CHAPTER NINE

Two telegrams lay on the table: one addressed to Herbert Macdonald, the superintendent of the new wing of the British Museum Reading Room; the other to Professor Dufour of the Institut Physiologique, in Geneva. In both, Diana asked whether she could be allowed to resume the work of previous years. She rang to have the two wires taken to the post. At that moment the house-bell sounded, too; there was an opening and closing of doors, the sound of voices, the rattle of a sword, and then Mary appeared, obviously a prey to inner excitement, to say that Prince Eduard wished to see her. As she announced him, Eduard himself, in his hussar's uniform, appeared on the threshold. Before coming up to where Diana stood, he glanced round, as if to assure himself that Mary had gone. He waited until the old woman had shut the door, and her footsteps had ceased to sound in the passage. By that time, he had mastered his agitation sufficiently to greet Diana with the customary clacking of the heels, and, as he bent to kiss her hand, to address her in conventional tones. She opened her eyes in astonishment at his get-up, and this gave him an excuse for lapsing into the ironical vein.

"I promised you I would come to see you once in more than Spanish grandeur! Do forgive me for this weird kind of dress."

He took off his shako.

"You ought never to dress in anything else!"

Diana was honestly surprised at his comely appearance. For a moment the thought of Klarchen and Egmont was irresistible. She stepped farther away to get a better look at him. He stood her scrutiny for a moment. Then he impulsively seized her by the hands, drew her to the sofa, fell on his knees before her, grappled her to him, felt her all over with his two hands, touched her delicately with trembling finger tips, breathing words rather than speaking them:

"... Diana... I've got you at last... Yes ... it is really you ... your very self... Forgive me... I've been... I've had... Oh these days ... the awful things ... and all the bowings and ceremonial ... no soul. It's not half as ridiculous as I had thought ... far worse ... it is ice ... it is Greenland.... Ah, let me rest, only for five seconds.... Time goes so much quicker than they tell us in the books ... two minutes, and a man is dead ... a motor flies off at a tangent at a bend in the road, a venerable head drops to one side even as the lips are still speaking.... It's all so quick, Diana ... and as one rises from the side of the deathbed, an old gentleman approaches and announces that one is a prisoner for life ... all, all, in twenty short minutes, all in the course of one fortnight, since I left the 'Excelsior' and came ... to ... this ... diadem!"

His head sank in her lap, two strangled sobs forced themselves from him in the overwhelming sense of release. She could only sit there in silence, shaken to the soul, holding the throbbing forehead between her hands.

Slowly he raised his head, took her hands in his, kissed each, one after the other, with great deliberation.

"How warm your silence is. Over there, at home, silence is so cold. The only feeling heart in the whole principality is inside the breast of our old butler."

"Eduard."

"Your curls wave above me, as though they were a life-boat. I catch a glimpse of your ears from time to time, that is the coast ... yes..."

"Aren't you tired of kneeling?"

"No, I'm in heaven. My only dread is that you should want to get up. Diana, I could stay here for ever."

She smiled, lay back among the cushions, and whispered:

"I thought you would kiss me."

In a flash he was on his feet, in another he had flung himself beside her on the couch, folding her in one long embrace from lips to knees. For the first time, those two young bodies, after so many palpitating months, so many moments of inspiration and happiness, felt the contact one with the other, vibrated in unison, full of pleasurable and eager expectancy, in a dream, silently.

After a while he whispered:

"Diana."

"Eduard."

"Are you mine?"

"I love you."

"Will you remain mine?"

"I'm so happy."

"Will you promise..."

"How awfully young you are!"

"Never to leave me?"

"Later."

"No. Now!"

He sprang up, pulled his tunic down, settled his collar, smoothed his hair, and sat by Diana as she lay. His last words had such a resolute ring that Diana felt she could no longer evade the issue. She raised herself on her arm, and smoothed her gown.

"My dear, won't you give me your promise?"

He spoke with the utmost simplicity, wooing her; but she heard in the words the rumble, the menace of distant thunder.

She laid her hand on his:

"Give me time..."

"Five minutes."

She took her hand away, and gazed through him into the void. He got up, stretched out his left arm abruptly, glanced at the watch on his wrist, and said composedly:

"It is now five minutes to six. I'll give you till six," and he kept his gaze fixed on the watch.

Suddenly Diana was beside him, her eyes bright with anger, her lips ready for a wrathful reply. But before the words were uttered she caught sight of the band of crape upon the sleeve of his tunic, and her expression softened, her mood changed, her body drooped; she longed to lean against him, to yield to a wish that she had been combating these many days, to seek support. Her yearning overcame her other scruples; she seemed to see her father before her once again; and, with a gentle and womanly gesture, she took Eduard's arm in her hand and kissed the black token of mourning. He, surprised and profoundly stirred by his victory, took her head in his hands, running his fingers through her curls.

When at last they drew apart, Diana crossed to the table, where the two telegrams still lay, and lifted them questioningly. But Eduard was already at her side, and wrenched them from her. She, taken aback by so autocratic a movement, reciprocated, snatching them back, and placing them under the crystal which served her as paper weight.

"What's all this, if I may ask?"

"Wires."

"Hm. To Scherer?"

"On the contrary--away from Scherer!"

"Meaning?"

"That I am going away."

"Diana!"

"Eduard?"

"It's gone six. Will you follow me?"

"I--don't want to be forced to a decision through compassion for your crape band."

"Time presses!"

"Why?"

"My car is waiting for me at the door, I've come here incognito, must be home by tonight. Tomorrow the court chamberlain administers the oath..."

"What's that to do with me?"

"I shall refuse to take it--unless you--promise..."

They stood confronting one another, the narrow table between them. His voice was thoroughly matter-of-fact, his manner outwardly calm, as he leaned his fists on the flat top of the table. She did not answer, but waited collectedly, her fingers poised on the crystal beneath which, in the form of telegrams, two ways opened before her. Thus they remained, eye to eye, silent, observant. Then, without shifting from her position, Diana asked:

"And if I refuse?"

"Formal abdication. The principality will pass to my cousin."

"What do I care for your cousin!"

"I am quite indifferent, too."

She knew the decisive hour had struck for her. Had she not long foreseen it? But she had no notion yet as to what the issue would be.

"He is waiting," thought Diana, gazing down upon the crystal, "and yet he knows that I never wanton with destiny. He woos, and yet he might well make a gift of a diadem. Shall I lure him from the path in which centuries of tradition have placed his feet? His arm will be around me, his eyes will guard me from fools and courtiers... I have just turned twenty-seven... I feel at least five years older... If one's life must inevitably become entangled with the lives of others, at least I can see to it that mine shall develop along the broadest possible lines... A park will encompass me about, but I need not see the walls...." She looked up. She saw him standing before her. She thought: "Elegant hussar, I will take you without your sacrifice!"

Eduard, never stirring a muscle, watched her as she communed with herself. He did not venture to put his question a third time.

At last she lifted her hand from the crystal, contemplated its inner surface for a moment, and smoothed the spot where the flesh had been slightly crushed by pressure on the cold surface of the stone. Then she looked over at him, her eyes begging for his hand which he slowly unclenched and slid over the smooth table towards her. She let it lie next hers for a while, comparing the lines in both their palms. Then she clasped his hand in hers, looked up at him, neither sorrowfully, nor boldly, but more gravely than he had ever seen her look before.

"Well, let's try!"