CHAPTER SEVEN

Expectant, filled with that insatiable hunger which persons travelling by sea attribute to the tonic action of the salt-laden air, Scherer, Eduard, and Franklin were standing at the dining-room door, discussing the weather while awaiting the arrival of the rest of the company. Meals were served punctually aboard the "Excelsior," and Diana, as the only lady present, was especially careful as a rule to avoid being late. Eduard, who alone knew why she was not ready, held his tongue, so as not to have to tell the others that he had discovered her at so late an hour still in conversation with the Russian. It was difficult to decide what motive was uppermost in the prince's thoughts as he made up his mind to keep silence in the matter. He may have merely wished to avoid the risk of making a mountain out of a molehill by suggesting there was anything as yet between Kyril and Diana. Such vague surmises were apt, within the narrow confines of a ship at sea, to assume undue proportions. Or could it be that he, a prince, was suddenly aware that the revolutionist might be a rival for the lady's favour?

The conversation had petered out, and Franklin, going over to consult the chronometer, saw that it was already twenty minutes past the hour. Scherer pulled his gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, slowly wound it up, and replaced it without looking to see what time it was. Eduard, observing the movements of the other two, shook his shirt cuff free of his left wrist and looked down at the dial. At that moment, Wilhelm, who had been standing a little apart and contemplating the sea from the ship's side, suddenly broke in upon the silence.

"It's all illuminated! The foam is all alight!"

The other three rejoined him, to watch the phosphorescent light on the water. Each wave as it rose towards the vessel seemed to be lit from beneath.

"Murmuring pearls," whispered Franklin.

"How wonderfully phosphorescent these tiny creatures are, to be sure," said Scherer, thoroughly interested.

"Like the Bundesrat during the speech from the throne," came from the prince.

Wilhelm who had hitherto been absorbed in his contemplation, now looked up, and asked:

"Oh, do they wear such shining robes on State occasions?"

"Dresses of State," answered the prince, and his tone implied a strange mixture of respect and mockery. "Furbelows from Haroun-al-Rashid's epoch, as our Russian comrade would say."

"It reminds me of Phœnician glass," said Diana, who had, unnoticed, joined the group. Everyone turned as she spoke, and, since there seemed to her an element of reproof in her friends' aspect, she added: "Perhaps you'll be sending me back to my cabin in disgrace, for I see it has gone the half hour and I have no excuse ready."

"I'm awfully sorry to be so late," said Kyril, dashing up from below. But his excuses sounded dull and inadequate after Diana's dainty little thrust.

Franklin thought: "A bassoon after the flute! How lovely her voice is."

"You've mentioned those glasses before," said Scherer as he made way to allow Diana to pass. "Did you not tell me your father had unearthed them somewhere?"

"Yes, and they lighted up the whole of my childhood with their opalescent spots, covered, as it were, by a film of lava."

By the time she had finished speaking, she had reached her end of the table, and, making a half turn, she stood poised for a moment with her bare arms slightly raised.

"She is certainly very beautiful," thought the Russian. "But she only cares for admiration and adventure; not an idea in her head. She's a lost soul."

"I'd always have her dress stunningly in the evening," said Scherer to himself. "And in the daytime she should be dressed as a girl."

"What an intricate gown," said Eduard, aloud. "It must be the butterfly that's holding it all together."

And Wilhelm exclaimed:

"Oh, what a rare specimen! Where was it caught, and by whom?"

He pushed back his chair, and, with the simplicity of a child, went over to where Diana sat, in order to get a closer view of the exquisite thing as it nestled in the soft folds of her low-cut gown. And it was only now, at such proximity, that he realized how low indeed the neck was cut. His young, inexperienced eyes lingered on Diana's bosom, his senses became confused with the delicate aroma that rose from her person, he forgot the passage of time. Four pairs of eyes, glaring their protest and reproof, were fixed questioningly upon Wilhelm, each man wondering when the indiscreet inspection would come to an end. Diana, who had turned towards Wilhelm to show him the ornament, did not see the men's expression, but she sensed disapproval in the air by the silence that had fallen on the company. She was rather amused by the little scene, and allowed half a minute to go by before turning away and saying:

"Your soup will be cold, Wilhelm, and it's turtle soup today, you know, tortoise, the sort upon which an elephant can stand, a Buddha sitting on its back."

Wilhelm took a deep breath, and, as he hastened back to his place, he was heard murmuring: "Marvellous!" but whether he was referring to the turtle, or to the butterfly, or to Diana's bosom, not one of the four men could decide.

