<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
<p><span class="smcap">Elaine Youghal</span> sat at lunch in the
Speise Saal of one of Vienna’s costlier hotels. The
double-headed eagle, with its “K.u.K.” legend,
everywhere met the eye and announced the imperial favour in which
the establishment basked. Some several square yards of
yellow bunting, charged with the image of another double-headed
eagle, floating from the highest flag-staff above the building,
betrayed to the initiated the fact that a Russian Grand Duke was
concealed somewhere on the premises. Unannounced by
heraldic symbolism but unconcealable by reason of nature’s
own blazonry, were several citizens and citizenesses of the great
republic of the Western world. One or two Cobdenite members
of the British Parliament engaged in the useful task of proving
that the cost of living in Vienna was on an exorbitant scale,
flitted with restrained importance through a land whose fatness
they had come to spy out; every fancied over-charge in their
bills was welcome as providing another nail in the coffin of
their fiscal opponents. It is the glory of democracies that
they may be misled but never driven. Here and there, like
brave deeds in a dust-patterned world, flashed and glittered the
sumptuous uniforms of representatives of the Austrian military
caste. Also in evidence, at discreet intervals, were stray
units of the Semetic tribe that nineteen centuries of European
neglect had been unable to mislay.</p>
<p>Elaine sitting with Courtenay at an elaborately appointed
luncheon table, gay with high goblets of Bohemian glassware, was
mistress of three discoveries. First, to her
disappointment, that if you frequent the more expensive hotels of
Europe you must be prepared to find, in whatever country you may
chance to be staying, a depressing international likeness between
them all. Secondly, to her relief, that one is not expected
to be sentimentally amorous during a modern honeymoon.
Thirdly, rather to her dismay, that Courtenay Youghal did not
necessarily expect her to be markedly affectionate in
private. Someone had described him, after their marriage,
as one of Nature’s bachelors, and she began to see how
aptly the description fitted him.</p>
<p>“Will those Germans on our left never stop
talking?” she asked, as an undying flow of Teutonic small
talk rattled and jangled across the intervening stretch of
carpet. “Not one of those three women has ceased
talking for an instant since we’ve been sitting
here.”</p>
<p>“They will presently, if only for a moment,” said
Courtenay; “when the dish you have ordered comes in there
will be a deathly silence at the next table. No German can
see a <i>plat</i> brought in for someone else without being
possessed with a great fear that it represents a more toothsome
morsel or a better money’s worth than what he has ordered
for himself.”</p>
<p>The exuberant Teutonic chatter was balanced on the other side
of the room by an even more penetrating conversation unflaggingly
maintained by a party of Americans, who were sitting in judgment
on the cuisine of the country they were passing through, and
finding few extenuating circumstances.</p>
<p>“What Mr. Lonkins wants is a real <i>deep</i> cherry
pie,” announced a lady in a tone of dramatic and honest
conviction.</p>
<p>“Why, yes, that is so,” corroborated a gentleman
who was apparently the Mr. Lonkins in question; “a real
<i>deep</i> cherry pie.”</p>
<p>“We had the same trouble way back in Paris,”
proclaimed another lady; “little Jerome and the girls
don’t want to eat any more <i>crème
renversée</i>. I’d give anything if they could
get some real cherry pie.”</p>
<p>“Real <i>deep</i> cherry pie,” assented Mr.
Lonkins.</p>
<p>“Way down in Ohio we used to have peach pie that was
real good,” said Mrs. Lonkins, turning on a tap of
reminiscence that presently flowed to a cascade. The
subject of pies seemed to lend itself to indefinite
expansion.</p>
<p>“Do those people think of nothing but their food?”
