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"I merely called your attention to the resemblance between her and your photograph of 'The Laughing Girl.' And I did not 'fall for her' – as you put it with truly American elegance – "
"Confound it!" I exclaimed, "what do you mean by 'American elegance'? Don't hand me that, Smith – you and your 'My girl's a corker!' Of the two of us you'd be picked for a Yankee before I'd be. And I have my own ideas on that subject, too – you and your Sagas about —
"'She plays the races' – "
"In my travels," he said, looking me straight in the eye, "it has happened that I have picked up a few foreign folk-songs. You understand me, of course."
"Yes," I replied amiably. "I think I get you, Smith. Whatever you say goes; and you're a Viking as far as I'm concerned."
The slightest shadow of a grin lurked on his lips. "Good old Michael," he said, patting me on the shoulder. And, reconciled, we looked out of the window again in brotherly accord. Just in time to see the golden-haired sister of Thusis rise and jump lightly from the wagon to the grass.
"Did you see that!" he demanded excitedly. "Did you ever see such grace in a human being? Did you, Michael?"
What was the use? I saw nothing supernaturally extraordinary in that girl or in her flying leap. Of course she was attractive in her trim, supple, dainty, soubrette-like way. But as for comparing her to Thusis! —
"Her name's Clelia," I remarked, avoiding further discussion. "She's to do the rooms; Thusis waits on table and runs our establishment; and that other girl down there – her name is Josephine Vannis, I believe – she is to cook for us. You know," I added, "she also is very handsome in her own way…"
He nodded without interest. She seemed to be of the Juno type, tall, dark-haired, with velvet eyes and intensely white skin, – too overwhelmingly classical to awaken my artistic enthusiasm. In fact she rather scared me.
"And to think that six-foot goddess is my new cook," said I, rather awed. I took another intent survey of the big, healthy, vigorous, handsome girl; and I determined to keep out of her kitchen and avoid all culinary criticism.
"She'd not hesitate to hand us a few with a rolling-pin," I remarked. "Juno was celebrated for her quick temper, Shan, so don't find fault with your victuals."
"No," he said very earnestly, "I won't."
My new gardener was now carrying in the assorted luggage, – bundles and boxes of sorts done up in true peasant fashion with cords.
He seemed to be a sturdy, bright, good-looking young fellow with keen black eyes and a lively cock-sure manner.
"He'll raise jealousies below stairs," remarked Smith. "That young fellow is the beau ideal of all peasant girls. He'll be likely to raise the deuce below stairs with Thusis and Juno."
Somehow or other the idea of such rustic gallantry did not entirely please me. Nor did Smith's reference to Thusis and his cool exclusion of Clelia.
"I don't believe Thusis would care for his type," said I carelessly. "And if he gets too – too – " I hesitated, not exactly knowing what I had meant to say.
"Sure," nodded Smith; "fire him if he bothers Clelia."
I dimly realized then that I didn't care whether he cut up with Clelia or not. In fact, I almost hoped he would.
A little later when I was in my room, alone, and agreeably busy, there sounded a low and very discreet knocking at my door. Instantly my pulse, for some unexplained reason, became loud and irregular.
"Come in," said I, laying aside my work – some verses I had been composing – trifles – trifles.
Thusis came in.
As the hostile Trojans rose unanimously to their feet when Helen entered – rose in spite of their disapproval – so I got up instinctively and placed a chair for her. She merely dropped me a curtsy and remained standing.
"Please be seated," said I, looking at her with uneasy suspicion.
"Monsieur O'Ryan forgets himself," she protested in the softest and most winningly demure of voices. But I saw the very devil laughing at me out of her gray eyes.
"I don't know why a man should receive his servants standing," said I. "Sit down," I added coldly, seating myself.
"Pardon, but I could not venture to seat myself in Monsieur's presence – "
Perfectly conscious of the subtle mockery in her voice and manner, I told her sharply to be seated and explain her errand. She curtsied again – a most devilishly impudent little curtsey – and seated herself with the air of a saint on the loose.
"My thisther Clelia, and my friend Jothephine Vannith, and Raoul Dethpreth requetht the honor of rethpectfully prethenting themthelves to Monsieur's graciouth conthideration," she said with an intentional lisp that enraged me.
"Very well," I replied briefly. "You may go back and get rid of your lisp, and then explain to them that you are to be waitress and general housekeeper here, and that they are to take their orders from me through you."
"Yes, Monsieur."
I don't think she relished my dry bluntness for I saw a slight color gather in her cheeks.
I thought to myself that I'd come very close to spoiling the girl by my silliness in the cellar. I'd made a fool of myself, but I'd do it no more in spite of her heavenly resemblance to my photograph.
"That will be all at present, Thusis," I said coldly. "Come back in half an hour for orders. And see that you wear a clean apron."
Her lovely face was quite red as she passed out, forgetting to curtsey. As for my own emotions they were mixed.
One thing was certain; there was going to be a show-down between Thusis and me before very long.
If she were indeed the peasant girl she pretended to be, she'd recover her balance when I did, and learn her proper place. If she were, perhaps, a child of the bourgeoisie – some educated and superior young girl compelled to take service through family misfortune – and I now entertained no further doubt that this was really the case – she had nobody but herself to blame for my present attitude.
