PANTHER'S 
 . CUB 
 
 r AGNES AND 
 EGERTON CASTLE

 
 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 IINV, 
 
 O? GALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELED
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 BY 
 
 AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE 
 
 AUTHORS OF 
 
 : RO8E OF THE WORLD," "THE SECRET ORCHARD 
 "THE STAR DREAMER," "WROTH," ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY FLORENCE R. A. WILDE 
 
 ''A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse 
 
 (Canticle of Canticles)
 
 All rights reserved, including that of translation 
 into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian 
 
 Copyright, 1910, by 
 AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE
 
 Stack 
 
 Annex 
 
 CONTENTS 
 BOOK I 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. La Marmora ...... 3 
 
 II. "Fifi" ...... 14 
 
 III. Robecq ...... 20 
 
 IV. The Countess Lovinska . . . . 25 
 
 V. The Training of a Voice ... 31 
 
 VI. Friedrich Meyer ..... 39 
 
 VII. The Daughter of a Star .... 49 
 
 VIII. Desmond Brooke ..... 55 
 
 IX. Sic Vos Non Vobis ..... 60 
 
 X. Partie Carrie ..... 69 
 
 XI. The Aspirant ..... 78 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 I. The Dowager 87 
 
 II. Cassandra ...... 97 
 
 III. Orris's Folly 104 
 
 IV. The Repetitor Ill 
 
 V. Sir Joseph Calls at Branksome . . 119 
 
 VI. Gossip ....... 134 
 
 2126.295
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 VII. The Panther's Den . . . .147 
 
 VIII. The Dowager on the Warpath . .165 
 
 IX. Unprofitable Thoughts . . . . 182 
 
 X. A Dinner at Branksome . . . .189 
 
 XI. Valuable Information . . 202 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 I. Pleasure and Business . . . .213 
 
 II. Innocence in Muslin .... 219 
 
 III. The Last Strawberry Party . . .226 
 
 IV. Storm and Stress ..... 234 
 V. Fritz in Command . . . .239 
 
 VI. Fulvia Hears the Truth . . .252 
 
 VII. Panther Prepares to Spring . . .271 
 
 VIII. Fritz Presumes . . . . .283 
 
 IX. A Proposal of Marriage .... 296 
 
 X. Another Proposal ..... 313 
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 I. Fifi Tells Her Story .... 321 
 
 II. A Change of Plan .... 347 
 
 III. Fritz Arrives 354 
 
 IV. An Exchange of Gifts .... 366
 
 CONTENTS vii 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 V. Orange Blossoms ..... 379 
 
 VI. Fritz Gives His Consent . . .386 
 
 VII. La Marmora's Final Defeat . . . 392 
 
 VIII. Jeanne-Marie Meyer .... 400 
 
 IX. Lady Desmond . ... 4C7
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 There she sat ... all white-robed against 
 
 the dark wall of clipped yew . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 She was standing on the lawn . . . receiv- 
 ing her guests with that urbane, grande 
 dame manner in which she was becom- 
 ing ever more proficient . . . 152 
 
 "Shall I not dance?" she cried, shaking 
 
 her mane once more . . . .196 
 
 "Will you kindly step aside?" said Des- 
 mond to the interloper. " I have to 
 speak to my bride " . . . . 386
 
 BOOK I
 
 LA MARMORA 
 
 "Or COURSE you would not attempt the dance 
 yourself. It's all very well for lima, she's young 
 though, if it comes to that, if I had anything to say to 
 lima, she shouldn't do it. A singer should think of her 
 voice Good God, my dear friend ! " said the impresario, 
 with his fat chuckle, "if a singer does not think of her 
 voice before her soul, I " 
 
 He broke off. The woman opposite to him had yawned 
 in his face; yawned brutally, with a noisy sigh and a dis- 
 play of teeth, white and strong as those of a young dog. 
 
 The Baron de Robecq was not offended, not even taken 
 aback. He paused only because he was essentially a 
 man of business, and he was not going to waste his advice 
 upon unhearing ears. He turned his cigar round and 
 round between his fat, white fingers and waited good- 
 humouredly until the lady's paroxysm had passed. Then, 
 after puffing out a volume of aromatic smoke Baron de 
 Robecq's cigars were of proverbial quality he pro- 
 ceeded in precisely the same level intonation with his 
 interrupted sentence: 
 
 " I wouldn't give a damn for her." 
 
 La Marmora, who was half reclining upon the spare 
 Empire sofa, half supported by her elbow on the small 
 table that divided her from the Baron's armchair, here 
 
 8
 
 4 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 gave her long, lithe body a twist that brought her face 
 considerably nearer that of the smoker. Chin on her 
 interlaced fingers, she fixed him for a moment through 
 narrowed lids. Then she spoke with great deliberation. 
 
 " Robecq, you may shut up about Salome I'm sick 
 to death of the sound of the word, I don't care what lima 
 does. But I know this, I'm bored I'm bored," she 
 repeated on a higher, fuller note. Even in speech, her 
 roice had rich and wonderful inflections; it swelled now 
 like an organ peal. "You haven't got Fritz's talent, 
 you've contrived to bore me, with your Salome. Ah Qa " 
 with a sudden movement she flung herself back on the 
 sofa and lay flat, her eyes sombrely fixing the ceiling: 
 " Do you know, my friend, that you have given me Salome 
 for breakfast, Salome for dinner, Salome for supper, 
 ever since we came to Vienna? I have had it over the 
 ears, and it bores me go then, and talk of it to lima. 
 She's young." The full lips sneered. "She'll take your 
 advice, I daresay. As for me, I'm not sure I shall sing it 
 at all." 
 
 Robecq hoisted himself out of the comfortable depth 
 of his seat, and stood looking down at her philosophically. 
 
 A short, stout man in those middle years of life, when 
 the materialist begins to consider comfort superior to 
 pleasure; he was already bald, and the clipped, pointed, 
 auburn beard was streaked with gray. To a casual ob- 
 server, his somewhat heavy face might have seemed 
 merely typical of an easy good-nature and a large epi- 
 curism. But there was acute intelligence in the glance 
 of the small, quick eyes, and a fine development of brow
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 5 
 
 above them. A materialist the Baron might be; but he 
 was also a man of art, of profound financial and diplo- 
 matic capacity. 
 
 It is the special gift of one powerful race that its sons 
 can combine these apparently antithetic temperaments 
 with so much success. Robecq was of that vast denation- 
 alized nation; and like so many of his Hebrew brothers, 
 spoke most gentile languages with the fluency of the 
 native and the accent of the stranger. 
 
 His English bore curiously the impress of two other 
 tongues; its drawling and emphatic enunciation was trans- 
 atlantic; while the roll of gutterals, and the uncertainty of 
 consonants were German. 
 
 "Why, then, Fulvia," he remarked, after a pause, 
 "we'll give Salome a rest. Anyhow, as I told you yes- 
 terday, I'm not at all keen on your beginning the score 
 till Fritz is back." 
 
 " What did you drag me to this hateful place for, then ? " 
 
 " My dear friend " 
 
 " You know perfectly well that Vienna is no milieu for 
 me. What position have I an opera singer in 
 Vienna? Ah, la sotte vitte / Ah, my fine days in St. 
 Petersburg!" 
 
 " Let us understand each other, Fulvia. Do you want 
 to be heard at Covent Garden? My Lord!" said the 
 man, with a weary laugh, "did you not din it into my 
 ears long enough that I had done nothing for you since 
 I had failed to get you London ? " 
 
 "Well," she snapped, "London's the only centre for 
 an artist. In London an artist is recognized; she takes 
 rank; she "
 
 6 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "She is more sought after than a duchess, and no one 
 inquires into her morals," the other interrupted unemo- 
 tionally. "Granted. You're going to London. But 
 how did I manage it, my dear friend ? The syndicate 
 wouldn't have you, not at any price. There was some one 
 wanted to keep you out, over there " 
 
 " Oh devil take her ! Don't I know ? " 
 
 " But I got you in on Salome the public will have 
 novelty." 
 
 "Aye." The singer reared her superb figure from its 
 lolling attitude; and, one hand on her hip, sketched a 
 sinuous step : " Let her try Salome ce traversin, cette 
 tonne la!" 
 
 With his patient drawl, he brought the erratic mind 
 back to the argument: 
 
 "And you had to see the performance for yourself, 
 hadn't you?" 
 
 But swiftly she attacked him in flank. 
 
 "And why did I not create the part? It was your 
 business, mon cher! And why, since the matter is so 
 important, did you allow Fritz to go to Carlsbad just now, 
 when I wanted him so badly?" 
 
 "Because, if your repetitor is not fit for his work, the 
 prima donna his gout has to be nursed as carefully as 
 your voice, my dear; have you forgotten that?" Here 
 he suddenly paused. What was the good of talking com- 
 mon sense to such a creature? Pie began afresh in a 
 soothing voice. "Every fine artist creates her own part, 
 don't forget that. I wanted you to hear Ilma's reading, 
 not to copy her." 
 
 Fulvia de la Marmora flung herself violently back on
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 7 
 
 her sofa; thrust her fingers into her ears, and gave a short, 
 piercing scream. 
 
 " If you mention lima again, if I hear one word more 
 about that skinny, squalling little brute M on Dieu, 
 let her dance ! That's what she's fit for, to kick the skirts 
 in a cafe-chantant and rap the tambourine. I've heard 
 as good a song through a keyhole ! " 
 
 The prima donna rolled off the couch, drove her silk- 
 stockinged feet into dilapidated pink slippers, and took a 
 restless turn across the window bow. Imperturbably 
 the man shifted his position to watch her. Behind the 
 blue clouds of tobacco smoke his brain was busily working. 
 
 " There's not a woman on the stage can move like that. 
 The Panther never was better nick-name ! Why, she 
 is Salome Strauss's Salome the world's Salome! 
 If she could have Ilma's head on a charger, she'd dance 
 right enough for it, this moment! But it must be this 
 year or never. The body's young enough still but the 
 voice? I shall be very much mistaken if we don't have 
 to lower the score as it is, by half a tone." 
 
 La Marmora halted in her feline prowl, and stood 
 staring down into the gay, spring-lit Ring. All at once 
 she cried in an altered lone : 
 
 "Come here, Robecq!" And as the man approached, 
 she pointed dramatically. A carriage had halted before 
 the hotel entrance. Its splendid horses, coroneted panels, 
 servants smart as only Viennese lacqueys can be, would 
 all have proclaimed a fashionable and aristocratic owner, 
 had not the occupants themselves conclusively settled 
 the point. These were a mother and daughter; "fine," 
 in the French sense, both: with delicate pale faces under
 
 8 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 their spring hats, and that elegant simplicity of attire 
 which demands so expensive a faiseur. The girl was 
 fresh as the primroses at her breast, and charming in her 
 freshness; but, contrasted with her mother, had some- 
 thing of the unsatisfying meagreness of a sketch beside 
 a finished painting. 
 
 Humouring the singer, after his fashion, the impres- 
 sario bent to look. 
 
 "Is it the hats that take your fancy?" he inquired in 
 his unctuous voice. 
 
 "Idiot!" she said. " Wait a minute, wait. He will be 
 back!" 
 
 Even as she spoke, a tall, dark man, as unmistakably 
 English as the ladies in the carriage were of Vienna, 
 emerged from the hotel, and somewhat languidly took a 
 seat opposite to them. Before the carriage drew away 
 with clatter and dash, Robecq's keen glance took a rapid 
 inventory of the countenance of him who had so much 
 interested his prima donna. As refined and pale as the 
 women themselves, and as high-bred; a young man still, 
 but worn-looking, tired. 
 
 " Who is he ? " asked La Marmora, in French this time, 
 still with her pointed finger. 
 
 Robecq shrugged his shoulders he could also be 
 French when occasion suited. She moved back to her 
 sofa with her long, restless step, dropping a slipper on her 
 way. He picked it up and followed her with it: 
 
 "You will catch cold," he said, placing it before 
 her. 
 
 "I want to know who it is," she ordered, kicking the 
 slipper away. " I want to know him."
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 9 
 
 "One can always ask the name in the hall," he con- 
 ceded, patiently. 
 
 " Did you see he had no eyes but for the mother ? That 
 woman was older than I am, Robecq." Then, with her 
 abrupt change of mood, she burst forth and her voice 
 had tears in it. " But I'm also a mother. My God, you 
 would grind the heart out of me in this odious carriere! 
 I am a mother, Robecq, I want my child, I will have my 
 child Robecq ! " She beat the table with her im- 
 patient hand. " I, too, will have my child to drive beside 
 me! I will have a carriage and a pair of chestnuts, and 
 the little one beside me in the Prater. . . . She shall 
 wear a hat with blue wings in it the little one." 
 
 Her long, green eyes, that had an extraordinary lustre 
 between very black lashes, were now suffused. "I have 
 not seen her for how many heavens ! how many 
 years ? " 
 
 He reckoned a moment : " Not since Lausanne 
 getting on for three." 
 
 She wailed. "Lausanne! How can you remind me 
 of it ? . . . the little innocent ! Monsters you are 
 to me, you and Fritz. I will have her telegraphed for, 
 to-day, now!" 
 
 " Now," said Robecq, assenting with perfect amiability. 
 His cigar, two-thirds smoked, he dropped into the 
 grate, and moved to the door. "I will telegraph," he 
 said. 
 
 "As you are going down," she asked in mellifluous 
 tones, "ask the porter the name of that man." 
 
 As Robecq closed the door gently, he laughed. 
 
 La Marmora's tactics were elemental.
 
 10 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Baron de Robecq had two principles in life which had 
 carried him from poverty to affluence; from obscurity to 
 the utmost distinction to which a man of his kind could 
 attain: "Never mix pleasure with business"; "Nothing 
 was ever done in a hurry that could not have been done 
 better with deliberation." 
 
 Madame la Marmora in her eighteen years' professional 
 intercourse with him had been obliged to accept the first 
 of these axioms, though not without a struggle. But to 
 the second, she could never adapt herself. 
 
 When he returned to the sitting room upon the accom- 
 plishment of his errands, he found her raging again. 
 The carpet was strewn with scarce-smoked cigarettes. 
 She paused in the act of striking a fresh match to turn 
 her glare upon him. 
 
 "At last! It takes you then an eternity to ask a ques- 
 tion ! Did I not tell you I was boring myself ? Did you 
 not understand that ? " 
 
 Ascending, her wrathful cry broke suddenly into hoarse- 
 ness. The man raised his eyebrows significantly, then 
 came across the room, took the match from her hand, 
 closed the cigarette box and slipped it into his tail pocket. 
 
 "Hein!" he said then in his crawling voice, "that was 
 a little warning, was it not ? Do that once on the boards, 
 my dear na ! Only go on as you are going, smoke, 
 excite yourself, scream, and you will do it. 'Tis Robecq 
 tells you so." 
 
 There was fear in the still furious glance she flung 
 sideways at him. Her lip trembled. She panted and 
 choked, but Robecq had not spent the years of his man- 
 hood in traffic with that most delicate of all commodities,
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 11 
 
 the human voice, and its concomitant erratic humanity, 
 without having learned how to deal with his wares. Even 
 at the eleventh hour he could avert the storm. 
 
 "It seems," he remarked tranquilly, ''that the man is 
 English." 
 
 The heaving shoulder turned upon him became still. 
 
 "A toff, my dear friend," said Robecq jocularly. "In 
 the Embassy here. One Lord Desmond Brooke." 
 
 " Lord Desmond " - she repeated the name in her 
 softest note. As by a miracle the suffocating tumult 
 within her had subsided. 
 
 "Brother to the Marquis of Sturminster," the Jew 
 proceeded with unction, "and son of that tremendous 
 old lady known as 'Martia Marchioness. ' ' 
 
 "It is the porter told you all that ? " she queried. 
 
 For the first time that day she smiled. Her rather 
 square-cut lips tilted upward, and the full beauty of her 
 face, somewhat hard and brooding in repose, became 
 revealed as by a ray of sunlight. 
 
 "No, Fulvia, no, my dear friend, I happened to have 
 met Sturminster more than once." His eye became remin- 
 iscent; a chuckle gently shook him. "I had the honour 
 also of bowing to 'Martia Marchioness' once; she didn't 
 bow to me. These cast-iron old London ladies unbend 
 to music, most of them, you know but she's an excep- 
 tion." 
 
 The singer made a gesture as if brushing aside an im- 
 portunate fly. 
 
 " What's that to me ? Did you ever meet him ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Robecq ! " She put her head on one side and opened
 
 1 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 her narrow eyes wide upon him. Her voice was caressing. 
 He smiled back at her with utter good- humour. Such 
 creatures had to be treated like children. A good slap 
 when it was necessary; a sweet or a top to keep them quiet 
 afterward. La Marmora had had her slap, she should 
 have her sweet. 
 
 "But I know Darcy at the Embassy," he conceded. 
 
 She clapped her hands: 
 
 " You're a darling old thing." Then she ran her fingers 
 through her hair reflectively, and sank contentedly back 
 on the cushions of the sofa. " C'est ca! You will 
 arrange that." 
 
 "A supper party?" he suggested. 
 
 She drew her brows together: 
 
 " A supper party ? Ah, I don't know. I'm not going 
 to have it a la Bohemienne. I'm a great artist. I'm as 
 good as any of the fine ladies here. Aye and better ! 
 Shall I not have my daughter with me, too? You did 
 wire for Fifi? A mother with her daughter? . . . 
 Come, what do you mean with your supper parties? 
 Who do you take me for ? " 
 
 " A dejeuner, then ? It won't be quite so easy." He 
 rubbed his grizzled beard. "But one can always try. 
 Oh, yes, of course, I wired for Fifi. And you shall drive 
 up in the carriage with the chestnuts, with Miss Fifi beside 
 you in a blue- winged hat." 
 
 Once more mirth gurgled from him. 
 
 "Arrange it, then," she said, with dignity. 
 
 During their conversation he had been collecting, 
 first with one foot, then with the other, into a neat little 
 pile, the cigarettes scattered on the floor. This he now
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 13 
 
 ground under his heel, which execution being accom- 
 plished he went over to the open grand piano and closed it. 
 Then, with the same deliberation he took possession of 
 the score of the opera Salome, which was lying face 
 downward on the stool. 
 
 "It is arranged." He repeated her words. "We 
 shall have a pleasant social time in Vienna and leave 
 Salome until Fritz returns."
 
 II 
 
 "FIFI" 
 
 THE headmistress of the English School where Virginia 
 Lovinska was still pursuing her studies at the some- 
 what unusual age of twenty years and ten months, 
 telegraphed back that the young lady would be dispatched 
 by the next day's express. 
 
 Now it says something for Baron de Robecq's good- 
 nature that the matutinal hour of six-thirty found him 
 pent up in the waiting room of the Westbahn, possessing 
 his soul with characteristic patience till the arrival of the 
 train from Basle should liberate him. 
 
 On the last occasion when he had seen Virginia, or 
 rather Fifi for he never thought of her by any other 
 than her child's pet name she had been still in the 
 hobbledehoy stage of girlhood in spite of her seventeen 
 years. But he trusted to a good memory, coupled 
 with an unusual power of observation, for an easy 
 recognition. Yet, after all, it was the girl herself who 
 hailed him. 
 
 "Hullo, Baron!" Her voice rang out clear and gay 
 and loud, to the shocked discomfiture of the little ex- 
 hausted English teacher, who stood helplessly beside her 
 on the platform. 
 
 "Hush, my dear! Every one will hear you!" 
 
 " Well, what does it matter so long as he hears me ? " 
 
 14
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 15 
 
 cried the girl. "He's come to meet us. Hey, Baron! 
 Here I am!" 
 
 She never could understand why people should be 
 shocked at behaviour that was simply logical. All her 
 years of prim school life had not succeeded in teaching her 
 the value of a single convention. 
 
 The Baron wheeled round ; then he took off his hat, and 
 came forward, with a genial smile that changed into a 
 look of intense surprise, succeeded by one of admiration. 
 Both these emotions were so rapidly superseded again 
 by an air of mere cordiality that it would have required 
 very keen eyes to detect them. 
 
 Neither Virginia nor Miss Smithson observed anything 
 but a businesslike benevolence. 
 
 " Miss Fifi! My word, how you've grown! Where's 
 your luggage ticket ? The hotel porter is waiting for it. 
 Now you both come right along with me to my little car." 
 
 "My dear, you haven't introduced me," fluttered Miss 
 Smithson, who thought the Baron a gentleman of most 
 aristocratic mien. 
 
 " Oh Baron this is Miss Smithson. She's the 
 second English teacher. Madame Aubert had fits at the 
 bare idea of my coming alone!" 
 
 Virginia's ideas of social grace were conspicuous by 
 their absence. But Robecq carried off the situation with 
 what the little governess considered high-bred tact. His 
 bald head shone as he removed his Homburg hat for 
 another bow. 
 
 " Glad to make your acquaintance, Miss Smithson." 
 And on that he shook hands with, as she told herself, 
 blushing agreeably, quite a pressure.
 
 16 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 The little padded landaulette rolled luxuriously through 
 the streets. Robecq from his seat opposite the travellers 
 let his shrewd eye rest in ever larger appreciation on La 
 Marmora's daughter. 
 
 As he looked, he became himself unusually and un- 
 pleasantly conscious of his forty-five years, of his denuded 
 cranium, of his rounded waistcoat. He passed his hand 
 across his chin and felt the gray bristle in his beard 
 through the suede glove. For perhaps the first time 
 in his existence he waxed purely sentimental. "Divine 
 youth glorious youth ! " he said to himself. 
 
 Despite the racking experience of that night's journey 
 which had written itself in a score of grimy lines on the 
 English teacher's sallow countenance, Virginia's youthful 
 vitality emerged triumphant. The disarranged mass of 
 her dark auburn hair seemed to spring from her temples 
 with a life of its own. The short oval face glowed like 
 a ripe fruit, whereon the faint but lovely gold of sunshine 
 itself seemed to overlie the rose and white. 
 
 Robecq's stare prolonged itself and drew her notice 
 with a sudden wondering parting of her lips and widening 
 of her eyes. The mouth was square-cut, the eyes were 
 golden hazel she was a woman, almost. But the soul 
 that looked out of those eyes was that of a child. 
 
 The man gave her a paternal smile. 
 
 "You don't show as if you had been travelling all 
 night," said he, in a banal tone; adding in his mind, and 
 in the vernacular that came most naturally to him : " You 
 peach, you!" 
 
 The girl laughed. 
 
 "Not that I would have cared; only, poor Miss Smith-
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 17 
 
 son could not sleep. So, of course, I couldn't sleep either. 
 She takes a lot of looking after on a journey don't 
 you, Smithy, dear?" 
 
 Robecq's eye twinkled humorously. The teacher 
 had been sent to "look after" the pupil. Yet Madame 
 Aubert had been right: such youth and beauty and inno- 
 cent self-reliance were not to be sent out into the world 
 alone. He did not know himself in this morning's mood. 
 To sentimentality was now being added an emotion re- 
 sembling pity. What was to become of this radiant being ? 
 What mercy would the Panther have upon anything so 
 helpless and so lovely ? 
 
 It was with an effort that he brought his urbanity to 
 respond to Miss Smithson's observation. 
 
 "I am a wretched traveller," the poor spinster was 
 saying, with that singular pride in infirmity which belongs 
 to her type. 
 
 "It is a most trying ordeal," said the Baron. 
 
 Miss Smithson thrilled to the sympathy in his voice. 
 
 " My dear, who is the gentleman ? " she took occasion 
 to whisper to Virginia, as they entered the hotel hall 
 together. "An Austrian nobleman, I suppose." 
 
 "I don't know," said the girl indifferently. "He's 
 Mama's business manager." 
 
 The little governess was incapable of grasping the situa- 
 tion. Everything surrounding a prima donna was to 
 her enveloped in lurid mystery. That such a one should 
 have an Austrian nobleman for business manager a 
 nobleman of such wealth, obviously seemed strange 
 and romantic, and was perhaps wicked. "I will not 
 inquire further," she told herself. "There are things
 
 18 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 I do not want to hear about. . . . But, however 
 wrong, how fascinating the nobility can be!" 
 
 La Marmora's sallow, ugly French maid was waiting 
 for them in the palm lounge at the foot of the stairs. 
 She was a grim creature, whom Virginia associated with 
 most of the unpleasant memories of her childhood. Hers 
 was the hand that had slapped, shaken; that had brushed 
 so excruciatingly, soaped with such disregard of eyes 
 and mouth. 
 
 "You're to come upstairs at once," ordered Elisa. 
 
 "Well, I will say good-bye for the moment," said the 
 Baron. 
 
 But Virginia, unheeding, was already in the lift. Miss 
 Smithson blushed for such discourtesy. 
 
 "I am sure we are very much obliged," she murmured. 
 
 He took the cold, knobby hand in its cotton glove, into 
 his warm, soft clasp. 
 
 "I'm to go back this evening," she faltered, unable 
 to resist the impulse of expansion. "It is Madame 
 Aubert's particular wish." How many years it was since 
 any man had looked at her with eyes of human kinship! 
 "She said I could sleep in the coupe-lit just as well as in 
 my bed." 
 
 "Oh, my dear friend!" said the Baron, and clacked 
 his tongue. "I wonder," he added, as the lift swung out 
 of sight, " have they ordered a room for you ? " 
 
 As he spoke he moved away, and after a quick, master- 
 ful colloquy at the Bureau, returned smiling, a waiter at 
 his heels. 
 
 "You had better go to bed at once, he'll show you a 
 room. And I've ordered breakfast to be brought to you.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 19 
 
 You must want another breakfast coffee and Brod- 
 chen and fresh egg, such as only Vienna can give you. 
 Have it in bed and sleep till dinner. Time enough to see 
 Madame la Marmora when you're rested." 
 
 He bowed to her twice in response to the stammered 
 thanks, and with quick, short steps was gone out into the 
 gay street to his car. 
 
 For ever after he lived in the inmost shrine of Jane 
 Smithson's heart "A real nobleman!"
 
 Ill 
 
 ROBECQ 
 
 BARON DE ROBECQ, financier, operatic manager of 
 European and American celebrity, had in truth been 
 born in Vienna; but that event had taken place in the 
 Judengasse, and the name bestowed upon him by his 
 parents had been Jokanahan Hirsch. These circum- 
 stances had as much passed out of his existence as if 
 they belonged to another incarnation. He acknowledged 
 no memory beyond those subsequent years in New York, 
 when, as John Rehbock, the smart office boy of the firm of 
 Mendoza, Taubman and Maw, Public Entertainment 
 Company, he had begun to mark the leading principles of 
 financial success, in connection with the high commercial 
 potentialities of Art. 
 
 He was barely twenty when he made his first coup. 
 The firm, as often happens where thousands are juggled 
 with daily, found itself in sudden and urgent need of 
 50,000 dollars. The office boy, now confidential clerk, 
 begged for an hour's leave of absence, ran at full speed 
 back to his lodgings and then and there proposed a 
 business transaction to a certain elderly Jewess who had 
 shown him distinct favour ever since they had first made 
 acquaintance. 
 
 " If you trust me with 50,000," he told her deliberately, 
 "I will double it for you within three months." 
 
 20
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 21 
 
 She bade him sit down beside her and expound the 
 situation. Her decision had to be immediate and she 
 made it so. But with one condition : 
 
 " I will risk it," she said, " for my husband." 
 
 Neither did he hesitate. In that brief colloquy (he 
 was fomd of telling his friends) he had recognized a busi- 
 ness mind that matched his own. "What if my first 
 dear wife was twenty-five years older than myself 
 till the day we separated we were one soul." 
 
 It was thus that John Rehbock was admitted by a 
 single bold transaction into two partnerships at once. 
 He made his own terms with the firm. 
 
 One of those fortunate beings of whom it is proverbially 
 said, "everything they touch turns to gold," he could 
 look back now on every stage of his existence with the 
 satisfactory conviction that it had not only helped him 
 definitely on his determined way to fortune, but had been 
 so happily concatenated with the past that there was no 
 retrogression. 
 
 Had not Jokanahan Hirsch chosen America for his 
 adopted land, John Rehbock had not been able so easily 
 to free himself from his first matrimonial alliance, at the 
 ripe moment for the moment did come when this union 
 of business souls was dissolved by mutual consent. Mrs. 
 Rehbock began to find, with increasing years and infirm- 
 ities that the atmosphere of speculation and consequent 
 feverish excitement, which was as the breath of her young 
 husband's nostrils, was too trying for her. She could not 
 reproach him with failure, for he had kept his first promise 
 with biblical prodigality full measure pressed down, 
 running over! Neither, she quite recognized, could she
 
 22 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 expect him to share in her longing for rest and retirement. 
 With the same good-humoured placidity which had 
 marked all their marital relations, they decided to part, 
 and repaired for the purpose to that State where the best 
 legal facilities abounded. They divided lives and spoils 
 with mutual respect, esteem and an odd sort of 
 regret. 
 
 John Rehbock started life again with a halved fortune 
 but a free man. 
 
 After a lengthy European tour connected with ever 
 wider-reaching managerial schemes he returned to New 
 York in possession of a new name Jean de Robecq 
 a well-authenticated Belgian pedigree and religion to 
 match, and a new wife a Dutch lady of considerable 
 personal attractions, excellent society manners, and an 
 aptitude for spending money as great as had been Mrs. 
 Rehbock's capacity for saving. 
 
 To the superficial observer this second matrimonial 
 venture of the rising impresario might have seemed 
 disastrous, for it ended, after a couple of years, in Madame 
 de Robecq's elopement with an Italian tenor, whereupon 
 she was divorced in her turn without the necessity of 
 any pilgrimage to more accommodating regions. But 
 the man found advantages in the affair advantages 
 which counterbalanced the slight unpleasantness of its 
 abrupt conclusion. 
 
 In one unerring swing he had attained social eminence. 
 Madame de Robecq's parties had become famous; for 
 if she had known how to invite and to receive, he had 
 known how to provide such entertainment as royalty 
 itself could scarce achieve and which the most restless
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 23 
 
 and pleasure-seeking society in the world was quick to 
 appreciate. 
 
 Those two years of reckless extravagance and domestic 
 discomfort had been worth the result. When Madame 
 de Robecq opportunely departed, she had served her turn. 
 Jean de Robecq stood where he intended, and was strong 
 enough to stand alone. 
 
 From Rehbock to Robecq, with the added elegance of 
 the particule, had been as natural a transition as from 
 Hirsch to Rehbock. When the title of Baron came to 
 complete this ingenuous edifice in nomenclature, he was 
 ready to receive the crown, the tortil de Baron, without 
 undue elation upon a pate already bald. 
 
 No great operatic venture could be undertaken without 
 his cooperation. Already in every artistic circle, however 
 select, in whatever class, his was a name to conjure with. 
 If Leopold of Belgium had not been the first to recognize 
 his services, by this trifling prefix, his own original sover- 
 eign, or Germany's potentate, would have certainly done 
 so in a very short time. But the cradle of the ancient 
 family of De Robecq is to be found on Belgic lands. 
 And other European nations could not be jealous as, on 
 gala nights, the cosmopolitan nature of his fame was 
 displayed in a miniature chaplet of decorations, which 
 ranged from the Legion d'Honneur to the Croix de St. 
 Nicholas de Montenegro. 
 
 Much of his rapid and complete success had been no 
 doubt owing to his own fortunate business temperament, 
 coupled with unerring artistic sagacity. As some men 
 can instantly distinguish the false and the real in gems, 
 Robecq's flair for the genuine money-maker was such that
 
 4 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 it never once misled him. Besides which the man's 
 luck had become proverbial. 
 
 It was, for instance, by an accidental supper party at 
 the house of a young Polish spendthrift in Biarritz that 
 he first came across La Marmora's superb personality, 
 and recognized the golden possibilities of her voice.
 
 IV 
 
 THE COUNTESS LOVINSKA 
 
 M. JEAN DE ROBECQ not yet Baron but newly 
 released once more from matrimony, had halted at 
 Biarritz, on his way back from Madrid, whither he had 
 gone to verify some wonderful tales anent a new dancer. 
 The dancer failed to strike him in a pecuniary light. 
 In her own atmosphere she passed to the clink of 
 castanets, to white grins on swarthy faces but in New 
 York or Petersburg, her little canaille gifts would have 
 been petrified. 
 
 At the casino at Biarritz, he was hailed by an eager, 
 hectic, handsome youth, who grasped him by both hands, 
 called him mon cher, reminded him effusively of happy 
 meetings in New York, and invited him cordially for the 
 same evening. "I have a little villa on the cliff my 
 buen retiro. You shall have an entertainment . . . 
 je ne vous dis que ca! You shall meet one," he kissed 
 his fingers extravagantly, " a pearl a splendour ! 
 Wait come and see. Je ne vous dis que qa!" 
 
 The impresario, who had been contemplating the 
 young man with his steady, small, urbane eyes, suddenly 
 found a name for the well- remembered face he never 
 forgot a face. 
 
 "Count Lovinski I'm sure I'm very pleased to meet 
 you again!"
 
 26 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Yes he knew him now. The Pole had shot, meteor- 
 like, across the horizon of New York society some two 
 years previously. He had been indeed of Robecq's 
 brand-new salon. He had had then already, Robecq 
 recalled, a talent for discovering pearls from rather low 
 surroundings, and setting them with great, if transient 
 splendour. Robecq had no great taste for such jewellery 
 himself; but he felt genially inclined toward his only 
 acquaintance in the gay Basque town, and he benevolently 
 consented to come and inspect. 
 
 The little villa was situated high on the falaise and com- 
 manded a gorgeous view of Atlantic and Pyrenees. It 
 faced the sunset, and the waters were still glowing with the 
 blood-red afterglow, as he ascended the perron. 
 
 Count Lovinski's pearl at first appeared to the visitor's 
 eye as very much the usual type of gem to be met in such 
 a garconniere. 
 
 She was a fine specimen, he was ready to admit; and 
 paint and dye failed to obliterate real luxuriance of natural 
 beauty. But she had all the tricks of her trade; and the 
 impresario scarcely even found the long looks through 
 half-closed lids, the transparent pettishness, the delib- 
 erate smile, amusing to watch; but halfway through the 
 meal d trois here at least the host had kept his word : 
 je ne vous dis que ca, was quite appropriate to its ridiculous 
 perfection a slight incident occurred which gave a new 
 and unexpected interest to the proceedings. A child's 
 sleepy cry rang out from some inner room, and Count 
 Lovinski's Phryne rose precipitately from the table, and 
 with the exclamation, "My Baby . . .!" rushed from 
 the room with great flutter of satin and gauze.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 27 
 
 "It is her child," said the Count, explaining, between 
 two sips of wine. "I first saw her with the child, mon 
 cher, and she captivated me such an adorable picture ! " 
 
 "A widow?" queried Robecq between two bites of 
 his ortolan. 
 
 "A widow," said the Count, haughtily, instantly adding 
 with great good fellowship, arching his red eyebrows, and 
 flinging out his emaciated hand, shrugging shoulder- 
 blades: " Quien sabe!" 
 
 He leant across the small round table, to whisper; 
 his peaked beard wagging against the orchids as he did 
 so: "A mystery. My very dear Robecq, I know nothing 
 of her. Past or present, a sphinx. She has French 
 blood in her, certainly. A French mother? Probably. 
 Some waif from Mont Martre stranded in Australia. 
 Australian on the father's side such a mixture of wild 
 and decadent blood ! A savage doubled with a chanteuse! " 
 Then he proceeded, his mad, blue eyes growing wistful: 
 "But the little one is a darling. If I could get rid of the 
 mother, and keep the little one 
 
 He broke off. Robecq was laughing, de son rire 
 bonhomme; and there was a sound of singing in the passage 
 without. 
 
 The door was flung open. Clasping to her breast, and 
 rocking as she came a well-grown child of some three 
 years, the mother entered superbly upon them. 
 
 "Good Lord, but the creature has movements she 
 has carriage. I've never seen any one walk like that 
 before, but once a contadina in the Trastevere and it 
 was music, and poetry and strength and balance, and all 
 the arts in one So thought the man who trafficked
 
 28 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 in arts; and then his admiration was checked, for the 
 ear superseded the eye. 
 
 Count Lovinski's camarade was singing a lullaby to her 
 burden; the while, three paces from the door, she halted 
 and stood cradling and rocking; her eyes wandered from 
 face to face challenging. 
 
 Her voice rang out in one glorious high note, sustained, 
 drawn out, fading away and then dropping unerringly, 
 like the lark on the field. 
 
 Robecq sprang to his feet, and the child turned its 
 tangled golden head to smile sleepily at him. 
 
 Jean de Robecq, who had meant to leave the next 
 day for Paris, prolonged his stay at Biarritz. 
 
 Count Lovinski had dropped certain hints that night 
 of their little supper. The impresario had seen with his 
 own unerring glance certain unmistakable signs and 
 tokens. There were loud rumours in the Town. The 
 Polish millionaire was near the end of his tether. He 
 had been in difficulties already when he had formed his 
 connection with the beautiful mysterious being whom 
 he introduced to his friends vaguely, as the Countess 
 Fulvia, and thereafter the end was bound to come with 
 vertiginous rapidity. 
 
 The man of business, who never did anything in a 
 hurry on principle, determined to bide his time. He had 
 spent but a sunny golden September fortnight of delay 
 when the crash duly came. Here was his moment. He 
 stepped in, in his genial way, to offer the lady a more 
 promising, and not less gratifying mode of subsistence. 
 
 As she had already shown him, ''Countess" Fulvia
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 29 
 
 had found motherhood an effective pose. This day she 
 was la mere eploree, clasping her sturdy child to her breast, 
 arraigning heaven with eyes alternately tear-laden and 
 menacing. She ran through the complete series of his- 
 trionic attitudes for the impresario's benefit; all of which 
 he surveyed with the eye of a connoisseur; and sensibilities 
 utterly untouched. 
 
 He was quite willing, however, to fall in with her emotion 
 in furtherance of his own scheme, and spent some time 
 in representing to her how richly this maternal passion 
 would be rewarded for the hard work and other sac- 
 rifices the suggested career would entail. But, in a very 
 few minutes, he had discovered that the fair one's instincts 
 were as commercial as his own; only on different lines. 
 
 It was his golden rule, as has been said, never to mix 
 pleasure and business. Her single and simple maxim 
 was much the reverse. There ensued an explanation in 
 which the impresario very clearly expounded his invari- 
 able method with regard to the wares he dealt in stocks 
 and shares to him and rigidly nothing more. 
 
 Upon this exposition the lady's face had first become 
 distorted with fury; but, upon a second thought, she had 
 angelically smiled, promising herself to put this prag- 
 matic resolve to the test, and thereupon accepting the 
 proposed contract with alacrity. 
 
 The young Polish nobleman's gratitude to his friend 
 for delivering him of his temporarily adored Fulvia was 
 profound ; but he also had his doubts touching the future 
 of the new relations. And he thought it incumbent 
 upon him to drop a word in season : 
 
 "Beware of her, cher ami. Never hope to tame her.
 
 30 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Believe one who knows. It is a panther. Let her but 
 get at your throat, she will not release you till she has 
 sucked to the last drop of your blood." 
 
 Robecq, in his turn, had quite a pleasant smile, as he 
 walked away from the little villa, pondering on his bar- 
 gain a panther . . . ! The simile struck him as 
 apt. The most salient attribute of the lady was her 
 feline grace, with the sense of a crouching power; of 
 caprice and passion; of uncertain, incomprehensible 
 motives behind all the sleek languor. Aye she could 
 spring at a man's throat at a man's heart. Thes? 
 Slavs had a poetic imagery. . . . And drain his 
 blood his Polish blood, no doubt. No doubt, but 
 not Jean de Robecq's not Jokanahan Hirsch's. 
 He smiled again. 
 
 After vainly trying to induce Fulvia to cede him the 
 little Fifi, Count Lovinski, in gallant Polish fashion, 
 and true to his type, committed suicide that night.
 
 V 
 
 THE TRAINING OF A VOICE 
 
 IT WAS to the celebrated Madame Visconti, in Paris, 
 that Robecq confided his new investment Fulvia's voice. 
 But at first it seemed as if, for once, his perspicacity had 
 failed him. The great trainer, after several months' 
 serious work, doubted if she could ever make a prima 
 donna of its owner. 
 
 "My dear Robecq," she cried, candidly, to him one 
 day, " it's a block, my friend ! Oh, I'm not talking of 
 the woman," as he raised his eyebrows "I'm talking 
 of the singer. The voice is there, but about as much 
 use to her, to me, and to you, as a stone! Marble, marble! 
 I can polish it. Oh, I can polish it! But squeeze a drop 
 of divine unction from it ? Never ! Never will she 
 bring tears to any one's eyes. I can put her in a rage, 
 a wild-beast rage, easy enough. Then she'll scream. 
 Oh, she'll scream ! Where did you pick that up ? 
 from what gutter, hein?" 
 
 "From a most artistic little villa, at Biarritz," said 
 Robecq, demurely. 
 
 "I thought so," said Madame Visconti. "Well, put 
 her back in a villa. That's all she's fit for. Oh, I 
 know, I know." With a pair of very small brown hands 
 she waved away his protest. "She sang a lullaby after 
 supper and you thought, after supper ! that you had found 
 
 31
 
 32 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 the voice of the century. You needn't repeat the story 
 all over again. Oh, she's got a voice, I grant you! Yes, 
 it's as pure as crystal, as ringing as a bell. Oh, yes, it's 
 got a tremendous range. She's an Australian born 
 it says everything. You can gather such voices like 
 berries from the hedgerows ... in Australia. . . 
 It's the soil, or the air, or what not. They drop on you 
 like the music of caged larks from the attics of Melbourne 
 slums. But make a singer of her! . . . Frankly, 
 Robecq, she and I will do no good." 
 
 "Oh, my dear friend!" said Robecq, and pleaded for 
 further probation. 
 
 He was not going to be beaten so soon or so easily. 
 He was not prepared to acknowledge a mistake. He 
 remained some time in Paris; paid constant visits to the 
 little apartment where Fulvia was lodged, in unwonted 
 simplicity and an almost continuous state of sulks. Yet 
 the woman had had awakened in her a new and better 
 emotion than that which the most artistic villa could evoke. 
 She had become ambitious. She wanted to succeed, and 
 by her own talent. At Madame Visconti's she had 
 heard wondrous stories of the power and opulence, the 
 brilliant social position of two or three pupils of hers, 
 now world-renowned prime donne. She had seen por- 
 traits of Madame Adelaide, Emma Immer, and La 
 Norma; and had pulled a lip of disdain upon their cor- 
 poreal shortcomings. Madame Visconti, marking her 
 in the mocking contemplation of a signed photograph 
 and reading her thoughts, had told her pretty brutally 
 that no one minded the bird's shape, so it could 
 sing.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB S3 
 
 "But when you've taught me," cried Fulvia, arching 
 her beautiful throat at the mirror 
 
 "You'll do for oratorio, my dear, perhaps," said 
 the teacher with a twinkle in her shrewd eye that had 
 galled Fulvia to the quick. 
 
 Her humour was infamous, therefore, when Robecq 
 found her; but she had set her teeth. She was working. 
 She was trying her best. Perhaps it was that she was 
 trying too hard; for, each time she sang to him, he told 
 himself it was more " deplorable." 
 
 One day, however, his hopes revived with a spring 
 he had treated her to a choice dejeuner at Doyen's, and 
 presented her, on the way home, with a sable stole that 
 had taken her fancy at Revillon Freres. This was all 
 duly platonic, all in the way of business. He had told 
 himself that until she was in a better mood they would 
 do nothing with her. " She must," he said sagely, " have 
 her detente des nerfs." The panther would have to be 
 stroked and set a-purring and then, perhaps, the voice 
 would have some chance. He accompanied her back 
 to the flat he had taken for her in the Rue Lord Byron, 
 pleased, in his good-natured way, with her new content. 
 
 The first thing she did was to dash into her bedroom 
 to survey the effect of her furs in her armoire-a-glace. 
 Apparently the reflection was gratifying; for she began 
 to hum a song which presently waxed louder and louder 
 in her joy, till even the little sitting room rang. 
 
 Robecq, who was lounging on the red-plush sofa, 
 slowly reared himself and sat up, listening intently. 
 
 She broke off abruptly on a high note, and fell again 
 to humming in a muffled way.
 
 34 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 He rose, bounced in upon her without ceremony, and 
 found her, a hatpin in her mouth, engaged in the act of 
 removing her hat to try the effect of the fur on her hair. 
 She spat the pin from her lips, and it clattered on the 
 parquet. 
 
 " Oh, Robecq," she cried, " if I had a toque to match!" 
 
 "Who taught you to sing that song?" he demanded 
 disregarding. His voice was thick and agitated. "You 
 never learnt that with Visconti. Who taught you that?" 
 he repeated, almost fiercely. 
 
 "What's the matter with you? Did you like it?" 
 she smiled. " It was a fiddler called Meyer, in Melbourne, 
 if you want to know." Suddenly her eyes widened 
 upon him. "What do you want to know for?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Because it is the same fellow, I'll swear, that taught 
 you the lullaby, my dear. The lullaby that I never could 
 get you to sing again as you did that night at Biarritz," 
 said the impresario slowly. " If we could find this man, 
 he would be worth his weight in gold, to you and to me. 
 . . . That's why I want to know, my dear." 
 
 Her eyes filled with angry terror. She stooped to pick 
 up her hatpin and turned a scarlet face upon him. 
 
 " What are you doing in my room ? Out of it you 
 go." 
 
 "But what about a toque? You tell me a little more 
 about that Melbourne man, my dear friend, and then 
 we'll go and choose a toque." He gauged her with a 
 keen glance. Her mouth was settling into lines of sullen 
 obstinacy " And a muff," he went on. 
 
 She frowned, but there was a wavering in her eye;
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 35 
 
 she had been starved of finery so long. All at once she 
 had a flashing smile: 
 
 " But of course, you silly old Robecq, what is there to 
 make a mystery about ? Have I not told you everything 
 about my life already? You're rather a bore." She 
 yawned elaborately. "But there was a dream of a 
 muff, to go with that stole, you know." 
 
 " Well, come and sit on the sofa, in the salon," he said 
 patiently. Personally he preferred not to be in her 
 bedroom. "You will tell me all you can remember 
 about this Meyer. He was a fiddler, you say? But 
 he taught you to sing . . . that song and the lullaby. 
 Now for the lies," he said to himself, and folded his fat 
 hands patiently between his knees. 
 
 But Robecq had the determination and the scent of 
 the sleuth-hound. He had sunk a great deal of money 
 already in Fulvia. He was now preparing to sink more. 
 One of the secrets of the builders of great fortunes is 
 perseverance. He had an intimate conviction that his 
 investment could yet be made to pay. And, like a flash 
 of lightning, that snatch of song had shown him the only 
 way. 
 
 Nothing large in life is ever accomplished without 
 imagination, even in so practical a sphere as that of mere 
 money-making. 
 
 "I shall find that man," the financier was saying to 
 himself, " if he be in the land of the living. My 
 luck's not going under, here. He is alive. I shall find 
 him. If he could teach her such phrasing once he can 
 teach her again. Visconti, my dear friend, you're a 
 clever woman, but you're not infallible. You have been
 
 36 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 all these months laboriously laying foundations on sand. 
 Some one has built before you aye, built on that rock, 
 that block, that marble. Some one else has known how 
 to make the woman sing anomaly of stone and panther 
 as she is." 
 
 Meanwhile "the lies" were proceeding. Some were, 
 indeed, already familiar to Robecq. He had heard about 
 the rich home in Australia, the millionaire husband who 
 had married the beautiful heiress whilst still almost in 
 her childhood ; the financial crisis and the suicide of this 
 individual a few weeks after the birth of little Virginia, 
 throwing the lovely young widow, helpless and penniless 
 upon a cruel world. The details varied slightly on each 
 occasion. Fulvia was not a woman of much imagination, 
 and her romancing was on the whole clumsy. Her own 
 family had had necessarily to be swept away, as an after- 
 thought. She had once suggested yellow fever; but on 
 finding that it was not an Australian complaint, fell back 
 on shipwreck in the Pacific as a wholesale method of 
 destruction. 
 
 One of her infirmities as a story-teller, was her inability 
 to remember the names originally bestowed upon the 
 actors in this dramatic past. Now her patronymic would 
 be Mordaunt, now Delaval. 
 
 The individual who had committed suicide had also 
 a variegated nomenclature; but as she had from the 
 beginning determined to be known in Paris as Countess 
 Fulvia Lovinska widow of the owner of that little 
 Biarritz villa she did not find herself personally incon- 
 venienced by these discrepancies. Robecq had acquiesced 
 with tolerance, and not without amusement, in this post-
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 37 
 
 mortem adoption. " She'll stick to that, that's one com- 
 fort." 
 
 Now, as he sat listening, he had however a sharp 
 attention for each fresh mis-statement; waiting for the 
 moment to put the question which would entrap her 
 into something approaching the truth. 
 
 And, finally, he obtained one grain of fact in the middle 
 of all the chaff. A meagre harvest, it would seem, yet 
 sufficient for one who could, where business was con- 
 cerned, unite so much doggedness with such abnormal 
 penetration. After learning some poignant details of 
 the demise of Count Lovinski's predecessor, he was 
 informed that the widow had been obliged to make use 
 of her voice to support herself and her babe. He saw 
 his opportunity and planted his inquiry in his slow, 
 amiable voice: 
 
 "So it was then, dear friend, that Mr. Meyer taught 
 you ? " Her narrow eye had a sudden wary contraction 
 of the pupils. 
 
 "Yes, it was then," she admitted, defiantly. "He 
 was struck by my voice. He was a celebrated singing 
 master ... in Melbourne," she added dreamily. 
 
 "I thought you mentioned that he was a fiddler," 
 pursued Robecq, drawing out his cigar case, to emphasize 
 the carelessness of the remark. 
 
 "He was," she snapped. "He began as a fiddler, 
 in the Opera " she broke off abruptly ; and the furtive 
 frightened gleam came back to her glance, and revealed 
 a slip of the tongue. 
 
 That was the grain. He lit his cigar and puffed at it, 
 with all the appearance of his usual satisfaction. She
 
 38 PANTHER'S CUB * 
 
 had fallen into silence. But by the fluttering dilation of 
 her nostrils, the restless beating of one foot, the changing 
 colour on her cheek, he judged that she was on the verge 
 of one of those outbreaks which as a rule were the signal 
 lor his flight, but which, to-day, he welcomed as a likely 
 source of further self-betrayal. 
 
 "It was Mr. Meyer who taught you also that song, 
 Tsvhich you sang so divinely, the first night we ever met, 
 dear friend ? " 
 
 " And if it were ? What is it to you, Robecq ? What 
 maggot have you got into your head about this man ? 
 He's dead, I tell you. He's dead!" 
 
 Suddenly she screamed. She sprang to her feet and 
 stood, threatening his placid sitting presence like an 
 embodiment of storm. "You don't believe me? Go 
 and see for yourself in the churchyard of Melbourne. 
 Have I not left wreaths on his grave? Did I not pay 
 for the tombstone myself? 'Sacred to the memory of 
 Friedrich Meyer.' Poor old Fritz!" She broke into a 
 passion of sobs.
 
 VI 
 
 FRIEDRICH MEYER 
 
 WHEN Jean de Robecq had reached a safe distance 
 down the Champs-Elyse'es, he sat him down on a bench 
 and proceeded to make the following notes in his pocket- 
 book: "F. M. Violin in the Melbourne Orchestra, 
 King's Theatre. Some date subsequent to 1892 when 
 Brahms's Veilchen was first published." He sat awhile, 
 pondering. 
 
 This gave him comparatively short limits for his investi- 
 gation. Friedrich Meyer was alive as far as Fulvia 
 knew and Fulvia, for reasons of her own, was in abject 
 terror of ever meeting him again. On this point his 
 recent interview had sufficed to convince him. 
 
 " The first of the lot, no doubt," he commented cynically. 
 " He beat her, perhaps." 
 
 Upon this reflection, he rose and pursued his way to 
 the Rue Matignon Post Office, where he indited a lengthy 
 cable to the conductor of the Melbourne Orchestra. 
 
 ReVillon Freres, the noted furriers, received his next 
 visit and were gratified by the order to submit a selec- 
 tion of toques and muffs "to the Comtesse Lovinska"; 
 her choice made, the account to be sent to M. de Robecq 
 for immediate acquittal. 
 
 When he reentered the Hotel du Rhin and let himself 
 sink into the most comfortable chair in the lounge, with 
 
 39
 
 40 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 the soothing Green Chartreuse by his side, he calculated 
 the expenses of the day with full consciousness of their 
 heavy character, yet an agreeable conviction that they 
 were promotion money wisely laid out. 
 
 The next morning he received the expected cable reply : 
 Friedrich Meyer had not been in the Melbourne Orches- 
 tra, to the knowledge of its present chief, who was of 
 recent appointment. But Robecq's name was already a 
 power, and investigation was promised. 
 
 These investigations, however, at the end of a week, 
 only disclosed through a second cable message that one 
 Meyer who had been first violin, had left the town some 
 five years previously. But Robecq had the end of the 
 thread in his fat fingers; and patiently, relentlessly, he 
 followed it up. The conductor of the Melbourne Orches- 
 tra supplemented his second cable by a letter. 
 
 Robecq was at Homburg when it reached him. 
 
 Anxious as his informant had been to please the great 
 impresario, the circumstances had rendered all informa- 
 tion concerning Meyer very difficult to obtain. There 
 had been some five years previous great dispute between 
 the Opera Syndicate and the then orchestral chief, which 
 had led to the latter's resignation and the practical break- 
 ing up of the whole band. At the time of writing only 
 First Flute, a Frenchman, remained of the old musical 
 company. He knew very little of First Violin, his whilom 
 comrade, beyond the fact that Meyer was then about 
 forty, and an able artist, and that he had once heard him 
 say he would stick to his conductor. The latter, one 
 Manuel Zorilla, had left Melbourne for Europe. 
 
 Robecq had gone out with his morning letters. It
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 41 
 
 was his habit to read them under the trees between his 
 first and second glass of water. It took him scarce thirty- 
 six paces to make up his mind. 
 
 Meyer was forty and a first violin. He was not likely 
 to be found in another breadwinning capacity at forty-five. 
 Wherever he was, his work was in an orchestra. Meyer 
 was a German and must have the Teutonic tenacity of 
 disposition. He had announced his intention of sticking 
 to his chief. If this Manuel Zorilla was anywhere still 
 waving the baton, Meyer in all probability was sitting 
 under it of nights. 
 
 Robecq drank glass number two with his usual delibera- 
 tion and sauntered to the Post Office, whence he sent a 
 telegram to a well-known Paris firm of private investiga- 
 tors, requesting them to find the whereabouts of Manuel 
 Zorilla, chef d'orcJiestre whilom of Melbourne. 
 
 Ten days later, Meyer and Robecq stood face to face, 
 in London. Zorilla, alas for deceived ambitions! was 
 conducting the jingle of one of London's half-dozen 
 musical comedies, and Meyer was his first violin. 
 
 In after days Robecq was often wont to say that, from 
 the first moment, he had liked "old Fritz." "Moreover, 
 I recognized, sir, one of the most remarkable beings that 
 I had ever met," he would say, emphasizing certain 
 syllables after his acquired transatlantic fashion. "A 
 genius, my dear friend, not an executant so much, but 
 . . . Have you noticed old Fritz's eye ? Sir, it's the 
 eye of the born trainer. . . ." 
 
 The pity of it was, of course, that, being sought out 
 in this manner by the most famous musical agent of tb*
 
 42 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 day, the struggling artist had naturally built some hope 
 of personal advancement and recognition which had to 
 be instantly shattered. Robecq had averted his glance 
 while he had given the musician clearly to understand 
 that his proposal to him was in no way connected with his 
 present craft ; and Meyer had grown from red to white very 
 rapidly under the blow. This, Robecq ascertained when 
 on his own next remark he looked curiously back at him. 
 
 "I believe," he said, "that once you gave singing 
 lessons ? Did you not, Mr. Meyer ? At least, it is with 
 reference to a whilom pupil of yours that I have requested 
 this interview. A young lady called Fulvia." 
 
 "If you please," said Mr. Meyer, in his simple German 
 way, " I have never known any young lady called Fulvia. 
 I have never been a singing master. There is some 
 mistake. I have the honour to salute you." 
 
 And he dived for his shabby hat. 
 
 A moment Robecq saw his edifice crumble before the 
 mental eye. Was it all erected on Fulvia's lies? He 
 called desperately after the solid retreating back : " Wait 
 a minute, wait a minute! It was in Melbourne. Did 
 you ever teach anybody to sing: " Herz, mein Herz?" 
 He hummed in his voix de tete. 
 
 The great figure stopped suddenly, without turning 
 round. 
 
 "Or," cried Robecq, marking his advantage, "this 
 Wiegen\ied:'Schlaf,Kindchen'. . . ." 
 
 Very slowly the violinist turned and came back. His 
 countenance had grown darkly red again. He did not 
 speak till he was quite close. 
 
 "There was in Melbourne a poor child . . ." he
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 43 
 
 began huskily; and then broke off as if his trembling lips 
 could be trusted no further. 
 
 Robecq, in his secret triumph, spoke volubly for a min- 
 ute or two, falling unconsciously into the language of his 
 hearer. 
 
 "This poor child, lieber freund, is now a very charming 
 woman. The widow, I believe, of a Polish Count. She 
 is the Countess Fulvia Lovinska. She wants to study 
 music professionally. She's got a divine voice, as you 
 know, bester Herr Meyer. But . . . well now, the 
 matter is just this: Madame Visconti, you've heard of 
 course of the great teacher? Well, she has been trying 
 to train her. She can make nothing of her, nix gar 
 nix. But you, Mr. Meyer, you taught her, you somehow 
 managed to teach her. I want you to do it again, for I 
 believe in her career." 
 
 While he was speaking, his acute mind was working 
 at express speed. "Forty-five? Nonsense, the man 
 looked sixty! His great bush of hair was already white. 
 It was impossible to associate any thought of love between 
 this almost venerable, this despite his shabby garb, 
 dignified being, and ' cette superbe canaille, la Fulvia' I" 
 thus the impresario classed her. Her lover? The 
 first of the lot? . . . One never could tell. Here, 
 so far as he could judge, was an honest Teuton, with the 
 stern principles and morality of his race. No Lothario, 
 certainly, in the past any more than in the present 
 Robecq would be shot for that! The very phrase "A 
 poor child . . ." wrung as it was from an undoubted 
 anguish, revealed pity, not remorse. But if not lover, 
 what then ? Father, perhaps
 
 44 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 For a moment he juggled with the thought that here 
 was Fulvia's father in the flesh. But, on reflection, the 
 absence of any trace of German accent or idiom in her 
 speech, or the faintest shadow of German type in her 
 appearance, much less any resemblance to the strong 
 personality before him, made him dismiss the conjecture. 
 
 But if not lover or father what ? 
 
 An odd thought struck the Jew. He measured the 
 burly figure of the musician doubtfully. That would be 
 an inconvenient complication so inconvenient, indeed, 
 that he instantly drove the possibility of it from his mind. 
 Why seek to probe ? Here was a case where the less 
 he knew, the freer he would be to act. He would know 
 nothing. 
 
 "She is a widow, then," said the musician suddenly. 
 He spoke still in his painstaking English, and with a 
 quietness which made the listener draw a breath of 
 relief. He was leaning with his great flexible hand 
 on the table, on the other side of which sat Robecq 
 with his inevitable cigar. And the table shook with 
 the pressure but otherwise there was no sign of 
 emotion ! 
 
 "Yes," drawled Robecq, not without some sense of 
 the humour of his tale, though it was marred for him 
 by the fact that his companion obviously could not enjoy 
 it too, "she has been very unfortunate. She has been 
 widowed at least once before. Her first husband com- 
 mitted suicide, she tells me and so oddly enough did 
 Count Lovinski." 
 
 "So!" said the German. He seemed all at once to 
 become aware of the shaking table; and, removing his
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 45 
 
 hands, he let himself fall into a chair. "Is she now . . . 
 alone?" he asked, slowly and heavily. 
 
 "If you mean, without a husband, yes, for the moment," 
 
 assented Robecq. " She and her little girl " he paused 
 
 suddenly and looked in alarm at Meyer. It was almost 
 as if the latter had called out. But there had been neither 
 sound nor movement from the listener; and Robecq sat 
 a moment or two staring as if he found it difficult to take 
 up the thread of his discourse again. 
 
 It was the violinist who brought him back to the 
 subject. 
 
 "If you will kindly explain your desire with me," he 
 requested in his formal English. 
 
 Robecq laid his cigar on the table and made his desires 
 clear, again launching forth in Viennese German of the 
 most fluent and persuasive description. He begged his 
 best Mr. Meyer to listen patiently and not regard him as 
 a lunatic. As a matter of fact he wanted him to under- 
 take the musical education of the Countess Fulvia Lovin- 
 ska he could not help rolling out this title with a twinkle 
 that verged on the wink, but he might as well have winked 
 at a granite rock as at the massive, set countenance bent 
 to listen. He waited for the protest to his preposterous 
 scheme. But as none came, he glibly proceeded to develop 
 it. 
 
 "I want you to give up your post here. I want you to 
 train this young lady for the Operatic Stage under 
 my guidance. It shall be made worth your while. I feel 
 convinced that you alone can do what I require and that 
 there will be a future for yourself in the business not less 
 honourable and certainly more lucrative than anything
 
 46 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 your present employment is likely to afford you if 
 you succeed. If you don't succeed I pledge myself to 
 find you another post " 
 
 Meyer lifted his hand. It was a slight gesture, but 
 sufficient to make the flow of words stop abruptly. 
 
 "That will not be the question. I must think," said 
 the German. 
 
 He bent his great head. Robecq leaned back in his 
 chair and relit his Havana. He was satisfied with the 
 march of negotiations. The violinist had made no demur, 
 not even a modest disclaimer of his alleged capacity and 
 power. It seemed to be merely a matter of consent. 
 Robecq was convinced by the man's very air of absorbing 
 reflection that the consent would come. 
 
 It was to come, but after a stipulation which, shrewd 
 as he was, the impresario had not anticipated. 
 
 Mr. Meyer rose. 
 
 "I must see her first," he said in a tone of finality. 
 "Then I will let you know." 
 
 Momentary consternation overwhelmed Robecq. 
 
 "What would be the good of that?" he asked, testily. 
 "She has neither the power, nor the intelligence, to make 
 terms with you. Her voice is mine. I have paid good 
 money down for it already, and she's only got to do what 
 I tell her." 
 
