, but I have 
 always room for my customers," said he politely. 
 " I will find you a table instantly. See, there is one 
 vacant over there, next the round table with all the 
 English ladies and gentlemen at it." 
 
 M. Roche went across the room and took posses- 
 sion of the little table, looking around him as he did 
 so. His eyes fixed upon the round table, at which 
 seven or eight English people were just beginning 
 dinner. They did not interest him much until he 
 recognised with a start the young man who had 
 spoken to Lady Allingham just an hour or more 
 ago. 
 
 He hurriedly examined the others of the party, 
 and to his amazement saw again the lady of the 
 afternoon's adventure. He scrutinised her closely. 
 She had changed her dress and hat, but was still both 
 cheaply and untastefully dressed. Her veil was 
 lifted now, and there was no mistaking her face. 
 
 " She is Lady Allingham," he said to himself. 
 "This begins to get interesting. I think I shall 
 telegraph to the office after dinner." 
 
 Certainly Le Jour would have liked to know that 
 the wife of the most-talked-of man in Paris had been 
 run to earth in Florence, and until there was some 
 definite news or some exciting detail to give a guarded 
 reference would be interesting and mystifying to its 
 readers ; and as usual, Le Jour would " know," and 
 its " faithful readers," too, should know, and when the 
 right moment came Le Jour would tell all that they 
 " had always known." 
 
 Armand Roche mused as he watched her. She 
 wore no rings, not even her wedding ring. That 
 was the most striking point about the disguise. Her 
 face was as beautiful as ever, perhaps even more 
 lovely than before, for suffering had lent her expres- 
 sion a depth and charm which had been lacking.
 
 260 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 The violet eyes looked sad and tired, it was true, 
 and the white face had lost a little of its roundness, 
 but still she looked wonderfully beautiful. Not even 
 the short cropped hair could change that. It added 
 to it, in fact, he decided. 
 
 He noticed the nervous movements of the thin 
 white fingers, playing with a simple little gold chain 
 upon which hung a little gold cross around her neck, 
 and once again he told himself that there could 
 be no possible doubt but that this was she. She 
 looked up. She caught the fixed, penetrating glance 
 levelled at her from the neighbouring table. She 
 started, half in fear, half in annoyance. 
 
 She glanced at his table. It was laid for two, and 
 she could hear him speaking to the waiter, telling him 
 that another gentleman was coming. Perhaps, he, 
 too, would know her ! She became terrified. She 
 should have refused to come to this informal little 
 dinner party, and kept to her resolution never to dine 
 out! A panic seized her. Anyone might see her 
 and recognise her here ! She must go ! 
 
 Hurriedly she rose, pushing back her chair. 
 
 " I must go home," she said, in a low voice to 
 William, who looked at her in consternation. " I am 
 ill and feel faint. Get me away. Quickly " 
 
 With a few murmured words of apology she left 
 the table, accompanied by the big Australian. They 
 walked quickly down through the rooms to the door. 
 
 " Get me a cab, please, and I will go home alone. 
 I shall be all right. You go back and finish your 
 dinner," she said. 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the sort," he replied, almost 
 angrily. 
 
 They had just reached the entrance of the res- 
 taurant when the doors opened, and old Ivan walked 
 slowly in and came immediately face to face with her.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THEY stood face to face in the doorway of the gay, 
 glittering Florentine caft Ivan and Theodora. The 
 old man trembled, then uttered a loud cry. 
 
 " Jt is she ! Lady Allingham ! " 
 
 He seized her hand, and kissed it wildly, his old, 
 blue eyes filling with quick, emotional tears at the 
 sight of the dear familiar face and figure of his 
 " Princess's little one." 
 
 Theodora turned very pale. East was beside her. 
 He heard. He saw. What on earth would he think ? 
 And how would he act ? 
 
 She drew away her hand. " Hush ! Hush, Ivan ! 
 I beg you not to make a scene here," she said rapidly, 
 in the language of their own country. 
 
 " But don't go ! Oh, don't leave me ! " cried Ivan, 
 imploringly. 
 
 " I must." 
 
 East was motionless as a statue beside her. Not 
 a word did he utter. Yet Theodora felt an immense 
 sense of security and protection in his mere presence 
 there, and gathering herself up bravely, she leaned 
 over Ivan and whispered 
 
 " Tell nobody you have seen me. Do not mention 
 it to any living soul, as you love me, Ivan. It is a 
 matter of the greatest importance to me, do you 
 understand ? And you, what are you doing here ? 
 Whom are you with ? " 
 
 His answer stunned her. 
 
 " I am here with Monsieur Armand Roche," he 
 said ; " a good friend to old Ivan. He waits me now 
 
 261
 
 262 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 inside there, where we dine together presently. Ah, 
 see ! There he comes. He is walking down the 
 restaurant now." 
 
 Theodora's head swam. She put out her hand 
 blindly towards East, who was watching her intently. 
 
 " Get me away, quickly. A carriage quickly," 
 she gasped. 
 
 In one second, it seemed, East had almost lifted 
 her into a carriage that stood at the door. Then he 
 paused just for one brief breathing space. He spoke 
 to the porter at the doorway and pressed gold into 
 his hand. 
 
 " Pay the other coachmen about here .not to 
 follow us, or, at any rate, to delay," he said rapidly, 
 and jumped in beside Theodora. They were off. 
 The loud crack of the fat old driver's whip from 
 the high front seat resounded high and cheerfully 
 above all the other cracking whips in the crowded, 
 narrow, merry Via Calzaioli as the Florentine ttigants 
 went dashing along in their beloved carrozze to dine 
 on their equally well-beloved riso, vitello, and the 
 inimitable red wines of Tuscany. 
 
 "And where does the signore wish that we go?" 
 asked the driver, turning his head, but never pausing 
 a moment in his wild career along the crowded streets, 
 where pedestrians are obliged to take good care of 
 themselves, for the one who is run over is the one who 
 has to pay the damages in Italy ! 
 
 " Drive in and out all over the place for some time, 
 and eventually put us down in a little back street quite 
 near the Hotel de la Ville," said East, immediately. 
 
 " Benissimo. Very well," came the cheerful 
 response. 
 
 He was not a Florentine for nothing, that fat old 
 Borea Luigi, with his top hat and the enormous whip 
 which he never stopped cracking. He had under- 
 stood perfectly from the moment East lifted Theodora 
 into the carriage. This was an adventure. They 
 were escaping some one, these two Inglesi. He
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 263 
 
 would see that they were not caught up. One glance 
 had told him with the extraordinary, incomprehensible 
 swiftness and subtlety of the Florentine that the signore 
 there was a very rich man, and that he would do 
 anything on earth for that beautiful, white-faced lady 
 with the heavenly eye and elegant figure. There was 
 money in this, thought Luigi, contentedly. 
 
 On and on he drove, and always where the crowd 
 was densest 
 
 Armand Roche in another carriage was searching 
 vainly for them, quite unconscious that his own man 
 had been paid not to succeed in the pursuit and had 
 been told that the other gentleman was far richer 
 than this one. 
 
 They crossed the Ponte Vecchio, and the moon 
 was seen rising over the yellow old river, and shining 
 far and wide on the great white valley, and the snow 
 that powdered so softly the distant purple mountains ; 
 they dashed past the Pitti Palace, with its wonderful 
 treasures, where the Count of Turin has his home 
 when in Florence ; they passed Casa Guidi, where 
 the Brownings lived, and a street lamp shone on the 
 marble memorial over the door saying, in lovely 
 Italian words, that here had lived the poetess who 
 drew a golden ring round Italy and England; they 
 made a long passage down an endless narrow back 
 street, full of wine - shops, picture - framers', and 
 jewellers'. And then they recrossed the river by 
 the Ponte S. Trinita, and, dashing down Via Parione, 
 stopped some short distance away from the Hotel 
 de la Ville. 
 
 "Signore, we are safe. We are not followed," 
 said Luigi, dramatically, breaking into flowery and 
 picturesque thanks at the gold that East had pressed 
 into his long brown hand. 
 
 In silence East and Theodora entered the hotel 
 and made their way up to the magnificent apartments 
 of Mrs. Ellerton overlooking the river. 
 
 Theodora sank into a chair and leaned her head
 
 264 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 back against a cushion. They were alone. The old 
 lady had retired to her bedroom, for she had not been 
 one of the party to-night, though she had insisted on 
 Theodora going. 
 
 " It was very good of you," said Theodora at 
 last, breaking the breathless silence that seemed to 
 surround them. 
 
 "We pulled it off, anyway," said East, with a 
 little laugh. 
 
 He stood in front of her, watching her as she lay 
 back there in the big chair with the light from the 
 rose-shaded lamps casting a soft glow over the un- 
 natural whiteness of her face, and making her look 
 more than ordinarily beautiful in this moment of 
 helplessness and distress. All East's manhood was 
 stirred at the sight of her, this lovely girl, who had 
 evidently some great mystery surrounding her. What 
 could it be ? Of one thing he was absolutely certain. 
 He would have staked his life upon it. She had done 
 no wrong. She was incapable of wrong-doing, this 
 girl. He was sure of it. He was so sure of it, in 
 fact, that it delighted him to see his mother in her 
 company, the greatest proof a man can give of his 
 belief in a woman's goodness. 
 
 " We were too quick for them," he added, un- 
 conscious of the tender note that had crept into his 
 voice. " And what's the next step to be ? " he asked, 
 drawing a chair forward and sitting down in front 
 of her. 
 
 "The next step must be that I go from here 
 immediately," said Theodora. 
 
 " Immediately ! " He echoed the word blankly. 
 
 "Yes yes, to-night," she replied. "This very 
 night if possible." 
 
 If her words were a blow to him he gave no sign. 
 He sat and looked at her quietly, giving her the 
 impression that he was using all his powers of thought 
 and energy on her behalf to help her out of this 
 difficulty, whatever it was.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 265 
 
 "You can't go to-night, Miss Wood," he said 
 gravely. " I fear that's out of the question. But 
 look here," he said in his Australian way, "you've 
 had nothing to eat but one anchovy, and this will 
 never do. That wretched interruption to your dinner 
 mustn't be allowed to unfit you physically before you 
 set out on another journey. You must eat, my child, 
 you must eat." 
 
 He jumped up and rang the bell, and when the 
 waiter appeared, he ordered dinner for two to be 
 served there immediately. Soup chicken salad 
 champagne subitissimo very quickly. 
 
 " Siibitissimo" echoed the waiter, and a few 
 moments later the dinner arrived. 
 
 In spite of Theodora's protest she was made to 
 eat whether she would or not. 
 
 He treated her like a little girl, this big man, and 
 she wholly liked the sensation. 
 
 What was there about that was so familiar, so 
 sweet ? A soothingness seemed to come over the 
 world with all its fret, and care, and strife, and 
 confusion, and distress. A magic wand seemed to be 
 stretching out and moving everything away. It was 
 East. The kindly spirit in this big man was making 
 itself felt and carrying comfort to her heart. He 
 poured out champagne for her, and smilingly bade 
 her drink it. 
 
 " Then the world will look different a bit," he said 
 gaily. 
 
 She roused herself. " You are extraordinarily 
 good to me," she said, " and I feel so horrid. I would 
 like to make a confidant of you. I so absolutely 
 trust you." 
 
 "That's good," said East, laconically. 
 
 " But I can't confide in you," she added patheti- 
 cally. 
 
 " It isn't necessary." 
 
 He looked after her in silence for a few moments, 
 seeing that she really ate something and did not
 
 266 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 merely play with her food. And all the while he was 
 thinking thinking. She wanted to escape detection. 
 That was it. She must get away. Evidently it was 
 dangerous for her to stay in Florence. She was not 
 Margaret Wood. She was a lady with a title. He 
 had not quite caught the name that she had been 
 addressed by, but he heard them call her " Lady " 
 some one or other. She had run away from home. 
 That was it. Well, he was going to stand by her. 
 In his own words, he was going to see her through. 
 He got up and gave himself a great shake, and came 
 and stood beside her, looking down on her with a 
 kind and brotherly expression in which was mingled 
 also a note of something that was not altogether only 
 brotherly. 
 
 " Listen to me a moment," he said. " There is a 
 train to-night at eleven for the north." He was look- 
 ing at his watch. " It's now half-past nine. Tell me, 
 is it absolutely necessary that you disappear from 
 Florence immediately ? " 
 
 She looked up into his grey eyes. 
 
 " Yes," she said simply ; " otherwise I run a risk, 
 a risk that I do not wish to run. Two people to-day 
 have seen me. They know I am here. One of them 
 is a terribly sharp, acute Frenchman, a most up-to- 
 date Parisian, and a journalist too. He'll leave no 
 stone unturned to find me. In fact, I am absolutely 
 certain that he will find me unless I go at once." 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " I see," he said reflectively, his eyes intent upon 
 her lovely face. " Then there is only one thing to do. 
 We will all go immediately." 
 
 "All!" 
 
 She started at his words. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she cried, rising to her 
 feet and standing there slim and straight and tall 
 beside him, and looking up at him with such an 
 appealing glance that he had to overmaster an almost 
 overwhelming inclination to put his arms round her
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 267 
 
 and draw her towards him, though she was utterly 
 unconscious of it. 
 
 " Yes ! it's all right," he said. " My mother and 
 I will come too. I'll telegraph at once to Innsbruck 
 
 for rooms " Then he changed his mind suddenly 
 
 and said : " No, a wiser thing would be to telegraph 
 from Verona instead of Florence, so as not to run any 
 risk of our destination being known. We can have 
 our letters sent to Cook's, at Vienna, and then re- 
 forwarded down to us. Not a soul in Florence need 
 know where we've gone. The only thing is we have 
 very little time to dress, pack, and catch our train." 
 
 Theodora listened in paralysed silence, scarcely 
 believing her ears. 
 
 He touched her gently on the arm. 
 
 " Wake up," he said laughing, " there is no time 
 to lose. I'm off to my mother to arrange with her." 
 
 " Oh, but it's impossible impossible ! " burst out 
 Theodora at last. " How can I permit you to do 
 all this for me ? How can I ever repay you for your 
 kindness ? " 
 
 " That's all right," said East, with a little enigmatic 
 smile. 
 
 " And how can I allow your mother an old lady 
 like that to take this long and trying journey at a 
 moment's notice in the cold of a winter's night ? " 
 
 " That's all right too," he replied. " My mother's 
 an Australian, and she won't think any more of a 
 thing like this than if I asked her to buy me some 
 handkerchiefs to-morrow morning at a shop." 
 
