Long ago, when he had first visited Belgrade, the Servian capital, the man before him, well-known throughout the Balkans as a patriot, was occupying the position of Minister of Finance under King Milan. Both his Excellency and his wife had been extremely kind to him, had introduced him to the smart social set, had obtained for him the entrée to the Palace festivities, and had presented him to Queen Nathalie. Thus a firm friendship had been established between the two men.
But affairs in Servia had considerably changed since then. Madame Petrovitch, a charming English lady, had died, and his Excellency, after becoming Minister of Commerce and subsequently Foreign Minister in several succeeding Cabinets, had gone abroad to represent his country at foreign Courts, first St. Petersburg, then Berlin, and then Constantinople, finally returning and coming to live in England.
Even now he was not more than fifty, and it had long ago been whispered that his Majesty was constantly urging him to return and accept the portfolio of Finance or of Commerce. But he steadily declined. As a statesman, his abilities had long ago been recognised by Europe, and none knew his value or appreciated him more than his own sovereign; yet for private reasons he preferred to live quietly in the Cromwell Road to returning to all the worries of State and those eternal bickerings in the Servian Skuptchina.
He was a man of even temper, of charming manner, and of scrupulous honesty. Had he been dishonest in his dealings he might have amassed a great fortune while occupying those posts in the various ministries. But he had preferred to remain as he was, upright, even though comparatively poor.
Well? asked Max, after a long silence. I am waiting.
It is a matter to which I refer not without some hesitation, declared his friend. I want to speak to you about Maud.
About Maud. Well?
I am worried about the child a good deal.
For what reason? asked Max, considerably surprised.
Maud was Petrovitchs only daughter, a very beautiful girl, now nineteen years of age, who had been brought up in England and to whom he was entirely devoted.
Well, she has fallen in love.
All girls do sooner or later, replied Max, philosophically.
But shes too young yet far too young. Twenty-five is quite early enough for a girl to marry.
And whos the man?
Your friend Charlie Rolfe.
Charlie! he exclaimed, in great surprise. And hes in love with Maud. Are you quite sure of this?
Quite. She meets him in secret, and though Rolfe is your friend, Max, I tell you I dont like it, he declared.
I am not surprised. Secret affections never meet with a parents approbation. If Charlie is in love with her, and the affection is mutual, why doesnt he come straight and tell you?
Exactly my argument, declared Petrovitch, lighting a fresh cigarette with the end of one half-consumed. But tell me, Rolfe is an intimate friend of yours, is he not?
Very, was Maxs reply, though he did not inform his friend of his love for Marion.
What is his exact position?
As far as I know, he is private secretary to old Samuel Statham, the great financier. His position is quite a good one as far as confidential secretaryships go.
Statham! Ive heard of him. Theres some extraordinary story about his house in Park Lane, isnt there? Nobody has ever been inside, or something.
There is, I believe, some cock and bull story, responded Max. The old fellow is a bit eccentric, and doesnt care for people prying all over his house. He lives alone, and has no friends. Do you know, one can be very lonely in London. It is a perfect Sahara to those who are friendless.
Yes, said Petrovitch, huskily. I know it by experience myself. When I was a youth I lived here. I was a foreign clerk in an insurance office in the city, and I lived perfectly alone among all these millions. I remember it all as though it were only yesterday. I was indeed glad to get back to Servia.
But why are you worried about Maud, old fellow? Max asked. Dont you like Rolfe or what?
I like him very much, indeed I took a great fancy to the young fellow when you introduced him to me last year at Aix-les-Bains. From the very first I noticed that he was attracted towards the child, and I did not object because I thought a little flirtation would amuse her. These secret meetings, however, I dont like. It is not right. Shes met him in St. Jamess Park, and at other places of late, and they have gone for long walks together without my knowledge or sanction.
Max thought for a moment.
Does she know that you are aware of the meetings?
No.
Well, I must admit that I had no idea matters had gone so far as they evidently have, he said. I, of course, knew that he has greatly admired Maud from the very first. He was, in fact, always speaking of her in admiration, yet I believed that he did not consider his position to be sufficiently established in warranting him to declare his love to her. Shall I throw out a gentle hint to him that the secret meetings would be best discontinued?