Conversation now became general. There was talk about sacred rites among the Hindus; Scherer gave an account of the tortoise-shell mausoleum in Kandy, and told how he had hurriedly left the place and gone back to Colombo, because a company of English snobs had taken possession of the little lake, and how relieved he felt when he got back to the vision of the infinite sea. Diana had some interesting things to say concerning the customs in Upper Egypt, and about camel-riding, and her first experience of sea-sickness as she crouched between the animal's humps. Franklin spoke of the serpentine movements of the elephant's trunk, and went on to refer to the anomalous aspect of this strange creature as seen amid the haunts of men. Finally he opened a discussion on the price of ivory, which seemed greatly to interest Scherer. "Yes," he was saying, "I remember my awe when the first tusk was put in my hand and how I turned to the skinny little hunter to say that such a beautiful thing was certainly worth all the perils of the chase. To which he answered: 'Of course you know that out of one tusk six billiard balls can be made.''

"All my sympathies go to the elephant," exclaimed Kyril, rousing himself from his silence. "The futile uses to which such fine things and so much labour are put..."

"Quite right! Quite right!" exclaimed Eduard. "I'm wholeheartedly a partisan of the pachyderms. All politicians should belong to that race, and to that race alone!"

"It's a pity you speak ironically," retorted Kyril, "for what you say happens to be true."

The prince's lips twitched, then he said:

"By the time the present generation of diplomats, the spiders, have died out, I fear the elephants will have been exterminated by the Austrian consular service under the leadership of Dr. Franklin as head huntsman! Whom shall we then have left to send as ambassador to St. Petersburg, I should like to know?"

"Reynard the Fox," laughed Scherer.

"On the contrary," said Eduard, "the revolutionists here wish it might be the lamb!"

"Neither will do," put in Kyril gravely, "but, rather, Herr Scherer himself--on the understanding of course that he has accepted our ideas in their entirety."

Although Scherer's acceptance of these ideas was only partial and, even then, mainly theoretical, he felt more flattered by the Russian's implied appreciation than he would have been by an official summons to such a post. Nevertheless, he did not betray his feelings, merely answering:

"I'm no more than a business man. You'd better try to convince the prince, so that in the future when he is appointed to some foreign post, he may work hand in hand with us, democratically. Advanced ideas coming from abroad have a much better chance of acceptance at home, you know!"

"Compromise," muttered Kyril disdainfully. "Parson Brand says: 'All or nothing!'"

Since Scherer had spoken, the prince had kept his eyes on the Russian, considering him attentively. Again tonight he reacted as he had always reacted to similar talks during the past weeks, when this slogan had been voiced, and it seemed to him that the Russian's fanaticism was a serious obstacle to fulfilment. He intervened by saying:

"Would you appoint Ibsen's Brand as chargé d'affaires in Christiania?"

"He'd be a trifle old for the job, I fear," answered Kyril.

"You would, then, introduce an age-limit for diplomats? Treat them as the Fiji Islanders treat their old folk? At sixty lead them on to the rostrum whence, if they proved no longer capable of maintaining their equilibrium, they would fall to the ground!"

"The Russians are right," cried Franklin enthusiastically; "young people are better for such posts."

"Bravo! I think so too," exclaimed Wilhelm, the youngest of the party, who, as usual, had been silently and reverently watching the others while they talked.

For the time being, the problem was settled in a chorus of merry laughter, which suddenly ceased when Scherer rose as if to deliver a formal speech.

"Don't be alarmed," he said, smiling round the circle. "I have no intention of introducing etiquette of any sort on board the 'Excelsior,' but, since we have been talking of diplomats and of youth, I should like us all to give our good wishes to one among us who, this day, has added another year to the tale of his young decades--I drink to the health of our friend and my guest, His Highness, Prince Eduard!"

The men had risen. Clicking his heels together and bowing ceremoniously, the prince touched glasses with his host. Then he turned to Diana and found her gazing up at him, her eyes dimmed with tears. Memories of another dinner party crowded upon him. It had been in the Balkans; she had had a lover at the time; he himself had been filled with envy. Now, as he bent towards her, Eduard became poignantly aware of the caresses the dead man must have given to the Diana-like body before him, a body which he had glimpsed for a fleeting moment from a distant vantage point in a public gathering. The lure of the woman was strong upon him.

All had by now clinked glasses and had drunk the toast. There followed an awkward pause, so usual in the train of such ceremonies. Then Wilhelm's voice broke in on the silence.

"I thought something must be up directly I saw champagne glasses on the table!"

"So we have an Almanach de Gotha on board the man-of-war," said Eduard, turning to Scherer.

"You'll have to own up to your age now," cried Kyril with unwonted eagerness.

Whereat Diana thought: "Does he hope to be the younger of the two?" And, as if to shield the prince, she said hastily to Kyril: "You, too, will have to make the same confession."