 He bent over her suddenly, and looked right into 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Let us trust each other," he said. " I told you 
 I would be your pal I'm jolly glad to have had a 
 chance of proving my words." 
 
 Then he was gone, with a last word to her to begin 
 to pack immediately. 
 
 Was it all a dream, she thought, as she stood in 
 her own rooms a few minutes later. The blinds were
 
 268 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 up. She went to the window and looked out, but she 
 scarcely knew what city it was lying there along the 
 moving river in the silver winter moonlight. It might 
 have been a dream city ; blurred with distress and 
 anxiety, her mind and its images had removed them- 
 selves into far distance, as sometimes happened after 
 sleep. Was she a real woman, she thought ? She 
 stared stupidly out. Was that indeed a real city? 
 All yellow with dust and age it lay, this Florence of 
 the narrow streets and high houses, with the Arno 
 stealing through it. The old houses across the river 
 were lost in shadow, but the spire of Santo Spirito 
 maintained its perfect outline, high up in the moon- 
 light. There was the river going by, swollen and 
 golden, and singing like the sea. And, rising above 
 its song, soared voices on Lung' Arno, singing passion- 
 ately into the night. Right under her window stood 
 a tenor, whose voice thrilled and swelled with that 
 sublime let-go that never is heard out of Italy, not 
 even when carried out of it by opera managers. Rain 
 began to fall, but he took no heed, though when the 
 pennies came he would return to earth with a smile. 
 Little carts flashed by, casting wonderful orange glows 
 into the dark. No art could achieve anything more 
 beautiful. Yet they were only tapers wrapped with 
 brown paper those exquisite mellow, half-gold, half- 
 orange lights that crept up about the faces of the 
 drivers of the carts, softening their features as sunset 
 softens the world. Little wandering isles of gold, 
 they passed up and down the night. And far, far away, 
 down the river, beyond all the bridges, a strange last 
 drift of red sunset faded behind the dark, dim moun- 
 tains at the valley's western end towards the Cascine. 
 How gay Florence was to-night ! Carriages dashed 
 by, taking the dark Florentine beauties home to their 
 palazzos. Crowds of English and Americans were 
 out, too. Theodora watched them dazedly. Never 
 was there such a city for beautiful hats. Dozens and 
 dozens went by.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 269 
 
 She flew round her room like lightning, throwing 
 her things together recklessly, and in ten minutes 
 she was ready, and hastened to Mrs. Ellerton's room, 
 where the maid was already hard at work packing up. 
 
 " How can I ever thank you ? " began Theodora ; 
 but the elder woman interrupted her with a smile. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " don't try ; there's no need 
 to." 
 
 She put her arms gently round the slim, graceful 
 figure in the black travelling-dress and kissed her on 
 each cheek. 
 
 " We may find out a way some day, Miss Wood," 
 she whispered " a way in which you can thank me." 
 
 " Oh, I hope so ! " cried Theodora, sincerely. 
 
 Utterly unconscious was she of the significance 
 that lay beneath the old lady's words. 
 
 At eleven o'clock that night they all set out for 
 the Tyrol, a long journey to be taken at such short 
 notice. 
 
 But East laughed at difficulties. Everything was 
 perfectly arranged, and he seemed justified in making 
 light of their impromptu travels. Rugs, foot-warmers, 
 cushions, magazines, hampers nothing was forgotten. 
 
 The light of the train was shining in his eyes as 
 he turned to Theodora, who was thickly veiled and 
 wrapped in furs of Mrs. Ellerton's which reached up 
 almost to her eyes. 
 
 " Nobody could recognise you," he said softly. 
 " We have done the thing in great style, haven't we ? 
 Now we're off to the Land of the Winter Sports 
 that's the way to look at it, isn't it ? " But under his 
 breath he added a word which she did not hear. It 
 was a little word of four letters, often used and quite 
 insignificant ; but, somehow, he preferred to keep it 
 back where she would not hear it. It was the word 
 "dear."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE love of the Count de Rigos for his handsome, 
 dark-haired wife had increased almost daily, if such a 
 thing were possible, during the short months of their 
 married life. To him she had come like an angel of 
 peace from the very first time, when, by that lucky 
 accident, they had met at the hotel in London. 
 
 And now ? 
 
 All of a sudden, in one moment, his whole happi- 
 ness, the golden castle in which he had been living, 
 appeared to be toppling once more about his ears, 
 and, as so often happens, all through a few chance 
 words. 
 
 The careless phrases of two gossiping servants 
 reached him as he was walking abstractedly down the 
 corridor that morning. They were talking of their 
 mistress and of Mrs. Hawkins. The English girl's 
 tone and words still rang in his head as he sat in his 
 study, moodily gazing out of the window at the bare 
 trees of the Avenue des Champs Elysees. 
 
 " So Mrs. Hawkins has gone, has she ? " said one. 
 
 " Yes. And isn't my lady in a way. He sent her 
 away first, not her. 'And and glove, that's what they 
 were, my lady and Mrs. H. And a bad lot was the 
 old woman, and " in a whisper " the Countess, too, 
 if all my young man tells me is true of her gambling 
 and debts and goings on at Monte Carlo before she 
 met him and his money." 
 
 De Rigos listened spellbound, not daring to inter- 
 rupt them. 
 
 "I've heard of some curious things the old cat 
 270
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 271 
 
 Hawkins 'as done," went on the other, " and she knew 
 of them too. Wonder he didn't twig it all before." 
 
 "What things?" 
 
 " Oh, all sorts. I ain't one to gossip, and I keep 
 a quiet tongue ; but there's no doubt as 'ow Mrs. 
 Hawkins and my lady have humbugged 'im all 
 the time " 
 
 The voices died away as the door was closed to. 
 
 For fully two minutes De Rigos stood rooted to 
 the spot, unable to move, even unable to think clearly. 
 
 That these servants should dare to talk thus of a 
 mistress who was goodness itself to them did not at 
 first strike him as peculiar, but the tone of absolute 
 conviction and the silent acceptance of the statements 
 by the two talkers struck him coldly and forcibly like 
 an icy hand. So they were in the habit of discussing 
 their mistress in this strain ! The kitchen knew for 
 a fact that the Countess de Rigos was "hand and 
 glove " with a dreadful and abandoned old woman ! 
 That she was a gambler and had married him for his 
 wealth ! It was common property. Was it true 
 that those sort of people saw most of the game, 
 and always knew ? That was how the society papers 
 got their news, he thought, laughing aloud bitterly. 
 All his former suspicions returned with a rush, and 
 he felt for a moment that he hated her. 
 
 His mind was a prey to doubt and imagination ; 
 all his thoughts were chaos ; he did not know what 
 to think or say. 
 
 On some pretence or other he kept out all day, 
 not knowing what to do or where to go in his misery, 
 praying instinctively, with all the power of which he 
 was capable, that this suspicion and pain might not 
 turn to rage, for then he knew that he would not be 
 able to account for his actions. The shadow of his 
 former love still hung darkly in the background, and 
 although he dared not look back he felt it there. 
 
 The absence of the Count during all that day had 
 curiously affected his wife, Usually she seldom saw
 
 272 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 him much before mid-day, and if, by any chance, he 
 had been obliged to go out or stop away, she had 
 been quite delighted at the prospect of a nice free 
 time to herself, and she had often spent it in many 
 little ways which would have surprised her husband, 
 could he have seen her. 
 
 But to-day she felt a strange feeling of annoyance 
 when she was told by her maid, in response to the 
 request that she should ask her master to come to 
 the boudoir after lunch, which she had alone, that he 
 would not return until dinner time. 
 
 It was strange for him to go out and leave her 
 without a word, and it had never happened before, 
 never once since they had been married ! What did 
 it mean ? He was always so thoughtful, surely he 
 could not have forgotten. But he must have done so, 
 or else she was obliged to conclude that he had pur- 
 posely left her without a word. 
 
 Where had he gone, she wondered ? Probably 
 out to lunch at the club, or but no, that was too 
 stupid. Surely he could not have gone to keep an 
 appointment with some other woman ? The thought 
 struck her strangely. It could not be. And yet if it 
 were so, why not ? What on earth did it matter to 
 her ? In fact, it would be better like that ; she would 
 be free, and the way would be made clear for a 
 separation. Yes, what did she care ? She was glad, 
 rather. But her clear, evenly balanced brain refused 
 to allow her to credit herself with this delightful 
 solution to the problem. She looked into her own 
 mind and analysed her feelings and sentiments 
 critically and acutely, and found, to her horror, the 
 opposite. She did care, and very much indeed, too ! 
 Her husband the slave of another woman ? Never ! 
 
 "Ah, but this is jealousy," she murmured aloud, 
 in open amazement at herself. " I jealous ! Good 
 Heaven, it's too absurd ! I, too, must be going mad 
 even to imagine such a thing of myself for one 
 moment."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 273 
 
 But she could not deceive herself, as she had 
 don e> so many others often and easily. The fact 
 remained as if it had been branded upon her b rain 
 with a red-hot iron. She was jealous ofher husband 
 and now she was almost certain that he had gone to 
 see some other beautiful woman. 
 
 The thought was too much for her, and she rose 
 abruptly and paced the room. The idea that at that 
 very moment her husband might be looking nto 
 
 aSeeS 
 
 hnf^f ^-!S erS ! lf ' She P ndered she might be jealous, 
 but that did not mean anything. Lots of people were 
 
 SS f ll thei ^ Wn Pr pert * and he was ^rs It 
 did not follow that it meant love for him ; far from it. 
 
 And yet her clear-working brain refused onr^ 
 more to accept this decision. g S he almost 3 believed 
 
 But * would b e to ' 
 
 Sweet ? What a word to use in conjunction with 
 her feelings ! As a rule they were far from svvlet 
 even when she spoke, most charmingly, the moTt lovin^ 
 words , her carefully studied vocabulary^ and ^ took 
 his hand as she uttered the beautiful little^phrase 
 
 vvr, \ . Ughed u al ud Did she love him? Love' 
 Why, what was that ? 
 
 " Am I going to fall a victim in my old a^e ? " she 
 cried mockingly. If s too absurd ! " 
 
 She rose again, and went swiftly into her dressing 
 room summoning her maid as she did so 
 
 I wiH dress early to-night," she said.' I want to 
 try the effect of that new frock with my sapphiTes '' 
 
 The maid was delighted. She was an a tist bv 
 nature in all things appertaining to the toilette and of 
 late her mistress had seemed strangely cold or else 
 preoccupied and uninterested in wha? she was wearing 
 
 She unpacked the great box which had arrived \a 
 few hours ago from a world-famous coutnrre ^ 
 
 T
 
 274 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 drew out carefully from its many wrappings of tissue 
 paper the exquisite shimmering gown of pale blue 
 shading into deepest purple. The lovely fairy-like 
 texture and the clever daintiness of the glitter- 
 ing folds drew forth exclamations of delight both 
 from the Countess and her maid, and as the former 
 stood before her mirror some moments later arrayed 
 in the gorgeous frock with its perfectly cut sheath- 
 like lines falling from her slim, rounded form in a 
 wonderful shimmer of silk and diamond-strewn lace, 
 she even forgot her troubles for a time in the con- 
 templation of herself, for the picture was undoubtedly 
 beautiful. The tones of the gown showed the dark 
 hair and pale oval face in strange combination. A 
 delicate flush was overspreading her cheeks, and the 
 deep, dark eyes glowed like stars. The gown was cut 
 low, for the artist who had created it had not failed to 
 take advantage of the beautiful shoulders and figure 
 of his client. 
 
 " I think that will do," murmured the Countess, as 
 she turned away smilingly and made her way out of 
 the room towards her husband's study, having heard 
 that he had come in. 
 
 She knocked gently at the door, her heart beating 
 wildly with excitement, and entered slowly. 
 
 The room was in darkness save for the flames of a 
 huge fire by which the Count was sitting with a book 
 idly in his hands. 
 
 He raised his head and looked at her as she swept 
 gracefully across the room. The firelight caught the 
 sparkle of the diamonds and the shimmer of her frock 
 as she trailed its undulating folds across the thick rugs. 
 
 He could not help thinking how lovely she looked, 
 and sadly he tried for a moment to reconcile her frank 
 and charming smile with the deceit and treachery 
 which he feared were within her heart. 
 
 "All in the dark, dearest," she exclaimed softly, 
 in her musical tones. " How charming it is in here ! 
 I have dressed early to have a little chat with you."
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 275 
 
 " It is very kind of you," he answered, almost 
 coldly. The tone of his voice struck her to the heart. 
 
 Artifice and wiles no longer stood her in good 
 stead. 
 
 She tried to gather herself together, and made 
 one of her old, sweetly-worded speeches in the old 
 way about holding out the hand of hope to those 
 whom only a good woman could comfort. 
 
 De Rigos laughed aloud. 
 
 " Our conversation is getting so artificial," he said, 
 switching on the lights, " that we need artificial light, 
 I think, to continue it."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 As the dawn broke over sleeping Paris, arousing the 
 early, hard-working shop-people, and once more letting 
 loose the early morning traffic to rumble through the 
 rough-paved side streets and rattle over the great 
 boulevards, the Countess de Rigos fell into a restless 
 slumber. Her wakeful night, following on the troubled 
 events of the day, had exhausted her, and nature 
 asserted herself, causing her to sleep, and for an 
 hour or two at least be free from the maddening 
 thoughts which haunted her waking hours. 
 
 But this merciful repose was not to last long. 
 Towards nine o'clock she woke, as her maid entered 
 softly to draw back the blinds and bring to the bed- 
 side the little tray bearing an exquisite service of 
 Sevres in which the Countess's morning chocolate was 
 always served. 
 
 The maid expressed herself in sympathetic and 
 concerned accents when she saw her mistress's face. 
 
 " But my lady has not slept well ! She is ill ? " 
 
 "No, no. I am quite well, only a little tired," 
 replied the Countess hastily, for the idea of sympathy 
 was repugnant to her strong, self-reliant nature. She 
 drank the delicious chocolate slowly, thinking hard 
 all the time. 
 
 A little of her wonted courage began to return 
 to her. 
 
 She felt that she must rise to meet this new and, 
 as yet, inexperienced situation ; just as she had met 
 and conquered others of a different kind before it, so 
 must she fight this one boldly and courageously. One 
 
 276
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 277 
 
 never gained anything yet by sitting still, she told her- 
 self, and, with a rather more cheerful feeling, she rose 
 and, aided by her maid, began the mysteries of her 
 toilet Her face looked white and drawn as she gazed 
 
 nto the mirror while the clever fingers of her maid 
 the final touches to her magnificent dark hair, 
 but a few artistic little effects soon remedied that 
 and as she slipped into an exquisite house gown of 
 bois-de-rose chiffon velvet, the clinging skirt draped 
 with slightly upward curving draperies, the bodice of 
 delicate old lace over slurred rose chiffon, she looked 
 almost her old self. The delighted little exclamation 
 
 t ner maid, who adored her, told her so. 
 
 fv, f\ he u C ?u nt met her in the halL She supposed 
 that he had been out, as he was wearing a fur coat 
 
 He addressed her with his usual unfailing polite- 
 ness, asking her to come into the library. 
 
