The Lost Ambassador, E. Phillips Oppenheim [motivational books for women txt] 📗

it has been taking a lot of my time lately, and I know very little more than when I started."

"It's the young lady, I suppose," Ralph remarked thoughtfully.

I nodded.

"I am not over keen about interfering in other people's concerns, Ralph," I said. "You know that. It's the girl, of course, and I am afraid, I am very much afraid, that there is something wrong."

"Anyhow," Ralph said, "it doesn't follow that the girl's in it."

"I am jolly certain she isn't!" I said. "What bothers me, of course, is that I hate to think of her being mixed up with anything shady. The Deloras may be great people in their own country, but I'll swear that our friend here is a wrong 'un."

"I suppose you are sure," Ralph said thoughtfully, "that he is Delora—that he is not an impostor, I mean?"

"I thought of that," I answered, "but you see there's the girl. She'd know her own uncle, wouldn't she? And she told me that she had seen him on and off for years. No, he is Delora right enough! One can't tell," I continued. "Perhaps the whole thing's crooked. Perhaps the Deloras who seem to Dicky such charming people in their own country are a different sort of people on this side. At any rate, I'm off, Ralph, with that cable. I'll look you up as soon as I have found out anything."

Ralph smiled.

"I don't believe," he said, "you are sorry to have an excuse for having another turn at this affair."

"Perhaps not," I answered.

"Take the car," Ralph called out after me. "You may find it useful."

I drove first to the small hotel where I had last seen Delora. Here, however, I was confronted with a certain difficulty. The name of Delora was quite unknown to the people. I described him carefully, however, to the landlady, and she appeared to recognize him.

"The gentleman you mean was, I think, a Mr. Henriquois. He left us the day before yesterday."

"You know where he went to?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"He asked for a Continental time-table," she said, "but he gave no address, nor did he tell any one of his intentions. He was a gentleman that kept himself to himself," she remarked, looking at me a little curiously.

I thanked the woman and departed. Delora was scarcely likely to have left behind any reliable details of his intentions at such a place. I drove on to the Milan, and entered the Court with a curious little thrill of interest. The hall-porter welcomed me with a smile.

"Glad to see you back again, Captain Rotherby," he said. "Have you any luggage?"

"None," I answered. "I am not sure whether I shall be staying."

"This morning's letters are in your room, sir," he announced.

I nodded. I was not particularly interested in my letters! I drew Ashley a little on one side.

"Tell me," I said, "is Miss Delora still here?"

"She is still here, sir," Ashley announced.

"The companion also?" I asked.

"Yes, sir!" he answered. "I am not sure whether they are in, sir, but they are still staying here."

"And Mr. Delora?" I asked,—"has he ever turned up yet?"

"Not yet, sir. The young lady said that they were expecting him now every day."

"Telephone up and see if Miss Delora is in, Ashley," I asked.

He disappeared for a moment into his office.

"No answer, sir," he announced presently. "I believe that they are out."

Almost as he spoke I saw through the windows of the hair-dresser's shop a familiar figure entering the hotel. I left Ashley hurriedly, and in a moment I was face to face with Felicia. She gave a little cry when she saw me, and it was a joy to me to realize that it was a cry of pleasure.

"Capitaine Rotherby!" she exclaimed. "You!"

She gave me her hands with an impetuous little movement. I held them tightly in mine.

"I want to speak to you at once," I said. "Where can we go?"

"Madame is out for an hour," she said. "We could go in the little smoking-room. But have you forgotten your promise?"

"Never mind about that, Felicia," I whispered. "Something has happened. I went first to see your uncle, but I could not find him. I must talk with you. Come!"

We walked together across the hall, through the end of the café, down which she threw one long, anxious glance, and entered the little smoking-room. It was empty except for one man writing letters. I led the way into the most remote corner, and wheeled out an easy-chair.

"Felicia," I said, "if I can get a special license, will you marry me to-morrow?"

CHAPTER XXXIII FELICIA HESITATES

Felicia looked at me for a moment with wide-open eyes. Then a little stream of color rushed into her cheeks, her lips slowly parted, and she laughed, not altogether without embarrassment.

"Capitaine Rotherby," she said, "you must not say such things—so suddenly!"

"Last time we met," I reminded her, "you called me Austen."

"Austen, then, if I must," she said. "You know very well that you should not be here. You are breaking a promise. It is very, very nice to see you," she continued. "Indeed, I do feel that. But I am afraid!"

"I have sufficient reasons for breaking my promise, dear," I said, taking her hand in mine. "I will explain them to you by and by. In the meantime, please answer my question."

"You are serious, then?" she asked, looking at me with wide-open eyes, and lips which quivered a little—whether with laughter or emotion I could not tell.