"After His Highness!"

"Guess," said Eduard turning to Diana.

She hesitated.

"According to the Almanach, Prince Eduard is nine-and-twenty years of age," said Scherer, meaning to help the prince out of an embarrassing situation. "Kürschner, in which we'd be bound to find Dr. Sergievitch's name, is unfortunately not on board, and I'm afraid we'll have some difficulty in finding a copy among the Ionian Islands."

"Twenty-nine, likewise," Kyril informed them simply.

Diana, who was always responsive to the mystical in things, and endowed with a physical love of youth, felt moved and excited as she asked:

"Which of you is the younger?"

Her eyes travelled from one to the other.

Eduard and Kyril leaned across the table; they gave the impression of two wrestlers as each gazed in his opponent's eyes. Their companions were silent witnesses of this soundless duel. Kyril at this moment appeared to be endowed with superior strength, and seemed to be hiding something which his vis-à-vis was endeavouring to divine. A moment or two passed. Then Wilhelm's voice again broke the tension:

"They were born on the same day!" he cried exultantly.

"How do you know that?" retorted Kyril, his face darkening, his manner rough and imperious.

"I--I guessed it from the way you behaved," stammered Wilhelm, abashed.

"Is he right?" asked Diana eagerly, leaning forward in her turn.

"Is he right?" chimed in Franklin and Scherer simultaneously.

Kyril sat back in his chair, folded his table napkin, and answered gruffly:

"Yes, he's right."

Diana and Eduard drew themselves up, completely taken aback.

"Then we can seize the opportunity of wishing you many happy returns, too," said Scherer jocularly, hoping to relieve the tension.

"Not today," protested Kyril, "our Russian seventeenth of April does not fall due until your thirtieth."

"Still, you were born under the same star," said Diana.

"Star? A new kind of decoration," mocked Eduard, trying to conceal his excitement. "Do you know anything about such matters, my mystical foster-brother?"

"I don't believe in such things," answered Kyril.

Scherer laughed, and Diana, too, could not hide her mirth as she said merrily:

"You were both born in the constellation of the Ram."

"Hence these horns," commented Eduard.

"Wool," said Kyril.

"Maybe, likewise, the power of growth, a future vita nuova," put in Diana.

"Both of us--identical," said Kyril sullenly; like someone who disapproved of such pleasantries and felt drawn into retaliating in spite of his better judgment. "How will you, then, be able to tell us apart?"

"Your horoscopes will not be identical because the actual days of your birth differ. My father could tell you all that with precision. I don't know much about such things myself, or, at most, if you care to show me your palms...?"

Both men stretched out their left hands towards Diana who pushed her dessert plate aside. She drew the hands towards her, placed her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, then looked from one palm to the other while the company sat eagerly waiting for her to speak.

"How very different they are," she murmured after a while, "so many lines crossing one another on your palm, Prince. Here, in the long line of your life, a kink as it were, cutting it short, after which the line becomes firmer. Head line good, decidedly domineering. The line of heart seems to peter out here, but it rises in the Jupiter mound."

"May I ask what course it follows?" queried the prince.

"It gives pride of place to love," answered Diana in a matter-of-fact voice. "The mound of Venus is, however, not so pronounced. The fingers are contemplative rather than grasping. But this middle one, so square when compared with the others, that brings us to the Scales, equilibrium." She had not touched him while thus telling his fortune. Now she looked him in the face as she added: "On the whole, a lucky hand, Prince."

He turned his hand over on the table, took hers in his and kissed it. Then:

"And now for my rival," he said.

Kyril meanwhile, had been sitting motionless, following every word, staring enviously at Eduard's long fingers. Before she began to speak, Diana looked up into the Russian's face and found his eyes fixed inquiringly on her own.

"This hand," she began even more sententiously than heretofore, "has fewer lines. A wonderful line of fate. It rises here, below the line of life, and runs up in two great curves to join the lines of the head and the heart, straight up into the mound of Jupiter: and there is a star."

"What does the star signify?" asked Kyril, dully.

"A great career," answered Diana, so frigidly that Eduard felt uneasy at such a display of hostility. "But the line of life is not good at this point, it divides in two, very decidedly, and it is not long."

"How can you tell that?" queried Kyril harshly, bending forward so eagerly that his fair hair caressed her cheek. She did not draw back, but said calmly, pointing to the spot again:

"By this."

"That's all right. What else do you see?"

"The head line does not join the line of life. That betokens fanaticism. Mound of Venus, very strongly developed; line of heart, simple. The fingers are grasping fingers," she concluded, raising her head. "A square hand: more will than intelligence. Please forgive me, I'm keeping you all too long at table."

