LITMIR.BIZ

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       The door opened suddenly, and Mrs. Latham entered and interrupted us. III.

       I didn't speak again to Irene. The reason was that three days later I received a little note of invitation to lunch at Seymour Crescent from Cesarine Vivian.

       I didn't want to accept it, and yet I didn't know how to help myself. I went, determined beforehand as soon as ever lunch was over to take away the yacht to the Scotch islands, and leave Cesarine and all her enchantments for ever behind me. I was afraid of her, that's the fact, positively afraid of her. I couldn't look her in the face without feeling at once that she exerted a terrible influence over me.[Pg 12]

       The lunch went off quietly enough, however. We talked about Haiti and the West Indies; about the beautiful foliage and the lovely flowers; about the moonlight nights and the tropical sunsets; and Cesarine grew quite enthusiastic over them all. "You should take your yacht out there some day, Mr. Tristram," she said softly. "There is no place on earth so wild and glorious as our own beautiful neglected Haiti."

       She lifted her eyes full upon me as she spoke. I stammered out, like one spell-bound, "I must certainly go, on your recommendation,

       Mdlle. Cesarine."

       "Why Mademoiselle?" she asked quickly. Then, perceiving I misunderstood her by the start I gave, she added with a blush, "I mean,

       why not 'Miss Vivian' in plain English?"

       "Because you aren't English," I said confusedly. "You're Haitian, in reality. Nobody could ever for a moment take you for a mere

       Englishwoman."

       I meant it for a compliment, but Cesarine frowned. I saw I had hurt her, and why; but I did not apologize. Yet I was conscious of

       having done something very wrong, and I knew I must try my best at once to regain my lost favour with her.

       "You will take some coffee after lunch?" Cesarine said, as the dishes were removed.

       "Oh, certainly, my dear," her father put in. "You must show Mr. Tristram how we make coffee in the West Indian fashion."

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       Cesarine smiled, and poured it out--black coffee, very strong, and into each cup she poured a little glass of excellent pale neat co-gnac. It seemed to me that she poured the cognac like a conjuror's trick; but everything about her was so strange and lurid that I took very little notice of the matter at that particular moment. It certainly was delicious coffee: I never tasted anything like it.[Pg 13]

       After lunch, we went into the drawing-room, and thence Cesarine took me alone into the pretty conservatory. She wanted to show me some of her beautiful Haitian orchids, she said; she had brought the orchids herself years ago from Haiti. How long we stood there I could never tell. I seemed as if intoxicated with her presence. I had forgotten now all about my distrust of her: I had forgotten all about Irene and what I wished to say to her: I was conscious only of Cesarine's great dark eyes, looking through and through me with their piercing glance, and Cesarine's figure, tall and stately, but very voluptuous, standing close beside me, and heaving regularly as we looked at the orchids. She talked to me in a low and dreamy voice; and whether the Chateau Larose at lunch had got into my head, or whatever it might be, I felt only dimly and faintly aware of what was passing around me. I was unmanned with love, I suppose: but, however it may have been, I certainly moved and spoke that afternoon like a man in a trance from which he cannot

       by any effort of his own possibly awake himself.

       "Yes, yes," I overheard Cesarine saying at last, as through a mist of emotion, "you must go some day and see our beautiful mountainous Haiti. I must go myself. I long to go again. I don't care for this gloomy, dull, sunless England. A hand seems always to be beckoning me there. I shall obey it some day, for Haiti--our lovely Haiti, is too beautiful."

       Her voice was low and marvellously musical. "Mademoiselle Cesarine," I began timidly.

       She pouted and looked at me. "Mademoiselle again," she said in a pettish way. "I told you not to call me so, didn't I?"

       "Well, then, Cesarine," I went on boldly. She laughed low, a little laugh of triumph, but did not correct or check me in any way. "Cesarine," I continued, lingering I know not why over[Pg 14] the syllables of the name, "I will go, as you say. I shall see Haiti. Why

       should we not both go together?"

       She looked up at me eagerly with a sudden look of hushed inquiry. "You mean it?" she asked, trembling visibly. "You mean it, Mr. Tristram? You know what you are saying?"

       "Cesarine," I answered, "I mean it. I know it. I cannot go away from you and leave you. Something seems to tie me. I am not my own master.... Cesarine, I love you."

       My head whirled as I said the words, but I meant them at the time, and heaven knows I tried ever after to live up to them.

       She clutched my arm convulsively for a moment. Her face was aglow with a wonderful light, and her eyes burned like a pair of diamonds. "But the other girl!" she cried. "Her! Miss Latham! The one you call Irene! You are ... in love with her! Are you not? Tell me!"

       "I have never proposed to Irene," I replied slowly. "I have never asked any other woman but you to marry me, Cesarine."

       She answered me nothing, but my face was very near hers, and I bent forward and kissed her suddenly. To my immense surprise, instead of struggling or drawing away, she kissed me back a fervent kiss, with lips hard pressed to mine, and the tears trickled slowly down her cheeks in a strange fashion. "You are mine," she cried. "Mine for ever. I have won you. She shall not have you. I knew you were mine the moment I looked upon you. The hand beckoned me. I knew I should get you."

       "Come up into my den, Mr. Tristram, and have a smoke," my host interrupted in his bluff voice, putting his head in unexpectedly at the conservatory door. "I think I can offer you a capital Manilla."

       The sound woke me as if from some terrible dream, and I followed him still in a sort of stupor up to the smoking room.[Pg 15] IV.

       That very evening I went to see Irene. My brain was whirling even yet, and I hardly knew what I was doing; but the cool air revived

       me a little, and by the time I reached the Lathams' I almost felt myself again.

       Irene came down to the drawing-room to see me alone. I saw what she expected, and the shame of my duplicity overcame me utterly.

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       I took both her hands in mine and stood opposite her, ashamed to look her in the face, and with the terrible confession weighing me

       down like a burden of guilt. "Irene," I blurted out, without preface or comment, "I have just proposed to Cesarine Vivian."

       Irene drew back a moment and took a long breath. Then she said, with a tremor in her voice, but without a tear or a cry, "I expected it, Harry. I thought you meant it. I saw you were terribly, horribly in love with her."

       "Irene," I cried, passionately and remorsefully flinging myself upon the sofa in an agony of repentance, "I do not love her. I have never cared for her. I'm afraid of her, fascinated by her. I love you, Irene, you and you only. The moment I'm away from her, I hate her, I hate her. For heaven's sake, tell me what am I to do! I do not love her. I hate her, Irene."

       Irene came up to me and soothed my hair tenderly with her hand. "Don't, Harry," she said, with sisterly kindliness. "Don't speak so. Don't give way to it. I know what you feel. I know what you think. But I am not angry with you. You mustn't talk like that. If she has accepted you, you must go and marry her. I have nothing to reproach you with: nothing, nothing. Never say such words to me again. Let us be as we have always been, friends only."[Pg 16]

       "Irene," I cried, lifting up my head and looking at her wildly, "it is the truth: I do not love her, except when I am with her: and then, some strange enchantment seems to come over me. I don't know what it is, but I can't escape it. In my heart, Irene, in my heart of hearts, I love you, and you only. I can never love her as I love you, Irene. My darling, my darling, tell me how to get myself away from her."

       "Hush," Irene said, laying her hand on mine persuasively. "You're excited to-night, Harry. You are flushed and feverish. You don't know what you're

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