"I am serious," I answered. "You want taking care of, Felicia, and I am quite sure that I should be the best person in the world to do it."

Her eyes fell before mine. She seemed to be studying the point of her long patent shoe. As usual she was dressed delightfully, in a light fawn-colored tailor-made gown and a large black hat. Nevertheless she seemed to me to be thinner and frailer than when I had first seen her—too girlish, almost, for her fashionable clothes.

"Do you think that you would take care of me?" she said softly. "I am afraid I am a very ignorant little person. I do not know much about England or English ways, and every one says that things are so different here."

"There is one thing," I declared, "which is the same all the world over, and that is that when two people care for one another, the world becomes not such a very difficult place to live in, Felicia. I wonder if you could not try and care a little for me?"

"I do," she murmured, without looking up.

"Enough?" I asked.

She sighed. Suddenly she raised her eyes, and I saw things there which amazed me. They were no longer the eyes of a frightened child. I was thrilled with the passion which seemed somehow or other to have been born in their deep blue depths.

"Dear Austen," she said, "I think that I care quite enough. But listen. How can I say, 'Yes,' to you? Always my uncle has been kind, in his way. I know now that he is worried, harassed to death, afraid, even, of what may happen hour by hour. I could not leave him. He would think that I had lost faith, that I had gone over to his enemies."

"Felicia dear," I said, "I do not wish to be the enemy of any one who is your friend. Indeed, your uncle and his doings mean so little to me. If they are honest, I might be able to help him. If he is engaged in transactions of which he is ashamed, then it is time that you were taken away."

"I will never believe that," she declared.

"Felicia," I said, "I will tell you why I have broken my promise and come to London. I believe I told you that I had a brother out in Brazil?"

"Yes!" she answered,—"Dicky, you called him."

"He wrote, you know, and said that he had been staying with the Deloras on their estate, and he begged that I should call upon your uncle here. Now I have had a cable from him. Felicia, there is something wrong. You shall read the cable for yourself."

I gave it to her. She read it word by word. Then she read it again, aloud, very softly to herself, and finally gave it back to me.

"I do not understand," she whispered. "I do not know why my uncle has not communicated with his brother."

"I am beginning to believe, Felicia," I said, "that I know more than you. I tell you frankly I believe that your uncle has kept silence because he is not honestly carrying out the business on which he was sent to England. Tell me exactly, will you? When did he arrive from America?"

She shook her head.

"Austen," she said, "you know there were some things which I promised to keep silent about, and this is one."

"At any rate," I said, half to myself, "he could not have been in Paris more than three weeks. I do not understand how in that three weeks he could have obtained such a hold upon you that you should come here and do his bidding blindly, although you must know that some of the things he does are extraordinary and mysterious."

She was obviously distressed.

"There is something," she said, "of course, which I am not telling you,—something which I promised to keep secret. But, Austen," she went on, laying her fingers upon my coat sleeve, "let me tell you this. I am getting more and more worried every day. I understand nothing. The explanations which I have had from my uncle grow more and more extraordinary. Why we are here, why he is still in hiding, why he lives in the shadow of such fear day by day, I cannot imagine. I am beginning to lose heart. Through the telephone last night I told him that I must see him. He has half promised that I shall, to-day or to-morrow. I shall tell him, Austen, that I must know more about the reasons for all this mystery, or I will go back to Madame Quintaine's. I wrote to her soon after I came here, when I was frightened, and she told me that she would gladly have me back. My uncles have always paid her a good deal of money," she went on, "for taking care of me."

I drew a long breath of relief.

"Felicia," I said, "you are talking like a dear, sensible little woman. But," I added, "you have not answered my question!"

She looked away, laughing.

"Of course you are not in earnest!" she exclaimed.

"Of course I am!" I persisted.

"You must know," she said softly, "that I could not do a thing like that. My uncle has always been so kind to me—"

"But you have only seen him three weeks," I interrupted. "Before that he was in Brazil!"

She was silent for several moments.

"Well," she said, "even if it were so, he could be very kind to me, couldn't he, even if he was in Brazil and I was in Paris? You see, my father was the poor one of the family, who died without any money at all, yet I have always had everything in the world I want, and when I come of age they are going to give me a great sum of money. It is not that I think about," she went on, "but they write to me always, and they treat me as though I were their own daughter. Often they have said how they would love to have had me out in Brazil. I think that it is really their own kindness that they let me stay in Paris."

"Felicia," I said, "tell me really how much you do know of your uncle—the one who is with you now?"

She shook her head.

"No!" she said. "I cannot do that. I made a promise and I must keep it. But I will promise you this, if you like. If I find that it is not the truth which I have been told I will come to you