Part 39 (1/2)

Nancy laughed and said: ”My mother was Italian. My father was English. I was born in Davos, in Switzerland.” For some unaccountable reason the German lady flushed deeply. She did not speak again until the sago pudding had gone round twice and the fruit once--very quickly.

”You speak German?” she said.

”I had a German governess,” said Nancy.

Again the German lady's smooth cheeks flushed. Then every one rose and went into the drawing-room, and Nancy went to her room and wrote to the Unknown.

”You ask me to talk about myself. Nothing pleases me better; for I am selfish and subjective.

”I am a gambler. I went to Monte Carlo some time ago. Oh, golden-voiced, green-eyed Roulette! I gambled away all my money and all the money of everyone else that I could lay hands on. I laid hands on a good deal. I have rather pretty hands.

”I am a dreamer. I have wandered out in deserted country roads dreaming of you, my unknown hero, and of Uhland's mysterious forests, and of Maeterlinck's lost princesses, until I could feel the warmth welling up at the back of my eyes, which is the nearest approach to tears that is vouchsafed me.

”I am a heathen. I have a hot, unruly wors.h.i.+p for everything beautiful, man, woman, or thing. I believe in Joy; I trust in Happiness; I adore Pleasure.

”I am a savage--an overcivilized, hypercultivated savage with some of the growls and the hankerings after feathers still left in him. I adore jewels. I have some diamonds--diamonds with blue eyes and white smiles--as large as my heart. No, no! larger! I wear them at all seasons and everywhere; round my throat, my arms, my ankles, all over me! I like men to wear jewels. If ever I fall in love with you, I shall insist upon your wearing rings up to your finger-tips. Do not protest, or I will _not_ fall in love with you.

”I am feminine; over- and ultra-feminine. I wear nothing but fluffinesses--trailing, lacey, blow-away fluffinesses, floppy hats on my soft hair, and flimsy scarves on my small shoulders. I have no views. I belong to no clubs. I drink no c.o.c.ktails--or, when I do, I make delicious little grimaces over them, and say they burn. They _do_ burn!

I smoke Russian cigarettes scented with white heliotrope, because surely no man would dream of doing such a sickening thing.

”I am careless; I am extravagant; I am lazy--oh, exceedingly lazy. I envy La Belle au Bois dormant, who slept a hundred years. Until Prince Charming....

”Good-bye, Prince Charming.

”EVE.”

XI

The next day at luncheon the German lady stared again, and looked away quickly.

Anne-Marie asked her mother: ”What is Irish stew when he is alive?”

Nancy smiled and dimpled. Then the German lady, who had seen the dimple and the smile, said in a sudden, loud voice, over which she had no control: ”Is your name Nancy?”

Nancy looked up with a start. ”Yes!” she said. And everyone was silent.

”My name is Fraulein Muller,” said the German lady, taking a pink-edged handkerchief from her pocket and making ready for tears.

”Fraulein Muller! Fraulein Muller!” said Nancy dreamily. ”You read Uhland to me, and Lenau, and ... 's.h.i.+ne out little head sunning over with curls.'”

Then Fraulein Muller wept in her handkerchief, and Nancy rose from her seat and went round and kissed her. Then it was Fraulein Muller's turn to get up and go round and kiss Anne-Marie; whereupon the sulphur-haired lady remarked how small the world was; and the witty man said they would next discover that he and she were brother and sister, and had she not a strawberry mark on her left shoulder?

After lunch Fraulein Muller asked Nancy to her room, and she held Anne-Marie on her lap, and had to say the baby rhyme, ”Da hast du 'nen Thaler, geh' auf den Markt” about fifty times, with the accompanying play on Anne-Marie's pink, outstretched palm, before she was allowed to talk to Nancy. Then she told them all about the years she had pa.s.sed in an American family after leaving the Grey House, and about the little house she had just rented on Staten Island--a tiny little house in a garden, where she was going to live for the rest of her life. She was furnis.h.i.+ng it now, and it would be ready next week.

”You must come to see it. You must stay with me there,” said Fraulein Muller, looking for a dry spot on the sodden handkerchief. ”Oh, meine kleine Nancy! My little Genius! Und was ist mit der Poesie?”