CHAPTER SIX

Scherer had told Diana that he hoped to catch the evening train at Venice. With this end in view he had his ship's papers ready to be cleared and his trunks packed. But Diana felt that a long train journey in his company would be rather trying, so, as an excuse for avoiding it, she expressed a wish to see her father, and said she would stay a day longer before starting for Berlin. Sending her luggage to the station, she dispatched Mary with a couple of light valises to the Palazzo Tiepoletto to prepare the old man for her coming. A wish for protection, rarely felt by her, made her unwilling to put up at a hotel.

The gondolas were waiting at the foot of the gangway, and everything was ready for their leaving the yacht. Diana looked round for Scherer, wishing to say good-bye, though in forty-eight hours she would be seeing him again at the office. One of the sailors ran off at her bidding, sought the master this way and that, but could not find him. Diana concluded that he had withdrawn to his cabin, preferring to make his farewells in private. She set out, therefore, to find him. He was alone in the captain's cabin, waiting, waiting for her. She went in, a neat little figure in her travelling dress and tightly fitting hat.

"Good-bye! See you again Friday, at nine o'clock, in the office."

Her voice was as fresh as after a sea-bath. He said nothing; but his eyes beckoned her to him. She came up to where he stood. He was breathing heavily, though he tried to appear calm.

"Diana?"

"Well?"

"You are leaving me. In a very few minutes I shall be alone. Give me one more friendly word before you leave the boat."

"The 'Excelsior' has been lovely," she said softly, her voice changing its tone. "My grateful thanks for the voyage. I shall never forget it."

The simplicity of her choice of words, the artless way in which she spoke them, moved him profoundly; his hands itched to take the beloved head between them; nevertheless he refrained.

"Shall we--not continue to journey together?"

"There's no more coal! By tonight the boilers will have become quite cold."

"Diana!"

"Well?"

"Do say something else."

She hesitated a moment, then said softly:

"You have been very good."

He would have taken her in his arms, but she deftly eluded his grasp. Before he could say a word in response, he heard the gangway creaking under her light tread. "Lost," thought he, following the gondola with his eyes as it retreated. No hand was waved in farewell, and as he slowly descended the companion to go to his cabin he muttered: "I should never have accepted her gift. Then, perhaps, I might have held her.... 'You have been very good!'..."

He took up his hat and stick, glanced at himself in the mirror, and stretched himself, manlike. "And yet--it was well worth while! They all think me so ascetic--because they take their repasts daily! After last night, I could fast for five years."

When the gondola had put a certain distance between her and the yacht, Diana turned round:

"Good-bye, dear ship," she said; but no sign was vouchsafed her from the deck. "Have you been 'Excelsior' as far as I am concerned? Have you brought me those who are destined to be my friends? Two friends I have lost while I have journeyed on your pleasant deck--because I gave them too much ... yet the one I love kissed me only once...."

Her father looked up from his breakfast as she entered the room. When she beheld his venerable head once more before her, the tension of the last few days snapped, and she fell weeping at his knee. Seeing her again so soon, in a mood so chastened, alone and agitated, the old gentleman could not but imagine something terrible had happened. He tried to calm her:

"There, there, Diana my dear. I'll help you all I can. Things are never so bad as they seem at first. Get up, there's a dear child."

Did he imagine she had come to him for succour? She laughed aloud at the thought, jumped up, drew a chair to his side and sat down, and, while she smoothed her skirt and flicked the dust from it, she said cheerfully:

"It's nothing. Do forgive me. I'm so happy to be with you again. Mary is here, too. Can we stay? Just for one night! Tomorrow I must be off. Father dear, what are you having for breakfast? Is it good? You are used to something hot, aren't you? London style. Don't you feel the draught from the balcony? Oh Father, you are such a dear!" He stroked her hair gently. "No one ever does that! They always clasp, and cajole, and hurry, and rampage. I should like to be with you, quietly, saying sweet things to you."

He was surprised at this unusual flow of words, and begged her to tell him her news. So they went to the Piazzetta, into the Palazzo Ducale, where she made straight for the Tintoretto she loved, asking her father to follow, and did not stop till they came to the Ariadne.

"No, I'm not like her. Her knees are rounded and so are her breasts. But the god is a boy. Look, Father, how well he woos, how tenderly he beseeches her. He does not command! He has summoned Hymen, that the god may lay his hand in hers--and he could have coerced her had he wished! I feel sure he will stroke her hair as soon as they are alone on that beautiful sailing vessel. This is Eros--not like--not like those others.... What is Eros like, tell me, Father?"

Her voice had become exquisitely melodious as she spoke; the old man felt her to be inspired; and as she turned to him, her eyes glistening with tears, he said:

"Helena! Your mother was just like this at times, though not often...."

She slipped her hand through his arm, and drew him along through the great halls of the palace.

"Father?"

"Diana?"

"Give me your advice; help me," said she, hastily, softly, almost cheerfully, as they walked slowly up and down. Two elderly dames passed them by, noses buried in a red-bound book.

"The prince, you remember? Prince Eduard, the man who talked such nonsense about Lord Byron that day we met on San Lazzaro--well, he has suddenly become the heir to the throne. I expect you've read about it in the papers. I love him; but he is set on my becoming his wife, and I am not cut out for married life. He is tender, and wise, and good; but my freedom, as you know, is metallic, hard, and as shiny as bronze. Over there in the north is a castle, colder than this one we are in, great halls, far too stiff and formal for me, people with petty faces and disturbing hands, and the comedy of 'duties'---- Oh, how could I ever fit into all that? ..."

Her father listened tranquilly. Then he paused by one of the windows, withdrawing into its recess, leaning against the side, and gripping his ivory-handled stick in both his hands.

"You love him--and yet you will not... Do you love another as well?"

She looked her astonishment.

"No, no! Not now."

"But you fear that later..."

"I must remain free."

"Do you mean in a general way?..."

"I think I do--yes."

"It seemed to me you were rather taken with the Russian?"

"I hate him!"

"Precisely."

"You can leave him out of the picture."

"And yet, no! We'd better have him on the canvas!"

"Why?"

"Because you hate him."

"What am I to do?"

"Follow your heart."

"That holds none but Eduard's picture."

"Then, be his."

"But he wants me to marry him, wants me to share in his work, his counsels, his thoughts, as they relate to the well-being of two hundred thousand people! He'll venture it on no other condition. Do you understand?"

He was silent again, and she resumed her pacing. After a while the old gentleman seated himself in a chair near the window, lighted from the courtyard. Diana confronted him as if she were in a confessional. He spoke:

"If you refuse him, what do you propose to do next? Will things remain as they were, as you described them to me? Will you go on working in Herr Scherer's office, his confidante, his friend?"

Diana's lips trembled. Then she said, her voice having lost its melting tones and become harsh:

"No, that will all stop."

"What are you thinking of doing?"

"Oh, I'll find something."

"How will you bear separation from the prince?"

"I love him."

He gazed at her for a moment, then rose, and said quietly but resolutely:

"Conditions of any sort are of no importance. Your heart must decide."