In order to keep up close relations with Sabaroff, Philip had asked him to sit for his portrait. The General had accepted, and came three or four times a week to pose in the room which served Philip as a studio.

Dora resigned herself to this humiliation. "He has not yet finished my portrait," she said to herself, "but that man's, he will finish fast enough." Not once, however, did she make a remark to Philip on the matter.

Every Thursday Sabaroff came to call on Dora, who received him politely, but coldly. On several occasions he found himself alone with her, and Philip never thought of joining them. He ended by believing himself encouraged by Philip in the a.s.siduity of his visits to Dora. This woman so impressed him that he never once ventured on a glib gallantry, scarcely even an ordinary compliment. He felt himself on new ground and not thoroughly at home in the presence of this being, who seemed never to have been soiled by even an impure glance. Before her he became almost timid, he the daring Don Juan of courts, who made light of women whose conquest he had so often found easy, and for whom he felt the sentiment of the Oriental, a sentiment made up of condescension and fierce and short-lived pa.s.sion, followed by contempt. Not more than one woman had ever been able to boast of having been his mistress longer than a week. And yet he had loved once in his life, loved with a n.o.ble pa.s.sion a young girl with a face full of lofty beauty, eyes in whose look were depths of loyalty and truth, and on whose brow purity sat enthroned. And that woman, whom he had thus loved, whose image had never become completely effaced from his memory--that woman was Dora! whom he here found again lovelier still than in bygone years, and married to a man who was evidently absorbed in his invention and his calculations.

Sabaroff watched Philip and Dora attentively. He could not discover in their conduct towards each other any of the thousand and one little familiarities which always exist between two people living happily side by side under one roof. He also thought that Philip opened his house to him with an insistence almost suspicious, and yet Dora not only gave him no encouragement, but seemed to behave with a studied reserve when in his society. He concluded that she either felt complete indifference for him, or that she hid her sentiments under a very clever mask. The more he tried to understand, the more he lost himself in conjecture. In his estimation, Philip was either a fool who neglected his wife, or an intriguing fellow who sought to make use of her to attain his own ends.

One thing at all events was clear in his mind, and that was that there existed between Philip and Dora no sentiment of affection, much less of love. He resolved to await a favourable occasion, and not to decide upon a plan of action until he was surer of his ground.

Philip had finished his portrait, and everyone who saw it declared that no modern portrait-painter, since the death of Frank Holl, had done such a fine piece of work. Dora, mortified and stung by jealousy, could not help admiring her husband's masterpiece, and said to him: "Since you wish for wealth, here is the means of attaining it; with a talent such as yours you could soon command a thousand pounds for a portrait, and paint ten or twelve a year."

His portrait finished, Sabaroff had less excuse for constant calls at the house. He had to content himself with his weekly visits on Dora's day. However, one day when he knew Philip to be absent and Dora at home, he presented himself at the house; but Dora sent word that she was not well and regretted to be unable to receive him. On the evening of the same day, he received an invitation to dine with Philip and Dora, and accepted it by return of post. The dinner was for the 15th of December.

Sabaroff's report upon Philip's sh.e.l.l had long since been sent to St.

Petersburg, and as he had marked it "Urgent and specially recommended,"

he expected a reply at any moment.

The day after Philip had sent to ask the General to dinner, he received from him the following note:--

"DEAR MR. GRANTHAM,--I have just received a letter from St.

Petersburg from which I learn that the Commission, charged by his Imperial Majesty, my august master, to examine my report and that of the Council of Artillery upon the experiments made with your sh.e.l.l, will sit on the 15th of December, and will send me a wire the same evening to acquaint me with their decision. Thus I may possibly, as you see, have a piece of good news to give you at dessert.

"Pray, dear Sir, present my most respectful compliments to Mrs.

Grantham, and accept for yourself the a.s.surance of my devoted regards.

"IVAN SABAROFF."

Philip, overcome with joy, ran to show Dora Sabaroff's letter.

