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Prince or Chauffeur? A Story of Newport

<h3> CHAPTER XIII </h3> <h3> ANNE EXHIBITS THE PRINCE </h3> Prince Koltsoff had enjoyed his luncheon, as only an exacting gourmet whose every canon of taste has been satisfied, can. His appetite was a many-stringed instrument upon which only the most gifted culinary artist could play. Now as he sat dallying daintily with his compote of pears it was patent that Rambon, the Wellington chef, had achieved a dietary symphony. "Mrs. Wellington," he said at length, "you have a saucier par excellence. That sauce de cavitar! If I may say so, it lingers. Who is he? It seems almost—yet it cannot be true—that I recognize the genius of Jules Rambon." "Very well done, Prince Koltsoff," replied Mrs. Wellington, employing phraseology more noncommittal than Koltsoff realized. Anne, who had been gazing languidly out a window giving on Brenton's Reef lightship, where several black torpedo boats and destroyers were manoeuvring, smiled and glanced at the Prince. "You have the instincts of a virtuoso. That was really clever of you. The Duchess d'Izes sent him to mother two years ago. You must speak to him. I 'm afraid he feels he is not altogether appreciated here." The Prince raised his hands. "What a fate!" he exclaimed. "When Rambon was chef for President Carnot, kings and emperors bestowed upon him decorations. I recall that when he created the Parfait Rambon—ah!—the governor of his Province set aside a day of celebration. Rambon unappreciated—it is to say that genius is unappreciated!" He turned apologetically to Mrs. Wellington. "America—what would you?" Mrs. Wellington sniffed ever so slightly. She had become a bit weary of the Russian's assumption of European superiority. She recognized that in Prince Koltsoff she had a guest, her possession of whom had excited among the cottage colony the envy of all those whose envy she desired. So far as she was concerned, that was all she wanted. Now that Anne and the Prince appeared to be hitting it off, she was content to let that matter take its course as might be, with, however, a pretty well defined conviction that her daughter was thoroughly alive to the desirability, not to say convenience, of such an alliance. In her secret heart, however, she rather marvelled at Anne's open interest in the Koltsoff. To be frank, the Prince was boring her and she had come to admit that she, personally, had far rather contemplate the noble guest as a far-distant son-in-law, than as a husband, assuming that her age and position were eligible. So—she sniffed. "My dear Prince," she said, "I will take you to a hundred tables in Newport and—I was going to say ten thousand—a thousand in New York, where the food is better cooked than in any private house in Europe." Touched upon a spot peculiarly tender, Koltsoff all but exploded. "Pouf!" he cried. Then he laughed heartily. "You jest, surely, my dear madame." "No, I fancy not," replied Mrs. Wellington placidly. "Oh, but how can you know! Where is it that the writings of Careme are studied and known? Where is it that the memory of Beauvilliers and the reputations of Ranhofer and Casimir and Mollard are preserved? In Europe—" "In Paris," corrected Mrs. Wellington. "Well. And from Paris disseminated glowingly throughout Europe—'" "And the United States." Koltsoff struggled with himself for a moment. "Pardon," he said, "but, bah! It cannot be." "Naturally, you are at the disadvantage of not having had the experience at American tables that I have had abroad," observed Mrs. Wellington rising. "But we shall hope to correct that while you are here.… As for the sauce you praised, it was not by Rambon—who is out to-day—but by Takakika, his assistant, a Japanese whom Mr. Wellington brought on from the Bohemian Club, I think, in San Francisco." If Koltsoff did not catch Mrs. Wellington's intimation that he must have learned of the presence of Rambon in her kitchen,—which might have been more accurately described as a laboratory,—Anne Wellington did, and she hastened to intervene. "Oh, Prince Koltsoff," she said, "I have been so interested in those torpedo boats out there. They 've been dashing about the lightship all through lunch. What is the idea, do you know?" The Prince glanced out of the window. "I cannot imagine." He gazed over the ocean in silence for several minutes. "Have you a telescope?" he said at length. Anne nodded. "The large glass is on that veranda. And you 'll excuse me until half after three, won't you?" "Until half after three," said the Prince, still rather ruffled as the result of his duel with the mother. Then he went out on the porch and for an hour had the torpedo boats under his almost continuous gaze. "Nothing but hide and seek," he muttered as he finally snapped the shutter of the glass and went to his room to dress. He had quite recovered his spirits when he handed Anne Wellington into the motor car. Armitage had half turned and she caught his eyes. Just the faintest suspicion of a smile appeared on her face as she leaned forward. "Along the Ocean Drive, McCall, down Bellevue Avenue, past Easton's Beach, and out through Paradise. Drive slowly, please." Armitage touched his cap and the car was soon rolling along the Ocean Drive. They had not turned Bateman's Point when Anne had proof of the interest which the advent of the Prince had excited among her set. The Wadsworth girls with young Pembroke, Delaney Drew on horseback, and several others were gathered on the grass of the Point, watching the finish of the race for the Astor cups off Brenton's Reef. As the Wellington car rolled slowly by, every one withdrew attention from the exciting finish which three of the yachts were making, and gazed so hard at the Prince that some of them forgot to return Anne's nod. But