The Point of View, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  Stella Rawson woke the next day with some sense of rebellion. Therecame with the rest of her post a letter from her betrothed. Andalthough it was just such a letter as any nice girl engaged of her ownfree will to the Bishop's junior chaplain ought to have been glad toreceive, Stella found herself pouting and criticizing every sentence.

  "I do wish Eustace would not talk such cant," she said to herself."Even in this he is unable to be natural--and I am sure I shall notfeel a thing like he describes when I stand in St. Peter's. I believe Iwould rather go into the Pantheon. I seem to be tired of everything Iought to like to-day!" And still rebellious she got up and was taken byher uncle and aunt to the Vatican--and was allowed to linger only inthe parts which interested them.

  "I never have had a taste for sculpture," Mrs. Ebley said. "People maycall it what names they please, but I consider it immoral and indecent."

  "A wonder to me," the Uncle Erasmus joined in, "that a prelate--even aprelate of Rome--should have countenanced the housing of all theseunclothed marbles in his own private palace."

  Stella Rawson stopped for a second in front of an archaic Apollo of nogreat merit--because it reminded her of the unknown; and she wishedwith all her might something new and swift and rushing might come intoher humdrum life.

  After luncheon, for which they returned to the hotel, she wearily wentover to the writing-table in the corner of the hall to answer herlover's chaste effusion--and saw that the low armchair beside theescritoire was tenanted by a pair of long legs with singularly finesilk socks showing upon singularly fine ankles--and a pair of strongslender hands held a newspaper in front of the rest of the body,concealing it all and the face. It was the English TIMES, which, aseverybody knows, could hide Gargantua himself.

  She began her letter--and not a rustle disturbed her peace.

  "Dearest Eustace," she had written, "we have arrived in Rome--" andthen she stopped, and fixed her eyes blankly upon the column of births,marriages, and deaths. She was staring at it with sightless eyes, whenthe paper was slowly lowered and over its top the blue orbs of thestranger looked into hers.

  Her pretty color became the hue of a bright pink rose. "Mademoiselle,"a very deep voice said in English, "is not this world full of bores andtiresome duties; have you the courage to defy them all for a fewminutes--and talk to me instead?"

  "Monsieur!" Miss Rawson burst out, and half rose from her seat. Thenshe sat down again--the unknown had not stirred a muscle.

  "Good," he murmured. "One has to be courageous to do what isunconventional, even if it is not wrong. I am not desirous of hurtingor insulting you--I felt we might have something to say to eachother--is it so--tell me, am I right?"

  "I do not know," whispered Stella lamely. She was so taken aback at thepreposterous fact that a stranger should have addressed her at all,even in a manner of indifference and respect, that she knew not what todo.

  "I observed you last night," he went on. "I am accustomed to judge ofcharacter rapidly--it is a habit I have acquired during my travels inforeign lands--when I cannot use the standard of my own. You are wearyof a number of things, and you do not know anything at all about life,and you are hedged round with those who will see that you never learnits meaning. Tell me--what do you think of Rome--it contains things andaspects which afford food for reflection, is it not so?"

  "We have only been to the Vatican as yet," Stella answered timidly--shewas still much perturbed at the whole incident, but now that she hadbegun she determined she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,and she was conscious that there was a strong attraction in the mildblue eyes of the stranger. His manner had a complete repose and absenceof self-consciousness, which usually is only to be found in the peopleof race--in any nation.

  "You were taken to the Sistine Chapel, of course," he went on, "and tothe loggia and Bramant's staircase? You saw some statues, too, perhaps?"

  "My uncle and aunt do not care much for sculpture," Miss Rawson said,now regaining her composure, "but I like it--even better than pictures."

  The stranger kept his steady eyes fixed upon her face all the time.

  "I have a nymph in my house at home," he returned. "She came originallyfrom Rome; she is not Greek and she is very like you, the same droop ofhead--I remarked it immediately--I am superstitious--I suppose youwould call what I mean by that word--and I knew directly that some dayyou, too, would mean things to me. That is why I spoke--do you feel it,too?"

  Stella Rawson quivered. The incredible situation paralyzed her.She--the Aunt Caroline's niece, and engaged to Eustace Medlicott, theBishop's junior chaplain, to be listening to a grotesque-lookingforeigner making subtle speeches of an insinuating character, and, farfrom feeling scandalized and repulsed, to be conscious that she wasthrilled and interested--it was hardly to be believed!

