"He fulfils some imaginary picture, _hein?_ You had not seen him really until we all dined?"

"No."

"You were bound to be drawn to him--he is everything a woman could desire--but it was not only that--tell me?"

"He was what I had hoped John would be--the likeness is so great--"

"It is much deeper than that--nature was drawing you unconsciously."

She covered her face with her hands. It seemed as if Verisschenzko must know the truth. Had Denzil told him, or was it his wonderful intuition which was enlightening him now, or was it just her sensitive conscience?

"You see custom and convention and false shames have so distorted most natural things that no one has been taught to understand them. Men were intended in the scheme of things to love women and to have children; women were meant to love men and to desire to be mothers. These instincts are primordial, the life of the world depends upon them. They have been distorted and abused into sins and vices and excesses and every evil by civilisation, so that now we rule them out of every calculation in judging of a circ.u.mstance; if we are 'nice' people they are taboo.

Supposing we so suppressed and distorted and misused the other two primitive instincts, to obtain food and to kill one's enemy, the world would have ended long ago. We have done what we could to distort those also, but nothing to the extent to which we have debased the n.o.bility of the recreative instinct!"

Amaryllis listened attentively, and he went on:

"It is admitted that we require food to live--and that if we are threatened with death from an enemy we have the right to kill him in self-defence. But it is never admitted that it is equally natural that we desire to recreate our species. Under certain circ.u.mstances of vows and restrictions, we are permitted to take one partner for life--and--if this person turns out to be a fraud for the purpose for which we made the promise, we may not have another. Supposing hungry savages were given covered dishes purporting to contain food, and upon lifting the cover one of them discovered his dish was empty--what would happen? He would bear it as long as he could, but when he was starving he would certainly try to steal some food from his neighbour--and might even knock him on the head and obtain it! Civilisation has controlled primitive instincts, so that a civilised man might perhaps prefer to die himself from starvation rather than kill or steal. He is master of his actions, _but he is not master of the effects of his abstinence--Nature wins these,_ and whatever would be the natural physical result of his abstinence occurs. Now you can reason this thought out in all its branches, and you will see where it leads to--"

Amaryllis mused for some moments--and she saw the justice of his reflections.

"But for hundreds of years there have been priests and nuns and companies of ascetics," she remarked tentatively.

"There have been hundreds of lunatics also--and madness is not on the decrease. When you destroy nature you always produce the abnormal, when life survives from your treatment."

"You think that it is natural that one should have a mate then?"--she hesitated.

"Absolutely."

"It is more important than the keeping of vows?"

"No, the spirit is degraded by the knowledge of broken vows--only one must have intelligence to realise what the price of keeping them will be, and then summon strength enough to carry out whatever course is best for the soul, or best for the ideal one is living for. Sometimes that end requires ruthlessness, and sometimes that end requires that we starve in one way or another, so _we must_ be prepared for sacrifice perhaps of life, or what makes life worth living, if we are strong enough to keep vows which we have been short-sighted enough to make too hastily."

Amaryllis gazed in front of her--then she asked softly:

"Do you think it is wicked of me to be thinking of Denzil--not John?"

"No--it is quite natural--the wickedness would be if you pretended to John that you were thinking of him. Deception is wickedness."

"Everything is so sad now. Both have gone to fight. I do not dare to think at all."

"Yes, you must think--you must think of your child and draw to it all the good forces, so that it may come to life unhampered by any weakness of balance in you. That must be your constant self-discipline. Keep serene and try to live in a world of n.o.ble ideals and serenity. Now I am going to play to you--"

Amaryllis had never heard Verisschenzko play. He arranged the sofa cushions and made her lie comfortably among them, then he went to the piano--and presently it seemed to her that her soul was floating upward into realms of perfect content. She had never even dreamed of such playing. It was like nothing she had ever heard before, the sounds touched all the highest chords in her spirit. She did not ask whose was the music. She seemed to know that it was Verisschenzko's own, which was just talking to her, telling her to be calm and brave and true.

He played for a whole hour--and at last softly and yet more softly, and when he finished he saw that she was quietly asleep.

