invariably end by doing. But, oh, dear me! oh, Osiris, Termagaunt, and Zeus! to think there are at least a dozen other ne'er-do-wells alive who would prefer to make a mess of living as a grand-duke rather than as a scribbler in Grub Street! Well, well! the jest is not of my contriving, and the one concession a sane man will never yield the universe is that of considering it seriously.'
And he strode on, resolved to be Prince Fribble to the last.
'Frivolity,' he said, 'is the smoked glass through which a civilized person views the only world he has to live in. For, otherwise, he could not presume to look upon such coruscations of insanity and remain unblinded.'
This heartened him, as a rounded phrase will do the best of us. But by-and-bye,
'Frivolity,' he groaned, 'is really the cheap mask incompetence claps on when haled before a mirror.'
And at Leamington Manor he found her strolling upon the lawn. It was an ordered, lovely scene, steeped now in the tranquillity of evening. Above, the stars were losing diffidence. Below, and within arms' reach, Mildred Claridge was treading the same planet on which he fidgeted and stuttered.
Something in his heart snapped like a fiddle-string, and he was entirely aware of this circumstance. As to her eyes, teeth, coloring, complexion, brows, height and hair, it is needless to expatiate. The most painstaking inventory of these chattels would necessarily be misleading, because the impression which they conveyed to him was that of a bewildering, but not distasteful, transfiguration of the universe, apt as a fanfare at the entrance of a queen.
But he would be Prince Fribble to the last. And so, 'Wait just a moment, please,' he said, 'I want to harrow up your soul and freeze your blood.'
Wherewith he suavely told her everything about Paul Vanderhoffen's origin and the alternatives now offered him, and she listened without comment.
'Ai! ai!' young Vanderhoffen perorated; 'the situation is complete. I have not the least desire to be Grand- Duke of Saxe-Kesselberg. It is too abominably tedious. But, if I do not join in with Desmarets, who has the guy- ropes of a restoration well in hand, I must inevitably be-removed, as the knave phrases it. For as long as I live, I will be an insuperable barrier between Augustus and his Sophia. Otototoi!' he wailed, with a fine tone of tragedy, 'the one impossible achievement in my life has always been to convince anybody that it was mine to dispose of as I elected!'
'Oh, man proposes-' she began, cryptically. Then he deliberated, and sulkily submitted: 'But I may not even propose to abdicate. Augustus has put himself upon sworn record as an eye-witness of my hideous death. And in consequence I might keep on abdicating from now to the crack of doom, and the only course left open to him would be to treat me as an impostor.'
She replied, with emphasis, 'I think your cousin is a beast!'
'Ah, but the madman is in love,' he pleaded. 'You should not judge poor masculinity in such a state by any ordinary standards. Oh really, you don't know the Princess Sophia. She is, in sober truth, the nicest person who was ever born a princess. Why, she had actually made a mock of even that handicap, for ordinarily it is as disastrous to feminine appearance as writing books. And, oh, Lord! they will be marrying her to me, if Desmarets and I win out.' Thus he forlornly ended.
'The designing minx!' Miss Claridge said, distinctly.
'Now, gracious lady, do be just a cooing pigeon and grant that when men are in love they are not any more encumbered by abstract notions about honor than if they had been womanly from birth. Come, let's be lyrical and open-minded,' he urged; and he added, 'No, either you are in love or else you are not in love. And nothing else will matter either way. You see, if men and women had been primarily designed to be rational creatures, there would be no explanation for their being permitted to continue in existence,' he lucidly explained. 'And to have grasped this fact is the pith of all wisdom.'
'Oh, I am very wise.' A glint of laughter shone in her eyes. 'I would claim to be another Pythoness if only it did not sound so snaky and wriggling. So, from my trident-or was it a Triton they used to stand on?-I announce that you and your Augustus are worrying yourselves gray-headed over an idiotically simple problem. Now, I disposed of it offhand when I said, 'Man proposes.''