 Silently she acquiesced, and followed him almost 
 
 lumbly into the luxurious room, which for her had 
 
 now none but bitter memories. She glanced round 
 
 and shivered. How often she and Ignace had sat 
 
 side by side on the low settee by the fire, beguiling 
 
 the hours away with long confidential talks, in which 
 
 : said her confidences were not unfrequently 
 
 matters of her own imagination, for even in their 
 
 most intimate moments she had always had to act 
 
 a part to him. He closed the door after her now 
 
 ^ance ^^ at ^ With * rather P eculia ^ 
 
 " I am glad I met you," said he, quietly. " I was 
 just going to leave a note for you, as I did not wish 
 to disturb you. I am leaving directly for the Riviera 
 1 am going to Monte Carlo. I feel I want a change.' 
 The cold of Pans," he added bitterly, < the atmosphere 
 of this house, does not suit me. I am feeling ill 
 
 You are feeling ill ? ' exclaimed his wife, her face 
 
 lighting up with genuine concern. " Oh, but- " 
 
 "You need not concern yourself about me thank 
 you," interrupted the Count, coldly. ' I shall be
 
 2 7 8 
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 perfectly right soon. It is merely a little passing 
 indisposition, and is of no consequence whatever." 
 
 His words cut her to the heart. 
 
 Their meaning was only too obvious. Bluntly, 
 they meant that his actions or feelings were no longer 
 any business of hers. 
 
 He had done with her ! 
 
 But she felt that this was no moment for words. 
 He was a man ; he must be allowed to go his own 
 way. Meanwhile, she would think out something. 
 Surely she could : some means by which she could win 
 him back and reinstate herself in his affections. Her 
 wits had never failed her yet, and they should not now. 
 
 But the Countess de Rigos was in deep and 
 unaccustomed waters. The tactics which had enabled 
 her to battle with and overcome apparently insur- 
 mountable objects were almost useless as weapons to 
 fight in the cause of love. She was far too clever a 
 woman not to realise this in the back of her mind, 
 but her emotions forced her to try. She must, at least, 
 make an attempt to gain her ends. 
 
 Her husband had moved away, and was putting 
 some letters together at his bureau, preparatory to 
 locking them up. He did not come over to her and 
 kiss her in response to her softly murmured accents 
 of farewell, merely responding by a few half-jesting 
 words about his coming back soon, which relaxed a 
 little the tension of a very uncomfortable moment. 
 The Countess, who never lost her head in any situation, 
 took her tone from him, and, nodding brightly, albeit 
 her smile was strained had he seen it, prepared to 
 leave the room silently, when his words arrested her. 
 
 " There is something I want to find out at Monte 
 Carlo several things as much as I can, in fact. 
 You have been there often, I believe ! Is it not so ? " 
 
 " I ! Oh yes yes, certainly. Often," she replied. 
 
 Not until the moment when she was safely in the 
 privacy of her own boudoir did she realise the full 
 meaning of the situation.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 279 
 
 She sank into a deep chair, overcome for a moment 
 by the enormity of it. Her husband had gone to 
 Monte Carlo. Why ? He was going to find out 
 about her. She knew it she was certain of it. 
 She recalled his tone as he had uttered those 
 words. " Something I want to find out ... as much 
 as I can, in fact. . . . You have been there often. Is 
 it not so ? " There had been just a touch of embarrass- 
 ment as he had first mentioned the name of his 
 destination. He was too honest to be able to hide 
 anything really successfully from her. 
 
 " Now I should have said that I was going else- 
 where," she told herself, with a sad smile. " But oh ! 
 what a beast I am ! " she exclaimed involuntarily, 
 hating herself as she saw herself in her true colours, 
 her character hopelessly laid bare by the searching 
 rays of love. " Oh, let him go to Monte Carlo ! Let 
 him find out all about me and my gambling I, who 
 said I hated gambling so ! I don't care ! What 
 does it all matter, now ? " she cried recklessly, rising 
 and walking up and down, up and down her rooms 
 in an agony of mind. " What does anything matter 
 when the one person I love hates and despises me ? 
 For he does despise me ! Oh, I wish I were dead ! " 
 
 The great tears slowly coursed down her cheeks, 
 tears of hopeless rage borne against fate, of love, and, 
 above all, of self-pity. 
 
 It was, after all, fitting that she should suffer. 
 Even in her bitter and unrestrained grief she did not 
 for one moment think of the awful consequences of 
 her ill deeds. She was blind to the sorrow and tribu- 
 lation in which she, from sheer spite and malice and 
 revengefulness, had brought Sir George Allingham and 
 his beautiful young wife. Sir George Allingham was 
 in prison. His wife had left him ! Of these things 
 she did not think for one moment. Much must be 
 allowed to one suffering the unhappiness of an un- 
 requited love, and only later on was the terrible act 
 of which she had been guilty to be brought home to
 
 280 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 her. Incredible as it seems, she had utterly forgotten 
 Sir George lying there in gaol, waiting his trial, help- 
 less, self-accused of a crime of which only she could 
 prove him innocent. What were his thoughts night 
 and day as he lay there, with little to occupy his 
 mind save that one awful idea, the conviction of his 
 wife's guilt ? The terrible days and nights passed 
 in hopeless, unavailable conjecture. The ceaseless 
 wondering what had made his wife, of all people, a 
 common thief. The certainty that something must 
 have been too strong for her that she had been forced 
 to commit the crime by some one. But by whom ? 
 His days and nights passed as in some horrible dream. 
 And Theodora, who in Florence had been striving to 
 forget, was now flying from the city in which she 
 had hoped to find a haven of rest for her tired soul. 
 And Marcel, robbed of the plans of his airship, and 
 mad with rage and fear and disappointment ! All 
 this was the work of the wretched, weeping woman 
 crouching there in her lovely room. 
 
 A woman was she among the most beautiful and 
 envied in all Paris. Ah, could they have seen her 
 now those people who envied her wealth and looks ! 
 The humblest little dressmaker would not have ex- 
 changed her position, even for a moment, with this 
 sobbing, heart-broken creature, heedless of all in her 
 overwhelming grief and despair. 
 
 The Count de Rigos was glad to leave Paris. He 
 had longed to get away from it ever since the 
 moment when he had experienced those terrible 
 suspicions of his wife's deceit and treachery. 
 
 But he had another object in his mind besides the 
 relief which he knew the warmth and sun of the south 
 and the freedom from the unbearable situation in his 
 home would give him. He intended to find out what 
 those words he had overheard from the gossiping 
 servants meant. He earnestly hoped that there was 
 no truth in them, for although he knew that in many 
 ways she had lied to him and taken advantage of his
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 281 
 
 trusting nature, he shrank from the knowledge of any 
 new and disagreeable discovery about her. And yet he 
 felt that he must learn all the truth. 
 
 This task was not a very difficult one. 
 
 There are many ways at Monte Carlo by which you 
 may discover all about your neighbour and his past, 
 and money opens most of the doors. He soon learnt 
 all about the beautiful Mrs. Packinthorp. 
 
 " An English lady," he was told. " Oh yes, an 
 elegant woman, and noticeably beautiful. Rumour 
 had said strange things about her. But, then, it did 
 about everybody. Her reputation was doubtful, but 
 there was nothing much," said his informant, " only 
 she certainly was a hopeless gambler. They said she 
 always found money somewhere and somehow to 
 play. These gamblers stick at nothing, and black- 
 mail is often profitable if you are clever," he added 
 meaningly. 
 
 The Count de Rigos could have struck the man 
 as he stood there, smiling sarcastically and blasting 
 his wife's reputation with a few careless words. But 
 he realised that it was no time for anger, and that 
 above all things, a scandal must be avoided. This 
 kept his passionate anger in check, as outwardly calm, 
 he listened to the tale of his wife's doings, punctuated 
 with knowing looks and malicious grins. 
 
 " Oh yes, she was well known," said one of the 
 attendants, whom his informant had summoned to 
 verify the truth of his story. "But we get lots of 
 them. They are penniless, and we have to pay their 
 journey home, and they don't come back until they've 
 managed to get some more cash somehow or other." 
 
 The Count de Rigos was astounded. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that the authorities once 
 paid Mrs. Packinthorp's journey home," he asked, 
 hardly believing his own ears. 
 
 That this woman, who to him had posed as all 
 that was sweet and good, and a pronounced hater of 
 gambling in particular, when he met her in London,
 
 282 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 had only a month or so before been sent home from 
 Monte Carlo after losing all she had won at the tables 
 seemed impossible. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I remember it all quite well. They 
 paid her hotel bill, too. Oh, she was a queer sort, 
 and beautiful ! Well, there ! But perhaps you knew 
 the lady, sir?" 
 
 The Count de Rigos shook his head. He was too 
 furious to speak, and luckily, for had he done so his 
 feelings might have escaped him, and the reply would 
 certainly have astonished his listeners. His mind 
 was a seething whirlpool of angry thoughts. 
 
 In a moment his quick southern temperament had 
 turned his disappointment and disillusion to absolute 
 hate of this woman, who had mocked and deceived 
 him so cleverly and effectively. 
 
 As he walked away from the two men he reviewed 
 mentally the weeks before and after his marriage. 
 The many little speeches which had rested enshrined 
 in his heart as gems of goodness and purity now 
 stood out, one by one, as he looked back on them, in 
 all their false and meretricious glitter. How could 
 he ever have thought them real? That was what 
 puzzled him now. That his great love had galvanised 
 their miserable flashy rays into pure magnetic beams 
 did not occur to him, and now he only saw himself a 
 fool as she must have seen him always.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 ON through the night rushed that northern train, 
 bearing East and his mother and Theodora so hastily 
 away from Florence. 
 
 About four o'clock in the morning they came over 
 wide, melancholy, flat marshlands into the magnificent 
 old city of Verona, with its superb walls and arches 
 and vast ruined amphitheatre lying all dark and 
 silent in the waning moonlight. 
 
 " The city of Romeo and Juliet," said Theodora. 
 But East dispelled her sentimental imaginings by 
 telling her of those great horse fairs held now on the 
 very site of the lovely and hapless Juliet's tomb. 
 
 " I shall get out here and telegraph to the Tyroler- 
 hof for rooms," he said. 
 
 He stepped out of the train and made his way 
 along the station to the telegraph office, where he 
 hastily sent off a wire to the Hotel Tyrol, Innsbruck , 
 asking for a suite of rooms to be reserved for three 
 people and a maid, and a private sitting-room, where 
 all meals could be served separately. 
 
 "That will save her the necessity of going down 
 to eat in the public dining halls," he said to himself. 
 
 Nothing seemed to him too much to do for this 
 girl, who had come so strangely and unexpectedly 
 into his life, and it gave him an absolute feeling of 
 joy to be wiring injunctions for fires in all the rooms 
 and a carriage with foot-warmers to meet them at the 
 station, although the hotel was scarcely two minutes' 
 drive therefrom, as he well knew. 
 
 So engrossed was he with the details of his long, 
 283
 
 284 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 extravagant telegram that he saw nothing of the man 
 in a big sombrero hat and long black cape, worn in 
 the manner of the Italian that is to say, with the 
 right side slung away over the left shoulder gracefully 
 and to English eyes a little melodramatically. 
 
 Quite blind was he to the fact that this man 
 approached the telegraph office the moment he came 
 out and went straight to the official behind the 
 window. 
 
 " I have made a mistake," said the black-bearded 
 man, "in the telegram I have just sent. I put the 
 wrong number. There it lies there on the desk. 
 One moment, permit me." 
 
 The official handed it to him. 
 
 " Ah ! no, no," he cried angrily. " Not this ! This 
 is some one else's. This is German. I do not 
 understand it. That is mine there beside you." 
 
 With profuse and flowery apologies the official 
 handed him his own telegram. 
 
 " Scuse, signore," he said apologetically. " I 
 thought it was this one you indicated." 
 
 "No, no," said Armand Roche, testily. "You 
 should be more careful another time. There " he 
 glanced hastily over his own telegram, keeping up 
 the feint very well indeed of wishing to see it 
 again. Then he handed it back with a bow. " I see 
 it is all right," he said. 
 
 The words in his own telegram directed to the 
 editor of Le your, Paris, were the following rather 
 curious ones : 
 
 " Have brought old man following Lady Allingham. 
 She fears, suspects, is flying from me. I follow to 
 Innsbruck. Wire any instructions to me Poste 
 Restante there. 
 
 "ARMAND ROCHE." 
 
 Such was his own wire. 
 
 The one he had hastily scanned had read 
 
 " Reserve rooms for three and maid, with private
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 285 
 
 sitting-room, first floor. Have fires lighted every- 
 where and rooms well warmed. Order flowers. Send 
 carriage to station, with rugs and foot warmers, to 
 meet the evening train. 
 
 "WILLIAM EAST." 
 
 " Good," muttered Armand Roche, to himself. 
 " The plot thickens. The story gets exciting. It 
 runs something like this, I fancy. Our beautiful 
 Lady Allingham has a very, -very guilty conscience, 
 and is desperately anxious that her identity and 
 whereabouts remain concealed more than ever." 
 
 He rubbed his hands together. Going to the 
 buffet he tossed off a long drink of vermouth, rum, 
 and seltzer, and ate an enormous sandwich stuffed 
 with cold sausage. 
 
 " She had a reason," he muttered to himself, as 
 the rum and vermouth mounted to his brain. "Fear ! 
 that's it. The lovely and adorable Lady Allingham 
 has fallen a victim to an overmastering fear of being- 
 found out. Then what has she done ? The answer is 
 obvious. It was she who stole those plans, and I sus- 
 pected it from the first moment I heard of Sir George 
 Allingham's arrest. I may be only a journalist," he 
 thought excitedly, " but I know an honest man when 
 I see one, and if ever there was a man who did not 
 steal, and could not lie except to save his wife 
 that man is Sir George Allingham, or my name is not 
 Armand Roche ! " 
 
 The night was cold, though the dark blue skies 
 were strewn luxuriously with glittering stars, and the 
 moonlight fell on the river flowing through the 
 ancient city, and touched the magnificent yellow walls 
 and citadels and ruins with the inimitable softness 
 and tenderness of moonlight upon beautiful architec- 
 ture. It was almost as if the moon knew and rever- 
 enced and gave deep worship to the loveliness and 
 dignity of the architectural lines and curves. 
 
