know, we hard-bitten[57] old fellows—” he began half-apologetically, half-humorously.
But she made a restless movement of distaste, and cried out:
“The young men are all youngsters, and that’s all. They’re full of life, and spirits, and dance, and song. But they’re not serious. They’re not big. They’re not—oh, they don’t give a girl that sense of proven strength, of, of … well, of manhood.”
“I understand,” Dick murmured. “But please do not forget to glance at the other side. Life is something to be learned. But young girls like you, Ernestine, have you learned any of it yet?”
“Tell me,” she asked abruptly, almost tragically, “about this wild young romance, about this young woman when he was young, fifteen years ago.”
“Fifteen?” Dick replied promptly. “Eighteen. They had been married for three years before she died. In fact, they were actually married, by a Church, and living in wedlock, about the same moment that you were born.”
“Yes, yes—go on,” she urged nervously. “What was she like?”
“She was a resplendent, golden-brown Polynesian queen whose mother had been a queen before her, whose father was an Oxford man, an English gentleman, and a real scholar. Her name was Nomare. She was Queen of Huahoa. She was barbaric. He was young enough. There was nothing sordid in their marriage. He was no penniless adventurer. She brought him her island kingdom and forty thousand men. He brought to that island his fortune—and it was no inconsiderable fortune. He built a palace that no South Sea[58] island ever possessed before or will ever possess again. Heavens! They had their own royal yacht, their mountain house, their canoe house. I know. I have been at great feasts in it.
When she died, no one knew where Graham was. Oh, what’s the use in telling any more. He was only a boy. She was half-English, half-Polynesian, and a really and truly queen. They were flowers of their races. They were a pair of wonderful children. They lived a fairy tale. And … well, Ernestine, the years have passed, and Evan Graham has passed from the realm of the youth. It will be a remarkable woman that will ever infatuate him now. Besides, he’s practically broke. Though he didn’t waste his money. As much misfortune, and more, than anything else.”
“Paula is more his kind,” Ernestine said meditatively.
“Yes, indeed,” Dick agreed. “Paula, or any woman as remarkable as Paula, will attract him a thousand times more than all the sweet, young, lovely things like you in the world. We oldsters have our standards, you know.”
“And I’ll have to pay attention at the youngsters,” Ernestine sighed.
“In the meantime, yes,” he chuckled. “Remembering, always, that you, too, in time, may grow into the remarkable, mature woman, who can catch a man like Evan.”
“But I shall be married long before that,” she pouted.
“Which is for the best, my dear. And, now, good night. And you are not angry with me?”
She smiled pathetically and shook her head, put up her lips to be kissed.
Dick Forrest, turning off lights as he went, penetrated the library, and smiled at recollection of the interview with his sister-in-law. He was confident that he had spoken in time. But a remark of Ernestine was echoing in his consciousness: “Paula is more his kind.”
“Fool!” he laughed aloud, continuing on his way. “And married a dozen years!”
10
It was long after ten in the morning, when Graham wandered into the music room. Despite the fact that he was a several days’ guest in the Big House, so big was it that the music room was a new territory. It was an exquisite room where a warm golden light was diffused from a skylight of yellow glass.
Graham was lazily contemplating some pictures, when of his eye, he saw his hostess. She came in from the far entrance. She was clad entirely in white, and looked very young and quite tall.
They smiled greeting across the room. She came toward him.
“You made a mistake with this room,” he said gravely.
“No, don’t say that! But how?”
“It must be longer, much longer, twice as long at least.”
“Why?” she demanded, with a disapproving shake of head.
“Because, then,” he answered, “you will walk twice as far this morning and my pleasure of watching you will be correspondingly increased.”
“I see you are like Dick,” she retorted. “always with your compliments. Now I want to show you the room. Dick gave it to me. It’s all mine, you see.”
“And the pictures?”
“I selected them,” she nodded, “every one of them. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
Graham was prepared to talk on pictures, when Donald Ware entered. His violin was under his arm, and he crossed to the piano.
“We’re going to work till lunch,” Paula explained to Graham. “We’ll see you there. You can stay if you care, of course; but I warn you it’s really going to be work. And we’re going swimming this afternoon. Four o’clock at the pool, Dick says. Also, he’s got a new song he’s going to sing then. What time is it, Mr. Ware?”
“Ten minutes to eleven,” the musician answered briefly.
“You’re ahead of time—the engagement was for eleven. And till eleven you’ll wait, sir. I must see Dick, first. I haven’t said good morning to him yet.”
Paula knew her husband’s timetable. Her notes reminded her that he had coffee at six-thirty; was inaccessible between nine and ten, dictating correspondence to Blake; was inaccessible between ten and eleven, conferring with managers and foremen[59].
At eleven, unless there were unexpected telegrams or business, she could usually find Dick alone. Passing the secretaries’ room, she pressed the button that swung aside a section of filled book-shelves and revealed the tiny spiral of steel steps that led up to Dick’s work room. A shade of vexation passed across her face as she recognized Jeremy Braxton’s[60] voice. Jeremy was the general superintendent of the Harvest Group[61]. And the news he was telling was not good. She paused in indecision and stole back down the spiral on her way to the music room. She was depressed, due to her missing her morning greeting to Dick. But this depression vanished at seeing Graham, who had lingered with Ware at the piano.
“Don’t run away,” she urged. “Stay and watch the people work. Maybe you will start that book Dick has told me about.”
11
On Dick’s face, at lunch, there was no sign of trouble over the Harvest Group. After lunch everybody went out for a walk.
hard-bitten – искушённый
South Sea – Южное море
managers and foremen – экономки и управляющие
Jeremy Braxton – Джереми Брэкстон
general superintendent of the Harvest Group – старший директор золотых рудников «Группа Харвест»
