XXII
Doctor Merrick’s unusual capacity for pinpoint concentration upon problems of scientific research was not quite up to par during his collaboration with Doctor Arnstadt. The Viennese surgeon seemed every way satisfied, and rejoiced in his close association with his young American colleague, but Bobby was too restless and distracted to make the most of his opportunity.
Jack Dawson had been quick to understand his friend’s mood.
“Bobby,” he advised, one early August night, as they were finishing their dinner in the low-ceilinged grill room at Hangel’s, “I don’t want to meddle, but I believe you really ought to run over to the Imperial City and do your stuff. You’re getting to be damned poor company, and I think you have something weighty on your conscience.”
Bobby nodded soberly.
“You’re right! … I’ll go—tomorrow!”
Marion had stayed on in Rome. Jack’s daily letter from her constituted the log of Helen’s rather tedious trip through convalescence.
It was a great day in Vienna—demanding a bit of celebration that night—when the news came that she had sat up for half an hour.
Now she had been wheeled out into the shady patio … Now she had taken a short walk … Now they were both at the Quirinal, and every afternoon Helen was down in the garden, in the hotel court … Now she was taking drives in the evening … You could hardly find the scar, any more … Helen was so happy.
On the morning of the sixth of August, Jack and Doctor Arnstadt saw Bobby off. After the train had slipped quietly out of the station, Jack went to the telegraph booth and wired to Marion. He did not tell her it was a secret that Bobby was on the way. She would not have kept it, in any event. She was all done with riddles.
“Who do you think’s coming?” she cried, romping into Helen’s room waving her telegram.
“When does he arrive?”
“Tomorrow afternoon—about six! … Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I’m going, dear! I don’t feel quite up to it.”
“Why—the very idea! … You can’t! … When you know he’s on the way? … He’ll be wretchedly disappointed!”
“But—I don’t know he’s coming—that is, not officially … He probably didn’t want me to know, or he would have informed me.”
There was no talking her out of it. She was going! That night they paid a farewell call at the hospital. Julie Craig shyly inquired of Mrs. Dawson if Doctor Merrick was still in Europe, and was appalled to learn that he was arriving in Rome tomorrow.
“But—you will have gone, madame!” exclaimed Julie, looking reproachfully at her patient … Surely this affair was being badly managed by somebody.
All that the concierge at the Quirinal seemed to remember at first about the whereabouts of the two young American women was that they had left, that noon, for Paris. Upon further reflection, and in appreciation of the colour of the banknote which Doctor Merrick was twisting in his fingers, he recalled that Madame Hudson’s heavier baggage had been expressed directly to Le Havre. He had himself seen to it. Yes—she was sailing on the Île de France on Thursday. At all events, her trunks were.
Bobby spent an hour, pacing up and down the flagging in the garden of the Quirinal, planning his next move. This game of hide and seek couldn’t—mustn’t go on any longer! He resolved to corner her and take her by force!
He sent a long telegram to Jack Dawson, confiding the full particulars of the enormous audacity he had decided to commit. He had made his reputation with her by various acts of impudence. This would be the crowning deed which would make all his former impertinences seem bland. He was very nervous as he prepared for it.
Events moved very swiftly, once he had come to his decision. He engaged an aeroplane and flew to Paris. Between the racket of the triple engines and the furious pounding of his heart, it was a noisy trip. There was a hasty half-hour with his mother, in which he persuaded her to forgive him on the strength of a promise that he would return and be with her at Christmas.
At the down town office of the French Line, he engaged the most luxurious suite on the Île de France. Next morning, he flew to Havre, arriving an hour before the boat-train from Paris.
It was a long and anxious hour. Never had he been so utterly stampeded by his own emotions.
Seeing to it that his light luggage was in his quarters, and having strolled about through the commodious suite to make sure it was ready for occupancy—he had retained enough presence of mind to order the place filled with flowers—he went up to the captain’s cabin, renewed acquaintance, and asked a favour.
Then he went down and took up his stand at the foot of the first-class gangway, waiting with an impatience almost too urgent to be borne.
Whatever would she think?
Slowly the train crept into the shed, across the way, and the passengers swarmed in little groups about their hand baggage. Presently the procession began to move stragglingly towards the ship.
Bobby saw her coming, tripping smartly along with two porters attentively close behind her.
Mauve—this time … Snug, saucy, cloche hat—mauve … A tailored suit of mauve that sculptured every curve of her.
She sighted him waiting for her. He knew she had seen him. Now her eyes widened and her lips parted as their gaze met. She advanced steadily towards him with a tread almost martial.
As she neared him, he did not extend his hand, as she had thought he might. He held out both arms; and, to his inexpressible delight, she walked confidently into them, shyly laid her slim fingers on his coat lapels, looked up into his face, and smiled.
“Put madame’s baggage in Suite B,” said Bobby, in a proprietorial tone to the porters.
“You are travelling with me!” he explained rather unsteadily. “The captain is marrying us, this afternoon!”
“Yes, dear,” she said softly. “I know.”
Bobby’s arms tightened about her.
“How did you know?” he grinned, boyishly.
“Well—let’s see. You wired it to Doctor Dawson, and he wired it to Marion, and she wired it to me … Awfully roundabout way to learn one was being married, wasn’t it?”
“But—but—you’re for it, aren’t you?” he pleaded, searching her eyes.
She smiled.
“Perhaps we should go aboard, Bobby. We’re blocking the traffic.”