 "We have half an hour's wait here," Theodora said
 
 286 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 to East. " Don't you think I might as well alight, and 
 walk up and down the station, while Mrs. Ellerton 
 is sleeping so profoundly under her rugs ! " 
 
 East fell in with her every wish. It made him 
 only too happy to know that there was anything she 
 cared about, so that he might try to let her have it. 
 
 " I will walk with you," he said. " We'll pace up 
 and down beside the train." 
 
 As is always the case in Italian trains, there was a 
 long, impossible jump to make from the carriage 
 to the ground, and he held out his arms to Theodora 
 when he saw her recoil. 
 
 " Let me lift you down," he said simply ; and, 
 taking her in his arms, he raised her as easily as 
 though she had been a child, and then put her safely 
 on the ground. 
 
 In that moment, held in those strong arms, a 
 strange host of recollections had come rushing over 
 Theodora. 
 
 For one thing, it seemed so extraordinary that 
 a mere man could hold her a bundle of ideals, 
 dreams, physical structure, and chiffons in two 
 mortal arms ; and she remembered that the very 
 same amaze had flashed upon her when George had, 
 for the first time, lifted her laughingly from the 
 ground to show her how strong he was. But she 
 laughed. She said softly to East, " I hope I wasn't 
 frightfully heavy," and laughed again at his vehement 
 denial. 
 
 " Don't protest too much," she said lightly. 
 
 " I couldn't," said East. 
 
 " That sounds dubious," said Theodora. " It might 
 mean well, it might mean anything." 
 
 " I confess it means something," replied East. 
 
 They were pacing up and down the platform now. 
 A strange light-heartedness had taken possession of 
 each of them, which was partly the effect of the long 
 rush through a strange country in such a pure spirit 
 of adventure, and partly the effect of each other's
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 287 
 
 personality. But poor, poor East ! How far he was 
 from guessing the truth ! 
 
 When he saw the curving smiles about those 
 scarlet lips, and the flashing brightness of the violet 
 eyes, he was happy because he saw and knew that 
 she was happy when with him. Never for one 
 moment did he dream that his presence filled her 
 continually with a half bitter, half sweet, and wholly 
 mocking emotion, because it reminded her of her 
 husband. Never for a moment could he guess that 
 she looked up into his grey eyes and recollected the 
 steady glance of one who was far away. Never for a 
 moment did he suspect when he held her in his arms 
 as he lifted her out of the train, and her face lay 
 for one, brief, breathless moment against his heart, 
 that she was not there in truth. She was far, far 
 away. For a magic moment she was again in George's 
 arms, and it was George's rough grey coat that was 
 under her cheek, and it was George's strength that 
 surrounded her in that strange, dreamlike moment on 
 the starlit Verona platform, when East was lifting her 
 out of the train. 
 
 East gave no sign of his feelings. This was 
 neither time nor place for that. 
 
 "Later on," he said to himself, "later on, who 
 knows ? But now I'm just her knight and her pal, as 
 I said I would be that's all, and she is my sister 
 for the nonce." 
 
 Up and down they walked. The long, dimly- 
 lighted train lay stretched beside them, and they 
 could see into the carriages as they strolled up and 
 down. 
 
 They saw Mrs. Ellerton comfortably ensconced 
 among cushions and rugs, with the light cunningly 
 shaded away from her face, lost in deep slumber. 
 They saw a strange mixture of people in the various 
 carriages. Black-haired, hatless contadim, or peasants, 
 going from Verona into the country ; smart, spick- 
 and-span Austrian officers on their way over the
 
 288 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 frontier ; American and English tourists in very 
 small numbers, going north for the toboganning and 
 winter sports. But they did not see the old white- 
 haired man with pale blue eyes who was lying 
 sleepless on the yellow wood of a third-class carriage 
 close to the engine. 
 
 For that was where Armand Roche and old Ivan 
 had secreted themselves on their midnight journey. 
 
 " Oh, I love Italy ! " cried Theodora, passionately, 
 standing still suddenly in their perambulations, and 
 casting one wide fleeting glance over the silent, 
 melancholy plains out of which the great age-old city 
 of Verona rose with such an inimitable grace and 
 dignity. 
 
 " I love it, too," echoed East. 
 
 But he was blind to those inky-black cypresses, 
 pointing their mysterious fingers towards the moon. 
 He was insensate to the marvellous charm of the 
 antique city, with its almost Eastern gorgeousness of 
 architecture. He was unconscious that a network of 
 glittering silver stars was turning the dark blue sky 
 into fairyland. He only knew that Margaret Wood 
 was walking up and down the platform beside him. 
 
 They took their seats in the train again at last. 
 And further along a man with a black beard jumped 
 in beside his white-haired companion, and rubbed his 
 hands softly and satisfiedly, thinking to himself that 
 he was indeed a made man, and that Le Jour was far 
 too clever to ignore the fact. 
 
 The capo del stazione (stationmaster) in his tall 
 scarlet hat ran up and down the platform excitedly. 
 A porter lifted a vast horn to his lips and blew on it 
 the weird unearthly blast that heralds the departure 
 of Italian trains, and they were off! Trent, Ala, 
 were passed, and the Customs officers were duly 
 satisfied, and they found themselves well over the 
 borders of Italy and Austria as the sun rose over the 
 new day. Everything had changed colour instantly, 
 with almost incredible suddenness. The very train
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 289 
 
 itself was different. It was several degrees cleaner 
 and neater. The guards on it were spruce little 
 Germans, with fair moustaches and guttural voices. 
 An air of solemnity and gravity and decorum had 
 taken the place of the delightful, lazy, languid happi- 
 ness and allegria of the Italian part of the journey. 
 Vast snow-covered mountains and valleys, white 
 with rose lights upon them, as the sun rose high, 
 usurped the tender blues and purples of the dreaming 
 Italian landscapes ; and onwards they rushed, further 
 and further away from Florence, and, as Theodora 
 fondly believed, from the clever, pertinent journalist, 
 Armand Roche, whose eyes went through her so 
 remorselessly. 
 
 It was evening as they flew down over the 
 Brenner, where the fir trees were glistening under 
 their pure white snow covers, and the ground lay 
 pale and soft in the dark. And night had well fallen 
 when they swept down into the vast white valley of 
 the River Inn. 
 
 East's telegram had had its due effect, and a 
 luxurious carriage was there awaiting them. Tired, 
 but cheerful, they drove through the sparkling streets 
 of Innsbruck, with its great overhanging mountains 
 and its crowds of merry German and Austrian uni- 
 versity students pacing up and down beside the 
 brightly-lighted shops. 
 
 In a few moments they had reached their destina- 
 tion the tall white building of the Hotel Tyrol, 
 standing in the centre of the town and were being 
 welcomed by the courteous proprietor, who assured 
 them that he had done his best to meet all their 
 wishes, and hoped they would be comfortable during 
 their stay. Mrs. Ellerton and her maid had already 
 entered the lift. Theodora was just about to follow, 
 when an interruption occurred. 
 
 A man stepped forward quickly, with a low bow 
 and a way of holding his hat on one side in his right 
 hand which could only be acquired in Paris. 
 
 U
 
 290 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 " Pardon, madame," he said in a low voice. " I 
 crave just one word with you." 
 
 The skies seemed to rock above Theodora, and 
 the varnished floors to go up and down under her 
 feet. 
 
 There before her stood Armand Roche the man 
 she had taken so long a journey to get away from ! 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 East was talking to the proprietor ; for the moment 
 he had noticed nothing. 
 
 "I want a private conversation with you," said 
 Armand Roche, immediately. 
 
 " It is impossible." 
 
 " It is wise." 
 
 " I repeat, it is impossible," said Theodora. 
 
 She had forgotten that she was Miss Margaret 
 Wood Mrs. Ellerton's companion. Again she was 
 Lady Allingham the idol of Paris society. Drawing 
 herself up to her full height, she flashed upon him a 
 look of indescribable haughtiness and scorn, which 
 gave her beauty so emphatic a note that the Parisian's 
 heart fairly bounded within him as he looked at her. 
 
 " Mon Dieii, but she is a beauty ! " he muttered. 
 
 But he was Armand Roche, of Le Jonr, and must 
 not be overcome by a woman's looks. His work was 
 cut out. Let him see to it that he did it. 
 
 " Lady Allingham," he said in a low voice, " you 
 are making a great mistake to treat me like this. 
 Ever since Sir George Allingham has lain in prison 
 there in Paris " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 She interrupted him with a loud cry that startled 
 every one in the vestibule and brought East in terror 
 to her side. 
 
 " What is it you are saying ? " she cried, a deathly 
 whiteness blanching her cheeks and lips with horror. 
 She trembled. But she mastered that immediately. 
 
 " But it is impossible impossible," said Armand, 
 aghast at the sudden, unmistakable evidences of
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 291 
 
 ignorance and amazement that had overwhelmed her 
 at his words about Sir George being in prison. 
 " Surely you were acquainted with the facts before 
 this ? "' 
 
 " Oh, what are you saying to me, monsieur ? " she 
 cried, rushing towards him and clasping her two white 
 hands wildly around his arm, utterly oblivious of all 
 those standing around her. " Sir George Allingham 
 in prison ? " 
 
 " He was arrested on Christmas Day for the theft 
 of the plans of M. Fleur's airship, which were sup- 
 posed to have been concealed in your ladyship's 
 dressing-bag. He declared his guilt when the police 
 went to the house to search " he refrained from 
 saying " for you" " Some fragments of Monsieur 
 Fleur's letters from a lady were found. Monsieur 
 Fleur alleged them to have been stolen also from 
 his laboratory. But there was no sign of your 
 dressing-bag or of the plans. And you were gone ! " 
 
 " My dressing-bag ! " 
 
 Pitifully, half-madly indeed, her violet eyes were 
 imploring his to make this fearful mystery clear to 
 her. 
 
 " Your dressing-bag," he continued gently, moved 
 uncontrollably by the sight of her emotion. " It had 
 disappeared." 
 
 " Disappeared ! " 
 
 She looked round wildly, and seeing East beside 
 her, held her hand out to him as if to bring him close 
 to her for support. With one stride he was at her 
 side. His steady eyes looked down at hers. " Cour- 
 age," he whispered. " I'm here ; I will stand by you." 
 
 " I never opened it. It was stolen from me in 
 the train," she whispered hoarsely. Then her voice 
 fell, and she swayed and dropped into East's ready 
 arms. 
 
 "I must go at once to George," she murmured. 
 " Oh, take me to Paris, William," she said, swooning 
 away in a dead faint against his breast.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 CROUCHING by her fire in deepest dejection was a 
 woman who was scarcely to be recognised as the 
 Countess de Rigos. What had happened to her? 
 Whither had fled all her old-time buoyancy and 
 elegance, her indomitable smartness and chic, and 
 that courage of hers never to submit or yield that had 
 always cried out loudly in a difficult situation to 
 quote the words of the fallen angel "to be weak 
 is miserable, doing or suffering " ? Where now was 
 all her courage ? And her inexhaustible spirit, her 
 unconquerable resolve to succeed and surmount all 
 obstacles, into what far-off region had they taken 
 wing these former marked characteristics of the 
 beautiful Countess de Rigos ? 
 
 It was mid-afternoon, and a heavy fog had de- 
 scended upon Paris, swathing the vast city in 
 suffocating yellow folds. Breathless and stagnant 
 was the air. That great, terrible calm, weighted and 
 significant, that often precedes the coming of some 
 memorable and deadly storm or earthquake, brooded 
 over the gay metropolis, hushing its laughter, dulling 
 the gaiety of its lights, deadening the brightness even 
 of its cafes. It was as though a great wave had 
 flowed over Paris and wiped out for a moment 
 laughter, light, and song, and that apparent inex- 
 tinguishable gaiety that marks this city especially for 
 its own, and makes it different from any other, except 
 perhaps lovely, careless, allegro Venice, and, in a 
 lesser degree, little, laughing Brussels. 
 
 " Oh, Heaven ! How much longer can I endure 
 292
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 293 
 
 this ! " She threw herself back in an attitude of 
 despairing abandon on the great white settee covered 
 with snowy bearskins and enormous cushions of pale 
 purple silk. 
 
 It was three days and three nights since Ignace 
 had left her. 
 
 For three whole days and three whole nights she 
 had neither slept nor eaten, and to-day, in conse- 
 quence she was scarcely to be recognised as the lovely 
 woman who had won the heart of the Mexican 
 aristocrat. Wasted to a shadow was she, haggard 
 and grey. 
 
 It was as though a fever was consuming her. 
 Her pulse never beat at a normal rate now. Her 
 blood ran hot. An unnatural temperature was hers. 
 The sage who said that love is a fever from which 
 one either recovers or dies, might well have had in 
 view the fate of the Countess de Rigos. It seemed 
 as though she were destined to die of the fever. Try 
 as she would to drown her thoughts, they inevitably 
 returned to the one subject, Ignace. His face swam 
 before her. How was it she had never realised before 
 the beauty of those pale, chiselled features, the carven, 
 beautiful mouth, the deep, fathomless eyes, with all 
 their Spanish lustre, depth, and softness, the fine 
 contour of the face, the perfectly moulded forehead, 
 upon which the black, crisp hair grew in so fasci- 
 natingly boyish a manner, the little curl running 
 through it, such as every woman with a heart is in- 
 stantly susceptible to ! And he, this handsome, charm- 
 ing young aristocrat, was her own husband, and only a 
 few short days ago had worshipped her madly. And 
 now? Now it seemed as if the blood in his veins 
 had frozen, his pulse had stopped beating almost. 
 His eyes had no glance for her but a stony, remorse- 
 less stare, which seemed to expose all the petty 
 vanities, follies, and falseness of her heart. Not a 
 word of love fell from his lips. Nothing but cold, set 
 phrases issued from the mouth that so short a time
 
 294 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 ago had woven sweet words of tenderness and adora- 
 tion for her and her alone. The change was terrible. 
 She could scarcely realise it. And yet there was the 
 fact staring her in the face. He had left her. 
 
 " How could you, how could you ! " she moaned. 
 
 She pressed her face down into the violet pillows, 
 and the tears burnt their fiery way into the soft silk, 
 staining it in great discoloured patches. 
 
 " I shall kill myself if he does not return," she 
 moaned. 
 