He seemed to be aware of some one who from a considerable distance was inquiring her reasons for this statement.
'Because in Saxe-Kesselberg, as in all other German states, when a prince of the reigning house marries outside of the mediatized nobility he thereby forfeits his right of succession. It has been done any number of times. Why, don't you see, Mr. Vanderhoffen? Conceding you ever do such a thing, your cousin Augustus would become at once the legal heir. So you must marry. It is the only way, I think, to save you from regal incarceration and at the same time to reassure the Prince of Lueminster-that creature's father-that you have not, and never can have, any claim which would hold good in law. Then Duke Augustus could peaceably espouse his Sophia and go on reigning- And, by the way, I have seen her picture often, and if that is what you call beauty-' Miss Claridge did not speak this last at least with any air of pointing out the self-evident.
And, 'I believe,' he replied, 'that all this is actually happening. I might have known fate meant to glut her taste for irony.'
'But don't you see? You have only to marry anybody outside of the higher nobility-and just as a makeshift-' She had drawn closer in the urgency of her desire to help him. An infinite despair and mirth as well was kindled by her nearness. And the man was insane and dimly knew as much.
And so, 'I see,' he answered. 'But, as it happens, I cannot marry any woman, because I love a particular woman. At least, I suppose she isn't anything but just a woman. That statement,' he announced, 'is a formal tribute paid by what I call my intellect to what the vulgar call the probabilities. The rest of me has no patience whatever with such idiotic blasphemy.'
She said, 'I think I understand.' And this surprised him, coming as it did from her whom he had always supposed to be the fiancee of Lord Brudenel's title and bank-account.
'And, well!'-he waved his hands-'either as tutor or as grand-duke, this woman is unattainable, because she has been far too carefully reared'-and here he frenziedly thought of that terrible matron whom, as you know, he had irreverently likened to a crocodile-'either to marry a pauper or to be contented with a left-handed alliance. And I love her. And so'-he shrugged-'there is positively nothing left to do save sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the deaths of kings.'
She said, 'Oh, and you mean it! You are speaking the plain truth!' A change had come into her lovely face which would have made him think it even lovelier had not that contingency been beyond conception.
And Mildred Claridge said, 'It is not fair for dreamers such as you to let a woman know just how he loves her. That is not wooing. It is bullying.'
His lips were making a variety of irrational noises. And he was near to her. Also he realized that he had never known how close akin were fear and joy, so close the two could mingle thus, and be quite undistinguishable. And then repentance smote him.
'I am contemptible!' he groaned. 'I had no right to trouble you with my insanities. Indeed I had not ever meant to let you guess how mad I was. But always I have evaded my responsibilities. So I remain Prince Fribble to the last.'
'Oh, but I knew, I have always known.' She held her eyes away from him. 'And I wrote to Lord Brudenel only yesterday releasing him from his engagement.'
And now without uncertainty or haste Paul Vanderhoffen touched her cheek and raised her face, so that he saw it plainly in the rising twilight, and all its wealth of tenderness newborn. And what he saw there frightened him.
For the girl loved him! He felt himself to be, as most men do, a swindler when he comprehended this preposterous fact; and, in addition, he thought of divers happenings, such as shipwrecks, holocausts and earthquakes, which might conceivably have appalled him, and understood that he would never in his life face any sense of terror as huge as was this present sweet and illimitable awe.
And then he said, 'You know that what I hunger for is impossible. There are so many little things, like common-sense, to be considered. For this is just a matter which concerns you and Paul Vanderhoffen-a literary hack, a stuttering squeak-voiced ne'er-do-well, with an acquired knack for scribbling verses that are feeble-minded enough for Annuals and Keepsake Books, and so fetch him an occasional guinea. For, my dear, the verses I write of my own accord are not sufficiently genteel to be vended in Paternoster Row; they smack too dangerously of human intelligence. So I am compelled, perforce, to scribble such jingles as I am ashamed to read, because I must write