 Meyer waited patiently till the protest was concluded 
 in moments of emotion Robecq's drawl became accen- 
 tuated then he repeated : 
 
 "I must see her first. If you will kindly give me the 
 address." 
 
 The sitting man flashed up an acute glance at the stand-
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 47 
 
 ing man; puffed out two fierce volumes of smoke, and 
 without more ado produced his pocketbook and wrote 
 Fulvia's address on his own card, with the added memo- 
 randum, "Claridge's Hotel, four o'clock, Friday, 10th." 
 It was then Tuesday, the 7th. 
 
 "It gives you ample time," he remarked deliberately, 
 as the musician read with his air of grave absorption. 
 The latter nodded; put the card into a rubbed pocket- 
 book of his own, bowed and took his departure all 
 without a word. 
 
 Robecq looked after him exultantly. A sense of 
 xhilaration foreign to his balanced nature had taken 
 possession of him. 
 
 "I have found my man," he announced aloud to the 
 Hotel sitting room. The exclamation represented a 
 more comprehensive content in the discovery than the 
 mere running down of his quarry. 
 
 At four o'clock on Friday, the tenth, Meyer returned 
 exact to the rendezvous. As he entered the room, Robecq 
 watched him anxiously; it struck him that the musician 
 looked even older, grayer in the face, that his massive 
 height was even more bowed. 
 
 "Has the Panther mauled him too much?" he asked 
 himself. What had happened at that interview in Paris 
 the impresario was never to know. But, even as his 
 glance met that of Friedrich Meyer, he received assurance 
 of one fact at least and his disquieting thoughts took 
 flight: these were the eyes of the tamer. 
 
 Meyer disregarded the outstretched hand, the smile 
 of genial welcome, which were here offered to him.
 
 48 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "I will undertake what you ask," he said without any 
 preamble. "But I have conditions." 
 
 "My dear friend . . .!" gushed the other, ready 
 with his assurance; "my dear friend, sit down. That 
 will be no difficulty between us." 
 
 "I will stand, thank you. A few words will suffice." 
 
 Then the few words were spoken. Meyer demanded 
 complete personal independence; he preferred a solitary 
 life. He would never consent to share roof or board 
 with either employer or pupil. He next fixed his own 
 salary. It was what he received in the orchestra. 
 
 Robecq checked the disclaimer that rose instinctively 
 and generously to his lips. His inquisitive eye pondered 
 upon the strange being, but his acumen told him he must 
 take the man on his own terms or not at all. 
 
 The last condition was as simple and as surprising as 
 the rest: there was to be no contract on one side or the 
 other. 
 
 So it came to pass that Madame Visconti's prophecy 
 proved false; and that in due course, Fulvia was revealed 
 to the world a great singer. 
 
 It was Robecq who devised a stage name for her, with 
 a malicious remembrance of the voice-trainer's obloquy 
 "a block, a stone marble, marble!" Before the 
 laurel wreaths of Fulvia la Marmora, the doubtful coronet 
 of Comtesse Lovinska faded into the background.
 
 VII 
 THE DAUGHTER OF A STAR 
 
 VIRGINIA could just remember the Biarritz Villa and 
 its happy days of luxury and petting. 
 
 She believed herself to be the daughter of the unfor- 
 tunate Count, whose name she bore with pride, and whose 
 image she cherished sentimentally. The subsequent 
 interregnum in Paris was chiefly associated with mem- 
 ories of extreme discomfort, broken by a few delirious 
 interludes of maternal adoration and spoiling. It was 
 then Elisa had first appeared upon the scene. Instead 
 of being made much of and brought forward on every 
 possible occasion, instead of being attired like a baby 
 princess and addressed as mignonne, little Fifi seemed 
 nearly always to be in everybody's way, only noticed to be 
 scolded and slapped. The neglected child used to be 
 very cold sometimes, hungry even; all her pretty clothes 
 had gone the way of the sunny nursery, of the carriage, of 
 the kind "papa" and the big dog. 
 
 Then there came another great change. Mama grew 
 rich and happy again ; and Elisa shook and abused her no 
 longer, for there was one who had found her in the act, who 
 had thereupon roared like a lion, and had, as Elisa herself 
 averred, all but flung her out of the third-floor window. 
 
 Fritz old Fritz had come into the child's life; and 
 from that moment, as far as it was possible for the daugh- 
 
 49
 
 50 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 ter of a prima donna whose fame was ever rising, little 
 Fifi, whose official name was still Virginia Lovinska, led 
 the well-regulated existence of any ordinary, respectable, 
 middle-class child. She forgot equally the taste of cham- 
 pagne and the sting of a blow; had bread and milk for 
 supper, went daily to "the good sisters" to be taught 
 things that bored her exceedingly. 
 
 It was when she was eleven that her mama went away 
 for her first great American engagement; and then also 
 it was that Fifi made acquaintance with her first boarding 
 school. She was to grow very familiar with such estab- 
 lishments as years went on. For, with an irregular inter- 
 val of holidays, her girlhood was passed at various pen- 
 sionnats. She was a year at Versailles, under the charge 
 of two Church of England ladies; three years at a very 
 dowdy little parsonage in Germany, guarded and drilled 
 by the Frau Pastorin. It was after a memorable summer 
 visit to her mother at Lausanne that Fritz had himself 
 brought her to Madame Aubert's select Seminary in 
 Geneva, which was conducted on mitigated Calvinistic 
 principles. Past seventeen then, she had been kept 
 there for over three years, though older than any girl in the 
 school. During this time she had not seen her mother 
 at all. Fritz it was, who had taken her away for the 
 holidays, and though she was fond of the old man, these 
 holidays had seemed scarcely less dull than school itself; 
 and Fritz's constant little homilies nearly as unendurable 
 as Madame Aubert's lectures. She hated the state of 
 tutelage with a hatred that grew more rebellious hour by 
 hour. When the summons came, it was like the open- 
 ing of prison gates.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 51 
 
 "Don't you think for an instant," said the girl to Miss 
 Smithson, as the train steamed out of the station in Ge- 
 neva, "that I shall ever come back to this horrible place 
 I'd run away rather. I am sure I don't know why I never 
 did!" 
 
 "Oh, my dear " said Miss Smithson. 
 
 Virginia sat reflecting. Fritz was at Carlsbad, ill; he 
 wrote a regular weekly letter to her, in German; he was 
 very anxious that she should keep up her German 
 these letters invariably began Mein liebes Kind, "my 
 dear child," and ended with Gruss vom alien Fritz, 
 "greetings from old Fritz." They were very simple 
 documents with brief chronicles of La Marmora's and 
 his own doings, and always a little advice about herself. 
 The girl had accepted him into her life as unquestioningly 
 as she had accepted her mother's fame, and the Baron's 
 control of their existence. But to-day she asked herself 
 by what right old Fritz had assumed this tutorship of her- 
 self. He was at Carlsbad, for once out of the way, and 
 her mother from Vienna had bidden her to her side. This 
 she told herself was no coincidence. She had always 
 had a singular idea that it was Fritz's fault that the beau- 
 tiful, wonderful being, who had, on occasion, such treas- 
 ures of maternal love for her, should ever have consented 
 to so long and terrible a separation. Fritz had ridicu- 
 lous notions that theatres and theatrical society were 
 not good for little girls and Fritz would continue to 
 treat her as a little girl, in spite of all her protestations. 
 Twice she had seen her mother weep passionately at 
 parting. 
 
 In most such young hearts the memory of a mother's
 
 52 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 kisses, of a mother's tears, is sufficient to sweep away any 
 recollection of a mother's ill-treatment. Parents talk 
 very sagely of making allowances for their children; one 
 may wonder if they realize what constant allowance chil- 
 dren have to make for them; how generously, how com- 
 pletely, it is made in most cases. Never more generously or 
 completely than as by such a nature as Virginia's, to which 
 rancour was unknown. It was with unmitigated happi- 
 ness, therefore, that she prepared to meet her mother 
 with a sanguine confidence in the maternal affection, and 
 a buoyant determination that now was her moment in 
 Fritz's absence to insure herself against further separation. 
 
 If Fritz, by the mere virtue of his Repetitor's office, 
 could make himself so indispensable to her mother, that 
 he could impose his old-fashioned notions upon her, 
 could not she, the only child, make herself indispensable, 
 too ? more indispensable ? She would be everything, 
 daughter, friend, slave, she would wind herself into the 
 mother-heart, that they should never be torn apart again. 
 
 As she ran down the hotel corridor, leaving Elisa far 
 behind, the girl's whole being was possessed by the 
 single sense of filial love. 
 
 "Is it my child?" cried the well-remembered voice 
 from the scented depths of a dim room. 
 
 Virginia had no reply but tears as she flung herself on 
 the bed. When she found that her mother wept too, as 
 she clasped her, the girl could have died in an ecstasy of 
 tenderness, gratitude and joy. 
 
 "Pull the blinds, Elisa," ordered the singer after the 
 long embrace had exhausted itself, "that I may see my 
 child!"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 53 
 
 It was when the order was obeyed that the first little 
 cloud began to gather on Virginia's radiant horizon. 
 
 "Good heavens!" cried La Marmora. "How long 
 are you, in the name of heaven? Stand up! Au nom 
 du del, Elisa, it is a grenadier an Amazon!" 
 
 How was it possible that she had allowed herself to 
 grow like that ? Virginia's anxious conscience demanded. 
 She stood blushing and guilty; the tears of joy still stand- 
 ing on her cheek. But the narrow green eyes that sur- 
 veyed her, if not approving, were not unkind. Good- 
 humour still held the Panther. A laugh shook the lovely 
 lazy being in the bed. 
 
 "Madame Aubert takes her ideas of fashion from 
 
 Noah's Ark! Elisa " she broke into her fluent 
 
 Boulevard French "is it possible for a human being 
 to be fagotted like that? She really isn't so bad, poor 
 child!" Virginia began to hope again. "We can dress 
 her, we can advantage her if only she were not such 
 a maypole." 
 
 For two days the Marmora devoted herself with energy 
 and enthusiasm to the clothing of the pole in question. 
 Virginia was taken to tailor, dressmaker, milliner, and, 
 in each case, the long consultation that ensued was pre- 
 ceded by the formula: 
 
 "I want something young, young, young, you under- 
 stand. My daughter has the misfortune to be too tall 
 altogether too tall for her age. I want something 
 something noch ganz Backfisch for a young girl not yet out 
 in society." 
 
 Virginia, standing ashamed of her inches and her school 
 clothes, ashamed too, that her mother should forget, or
 
 54 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 pretend to forget, that she was already past twenty, the 
 age of womanhood, would crimson and hang her head 
 looking the awkward Backfisch to the life. 
 
 Madame la Marmora was exceedingly particular about 
 the carrying out of her own ideas; and these consulta- 
 tions occupied a great deal of time and thought; but the 
 result in the end was extraordinarily convincing. Vir- 
 ginia, her hair parted and tied in a Cadogan plait, with 
 artfully cut garments, the simple lines of which gave 
 value to the slimness, but concealed the delicate ripeness 
 of her youth, with shapely feet exposed in the smartest 
 of buckle shoes; with her own unconquerable blushes 
 and smiles, timidity and boldness, appeared what she 
 was meant to do: an overgrown, adorable child. Mad- 
 ame la Marmora's maternal sentiments thereupon knew 
 once again so warm a recrudescence that her daughter 
 could not commit the disloyalty of a thought of criticism.
 
 VIII 
 DESMOND BROOKE 
 
 EXCEPT for one brief spell of emancipation, some 
 three years ago at Lausanne, Virginia Lovinska had 
 known no taste of social life since her remote childhood. 
 Singular memories awoke within her, as she followed 
 her mother into the restaurant on the day of the Baron's 
 dejeuner. The very atmosphere of the .place, the smell 
 of the cigars, food and flowers, of wine and coffee, 
 recalled scenes of those early Paris days before Fritz, 
 the Herr Repetitor, had entered upon her life with 
 his stern solicitude. (Virginia never voluntarily 
 admitted an unkind thought, but she could not feel 
 sorry for the gout that kept Fritz a prisoner away 
 from them.) 
 
 Yet, reminiscent of those wilder pre-Fritzian times as 
 this morning's experience seemed, the girl was conscious of 
 a difference; not only in her mother, but in her mother's 
 guests; even in the Baron's manners. She realized that 
 she had become the daughter of a personage; that this 
 exquisitely attired, rather languid and low-voiced being, 
 would not to-day tear off her hat and thrust the flowers 
 from the table decoration into her hair; that she 
 would not sing the menu card in a high recitative to 
 an admiring, applauding circle; that neither of 
 the two grand English gentlemen would call her 
 
 55
 
 56 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "adorable," or "goddess," would clink glasses with 
 her or hold her hands across the table; that Robecq 
 yet so much the same Robecq as ever would not 
 puff cigar smoke into their faces or take the almonds 
 from her mother's very fingers as roughly as if she were a 
 disobedient child. 
 
 To-day all was, indeed, very different. All was decor- 
 ous to dulness; hardly a word spoken above its fellow, 
 hardly even a laugh. Yet there was something in the air 
 of the place that seemed to get intoxicatingly into Fifi's 
 blood. Perhaps it was the air of Vienna itself; the sun- 
 shine, the spring flowers. She was not given to analysis, 
 but she knew herself singularly happy that morning. 
 During the whole of the Baron's entertainment, the only 
 approach to excitement was provided by herself; she was 
 awkward and terribly the schoolgirl. 
 
 The Baron sat on one side of her; on the other, Mr. 
 Darcy one of the grand gentlemen; the second sat 
 opposite to her, next her mother. In spite of his enviable 
 post, the girl thought him languid almost to discourtesy. 
 At first, indeed, she was not disposed to think him worth 
 her notice. She saw gray streaks in the wave of crisp 
 black hair that dominated his forehead; and in the inso- 
 lence of her youth, she dubbed him old. He looked so 
 tired, too, and so white; and when her mother addressed 
 him, it seemed such an effort for him to answer that it 
 exasperated her girlish vigour. 
 
 But presently she realized that each time she raised 
 her eyes it was to find his glance upon her; not with the 
 caressing kindness with which the Baron's gaze so often 
 met hers, or with the bold curiosity which yonder smart
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 57 
 
 officers had displayed when she passed them just now in 
 her mother's wake. These eyes of Lord Desmond had 
 a deep, thoughtful searching in them; and they were 
 wonderfully, unexpectedly blue between very black 
 lashes. 
 
 Virginia began to crumble her bread. 
 
 Mr. Darcy asked her a question, the kind of question 
 which a budding diplomat who finds himself relegated 
 to a schoolgirl would condescend to put, merely in order 
 not to partake of his meal in utter silence. 
 
 "Do you know Vienna well?" 
 
 Virginia said she did. And then she said she didn't. 
 Then she shook her head and blushed and laughed at 
 her own stupidity; and caught the deep look fixed upon 
 her from across the table, and stretching out her 
 hand in vague confusion for her glass, knocked it over. 
 It was quite full and she did not like wine, and 
 was too timid to ask for water. The contents ran across 
 the table. 
 
 She glanced in terror at her mother and blushed to 
 agony. It was then Lord Desmond bent over and spoke 
 to her for the first time. 
 
 "A libation to the gods for luck!" he said and 
 smiled also for the first time. The smile lit up his 
 pale face with an indescribable pleasantness. Fifi, who 
 had felt miserable under a single dagger-glance of her 
 mother's, had a sudden sense of comfort and support, 
 which all the Baron's purring assurances failed to pro- 
 duce. La Marmora was now smiling, too. 
 
 " Ne te desoles pas, ma Fifi," she said tenderly, in the 
 language that came so easy to her. "As Lord Des-
 
 58 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 mond says, it is luck." She turned to the pale man. 
 "One must make allowances for a schoolgirl." 
 
 When she had swallowed her coffee, Madame la Mar- 
 mora declared that she had a thousand engagements and 
 must depart with her petite. 
 
 "We promised the Grafin, did we not, darling ?" 
 
 Fifi stared. She had heard of no Grafin. But Robecq 
 created a useful diversion by pleading unctuously for 
 more of the ladies' company. 
 
 La Marmora had quite the right tone of distinguished 
 amiability as she refused. She was enjoying her role 
 of grande dame. 
 
 "But it is not good-bye! au revoir, I hope," she went 
 on suavely, as she laid her hand in Lord Desmond's. 
 She turned to Robecq while her hand lingered in the 
 Englishman's loose clasp. "Perhaps," she said con- 
 descendingly, "you will bring your friends to dine with 
 me one night, before we leave." 
 
 Mr. Darcy, much injured that he had received so little 
 attention from the handsome singer, forgot his manners 
 in an abrupt disclaimer. He was very sorry, he was 
 engaged every evening far ahead. 
 
 "Thanks," Lord Desmond said, slowly, in his turn. 
 "Yes, I should like to come." 
 
 There was a lightning triumph under La Marmora's 
 Jieavy lid. But she maintained her dignity, dropped the 
 chill fingers with a little friendly pressure, and with the 
 true aristocratic indifference of tone ordered the impres- 
 ario to "arrange that, my good Baron Thursday or 
 Friday, to Lord Desmond's choice."
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 59 
 
 Fifi's heart had a strange flutter as they moved to the 
 door; as Lord Desmond had accepted, again he had 
 looked at her. 
 
 "I say, Brooke," said Mr. Darcy, turning a sulky pink 
 face upon his companion after they had passed the 
 Kartner Strasse some time in silence. "You're bowled 
 over pretty quick, aren't you? I think I'd rather see 
 her from a box, myself." 
 
 "Oh, really ?" commented the Secretary. 
 
 "As for me, of course," grumbled the attache, full of 
 his recently acquired local savoir-faire, "I only came 
 to-day to oblige old Robecq, who isn't a bad sort, but 
 once is enough, thank you. I don't want to be mixed 
 up with that kind of people. It is all very fine in Lon- 
 don. But in Vienna, my dear fellow !" 
 
 "Oh, damn Vienna," said Desmond Brooke unex- 
 pectedly, but without an inflection in his weary voice. 
 "Don't I know Vienna, oh, Lord, don't I know it, all 
 these years!"
 
 IX 
 SIC VOS NON VOBIS 
 
 ALTHOUGH no man is a hero to his valet, it is quite 
 possible for a woman to be heroine to her maid. To 
 Elisa, cross-grained, ugly, shrewish Elisa, who knew every 
 secret of her mistress's beauty, every twist of her char- 
 acter, La Marmora had remained, after sixteen years' 
 experience, something to be worshipped with a dog-like 
 devotion, to be humoured and borne with in maternal 
 patience. 
 
 La Marmora, true to her type, apart from some cer- 
 tain inevitable and pardonable explosions, was affable 
 to her servants. "Ma bonne Elisa," "ma vieille Elisa," 
 would trip affectionately off her tongue in connection with 
 her orders. "Ma fidele," she called her sometimes. In 
 moments of depression she had wept against her shoulder: 
 "There is but thee to love me in the world." A truer 
 statement, perhaps, than many that the singer was wont 
 to make, though it would have been the last she herself 
 believed. 
 
 Elisa seemed as unresponsive as it was possible to be. 
 Even a dog could have wagged a tail, or licked a caress- 
 ing hand; but her eyes spoke. 
 
 "She is as ugly as sin," La Marmora said of her, "but 
 she's as clever as the devil and she worships me." 
 
 And if she was the only person in the world to love her 
 
 60
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 61 
 
 mistress unreservedly, it seemed as if this strange love of 
 Elisa's had turned all her other feelings in the direction 
 of hate. She hated Robecq because of the contemptuous 
 clear-sightedness which underlay all his dealings with the 
 singer. She hated the fluctuating household, because of 
 its comments and sneers, its discoveries and its inven- 
 tions. She had always hated Virginia; hated her as a 
 child, in her jealousy of those spasmodic maternal out- 
 bursts; hated her worse in her blooming girlhood for its 
 contrast with the beauty which she, better than any one, 
 knew was on the wane. But, above every one, she hated 
 Fritz; and while she hated, she feared him. Fear is a 
 passion which gives an edge to all the other passions, and 
 incomparably heightens their object. 
 
 On the evening of the Friday when Madame la Mar- 
 mora expected Lord Desmond to dinner, Elisa had some 
 trying hours. Ten times her mistress changed her mind 
 with regard to her dress. She did not want to make her- 
 self too beautiful; nor yet too dowdy; nor, heavens, an 
 eccentricity; green did not suit her; pink made her pale, 
 a ghost ! " The white velvet teagown ? Elisa, you 
 want, decidedly, to make me look like an invalid." 
 
 She sat before the mirror, her wonderful hair unbound, 
 drumming on the table and biting her lip. Mutely the 
 maid laid each rejected garment on the bed. 
 
 "What does Madame la Comtesse say to her new 
 toilette de chez Revel, the black crepe de Venise ?" Elisa 
 had never chosen to drop the title her mistress had borne 
 when she first entered her service. 
 
 "My black So that I may look like a mute!" 
 
 But Elisa saw in her lady's eye that the suggestion had
 
 62 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 struck a sympathetic chord ; and, in her incomparable way, 
 was proceeding silently to carry it out, when a knock 
 at the outer door summoned her in another direction. 
 
 "Qu' est-ce encore ?" screamed the Panther. 
 
 "It is a letter, Madame la Comtesse." 
 
 "A letter Bring!" 
 
 Madame la Comtesse had turned white. "The crea- 
 ture! He is not coming " All day the dread of 
 
 this had haunted her. "But give, then!" She snatched 
 the missive and drew a quick breath. "Ah! It is only 
 Robecq. What does he want now ? the imbecile ! " 
 
 What Robecq wanted was set forth in four lines. He 
 deplored that he was unable to secure a fourth to dinner 
 that night to his dear friend's order, and advised that 
 Miss Fifi should be summoned to dine down after all 
 three being an awkward number. He was devotedly 
 hers, Jean de Robecq. 
 
 "Ah, the imbecile!" said La Marmora again; but she 
 said it lightly. Compared to the calamity she had 
 dreaded, this was a very small contretemps. She had not 
 wanted to have Fifi, "on the top of her," that night. No 
 reasonable people were ever o Vaise with a long-legged 
 schoolgirl, all ears and eyes, and blushes, playing non- 
 conductor to the most interesting conversation. But 
 three, that was true, was an awkward number and Fifi's 
 presence was better than a Robecq perpetually cutting in, 
 with his dominating drawl, his fund of anecdote, his fat 
 chuckle. He should occupy himself with Fifi so be it 
 since he had failed in so simple a task. 
 
 She could not do without him, or she would remorse- 
 lessly have revoked her invitation. It was part of her
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 63 
 
 programme to sing a little in the evening, and Robecq 
 must accompany. After Fritz a long way after 
 there was only one who could do this for her, and it was 
 Robecq. 
 
 "Elisa!" 
 
 "Madame la Comtesse?" 
 
 "Tell Fifi to come here quick! but quick!" 
 
 "Ah cal" cried La Marmora as Elisa returned at last, 
 pushing her mistress's daughter before her into the room 
 with much the same spiteful hand that had boxed and 
 shaken in bygone days. "Ah qa, Mademoiselle, you 
 keep me waiting!" 
 
 The mother broke off, stared and added in an altered 
 voice: 
 
 "What is this ? you have been crying ?" 
 
 The sobs struggling in Virginia's throat prevented 
 reply. But the other had seen swollen features, red- 
 dened eyelids. The clouds rolled away from her face. 
 
 "Eh bien, petite sotte! You are to dine down after all. 
 See now what a monster you have made of yourself! 
 Does one cry because one is not yet in society? Come, 
 dress, dress ! Your white chiffon and green sash. Fly 
 get a chambermaid to help you." 
 
 She turned, radiant once more, to her mirror, as the 
 door closed upon Fifi's exit. 
 
 The girl halted a minute in the passage to try and 
 control the fresh rush of tears. Fate was playing her one 
 trick after another; she was to come down, to be at the 
 dinner, after all, and she had made a fright of herself 
 for those blue eyes to see. She could not master the sob 
 that rose in her throat.
 
 64 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Listen to her," said the singer, blithely. "She is 
 crying again, I declare." 
 
 Elisa had a sympathetic grin. She knew why her 
 mistress was pleased; was she not herself pleased for the 
 same reason ? 
 
 "Yes" said La Marmora "I shall wear the black 
 cr6pe and the emeralds, just the emeralds." 
 
 "I am a monster; Mama said so," said Fifi, sur- 
 veying her own reflection disconsolately. 
 
 Miza, the good-natured little Viennese chambermaid, 
 hovering at the back of her chair, was full of comforting 
 suggestions. 
 
 "Na it was only the Spitzle the tip of the Frau- 
 lein's little nose. If Fraulein would put a little powder 
 on it, all would be repaired." 
 
 Fifi had no powder. Schoolgirls are not allowed these 
 snares. But the other was not so easily defeated. She 
 would watch till the Frau Mama went into the sitting 
 room; and she would rush then, borrow the powder and 
 return it, all so quick that no one should know. 
 
 "The Frau Mama's powder," she went on ingenu- 
 ously, "would of a certainty be of a superfine kind." 
 
 Fifi, still shaken with gusty sighs, overcome by the lassi- 
 tude that succeeds such youthful storms, permitted rather 
 than encouraged the audacity. 
 
 Miza returned from her raid, out of breath, triumphant 
 and voluble. She had watched the Gnadige across the 
 passage superb she was! And the old one after her, 
 carrying a scarf all embroidered like peacock's feathers 
 never had she seen such a scarf! And besides the 
 powder, she had found something on the dressing table,
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 66 
 
 which would suit the Fraulein beautifully and match 
 her sash. 
 
 "Something" was a wreath; a delicate strand of trem- 
 bling young oak leaves. Fifi recognized it at once 
 it had taken her mother's fancy in a milliner's shop that 
 morning. 
 
 "But Mama was going to wear it tor night," she fal- 
 tered. 
 
 "Na it is the Fraulein who shall wear it." The 
 maid held it over Fifi's ruddy curls. "Only Fraulein 
 must not wear that plait with it. See, we will turn a little 
 of the Gnadige's Blanc-de-perle into a little saucer and I 
 will pop it back in the room, and then I will be free to do 
 the Fraulein's beautiful hair." 
 
 Once more Miza fluttered out and in. She was laugh- 
 ing gleefully, as she appeared again. 
 
 "Think of it, Mamzell, the old one caught me. That 
 was a joke. I began to powder my own nose! Will 
 Fraulein look at it to see that she can trust hers to me ? 
 'You will come to a bad end,' says the French witch. 
 ' Anyhow,' says I, ' it's further off than yours ! ' So furious 
 she was she never missed the wreath." 
 
 "But I don't know if I dare," said Fifi dreamily. 
 
 The little Viennese paid no attention to her. Her fin- 
 gers were already busy in the thick strands of auburn. 
 She was not Viennese for nothing not chambermaid in 
 the most fashionable hotel without having a special 
 experience. Her fingers were deft, her eyes coquettish and 
 sure. 
 
 "A bunch of curls," she murmured, her mouth full of 
 hairpins. "Ah, pracht Hoar has the Fraulein, it curls
 
 66 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 of itself! At the back of the head a little high the 
 Greek way. And the wreath. A cloud of powder over 
 the face Na! not too much, not too much, the Nasle 
 is already white of itself. But a little, to give interest. 
 There was a lady here, last winter a real countess she 
 was " the words slipped out unawares and unperceived 
 " when she powdered, she would say to me ' a little mys- 
 tery, just a little mystery ! ' Na, now will Fraulein look 
 herself?" 
 
 Fifi looked. The renewed protest: "I daren't wear the 
 wreath," died half spoken. Her heart echoed Miza's 
 quick answer. 
 
 "When one is a beauty, like Mamzell, one can always 
 dare " 
 
 Fifi rose. 
 
 "Now it does not matter, Fraulein being dressed like 
 a Backfisch," said Miza triumphantly. "Her head is the 
 head of a lady." 
 
 Lord Desmond had entered the room but a few seconds 
 before Fifi. In fact, she had waited, with beating heart, 
 at a corner of the passage, to watch him, tall, pale, fatigued, 
 pass slowly in after the waiter. 
 
 She was not witness, therefore, of his first look round 
 the room and of the blankness that succeeded its searching; 
 of the almost insulting indifference if anything so nega- 
 tive as his manner could be called insulting with which 
 he responded to his hostess's greetings. But what she 
 did see was the swift lighting up of those blue eyes, upon 
 her entrance. Her own had found his, unerringly, from 
 the threshold. It was but a momentary flash between 
 them, for as swiftly his eyelids had dropped.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 67 
 
 But, to Fifi, grown woman in all her childish ignorance, 
 it was a sudden light, sudden warmth, sudden intoxica- 
 tion. She reared her head, with its Greek knot, its stolen 
 wreath, to meet her mother's glance, first astonished, then 
 furious Alas, that savage gleam was not altogether 
 unfamiliar ! 
 
 "I know I ought not to have taken the wreath," she 
 was thinking, with a new defiance, " but I don't care what 
 happens afterward. He likes me in it." 
 
 "Miss Fifi!" came the Baron's bland voice at her ear, 
 "I'm de-lighted to see you down." 
 
 His eyes were saying something else something that 
 had kinship with what Desmond's had said : that remote 
 kinship which the glow of a coal fire may have with the 
 flame of sunrise. 
 
 " Du bist ja bezaubernd, Kind," he added, under his 
 voice. She caught the words, unresentful of the famil- 
 iarity was he not, from all time, a kind of old uncle ? 
 unmindful of the something new and distinctly non- 
 avuncular, which had crept into his mien. 
 
 She felt a new Fifi, to-night; miles distant from the 
 schoolgirl that had flung herself with such inner vows of 
 devotion into her mother's arms, only ten days ago. She 
 had thought, then, that if fate allowed her to be a daughter, 
 she would ask no more. Now her whole being demanded 
 something else as with great cries and a turmoil of rest- 
 lessness. What ? She was too much of a child, too unde- 
 veloped in her womanhood, to know how to formulate it 
 even to herself; but for another such look from those blue 
 eyes she felt that she would have faced all the maternal 
 angers. It was not that she loved less, trusted less the
 
 68 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 beautiful, the wonderful being whose daughter it was 
 her privilege to be, but that a feeling deeper and more 
 overpowering was sweeping in upon her life. 
 
 If she was new to herself, she seemed also to present 
 a new aspect to the singer. More than once during the 
 course of that evening, La Marmora's regard fixed itself 
 upon her daughter not with the panther flash, that meant, 
 after all, but the passing of an animal emotion; but with 
 the brooding look that boded infinitely more mischief. 
 It was a look that weighed, and pondered, and decided. 
 It had in it something far beyond anger. Jealousy 
 the love-killer lurked there. 
 
 Yet it but lurked. In the denseness of a magnificent 
 egoism, it was yet impersonal; jealousy of maturity for 
 youth; of the painted face for the matchless bloom of 
 spring; of the sordidly experienced for this ignorance, this 
 innocence, this virginality.
 
 PARTIE CARREE 
 
 IN SPITE of the provided fourth, it was after all Robecq 
 who dominated the conversation, during the meal. The 
 singer, unsure of her ground, and cautious in her set pur- 
 pose, was picking her steps, as it were; she kept her voice 
 to an undertone and spoke little; adopted a weary air, 
 almost as if in imitation of that of her guest. But through 
 her narrowed lids those long, lustrous green eyes flung 
 long, slow looks upon Lord Desmond. 
 
 Through his drawling, desultory talk, the impresario 
 surveyed her with feelings that began in amusement 
 and ended in uneasiness. To see the Panther regard her 
 prey, all her claws in; all purr and sleekness and sinuosity 
 that was amusing. But behind these feline graces 
 his discerning and experienced gaze was aware of the 
 steel of the muscles, the sharpness of the indrawn claws, 
 the set and terrible determination. 
 
 Any prima donna who respects herself must have her 
 established admirers; it is a necessary stimulus to her art, 
 and a wholesome, if she is careful to put her voice first 
 among her cares. La Marmora had had a many-coloured, 
 polyglot collection but she had never taken any of them 
 with seriousness, since the episode of the poor young 
 Pole, with the exception of one stormy experience with 
 a Russian Grand Duke. The impresario believed that 
 
 69
 
 70 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 she had had her lesson, and that she had learnt the incom- 
 patibility of ambition and la grande passion, that the folly 
 would never be repeated. He had, therefore, encouraged 
 what he believed to be a mere useful relaxation a 
 detente des nerfs for the sullen woman who was boring 
 herself. Gaily, indeed, had he facilitated the necessary 
 introduction, believing that Salome would reap the 
 benefit of renewed zest for life. A Salome who was boring 
 herself! he had shuddered at the thought. 
 
 But to-night, as has been said, he was growing uneasy. 
 The developments of the fancy born of a chance glance 
 out of the hotel window threatened to become dangerous. 
 A memory of Lovinski's warning came back into his 
 mind: "She will jump at his throat, she will jump at 
 his throat. . . ." He told himself that he ought to 
 have known better the creature he had dealt with so long; 
 to have known the incredible extravagances of which, 
 with youth slipping from them, such women as Fulvia 
 were capable; to have known that one whose heart had 
 been as a dried fig all her life, may be seized with a passion 
 as devastating as a prairie fire horrible nemesis of the 
 love they have blasphemed. 
 
 And this was the crucial year of La Marmora's career. 
 By Salome she would stand or fall, in London. And 
 with her his own credit. London was yet unconquered 
 by him, and La Marmora was his conquering army. 
 
 "I have made a mistake and I shall have to steer 
 precious carefully," he was thinking. "Yes, precious 
 carefully ! I shall have to deal with her precious carefully. 
 Humour her . . . humour her at least until Fritz 
 returns, Fritz the Tamer."
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 71 
 
 Then his furtive glance wandered to the young crowned 
 head on the other side of him the divine young head 
 that seemed to be encircled with a kind of halo of radiance 
 and beauty. Here was another complication. But it 
 was a complication that he could not regret; nay, it was 
 one which every moment made him more anxious to 
 solve for himself, and that in a manner so agreeable that 
 even his strong head reeled a little as he pondered on it. 
 
 The dinner was served in the prima donna's sitting 
 room, at a small round table. The lights overhanging 
 it were discreetly shaded; the room itself was unusually 
 pretty and artistic for an hotel ; Empire in style with white- 
 panelled walls picked out delicately in gold. There was 
 a set of furniture, genuine "of the period," upholstered 
 in dim green; the chairs had lions' heads and bosses of 
 ormolu. It was all a little too simple for La Marmora's 
 taste. But, on hearing that the apartment was generally 
 reserved for princely guests, she had decided that no 
 other would suit her. She had, however, to-night, deter- 
 mined to make up for what she considered its shortcomings 
 by an extravagance of flowers. 
 
 *' I will have flowers flowers everywhere, Robecq," 
 she commanded " What's that you say lily of 
 the valley ? Suis-je une jemme a muguet moi? 
 Give me carnations the deep carmine sort. . . . 
 And roses, red ones, Robecq. Roses everywhere!" 
 
 Roses therefore glowed in every corner; sheaves of them, 
 superb, long-stalked, velvet-petalled, fire-hearted, mirrored 
 themselves on the mantel-shelf, on the consoles. Carna- 
 tions warred with them in spicier breath and ruddier 
 flame. A bowl in the centre of the table was filled with
 
 72 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 specimen blossoms of that rose the crimson of which is 
 so deep as to be nearly black; the scent of which is so 
 unutterably sweet as to be almost beyond the compass 
 of sense. 
 
 La Marmora, in her emeralds and her black dress, 
 might have seemed of beauty wonderful enough against 
 a background so subtly contrived to set it off, to turn 
 any man's head. But the two who sat with her to-night 
 were singularly proof. Robecq had read her through long 
 ago, and found the page scarce worth the perusal. Lord 
 Desmond had had one measuring glance for her, as she 
 sat down beside him. She had bent for a moment to 
 inhale the soul of a rose, and over it their eyes had met. 
 Paling under the exquisite artifice of her bloom, she had 
 fixed him, her nostrils fluttering, her breast heaving 
 he had looked away from her, without a flicker of expres- 
 sion on his face. After that, he had not raised his eyes 
 higher than her hand when forced to address her but 
 mostly looked at his plate. 
 
 Toward the end of the meal, the impresario and his 
 prima donna had drifted into a private discussion which 
 threatened to shake the lady out of her assumed aristocracy 
 of repose. Roused from her languorous absorption 
 she rolled an eye lively with anger, oblivious of her 
 guest. 
 
 It was then Lord Desmond turned at last toward Fifi. 
 She had sat, most of the time, in a whirl of excitement, 
 mute, scarce conscious of what was going on about her, 
 of anything but the one presence. Absently she was 
 playing with a flower that lay loose before her plate. 
 
 As the deep glance sought her, confusion overcame her;
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 73 
 
 and to conceal it she pretended in her turn to be absorbed 
 in inhaling the scent. 
 
 " Don't ! " said Lord Desmond in a low voice. 
 
 She turned a startled, wide-eyed gaze upon him. 
 "Those roses are abominable," he went on; "keep to the 
 lily of the valley!" 
 
 Again she questioned, with those appealing eyes. 
 
 "The white-and-green lily of the valley," went on the 
 man, speaking quick and low, "with its sharp, fresh 
 scent its clean scent, instead of all this heavy, horrible 
 sweetness. Keep to the lily of the valley." 
 
 "But I haven't any!" her voice rang out. 
 
 Both her mother and Robecq stopped in their wrangle 
 to look at her. And Lord Desmond said no more. His 
 eyes went back to his plate. 
 
 At dessert the girl mustered courage to speak to the 
 Englishman on her own account. 
 
 "Do you like emeralds?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon ?" 
 
 He gave her his attention so quickly that she felt her 
 silly shyness rushing upon her again; to cover it she grew 
 bold. 
 
 "The emeralds of my mama I like them best 
 of all her jewels it was my papa gave them to 
 her." 
 
 No sooner had she said the words that in some inex- 
 plicable way, she had a sense of having committed an 
 enormity. 
 
 Lord Desmond had not as much as shifted his gaze to 
 glance at the green fire that lapped La Marmora's col- 
 umned throat.
 
 74 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Robecq's fingers were in his beard. 
 
 The girl turned desperately to him. 
 
 "You knew Papa, didn't you ?" she cried with a break 
 in her voice. She could not imagine what prompted the 
 question; but she was conscious of fresh enormity upon 
 its propounding. 
 
 Her mother fixed her across the table with the gaze 
 that brooded and plotted, the gaze that was so evil. 
 
 "I certainly knew the Count," said Robecq after a 
 pause. His slow, unemotional utterance relieved the 
 surcharged atmosphere. And Fifi, who had trembled 
 on the verge of the utter disgrace of tears, drew a quiver- 
 ing breath. 
 
 "Don't you think we've had enough food," said the 
 singer, rising abruptly. "Lord Desmond " her voice 
 sank from its harsh vibration to the undertone that the 
 Baron called her purr. "I will perhaps sing you a little 
 song, by and by. Sit on the sofa, here, with your cigar- 
 ette, and tell me what I shall sing." 
 
 Royalty reverses all the usual social rules, invites itself 
 to other people's houses, chooses the guests it will meet 
 there. The Kings and Queens of Art confer their favours 
 in much the same way. It is the last solecism to ask 
 them for what it is etiquette to press the dilettante to 
 give. So La Marmora regally proposed to sing. No 
 millionaire could have bought the grace of her; indeed 
 it was hardly hers to give, and she shot defiance at her 
 manager even as she spoke. 
 
 "Not for an hour at least," was the latter's only com- 
 ment and drily enough given. 
 
 "If I refuse," he thought, "she will make me a scene
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 75 
 
 afterward, and scream anything is better than that 
 she should scream." 
 
 He had a certain rueful, yet humorous revanche in 
 observing the extreme moderation of Lord Desmond's 
 gratitude. 
 
 "She will do nothing with him," he said to himself. 
 "Poor Fulvia!" 
 
 But she had to be humoured. And so, to humour her, 
 he took the not disagreeable course of drawing Fifi with 
 him to the piano, and making her help him in his selection 
 of songs for the occasion. 
 
 "Something that won't try Mania's voice, after 
 those peaches eh, Fifi ? Something soothing and 
 cradly." 
 
 He sat on the piano stool and ran his stubby fingers 
 over the keys with a touch as soft as velvet. 
 
 "No, Robecq, no!" cried the prima donna, roundly 
 from the sofa. 
 
 She was tingling to her finger-tips with impatience. 
 What, for an hour and a half she had looked her loveliest 
 and longest, smiled her sweetest, spoken her most dulcet! 
 And this stock sat, twisting his cigarette between his 
 pale fingers, with never a glance, scarce even a monosyl- 
 lable! He had moved away from her, too, as she moved 
 toward him, to the very limit of the sofa. 
 
 Englishmen . . . ! Englishmen were dense, not like 
 your Spaniard, your Pole, or your Frenchman, who in 
 a look find a whole speech, in an intonation, an avowal, 
 in a sigh, a surrender. 
 
 One had to put the dots on the i's with Englishmen, 
 she told herself.
 
 76 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 " No, Robecq, not that mawkish thing, I'll have . . 
 I'll have that song of Hahn's!" She rose as she spoke, 
 and swept across the parquet floor. 
 
 The manager's eyebrows went up, wrinkling into his 
 forehead. He shrugged his shoulders. "With the high 
 A!" he murmured. 
 
 But he knew that swish of drapery. It was the Panther 
 lashing her tail. He allowed her, resignedly, to look 
 for the piece. She scattered music like autumn 
 leaves before she placed it on the desk. 
 
 "Stop it," she said, between her teeth; "I'm not 
 maternal to-night." 
 
 Virginia caught the words: all the blood from her 
 wounded heart seemed to rush to her face. 
 
 "Go to bed," continued the mother. She tried to 
 give the order a tone of gay solicitude "little girls must 
 have their beauty sleep." 
 
 "Not at all," drawled Robecq; "Miss Feefi is going to 
 stop and listen to Mama's singing." 
 
 He flung open the first page of the song as he spoke 
 and struck a chord. It was not the prescribed hour yet; 
 but in this wild-beast mood, the poor man could only 
 repeat to himself, "The Panther must be humoured." 
 
 Fifi went over to the furthest corner of the room, and 
 sat on a high chair, in the shade of the curtain, looking 
 out unseeingly into the street and fighting back her tears. 
 
 La Marmora turned her back on the piano and fixed 
 her gaze upon Lord Desmond. He had never heard 
 her sing before and she was going to sing to him, to him 
 alone, as never she had sung for fame or money. 
 
 The first liquid note rang out; the man dropped his
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 77 
 
 cigarette, and shaded his face with his hand. The singer's 
 heart rioted in triumph ; its pulsation beat into the passion- 
 ate ecstasy of the melody. 
 
 Little did she guess that, under the penthouse of those 
 lax fingers, his deep tired eyes were seeking the young 
 figure in the window; that he was dreaming of her, only 
 her, so white and green and fresh against the roses and 
 carnations.
 
 XI 
 
 THE ASPIRANT 
 
 "ROBECQ," said the prima donna in her most strident 
 tone, "you never did anything more idiotic than when you 
 sent for that long-legged child to join us. Here! Here! 
 Why, she makes me blush ten times a day. She was 
 frankly impossible, last night. Pack her back! It's 
 not right to interfere with her studies, anyhow. Without 
 Fritz knowing, too ! He'll be furious. How am I to get 
 up Salome if Fritz is furious ?" 
 
 The Baron, with his round legs slightly apart, stood 
 gazing down at the speaker. Fulvia was in elaborate 
 spring toilet; and though she could not keep the vibrating 
 harshness from her voice, she was holding herself well 
 under control. But her eyes glittered between the long 
 lids and her hand moved restlessly among the odds and 
 ends of the table beside her. 
 
 He passed his fingers along his beard and pursed his 
 lips; then he very deliberately sat down. Through the 
 open window the hum of the joyous afternoon hour on the 
 Ring rose through the spring air, and little gusts of wind 
 stirred the heavy, flower-filled atmosphere of the room. 
 
 "So," said Robecq, as he sat down, "that's why you 
 sent for me in such a hurry? You've had enough of 
 Miss Fifi already!" 
 
 Fulvia rolled her beautiful dyed head impatiently on 
 
 78
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 79 
 
 the cushioned top of her chair. With her curious animal 
 instinct she scented opposition. But she did not want 
 to make a scene; she was going to drive in the Prater and 
 she wanted to look her best. 
 
 "I've told Elisa to get her trunks ready," she answered 
 briefly, "and you're to find a chaperon for her, and she's 
 to take the night train. I've wired to Madame Aubert." 
 
 Again Robecq pondered, his thick fingers on his beard. 
 He had expected this. She was not the woman to submit 
 long to the proximity of blooming girlhood, even had no 
 Lord Desmond been within her horizon. The sudden 
 desire to play grande dame and the devoted mother at one 
 and the same time was bound to go the way of all her 
 emotional impulses, once she discovered that her child's 
 April had ripened into May, and that she was no longer a 
 perfect foil but a possible standard of undesirable com- 
 parison. 
 
 He had anticipated this; what he had not anticipated 
 was that her jealous vanity should be so soon on the alert; 
 he had placed more reliance on her immeasurable conceit. 
 
 Poor child ! So, she had made her mother blush ? He 
 recalled last night's innocent but disconcerting questions, 
 with this new stirring of a dormant sensibility. " You 
 knew my papa ? " Well, although he doubted whether the 
 mother had ever possessed the grace of blushing, it was 
 possible and even a little human for the Panther to feel 
 that such innocence would be better kept apart from her 
 present plans. 
 
 In his deliberate way he thrashed out each proposition 
 in turn before speaking; and decided that all these reasons 
 were at work with almost equal strength.
 
 80 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 He shook his head mentally over the short-sighted 
 policy of the woman in her sudden violent attraction. 
 She might sweep a boy off his feet, but with a man like 
 this fastidious roue" . . .! The Panther was tired 
 already of stalking her prey; she wanted to spring after 
 three days' acquaintance ! She would spring and miss 
 and then "What of Salome?" If Fifi's proximity 
 should delay the spring, it was another reason for not 
 allowing her to depart. 
 
 "I don't think," the slow treacly voice announced at 
 last, "that we can let Elisa go on with the packing." 
 
 "How?" snarled the lady, with quick stiffening of her 
 back. Her eyes flashed. She sat up suddenly. "Under- 
 stand me, Robecq. We're going to England next week, 
 aren't we?" 
 
 "Are we? You told me yesterday that nothing would 
 induce you to go back to England till the last possible 
 moment." 
 
 "I've changed my mind." She struggled to speak 
 quietly. "Let us be reasonable! Must I not be in 
 England, to be settled and rested before the rehearsals 
 begin ? I want a house of my own, over there. A house 
 where I can receive; I am sick of hotels. We are going 
 next week." 
 
 " Well, I've no objection - no very great objection to 
 next week only it would have been better to wait for 
 Fritz here. But if you give me a good reason a real 
 reason for this hurry . . ." His cynical small eyes 
 were upon her. A moment her own glance wavered from 
 them; then, with a jerk, she faced him; staring, speaking 
 with a brutal frankness:
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 81 
 
 "Lord Desmond is going to London, Monday, on 
 leave; didn't you hear him say so, last night ?" 
 
 "No, my dear," said the manager, imperturbably; 
 "if I had heard that I should not have asked. Well, 
 I repeat, I have no objection. Miss Fifi will help you 
 nicely to settle into the London house." 
 
 "I won't take her to England, I won't, and that's all 
 about it. Have I not told you, she's got to go back to 
 school?" 
 
 "I think Miss Fifi has done with school." 
 
 "Robecq . . .!" she warned. It was almost a 
 growl in the throat. 
 
 "My dear friend, be reasonable," he pursued in his 
 steady way, "she is too old for school much too old.'* 
 
 "Seventeen . . . eighteen," she panted. "How 
 dare you!" 
 
 "We'll call it eighteen, if you like. Eighteen's a very 
 good age for a young woman . . . like Miss Fifi . . . 
 to be married." 
 
 She sprang up. "Robecq!" She began on a scream 
 of fury. He raised his fat forefinger warningly for a 
 moment or two, and then gently tapped his throat. 
 
 "You'll do that once too often, my dear," he said. 
 "I've told you so before." 
 
 The effervescence of her wrath vanished as suddenly 
 as bubbles of boiling milk on the immersion of the spoon. 
 She sat down again. 
 
 "Robecq, you are a brute." It was plaintively, almost 
 tearfully uttered. He laid his hands on his knees and 
 leaned over to her. 
 
 "Don't you think it would be rather a good thing
 
 82 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 . . for everybody ... if Miss Fifi were married ? " 
 He paused to let the idea sink in. He saw her hesitate 
 upon it. Doubt succeeded anger. 
 
 "If your maternal anxiety were completely satisfied 
 . . ." there was a faintly sarcastic twinkle in his eye, 
 but his voice retained its business-like inflection. "If 
 you knew her husband to be a kind man, a safe man, a 
 very well-to-do man, wouldn't it be the very best way, 
 wouldn't it relieve you of some responsibility, remove 
 some possible future complication ? You can't much 
 longer keep a fine, well-grown young woman in those 
 short skirts and baby blouses, those corsages bebes, without 
 making yourself supremely ridiculous. And if you send 
 her back to school it will get about, my dear, and it won't 
 make the world think you any younger, or any nicer." 
 
 The singer's foot began to tap ; her colour was fluctuat- 
 ing. 
 
 "And this rich man, this safe man, this kind man, this 
 paragon where are you going to find him for me ? " 
 
 "He is found," said the impresario quietly. 
 
 She stared at him. Then as his meaning dawned upon 
 her she broke into laughter the coarse, taunting laugh 
 of the child of the Melbourne gutter. 
 
 "You! Ma foi, c'est cocasse, vrai! Toi, mon vieux! 
 My poor old Robecq ! You ? " 
 
 In the very middle of her laughter, her vanity cried 
 out. The maypole . . .! to succeed where she, con- 
 quering Fulvia, had failed! A moment she looked at 
 him as if she could have stabbed him. 
 
 "You are mad. You, and that child! And the other 
 two, what of them ? "
 
 PANTHER'S CUB S3 
 
 The prosperous ruddiness on the Baron's plump 
 cheek deepened to purple. It was the only sign of annoy- 
 ance that he permitted himself to show. 
 
 "You would naturally feel uneasiness on the subject 
 of any illegality," he remarked with a kind of genial 
 sarcasm. " But you may put your mind at rest. As an 
 American citizen both my divorces have been most 
 strictly conducted according to every formality required 
 by the law. And I have, in either case, I am glad to say, 
 nothing to reproach myself with. Besides which, my 
 first dear wife, I regret to say, passed away last autumn. 
 She never was very strong." 
 
 He broke off: she was not listening. With knitted 
 brows, La Marmora, whose anger had cooled once more 
 as suddenly as it had waxed hot, was revolving in her 
 crude mind the value to herself of the extraordinary 
 proposition. The long-legged girl, with her insolent 
 youth, out of her way ! A hold for life upon the rich and 
 powerful man before her . . . 
 
 Suddenly she rose and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Ah, but there's Fritz!" 
 
 He wheeled on his chair to fling a searching look at 
 her. 
 
 " Fritz ? What has he got to say to it ? " 
 
 "He's always interfering," she said in a strangled 
 whisper. "Robecq, you will have to be quick, quick, 
 before Fritz comes back." 
 
 She took a stride toward the door, as if hurrying to 
 immediate action. He caught her back by the skirt. 
 
 "Now, look here, Fulvia." He rose as he spoke 
 a tone of mastery, foreign to his persuasive accents, rang
 
 84 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 in his voice. " I'll manage this my own way, do you hear ? 
 or not at all. For one thing I won't have the child hurried 
 and, if Fritz interferes I'll deal with Fritz." 
 
 His eye was still upon her. There was a hint of fear 
 of him also in her glance, as she shifted it uneasily from 
 his scrutiny. 
 
 "At least," she said sullenly, "permit me to stop the 
 packing." 
 
 "Certainly," he conceded, all urbanity again. "And 
 if you've nothing better to do this afternoon, my dear, 
 you might get your daughter some long clothes." He 
 laughed gently. "Some garments to suit a charming 
 young lady of nearly " he paused "twenty-one."
 
 BOOK II
 
 I 
 
 THE DOWAGER 
 
 THE Honourable George Darcy was a young man who, 
 over a dish of tea, enjoyed gossip as much as any proverb- 
 ial old lady. The conversation he preferred was " about 
 people." 
 
 "There's nothing so interesting as people," he was 
 wont to say, cosily. But it went without saying that 
 to be interesting, people must be doing well, something 
 a little shocking or distressing, such as admiring their 
 neighbours' wives unduly, or being ruined. 
 
 He was a fetch-and-carry youth, and was already 
 making himself indispensable to the wife of his chief, in 
 the way of providing her with shawls and card cases, 
 and tittle-tattle. It was through Mr. Darcy that the 
 story of Lord Desmond Brooke's infatuation for Madame 
 la Marmora, the celebrated singer, got about. It is true 
 that the ambassadress, who was the first to hear it, made 
 a point of repeating nothing. She was a discreet woman. 
 She had heard many a story of Lord Desmond, in her 
 day, stories of an even more thrilling nature than this 
 last one; she shrugged her shoulders and was faintly 
 amused. 
 
 " What will our poor Grafin Warinsky say ?" she thought; 
 then had a little contempt. She had seen the celebrated 
 Marmora; had heard her and of her at Petersburg. She 
 
 87
 
 88 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 had admired the artist and despised the woman, as such 
 great ladies will. "Bold, painted adventuress! So, 
 that was what Desmond was sinking to!" 
 
 Such reflections she kept to herself; but others of Mr. 
 Darcy's confidantes had not her diplomatic reserve. 
 There was the pink and plump wife of the second secre- 
 tary, for instance. She was thrilled. She never had 
 liked Lord Desmond, resenting his languorous indiffer- 
 ence with all the self-importance of a recent bride. She 
 thought it was quite dreadful, and she wrote home about 
 it at once. In subsequent letters she had further details 
 to add. Lord Desmond had dined with Madame 
 la Marmora; had sent her cartloads of lily of the valley. 
 "Lord Desmond has left," she wrote at last. "Would 
 you believe it? the same day as that Marmora! Some 
 say, actually with her. All Vienna is talking about 
 it." 
 
 Thus the ball was set rolling. Plump Mrs. Denison's 
 London people were of those that live on the outskirts 
 of the "best set," and liked to show their familiarity with 
 it. A good deal of boasting went on among them about 
 " my daughter, my sister, my cousin in Vienna." Certain 
 drawing rooms in the Cromwell Road, in Eccleston Square 
 and in Connaught Place, began to echo Lord Desmond's 
 name. Then, in artistic circles, where everything con- 
 nected with the new Salome, with the great Marmora, who 
 was at last to be heard in London, was a matter for eager 
 discussion, the question of her alleged latest admirer 
 became current talk. "Was there not a Grand Duke 
 on the tapis ? That was an old story ! The last is Lord 
 Desmond Brooke. Haven't you heard ? "
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 89 
 
 Then sporadically, like measles, the gossip was all over 
 the town. 
 
 Sir Joseph Warren-Smith, for instance, heard it at the 
 Conservative, on the same day that Lord Sturminster 
 was ragged on the subject at the Turf. When " Martia 
 Marchioness" (as the great Dowager, the mother-in-law 
 and mother respectively of these two distinguished persons, 
 was irreverently dubbed) sent a note round to her dear 
 Mr. Vere Hamilton, in Queen Anne's Mansions, begging 
 him to call in the evening, for there was a matter upon 
 which she urgently needed his valued assistance, he was 
 already sufficiently in possession of the facts to guess what 
 the matter was. 
 
 On his way to Lowndes Square he beheld, approaching, 
 the plump, well-groomed, porcine figure and face of his 
 familiar acquaintance, Mr. Philip Scott, the admired 
 musical critic and dilettante. The latter stopped and 
 wagged his tight-gloved hand in flapping greeting: 
 
 " How do, Verie ? Gay as ever, eh ? A rendezvous, 
 I'll wager, by your haste. Oh, you dog!" 
 
 This was Mr. Philip Scott's facetious way. Mr. Vere 
 Hamilton, be it said, was well known as the most straight- 
 laced of little, elderly gentlemen. But he had a weakness 
 his only weakness was of the most respectable kind 
 it was the Peerage. He could not resist stopping to inform 
 Mr. Scott whither his steps were bent. 
 
 "And dear old Lady Sturminster most particularly 
 begged me to come round at once," he concluded. 
 
 The other pursed his lips. 
 
 "You'll find them in a rare stew about that scamp 
 Desmond," he opined. "Jove, what a fellow it is!
 
 90 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Nothing less than La Marmora. Upon my soul, he's 
 got courage. She's a glorious creature. But La Mar- 
 mora, prrr! I'd die of fright, if I were in his shoes. 
 Ever seen her, Verie? Oh, she's a glorious creature! 
 Come with me down to Branksome, I'll introduce you." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton had a genuine shiver as he trotted away 
 from the suggestion. 
 
 A mouse-gray, amiable, beaver-like old gentleman; 
 who, if shocked at some of the doings of his dear friends 
 in the Peerage, was yet always benevolently and conscien- 
 tiously anxious to assist in the reclamation of the aristo- 
 cratic sinner. It was by no means the first time that he 
 had been summoned by some coroneted elderly lady, 
 distraught at the doings of some irresponsible scion of the 
 family. It was very well known that it was owing to his 
 prompt diplomacy that weak-minded Lord Caradoc had 
 been picked away from the registry office, just in time. 
 It was whispered that when little Miss Bolsover was run 
 away with by her chauffeur, it was Vere Hamilton who 
 caught them at Dover. 
 
 But although a familiar of old Lady Sturminster's 
 forbidding salon, it had never been his privilege yet to be 
 admitted to that redoubtable lady's confidence much 
 less consulted by her. And he felt, this day, a proportion- 
 ate sense of elation and responsibility. 
 
 The Dowager Marchioness of Sturminster was one of 
 a fast disappearing type. From the stronghold of her 
 early-Victorian surroundings, at war with the progressive 
 world, and all its theories and doings, she yet made her 
 influence felt upon it; was still a power in it, more by 
 virtue of personality than by reason of her rank and con-
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 91 
 
 nection. Well past seventy as she was, there gleamed 
 an unquenchable vitality in her pale gray eye. In the 
 thick bands of hair, smoothed down in swelling puffs 
 over her ears, not a gray strand; they were of a horrible 
 sandy hue that owed nothing to artifice. These were 
 invariably crowned with a flat agglomeration of lace 
 and black riband. 
 
 She had never been handsome ; she had never been even 
 pleasant-looking; she had never known how to dress her- 
 self; she was not in the least brilliant of conversation; 
 her ideals, her principles were narrow and uncom- 
 promising. Her religion combined a certain Puritan 
 self-assertiveness with a truly Erastian finality; withal 
 a deep ingrain of worldliness which tinged her every 
 thought and her whole outlook on life: she would be as 
 repellant to the plebeian as to the peccant. 
 
 Needless to say that she had innumerable toadies; 
 that her only daughter was a weak-minded nonentity; 
 that both her sons were notorious, even in this rapid age, 
 for the fastness of their living : one a spendthrift, the other 
 a roue; and that her daughter-in-law, the reigning March- 
 ioness a delicate, extravagant, American millionaire 
 beauty outraged every one of the terrible old peeress's 
 most cherished prejudices. 
 
 No sooner was Mr. Vere Hamilton ushered into the 
 room in Lowndes Square than he became aware that he 
 had indeed been summoned to a family conclave. 
 
 Here was Lady Alice Warren-Smith rolling her pale, 
 frightened eyes at him from the chair beside her mother; 
 it was an easy-chair, but she sat bolt upright to mark 
 her deference. And here was Sir Joseph Warren-Smith,
 
 92 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Bart., J. P., M. P., her worthy, wealthy, vulgar spouse 
 whom the Dowager had insisted upon her accepting 
 and whom she treated, with much system, with far less 
 respect than she did her butler. An obese man this, 
 sitting on the edge of a high chair, occasionally checking 
 a tendency to call his mother-in-law "my lady." 
 
 A look of relief passed over his countenance at sight 
 of the last comer. Here was one who was safe to greet 
 him as an equal and bring balm to his harrowed self- 
 esteem. 
 
 Naturally a purse-proud, self-assertive, bumptious 
 personality, he suffered agonies in his intercourse with 
 his wife's relations ; but, such is the innate respect for the 
 nobility in the British middle-class mind, he would not 
 have exchanged his purgatory for any less aristocratic 
 heaven. 
 
 The Dowager extended a cold wrinkled hand, and 
 smiled a faint welcome. She liked Vere Hamilton. He 
 was the most sympathetic of her toadies; she knew him 
 to be a gentleman and of quite decent country stock. 
 He went everywhere, too; there was hardly a fashionable 
 entertainment the list of which did not end with the 
 words "and Mr. Vere Hamilton." 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Hamilton? It is very good of 
 you to come, I'm sure. Sit down, won't you Sir 
 Joseph, a chair for Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 "Joseph!" said Lady Alice, warningly. 
 
 Her husband bullied her pompously at home; but in 
 her mother's house she was still his unconquerable 
 superior. Poor Joseph hurried to advance the Berlin 
 wool-work atrocity he was himself sitting on.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 93 
 
 The Dowager was not one to beat about the bush. 
 
 "I've just heard the most shocking news of Desmond," 
 she began. "Alice heard it at the Peterboroughs. Sir 
 Joseph heard it in the City. It's all over the place. 
 I see you know it too." She broke off and drew her 
 long upper lip over her teeth with a kind of gloomy 
 triumph. 
 
 "I have heard rumours " said the distressed 
 
 beaver. 
 
 "Shocking!" said Sir Joseph. 
 
 Lady Alice drew her mouth down in imitation of 
 her mother's. 
 
 "It seems," said this latter, taking up the thread again, 
 "that creature has taken a place on the river, and that 
 my wretched son motors down every day. Joseph tells 
 me there was a paragraph about it in one of these scurrilous 
 picture papers." 
 
 The informant wagged his head, encouraged by that 
 rare mark of favour, the dropping of the prefix to his 
 name. 
 
 "My attention was drawn to it; I don't, as a rule, open 
 these papers," said he, lifting a protesting hand. 
 "I thought the family ought to know." 
 
 His mother-in-law cut in rudely upon this explanation, 
 and he coughed apologetically, to show that so far from 
 bearing malice he recognized it was his mistake. 
 
 "It's not my way," the old lady was saying, "as you 
 know, Mr. Hamilton, to take notice of idle or offensive 
 gossip. It is natural, I suppose, that young men, in 
 my son's position, should be talked about; but I under- 
 stand that the creature in question is extremely notorious."
 