When, later, they sat in the smoking cabin over cigarettes and coffee, their wicker chairs drawn together in a circle, the conversation drifted from suggestion to sleep-walking and to premonitions of death. From time to time Wilhelm had dragged one or the other of the circle to the railing to look at the phosphorescence in the water. These ecstatic excursions had been interpolated into the general talk which see-sawed between acceptance and denial of extraordinary phenomena. Franklin could contemplate the cosmos only from the mystical view-point. Scherer, as a man of the world who had never wholly denied the possibility of abnormal happenings, endeavoured always to anchor himself on certainties, as the only safe harbourage. But despite his best endeavours the springs of conversation gradually dried up.

The prince and the Russian contributed nothing to the entertainment. The strange coincidence of their birthdates, separated merely by the vagaries of the calendar, the variations in their fortunes as read in the lines of their hands, the aura emanating from the clothing and the personality of the woman in their midst: all this, and more especially the strangely prophetic confirmation of her own consciousness, lay heavy upon the spirits of the two men, one of whom had been dancing attendance upon Diana for many months in spite of prejudices of race and rank, while the other held aloof from her, hostile and suspicious, and yet attracted to her in his own despite.

The young woman herself was under the spell of her own perceptions. She felt bemused. As always when things lying without the circle of the tangible sent a ray of light towards her like a beacon from a distant port, she seemed to be gathered up into the mysterious in a way that appeared to her almost offensive, so greatly did she revere her own aptitudes and so much did she hate to tamper with these secret forces of her being. In such moods the incentive which her essentially productive nature was in the habit of giving to those who came in contact with her, was stilled; it was as if she were tossed amid dark and gloomy waters, and thoughts knocked at her heart, thoughts which at other times she sought to handle collectedly.

She felt the warm night wind on her throat and arms; her hand moved slowly, as if half asleep, towards the butterfly on her bosom which, in rhythm with the rock crystal pendant, rose and fell with her breathing; her imagination, more alert now than her eyes which lay deep in the shadows, drank in the luminous movement of the waves, sensing their luminosity rather than perceiving it. And as she lay thus pensive and dreamy she felt acutely how alone she was, and how impossible it was for these friends and lovers around her to put an end to such solitude as hers.

Was such a thing desirable she asked herself. Could passion, once more aroused, be lovelier than the mute sympathy of air and sea and death and night and stars? She looked up, searching for the Scales, and became uneasy when she could not make out the constellation amid the clouds which delicately veiled the firmament.

Abruptly she got up, swept by the astonished Wilhelm whose eyes followed her movements inquisitively, and made for the bows. The waters were no longer aglow; the sky was partially overcast. She became conscious of her youth as the wind played around her shoulders, she saw the rise and fall of her breast beneath the diaphanous folds of her gown, she felt the sensual delight of the soft wrap covering her bare arms, and the dead butterfly adorning the low-cut neck of her dress seemed more brilliant and more alluring than the waves.

She threw back her shawl so that she might fully enjoy the warm caress of the wind. Was not all this the prelude to an embrace? Was she, a young, beautiful, and independent woman, to continue living, as she had lived for a year and more, like a cloistered nun?---- Why does he hesitate? Why does he not come, unannounced, tonight, appear suddenly in my cabin, this respectable, ardent cynic, and forget his habitual irony and decorum in the ecstasy of an endless night? Do I frighten the men who refrain from seizing me in the first hour of our acquaintance?

She returned to the circle of her friends, excused herself as she lightly shook each by the hand, and withdrew to her cabin. Hastily dismissing Mary, she took a seat in front of her threefold mirror and hearkened to the murmur of the waters beneath the port-hole. She pushed back the wrap from her shoulders, and, as if her own fingers were those of a lover beginning to unclothe his sweetheart, she started to unhook her gown. With a slow and voluptuous movement, she raised her arms above her head, so that the frail bodice slipped down to the broad waistband which she had loosened likewise. She pressed the hard crystal between her breasts and held the dead butterfly against her bosom. Her other arm was still upraised to frame her curly head. For a long time she sat there, gazing at herself in the mirror. Then she rose. With a single motion the dress and her underwear slid to her feet; then stepping free, as from a pupa-case, she again contemplated herself in the glass.

She found herself beautiful, and yet as she stretched out her arms in longing, she had no desire for the man who had been in her thoughts. What she desired now was love. The tones of Wilhelm's lute floated down to her, yearning and soft.

She clasped her strong hands together, and then pressed their palms against her body. Aghast, she let them fall to her side, her eyes darkened, for as she had watched the movements of her own hands her thoughts had flown to the huge fists of the Russian. She pulled on a nightgown, and slipped into her bunk. Soon she was wrapped in a dreamless sleep.