"At last," he cried, "we are near the goal. Ten days more and I shall know whether they take my sh.e.l.l or not. And then, from that day, Heaven be thanked, no more invention on the brain, no more anxiety, no more worry; I shall be rich, and I shall get at my work again, the work that you love. Only, you know, I shall take things easily. I shall not work now to pay the tradespeople; I shall paint seriously, I tell you."

Seeing a ray of joy pa.s.s over Dora's face, he added, "You see, I do not intend to throw all overboard. Look here, we have been married six years, and you don't know me yet. That's the fact of the matter."

His gaiety and enthusiasm of other days seemed to have come back again, and Dora's heart leapt within her at the sight. She went so far as to encourage him in his present hopes, but more especially applauded the resolution that he appeared to have taken to return to his old work.

Philip took her in his arms and kissed her more tenderly than he had done for six months past.

"After all," said Dora to herself, "my suspicions were perhaps absurd; there was no foundation for them. I have had a bad dream, a horrible nightmare--I must fling it off. It is all over--patience, patience. Just a few days longer."

Next time Sabaroff called, Dora received him with less coldness and reserve. She was cheerful, amiable, and appeared almost glad to see him.

This new att.i.tude delighted him. There was no mistaking the looks he gave her, his whole body betrayed the feelings of this man for Dora.

"After all," she thought, "in a few days he will be back in St.

Petersburg, and I shall have finished for ever with his Excellency the War Minister of his Majesty the Czar of all the Russias."

On the 13th, Philip received a telegram calling him to Paris at once. He was begged to spend a few hours at the a.r.s.enal of artillery with the Ministre de la guerre.

He could not refuse. He wired immediately that he would comply without delay.

Dora naturally proposed to send at once to General Sabaroff, asking him to dine with them another evening instead of on the 15th.

"No, no," said Philip; "I shall leave Paris the day after to-morrow by the nine o'clock train in the morning. It is the mail, and I shall arrive in London at half-past four; even allowing for a couple of hours of possible delay, I should still reach home in good time. Besides," he said, glancing at a newspaper, "the barometer is rising, the sea is good, there is no danger of bad weather and delays."

It was in vain for Dora to persist, Philip would not consent to any change in the arrangement.

"My dear child, one cannot put off a Minister at a moment's notice, when one has asked him to dinner. I would rather refuse to go to Paris, and you know it would be impossible to do that. I really must respond to this request, which is as natural as it is cordial. I owe some consideration to those good Frenchmen for buying my sh.e.l.l of me, and, no doubt, it is to ask my advice on some matter that they want me at the a.r.s.enal in a hurry. And then, you know, I have another reason for specially wanting to meet General Sabaroff here on the 15th--it is on the 15th that I am to hear Russia's decision."

Dora saw that it was useless to argue the point any further.

Philip's preparations for departure were rapidly made; in a few minutes he was ready to set out for Paris. He sprang into a cab and reached Charing Cross ten minutes before the eleven o'clock mail train was ready to start. At seven in the evening he was in Paris.

XIII

A CRUEL ORDEAL

On the 15th of December, at eight o'clock in the evening, Philip had not arrived home.

General Sabaroff came at the hour appointed. Great was his surprise to find only Dora and her sister in the drawing-room. He had been invited to dine quite informally, but he expected to see at least two or three other guests. Far from regretting their non-appearance, he congratulated himself on his good luck, and thanked his hostess for showing him this mark of friendly intimacy. It occurred to him that, perhaps, Dora's sister would not stay long after dinner. When Dora, humiliated and mortified, explained to him that Philip had not returned from Paris, she was very naturally profuse in her apologies. Sabaroff concluded that a tete-a-tete had been arranged. "At any rate," he thought to himself, "I shall soon be clear on that point."

Dinner was announced, and Gabrielle went down to the dining-room, followed by Dora, to whom Sabaroff had offered his arm.