the girl understood and smiled inwardly, not altogether without pride. On Bellevue Avenue old Mrs. Cunningham-Jones all but fell out of her carriage, while Minnie Rensselaer, who had been cool lately, was all smiles. And the entrance to the Casino, as Miss Wellington afterward described it, might have been pictured as one great staring eye. She did not attempt to deny to herself that she was enjoying all this. She was a normal girl with a normal girl's love of distinction and of things that thrill pleasurably. She left nothing undone to heighten the effect she and the Prince, or the Prince and she, were creating. Mrs. Rensselaer saw her gazing into the face of her guest with kindling eyes. "Old Lady" Cunningham-Jones saw her touch his arm to emphasize a remark. Whatever may have been the exact degree of Koltsoff's attractions for Anne, it was certain that in the course of the drive, thus far, the situation and not the Russian's personality constituted the strong appeal. The girl was far from a snob and yet this—yes, public parading—of a man whose prospective sojourn in Newport had excited so many tea tables for the past fortnight, had furnished so much pabulum for the digestion of society journalists, involved many elements that appealed to her. Chiefly, it must be confessed, she saw the humor of it; otherwise pride might have obtained mastery—there was pride, of course. There was a whirl of things, in fact, and all enjoyable; also, perhaps, a trifle upsetting, inasmuch as her assumption of more than friendly interest in her guest was not altogether the part of wisdom. The Prince was elated, exalted. It would not have taken a close observer to decide that in his devotion there was no element of the spurious and in his happiness, no flaw. As for Armitage, unseeing, but sensing clearly the drift of things, his eyes were grimly fixed ahead, the muscles of his jaws bulging in knots on either side. This chauffeur business, he felt, was fast becoming a bore. As he started to turn the corner of the Casino block, Anne, seized by a sudden inspiration, ordered him to back around to the entrance. "Would n't you like to stop in the Casino for a few minutes and meet a few people?" she asked, smiling at Koltsoff. The Prince would be only too happy to do anything that Miss Wellington suggested, and so with a warning honk! honk! Armitage ran his car up to the curb. At their side the tide of motor cars, broughams, victorias, coaches, jaunting cars and what not swept unceasingly by. Three sight-seeing barges had paused in their "twelve miles for fifty cents" journey around the island. As the Prince and Anne alighted, a small body of curious loiterers moved forward, among them several photographers, seeing which, Anne lowered an opaque veil over her face, a precaution which the beautiful or famous or notorious of the Newport colony invariably find necessary when abroad. The sight-seeing drivers, with whips poised eagerly, viewed the alighting couple and then turning to their convoy, announced in voices not too subdued: "Miss Anne Wellington, daughter of Ronald Wellington, the great railroad magnate, and the Prince of Rooshia are just gettin' out," indicating the car with their whips. "They say they 're engaged to be married—so far only a rumor. Miss Wellington is the one who put little pinchin' crabs in Mrs. Minnie Rensselaer's finger bowls last year and made a coolness between these two great families." Miss Wellington, whose cheeks felt as though they would burn her veil, saw Armitage's shoulders quivering with some emotion, as she hurried from the sidewalk into the doorway of the low, dark-shingled building and out into the circle of trim lawn and garden. There were groups around a few of the tables in the two tiers of the encircling promenade, but Anne did not know any of them. They strolled on to a passageway under the structure leading to several acres of impeccable lawn, with seats under spreading trees and tennis courts on all sides. An orchestra was playing Handel's "Largo." The low hanging branches sheltered many groups, dotting the green with vivid color notes. A woman with gray veil thrown back and with a wonderful white gown held court under a spreading maple, half a dozen gallants in white flannels paying homage. All about were gowns of white, of pink, of blue, of light green, Dresden colors, tones of rare delicacy mingling with the emerald turf and the deeper green of the foliage. The spell of mid-summer was everywhere present. To Anne it seemed as if the Summer would last for always and that the Casino would never be deserted again, the grass sere and brown or piled with drifts of snow. "Isn't it beautiful!" she exclaimed, as the Prince shook his head negatively at a red-coated page with an armful of camp chairs. "The women," smiled the Prince, "they are superb! I concede freely the supremacy of the American girl." He paused, "It is beautiful. Yet certainly, what place would not be beautiful where you are, Miss Wellington! Do I say too much? Ah, how can I say less!" His eyes were suffused with his emotions. "Don't, please, Prince Koltsoff," she said, lowering her eyes to the turf. "Not here—oh, I mean not—" "Here! I would willingly kneel here and kiss the hem of your skirt. I should be proud that all should see, Anne.… Ah, let us not dissemble—" Anne, thoroughly agitated, suddenly faced the Prince. "Stop! I want you to," she interrupted. "You must. You must not say such things—" she paused, conscious that the eyes of many to whom she had purposed presenting the Prince were turned curiously upon them, although fortunately, from distances comparatively remote. She forced a vivacious smile for the benefit of observers and continued, "You must not say these things until I tell you you may.