  "Will you tell me from where you come?" she asked with sweetbashfulness, raising two eyes as soft as brown velvet. "You speakEnglish so very well--one cannot guess."

  "I am a Russian," he said simply. "I come from near Moscow--and my nameis Sasha Roumovski, Count Roumovski. Yours, I am aware, is Rawson, butI would like to know how you are called--Mary, perhaps? That isEnglish."

  "No, my name is not Mary," she answered, and froze a little--but theRussian's eyes continued to gaze at her with the same mild franknesswhich disarmed any resentment. She felt they were as calm as deep poolsof blue water--they filled her with a sense of confidence andsecurity--which she could not account for in any way.

  Her color deepened--something in his peaceful expectancy seemed tocompel her to answer his late question.

  "My Christian name is Stella," she said, rather quickly, then addednervously: "I am engaged to Mr. Eustace Medlicott, an Englishclergyman--we are going to be married in September next."

  "And this is May," was all Count Roumovski replied; then, for the firsttime since he had addressed her, he turned his eyes from her face,while the faintest smile played round his well-cut mouth.

  "A number of things can happen in four months. Are you looking forwardto your life as the wife of a priest--but I understand it is differentin England to in my country--there I could not recommend the situationto you."

  Stella found absolutely no answer to this. She only felt a sudden, wildlonging to cry out that the idea of being a curate's wife--even theBishop's junior young gentleman with eight hundred a year of hisown--had never appeared a thrilling picture, and was now causing her afeeling of loathing. She thought she ought to talk no longer to thisstranger, and half rose from her seat.

  He put out a protesting hand, both had been clasped idly over the Timesuntil then without a movement.

  "No--do--not go--I have disturbed you--I am sorry," he pleaded."Listen, there is a great reception at your Embassy to-morrownight--for one of our Royal Family who is here. You will go, perhaps.If so, I will do so also, although I dislike parties--and there I willbe presented to you with ceremony--it will appease that Englishconvention in you, and after that I shall say to you a number ofthings--but I prefer to sit here and speak behind the Times."

  At this instant he raised the paper, and appeared again the strangeralmost entirely hidden from view. And Stella saw that her Uncle Erasmuswas rapidly approaching her with an envelope in his hand. She seizedher pen again and continued her broken sentence to Eustace--herbetrothed. Canon Ebley viewed the Times and its holder with suspicionfor an instant, but its stillness reassured him, and he addressed hisniece.

  "Very civil of the Embassy to send us a card for the receptionto-morrow night, Stella; I am glad we wrote names when we arrived. YourAunt Caroline bids you accept, as her spectacles are upstairs."

  Miss Rawson did as she was bid, and her uncle waited, fidgeting withhis feet. He wished the stranger to put down the Times, which he wantedhimself--or, at all events, remove his long legs and hidden body fromsuch a near proximity to his niece; they could not say a word that hecould not overhear, Canon Ebley mused.

  However, the unknown remained where he was, a
nd turned a page of thepaper with great deliberation.

  "Your aunt will be ready to go out again now," the Uncle Erasmusannounced, as Stella placed her acceptance in the envelope. "You hadbetter go up and put your hat on, my dear."

  The Times rustled slightly--and Stella replied a little hurriedly: "Iwas just finishing a letter, uncle, then I will come."

  "Very well," said Canon Ebley, not altogether pleased, as he walkedaway with the note.

  The newspaper was lowered a few inches again, and the wise blue eyesbeneath the saintly parted hair twinkled with irresistible laughter,and the deep voice said:

  "He would greatly disapprove of our having conversed--the uncle--is itnot so? How long are you going to stay in Rome?"

  Stella smiled, too--she could not help it.

  "A week--ten days, perhaps," she answered, and then rapidly addressedan envelope to the Rev. Eustace Medlicott.

  "Perhaps, in that case, I can afford to wait until to-morrow night;unless it amuses you, as it does me, to circumvent people," CountRoumovski said. "We are all masters of our own lives, you know, once wehave ceased to be children--it is only convention which persuades us tosubmit to others' authority."

  Stella looked up startled. Was this indeed true? And was it simplyconvention which had forced her into an engagement with EustaceMedlicott, and now forced her to go up and put on her hat and accompanyher uncle and aunt to see the Lateran, when she would have preferred toremain where she was and discuss abstract matters with this remarkablestranger.

  "The notion surprises you, one sees," Count Roumovski went on, "but itis true--"

  "I suppose it is," said Stella lamely.