 For a long, long time she lay there, prone in her 
 misery, and then her maid entered with some tea, 
 and she sat up, murmuring excuses about her violent 
 headache. 
 
 Carelessly her white fingers squeezed a lemon 
 into the fragrant Russian beverage, and she drank 
 it off feverishly. " That is good," she murmured, 
 pouring herself out another cup and reaching for her 
 cigarettes. Presently the tea began to clear her brain 
 a little, while the cigarettes soothed her. Her thoughts 
 grew less tortured and agonised. She began to think 
 clearly. And suddenly hope came flashing back, 
 renewed magically by this slight physical renewal of 
 her bodily strength caused by the tea and her 
 cigarettes. 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and the maid who 
 had lately brought the tea came in and announced 
 a visitor who wanted urgently to see her. She was 
 a young English lady, Miss Margaret Wood. 
 
 " She seems in trouble, and begs that you will talk 
 to her, if only for one moment," said the maid. 
 
 " Have I not told you I can see no one ? " replied 
 the Countess de Rigos, sharply. " I have already 
 given you the strictest injunctions that no one was to 
 be admitted to my presence. In fact, I was not at 
 home if anyone called." 
 
 " I know, my lady ! " 
 
 She was not going to explain that a ten-pound 
 note had been pressed into her hand by the genth
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 295 
 
 man who accompanied Miss Margaret Wood, and was 
 waiting in the firelit hall below. 
 
 " If the archangel Gabriel called I should not 
 receive him," cried the Countess, with a return of her 
 old manner, and an attempt at a laugh. 
 
 But, alas ! It died away on her lips, that laugh. 
 It was stifled to death at the sight of the tall, white, 
 hollow-eyed woman who came gliding in through the 
 open door. 
 
 ."Lady Allingham!" 
 
 "Yes, it is I," replied the other. "Since you do 
 not know me as Miss Margaret Wood, I have come 
 myself in my own name." She turned to the maid. 
 " Leave us," she said, in her old peremptory manner ; 
 " I wish to speak to the Countess de Rigos alone." 
 
 The maid went out, and the door closed behind 
 her, and these two women, Lady Allingham and the 
 Countess de Rigos, were left face to face, alone. 
 
 For a moment or two they stared at each other in 
 silence, paralysed by the appalling change each saw 
 in the other's face. AH the lovely, haunting youthful- 
 ness of Theodora's eyes and lips and radiant hair 
 seemed to have passed away from her. She was 
 white as death. Her cheeks had fallen in. Her eyes 
 were glittering with fever, her lips were white and 
 dry. It was evident at one glance she was in an 
 unnatural condition of excitement and illness. 
 
 And the Countess de Rigos was equally changed. 
 She had gone from a young woman to an old woman 
 in a few days. 
 
 "Why have you come? What do you want?" 
 she gasped. 
 
 " I have come to get the truth," said Theodora. 
 
 "What truth?" 
 
 She attempted to brazen it out, as she had brazened 
 everything else out in her false and apparently success- 
 ful career. She laughed. 
 
 We do not know how we discover things about 
 each other. Always there is mysterious thought at
 
 296 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 work about us, and sometimes we read people's most 
 carefully guarded secrets which they suppose they 
 so cleverly and successfully conceal as clearly and 
 distinctly as though they had been put in large black 
 handwriting or printing upon their foreheads. Abso- 
 lutely sure are we that we are right. Then why are 
 we so sure ? Simply because we realise, unconsciously 
 it may be, that we are in the grip of some force far 
 greater than reason far more subtle and complicated 
 and mysterious than anything human intelligence can 
 account for. Suddenly, and without, as it were, the 
 slightest relevancy, Theodora's brain had built up 
 before her a picture of her boudoir, and that strange, 
 mysterious girl with the box, who had brought back 
 her letters to Marcel on Christmas Eve. The girl 
 had come as if she were a dressmaker's assistant, 
 bearing a large cardboard box, ostensibly containing 
 blouses ; then she had suddenly opened the box and 
 presented Theodora with a packet of letters, which 
 she said she had been asked to deliver by Monsieur 
 Fleur, and Theodora had torn up the letters and 
 thrown them into the fire, all in a breath, and when 
 she turned to the girl she had gone. The whole 
 affair had been very strange. And now, without 
 knowing how, Theodora seemed to be suddenly 
 carried forward and placed upon a certain track 
 which she had to follow. 
 
 " Won't you sit down ? " said the Countess. 
 
 " I will not sit down in your house." 
 
 " As you will, but I I'm tired ; I have no fancy 
 for standing. Pardon me if I am remiss ; " and she 
 threw herself back with an affectation of languid 
 carelessness in the snowy nest. 
 
 " Let us come to the point at once," said Theodora. 
 "My husband, Sir George Allingham, is in prison, as 
 you know, accused of stealing the plans of Monsieur 
 Fleur's airships, which anonymous letters declared 
 would be found in my dressing-bag. Now, what I 
 want to know is this. How did those plans get into
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 297 
 
 my dressing-bag, if they were there ? Who put them 
 there ? What enemy sufficiently malevolent and 
 wicked had access to my rooms on Christmas 
 Eve ? " 
 
 " I really don't know what you're talking about," 
 said the Countess de Rigos, airily. 
 
 " Ah yes, you do," said Theodora, standing over 
 her, and suddenly gripping her by the wrists. " Woman, 
 listen to me. Your hour has come. It is useless 
 to deny longer. You're face to face now with a 
 desperate wife. You're looking into the eyes of one 
 who fears nothing, for she is armed with a weapon 
 of which you poor, miserable, worm-like creature 
 that you are are wholly ignorant the unconquerable 
 weapon of love ! " 
 
 The Countess de Rigos lifted her head, and broke 
 into uncontrollable hysterical tears and laughter. 
 
 " After that," she said, " I think I shall tell you 
 the truth. Then you shall learn that some one besides 
 yourself, Lady Allingham, knows the meaning of what 
 love is ! " 
 
 Never before had she revealed herself in all her 
 true criminality of character as at that moment. Reck- 
 less utterly reckless was she. She was prepared to 
 give herself away haphazard. And this, so say the 
 great psychologists and criminologists, is the distinctive 
 and characteristic feature of the true criminal. At a 
 given moment he or she is bound to lose his or her 
 perspective. He becomes blind and indifferent to 
 results. He is overwhelmed with an enormous 
 incapacity to realise consequences. 
 
 The Countess de Rigos was lost in those quick- 
 sands of crime. She was blind to consequences. A 
 cruel, inexorable power was driving her on to confess 
 lavishly anything and everything, no matter how 
 much it might be to her detriment. 
 
 " What is it you want to know ? " she queried 
 recklessly. 
 
 " Oh ! that you can ask me that ! " cried Theodora,
 
 298 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 distractedly. " I want to know " she put a tre- 
 mendous restraint upon herself, and summoned all 
 her reason to her command " I want to know if you 
 know aught of how the plans got into my dressing- 
 bag ?" 
 
 " I ! Why of course I do, my dear. I put them 
 there," replied the Countess. 
 
 Suddenly she was overcome with an immense 
 sense of elation and self-glory at the way in which 
 her plans had succeeded. 
 
 " You little fool ! " she laughed low and fiercely. 
 " Don't you know who it was that took you in so 
 foolishly on Christmas Eve? Haven't you guessed 
 who the little dressmaker was, with the box ? Why, 
 you fool ! you fool ! " she burst out in delirious self- 
 elation, " it was I, I myself, yes, I, the Countess de 
 Rigos, who took you in so splendidly and completely. 
 I was the one who brought you back those letters to 
 Marcel Fleur and very silly letters they were, too, 
 my dear ! " 
 
 She broke into wild laughter, as the scene repeated 
 itself before her eyes in vivid cinematograph fashion. 
 " My dear woman dear idiot, I may say ! While you 
 were throwing the letters into the fire, I was putting 
 the plans into your dressing-bag. That's the truth." 
 Her voice rose. " I knew what I was about, and I 
 was determined to blast you and your immaculate 
 and ridiculous husband. Did you suppose for one 
 moment that I was going to let pigmies like you and 
 Sir George Allingham treat me like dirt, and cut 
 away all my social position, as you tried to do at the 
 fete of the Duchess that afternoon, when you cut me 
 dead before my husband and other members of Pari- 
 sian society? Did you take me for a stick, dried 
 and lifeless, that you thought I would not strike 
 back when you attacked me in that horrid, superior 
 way of yours ? Didn't you know that I was a danger- 
 ous case, a woman who would stick at nothing to get 
 my revenge ? If you didn't, my dear, you are a
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 299 
 
 greater fool than I thought ! And that's all I've got 
 to say about the matter." 
 
 She threw herself back on the white bearskin, and 
 let her black head sink into the soft nest of the 
 violet cushion, while a low, unpleasant laugh burst 
 from her lips at the sight of Lady Allingham's white 
 staring face. 
 
 " You are a fool an utter fool ! " she said. " I 
 really think it's time you knew the truth about your- 
 self." 
 
 Not a word issued from the lips of her listener. 
 
 It seemed as if Theodora had been struck dumb 
 in the face of the information she had just received. 
 But at last, collecting herself by an immense effort, 
 she rose to her feet and stood looking down upon 
 the beautiful, black-haired Countess de Rigos, with 
 her background of pale mauve and deepest Parma 
 violet cushions. 
 
 " I never dreamed that a woman like you could 
 draw breath ! " she said. " And yet, if you have 
 confessed the naked truth, you have done a wonderful 
 thing ! " 
 
 At her words the Countess seemed to come from 
 some absorbing trance, and returned to her old cold, 
 imperturbable self. 
 
 The mood for self-abasement had completely 
 passed, as it always does with your true criminal. 
 Bravado had returned. Her nerves had tightened. 
 A sudden overwhelming vision of her folly in confessing 
 was flashing across her brain. 
 
 " What are you saying ? " she cried wildly. " I 
 I confessed ! You lie ! What have I got to confess 
 to you ? " 
 
 " The truth) the truth ! " said another voice.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 EAST had entered noiselessly, drawn by some irre- 
 sistible intuition of coming danger to Lady Allingham, 
 and his words and action startled the Countess de 
 Rigos into terrified silence. So there had been a 
 witness to her appallingly reckless speeches ! The 
 incredible things she had been saying about herself 
 had been overheard. The very sight of this unknown 
 man, so vibrant with quiet strength and honesty, 
 brought her fully to her senses. 
 
 " I must have been mad ! " she muttered, pressing 
 her white, jewelled hands in bewilderment to her brow. 
 
 " No ! No ! You were never saner ! " cried 
 Theodora, in a voice of elation. 
 
 She swept across the room in her long travelling- 
 cloak. All the weakness that she had been battling 
 against so courageously in the long journey from the 
 Austrian Tyrol to Paris was forgotten ; a fever burnt 
 in her veins and supported her with an unnatural 
 strength. She seized the white wrists of the Countess 
 de Rigos and stood towering over the other woman 
 with blazing eyes. 
 
 "Woman, you were never saner," she declared 
 in exultant tones. "You told the truth for once. 
 And, thank Heaven, your words were heard by some 
 one other than myself. Now, speak! Go on with 
 your story." She shook the white wrists. "Tell 
 me all you know," she commanded fiercely. "And 
 quickly, too ! Time is short. An honest gentleman 
 has lain in prison long enough. He shall remain 
 there no longer." 
 
 300
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 301 
 
 Down at the farther end of the room the curtains 
 of rose velvet hanging over a door stirred slightly and 
 a dark face looked forth for a moment. Then it quietly 
 drew back into concealment Theodora and East, 
 whose backs were turned, saw nothing. But the 
 Countess de Rigos's faculties were now all on edge, 
 and her eyes had fallen upon that moving curtain ; she 
 saw in a flash the dark face full of hate looking across 
 the room at her, though it was unaware that she 
 observed its presence. 
 
 " Ignace ! " 
 
 But she stifled the word on her lips. 
 
 All of a sudden came floating over her a great 
 resolution. 
 
 She was penned in between three people who all 
 despised her. 
 
 But what odds ? What did their presence matter ? 
 What did it signify to her that they were going to 
 do their best to wrest from her a full confession of 
 her evil deeds ? What was all that compared to the 
 thing she was going to do herself ? 
 
 With a miraculous effort of will she brought an 
 expression of heartrending grief over her countenance 
 and began softly to weep, the great, glittering tears 
 falling without being wiped away, for her hands were 
 still locked in Theodora's fevered clutch. 
 
 " My heart is broken when I think of all the 
 mischief I have done," she sobbed. " But I will 
 confess, I will confess ! " 
 
 At the back of her brain she was thinking of 
 Ignace, and wondering what had occasioned his un- 
 expected return. Why had he come back ? Not for 
 love of her. That one fleeting glimpse of his face 
 had shown her that it was colder and more bitter in 
 its expression than before, if that were possible. No, 
 it was not for her that he had returned, and she con- 
 jectured that it must be some document of importance 
 his will, perhaps that he had forgotten in his 
 haste, and her conjecture was right. He had come
 
 302 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 back for papers which he had need of, and feared 
 might fall into the clutches of his unscrupulous wife. 
 
 Hidden behind the curtain, his handsome lips 
 were touched with a mocking smile as he saw the 
 great tears. Hate raged within him. Yet, even now, 
 something softer stirred dimly in his heart at the sight 
 of her distress real or assumed. 
 
 Her words came stealing across the room to him, 
 uttered in low, vibrant tones that grew gradually 
 louder and stronger as her emotion appeared to 
 master her. 
 
 " Oh ! what have I done to bring such punishment 
 upon myself ? " 
 
 She was crying bitterly, standing there in misery 
 and self-abasement. 
 
 " I suffer now because I see myself in a true light. 
 Yes, I will tear the mask from my face ! No longer 
 shall you believe me to be what every one thinks me. 
 I can no longer allow you to look upon me as such. 
 I must clear the innocent of the dreadful charge made 
 against him." Her voice rose. " Oh ! the terror of 
 it ! That he should suffer, that innocent gentleman, 
 Sir George Allingham. He did not steal the plans. 
 Who believes that he did ? No one who knows him. 
 And the world says he branded himself with igno- 
 miny to save his wife. But she she did not steal 
 them either yet they were stolen, and why ? By 
 whom ? " She threw her head back and burst into 
 bitter hysterical sobs. " Oh ! let me confess ! Let 
 me confess the whole truth ! " she said. " I I am to 
 blame ! " Her words choked her. " I am the guilty 
 one ! " 
 
 De Rigos heard these words with mixed sensa- 
 tions ; every emotion seemed to be pressing down 
 upon him horror anguish contempt admiration 
 pity hatred all coursed through his veins as the 
 speech of the woman came floating towards him. 
 