If he were to discontinue his visits here altogether it would, I think, be best, said Petrovitch in a hard voice, quite unusual to him.
Max was surprised at this. Had any unpleasantness occurred between the two men, which his friend was concealing, knowing that Rolfe was his most intimate chum?
Does he come often?
He calls about once a week upon me, ostensibly, but really in excuse to see the child.
And now let us speak frankly, old fellow, Max said, bending slightly towards the man seated opposite him. Do you object to Rolfe paying his attentions to your daughter?
Yes I do.
Then I very much regret that I ever introduced him. We were together at Aix-les-Bains for three weeks last summer, and, as you know, we met. You were my old friend, and I could not help introducing him. I regret it now, and can only hope you will forgive me such an indiscretion.
It was not indiscreet at all only unfortunate, he answered, almost snappishly.
But tell me straight out what do you wish me to do? Max urged. Recollect that if I can serve you in any way you have only to command me.
Even at the expense of your friends happiness? asked Petrovitch, his sharp eyes fixed upon the young man.
If he really loves her, the circumstances of the cue are altered, was the diplomatic answer.
And if he does not? If it is, as I suspect, a mere flirtation what then?
Then I think you should leave the matter to me, to act with my discretion, young Barclay replied. He recollected that Charlie was Marions brother, and he saw himself already in a somewhat difficult position. My own idea is, he went on, that it is something more than a mere flirtation, and that the reason of the secret meetings is because he fears to ask your consent to be allowed to pay court to your daughter.
What makes you think so?
From some words that his sister Marion let drop the other day.
Ah! Marion is a sweet and charming girl, the elder man declared. What a pity she should be compelled to drudge in a shop!
Yes, replied Max, quickly. It is a thousand pities. Shes far too refined and good for that life.
A matter of unfortunate necessity, I suppose.
Necessity! Max Barclay bit his lips when he recollected how very easily she might leave that shop-life if she would only accept money from him. But how could she? How could he offer it to her without insult?
No. Until she consented to be his wife she must still remain there, at the beck and call of every irritating tradesmans wife who cared to enter the department to purchase a ready-made costume or a skirt with material for bodice.
Im sorry for Marion, Dr Petrovitch went on. She frequently comes here of an evening, and often on Sundays to keep Maud company. They get on most excellently together.
Yes; she is devoted to Maud. She has told me so.
I believe she is, Petrovitch said. And yet it is unfortunate, for friendliness with Marion must also mean continued friendliness with her brother.
Ah! I see now that you do not like him, Max said, openly, for he could not now fail to see from his friends expression that something had occurred. What it was he was utterly unable to make out.
No, I dont, was the ex-Ministers plain, determined answer. And to tell you the truth, I have other views regarding Mauds future. So just tell the young man whatever you think proper. Only request him neither to call here, nor to attempt to see the child again!
Chapter Three.
Tells of a Womans Love
In the dull hazy London sunset Fopstone Road, which leads from Earls Court Road into Nevern Square, was quite deserted.
There is a silence and monotony in the eminently respectable thoroughfares in that particular district that, to their residents, is often very depressing. Traffic there is none save a stray hansom or a tradesmans cart at long intervals, while street organs and even the muffin men avoid them because, unlike the poorer districts, they find no stray coppers and no customers.
On the same evening as the events recorded in the previous chapters, about six oclock, just as the red dusky after-glow was deepening into twilight, Charlie Rolfe emerged from Earls Court Station, walked along to the corner of Fopstone Road, and, halting, looked eagerly down it.
But there was not a soul. Indeed there was no sound beyond that of a distant cab whistle somewhere in Nevern Square.
For about five minutes he waited, glancing impatiently at his watch, and then, turning upon his heel, strolled along in the direction of the Square.
A few moments later, however, there hurried up behind him a sweet-faced, smartly-dressed girl who, as he turned to meet her, laughed merrily, saying:
I do hope, Charlie, I havent kept you waiting, but Ive had such trouble to get out. Dad asked me to write some private letters in English for him; I really believe he suspects something. We meet too often.