  "I submit to no authority--I mean, as to the controlling of my actionsand wishes. We must all submit to the laws of our country, to do so isthe only way to obtain complete personal freedom."

  "That sounds like a paradox," said Stella.

  "I have just been thinking," he went on, without noticing theinterruption, "it would be most agreeable to take a drive in myautomobile late this after-noon, when your guardians have returned andare resting. If you feel you would care to come I will wait in thishall from five to six. You need not take the least notice of me, youcan walk past, out of the hotel, then turn to the left, and there inthe square, where there are a few trees, you will see a large bluemotor waiting. You will get straight in, and I will come and join you.Not anyone will see or notice you--because of the trees, one cannotobserve from the windows. My chauffeur will be prepared, and I willreturn you safely to the same place in an hour."

  Stella's brown eyes grew larger and larger. Some magnetic spell seemedto be dominating her, the idea was preposterous, and yet to agree to itwas the strongest temptation she had ever had in all her life. She wasfilled with a wild longing to live, to do what she pleased, to be freeto enjoy this excitement before her wings should be clipped, and heroutlook all gray and humdrum.

  "I do not know if they will rest--I cannot say--I--" she blurted outtremblingly.

  The stranger had put down the Times, and was gazing into her face witha look almost of tenderness.

  "There is no need to answer now," he said softly. "If fate means us tobe happy, she will arrange it--I think you will come."

  Miss Rawson started to her feet, and absently put her letter to herfiance--which contained merely the sentence that they had arrived inRome--into its envelope and fastened it up.

  "I must go now--good-bye," she said.

  "It is not good-bye," the Russian answered gravely. "By six o'clock, weshall be driving in the Borghese Gardens and hearing the nightingalessing."

  As Stella walked to the lift with a tumultuously beating heart, sheasked herself what all this could possibly mean, and why she was notangry--and why this stranger--whose appearance outraged all her ideasas to what an English gentleman should look like--had yet the power tofascinate her completely. Of course, she would not go for a drive withhim--and yet, what would be the harm? After September she would neverhave a chance like this again. There would be only Eustace Medlicottand parish duties--yes--if fate made it possible, she would go!

  And she went on to her room with exhilarating sense of adventurecoursing through her veins.

  "I have found out the name of the peculiar-looking foreigner who satnear us last night," Canon Ebley said, as they drove to the Lateran ina little Roman Victoria, "it is Count Roumovski; I asked the hallporter--reprehensible curiosity I fear you will think, my dearCaroline, but there is something unaccountably interesting about him,as you must admit, although you disapprove of his appearance."

  "I think it is quite dreadful," Mrs. Ebley sniffed, "and I hear fromMartha that he has no less than two valets, and a suite of princelyrooms and motor cars, and the whole passage on the second floor isfilled with his trunks."

  Martha had been Mrs. Ebley's maid for twenty-five years, and as Stellawell knew was fairly accurate in her recounting of the information shepicked up. This luridly extravagant picture, however, did not appalher. And she found herself constantly dwelling upon it and the strangerall the time she followed her relations about in the gorgeous church.

  Fate did not seem to be going to smile upon the drive project,however--for Mrs. Ebley, far from appearing tired, actually proposedtea in the hall when they got in--and there sat for at least half anhour, while Stella saw Count Roumovski come in and sit down andleisurely begin a cigarette, as he glanced at an Italian paper. He wasso intensely still, always peace seemed to breathe from his atmosphere,but the very sight of him appeared to exasperate the Aunt Caroline moreand more.

  "I wonder that man is not ashamed to be seen in a respectable place,"she snapped, "with his long hair and his bracelet--such effeminacy isperfectly disgusting, Erasmus."

  "I really cannot help it, my dear," Canon Ebley replied, irritably,"and I rather like his face."

  "Erasmus!" was all Mrs. Ebley could say, and prepared to return to herroom. Dinner would be at a quarter to eight, she told Stella at herdoor, and recommended an hour's quiet reading up of the guide-bookwhile resting to her niece.

  It was quarter after six before Miss Rawson descended the stairs to thehall again. She had deliberately made up her mind--she would go anddrive with the count. She would live and amuse herself, if it was onlyfor this once in her life, come what might of it! And since he would bepresented with all respectable ceremony at the English Embassy thefollowing night, it could not matter a bit--and if it did--! Well, shedid not care!