 " Ah ! let the innocent go free, and punish me," 
 she cried. " It was I who disguised myself as a
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 303 
 
 dressmaker, brought the plans to your bedroom and 
 placed them in your dressing-bag while your back 
 was turned. I was the little dressmaker's assistant, 
 as I told you just now. Incredible as it seems, I 
 obtained those letters of yours from Marcel Fleur 
 without his knowledge." 
 
 Then suddenly it struck her that she might 
 improve upon that statement, and she added 
 quickly 
 
 " I mean without his knowledge of what I was 
 going to do with them, for he himself presented them 
 to me." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " burst from Theodora's lips. 
 
 "All things are possible to men," cried the 
 Countess, " except to one man, my husband," she 
 added. 
 
 She bowed her head on her breast and gave way 
 to violent and very effective sobs. 
 
 " Oh ! how I am suffering ! " she moaned. " But 
 through it all I feel the justice of it. I deserve to 
 suffer. Don't think for one moment that I am not 
 keenly alive to that, and yet, oh ! dear Lady Ailing- 
 ham, there is surely some allowance to be made for 
 me." 
 
 " What do you mean ? What allowance can 
 possibly be made for you ? " said East, sternly. 
 
 " I've done mischief enough," said the Countess, 
 meekly ; " I will not do any further harm to the 
 man who has already suffered his share." 
 
 "Are you speaking of Sir George Allingham?" 
 asked Theodora, fiercely. 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Then you shall explain yourself." 
 
 Her burning little hands were like bands of fire 
 round the other woman's crushed wrists. 
 
 " Oh, dear Lady Allingham, pity me, pity your- 
 self, pity Sir George ! " wept the Countess de Rigos. 
 
 The Count quivered. " What is coming now ? " 
 he asked himself, trembling with amazement at the
 
 304 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 extraordinary behaviour of his wife. " What is she 
 going to say next ? " He watched her. Whither had 
 fled her beauty? Where was her old-time charm? 
 She was haggard and ghastly, with her hair hanging 
 loose and undressed over her shoulders, and her grey 
 velvet gown emphasising all the defects and ravages 
 that grief and suspense had wrought in her usually 
 so carefully cared-for person. She was actually ugly. 
 
 Yet he was staring at her hungrily, with a look in 
 his eyes that had never been there before, even in 
 the hour of his most absolute worship, when all that 
 art and wealth could summon to her assistance had 
 been used by her to aid her beauty and charm. " In 
 this moment she is real" he was telling himself. 
 
 He held his breath, unconscious himself of the 
 tremendous strain under which he was labouring, as 
 he waited for further developments in this extra- 
 ordinary drama which was being played so cleverly 
 all for his benefit, had he only known it. 
 
 "Do you mean that my husband was in love 
 with you ? " cried Theodora. " Is that what you are 
 endeavouring to insinuate ? " 
 
 " Not to insinuate," said the Countess, sadly, " but 
 to suppress ! Why should I grieve you you poor, 
 poor child, who have suffered so much already ? " 
 
 " He forgot me utterly the moment he met you," 
 she continued. " Your exquisite young beauty wiped 
 out, like a sponge over a slate, every trace of his 
 affection for me. In one moment, as it were, I was 
 forgotten. He had asked me to marry him, and I 
 had consented. Then you came into his life, and 
 what was more natural than that he should fall madly 
 in love with your wonderful beauty and youth ? Ah, 
 your youth ! " she cried. " He worshipped that it 
 was that he worshipped so, and that you had never had 
 eyes for any one else. My youth was gone. I was 
 the widow of an old friend of his. I was not young 
 I was not beautiful. What more natural than that 
 I should be superseded ? "
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 305 
 
 Theodora had relaxed her burning grasp on those 
 white wrists. The Countess's hands were now free to 
 dab a little lace handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 She wept bitterly for several moments. Then she 
 controlled herself, and continued in a low, shaking 
 voice 
 
 " Sir George Allingham threw me over he threw 
 me aside, and I was but a woman. I resented it. I 
 had a heart. How can I help it that I am made like 
 that a woman who feels deeply and intensely ? I 
 suffered terribly. I was overwhelmed by the feeling 
 of revenge. I knew I had been treated unfairly, and 
 by degrees it grew into an obsession with me, it over- 
 whelmed other things. I had to be revenged. Some 
 power stronger than myself carried me onwards, 
 whispered to me that I must show that fair, highly 
 respected Englishman what it was to suffer. And so 
 I stole the plans and placed them in your dressing- 
 bag, knowing that suffering to you would be the 
 most terrible suffering that could fall upon him." She 
 threw out her white hands in a wild, dramatic gesture. 
 " There is the truth ! " she cried. " Now you know 
 me at my worst a woman who revenged herself for 
 love. But it was not real love," she added softly, and 
 her eyelids came down for the moment, while the eye- 
 lashes formed a dark fringe against the pallor of her 
 cheeks. " It was not real, I had learnt that, for it was 
 permitted me to know the difference. I was shown 
 by fate the true and glorious nature of a real love. I 
 married the Count de Rigos, as you know, and in 
 him I found all that I had hitherto missed in life. 
 And I learnt to love him, to adore him." 
 
 The note in her voice now was utterly genuine in 
 its fierce tenderness. 
 
 " Never was there any one like him, my Ignace, 
 my husband," she cried ; " and though he has left 
 me, spurning me for my femininity and weakness, I 
 shall love him to my dying day, and after 'out 
 beyond into the world to come,' " she quoted softly, 
 
 x
 
 3o6 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 with her eyes still closed and that rapt look lingering 
 upon her face. 
 
 East's calm, quiet voice broke through the 
 hysterical, excited atmosphere of the rooms, like a 
 cold wind after a burning scirocco. 
 
 " I have taken your statement in writing," he said, 
 pointing to the page of shorthand he had been rapidly 
 transcribing. " I think when needed you will be called 
 upon to give your evidence, and I take it that you 
 will be ready to do your best to liberate Sir George 
 Allingham from his present absurd and disgraceful 
 position." 
 
 "Anything I can do," she cried, "command me. 
 Tell me just tell me what I shall do. All I want is 
 to make reparation only that ! " 
 
 "Then, Lady Allingham, I think that we had 
 better go," said East, turning to Theodora. " There 
 is much to do." 
 
 When they had gone, the Countess de Rigos 
 threw herself at full length on the wide divan among 
 the innumerable cushions. 
 
 " Oh, my heart is broken completely," she sobbed, 
 " and yet I have only done my duty ! " She raised her 
 voice so that Ignace could not help but hear. " I have 
 told the truth. I have painted myself in my blackest 
 colours. I have covered myself with everlasting shame 
 and ignominy. I deserve no pity. Grief and loneli- 
 ness are all that I can conscientiously demand from 
 life, and they are they to be my portion ? I see 
 that clearly. My husband my beloved has left me, 
 He thinks me weak, perhaps. He little knows that, 
 after all, I am no coward. Surely he would have 
 realised that in this heart of mine there is a wealth 
 of goodness and courage, waiting only to be called 
 upon. Surely he would have loved me a little as he 
 did in those dear hours gone by. Surely he would 
 have forgiven me." 
 
 " He must have forgiven you," echoed a voice, 
 speaking aloud from somewhere among the silent
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 307 
 
 shadows cast by the swiftly oncoming night in the 
 rooms of the Countess de Rigos. Her husband stood 
 before her. 
 
 " He does forgive you," he was saying. 
 
 There was the gleam of something bright and 
 glittering. He stooped over her, and a report was 
 heard. At the same instant the Countess fell. 
 
 " You shall confess no more, my angel. . . . Ignace, 
 who loved you well and deeply, will save you from the 
 inevitable fate he sees lurking in front of you ! Sooner 
 or later, beloved, you would have to answer before 
 the tribunal of the world for these misdeeds of yours. 
 You would be tried ! You would be judged ! Ah ! 
 beloved," he muttered, " the judges who have been 
 selected by this world to arraign their fellow-creatures 
 would not be kind to you, my dear one. They would 
 call you hard, hard names. They would mete out 
 to you the full measure of punishment, never taking 
 into consideration for one moment your temperament, 
 your dauntless courage, and those terrible circum- 
 stances of fate against which you have waged war, 
 poor dear one, with such qualms of heart that you 
 bravely conceal, with such agonies of mind, with such 
 unequal never-to-be-forgotten effrontery ! " 
 
 He stole away from her rooms then, and went 
 straight down the stairs, out of the house, unnoticed 
 by any one ; and he was far away from Paris when 
 midnight fell upon the glittering, night-loving city, 
 and the death of the lovely Countess was already 
 circulating sensationally far and wide through the 
 medium of the indefatigable evening journals. 
 
 Suicide ! Death by her own hand ! Shot through 
 the heart ! 
 
 For the revolver lay there on the snowy bearskins, 
 just where it had fallen from her ice-cold fingers ; and 
 the bullet-wound in her breast was just where it could 
 have been most easily fired by her own hand, right 
 into her heart, with all its falseness and duplicity, that 
 was now for ever ended in the stillness and silence 
 of Death.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 THE day had dawned at last when the French 
 Government would wait no longer. Rumours had 
 been afloat and circulating for a long time. Some- 
 times they died away ; then they broke out again 
 more distinctly than ever, fed by the ingenious and 
 unceasing tactics of Le Jour. 
 
 " What has become of onr National Airship ?" 
 " Is Monsieur Marcel Fleur asleep or dreaming? " 
 " When are we to have our demonstration ? " 
 " Paris astir. Where is our Marcel Fleur' s world- 
 talked-of invention? Why do we hear and see no 
 more of it ? " 
 And so on. 
 
 They began softly, these murmurs ; they increased 
 in sound and volume ; they grew bolder and more 
 direct in their demands and insinuations, until at last 
 the little insidious sparks had been fanned into vast 
 flames, that kept on growing and growing in their 
 fierceness and intensity. 
 
 Armand Roche, of Le Jour, was at work now in 
 deadly earnest. He was carefully guarding Ivan, and 
 keeping from him all the news of the day, and luckily 
 for Le Jour that icy journey from Florence to 
 Innsbruck had had a disastrous effect on the old 
 man's frame, and he was now confined to his bed 
 in an hotel at Munich not altogether to Armand 
 Roche's regret. Armand was in luck, he thought. 
 His telegrams respecting Lady Allingham had been 
 splendid. No other paper had managed to get hold 
 of that news. And now she had flown to Paris. He 
 
 308
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 309 
 
 had let her go that was his way of putting it he 
 had not followed. To guard Ivan was his work, for 
 the great scheme of Le Jour was now about to be 
 perpetrated. 
 
 Marcel Fleur was announced to give his great 
 public demonstration. At last Paris was about to 
 be satisfied. And at last Le Jour was about to 
 make its triumphal coup. 
 
 The night before, Marcel Fleur sat huddled up and 
 shivering in a great armchair in front of the dying 
 fire in his laboratory in the Faubourg St. Germain. 
 
 On the long table was the model which had been 
 brought him by the Englishman, Bostock, a few months 
 previously. It was connected with the machinery of 
 which it was the necessary complement. The electric 
 current from the main had been turned on, and to 
 a stranger coming into the room, it would have seemed 
 that the continuous movement of wheels, which caused 
 a musical hum to resound throughout the chamber, 
 indicated a beautifully balanced mechanism. If this 
 stranger had looked further, he would have seen the 
 table bestrewed with paper, and plans plans fixed 
 with pins on drawing-boards, plans rolled out and 
 kept in place by any kind of weights, books in most 
 cases, at their four corners, plans half unrolled or 
 wholly rolled up. 
 
 Marcel had been hard at work here for endless 
 hours. For days and weeks he had studied feverishly 
 the abstruse calculations contained in those sheets of 
 foolscap before him ; for weeks had he compared 
 every detail of his plans, and again for weeks had he 
 watched and kept record of the motions of his machines. 
 Yet, after all these weeks of constant and careful work, 
 and while yet the machinery seemed to be moving 
 smoothly and rhythmically to the uninformed out- 
 sider apparently fulfilling all its functions why, then, 
 did Marcel sit shivering and huddled up in front of 
 a dying fire, with that look of blank despair on his 
 thin, sallow face ?
 
 3io THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 It is hard to have success within one's reach, to 
 see the possibilities of wealth and distinction all 
 ready for grasping before one's view, to think that 
 here at last is the final fulfilment of all one's hopes 
 and aspirations, and then suddenly and unexpectedly 
 to meet with a reverse, such a bouleversement as the 
 disappearance of Ivan had proved to Marcel Fleur. 
 
 "The French Government insists," he muttered. 
 " It is either disgrace or " he paused and shivered. 
 
 We remember how successful had been the flight 
 from Melun to London, and how Marcel had, in that 
 experience, demonstrated to a wondering world the 
 capacity of his remarkable invention. That ex- 
 cursion had stimulated the British intelligence to an 
 extent unknown since the Boer war, and had been 
 the occasion of such inquietude in Germany that it 
 was even suggested in the highest quarters that a 
 casus belli should at once be determined with France, 
 lest a worst thing for Germany should happen ! 
 
 But why should Marcel not be able to fall in with 
 the requirements of the French Government ? 
 
 He had made a successful flight. He had demon- 
 strated that his machine could overcome all the 
 difficulties which navigators might contemplate. The 
 machine had been shown to be superior to changes of 
 wind directions, and alteration of temperatures ; in 
 fact, the wonderful automatic controlling mechanism 
 which Ivan had devised had ensured safety under all 
 the varying conditions of the inconstant air. 
 
 But Ivan had been spirited away. Ivan, with his 
 wonderful brain, was no longer there to make the neces- 
 sary suggestions when the mechanism failed. He 
 was gone, and the plans of the airship were gone also. 
 Not a trace of them had been discovered. 
 
 And Marcel sat by the fire alone, gazing with 
 wild, tired eyes into what lay before him. 
 
 " After all, a man can but die once ! " he mur- 
 mured. " Anyway, I shall face the supreme test. I 
 shall do my best,"
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 311 
 
 A wave of bitterness flowed over him. He cursed 
 the fates roundly that had endowed him with all his 
 brilliant gifts, yet had denied him the final something 
 which would have enabled him to complete all his 
 plans. How cruel it was that he, who was in reality 
 so brilliant a being, should be frustrated by some 
 irony of destiny ! 
 
 Next day at noon, all Paris was out watching. 
 Marcel Fleur ! The name was on every one's lips, 
 and crowds of spectators were making a day of it, in 
 order to follow his demonstration. 
 