The dinner proceeded, excellent and well served in itself, but a wearisome function to all three partakers of it. Dora was too much a prey to the most painful reflections to play the hostess with her usual grace. Gabrielle, at no time a conversationalist of any brilliancy, detached as she was from social pleasures by duty and inclination, sat almost mute. Sabaroff himself suffered from the constraint which the presence of this hospital nurse imposed upon him. He could never dissociate her from her semi-religious habiliments, which inspired him with an enforced respect. Dora, feeling stranded and forlorn, wrapped herself in a reserve of manner that was unmistakable, and Gabrielle, as the dinner proceeded, grew more and more a prey to vague alarms while she watched the burning glances that Sabaroff threw at Dora. The dinner was of the simplest and lasted at the utmost an hour, but to the poor girl it seemed unending.

At last they were all three on their feet again, and she and Dora were moving to the drawing-room, where she would be able to speak freely to her sister, perhaps, and ease her mind.

"We will leave you to your cigar, General," said Dora, taking the lead into the doorway.

The General bowed, and, when they had gone, he seated himself again, lit a cigar, and fell into a reverie.

As soon as Dora reached the drawing-room, she threw herself into her sister's arms. "I am so glad that you came this evening," she said. "Eva is not at all well. The dear child seems to get less and less strong as she grows older. I often feel quite concerned about her. She has been feverish all day to-day, and you know that when she has the slightest ailment, she always wants auntie to nurse her. The very sight of your cap and ap.r.o.n is as potent as a soothing draught, I do believe. I have just sent a servant to the hospital to know if I can keep you till to-morrow morning--and I was glad to have you make a third at dinner this evening, Philip being absent. It was an inspiration that brought you to the house ... but you look quite depressed; your face, usually so cheerful, so gay, is sad. You seemed strange all through dinner. Now, what is the matter?"

Gabrielle looked at Dora strangely. For a long time she hesitated before answering, then, seeing that Dora seemed to insist, she looked her sister straight in the face, and said--

"Dora, dear, why is General Sabaroff dining here to-night when Philip is away from home? There, since you insist, it is out."

Dora felt offended, but did not betray her feeling.

"Ah, you see," she said, smiling, "I knew there was something troubling you. Well, you must know that, a few days ago, Philip invited General Sabaroff to dine with us to-night quite _en famille_ and he accepted.

The day before yesterday, Philip received a letter calling him to Paris immediately, on business connected with the sh.e.l.l--his invention, you know. He set out by the morning train that very day, telling me to expect him back about five o'clock to-day, and I cannot account for his not having returned yet. I had a letter from him this morning in which he said that the matter was settled yesterday, and that he would take the nine o'clock train from Paris this morning. I had suggested putting off General Sabaroff, but he would not hear of my doing that, as he was sure of arriving home three hours before dinner. Now, don't look at me any longer with that tragedy air or you'll upset my gravity, dear. One would think you suspected me of arranging a tete-a-tete dinner with the man. Haven't I already told you how glad I was that you came in time to sit down with us? But how absurd all this is! One would really imagine I was here on my defence. Enough of this nonsense! And now, before General Sabaroff has finished his smoke, I will run up and see how my darling is and tell her that you are here."

"Dora, one moment; I must speak to you, I feel I must. Do not be offended with me, nor think me prying and foolish, will you, if I seem to meddle in what you may say does not concern me; but, dear, I cannot keep it to myself any longer. It makes me so miserable to see what is going on in this house--tell me, what does it all mean? You do not answer me, you dare not tell me the truth."

"My dear sister," said Dora, "I have nothing to hide from you." And she added, with sudden resolution, looking Gabrielle straight in the face, "Love has deserted the house--that is the truth, a truth which will soon kill me, I hope."

"But whose fault is it?" rejoined Gabrielle. "This General Sabaroff, why is he so often here? I cannot help noticing the frequency of his visits, and I cannot help seeing Philip's sad look and your altered manner towards him. Again, what does it all mean? He is suffering, I am sure of it; your coldness towards him is distressing him deeply. All your amiability seems to be reserved for this Russian, whom I heard you call profligate, the last person in the world that I should have thought you would h.o.a.rd your smiles for. How can you turn a cold face to such a husband as yours for such a man as this?"

"Really you are very observant, and your conclusions are most charitable, my dear sister--of charity," said Dora, who was beginning to stifle with misery and indignation.