asked Elaine, as the virtues of roasted mutton suddenly came to
the fore and received emphatic recognition, even the absent and
youthful Jerome being quoted in its favour.</p>
<p>“On the contrary,” said Courtenay, “they are
a widely-travelled set, and the man has had a notably interesting
career. It is a form of home-sickness with them to discuss
and lament the cookery and foods that they’ve never had the
leisure to stay at home and digest. The Wandering Jew
probably babbled unremittingly about some breakfast dish that
took so long to prepare that he had never time to eat
it.”</p>
<p>A waiter deposited a dish of Wiener Nierenbraten in front of
Elaine. At the same moment a magic hush fell upon the three
German ladies at the adjoining table, and the flicker of a great
fear passed across their eyes. Then they burst forth again
into tumultuous chatter. Courtenay had proved a reliable
prophet.</p>
<p>Almost at the same moment as the luncheon-dish appeared on the
scene, two ladies arrived at a neighbouring table, and bowed with
dignified cordiality to Elaine and Courtenay. They were two
of the more worldly and travelled of Elaine’s extensive
stock of aunts, and they happened to be making a short stay at
the same hotel as the young couple. They were far too
correct and rationally minded to intrude themselves on their
niece, but it was significant of Elaine’s altered view as
to the sanctity of honeymoon life that she secretly rather
welcomed the presence of her two relatives in the hotel, and had
found time and occasion to give them more of her society than she
would have considered necessary or desirable a few weeks
ago. The younger of the two she rather liked, in a
restrained fashion, as one likes an unpretentious watering-place
or a restaurant that does not try to give one a musical education
in addition to one’s dinner. One felt instinctively
about her that she would never wear rather more valuable diamonds
than any other woman in the room, and would never be the only
person to be saved in a steamboat disaster or hotel fire.
As a child she might have been perfectly well able to recite
“On Linden when the sun was low,” but one felt
certain that nothing ever induced her to do so. The elder
aunt, Mrs. Goldbrook, did not share her sister’s character
as a human rest-cure; most people found her rather disturbing,
chiefly, perhaps, from her habit of asking unimportant questions
with enormous solemnity. Her manner of enquiring after a
trifling ailment gave one the impression that she was more
concerned with the fortunes of the malady than with oneself, and
when one got rid of a cold one felt that she almost expected to
be given its postal address. Probably her manner was merely
the defensive outwork of an innate shyness, but she was not a
woman who commanded confidences.</p>
<p>“A telephone call for Courtenay,” commented the
younger of the two women as Youghal hurriedly flashed through the
room; “the telephone system seems to enter very largely
into that young man’s life.”</p>
<p>“The telephone has robbed matrimony of most of its
sting,” said the elder; “so much more discreet than
pen and ink communications which get read by the wrong
people.”</p>
<p>Elaine’s aunts were conscientiously worldly; they were
the natural outcome of a stock that had been conscientiously
straight-laced for many generations.</p>
<p>Elaine had progressed to the pancake stage before Courtenay
returned.</p>
<p>“Sorry to be away so long,” he said, “but
I’ve arranged something rather nice for to-night.
There’s rather a jolly masquerade ball on. I’ve
’phoned about getting a costume for you and it’s
alright. It will suit you beautifully, and I’ve got
my harlequin dress with me. Madame Kelnicort, excellent
soul, is going to chaperone you, and she’ll take you back
any time you like; I’m quite unreliable when I get into
fancy dress. I shall probably keep going till some
unearthly hour of the morning.”</p>
<p>A masquerade ball in a strange city hardly represented
Elaine’s idea of enjoyment. Carefully to disguise
one’s identity in a neighbourhood where one was entirely
unknown seemed to her rather meaningless. With Courtenay,
of course, it was different; he seemed to have friends and
acquaintances everywhere. However, the matter had
progressed to a point which would have made a refusal to go seem
rather ungracious. Elaine finished her pancake and began to
take a polite interest in her costume.</p>
<p>“What is your character?” asked Madame Kelnicort
that evening, as they uncloaked, preparatory to entering the
already crowded ball-room.</p>
<p>“I believe I’m supposed to represent Marjolaine de
Montfort, whoever she may have been,” said Elaine.