 The machine was brought out along the rail, 
 gradually rising as it got towards the end thereof. 
 The flight was at first smooth and regularly upward. 
 Marcel circled round above the heads of the people 
 about 150 feet. 
 
 The vast crowds, watching and admiring, broke 
 into excited cheering. 
 
 After a long circuit it was noticed that the machine 
 was rapidly rising with a remarkable velocity. The 
 crowds cheered still more loudly. 
 
 But those who were watching through their glasses 
 observed Marcel's quick movements, and realised that 
 he seemed to be in difficulties. 
 
 The upward velocity increased at an alarming rate, 
 so that in a few minutes the machine simply appeared 
 like a small bird to the unaided eye, at such a rate 
 had it flown skywards in the wild celerity of its course. 
 
 " Vive Marcel Fleur !" shouted the crowd. 
 
 Suddenly the intense and breathless silence of 
 suspense that held, as though in chains of iron, the 
 enormous crowd of watching Parisians, was broken by 
 a sudden cry from those more fortunate people who 
 were following the flight of the machine through their 
 opera glasses. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! Qitest-ce que Jest ? What is this ? " 
 
 With every nerve of brain and body strained to 
 the very uttermost, they watched, these Parisians, the 
 doings of their idol.
 
 312 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 And not Parisians only were they, these vast surg- 
 ing masses of onlookers who had come hither to-day 
 to see the supreme manifestation of what the greatest 
 aeronaut of the day had achieved in the little-known 
 field of aviation but Germans, Russians, Austrians, 
 Englishmen, of the highest birth and most dis- 
 tinguished calibre, were following the course of that 
 little bird-like speck with an intensity that defies all 
 words so acute and deep-reaching was it. It seemed 
 as though the whole world was aroused. The Con- 
 tinental nations had lost sight of their boundaries. 
 In the cause of science all these European countries 
 had become as one, just as in a great football match, 
 or may we say it ? in a dog fight, as the author of 
 " Rab and his Friends " has said it for us, when every 
 man loses sight of his identity in the supreme excite- 
 ment of the fight and the unknown issue. 
 
 Breathlessly the multitude gazed upwards. 
 
 Down, down, down, that little black speck was 
 now dashing. Every heart-beat seemed to increase 
 its incredible rapidity of movement. What was 
 happening ? Was it possible something was going 
 wrong ? Down, down, down, it came rushing that 
 little bird-like speck, and as it came nearer and nearer 
 the watching crowd it became larger and blacker, 
 only that there was not time to note anything of this. 
 
 As it came towards the ground the crowds yelled 
 and shrieked with terror, and dashed wildly aside in 
 all directions, fearing the horror of death and demo- 
 lition that the fall of the airship in their midst would 
 cause inevitably. All in a moment, it seemed in 
 an incredible second it had reached the earth, and 
 the weight and shock of the collision had shattered 
 it far and wide into a thousand atoms. Luckily, it 
 fell into a clear space. No one was injured. The 
 one and only fatality, or accident even, was the fright- 
 ful death that had befallen Marcel Fleur himself. 
 
 It seemed as if nothing was left of the wonderful, 
 soaring creature that had taken possession of the air
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 313 
 
 and the sky in so imperial a fashion, guided by the hand 
 of a man who had mastered the secrets of the air and 
 devoted his life to experimenting and demonstrating 
 his knowledge to the glory of France. 
 
 It was all over. 
 
 Several moments of awe-stricken silence reigned 
 over the watching, listening crowd. Every one stood 
 as though paralysed. No one moved or spoke. A 
 terrible emotion chained every man and woman and 
 child in that great crowd, and kept them motionless 
 and speechless. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " breathed the Parisians. 
 
 What was it exactly that had caused disaster ? 
 Where had Marcel Fleur encountered that haunting, 
 fateful point which his sharpened senses had prog- 
 nosticated to him so vividly before the demonstration ? 
 What had gone wrong up there, alone, in the high 
 empyrean ? No one could do more than suggest, for 
 definite knowledge must be for ever impossible. Pro- 
 bably the forces imprisoned in the radio-motor, kept 
 under control by Ivan's invention, had burst away 
 from beyond Marcel's command, and had resulted in 
 a complete disintegration of the component parts of 
 the machinery. 
 
 The gas envelope had burst as a result of the 
 explosion, and the remainder of the mutilated machine 
 had been hurled headlong into destruction, with the 
 ill-fated aeronaut in its grasp. 
 
 Then some officials recovered their senses, and 
 hurried towards the spot where the airship had de- 
 scended. 
 
 The air was broken with sounds of women weeping 
 and of men's ejaculations, breathed out fiercely and 
 hotly from the very depths of their hearts. 
 
 All that remained of the world-famous aeronaut 
 was a shapeless and unrecognisable mass. 
 
 "Marcel Fleur! Oh! Marcel Fleur," wept the 
 crowds when they understood what had happened. 
 
 A wave of poignant, indescribable bitterness flowed
 
 3H THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 like the sea over the hearts of these adoring, idolising 
 people. 
 
 There was no limit to their grief, and they threw 
 themselves on the earth and allowed their fellow- 
 beings to trample on them in the agony of their 
 emotion, for it seemed to them that Marcel was a 
 martyr who had died for a great cause. A hero was 
 he, whose lustre the years would never dim, come what 
 might, whose courage and brilliancy could never, never 
 be wiped off the calendars of the French nation, 
 whose name would never be forgotten, but must be 
 handed down to generations of the children of the 
 future, with the proud words, " Marcel Fleur died in 
 the cause of the greatest discovery the world has ever 
 known." 
 
 And so Marcel came by his laurel wreath, and 
 Le Jour was left to make the very best it could of 
 the matter. 
 
 Why need we disguise the fact? Paltry and 
 trivial though it may seem, Le Jour was very angry. 
 The prize had been snatched, as it were, from its 
 fingers. It had anticipated the utter confusion and 
 exposure of Marcel Fleur, and had been all prepared 
 to come out with its startling story of why the aero- 
 naut was unable to give a satisfactory demonstration 
 of his powers and his machine. Instead, he was dead ! 
 And in one moment his name was carved on a niche 
 from which the bravest man would not dare to oust 
 him. 
 
 In the end he had succeeded beyond any dream 
 of his own.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 AFTER leaving the Countess de Rigos, Theodora 
 drove to the prison with William East. The parting 
 with him inside the gates of the prison had no signifi- 
 cance whatever to her, for the only thought in her 
 mind at that moment was that she was about to see 
 George ; and she was utterly blind to the feelings of 
 this big, strong man beside her, who had so wonder- 
 fully played the part of a kind and protecting brother 
 to her ever since the first moment they had met at 
 Pietra Santa. Never by word or look had he allowed 
 himself to reveal a suspicion of his great love for her. 
 
 " Shall I wait for you ? " he said. 
 
 " Oh, you're so good to me ! " cried Theodora. 
 " It doesn't seem to me as if I ought to allow you 
 to waste so much of your time over me as you have 
 been doing ever since the moment I first saw you. 
 It seems so horrid of me to let you." 
 
 "Please let me," he said simply, holding her soft 
 little white hand in his, since she left it there so 
 confidingly. "It is a pleasure to me, as you know, 
 to do anything for you." 
 
 "So you always say," she replied, with a little 
 spark of gaiety. "Then, if you'll be so good, you 
 may wait for me, and I shall look forward to seeing 
 you again when my interview with my husband is 
 over. It will not be long," she added sadly, and she 
 left him, standing there in the courtyard, while the 
 custodians conducted her away to the right, into the 
 room where she was to meet Sir George Allingham. 
 
 " Now she is gone ! " said East, and his face grew
 
 316 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 drawn. " She has gone to him, and that is the only 
 thought in her mind." 
 
 He paced up and down, smoking his cigarette, 
 until the porter asked him would he not sit down 
 a while in the waiting-room, where the fire was 
 burning. 
 
 " Here's the latest evening journal, monsieur," 
 added the man. 
 
 He opened the still damp sheets of the little 
 evening newspaper. 
 
 Great black, blinding letters had been employed 
 to give further importance and publicity to the one 
 event of the day that Paris could think of. 
 
 " The Airship's Demonstration ! Terrible Catas- 
 trophe ! Dashed to Pieces Before the Eyes of all 
 Paris ! Marcel Fleur's Glorious Death in the Cause 
 of Science ! " 
 
 These words leapt before him as he read. 
 
 In the meantime, Theodora had crossed the court- 
 yard and been conducted by two silent turnkeys into 
 a dark little room on the right, whose one long door 
 was entirely of glass. She passed in, and the glass 
 door swung behind her, but the turnkey who had 
 escorted her remained at the door, where he could 
 look in and see all that happened. The room was 
 absolutely bare, except for one long deal table and 
 three common chairs. Through the dimness of the 
 late afternoon light, that was all yellowy and blurred 
 in the absence of the sun and the overhanging rain- 
 clouds that were already beginning to break dolorously 
 over Paris, she saw before her a man rising from a 
 chair at the far end of the long deal table. . . . He 
 came towards her . . . nearer and nearer . . . until 
 at last they were looking into each other's eyes. 
 
 " Why have you come here ? " The words fell 
 dully and lifelessly from his lips. There was no light 
 in his eyes as he looked at her. 
 
 " George ! " 
 
 Like a flame of fire his name burst from her, and
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 317 
 
 whatever she had meant to do or say was swept away 
 into oblivion as she looked into his face again " after 
 long grief and pain." 
 
 " Why have you come ? " he asked dully. 
 
 " Oh, George George ! " 
 
 She had rushed towards him and thrown herself 
 into his arms, and her face was there just under his, 
 and there was nothing for him to do but to hold her. 
 
 "You should not have come," he repeated. 
 
 For several moments she was quite incapable of 
 speech. The turnkey, looking in through the glass 
 door, turned away his head. The Englishman's face 
 was ghastly, and the beautiful wife was weeping in 
 his arms. These scenes were common to the prison, 
 and yet they never lost their frightful human pathos, 
 for he was a Frenchman the turnkey and the love 
 of a man and a woman was something that he never 
 could look upon wholly unmovedly, in spite of the 
 many harrowing scenes he had been witness of. It 
 was always the same. The wife always wept passion- 
 ate tears. The man who was guilty always looked 
 white and set as if he were tasting his bitterest moment 
 when he realised that a woman's love for him had 
 kept alive through thick and thin, and was burning 
 fiercely, although he was here in prison, charged with 
 some crime of which, in nine cases out of ten, he was 
 all too guilty. But not often had as lovely a woman 
 as this been admitted to an interview with a prisoner 
 here, and the turnkey sighed, and hoped from the 
 very bottom of his heart that things would turn out 
 all right in the end for this good-looking, distinguished 
 couple. 
 
 " I'll not be hard on them," he muttered ; " if they 
 go over the time a little I won't say anything." 
 
 " You should not have come," George repeated. 
 
 " Oh ! yes yes . . . the terrible part of it is that 
 I never came before." She drew herself away from 
 him, now realising bitterly that there was a coldness 
 and aloofness in his manner of holding her. Yes,
 
 318 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 even now, in the supreme moment, when she had 
 come to him in his prison to try to save him, he was 
 making her feel that his heart was cold towards her. 
 
 " I knew nothing about it until two days ago," she 
 told him, her voice coming in little broken breaths, 
 and her white hand pressed against her heart as she 
 tried to overcome the violent trembling that ran 
 through her slight, fragile frame. " I was far away, 
 and I heard nothing. I saw no newspapers I had 
 no news, because I had placed myself for several days 
 in a position where no news could reach me, even 
 from my darling mother, and then when she might 
 have written to me she was taken ill with pneumonia, 
 and has been hanging between life and death ever 
 since." 
 
 " I am grieved to hear that," said George, quietly. 
 " My friend the Duke d'Ailes informed me of her 
 serious illness. I trust the worst is over now." 
 
 " I have seen her to-day for a few moments," said 
 Theodora, sadly. " She's very ill ; but the crisis has 
 passed, and the doctors say she may recover, with the 
 greatest care." 
 
 Now her little white hands were clasping and 
 unclasping themselves in the old nervous way that he 
 knew so well. 
 
 " I have so much to say to you," she stammered, 
 " that I scarcely know where to begin, but as we're 
 speaking of my mother" she paused "there is 
 something very painful " she paused again 
 
 "Then do not speak of it," said George, gravely. 
 
 "Ah! But it was my silence about it that wrought 
 terrible mischief between you and me." 
 
 George started. " What do you mean ? " he said. 
 " What painful thing connected with your mother has 
 ever been the cause of mischief between you and 
 me ? " 
 
 As he spoke, there flashed across him a vivid 
 recollection of that night when Theodora and the 
 Princess had gone off to the hospital to see the
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 319 
 
 dying Pole, Krikoffsky. Krikoffsky had died before 
 they saw him. Then, when they came back, how 
 angered he had been at the way Theodora had 
 treated him, refusing to open her lips on the subject, 
 although, as he told her, she and her mother had 
 risen from his dinner table to go to the hospital and 
 see this man. He had quite unsuspecting that he 
 was doing an unpleasant thing questioned her on 
 her return, asking her for news of the poor man she 
 had rushed away to see, and she had refused him all 
 information. She had acted in a most extraordinary 
 way. She had turned the subject ostentatiously. 
 And then his anger had leaped forth. After all, he 
 was only a man ! It was but natural that he should 
 expect his wife to treat him as a friend, and not as an 
 utter stranger, as she had treated him that night. 
 She had risen and swept out of the room, rather than 
 vouchsafe one little word of information to him. 
 Yes, here in the sombre silence of the prison it came 
 back to him, as it had come back many a time since 
 they had parted. 
 
 "I could not tell you before," Theodora was 
 saying. ..." It was not my affair ... it was too 
 terrible. But to-day she, my beloved mamma, she 
 has told me to tell you all, and I am going to do so." 
 Her voice broke with emotion. 
 
 " Why tell me ? " cried George, sharply. " Why 
 torture yourself? I assure you there is no need. 
 That sort of thing is all over and done with. The 
 time for confidences is over ! " 
 
 " No ; it has not yet begun." 
 
 Some wave of courage flowed over her just then, 
 and stilled her trembling nerves. She looked up into 
 his eyes, and began to speak in the low, clear voice, 
 telling her story quickly, because there was so much 
 more to tell afterwards. 
 