A smile as tender as a mother's came into his rugged face, and he stole from the room noiselessly, breathing a blessing as he pa.s.sed.

And somewhere in France, Denzil and John were thinking of her too, each with great love in his heart.

CHAPTER XV

Harietta Boleski was growing dissatisfied with her life. England was of no amus.e.m.e.nt to her, and yet Hans insisted upon her staying on. She wanted to go to Paris. The war altogether was a supreme bore and upset her plans!

She had been so successful in her obvious stupid way that Hans had been enabled to transmit the most useful information to his country, which had a.s.sisted to foil more than one Allied plan. Harietta saw numbers of old gentlemen who pulled strings in that time, and although they wearied her, she found them easier to extract news from than the younger men. Her method was so irresistible: a direct appeal to the senses, and it hardly ever failed. If only Hans would consent to her returning to Paris, with the help of Ferdinand Ardayre, who was now her slave, she promised wonderful things.

Hans, as a Swedish philanthropic gentleman, had been over to give her instructions once or twice, and at last had agreed to her crossing the Channel.

She told this good news to Ferdinand one afternoon just before Christmas, when he came in to see her in London.

"I'm going to Paris, Ferdie, and you must come too. There's no use in your pretending that England matters to you, and you are of such use to us with your branch business in Holland like that. If I'd thought in the beginning that there was a chance to knock out Germany, I would have been right on this side, because there's no two ways about it, England's the place to have a good time in, but I've information which makes it certain that we shall take Calais in the Spring, and so I guess it's safer to cling to Kaiser Bill--and get it all done soon, then we can enjoy ourselves again. I do pine for a tango! My! I'm just through with this dull time!"

Ferdinand was a rest to her, almost as good as Hans. She had not to be over-refined--she knew that he was on the same level as herself. He amused her too in several ways.

He looked sulky now. It did not suit his plans to go to Paris yet. He was trying to collect information for a game of his own. But where Harietta went he must go, he was besotted about her, and knew that he could not trust her a yard.

He protested a little that they were very well where they were, but as she never allowed any one's wishes to interfere with her plans she only smiled.

"I'm going on Sat.u.r.day. We have secured a suite at the Universal this time, now that the Rhin is shut up, and it is such a large hotel, you can quite well stay there; Stanisla.s.s won't notice you among the crowd."

Ferdinand agreed unwillingly--and just then Verisschenzko came in. He had not seen Madame Boleski since the night at the Carlton, having taken care not to let her know of his further visits to England since.

He looked at Ferdinand Ardayre as though he had been some bit of furniture, and he took up Fou-Chow who was cowering beneath a chair. He did not speak a word.

Harietta talked for every one for a little while, and then she began to feel nervous.

Verisschenzko smiled lazily--he was trying an experiment. The interview could not go on like this; Ferdinand Ardayre would certainly have to go.

Now that Verisschenzko had come, Harietta ardently wished that he would.

The most venomous hate was arising in Ferdinand's resentful soul. He felt that here was a rival to be dreaded indeed. He saw that Harietta was nervous; he had never seen her so before. He shut his teeth and determined to stay on.

Verisschenzko continued his disconcerting silence. Harietta felt that she should presently scream! She took Fou-Chow from Stepan and pinched him cruelly in her exasperation. He gave a feeble squeak and she pushed him roughly down. Animals to her were a nuisance. She disliked them if she had any feeling at all. But Fou-Chow was an adjunct to her toilet sometimes, and was a coveted possession, envied by her many female friends. His tiny, cringing body irritated her though extremely when she was not using him for effect, and he was often kicked and cuffed out of her way.

He showed evident fear of her and ran from her always, so that when she wanted to make a picture with him, she was obliged to carry him in her arms.

Verisschenzko raised one bushy eyebrow, and a sardonic smile came into his eyes.

Madame Boleski saw that she had made a mistake in showing her temper to the dog; it would have given her pleasure then to wring its neck!

The two men sat on. She began to grow so uncomfortable that she could endure it no more.

"You are coming back to dinner, Mr. Ardayre," she remarked at length, "and I want you to get me gardenias to wear, if you will be so kind, and I am afraid you will have to hurry as the shops close soon."