… Now, please!" as the Prince showed indications of disobeying her wishes. He kept silence and as some manifestations of sulkiness, not inclined to encourage Anne in her intentions of introducing him generally, revealed themselves, she turned and led the way back to the car, where Armitage sat hunched, in no blithe mood himself. In plying him with questions as to himself and his deeds, which developed a mood ardently vainglorious, Anne skilfully led Koltsoff's trend of thought from amatory channels. They stopped at Paradise and Anne and the Prince walked from the roadside across a stretch of gorse to a great crevice in the cliffs, known as the "Lover's Leap." "Here," said the girl, imitating the manner of a guide, "legend says an Indian maiden, very beautiful, was walking with one of her suitors, when a rival accosted them. They drew their knives and were about to fight, when the girl interposed. Pointing to the chasm she declared she would marry the man who first jumped across it." "Ah, the time-worn lover's leap! They have them in England, Russia, Germany—everywhere. America not to be behind—" the Prince wrinkled his brows. "Let me see how closely the Indians followed their European originals. Did they leap?" "They did," smiled the girl. "Both, I believe, were killed." She peered into the dark fissure where the waters wound among the crags fifty feet below. "Ugh! What a fall! Their love must have been wonderfully compelling." "So," replied the Prince, gallantly, "and yet I should do it for a smile from you or at most for a—" he bowed low, seized her hand, and deftly bore it to his lips. She drew it away hastily, a wave of irritation flushing her face, and a powerful revulsion from her former mood of exaltation took possession of her whole being. "You have improved upon knights errant of old," she said slowly. "You seize your guerdon before paying your devoir." She pointed to the chasm, which was about eight feet across at the spot where they were standing. "Your lady waits, Sir Knight." The Prince pushed his hand through his hair and laughed. "Miss Wellington—indeed, indeed, I appreciate your humor. It is well caught. That is to say—ha, ha! Your father will enjoy your wit." "I am waiting," said the girl, as though she had not heard. "Knights—and gentlemen do not take from women that which they are not willing to pay for." "But—" the Prince glanced at the yawning hole. "You surely jest. Why, my dear lady!" The Prince involuntarily stepped backward. Anne smiled maliciously. Her meaning was clear and the Prince flushed. "What man would attempt it!" he exclaimed. "What man indeed," he added, "save one who would throw away his life to no purpose. Come, Miss Wellington, I am sure you do not seek my life." "By no means," said the girl beginning to relent, but still enjoying the success of her coup. "But really that is a small leap for a man. My driver, I believe—" Her face suddenly lighted with a new inspiration. Hastily she walked to the top of the bluff. "McCall," she cried. "Will you come here a minute?" As the two arrived at the chasm, she nodded to the opposite side. "If you cleared that would it be a remarkable leap?" Armitage surveyed the gap with his eye, looked behind him and studied the ground. "Not especially, Miss Wellington, so far as distance is concerned." He had done his nineteen feet in the running broad jump. "Ah, just so," broke in the Prince. "It is the condition which would follow a slip or mistake in judgment." Anne shook her head impatiently at Koltsoff's obvious eagerness. "I do not believe McCall thought of that; nervous systems vary in their intensity." Some part of the situation Armitage grasped. It was clear that for some reason she had dared the Prince to make the jump and that he had declined. The ground upon which they were standing was a few feet above the rocks on the other side of the chasm and the three stood about a dozen feet from the mouth. She turned to Armitage. "Am I right, or do you share Prince Koltsoff's psychological views?" Koltsoff, who from the beginning had chafed at the position in which she had placed him, pitting him against a servant, walked to one side with a low sibilant exclamation. "Not at all," said Armitage, and without further words he drew back a few feet and started swiftly for the fissure. Anne, who had not intended that the incident should thus get away from her, acted upon flashing instinct, before the situation could formulate itself in her mind. She sprang at Armitage as he passed her, her hands tightly clasping about his neck, and pulled him backward with all her strength. Armitage half stumbling, stopped, and the girl, releasing her hands, stepped back with a sob of nervous anger. "You—you—oh, you idiot!" she exclaimed. "How dare you frighten me so! Now—go back to the car!" "I did not mean to frighten you, Miss Wellington," he replied, not altogether in the mild, impersonal tone of a servant. "It was a perfectly easy jump. I thought you—" "Go to your car, please," interrupted the girl sternly. As for Koltsoff, rankling with the knowledge that if he had taken her at her word and essayed to make the leap, she would have prevented him as she had her chauffeur, his mood was no enviable one. Lost opportunities of any sort are not conducive to mental equanimity. He maintained extreme taciturnity throughout the remainder of the drive and Miss Wellington, whose thoughts seemed also absorbing, made no attempt to restore his ardent spirits. When they entered the Wellington driveway, she glanced at Armitage's well-set back and shoulders and smiled. "McCall," she said, as she stood on the veranda, "I want you to go to Mrs. Van Valkenberg's—where you were this morning—and bring her here. You may have to wait." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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