 94 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Indescribable was the arrogance of the Dowager's eye 
 and voice when she spoke of her son's social eminence; 
 equally indescribable the cold disdain of her reference 
 to "the creature." "And there is my son's diplomatic 
 position to consider. It may seriously injure his prospects, 
 if this scandalous tittle-tattle continues." 
 
 Vere Hamilton really felt, as he had just now announced, 
 very much distressed. 
 
 "I assure you," he said, "that not only shall I 
 make a point of contradicting any rumours that I hear, 
 but " 
 
 "What good will that do ?" asked his hostess, with her 
 usual ruthlessness. "What we've got to find out is how 
 much truth there is in the whole thing. I am told you 
 can't open a paper without seeing her photograph. I 
 believe the creature's an opera singer or something of 
 that kind, and they're advertising her, or she's adver- 
 tising herself. She must be easy enough to find at 
 least for gentlemen." She showed her long yellow teeth 
 in a withering smile. Then she leaned back in her chair, 
 and added with finality: "You've got to find out for me, 
 Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 "I!" cried the little gray gentleman, in a tremendous 
 flutter. He remembered Scott's airy proposition of a 
 few minutes before, and blushed to the roots of his hair 
 with a sense of guilt. It was, indeed, easy for gentlemen! 
 
 She looked upon his embarrassment with a hard eye, 
 at the back of which there was a remote and icy gleam 
 of humour. 
 
 "You'd better go to the creature's house and see for 
 yourself." She paused, to let the full bearing of her
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 95 
 
 mandate be grasped: and then added, with once again 
 that arctic glint of amusement : " Joseph will go with you." 
 
 The baronet gave a leap on his chair, accompanied 
 with a gasp. "My lady " he began, only to break 
 off with his apologetic cough. 
 
 "Oh, Mama! " murmured Lady Alice. It was a 
 very meek protest; but even that brought the protuberant 
 gray eye slowly upon her, and she quailed. 
 
 "Of course, my dear, if you're afraid to trust 
 Joseph 
 
 "Oh, Mama oh, no, Mama! Joseph will certainly 
 do what he can!" 
 
 The wife frowned at her husband with a nod and a 
 grimace, stimulating him to speak for himself. The 
 poor man cleared his throat and echoed the conjugal 
 "certainly" in no very certain voice. A gloved hand 
 laid before his mouth for that expressive cough of 
 his was again in requisition he turned a piteous glance 
 upon Vere Hamilton. 
 
 The latter was looking very dubious himself. To go 
 and visit a far-famed prima donna upon a laudable errand 
 was an alarming but not altogether unpleasant pros- 
 pect but to go in the company of Sir Joseph Warren- 
 Smith was quite another thing. 
 
 "Of course I know he means well and is a most worthy 
 person," the friend of the aristocracy was saying in his 
 little gentlemanly soul, "but he is a vulgarian! And this 
 requires a great deal of tact. . . . Still, for such an 
 old friend as Lady Sturminster, and for poor Lord Des- 
 mond's sake, perhaps it may be really better to go with 
 one of the family more above-board."
 
 96 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 As he cogitated in this strain, the decision was made 
 for him: 
 
 "So it is settled," said the great lady. "You will make 
 arrangements, both of you. It had better be early this 
 week. Now, I think we'll have tea." Her countenance 
 assumed the nearest approach to affability of which it 
 was capable. "Sir Joseph, ring the bell."
 
 II 
 
 CASSANDRA 
 
 SIR JOSEPH rose with alacrity; agitated the china 
 handle there were no electrical innovations for the 
 Lowndes Square house and, on his way back to the 
 walnut chair with that Berlin wool-worked seat, paused 
 to look out of the window. He had caught the sound 
 of motor throbs slackening at the door; and an insatiable 
 curiosity was part of the worthy cotton-spinner's moral 
 dower. 
 
 "I believe it is Sturminster ! " he announced, in tones 
 of stifled excitement. " Sturminster " the name rolled 
 off his tongue with a never-fading zest " and Lady 
 Sturminster with him," he added, in less assured accents. 
 
 He had never yet dared call this relation " Cassandra." 
 
 The Dowager collected the attention of her guests by a 
 single, magnetic sweeping glance; then she said: "Kindly 
 do not mention the matter at all before my son and his 
 wife." 
 
 "Of course not, Mama." Lady Alice was spokes- 
 woman for the party. Fancy, if Sturminster had wanted 
 to go and visit this woman, too, how dreadful that would 
 be! 
 
 "Lord and Lady Sturminster," heralded the mouldy 
 butler. He had a fine graduation of manner for his 
 office his intonation was a study in precedence. 
 
 97
 
 98 P A N T H E R ' S C U B 
 
 Lady Sturminster was considerably taller than her 
 husband; and her height was accentuated by a sapling 
 slenderness. Everything about her was long and slim - 
 except her nose, which was delicately cocked. As Vere 
 Hamilton rose at her entrance, he was conscious of a new 
 and agreeable sensation; she was so young, so smart, 
 so pretty, in these ugly, sombre and austere surroundings, 
 amid these rigid, heavy people! Of course he repressed 
 the comparison as disloyal to his dear old friend; but 
 he adjusted his eyeglasses for a better view of the piquant 
 transatlantic face with its subtle, delicious spice of mis- 
 chief. 
 
 " Hullo ! " said Lord Sturminster he was a squat, 
 sandy man, with a remarkable likeness to his mother, 
 but with this startling difference, that light protruding 
 eyes, prominent teeth and Wellingtonian nose, in him 
 all made for joviality. He had a loud ringing voice; 
 and one almost instinctively expected to see a straw in 
 his mouth and riding gaiters on his rather bowed legs. 
 He bred and ran his own horses; betted as heavily as 
 any man in the Kingdom; had never been known to 
 wear a silk hat straight; had the Garter and was the 
 most popular peer on the turf. 
 
 If the Dowager felt for any human being a sensation 
 resembling the warmth of love it was for her elder son; 
 and this latter, under all this rattle and rollick, seemed 
 to reciprocate the attachment. Whether the sentiment 
 were genuine on his part or not, his mother's banking 
 account certainly testified, at too frequent intervals, to 
 the sincerity of hers. She gave him now, as he entered, 
 a glance and smile reserved for him alone. He stooped
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 99 
 
 and kissed her with a smack, then genially faced the 
 room. 
 
 "Hullo!" he said in a loud cheery voice; "hullo, old 
 girl, we've not timed ourselves quite right I see! The 
 mater's got a tabby tea. Hullo, Hamilton old chap ! 
 Hullo, Joseph!" 
 
 Meanwhile the greeting between mother-in-law and 
 daughter-in-law took place in nearly complete silence. 
 Cassandra Sturminster had made merely a little cooing 
 sound in her throat as she stooped a scented cheek vaguely 
 in the direction of the lean one that was freezingly extended 
 to her. Then she nodded all round with another little 
 circular murmur : 
 
 "Alice Sir Joseph," and extended her long slim 
 hand for Vere's pressing, blinking the while positively 
 fabulous eyelashes appealingly at him. 
 
 "Tea, Sturminster?" inquired his mother unemotion- 
 ally. " Tea, Cassandra ? Alice, I believe there's muffin." 
 
 Sir Joseph precipitated himself to hand the muffin 
 dish. Long-toothed, dull-eyed, the image of patrician 
 nullity, his wife ministered among the tea-cups. 
 
 "We just looked in, you know," said the sporting 
 marquis. He sat him down astride a chair, leaning his 
 arms on the back, and gazed genially at his mother 
 "Looked in, just to show I'm still alive, don't you know. 
 The new car's a ripper. When will you come for a spin 
 in it ? Do you a world of good, you know." 
 
 The Dowager gave him a peculiar smile : 
 
 "I do not think you'll ever see me in a motor-car, 
 Sturminster." Her voice was, for her, quite warm. 
 
 "Ha! don't be too sure. What do you bet? Why,
 
 100 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 at the rate we are going, there won't be a gee left in the 
 Kingdom in another couple of years. I say, mater, if 
 you don't hurry up, you'll be bowled to the family monu- 
 ment in a motor-hearse. Good idea, that wonder 
 it has not been thought of before capital thing for 
 country funerals. Might start a company! Eh, old 
 girl an idea in that, what ? " 
 
 "Oh, don't be silly, Wurzel!" The American's soft, 
 tired voice fell as gently in the midst of his great guffaw 
 as a bird-note in the pause of a March gale. " Oh, no, 
 no, Mr. Hamilton, no tea, thank you No, Sir Joseph, 
 no muffin, thank you. No, mother, I won't have any tea, 
 thank you, I've had a pick-me-up at the Club." 
 
 "A pick-me-up!" gasped Lady Alice into the Dow- 
 ager's silence, which had become stony the instant her 
 daughter-in-law monopolized the conversation. 
 
 "Red lavender, chloroform, soda -mint," murmured 
 Cassandra Sturminster ingenuously. "I'm so dyspep- 
 tic " She turned her great violet eyes, that seemed 
 
 one lovely craving for sympathy, toward Vere Hamilton. 
 
 In the day of the Dowager Marchioness no lady had a 
 club, no lady had pick-me-up's, no lady had dyspepsia. 
 Every fold of the Dowager's black silk, every large flat 
 button on its surface protested. But she sat rigid, and 
 she said nothing. It was by this weight of silence and 
 rigidity that she fought the losing battle of early- Victorian 
 tradition. 
 
 Lord Sturminster pranced his chair as a boy's hobby- 
 horse; then his alert eye rested on his brother-in-law. 
 
 "Hullo, Joe, you look a bit rough in the coat, old 
 man! What's to do? Ain't Manchester where it was,
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 101 
 
 market a bit shirty ? Joseph you've something on 
 your mind Alice, what's Joseph got on his mind ? " 
 
 "Sir Joseph is kind enough to take the family anxiety 
 to heart, about your brother," said the Dowager. 
 
 Lady Alice felt the sneer, the more so that her uncon- 
 scious spouse was puffing out his chest with satisfaction. 
 
 "So that's what the tabby tea is about," said the grace- 
 less head of the house with his rich guffaw. "Lucky 
 fellow, young Desmond ! They say she's a corker. Seen 
 her photo, Joe? Oh, Joe, don't deny it! What d'you 
 bet old Joe is planning to get introduced ? " 
 
 The poor millionaire turned purple at this close shot; 
 and Mr. Hamilton was not unaware of a blush. Cas- 
 sandra drew attention to herself with one of her auda- 
 cious soft- voiced statements: 
 
 "Please do, Sir Joseph. Then you can take me 
 you know. I'm just longing to go. I hear she's a deevy 
 place on the river. Mrs. Orris's you know, all marble 
 and white bear skins. I've always wanted to see it. 
 But Mrs. Orris always went to so many races I should 
 have had to bow to her, and that would have been tire- 
 some for Wurzel, as he knows her so well." 
 
 She paused, smiling at the toes of her gray doeskin 
 shoes, apparently quite unconscious of the awful charac- 
 ter of the sensation she was producing. Even Wurzel 
 (alias Sturminster) threw her one quick angry look 
 before that burst of hilarity which with him greeted 
 every situation. 
 
 "I hear she's giving strawberry teas," pursued the 
 cooing accents. "Katty Berkshire says they're rippin'. 
 One meets just every one one wants to meet. And they
 
 102 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 call her the Panther. I'd just like to go and have straw- 
 berries with a Panther." 
 
 "It seems as if we should really have some hot weather 
 at last," said the Dowager. 
 
 "Why don't you ask young Desmond to take you, 
 h, old girl?" asked his lordship, ignoring the severe 
 maternal lead. 
 
 "I will, Wurzel, thanks for the tip. Oh, do you think 
 he will?" 
 
 Cassandra fixed her husband with a wealth of appeal 
 in her eyes. He gave another quick glance before his 
 laugh. Cool, unruffled, invariably sweet, with apparently 
 as little heart as temper, Lady Sturminster was a complete 
 and exasperating mystery to her husband. She had 
 taken his first infidelity a mere trial trip or coup d'essai 
 with the same unruffled front as that with which she 
 now accepted his many intrigues. Inconsequently and 
 manlike, he resented that she should not resent; smarted 
 that she did not smart; and in some lost corner of moral 
 manhood, was shocked that she was not shocked. Had 
 she retaliated in kind, he would have shown no mercy 
 to her. But aloof, untouched, self-possessed, gay, to all 
 appearances, she sailed through her brilliant life as if 
 it utterly contented her. 
 
 "Alice and I propose to drive in the Park after tea," 
 the undaunted Dowager proceeded. 
 
 "Well," said Cassandra, "then Wurzel and I had better 
 hook it." Her soulful eyes sought the mother-in-law's 
 face. Again the rose-leaf cheek made its feint of brush- 
 ing the parchment one. "Good-bye, Sir Joseph. You 
 won't forget ? I count upon you, if Desmond fails. Alice,
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 103 
 
 you're fenced in by the tea-table." She kissed her pearl- 
 gray finger-tip over the massive tea-urn. "You've got 
 a bit of muffin on your lap, dear. Good-bye." 
 
 It was Vere Hamilton alone who had the privilege of 
 holding that slender hand for a moment in his own. 
 
 " You'll come to see me, won't you ? . . . " she 
 measured his pleasant elderly countenance what use 
 would she have for Mr. Hamilton after all ? and added 
 with her gossamer sweetness " some day ? Come 
 along, Wurzel." 
 
 The silence that proclaims a dissatisfaction too deep 
 for words followed her departure. Then the Dowager 
 turned to Alice with the sepulchral question : 
 
 " Can you tell me why she calls him Wurzel ? " 
 
 "I believe," said Lady Alice feebly, "that when they 
 were first married she began by nicknaming him ' old 
 turnip head.'" 
 
 Again the silence fell a painful silence, broken only 
 by Sir Joseph's apologetic cough.
 
 Ill 
 
 ORRIS'S FOLLY 
 
 THE dining room at Branksome Cottage Orris's 
 Folly, as the neighbourhood had dubbed it, the country 
 house rented by Madame la Marmora for the season 
 was almost an al fresco apartment. The celebrated and 
 erratic lady, under whose auspices the once unpretentious 
 little building, so admirably situated, had been prac- 
 tically reconstructed, had happened to be passing through 
 a phase of classic enthusiasm at the time. It had struck 
 her as nothing incongruous or perhaps the very incon- 
 gruity had pleased to set on homely English lawns, 
 beside a placid-flowing English river, these fancies of a 
 southern grace, of bygone Attic days. Neither had it 
 troubled her that slender columns of white marble, 
 marble floors and steps, should abut on brick and half- 
 timber. She had demanded classic halls and terraces 
 to set off what some enthusiastic critic had called her 
 peculiar classic grace the Greek drama had been 
 her last success and had obtained what she demanded. 
 In no room had her own taste and her architect's fidelity 
 to it been carried out to better purpose than in that 
 reserved for "Feasts." 
 
 On one side it opened upon a covered, columned, loggia- 
 like terrace, which, with six shallow steps of white marble 
 running the whole length of the front, led out to the 
 
 104
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 105 
 
 falling sweep of the turf, with the river sparkling far 
 beneath. Huge tangles of Virginia creeper and honey- 
 suckle had been trained to climb to the roof and fling 
 wreaths and long hanging tendrils between and across 
 the pillars. 
 
 Within, the room was almost bare; it was cool and 
 marble- walled ; it was ceiled with gleaming copper foil; 
 on the marble flags two or three tiger skins were tossed 
 about. Classic reclining seats ran the length of the 
 narrow board which served as dining table, on one of 
 which a gorgeous spread of purple silk marked the host- 
 ess's place. At one end of the strange chamber a pedestal 
 of exquisite line bore a bronze head of Antinous, before 
 which it had been Mrs. Orris's much applauded custom 
 to place fruits in sacrifice, and a lamp ever burning with 
 aromatic oil. 
 
 The present occupant of this fantastic dwelling was as 
 ignorant of, as she was indifferent to, the pieties of the 
 Golden Age; but she too fancied herself vastly amid the 
 marble, and found a childish pleasure in dispensing 
 hospitality in surroundings so unusual as to provoke 
 perpetual comment, wonder and admiration. 
 
 This day of May, however, she sat at luncheon in her 
 colonnaded feast chamber with no other guest than her 
 manager, who had motored down from London unex- 
 pectedly; Fifi made a third at the meal. And none of 
 them appeared to be in any specially contented frame 
 of mind, for Robecq had brought news that was unpalat- 
 able to each. 
 
 Yet it was a day to make the heart glad. The wind, 
 faint and warm as summer, though the incomparable
 
 106 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 freshness of spring still lurked in its breath, set the long 
 tendrils of young green swinging against the blue sky. 
 A double row of blue hyacinths bordered the grass walk 
 to the lip of the terrace where grass stairs led to the lower 
 lawns. At the head of these, two classic vases, springing 
 with orange azalea, blazed against the distant beech- 
 woods on the other side of the river, which gleamed far 
 below like the damascene of some cunning Oriental blade. 
 
 May had begun its course in unusual radiance. Day 
 after day passed in splendour of blue sky; Madame la 
 Marmora had been but a week in possession of Brank- 
 some, and no cloud had thus far dimmed the long sunny 
 hours. But now the cloud was on the brow of the 
 dwellers in this paradise. Fulvia flung herself petulantly 
 against the purple drapery of her Greek seat. Her 
 strong white hand drummed the fine linen on the table 
 before her. It was a choice bit of weaving with a key- 
 pattern orange border; for Mrs. Orris's taste had pro- 
 vided suitable drapery to her classic board, which had 
 had perforce to be left to her tenants. 
 
 "Never a moment's peace, sapristi! One might think 
 that I might have as much holiday as a schoolboy. Mais 
 non M. le Pedagogus is back upon me! Robecq, 
 that is a fine trick you played me. It was you dug up 
 the old man ! " 
 
 "The best turn I ever did you in all my life, Fulvia," 
 said the manager, with a trifle less urbanity than was 
 usual with him. "Where would you be without Fritz? 
 Answer me that." 
 
 She capped him after the fashion that betrayed her 
 origin: "Come, where would you be?"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 107 
 
 "Considerably poorer," owned he with the ghost of 
 his chuckle. "Considerably worse off. I'm the first 
 to admit it." 
 
 His eye fell on the ripe, sullen countenance of the 
 girl opposite to him, at the far end of the table. Both 
 her elbows were propped on it, her clasped hands under 
 her chin; the loose sleeves of her silk blouse had fallen 
 back from the young, firm curves of sunburnt arms and 
 wrists. Her hair stood out in a glory against a sunlit 
 patch of marble space behind her. Her face beneath 
 was downcast as a child's beautiful, he thought, with 
 its glow and tan, with the carmine and gold in which this 
 open-air week had steeped it. 
 
 "Considerably worse off," drawled Robecq again; 
 wiped his bearded lip with the absurd fringed napkin; 
 and suddenly smiled his own genial self once more. 
 
 "Fritz does keep us a little too much in order," he 
 pursued; "and I own, dear friend, that I should have 
 been quite content, if he had withdrawn the light of his 
 countenance for just another fortnight, when the work 
 for Salome must begin in earnest I'm not clear, either, 
 that he ought to travel so soon. He's had a pretty sharp 
 attack, I'm afraid." 
 
 "Show me his letter," ordered the singer. 
 
 She snapped it from his hand, as with characteristic 
 deliberation he selected it from his pocketbook. He 
 watched her face as she read; he had expected just that 
 dilation of the nostrils, that uplifted lip of anger; that 
 glance of menace flung from one end of the table to the 
 other. 
 
 "Et voila!" she cried. "The old nurse is after the
 
 108 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 baby! Who told him Fifi was here? Who told him, 
 I say!" 
 
 Again she rapped the table: 
 
 "Ah, ca! Did you, you little fool ?" 
 
 Fifi shook her aureoled head. 
 
 "Youthen?" 
 
 "No," soothed the Baron, "neither the young fool," his 
 glance rested caressingly upon Fifi, "nor the old fool." 
 He tapped his buff waistcoat jocosely. "My dear friend, 
 it's as simple as A B C. You forget Madame Aubert." 
 
 "Old busybody! It serves me right for letting that 
 brat be planted on me!" 
 
 Fifi unclasped her hands to hide a trembling lip. This 
 mother, still beloved in spite of a hundred cruel caprices, 
 had not yet lost the power to wound to the quick. She 
 was still enthroned in a sanctuary, to be believed in, to 
 be worshipped, propitiated; a vengeful deity, if you will, 
 but still a deity ! 
 
 "Have some strawberries, little girl," purred the 
 Baron. He rose to fetch the basket from the side table 
 a white marble slab supported by green-bronze fauns 
 and began to pick the largest fruit into a green majolica 
 platter; his voice trickling on complacently, though a 
 furtive glance or two satisfied him that the girl was chok- 
 ing down her tears: "I always think these hothouse 
 strawberries have the best flavour. Everything is the 
 better for cultivation, eh, Fulvia? Cream, liebes Kind, 
 and sugar? Brown sugar, to my taste." 
 
 Meanwhile La Marmora, all to her grievance, had 
 begun, with jeering comment, to read the letter of her 
 undesired repetitor.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 109 
 
 "'Verekrter Herr,' (Oh, yes, much he honours 
 you, Robecq why don't you show yourself the master 
 for once? You've let him get beyond you.) 'I thank 
 you for your kindness in saying that you wish me to 
 remain some time longer to recruit, and finish my cure, 
 before joining you.' (You wrote him that, did you?)" 
 An ironical smile twisted her mouth; she turned and 
 strove in vain to catch his eye as he sifted sugar over the se- 
 lected strawberries. "Robecq, what did you call yourself 
 just now ein alter Narr?" As she swept her eyes 
 away from him back to the letter, they rested a second 
 vindictively on her daughter's bent head; then she pro- 
 ceeded in a higher and still harsher key: "I have had 
 news that decides me to come to England at once. 
 Ergebenst, F. Meyer.' Decides him! Ergebenst! I like 
 that! News? He's had news!" Again the flaming 
 glance sought her daughter. "Ah, mais, c'est un far- 
 ceur! And if I choose to say, I won't have him about 
 me till he's wanted, what then, Monsieur le Baron?" 
 
 "Why, then, my dear, you'll be the greatest fool of us 
 three," he responded tranquilly; he slipped the plate 
 before the girl as he spoke: "To please me, Miss Fifi," 
 he coaxed "na never mind fork or spoon in your 
 own pretty fingers!" 
 
 "Pshaw!" exclaimed the prima donna and rose 
 abruptly. Even as she rose she stiffened into an attitude 
 of petrified astonishment. 
 
 One of the pert parlourmaids, whose flying white 
 streamers and befrilled aprons were so ludicrously out of 
 tone with these classic haunts, had just drawn aside the 
 heavy purple hanging that separated the reception room
 
 110 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 from the dining hall. In the aperture stood a man, 
 looking in upon them. 
 
 A man, large of build though bent a little from the 
 shoulders, with a leonine head of white hair, and massive 
 features hewn as out of rock. About the whole figure 
 was the majesty of age, but none of its decadence. His 
 great bowed figure, the lines of his countenance, above 
 all the look in the eyes, spoke of one old in suffering and 
 in endurance, rather than in actual years. 
 
 When he had first beheld him, Robecq had recognized 
 in those steadfast eyes, the glance, as he phrased it, 
 of the tamer. No doubt it was through this gaze that 
 Fritz Meyer imposed his authority. Even those to whom 
 he could only be "the old repetitor," had a way of defer- 
 ring to him when under the spell of his glance. But it 
 would have needed a soul more akin to his own than any 
 he was like to meet in his present life, to understand what 
 lay behind it. 
 
 "Fritz!" cried La Marmora, with a quaver in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Hullo!" ejaculated the Baron. He strove to be 
 jovial, but the ejaculation rang somewhat flat. 
 
 Fifi's high young tones made no disguise of her dismay : 
 
 "Oh, dear Fritz already!" 
 
 "Mr. Meyer," announced the pert parlourmaid after 
 a prolonged interval of observation the ways of the 
 opera singer's household were a constant source of excite- 
 ment, not unmixed with contempt to her and her kin. 
 She dropped the purple curtain and departed with the 
 flounce she considered her duty to bestow upon a mis- 
 tress so far removed from gentility.
 
 IV 
 
 THE REPETITOR 
 
 THE newcomer took a few heavy paces forward; and 
 then it was perceived that he walked with difficulty, 
 leaning upon a crutchstick. He paused suddenly, closed 
 his eyes and reeled very slightly. Immediately the 
 impresario, with an exclamation of anxiety, was by his 
 side: 
 
 " Good heavens Meyer my dear friend, you're 
 ill ! Tut, tut ! You'd no business to travel in this state 
 Sit down! Good God, man," his eye fell on a swollen 
 bandaged foot encased in a huge black-cloth slipper, 
 "you'll have phlebitis, as sure as fate! Miss Fifi " 
 hardly ever had they heard the deliberate Baron speak 
 so sharply, " if there's a footstool in this in this damn 
 fool of a place," he cast a furious glance at the marble 
 nudeness of the room, " bring it along, quick ! " 
 
 "A glass of wine . . ." suggested the singer, 
 faltering and oddly subdued. 
 
 "No," almost snarled her manager, "wine with inflam- 
 matory gout! Murder! Some brandy and water, 
 weak." 
 
 Under his guidance the repetitor sank into a classic 
 chair; and, with a rush of young feet, Fifi plunged into 
 the inner room, to return with an armful of cushions. 
 The gray head was bent forward on the great chest. 
 
 Ill
 
 112 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Is he faint?" whispered the girl, terrified; a 
 nip of remorse was at her heart. Fritz had always 
 meant so well by her had she hurt him ? Had he 
 marked her ungracious greeting? She dropped on her 
 knees. 
 
 " Child, don't touch the foot!" almost screamed 
 Robecq. 
 
 "Oh, Fritz!". . . she cried, and caught the pendant, 
 livid hand. 
 
 The old man raised his head, opened his eyes and 
 looked at her. No, he was not faint, for there was 
 illimitable strength of sorrow in those eyes. 
 
 "Fritz! Fritz!" she exclaimed again, and scarcely 
 knew why she should feel herself so stricken with remorse, 
 so heartless, so ungrateful. Crouching closer against 
 his chair, she burst into tears. He disengaged his hand 
 to lay it on her head. 
 
 " Will you drink this ? " said Fulvia with that unwonted, 
 strange uncertainty of manner. 
 
 "Thank you, Madame, I will not drink." They were 
 the first words he had spoken since his entrance. 
 
 " My dear friend " Robecq was beginning to pro- 
 test. He stretched out his hand impatiently for the 
 glass. But La Marmora flung a dark and furtive look 
 at him. 
 
 " It's no use," she whispered angrily, and set the glass 
 behind her on the marble slab. 
 
 Meyer grasped the edge of the table with one hand 
 and his stick with the other preparatory to the effort of 
 wrenching himself up from his seat. Robecq, his unusual 
 agitation subsiding, measured him thoughtfully.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 113 
 
 " Aber, du lieber," he admonished, " aber mein bester 
 you're not in a state to move. You ought to be in bed! 
 Fulvia, get one of those impossible maids of yours to 
 prepare a room directly." 
 
 "No," said Meyer. 
 
 His voice rang out with such unexpected force and 
 decision that all three started, and Fifi sat back on her 
 heels, pushing the hair back from her wet face to stare. 
 Slowly La Marmora crimsoned. She walked away 
 from them toward one of the archways and leaned against 
 a pillar, looking out upon the green. 
 
 The repetitor made another attempt, this time suc- 
 cessful, to rise to his feet. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said quietly then, "for making 
 a disturbance. I felt I must come straight to you, just 
 to see " he paused for a scarcely appreciable moment 
 and let his gaze fall on the girl crouching before him 
 " to see that all was well with you here. A cab is wait- 
 ing with my luggage. I go to the Inn." 
 
 Though he knew it was futile, the Baron again 
 attempted expostulation. An inn! An English inn! 
 And his friend in such case! And his health so import- 
 ant to them all ! And Salome Salome upon them 
 before they knew where they were! 
 
 " And if you're ill for I fear you'll pay for this 
 was ever creature so obstinate! If you're ill, where are 
 we? For our sakes, most excellent Meyer, stay here 
 and be nursed." 
 
 "It is impossible," answered the other shortly. 
 " Madame " as if impelled against her will, the singer 
 turned upon the word " I shall have the honour of
 
 114 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 presenting myself for repetition as soon as the Herr Baron 
 thinks it necessary." 
 
 " Only don't get ill," she answered fretfully. 
 
 He made her a little bow, without speaking. It was 
 so courteous that it was almost a rebuke. Then, once 
 more, he looked at Fifi : " Na and will you come 
 and see the old man at the Inn ? " 
 
 She sprang and clung to the hand that held the stick. 
 He looked so ill, her poor old Fritz, with his gray, lined 
 face! There were beads of perspiration on his forehead. 
 His foot must be hurting him dreadfully, and she had 
 been so unkind! 
 
 Panther's Cub had a heart and it smote her. 
 
 " I'll come this evening ! Every evening just as 
 always ! " she cried. " Oh, Fritz, don't be ill ! " 
 
 Nearly the same words as her mother's; but with 
 what different solicitude! 
 
 The old man smiled ; then he turned and began to move 
 painfully and slowly toward the entrance. 
 
 "I'll go with you," said Robecq. "Here, let me take 
 you, on this side, under the armpit my dear, dear 
 Fritz! It's straight to bed with you; and I'm dashed " 
 the Baron rarely swore, but when he did he was extra- 
 ordinarily emphatic "if I don't motor up to London 
 and bring down a specialist and a nurse for you this very 
 evening ! " 
 
 He was as good as his word. A nurse was secured. 
 A specialist was duly kidnapped and brought down; 
 something puzzled, and a little offended at finding 
 that the object was nothing but a shabby old German
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 115 
 
 musician, laid up in a stuffy roadside-inn room. Robecq's 
 solemn asseveration that the man was more precious to 
 him than gold, that it was a matter almost of life and 
 death to his enterprise, that it was as important to set 
 this Meyer on foot as to preserve his famous singer in 
 voice, failed to convince the great Harley Street oracle. 
 If it had been Madame la Marmora herself whom he had 
 been requested to attend, the expedition would have 
 been more interesting, certainly. But he was willing 
 to make allowances for the proverbial excitability of 
 foreigners; and on examination, found the patient ill 
 enough to awaken some professional zeal. 
 
 Mr. Meyer accepted the unsolicited attentions with 
 perfect simplicity, and promised obedience to instructions. 
 Sir James looked very grave and shook his head over 
 the Baron's reiterated asseveration that their good 
 Meyer must somehow or other be up and about in a fort- 
 night at latest. There was fever, there was, as the impre- 
 sario had himself surmised, venal inflammation. These 
 cases were slow, and depended on individual tempera- 
 ment. It was impossible to pronounce. 
 
 Robecq sent the great man home in his own motor, 
 and returned disconsolately to Fritz's bedside. 
 
 "Now, here's a pretty thing, Fritz!" he cried, with 
 almost a sound of tears in his drawl. 
 
 The old man turned his drawn face on the pillow to 
 look at his manager. 
 
 "Do not fret, Herr Baron," he said with conviction, 
 " I shall not fail to the work." 
 
 "Well," said the Baron, brightening. "I've never 
 known you fail yet."
 
 116 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 In the evening, as she had promised, came Fifi. She 
 ran down through the grounds it was only some 
 five minutes' walk still in the rough white serge in 
 which Meyer had seen her that afternoon. Her hair 
 was loosened by the wind and the long day's exercise. 
 She sprang in, with her usual impetuous leap, and roused 
 him from a heavy doze in which he had fallen under 
 the effect of the drugs, which it had been Robecq's busi- 
 jiess to see promptly delivered. 
 
 " Is that my little child ? " he asked rather hoarsely. 
 
 She came on tiptoe and stood beside the bed. In the 
 dim light of the solitary candle her eyes widened upon 
 him with the awed pity of a child. "The Baron says 
 I'm not to touch you," she whispered. "He says it 
 half kills people to touch them, when they have gout." 
 
 " Kneel down," said the man, " and let me see your face." 
 
 She knelt. He moved the candle forward, and his 
 eyes, dilated with fever, circled with pain, fixed them- 
 selves long and searchingly upon the flushed face. Then 
 he glanced down at the earth-stained hands that lay 
 clasped upon his sheet, and encircled them with his own. 
 
 * Ach ! Always the tomboy ! " 
 
 He was wont to scold her for this; but to-night he 
 spoke the words like an indulgent caress, almost as a 
 joyful discovery. Then he laid his fevered finger against 
 her cheek. 
 
 "J5 war mir so bang I was so afraid when I heard 
 that the little girl had escaped from school. " 
 
 " But it was to go to Mama and I am not a little 
 girl any more Afraid, when I was with my mama ? " 
 
 The sick man sighed.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 117 
 
 44 No, you are no longer a little girL Haf TOO been 
 good,Fm?- 
 
 She answered him "yes"; though there was an 
 unwonted sense of unreasonable gnOt, a wdg,ht at her 
 heart as she did so. Why did she not want to tefl him 
 about Lord Desmond and all the wonderful new thoughts 
 that circled round him in her mind? Why was she 
 almost glad nay, quite glad that Fritz should be 
 kept to his bed, and unable to find out anything jet, for 
 many a long free day to come? The consciousness of 
 her own hidden baseness lent an extra tenderness to her 
 ncsrt wows ; 
 
 "Darting old Fritz, I am so sorry you're in pain. Why 
 did you travel?" 
 
 "To make sure that yon were safe." 
 
 It was Fritz's way to fuss over her, she knew; but he 
 had never spoken so openly of his self-appointed guard- 
 ianship. She resented it as much as her real tenderness 
 of heart would allow her to resent anything to-night 
 from the sick old man who loved her. 
 
 "But, Fritz * 
 
 "Have you said your prayers every lught ?" 
 
 Her laugh rang out: 
 
 "Of course, of course, old stupid!** 
 
 It was a relief to be able to reassure him in complete 
 truthfulness. For rarely indeed had Fifi prayed so 
 earnestly as after those troubling, delightful evenings, 
 with the memory of the blue eyes in her soul! 
 
 **You used to pray at my knee," Meyer went on 
 dreamily. 
 
 She thought he was wandering a little; she had never
 
 118 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 known him like this before; his face was gray on the 
 pillow, his touch was burning. 
 
 "I will say them beside you now," she cried on an 
 inspiration. "And after that you must sleep. Your 
 grand nurse with the cap told me I must not stay long." 
 
 She said them then, her child's prayers that he himself 
 had taught her. And when she had done, unconsciously 
 as in the old days, she offered him her forehead for his 
 kiss. He had not kissed her since her confirmation in 
 the German school. Now he did so, solemnly, like one 
 who blesses. After that, with a deep sigh: 
 
 "I will sleep," he said, and turned his face toward 
 the wall. 
 
 As she looked back from the threshold upon the gray 
 head, she thought, so still he lay, he was already asleep. 
 Then she flew like an arrow from the bow, through the 
 dews and the shadows and scents of the gardens. She 
 was in haste to make herself beautiful for she never 
 knew what guests her mother might have, and as the 
 Baron was sure, as usual, to ask for her in the evening, 
 perhaps "he" might be among them. Even if they 
 had not a word apart together, their eyes would meet; 
 she had learned in how short a time ! to seek and 
 find the deep kindling of those slow blue eyes; to feel 
 that it was for her alone.
 
 SIR JOSEPH looked about him with almost apprehensive 
 curiosity. It was the first time that he found himself 
 in what he considered a questionable situation ; and every 
 instinct of his middle-class, conventional mind revolted 
 against it. He stood clutching his top-hat as if by it he 
 held on to his endangered respectability; and, awestruck, 
 he watched the serious composure with which Mr. Vere 
 Hamilton, his introducer, trod the marble floor of the 
 reception room it was adjacent and similar to the hall 
 of feasts and sat neatly down upon the couch that held 
 the centre of this fantastic apartment. 
 
 It was a couch raised upon a dais, canopied with green 
 silk, covered with a huge white bear skin suggestive of 
 Cleopatra or Helen, or Heaven knew what other repre- 
 hensive female with whom even the most virtuous English- 
 man cannot help having a school-book acquaintance. 
 
 " So, here you are, my dear Sir Joseph, in Branksome 
 Cottage," said Mr. Vere Hamilton in his pleasant way. 
 "Branksome Cottage!" he repeated, lingering over the 
 word in amiable philosophic appreciation. "Dear, dear 
 when I think that I knew it in its days of dimity and 
 decorum, when my kind old friend, Lady Margaret 
 Branksome used to give her quiet little week-end parties ! 
 As Lord Charles was saying to me the other day, it would 
 
 119
 
 120 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 be enough to make her turn in her grave to see what that 
 Mrs. Orris has made of her favourite retreat. You 
 might as well sit down, Sir Joseph. Circe's couch ! " 
 He tapped the bear skin invitingly. 
 
 Sir Joseph, who was approaching gingerly, started 
 back. 
 
 "Circe!" he exclaimed in tones of horror. He could 
 not for the moment remember what he had once read 
 about that character; but he was quite sure she must 
 be a very improper goddess indeed, to be mentioned in 
 such a connection. "Mr. Hamilton," he proceeded, "I 
 I was not prepared Mr. Hamilton, when I entered 
 these purlieus " 
 
 The little beaver gentleman was shaken by gentle 
 laughter. 
 
 "My dear sir, "his tone was soothing, "pray do not 
 be alarmed. My acquaintance with the lady is no 
 greater than your own; but I venture to assure you that 
 everything will be conducted here, to-day, with the utmost 
 propriety. I understand indeed that Madame la Mar- 
 mora's parties are nothing if not select. Do sit down." 
 
 Sir Joseph sidled toward the couch, and the image 
 of anxious virtue sat on the extreme edge of its com- 
 promising contour. There he caught a sudden glimpse 
 of his own countenance in a mirror cunningly hidden 
 in the drapery of the canopy, and instantly averted his 
 eyes: that familiar countenance seemed so severely 
 reprobative! But curiosity began to gain the mastery 
 over doubt in the gaze he presently allowed to wander 
 about the room. 
 
 It was a large apartment and of unusual shape, with
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 121 
 
 rounded recesses evidently several of the cottage 
 parlours thrown into one. Vanished were the modest 
 Deflowered papers, vanished the cosy panelling, the rafters 
 and window-seats, which had once made their charm 
 in the eyes of the old gentlewoman. A silvered ceiling, 
 artfully brightened toward the centre from dimness to 
 lustre, produced an illusive dome-like effect. Translucent 
 marbles covered the floor, strewn with huge white bear 
 skins here and there, and, between alabaster pillars, hung 
 weighty draperies of faint-coloured green silk. 
 
 Sir Joseph supposed there must be an entrance, since 
 he found himself in the room. But his questioning glance 
 could perceive no issue, save indeed through those open 
 pillared spaces which seemed, between long draperies, 
 to lead on to a sunlit marble terrace, rose- twined, 
 which it would have required an imagination much 
 livelier than his own to associate with the usual riverside 
 verandah. 
 
 " It is certainly a strange place," he remarked. " Strange 
 place indeed . . . like what the imagination would 
 depict as appertaining to the days of ancient pagan Rome. 
 It reminds me, Mr. Hamilton, of those scenes of revelry 
 
 ah revelry and marble halls that certain artists, 
 with what has always appeared to me questionable taste 
 
 have rendered familiar to the public." 
 
 "Perhaps that was the actual source of Mrs. Orris's 
 inspiration," suggested Hamilton, a little wearily. " Car- 
 ried out, I have been told, in an incredibly short space 
 of time and paid for by an equally incredible cheque, 
 signed, it is whispered, by 
 
 Mr. Hamilton broke off abruptly. The name 'Stur-
 
 122 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 minster' had actually been on his tongue, before he real- 
 ized the enormity of the revelation in such ears. 
 
 But Sir Joseph had raised a stiffly forbidding hand and 
 attributed the halt to that action : such scandalous whispers 
 were not for his ears! With alacrity, Mr. Vere Hamilton 
 embarked upon a fresh sentence: 
 
 "The poor lady who now rents these splendours can 
 scarcely be aware that they are already dubbed, among 
 her intimates, the Panther's Den." 
 
 Sir Joseph started and rolled upon the speaker an eye 
 in which dismay, reprobation and inquisitiveness were 
 strangely blended. The Panther . .! The meaning 
 sobriquet was not altogether new to his ear; but to hear 
 the counsellor of the aristocracy, the man of all others 
 whom anxious mothers consulted upon the errors of 
 gilded youths, the friend of Sir Joseph's own mother-in- 
 law that Boadicea of high-placed British virtue 
 talk in this tone of Madame la Marmora ! It set the Mem- 
 ber of Parliament wondering whether the confidence they 
 all placed in Mr. Vere Hamilton was justified. 
 
 Now that he came to think of it, was it not a little singu- 
 lar (but for his laboured gentility, the word in his mind 
 would have been "fishy") that the invitation to Brank- 
 some should have been so speedily obtained ? It was 
 all very well to talk of Mr. Philip Scott. Sir Joseph had 
 no acquaintance with Mr. Philip Scott, but he did not 
 approve of him; for though he knew that he was received 
 in society, even by titled families, he also knew he was a 
 musical critic. The Marchioness did not receive him. 
 A musical critic must, of necessity, have some traffic 
 with Bohemian society: and there was a Biblical maxim
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 123 
 
 which she was fond of quoting in this very respect 
 anent the touching of pitch. Was Mr. Hamilton, per- 
 chance, no more fit to be received into their midst than 
 his friend, Mr. Scott ? 
 
 But, all unconscious, the object of these uneasy specu- 
 lations pursued his reflections aloud: 
 
 "I asked Mr. Scott," he went on, leaning back, with 
 what to the other seemed undue and ghastly nonchalance, 
 "why his talented friend did not drop the 'Cottage' 
 and call it Villa la Marmora, during her tenancy, and so 
 cheat us into the belief that the waters outside were of 
 some fair Italian lake, not of prosy Thames? But 
 Scott assures me that, like Mrs. Orris herself, she revels 
 in contrast " 
 
 Sir Joseph was unable to follow the gentle divagations 
 of his companion's mind; but he felt that it would ill 
 become a man of his position to make himself so much 
 at home in Corinthian halls. It was rather hard upon 
 him, he considered, after forty years of unblemished 
 propriety, that the peccadilloes of a brother-in-law 
 should force him into a situation which might almost 
 appear equivocal. What though it was actually with 
 the approval of the wife of his bosom; under the sanction, 
 nay by the command, of that most high-principled of 
 great ladies, her mother; what though (as Vere Hamilton, 
 who knew everybody, assured him) quite nice people 
 went to Madame la Marmora's parties ? The fact 
 remained that Sir Joseph Warren-Smith found himself 
 the guest of the notorious woman; that he was likely to 
 meet acquaintances, persons in society who knew him and 
 of him. And his purpose, I am here only to rescue a
 
 124 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 noble brother-in-law, was not written on his blameless 
 brow. The world is a censorious place. 
 
 No hard-screwed courage has ever grown by waiting, 
 and Sir Joseph had desperate, if inchoate, resolves in 
 his mind. He began to feel absurdly nervous. The 
 curious, un-English splendour of his surroundings, the 
 subtle fragrance of the atmosphere, the sense of unpro- 
 tectedness which these mysterious hangings (behind which 
 any one might be lurking) and the unholy secretiveness 
 which the apparently doorless walls gave to the apart- 
 ment, began to oppress him. 
 
 He drew his watch, striving to hide his qualms under 
 the airs of the legislator whose time is valuable not only 
 to himself, but to the nation. 
 
 "You were so anxious to be early," observed Hamilton, 
 in answer to the action, "and a lady of Madame la 
 Marmora's profession so invariably takes it out of her 
 friends for the punctuality the public demands of her, 
 that I fear you must arm yourself with patience. But, 
 no doubt, some fellow-guests may soon be expected." 
 
 The words were still on his lips, when one of the cur- 
 tains between the alabaster columns was drawn aside, 
 and Mr. Scott in person, stout and smiling, tripped 
 buoyantly toward them. He was clad in the lightest of 
 spring suits; a damask rose hung from his button-hole. 
 He looked quite respectable, Sir Joseph noticed with 
 relief a relief which was further confirmed by the 
 geniality of Vere Hamilton's greeting. However little in 
 sympathy with him, your man of the world and Hamilton 
 was eminently that invariably meets an acquaintance of 
 long standing as if he were a cherished friend.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 125 
 
 " Why, Scott, my dear fellow! " 
 
 "Glorious afternoon, Verie! You're a bit early 
 on the scene, are you not? Didn't I tell you the hour 
 was five? I am staying here, you know. The Panther 
 is still in the inner lair Blanc-de-perle, Bloom of Ninon 
 and all that." 
 
 The newcomer laughed affably, as if, like his hostess, 
 he appreciated the humour of contrast. But as he 
 spoke his small gray eyes were shrewdly appraising Sir 
 Joseph. 
 
 " We came early with a purpose," said Vere Hamilton 
 gravely. "You remember I asked you if I might bring 
 a friend Sir Joseph Warren-Smith." 
 
 Taking Scott by the sleeve, he drew him on one side, 
 and began to speak low in his ear, at once to Sir Joseph's 
 relief and further discomfort. For, while he was glad 
 that there should be no misinterpretation concerning his 
 visit, his self-consciousness during the explanation became 
 painfully acute. Mr. Scott's countenance expressed 
 delighted amusement, tempered with a certain airy pity. 
 As the brief colloquy ended, he advanced to shake hands 
 with the devoted pilgrim. 
 
 " Delighted to make your acquaintance. - Used to 
 meet Lady Alice. Good Lord, yes, night after night 
 
 . . . season after season! Meet Sturminster now 
 and again at the Beefsteak. Growing rather bald, eh? 
 And how is the old lady ? grand old lady that, ' Martia 
 Marchioness'! Makes you all march, don't she?" 
 
 Sir Joseph's features grew ever more wooden during 
 this address. He was not accustomed to hear his exalted 
 relatives thus flippantly commented on. Yet, he did not
 
 126 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 dare to show open displeasure. For, in the first place, 
 he could not afford to fall out with one who might be 
 useful; and, in the second, there was something impres- 
 sive about such familiarity of allusion to those whom, 
 even in his inmost thoughts, he only approached with 
 awe. 
 
 "My wife's, Lady Alice's, mother is as well as her 
 present anxiety will admit of," he now observed, rallying 
 his pomposity. " If I mistake not, my friend, Mr. Ham- 
 ilton here, has even now informed you what a painful 
 family dilemma it is that brings me into these, ah, purlieus, 
 Mr. Scott." 
 
 Hugely pleased was Sir Joseph with the comprehensive 
 dignity of this phrase. Scott composed his pursy mouth 
 to a suitable gravity, though his eyes gleamed maliciously 
 as he responded, wagging his head: 
 
 "Ah, the prodigal son! Queer fellow, Desmond! 
 Always took a line of his own, hasn't he ? Naughty, 
 naughty ! " 
 
 Mr. Scott was here fain to relapse into mirth. Turning 
 toward Hamilton, he took him by the lapels of his coat 
 and shook him gently backward and forward in cadence. 
 
 "Panther's last! Positively her last. God bless us 
 all, I never saw the creature so so, so enragee, shall we 
 say ? Your brother-in-law, my dear ah Sir Joseph, 
 comes here pretty often, you know. I've had oppor- 
 tunities of judging. Good-looking fellow, in his lean, 
 languid way. My dear Verie," turning back to 
 Hamilton, "you should see the Panther's eyes upon 
 him phosphorescent ! Green flame, positive flame ! " 
 
 " Phos green flame . . . ! How revolting . . .
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 127 
 
 how distressing!" ejaculated the horror-struck Member 
 of Parliament. 
 
 "The family are very anxious," said Hamilton. His 
 refined voice rang as pleasantly as if the topic had been 
 specially agreeable to all concerned. "They understand 
 that Lord Desmond has followed the lady from Vienna. 
 And it is expected, as you know, my dear Scott, that 
 a diplomatist should at least be discreet in his indiscretions. 
 - Lord Desmond's attitude, I believe, when approached 
 on the subject . . ." 
 
 He paused and looked expectantly toward Sir Joseph, 
 who thereupon, not without a gloomy pride, described 
 his wife's brother's attitude as callous as well as reckless 
 in the last degree. 
 
 "His mother, his sister, myself," he concluded, "have 
 communicated with him on the subject by letter, for 
 he has so far refused, absolutely refused to frequent our 
 houses." 
 
 "Lord Desmond," said Mr. Scott, "is not exactly the 
 person to be driven on the curb, is he? Never was a 
 steady goer, I take it. Toujours ombrageux, as our 
 French friends have it and now, at his age " 
 
 "Nearly thirty-three," commented Hamilton. 
 
 " You're not likely to get him in between the shafts. 
 I fear you poor, dear, excellent, anxious people are not 
 likely to improve matters. Dear, dear, if relations would 
 only now and again shut their eyes and stop their ears, 
 how much trouble they might save themselves and others ! " 
 
 "When matters have become public report," rebuked 
 Sir Joseph, "the policy you recommend, Mr. Scott, were 
 mere cowardice. It is a question of saving my brother-
 
 128 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 in-law in spite of himself. His whole career is at stake. 
 The position of a diplomatist is so important. In fact," 
 said Sir Joseph, blowing out his cheeks with something 
 of his best House manner, "it is the imminent sense of 
 his danger that has brought me into this, ah, this, I say 
 this establishment, prepared, if need be, to address myself, 
 ah, to the . . . source of the mischief itself. I 
 refer to Madame la Marmora." 
 
 Vere Hamilton turned his little mouse-gray face, startled, 
 upon the speaker. Surely this was exceeding their man- 
 date. But Sir Joseph's eye met him proudly. A minute 
 ago he had not had the vaguest idea of such a proceeding. 
 The threat had escaped him upon the tide of his own 
 pomposity. But, now uttered, it had so fine a ring of 
 manly determination in his ears, that he determined to 
 abide by it, on fitting occasion. Yes, that was it, 
 on fitting occasion. 
 
 Scott clapped his plump hands together and fell upon 
 the couch the more comfortably to indulge in delighted 
 laughter. 
 
 "Pick the Panther off her prey!" cried he. "May I 
 be there to see!" 
 
 Vere Hamilton deprecated in his gentle way: 
 
 " I hardly think, Sir Joseph, that we are justified that 
 it would even be advisable I believe, myself, that when 
 a lady of her description has one of these peculiar fancies, 
 the less she is opposed the more quickly it is likely to pass." 
 
 But there was no relenting in Sir Joseph's aspect. 
 
 Mr. Scott wiped his eyes and dabbed his brow expres- 
 sively with a mauve silk handkerchief. Then, restoring 
 it to his pocket, he remarked carelessly:
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 129 
 
 " How well you express it, Verie. But, really, you good 
 people are agitating yourselves unnecessarily. Fortunately, 
 or unfortunately for my poor dear hostess now don't 
 die of astonishment Lord Desmond can't endure her." 
 
 Both his hearers exclaimed, turning upon him incredu- 
 lously. Mr. Scott's wreathed smile not unnaturally led 
 them to the conclusion that he was attempting a poor 
 joke. 
 
 "Good gracious, Scott!" cried Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 The simple expletive showed him as nearly annoyed as 
 it lay in his amiable nature to be. Harmless creature ! 
 his sole aim in life had been that social position, which he 
 had reached without any of the spites, the envies, the 
 petty meannesses which generally accompany such a 
 career. He was never so nearly moved to wrath as when 
 anything grated upon his gentlemanly ideals. It was a 
 look of approval that he cast upon the smirking Scott. 
 
 But it was choler, on the other side, that might be seen 
 mounting to Sir Joseph's brow purple choler; well-nigh 
 rattling, as you may see it mount in an offended turkey. 
 
 "Your levity, sir, is misplaced misplaced," he 
 spluttered. 
 
 "You dear, good people," cried the culprit again, 
 beaming yet more broadly, "I am not pulling your leg: 
 'pon honour, I'm not. Lord Desmond is bored to death 
 by all Panther's ogles and gambols. He does not care 
 one twopenny curse for her. The more she fawns, the 
 silkier and the sleeker she grows with him, the more 
 utterly she bores him. I positively declare he loathes 
 the sight of her." 
 
 There was conviction in the words as well as in the tone.
 
 130 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Dear Mr. Scott," Sir Joseph exclaimed as this con- 
 viction was agreeably borne in upon him, "you take a 
 crushing weight off my mind!" 
 
 He drew a huge breath as if the relief were physical, 
 both hands held out in his effusion. But Mr. Scott made 
 no responsive gesture. His fat fingers were playing a 
 jaunty, silent tune on his fat knees. 
 
 Hamilton eyed him askance: he had known the critic 
 many years already. 
 
 "Yet Lord Desmond," he objected, "has admittedly 
 followed Madame la Marmora to England ; and he comes 
 to Branksome, it is said, constantly." 
 
 " Quite so, Verie," responded the other with unabated 
 cheerfulness. He looked benignly from Sir Joseph to 
 Hamilton: then he cackled: "Yes, Lord Desmond did 
 follow from Vienna to London, and he does come to 
 Branksome. But it is " he stopped and shook out 
 a triumphant forefinger " it is for the daughter 
 for the girl." 
 
 "The girl!" ejaculated Hamilton, while Sir Joseph 
 stood open-mouthed. 
 
 "Didn't you know," proceeded Scott, "that Panther 
 has a cub ? " 
 
 Sir Joseph fumbled for his pocket-handkerchief; his 
 brow was suddenly moist. He did not in the least under- 
 stand, but a new sense of calamity was borne in upon him. 
 Hamilton's face, however, clouded. He understood. He 
 sat down again on the couch beside Scott. 
 
 "A girl, the daughter?" he went on. "I heard 
 vaguely there was a child in the background. But 
 but, my dear fellow, you don't mean to tell me
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 131 
 
 "The child, La Marmora vows, is just seventeen. 
 An uncommonly well-developed young woman to pass 
 for being barely out of the schoolroom. She's been kept 
 hidden away at school, certainly. A few months ago 
 the Panther suddenly turned maternal, and sent for her 
 cub. That was at Vienna. That's where Desmond saw 
 them, and 
 
 Vere Hamilton interrupted, pulling at his neat, pointed 
 beard with nervous fingers : 
 
 "This is indeed a very different matter " 
 
 "Yes a horse of quite another colour, isn't it?'* 
 said Scott, charmed at the concern he had created. 
 
 "Quite another colour indeed," assented Mr. Hamilton, 
 faintly. 
 
 "And much more likely to run away with him," con- 
 cluded the other, with his chuckle. 
 
 Sir Joseph started. The last remark had pricked him 
 into a sudden perspicacity. 
 
 "Run away with Lord Desmond! Merciful heavens, 
 what do you mean by that?" 
 
 "I mean, my dear sir, that the mother might cost your 
 brother-in-law a few thousands and another shred or 
 
 two of reputation. But the daughter might cost him 
 
 He paused and drew a circle in the air. 
 
 As if hypnotized, the Member of Parliament bent over 
 him and unconsciously imitated the gesture. 
 
 "Might cost him in Heaven's name speak out.'* 
 
 "A wedding ring," chuckled Philip Scott. 
 
 Sir Joseph exploded: "A wedding ring! Mon- 
 strous!" He turned to Hamilton. He could no longer 
 address personally one who had been guilty of this out-
 
 138 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 rageous suggestion. "Would Mr. Scott have us believe, 
 Mr. Hamilton, that mj brother-in-law, Lord Desmond, 
 could be so unprincipled, so lost to every sense of honour, 
 to what is due to his family, to himself, to society, as to 
 contemplate marriage marriage with such a such a 
 young person?" 
 
 "Not necessarily. - Possibly,'' said Mr. Scott. He 
 shrugged his shoulders: seldom had a situation appealed 
 to his sense of humour more completely. With a groan, 
 the Baronet let himself drop upon the white bear skin 
 beside the two. 
 
 "Poor Lady Alice, my poor wife . . .! The 
 Marchioness my poor mother-in-law, none of us had 
 any idea of this!" he murmured. "It's it's horrible," 
 he groaned. "To marry the girl " 
 
 "Not necessarily; but possibly," soothed Scott again. 
 "Of one thing, yon may be sure, my dear Sir Joseph, 
 yon wiD have a powerful aHy in La Marmora herself. 
 She's not going to allow her cub to snap her own chosen 
 morseL" 
 
 He paused and laughed with something of the soft 
 unctuous note of the reflective starling. 
 
 "Funny thing," he resumed; "the situation has not 
 even dawned upon poor, dear Ful via yet. She thinks 
 your handsome brother-in-law comes here for her, ha, 
 ha!" He emphasized his appreciation of the joke by 
 a finger-pat against Sir Joseph's rigid knee. "So accus- 
 tomed, you know, to being the magnet, and all that. 
 Else she'd not keep Miss Fffi a moment longer on the scene, 
 even for her own little plan which, Sir Joseph, I may 
 pieaenlly unfold for your consolation. Surely I hear
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 133 
 
 a motor. Perhaps the naughty diplomat. His chauffeur 
 must be familiar with the road to Branksome." 
 
 "Oh, Hamilton," cried Sir Joseph, looking across 
 Scott's rounded outline, toward his sympathetic friend. 
 "This is worse, much worse, than we anticipated!" 
 
 "Tut, tut!'' interposed Scott before the other could 
 think of a suitable reply. "Buck up! Our friend is 
 very far from buying a wedding ring yet. I'll swear the 
 thought has not even crossed his mind. Come, we'll 
 all stand by you. I'd do it for poor, dear Panther's 
 sake alone," he added sentimentally. "Between our- 
 selves, I can't endure Cub." 
 
 There was the beat of a slow footstep against the 
 marble. A tall man appeared between the green silk 
 curtains, and stood looking with a sardonic smile at the 
 three gentlemen seated side by side upon the Greek 
 couch under the canopy. 
 
 "The three graces!" he said presently, with jeering 
 nonchalance. "Why. Joseph! Joseph? It's never 
 Joseph ... in the Venusberg!" 
 
 Two of the trio rose discountenanced, each in his own 
 way ; while Scott lolled and smiled a trifle one-sidedly. 
 He did not much care for other people's jokes. 
 
 The newcomer advanced. The smile was still on his 
 lips, but his eyes were not friendly.
 
 VI 
 
 GOSSIP 
 
 MR. VERB HAMILTON looked with interest at Lord 
 Desmond whom he had not seen for many years ; not, in 
 fact, since the latter's undergraduate days. As he looked, 
 he recalled their last meeting. Yes, it was in the late 
 Marquis's time, on an autumn visit to Sturminster. He 
 remembered how he had liked the boy. They had had 
 a certain long ride together in the woods. He had been 
 struck by his companion's freshness of mind, his enthusi- 
 asm, high spirits; by the nobility Vere Hamilton was 
 a man to appreciate nobility in any form of his out- 
 look on life. "He'll be a credit to his race," he had 
 told himself pleasantly. 
 
 As he now looked, he found it difficult to trace 
 any connection between past and present; between 
 the dashing, enthusiastic boy, and the man before 
 him. 
 
 Sixteen years was certainly a long time; but it did 
 not seem natural to Hamilton who was himself, at 
 sixty, much the same guileless, precise, tuft-hunting little 
 gentleman he had been at twenty that the mere passage 
 of time could cause so much alteration. Handsome the 
 man was, as the boy had been; and the crisp wave of 
 the hair over the low, wide forehead was the same; but 
 the colour had gone out of it, as indeed out of the whole 
 
 134
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 135 
 
 personality; and it lay dull-dark and gray-streaked against 
 the pallid darkness of the face. 
 
 For the rest, in spite of a well-knit frame and broad 
 shoulders, the general effect of figure as well as of coun- 
 tenance was one of extreme languor. When he spoke, 
 however, the lines of the face were mocking; they betrayed 
 also a latent bitterness. The eyes, blue between thick 
 black lashes, eyes which Hamilton had remembered as 
 singularly brilliant, had now no light in them. The 
 smile showed white teeth, but rarely merriment. Down to 
 the long pale hands, all told the kindly man of the world, 
 whose own existence had been, and was still, replete with 
 harmless interests, that here was one whom a Frenchman 
 would have summed up in a single phrase: "il a vecu." 
 
 Vere Hamilton would not have been Vere Hamilton, 
 had he not seized the opportunity to reintroduce himself 
 as a friend of the family. 
 
 "I have not forgotten our rides in the New Forest, 
 Lord Desmond," said he. 
 
 Lord Desmond shook hands loosely, with a vague: 
 
 "Ah, really really?" 
 
 And Hamilton fell back with an uneasy smile of the 
 rebuffed. 
 
 Yet rebuff was as far from the diplomatist's thoughts 
 as cordiality itself. He was merely slipping through his 
 part in the social play with as little trouble as possible. 
 He now flung himself upon the nearest chair, acknow- 
 ledged Mr. Scott's familiar wave of greeting with a jerk 
 of the head, and turned his glances and his mocking 
 smile in the direction of his brother-in-law. 
 
 " Three Graces did I say ? the three goddesses rather
 
 136 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 to whom shall Paris give the apple? What will you do 
 with it, my fair Joseph ? " he asked. 
 
 " The apple ? " stammered Sir Joseph. 
 
 He had been making furtive signals of distress to 
 Hamilton. But, as the latter showed no response, the 
 baronet drew a long breath of resolve; and ignoring the 
 prodigal's further taunting suggestion; "Forbidden fruit, 
 eh?" strutted up to him, bent over his chair, and sepul- 
 chrally whispered : 
 
 " Do you think this is a nice place for you Lord 
 Desmond Brooke to be seen at ? " 
 
 "Well, Joe, and what is your opinion on the point? 
 Ah what would my good sister, Alice, say and what 
 the constituents ? Oh, Joe ! " 
 
 Sir Joseph broke into a cold sweat in spite of the oppres- 
 sive heat of the day. His tormentor went on, without 
 the smallest attempt at lowering his drawling accents 
 or concealing his mockery. 
 
 " Often come here, Joseph ? Strange we never should 
 have met before." 
 
 Mr. Scott sniggered aloud, while Hamilton discreetly 
 abstracted his attention. St. Lawrence could not have 
 felt more uneasy on his grid than did the pompous Member 
 of Parliament. 
 
 "You are very well aware, Desmond," he began, in 
 blustering rebuke, "what unfortunate circumstances 
 bring me to this house. Nothing but my sense of duty 
 to the family, to my my to your " he broke off, 
 to resume feebly: "We are very unhappy! The family 
 is very unhappy, Desmond. . . . And you know 
 very well that I've never been here before."
 