  He was sitting there as immovable as before, and she thrilled as shecrossed the hall. She was so excited and frightened that she couldalmost have turned back when she reached the street, but there,standing by the trees, was a large blue motor car, and as she advancedthe chauffeur stepped forward and opened the door, and she got in--andbefore she had time to realize what she had done, Count Roumovski hadjoined her and sat down by her side.

  "You have no wrap," he said. "I thought you would not have, so I hadprepared this," and he indicated a man's gray Russian,unremarkable-looking cloak, which, however, proved to be lined withfine sable, "and here, also, is a veil. If you will please me byputting them on, we can then have the auto open and no one willrecognize you--even should we meet your uncle and aunt; that is fun, isit not?"

  Stella had thrown every consideration to the winds, except thedetermination to enjoy herself. Years of rebellion at the boredom ofher existence seemed to be urging her on. So she meekly slipped intothe cloak, and wrapped the veil right over her hat, and they started.Her heart was thumping so with excitement she could not have spoken fora moment.

  But as they went rapidly on through the crowded streets, hercompanion's respectful silence reassured her. There seemed to be somerapport between them, she was conscious of a feeling that he understoodher thoughts, and was not misjudging her.

  "You are like a little frightened bird," he said presently. "And thereis nothing to cause you the least fear. We shall soon come to thelovely gardens, and watch the lowering sun make its beautiful effectsin the trees, and
we shall hear the nightingales throbbing out lovesongs--the world is full of rest and peace--when we have had enoughpassion and strife and want its change--but you do not know anything ofit, and this simple drive is causing you tumults and emotions--is itnot so?"

  "Yes," said Stella, with a feeling that she had burnt all her ships.

  "It is because you have never been allowed to be YOU, I suppose," hewent on softly. "So doing a natural and simple thing seemsfrightful--because it would seem so to the rigid aunt. Now, I have beenME ever since I was born--I have done just what seemed best to me. Doyou suppose I am not aware that the way my hair is cut is a shock tomost civilized persons; and that you English would strongly disapproveof my watch and my many other things. But I like them myself--it is notrouble for one of my valets to draw a straight line with a pair ofscissors--and if I must look at the time, I prefer to look at somethingbeautiful. I am entirely uninfluenced by the thoughts or opinions ofany people--they do not exist for me except in so far as they interestme and are instructive or amusing. I never permit myself to be boredfor an instant."

  "How good that must be," Stella ventured to say--her courage wasreturning.

  "Civilized human beings turn existence into a prison," he went on,meditatively, "and loaded themselves with shackles, because someconvention prevents their doing what would give them innocent pleasure.If I had been under the dominion of these things we should not now beenjoying this delightful drive--at least, it is delightful to me--to bethus near you and alone out of doors."

  Stella did not speak, she was altogether too full of emotion to trustherself to words just yet. They had turned into the Corso by now, and,as ever, it appeared as though it were a holiday, so thronged withpedestrians was the whole thoroughfare. Count Roumovski seemed quiteunconcerned, but Miss Rawson shrank back into her corner, a new fear inher heart.

  "Do not be so nervous," her companion said gently. "I always calculatethe chances before I suggest another person's risking anything for me.They are a million to one that anyone could recognize you in that veiland that cloak; believe me, although I am not of your country, I am atleast a gentleman, and would not have persuaded you to come if therehad been any danger of complications for you."

  Stella clasped her hands convulsively--and he drew a little nearer her.

  "Do put all agitating ideas out of your mind," he said, his blue eyes,with their benign expression, seeking hers and compelling them at lastto look at him. "Do you understand that it is foolish to spoil what wehave by useless tremors. You are here with me--for the next hour--shallwe not try to be happy?"

  "Yes," murmured Miss Rawson, and allowed herself to be magnetized intocalmness.

  "When we have passed the Piazza del Popolo and the entrance to thePincio, I will have the car opened; then we can see all the charmingyoung green, and I will tell you of what these gardens were long ago,and you shall see them with new eyes."

  Stella, by some sort of magic, seemed to have recovered herself-possession as his eyes looked into hers, and she chatted to himnaturally, and the next half hour passed like some fairy tale. Hisdeep, quiet voice took her into realms of fancy that her imaginationhad never even dreamed about. His cultivation was immense, and the Romeof the Caesars appeared to be as familiar to him as that of 1911.

  The great beauty of the Borghese Gardens was at its height at the endof the day, the nightingales throbbed from the bushes, and the air wasfull of the fresh, exquisite scents of the late spring, as the day grewtoward evening and all nature seemed full of beauty and peace. It caneasily be imagined what this drive meant, then, to a fine, sensitiveyoung woman, whose every instinct of youth and freedom and life hadbeen crushed into undeveloped nothingness by years of gray conventionin an old-fashioned English cathedral town.

