第24章

"But surely," Julian protested, "they don't expect necessarily to find a leader of men in an anonymous contributor to the Reviews?

Fiske, when they have found him, may be a septuagenarian, or a man of academic turn of mind, who never leaves his study. 'Paul Fiske' may even be the pseudonym of a woman."

The Earl rose from his place.

"This afternoon," he announced, "I read the latest article of this Paul Fiske. In my opinion he is an exceedingly mischievous person, without the slightest comprehension of the forces which really count in government."

The Bishop's eyes twinkled as he left the room with his hand on his godson's arm.

"It would be interesting," he whispered, "to hear this man Fiske's opinion of your father's last speech in the House of Lords upon land interests!"

It was not until the close of a particularly unsatisfactory evening of uninspiring bridge that Julian saw anything more of Catherine. She came in from the picture gallery, breathless, followed by four or five of the young soldiers, to whom she had been showing the steps of a new dance, and, turning to Julian with an impulsiveness which surprised him, laid her fingers imperatively upon his arm.

"Take me somewhere, please, where we can sit down and talk," she begged, "and give me something to drink."

He led the way into the billiard room and rang the bell.

"You have been overtiring yourself," he said, looking down at her curiously.

"Have I?" she answered. "I don't think so. I used to dance all through the night in Paris and Rome, a few years ago. These young men are so clumsy, though - and I think that I am nervous."

She lay back in her chair and half closed her eyes. A servant brought in the Evian water for which she had asked and a whisky and soda for Julian. She drank thirstily and seemed in a few moments to have overcome her fatigue. She turned to her companion with an air of determination.

"I must speak to you about that packet, Mr. Orden," she insisted.

"Again?"

"I cannot help it. You forget that with me it is a matter of life or death. You must realise that you were only entrusted with it.

You are a man of honour. Give it to me."

"I cannot."

"What are you thinking of doing with it, then?"

"I shall take it to London with me to-morrow," he replied, "and hand it over to a friend of mine at the Foreign Office."

"Would nothing that I could do or say," she asked passionately, "influence your decision?"

"Everything that you do or say interests and affects me," he answered simply, "but so far as regards this matter, my duty is clear. You have nothing to fear from my account of how it came into my possession. It would be impossible for me to denounce you for what I fear you are. On the other hand, I cannot allow you the fruits of your enterprise."

"You consider me, I suppose," she observed after a moment's pause, "an enemy spy?"

"You have proved it," he reminded her.

"Of Overman - my confederate," she admitted, "that was true. Of me it is not. I am an honest intermediary between the honest people of Germany and England."

"There can be no communication between the two countries during wartime, except through official channels," he declared.

Her eyes flashed. She seemed in the throes of one of those little bursts of tempestuous passion which sometimes assailed her.

"You talk - well, as you might be supposed to talk!" she exclaimed, breaking off with an effort. "What have official channels done to end this war? I am not here to help either side.

I represent simply humanity. If you destroy or hand over to the Government that packet, you will do your country an evil turn."

He shook his head.

"I am relieved to hear all that you say," he told her, "and I am heartily glad to think that you do not look upon yourself as Overman's associate. On the other hand, you must know that any movement towards peace, except through the authorised channels, is treason to the country."

"If only you were not the Honourable Julian Orden, the son of an English peer!" she groaned.' "If only you had not been to Eton and to Oxford! If only you were a man, a man of the people, who could understand!"

"Neither my birth nor my education," he assured her, "have affected my present outlook upon life."

"Pooh!" she scoffed. "You talk like a stiffened sheet of foolscap! I am to leave here to-morrow, then, without my packet?"

"You must certainly leave - when you do leave - without that," he assented. "There is one thing, however, which I very sincerely hope that you will leave behind you."

"And that?"

"Your forgiveness"

"My forgiveness for what?" she asked, after a moment's pause.

"For my, rashness this morning."

Her eyes grew a little larger.

"Because you kissed me?" she observed, without flinching. "I have nothing to forgive. In fact," she went on, "I think that I should have had more to forgive if you had not"

He was puzzled and yet encouraged. She was always bewildering him by her sudden changes from the woman of sober thoughtfulness to the woman of feeling, the woman eager to give, eager to receive.

At that moment it seemed as though her sex possessed her to the exclusion of everything outside. Her eyes were soft and filled with the desire of love, her lips sweet and tremulous. She had suddenly created a new atmosphere around her, an atmosphere of bewildering and passionate femininity.

"Wont you tell me, please, what you mean?" he begged.

"Isn't it clear?" she answered, very softly but with a suspicion of scorn in her low tones. "You kissed me because I deliberately invited it. I know that quite well. My anger - and I have been angry about it - is with myself."

He was a little taken aback. Her perfect naturalness was disarming, a little confusing.

"You certainly did seem provocative," he confessed, "but I ought to have remembered."