 PANTHER 'S CUB 137 
 
 "Never mind," said Lord Desmond, leaning back and 
 yawning. "You'll come again, Tannhauser, when you 
 find how thrilling it is in the grotto, and how much more 
 pleasant Venus is than . . Alice." 
 
 "Alice . . .!" gasped the husband, unable to 
 credit the possibility of such blasphemy. 
 
 " I mean Elizabeth, of course," said his brother- 
 in-law imperturbably. 
 
 Scott laughed again; and the kindly Hamilton, pity- 
 ing Sir Joseph's agony of bewilderment and impotent 
 resentment, intervened with somewhat forced naivete: 
 
 " Must we all explain our reasons for coming to Brank- 
 some? Our hostess gives very pleasant garden parties, 
 I understand. I expect to meet many of my friends, and 
 besides to make the acquaintance of a celebrated artist." 
 
 Scott broke in, with his starling chuckle. 
 
 "Let me not be behind Verie in unfolding the moral 
 passport. I might plead, as musical critic, that I am 
 bound to penetrate these, aha! grottoes occasionally. 
 But I will be candid. La Marmora's got a splendid 
 chef; I never refuse an invitation to Branksome. You 
 see, my reason lies in a nutshell." 
 
 "Is that what you call it?" asked Desmond, with a 
 slight glance in the direction of Mr. Scott's garden-party 
 waistcoat. 
 
 Mr. Scott glared at the speaker's countenance with 
 sudden vindictiveness ; but was baffled by its imper- 
 turbability, not to say blankness. 
 
 "Wait, my superior friend, wait," angrily he apostro- 
 phized the diplomatist in his mind ; " and if I do not ruffle 
 that aristocratic languor of yours before long ! "
 
 138 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "I assure you, Mr. " The effort to recollect the 
 name of one of such recent acquaintance, was evidently 
 too much for Lord Desmond. He looked at Mr. Hamil- 
 ton, as if inviting him to fill up the hiatus and pur- 
 sued with his mirthless smile: 
 
 "I assure you that I don't see why any one need explain 
 his reasons for coming here. Least of all, Sir Joseph 
 Oh, no, Joseph, I beg I beg, do not explain ! Why 
 distress yourself this way, my dear fellow ? " 
 
 "Don't explain, Sir Joseph," said Scott, extending 
 his curves more gracefully and comfortably on the classic 
 couch, and proceeding to select a cigar. 
 
 Sir Joseph, turning upon him with all the exaspera- 
 tion he dared not vent upon his aristocratic brother-in- 
 law, was met by the smiling proffer of the open case. 
 His splutter was cut short through sheer inability to meet 
 the situation, and he tamely took a cigar. This, however, 
 he continued to stare at with an air of abstract horror, 
 until Scott, voluptuously drawing the first puff, noted 
 his attitude. 
 
 "Don't be afraid of it, Sir Joseph," he said. "They're 
 from Robecq's own cabinet. Ah, I always make a point 
 of filling my case here best cigars in Europe." 
 
 As he spoke, he offered one to Lord Desmond. The 
 latter looked for a moment at the case, and then, through 
 his heavy lids at the easy gentleman's countenance, and 
 said: 
 
 "Thanks, I prefer my own." 
 
 "May I sample one?" interposed Hamilton, as usual 
 ready to cover the moment's tension. (Poor old Scott 
 might not be the best fellow in the world, but really he
 
 139 
 
 meant well. . . . Lord Desmond's manner was 
 almost disagreeable . . . doubtless only manner.) 
 "You mean, of course, Robecq the financier," he went 
 on as he selected a Panatella. 
 
 "Exactly; the great American impresario and financier. 
 The Panther's keeper, aha! if I may use the expression - 
 Our dear creature's showman . . . shortly - 
 Scott paused and shot a malevolent look at Lord Des- 
 mond, "shortly to be her pretty little son-in-law." 
 
 The diplomatist had just struck a match to light his 
 cheroot; he paused and held it flaming between his fin- 
 gers, as if fallen into a sudden muse. The flame reached his 
 fingers; he shook them and seemed to think that he had 
 lit his cigar, for he puffed at it vaguely, once or twice. 
 
 Mr. Scott's smile became accentuated, as he proceeded, 
 still keeping him under his scrutiny: 
 
 "Tut tut! I believe I have let out a little secret. 
 You will kindly keep it to yourselves, dear, good people. 
 You see, I am an old friend of Fulvia la Marmora." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton was really flustered. 
 
 "To finance the mother is all very well but to marry 
 the daughter! Scott, my dear friend, did I hear you say: 
 Marry the daughter ? The daughter quite a young 
 girl!" 
 
 "You do misunderstand My dear Verie, your 
 countenance is as good as a play Gossip, for once, 
 has maligned the prima donna and the Jew. Robecq 
 is, above all things, a man of business. It is his rule in 
 life never to mix up business and pleasure he is fond 
 of saying so, and it is no vain boast She is, of course, 
 only one of his many investments; but, just now, she is
 
 140 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 by far the most important. He makes her engagements 
 on his own terms, carts her about the world, pays the 
 bills, and above all looks after the voice that is his gold 
 mine. But there has never been that ' he snapped 
 the edge of his nail expressively "between them." 
 
 "I am very glad," said Hamilton relieved, "very glad." 
 
 Sir Joseph shook his head with a grunt of disbelief. 
 
 "Dear me, yes, I went over to Paris for her debut. 
 I was on the Argus, then. Robecq left me no peace 
 till I consented to write her up; and by George, she was 
 worth it! After that I never missed a new performance 
 of hers anywhere within reach. Dear me, yes, we're 
 quite old friends. She knows I've done her many a good 
 turn. Why, I really think Robecq would never have 
 got her Covent Garden engagement, if it weren't for 
 me." 
 
 Sir Joseph turned, woodenly, as if constructed all of 
 a piece, to survey the speaker. He really did not think 
 he could smoke the cigar of a man who talked so lightly 
 of so notorious a being; a man who admitted, almost 
 boastfully, that he had been instrumental in bringing 
 her contaminating presence into Britain. 
 
 Unconsciously the sinner continued his self-satisfied 
 discourse. 
 
 "So the dear lady does me the honour to consult me, 
 in confidence, now and again. Not that she ever follows 
 my advice. But in this instance, she has my approval. 
 Capital thing for all parties, except, perhaps, for old 
 Robecq. I'm not so sure about poor Robecq Odd, 
 now, with all his wives, that he should want Panther's 
 Cub!"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 141 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed Hamilton. 
 
 Sir Joseph turned his bovine air of reproving aston- 
 ishment upon him. Since there was a chance of getting 
 the girl out of the way, what ailed Hamilton, the accred- 
 ited friend of the family, that he should looked so shocked ? 
 
 Hamilton was really flustered. 
 
 "Surely, Scott, my dear fellow, I misunderstand you. 
 You cannot approve of such a marriage, if this Mr. 
 Mr. Robecq is is has " 
 
 "Reassure yourself, my dear Verie. Robecq is neither 
 Bluebeard nor Mormon. Merely a law-abiding American 
 citizen. He is perfectly free to make a fresh choice." 
 
 But the little gray gentleman was still disturbed in his 
 mind. 
 
 "Is not Miss la Marmora still a very young 
 lady?" 
 
 "Fresh from school last month. Her name, by the 
 way, is not La Marmora, but Lovinska. She's about 
 as much right to the one as to the other. Don't ask me 
 why, before Sir Joseph." The last-named gentleman 
 still stood, rigidly holding the reprobate cigar at arm's 
 length. He was listening intently. Scott now regarded 
 him with a quizzical air. 
 
 "Have a light, won't you And you, Lord Desmond, 
 unless you prefer cold tobacco ? " 
 
 Desmond stretched out his hand in silence for the 
 lighted match, which his brother-in-law had sternly 
 waved aside. 
 
 But Hamilton was manifestly uneasy. 
 
 "It seems to me a very unsuitable match for an 
 innocent young girl," he ejaculated" querulously.
 
 142 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 The critic's eyebrows described a humorous curve. 
 
 " Who spoke of innocence, Verie ? " 
 
 Sir Joseph glared the same question. Innocent 
 indeed! the daughter of such a mother! and now Mr. 
 Scott again phrased the baronet's own thought in what 
 he could not but consider a remarkable manner: 
 
 " Well, and what do you expect of the Cub, but that it 
 should gambol after the Panther ? Do sit down, my good, 
 excellent Verie, you make one feel so hot. It is high time 
 that Miss Fifi should be married high time." 
 
 The cotton spinner tried to exchange a glance of intel- 
 ligence with his accomplice. " Draw him out !" it urged. 
 
 But the friend of the family seemed to be taking an 
 unaccountable view of the situation. He turned (with 
 what Sir Joseph afterward described to his wife as quite 
 a scowl) from the meaning look and flung himself on a 
 seat at some distance, his shoulder turned to the com- 
 pany. The tapping of a very neat black boot within a 
 superlatively white spat further protested against the sub- 
 ject of conversation. 
 
 Sir Joseph swelled. It was quite evident that the 
 matter must be entirely conducted by himself. If flip- 
 pant, this Scott was nevertheless a gentlemanly, pleasant 
 fellow enough. Yes, he would smoke that cigar. He 
 would be tactful and do the drawing out himself. 
 
 "Do I understand you to imply, sir " his manner 
 was once more parliamentary " that the young person 
 in question shows a disposition to, ah to follow in her 
 mother's footsteps ? " 
 
 " Why shouldn't she ? " cried the airy Scott. " Admir- 
 able woman, her mother, delightful woman, successful
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 143 
 
 woman ! Who could blame Miss Fifi for wanting to follow 
 in her mother's footsteps ? " 
 
 "Pshaw," said Hamilton. He uncrossed and 
 recrossed his legs; scraped his chair indignantly on 
 the marble. 
 
 Scott laughed. Nothing so stimulated his peculiar 
 form of humour as opposition. 
 
 " Not that she cannot toddle along on her own account 
 already," he concluded. 
 
 Sir Joseph, though following with difficulty the nimble 
 twists of the critic's fancy, had wit enough to seize the 
 trend, if not the full bearing of this observation. 
 
 " Do I gather that there has been already, ahem, some 
 scandal " 
 
 He rolled his eyes toward his brother-in-law, as he 
 spoke. Lord Desmond was lying back in his easy-chair; 
 he might have been asleep or dead, for all the expression 
 discernible on his pallid countenance. 
 
 "Scandal? Oh, my dear sir!" said Scott smiling. 
 His glance likewise sought the impassive face. " Scandal 
 is a big word, a big word for any little stir that Miss 
 Fifi may have made. Come, come, don't ask me to give 
 her away." 
 
 Hamilton rose stiffly from his chair; wheeled and 
 surveyed the group, his neat countenance, his mild glance, 
 charged with unusual severity; then he walked away 
 toward the shaded terrace. It was the most scathing 
 rebuke there was in him to give; he himself thought it 
 fulminating. He was ashamed of his companions; out- 
 raged by Philip Scott; amazed that a man of breeding 
 like Lord Desmond should lie and feign sleep, while a
 
 144 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 young lady the young lady he was said to admire 
 was thus lightly spoken of. 
 
 The critic, however, was alone of the trio to be aware 
 of this disapproval, in which moreover his idle malice 
 would merely have found a zest; Lord Desmond's eye- 
 lids were sealed, and Sir Joseph, agog with excitement, 
 was bent only on extracting the hinted-at revelation in 
 its completeness. 
 
 "I think, Mr. Scott," said the baronet, "that under 
 the circumstances, you owe it to us " he glanced round 
 and perceived his companion's final defection. "To 
 me," he amended firmly, "not to refrain from putting 
 me in possession of, hum er, the whole of the facts to 
 which you allude. The family, on whose behalf I am 
 here to-day the family of my I fear I must say my 
 infatuated brother-in-law." 
 
 Lord Desmond's black-lashed eyelids slowly unclosed, 
 and his blue eyes glittered for a barely appreciable moment 
 on the speaker. It was enough to reduce Joseph to a 
 purple silence. Then: 
 
 " Stop that, you silly ass ! " said his lordship, succinctly. 
 
 As the baronet gasped, Scott's chuckle resounded 
 in delight. 
 
 "My dear Sir Joseph, why should you imagine that 
 I know anything of the kind ? And if I did, just reflect 
 a moment ; could I be expected to to 'Pon my 
 word 'tisn't fair to ask me. Supposing that the dear child 
 had made her little faux pas " 
 
 "Her what?" echoed the other with a self-forgetful 
 emphasis ;" her what?" He craned his neck; his eyes 
 protruded.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 145 
 
 "Faux pas," repeated the gossip. "Delightfully 
 generic term, which may include every kind of fancy 
 step, my dear, good sir, except indeed the pas seid." 
 
 He was alone to appreciate his own humour. Sir 
 Joseph stood staring. Lord Desmond was yawning. 
 Philip Scott perceived that it might after all be advan- 
 tageous to change the subject. He knew, none better, 
 how much more disturbing is the innuendo than the 
 statement. He knew that he had so far succeeded in 
 his benevolent intention and sown the seed of conjecture 
 in Lord Desmond's mind. 
 
 "For all your airs, my noble lord, you have not been 
 able to smoke your cigar," he said inwardly. 
 
 The pompous baronet, too, was left in a state of tanta- 
 lization; and "dear Verie," who was so ridiculously 
 superior, and always coming the perfect gentleman over 
 one, was positively peevish. The dull half-hour of wait- 
 ing had not been wasted. 
 
 He rose, yawned in his turn, and surveyed the long 
 ash of his cigar critically. 
 
 " Any sign of our fair hostess without, Verie ? " 
 
 Hamilton came down from the terrace, flung an 
 unappeased glance upon his interpolator, passed him 
 deliberately and addressed Lord Desmond; his con- 
 science smiting him the while lest his extraordinary 
 display of severity should have been too acutely felt. 
 
 "Do you feel inclined to come for a stroll in the gar- 
 den ? There are quite a number of people there already, 
 and it seems to me oppressively hot here." 
 
 His words were emphasized by a liquid thud and 
 rhythm of oars, and a distant ring of laughter.
 
 146 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Lord Desmond opened his eyes. 
 
 "Really I don't happen to feel hot." Upon this 
 he closed them again and settled his long limbs as for 
 more deliberate repose. 
 
 Unusually discomfited, the little gentleman drew 
 back and took his solitary way out on the terrace, passing 
 the gloomily ruminating Joseph and the still chuckling 
 Scott with renewed disfavour. 
 
 "Certainly," ran his sore thought, "Lord Desmond's 
 manners are far from pleasant far from pleasant."
 
 VII 
 
 THE PANTHER'S DEN 
 
 MADAME LA MARMORA had been a fortnight in Eng- 
 land ; and almost from the day of landing seemed to have 
 stepped into that social position for which she had so 
 long hankered in vain. 
 
 True, in the States, as much homage had been paid 
 to her talent and success by all classes as any artist could 
 claim to have received; but Americans are notably 
 large-minded in such matters. There were also one or 
 two noted salons in Paris where she was made welcome, 
 but only one or two and these cosmopolitan. While, 
 as an artist she could not feel that she had reached full 
 success until the English public had acknowledged her, 
 as a woman she had always aspired to the social eminence 
 given to so many of her operatic sisters; aspired to it 
 almost more ardently. 
 
 Robecq had assured her that all would be well. It 
 was his business indeed to see that all should be well. 
 But even he was surprised at the reception which spon- 
 taneously greeted the new star. How much was due to 
 his own clever advertising (he was determined that her 
 long-delayed London debut should be heralded with the 
 utmost eclat) this astute gentleman carefully kept to him- 
 self. 
 
 But the London society craze for personality, and 
 
 147
 
 148 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 novelty at any price, was no doubt a material factor. 
 The Salome arrived upon the scene at a moment when 
 Society was at a loss for a fresh idol. Bare-footed dances 
 had been multiplied ad nauseam; the murderous gym- 
 nastics of Apaches were beginning to pall; Sicilian 
 epileptic convulsions were already forgotten. Here was 
 one reputed of extraordinary beauty, of peerless voice, 
 of fantastic notoriety. For her savage grace no less than 
 for her wild adventures, it seemed that she had been 
 nicknamed the Panther. Every one could see for him- 
 self that rumour had not lied with regard to her beauty; 
 for her portraits, in every conceivable attitude and cos- 
 tume, flooded the papers. Needless to say, the hostess 
 who could first secure such a presence at her house was 
 certain of the success of the season. Coroneted notes 
 poured in upon Robecq at Claridge's. The slightest 
 shadow of acquaintance with the impresario was held 
 sufficient pretext. 
 
 "Dear Baron, I hope you have not forgotten me; we 
 met once last year, at Lady Caradoc's I'm just dying 
 to meet Madame la Marmora " 
 
 "Can we induce you to bring your merveille?" 
 
 "Fix your own night, dear Baron the Duke and I " 
 etc. 
 
 The manager had a private smile, and an invariable 
 reply for these blandishments. It was no part of his 
 programme that his star should make herself cheap by 
 shining, except from her proper setting, even if the risk 
 of crowds and hot rooms had not of necessity to be 
 shunned. But as he could not altogether keep the more 
 enterprising novelty-hunters from applying direct to her;
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 149 
 
 and as it was of the utmost importance to keep the Panther 
 in good humour; as further he was supremely anxious 
 to provide a counter attraction to Lord Desmond, he 
 permitted the tenancy of the marble "cottage," and even 
 encouraged the bi-weekly strawberry parties. Let her 
 have a fling for a little while; it could only be for a little 
 while. The Herr Repetitor was keeping his word satis- 
 factorily; work was to begin in earnest at the end of the 
 month. The production of Salome was announced for 
 the week following Ascot. 
 
 Meanwhile, faithful to his maxim of not mixing busi- 
 ness with pleasure, he was making no attempt to advance 
 his courtship qua suitor. Besides the fact that he could 
 not give his mind to it with any comfort, it was his pur- 
 pose to let the girl familiarize herself with him first as 
 a kind of benevolent genie. He treated her as one would 
 a child one is bent on spoiling. He was for ever bringing 
 her little gifts ; constantly procuring little treats. Between 
 her and her mother's stormy caprices he would interpose 
 his authoritative good nature. But it was on the day 
 when he presented her with a Persian kitten that he 
 altogether won from her some real liking. 
 
 Meanwhile he was by no means blind to the fact that 
 it was for her and her alone that Lord Desmond Brooke 
 paid his frequent visits to Branksome. At first it caused 
 him some annoyance, though hardly amounting to per- 
 turbation. He could easily have put a stop to it, no doubt, 
 by one hint dropped in the mother's ear. But that was 
 the last thing the manager of an irascible prima donna 
 could afford to do. We must tide over Salome at 
 all costs, was his perpetual preoccupation. After that
 
 150 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 we shall have summer holidays let the Panther scream 
 then. She would have served her turn Let her scream. 
 
 It was his cue, of course, to foil Lord Desmond's 
 opportunities with Fifi, if not for the sake of his future 
 "pleasure," at least for that of his present "business." 
 He even went so far as to allay any possible suspicion 
 in La Marmora's breast by straining the truth in his 
 reference to Lord Desmond; speaking of him casually 
 as "your latest adorer, dear friend"; laughing gently 
 at British manners of expressing feelings as exemplified 
 by his lordship; never failing to comment with knowing 
 smile on the frequency of his appearance among 
 them. 
 
 Privately he wondered at the singer's obtuseness. He 
 little knew that he had had a potent ally in this work of 
 deception. And this was Elisa. 
 
 When the sheaf of lily of the valley had arrived at 
 the hotel, in Vienna, Lord Desmond's card attached very 
 distinctly had borne the dedication: "For Madem- 
 oiselle." Mother and daughter had both been out; 
 it was the maid who had received the flowers from the 
 messenger. A spasm of rage had seized the old woman 
 at the thought of her mistress's eclipse, of her own jealous 
 forebodings thus early realized. 
 
 "Ah bien, non!" she had cried through her teeth. 
 "Little viper, it shall not be for thee!" With her nimble 
 French fingers she had detached the card, erased the 
 pencil inscription and rewritten it. 
 
 The singer had found the great cool fragrant bunch 
 in her room upon returning from her drive; and as she 
 read the dedication "Pour Madame la Marmora,"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 151 
 
 had known a moment of exquisite joy and triumph. 
 Fifi had cried herself to sleep that night. 
 
 Thus the web of illusion had begun to be woven. The 
 diva was wound round with it; living in it cocoon-like, 
 with something that almost approached happiness in 
 her restless heart. 
 
 On this, the day of her fourth garden party, she was 
 standing on the lawn, in the shade of a great cedar tree, 
 receiving her guests with that urbane, grande dame manner 
 in which she was becoming ever more proficient. 
 
 She wore a filmy garment of corn-coloured cre'pe, 
 embroidered with wonderful delicacy and richness in 
 long lines of wheat-ears. An immense hat of the same 
 tint, garlanded with bunches of corn in every shade of 
 yellow, crowned her burnished head. It was the inspira- 
 tion of an artist; an embodiment of summer ripeness, 
 yet conveying a sense of diaphanous coolness. Tucked 
 into the riband of the high Directoire waist was a bunch 
 of tea roses. 
 
 "Mais vous savez qu'elle est ideate!" exclaimed a little 
 French countess, who had left her dear Lady Peter- 
 borough no peace till she had been brought within the 
 coveted circle. 
 
 La Marmora overheard, as she was meant to do, and 
 the radiance in her eyes was heightened. 
 
 It was a gay and pretty scene. The grounds at Brank- 
 some ran in two terraces down to the river. All that was 
 not smooth green turf in the upper lawn was rose garden. 
 At one end of the marble colonnade that so incongru- 
 ously replaced the original verandah against the brick 
 walls, a long buffet with tea and every kind of iced drink
 
 152 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 awaited the guests. But the promised strawberries were 
 set on small tables in lost corners under the trees ; beneath 
 pergolas; in unexpected and shady nooks; each pro- 
 vided with but two chairs little traps for summer flirta- 
 tions. This device created merriment among the com- 
 pany, but seemed nevertheless appreciated. 
 
 Sir Joseph, piloted by the friend of the house, stepped 
 as gingerly from the fine gravel of the path on to the 
 sward, as if in this garden of Eden he feared to find the 
 serpent beneath his foot. 
 
 "Behold," said Scott, dithyrambically, indicating the 
 variegated group under the cedar tree with a gesture. 
 "Behold Margherita, Messalina, Mimi, Violetta 
 Salome! Ah, above all, Salome!" 
 
 Sir Joseph stopped with a jerk : 
 
 "Mimi, Violetta, Salome!" he ejaculated in horror 
 "Mr. Scott, this is is a very unpleasant situation. Ham- 
 ilton gave me to understand I am afraid I cannot 
 disguise from myself that this is more than doubtful 
 company!" 
 
 The other was overcome with laughter, such laughter 
 that he was fain to clutch his companion's unresponsive 
 coat sleeve; 
 
 "Oh, my dear, good sir," he gasped at last, "positively 
 you'll be the death of me!" Then, meeting the offended 
 glare of the baronet, he composed himself to gravity 
 only to break out again. 
 
 "My fault my fault entirely! My little pictur- 
 esque way. I refer merely to our peerless hostess. Yon- 
 der she stands ravishing creature ! All in yellow
 
 She was standing on the lavm . . . receiving her guests 
 with that urbane, grande dame manner, in irhidi .s7/r 
 was becoming ever more proficient
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 153 
 
 to-day. True to her Panther's livery! Fulvia well 
 named ! Never look so alarmed, my dear, good fellow 
 why the air is thick with her purrs ! You will be received 
 as if you were royalty and her most beloved friend rolled 
 into one." 
 
 "Mr. Scott," said Sir Joseph, "I trust that such bland- 
 ishments if the lady thinks by flattery she will make 
 me condone sir, it is with the utmost repugnance I 
 have set foot in these purlieus, and in short, Mr. 
 Scott, I cannot share your light way of regarding " 
 
 He tripped in a croquet hoop in his agitation as he 
 spoke; and the critic caught him nimbly by the elbow. 
 
 "Steady, Sir Joseph. " Then he had to stop to enjoy 
 another cachinnation. "Look at the doubtful com- 
 pany. Pray forgive me. I cannot help seeing the droll 
 side of things. You dear, good people have such vivid 
 imaginations!" 
 
 He glanced at Sir Joseph's face and the comic inex- 
 actitude of his own words, "vivid imagination," as applied 
 to anything so wooden, tickled him afresh. "As our 
 good Verie told you, Madame la Marmora's parties are 
 conducted with a good deal more decorum than you will 
 find, say, at Sturminster under the present reign. And 
 you'll meet people here to-day every whit as virtuous, 
 and a great deal more amusing, than Martia Marchion- 
 ess herself. Why, look yonder, isn't that Lord and 
 Lady Lossie coming toward us ? " 
 
 The poor bewildered Member of Parliament fumbled 
 for his eyeglasses and remained staring. In the large, 
 bland, whitebearded gentleman, strolling smilingly across 
 his line of vision, and in the little withered lady in violet
 
 154 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 silk who tripped beside him, looking with alert interest 
 about her, he recognized indeed that well-known pair. 
 The Low Church Champions; the Temperance enthusi- 
 asts; the organizers of Drawing-room prayer meetings, 
 of the Anti-Betting League, the young men's Lord's Day 
 Association; the young woman's black-bonnet friend; 
 of the cocoa-and-lemonade hostels and the rest of it. 
 Lord and Lady Lossie! Lord and Lady Lossie, 
 Madame la Marmora's guests! And indubitably well 
 pleased to be so! . . . 
 
 "Come, come," said Scott, jogging him playfully 
 with his cane. "Your hostess is looking at you." 
 
 The baronet tottered on. All his most cherished 
 convictions violently upheaved. What was the world, 
 and, more important still, what was British aristocracy 
 coming to ? 
 
 As one in a nightmare, he found himself under the 
 cedar tree in actual proximity to the abandoned creature. 
 He had resolved, as he had even informed his wife ere 
 departing, that nothing would induce him to shake hands 
 with her. And here he stood gazing helplessly at his 
 own stout, suede-covered fist encircled in her slender 
 bare hand. 
 
 Her clasp lingered, as she turned with honeyed ques- 
 tioning from the stranger to his introducer: 
 
 " Sir Joseph Warren-Smith ? But, of course, Sir Joseph 
 Warren-Smith. . . . No, we have not met before, 
 have we, Sir Joseph? But, of course, I know the 
 name." 
 
 "The Member of Parliament," said Scott with a grin. 
 
 " The Member of Parliament ! " The virtuous fingers
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 155 
 
 received yet another pressure. "The Member of Par- 
 liament, of course." 
 
 "And brother-in-law of our friend, Lord Desmond." 
 
 "Indeed!" murmured the lady in the same dulcet 
 tone. But the ring-laden hand twitched, and to the 
 baronet's infinite relief, slowly abandoned his. Her 
 long eyelids narrowed, and a glance of scrutiny shot out 
 upon him, keen as a suddenly bared knife. "Of 
 course " she repeated, but it was vaguely; her voice 
 trailed off. "We half expected your brother-in-lavr 
 to-day." 
 
 Here she flung both hands toward a stout, radiant, 
 swart Italian, who was hurrying, almost bounding, up 
 to her. " Ah, mon cher vous voila en fin! And I, 
 who was fearing you had failed me ! " 
 
 "It's Guarcini," whispered Scott to Sir Joseph. 
 
 " Guarcini ? " repeated the baronet, blankly. 
 
 "Yes, the tenor, the great tenor, don't you know? 
 You're in luck ! Just look how Lady Lossie is skimming 
 back to us! I'll wager she's going to cadge for a song 
 for her Temperance Concert next week ! " 
 
 But Sir Joseph had no attention to spare from the new 
 arrival. His astounded eyes received the impression 
 of Guarcini's emerald tie, his brown frock coat with the 
 carnation in the button hole, the gray tyrolese hat which 
 he was flourishing in a series of ecstatic bows. 
 
 Then came the meeting between hostess and guest; 
 and the poor M. P's cup of horror and amazement was 
 full. 
 
 Guarcini had seized both La Marmora's extended 
 hands and was planting kisses upon them with a rapidity
 
 156 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 and vehemence, the like of which the M. P. had never 
 conceived possible. Ejaculations in a tongue unknown 
 to his shocked ears, escaped the while from under the 
 upturned black moustaches : " In -fine! che gioja! Quel 
 memento aspettato! Carissima! Bellissima arnica 
 . . . Divina divina! " 
 
 Sir Joseph was convinced that the foreign tongue was 
 but a cloak for the utmost impropriety. Scott roused 
 him from his attitude of spell-bound distress by eagerly 
 advancing in his turn to attract the tenor's attention. 
 This latter, his tyrolese hat at the back of a profusion 
 of sable curls, was now mopping a brow heated by the 
 effervescence of his emotion. But from behind the folds 
 of a huge sky-blue handkerchief the irrepressible southern 
 speech still flowed on. 
 
 " Caro Guarcini " the critic called out, in staccato 
 Italian. It was the signal for the blue flag to be stuffed 
 away and for a new conjunction of clasped hands. 
 
 "Ma no! non e possibile! Scotti? e Scotti, in verita!" 
 
 "Scott en chair et en os!" said La Marmora. Then, 
 with a murmurous laugh : " Plus chair que d'os eh, 
 mon ami? " 
 
 "Deliciou!" said the tenor with a deep-chested shout 
 of appreciation. "Ma!" he flung a moist look of 
 affection on the critic, "toujours cher, notre bon Scotti." 
 Thereupon he made a lurch, enfolded the gentleman in 
 question in his arms, and saluted him on both cheeks. 
 
 Revolted out of his spell-bound contemplation, Sir 
 Joseph turned and stalked away. But not before he 
 had caught a glimpse of Lady Lossie, diving in, all smiles, 
 for her opportunity. Shattered was his trust in Scott,
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 157 
 
 in Low Church peeresses, in the morals of his own 
 country. 
 
 When Desmond Brooke found himself alone his air 
 of languor dropped from him like a garment. Rising 
 to his feet he began to pace the echoing length of the 
 room, pausing each time in front of the curtains that con- 
 cealed the outer door before retracing his steps toward 
 the colonnade as if drawn by some external force. What 
 was he doing here, after all ? If Fifi Lovinska were truly 
 her mother's daughter, what but disaster was likely to 
 follow upon a further intercourse ? And if she were the 
 child her innocent eyes proclaimed her, oh, then the 
 question became ten thousand times intensified; what 
 was he doing here, indeed ? 
 
 He stopped by the couch and struck his forehead 
 with his open palm. Infatuation that was what 
 that ass Joseph had charged him with. Infatuation 
 And the charge was true. Though Joseph said it, it 
 was apt, and struck home. 
 
 Then as he stood, the dark colour of anger rose to his 
 bleached face. So, his mother had dispatched her 
 vulgar son-in-law and her gentlemanly little toady to 
 spy on him ! He recognized her touch there the touch 
 of the mean cold hand that had not known how to clasp 
 him warmly, even as a child. 
 
 Unlike Sturminster, Desmond did not get on with 
 his mother. She had never liked him he had never 
 liked her. Once before she had interfered with his life, 
 to his bitter misfortune. 
 
 He had been a very young man then, believing in good-
 
 158 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 ness, and therefore had been an easy victim. He was 
 nearly middle-aged now, and believed in nothing: he 
 was not likely to submit to the same interference and 
 through such an agent! He laughed out loud shortly. 
 "Joseph Joseph to hector me! Damn Joseph! And 
 damn too that sleek animal with the poisonous tongue, 
 what's his name that Scott that kind of pig on his 
 hind legs!" 
 
 There came a burst of gay cymbalon music from some 
 depth of the garden, and a stream of chattering figures 
 began to cross the long windows, open on the terrace. 
 There was laughter and a medley of voices, dominated 
 all at once by the unctuous German-American drawl of 
 Robecq. 
 
 The impresario was apparently attending to the wants 
 of some important dowager. 
 
 " Now, what will you have, Lady Constance ? a glass 
 of orangeade ? champagne cup ? or tea champagne 
 cup." 
 
 His white top-hat crossed and recrossed the furthest 
 window. Desmond had a swift vision of a stout figure 
 in a too well-fitting gray frock coat. Then the drawling 
 voice began again : 
 
 "Glorious day! yes, I've but this instant arrived." 
 
 "La Marmora's pretty little son-in-law." A vision 
 of Scott's sniggering face rose before him. Nausea over- 
 came the listener. Faugh, what creatures one met here! 
 To have to hobnob with a Scott and a Robecq ! He 
 looked down at the couch with its bear skins. After all, 
 what was he doing here ? 
 
 He turned decidedly toward the hidden door. To
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 159 
 
 reach it he had to pass one of the odd little out-jutting 
 rounded corners which had once been separate rooms. 
 This was lit by a narrow, deeply recessed window, so 
 narrow indeed that it was dignified by neither blind nor 
 curtain; only long tangles of green creepers and rambler 
 roses shadowed it from outside. Framed by this blossom 
 and leaf and looking in upon him through the open 
 casement was the face of Fifi Lovinska. 
 
 As their eyes met she smiled. 
 
 "Oh, I thought you'd never look round! Won't you 
 come into the garden ? " 
 
 He took two paces toward her. Quick and impulsive 
 they were for one generally so weary. She lowered her 
 voice, nearly to a whisper: she could not have known 
 how her golden-hazel eyes pleaded and caressed: could 
 not have known all that they admitted, all that they 
 offered. 
 
 " I am so longing for a row on the river." 
 
 "I'll join you in a second," cried Desmond rather 
 hoarsely. 
 
 The current had hold of him again and he was drift- 
 ing. For ten years he had been drifting, deliberately; 
 never so pleasantly as now that, it seemed to him, he 
 could not help it. 
 
 Before he gained the little plot of grass with the sun- 
 dial, where he knew the girl was awaiting him, he paused 
 a second to apostrophize the blue vault above him. 
 And why should he not drift ? he asked of it, with the 
 passion that had lain dormant within him these long, 
 long years. Was there any power up there to prevent 
 it?
 
 160 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 He had a smile on his lips and a swing in his tread, 
 as he came round the yew hedge. Neither Heaven nor 
 nor Joseph should keep him away from his pleasure 
 to-day from the pleasure of floating out upon the cool 
 green water with this peerless creature beside him 
 This nymph with the sun-kiss on her cheek and the golden 
 glories in her hair; with the eyes that were so mysterious 
 in their child-wonder and that were beginning to hold 
 such revelation for him. The nymph with the frank 
 lips, the smile of which was youth itself in its happy 
 carelessness, the laugh of which was the spring of a 
 fountain. 
 
 Had any man indeed kissed those lips ? he asked him- 
 self, as the shapely sunburned hand was laid in his. He 
 felt a jealous clutch at the heart. The concomitant 
 thought sent a sudden eddy of blood to his brain. To 
 kiss those smiling lips ! 
 
 Yet, as their hands fell apart, he knew that, lonely 
 as they stood, and small as the offence would probably 
 seem in her eyes, he could not kiss her. It was almost 
 as if he dared not. 
 
 What Desmond Brooke had defied Heaven and Sir 
 Joseph to do, the Baron de Robecq was fated to accom- 
 plish. Even as finger on lip, laughing over her shoulder, 
 like the woodland being she seemed, Fifi prepared to 
 lead the way, through a deserted shrubby path to the 
 lonely backwater of her choice, the Baron, urbane, smil- 
 ing, sure of his welcome, but with a panting breath that 
 revealed unwonted hurry, crunched into their solitude 
 a deux.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 161 
 
 " Caught, Miss Feefi ! " he observed jocularly " Oh, 
 how do you do, Lord Desmond ? " 
 
 Desmond could do no less than submit to the warm 
 handshake which it was the impresario's genial way to 
 prolong beyond the usual limit. 
 
 "Miss Feefi, your mama wants you, badly! She's 
 just overwhelmed. We never had so many." He 
 turned, in an explanatory manner from one to the other, 
 with apparent unconsciousness of their blank looks 
 and undisguised resentment. "Madame la Marmora 
 has heard of your arrival, Lord Desmond, and I gladly 
 offered to convey a message to you. Your hostess bids 
 me say she has kept a place for you at her own straw- 
 berry table. It is in the pergola, at the right of the cedar 
 tree. I think you know the way." 
 
 ("See what a good fellow I am," his air proclaimed. 
 " I like pleasing everybody.") 
 
 The recipient of this pleasing news made a gesture of 
 impatience. The words: "I've promised Mademoi- 
 selle Lovinska te take her on the river," were rising to 
 his lips; but for some reason, not quite clear to himself, 
 he hesitated, and the girl quickly forestalled him. Though 
 angry tears had sprung to her eyes, there was a look 
 of fear in them too. 
 
 " You must go to Mama of course you must go 
 to Mama," she said in a rapid whisper. 
 
 Behind that mask of impassivity, which it was his 
 way to don before nearly every one, Desmond's thoughts 
 were once again acutely active. Again the odious phrase: 
 " He is to be her pretty son-in-law," recurred to his mind 
 . . . The woodland creature and that pursy Jew
 
 162 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 with his divorces and his oily amiability! . . . The 
 satyr and the nymph and her own mother's planning ! 
 Monstrous! Incredible! Yet there was fear in the 
 girl's eyes. 
 
 With a heat of feeling amazing to himself, he made 
 a sudden decision. Whoever captured the nymph it 
 should not be Robecq. To go out of her life, now (as 
 a little while ago wisdom had bade him), would be 
 impossible. And if to remain on the scene he must so 
 far meet with the prirna donna's unendurable gracious- 
 ness as to sit with her at the strawberry table when 
 with all his heart he would be under the willows on the 
 river why then he must even submit to the weariness. 
 If only for the fear in those eyes; if only for the sheer 
 humanity of being able later on to thwart the German- 
 American-Jewish satyr. 
 
 This latter, unconscious of the violence of antipathy 
 he was rousing in the diplomatist's breast, but by no 
 means unconscious of his own ungracious r61e of spoil- 
 sport, stood waiting, inflexible under his urbanity, till 
 his desires were complied with. It was by this unalter- 
 able good temper that the impresario had successfully 
 imposed all his life his equally unalterable will. 
 
 With an imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, and one 
 look at Fifi's now downcast face, revelatory of an ardour 
 of which he himself was as yet not fully aware, Lord 
 Desmond mutely gave in. 
 
 "Well, we may as well all go," he said, with an air 
 of indolent resignation. "Mademoiselle Lovinska, shall 
 we go, since your mother wants you, too ? " 
 
 "I beg your pardon," interposed the Baron. "Mi** 1
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 163 
 
 Feefi's post is in the colonnade, and the Duchess particu- 
 larly wants to see the Persian kitten. And I have a little 
 message, besides, for Miss Feefi's ear alone. You can't 
 mistake the pergola, Lord Desmond." 
 
 Side by side, nymph and satyr, watched the tall figure 
 retreat from them upon its laggard way. Then, with 
 a stamp of her foot, and a crimsoning cheek, the girl 
 turned fiercely to her companion. It was not "old 
 Robecq " she was afraid of. 
 
 "How you do plague me, Baron! Always after 
 me ! You're as bad as Fritz ! What's your precious 
 message ? " 
 
 The man ran an indulgent eye from the radiant head 
 down the lovely lines of the young strong figure in its 
 already crumpled and green-stained muslin. His glance 
 rested thoughtfully on her white doeskin shoes, wet with 
 the river slime. From thence it wandered back to the 
 hands which were clenched angrily in front of her those 
 sunburned, shapely hands, the touch of which had stirred 
 Lord Desmond with such an unwonted and complicated 
 emotion stained, too, with the wholesome earth and 
 the green of riverside tree-bolls. 
 
 "Your Mama said you'd probably have to change 
 your dress, my dear; and if you don't mind my adding, 
 I think you'd better change your shoes and wash your 
 hands." 
 
 She stamped her foot again. 
 
 "Why, you're worse than Fritz," she cried. "You're 
 a regular old nurse." But she seemed to find no choice 
 but compliance. She flung herself away from him, 
 and ran round the yew hedge, catching the unhappy
 
 164 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 muslin against the rustic archway, and wrenching it 
 away with an angry hand that left a fluttering streamer 
 behind. 
 
 He watched her with an expression that no one had 
 as yet surprised in his small shrewd eyes. 
 
 "She's adorable!" he said aloud, in his emphatic 
 nasal drawl.
 
 VIII 
 THE DOWAGER ON THE WARPATH 
 
 LADY ALICE WARREN-SMITH sat in the gorgeous draw- 
 ing room of her gorgeous house in Prince's Gate. Upon 
 this mansion, as Sir Joseph was fond of informing his 
 friends, no expense had been spared. "Put in the hands 
 of a first-class firm, sir, and 'go ahead,' I said to them, 
 'go ahead. Give me value for money that's all I 
 ask.'" 
 
 The first-class firm of Daring and Gibbons had "gone 
 ahead," and in three-pile carpet and velvet brocade, 
 inlay and gesso work, alabaster and ormolu, Viennese 
 bronze and Florentine carving, Sir Joseph had his money 
 value. There was not an inch of wall-space left untor- 
 mented; not one refreshing plain line or surface. The 
 very bedrooms repudiated the simplicity of chintz or 
 china and contained marvels in the way of porphyry 
 and satin. There was heraldry even on the blankets. 
 But the drawing room was, naturally, the first-class 
 firm's supreme effort. 
 
 Philip Scott could hardly repress a shudder as he 
 entered its splendour for the first time. Like Mr. Vere 
 Hamilton he had been summoned by an urgent letter, 
 and very well knew what family dilemma had gained 
 him the distinction. 
 
 The critic, the artist, the literary man, had been hitherto 
 
 165
 
 166 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 classed among the "queer people" that Martia Mar- 
 chioness and her daughter would never invite into their 
 houses, no matter what modern Society might do. Martia 
 Marchioness had even a text in this connection: it was 
 one referring to pitch. It was a text which her sons 
 had both of them been wont to put to the test with the 
 utmost frequency. And now Desmond was actually 
 bringing the truth of it home to the sacred maternal 
 and sisterly circles. Joseph himself had dipped into 
 the pitch-pot. 
 
 He had returned from Branksome in a curiously excited 
 state, with many strange tales; his wife had never seen 
 him thus. Horrified as he had been, such phrases as 
 "Alluring, my dear . . . undoubtedly alluring!" 
 had escaped him. Once he had spoken of that afternoon 
 as "an Arabian Night's dream." This unwonted poetry 
 of expression had kept Lady Alice awake till dawn. 
 Filled with wrath against the want of consideration 
 she would not say of principle that had exposed the 
 virtuous man to such perils, she determined that never, 
 never again should Joseph be mixed up in this scandal- 
 ous business. 
 
 But she had reckoned without the Dowager. Martia 
 Marchioness had elicited a full and particular account 
 of her son-in-law's expedition; and in her shrewd mind 
 had ear-marked several items of information as contain- 
 ing potentiality. 
 
 When, after the interval of another week, she found 
 that there was no falling off in Desmond's assiduities, 
 while the gossip occasioned by them was progressing in 
 geometrical ratio, she resolved upon action. Like the
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 167 
 
 old-fashioned generals, she was very slow to act, as a 
 rule. 
 
 "Alice," she had ordered, "you must invite that person 
 Scott to tea, and find out what he knows about that 
 girl's past. Since it seems, after all, that your brother 
 is even more abandoned than I thought and that the 
 mother is a mere blind." 
 
 Lady Alice gasped. Her protuberant eyes fixed them- 
 selves on the relentless old face, with a mixture of resent- 
 ment and fear. 
 
 " Mama, I don't know him." 
 
 " Joseph does. Let Joseph write." 
 
 " Mama, I've never had that kind of people." 
 
 " What nonsense, Alice! You needn't know him after- 
 ward." 
 
 "Mama couldn't you .... ?" 
 
 Lady Sturminster slowly turned her eyes upon her 
 daughter. They were as prominent as her own. But 
 whereas the peculiar setting of Lady Alice's orbs made 
 all for weak-mindedness and pusillanimity, that of her 
 mother's but served to heighten, almost to terrifying effect, 
 the impression of cold, unsparing purpose. 
 
 " I ? " queried the great lady, after a long pause. 
 
 No more had been needed. Alice had abjectly acceded 
 to every detail of the order. Mr. Scott was to be asked. 
 Lady Alice and Joseph were to find out. The Dowager 
 arranged to look in accidentally during ' the interview. 
 She would perhaps bring Vere Hamilton ; an independent 
 witness might be useful. Thereafter she herself would 
 act. 
 
 Hardly a month passed, nowadays, without the papers,
 
 168 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 even such papers as the Morning Post, announcing the 
 marriage of some infatuated young heir to a peerage 
 with some terrible young person from the chorus of a 
 musical comedy. If Desmond should be so lost as to 
 contemplate "marriage" with the young person in the 
 marble cottage, it was his mother's duty to enlighten 
 him as to her character. These designing creatures 
 were always eighteen, and of unblemished antecedents 
 as vouched for by the halfpenny press. Lady Stur- 
 minster knew her son better perhaps than might have 
 been imagined, given their antithetical natures. She 
 knew that, if she could convince him of certain things, 
 the irreparable at least might be averted. The dark 
 saying of Mr. Scott had been duly repeated to her : " That 
 is a horse of quite another colour and much more likely 
 to run away with him." Wherever that mad race might 
 lead him, it should not be to the altar. 
 
 And this was why Lady Alice sat waiting in her draw- 
 ing room this mid-May morning; why Mr. Scott entered 
 upon her; and why Sir Joseph, summoned from the 
 library, followed after in a state of such overcharged 
 importance that he had to let off steam in a series of 
 snorts and puffs before he could even shake hands. 
 
 Averting his eyes from the Scylla of a Viennese bis- 
 cuit group of the Three Graces, to fall into the Chary b- 
 dis of Lady Alice's portrait by Ellis Roberts (leaning, 
 clad in pink with a white scarf, against a rose-twined 
 pillar) Mr. Philip Scott fixed his glance upon his hostess's 
 face and prepared to enjoy himself as completely as such 
 distressing surroundings would allow his artistic nature 
 to do.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 169 
 
 There was a torture of embarrassment and a shrinking 
 aristocratic distaste both to the task imposed upon her 
 and to his company written all over the poor lady. To 
 prolong the torture, and to punish her for the distaste, 
 was the visitor's obvious task. 
 
 "Charming day, isn't it, Lady Alice? Quantities of 
 people in town. Astounding ! " 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said the lady, helplessly. "We were 
 anxious, as my husband wrote to you " 
 
 "Delighted," said Mr. Scott. "Came a bit early, 
 I'm afraid. But I am due at Lady Charles Flambo- 
 rough's. She's got the Little Tweenies from the Coli- 
 seum. Have you seen them, Sir Joseph? Astounding 
 performance. Have you seen them, Lady Alice ? " 
 
 Lady Alice's eye assumed something of her mother's 
 freezing blankness. 
 
 "No," she dropped. 
 
 " My wife, Lady Alice " began the M. P. 
 
 "The fact is, Mr. Scott " she interrupted, with a 
 
 desperate plunge. But the latter airily eluded the 
 threatened entree en matiere. 
 
 " Quite so, Lady Alice, you don't care for such shows. 
 But really they're quite a wonderful little pair. Guar- 
 cini is going to sing too. You remember my old friend, 
 Guarcini, Sir Joseph? You met him down at Brank- 
 some." 
 
 " The the man who I think I saw him greet 
 you," murmured Sir Joseph faintly. 
 
 " Yes, the dear fellow. Fell into my arms I should 
 have introduced him to your husband, Lady 
 Alice "
 
 170 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "God forbid!" said Sir Joseph. He turned, explana- 
 tory, to his wife. "A foreign opera singer, my dear." 
 
 Lady Alice cast down her long pink eyelids. 
 
 "We do not care to know that kind of people," she 
 said, lisping frigidly. 
 
 "No," said the Member of Parliament; he threw out 
 his chest and took the lapels of his coat with both hands. 
 "Neither I nor my wife, Lady Alice, care to know that 
 kind of person." 
 
 Scott, who knew that Guarcini would have expected 
 endless blandishments even to go to Marlborough House 
 unless the mood were upon him, was seized with an 
 internal chuckle that crimsoned his smooth pink face 
 to the roots of his grayish blond hair. He looked down 
 at the patch of expensive Wilton pile between his well- 
 shod feet and strove to conceal his amusement behind 
 a gray glove and an agate cane-handle. Lady Alice 
 looked agonizedly at the clock. Mama might come 
 in at any moment and they had not even managed to 
 start the vital topic. 
 
 "Expecting many friends, this afternoon, Lady Alice ?" 
 asked the critic, raising his head suddenly. "People are 
 shockingly late, these fine days, aren't they ? " 
 
 Husband and wife gazed at him, startled and helpless. 
 
 "Afraid I must be on the trot again," pursued the 
 malicious guest. " Promised the Flamboroughs." 
 
 " Mr. Scott, oh, Mr. Scott " panted the flurried lady. 
 
 "The fact is, my dear fellow " puffed Sir Joseph. 
 
 The tormentor had risen and was holding out his 
 plump ungloved hand. 
 
 " So sorry no, I can't stay for tea."
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 171 
 
 It was at this point that the Dowager came to the 
 rescue. Unannounced, she stepped in upon them. Clad 
 in gray-brown silk of ribbed texture, with an awe-inspir- 
 ing bonnet tied with large velvet strings, she advanced 
 into the room, followed by Mr. Hamilton who bore an 
 unwonted peevish expression on his meek beaver counte- 
 nance. And after him, to the intense amazement of the 
 three, came Desmond Brooke himself. 
 
 In her slow drive round the park, expounding her 
 intentions to a for once rebellious Vere Hamilton, she 
 had caught sight of her son lounging under the trees; 
 and with an inspiration sudden and decisive, resolved 
 upon the coup-de-main. Better, after all, that he should 
 hear from other lips than those of his family what was 
 to be heard. "So much more convincing," had thought 
 the Dowager in her cold-blooded way. 
 
 It was poor Vere who had to summon the recalcitrant 
 one to the carriage door, where the following typical 
 conversation took place : 
 
 "Why, Mother!" 
 
 The diplomatist raised his hat. In the company of 
 no human being on earth did he feel more utterly bored; 
 his eye immediately became lack-lustre, his voice extin- 
 guished. 
 
 "You are to get in," commanded the lady without 
 wasting time in salutation, though they had not met for 
 ten days. 
 
 "In there?" he asked, his eyebrow raised, his eye 
 plunging incredulously and disparagingly into the depths 
 of the antique barouche. 
 
 "Yes, in here, beside me. Mr. Hamilton will sit back.
 
 172 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 We're going to Alice's. There's something I've got to 
 say to you, Desmond." Her voice suddenly dropped 
 an octave lower, and her pale eye took a glassy fixity 
 of purpose. "You had better come, my son," it said 
 unmistakably. 
 
 He returned the glance with a long blank stare. The 
 sunshine glinted on the feathers of her bonnet, mouldy 
 green; on the dead-leaf sheen of her hideous gown; on 
 the long teeth fixed upon the retreating lip. He had a 
 slight shudder; but he got in. 
 
 He knew that she would run him down at his club, 
 or at his chambers, with an inflexibility of purpose the 
 more deadly for being thwarted. At least from another's 
 he could take his departure when things were beyond 
 bearing; but were he to be caught in his own lair, it 
 might be difficult to turn out a lady and that lady his 
 mother. Let her say her say: he would say his. Up 
 to this he had contented himself with eluding her; it 
 was best perhaps to face her now and have done with it. 
 
 And thus it was that, in the train of the Dowager and 
 Mr. Hamilton, Desmond Brooke made his unexpected 
 call upon his sister, Lady Alice Warren-Smith. 
 
 Lady Sturminster settled herself into the discomfort 
 of a Birmingham Louis XV. armchair, and slowly turned 
 a scrutinizing glance from face to face, until it rested 
 on the critic's still humorously pursed countenance. 
 
 " Is that Mr. Scott ? " she demanded. " Introduce him." 
 
 Scott abandoned his pretence of immediate departure 
 with a deprecatory wave of his hand, and went through 
 the ceremony required of him with an insolence peculiarly 
 his own.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 173 
 
 "What a disgusting old woman!" he reflected, even 
 as in the Dowager's own brain flashed the thought: 
 "The creature's not even the beginning of a gentleman." 
 
 "Sit down, Mr. Scott." The general was issuing 
 her orders " Sit down, everybody. Sir Joseph, sit 
 down and don't fidget like that. It's quite kind of 
 you to come and see us, Mr. Scott, when we have not 
 the pleasure of your acquaintance. Desmond " she 
 paused. 
 
 Her son had sunk upon a sofa at some distance, and 
 was lying back in his favourite attitude of weary endur- 
 ance, chin upturned, eyes half closed. 
 
 Scott, who had failed to elicit any recognition, glanced 
 toward him. He hated all these people, a little more 
 than the rest of the world though he flattered himself 
 that he disliked the larger proportion of his acquain- 
 tances but most, he hated this infernal languid fellow. 
 
 "You know my son Desmond," proceeded Lady 
 Sturminster. No beating about the bush for her. " You 
 know why we have taken the unusual step of request- 
 ing you to call here." 
 
 "My dear Lady Sturminster," again Scott spread 
 his hands outward, palm upward, "Lady Alice asked me 
 to tea very kindly 
 
 " Alice ! " The Dowager flung one baleful look. 
 
 " I had hardly time to explain, Mama." 
 
 "I really think," said Mr. Hamilton, getting up from 
 the chair on which he had been jigging, in an ecstasy 
 of discomfort, " I really think that I am quite out 
 of place " 
 
 Martia dropped him a contemptuous admonition:
 
 174 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Sit down you are wanted." Then she caught 
 Scott on the hook of her gaze and held him. 
 
 "It is idle to pretend you don't know the circum- 
 stances. My son-in-law has already made you acquainted 
 with them some time ago. You gave him to understand 
 then that you were in possession of facts concerning ' 
 She paused ; she did not even know the name of the young 
 person in question " concerning " 
 
 She sought Sir Joseph's aid with irritation on her 
 countenance; but he only stared, goggle-eyed and help- 
 less, back at her. Lady Alice had suddenly begun to 
 blow her nose and sniff. 
 
 "Concerning the Panther's Cub, perhaps?" put in 
 Scott, silkily. 
 
 "Panther's Cub!" echoed Sir Joseph and his mother- 
 in-law, simultaneously, in different tones of reprobation. 
 
 Desmond rolled his head a trifle sideways, and a gleam 
 of dangerous eye became visible between his half-closed 
 lids. 
 
 "Didn't you know?" said the innocent critic. "It's 
 a nickname for the mother, Lady Sturminster: ' Panther.' 
 Suits her: lissom, lovely, sleek, dangerous creature!" 
 
 " I am concerned, sir, with tue daughter," Lady Stur- 
 minster warned in her contralto. 
 
 " The daughter, of course. That's the Cub. Panther's 
 Cub. Dear me, yes. Born in the original jungle : nobody 
 knows where that was. She has been dubbed with some 
 kind of absurd Polish name she has no shadow of right 
 to. But that's neither here nor there. Miss Fifi 
 
 "Fifi!" ejaculated the Dowager, her daughter and 
 son-in-law, in unison.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 175 
 
 "Only Christian name of Cub," explained the critic 
 with his most fascinating smile. He was the centre of 
 attention and that was ever an agreeable sensation. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Scott," said the ruthless Dowager, "will 
 you kindly tell us, now, what you know about, about 
 this this Fifi creature." Indescribable was the great 
 lady's tone of bleak contempt. 
 
 "Oh, my dear Lady Sturminster ! " Scott wagged his 
 head jocosely. ("She was impayable" he thought. 
 What a story he would make of this !) 
 
 Sir Joseph lumbered up to the assault in his turn. 
 
 " You made some remark some pleasantry, the 
 other day, about the young person, hem, following in 
 her mother's footsteps about her having made already 
 ah " The M. P. drew a long breath, but the ribald 
 French words had to be uttered, and stentoriously he 
 uttered them : " having made a faux pas." 
 
 Scott burst into irrepressible laughter. Lady Alice 
 subsided tearfully into her handkerchief and Hamilton 
 crossed the room to stand beside Lord Desmond. 
 
 "You put a stop to this sort of thing the other day; 
 had you not better do so again ? " he said in a low voice. 
 Poor little toady, and he had been so pleased to drive 
 round the park with his aristocratic friend, and to be 
 taken to tea where she would! Desmond turned a 
 gleam of eye upon him. 
 
 "This time he may go on," he said unemotionally. 
 
 As he spoke, his mother unconsciously repeated his 
 words : " Go on, Mr. Scott." 
 
 "But, really- " Scott was coy. "It is so unusual!" 
 He turned his chair toward the sofa where Desmond lay.
 
 176 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 " We are all waiting to hear,' said this latter. 
 
 "To hear what? You dear, good people, is not this 
 really a little unusual ? Not that there is any mystery 
 about the Panther or the Panther's Cub. Cub took a 
 certain leap let me see, she must have been about 
 eighteen then took a certain leap with native impetu- 
 osity, under my eye as it happens From Como it was." 
 
 "Como!" gasped Sir Joseph. These immoral foreign 
 places ! 
 
 " Speak plainly," ordered the Marchioness. 
 
 " Oh, dear me, there was nothing to make a fuss about. 
 She went off on a little excursion, with a charming young 
 man . . . from the hotel." 
 
 "A little excursion?" echoed Sir Joseph, much dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 " Yes, Sir Joseph just two or three days' jaunt. 
 Oh, his people were annoyed . . . unduly so. He 
 was fetched back, and all the rest of it. Panther was 
 annoyed too. General rumpus very unpleasant. 
 What? Would you care to hear the name of young 
 Lothario, my dear fellow ? I daresay Verie knows him. 
 Young Wentworth, Verie. Wentworth's Entire, you 
 know, the beer people." 
 
 Desmond had closed his eyes. 
 
 " I really must " said Mr. Hamilton inarticulately, and 
 thereupon, for the first time in the whole of his polite 
 existence, committed the solecism of taking French leave. 
 
 As the door closed upon him, Mr. Scott also rose. 
 His immediate mission was fulfilled, and the situation 
 might lose its humour at any moment. He bade good- 
 bye with an airy grace, shaking Lady Alice's limp hand
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 177 
 
 with the warmth of an old friend, bowing to the Dowager, 
 waving a valedictory fin playfully from Desmond to Sir 
 Joseph. His last words to the latter from the thresh- 
 old ran thus: 
 
 " Au revoir. We'll meet again at Branksome before 
 long!" 
 
 " There, Desmond ! " said Lady Sturminster. 
 
 She did not raise her voice, or even deepen it; but its 
 tones, her whole air, the way in which she lifted both 
 her small brown-gloved hands an inch or two off her 
 knees and let them fall again, bespoke a triumph that was 
 almost malignant. She knew her son: if he was not 
 moral, he was fastidious. 
 
 " Oh, Joseph ! " sobbed Lady Alice. 
 
 "Wentworth . . . Wentworth?" Sir Joseph was 
 muttering, as he stroked his jaw and rubbed his chin. 
 " I wonder if that could be the son of Colonel Wentworth, 
 the Member for Harrington. He's in the brewing inter- 
 est, I know." 
 
 "You'd better find out what he thinks of the young 
 lady," said the Dowager. 
 
 "Do, Joseph," put in Desmond, rising suddenly from 
 among the crimson satin cushions. He strolled over and 
 stood before his mother. " Why you're making quite 
 a gay dog of Joseph ! " said he, with his mirthless smile. 
 "No wonder Alice is in tears, over there. Well, good- 
 bye, mother good-bye, Alice. Ta-ta, Joseph. As 
 your friend, Mr. Scott, says: till our next meeting at 
 Branksome." 
 
 " Desmond " 
 
 The Dowager's authority was here supported by her
 
 178 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 son-in-law, who laid an agitated hand upon Desmond's 
 coat sleeve. 
 
 "Stay," he blustered; "I cannot permit such imputa- 
 tions, such innuendos! My only motive, as you know 
 only a sense of my duty to your family, your mother's 
 terrible anxiety " 
 
 Lord Desmond turned the flicker of a mocking glance 
 upon his mother's stony face : 
 
 " Go on, Joseph you're doing it very nicely." 
 
 "Desmond, I went to to those purlieus to try 
 and save you before it was too late." 
 
 "And confoundedly impertinent it was of you," 
 said the diplomatist serenely. 
 
 The Dowager gave a withering smile, directed as much 
 to the virtuous plebeian as to her own high-bred profli- 
 gate. The latter, after a second's consultation with 
 himself, suddenly made up his mind. He took one 
 of the knobby gilt chairs and sat down about a yard in 
 front of his mother. 
 
 "Now," said he, "let's have it out and have done with 
 it. You sent Joseph to spy on me, at Branksome. 
 What was the good of it ? " 
 
 " Sir Joseph was exceedingly useful," said the old 
 lady, unabashed. "It was my duty to know what was 
 going on, Desmond. And Joseph and Mr. Hamilton 
 both gave me valuable information on the subject. I 
 understand that you are pursuing the daughter of that 
 notorious woman." 
 
 " Would you prefer me to pursue the mother ? " 
 
 "An entanglement with the mother would be bad 
 enough; but an entanglement with the girl
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 179 
 
 Desmond interrupted the level tones with a laugh 
 that was scarcely as assured as he would have had it. 
 " What are you afraid of my virtue ? " 
 
 His mother smiled again. 
 
 "Her virtue, then? You've just heard all about that! 
 What are you afraid of ? " 
 
 As the old woman looked at him in her snake-like 
 way, without speaking, Sir Joseph deemed it incum- 
 bent upon him to intervene : 
 
 " Some irreparable step some act of fatal folly ! " 
 he warned. 
 
 " That you'll disgrace us all - " sobbed Lady Alice 
 in her turn. 
 
 "What!" cried Desmond, and laughed out loud. 
 "You're all afraid I'll marry her, O moral Joseph, O 
 Alice, my high-minded sister! Oh, Mother his 
 voice took a note of scathing bitterness "you had 
 better have let me marry poor little Susan all those years 
 ago, after all ! " 
 
 "The girl's no better than her mother," said the Dow- 
 ager, unheeding. She brushed aside the reference to 
 the old wound, with her own masterly relentlessness. 
 
 "Well, I don't want her better than her mother," 
 exclaimed the man. 
 
 All of a sudden he stood up. The colour rushed to 
 his pale face. And extraordinary passion fired his eye 
 and voice. 
 
 "Now look here," the words rose quickly to his lips. 
 "You may as well hear my views on this subject, once 
 for all. It's none of your business, but it will save me 
 trouble in the end. You all believe I am going to make
 
 180 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 a fool of myself ? I wish to God I could I wish to 
 God I could!" 
 
