Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. E. Phillips OppenheimЧитать онлайн книгу.
a curious sense of waiting for something to happen, a sensation which had been responsible very often for what his friends had looked upon as eccentricity. He knew now that this thing had arrived, and everything else in life seemed to pale by the side of it. Hunterleys' words had thrown him temporarily into a strange turmoil. Solitude for a few moments he had felt to be entirely necessary. Yet directly he was alone, directly he was free to listen to his convictions, he could have laughed at that first mad surging of his blood, the fierce, instinctive rebellion against the conclusion to which Hunterleys' words seemed to point. Now that he was alone, he was not even angry. No one else could possibly understand!
Before long he was once more upon his feet, starting out upon his quest with renewed energy. He had scarcely taken a dozen steps, however, when he came face to face with Lady Hunterleys and Mr. Draconmeyer. Quite oblivious of the fact that they seemed inclined to avoid him, he greeted them both with unusual warmth.
"Saw your husband just now, Lady Hunterleys," he remarked, a little puzzled. "I fancied he said he was alone here."
She smiled.
"We did not come together," she explained; "in fact, our meeting was almost accidental. Henry had been at Bordighera and San Remo and I came out with Mr. and Mrs. Draconmeyer."
The young man nodded and turned towards Draconmeyer, who was standing a little on one side as though anxious to proceed.
"Mr. Draconmeyer doesn't remember me, perhaps. I met him at my sister's, Lady Weybourne's, just before Christmas."
"I remember you perfectly," Mr. Draconmeyer assured him courteously. "We have all been admiring your beautiful yacht in the harbour there."
"I was thinking of getting up a little cruise before long," Richard continued. "If so, I hope you'll all join us. Flossie is going to be hostess, and the Montressors are passengers already."
They murmured something non-committal. Lady Hunterleys seemed as though about to pass on but Lane blocked the way.
"I only arrived the other day from Algiers," he went on, making frantic efforts to continue the conversation. "I brought Freddy Montressor and his sister, and Fothergill."
"Mr. Montressor has come to the Hotel de Paris," Lady Hunterleys remarked. "What sort of weather did you have in Algiers?"
"Ripping!" the young man replied absently, entirely oblivious of the fact that they had been driven away by incessant rain. "This place is much more fun, though," he added, with sudden inspiration. "Crowds of interesting people. I suppose you know every one?"
Lady Hunterleys shook her head.
"Indeed I do not. Mr. Draconmeyer here is my guide. He is as good as a walking directory."
"I wonder if either of you know some people named Grex?" Richard asked, with studious indifference.
Mr. Draconmeyer for the first time showed some signs of interest. He looked at their questioner steadfastly.
"Grex," he repeated. "A very uncommon name."
"Very uncommon-looking people," Richard declared. "The man is elderly, and looks as though he took great care of himself—awfully well turned out and all that. The daughter is—good-looking."
Mr. Draconmeyer took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and rubbed them with his handkerchief.
"Why do you ask?" he enquired. "Is this just curiosity?"
"Rather more than that," Richard said boldly. "It's interest."
Mr. Draconmeyer readjusted his spectacles.
"Mr. Grex," he announced, "is a gentleman of great wealth and illustrious birth, who has taken a very magnificent villa and desires for a time to lead a life of seclusion. That is as much as I or any one else knows."
"What about the young lady?" Richard persisted.
"The young lady," Mr. Draconmeyer answered, "is, as you surmised, his daughter. … Shall we finish our promenade, Lady Hunterleys?"
Richard stood grudgingly a little on one side.
"Mr. Draconmeyer," he said desperately, "do you think there'd be any chance of my getting an introduction to the young lady?"
Mr. Draconmeyer at first smiled and then began to laugh, as though something in the idea tickled him. He looked at the young man and Richard hated him.
"Not the slightest in the world, I should think," he declared. "Good afternoon!"
Lady Hunterleys joined in her companion's amusement as they continued their promenade.
"Is the young man in love, do you suppose?" she enquired lightly.
"If so," her companion replied, "he has made a somewhat unfortunate choice. However, it really doesn't matter. Love at his age is nothing more than a mood. It will pass as all moods pass."
She turned and looked at him.
"Do you mean," she asked incredulously, "that youth is incapable of love?"
They had paused for a moment, looking out across the bay towards the glittering white front of Bordighera. Mr. Draconmeyer took off his hat. Somehow, without it, in that clear light, one realised, notwithstanding his spectacles, his grizzled black beard of unfashionable shape, his over-massive forehead and shaggy eyebrows, that his, too, was the face of one whose feet were not always upon the earth.
"Perhaps," he answered, "it is a matter of degree, yet I am almost tempted to answer your question absolutely. I do not believe that youth can love, because from the first it misapprehends the meaning of the term. I believe that the gift of loving comes only to those who have reached the hills."
She looked at him, a little surprised. Always thoughtful, always sympathetic, generally stimulating, it was very seldom that she had heard him speak with so much real feeling. Suddenly he turned his head from the sea. His eyes seemed to challenge hers.
"Your question," he continued, "touches upon one of the great tragedies of life. Upon those who are free from their youth there is a great tax levied. Nature has decreed that they should feel something which they call love. They marry, and in this small world of ours they give a hostage as heavy as a millstone of their chances of happiness. For it is only in later life, when a man has knowledge as well as passion, when unless he is fortunate it is too late, that he can know what love is."
She moved a little uneasily. She felt that something was coming which she desired to avoid, some confidence, something from which she must escape. The memory of her husband's warning was vividly present with her. She felt the magnetism of her companion's words, his compelling gaze.
"It is so with me," he went on, leaning a little towards her, "only in my case—"
Providence was intervening. Never had the swish of a woman's skirt sounded so sweet to her before.
"Here's Dolly Montressor," she interrupted, "coming up to speak to us."
CHAPTER VI
CAKES AND COUNSELS
The Sporting Club seemed to fill up that afternoon almost as soon as the doors were opened. At half-past four, people were standing two or three deep around the roulette tables. Selingman, very warm, and looking somewhat annoyed, withdrew himself from the front row of the lower table, and taking Mr. Grex and Draconmeyer by the arm, led them towards the tea-room.
"I have lost six louis!" he exclaimed, fretfully. "I have had the devil's own luck. I shall play no more for the present. We will have tea together."
They appropriated