But! – but if, by any inexplicable chance, her social circumstances were, or had once been, even better than bourgeoise, then the girl was a political agent in masquerade. But, whoever she was, she had no business to presume on her wit and insolent beauty to amuse herself at my expense. And if she had really been sent by the Swiss police into my household to keep an eye on me she was going about it in a silly and stupid manner.
For such surveillance I didn't care a pewter penny. Spies had lagged after me ever since I entered Switzerland. It was rather amusing than otherwise.
But, as far as Thusis was concerned, I now decided that, no matter what she was or had been, she had voluntarily become my servant; and I intended that she should not again forget that fact.
As I sat there at my desk, grimly planning discipline for Thusis, I chanced to look up at the photograph of "The Laughing Girl"; and stern thoughts melted like frost at sunrise.
How amazingly, how disturbingly the lovely pictured features reminded me of Thusis!
The resemblance, of course, must be pure accident, but what an astonishing coincidence!
Musing there at my desk, possessed by dreamy and pleasing thoughts, I gradually succumbed to the spell which my treasured photograph invariably wove for me.
And I unlocked my desk and took out my verses.
They had been entitled "To Thusis." This I had scratched out and under the canceled dedication I had written: "To a Photograph."
I had quite forgotten that I had told Thusis to report for orders in half an hour: I was deeply, sentimentally absorbed in my poem. Then there came a low knocking; and at the mere prospect of again encountering my exceedingly impudent housekeeper I experienced a little shock of emotion which started my heart thumping about in a most silly and exasperating manner.
"Come in!" I said angrily.
She entered. I kept my seat with an effort.
"Well," said I in an impatient voice, "what is it now?"
Thusis looked at me intently for a moment, then the little devils that hid in her gray eyes suddenly laughed at me, totally discrediting the girl's respectful and almost serious face with its red mouth slightly drooping.
"Monsieur has orders for the household?" she inquired in her sweet, grave voice of a child.
That floored me. I had spoken about giving my orders through her. I didn't know what orders to give.
"Certainly," said I, – "hum-hum! Let me see. – Let – me – see," I repeated. "Yes – certainly – the orders must be given – hum-hum! – "
But what the devil I was to order I hadn't the vaguest idea.
"We'll have luncheon at one," I said, desperately. She made no observation. I grew redder.
"We'll dine, too," I added. Her gray eyes mocked me but her mouth drooped respectfully.
"For further orders," said I, "c-come b-back in half an hour. No, don't do that! Wait a moment. I – I really don't know what sort of an establishment I have here. Hadn't I better make a tour of inspection?"
"Monsieur will please himself."
"I think I'd better inspect things."
"What things, Monsieur?"
"The – the linen press – er – the batterie-de-cuisine– all that sort of thing. Do you think I'd better do it, Thusis?"
"Would Monsieur know any more about them if he inspects these things?" she inquired so guilelessly, so smilingly, that I surrendered then and there.
"Thusis," I said, "I don't know anything about such matters. They bore me. Be a nice child and give what orders are necessary. Will you?"
"If Monsieur wishes."
"I do wish it. Please – take full charge and run this ranch for me and bring me the bills. You see I trust you, Thusis, although you have not been very respectful to me."
"I am sorry, Monsieur," she said with a tragic droop of her lovely mouth. But her eyes belied her.
"Thusis?"
"Monsieur?"
"I won't ask you who you are – "
"Merci, M'sieu."
"Don't interrupt me. What I am going to ask you, is, why do you continually and secretly make fun of me – "
"M'sieu!"
"You do!"
"I, M'sieu?"
"Yes, you, Thusis. Always there is a hint of mockery in your smile, – always the hidden amusement as though, in me, you find something ridiculous – "
"Please! – "
" – Something secretly and delightfully absurd – "
"But you know you are funny," she said, looking a trifle scared at her own temerity.
"What!" I demanded angrily.
"Please be just, Mr. O'Ryan. I minded my own business until you tempted me."
That was perfectly true but I denied it.
"You know," she said, "when a man finds a girl attractive the girl always knows it, even when she's a servant… And certain circumstances made it much more amusing than you realize… I mean to be respectful. I am your servant… But you know very well that it is funny."
"What is funny?"
"The circumstances. You found me attractive. It mortified you. And the way you took it was intensely amusing to me."
"Why?"
"Because you are you; and I am I. Because the fact that you found your cook attractive horrified you. That was intensely funny to me. And when, waiving the degradation, you actually attempted to kiss your own cook – "
Laughter burst from her lips in a silvery shower of rippling notes which enchanted and infuriated me at the same time.
I waited, very red, to control my voice; then I got up and set a chair for her. And she dropped onto it without protest.
"What are you doing in my household?" I asked drily.
At that her laughter ceased and she gave me a straight sweet look.
"Don't you really know?"
"Of course not. You're an agent of some sort. That's evident. Are you here to watch me?"
"Dear Mr. O'Ryan," she said lightly, "have I been at any pains to deceive you? I'm not really a servant; you learned that very easily. And I let you learn it – " She laughed: – "and it was a very pretty compliment I paid you when I let you learn it."
"I don't understand you," I said.
"It's very simple. My name really is Thusis; I wish to remain in your employment. So do my friends. We will prove good servants. You shall be most comfortable, – you and your amusing friend, Mr. Smith —the Norwegian."
I smiled in spite of my suspicion and perplexity, and Thusis smiled too, such a gay little confidential smile that I could not resist the occult offer of confidence that it very plainly implied.
"You are not here to keep tabs on me?" I demanded.
"You very nice young man, of course not!"