 "Tut-tut-tut!" cried the M. P. But his mother-in- 
 law and his wife sat staring at the speaker. This was 
 almost a forgotten Desmond. 
 
 " Mother," he went on, " it is fifteen years ago, now, 
 since you broke my life. Little Susan was no match 
 for me. She was only a poor squire's daughter only 
 a little flower of a good dear child, whom I loved. You 
 schemed and intrigued, and stopped my letters, and 
 warned her off me. Well, I was too young to guess then 
 half what you did. Susie's dead and I what was 
 left alive of me, Vienna killed." 
 
 "Oh, Desmond," cried his sister, raising a shocked 
 disfigured countenance, "how can you speak to Mama 
 like that!" 
 
 No one ever paid any attention to Lady Alice. But 
 her brother dropped his strong note of passion; he was 
 ashamed to have shown this glimpse of soul to such futile 
 minds. 
 
 " If you wanted to study the Branksome sort of thing, 
 you ought to have come to Vienna, Joseph," he exclaimed 
 banteringly, turning to his brother-in-law with a satiric 
 smile. "We men, as they say, live in Vienna. I lived 
 there. I lived and died there." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " spluttered the baronet. 
 
 "I've about as much life left in me as that statue over 
 there. I'm a corpse, that is about it. And precious 
 dull work it is, taking a corpse around. But the girl 
 His blue eye gleamed again as he once more addressed 
 his mother. " The girl Mademoiselle Lovinska
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 181 
 
 Fifi the Panther's Cub call her what you like 
 well, she interests me. She amuses me. She makes 
 me forget that I am a corpse. Hang it all, if I want 
 to be galvanized now and again, I won't ask my family's 
 permission! And that's what you'd better understand, 
 all of you!" 
 
 "I had hoped, Desmond," said Lady Sturminster, 
 "that you had given up this absurd exaggeration, years 
 ago." Mother and son exchanged a deep look expressive 
 of a life-long enmity. 
 
 "A corpse! . . . Galvanized! . . ." said Sir 
 Joseph, in a scandalized undertone, blowing out his 
 cheeks between the words. 
 
 "And now that's all, I think," concluded Desmond. 
 " Good-bye again." 
 
 This time he was allowed to depart unrestrained. 
 Husband and wife looked anxiously at the Dowager. 
 She sat with fixed eyes, gazing lethargically before her. 
 
 "I am deeply distressed," the master of the house 
 ventured to say at last, as the silence, broken only by 
 Alice's sniffs, grew unbearable to his fussy mind. "I 
 am in a state of painful perplexity. He says he wishes 
 he could make a fool of himself. He says he's a corpse 
 and that the ah the girl galvanizes him. Now, 
 what interpretation are we to put upon this ? " 
 
 "Joseph, hold your tongue!" said his mother-in-law. 
 She rose from her chair and tottered, ever so little. " Will 
 you kindly ring for the carriage ? "
 
 IX 
 UNPROFITABLE THOUGHTS 
 
 DESMOND went straight back to his chambers in the 
 Albany; the secluded quarters which he had regarded, 
 from his student days on, as his real home in London. 
 Always held ready to receive him, after an absence whether 
 of years or of a few days, they remained the one link 
 with his English past since he had embarked upon the 
 cosmopolitan existence imposed on him by his profession. 
 
 These were kept up almost like the college rooms of 
 old, lined with books, pictures of another age, portraits 
 of forgotten chums, athletic trophies, the lares and penates 
 of a mode of life that was past recall. 
 
 Old-fashioned they had always been; in this rapid 
 era they seemed to breathe an almost antique spirit. 
 The only concession to modern habits permitted by their 
 owner was the admission of a telephone. 
 
 He telephoned now for his car to be in readiness at 
 seven o'clock and flung himself into one of the deep 
 red-leather armchairs, preparatory to smoking a reflec- 
 tive cigar. 
 
 He had received an urgent telegraphed invitation to 
 dinner at Branksome that night, which he had accepted 
 by the same medium. But, a little while ago, when his 
 mother had met him strolling across the park, he had once 
 again arrived at the wise decision to resist the impulse 
 
 182
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 183 
 
 that was urging him to Fifi's presence. The mood of 
 "What's the use? Better keep away from the danger" 
 had been upon him: that cold mood, to which even the 
 most ardent and happy lover is subject at times, and 
 which, with him, the weary man of the world, was ever 
 lying in ambush. Lady Sturminster's interference had 
 produced the not uncommon result: it had broken the 
 shackles of a passion hitherto, save for a rare moment 
 or two, kept fairly well in leash. 
 
 To see him lying back in his great chair, just draw- 
 ing sufficiently at his cigar to keep it alive, with drooping 
 eyelids and lax limbs, none could have guessed at the 
 fierceness of the fire burning within him. The old hatred 
 seemed to join with the new love in a single flame. His 
 whole childhood his mother had overshadowed; she 
 had seemed to stand always between him and the sun- 
 shine. Every legitimate hope of his young manhood, 
 his first and honourable love, his prospect of a happy 
 home of his own, she had shattered; unrelenting in her 
 determination, without remorse after the deed. What 
 he had become, a mere drifter in life, without enthusi- 
 asm, without belief, without purpose beyond the mere 
 routine of his profession, a cynic the more hopeless because 
 of his capacity for high ambition, he had become because 
 of her. The irredeemable materialist is he who has 
 once most aspired. Now the fire was kindling again 
 amid what he had believed dead ashes. Ah, let it burn! 
 He scarce cared what it consumed, so long as he could 
 have the joy of the glow. . . . 
 
 The door was opened gingerly, and an extremely
 
 184 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 fashionable, extremely pretty head on an extremely long 
 throat was coyly inserted : 
 
 "Say, Desmond!" 
 
 He started up, the white ash of his cigar dropped from 
 the red tip. 
 
 "Cassandra!" 
 
 " Call me Cassie, won't you ? " 
 
 Young Lady Sturminster conveyed her slenderness 
 delicately into the room and shut the door. 
 
 " My dear Cassandra Cassie, then " 
 
 The fair young American's brother-in-law stood, unsmil- 
 ing, the expression of boredom familiar to his counten- 
 ance deepening into gloom. " Can I do anything for you ? 
 This is ... this is an unexpected pleasure ! " 
 
 "Spoke sarcastic?" commented she. She came closer 
 to him, looking about her curiously. "What a nice, 
 shabby, old room ! Oh, I like your old books, and these 
 nice worn, leather chairs and those Diirer prints ! 
 I think Diirer's just cunning. No, I've never been here 
 before have I ? I thought I'd just come along." 
 
 She let herself drift as aimlessly, it seemed, as a float- 
 ing apple-blossom petal into the recesses of the com- 
 panion armchair. Then she smiled in her detached 
 way into his face. 
 
 "Have you also been sent by the family?" he asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 " I ? " She laughed. It was an elfish laugh; it seemed 
 to have little that was human in it. "I say, don't you 
 know, brother-in-law, that the Dow. hates me like poison ? 
 No," the violet eyes became wistful. "I just came 
 along "
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 185 
 
 He, in his turn, let himself sink back into his chair 
 and his glance softened upon her. 
 
 "Now what can I give you? tea, whiskey-and-soda, 
 or a cigarette ? " 
 
 He stretched out a finger toward the bell. But she 
 shook her head. 
 
 "What a pity," he pursued, "you did not come another 
 day . . . Cassie! We might have gone off, you 
 and I en partie fine; done a dinner and a play. But I'm 
 bound out of London this evening. Have to start at 
 seven." 
 
 He shot a look at the clock : she followed it. 
 
 "Well, it's only just six," she stated, and settled her- 
 self with satisfaction in the shabby armchair. Then a 
 gleam came into her eyes; it had the same elfish quality 
 as her laughter. " Going to Branksome ? " 
 
 He fixed her steadily for a moment, then nodded. 
 
 "Oh, Desmond," she said, clasping slender hands in 
 long buff gloves, "do be a darling, and get me asked to 
 the next strawberry party ! " 
 
 " Get Joseph to take you. He knows the way," said 
 the man grimly. 
 
 "Say now, don't! Be nice to me. I'm nice to you, 
 don't you think ? Wait a bit till I give you my reason. 
 I've got a reason, quite a good one." 
 
 "Not Joseph's reason?" He smiled at her. It was 
 impossible to resist Cassandra's airs of fascination when 
 she chose to exercise them. 
 
 " No a real reason of my own." 
 
 " Feminine curiosity ? " 
 
 "Not at all." She put her head on one side. The
 
 186 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 shadow of the sweeping gray feathers fell upon tin 
 oval of her pretty face. Her eyes were all vague 
 innocence, like those of a very young child. "If any 
 one," she plaintively proceeded, "has a right to see 
 Branksome Cottage it's me considering Sturminster 
 built it." 
 
 "My dear Cassandra!" 
 
 " Oh, call me Cassie ! Why, you know he built it 
 for Mrs. Orris." 
 
 " But my dear Cassie ! " 
 
 Gently, musically persistent, her voice went on : 
 
 "I couldn't go and see it, while Mrs. Orris was walk- 
 ing about in it, could I ? But now that Madame la 
 
 Marmora's got it " Suddenly she tripped up her 
 
 plaint with laughter. "It's just a bit of a joke, you 
 know. Wurzel used to run there after his Orris, and 
 now you're running there, after your Panther! You're 
 just a pair of you, real bad boys." 
 
 Desmond looked at her with a feeling very rare to him, 
 that of amazement. Was she as callous as she seemed ? 
 Was there no natural womanly feeling behind this pretty, 
 delicate, soulless air of fooling ? 
 
 "But I will say this for you," she concluded, "that 
 you're a different kind of bad boy from Wurzel. 
 I rather think a nicer kind," she added after a 
 pause. 
 
 He did not know what to say to her. Feebly, he 
 assented : 
 
 "Sturminster and I were always different." 
 
 "Yes," she admitted thoughtfully; " Sturminster's 
 really the born image of his mother."
 
 'PANTHER'S CUB 187 
 
 Desmond gave a note of laughter which all at once 
 fell silent. 
 
 "Yes," the soft little voice continued. "Underneath 
 the froth and the go underneath it all," she moved 
 her fingers expressively: the "all" was comprehensive 
 of a very great deal, " there's Mama! " 
 
 She gave the arm of the chair a little slap, and turned 
 the allurement of her smile and eyes upon him. 
 
 " Cassie " he hesitated and hesitatingly put out his 
 hand to her, but drew it back : he knew too little. There 
 might be pain hidden away behind this mask and, 
 if so, what pride ! 
 
 She rose and smoothed down her sheath-like, clinging 
 skirt. "It's settled, isn't it? You'll bring me to Brank- 
 some ? " 
 
 Again he hesitated. 
 
 "I'll get you asked," he said grudgingly. "I can't 
 take you there. I Then upon an impulse he spoke : 
 
 " Cassie, I'm making a fool of myself!" 
 
 "Desmond, you darling! . . . Madame la Mar- 
 mora is just a stunner, isn't she ? " 
 
 "Pshaw!" he exclaimed. "I'm not such a fool as 
 that. No, no, I'm worse, Cassie; it's the daughter " 
 
 A moment the two looked at each other. 
 
 "Oh, I wonder," she said, under her breath, "I 
 wonder!" All at once she gave a quick sigh and turned 
 away resolutely; but, from the door she called over her 
 shoulder : " It's Tuesday, isn't it ? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "The next strawberry party. Oh, don't forget!" 
 
 " You really want to see that silly place ? "
 
 188 
 
 "You bet I do, my beau-frere. You've no idea what 
 a big cheque Poppa had to send over to us that year!" 
 i^assie 
 
 There was fierce disgust in the man's voice. Decidedly 
 he had begun to feel again. She laughed in her fairy, 
 heartless way. 
 
 "Why, that's where America comes in so useful to 
 dear old England. Ta-ta! Don't forget."
 
 X 
 
 A DINNER AT BRANKSOME 
 
 LA MARMORA had quite a dinner party that night, 
 but her impresario was not among the guests, and Fifi 
 was absent from the board. 
 
 Proportionate to the fever of his desire to be with her 
 was Desmond's exasperation at this discovery. Even 
 for him, his air of weariness, as the meal progressed, 
 became noticeable to amazement. Fortunately for his 
 hostess's self-satisfaction, her attention was so fully 
 taken up with the unwonted distinction of her company 
 that she had little time to spare for special observation. 
 And indeed even his gloom, his outrageous countenance 
 of ennui, she was quite ready to explain to herself: 
 
 " He expected to be beside me pauvre garconf There 
 he sits hating them all! Aha! he thought he was going 
 to have it all his own way to-night! A tete-a-tete, I dare- 
 say. It will do my diplomat no harm to make him lan- 
 guish a little. He will see too that here I can have my 
 pick, if I choose. We are no longer in Vienna ! " 
 
 Her heart swelled with triumph as she glanced down 
 the long board. An ambassador rien que ca! True, 
 he was a bachelor; though only the more charming. 
 And then there was his first secretary and he was a 
 "marquis." Pity he had not brought his wife, that one! 
 She had accepted too, but perhaps her migraine was a 
 
 189
 
 ISO PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 trae excuse. Not dial it mattered indeed. Fuhia had 
 only needed to telephone to her dear Lady Peterborough; 
 and hadn't dear Lady Peterborough just hopped at the 
 chance! And then there was the great American painter! 
 Madame la Marmora had quickly learned how to bait 
 the society trap. How enchanted he was, this pleasant 
 genius, with the entertainment with the marble room, 
 the classic detail of die feast, above aD with her, his 
 
 Td Kke to paint you," he said, fixing her with his 
 MHy**j*wifF fimfTiuiinaiiiip artist s eve. And rfi^ JLIM*> 
 what an acknowledgement that was. She had heard 
 maiiHliiig about him: "A bear, my dear divine 
 artist, but a bear!" ... A Princess TOpitz had 
 cried herself skk last month: he would not do her por- 
 trait, at any price. First he swore that he could not 
 bring I^MM'lf to draw a woman who did her hair a la 
 dbmour: and when she said she would do her hair any- 
 way he Eked, he had declared it was her nose that was 
 
 And yonder sat tins great Larpent, smiling and talk- 
 and eating, with ever and anon a long appraising 
 glance at her. The names of those two young men who 
 displayed such wonderful shirt fronts and collars were 
 in die peerage. Nothing less than a lord or a 
 or an afit"jf"flili?T would seiie Pnnna to-mgfat. 
 And die dear little Duchess of Glastonbury Fnkia 
 knew that people said things against her, but she her- 
 self was quite sore ft was the Duke who was to blame: 
 every ooe received her stiB. And she particularly wished 
 to show her attention. The comic side of the situation
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 191 
 
 Fulvia la Marmora upholding a reputation! never 
 struck her. But the Panther was entirely without 
 humour. 
 
 Finally there were two other concomitants to complete 
 her full measure of satisfaction this evening. She was 
 shining without Robecq's support; and, consequently, 
 she had been able likewise to eliminate FifL No face 
 in the room challenged hers; there were masculine 
 eyes enough to tell her so. She was conscious of being 
 supreme. 
 
 More from instinct than from any innate good taste, 
 she had robed herself in accordance with her ilmiral 
 setting. Happily, Greek draperies were just now in 
 fashion. The wreath of oak-leaves, once worn on Fifi's 
 insolent youthful head, crowned the mother's tresses. 
 A bunch of artificial purple grapes, with long tendrils, 
 was fastened on one shoulder. The green streamers 
 fell on the white folds, and against the curves of the 
 long, wonderfully shaped bare arms. She had not 
 donned a jewel her instinct again! She looked a 
 savage thing of beauty. The charming and artistically 
 impressionable ambassador by her side could scarcely 
 remove his gaze from her, even to attend to the fare before 
 him, which was unique in its out-of-the-way refinement. 
 
 Madame la Marmora, however glad to be rid of her 
 bear-leader for the nonce, had not been above profiting 
 by any hint dropped by his wisdom and experience. Once 
 he had casually remarked to her that the head of a cer- 
 tian celebrated French firm of caterers, in Bond Street, 
 was something of a genius; and when the singer had 
 conceived the daring scheme of this impromptu banquet,
 
 192 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 she had sent for M. Christophe to the fury of her 
 own chef. 
 
 "I want something superlative, something that people 
 will talk about, something that will . . ." 
 
 She hesitated. The little fat man bowed: 
 
 " Madame desires a sensation ? " 
 
 " Vous y etes, mon cher" said Fulvia. 
 
 His black eyes, sharp as gimlets, roamed about the 
 marble reception hall. 
 
 "Would it be permitted to see the room destined to 
 the repast?" He was promptly conducted through the 
 draped doorway. 
 
 "What Madame requires," he then pronounced, "is 
 a Roman feast. Everything," he went on, warming to 
 his opportunity," must be as in the days of the Emperors. 
 It shall be a feast of Lucullus. A feast of Lucullus, 
 Madame . . . but cooked with the latest art of 
 Paris." 
 
 The culinary genius had been given carte blancJie, 
 and proved himself as good as his word. (His bill, by 
 the way, was to cause Robecq, a couple of days later, 
 considerable annoyance.) Every detail of menu and 
 decoration had been left to him, at his urgent request. 
 There was but one item in which La Marmora asserted 
 herself, and the memory of it was to haunt the mattre 
 de bouche with chagrin to his dying day. This had been 
 the opportunity of his life, and his triumph was not to 
 be complete. He had wished his feast served by boys 
 and maidens in appropriate garments. Madame la 
 Marmora had characteristically insisted upon footmen 
 in powder and silk stockings "as in the great houses!"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 193 
 
 And the object of it all for if she was yearning for 
 social success and intoxicated with the pride of it, deep 
 down under the froth of vanity, was always the thought 
 of one man, the longing for his notice, for his admiration; 
 the craving to make him want for what others wanted 
 in vain the object of it all, Desmond Brooke, sat anathe- 
 matizing the whole tomfool business, and in chief his 
 own folly for being of it ! 
 
 The ladies lingered after the usual time for withdrawal. 
 Coffee and tobacco were indulged in in company. The 
 Doric seats, though not perhaps the acme of comfort, 
 lent themselves to attitudes of relaxation more than the 
 modern dining-room chair. The elegant decorum which 
 had marked the proceedings hitherto began to give place 
 to a subtle blend of bohemianism. Through the vague 
 mists of cigar and cigarette smoke, glances became 
 bolder or more veiled. The little South American Duch- 
 ess began to bandy wits with the more fatuous of the 
 gilded youths; Larpent to talk in heavy, masterful tones 
 across every one else's conversation, explaining how he 
 would pose his hostess in the portrait he intended to paint 
 of her. 
 
 In the midst of his dissertation he rose, came round 
 to her and with those great hands that no one would 
 suspect of being so delicate with the brush, set himself 
 to altering something in the arrangement of her hair, 
 which he averred had been annoying him the whole even- 
 ning. 
 
 It was so clearly the artist that moved in him that the 
 action seemed as natural as if he had been in his studio.
 
 194 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 But Fulvia understood and demanded no such niceties. 
 Instantly she grew coquettish. 
 
 "Ah, but," she cried, catching at his wrist, "are you 
 not a bold man ? How do you know that it does not 
 all come off ? " 
 
 He moved back a step, surveying her solemnly, all 
 to the thought of his conception. 
 
 "I saw it didn't," he answered absently, making a 
 gesture with two fingers " by the way it springs from 
 the temples." 
 
 Every one was now looking at her; there was suspended 
 laughter on most lips. Only Desmond stared at the tip 
 of his cigarette, brooding. 
 
 The Panther was without her keeper; without even 
 the restraint of the presence of a critic like Scott. She 
 glanced down the table at the sombre man. 
 
 "So we are jealous, my lord! Why then, you shall 
 be made more jealous aye, and be shown something 
 to be jealous for ! " 
 
 She swept her assembled guests with conquering 
 eye. 
 
 "Aha," she laughed, "how you stare! There's not 
 one of them believes you, Larpent. They think I've 
 given myself away. But, there you are " her strong 
 white hands plunged into those curls and twists which 
 the hair-dresser had elaborated as "absolutely Grecian, 
 Madame," a few hours before. She flung a dozen 
 tortoiseshell hairpins right and left, snatched away a 
 couple of combs, then shook her head and ran her hands 
 through the loosened locks. Her actions were as savage 
 as the laughter which accompanied them. So might
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 195 
 
 the maenad of Euripides have looked as she sprang 
 along the mountain height. 
 
 The company, all excepting Desmond, were amused, 
 enchanted, by the incident. It was exactly thus that 
 they wished and expected the great artist to conduct 
 herself. If your lions did not roar, and if your bohemians 
 were not eccentric, where was the use of knowing them 
 at all. This was the deportment requisite for "the 
 Panther." Moreover, the glory that fell upon Fulvia's 
 shoulder and down to her waist provoked a genuine 
 murmur of admiration. 
 
 "But it is phenomenal! It is simply superb!" 
 exclaimed the ambassador. He took up a tress and 
 weighed it in his hand. 
 
 " Oh, for my sketch book ! " cried the artist with almost 
 a roar of regret. 
 
 "What a Salome we shall have!" cried the "marquis." 
 
 " Salome ! . . . echoed the prima donna. 
 
 She stood panting a little, trembling on the apex of 
 her triumph. 
 
 As they had acclaimed her, Desmond had looked up 
 and their eyes had met. In a flash, she had thought to 
 see in them a flame of passion, anger, jealousy, reproach. 
 It had been all that had been needed to complete her 
 intoxication. Could she have but guessed that the man 
 she loved had seen in her, beautiful in the glory of 
 her wild locks, a sudden resemblance to her daughter, 
 and that what now filled his soul was loathing; loathing 
 to horror! 
 
 " Salome ! " she cried again on a still higher key. " Ah,
 
 196 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 I charge you all to come to my Salome! You will hear 
 something, I promise you you will see something ! 
 It will be worth your while ! " 
 
 She took a few steps back, poised herself in the 
 centre of the wide space away from them, fell into an 
 attitude, drawing her splendid arms upward through 
 her hair. 
 
 "And to think," she proceeded, dropping one arm 
 and holding the spell-bound group with the glance that 
 could hold hundreds, "to think," she boasted, "that my 
 idiot of an impresario wants to get a dummy for the 
 dance! Ah, mais non! . . . shall I not dance and 
 sing as well as lima ? " 
 
 With a gesture as limber as it was canaille she kicked 
 off both her shoes and stood with shapely silk-stockinged 
 feet, gripping the marble floor. 
 
 "Shall I not dance?" she cried, shaking her mane 
 once more. She caught up her draperies dexterously, 
 and flinging her disengaged hand aloft with inimitable 
 sweep, undulated through one of those Eastern, languor- 
 ous movements which she had been practising in secret 
 ever since her arrival in England. 
 
 Her guests rose from their seats to press forward in 
 eager knots. She saw, through half-closed lids, the tall 
 figure of him for whom, only, she was revealing herself 
 so wonderful, dominate the rest; then her supple body 
 bent backward in the gradual evolution of a dance-phrase 
 as long-drawn as a violin wail. 
 
 When she raised herself again, and once again furtively 
 searched, he was there no more. One of the weighted 
 purple silk curtains that hung between the feast room
 
 "Shall I not dance ?" she cried, shaking her mane once more
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 197 
 
 and the summer night was still swaying as if it had been 
 thrust aside by a hasty hand. 
 
 A sharp exclamation escaped her. She stood staring, 
 stiffening herself, regardless of frenzied applause, loud 
 acclamations, hand clapping, and entreaties. Suddenly 
 she laughed, laughed gaily at a thought that seemed to 
 have been flung into her consternation like a rose into a 
 dark room. 
 
 "He couldn't stand it. I have made him jealous, 
 jealous with a vengeance! " 
 
 Laughing still she threw herself back into her chair; 
 the ambassador on one side, Larpent on the other, brought 
 her each a shoe. 
 
 "Only do not give me away!" she implored, panting. 
 " For if my manager heard of it you understand. . . 
 . . . Oh, la, oh, la, it is I that would never hear the 
 end of it!" 
 
 Desmond hurried across the turf and ran almost head- 
 long down the grass steps to the lower terrace. He felt 
 he must be free even of the shadow of the roof supported 
 by those Grecian columns. Upon the lower lawn, circled 
 by syringa and lilac bushes, he paused at length and 
 inhaled the night air, with a sense of laving himself as 
 if in pure water from contamination. He could not have 
 stood the spectacle a moment longer. To see her, at 
 her Eastern antics, that maenad . . . who was 
 like his wood nymph! 
 
 It was a dim starlight night, with a heavy dew, and very 
 still. He could hear the drip of infinitesimal drops of 
 moisture falling all around him from leaf to leaf, and the 
 whisper of the water lipping the river sedge only a few
 
 198 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 feet away. Now and again a faint sigh seemed to sweep 
 over the garden as though the night drew a long breath 
 in her sleep. 
 
 A distant shout of laughter, the mingling of many 
 voices uplifted, roused him from the inarticulate abstrac- 
 tion of wrath into which he had fallen. He felt, suddenly 
 and pressingly, as if he could not place sufficient distance 
 between himself and that house to which an equal fever 
 of impatience had, only a couple of hours ago, drawn him. 
 With a distaste that was almost shuddering, he thought 
 that he would have to recross its threshold to fetch his 
 coat and hat; not that he need fear any encounter: they 
 were all too well amused with each other in the Greek 
 hall of feasting. 
 
 Heavily he went along the lower terrace, through a 
 honeysuckle pergola that was wickedly sweet, seeking 
 the second grass staircase which he knew led to the lawn 
 in front of the reception room. As he mounted the steps, 
 he saw with some annoyance, that this room had been 
 left with undrawn curtains, open to the night. From 
 it long shafts of light fell through the colonnade upon the 
 stretch of turf he would have to cross. A moment he 
 almost drew back. Then another burst of mirth and 
 beat of clapping hands reassured him; he moved on 
 steadily toward the house. 
 
 He had passed but half this way, when, with a sharp 
 pang of emotion, in which he could not distinguish con- 
 sternation from joy, he beheld a white figure emerge 
 from the shadow of a column and advance toward him. 
 
 "I knew it was you," said Fifi, still some ten paces 
 frorp him. And:
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 199 
 
 "I knew it was you," he answered, standing still to 
 let her approach. 
 
 There was such a tumult within him that he was scarcely 
 aware that he had spoken. It was as if thought but 
 answered thought. The overpowering sense of revolt 
 within him only gave poignancy to the passion that he 
 had already acknowledged to himself as inevitable and 
 hopeless. He cared too madly, he cared too stupidly. 
 She was the daughter of such a woman, she was "the 
 Panther's Cub " what was he doing here ? It must 
 be the end, he told himself. And then he resolved that, 
 since it was the end, he would kiss her once, once in 
 farewell! A kiss, more or less, to the Panther's Cub 
 . . . to her who had made that public leap, three years 
 ago, at Como! Well, it would not harm her. While, 
 for him for him, it would be pain, an ecstasy, a memory 
 of what life might mean, to carry away into the dead 
 years to come. 
 
 So when she came up to him and stopped, a little 
 timidly, he caught both her hands in his, clasped them 
 as he had never clasped a woman's hands before in all 
 his dissipated and varied experience, and drew her toward 
 the colonnade, into the full light. She gave way to him, 
 unresisting. Just within a rose-hung arch he paused 
 and spoke. 
 
 "I have something to say to you." His voice was 
 very low, and rather hoarse. "I wanted to see your 
 face first." 
 
 He hardly knew himself what it was he had to say, 
 what wild, what foolish words before the farewell kiss. 
 But, even as he flung that desired gaze upon her,
 
 200 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 thing seemed to break over him, like a huge salt wave 
 and tear him apart from his purpose. He stood staring. 
 Her eyes were upon him, dilated; her face, a little pale, 
 was lifted confidently; with parted lips she seemed to 
 wait for an unknown wonder, a new, joyous, beautiful, 
 exquisite moment, a gift of unutterable sweetness that 
 she longed for and yet was afraid of! Half child, half 
 woman, palpitating toward him, yet almost trembling 
 on flight, she stood, waiting. No, he could not take her 
 into his arms, he could not kiss her; he could not speak 
 those words of passion, of insult and renunciation that 
 rose in fire from his heart : 
 
 "Panther's Cub daughter of yonder maenad, I 
 would fain go to perdition in your arms, but I have not 
 yet fallen, so low ! There is yet something of my father's 
 soul within me that keeps me from this baseness. There- 
 fore will I cut myself from you, though it is life itself I 
 part from. Only once I must kiss you once. That 
 I may know what life could mean ! " 
 
 He could not say these words. He passed his hand 
 over his forehead, it was wet with a cold sweat. 
 
 "What is it?" she whispered. She leant forward, 
 and her lips drooped at the corners like a child's on the 
 verge of tears. A shadow of horror gathered in her 
 eyes. He tried to smile at her, as one would at a 
 child. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing good night, Miss Fifi ! " He 
 took her hand once more into his own ice-cold one, just 
 with the barest touch of civility. 
 
 " You are going ? " 
 
 He could hardly bear to hear the disappointment in
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 201 
 
 her voice, to see it written on that face, every line of 
 which seemed made to express splendid joy. 
 
 Then from the dining room came the loudest clamour 
 that had yet escaped from its merry, irresponsible com- 
 pany. The daughter of the house frowned; a slight 
 shiver ran through her. 
 
 " Oh, I wish they wouldn't ! " she said, fretfully. Then 
 suddenly: "Oh, is that why you are going? Because 
 of all this noise and laughter? It does seem horrid, 
 somehow, this quiet, pretty night." 
 
 He looked at her fugitively, darkly, with something 
 akin to agony in his glance. 
 
 "I must go," he repeated, evading. "Good night." 
 
 He sprang from her into the room, and across it 
 toward the outer vestibule, as if hunted. 
 
 Disconsolate, bewildered, she followed him halfway, 
 and then paused. He looked back as lovers must, and 
 his resolution melted. He took two steps toward her 
 again, his blue eyes shining: 
 
 "Fifi! ..." 
 
 The colour and light rushed back into her face. 
 
 " You will come to-morrow ? " 
 
 "Yes, I will come to-morrow," he answered, with a 
 break in his voice. The next moment he was gone.
 
 XI 
 
 VALUABLE INFORMATION 
 
 " MY DEAR," said Sir Joseph Warren-Smith he 
 stood on the threshold of his dressing room, looking in 
 upon the horrible strawberry-pink splendour of the 
 connubial apartment "I have something to say to 
 you." 
 
 Lady Alice, seated before the dressing table in a blue 
 dressing gown of the shade best calculated to set one's 
 teeth on edge in conjunction with the strawberry-pink 
 turned her eyes querulously upon her lord. Her pale 
 sandy locks, already flecked with gray, were in the hands 
 of her tirewoman. Before her a huge, three-winged 
 mirror reflected from three aspects her countenance; 
 the left profile was undoubtedly the most disastrous. 
 But Sir Joseph beheld in her a daughter of the marquis, 
 and for him she walked in sufficient beauty. 
 
 " Well, Joseph ? " she queried. 
 
 In his shirt sleeves he stood adjusting his white tie. 
 She disliked him to display such familiarity, especially 
 before the servants. In the inmost recesses of her mean 
 nature she resented every one of his middle-class ways 
 with an extraordinary secret vehemence; but Prince's 
 Gate and Warren Park, a "sixty H. P. Mercedes," and 
 Daring & Gibbons's art and luxury were preferable 
 to Lowndes Square and all that appertained thereto. 
 
 202
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 203 
 
 Nay. it was even conceivable that, upon comparison, 
 Sir Joseph Warren-Smith, vulgarian as he might be, 
 would prove a companion preferable to Martia Mar- 
 chioness. Lady Alice was too filial actually to formulate 
 such a comparison; but the consciousness of it may have 
 helped her not to quarrel with her bread and butter, had 
 she dared quarrel. But, though she might have become 
 easily an adept in the art, his wife could not henpeck him, 
 whatever might be the provocation. Sir Joseph was 
 nothing if not master in his own house. He had all the 
 bourgeois ideas of the supremacy of man, of the husband's 
 high authority. The very name of woman suffrage was 
 anathema to him; it was only before his mother-in-law 
 that principle gave way. Now, Lady Alice quickly 
 amended her querulous tone and sketched a smile as she 
 repeated her question : 
 
 "Well, Joseph?" 
 
 Sir Joseph, succeeding with some difficulty in adjust- 
 ing the bow satisfactorily under his swelling chin, puffed 
 and snorted after his fashion, rolled his eyes and jerked 
 his thumb; which signals, interpreted, meant that he had 
 private matters of importance to communicate and 
 desired the dismissal of the maid. Apprehensively, 
 Lady Alice gave the required order and again fixed her 
 eyes upon her husband in a helpless stare. 
 
 Ever since he had been actually brought into his 
 brother-in-law's affairs, the Member of Parliament had 
 been in a state of perpetual restlessness, of bubbling 
 importance; the torments, which in this condition he 
 inflicted on his entourage were comparable only to those 
 they had had to endure during his last electoral campaign.
 
 204 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 ''Well, my dear," said he, closing the door carefully 
 behind him and advancing pompously, "I met Colonel 
 Wentworth in the House this afternoon. Met him 
 plump in the lobby ! He could not avoid shaking hands," 
 said Sir Joseph ingenuously, "and I kept him a few 
 minutes in conversation." He paused and blew himself 
 out, and his braces creaked. "I took the opportunity, 
 my dear, of speaking to him about this business, this 
 deplorable business." 
 
 "Joseph!" cried his wife sharply, "you did not, surely, 
 mention Desmond's name!" 
 
 Something of a glow of triumph faded from his counte- 
 nance. He protruded his jaw and rubbed it with his 
 forefinger. 
 
 "Why, my dear " he flung her a furtive look; then 
 the master of the house asserted himself. "I did what 
 I considered necessary. I have obtained valuable inform- 
 ation. Valuable information," he repeated. That was 
 his mother-in-law's own desire, he could not have done 
 wrong in acting upon it. "Mr. Scott was quite right, 
 Alice. Young Wentworth did go off with that disrepu- 
 table girl." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " gasped Lady Alice, whom six years 
 of union with Sir Joseph Warren-Smith had not deprived 
 of all conceptions of gentlemanly behaviour. "Surely 
 he did not tell you so ! " 
 
 "I made him tell me," said the complacent go-between. 
 " He would have evaded me, I assure you ; but I was one 
 too many for him. 'Look here,' I said, and took him 
 by the elbow, 'you'll be doing a good piece of work in 
 preventing an irretrievable disaster to a noble family
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 205 
 
 a noble family if you'll tell me the rights of this busi- 
 ness. Did that singing woman's daughter, Madame 
 la Marmora's daughter, go off with your son, or did she 
 not, at Como, you know, three years ago?' ... I 
 am afraid Colonel Wentworth is rather a bad-tempered 
 man. He looked at me for a moment as if he was going 
 to fly at my throat, he did indeed, Alice! Then he mut- 
 tered something about its being not my business, nor 
 anybody's, if his son had been a young fool. You see, 
 he couldn't deny his son had been a young fool. First 
 confirmation. Then he tried to make off, pulled his 
 arm away from my hand quite rudely almost. But of 
 course he was upset at the recollection, and I make allow- 
 ances. ' Just one word,' I said, ' one more word, Colonel,' 
 I said. 'I should be extremely obliged by your candid 
 opinion of the girl.' Well, then, my dear, he stopped 
 and turned round he had been positively running 
 away from me and he said " 
 
 "Oh, Joseph!" moaned the poor lady, and the triple 
 mirror reflected a most distressing spectacle. "What 
 could he say ? " 
 
 " Don't hurry me, Alice. I am endeavouring to remem- 
 ber the exact words, for they were remarkable. Yes, 
 it was like this : ' My candid opinion, sir, is that the girl's 
 as bad as they make them; and the mother's worse than 
 they make them; but if all I hear of your brother-in-law 
 is true, he about matches them. Good afternoon.' Now 
 Alice, what do you think of that ? " 
 
 "Joseph!" gasped the lady again. 
 
 Conflicting emotions struggled within her. Resent- 
 ment that the roturier should presume to discuss his noble
 
 206 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 relative and repeat with such satisfaction insulting com- 
 ments upon him; resentment that the unknown brewing 
 colonel should have treated a rich and influential man, 
 her husband, with such open rudeness; a galling and 
 unwilling sense of this same husband's want of breeding; 
 of the absurd figure he even now presented to her in his 
 air of jubilation over such an incident; and yet withal 
 an acrid righteous satisfaction kindred to his own, over 
 this valuable corroboration to their worst suspicions. 
 . . . Valuable corroboration; those were the words 
 now falling from Sir Joseph's lips. 
 
 "I think it is my duty, Alice, to see your brother 
 again." 
 
 Lady Alice looked doubtful. She muttered, in her 
 dejected, rabbit-like manner that she feared it would 
 only make matters worse. 
 
 "Then I will tell your mother. Yes," he pursued 
 importantly, "I will drive round to Lowndes Square 
 this evening, and inform your mother. She has ah 
 placed so much confidence in me, with regard to this 
 painful matter. Alice " he read hesitation and dis- 
 approval on his wife's countenance and was all the more 
 determined "I consider it my duty. I will telephone 
 for the car." 
 
 He drew a long breath of self-satisfaction, loosened 
 his collar on either side, to make room for his bursting 
 sense of importance, and disappeared within his dress- 
 ing room. 
 
 Lady Alice returned to her mirror with a peevish 
 sigh. She wished as ardently as she could wish anything 
 that Joseph had not been brought into this business;
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 207 
 
 she hated it with all the hatred of the ugly virtuous woman 
 for the side of life in which feminine witchery was the 
 moving spring. She had made a resolve that her husband 
 should never return to those dangerous grounds; the 
 adjective " alluring," which he had used in reference to 
 his hostess at Branksome, rankled in the mind of the 
 woman who could never have allured. Yet, in spite 
 of a determination perpetually reasserted in secret, she 
 had an uneasy haunting that she might not be strong 
 enough to impose it. 
 
 Sourly, therefore, she saw him depart, after that enor- 
 mous repast which he owed it to his wealth to have served 
 as expensively and unseasonably as possible. He was 
 the type of man who "believed in doing himself well," 
 as an acknowledgment to his own success, and who never 
 rose from his board without having disposed of at least 
 the best part of a bottle of the best champagne. 
 
 He was full of valiance as he stepped into his car, 
 although the big cigar had perforce to be deferred till 
 after his important interview. 
 
 Lady Alice withdrew into the vast unhomeliness of 
 her drawing room and sat dismally stitching at a piece 
 of Church embroidery. 
 
 She had a faint malicious smile as the car throbbed 
 once again beneath the balconies within the half-hour: 
 Mama had dismissed Joseph with great celerity. But 
 when her husband came in, panting more than usual, 
 there was no sign of discomfiture upon his countenance 
 rather a heightened appearance of responsibility. 
 
 "Your mother, my dear, was greatly struck. Greatly, 
 I may say greatly, impressed by my information. She
 
 208 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 made use of most gratifying expressions. 'Joseph,' she 
 said, ' Joseph, you are invaluable.' " 
 
 Lady Alice raised the pale globes of her eyes incredu- 
 lously upon the speaker. But she knew better than to 
 express her feelings in words. 
 
 " Yes, Joseph ? " she nibbled. 
 
 "She immediately wrote to your brother," pursued 
 the other, sitting heavily on the crimson-satin sofa, knees 
 wide apart, hands hanging loosely between them. "She 
 wrote to Desmond. I suggested one or two phrases. 
 She read me the letter." Triumph was bursting from 
 him as he spoke. "It was telling, Alice, very telling. 
 After that we had a little chat. That is a very remarkable 
 woman, a lady " 
 
 He broke off, his eyes met those of his wife with a 
 slight hesitation. He leaned back and yawned, then sat 
 up and clasped those wide-apart knees with outspread 
 fingers. 
 
 " If that letter fails," he resumed in an off-hand manner, 
 "we are agreed, your mother and I, that there is only 
 one thing more to be done." 
 
 Lady Alice still stared, blinking. She knew what 
 was coming. 
 
 " I have told her that, hem however distasteful to 
 me is the thought of, ahem, those purlieus, that for the 
 sake of the family, for her sake, the sake of a mother's 
 anxiety, I will once again, if necessary, beard the lion 
 in her den I should say the Panther " He stopped 
 to laugh at his quip ; but the tail of his glance was watch- 
 ful upon his wife's horror-stricken countenance. 
 
 "Curiously enough," he went on, pretending not to
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 209 
 
 perceive its horror, "even at the very time of my first 
 visit to Madame la Marmora, I came to a conclusion 
 similar to that expressed by the Marchioness to-night: 
 if Desmond will not listen to reason, the ah source 
 of the mischief herself must be approached; or rather 
 the mother of the source." 
 
 " Joseph ! " interrupted Lady Alice shrilly, " you are 
 not going there again 
 
 "Alice!" 
 
 "I won't have it!" she cried. "It's shameful! It's 
 no place for a married man ! " 
 
 Even as she protested she knew how utterly unavailing 
 her protest would be: knew indeed that to a man of her 
 husband's character, home-tyrant as he was, her atttempt 
 to control him was but an incentive. Yet would she 
 protest. 
 
 " It is wicked of Mama ! " she cried, with sudden sobs. 
 
 The man rose, solemnly, glaring at her with an offended 
 eye. 
 
 "Alice, I am surprised. You know my opinion, my 
 regard for your mother. Have I not even just now 
 expressed it? I think, um, Alice, the suspicion you 
 express of myself is as injurious and misplaced as the 
 unfilial remark that has just escaped you. You will be 
 sorry for this, Alice. If a man, ha of unblemished 
 repute cannot be trusted . . . upon an errand of 
 duty . . . Alice, have I ever given you cause to 
 doubt me ? " 
 
 "No," she admitted, fixed him with one long pathetic 
 gaze, and then sought, sniffing, for her pocket-handker- 
 chief.
 
 210 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "But you told me yourself how . . . alluring 
 she was," wept she. 
 
 "We will not discuss this till you are calmer," said 
 the husband and stalked with great dignity out of the 
 room in search of his cigar. 
 
 Though he had deemed it incumbent on him to show 
 so much displeasure, in his heart he was not altogether 
 displeased. Indeed, before he lit his cigar, he surveyed 
 himself complacently in the smoking-room looking- 
 glass. 
 
 It is the strength of such worthy households that in 
 an atmosphere of super-abounding rectitude no disturb- 
 ing sense of humour can live.
 
 BOOK III
 
 I 
 
 PLEASURE AND BUSINESS 
 
 IF ROBECQ, in his unavoidable speculations on the past 
 relations of his two musical purchases, had come to a 
 definite conclusion, he remained careful to let no one sus- 
 pect it, least of all those immediately concerned, and 
 events had justified the wisdom of this somewhat cynical 
 decision. For years things had progressed very comfort- 
 ably. If ever ignorance was bliss, here had been a case 
 in point. But with his own new projects concerning 
 Fifi, he was beginning to feel a certain amount of uneasi- 
 ness with regard to the old musician whom he had been 
 at such pains to attach to his enterprise. Fritz was still 
 an unknown quantity. Fritz had not only extraordinary 
 powers in his own personality, but a secret power over 
 "the Panther" a power exclusively and relentlessly 
 exercised with regard to "the Panther's Cub." 
 
 It had suited the impresario well enough hitherto that 
 Fritz should have his own way in this point; the Jew was 
 a man of strong common sense as well as of kindly dis- 
 position, and he quite approved of a sensible middle- 
 class education for the child; approved too of her being 
 kept as much as possible from the deleterious influence 
 of an opera singer's entourage. After one disastrous 
 summer holiday spent by mother and daughter in com- 
 pany, he had cordially endorsed the policy which thereafter 
 
 213
 
 214 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 had kept them separate for nearly three years. When 
 he had telegraphed the mother's summons from Vienna, 
 he had only done so with the cynical prevision: "It 
 won't last long it will keep her quiet for a few days, 
 not long enough to do the child any harm." 
 
 What he had not foreseen was the result of the move 
 upon himself. 
 
 Robecq, who had placed business before everything 
 else in life; who had twice married for advantage; who, 
 in his shrewd mind, had kept a genial contempt for the 
 master passion; had at forty-five (critical age!) fallen 
 pathetically in love. And it was a complication. For 
 the Jew was not yet so blindly in love as to contemplate 
 the sacrifice of the greatest stroke of business he had yet 
 accomplished and he knew that there would be "the devil 
 to pay with old Fritz!" Upon him everything pivoted. 
 
 So he was torn this way and that, between anxiety for 
 Salome and infatuation for Fifi; between terror lest the 
 repetitor's illness should interfere with the necessary 
 work, and consciousness that it suited his secret purpose 
 remarkably well. 
 
 Meyer was faithful to his pledge: already he had so 
 far recovered as to be able to receive the singer daily for 
 her daily "repetition." From the inn bedroom he had 
 been moved to a cottage, almost abutting on the grounds 
 of Branksome; and in its best parlour only large enough 
 to contain the Bechstein upright and a slippery horsehair 
 sofa repetitor and prima donna had for the last few 
 days been hard at word over Strauss's complicated score. 
 
 But the manager's apprehensions on this head were by 
 no means altogether relieved by his tamer's return to duty.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 215 
 
 He had unexpected trouble with Fritz himself. Fritz 
 disliked Salome, disliked the idea of assisting in its pro- 
 duction. A moment the impresario actually trembled 
 before the possibility of having to forego his practically 
 indispensable assistance: never had pupil and teacher 
 been on such unsympathetic terms. He had found La 
 Marmora and her repetitor, more than once at logger- 
 heads, in the stuffy little parlour. 
 
 One afternoon she returned to her marble halls actually 
 in tears. 
 
 "Ah, ca, maix, Robecq," she stormed at him, tearing 
 her Panama hat from her head, and stabbing it with 
 her jewelled hatpin as if she were stabbing her enemies, 
 "it's becoming frankly impossible! Fritz is beyond 
 bearing. Ten times he took me through that first solo 
 of mine till I was fit to scream. His ideas are not my 
 ideas " 
 
 "I daresay not, my dear," said Robecq soothingly; 
 but his eye was upon her, measuring. "Perhaps you 
 were screaming," he added as a pleasant suggestion. 
 
 She glowered on him, without speaking. 
 
 "You see, Fulvia," proceeded the man, "Fritz and I 
 happen to be agreed on the reading; and that's enough 
 for you, I think." He smiled disanningly. "Salome is 
 a dark Eastern nature; she reserves her passion for one 
 or two supreme outbursts. Up to that she contains 
 herself, elle se contient, you see that's just what we want 
 you to do, to restrain yourself. Now you're inclined to 
 force the note from the outset. You detract from your 
 effects " 
 
 He broke off. He felt he might as well talk thus
 
 216 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 didactically to her savage prototype. Fritz it was who 
 knew how to manage her, with his tamer's eye, his unweary- 
 ing patience of repetition, his inflexible method: "Wrong 
 do it again." One did not discuss with wild beasts, 
 one put them through the task, till it was learned at last. 
 
 "Well, between you two, your sacred Salome will 
 be a fiasco!" she sobbed. 
 
 "When you can have your repetition here, it will 
 seem different," he said consolingly. 
 
 This was to bring a fresh outbreak of complaint: how 
 was it possible to sing with four walls on the top of one, 
 with her ribs squeezed between the piano and the sofa 
 and Fritz's foot in its bandages making her sick! " Est- 
 ce etonnant si fhurle?" 
 
 Robecq hesitated, too much possessed by the urgency 
 of the situation to find his usual laugh. 
 
 "As you say, my poor Fulvia, it is not astonishing that 
 you should howl. Why not, then," he drawled, "let the 
 old man do as he suggests, and be wheeled down here in 
 a bath chair for the repetition?" 
 
 An ugly, sly gleam shone between her narrowed eye- 
 lids. 
 
 "That would suit you, would it not?" she taunted; 
 "that he should be prying all over the place next Tuesday." 
 
 "No," said Robecq in his candid way. "No, my dear, 
 it would not." His fingers played in his clipped beard. 
 "Well, then, there's nothing for it but to possess our 
 souls in patience as best we may." 
 
 "It's you that are an idiot!" she cried; "it's you that 
 have muddled everything ! Ah, sapristi! to fall in love 
 at your age!"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 217 
 
 "One falls in love when one can and when one must. 
 Our age, my dear 
 
 By a convulsive start she warned him from that delicate 
 point; he swerved gracefully. 
 
 "A man is as old as he feels. A woman, divine Fulvia, 
 . . . finish the saying for yourself. Et avec ca " 
 he dropped into his easy boulevard French, "that it does 
 not arrange you famously that my little love affair should 
 succeed?" 
 
 But she was in the mood for quarrel. 
 
 "And it is you who have ruined Fritz," she resumed. 
 "What is the old fellow but our creature whom we pay, 
 a kind of servant when all is said and done ? Why 
 don't you treat him like one ? You've let him get above 
 himself. In God's name why should it be an understood 
 thing that he should come to the house whenever he likes ? 
 Why should he have the run of my parties ? Answer me 
 that. Tell him to stay away on Tuesday." 
 
 Robecq rose from his chair. When the Panther got 
 into one of her rages it was his custom to put space between 
 them. She was beginning to scream. He went, with 
 his heavy, picking tread, toward the nearest exit. But 
 before touching the portiere, he felt unable to resist the 
 impulse and turned for a retort. His formerly imper- 
 turbable good-humour was becoming impaired these 
 days, when for the first time in his well-regulated 
 existence, the demands of business and pleasure had 
 come in conflict. 
 
 The glance that went back to his prima donna was 
 anything but benevolent. She was sprawling on the 
 bear-skin couch; panting breath, dilated nostrils, restless
 
 218 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 hands, all portended the explosion it was his interest to 
 avert. 
 
 "Tell Fritz all this yourself, Fulvia," he said, slowly. 
 
 His gaze was steadily upon her; and he had a small 
 chuckle, for just the cringe he expected to see came 
 upon the tense frame; the furtive terror, the swift query, 
 into her eye. 
 
 But, as has been said, it was far from the impresario's 
 policy to pursue inconvenient knowledge. 
 
 "I'll send Elisa to you, with some Fleur d' Granger," 
 he remarked, in his usual tone of urbanity, after a subtly 
 impressive pause. "You had better drink it, and lie 
 down. Vous avez Us nerfs agacfo, tres chere."
 
 II 
 
 INNOCENCE IN MUSLIN 
 
 IT WAS the last of Madame la Marmora's celebrated 
 strawberry parties the third of June. On the fourth, 
 the singer was to retire from the world; the star was to 
 hide her effulgence: Salome, in short, was to be veiled 
 until she was ready to burst forth in triumph. 
 
 It was a heavy, brooding day: lowering accumulation 
 of cloud to the north threatened a thunderstorm. Never- 
 theless Madame la Marmora's guests mustered in force. 
 It was their last chance of profiting of an unwonted occas- 
 ion; and all who hitherto had been exempt from her 
 hospitality, had left no stone unturned to be included 
 this afternoon. 
 
 Among these, young Lady Sturminster made an early 
 appearance. The yellow Mercedes which had brought 
 her down from Park Lane also contained that indispens- 
 able member of society, Mr. Vere Hamilton. Cassandra 
 had discovered a use for him at last. 
 
 When the worthy gentleman had shaken the dust of 
 Prince's Gate from his patent-leather shoes on the memor- 
 able afternoon of Lord Desmond's declaration, he had 
 resolved that no power on earth would induce him to be 
 connected with the business in question again. But he 
 was not proof against a pretty, imperious note, inviting 
 him to lunch with and escort his sincerely, Cassandra 
 
 219
 
 220 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Sturminster to Branksome Cottage. How could any 
 Vere Hamilton of this world proud of the honour of 
 being on the visiting list of an old and ugly dowager 
 refuse to give his company to the young, pretty, reigning 
 marchioness, no matter where she chose to take him! 
 
 And he had indeed a most agreeable repast, en tete-a- 
 tete with his hostess; and Cassandra (who would have 
 made eyes to a scarecrow) completely turned the neat, 
 sleek head of the little man before they had reached their 
 coffee. 
 
 She wore some kind of adorable lace confection with 
 bobbing cherries on her head; and it was tied under her 
 chin on one side, with a narrow red velvet ribbon. The 
 garment that accompanied this artful headgear was of 
 a misleading white muslin simplicity. Mr. Vere Hamilton, 
 who unostentatiously gave half his income to charity, 
 would have been genuinely shocked, had he been told 
 that this artless effect would be jotted down at some sixty 
 guineas on Lady Sturminster's next bill from the Maison 
 Angele. 
 
 In comfortable ignorance, however, he was able to add 
 an exquisite innocence of attire to his hostess's many 
 charms. Indeed, until she revealed to him the reasons 
 for her afternoon expedition, he had been basking in a 
 complete state of satisfaction compounded of admiration 
 for his companion, and a naive pleasure in his own exalted 
 position as her escort. 
 
 It was on the journey down that the first shadow fell on 
 his content. 
 
 The car was rolling at an agreeably moderate pace, 
 for Lady Sturminster had no notion of being blown into
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 221 
 
 a guy (as she told the cavalier, with one of her irresistible 
 oeillades) they were proceeding just fast enough to produce 
 a desirable freshness and cheat themselves into the belief 
 that there was air to breathe. 
 
 "Oh, isn't the country nice!" cooed the lady, indicating 
 the green fields with a vague gesture of delicate hands. 
 "It's always been just my dream to have a cottage on the 
 river." 
 
 "Surely," said Mr. Hamilton, in his old-fashioned 
 courtesy, " you had but to breathe the desire . . ." 
 
 "Breathe!" she echoed, with her musical shallow- 
 sounding laugh; "I'd have blown a hurricane at him, if 
 it had been any good. But, you see, it was Mrs. Orris's 
 dream too!" She turned an infantile smile upon him. 
 But Mr. Hamilton did not see . . . 
 
 Good heavens ! the bare idea was preposterous. Charm- 
 ing, innocent lady, he would be base indeed who could 
 put such a construction upon her prattling lips. He 
 stared a second blankly; and then, blushing at himself, 
 hastened to cover the awful suggestiveness of his 
 pause. 
 
 "Indeed," he stammered, "Lord Sturminster is right 
 . . . I apprehend, I apprehend, dear lady. The 
 river-side is becoming sadly notorious. It would not do 
 for people like yourself " 
 
 Her laughter tinkled at him again. 
 
 " Oh, well, I don't know that I should have minded so 
 much I needn't have been just next door to Mrs. 
 Orris. And anyhow it wouldn't have altered facts. 
 But you see, all that marble cost such a tarnation lot! 
 I really couldn't ask Poppa twice
 
 222 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 She broke off. The man was gasping. Perspiration 
 had broken out on his crimsoning forehead. 
 
 "Didn't you know?" she went on. Her soft voice 
 took a still softer inflection, as it were, of a little pity for 
 his guilelessness. "Didn't you know that Wurzel just 
 ran that marble lodge?" 
 
 Mr. Hamilton passed a silk handkerchief over his 
 countenance. 
 
 " Oh, Lady Sturminster I trust ... I trust 
 if I have unintentionally seemed to make any allusion 
 I assure you nothing was further from my thoughts." 
 
 Coolly she commented : 
 
 "Then you did know!" She laughed again; there 
 was the faintest note of hardness now in the tinkle: 
 " Of course, everybody knows." 
 
 She tossed the words from her as a child would toss a 
 broken flower, and proceeded confidentially : 
 
 "Now you understand why I've been just mad to see 
 the place." 
 
 Her companion fairly leaped in his seat, every nerve 
 quivering as if he had received an electric shock. Then 
 he gazed earnestly at the delicate profile. He half expected 
 to see a drooping lip, a swimming glance; almost he 
 hoped that the quiver in the pretty voice was due to sup- 
 pressed tears. But the corners of the mouth were tilting 
 upward and mirth once more rippled from it, as, drawn 
 by his glance, Cassandra turned her mocking elf-counten- 
 ance upon him. 
 
 What was his dear "Society" coming to? He really 
 would no longer be able to frequent these selectest circles 
 his soul delighted in, if all his best instincts were to be
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 223 
 
 subjected to such unpleasant commotions. This trans- 
 atlantic crudity well-nigh amounting to a want of 
 feminine modesty outraged his most sensitive prejudices. 
 The mid-Victorian woman of his dreams would have 
 drawn a veil over her husband's peccadilloes; would have 
 blushed in agony at the merest reference to them; what 
 tears she would weep would be wept in secret . . . 
 
 It seemed as if his companion's velvet eyes, with their 
 surface childlike candour, and their unchildlike lurking 
 depths of cynicism, read the distressed thoughts. 
 
 "I reckon you're just shocked to fits," the thread of 
 voice proceeded with unaltered sweetness. " That's your 
 British way, I suppose. Even Desmond got quite a 
 turn when I asked him to tootle me down to Branksome. 
 And it ought to take a good deal, you'd think, to shock 
 Desmond. Oh! that's just your British way; and if 
 you and he got together, you'd have a little chuckle over 
 Wurzel and his Orris and the marble nonsense and all 
 the rest of it! And you're none of you quite such idiots 
 as to think that an intelligent woman of twenty-five is 
 going about London with a bandage over her eyes. You 
 all know that I know, but I mustn't speak of it to you. 
 That's just shocking to your British modesty. I mustn't 
 laugh at what you men snigger over. It makes you 
 really blush. Now, Mr. Hamilton, if I wept on your 
 shoulder, you'd think it sweet and womanly, wouldn't 
 you?" 
 
 "I ? I ? " stammered he, uncertain whether to 
 be appalled or transported at such a prospect. 
 
 "But because I happen to see the humour of the sit- 
 uation, I have given you a nasty jar, haven't I ? That's
 
 224 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 where the difference between you British and us Americans 
 comes in. But since I married among you, I am precious 
 glad to find I have got a sense of humour left. I'm ' dead ' 
 glad. It's something to have a sense of humour left, 
 when the other things go, isn't it ? Ah, this is the place, 
 I suppose." 
 
 The motor wheeled suddenly through two modest 
 iron gates, set hospitably open and flanked on one side 
 by a tiny black and white cottage. 
 
 "Well, I must say," she commented, "I think Wurzel 
 might have risen to a Corinthian arch, and a marble 
 what-do-you-call-it for the gate-keeper. Considering the 
 amount of dollars that run into this, it strikes me the 
 entrance looks pretty mean ... I think Poppa'd 
 be hurt, some." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton was beyond speech. His conscience 
 was smiting him acutely for every past smile which it 
 now accused him of having indeed bestowed de par le 
 monde on Sturminster's infatuation and Orris's Folly. 
 But he had not known on his honour as an honest 
 little Christian gentleman he had not known that the 
 fellow had drawn for it on his wife's exchequer. How 
 could he now explain this to her ? He could not explain 
 it to her. It was impossible. Yet that she should so 
 misinterpret him was agony. 
 
 "I hope," the silken accents went on, "that we shall 
 find Desmond here to-day. Oh, I hope we shall ! Don't 
 you?" 
 
 "I I really - 
 
 The beaver was not proving himself a brilliant com- 
 panion.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 225 
 
 "No, of course you don't. You're too thick with the 
 Dow. I'm not. If I could hate any of my dear British 
 relations, I'd hate that old woman! She's got an eye 
 like an alligator. My what a queue of carriages ! 
 And isn't it hot! Yes, I'd just love Desmond to defy 
 his mother and to many the Panther's Cub." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton had no reply to this last enormity. He 
 crawled out of the car in the wake of the light, pretty 
 figure in her ethereal white muslins and laces, limp, 
 utterly dejected, saddened to the heart. 
 
 "I will give up London. I will live in the country." 
 Some such terrible resolution was forming itself in his 
 mind.
 
 Ill 
 
 THE LAST STRAWBERRY PARTY 
 
 THE air seemed stagnant to suffocation upon the 
 terrace lawn, although now and again a gust of wind would 
 shudder across the gardens, flinging up little columns 
 of dust, blowing the leaves the wrong way and shivering 
 the grass till the wiiole earth seemed to wither and turn 
 pale under it. The river exhaled dank smells of weeds 
 and slime as it ran leaden under the leaden sky. The 
 roses drooped, the scent of the lilies was unbearably 
 pervasive. 
 
 Madame la Marmora's company strolled about or 
 collected together in desultory and languid groups. In 
 the curious, glaring light, the paint on so many of the 
 ladies' faces seemed to stare in all its crudity, like the 
 paint on the face of a clown; ill-humour sat on most; 
 and the masculine element showed a disastrous tendency 
 to segregate into nooks for the consolatory cigarette. 
 
 La Marmora herself kept to her cedar tree; resolved to 
 wait there until a certain arrival which as yet was delayed. 
 She alternated this afternoon between a mood as brooding 
 as the weather itself, and one of sudden vivacity. When 
 in this latter phase her voice rang out, her eye flashed; 
 she gesticulated and laughed. 
 
 Robecq observed her w r ith disquietude. 
 
 "She is brewing something," he said to himself. "She 
 
 226
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 227 
 
 means to bring our diplomatist to book to-day, or I'm 
 much mistaken. There'll be a rumpus as sure as coming 
 thunder. And the Lord only knows how it will all end ! " 
 
 The impresario wiped his forehead and sighed while he 
 forced the genial smile and trivial remark that supple- 
 mented the hostess's greetings. In this function, against 
 his wont, he remained beside her : 
 
 " Je ne la Idche pas d'une semclle," he had decided. 
 
 When Lady Sturminster sailed across the lawn, Fulvia 
 received her in the dark mood after one piercing 
 glance that sought in vain in her wake for the long, languid 
 figure and the pale unsmiling face she was waiting for. 
 
 "Bon, la belle-sceur, apres le beau- fr ere! What have 
 they got, these creatures, to persecute me like this?" 
 she was asking herself fiercely. "First one, then another, 
 to spy upon me! And where have they hidden him 
 to-day?" 
 
 "How de do?" said the American, her large eyes 
 appraising the Panther with some disappointment. 
 Dyed! Painted! forty! And it's really a common 
 face . . . 
 
 Ill-humour is an ugly emotion. And under an ugly 
 emotion the plebeian betrays itself. 
 
 "Good afternoon," said La Marmora, gruffly, hardly 
 touching the slender fingers. But all at once her counte- 
 nance became irradiated. The thought had struck her: 
 to have so frightened his family, how much he must have 
 let them see he cared! 
 
 The perfect bow of her mouth parted in a flashing 
 smile. Her evelids narrowed over a sweet look.
 
 228 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "I am so happy to see you, Lady Sturminster," she 
 thrilled with that deepening vibration of the voice her 
 art had taught her. 
 
 Cassandra stared, a little bewildered. "And after 
 all, she's beautiful . . .! If the girl is only a patch 
 
 on her " She looked round for the daughter, but met 
 
 the Baron's smile. 
 