“Courtenay declares he only wanted to marry me because
I’m his ideal of her.”</p>
<p>“But what a mistake to go as a character you know
nothing about. To enjoy a masquerade ball you ought to
throw away your own self and be the character you
represent. Now Courtenay has been Harlequin since half-way
through dinner; I could see it dancing in his eyes. At
about six o’clock to-morrow morning he will fall asleep and
wake up a member of the British House of Parliament on his
honeymoon, but to-night he is unrestrainedly
Harlequin.”</p>
<p>Elaine stood in the ball-room surrounded by a laughing
jostling throng of pierrots, jockeys, Dresden-china
shepherdesses, Roumanian peasant-girls and all the lively
make-believe creatures that form the ingredients of a fancy-dress
ball. As she stood watching them she experienced a growing
feeling of annoyance, chiefly with herself. She was
assisting, as the French say, at one of the gayest scenes of
Europe’s gayest capital, and she was conscious of being
absolutely unaffected by the gaiety around her. The
costumes were certainly interesting to look at, and the music
good to listen to, and to that extent she was amused, but the
<i>abandon</i> of the scene made no appeal to her. It was
like watching a game of which you did not know the rules, and in
the issue of which you were not interested. Elaine began to
wonder what was the earliest moment at which she could drag
Madame Kelnicort away from the revel without being guilty of
sheer cruelty. Then Courtenay wriggled out of the crush and
came towards her, a joyous laughing Courtenay, looking younger
and handsomer than she had ever seen him. She could
scarcely recognise in him to-night the rising young debater who
made embarrassing onslaughts on the Government’s foreign
policy before a crowded House of Commons. He claimed her
for the dance that was just starting, and steered her dexterously
into the heart of the waltzing crowd.</p>
<p>“You look more like Marjolaine than I should have
thought a mortal woman of these days could look,” he
declared, “only Marjolaine did smile sometimes. You
have rather the air of wondering if you’d left out enough
tea for the servants’ breakfast. Don’t mind my
teasing; I love you to look like that, and besides, it makes a
splendid foil to my Harlequin—my selfishness coming to the
fore again, you see. But you really are to go home the
moment you’re bored; the excellent Kelnicort gets heaps of
dances throughout the winter, so don’t mind sacrificing
her.”</p>
<p>A little later in the evening Elaine found herself standing
out a dance with a grave young gentleman from the Russian
Embassy.</p>
<p>“Monsieur Courtenay enjoys himself, doesn’t
he?” he observed, as the youthful-looking harlequin flashed
past them, looking like some restless gorgeous-hued dragonfly;
“why is it that the good God has given your countrymen the
boon of eternal youth? Some of your countrywomen, too, but
all of the men.”</p>
<p>Elaine could think of many of her countrymen who were not and
never could have been youthful, but as far as Courtenay was
concerned she recognised the fitness of the remark. And the
recognition carried with it a sense of depression. Would he
always remain youthful and keen on gaiety and revelling while she
grew staid and retiring? She had thrust the lively
intractable Comus out of her mind, as by his perverseness he had
thrust himself out of her heart, and she had chosen the brilliant
young man of affairs as her husband. He had honestly let
her see the selfish side of his character while he was courting
her, but she had been prepared to make due sacrifices to the
selfishness of a public man who had his career to consider above
all other things. Would she also have to make sacrifices to
the harlequin spirit which was now revealing itself as an
undercurrent in his nature? When one has inured oneself to
the idea of a particular form of victimisation it is
disconcerting to be confronted with another. Many a man who
would patiently undergo martyrdom for religion’s sake would
be furiously unwilling to be a martyr to neuralgia.</p>
<p>“I think that is why you English love animals so
much,” pursued the young diplomat; “you are such
splendid animals yourselves. You are lively because you
want to be lively, not because people are looking on at
you. Monsieur Courtenay is certainly an animal. I
mean it as a high compliment.”</p>
<p>“Am I an animal?” asked Elaine.</p>
<p>“I was going to say you are an angel,” said the
Russian, in some embarrassment, “but I do not think that
would do; angels and animals would never get on together.