No, darling, answered Rolfe, raising his hat and taking her small gloved hand. We dont meet frequently enough for me. And I think that your father is entirely unsuspicious. I was with him last night, and he did not strike me as possessing any knowledge of these secret meetings of ours.
Yes, but you know how dangerous it is, replied the pretty girl, glancing round. Somebody might pass, recognise me, and tell dad.
And what then, dearest? he laughed. Why your fears are utterly groundless.
I know, but
But what?
Well, dad would be annoyed thats all annoyed with both of us.
He must already have seen, darling, that I love you. He isnt blind, said Charlie Rolfe, moving slowly along at her side.
Hers was, indeed, a face that would attract attention anywhere, oval, delicately moulded, slightly flushed by the momentary excitement of meeting her lover. Her hair was well-dressed, her narrow-waisted figure still girlish; her dress, a pale biscuit-coloured cloth, which, in its refined simplicity, suited well the graceful contour of the slender form, and contrasted admirably with the soft white skin; the dark hair, a stray coquettish little wisp of which fell across her brow beneath her neat black hat, and the dark brown eyes, so large, luminous, and expressive.
Her gaze met his. Every sensitive feature, every quiet graceful movement told plainly of her culture and refinement, while on her face there rested an indescribable charm, a look of shy, sweet humility, of fond and all-consuming love for the man beside her.
As she lifted her eyes at the words of affection he was whispering into her ear as they went along the quiet, deserted street, she perceived how tall and athletic he was, and noticed, woman-like, the masculine perfection of his dress, alike removed from slovenliness and foppery.
No, she said at last, her eyes gazing in abstraction in front of her. I dont suppose dad is in any way blind. He generally is too wide-awake. I have to make all sorts of excuses to get out dressmakers, painting-lessons, buying evening gloves, a broken watch and all sorts of thing like that. The fact is, she declared, laughing sweetly and glancing again at him, I have almost exhausted all the subterfuges.
Ah, dearest, a woman can always find some excuse, he remarked, joining in her laughter.
Yes, but thats all very well; you havent a father, she protested, so you dont know.
She had only left school at Brighton two years before, therefore her clandestine meetings with Charlie Rolfe were adventures which she dearly loved. And, moreover, they both of them were devoted to each other. Charlie absolutely adored her. Hitherto women had never attracted him, but from the day of their introduction on the gravelled walk in front of the Villa des Fleurs at Aix, his whole life had changed. He was hers hers utterly and entirely.
For three months he had existed in constant uncertainty, until one warm evening at Scarborough where she and her father were staying at the Grand while they were alone together in the sloping garden of the Spa he summoned courage to tell her the secret of his heart, and to his overwhelming joy found that his passion was reciprocated. Thus had they become lovers.
As Max rightly guessed, he had feared for the present to tell Dr Petrovitch the truth lest he should object and a parting be the result. His position was not what he wished it to be. As secretary to the eccentric old financier, his salary was an adequate one, but not sufficient to provide Maud with a home such as her own. He therefore intended in a little while to tell old Statham the truth, and to ask for more. And until he had done so, he hesitated to demand of the Doctor his daughters hand.
Together they strolled slowly on, chatting as lovers will. At the bottom of Fopstone Road they continued round the crescent of Philbeach Gardens, along Warwick Road, and crossing Old Brompton Road, entered that maze of quiet, eminently respectable streets in the neighbourhood of Redcliffe Square, strolling slowly on in the falling gloom.
Do you know, darling, he exclaimed at last, I wanted to see you very particularly this evening, because I am leaving London to-night for Servia.
For Servia! she cried, halting and fixing her great eyes upon his in quick surprise.
Yes.
Her countenance fell.
Then you you are leaving me?
It is imperative, my darling, he said, in a low, tender voice, taking her hand in his. He wished to kiss her sweet lips, but there in the open street such action was impossible. Courtship in our grimy, matter-of-fact London has many drawbacks, even though every house contains its life-romance and every street holds its man or woman with a broken heart.
But you never told me, she complained. Youve left it until the last minute. Do you start from Charing Cross to-night?
Yes. I would leave to-morrow at nine, and catch the Orient express from Calais for Belgrade, but I have business to do in Paris to-morrow.