 Easily Fulvia performed the introduction. Of 
 course Lady Sturminster had heard of M. de 
 Robecq ? 
 
 But it was M. de Robecq who knew all about Lady 
 Sturminster; he had met her father in New York; he 
 knew Nicolas P. Fish-Cordevant, that charming young 
 millionaire, her first cousin; Mrs. David Cordevant- 
 Reuter, her girl companion, was also one of his dear 
 friends . . . 
 
 Cassandra brightened and dimpled to the familiar 
 names, delivered in such familiar intonation. 
 
 "I say, Baron, would you mind just touring me round 
 a bit ? I'm wild to see the marble halls." 
 
 "Yes, Robecq, conduct Lady Sturminster," commanded 
 the hostess, still wreathed in smiles. 
 
 The Baron had no choice but to abandon his post. 
 Yet the task was agreeable. Under the shadowy lace 
 brim of the cherry hat, Cassandra looked down sideways 
 on the squat figure. A moment she hesitated upon the 
 effect of confiding to him likewise why the marble in 
 question had such special attractions for her; but on 
 second thoughts she refrained. He would have laughed 
 with her. And somehow she would not have liked to 
 hear that laugh.
 
 229 
 
 Desmond Brooke took a short cut from the station 
 across the fields to Branksome. He had put himself 
 to the discomfort of the train journey and the walk, this 
 oppressive day, rather than make use of his car. He 
 desired to arrive unostentatiously; he was determined 
 to have, if possible, a chance of meeting Fifi alone. 
 
 The man was in a condition of upheaval. Lady 
 Sturminster had indeed known her son; she had known 
 that, while no consideration of conventionality, of family 
 or personal credit, of class distinction, of moral principle 
 would succeed in restraining him, she could count on his 
 innate fastidiousness. But what she had not reckoned 
 upon, what indeed was beyond her nature to understand, 
 was a passion so headlong as to overwhelm even the revul- 
 sions of distaste. 
 
 True it was that, after the interview in Lady Alice's 
 drawing room, the man had gone forth into the streets 
 feeling as if his woodland idyll had been blighted by a 
 dust-storm. All that was fresh, spontaneous and pure, 
 soiled, disbloomed, dragged down. Up to that moment 
 no disrespectful thought had been able to live in his mind 
 beside the image of the girl. Now, as if ugly, reptile 
 things had been engendered by the mere poison of Scott's 
 words his laugh, his innuendo, his looks a host of 
 base suggestions had begun to awake in his feelings toward 
 her. He had exclaimed brutally that he did not want 
 her better than her mother; and the lower side of his 
 nature, that unacknowledged inherent part of man (which 
 the high-minded continue to ignore till, if not dead, it 
 remains a negligible quantity in their existence), kept 
 repeating the odious cry. But the other part the soul
 
 230 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 side which, in spite of all, had remained strong in him, 
 which had recently, under the spell of this love, renewed 
 something of the generosity of his youth, was lamenting 
 with even louder voice, weeping, as it were, inner tears 
 Jess for himself than for her . . . The pity of it, 
 the pity of it . . .! And, as it lamented, it drew 
 him back from her. 
 
 How hideous the world was ! And how cruel life 
 and Fate how blind! That this youth, this creature 
 above all, it seemed, created virginal, should not have 
 been permitted to escape them. Man, Fate, Life, between 
 them, like three horrible Nornes, had conspired against 
 the exquisite promise. She had not been yet eighteen 
 not yet eighteen . . .! 
 
 It was a poor child that had been hurt, irretrievably 
 hurt; and because of this was he going to hurt her too? 
 No! cried his manhood. No! determined his soul. And 
 then another voice uprose in clamour: How could he 
 live if he were to give her up ? She was something to 
 him that she could be to no one else. She was life itself; 
 and if he were to cut this life from him, how would her 
 own future be any the better. He knew into whose hands 
 she was inevitably to fall. Would the Jew's ignoble 
 engouement, under its mock matrimonial cloak, hurt her 
 less, degrade her less than a frank and virile passion ? 
 
 And thus sophistry added itself to the struggle and the 
 man was torn in the conflict. 
 
 Yet, perhaps, the higher nature might have conquered. 
 Indeed, after the two tortured days which had followed 
 his singular moonlight meeting, he had decided to break 
 his promise of return; decided to put temptation out
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 231 
 
 of reach for ever, by cutting short his leave and returning 
 to his post immediately. 
 
 But the morning of the third day had brought him a 
 letter from his mother. 
 
 True to her promise, the Dowager without a moment's 
 delay had sent her epistle upon the subject of Sir Joseph's 
 "valuable information" to the person most concerned: 
 
 "I do not for a moment suppose," ran the lines, "that 
 you will give me the credit of believing that I am actuated 
 in this unpleasant matter by anxiety for your own interest. 
 Nevertheless, I feel I should not be doing my duty by you 
 were I not to let you know of some further details that 
 have come to my knowledge corroborating what you 
 yourself heard at Alice's last Monday. 
 
 " Joseph accidentally met Colonel Wentworth and had 
 a short conversation with him, by which it would seem that 
 Mr. Scott (no doubt out of regard for my and Alice's 
 presence) considerably minimized the scandalous episode 
 in question. You will not expect me to repeat here the 
 words in which Colonel Wentworth qualified the influence 
 to which his son, young Adolphus Wentworth, while still 
 a mere undergraduate, fell a prey. But you can form, 
 I am sure, a very correct estimate of them you who 
 (I grieve to have to write it) are so familiar with that 
 unfortunate side of existence. Suffice it to say that the 
 girl was spoken of as being 'worse than her mother.' 
 I will add no more. 
 
 "Do not answer this; it is very painful to me to have to 
 write at all on such a subject." 
 
 As Desmond read, he grew livid. The first impression 
 had been the old overpowering sense of injury. That 
 was his mother all over. Always she had blighted him 
 everything he cared for, everything he aspired to. Her
 
 232 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 image rose before him in the act of inditing this very 
 document. He could see her cold eye, her cold hand 
 at work. A pen dipped in gall! What would she care 
 if she had dipped it in his heart's blood ? He knew the 
 horrible, cold enjoyment with which she had formed 
 those phrases alleged to be so painful ! 
 
 He caught up the sheet again and conned it over. 
 And then the poison spread and worked ; his anger turned : 
 Joseph was meddling still Damn Joseph! If anything 
 would drive a man to recklessness it would be the inter- 
 ference of a sanctimonious smug like Joseph. 
 
 Then, all at once, as if written in fire, the name of 
 Wentworth danced across the page. Adolphus Went- 
 worth! He could well imagine the youth . . ! 
 one of those cursed, clean-shaven, up-to-date young 
 ruffians, flaunting the college colours abroad . . 
 with his conscious Oxford manner . . . Nausea 
 rose in him. Was he, Desmond Brooke, to come after 
 an Adolphus Wentworth and God knows how many 
 others . . .! "The girl was worse than her mother 
 . . ." And, after nausea, succeeded a murderous 
 rage. Byron wished that all lovely womanhood had but 
 one mouth, that he might kiss it. Fifi's undeclared lover 
 longed that all his happier predecessors had but one neck 
 and he the wringing of it! 
 
 Inevitably the passionate turmoil centred itself again 
 upon the supreme point Fifi ! Under the spell of the 
 indescribable virginal innocence that seemed to encompass 
 her like invisible armour, he had scarce dared, at their 
 last meeting, touch her hand. He laughed at himself 
 now, for a fool; he railed against her for a hypocrite.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 233 
 
 Thus, like surging waters in secret sea caves, his anger 
 ground his thoughts to shingle in the depths of his soul. 
 
 He was not capable of coming to any clear decision 
 not capable even of knowing what he wanted; but, out 
 of the turmoil, one purpose shaped itself: he would see 
 her again, were it only to drop the name of Wentworth 
 in her hearing and watch her face. A cruel resolve and 
 a devouring curiosity were now upon him to speak of his 
 knowledge and to see her face! 
 
 And thus it was that he found himself on his way to 
 Branksome, with slow and dragging footsteps, traversing 
 the dusty fields, but yet bent upon the meeting that 
 meeting which this time might inevitably be the last; 
 or yet the beginning of a life unnamed, unnameable, and 
 yet beckoning . . . calling as with fingers of fire, 
 with voice of ecstasy and tears.
 
 IV 
 STORM AND STRESS 
 
 WHEN a man is forced, by external event or internal 
 emotion, to a state of high tension, there is added to his 
 ordinary faculties a kind of extra or super-sense. In the 
 genius, this becomes inspiration and leads to the master- 
 piece; it is the impulse that can turn the most obscure 
 of beings in a moment to a hero. In the ordinary ways of 
 life, the ordinary man in love will be drawn by some such 
 super-sense to his beloved. 
 
 Desmond avoided the crowded lawn and the motor- 
 streaked avenue and unerringly took the solitary shrubbery 
 walk that led to that secluded spot where, by the sun-dial 
 he and Fifi had once met and parted. 
 
 And there, indeed, she sat, with hands folded on her 
 knees, all white-robed against the dark wall of clipped 
 yew. Her great, shady hat lay on the seat beside her. 
 
 At the sound of his steps she raised her eyes and smiled 
 at him. It was as though she had expected him there. He 
 came slowly across the grass-plot and stood before her; 
 and then she lifted her hat and laid it across her knee, 
 making room for him to sit beside her. 
 
 A smile trembled on her lips; but she had cast her eyes 
 down at his approach, shyly. He had never seen her in a 
 mood so quiet, so gentle. He took the mutely offered 
 seat; and then could find no word with which to break 
 
 234
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 235 
 
 the silence. He was like one intent on battle, who finds 
 himself suddenly weaponless. Those stirred deeps of 
 his nature had been driving him out to strike and wound ; 
 and the first look at her bent head, the first step into that 
 presence of youth and confidence, had disarmed him. 
 More than all, her new timidity; the something at once 
 expectant and shrinking, which is as the very bloom of 
 the maiden wooed, paralyzed his energies, confused still 
 further his already confused mind, shook his purpose 
 . . . Was she the most consummate actress; or had 
 nature itself set this exquisite mask upon the wanton? 
 Or rending thought! had she been created of such 
 intrinsic innocence and chastity that fate could not all 
 destroy; that the vessel retained the divine pattern, though 
 the essence had fled ? 
 
 Ml 
 
 Madame la Marmora's special Hungarian minstifels, 
 who had been indulging in a rest, suddenly broke forth 
 in the distance, with clash of tsimbalons, maddening 
 rhythm, swing of wind-swept measure and wail of love 
 song. 
 
 The spell of silence was snapped between them. Both 
 spoke. 
 
 "No one knows I am here, but you," he said; while 
 she made the admission which, in other circumstances, 
 would have fallen so enchantingly upon his ears : 
 "I knew you would come here." 
 "Are we safe from the Baron, do you think ?" 
 Her young smile ran like sunshine over her face: 
 "The Baron's watching Mama, as a cat watches a 
 mousehole to-day. He's so terrified lest she should knock 
 herself up, or anything on account of her voice, you
 
 236 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 understand." Then she added naively: "And she 
 doesn't think you've come yet." 
 
 His eye brooded upon her. How much did she know ? 
 Did she guess what he could hardly avow to himself? 
 And was it a simple matter to her? Was she, admittedly 
 in her own mind, her mother's rival ? 
 
 She went on, after a pause, with a certain little air of 
 dignity as new to him as that first show of shyness: 
 
 "To Mama I am still a very little girl. She does not 
 think I ought to be alone with gentlemen: she says it is 
 so boring to them when they come here." 
 
 Was not this too brazenly to play the ingenue ? He 
 devoured her with his eyes; the soft oval of her cheek, a 
 little pale to-day with the heat; the dewy candour of her 
 eye; the child-lips . . .! were there indeed only a 
 conspiracy to lie? Then what face would Innocence 
 itself wear to the world, that it might hold it sacred ? 
 
 The strains of the band that infernal Hungarian 
 music caught his soul and tore it to shreds. One 
 moment he saw himself holding her to him. It seemed as 
 if the lightning which threatened from yonder livid 
 horizon was flickering in his brain. 
 
 "You are not a little girl any more," he said hoarsely. 
 
 "No, indeed " she jerked her head. "Remaining 
 at school years and years does not keep one a little girl! 
 Mama will forget : Then, loyally, she amended 
 what might appear a reproach: "How can Mama 
 remember, in her busy life, with all her great journeys ? 
 We have had to be parted, and it is Fritz's fault. He is 
 always fussing about me Fritz 
 
 His gaze was fixed upon her with an expression she
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 237 
 
 had never yet seen in it, an expression that was almost 
 angry in its intensity. It began to trouble her; she tripped 
 upon her speech. 
 
 "Who is Fritz?" He spoke mechanically, as if he 
 too hardly knew what he was saying. 
 
 "He works with Mama, and - 
 
 She broke off. The low line of sky before them seemed 
 to open and shut upon an inner sullen flame of yellow, 
 a far mutter of thunder succeeded; and then a hot dry 
 gust of wind. 
 
 "Are you afraid of storms?" 
 
 She had made a swift involuntary movement closer 
 to him : it would have brought her into his mad embrace, 
 but that, once again, it was so much like the movement of a 
 child. 
 
 "I don't like them," she said plaintively. 
 
 She made a gesture, appealing. He took her hand; 
 and as he did so, he felt her answering his clasp with 
 clinging fingers, the storm broke in him too. It was so 
 easy then so easy ! Why the next minute her lips 
 would be offering themselves ! No doubt so the blatant 
 young Oxonian had found it and the others ! The 
 while she counterfeited adorable young graces and prated 
 guilelessly of her years and years at school . . . Who 
 was Fritz? . . . His thoughts shot across each 
 other like lightning flashes and his passion roared within 
 him. He dropped her hand, almost flung it from him. 
 
 "But you've been in Italy so much the thunder- 
 storms are much worse over there are they not ? The 
 thunderstorms at the Lakes for instance." His voice 
 was harsh.
 
 238 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 She started and looked up quickly. The blood ebbed 
 from her face, her eyes grew suddenly dark, and widened. 
 Cruelly he went on: 
 
 " Weren't you at Como . . . once?" 
 
 She drew back. A most piteous look came over the 
 whole countenance. Then her sudden pallor was suc- 
 ceeded by a burning, agonizing crimson. He could see 
 it rise over her white bare throat to the roots of her bright 
 hair. There was fear in the glance that she shot at him; 
 fear; a terrified questioning. 
 
 Then the skies flashed and clamoured all about them; 
 the earth shook under their feet; the tempest wind beat 
 heavy drops against them. She sprang to her feet and 
 ran from him. And as she went she covered her face 
 with her hands; he thought he heard her sob. 
 
 He felt as if he had struck a child. . . He! to 
 maltreat a child . . . Motionless, he sat on and 
 let the storm rage about him. It was a kind of relief 
 to that inner tempest that was so much more devastating. 
 And yet, now, it was the rain that was falling. His fire 
 and the clash had dropped dead within him, and it was 
 sorrow that had sway. His obsession had veered round 
 to another point of his torturing circle: the pity of it! 
 She was only a child still. A frightened child a child 
 ashamed! The pity of it!
 
 V 
 FRITZ IN COMMAND 
 
 THE Baron had conducted his charming companion 
 first of all into the reception room, which, with an exagger- 
 ation of Americanism, probably suggested by his presence, 
 she characterized as "just cunning" and "real cute.'* 
 Here they found alone to enjoy the coolness and 
 shadowed space this sultry day Mr. Philip Scott. 
 
 He opened astounded eyes at the sight of Lady Stur- 
 minster, with whom he had a slight, very slight acquain- 
 tance. 
 
 She came forward toward him with her light step and 
 gave a cool little nod, just at the distance that precluded 
 a handshake. 
 
 "How de do ? I'm here to see the marble." 
 
 "Of course," said Mr. Scott, "the marble is worth 
 seeing." 
 
 As she turned, with a soft note of laughter toward the 
 canopied couch, the critic flung a glance, charged with 
 meaning, at the impresario; his face crimson with the 
 laughter that any equivocal or possibly painful situation 
 was ever wont to arouse in him. "How much does she 
 know?" interrogated the pursed mouth and uplifted eye- 
 brow. "Is it possible she has come on purpose ?" 
 
 The Baron, who knew little, and cared less, about 
 London society gossip, believed these grimaces to refer 
 
 239
 
 240 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 to the lady's relationship to Lord Desmond. He shrugged 
 his shoulders with the slight gesture of upturned palms, 
 common to the race he sprang from. 
 
 "Oh, say," cried Cassandra, turning upon him so 
 swiftly as to catch him in the act, though her guileless 
 eyes betrayed no consciousness of it, "say, is this Cleo- 
 patra-erection of your prima donna's own invention?" 
 
 Before the Baron could reply, Mr. Scott was at her 
 elbow. 
 
 "No, Lady Sturminster, all the decorative effects in 
 this " he hesitated with a chuckle, "this one hardly 
 knows what to call it, this palace, cottage, pylon on 
 the whole I think I prefer cottage all the decorative 
 effects of this cottage in fact are of Mrs. Orris's devising. 
 A lady not of your acquaintance, I presume, Lady Stur- 
 minster? She is reputed of eccentric taste." 
 
 "I suppose she just fancied herself on that pile," said 
 the American, without a blink of her long eyelashes. 
 
 "It is considered becoming to a classic figure," assented 
 Scott, with a sudden air of gravity. 
 
 "Why, now, won't you just show us its possibility?" 
 cried she sweetly. 
 
 Her laugh rang out, delicately mocking. The Baron, 
 between whom and the critic there was mutual respect 
 but little esteem, joined in with his flat nasal cachinnation, 
 without being the least aware of the hidden meaning of 
 the brief passage of arms. 
 
 Mr. Scott, who had meant to punish the lady for her 
 impertinent nod, was punished himself, on his sensitive 
 side. Horribly conscious of that outline, which was his 
 secret despair, for once he was nonplussed.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 241 
 
 "Ton honour, it's very hot!" he exclaimed and passed 
 a silk handkerchief over his forehead. "I shouldn't 
 be surprised if we had a horrid thunderstorm." 
 
 Hardly had he spoken the words when the portentous 
 darkness that precedes the outbreak fell upon the room 
 like a pall. Instantly the Baron's countenance, which 
 still wore a bland smile, became correspondingly over- 
 cast. 
 
 "I must ask you to excuse me," he cried, turning to 
 Cassandra, "but if I don't go and look after Madame la 
 Marmora, she's quite capable of staying under the cedar 
 tree, and being struck by lightning, or wet to the bone 
 in the coming deluge. Mr. Scott will show you the way 
 to the dining room. I've had everything prepared 
 in there, in case we should be driven from the garden." 
 
 He was moving away as he spoke, with the character- 
 istic deliberation that overlay even his most urgent haste. 
 His last words floated back from the colonnade. "I 
 knew we'd not get through this without a storm!" 
 
 "Will you show me the way to the dining room?" 
 asked Cassandra, turning in her most childlike manner 
 to Scott. 
 
 "Proud," said the latter, stuffing his handkerchief 
 back into his pocket and bowing sarcastically. "The 
 dining room is quite in keeping the Hall of Feasts! 
 You will be interested, since you are interested in ... 
 marble." 
 
 He thought he had scored there. But as he took two 
 short, consequential steps in front of her he was unduly 
 irritated to hear her laugh again. After a few more paces 
 he paused, however, to stare through the narrow window
 
 242 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 that gave on the sun-dial plot, and craned his neck, 
 standing on tiptoe as he did so. 
 
 "If you will come here, beside me," he chuckled, "you 
 may see something that interests you, Lady Sturminster." 
 
 He mounted the marble steps of the recess, and pointed 
 through the tell-tale window. 
 
 Cassandra Sturminster stood still in her turn and like- 
 wise craned her long throat. She half expected from the 
 suppressed excitement or malice in the critic's voice to 
 see "her VVurzel and his Orris" - What though the latter 
 was reported to be in America? one never knew! 
 
 The laughter which such a situation must have called 
 forth from her was already rising softly to her lips, when 
 she beheld, against the clipped wall of yew, the dark 
 head and pale features, the long gray-clad limbs of her 
 brother-in-law; and beside him a girl with a ripe glowing 
 face and a glory of uncovered hair. Instead of laughter 
 a gravity settled unexpectedly on Cassandra's countenance. 
 She remained a second gazing profoundly, wistfully, 
 at the picture. 
 
 It was at this moment that the thunder rolled again, 
 and the shudder of the coming storm rushed over the gar- 
 den. The girl in the white dress flung out her hands to 
 the man beside her. 
 
 Mr. Scott tittered, Cassandra turned on him sharply. 
 
 "Take me to the dining room," she said. Her voice 
 was tense and scornful. The man shrugged his shoulders 
 faintly, and came down from the step. Halfway across 
 the room she halted again. 
 
 "That girl that exquisite creature . . .?" she 
 asked.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 243 
 
 Her companion made her a little bow, with his out- 
 spread gesture: 
 
 "Panther's Cub . . . yes." 
 
 The first heavy driving raindrops brought a scuttling 
 crowd of bemuslined and befeathered refugees into the 
 dining hall, escorted or followed by their cavaliers. The 
 echoing marble hollows were filled with laughter and 
 chatter; when the great clap reverberated, it struck a 
 breathless silence; after which the human clatter began 
 again, at first subdued, then rising to loudness as each 
 voice strove to dominate the others. 
 
 Presently Mr. Scott, holding Vere Hamilton firmly by 
 the arm, reappeared in the deserted reception room: 
 
 "I declare, my dear Verie, that the parrot house at the 
 Zoo is nothing to it. Such a cacophony! And old 
 Lady Constance more like a cockatoo than ever, wiring 
 into strawberries again with that ghastly old beak of 
 hers! ... I declare the sight of another plateful 
 will make me sick! I must have a cigar. What do 
 you say to a 'Robecq,' Verie, and a clean drink? If 
 I can only get an apron and streamer to attend to 
 me 
 
 So saying he conveyed Mr. Hamilton's form consider- 
 ately toward the couch, relinquished him, pressed the 
 electric bell that hung at the head of it, and let himself 
 slowly sink upon the bear skin. 
 
 "Ever noticed the caps and aprons in these Grecian 
 haunts, Verie ? Hullo!" 
 
 The ejaculation caused Mr. Hamilton, who had 
 remained standing dejectedly where he had been aban-
 
 244 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 cloned, to turn his eyes in the direction of his companion's 
 suddenly alert glance. 
 
 Desmond Brooke had entered upon a quick step, 
 promptly arrested. His eyes, flung searchingly round 
 the room, fell now upon the two, with unmistakable 
 annoyance. 
 
 "Hullo!" said Philip Scott again; "caught in the 
 shower, eh? I say, you're pretty wet! Have a whiskey- 
 and-soda ? Who are you looking for ? . . . Ha ! 
 wasn't looking for us, that's clear. Isn't it, Verie?" 
 
 Lord Desmond, without answering, came slowly down 
 toward them. As he came, he shook the rain-drops 
 from his right shoulder and arm. 
 
 "How do you do?" he said vaguely. 
 
 Scott pressed the electric button again, two or three 
 times in rapid succession. 
 
 "I will have a whiskey-and-soda," he declared and 
 drew his cigar case. "You'd better have one too; dry 
 you nicely. Unless you're pining for the menagerie? 
 Panther's got them all next door. Feeding-time at the 
 Zoo. Listen to 'em! You'll find a relation or so 
 Your pretty sister-in-law for one and I should never 
 be surprised if 'our Joseph' " 
 
 He broke off even as his hand was again vindictively 
 approaching once more the ineffective button: a cap and 
 streamer appeared behind a green portiere. 
 
 " Look here it was I rang." 
 
 The cap was tossed disdainfully; a very pink hand 
 and a very white cuff swept the silken folds on one side. 
 
 "Will you please to walk in, sir?" 
 
 "Sir Joseph " exclaimed the critic, and flung himself
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 245 
 
 back in a paroxysm of laughter, out of which he was fain 
 to extract himself to arrest the departing maid. 
 
 "Stop a minute, you there." He wagged his limp 
 hand. "We want a couple of whiskey-and-sodas, at 
 once. D'you hear ? at once." His tone became 
 sharper, as he marked the recalcitrancy in her eye. 
 
 At sight of his brother-in-law, Desmond took a seat; 
 sat astride of it, and folding his arms over the top, fixed 
 the newcomer. 
 
 Sir Joseph advanced with a far more assured step and 
 bearing than that which had marked his previous entrance 
 into these "purlieus." He exchanged greetings, with 
 something of the melancholy importance of a chief 
 mourner at a funeral, with Hamilton and Scott. Then 
 he solemnly regarded Lord Desmond. 
 
 "I expected to find you here," he remarked. 
 
 "Yes, Joseph," said the scapegrace. "I warned you 
 we'd meet at Branksome." 
 
 "Have a cigar," reiterated the delighted Scott "Oh, 
 here comes the tipple at last! Let me mix you a glass, 
 
 Lord Desmond ? No ? Sir Joseph ? He touched 
 
 the bottle, engagingly. 
 
 Sir Joseph flung a look of defiance at his brother-in-law. 
 
 "Yes, thank you," he said with dignity. "I will, Mr. 
 Scott. No, I thank you, not the whole soda. Thanks." 
 
 Receiving the tumbler, he added mysteriously, bending 
 sideways to Hamilton. 
 
 "I should much like a quiet word with you." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said Hamilton. It was his first contribu- 
 tion to the general conversation. He passed his hand 
 wearily over his brow.
 
 246 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 From the colonnade without came the sound of shuffling 
 steps and the tapping of a stick. Mr. Scott with his 
 glass on the way to his lips, paused and glanced across 
 at the arch, where a burly, stooping figure loomed, black 
 against the already clearing sky. 
 
 "Hullo!" he exclaimed again; "what an afternoon for 
 happy meetings ! Here's Mr. Fritz ! I thought 
 Mr. Fritz was laid by the leg." 
 
 "Fritz?" echoed Lord Desmond. He turned. 
 
 It was an old man, with a leonine white head, who was 
 coming down into the room an old man with one 
 huge gouty foot in a cloth slipper, walking with difficulty. 
 The large-featured, rough-hewn face was pale with recent 
 sickness and lined with ancient sorrows. Under the bushy 
 eyebrows, stern eyes, golden-brown and luminous, looked 
 out upon them. 
 
 It was singular enough, but, as the old man approached, 
 even Mr. Scott's glib tongue fell silent. This gentleman 
 put down his glass untasted and picked up his selected 
 cigar. 
 
 "If you please " said the newcomer, halting in front 
 of them, and leaning on his stick. He spoke with a 
 strong German accent. "Gentlemen, you must excuse 
 
 me " He made a bow to them, and limping painfully 
 
 to the side of the room, pressed the electric bell. Curiously 
 Desmond watched him, as he hobbled back toward 
 them. Scott had lit his cigar, Sir Joseph had half emptied 
 his glass, Mr. Hamilton was advancing a timid hand 
 toward the decanter. Events had so shaken the beaver's 
 decorous soul, that he really felt as if a little stimulant 
 was on this occasion quite justified.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 247 
 
 With a furious flounce Apron-and-Streamers bounced 
 in again, unexpectedly prompt. 
 
 "Carry the spirits to the smoking room, if you please," 
 said Mr. Meyer. 
 
 The girl opened her lips, hesitated, met his glance; and 
 without a word, proceeded, with a great deal of action, 
 to take up the tray again. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton had hastily withdrawn his hand; Mr. 
 Scott, his cigar between his lips, believed himself to be 
 smiling amusedly. 
 
 "If you please," proceeded old Fritz, addressing this 
 latter, "will you kindly, Mr. Scott, show these gentlemen 
 the way to the smoking room, since they wish to smoke. 
 This, I believe " his glance went slowly round the group 
 
 "this is Madame la Marmora's reception room." 
 
 "Why, certainly!" cried Scott. "Certainly, my dear 
 Mr. Meyer. If you think that Madame would have the 
 least objection, I should be desolated 
 
 "I assure you," interrupted Hamilton much distressed, 
 "I assure you I hadn't the least idea " 
 
 "Come, Sir Joseph," said Scott, rising. "The smoking 
 room is a stuffy little hole; but we'd better trot there, since 
 there's a master of ceremonies abroad." 
 
 Sir Joseph rose in his turn. He was still stiffly holding 
 out his half -finished glass. 
 
 "Who is that ?" he was heard demanding in a stentorian 
 whisper. 
 
 " Panther's keeper -'* said Scott vindictively in his ear. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton followed dreamily. He could not have 
 endured to remain with Lord Desmond. 
 
 Desmond, astride his chair, sat on, watching, with
 
 248 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 inimical and cynical eyes. The storm was passing away 
 without. Through the open archways sweeps of exquis- 
 itely invigorated, clean-washed airs blew in upon him. 
 A long shaft of exceedingly yellow sunshine flashed out, 
 miraculously sudden, upon the sparkling grass; rifting 
 clouds showed spaces of blue that met the eye like balm 
 after the livid darkness. But the storm in his heart had 
 not abated ; rather was it ever more brooding, ever gather- 
 ing fresh threat. He could find no ray of light to illumine 
 his path or hers. The tears that his inmost soul shed for 
 her scorched, but did not relieve. There was no blue 
 in heaven to shed comfort after gloom. The pity of it 
 but made it worse: shame, there had been shame, in her 
 eyes! It had been the work of Hell! 
 
 He felt as if he had been caught into some circle of the 
 Inferno and it was her young frank hand that was 
 drawing him into it. With the other she was clasping 
 some . . . some Adolphus Wentworth! And if he 
 held back ? if indeed he could still hold back why 
 then, it was Robecq, Robecq on his goat legs, that would 
 leap to take his place. . . . 
 
 And while this fantastic and agonizing turmoil had 
 raged within him, the outer self sat watching the little 
 scene, almost with a faint amusement. He saw the exit 
 of the three men with a smile. The three men ! Barely did 
 these "things," however well-tailored and finely shirted, 
 come into the category of manhood. By sheer strength 
 of his own virility, the stern old German had put them to 
 flight. Desmond was conscious of an idle curiosity to 
 see how he himself would be dealt with. He struck a 
 match and lit a cigarette.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 249 
 
 Fritz, apparently oblivious of his presence, was occupied 
 in removing the traces of desecration from the marble 
 table beside the couch. He picked up a half-burnt 
 match, and limped across the room to throw it out of the 
 window; then he limped back, and, with a voluminous 
 silk handkerchief, wiped the ring of moisture, left by 
 Sir Joseph's tumbler. The sound of Desmond's match 
 made him turn sharply. But though the movement 
 was that of a choleric man, the tone in which he ad- 
 dressed the would-be smoker was as studiously polite as 
 before. 
 
 "I must beg of you, sir, either to put out your cigarette, 
 or to follow the other gentlemen." With the hand that 
 still held the bandana, he made a gesture as he spoke; 
 it was an absurd handkerchief and had just been used as 
 a duster, but for all that, there was a broad and com- 
 manding dignity in the movement. Vaguely the sitting 
 man felt it; and a touch of insolence came into his cool 
 response : 
 
 "Beg pardon whom have I the pleasure ?" 
 
 The great white head was bowed : 
 
 "Friedrich Meyer, sir musician at your service." 
 
 The other exhaled a faint blue jet of smoke. He bowed 
 in his turn, ironically. 
 
 "Charmed. Musician did you say?" 
 
 "Yes, ir. - Once first violin in more than one orches- 
 tra, now - He paused, his voice took a sudden down- 
 ward inflection: "now retired." 
 
 There was a fine simplicity in the old man's speech 
 and air; something, too, of an enduring patience, as of 
 one long braced to meet impertinence. But there was
 
 250 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 something also indefinably warning in eye and tone, as 
 of a gathering force. 
 
 It was this that spurred the listener in his evil mood to 
 further taunting. He blew the smoke slowly down 
 his nostrils; and then said, drawing the cigarette from 
 his lips and tipping the ash with a careless finger: 
 
 "First fiddle here, still, though, it would seem." 
 
 Then like an organ crash, the old man's anger broke 
 forth; his hair seemed to rise round his head, the bent 
 figure to expand; his glance measured and fulminated. 
 Desmond hardly knew if the voice that accompanied this 
 wrath was loud ; but it was to him as if the old lion 
 roared. 
 
 "No, sir," said Fritz Meyer. "Here, I am merely, 
 like yourself, the lady's guest. But I trust, a gentleman." 
 
 A second the younger man's blue eyes remained arrested, 
 as if fascinated, upon the speaker. Then he rose. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said quietly with an altered 
 air, "you are perfectly right." 
 
 He made a little movement with his cigarette that was 
 almost like a salute; strode across to the opened colonnade, 
 and flung it from him. 
 
 Then he returned to retrace his steps. He had a sudden 
 impulse to speak to this strange old musician, who looked 
 so honest and was so strong ; who assumed such unauthor- 
 ized authority; who was so oddly anxious for polite conven- 
 tions in this house of the Panther this Fritz, whom 
 Fifi had spoken of as a power in her life and of whom he 
 had had a moment's hideous jealousy. All at once it 
 was as if a gust of wind, clean and wholesome like that 
 now rushing in the garden outside were driving in upon
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 251 
 
 the darksome vapours of his soul. -He would speak to 
 him speak of Fifi. 
 
 But even as he turned, he was called by his name; 
 called in that silky, cooing voice that he had grown to 
 hate. And, staring down, blankly, in the direction of the 
 call, he saw Madame la Marmora coming along the wet 
 path, kilting her vapoury yellow silk skirts together in one 
 strong white hand, and showing each step of arched, 
 bronze-shod, shapely feet, as they crunched on the gravel.
 
 VI 
 FULVIA HEARS THE TRUTH 
 
 "LET us make a tour de jardin, Lord Desmond?" 
 she invited. 
 
 The man's eyes rested heavily upon her. Fulvia la 
 Marmora had halted at the foot of the marble step and 
 was smiling up at him. Under the shadow of a monstrous 
 hat, only her eyes and her teeth shone out of the dimmed 
 outline of her face. The over-vivid sunshine that had 
 followed the storm caught the yellow shimmer of her 
 garments sideways as if sketching her in strokes of fire. 
 She shifted the folds of her uplifted dress to her left hand 
 and held out her right. Into what circles of unimaginable 
 depth would he plunge, were he to take that hand ? . . . 
 It was not possible for him to conceive himself even touch- 
 ing it without loathing. 
 
 With reluctant foot, he came down toward her; advanced 
 into the circle of her scented presence; and was nauseated. 
 
 "You see," she said, as she turned to walk beside him 
 on the narrow path, "I wear the lily of the valley." 
 
 His glance followed the gesture of her hand. A large 
 cluster of the flower, delicate spikes and dark summer- 
 green leaves, was thrust among the elaborate lace and 
 embroidery of her bodice. He saw, as he glanced, how 
 the posy rose and fell with the tumultuous breathing. 
 And, mingled with the artificial fragrance that emanated 
 
 252
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 253 
 
 from her, the sharp sweet smell of the little bells suddenly 
 assailed his nostrils ... So she had cast her taint 
 even over that symbol ! How were it possible indeed that 
 innocence and purity should escape uncontaminated 
 beside her? 
 
 "You taught me to love these white-and-green things," 
 the singer went on in her soft notes. "By nature I 
 demand deeper things, colour and scent the rose, the 
 carnation. Before that, the rose and the carnation were 
 my flowers." 
 
 "Before what?" 
 
 He wondered if the exasperation that was driving him 
 would not, in the mere sound of his voice, strike her like 
 the lash of a whip. But, under her outrageous hat, she 
 was smiling still. 
 
 "Why, before Vienna, when you sent them to me !" 
 Then under her breath, like a caress, she murmured: 
 "Ah, nigaud, va!" 
 
 He flung a desperate look back upon the house. In 
 twos and threes, vivid in the exaggerated mode of the 
 day, like some singular gathering of exotic birds, La 
 Marmora's fair guests were tripping down the steps, and 
 spreading themselves, with true national disregard of 
 climate, upon the wet English lawn. 
 
 Several couples were obviously directing their steps 
 in pursuit of their hostess. Fulvia looked back in her 
 turn, and then at her companion's pale and angry face. 
 Her smile became accentuated. 
 
 "In effect, one has never a moment's peace!" 
 
 "You will have to return," he said wearily. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders:
 
 254 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Ah, and I wanted to show you a little walk by the 
 river all syringas . . . ! But to-night to-night, 
 for you must come and dine " She turned as she 
 spoke; and he turned, too. Then she halted. Her 
 importunate visitors were but ten yards away: she leant 
 toward him, her fingers pressing on his arm: "To-night, 
 by the syringas you will tell me, if it is always 'muguet' 
 you would give me " 
 
 Her breath fanned his cheek; she drew back; her eyes 
 circled fire upon him. The next moment she was hurry- 
 ing forward, both hands outstretched. The ultra honey- 
 sweet accents of her society voice were ringing out: 
 
 "What! Not going already, dear Lady Peter- 
 borough!" 
 
 Desmond had stood staring. He felt as if he had been 
 scorched by a breath from hell; marked and coveted by 
 the eyes of a hawk. The echoes of that strident whisper 
 rang still in his soul, unclean if a sound can be unclean. 
 He walked moodily on a pace or two; and a bough of sy- 
 ringa bush caught him across the chest and flung a heavy, 
 perfumed spray into his face. He had a swift memory 
 of that evening when he had sought refuge in the lower 
 lawn, in silence and darkness, from the brightness and 
 horrible gaiety of the feast in the marble room; how he 
 had come up to the house with the smell of the syringa 
 in his nostrils and found Fifi. How wild and passion- 
 ate had been his resolves then, and how they had all 
 fallen away from him when he had seen her face! That 
 was what, in spite of everything, Fifi remained to him: 
 like a branch of wild blossom that dashed its sweetness 
 against him, striking him with her very freshness.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 255 
 
 He would come and dine; but if he went down among 
 the syringas, it would not be with Madame la Marmora. 
 
 The so-called smoking room was a dark little three- 
 cornered apartment, which had remained, untouched, 
 from the original building. It was little likely to be used, 
 either by the former or the present mistress of Brank- 
 some. It had an innocent rosebud wall paper, deep 
 window-seats, diamond panes and the faint musty atmos- 
 phere peculiar to cottage structures. 
 
 Scott ensconced himself in the window, and Sir Joseph 
 took up his favourite commanding position on the hearth- 
 rug before the empty grate. 
 
 As the maid deposited the tray, with protesting clatter, 
 on a rather lopsided gate-legged table, both men instinc- 
 tively looked round for Hamilton, to find that he was gone. 
 
 Sir Joseph distended his nostrils after his bovine way. 
 He regarded it as a want of courtesy that the friend of the 
 family should thus unceremoniously take his departure 
 from a company which he, Sir Joseph, had just joined 
 more especially as he had expressed his desire for a private 
 conversation. It almost looked as if Mr. Hamilton was 
 avoiding this. Sir Joseph had had doubts serious 
 doubts of Mr. Hamilton's loyalty already. 
 
 Scott surveyed him with his malicious smile, and 
 stretched one round leg the length of the window seat. 
 
 "Seen your hostess yet, Sir Joseph ?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Scott." 
 
 "You're getting quite a familiar of the Panther. 
 Booked your seat for the first English gambol ?" 
 
 "Sir," said Sir Joseph, "I do not follow you."
 
 256 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Dear me not going to Covent Garden to see our 
 Fulvia tempt St. John the Baptist?" 
 
 Sir Joseph started convulsively. 
 
 "No, sir.- Tempt St. John the Baptist! Tut, tut 
 I shall be present at no such blasphemous impropriety. 
 You mean to tell me, Mr. Scott, that His Majesty's censor 
 " the Member of Parliament was warming to the dis- 
 covery of an ignored enormity "this is a matter for 
 investigation. I shall put a question in the House " 
 
 But ruthlessly the critic interrupted : 
 
 "Do Sir Joseph, do! But you ought to go and see 
 it, just to prime yourself first, you know." 
 
 "Sir " began Sir Joseph again. Then he suddenly 
 
 altered his manner. He remembered that Mr. Scott, 
 after all, had been more useful to "the Family" in their 
 present dilemma than any one else. He remembered 
 the dark purpose that had brought him once more into 
 these purlieus, in defiance of the wife of his bosom. 
 Would not Mr. Scott (however much Sir Joseph might 
 disapprove of his trade) be as good, if not better counsel 
 than the weak and faithless Hamilton? 
 
 "Mr. Scott," said the baronet confidentially, "although 
 in your humorous manner it pleases you to jest at my 
 appearance here to-day, I feel convinced that you do not 
 really misunderstand my motive. I I think I men- 
 tioned upon our first meeting that, if I felt it my duty to 
 approach our the source of the mischief herself, to 
 approach her personally upon the painful matter, I would 
 do so." 
 
 The critic, with mouth and eyes growing ever rounder, 
 was hanging upon the speaker's words. He looked, as
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 257 
 
 he felt for the moment, actually thrilled beyond amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "Upon my soul," he ejaculated, "I admire you, I 
 admire you ! " 
 
 Then he proceeded airly: 
 
 "When you say the source of the mischief, you refer, 
 I take it, to the mother of the source ? To Panther 
 not Panther's Cub?" 
 
 "You apprehend my meaning," said the hero, growing, 
 however, a little thoughtful. 
 
 "Splendid!" cried the other. "Why you dear, good 
 people have allowed it to go on so long beats me." 
 
 Sir Joseph turned his stare upon the smirking face. 
 
 "Surely," the critic proceeded, after moistening the 
 end of his 'Robecq' and surveying it with his head on 
 one side, "I gave you the hint, you and Verie, last time 
 you were here. The Panther will never let her cub pick 
 up her own chosen morsel, I said, did I not ? The merest 
 
 whisper, dropped in her ear and Here Scott 
 
 sucked at his cigar and puffed expressively, as if he were 
 blowing Desmond's romance into space. 
 
 Sir Joseph, who had been following the words with a mute 
 and anxious movement of his own lips, threw back his head 
 and frowned; his thumbs sought the lapels of his coat. 
 
 "I shall represent to her, Mr. Scott, I shall represent 
 to her as a mother, the danger of her daughter's position, 
 the " his eye grew furtive, "the anomalous character 
 I think I should be justified in saying the anomalous char- 
 acter of Lord Desmond's attachment." 
 
 "Do!" cried the other, closing his eyes and leaning his 
 cropped gray head against the casement. "Do," he
 
 258 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 went on, sitting up again and waving his cigar. "Tell 
 her that Lord Desmond's anomalous attachment cap- 
 ital word, that, Sir Joseph, is for her daughter. Tell her 
 that. Tell her now! I'll manage you shall get a word 
 in private. Oh, in a good cause I promised I'd stand 
 by you, didn't I?" 
 
 Scott slipped off the window-seat as he spoke, and 
 swayed from one foot to another, waggishly surveying 
 the figure on the hearthrug. 
 
 "By George," he declared again, "you're a brave man!" 
 
 He slipped his arm through Sir Joseph's, and propelled 
 him toward the door. The latter, snorting, withdrew 
 from the clasp with some irritation. 
 
 "Really, Mr. Scott," he said testily, "you you flurry 
 me, you " 
 
 "Come now, you're not going to funk!" ejaculated his 
 companion. 
 
 "Funk, sir ?" 
 
 "Come along, then. No time like the present." 
 
 Again he pressed the disturbed gentleman's elbow. 
 
 "You know," he tittered, as thus affectionately conjoined 
 they moved toward the door, "you know, Sir Joseph, you 
 quite realize that the Panther's not the smallest notion 
 of the truth; believes herself the unique attraction." The 
 devoted brother-in-law turned a scared countenance. 
 "That's your chance, you see; that's your safeguard; 
 that's your anchor of salvation." 
 
 Thus the critic consoled, and laughed again and again. 
 Eager in his work of benevolence, he allowed the baronet 
 no time for dangerous reflection; but, depositing him in 
 the empty reception room, hurried to find his hostess.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 259 
 
 He found her at the head of the steps, bidding farewell 
 to her visitors, and promptly took an opportunity to 
 draw her on one side. 
 
 "Where is Lord Desmond?" she said, forestalling his 
 speech, as she vaguely allowed herself to be isolated under 
 the shade of the colonnade. Her eyes roamed; failing to 
 find him whom she was seeking, on the lawn, she shot a 
 piercing glance into the shadowed space of the reception 
 room. 
 
 Here one figure alone held the stage; a figure in pom- 
 pous frock coat and protruding white waistcoat, with 
 empurpled, ox-like countenance, a stiff right arm bearing, 
 like some staff of office, a large, gray top-hat. 
 
 She turned impatiently away. 
 
 "Dear lady, do listen!" repeated Scott, politely urgent 
 for the third time. 
 
 Thus adjured, she bestowed a look upon him, marking 
 without interest the quiver of suppressed excitement on 
 his face. 
 
 "What is it? I am going into the garden." 
 
 "Sir Joseph Warren-Smith wants a few words with 
 you in private." 
 
 He indicated the rigid frame within, by a slight gesture 
 of the thumb. Catching the movement, Sir Joseph 
 turned his head aside and coughed. 
 
 " With me ?" ejaculated La Marmora, incredulously. 
 "That ? in private?" 
 
 "That in private," answered the delighted Scott. 
 Then whisperingly : "That ... is Lord Desmond's 
 brother-in-law, you know." 
 
 "Ah," said the singer. It was quite a soft exclamation;
 
 260 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 but again her glance had swept into the room, and Scott's 
 chuckle suddenly died away. Once more it was becoming 
 too interesting for mere amusement. 
 
 But the lady disappointingly shrugged her shoulders: 
 
 "Well, what's that to me?" she scoffed and wheeled 
 toward the garden. 
 
 Sir Joseph was wound up to his deed of daring. He 
 took two heavy steps forward to arrest her; Scott fore- 
 stalled him. 
 
 "It is determined to speak to you," he urged; "you 
 may as well let it. My dear creature, you'll be very 
 much amused." 
 
 "Shall I?" said La Marmora. A second "the dear 
 creature's" dangerous eyes glinted on the critic. Then, 
 with another shrug of her shoulders she wheeled round 
 upon her pertinacious guest. 
 
 Sir Joseph was rasping his throat. 
 
 "Madame," he said, in words he had been laboriously 
 rehearsing, "I must request your attention for a fe\r 
 minutes on a matter of vital importance." 
 
 The Member of Parliament paused and coughed. 
 Beyond the yellow figure, his eyes sought, not without 
 pride, the countenance of his advisor. "What do you 
 think of that for dignity and firmness?" they seemed to 
 question. But Scott, hurrying, almost trotting away 
 from them, merely sent him a single backward look. 
 His countenance was like that of some goblin ; if anything 
 so pink and inflated could bear such a resemblance. His 
 startling chuckle seemed to hover behind him in the 
 air. 
 
 Unaccountably disconcerted, Sir Joseph's attention
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 261 
 
 returned to his hostess; and here he met with agreeable 
 surprise. The lady was all suavity. 
 
 "I wonder what you have to say to me!" she was 
 dulcetlr remarking. "Shall we not sit down? It is 
 cool and quiet here, and we seem to be quite alone." 
 
 With her long, gliding step, she began to move with 
 him to lead him toward the classic couch. She 
 subsided, a wonderful, yellow-clad sorceress, upon the 
 white bear skin, and, tapping the long white fur: "Won't 
 you sit down, Sir Joseph?" she repeated engagingly. 
 
 He looked at her, repudiating almost in terror. 
 
 "Thank you, Madame, I I prefer to stand." 
 
 Her eyes ran him up and down. Scott had been right; 
 she was beginning to be amused. 
 
 " Do sit one can talk so much more comfortably. 
 Here beside me." 
 
 It was impossible, without gross incivility, to insist 
 longer on his posture of virtuous uprightness: yet, he felt 
 as if he were already yielding to the snare as he gingerly 
 placed himself at the extreme edge of the couch. He 
 balanced his gray hat on his knees and stared straight 
 before him, voicelessly forming his next speech with 
 agitated lips. 
 
 "I wonder what you can have to say to me ?" she trilled 
 again. 
 
 He cast a rolling, startled eye upon her; met the mockery 
 of a glance that did not in the least correspond with the 
 exaggerated sweetness of the tone; and his honest, middle- 
 class manhood suddenly revolted. 
 
 "It must have struck you, Madame," he said in a loud, 
 har.sk voice, "when I first presented myself here last
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 week that there was something something about me, 
 different from the rest of your guests." 
 
 She clasped her hands: 
 
 "Very different. Oh, very, very different!" 
 
 From those accents, she might have been openly, 
 shamelessly making love to him; but between her long, half- 
 closed lids, her eyes gleamed, jeering, with a glint of anger. 
 
 A man may be encased in a whole armour of pretentious 
 stupidity, and yet through his vanity retain a sensitive 
 perception. Sir Joseph gathered a distinct notion that 
 he was being "made game of." The colour of wrath 
 rose to his brow; he resumed with all the strength of anger: 
 
 "You must have realized, then, that I am not a person 
 to frequent these artistic, these bohemian purlieus, 
 without some urgent motive." 
 
 "My dear Sir Joseph," cried she with a tinkling laugh, 
 " but all my friends come here, with an an urgent 
 motive." 
 
 Nonplussed, he hemmed an interrogative "Er er?" 
 turning his countenance, judicially puckered, full upon her. 
 
 "To see me!" she explained, and folded her hands 
 upon her knees, opening her eyes unexpectedly and then 
 blinking. 
 
 "Madame, this is trifling," exclaimed the M. P., irritated 
 beyond all the pompous dignity of the lines he had laid 
 out for himself. "I decline to trifle." Then, breathing 
 heavily, "I am Lord Desmond Brooke's brother-in-law," 
 he announced. 
 
 It was Sir Joseph's misfortune, not his fault, that his 
 physiognomy recalled that of the ox. Now it was as if 
 he had lowered his horns for hostilities. His companion
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 263 
 
 knew herself attacked, and on the instant, her native 
 vulgarity sprang forth, through all the fine-lady veneer. 
 
 "How charming of you . . . to be that!" she 
 cried tauntingly. 
 
 He ignored the gibe and heavily pranced on to his 
 assault. 
 
 "I am in very great anxiety the family of Lord 
 Desmond are all in very great, very painful anxiety about 
 him." 
 
 " How sad for you ! " 
 
 "My brother-in-law's constant visits here, his infatua- 
 tion, Madame " 
 
 Sir Joseph paused; and the woman was lying back, 
 surveying him through her narrowed eyelids with an air 
 of insolence quite indescribable. He was glad to have 
 a weapon to hurt her withal. 
 
 "My brother-in-law's infatuation, for your daughter 
 " he declared. 
 
 There was triumph in his tone; but his heart thumped 
 apprehensively. He broke off, unable to finish the sen- 
 tence. 
 
 The languid figure beside him had scarcely stirred; 
 merely turned her head, ever so little, and opened her 
 eyes once more full upon the speaker. Sir Joseph dropped 
 his hat; picked it up; then rose and stood before her. His 
 face was almost apoplectic. 
 
 La Marmora slowly took three long pins from her 
 monstrous headgear, removed it from her head, and, 
 placing it on the couch beside her, ran both hands upward 
 through her hair. Then she lifted her face, and spoke 
 with extraordinary quietness:
 
 264 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Would you mind repeating that last remark of yours ?" 
 
 It was perhaps the consciousness that he was really 
 terrified that lent such desperate boldness to Sir Joseph's 
 answer : 
 
 "My unfortunate brother-in-law's infatuation for your 
 daughter I repeat my remark, Madame : for your 
 daughter." 
 
 She broke into laughter; the laughter of a blind fury. 
 
 "This is killing go on! Lord Desmond comes 
 here for my daughter ? Did you find that out by yourself ? 
 How clever you are ! For my daughter . . . 
 And then?" 
 
 "I admit that, at first, the family believed, that you 
 yourself were the attraction." 
 
 "Indeed ? What an honour ! " 
 
 "I cannot conceal that the fact of finding out that his 
 affections are fixed upon your daughter so young a 
 girl, but unfortunately, already notorious has added 
 considerably to the danger of the situation in the eyes of 
 the family, in my own and also to its painfulness." 
 
 She sprang to her feet with a suddenness that drove 
 him hastily backward. 
 
 "And how did you find that out? Speak! How 
 did you make that precious discovery ? Speak, you 
 old fool!" 
 
 Shocked to bewilderment Sir Joseph could only echo 
 the opprobrious term: 
 
 "Old fool- - !" 
 
 She flung herself back upon the sofa, laughing once 
 again. The ugly insolence of the sound helped him to 
 recover his valour.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 265 
 
 "It is the talk of your own friends, Madame." 
 
 "Ha!" she mocked, and catching up her hat on her 
 knee, began to prod the pin among the feathers. The 
 action was meaningless in itself, but she gave to it an 
 intention of insult: "Begone, old dotard," it seemed to 
 say, "even this is no more amusing." 
 
 For the first time that day, Sir Joseph smiled. 
 
 "And my brother-in-law, Lord Desmond's own admis- 
 sion " 
 
 She interrupted him with a sharp, short scream: 
 
 "It's a lie! - It's a lie, I say." 
 
 Once more the man retreated. Rightly indeed was this 
 outrageous creature nicknamed Panther. 
 
 "It's a lie!" she repeated, and drove the pin into the 
 crown of her hat as if she had been stabbing him. 
 
 A second he meditated judicious retirement; but, strug- 
 gling violently for composure, she arrested him: 
 
 "No, no. You mustn't go." 
 
 She tossed hat and pins from her. Two of the latter 
 rolled on the floor; Sir Joseph glanced at them sideways. 
 
 "My goodness!" she exclaimed, trying for her society 
 laugh, "how droll you have been! You don't even 
 know Fifi. Why, she's a little schoolgirl! Oh, my 
 poor Sir Joseph, you have been misled. Lord Desmond's 
 been pulling your leg isn't that what you call it ? " 
 
 "Pulling my leg!" His voice rose, bearing down her 
 affected mirth; "if you will allow me to speak, Madame, 
 I shall convince you that I can, unfortunately, labour under 
 no such misapprehension. Lord Desmond Brooke's 
 own words " 
 
 With a hand on either side of the couch she half lifted
 
 266 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 her lithe body wide-open eyes, parted lips, dilated 
 nostrils, every quivering line of her countenance, every 
 tense muscle, one concentrated interrogation. 
 
 "His own words " she breathed. 
 
 The M. P. was all at once smugly content. He had 
 imposed himself, he had produced the desired impression. 
 
 "I taxed him with it myself," he proceeded. "I 
 regret to say he showed himself impervious to all repre- 
 sentations brazen ! But he did not attempt to disguise 
 his feelings." 
 
 She became, if that were possible, more fixed upon him; 
 and save for that tense quiver running through her, more 
 deadly still. Well might he have remembered then her 
 nickname. It was the strong stillness of the feline crouch- 
 ing for the spring. 
 
 "He admitted it his love?" Her voice was a 
 whisper. 
 
 "Madame," exploded Sir Joseph, "he flourished it in 
 my face! He talked, in what I can only define as exag- 
 gerated and ah gross language, of the effect your 
 daughter produces upon him. Galvanizing his corpse, 
 he called it." 
 
 La Marmora relaxed the grip of her hands and allowed 
 herself to subside upon the couch. She sat a moment 
 or two, rather huddled, with haggard eye and dropping 
 jaw, staring: she looked, suddenly, an old woman. Then 
 fury seized her like a hurricane. 
 
 "Ah!" she screamed, "this is good, this is famous! 
 Ah, par exemple!" She clasped her hands, and writhed 
 in convulsive laughter. "Ah, par exemple! Galvanizing 
 ... his corpse!"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 267 
 
 He averted his eyes from a spectacle so indecent and 
 alarming; only to be fascinated again, and gaze on. 
 
 "Oh, your funny face! Ah, ah, ah!" 
 
 And next, the hideous laughter fell from her. Pure 
 passion of wrath and jealousy possessed her, lifting her 
 out of vulgarity, beyond hysteric weakness, into tragedy. 
 
 " So, that, that's what he came here for ! To be ... 
 galvanized by Fifi ... by Fifi! Ah, malheureuse 
 que je suis! 'Tis my own child that robs me." 
 
 But it was not in Fulvia la Marmora to keep the dignity 
 of an emotion beyond its first moment of realization. 
 The mud of the unknown Montmartre gutter began to 
 foam from her lips. 
 
 "Ah, satanee fille, va! Ah, petit crapaud, va! His 
 corpse . . . C'est bon! On va te faire sauter, cada- 
 vre . . . /" 
 
 "Merciful heavens!" murmured the M. P., dabbing his 
 beaded brow. 
 
 "Where is Lord Desmond?" cried she, rising and 
 advancing menacingly. "Where is Lord Desmond?" 
 
 With the sheer terror provoked by her aspect, he 
 answered vindictively: 
 
 "With your daughter, probably." 
 
 A piercing scream greeted his words. 
 
 "Ah, bien! Bravo, bravo, bravissimo! Where's 
 Robecq then ? Robecq! . . . Robecq!" 
 
 Each call came with a louder shriek. She turned to 
 the electric bell and sent its shrill summons unintermit- 
 tently forth. 
 
 "Good God!" said Sir Joseph; "it is a mad woman!" 
 
 He turned to fly, and almost knocked against Scott
 
 268 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 who was hurrying into the room, his face pinker than 
 usual with excitement, his mouth pursed into an expression 
 of sympathetic concern that was contradicted by the 
 dancing malice in the little eyes. 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" he was crying, fat hands 
 flapping as he trotted. 
 
 "Matter!" echoed Sir Joseph, "let me get out of this!" 
 
 A couple of indignant parlour-maids now jostled each 
 other at the entrance. Panting, their mistress turned upon 
 them: 
 
 "The Baron! Instantly!" she said hoarsely. 
 
 "This is what comes of rousing the Panther," whispered 
 Scott to the distraught baronet, and for the life of him was 
 unable to suppress a giggle. Then moving forward, he 
 came within range of La Marmora's glance. 
 
 Instantly she roused herself from the fit of dark abstrac- 
 tion that had succeeded her frenzy, and the furies were 
 loose in her again. 
 
 "Ah, Scott," she cried, jeering, while her eyes stabbed 
 him. "I hear you knew about this. It's excruciatingly 
 funny! . . . A se tordre!" She broke off, her fierce 
 eye caught Sir Joseph at the very door. "No, no, you don't, 
 mon vieux. You don't, old man! You wait and listen !" 
 
 The menace of gesture, voice and eye was not to be 
 withstood. Sir Joseph halted miserably, to start as her 
 scream rang out again. 
 
 "Robecq!" 
 
 Running steps were now heard under the colonnade. 
 
 "Coming, my dear friend! coming!" soothed the 
 impresario's accents from afar. 
 
 "Robecq . . .!"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 269 
 
 In another instant he was upon them, talking as he came : 
 
 "My dear good creature . . . for mercy's sake 
 . . .! Oh, tut, tut! What have you been doing to 
 her? Your throat, my dear, your throat!" 
 
 "Pshaw!" she snarled. "Where is Fifi?" 
 
 "Fifi? Oh, Fifi's quite safe. Compose yourself, 
 my dear, I beg of you!" 
 
 " Quite safe ! With whom ? ' ' 
 
 She was gasping, shuddering, as she sat. Robecq 
 looked at her a second without replying; then he flung a 
 single glance of deadly reproach at Scott and Sir Joseph. 
 What a fool he had been to abandon his post ! But there 
 had been so many parting guests to speed . . . 
 
 He passed his hand across his forehead. 
 
 "Fifi? "he drawled "Fifi's about with . . . well 
 I don't think I really know. Now, listen to me, Fulvia." 
 
 "She's with Lord Desmond. Ah, you know you 
 knew it too." The hysterical laughter that shook her 
 was broken by a kind of dry sob. "You're a pretty 
 wooer, aren't you? You knew it all the time." 
 
 Convicted, he stood without a word. She flung out 
 an arm again: 
 
 " Look here, you, you over there you Smith. . . ." 
 
 "Smith!" murmured Sir Joseph. This was the last 
 straw. He tottered backward toward the portiere. 
 
 "Do you want to see my son-in-law?" she went on. 
 "There he stands." 
 
 She rose with her histrionic gesture as she spoke; but 
 her knees shook under her, and she fell heavily back upon 
 the couch. 
 
 "Go go!" cried Robecq fiercely.
 
 270 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Yes, he can go," cried the singer. 
 
 She was livid under her paint. Her head rolled rest- 
 lessly against the cushions. Through her widely distended 
 nostrils and drawn-back lips breathing seemed really 
 difficult. Yet, in broken, jerked phrases, she called after 
 the disappearing figure: 
 
 "Yes, you can go now, and tell Lord Desmond's family!" 
 
 Robecq had come over to her, and taken her hand. 
 
 "Yes yes," he agreed. And over his shoulder to 
 Scott: "Will you call her maid ?" 
 
 Scott expressed sympathy and understanding, with 
 eyebrows, shoulders and Orientally uplifted palms. He 
 was glad enough of the opportunity to escape also. 
 
 "We must put a stop to this, Robecq," La Marmora 
 was panting. 
 
 "Yes yes." He still held her fingers in his fat grasp. 
 
 "We'll have the engagement announced to-morrow. 
 To-morrow." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly! To-morrow, by all means!" 
 
 "Robecq " she was beginning again excitedly. All 
 at once he dropped her hand and started back from her, 
 finger on lip. There was the sound of a shuffling foot, 
 the tap of a stick upon the marble of the terrace without. 
 She stiffened. The old look of fear swept over her 
 features : 
 
 "Fritz!" 
 
 Like two conspirators, they looked at each other, then 
 turned their glance in the direction of the advancing steps. 
 These halted. Black against the sunset, Fritz's burly 
 figure stood. He gazed in upon them a second, made a 
 bow and slowly passed on.
 
 VII 
 PANTHER PREPARES TO SPRING 
 
 RARELY had Mr. Scott spent so utterly enjoyable, so 
 completely fruitful a day. 
 
 He saw Sir Joseph safely off in the yellow Mercedes. 
 The latter departed in a glorious consciousness of accom- 
 plishment and success, in spite of the shock produced by 
 the recent scene. The critic, who had refused the prof- 
 ferred lift to town, gazed after the swirling machine with 
 a grin. "And Martia Marchioness will give him one of 
 her most withering smiles," he reflected; "and for ever 
 after keep a grudge against the busybody, who has pre- 
 sumed to save her aristocratic son." 
 
 Mr. Scott prided himself on knowing human nature. 
 
