The inhabitants of several villages wept at his departure; the abashed n.o.bility made unsuccessful attempts to shoot him; otherwise the trip to the Cunard Line pier was uneventful, and diplomatic circles paid no attention to the incident.

When the Lady Alene finished the story her oval face ached; but this was no time to consider aches. So with a charming abandon she relieved her pretty teeth of the morceau, replaced it with another, helped herself to a second novel, settled back on her pillow, and opened the enchanted pages.

And zip! Instantly she became acquainted with another athletic and penniless American who was raising the devil in the Balkans.

Never in her life had she dreamed that any nation contained such fearless, fascinating, resourceful, epigrammatic, and desirable young men! And here she was in the very midst of them, and never had realised it until now.

Where were they? All around her, no doubt. When, a few days later, she had read some baker's dozen novels, and in each one of them had discovered similar athletic, penniless, and omniscient American young men, her opinion was confirmed, and she could no longer doubt that, like the fiction of her own country, the romances of American novelists must have a substantial foundation in solid fact.

There could be no use in quibbling. The situation had become exciting.

Her youthful imagination was now fired; her Saxon blood thoroughly stirred. She knew perfectly well that there were in her own country no young men like these she had read about--not a man-jack among them who would ever dream of dashing about the world cuffing the ears of reprehensible monarchs, meting out condign punishment to refractory n.o.bility, reconstructing governments and states and armies, and escaping with a princess every time.

Not that she actually believed that such episodes were of common occurrence. Young as she was she knew better. But somehow it seemed very clear to her that a race of writers who were so unanimous on the subject and a nation which so complacently read of these events without denying their plausibility, must within itself harbour germs and seeds of romance and reckless deeds which no doubt had produced a number of young men thoroughly capable of doing a few of the exciting things she had read about.

Now she regretted she had not noticed the men she had met; now she was indeed sorry she had not at least taken pains to learn to distinguish them one from the other. She wished that she had investigated this reckless, chivalrous, energetic, and distinguishing trait of the American young man.

It seemed odd, too, that Pa-_pa_ had never investigated it; that Ma-_ma_ had never appeared to notice it.

She mentioned it at dinner carelessly, in the midst of a natural and British silence. Neither parent enlightened her. One said, "Fancy!" And the other said, "Ow."

And so, as both parents departed the following morning to investigate the tarpon fishing at Miami, the little Lady Alene made private preparations to investigate and closely observe the astonishing, reckless, and romantic tendencies of the American young man. Her tour of discovery she scheduled for five o'clock that afternoon.

Just how these investigations were to be accomplished she did not see very clearly. She had carefully refrained from knowing anybody in the hotel. So how to go about it she did not know; but she knew enough after luncheon to have her hair done by somebody besides her maid, selected the most American gown in her repertoire, took a sunshade hitherto disdained, and glanced in the mirror at a picture in white, with gold hair, violet eyes, and a skin of snow and roses.

Further she did not know how to equip herself, except by going out doors at five o'clock. And at five o'clock she went.

From the tennis courts young men and girls looked at her. On the golf links youth turned to observe her slim and dainty progress. She was stared at from porch and veranda, from dock and deck, from garden and walk and orange grove and hedge of scarlet hibiscus.

From every shop window in the village, folk looked out at her; from automobile, wheeled chair, bicycle, and horse-drawn vehicle she was inspected. But she knew n.o.body; not one bright nod greeted her; not one straw hat was lifted; not one n.i.g.g.e.r grinned. She knew n.o.body. And, alas! everybody knew her. A cold wave seemed to have settled over Verbena Inlet.

Yet her father was not unpopular, nor was her mother either; and although they asked too many questions, their perfectly impersonal and scientific mission in Verbena Inlet was understood.

But the Lady Alene Innesly was not understood, although her indifference was noted and her exclusiveness amusedly resented. However, n.o.body interfered with her or her seclusion. The fact that she desired to know n.o.body had been very quickly accepted. Youth and the world at Verbena Inlet went on without her; the sun continued to rise and set as usual; and the n.i.g.g.e.r waiters played baseball.

She stood watching them now for a few minutes, her parasol tilted over her lovely shoulders. Tiring of this, she sauntered on, having not the slightest idea where she was going, but very calmly she made up her mind to speak to the first agreeable looking young man she encountered, as none of them seemed at all inclined to speak to her.

Under her arm she had tucked a novel written by one Smith. She had read it half through. The story concerned a young and athletic and penniless man from Michigan and a Balkan Princess. She had read as far as the first love scene. The young man from Michigan was still kissing the Princess when she left off reading. And her imagination was still on fire.

She had wandered down to the lagoon without finding anybody sufficiently attractive to speak to. The water was blue and pretty and very inviting.

So she hired a motor-boat, seated herself in the stern, and dabbled her fingers in the water as the engineer took her whizzing across the lagoon and out into the azure waste, headed straight for the distant silvery inlet.

IX

She read, gazed at the gulls and wild ducks, placed a bit of gum between her rose-leaf lips, read a little, glanced up to mark the majestic flight of eight pelicans, sighed discreetly, savoured the gum, deposited it in a cunning corner adjacent to her left and snowy cheek, and spoke to the boatman.

"Did you ever read this book?" she asked.

"Me! No, ma'am."

"It is very interesting. Do you read much?"

"No, ma'am."

"This is a very extraordinary book," she said. "I strongly advise you to read it."

The boatman glanced ironically at the scarlet bound volume which bore the portrait of a pretty girl on its covers.

"Is it that book by John Smith they're sellin' so many of down to the hotel?" he inquired slowly.

"I believe it was written by one Smith," she said, turning over the volume to look. "Yes, John Smith is the author's name. No doubt he is very famous in America."

"He lives down here in winter."

"Really!" she exclaimed with considerable animation.

"Oh, yes. I take him shooting and fishing. He has a shack on the Inlet Point."

"Where?"

"Over there, where them gulls is flying."

The girl looked earnestly at the point. All she saw were snowy dunes and wild gra.s.ses and seabirds whirling.

"He writes them books over there," remarked the boatman.

"How extremely interesting!"

"They say he makes a world o' money by it. He's rich as mud."

"Really!"

"Yaas'm. I often seen him a settin' onto a camp chair out beyond them dunes a-writing pieces like billy-bedam. Yes'm."

"Do you think he is there now?" she asked with a slight catch in her breath.

"Well, we kin soon find out----" He swung the tiller; the little boat rushed in a seething circle toward the point, veered westward, then south.

"Yaas'm," said the boatman presently. "Mr. Smith he's reclinin' out there onto his stummick. I guess he's just a thinkin'. He thinks more'n five million n.i.g.g.e.rs, he does. Gor-a-mighty! _I_ never see such a man for thinkin'! He jest lies onto his stummick an' studies an' ruminates like billy-bedam. Yaas'm. Would you want I should land you so's you can take a peek at him?"

"Might I?"

"Sure, Miss. Go up over them dunes and take a peek at him. He won't mind. Ten to nothin' he won't even see ye."

There was a little dock built of coquina. A power boat, a sloop, several row-boats, and a canoe lay there, riding the little, limpid, azure-tinted wavelets. Under their keels swam gar-pike, their fins and backs also shimmering with blue and turquoise green.