  Stella Rawson forgot that she and this Russian were strangers, and shetalked to him unrestrainedly, showing glimpses of her inner self thatshe had not known she possessed. It was certainly heaven, she thought,this drive, and worth all the Aunt Caroline's frowns.

  Count Roumovski never said a word of love to her: he treated her withperfect courtesy and infinite respect, but when at last they wereturning back again, he permitted himself once more to gaze deeply intoher eyes, and Stella knew for the first time in her existence that somesilences are more dangerous than words.

  "You do not care at all now for the good clergy-man you are affiancedto," he said. "No--do not be angry-I am not asking a question, I amstating a fact--when lives have been hedged and controlled and retenulike yours has been, even the feelings lose character, and you cannotbe sure of them--but the day is approaching when you will see clearlyand--feel much."

  "I am sure it is getting very late," said Stella Rawson, and withdifficulty she turned her eyes away and looked over the green world.

  Count Roumovski laughed softly, as if to himself. And they were silentuntil they came to the entrance gates again, when the chauffeur stoppedand shut the car.

  "We have at least snatched some moments of pleasure, have we not?" theowner whispered, "and we have hurt no one. Will you trust me again whenI propose something which sounds to you wild?"

  "Perhaps I will," Stella murmured rather low.

  "When I was hunting lions in Africa I learned to keep my intelligenceawake," he said calmly, "it is an advantage to me now incivilization--nothing is impossible if one only keeps cool. If onebecomes agitated one instantly connects oneself with all other currentsof agitation, and one can no longer act with prudence or sense."

  "I think I have always been very foolish," admitted Stella, lookingdown. "I seem to see everything differently now."

  "What we are all striving after is happiness," Count Roumovski said."Only we will not admit it, and nearly always spoil our own chances bydrifting, and allowing outside things to influence us. If you could seethe vast plains of snow in my country and the deep forests--with nevera human being for miles and miles, you would understand how naturegrows to talk to one--and how small the littlenesses of the worldappear." Then they were silent again, and it was not until they wererushing up the Via Nazionale and in a moment or two would have reachedtheir destination, that Count Roumovski said:

  "Stella--that means star--it is a beautiful name--I can believe youcould be a star to shine upon any man's dark night--because you have apure spirit, although it has been muffled by circumstances for allthese years."

  Then the automobile drew up by the trees, at perhaps two hundred yardsfrom the hotel, near the baths of Diocletian.

  "If you will get out here, it will be best," Count Roumovski told herrespectfully, "and walk along on the inner side. I will then drive tothe door of the hotel, as usual."

  "Thank you, and good-bye," said Stella, and began untying the veil--hehelped her at once, and in doing so his hand touched her soft pinkcheek. She thrilled with a new kind of mad enjoyment, the like of whichshe had never felt, and then controlled herself and stamped it out.

  "It has been a very great pleasure to me," he said, and nothing more;no "good-bye" or "au revoir" or anything, and he drew into the farcorner as she got out of the car, letting the chauffeur help her. Nordid he look her way as he drove on. And Stella walked leisurely back tothe hotel, wondering in her heart at the meaning of things.

  No one noticed her entrance, and she was able to begin to dress fordinner without even Martha being aware that she had been absent. But asshe descended in the lift with her uncle and aunt it seemed as if thewhole world and life itself were changed since the same time the nightbefore.

  And when they were entering the restaurant a telegram was put intoCanon Ebley's hand--it was from the Rev. Eustace Medlicott, sent fromTurin, saying he would join them in Rome the following evening.

  "Eustace has been preparing this delightful surprise--I knew of it,"the Aunt Caroline said, with conscious pride, "but I would not tellyou, Stella, dear, in case something might prevent it. I feared todisappoint you."

  "Thank you, aunt," Miss Rawson said without too much enthusiasm, andtook her seat where she
could see the solitary occupant of a smalltable, surrounded by the obsequious waiters, already sipping hischampagne.

  He had not looked up as they passed. Nor did he appear once to glancein their direction. His whole manner was full of the same reflectivecalm as the night before. And, for some unaccountable reason, StellaRawson's heart sank down lower and lower, until at the end of therepast she looked pale and tired out.

  Eustace, her betrothed, would be there on the morrow, and such thingsas drives in motor cars with strange Russian counts were only dreamsand not realities, she now felt.