really?”
She answered gravely, intent upon her task. “Yes, of course it does. … In England the prince marries the princess. Only it’s not called a merger—it’s called a marriage of convenience. Oh yes, we’re quite accustomed to that sort of thing.”
She lit the last candle as she spoke. He did not hear her. He was gazing at the lighted candles, her face glowing between them.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, and lingered upon the question.
He sighed and straightened himself and stood for a moment, half-bewildered. How could he keep her here? How could he explain—but what had he to explain? His glance fell upon his briefcase, dropped when he came in and forgotten. He crossed the room and, hesitating, opened it.
“I have some photographs I brought to show Sir Richard,” he murmured. “You might like to see them, too.”
He came to the table where she stood watching him. He spread them before her. “They’re Connecticut. The landscape isn’t too different from England, as you see—a bit more rugged, perhaps—rocks and stone walls. The castle was to stand on this low hill above the river, the forest in the background. … There’s the sketch. I made it myself, imaginary, of course.”
He shuffled several sketches. “Here it is, the great hall. … Pretty good since I hadn’t seen it, don’t you think? Even to the chandelier—”
She saw the castle there in Connecticut as though it were a dream in a far country. The great hall was full of strangers, Americans, gazing up at the beamed ceiling. They were sketched in, tiny figures, blank faces.
“That chandelier,” she said suddenly, “it isn’t just a chandelier. You’ll have to be careful about people standing under it. It makes me shiver to think of it.”
“Why?” he asked.
“It’s dangerous,” she said in a half whisper. “It has a voice, Lady Mary says. ‘I’ll drop it—I’ll drop it.” She imitated a faint far-off voice with a Scottish accent.
“Ah, don’t laugh,” she cried, when she saw him smile. “Lady Mary insists she’s heard it.”
At this he laughed aloud, diverted. “What an attraction for the tourists! And have you heard this voice?”
“No, but I’ve seen the chandelier shiver and shake until the crystals sing!”
“You’re not serious!”
“Perhaps I am—”
“Come now—look into my eyes and tell me the truth!”
He seized her by the shoulders, still laughing. She was half laughing, by now, but before she could reply they heard the strong steps of booted feet and Sir Richard stopped in the doorway and stared at them. John Blayne dropped his hands and Kate stepped back.
“I’ve just put an idea to Mr. Blayne,” she said.
“Indeed!” Sir Richard did not change his expression.
It was not enough to placate him, she could see, and she hurried on. “I suggested that he consider again the idea we had at first—to make the museum here, you know, Sir Richard.”
Sir Richard lifted his heavy eyebrows, came in and stood beside them. “And what did he say this time?”
She glanced at John Blayne. “He refused again—not yet, anyway.”
Before John Blayne could speak, Lady Mary entered. She had changed her tweed suit to a long gown of pale gray satin with a ruff of white lace and had touched her cheeks with rouge, a lovely, fading rose.
“Wherever have you been, Richard?” she inquired in her sweet childlike voice. “I’ve been fearfully worried about you. And what are you doing here? And in your riding things at this late hour? It’s nearly time for dinner and Wells will be cross if we’re late. We’re dining in the small hall, Richard.”
Sir Richard went to her and lifting her hand he kissed it gallantly. “I was about to look for you, my dear, to tell you I was home. Meanwhile, it seems, Kate has been bravely taking care of Mr. Blayne while you and I deserted the field. They’ve lighted all the candles because it’s grown so dark they couldn’t see each other.
She answered gravely, intent upon her task. “Yes, of course it does. … In England the prince marries the princess. Only it’s not called a merger—it’s called a marriage of convenience. Oh yes, we’re quite accustomed to that sort of thing.”
She lit the last candle as she spoke. He did not hear her. He was gazing at the lighted candles, her face glowing between them.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, and lingered upon the question.
He sighed and straightened himself and stood for a moment, half-bewildered. How could he keep her here? How could he explain—but what had he to explain? His glance fell upon his briefcase, dropped when he came in and forgotten. He crossed the room and, hesitating, opened it.
“I have some photographs I brought to show Sir Richard,” he murmured. “You might like to see them, too.”
He came to the table where she stood watching him. He spread them before her. “They’re Connecticut. The landscape isn’t too different from England, as you see—a bit more rugged, perhaps—rocks and stone walls. The castle was to stand on this low hill above the river, the forest in the background. … There’s the sketch. I made it myself, imaginary, of course.”
He shuffled several sketches. “Here it is, the great hall. … Pretty good since I hadn’t seen it, don’t you think? Even to the chandelier—”
She saw the castle there in Connecticut as though it were a dream in a far country. The great hall was full of strangers, Americans, gazing up at the beamed ceiling. They were sketched in, tiny figures, blank faces.
“That chandelier,” she said suddenly, “it isn’t just a chandelier. You’ll have to be careful about people standing under it. It makes me shiver to think of it.”
“Why?” he asked.
“It’s dangerous,” she said in a half whisper. “It has a voice, Lady Mary says. ‘I’ll drop it—I’ll drop it.” She imitated a faint far-off voice with a Scottish accent.
“Ah, don’t laugh,” she cried, when she saw him smile. “Lady Mary insists she’s heard it.”
At this he laughed aloud, diverted. “What an attraction for the tourists! And have you heard this voice?”
“No, but I’ve seen the chandelier shiver and shake until the crystals sing!”
“You’re not serious!”
“Perhaps I am—”
“Come now—look into my eyes and tell me the truth!”
He seized her by the shoulders, still laughing. She was half laughing, by now, but before she could reply they heard the strong steps of booted feet and Sir Richard stopped in the doorway and stared at them. John Blayne dropped his hands and Kate stepped back.
“I’ve just put an idea to Mr. Blayne,” she said.
“Indeed!” Sir Richard did not change his expression.
It was not enough to placate him, she could see, and she hurried on. “I suggested that he consider again the idea we had at first—to make the museum here, you know, Sir Richard.”
Sir Richard lifted his heavy eyebrows, came in and stood beside them. “And what did he say this time?”
She glanced at John Blayne. “He refused again—not yet, anyway.”
Before John Blayne could speak, Lady Mary entered. She had changed her tweed suit to a long gown of pale gray satin with a ruff of white lace and had touched her cheeks with rouge, a lovely, fading rose.
“Wherever have you been, Richard?” she inquired in her sweet childlike voice. “I’ve been fearfully worried about you. And what are you doing here? And in your riding things at this late hour? It’s nearly time for dinner and Wells will be cross if we’re late. We’re dining in the small hall, Richard.”
Sir Richard went to her and lifting her hand he kissed it gallantly. “I was about to look for you, my dear, to tell you I was home. Meanwhile, it seems, Kate has been bravely taking care of Mr. Blayne while you and I deserted the field. They’ve lighted all the candles because it’s grown so dark they couldn’t see each other.
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