To get on with animals you must have a sense of humour, and I
don’t suppose angels have any sense of humour; you see it
would be no use to them as they never hear any jokes.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” said Elaine, with a tinge of bitterness
in her voice, “perhaps I am a vegetable.”</p>
<p>“I think you most remind me of a picture,” said
the Russian.</p>
<p>It was not the first time Elaine had heard the simile.</p>
<p>“I know,” she said, “the Narrow Gallery at
the Louvre; attributed to Leonardo da Vinci.”</p>
<p>Evidently the impression she made on people was solely one of
externals.</p>
<p>Was that how Courtenay regarded her? Was that to be her
function and place in life, a painted background, a decorative
setting to other people’s triumphs and tragedies?
Somehow to-night she had the feeling that a general might have
who brought imposing forces into the field and could do nothing
with them. She possessed youth and good looks, considerable
wealth, and had just made what would be thought by most people a
very satisfactory marriage. And already she seemed to be
standing aside as an onlooker where she had expected herself to
be taking a leading part.</p>
<p>“Does this sort of thing appeal to you?” she asked
the young Russian, nodding towards the gay scrimmage of
masqueraders and rather prepared to hear an amused
negative.”</p>
<p>“But yes, of course,” he answered; “costume
balls, fancy fairs, café chantant, casino, anything that
is not real life appeals to us Russians. Real life with us
is the sort of thing that Maxim Gorki deals in. It
interests us immensely, but we like to get away from it
sometimes.”</p>
<p>Madame Kelnicort came up with another prospective partner, and
Elaine delivered her ukase: one more dance and then back to the
hotel. Without any special regret she made her retreat from
the revel which Courtenay was enjoying under the impression that
it was life and the young Russian under the firm conviction that
it was not.</p>
<p>Elaine breakfasted at her aunts’ table the next morning
at much her usual hour. Courtenay was sleeping the sleep of
a happy tired animal. He had given instructions to be
called at eleven o’clock, from which time onward the
<i>Neue Freie Presse</i>, the <i>Zeit</i>, and his toilet would
occupy his attention till he appeared at the luncheon
table. There were not many people breakfasting when Elaine
arrived on the scene, but the room seemed to be fuller than it
really was by reason of a penetrating voice that was engaged in
recounting how far the standard of Viennese breakfast fare fell
below the expectations and desires of little Jerome and the
girls.</p>
<p>“If ever little Jerome becomes President of the United
States,” said Elaine, “I shall be able to contribute
quite an informing article on his gastronomic likes and dislikes
to the papers.”</p>
<p>The aunts were discreetly inquisitive as to the previous
evening’s entertainment.</p>
<p>“If Elaine would flirt mildly with somebody it would be
such a good thing,” said Mrs. Goldbrook; “it would
remind Courtenay that he’s not the only attractive young
man in the world.”</p>
<p>Elaine, however, did not gratify their hopes; she referred to
the ball with the detachment she would have shown in describing a
drawing-room show of cottage industries. It was not
difficult to discern in her description of the affair the
confession that she had been slightly bored. From
Courtenay, later in the day, the aunts received a much livelier
impression of the festivities, from which it was abundantly clear
that he at any rate had managed to amuse himself. Neither
did it appear that his good opinion of his own attractions had
suffered any serious shock. He was distinctly in a very
good temper.</p>
<p>“The secret of enjoying a honeymoon,” said Mrs.
Goldbrook afterwards to her sister, “is not to attempt too
much.”</p>
<p>“You mean—?”</p>
<p>“Courtenay is content to try and keep one person amused
and happy, and he thoroughly succeeds.”</p>
<p>“I certainly don’t think Elaine is going to be
very happy,” said her sister, “but at least Courtenay
saved her from making the greatest mistake she could have
made—marrying that young Bassington.”</p>
<p>“He has also,” said Mrs. Goldbrook, “helped
her to make the next biggest mistake of her life—marrying
Courtenay Youghal.”</p>
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