 He turned and reentered the house. He had received 
 no special invitation to remain; but with the Panther 
 one need not stand upon ceremony. He was quite enough 
 of an habitue to invite himself to dinner if he chose; and 
 to leave the place without having seen the end of the 
 comedy was not to be thought of. Every one has his 
 master passion, his hobby. The dominant trait of 
 Philip Scott's character was a mischievous curiosity; 
 his most absorbing interest in life, meddling with other 
 people's affairs. 
 
 Strolling back leisurely into the reception room, he 
 found it deserted. Only the tossed green silk cushions 
 
 271
 
 272 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 on the couch, the prima donna's befeathered hat, lying 
 where she had flung it on the marble, and a half-fin- 
 ished glass of sal-volatile on the little console, spoke of 
 the past storm and the lady's pamoisons. 
 
 Mr. Scott walked across to the dais, stepping affectedly 
 over the hat; settled himself on the bear skin, with a 
 cushion on each side of his ribs, and lit a cigarette with 
 the luxurious remembrance of the absurd old German's 
 objections to smoke. 
 
 A hidden clock chimed. He glanced at his watch 
 it was half -past seven. La Marmora's guests had early 
 departed to-day. The novelty was wearing off, no doubt. 
 She was hardly worth damp feet and bedraggled skirts. 
 He wondered if he were the only one left; if anybody 
 was likely to return to the informal dinner, that, up to 
 this, had always followed the garden party. At any 
 rate Robecq was certain to remain; and where Robecq 
 was, a man was pretty sure to find good food at a regular 
 hour. He trusted that this hour might not be too long 
 delayed to-night; he was, in his own phrase, growing 
 uncommonly peckish. 
 
 The shadows were falling long and dark, against the 
 golden evening sunshine without. The birds were 
 piping excitably after the rain. Through the archways 
 the vista of garden seemed extraordinarily fresh and pure- 
 coloured. There was a red may tree in bloom; a pyramid 
 of Pompadour pink of a tint hardly seen outside Sevres 
 china. And beside it fell a cascade of laburnum, yellow 
 as a canary bird. 
 
 "A perfect Fragonard background," murmured the 
 critic.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 273 
 
 He found a third cushion for his head; and, comfort- 
 ably supported, gazed in pleasure. He had very artis- 
 tic perceptions, with especial leaning toward the rococo 
 and the delicately sentimental, both in music and painting. 
 
 Two of the soubrettes who gave the final stamp of 
 irrespectability to Madame la Marmora's extraordinary 
 establishment, entered upon him with their impossible 
 stage impertinence. 
 
 With much action of caps and streamers in his direc- 
 tion, they made a perfunctory visitation of the room; 
 lit the electric star in the ceiling, shifted a couple of 
 seats, aimlessly; captured the tumbler and withdrew. 
 Characteristically, the hat was left upon the floor. 
 
 Next with heavy step, Robecq appeared. He came 
 slowly across the room; beheld Scott with a momentary 
 glance of doubt, which was succeeded by one of resig- 
 nation; stooping, he picked up the neglected headgear 
 and laid it carefully on the console. 
 
 As he was about to sit down, his foot struck against 
 a hat pin. Again he bent and picked it up to insert it 
 carefully among its fellows in the monstrous crown. 
 Then he sat down, at the end of the couch, and turned 
 his countenance upon the observant smoker. 
 
 Scott's smile, which had been gathering, grew so broad, 
 that he was fain to remove his cigarette. 
 
 "I trust she's calmer," he remarked. 
 
 " Calm ! " ejaculated the impresario. "Oh, yes 
 deadly! She's getting ready for another." 
 
 "Another? You don't say so!" exclaimed Scott, 
 endeavouring to keep the note of delight out of his voice. 
 
 Robecq looked at him philosophically. He knew his
 
 274 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 man; knew that he owed to him a good deal of the after- 
 noon's work. But he could not afford to quarrel with 
 him Scott was a pestilential necessity. 
 
 "Oh, it's a very wearing business, mine," he con- 
 tinued. His drawl was half plaintive, half humorous. 
 "Now, if she'd listen to me, she'd go straight to bed, 
 with nothing heavier in the way of dinner than a little 
 consomme, and a filet of sole. A voice is a very deli- 
 cate organ, Scott and hers is very specially delicate. 
 But as well try and reason with a " he paused for a 
 simile. 
 
 "Wild beast," suggested the other pleasantly. 
 
 "Sir," said the manager, with one of his American 
 intonations, "that simile begins to strike me as worn out." 
 
 There followed a slight pause, broken only by the 
 critic's soft chuckle and the heavy sigh of the Baron. 
 
 "So she's coming down to dinner," proceeded the latter. 
 "She expects " again he broke off. 
 
 Scott's eyebrows questioned. 
 
 "Oh, I believe so " was the impresario's answer, 
 given with some testiness. "It's a kettle of fish, it's 
 a confounded kettle of fish. And she's dressing herself. 
 She's going to dress the girl." 
 
 "Eh? " Mr. Scott leaned forward. 
 
 "Miss Fifi's got to come down here, after dinner. Cela 
 va sans dire she's not to dine. And then, sir, I am to 
 find her here and to propose to her! I've got half an 
 hour to do it in. And I've got to make her say yes. And 
 then Madame will come in upon us from the dining room 
 with Lord Desmond, and the announcement will be 
 made. Sir, that's the programme."
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 275 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed Scott. He stared for a 
 moment; the situation was exquisite. 
 
 "My dear Scott," said Robecq in the same long-drawn, 
 emphatic melancholy of utterance, "if she has a few more 
 of these fits of rage, I don't give that for Salome." He 
 snapped his nail. "It will be a vurry serious affair for 
 me, if she goes caput before Salome. And if I don't 
 humour her 
 
 "But you're going to humour her, aren't you, Baron ?" 
 cried Scott. 
 
 "Oh, my God! yes." A rueful smile spread over the 
 speaker's countenance. "Now, that's a pretty absurd 
 situation for me, isn't it? I've got to propose to Miss 
 Fifi, to-night and she's about as easy to approach as 
 a colt in a paddock." 
 
 "It's supremely comic!" exclaimed the other. And 
 indeed, he had all the air of finding it so. 
 
 "Comic !" 
 
 "But how will you set to work?" Scott shifted a little 
 nearer to his companion in a flutter of inquisitiveness. 
 
 The manager fixed a lack-lustre eye upon him. 
 
 "I'll just oh, I'll show her the oats, I'll show her the 
 oats! After all, it's a woman." 
 
 "You've got a formidable rival," said the consoling 
 listener, after a musing pause. 
 
 "That's so." Robecq rose and began to pace slowly 
 the small length of the dais. "Oh, dear ' he ran 
 his fingers through his beard. "You know I want the 
 girl. Oh, you know very well all about it, Scott. That's 
 why she's here at all. But good heavens! A man of 
 my age has to take his time about these things. I've
 
 276 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 got to get her to look upon me as a friend, first. What 
 with chocolates and the Persian kitten and timely 
 interference about her frocks, I've been very fairly suc- 
 cessful. She is beginning to like me " 
 
 " But enter Lord Desmond ! " 
 
 " Lord Desmond ? " repeated the Baron calmly. " Well, 
 I don't mind admitting that at first I was rather put out 
 over Lord Desmond. But, latterly, Scott, it was begin- 
 ning to strike me that I could look upon him as an ally." 
 
 Scott's round eyes started. He drew his mouth together 
 for a whistle. 
 
 "Upon my word, Baron " 
 
 "Scott," said Robecq, "it's plain you've never made 
 a thorough study of women. I'd have got Miss Fifi, 
 on the rebound, don't you see ? As sure as fate. Lord 
 Desmond ? What kind of intentions has a man like that 
 in a house like this ? My friend," continued the im- 
 presario solemnly, "the hour was sure to strike when she 
 would have been pretty rudely awakened from love's 
 young dream and that was my hour!" 
 
 " Love's young dream ! " sneered the man in the cushions. 
 "And do you think Miss Fifi such an innocent?" 
 
 Robecq turned in his bear walk and fixed his small, 
 shrewd orbs steadily upon Scott. A second or two they 
 stared at each other; then Mr. Scott shifted his glance 
 uneasily aside. 
 
 "I know Miss Fifi to be perfectly innocent," said 
 Robecq, with more than his usual deliberation. "Other- 
 wise, Mr. Scott, I should not intend to make her Madame 
 de Robecq." 
 
 Philip Scott would have been glad to show some gen-
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 277 
 
 uine amusement once more. Somehow it could not be 
 achieved. Something in the Israelite's look and tone 
 made him feel mean, and discovered as mean. It was a 
 rare sensation and a fugitive. A man is generally so well 
 justified in thinking the worst of every one! Just now 
 he was fain to fall back upon his sneer. 
 
 "And so now you've got to capture your nymph right 
 off play the good old Pan? Do all your wooing in 
 one night, like Romeo?" 
 
 "Oh, I'll worry through all right!" said the impresario, 
 without vouchsafing a smile. 
 
 He sat down again as he said these words; his fingers 
 began to play in his beard a sure sign with him of deep 
 reflection. 
 
 "I've got to put Salome first," he said into space, as 
 if arguing with himself. "I can't afford a fee-asco. 
 Better cancel it even than risk a fee-asco. There's one 
 good thing, Fritz is back in his cottage safe for the 
 night, anyhow!" 
 
 Robecq heaved one of his profound sighs; his was, 
 indeed, a complicated responsibility. 
 
 "Fritz?" echoed Scott, pricking his ears. He whisked 
 buoyantly round toward his companion. "Now, if 
 you'll explain the mystery of Fritz, I'll be deeply obliged. 
 What's he got to say to this ? " 
 
 "Oh, my dear Scott," retorted the other, wearily. 
 " Fulvia depends on him ergo, I depend on him. 
 We've got to keep him in good humour." 
 
 "Well but Miss Fifi? Where does he come in 
 there?" 
 
 "He's chosen to come in there " said the manager,
 
 278 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 with his rare accent of irritation. "And I regret to say, 
 for I have a very high opinion of Fritz," he added, falling 
 back into his former rueful humorousness, "he hasn't 
 a vurry high opinion of me! " 
 
 "And the Panther's afraid of him?" probed Scott. 
 "Ah, he's got some kind of hold. Now haven't you 
 got a suspicion?" 
 
 The critic's plump cheeks quivered with the eagerness 
 of his master passion; but Robecq rose decisively. He 
 had quite sufficiently pandered to the necessary Scott. 
 
 "I'm a busy man," he said, with as much curtness as 
 his natural way of speech would allow. "I don't waste 
 my time in surmises. I am content to take facts as they 
 are, Mr. Scott, and to use them to the best of my 
 ability." 
 
 Scott pursed his lips. 
 
 "Don't be so shirty, old man," he said airily. The 
 next moment he rose in his turn with a bland ejaculation ; 
 his hostess was sweeping into the room. 
 
 The calm after the storm had evident possession of her; 
 but it was merely a lull, as Robecq had described the 
 deadly pause. 
 
 She had chosen to robe herself with a barbaric splen- 
 dour. A scarlet sheath, in the extreme of the current 
 fashion enclosed the long splendour of her limbs. Its 
 exiguous draperies were clasped over her naked shoulder 
 and at her breast with enamelled bosses, gleaming with 
 rough stones greens and purples and reds. The emer- 
 alds were slung round her neck and blazed in her ears. 
 Her copper-red hair, twisted with more simplicity and 
 artistic negligence than usual, just at the Greek angle in
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 279 
 
 a careless knot, was apparently only held in place by a 
 
 As she stood before the glass her last gesture had been 
 to loosen, with impatient hand, the waves on each side 
 of the temples, so as to cast more shadows over the hag- 
 gard eyes. The result had been to impart to her whole 
 countenance, set that night in a mask of passion and 
 decision, something brooding, savage and tragic, which 
 redeemed it from the haunting vulgarity which was ever 
 its bane. 
 
 Here was the natural woman in an elemental throe 
 and she was splendid. 
 
 The bland exclamation with which the critic had 
 greeted the rustle of her satin on the marble, changed 
 to an indrawn breath of utter admiration. 
 
 "If she can look like this for you, your Salome " 
 
 he flung a delighted whisper to the impresario and com- 
 pleted his phrase by an elegant gesture; for the moment 
 the artistic sense had risen uppermost within him. 
 
 Robecq shook his head ever so slightly. For him, his 
 investment had suddenly assumed that exaggerated height 
 which presages a fall. It was as the blazing of a fire- 
 work. Your financial genius well knows such omens! 
 
 The woman came down upon them, and her long, nar- 
 row, scarlet train swung from side to side on the floor- 
 ing with each slow, free step. Pursuing the simile which 
 the Baron had deemed worn out, Scott compared it in 
 his mind to the lashing of the Panther's tail. 
 
 Passing by Robecq as if he did not exist, she flung 
 upon her uninvited guest a dark look that pondered a 
 second and then seemed to toss him aside.
 
 280 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 He made way for her, and she took the couch with 
 an unconscious magnificence. Her glance fell on the 
 hat. 
 
 "Eh bien!" she said in harsh, brief tones. "What is 
 that?" 
 
 Robecq hastened to the bell. 
 
 "What is that?" repeated the lady, as the parlour- 
 maid entered : she was pointing. 
 
 The girl had insolence quite ready; but she met her 
 mistress's eyes, and it dropped cravenly. Without a 
 flounce or a toss, she slunk away again, carrying off the 
 offending object. 
 
 Silence was on the three; Robecq too wise to speak; 
 Scott nonplussed, yet thrilled; and the singer absorbed. 
 She sat with her eyes straight before her, gazing into her 
 own thoughts, as the witch may gaze into the seething 
 cauldron. 
 
 All at once she spoke again. Her lips scarcely mov- 
 ing her eyes still fixed. 
 
 " What hour is it ? " 
 
 " Just about eight," answered both men eagerly. 
 
 They knew what she was waiting for; and in the heavy 
 pause that succeeded, the critic's pulses positively bounded 
 he was nothing if not impressionable when the faint 
 throb of a motor began to grow into the silence. His 
 eyes, hanging upon the singer's face, saw the flash kindle 
 into that fixed, unnatural gaze. 
 
 His own words, of mocking description, recurred to his 
 mind: "Phosphorescent positively phosphorescent!" 
 
 Robecq suddenly got up and moved toward the colon- 
 nade as if the sense of suspense and impending event
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 281 
 
 was beyond his endurance. But La Marmora sat on like 
 a statue ; and it was only when Lord Desmond was actually 
 in the room that she moved at all. 
 
 He came in in his lounging, weary way, looking 
 singularly distinguished in the evening black and 
 white beside the two other men in their morning 
 suits. 
 
 She rose, slow, long, superb, and stood awaiting the 
 moment when his eyes should behold her. 
 
 It was for this moment that she had robed herself in 
 gorgeous scarlet, had decked herself with jewels. Silent, 
 arrogant, she challenged for the last time; and she knew 
 herself matchless in her own peculiar resplendence, yet 
 if he withstood now this voiceless surrender that yet was 
 as defiant as a trumpet blast, she knew herself powerless 
 for ever. 
 
 In this brief pause the drama of her woman's life was 
 acted out. 
 
 Deliberately the man's eyes swept round the room, 
 seeking; then they fell on her and they grew blank: 
 in her presence his only feeling was weariness; a weariness 
 beyond even her strength to kindle into anything so active 
 as hostility. 
 
 "Let us dine," said La Marmora, in that new, odd, 
 harsh voice that seemed not so much to speak as to com- 
 mand. She swept down upon Lord Desmond; and he 
 offered his arm. It was only upon the threshold of the 
 dining hall that she spoke again: 
 
 "You shall see Fifi after dinner." 
 
 His drooping lids were suddenly raised. A moment 
 he and she looked at each other. For a single moment,
 
 282 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 never to be repeated, soul sought and found soul, and 
 knew it an enemy. Then convention dropped about the 
 man; and her evil purpose caught the woman back to her 
 deadly comedy of composure. 
 
 The meal that ensued was the most decorous, and ted- 
 ious, that the marble walls had ever seen.
 
 VIII 
 FRITZ PRESUMES 
 
 NEVER afterward could Fifi look back upon this June 
 day of storm without a shudder. Those blue eyes that 
 had held a light of joy to her soul since she had first 
 come under their glance, had looked upon her with anger; 
 with scorn, she thought. Oh! what had he heard of 
 her ? What did he know ? 
 
 With the desperateness of her youth she told herself 
 that hope was dead ; that life would offer her nothing any 
 more but horrible hours between the people of her mother's 
 entourage the Robecqs and the Scotts, the chattering, 
 heartless, fine ladies, the dreadful young men whose every 
 look was vaguely insulting! Nothing but Fritz's scold- 
 ings, his sad sternness, and her mother's tempers and 
 caresses tempers ever more frequent, caresses ever rarer. 
 
 These weeks in England had begun to make her feel 
 dimly that hers was no normal existence; that a singer's 
 glories were bought by the sacrifice of too much that was 
 holy, tender and peaceful. Intangibly, there had been 
 gathering a pressure as of danger about her. 
 
 Now, prone on her bed, in a tearless lassitude of des- 
 pair, she told herself that calamity had indeed overtaken 
 her. He had passed out of her life, and without him life 
 was hideous. 
 
 Elisa roused her at dusk: 
 
 288
 
 284 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Madame la Comtesse demanded her. 
 
 With languid feet Fifi dragged herself obediently to the 
 summons ; the mood was upon her the mood of all such 
 untried spirits in trouble, of complete surrender to her 
 own misfortunes ; the black pessimism that not only expects 
 woe but goes to meet it. 
 
 "Now for a new scene!" thought she. And, scarcely 
 formed, the suggestion came: "She will be so angry 
 because Lord Desmond has gone away!" 
 
 The prima donna, loose-haired, wrapped loosely in a 
 gorgeous kimono, held out her arms. 
 
 " Viens, cherie 
 
 And in another moment the daughter was enfolded; 
 loving words fell round her : 
 
 " How beautiful she is ! And how tall is she not, 
 Elisa ? Behold, thou art grown up, Fifi, but to thy mother 
 always the little one 
 
 Here Fifi felt her mother's lips upon her cheek: they 
 were burning. She drew back. How was it that her 
 heart felt so heavy, so unable to respond to this display 
 of tenderness? Why did she want to free herself from 
 those encircling arms? Why did her mother's face look 
 so pale and strange? And, since her voice was soft, why 
 were her eyes hard, almost cruel ? 
 
 She turned her head sharply, and met Elisa's gaze, 
 Oh ! did every one hate her ? 
 
 "Fifi," came those accents of treacherous sweetness, 
 " I want you to be very beautiful to-night ! ma vieille, 
 you must do Mademoiselle's hair." 
 
 And Elisa answered with extraordinary amiability for 
 her:
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 285 
 
 " It is as Madame la Comtesse wills." And then added 
 with a grimacing smile: "Mademoiselle has such beau- 
 tiful hair, it is a pity it should not be well dressed." 
 
 " Yes yes," pursued her mistress, with a feverish 
 gaiety, as hollow-sounding to the bewildered child as her 
 tone of caress " and after that, we will dress her, 
 Elisa. None of those absurd pensionnaire frocks now. 
 How about that white satin dress of mine de chez Meyer 
 the one with the crystals? Would it not become her? 
 Would it not fit her? We resemble each other so much." 
 
 " One can try," said Elisa. 
 
 With a last pressure Fulvia released the girl's shoulder. 
 In her touch there was an underlying fury that would 
 more gladly have strangled than petted; her mouth was 
 smiling, the eyes had the same dreadful fixedness. 
 
 Then Elisa's hard hands took possession of the victim 
 and forced her into a seat; and, while the mother stood 
 and watched and criticized, the task of hair-dressing was 
 accomplished. After that they dressed her. 
 
 It was an Empire garment that fell in straight folds 
 from the shoulders; cut artfully close to the figure; hung 
 across the breast with chains of crystal drops that dripped 
 in a glittering and uneven shower, nearly to the knee. 
 A wonderful robe ! 
 
 "It is a little short," said the maid, sourly. 
 
 "Eh bien, tant mieux," retorted La Marmora. "One 
 will see that she has well-shaped feet." 
 
 She gave an unpleasant laugh. "You can wear my 
 silver shoes, la petite." 
 
 Then she whisked her up to the long pier-glass. 
 
 " See, art thou not fine ? "
 
 286 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 The girl glanced, half afraid; then, at the vision that 
 met her, shimmering white, an involuntary smile broke 
 over her face. It was true, it was true; she was a woman 
 grown, she was beautiful ! 
 
 "And now go," the singer had a sudden grating in her 
 voice. "Do not disarrange your hair. You will come 
 down after dinner " 
 
 A second she paused, darkly surveying the radiant 
 young figure. Then she took the girl by the chin and 
 turned her face round. Fifi felt as if her lids were weighted 
 over her eyes. 
 
 "You will be good," said the mother threateningly. 
 " You will do what I tell you you will be a happy 
 woman." 
 
 "Mama!" 
 
 "I suppose you will believe that I know what is for 
 your happiness?" 
 
 There was a moment's silence; the girl's heart was 
 beating as if it would break. 
 
 " If you don't trust your mother " went on the 
 
 prima donna, with a piercing sharpness in her accents. 
 
 "Oh, I do, I do," burst out the poor child, not under- 
 standing why she should feel so tortured. 
 
 "C'est bien." La Marmora moved restlessly toward 
 her dressing table. "Away with you, then! It's a 
 promise. See to her, Elisa, and if she goes on looking 
 pale like that just dab on a hint of rouge." 
 
 Fifi's little bedroom gave on to the drive. And as she 
 sat, hugging her blue kitten, feeling singularly forlorn, 
 she heard the throbbing of a motor approaching the
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 287 
 
 front door. One of the dinner guests, no doubt. She 
 had a sudden sting of curiosity to see who was arriving; 
 her mother was certainly expecting some one special. 
 Even as she rose, her heart began to beat heavily. She 
 wondered, she hoped almost, she knew whom she was 
 going to see. Her knees trembled as she crossed the 
 room, laying the sleeping kitten on the narrow little 
 bed as she passed. She had to lean against the case- 
 ment as she looked out of the narrow dormer window. 
 The motor had halted; its occupant was alighting; it was 
 Lord Desmond. 
 
 Instantly the whole aspect of her life seemed to change. 
 It was as if a storm-shadowed landscape were flooded 
 with sunshine. He had come back! She stood, clasp- 
 ing her hands over the painful beating of her heart. 
 Then, all at once the thought struck her like an arrow. 
 Was it because of this her mother had made her 
 beautiful, had dressed her like a woman, had told her 
 to trust ? 
 
 As one may feel a ghostly presence in a haunted room, 
 without any testimony of the senses, Fifi had long been 
 miserably conscious of something unnatural and threat- 
 ening in the maternal attitude toward herself and Lord 
 Desmond. Now it seemed that, though her mother did 
 not like this wonderful possibility and sometimes, 
 indeed, she did not even seem to be pleased when so old 
 a friend as the Baron himself had words of admiration for 
 her she would not stand in the way of it. Though she 
 was angry, she would help. Had she not robed her in 
 her own garments ? Mothers would always do the right 
 thing! Mothers might always be trusted!
 
 288 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Her supper tray was brought in to her by the panting 
 underservant that was thought good enough to wait upon 
 the singer's daughter; but she scarcely knew what she ate 
 any more than what she was reading during her lonely 
 meals she was in the habit of having an open book before 
 her. Elisa came in before the repast, such as it was, was 
 finished, and stood surveying her with a measuring scowl. 
 The girl flung from her lip the morsel she was about to 
 raise to them she could not have swallowed it under 
 that glance! 
 
 "If you have done stuffing yourself?" said the old 
 woman the accent brought the listener back to the 
 days of her childhood when Elisa had been a terror in 
 her life. 
 
 "Madame la Comtesse said some rouge," pursued the 
 lady's maid. She manipulated with the hare's foot, and 
 then tweaked a curl. 
 
 "If she dared, she would box my ears," thought Fifi. 
 
 She looked at herself in the glass a square mirror 
 of singularly different dimensions from any of those 
 that hung in the great colonnaded bedroom downstairs. 
 She thought the heightened bloom became her and 
 yet she hesitated. 
 
 "Allez, maintenant" said Elisa. 
 
 The girl caught up her book from the table Heaven 
 knew how long she might not have to wait ? and went 
 obediently. The old woman stood at the door, watching; 
 following her with her eyes down the narrow passage 
 where the sunny head nearly touched the sloping roof; 
 gazing with that long, deep, vindictive look. Already, 
 something of Fifi's tide of hope and joy had ebbed as she
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 289 
 
 descended the breakneck stair that led its incongruous 
 way to the marble splendours below. 
 
 When she entered the reception room she was alto- 
 gether dashed to behold old Fritz. 
 
 He sat in the middle of the room, on a small chair, 
 both hands clasped on his stick. His head was a little 
 bent, as if listening. She felt that he was waiting for her; 
 and hated herself for the impulse of annoyance and rebel- 
 lion that instantly sprang within her at sight of him. 
 
 He had merely to raise his eyes a little to see her; and 
 he watched her approach without a word. It was only 
 when she was quite close to him that he spoke. 
 
 " What grand young lady have we here ? How modish! 
 How elegant ! Can this be any one of my acquaintance ?" 
 
 His tone was bitterly ironical; but in his eyes severity 
 was almost lost in sadness. The colour rushed to the 
 girl's forehead, to her rouged cheeks. Even those 
 unwontedly bare shoulders, the long throat, blushed. 
 Yet why should she be ashamed ? There was nothing 
 to be ashamed of. She jerked her chin defiantly. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? what's wrong with 
 me? My frock is beautiful. It's Mama's. And 
 Mama said I looked beautiful in it." 
 
 "So !" said Fritz, with his long German emphasis. 
 "So the gown is beautiful and you are beautiful." He 
 rose painfully and caught her by the arm, as she was 
 about to turn away in petulance. "It is beautiful to dis- 
 figure the head God has given you duly proportioned into 
 a shape only a savage would admire; to hide the brow, 
 the seat of intelligence, the throne of the soul, under 
 these untidy curls? Ach, it is beautiful to be dressed
 
 290 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 like a Christmas doll, in tinsel and beads! Du lieber! 
 is that a stocking for a respectable maiden ?" 
 
 He bent his head to look at the openwork mesh of 
 silk lace that was, indeed, somewhat unduly exposed by 
 the shortness of the skirt in front. 
 
 "And that heel, deforming the ankle. Alas! if my 
 blessed mother had seen a daughter of hers 
 
 She flung herself from him in a sudden passion of anger. 
 She was unnerved this evening, quivering to every vibra- 
 tion like the strings of an overwound instrument. Fritz 
 inspired her with fear, in spite of herself; his disfavour 
 cast doubts over her own self-satisfaction. When one is 
 vitally bent upon pleasing it takes very little to cast down 
 the spirit. 
 
 "What's the matter with me what's the matter 
 with me?" she repeated stormily. "My shoes and 
 stockings, now! They're Mama's, too, if you want 
 to know." 
 
 He stood regarding her. Her words produced no per- 
 ceptible impression beyond the deepening of the sadness 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "Your mama your mama!" he echoed. "The 
 old silly reason! See then, child, how often must I 
 explain that what may be becoming to the mama is 
 not therefore becoming to the daughter? A maiden 
 must dress maidenly. Oh, Fifi, that I should see ! 
 Have you no tucker, my poor child no kerchief ?" 
 
 "It's not meant to have a tucker." 
 
 She spoke rudely; but again the wave of blood ran 
 visibly over all the white skin to the shadow of those 
 censured curls; she turned her head away like a shame-
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 291 
 
 faced child. The old man's sorrow-laden gaze grew sud- 
 denly tender. He sighed heavily. But all at once a sharp 
 ejaculation escaped him. 
 
 "Heaven be good to me, you've painted your face!" 
 
 "Fritz!" 
 
 She stamped her foot; then raised her hands to shield 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "Oh, don't, Fritz!" 
 
 The book had fallen from her clasp in the action. Sup- 
 porting himself on his stick, he bent and picked it up. 
 One glance at the yellow cover sufficed. In his turn a 
 storm of red flushed his countenance; the veins on his 
 forehead swelled. "You've got that book again! Did 
 I not warn you yesterday at the cottage !" 
 
 "I wanted to see the end of it." 
 
 "It should not ever have been even between your 
 hands!" he thundered. 
 
 She tried to defend herself. 
 
 "I heard Mama talking about it again. She says it 
 is cut out of the quick cut out of the quick her 
 own words." 
 
 "Aye!" He interrupted her with a despairing cry: 
 " Your mama your mama ! " 
 
 Propping his stick against his chair, he tore the book 
 deliberately apart and flung the pieces from him into the 
 bank of palms behind the couch with unexpected strength. 
 
 "You do nothing but scold, scold," protested she, on 
 the verge of irritable tears. "It's a stupid old book, 
 anyhow. The stupidest book I ever read ! I can't make 
 head or tail of it. But I'm going to read the end of it, all 
 the same. I'm tired of being bullied, bullied by every
 
 292 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 one! Do you think I can't pick it out of that, you old 
 silly?" 
 
 As if the weight of trouble and anger were too much 
 for his suffering frame, the old musician sank back into 
 the chair. The hands that clasped the crutch of the 
 stick once more were trembling. 
 
 "Alas!" he said brokenly. "I felt it! I knew it! 
 Something would not let me rest to-night. I was driven 
 to come back here to you. Alas, my poor child ! " 
 
 There was a pause. Sullenly she drew toward the 
 couch, and sat on the end of it; her shoulders turned 
 upon him, her head averted, picking aimlessly at the long 
 fur. She must keep herself angry, or she would cry. 
 She didn't know what had come to her of late; she was 
 becoming an absolute cry-baby. 
 
 At length Fritz spoke again; his accents were calmer; 
 but they struck a chill to her heart, in their masterfulness 
 and finality. And what he said appalled her: 
 
 " This is no place for you. This life of your mama's, 
 of the great singer, the people she must see, the things 
 you must hear even to the books that lie about for you 
 to read it is all unfit for you poison ! " 
 
 Her scared eyes were on his face. 
 
 "Poison!" he said again. And his voice filled the 
 great room. Then it fell and softened : 
 
 " Come over to me, come to me, Fifi." 
 
 Slowly she obeyed, her eyes still fixed upon him. She 
 was like a child, a child who dreads a blow. He took 
 her unresponsive hand. 
 
 " My little one ! There is the old farm-house in the 
 valley do you remember ? "
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 293 
 
 " Where your sister lives ? " Angry apprehension had 
 robbed her tones of all their young music. 
 
 " You used to like to hear about it all, in the old days. 
 Of the farm-house with the garden, and the old well, 
 the bees, the cows, and the goat " 
 
 She drew her hand away. 
 
 "It does not amuse me any more. That was when I 
 was quite little." 
 
 "And yet, child, I am thinking it would be a very good 
 thing if you were to go there now just for the present." 
 
 He spoke with extreme gentleness, but she felt an 
 iron inflexibility of purpose behind this very gentleness. 
 
 She cried out, as if he had struck her. "Oh!" and 
 again, with a little moan : " Oh! " and next fury seized her. 
 " So this is what you've been plotting ? " 
 
 Something of her mother's insolence was in her voice 
 and glance. But he proceeded as if he had neither heard 
 nor felt. 
 
 "For the present, at least, certainly. I have many 
 times wished to send you there; but it was never the right 
 moment. Now it is the right moment Mein liebes 
 Kind" he added with an extraordinary note of tender- 
 ness, " it used to be our old dream." 
 
 She moaned again, as if she were in pain. 
 
 "Oh, Fritz, I couldn't; I couldn't!" 
 
 He caught her passionately protesting hand in his. 
 
 " Na, does piccolo flute lead the orchestra ? Du 
 Kleine, thou must let the old man decide for thee." 
 
 And here it was that the rebellion, secretly gathering 
 for years, broke forth from her at last. By what right 
 did the old repetitor assume this guardianship ? Long
 
 294 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 enough she had suffered under his unjustified thrall. 
 Too long! It was time to end it. 
 
 " Decide for me ! You're mad ! Why should you 
 decide for me ? " 
 
 He looked at her steadily. 
 
 " I will arrange with your mama." 
 
 Arrange with her mother! That was to say, give his 
 orders and see them enforced! The terror of his unac- 
 knowledged power drove her to insult. 
 
 "How dare you! how dare you!" she stammered. 
 "Oh, Mama is right, she has been saying it often 
 enough; we have spoiled you, she and I." 
 
 The old man turned livid, as if pierced to the heart. 
 
 " Ach, du mein Gott!" he said under his breath. 
 
 In the heavy silence that succeeded the girl grew 
 ashamed of the cruelty of her youth and petulance. 
 Two or three times she looked anxiously at the bent 
 gray head, hesitated upon speech, yet found no words, 
 partly lest he should take apology for submission and 
 submission just now, was impossible partly because 
 she really dared not address him. At length, very wearily 
 and with a great effort, he got up. 
 
 "So " he said, in an extinguished voice, "that is 
 where we are! Look back on all the years that you 
 can remember, Fifi. Was not the old man always think- 
 ing of you, caring for you ? The holidays you spent with 
 him, year after year, from the schools. That summer 
 when you had the fever, and you would let no one else 
 touch you the treats and pleasures he invented for 
 you it all appears to you, now, nothing but a liberty! 
 A liberty, and nothing else "
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 295 
 
 "I didn't mean," she faltered; but she hung back, 
 and her eyes were still shadowed by mistrust, defiance. 
 
 He swayed as he stood, and passed his handkerchief 
 over a forehead suddenly wet with anguish. 
 
 "I must go," he said faintly. An unbearable spasm 
 of his complaint had seized him. "This is too much, 
 I am not yet strong enough." 
 
 He took two or three limping paces away from her, 
 and then stopped, calling upon all his forces, to stand 
 and speak again: 
 
 "Think not I give it up, child," he said, in German, 
 with solemn articulation. "I know my duty at last. 
 Too long have I neglected it." 
 
 And with that, dragging himself, he left her. 
 
 The girl looked after him, torn between conflicting 
 emotions; then the terror of his threat, of all it would 
 mean to her if fulfilled, roused her to an impulse of 
 final mutiny. She had been right; Fritz had presumed! 
 It was intolerable! However useful he might be to her 
 mother's career, her own life should no longer be sacri- 
 ficed to his old-fashioned burgher notions, to his self- 
 imposed guardianship, his unwarranted interferences. 
 
 As if to begin the work of self-defence, she first has- 
 tened to survey herself in the most accommodating 
 mirror, re-establishing her satisfaction in the attire he 
 had condemned. Then she went in search of the parted 
 halves of the book; found them with some difficulty; and 
 deliberately sat down to read.
 
 IX 
 
 A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE 
 
 THEY were at dessert round the pseudo-Greek board. 
 The impresario and the critic had laboured to keep up 
 conversation during the meal. Only a few words had the 
 prima donna contributed. The diplomatist achieved a 
 record of silence. 
 
 Now, with long, naked arms propped each side of her 
 neglected plate, La Marmora roused herself from far 
 contemplation, to fix the man opposite to her, Scott. 
 He was delicately peeling a peach. 
 
 " Ah ca! " she called out to him, " you know you were not 
 invited to dine here to-night." 
 
 He glanced up jocularly. 
 
 " Was I not, dear lady ? Is it possible ? How could 
 I have made so agreeable a mistake ? " 
 
 But there was no responsive smile in the set face of the 
 hostess. 
 
 "You have such a sense of humour," she sneered; 
 " it is not possible always to share it," she said. " Sup- 
 pose, now, you were to rectify this mistake of 
 yours." 
 
 The Baron's jaw dropped. 
 
 "My dear friend! " he remonstrated after a gasp of 
 horrified astonishment. 
 
 Mr. Scott also was gasping. The prima donna pur- 
 
 96
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 297 
 
 sued, with that gathering fury in her voice which resem- 
 bled a growl. 
 
 "Ah, do you take me for the kind of person that it is 
 safe to play tricks on ? Is my house to be made free 
 with as it were a restaurant ? Do you walk in here to 
 meet whom you will suit your little games, smoke, 
 drink, feed 
 
 But Scott had risen, and his action brought her to 
 a standstill, breathing heavily through her dilated 
 nostrils and measuring him with glaring eyes as he 
 advanced round the length of the table, toward her 
 in considering the circumstances a very creditable 
 dignity. 
 
 "I trust, my dear lady," he began and though his fat, 
 pink face had grown pale, his voice remained urbane, 
 "that if I have erred in construing a special into a gen- 
 eral invitation, you will allow me to rectify my error, with 
 all possible alacrity only the privilege of kissing your 
 hand, and a word of apology " 
 
 She waved him from her. " No, no no apology ! " 
 Whether intentionally or not, her angry gesticulation 
 pointed toward the portiere. 
 
 " If I may not speak, I can write," said the critic, then, 
 with a hissing breath. 
 
 His eyes met those of the Baron; he waved his loosely 
 hung hand toward that gentleman's countenance of des- 
 pair, nodded at Desmond, and marched out of the room. 
 
 The manager struck his forehead. 
 
 "And he will write, too!" he groaned. "You will 
 get an apology from him the morning after Salome, 
 my dear! To think," he proceeded almost tearfully,
 
 298 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "that I have put up with Philip Scott for fifteen years, 
 and that this is how we stand!" 
 
 "Ah, vous m'assommez!" said the singer. 
 
 Her manager flung upon her a single irate glance; then, 
 in his turn, he rose suddenly. 
 
 " At least I am not out of my mind," he said with more 
 bitterness than he often allowed himself to betray. " You'll 
 excuse me, if I follow our poor friend." 
 
 " Oh, go, go " she agreed with a fierce little laugh, 
 " and, by the same occasion, tell Fifi that we expect to find 
 her waiting for us presently." She pronounced these 
 words with significant emphasis, and added: "You 
 needn't hurry back, Robecq." 
 
 The other, moving deliberately away, did not turn his 
 head. Lord Desmond sat on, his eyes fixed on his plate. 
 For the sake of that interview with Fifi, so strangely prof- 
 f erred, he was willing to wait even an hour longer in the 
 Panther's den; the more readily that the eyes turned 
 upon him were, to-night, those of hatred. 
 
 A minute or two passed in heavy silence; and then the 
 woman spoke: 
 
 " Have you got any cigarettes ? Pass them to me. I 
 will smoke." 
 
 He pushed his silver case without a word, struck a 
 match and held it toward her. 
 
 But she, leaning suddenly forward, caught his hand 
 with a grip and lit the cigarette thus. She drove her 
 nails into his wrist as she clutched it. Then she puffed 
 a cloud of smoke at him and released him with a spas- 
 modic gesture that was as savage as a blow. 
 
 "Why did you send me lily of the valley?" she asked.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 299 
 
 He drew his cuff over the marks left on his wrist, took 
 up a cigarette with long, pale fingers; and only after he 
 had deliberately lighted it, answered: 
 
 "I did not send them to you." 
 
 Her breast heaved stormily; the great rough jewels 
 flashing and darkening as they rose and fell. 
 
 " Comment cela? " 
 
 " I sent them to Mademoiselle Lovinska," he explained, 
 in French, likewise. 
 
 She dashed her cigarette from her, caught her throat 
 with one hand as if she were strangling, and, with a 
 supreme effort, restrained the cry of fury that was surging 
 to her lips. 
 
 Desmond cast down his eyes. This was extremely 
 tiresome and boring; but it was better than being smiled 
 upon. 
 
 All at once she reached across the table again this 
 time only touching the back of his hand with a cold finger. 
 "You wrote: 'For Madame la Marmora' on your card," 
 she said, under her breath. 
 
 He glanced at her. Her lips were distended in a dread- 
 ful smile. His blue eyes grew steely. 
 
 "I beg your pardon: I wrote: 'For Mademoiselle '- 
 I meant the flowers for Mademoiselle." 
 
 "C'est bien," she said, "c'est bien." 
 
 She clutched the curved arms of her classic chair with a 
 fierceness that made each bone start. "C'est bien," she 
 repeated in a fainter voice: "you will have occasion to 
 send her more flowers, by and by." 
 
 Almost for the span of a minute, she sat in this tense 
 attitude, her head craned forward, her eyes rending him;
 
 800 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 all the beautiful curves of throat and shoulders distorted. 
 Then, once more fiercely mistress of herself was it not 
 worth while to wait for the moment of vengeance ? 
 she fell upon his cigarette case and match-box, turned 
 out the whole contents of the case and began to light 
 and smoke one cigarette after the other, with an extra- 
 ordinary swiftness and intensity. 
 
 The man lay back in his chair, patient, abstracted 
 determined. A dead silence lay between them. 
 
 By the exit he had chosen Scott was obliged to cross 
 the reception room on his way out of the house. Fifi, 
 yainly endeavouring to concentrate her attention upon 
 the "stupidest book she'd ever read," glanced up, with 
 a leap of the heart, to find that the entering figure dis- 
 played merely the rotundity, the close-cropped gray hair, 
 the odious smirking face of the man she most disliked of 
 all her mother's friends. Hers was an expressive coun- 
 tenance. The critic, approaching, met her glance of 
 greeting with one that was nothing less than vindictive. 
 
 Vaguely she thought: "This is the fourth, to-day, who 
 has looked at me with dislike!" Even the blue eyes 
 even the blue eyes had contemned. Was it only in old 
 Fritz's stern gaze that she was to find an abiding depth 
 of love ? 
 
 "Hullo, Miss Fifi," said the intruder, after running 
 her up and down with his malevolent scrutiny, "not 
 gracing the dinner table and you so beautiful!" 
 
 "And how is it," she cried, flushing in her unlearnt 
 habit of schoolgirl retort, "how is it that you are no longer 
 gracing the dinner table, and you so beautiful ?"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 301 
 
 He had a small laugh which would have made the 
 blood of the sagacious Baron run cold. 
 
 "I have been already quite sufficiently well enter- 
 tained to-night, thank you, Miss Fifi. We critics, you 
 know," he waved his limp-wristed hands, "the servants 
 of the public! the servants of the public! Ta-ta, mj 
 young friend!" 
 
 He blew her a kiss that was the acme of insolence; 
 squinted at the yellow-covered book on her lap, and 
 chuckled loudly, as he trotted away. 
 
 The weighted portiere was slowly settling down behind 
 him, when Robecq stepped into the room from the oppo- 
 site side. 
 
 He came halfway across, then paused. 
 
 "Was that Scott?" 
 
 The girl nodded. Her underlip was slightly thrust 
 forth; another tiresome person 
 
 "Have you ever seen a pig in a rage?" she cried. 
 "That's what that horrid little man looked like. What 
 did you do to him?" 
 
 The impresario made no reply; he was reflecting. The 
 mischief was done; to admit fear now, by trying to apolo- 
 gize for the woman, would only be to intensify it. It is 
 hopeless to try and caress back into good-humour a poison- 
 ous reptile roused to anger; better stamp on it safer 
 still, get out of its path! The outer door was slammed 
 upon his conclusion. 
 
 And our friend will have to walk to the station. As 
 far as the Commonwealth Review is concerned, Salome's 
 dished! Well, Salome herself had still to be conciliated, 
 if Salome there was to be at all!
 
 302 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 The poor manager passed a hand over his careworn 
 brow, and set himself with what courage he might to his 
 desperate task. He advanced, smiling his genial smile, 
 and sat down beside the girl, who made room for him, not 
 very graciously. 
 
 "Kitten well, Miss Fifi?" 
 
 Her face lit up immediately. 
 
 "Oh, such a darling! I left him asleep in the very 
 middle of my bed. Do you know that his eyes are turn- 
 ing green ? " 
 
 "They'll be orange, all right, in a month or so." 
 
 " Orange ? " She dwelt on the thought with a delighted 
 smile. 
 
 His glance mused on her. The mischief, to keep a 
 splendid creature like that in leading strings! Positively, 
 "Kittens" seemed the only subject that they could meet 
 upon so far. He drove his fingers into his beard and 
 began again: 
 
 "Had a good supper, Miss Fifi ?" 
 
 The light died out of her face. The pouting mouth 
 betrayed her sense of injury. 
 
 "Tea and a boiled egg." 
 
 "Too bad!" 
 
 After all, this was not such a bad start. The young, 
 beautiful, slighted being edged closer to her only helper. 
 
 " Mama is so strange to-night ! She dressed me up 
 like this, hours and hours ago. Said that I was grown 
 up, quite grown up, and that I looked well, rather 
 nice! And then in the same breath says I'm not to 
 come down till after dinner and treats me as if I was two 
 years old."
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 303 
 
 "Is that so?" said the listener with emphatic sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 He hesitated upon the advisability of taking her hand; 
 but refrained. 
 
 "Nobody wants me," she went on with a trembling 
 lip. 
 
 "My dear little girl " he purred. 
 
 But she broke in again, all to her grievance, unheed- 
 ing the motion of his arm behind her, the kindling of his 
 gaze upon her: 
 
 "It's been a horrid day! Everybody is so cross, so 
 odd!" 
 
 "I hope I've not seemed cross, or " he gave a faintly 
 nervous laugh, "or odd?" 
 
 She brushed the suggestion away with complete indif- 
 ference. 
 
 "Oh, no, not you. I wasn't thinking of you. Elisa 
 and and The name burning on her heart was 
 
 the last she could pronounce. "Elisa and Fritz! And 
 
 Mama! Mama was odd. Quite, quite kind " 
 
 She was unconscious of any irony. "But Fritz was hor- 
 rid. He wants to have me sent away to Germany! 
 Oh, Baron" she flung out both hands to him 
 "Baron, don't let them! You'll stand up for me ? Don't 
 let them!" 
 
 He caught the impulsive hands and pressed them 
 reassuringly, tenderly. Old Fritz was an unsuspecting 
 ally indeed just now Fritz, his most dreaded opponent! 
 
 "Ah he wants to send you back to Germany, 
 does he? That's too bad! No, no, we won't allow 
 that."
 
 304 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "You'll stand my friend, won't you?" she pleaded, 
 her dewy eyes widening upon him. 
 
 "Indeed, I will, dear little friend." 
 
 The pressure of his clasp had become so ardent that, 
 instinctively, she drew her hands away. Yet, absorbed 
 in her trouble, she scarcely realized her own action. He 
 was not displeased at the withdrawal; the sooner she 
 regarded him as a man and not a vieux papa, the better. 
 He pursued what he thought his advantage. 
 
 "You're tired of always being treated like a child, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "You know I'm twenty-one " 
 
 The pent-up indignation of a long-felt injury flashed in 
 her glance, resounded in her voice. 
 
 "Hush hush!" He put his finger on his lips. 
 "We don't announce that quite so loud, do we? Your 
 Mama's a little nervous to-night. The fact is, my 
 dear Miss Fifi, you ought to be married married, my 
 dear. And then no one would dare to order you about." 
 
 "Married!" 
 
 A lovely carmine rushed to her face. She flung a 
 fugitive look upon him a look of shyness exquisitely 
 hovering on happiness then dropped her eyelids. Her 
 heart was in a tumult. Had not her mother told her to 
 trust ? Was this old friend sent further to prepare her ? 
 Lord Desmond was even now in the dining room. Per- 
 haps discussing. She had learned abroad how parents 
 arrange marriages first. 
 
 The Baron was proceeding. 
 
 "You would do just as you liked. It would be better 
 than going to Germany, wouldn't it?"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 305 
 
 The reminder stung her into mingled scorn and fear. 
 
 "Germany! In the farm-house with Fritz's old 
 sister ! Oh ! I'm likely to be married there, am I not ? " 
 
 "You've only got to say the word you shan't go to 
 Germany." 
 
 "Oh, Baron, you'll you mean " She checked 
 
 herself. Again embarrassment seized her. She laughed, 
 confused, blushing. " I don't know I don't know " 
 
 In his phraseology, "she was adorable!" The task 
 he had thought so inopportune was becoming over- 
 whelmingly attractive. His strong head began to swim, 
 ever so slightly. 
 
 "Ah, but I know My little friend " 
 
 He took her hand, with a soft gesture; and as it lay inert 
 in his, the ardour of his pressure grew again. "My 
 little friend would like to be married to have a home 
 of her own. To have some one to order about instead 
 of being ordered about herself." 
 
 The flushed face was turned with a quick movement 
 of astonishment upon him, the golden-hazel eyes were 
 startled from their shy dream. But he was carried 
 away. 
 
 "Some one who would do all she wants," he was urging 
 amorously, "always, always! Who would give her as 
 much money to spend as she liked dresses, jewels, 
 pearls ! Pearls, Miss Fifi for that long, beautiful 
 throat! A great immense rope of pearls 
 
 Her hand was struggling in his, like an imprisoned bird; 
 her glance fluttered uneasily from his gaze. She had 
 never seen the Baron look like that. She hardly knew 
 what it meant; but it both offended and terrified her.
 
 306 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "I don't understand !" she faltered. 
 
 He could not stop himself now. Ever more closely 
 he held her; ever more ardently proceeded: 
 
 "Wouldn't you like pearls? They needn't pre- 
 vent diamonds! Fifi, one word, come, you are not 
 afraid of me, are you ? Won't you be my little 
 baroness?" 
 
 Utter amazement robbed her for the moment of all 
 power to struggle. 
 
 "You! You?" 
 
 "Even myself 
 
 "You want to marry me ?" 
 
 "More than than the whole world!" 
 
 She freed herself with sudden strength. Then the 
 tension of her multiplied emotions culminated in a burst 
 of hysterical laughter. 
 
 "Me? You! I marry you! Oh, good gracious !" 
 
 A second or two he contemplated her, and the look that 
 had frightened her in his eyes became intensified into 
 something approaching ferocity. The most spiritual 
 man is doubled with the brute. The Baron was not 
 spiritual. 
 
 "Do you prefer Germany? Exile to the farm-house 
 of Fritz's old sister? Or some other school or institu- 
 tion where you'll be kept till all your youth is gone ? 
 I tell you I can't fight for you, unless you are my wife. 
 I'm powerless, between your mother and Fritz unless 
 you are my wife. Oh, you laughed at the bare idea 
 laugh away! We shall laugh together, by and by, my 
 beauty!" 
 
 He caught her round the waist.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 307 
 
 The black fear, with which she had heard him expound 
 the situation, had felt its stabbing truth, was succeeded 
 by a blind panic of revolt as his touch encircled her. 
 
 " Let me go, let me go ! " 
 
 "One kiss, first " 
 
 The impresario had lost his head. Excellent mate- 
 rialist as he was, life had never given him an emotion even 
 approaching this before. His brain had schemed and 
 worked for the wealth, the comfort, the power, he had alone 
 deemed covetable. Love had found no room in his 
 measured and successful existence. The passion of the 
 man whose time for passion is almost past was now 
 drowning all his usual faculties; breaking down the guard 
 of years, sweeping him he scarce knew where. And at 
 the back of it all was the consciousness that he must 
 be victorious, to-night, at once! Not only for the sake 
 of his great venture, but because if he failed now, as a 
 lover, the moment might never strike again. 
 
 "Let me go!" she panted and then screamed. The 
 piercingness of her cry drove them apart like a 
 sword. 
 
 " How dare you. . . ! " She had sprung to her feet 
 and stood, scorning him; beautiful like some young Val- 
 kyrie in her storm of outraged maidenliness. "How 
 dare you touch me, you horrible old man! How dare 
 you think you can buy me, with your pearls, your jewels ! 
 . . . I marry you ! The very sight of you makes me 
 sick!" 
 
 The language was that of a schoolgirl; but the resent- 
 ment that dictated it was all of a woman. 
 
 The Baron sat, motionless, staring before him.
 
 308 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Man is so made, that the tenser the emotion, whether 
 of the senses or of the spirit, the more rapidly it passes. 
 Of its own violence it dies. Rueful, ashamed, the man- 
 ager felt his heat of passion subside; and he looked only 
 on his own folly. 
 
 "And this is what comes of mixing pleasure and busi- 
 ness!" he thought. 
 
 Fifi's cry pierced into the dining hall and struck the 
 two who sat there. La Marmora dropped her cigarette, 
 and sat listening for one moment of keenly arrested 
 attention, nostrils widened, brows contracted her 
 glance sideways flung. Lord Desmond leaned forward 
 and fixed her. That was Fifi's voice! What was hap- 
 pening there within ? The Panther knew. 
 
 Both unconsciously waited for a second call; but half 
 a minute passed, and still there was silence a silence 
 that became sinister, unendurable to the man. He rose 
 and impulsively hastened toward the archway. His 
 hostess overtook him as he lifted the portiere, and brushed 
 out before him, almost flinging the silk folds back in his 
 face, as if to exclude him. 
 
 He saw, with a vague wonder, as he disengaged himself, 
 that his hands were trembling. 
 
 At sight of her mother, Fifi sprang down from the 
 dais toward her, and then brought herself up short. She 
 cast one swift look from the singer's face to that of Lord 
 Desmond, and back again; and stood, head upflung, 
 with fluctuating colour and fingers nervously interlaced 
 a creature at bay.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 309 
 
 La Marmora had halted too. Now she bore down on 
 Robecq. 
 
 "Well ?" 
 
 The single word rang out like the crack of a whip. 
 Robecq shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Ah!" The singer drew in her breath; then, gut- 
 terally, in a voice that seemed to rise straight from those 
 hidden depths of vulgarity in her soul: "What's the 
 meaning of this ? " she fulminated. 
 
 Once again the impresario shrugged his shoulders, 
 with ever so slight a gesture toward the motionless figure 
 of Lord Desmond. A moment he sought to catch the 
 diplomatist's eye to convey a warning, a reassurance, 
 as if he said: "Do not attach any importance to this 
 little scene. Singers are impossible creatures who 
 should know better than I ? Only let us remain normal ! " 
 Then he got up, and advanced to his troublesome property ; 
 the old, good-humoured, deliberate, resigned Robecq. 
 
 " My dear friend, there's nothing to agitate you. Miss 
 Fifi is a little startled. Your humble servant has been 
 duly snubbed. Give us all time a little more time!" 
 
 His words, well-meaning as they were, roused the 
 girl to a renewal of panic ! 
 
 "Mama Mama," she cried, high-voiced; "he talks 
 of marrying me ! Me ! " 
 
 The mother turned like a viper. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 She caught the arm that had been outstretched in 
 appeal, so savagely that the Baron instinctively sprang 
 forward. 
 
 " Laissez moi faire! " she hissed at him.
 
 310 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Then her last remnant of self-control gave way. She 
 had prepared a sensation and it had failed. But venge- 
 ance was not relinquished. All the baseness in her 
 poured in remorseless fury and hatred from her lips. 
 
 "Parole d'honneur! . . . What do you expect, 
 I should like to know ! You little fool sotte! petite 
 sotte! To what do you aspire, I wonder ? What do you 
 think you were allowed out of the school-room for? 
 What do you think I burdened myself with you for, 
 all these months ? Idiote, imbecile, bete que iu esl Who 
 are you, what are you, to set yourself against your mother ? 
 . . . Ingrate! . . . Your mother! Hold your 
 tongue, Robecq! I will manage this! Allans! Here 
 is her hand." 
 
 "Mama! Oh, no, Mama!" Fifi struggled against 
 that savage grip in vain; then flung her free hand 
 over her eyes. (Before Lord Desmond she was ready 
 to die of shame.) 
 
 " It is yes it is yes ! I tell you it is yes ! " The 
 mother had an atrocious mirth in her throat. "Here, 
 take her hand, Baron!" 
 
 (And he was standing by, without a word !) 
 
 "I won't!" screamed the girl, pushed beyond the limits 
 of endurance. "I never will! Ah, you think I don't 
 understand. I know why you want to marry me off!" 
 She fought to disengage herself, and with a supreme 
 wrench succeeded. "I know why you want to get me 
 out of the way." 
 
 She did not know what she was saying. 
 
 "Ah, be quiet, you silly child!" whispered Robecq 
 in her ear.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 311 
 
 In vain that he remained "normal"! Abnormal 
 passions were at work and the drama swept by him, 
 beyond his power to control. As well might a man strive 
 to stem a flood with the sluice-gate of the roadside 
 stream. 
 
 "You want to get me out of the way," repeated the 
 girl in her high, strained note, that rang close upon tears. 
 " I can't help being young ! I can't help growing up 
 I can't help people liking me " 
 
 Whether intentionally or whether with a mere instinct 
 of seeking for help from the quarter she most yearned 
 to receive it from, here she turned and sought Lord 
 Desmond with her eyes. The Panther caught the glance; 
 and with a sharp cry of rage, that snarl in her throat, 
 with which the Baron had been ominously acquainted 
 once or twice before, she struck her child on the cheek. 
 
 "My God! . . ." The Baron was the only one 
 of the four who called out. Fifi stood as if turned to 
 stone, her head raised ; on her countenance, white behind 
 the spots of rouge, the mark of the blow began to stand 
 out, flaming. 
 
 La Marmora was crouching, in the attitude in which 
 she had struck. 
 
 Desmond, suddenly gray-faced, still made no move- 
 ment, until Robecq flung an imperative gesture toward 
 him, bidding instant departure. Then he looked once at 
 Fifi, once at the Panther the extreme of passion and 
 the extreme of loathing were in those two glances and 
 slowly turned and walked from the place: not through 
 the archway that led into the hall, but through the open 
 columns of the terrace. He was pursued by different
 
 312 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 sounds; a long, throbbing, hysterical cry from La Mar- 
 mora, as she sank into Robecq's arms, and from Fifi's 
 lips, laughter! 
 
 Out of the girl's outraged heart this dreadful laughter 
 sprang. Tears were too sacred and too healing to be 
 granted to such an injury as hers. 
 
 Without more ado, the impresario hustled the writh- 
 ing woman out of the room. In sheer humanity he could 
 not leave the Panther to maltreat her cub any more; 
 besides this, the commercial instinct was once more assert- 
 ing itself. It had indeed been a disastrous evening for 
 him; but prompt action might still save his investment. 
 The first thing was to put a stop to the damaging shrieks, 
 any one of which might be fatal to that golden asset 
 Salome's voice. 
 
 " You will do this once too often, my dear," he had said 
 in Vienna. If he had had a bottle of chloroform to his 
 hand, he had been capable of smothering her with it 
 that moment!
 
 X 
 
 ANOTHER PROPOSAL 
 
 DESMOND went deliberately down into the syringa walk. 
 It was damp and chill after the rain but the perfume 
 was intoxicating. Here he had planned, by some means 
 or other, to walk with his nymph that night; to grasp, 
 without regard to the future, some hour of entrancement, 
 some exquisite dalliance with the infatuation that was 
 consuming him. 
 
 When he had formed this resolution, he had been once 
 again under the spell of the temptation that bade him 
 gather at least a memory for the rest of his life. A kiss, 
 and a farewell. . . . Or, a kiss and after that the 
 deluge! What did it matter? Among the syringa 
 bushes, he and she alone . . . and at least once 
 his lips on hers! 
 
 But now all was changed; he carried down with him 
 an image that seemed to go visibly, lit by flame, beside 
 him. No longer his nymph, but a creature with head 
 flung back and eyes at bay; hung with mock brilliants 
 that glittered and trembled like a fiery spray with the 
 beating of her heart, with the panting of her breath. A 
 creature in the very flower of her young womanhood, 
 with exquisite naked shoulders and arms, and feet arched 
 like those of a goddess, exposed by that ill-fitting finery 
 of sweeping satin; with painted face, one poor cheek 
 
 313
 
 314 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 blazing the shame of her mother's blow. A helpless 
 thing; frail, most piteous! The virginal woodland thing 
 no longer, alas ! but only Fifi, the Panther's Cub ! 
 
 He paced the syringa walk from end to end once. The 
 languor of the soft dark night and the poison sweetness 
 of the flowers entered into his veins. The throbbing of 
 his pulses settled down at last to the long, slow hammer 
 of intensified excitement which the strong man mistakes 
 for calmness. 
 
 His mind had been made up, he told himself, from 
 the moment her cry had pierced to his ears; it was a cry 
 for help It was a cry for him ! What he could give 
 her, he would give. 
 
 But he had not sought this solitary spot to battle with 
 his feelings, not even to encourage himself to irretriev- 
 able action; he only wanted to contemplate the fixity 
 of his own resolution a minute or two, apart; to let the 
 molten heat of it harden, as it were, into steel. 
 
 It was almost with a light step that he sprang up the 
 grass stairs once more. Now, he had merely the detail 
 of his action to settle, and the first move was to see Fifi 
 alone. 
 
 He halted in the shadow, as once before he had done, 
 and listened. All was silent. At least the fantastic 
 marble hall had this advantage; it held no secret, either 
 of sight or sound, from the garden these summer nights. 
 
 Empty ! Was it empty ? 
 
 He came up the slope with caution. If necessary, 
 he must find some way of communication with his poor 
 girl this very night; bribe, or coax, or demand he felt 
 reckless enough for anything.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 315 
 
 Something like a moan floated out upon the delicate 
 peace of the air. His heart contracted, and then burned. 
 What were they doing to her ? 
 
 With a leap he bounded up the marble steps, and then, 
 dazzled by the flood of light, halted on the threshold, and 
 shaded his eyes to look. Then those steady pulses 
 seemed to stop. She was there. 
 
 Prone on the couch she lay, her golden head abased. 
 It was the attitude of one broken, despairing. She 
 scarcely seemed to breathe. It was not from her that the 
 sound of lament had come to him. One would as soon 
 have expected a lily beaten down by the storm to cry 
 out. . . . Yes, a flower cast upon the earth, she 
 was that! 
 
 He came nearer and called her. He would not touch 
 her. 
 
 "Fifi. . . . !" 
 
 She shuddered, slowly lifted herself and turned to 
 him. Her eyes, darkly encircled, looked abnormally 
 large. The rouge which Elisa had put on with no spar- 
 ing hand, mocked the ashen pallor of one cheek; the 
 other as she felt his gaze upon her, her whole counte- 
 nance grew scarlet she raised her hand to shelter that 
 infamous mark from him. An overwhelming pity 
 mingled with his passion. 
 
 "May I sit down beside you?" he said, very quietly, 
 and took the space she made for him, carefully keeping 
 himself apart from her. 
 
 She drew herself still closer to the head of the couch. 
 
 No, no, he did not love her there was nothing but 
 compassion in his eyes. And she would not have his
 
 316 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 compassion. Why had he come back? He had stood 
 by, without a word, and let them torture her: had watched 
 the infamy of that blow, and had not even a cry of man- 
 hood! He was like all the rest, slinking back, when she 
 was alone. And for what? No, he did not love her! 
 She had no one in the world to love her, but Fritz 
 and Fritz was cruel, too. . . . She turned her head 
 away, still sheltering that burning cheek with her hand. 
 
 As she moved, the torn yellow book came into view 
 between them. Desmond took it up, glanced at it, and 
 dropped it at his feet. 
 