 " I grieved you that night by my silence. You 
 were angry with me because I refused to confide in you. 
 I deepened the cloud of suspicion and mistrust "
 
 320 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 She paused and faltered, and then went on sadly, 
 " and dislike that had taken possession of your heart. 
 And yet what could I do ? It was a matter con- 
 cerning the honour of the dearest one on earth." 
 (Was it her fancy, or did George wince at that phrase 
 on her lips ?) "My mother," she continued hastily. 
 " It is something very sad and very dreadful." She 
 braced herself, and told him with no further hesitation 
 of that dark shadow which had lain over the Princess's 
 life. "The man who died that night that man 
 Krikoffsky, the singer he was my father." 
 
 George started, and looked at her as if unable to 
 realise what she was saying. 
 
 " My mother had married him, believing her hus- 
 band was dead and that she was a widow. And I 
 was their child, and a few weeks after my birth my 
 mother's English husband reappeared. There was a 
 scene a duel, and he left Krikoffsky as if dead, 
 and forced my mother to flee with him out of the 
 country." 
 
 " I see why you could not tell me," said Sir 
 George, in a low voice, breaking the silence after a 
 moment. " But if you thought it would have mattered 
 to me, you were wrong. You might have trusted me." 
 
 A vast silence seemed to have settled down upon 
 them and chained them in its grasp. They stood there 
 before each other, unable to speak, these two who had 
 so much to tell each other. The turnkey walked up 
 and down outside, observing that they were not speak- 
 ing, and thinking it a pity they did not make better 
 use of their time than stand there staring dumbly and 
 stupidly about them these two distinguished, hand- 
 some people, in whom he took more than an ordinary 
 interest, somehow. 
 
 " Was that what you came to tell me to-day ? " 
 George asked, at last. 
 
 His eyes had been hungrily but surreptitiously 
 drinking in the sight of her fairness again, and it 
 seemed to him she was lovelier than ever, though she
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 321 
 
 was strangely changed by the way she was doing her 
 hair. 
 
 " No," she replied, awkwardly battling with words 
 that would not come. " I came, of course, chiefly 
 
 because of because of the " (she wanted to say 
 
 the word "theft," but it was impossible to utter it) 
 " because of the dressing-bag and the plans. I have 
 news of them. I have discovered the culprit, and in 
 a few hours the police will be acquainted with the 
 news, and your freedom can now only be a question 
 of a very short time. The thief was a woman." 
 
 He stared dumbly at her still, and in that moment 
 it came to him with clear and convincing certainty 
 that she was not, and never could have been, guilty, 
 and that he must have been insane to imagine such 
 a thing. 
 
 " And I and oh ! George, how is it possible that 
 you could have believed that I was the woman ? Never 
 as long as I live shall I be able to understand how 
 you could have thought that of me ! You must have 
 hated, and loathed, and despised me, before your brain 
 or your heart could have allowed you to think any- 
 thing so monstrous about me. It was cruel it was 
 wicked . . . and all the time the guilty one was some 
 one you knew and loved, perhaps." 
 
 " Tell me her name," he breathed, light breaking 
 in upon him almost before she replied. 
 
 " It was the Countess de Rigos ! She has made 
 a full confession, before me and a witness ; she stole 
 the plans and entered my rooms in disguise, and put 
 the plans in my bag to revenge herself on you 
 because you had thrown her over and refused to 
 marry her after you met me." 
 
 Then the turnkey, who was looking in at that 
 moment, as it happened, saw an extraordinary sight. 
 
 The glum, sad Englishman suddenly burst into 
 loud and spontaneous laughter, the first that had 
 issued from his lips for many a long day. 
 
 " I threw over the Countess de Rigos ! I refused 
 
 Y
 
 322 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 to marry her ! Why, this is indeed a comedy ! So 
 that is her story the brave liar that's the way she's 
 putting it now ! Really, it is too funny, and you must 
 forgive me if I laugh. One has not very often the 
 opportunities for amusement within these walls, and 
 I take advantage now of the droll thing you have just 
 told me. So she stole the plans and put them in the 
 dressing-bag, did she ? " 
 
 He said the words, but his mind somehow refused 
 to realise in the least what he was saying. 
 
 That terrible clouding of the faculties that comes 
 over the keenest intelligence after many days of the 
 drab and endless monotony of prison life had deadened 
 him. He seemed half-awake only. It was all a dream, 
 he thought, that Theodora was standing there before 
 him, telling him that " Mrs. Packinthorp " was a thief, 
 and had confessed, and that he would be free in a few 
 hours. It was too unreal and vague to be grasped, 
 and he stared at her stupidly, simply waiting to know 
 what she would say and do next. 
 
 Little did he guess how terribly his dulness and 
 silence affected her, and how she was reading into it, 
 heart-brokenly, his coldness and distrust and dislike of 
 her, even now at this moment when she had brought 
 him the wonderful news of the confession that she had 
 wrested from the Countess de Rigos's guilty lips. And 
 yet his laughter at the Countess's story that he had 
 loved her filled her with a strange secret joy. 
 
 " Theodora ! " 
 
 He spoke her name as if the sound of it might 
 help him to dispel the mist in his brain. 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 How she longed for him to say one little word of 
 tenderness to her ; she was weak and exhausted, and 
 was almost at the point of fainting, and yet she re- 
 mained there standing before him, looking at him, 
 and craving with all her heart and soul for the sign 
 of his love that he so pitilessly withheld from her. 
 
 " What of Marcel Fleur ? " he said.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 323 
 
 " Marcel Fleur ! I have heard nothing of him," 
 she answered. ..." Ah ! I remember what you're 
 thinking of. ... You've gone back to that old point 
 of difference between us." 
 
 " Yes. Heaven forgive me, I have," he answered. 
 " There's that secret between you still. ..." 
 
 Neither of them just then was in the least like 
 a normal human being, but who could ask a man who 
 had lain in prison for weeks for a crime which he had 
 never committed to be a normal and ordinary human 
 being at a moment's notice ? And as for Theodora, 
 her mind and her frame were almost at the last gasp 
 of endurance after those terrible journeys across 
 Europe, and after all the agony and suspense she had 
 been going through. The wits of both were be- 
 clouded. They were like people in a trance. Fain 
 would they have awakened themselves, but neither 
 knew how to, and yet one thing was clear to Theo- 
 dora's mind. 
 
 She would not betray Marcel's secret. 
 
 "Are you going to tell me the truth about it 
 now ? " George asked. 
 
 " Heaven help me, George, but I cannot. Don't 
 ask me. The same motive that kept me silent then 
 must keep me silent now." 
 
 The turnkey had opened the door and entered. 
 
 " Monsieur," he said, " the gentleman who accom- 
 panied madame sends you this paper, and bids you 
 read here," he pointed with his finger, "the death 
 of Marcel Fleur, the aeronaut the journal tells all 
 about it." He put the paper in George's hand. 
 " There is only one moment left, monsieur," he said 
 respectfully, " then madame's time is up." 
 
 Like a wild thing Theodora snatched the paper 
 from George's hand and devoured the black, staring 
 headlines which set forth the news of Marcel's demon- 
 stration and its shocking ending. 
 
 " He is dead," she cried, " dead ! dead ! ... He 
 is no longer in the world to be harmed by my telling.
 
 324 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 . . . Oh ! George George, I am free at last to tell 
 you the secret that I have always refused to betray 
 to you hitherto. . . . Listen ! " 
 
 " No ! No ! Don't tell me," cried George. 
 
 Before she could speak he had seized her in his 
 arms. And the turnkey was satisfied now ; for the 
 English milord was holding the beautiful lady close, 
 and kissing her as though he never meant to let her 
 go again.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 CLASPED in George's arms again, held close to his 
 heart once more, it seemed to Theodora as if some 
 incredible change came over the sad, old world, that 
 is made up of such devious mixtures of gall and 
 honey of bitter and sweet of blackest midnight 
 shadows and ever-succeeding sunrises ; it seemed to 
 her as if she had been dead and buried for centuries, 
 and was now restored to life by some supernatural 
 power that had brought her back in one miraculous 
 moment to the full tide of life and joy. 
 
 The magic of the moment was all contained in the 
 clasp of George's arms. 
 
 Only a few words fell from his lips, for he, too, 
 was tasting one of those immortal moments when the 
 pain and suffering of life become as unreal and 
 meaningless as chaff in the wind before the great 
 current of love ; he, too, was in Heaven ; to him 
 the old prison walls had vanished, the turnkey, who 
 was waiting so patiently and humanely outside the 
 glass door, had no longer any existence, the gloom of 
 rapidly descending night was like some lovely sunrise 
 breaking over a fairy-like tropic isle in the southern 
 seas. Prison ! Paris ! Disgrace and shame ! Sleep- 
 lessness and long hours of anguish and despair ! All 
 in a moment these things had lost every semblance of 
 reality. They were not real not one of them they 
 were simply hallucinations of his brain ! He had 
 dreamt them in nightmares ! Nothing on earth 
 was real but the woman he held in his arms. 
 
 325
 
 326 THEODORA'S. HUSBAND 
 
 " What fools we've been, dearest ! " he muttered, 
 holding her closer. 
 
 " I have been the one to blame always." 
 
 " Such fools. . . . This moment teaches it to us : 
 our wanton monstrous folly. . . . Oh ! my love," he 
 went on brokenly, " now that I have you in my arms 
 again it seems to me as if I must have been stark, 
 staring mad ever to have let you go even for a 
 moment ! . . . Was I a lunatic, indeed, that I could 
 ever have doubted you or looked coldly upon you, 
 or turned away from you, and hardened my heart 
 against you, and believed cruel and maddening things 
 about you ? . . . How could I have done so ? ... 
 How could I ever have dreamt that anything mattered 
 beside the fact that you were my beloved ? . . . What 
 on earth was wrong with me that I could act so 
 outrageously ? " 
 
 He put his hand under her chin and raised her 
 face to his and looked long into her eyes. 
 
 "Dearest," he said, "how are we to explain 
 it?" 
 
 Over the whiteness of Theodora's face there went 
 flitting an exquisite little smile, full of sweetness 
 and joy. 
 
 " I can explain it, George," she said. " It is not 
 as hard as you think." 
 
 " Tell me," whispered George. 
 
 "One word explains it all," she replied softly, 
 winding her arms round his neck as she spoke, and 
 laying her cheek to his. And she whispered in his 
 ear, " It was love." 
 
 There was silence for a few moments, and then 
 George said 
 
 " Was that it ? " 
 
 And it seemed to him that her way of explaining 
 all the trouble that had arisen between them was the 
 most beautiful thing that he had ever heard. It was 
 so true, too. Man-like, he was amazed at the feminine 
 quickness that had cut through all the mystery and
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 327 
 
 complication in one moment and wiped everything 
 out by the utterance of that explanation. 
 
 "And this moment proves it," said Theodora. 
 " The way everything we have been agonising our- 
 selves about has come in one second not to matter 
 a little bit shows that what I say is right." 
 
 "Dearest, you love me then?" . . . 
 
 He was strangely moved by her words and the 
 courage with which she flung aside all the darkness 
 and difficulties of their past and their future, all the 
 overhanging cloud and scandal and public contumely 
 and criticism that lay before them. He saw that she 
 had forgotten all that. And he was glad. He realised 
 that she had risen to one of the highest moments of 
 a woman's existence when she so sweetly turned all 
 their troubles aside with the utterance of that magic 
 word, love. 
 
 " You really love me ? . . . This isn't a dream, 
 is it? ... It's you my Theodora, whose arms are 
 round my neck, and whose warm breath is in my 
 ear? . . . And you care for me with all your heart 
 and soul, in spite of the awful wrong I have done you?" 
 
 For answer her arms clung closer round his neck. 
 
 " The awful wrong you've done me," she echoed. 
 " What was it ? I never heard of that, George. 
 There was never any such wrong." 
 
 "When I believed in my incredible lunacy that 
 you that you had gone off with Marcel's plans." 
 
 She smiled up into his eyes as he spoke. 
 
 " How could you help it ? " she said. " My dis- 
 appearance and those scraps of my letters to poor 
 Marcel were too great coincidences . . . and though 
 you did believe that I had taken them, you far more 
 than atoned for your suspicion of me by pretending 
 that you were the guilty one and going to prison for 
 my sake." 
 
 They clung to each other in silence, as the recol- 
 lection of all they had suffered swept over them again. 
 But it could not part them that recollection. On
 
 328 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 
 
 the contrary, it had been transformed into some 
 magic wand, whose mission was to drive them closer 
 and closer. 
 
 The turnkey had been very patient ; but now ten 
 whole minutes over time had passed, and the governor 
 would soon be coming round, and he realised that he 
 must no longer be a man, with a human heart that 
 was beating a little gladly because these two beautiful 
 beings were clasped in each other's arms ; he must be 
 a turnkey, and announce to them in a stern, official 
 voice : " Monsieur, your time is up ! " 
 
 And the secret of Marcel had been utterly for- 
 gotten by both of them ! 
 
 L'ENVOI 
 
 Far away in the monastery on a cypress-covered 
 hill, looking down on endless olive slopes across 
 the blue waters of the Mediterranean, is a dark- 
 haired, southern-looking ascetic, who is known by 
 the name of Brother Ignace. For him life was over, 
 once and for all, when he discovered the falseness 
 of his lovely wife. Nothing was left to him but 
 prayer and solitude, in the hope of atoning for the 
 violent deeds which had marked his life out in the 
 world. He is beloved by all ; he has brought hither 
 a great fortune, and now he spends his days and 
 nights in doing good. And he clings to the thought 
 of the Countess de Rigos's confession in his darkest 
 moments. 
 
 "At the end she was true," he said, poor, poor 
 Ignace ! 
 
 To-day, the most honoured name in France is that 
 of Ivan Ivolott, the great inventor of airships. To 
 Paris it was like magic, the way he came and filled 
 the terrible blank caused by Marcel Fleur's loss. 
 His brilliant successes are the talk of Europe ; but he 
 is still the gentle old Ivan, and he weeps when he 
 thinks of Marcel's death.
 
 THEODORA'S HUSBAND 329 
 
 And George and Theodora ! Is it necessary to 
 say that all the happiness of utter trust and love is 
 theirs ? Little children play merrily in their beautiful 
 home now ; and William East is almost always to be 
 found there, the dear friend of the master and 
 mistress of the house, and of the Princess. 
 
 He is treated exactly like a brother. His old 
 mother has passed away, and George's house is his 
 real home now . . . and dear Carolina sums him up 
 in her own adorable little phrase, " Very reech, very 
 'ansome, very facksinating," and sighs, who knows 
 why? 
 
 And so let us ring down the curtain upon George 
 and Theodora. The drama is ended. The lights 
 are out. 
 
 THE END 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLBS.
 
 A 000 131 006 9