 " I'll run away ! I'll not stay here any more. . . . 
 Her breast heaved. Bitter, defiant words dropped from 
 her lips. "I'm the most unhappy creature on the face 
 of this earth, but I'll stand it no longer. I'll run away!" 
 
 "Indeed. . . ." Forcibly he kept his voice in 
 those measured tones. " And where will you go ? What 
 will you do ? " 
 
 " Plenty of places I can go to ! . . . Plenty of things 
 I can do!" she went on, stung to a wilder vehemence. 
 "That much, at least, I've learned in this house! I'm 
 not a fool. I know I'm not ugly. Why shouldn't I 
 sing, like Mama, or dance, or act? But I won't do 
 what they want I won't ! " She turned the pitiful 
 disfigured beauty of her countenance upon him! "I 
 won't marry that dreadful old man. I hate him! I 
 loathe him ! And I won't be buried in Germany 
 that's what Fritz wants. I won't be imprisoned again. 
 I'm grown up, I'm a woman, I've got my life to live. 
 Why should I marry? Why shouldn't I live my life? 
 . . . I'm not a fool or a baby."
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 317 
 
 All at once a sob rose, strangling, in her throat : 
 
 "Anybody would be kinder to me than they are here. 
 I will live my life," she cried. And a second dry sob 
 rent her. 
 
 "Panther's Cub," said the man, under his breath. 
 Then in another moment, he had her in his arms. His 
 voice, low, troubled, hoarse, was in her ear. 
 
 "Well, I'm better than Robecq! I'm as good as the 
 theatre ... at least I can take you out of this!" 
 
 She could not answer him, the surprise was too great, 
 the relief was too exquisite. But the tears came raining 
 down her cheeks. She let all her young body relax into 
 his embrace; it was a surrender as complete as her trust. 
 
 His lips were on her outraged cheek. He felt her 
 tears upon them with an indescribable tearing of the 
 soul. 
 
 All that love could give her, she should have " Love, 
 love! . . ." The words escaped him confusedly, 
 in the husky low accents of his passion. " Love, lovely 
 Beloved!" and "Love," again he murmured. And still 
 his lips pressed. Oh, for that blow, that had given her 
 to him, how she should be loved! 
 
 A moment, in his headlong impulse toward her, he 
 was poised on the mad project of carrying her away 
 with him, then and there. But he glanced at her face, 
 marred, stained with tears and smudged with rouge 
 quivering, so tired, so young, and through all so lovely 
 to him! and some unknown depths of tenderness in 
 his nature awoke. 
 
 She must recover herself, she must rest, she must do 
 this thing with due deliberation. He could not take
 
 318 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 advantage of her desolateness, nor of this first moment 
 of awakened love. 
 
 " Can you trust yourself to me, then ? " 
 
 Trust him! Her eyes answered for her. Her trem- 
 bling, dumb lips Those lips ! he had not kissed them 
 yet. Not yet ! 
 
 "Then, listen," he said, taking both her hands. "I 
 will come for you to-morrow. If I come for you to-mor- 
 row, will you let me take you away ? " 
 
 A sigh, an indefinable movement of yielding toward 
 him; and again, voicelessly, he was answered. 
 
 " To come away with me ! To be mine to let me 
 care for you ! To be my love for as long as you can love 
 me, for as long as I can make you love me! Fifi, you 
 understand it will not be a slight and passing thing? 
 Oh, I think I shall want you always! . . ."
 
 BOOK IV
 
 FIFI TELLS HER STORY 
 
 FIFI looked round the room in which she found her- 
 self momentarily alone with a sense of awakening from 
 a bewildered dream a curious sense of chill, attri- 
 butable to no salient cause, unless perhaps the fatigue 
 which seemed suddenly to have come upon her, and 
 the unexpected dinginess of the Dover Hotel, which Lord 
 Desmond had chosen for their halting place. 
 
 This was their sitting room. Here they were to spend 
 their first evening together! A single electric light, with 
 unshaded loop, flung into relief every prosy detail of the 
 surroundings: the huge pattern of the Morris paper, 
 the chiffonier with its cheap veneer, the lopsided sofa, 
 the armchairs in saddlebag, with their lace antimacas- 
 sars starched and blue- tinted, as were also the insuffi- 
 cient curtains that veiled, without concealing, the green 
 Venetian blinds of the bow window. 
 
 "What a horrid, horrid room!" thought the 
 girl. 
 
 The bare painted boards and the picturesque simplicity 
 of the German wayside Gasthof she had known, and 
 found pleasing, on many a summer holiday with Fritz. 
 She had known also the cushioned luxuriousness of those 
 hotels patronized by the great prima donna. But this? 
 This she could find no word for it. She was too inex- 
 
 321
 
 322 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 perienced in English travel. To her Biddicombe's 
 Marine Hotel was merely hideous. 
 
 She laid, after some deliberation, the basket she had 
 been unconsciously clutching, behind the sofa, and loos- 
 ened the strings of her motor veil. Then, becoming 
 more distinctively aware of the closeness of the room, 
 charged with many strange and musty smells, she turned 
 to the window. As she did so the sound of the sea for 
 the first time asserted itself upon her ears. Hastily 
 she drew up the clattering blind and opened the window. 
 The sea ! She could not see it, but the breath of it dashed 
 in upon her, and the voice. In the darkness, and across 
 the barrier of houses opposite, her soul seemed to seek 
 it and be sought by it. Mysterious, wide and free, like 
 the new unknown life that awaited her, it was calling. 
 Its multitudinous voices promised: what, she knew not. 
 Its restless waves beckoned: to what shore, she could 
 not guess. Only this she knew was to be hers love 
 and freedom. 
 
 Leaning against the window sill, her thoughts wandered. 
 Already the dawn of this day, when she had gone forth 
 from her home forever, seemed immensely distant; 
 already this irretrievable step seemed to have cut her off 
 completely from her past life. 
 
 She tried to recall, in orderly manner, the events of the 
 day; they slid before her mind, melting one into another, 
 like the gliding pictures of a magic-lantern show. . . . 
 The swirling passage through the veiled loveliness of the 
 early morning: from dew-spangled hedgerows, still and 
 shadowing trees, long vistas of fields all bathed in silver 
 sheen and hung with mists of pearliness, to the first ugly
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 323 
 
 outskirts of great London, to the rattle, the sordidness, 
 the dismal streets. . . . Lord Desmond had driven 
 the car himself. He had had very few words for her 
 from the moment he had helped her to step up beside 
 him to the moment of their first halt at the big hotel, 
 the name of which she did not even know. . . . There 
 he had left her for many hours. She did not think it 
 unkind of him, for he had explained to her as they went, 
 why it was best. He was known in London; she was 
 not. It had, of course, been impossible for her to bring 
 luggage out of Branksome, as she stole down through 
 the shrubberies to the corner of the road where he awaited 
 her. He could not, however, take her himself to shop, 
 but it was quite easy to order the little she wanted from 
 one of those big establishments which provide for univer- 
 sal wants. "Once in Paris," he had said, his blue eyes 
 upon her, "you shall get everything, everything 
 
 That glance of his was decking her, as he spoke, with 
 the lavishness of love. Just now she must content her- 
 self with some little boxful that would fit on the motor. 
 But she could get many things sent up on approval, and 
 amuse herself choosing, for a couple of hours. It 
 would have to be at least a couple of hours before 
 he could fetch her again, for he had much business to 
 despatch. 
 
 And before they approached the great thoroughfare, 
 he slackened speed and told her to put her veil over her 
 face. She obeyed, in the blind, unquestioning way 
 with which she had followed his least word hitherto. 
 She had wondered at first, and then laughed at herself: 
 she seemed so safe with him. But, of course, till they
 
 324 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 were married (she realized) her mother might still inter- 
 fere. Her mother or Fritz. . . . 
 
 And, after all, the time had not hung too heavily upon 
 her, in the smart sitting room in the grand Hotel; for 
 it had all been rather thrilling first the ordering by 
 telephone, and then the choosing of the pretty things, 
 of which a bewildering display was brought for inspection. 
 
 A pleasant chambermaid had helped her. And by 
 and by, when, after a lonely meal she had been beginning 
 to turn restlessly about the room, hearkening to the 
 sound of his step along the muffled corridor, the arrival 
 of three parcels, not of her own ordering, proved an 
 agreeable diversion. A little dressing case with gold 
 fittings; a box of chocolates, and a novel. 
 
 She was child enough to love a present for its own 
 sake woman enough to linger over what was to her 
 eyes a bridal gift schoolgirl enough still, to find choco- 
 lates and a novel a very good pastime. ... It was 
 a gay and dashing story of a romance in a motor car 
 and she was plunged in the second chapter, when Lord 
 Desmond had walked in upon her. 
 
 He had given her no time even to thank him: he was 
 bent on haste. They were to dine at Canterbury, he 
 told her, and catch the evening boat for France. 
 
 So, while he saw her new little box taken down, and 
 her bag, she had been veiled again by the good-natured 
 chambermaid, had received back from her the precious 
 basket, and, with a dream-like feeling strongly upon her 
 again, found herself seated once more in the car once 
 more dashing toward her wonderful future, through 
 streets and squares and desolated suburbs, out into the
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 325 
 
 green fields again! This time a chauffeur, carapaced 
 like a shining beetle, drove; and she and Desmond sat 
 together ! 
 
 That was a wonderful afternoon. After a while she 
 lifted the smothering folds of tissue before her face. It 
 was against her instinct to do anything secret and she 
 loved to feel the wind blowing against her cheeks. The 
 knowledge of his presence beside her was bliss. . . . 
 Once or twice, indeed, she had a kind of vague disap- 
 pointment that he had not once held her to his heart, 
 like last night; that even now he should not fold an arm 
 about her or even hold her hand. But she explained it 
 to herself, very sapiently : until they were married and 
 she supposed, nay, she felt quite certain it was not safe, 
 that they should be married in England until they were 
 married, why, of course. . . . That was why he 
 was so pressed with desire to get her across the 
 water. 
 
 She knew, through her English novels, that when 
 English people were engaged to be married, it was usual 
 for them to kiss and to embrace; but she also knew that 
 this was not the custom among foreigners, and doubtless 
 she was a foreigner and that was why he was thus 
 careful of her position. . . . 
 
 So she had talked to herself, silencing the little ques- 
 tioning voices as they woke within her. 
 
 Upon this point in her reflection, Lord Desmond entered 
 the room. He carried her new travelling bag in one hand, 
 and, depositing it on the table, came over to her. His 
 motor cap, pushed at the back of his head, gave a rakish
 
 326 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 look to his face, that was quite unusual to it. There was 
 a haggard anxiety in his eyes. 
 
 "Well, my dear," he said, with an effort at joviality, 
 likewise singularly foreign to his usual manner " dream- 
 ing out into the night? Come away from the window. 
 Why, it hasn't even a view of the sea! Well, this is a 
 hole!" he then continued discontentedly, as, clinging 
 to his arm, she turned back into the room with him. 
 "I'm sorry to have so mismanaged things. If that tire 
 hadn't burst, we'd have caught the boat right enough; 
 though I'm afraid we ran it rather fine." He took off 
 his cap and flung it on the table, then smiled at her. 
 " We dawdled a bit at Canterbury." 
 
 "Oh, I can't be sorry for it," she interrupted, "it was 
 lovely! It was, oh so " She made an expressive ges- 
 ture with both hands, in her impulsive, un-English way. 
 "Oh, that church! I did not know churches over here 
 could be so beautiful." 
 
 The man's gaze, as it rested upon her, grew more and 
 more puzzled. 
 
 " That church, as you call it, is that what you 
 liked?" 
 
 " The church " She laughed her spirits were 
 rising; the intoxicating dream-feeling was coming back 
 upon her " The church, yes, and the rest. Our din- 
 ner in the queer little inn. And what you said to me 
 when you drank my health . . . and what you said 
 to me about my eyes! And that once, when you took 
 my hand across the table, as the waiter went out of the 
 room." 
 
 She was pulling her hat and veil from her head, as she
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 327 
 
 spoke, crimsoning in adorable manner under the loosened 
 hair. Her eyes, dewy with unshed tears, her lips all 
 smiles. 
 
 No, he thought as he brooded upon her; no, he did 
 not regret. Not for a moment ! 
 
 " You have spoiled me," she went on. It was absurd, 
 she had not found courage yet to call him by his name. 
 Engaged people were not on such formal terms. He 
 would think her cold. "Desmond!" she cried, and the 
 effort lent a loud assurance to the word, "you are kind 
 to me! I have never been spoiled like this before!" 
 
 "You shall always be spoilt now." He caught her to 
 him as he spoke. " Oh, I did not mean our first evening 
 to be spent in a sordid place like this. But I didn't dare 
 take you to a big hotel, Fifi His voice had sunk 
 to those low, husky accents, which had held such passion 
 in her ears last night. 
 
 " No ? " she questioned as he paused. 
 
 "There will be hue and cry, you know," he went on, 
 releasing her, for there were steps on the landing without. 
 
 She nodded to him with an air of portentous wisdom. 
 
 " Of course, of course." 
 
 Then she slipped out of her motor coat and ran to the 
 window. 
 
 "What does it matter about the room? One can 
 hear the sea." 
 
 "To-morrow we shall be across that sea!" he said, 
 his deep glance following her. 
 
 There was a knock on the door, and sharply he turned 
 and cried: 
 
 "Come in!"
 
 328 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 The little, shabby, heated German waiter propelled 
 himself headforemost into the room, bearing poised on 
 one hand a tea tray, on the other a large, greasy, leather- 
 bound volume, both of which he slid on to the table 
 with the skill peculiar to his order. 
 
 "Will Mister and Madame kindly write names?" 
 
 The girl came back with a spring. 
 
 "Oh, I will I will!" 
 
 She had the book spread open before her and was 
 plunging the dusty pen into the muddy ink, before Lord 
 Desmond had sufficiently collected his wits to inter- 
 vene. 
 
 "Better let me, my dear," he said, bending over her. 
 
 But she squared her elbows, childishly fending him off. 
 
 "No, no let me!" 
 
 Then, with pen in the air, she began to read out, as 
 if nothing could be of deeper interest to her: 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Altamount Smith, Palmerston, Black- 
 heath. I wonder if they are bride and bridegroom? 
 Mr. and Mrs. Percy Fitzroy Hodson, 203, Penywern 
 Road, W. Do you think they are bride and bridegroom ? " 
 
 She flourished the pen and began to write: Desmond, 
 reading over her shoulder, suddenly snapped it from her 
 hand. 
 
 "Get up I'll write!" 
 
 His voice rang out harshly. She looked, startled, 
 half frightened; saw his frowning face, and rose without 
 a word, biting her lip. 
 
 He took the seat she had vacated. With great care he 
 obliterated the couple of words she had begun, and 
 wrote himself. From where she stood she could see the
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 329 
 
 page as he lifted his hands from it and dropped the pen. 
 A loud involuntary exclamation escaped her. 
 
 "Oh! . . ." 
 
 He rose with unnecessary noise, and cast a single glance 
 upon her, warning. She went then back to the window, 
 and leaned her head against the casement as before, 
 staring out into the night. 
 
 The waiter, who with his neck craned and his hope- 
 less eye fixed into a corner of the room, as etiquette 
 taught him, stood in patience till the Heerschaften would 
 be pleased to let him depart with his book. He had 
 seen many brides and bridegrooms, German and English : 
 and their skirmishes had ceased to interest him. 
 
 Desmond blotted the inscription with the much-used 
 square of blotting paper and handed back the folio. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said the alien and fled from the 
 room. 
 
 At the closing of the door, Fifi wheeled from the win- 
 dow. 
 
 " Why did you write that ? We are not Mr. and Mra. 
 Dennis Brown!" 
 
 Her voice shook. 
 
 "Good heavens!" he returned, "why, you made my 
 hair stand on end Miss Fifi Mercifully I caught 
 you at the Fifi. Miss Fifi Lovinska, no doubt. And 
 underneath, no doubt also, you'd have written: Lord 
 Desmond Brooke." 
 
 " Of course Why not ? " 
 
 Her cheeks were flaming. 
 
 "Well, in England," said the man, and hardly knew 
 that a note almost of anger had crept into his voice,
 
 330 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 " people don't give themselves away like that at least 
 not the class of people I belong to." 
 
 "But it isn't," she argued, feeling that she must argue 
 or she might be silly enough to burst into tears, " it isn't 
 as if you could keep it a secret. All the world is bound 
 to know All the world, my people, your people in the 
 course of the next two days, that I, Fifi Lovinska, and 
 you, Lord Desmond Brooke, have run away together!" 
 
 He stared at her as if he were hardly sure of her mean- 
 ing; and his puzzled expression became intensified almost 
 to trouble. 
 
 She went to the tray, and, with a slightly trembling hand, 
 began to pour herself out a cup of tea. 
 
 " Oh, dear, I'm so thirsty ! You would make me drink 
 that glass of champagne, at Canterbury, and I hate it." 
 
 As she spoke she found his arm round her again; and 
 happiness once more stole over her inarticulate sense 
 of discomfort. 
 
 "It was to toast our life together," he pleaded, with 
 his lips upon her hair. 
 
 With an ineffable content upon her, she caressingly 
 rubbed her head against his shoulder, sipping her vile 
 tea. Suddenly she felt him shake a little, and she glanced 
 up. 
 
 " Why are you laughing ? " 
 
 "Because you are such a true Panther's Cub," he 
 told her. 
 
 She gave a faint cry, and started from him, putting 
 down her cup. 
 
 " Oh, what a horrid name ! " 
 
 But he drew her back:
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 331 
 
 "Don't move! Are we not well like this? You see, 
 Fifi, you've just taught me a lesson in philosophy. Why 
 should one ever hide anything one has made up one's 
 mind to do ? . . . You know, my beauty what 
 delicious hair you have you know that I was beginning 
 to have almost a kind of remorse ! " 
 
 She turned her head lazily, under his caress : 
 
 "Why?" she murmured. He was right, she was 
 very well like this. 
 
 "Why?" he echoed. "Because you are so young 
 still." 
 
 " Not too young for love." 
 
 And, at that, she smiled broadly, and then hid her 
 face, because of the boldness of her speech : 
 
 He repeated the words after her with a mingled ecstasy 
 and pain in his voice : 
 
 "Not too young for love. . .! Ah, Fifi, and I was 
 wondering all day whether I should not have done better 
 to leave you to your mother's matrimonial projects 
 such as they were." 
 
 She disengaged herself, with that odd little air of wis- 
 dom that she had adopted since the great event. 
 
 "You'd better have a cup of tea," she began paren- 
 thetically; and then, with a sudden, half-mocking, half- 
 shy glance from lustrous golden-hazel eyes: "And, if 
 I happen to prefer our matrimonial projects, what then, 
 sir ? " She was offering the cup, as she spoke. 
 
 " Our " He checked himself upon that single sharp 
 word. 
 
 " Such as it is " She mimicked his phrase with a 
 gay laugh.
 
 332 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 Laughter was upon him too as he took the cup. 
 
 "Such as it is " There was relief in his air, a new 
 ease in his tone. "Quite so. Mr. and Mrs. Brown, 
 Fifi?" 
 
 A moment it seemed as if he was bending to kiss her. 
 But another swift change of mood came upon him. He 
 frowned, took a step away and laid down his cup. 
 
 "Don't you like your tea?" said the girl anxiously. 
 "Oughtn't I to have put in the sugar? Fritz always 
 says I'll never know how to manage a house. But I'm 
 going to learn from you when we are married 
 When " 
 
 Her eyes were cast down as she made her little humble 
 speech, and she did not see his sudden start nor the wild 
 glance he flung at her. She went on, halting prettily 
 upon coquettishness : " When I'm Mrs. Brown." 
 
 The man passed his hand over his forehead. Again 
 a kind of wonder and trouble fought in his countenance 
 with what was anger, almost disgust. Then, as if with 
 an effort, he flung these conflicting feelings from him, 
 and, coming up to her quickly, caught her by both hands. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, we are neither of us very good, are we ? " 
 
 Pain was piercing through the renewed ardour of his 
 voice. Fifi dropped her head. She could not hide the 
 torturing crimson that rushed into her face. 
 
 " I don't know . . ." she faltered. " I think you 
 are good." 
 
 "Alas!" he went on, the pain growing deeper in his 
 accents, and a new note, that of tenderness, gathering 
 to it. " We have both done those things which we ought 
 not to have done, have we not ? "
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 333 
 
 She winced, and it hurt him to see her distress. He 
 went on hurriedly: 
 
 "We are not exactly being good now, are we, sweet- 
 heart?" 
 
 "You mean," she said faintly, "because we've run 
 away ? " 
 
 "I mean . . . because we've run away. Well, 
 you've taught me a lesson just now, as I told you. And 
 you need not rub that Mr. and Mrs. Brown hypocrisy 
 into me any more. You are just Fifi the Panther's 
 Cub ... an untamed thing that cannot lie ... 
 and I am just Desmond Brooke who loves you! Kiss 
 me and tell me is not that the way between us ? " 
 
 But, with her young sunburnt hands pressed against 
 his shoulders, she held him from her. And still with 
 bent head, speaking with difficulty: 
 
 "I want to be truthful," she murmured, then paused. 
 "You said . . ." 
 
 Again speech became too difficult. But yet she was 
 determined ; and, lifting her lovely face, crimsoned : 
 
 " It is true," she blurted out, " I have not always done 
 what is right." 
 
 "Hush, hush, for Heaven's sake! We'll take each 
 other as we are. Hush! Oh, Fifi, what does it matter? 
 Wild things of the woods mate where they please and ask 
 no sanction. We'll go away together, you and I How 
 you look at me, you untamed thing! I don't want to 
 tame you, Fifi. It is you who shall teach me freedom." 
 
 Her eyes were indeed fixed upon his face with a dilat- 
 ing intensity. Livid, startled, she hung on his words! 
 Could he have but guessed, it, the fascination that held
 
 334 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 her was as much that of a terrifying mystery as of a pas- 
 sion shared ! He caught her by the shoulders now : 
 
 " How beautiful you are ! Ah, I was dead ... I 
 am alive again! I am alive, Fifi! Some of your quick 
 blood has got into my veins. What indeed should you 
 want with wine? You are intoxication in yourself. 
 Oh, if I were a rich man, how I would set off your beauty! 
 You should have a crown of diamonds to shine on your 
 hair; diamonds to run like a fire round your throat 
 your beautiful throat. Fifi . . . kiss me!" 
 
 In her wide eyes the terror had been growing. She 
 gave a cry even such a cry as that which had pierced 
 his ears last night, in the marble dining hall. 
 
 "Let me go! You frighten me!" She tore herself 
 from his slackening grasp and ran from him to a corner 
 of the room, cowering. "I want to go home! I want 
 Fritz!" she moaned, and then burst into an agony of 
 sobs. 
 
 "Fifi . .!" He stood blasted. Then, in a com- 
 pletely altered voice: "Fifi . .!" he cried again and 
 went halfway across the room toward her. He stopped 
 and stared at her as she clung, sobbing, to the wall. And 
 at last, speaking as if to a child: "Fifi . . ." he 
 repeated. 
 
 At last she turned her face. The tears were stream- 
 ing down it. 
 
 " Oh, Lord Desmond. . . !" 
 
 It was more piteous to his sight even than that 
 berouged, stricken visage of last night! 
 
 "For God's sake!" he exclaimed. "Don't cry like 
 that! What is it?"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 335 
 
 She drew back closer to the wall. 
 
 "You've frightened me!" 
 
 " I don't frighten you . . . now ? " 
 
 His own voice shook. He came closer, hesitating; 
 took her hand with an infinite gentleness. 
 
 " I don't frighten you now ? " he asked again. 
 
 "No," she said, on the catch of a sob, "not now." 
 
 She allowed him to lead her to the sofa, to press her 
 down upon it; then he stood back from her. 
 
 "Will you try and tell me why I frightened 
 you?" 
 
 His manner was still painstakingly gentle; still the 
 manner a man would use to a terrified child. She broke 
 into a passion of weeping again, at the recollection. 
 
 " You were so strange I had never seen you look 
 like that oh, you looked at me your eyes . . ! You 
 spoke you were like the Baron ! " 
 
 "The Baron!" he cried loudly. 
 
 "Yes," she shuddered. "Last night . . . when 
 he wanted to kiss me ! " 
 
 She buried her face in the dusty sofa cushions. Des- 
 mond stood rigid, convicted. There was a long silence. 
 In a smothered voice, scarcely raising her head, at length 
 she spoke: 
 
 " Are you angry ? " 
 
 Harshly, he questioned in his turn : 
 
 " Why did you come away with me ? " 
 
 She dropped her head again. 
 
 "I you were so different from the others " 
 She was shaken by a great sigh. " I felt so safe with you ! '* 
 
 Once more the convicted silence !
 
 336 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Well, there's no harm done," he cried suddenly. 
 "I will take you back." 
 
 She started, dashed the tears from her eyes. 
 
 "Take me back!" she echoed, pitifully. 
 
 He bent to her. 
 
 " You don't want to go back ? " 
 
 Biting her quivering lip to keep back the sobs, she 
 shook her head. 
 
 "What then?" he asked, and the impatience of an 
 extreme pain was in his tones. Helplessly she burst 
 out crying once more. 
 
 " Don't be angry with me ! You are not like the Baron. 
 I don't know how I could have thought it. Don't take 
 me back, I will try. ... I will try I will be a 
 good wife to you." 
 
 The man took two steps back as if struck by an invis- 
 ible hand. Then, coming forward again, he took her 
 head between both his hands miserably conscious of 
 her wet burning cheeks against his palms and looked 
 piercingly into her eyes ; looked until her plaintive, appeal- 
 ing, fearful gaze wavered and fell before him. Releas- 
 ing her then, he straightened himself and drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 " You are either the greatest actress on earth or 
 
 Springing to her feet, she interrupted him, stung all 
 at once to a sudden anger! 
 
 "Or . . . what?" 
 
 " Or shooting's too good for me ! " 
 
 The words came out with almost a groan. Flinging 
 himself into a chair, he covered his face with his hands. 
 Her tears had dried; a strange coldness had come upon
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 337 
 
 her. Her womanhood was wakening to some indefin- 
 able horror. 
 
 "I don't understand," she said slowly. She let her- 
 self sink on the sofa again and shivered slightly. " Lord 
 Desmond . . ." 
 
 He dropped his hands, without turning his head to 
 look at her. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Perhaps ' she spoke with difficulty, as if every 
 word hurt her " perhaps you had better take me back 
 after all." 
 
 A moment he was silent. Then, with a sudden move- 
 ment of decision, he got up, dragged his chair close to 
 the sofa and sat down again, facing her. He had regained 
 his self-control; but behind, there was a tenseness of 
 extreme purpose, extreme resolve. For a little while, 
 he fixed her with a gaze now almost relentless in its 
 keenness. Then abruptly: 
 
 " How old are you ? " he asked. 
 
 She answered, wondering, timid, falling back into 
 childishness under his masterful bearing: 
 
 " Twenty one just." 
 
 He repeated her answer as if to himself: "Twenty- 
 one just." 
 
 Nervously she added : 
 
 "Mama did not want me to say so. You know she 
 kept me at school . . ." 
 
 "All the time?" 
 
 " Oh except during the holidays." 
 
 "Ah, the holidays. Did you always go home, for the 
 holidays?"
 
 338 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 " Not home At least ... we had no home. 
 But Fritz used to take me away somewhere, always. 
 Sometimes I was with Mama. But if not, with 
 Fritz." 
 
 " Fritz that's the old man ? The musician ? " 
 
 "He's Mama's repetitor. He's been very good to 
 me always." She hardly knew why her heart turned 
 to the old tyrant just now, with such a rush a rush 
 of longing that was all so strange, so bewildering. She 
 wished Fritz were here. " He's always been good to me," 
 she went on; and her voice trembled to the memory of 
 her sobs. " I've been always so bad to him." 
 
 "How long have you been back with your mother?" 
 
 "Only since Easter." Her dazed submissiveness sud- 
 denly failed her. " Why do you ask all these questions ? " 
 she exclaimed passionately. Who was this man no 
 longer lover and bridegroom? What did he want with 
 her with this probing, with these eyes that pierced and 
 sought into her very soul ? 
 
 A quick flash came and was gone in his unsparing 
 gaze. 
 
 " Because I must know all." 
 
 All at once she understood. All that was puzzling 
 and torturing became clear to her, clear with a great 
 terror. As one groping in a dangerous mountain path, 
 blinded by mist, may see the chasm at his feet under a 
 sudden blast of wind, she understood. 
 
 A kind of pity came over his face. His eyes softened. 
 
 "You needn't answer, if you don't like." 
 
 But something rose within her, intrinsic frankness, 
 pushing her to the truth. Reservation, or deceit, was
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 339 
 
 not of her. She rejected it, less by virtue than by a neces- 
 sity of her nature. 
 
 " No, I will answer " She paused and gathered her 
 bravery; then, whitening as she spoke, went on: "Ask 
 what you like." 
 
 "Your mother sent for you, last Easter?" His tone 
 was now gentle; less that of the cross-examiner, more 
 that of the confessor; less that of one who wants to entrap 
 an admission than that of one who wants to help the dif- 
 ficult utterance of the truth. 
 
 " She would have sent me away, after a week. It was 
 the Baron made her keep me." 
 
 " Did you know why, then ? " 
 
 "No, indeed!" she cried hurriedly. "I only thought 
 it was fun to be out of prison." 
 
 " So you went to Vienna." 
 
 " Yes and then we met you." 
 
 He rose and took a couple of slow turns, up and down 
 the room. Apprehensively she watched him. Oh, that 
 he would ask and be done with it! Once or twice she 
 hesitated on speech, but checked herself. Courage 
 failed her to volunteer her shameful confession. Paus- 
 ing at last by the chair, one knee upon it, he looked down 
 upon her. . . . Again, again, those eyes of com- 
 pelling demand ! 
 
 "These three months, then, you have seen all your 
 mother's friends; been present at her parties; lived the 
 life she lives ? " 
 
 "I suppose so," she answered slowly. Then, with a 
 flash of resentment; "You ought to know: you've been 
 to nearly all of them yourself."
 
 340 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "I saw you fall into Miss Maud Mayall's arms, last 
 week What do you and she talk about, when you are 
 together ? " 
 
 The question was abrupt. To her it seemed offensively 
 pointless. 
 
 " Lots of things," she replied sullenly. 
 
 "For instance?" 
 
 She shook her head with a growing defiance. 
 
 " Oh Shakespeare's heroines, and music, and books." 
 
 "Books!" he echoed sharply. "Like that French 
 book that was beside you on the sofa, last night ? " 
 
 " No " she flung the denial angrily at him. Then 
 she drooped her head and the blood rushed into her face. 
 *' I know I ought not to have looked into that book. Fritz 
 forbade me." 
 
 " But it was so amusing ? " His voice was insinuating, 
 while his eyes remained keen as a knife-blade. "You 
 wanted to go on, didn't you ? " 
 
 " I wanted to find out why he did not want me to read 
 it." 
 
 "And did you find out?" 
 
 "No " she blurted out, irritably. "I couldn't make 
 any sense out of it: it was all so silly." 
 
 He laughed abruptly; then checked himself as sud- 
 denly; sat down and pondered a moment. 
 
 " And now I know all your life, do I ? " 
 
 The question was slow, weighted with importance. 
 She stared, with parted lips, as if she could not detach 
 her frightened eyes from his face. He could see an 
 agonized pulse beating in her throat. He laid his hand 
 gently on her shoulder.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 341 
 
 "Fifi, there was something you were going to tell me, 
 just now, when I stopped you " She shifted further 
 from him, her gaze still fixed on his face. "When you 
 said you had not always . . ." He paused, his 
 voice grew husky, "always been good, what did you mean 
 by that?" Then, almost roughly, stabbed by the sight 
 of her misery: "Don't tell me," he said once more, 
 " if you'd rather not." 
 
 "I will tell you I'd rather." The words leaped 
 bravely, though she twisted her interlaced fingers. "It 
 was something that happened something " 
 
 " At Como ?" He was trying to help her out, but she 
 winced. 
 
 " Yes when I was eighteen. Mama took me away 
 that summer for the holidays. She was very good to- 
 me that summer, Mama. She had been ill. She was 
 quite gentle. She used to say it was nice to have a daugh- 
 ter. That was at the beginning." 
 
 The words were wrung from her in jerks, as with each 
 spasm of a breath shortened by the quick beating of her 
 heart. 
 
 " That was at the beginning and then ? " 
 
 He felt he was cruel but he had to be cruel. 
 
 "Then Mama got better, and then she did not want 
 me any more. She used to go away, on picnics and things, 
 and leave me behind. There was an English family in 
 the hotel. I got into the way of going about with the 
 girls, and playing tennis and there was a young man 
 with them, their brother. He was at school, at Oxford." 
 
 Desmond over the turmoil of his feelings had a faint 
 smile.
 
 342 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 " An undergraduate, I suppose. Well, Fifi ? " 
 
 " One day they were all away, even Fritz. I was alone. 
 It was so dull." She faltered and stopped. Then: 
 " He asked me to go on the lake with him," she whispered. 
 
 " The Oxford young man this Adolphus Went- 
 worth?" 
 
 A little indignant cry escaped her. Reproach and anger 
 leaped into her glance. Then she drooped her head 1 - 
 
 "You know all about it," she said dully. "I knew 
 you knew why must I tell you ? " 
 
 "Because," he said, and sitting down before her once 
 more, quickly took her cold hands into his, gave them 
 one pressure and released them, "because, Fifi, I will 
 know nothing, except what you tell me. You went with 
 him that day " 
 
 Dumbly she nodded. 
 
 " Just you and he, alone ? " 
 
 She nodded again: "Just he and I alone." Then, 
 in a torrent of words, her confession escaped from her 
 overcharged heart. 
 
 They had had chocolate at the town on the other 
 side of the lake. And there had come a storm, and the 
 boat could not go back. The steamers even would not 
 go. No one would take them. "And we could not get 
 a carriage to take us round, and so we walked. We 
 walked till I dropped. And it was quite late at night. 
 At last we got a cart and we did not get back to the Hotel 
 till four in the morning. . . . Oh, it was all so 
 dreadful!" She covered her hot face with her hand. 
 
 "They were all up. They said they thought we must 
 be drowned. Nobody was a bit glad we were alive.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 343 
 
 . . . And Mama said I was disgraced!" She was 
 caught by a sob; but, with the impulse that leads one 
 at certain moments of intensity to pile up pain deliber- 
 ately: "Next day," she went on, "the English girl and 
 her mother cut me ! " 
 
 Amazedly, she felt his hands fold over hers again. 
 How cold they both were ! 
 
 "And the young man, Fifi? " 
 
 "He left by the next boat," she said bravely, but had 
 not the courage to lift her eyes. Would she ever have 
 the courage to lift them to his face again ? 
 
 "Fifi, when you and that young fool were alone, that 
 night Fifi, I must have the truth!" 
 
 He felt her hands twist in his. 
 
 " Yes, yes ' passionately she flung away the last 
 reserve, the last shred between herself and what she 
 conceived her shame. "He tried to kiss me, and was 
 horrible! I never told any one but Fritz, and Fritz said 
 he said . . ." her voice trailed away pitifully, 
 "he said that it was all my own fault; that no good girl 
 would have gone away like that with a man who was not 
 her betrothed ! " 
 
 The clasp of his cold fingers suddenly relaxed. The 
 man rose. Looking down upon her he was shaken by 
 a sudden tender laugh. But even as he laughed, tears 
 rose to his eyes; and, hastily he went to the open window, 
 struggling with the tide of exquisite emotion that was 
 sweeping over him. 
 
 Desolately she watched him leave her. Then, as he 
 did not come back to her, she said at length, with a long 
 forlorn sigh :
 
 344 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 " I suppose it makes a great difference now you 
 know. . . ." 
 
 He started. Swiftly he was by her side again : 
 
 "A great difference!" he cried. "All the difference 
 in the world ! " 
 
 His tone was joyous, his blue eye on fire. She could 
 not understand what had come over him. But she could 
 not but see that he was putting great force upon himself, 
 to keep his self-control. 
 
 "Give me your hands, Fifi . . . Fifi! pshaw! 
 what is your real name ? " 
 
 "Virginia. . . ." 
 
 "Virginia!" he cried. And then again, with a change 
 of tone that was like a caress: "Virginia." He paused 
 a while, sitting on the sofa beside her, holding her hand, 
 his own clasp growing warm again, warm and close. 
 Comfort slid from it all unawares into her veins. "Vir- 
 ginia you told me a little while ago, that you had felt 
 safe with me. You are safe." 
 
 She glanced up at him. How had she ever doubted 
 him? His blue eyes held a depth of unimaginable ten- 
 derness and loyalty, something that in her innocence she 
 could not fathom, but which, unerringly, she felt. 
 
 "I know." 
 
 "I'm not like . . . the Baron de Robecq now?" 
 
 " No oh, no ! Oh, Lord Desmond, you never were ! " 
 
 He lifted the hand he held to his lips : 
 
 " Ah Fifi ah, Virginia. . . . Ah, my poor 
 child." 
 
 His voice broke upon tenderness; he rose, rang the 
 bell and coming back to the table leaned with one hand
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 345 
 
 upon it, his eyes on that cup of untasted tea she had pre- 
 pared for him. The girl sat on, too bewildered by the 
 conflicting emotions of the hour to be able to think reason- 
 ably. He had flung her from utter confidence to blank 
 apprehension; from heights of bliss to deeps of misery; 
 had tortured, had probed; had shown himself relentless, 
 an inquisitor and now, though he had spoken no word 
 of condonement, even of forgiveness, a peace and joy 
 deeper than anything she had ever felt, had come upon 
 her. She only knew one thing: she loved him; he was 
 her master; she would follow him to the end of the earth 
 because she trusted him ! 
 
 Like the savour from trampled herbs and exquisite 
 broken flowers, bruised before the altar, love and trust 
 alone rose out of her pain. 
 
 With a movement, as if wakened from abstraction, he 
 stretched his hand for the cup. 
 
 "Oh," she cried involuntarily, "it must be cold!" 
 
 As he paused, smiling, to look at her, over the rim, 
 the waiter entered, headlong as before, upon his 
 knock. 
 
 "Yes, sir?" The words shot from the threshold. 
 
 " Kindly ask the landlady to be so good as to come to 
 me . . . immediately." 
 
 The dingy creature arrested himself upon the normal 
 impulse of subserviency. This was not a customary 
 order. His blank eyes, frantically fixed on distant 
 arrears of work, focussed themselves with difficulty on 
 the speaker's face. 
 
 " Mrs. Biddicombe, sir ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Biddicombe, if you please."
 
 346 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 The waiter's mind focussed itself a second in its turn 
 and promptly gave up the problem. 
 
 " Yes, sir ver' well, sir immediately." 
 
 His small, harassed body was already outside the room, 
 and the door closed upon the last words. 
 
 Then Desmond lifted the cup again to his lips, looked 
 across it at Virginia, and drank the cold tea. 
 
 "There was not too much sugar in it," he said, laying 
 the empty cup on the table. " It was excellent let 
 Fritz say what he likes, my wife will keep house per- 
 fectly for me ! " 
 
 He spoke the words in a deliberately airy voice; but 
 he smiled as he spoke, and the girl closed her eyes over 
 a sudden sense of happiness almost beyond endurance.
 
 THE proprietress of Biddicombe's Marine Hotel 
 closed the door behind her with genteel precision; and 
 advancing within a few paces of the couple, stood eyeing 
 them with suspicion and some loftiness. She was a stout, 
 elderly lady, whose large brooch, black-laced cap with 
 mauve ribbons, and gray side-curls proclaimed the 
 embodiment of middle-Victorian respectability. 
 
 " Good evening Mrs. Brown Good evening 
 Mr. Brown." She inclined her head in turn to each. 
 " Do I understand that you expressed a wish for an inter- 
 view with me Mr. Brown ?" 
 
 "Good evening," responded Lord Desmond. He felt 
 absurdly nervous under the stern eye that seemed to 
 express such doubt of him. " Will you sit down ? " 
 
 He pushed the chair slightly toward her. She received 
 this attention with an acid titter, and a formal inclina- 
 tion from the waist. 
 
 "No, thank you Mr. Brown. When you sent for 
 me, I was about to ask for an interview myself." 
 
 Again she had a sound of faint and bitter mirth. 
 
 "Indeed ?" said he. 
 
 He tried to look only politely interested. Bolt upright 
 on the sofa, Virginia Lovinska sat staring with wide, tired 
 eyes. Mrs. Biddicombe broke into a sudden glibness. 
 
 347
 
 348 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Yes Mr. Brown, I regret to say that has there 
 been a mistake about the rooms. They were engaged 
 previously. It was an error of the office, sir. If you'll 
 excuse the liberty . . . Mr. Brown, I think you and 
 your, your lady, Mr. Brown, would do better at the 
 Metropole, or some similar establishment." 
 
 The unexpected appearance of an "h" at the beginning 
 of the last word seemed to lend it an awful significance. 
 As she pronounced it, Mrs. Biddicombe's cold gaze swept 
 Fifi's ringless bare hands, and was averted with an audible 
 sniff. As the bare meaning of this speech penetrated to 
 Fifi's dazed brain, she sprang up with an outcry of dismay. 
 
 "But we can't go to the Metropole! And, oh, I'm so 
 tired." 
 
 "Hush!" said Desmond under his breath. 
 
 The landlady withered him with one glance and 
 then turned to survey the girl; then, unexpectedly, her 
 face softened. 
 
 "Oh, dear yes, you do look tired! She does look 
 tired Mr. Brown, and she's so young!" 
 
 There was a world of feminine reproach in her tones. 
 Quickly the man seized his opportunity. 
 
 "There has been a mistake altogether. I want to 
 leave this young lady in your charge." 
 
 "In my charge, sir?" echoed Mrs. Biddicombe, sur- 
 prised out of all her defences. 
 
 Without paying any attention to Fifi's long-drawn, 
 disconsolate "Oh," Desmond proceeded: 
 
 "She is very tired much too tired to go out again 
 to-night. You're a good kind woman, I can see that 
 in your face!"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 349 
 
 "Oh Mr. Brown . .!" Mrs. Biddicombe was 
 not quite sure that she appreciated the familiarity of 
 the compliment; but his earnestness bore her down. 
 
 "A good, kind, motherly woman," he repeated, with 
 feeling in his voice. "Take care of her, to-night. I'll 
 look for lodgings for myself elsewhere. I shouldn't 
 feel happy about her, if I didn't know that I was leaving 
 her, safe, with some one like you." 
 
 "Oh ... Mr. Br " 
 
 He raised his hand to check her, unable to bear the 
 sound of that appellation again. 
 
 "I'm not Mr. Brown. She's not Mrs. Brown. This 
 is Miss Lovinska, and I am Lord Desmond Brooke.*' 
 
 Virginia gave another cry, this time of astonishment. 
 She could not, for the life of her, make out the meaning 
 of his changeful purpose. But her voice was lost in 
 the landlady's ejaculation. Unctuously, as became the 
 situation, if still reprobatively, the latter exclaimed: 
 
 "Oh, my lord!" 
 
 " She's run away from home," went on the distinguished 
 guest of Biddicombe's rapidly, " because she was unhappy. 
 Because they wanted to marry her to to some one else, 
 some one she could not love. I'm I'm," he hesi- 
 tated and passed his hand across his forehead. "I'm 
 bound to see that she comes to no harm, Mrs. Biddi- 
 combe. Do you understand me? Do you understand 
 why I brought her to your house ?" 
 
 Mrs. Biddicombe ran a fat wrinkled hand doubtfully 
 up and down one side of her black satin apron : 
 
 "I am . . . beginning to understand," she con- 
 ceded slowly. "At least I think so, my lord."
 
 350 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Then you will take care of her?" said Desmond, and 
 smiled. 
 
 All at once the kindness and motherly feeling which he 
 had diagnosed in her, overflowed in the good woman. 
 
 "I will, my lord " No doubt it was an unwonted 
 and pleasurable sensation to be called upon to oblige a 
 nobleman. She waddled across to Fifi, who sat dis- 
 consolately on the side of the table. "I will, my dear." 
 She patted the unringed hand. "I will take care of you, 
 excuse the liberty, as if you was my own." 
 
 Fifi drew her hand away, a little peevishly. 
 
 "I don't want any looking after thank you very 
 much!" 
 
 "She can have the use of this suite of rooms, my lord," 
 volunteered the matron, neglecting this foolish remark. 
 
 " Then there wasn't any mistake. . . ." 
 
 "Hush, Fifi!" 
 
 Mrs. Biddicombe hastily looked aside and coughed; 
 and, hastily too, Lord Desmond pursued : 
 
 " That's right. And I wonder if you could sleep 
 in her room to-night ? Just that she might not be nerv- 
 ous frightened in a strange place." 
 
 Horror-stricken, Virginia slid from the table and 
 sprang round to him. 
 
 "Oh, but I shouldn't Oh, what nonsense! Oh, 
 I should hate it! Oh, why shouldn't you stay in the 
 same hotel ? " 
 
 He put her aside, as one puts aside a beloved but 
 tiresome child. 
 
 "It's quite settled, then?" 
 
 " Yes, my lord. I understand your lordship is leaving
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 351 
 
 at once." This came bashfully. The next sentence was 
 more hesitating still: "I hope your lordship will excuse 
 me. The situation was a little awkward, wasn't it? 
 What with the scratch out on the book, and the air of 
 your lordship's motor, and the way your lordship's choffer 
 took upon himself to answer boots in a house like mine, 
 and as a widow, my lord, one can't be too particular " 
 She broke off, taken aback by his frown. 
 
 " You need not say another word ! " (" You have said 
 too many already, silly old woman!" his eyes plainly 
 added.) "Yes, I'm going now." 
 
 "And have your luggage brought down again, my 
 lord?" 
 
 "Certainly." He almost stamped his foot at her. 
 
 All in a fluster (as Mrs. Biddicombe described her 
 sensations to the young lady in the offices), the worthy 
 woman hurried to the door. 
 
 "I'll come back and look after you presently, Miss 
 Loosky, dear." It was as near as she could get to the 
 outlandish name. 
 
 She had to pause on the landing and breathe very 
 heavily three times with a flat and vibrating sound, one 
 hand pressed upon the fourth button of her purple 
 cashmere bodice : these were exciting and singular doings, 
 for Biddicombe's ! 
 
 The door had no sooner shut off the portly form than 
 Fifi broke into loud remonstrance. Had she been as 
 young in years as she was still in mind, it would have 
 been the loud wail of a worn-out child. 
 
 "Oh, oh! I never thought you would have been so
 
 352 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 unkind! To leave me alone like this! What do you 
 inean to do with me ? I don't understand ! " 
 
 "My dear, it is only because I must take care of you. 
 1 shall be back in the morning. I've got a great deal 
 to do to-night. I " He broke off. All at once the 
 stifled mewing of a cat seemed to fill the room. He 
 looked round distractedly. The creature was shut in 
 next door, no doubt. He tried to take up the thread of 
 his explanation. The plaintive sound obtruded itself 
 again. "I can't explain," he cried, almost irritably. 
 
 She was moving away from him in uncertainty; she 
 glanced at him once or twice timidly over her shoulder, 
 then flung herself across the sofa and extracted from 
 behind it a hidden basket. Instantly the mewing ceased. 
 
 Defiantly, yet with apprehension too, she set it on the 
 table and hurriedly lifted forth a struggling, irate kitten. 
 
 "You brought that!" he cried. 
 
 "I could not leave him behind. Elisa would have 
 killed him!" She hugged the little beast to her breast. 
 " He'll give no trouble. He's been so good ! " 
 
 " How did you hide him ? " 
 
 "Oh, your chauffeur looked after him, at Canterbury." 
 
 "Gibbons?" 
 
 He was smiling. She looked up, all confidence, and 
 smiled in her turn. Then, suddenly, in a frightened 
 voice: 
 
 "Lord Desmond . . . what is the matter?" 
 
 It seemed impossible that she could have seen aright, 
 but, surely there were tears in his eyes ! 
 
 "The matter is," he said, and tried to laugh, and 
 failed, " that you are such a child ! "
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 353 
 
 Still clasping close the now swearing Persian, she stood, 
 not daring to glance at her lover again. 
 
 " Good night," he said and stroked her head with a 
 light touch. " Sleep well ! " 
 
 " How strange you are Don't you love me any 
 more ? " 
 
 " Do I not love you ! " He gave a kind of broken laugh. 
 " De I nt ? " and he caught her bright dishevelled head 
 between both his hands. Checking himself upon the 
 very pulse of his passion, he kissed her once, above the 
 eyes, and in two strides he was gone.
 
 Ill 
 
 FRITZ ARRIVES 
 
 FIFI and the kitten, having been duly fed and cossetted 
 by the now completely conquered Mrs. Biddicombe, the 
 latter proceeded to help her charge to prepare for bed. 
 
 "I could, of course, easily depute one of the chamber- 
 maids to brush your hair and undress you, Miss Loosky, 
 my dear, but I promised his lordship " it was pleasant 
 to hear with what gusto the words "his lordship," unusual 
 to her experience, tripped off the good lady's tongue 
 "I promised his lordship to look after you myself. And 
 a bargain's always been a bargain to me, miss whether 
 with boarders or my own family." 
 
 But Fifi announced she always brushed her own hair. 
 And, having seen her beginning to wield one of those 
 gold-mounted hair brushes the like of which the pro- 
 prietress of the Marine Hotel had never beheld before 
 Mrs. Biddicombe ventured to think she might slip down- 
 stairs herself and have her supper. 
 
 "After which, my love, I'll creep to bed in the little 
 dressing room just off; and I'll put the door on the jar, 
 so that you'll not feel frightened as his lordship feared." 
 
 The girl sat dreamily before the dimity-covered dressing 
 table, wrapped in a very wonderful dressing gown of 
 white silk and lace (the chambermaid in the London 
 
 354
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 355 
 
 Hotel, and the young lady from Selfridge's having both 
 opined that such a garment was a necessity for a 
 bride). 
 
 Her hands dropped in her lap. She stared into the little 
 mirror, with the dazed fixity of the over-fatigued. Con- 
 fusedly the scene of stormy emotions she had just lived 
 through kept repassing in her mind. She had a vague, 
 desolate sense of being abandoned in this strange place; 
 of everything being terrifyingly different from what she 
 had expected. Yet confidence transcended doubt; the 
 vision of Desmond's last look, the echo of his last words 
 were as the memory of a consecration. 
 
 "Do I not do I not love you!" . . . How he 
 had said those words ! How he had gazed upon her ! 
 
 Warmth and comfort flooded her being at the thought. 
 And so the moments flowed on, in the silence of her room. 
 
 Presently some sound from without began to fix her 
 attention. She became conscious of approaching steps 
 on the stairs, on the landing outside; and then of a whis- 
 pered colloquy. But when the door of the sitting room 
 was opened and shut, her heart bounded. Could he have 
 returned ? Who else indeed would be brought into her 
 sitting room ? Ah, he had realized how lonely she would 
 be if he were not in the house. . . . 
 
 A sharp knock at the door of communication; and the 
 waiter's laboured English through the panels: 
 
 "Gentleman want to speak you, miss," confirmed the 
 delightful anticipation. 
 
 "Oh, Lord Desmond, is it you?" she cried joyfully. 
 "Back already! One minute, one minute!" 
 
 Her grand new dressing wrapper was quite good enough
 
 356 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 for a tea-gown, she thought; but she must just do up her 
 hair again. 
 
 Her hands were trembling in her thick tresses, when 
 another knock fell upon her door, and another voice 
 called : 
 
 "Fifi . . .!" 
 
 "Fritz!" she answered impulsively, in a loud cry of 
 dismay. 
 
 She threw open the door upon the same impulse: 
 mixed anger, mixed fear. Old Fritz stood indeed on 
 the threshold. 
 
 He took her by the wrist, and drew her into the sitting 
 room. She turned her head away uncomfortably from 
 the sad, reproachful eyes that burned upon her out of his 
 haggard face. 
 
 He measured her and her finery a moment in silence; 
 glanced across her through the open door into the bedroom 
 and saw the gold gleaming on the dressing-table under the 
 grim electric lamp. 
 
 "Ah, my poor little one!" he exclaimed, in a sort of 
 whisper; and unconsciously his grasp tightened on her 
 wrist. 
 
 She called out in pain, and he released her, exclaiming 
 violently : 
 
 "To leave me this way, after all!" 
 
 "I did write to you," she said, backing to the table, 
 and tossing her hair from her face. 
 
 "Yes Yes " The old man sat down suddenly, 
 and leaned his head on his hand as one stunned. There 
 fell a small, miserable silence. When he roused himself 
 he drew a crumpled note from his pocket.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 357 
 
 "Yes, you wrote," he resumed. "You gave me the 
 clue. Ah, I have traced you. That yellow motor, that 
 verdammte yellow motor !" 
 
 "Fritz . . .!" she cried, frightened by his incoher- 
 ence, biting her lip as he went on, unheeding: 
 
 ''I won't go to Germany!' . . . Ah, poor silly 
 child ! ' I won't marry that Baron ! ' . . . God forgive 
 them that drove you to worse . . .! 'I'm going to be 
 happy.' " He crushed the letter in his hand and covered 
 his face, groaning. "Happy! mein Gott, happy!" 
 
 "Fritz! Oh, don't Fritz! Fritz . . .!" 
 
 The sight of his suffering, the sense of its unreasonable- 
 ness, withal a heavy consciousness of her own inaptitude, 
 drove her more to exasperation than to remorse. 
 
 "And am I not to be happy?" she demanded. "Why 
 should I not be happy?" 
 
 He lifted his head, fulminating her with his lion look. 
 
 "Silence, child!" Then he turned his chair and with 
 his great trembling hands spread out her letter on the 
 table. ' 'How would you like to call me my lady ?' " 
 He pointed to the sentence with a slowly moving finger, 
 then got up. "My lady!" Suddenly the fierce anguish 
 possessing him escaped control: he struck the words with 
 his fist. " And so I knew ! " 
 
 "Oh," she cried, as if he had struck her. 
 
 "My lady!" he repeated in yet more unmeasured 
 passion. "So he baited the trap! And what shall 
 the world call you now?" At the height of his wrath, 
 the agonizing meaning of his own words struck him; 
 he fell from anger into depth of compassion and his 
 voice suddenly broke into notes of tenderness and sorrow
 
 358 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 far beyond tears. "What shall the world call thee, now? 
 Ach, my poor little girl, ach, mein Kindchen! Never 
 fear, never fear! to me never anything but the little one 
 I love." 
 
 He opened his arms with a wide gesture. 
 
 "My little one . . ." he repeated. 
 
 But, pettishly she drew from the shadow of his embrace. 
 
 "Don't, Fritz I'm not a child now!" 
 
 His arms dropped by his side. He stood, staring 
 before him a moment in silence; then, drawing his great 
 red silk handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his 
 forehead. Suddenly, he seemed to draw himself together; 
 inhaled a long breath through his nostrils, as one bracing 
 himself to endurance; and, turning once more upon her 
 the profound sorrow of his glance, he said slowly: 
 
 "So, it has come to this! No " lifting up his hand, 
 as if in answer to the defiance on her flushing, sullen 
 face "you need fear no reproaches from me; what is 
 done is done. Of that, better to speak no word!" 
 
 "Oh, Fritz, don't look at me like that!" she exclaimed 
 miserably. 
 
 Instantly he averted his eyes. 
 
 "No, no " Again tenderness fought with the severe 
 composure he was putting upon himself. "Try and 
 understand. I am here for you. The old man is here 
 for you!" Peremptorily he bore down her attempt to 
 speak. "Not another word! Not one minute more in 
 this place ! Tie up your hair all that dishevelled hair ! 
 Take off that ill-gotten finery. On with your cloak 
 and come with me!" 
 
 "Go with you!"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 359 
 
 Amazement, derision, the utmost rebellion, was in her 
 voice, in her attitude, in her look. 
 
 "But you must come with me, unhappy child you 
 must come! There is nothing else for you." 
 
 She fended him off, as he would again have seized her 
 hand. 
 
 "Leave Lord Desmond? for the Baron, I sup- 
 pose! That's what you want! Or your farm- 
 house in Germany!" Her voice grew shriller and 
 more strained at every word. "You're all determined 
 to spoil my life. What right, what right have you to 
 order me about ? I've told you before, you've no 
 right." 
 
 His gray head bent a little lower; his bowed shoulders 
 seemed to become weighted as in silence he listened. 
 With such sorrow might a man look upon one beloved 
 in delirium. 
 
 "Oh, you've kept me a child long enough, all of you!" 
 she went on. "Now I'm a woman at last, I'm a woman! 
 I can choose for myself!" 
 
 "And you chose " he said in a low voice "dis- 
 honour." 
 
 "Dishonour?" she repeated, dropping from her high 
 key of resentment into a lower note of complete astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Ah, Fifi, it isn't as if you did not know! You had 
 your lesson, that time at Como. . . . With what 
 tears did you not learn, then, what is thought of a girl 
 who goes away with a man " 
 
 She interrupted him, almost stammering in an angry 
 haste of triumph.
 
 360 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Unless she is going to marry him! Well, I am going 
 to marry Lord Desmond!" 
 
 "Marry him!" 
 
 He spoke almost voicelessly, as if the strength for 
 sound had suddenly failed him. The girl laughed in scorn. 
 
 "What do you think, what do you think, I wonder? 
 Of course he is going to marry me!" 
 
 The old man was silent, and his silence pressed inex- 
 plicably, like a weight of misery, upon the girl's heart. 
 She was so tired! Oh, she was so tired! It was all so 
 strange, and she had cried all her tears! 
 
 Old Fritz put out an uncertain hand, feeling for the 
 table, as if to support himself. Then, at last, very gently, 
 he spoke: 
 
 "When, Fifi?" 
 
 She stared at him a second, with abashed face. 
 
 "He didn't say," she faltered at last. 
 
 "My poor little Fifi! Ach, my poor, unhappy child! 
 When a man means to marry a maiden, seest thou, he 
 marries her before he takes her away." 
 
 "What?" she cried sharply. 
 
 "It is the old, old story. This morning you should 
 have been married. This morning! Ach, Thou my 
 God! how this black-hearted scoundrel has deceived you!" 
 
 As his passion mounted once more, so did hers. Anger 
 warning her again to defiance, after that transient, inex- 
 plicable moment of apprehension and misery. 
 
 "I won't listen to you!" she cried, thrusting her fingers 
 into her ears, and stamping her foot. 
 
 He caught her as she flung herself toward her room. 
 
 "Fritz ... let me go! Oh, oh, Fritz, you brute,
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 361 
 
 let me go . I hate yoii ! - Oh, why did he go away and 
 leave me?" 
 
 "Aye, where is he, the villain? The devil who stole 
 my little child, my little pure child! Ach, Gott! that he 
 were indeed here!" 
 
 "If you don't let me go, I'll scream for help." 
 
 His hands dropped from her. He was a strong man; 
 in spite of age and sickness, stronger than most. And, 
 in his wrath and anguish he felt himself indeed a match 
 for the seducer. Lord Desmond would have met with 
 small mercy, had he found himself within the great knotted 
 hands. But he was no match against her. To him she 
 was always the little one. He saw her, not in vigorous 
 young womanhood, defying him with all her vigour and 
 youth, as she was, but the child he had guarded most of 
 her life; the child who was always ill-treated, always in 
 danger; the child that could be so easily hurt. 
 
 "I won't listen to you," she was saying again, in calmer 
 tones that expressed all the more firmly an unalterable 
 resolve. "I trust him, I must trust him. I love him! 
 I'll never leave him never! You have always 
 scolded me and been cross and spoilt my least, least little 
 bit of fun, all my life. Mama's always hated me, I 
 see that now. She's cruel. She doesn't want me! 
 I'm free of you all. I am free of you all!" she repeated 
 with a fierce deliberation, "and I'm going to be happy, 
 happy in 'my own way." 
 
 She stood on the threshold of her door, and shot him 
 a look of final repudiation. Then, with her inexpressible 
 schoolgirl roughness of movement dashed into her room 
 and slammed the door between them.
 
 362 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 He heard her push the bolt, and remained gazing at the 
 closed door as if blasted. Then he let himself fall into 
 a chair and covered his face with his hands. There are 
 moments when the vision before the mental eye is so 
 terrible that one has to force one's brain to realize it. 
 Fritz clasped his forehead in this agonizing effort. 
 
 The bolt within was drawn back with a slow touch, 
 very different from the energy of that which had shot it. 
 Fifi opened the door a little way; peered in childishly; 
 hesitated; and then, almost timidly, came up to the bent 
 figure with the hidden face. 
 
 "Fritz . . .!" 
 
 He did not move. 
 
 " Fritz, dear I didn't mean to be so horrid ! I I'm 
 sorry. You've always meant to be good to me. I know 
 that. Only you shouldn't have said those things of 
 him. You ought to be sorry for that, too. Fritz ' 
 She was close to him now; laid her hand upon his shoulder; 
 stooped and pressed herself against him, her loose ruddy 
 hair against his white locks. 
 
 "I don't want to be bad friends with you. Not to-night 
 of all nights! For, somehow, Fritz dear, though he did 
 not say so, I feel that to-morrow will be my wedding-day." 
 
 She had sunk down on her knees as she spoke, and at 
 these last words he looked at her. His eyes were dim; the 
 soul that looked through them seemed far away. She went 
 on, flinging her warm round arm coaxingly about him. 
 
 "Oh, don't be angry! I know I was ungrateful to go 
 off without telling you. But you are so strict, Fritz. 
 And you frightened me about Germany . . . And 
 oh, oh, I'm so tired . . . It's been such a strange
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 363 
 
 night, and I do so want to go to bed, and to wake up and 
 find it's to-morrow morning! Look here, just let me 
 say my prayers at your knee. It's perhaps for the last 
 time, you know. And then you'll have to forgive me." 
 
 She was almost inarticulate, from very weariness; 
 too overcome with an ever-increasing exhaustion to be 
 able to think of anything much beyond the single idea of 
 the moment. 
 
 Without waiting for him to answer, she bowed her head 
 and began with an unconscious lapse into the voice and 
 manner of the child who had first been taught these words : 
 
 "Voter im Himmel, gieb mir deinen Segen. Hilf mir 
 sein ein gutes Kind. . . ." All at once the man inter- 
 rupted her with a great cry : 
 
 "She can still say her child-prayers! Oh, merciful 
 Father, how hast Thou preserved Thy lamb!" 
 
 He flung his arms up, and as she clung to him, frightened, 
 gave a loud sob and clasped her to him. 
 
 It was the culminating mysterious terror of the night 
 for her. Fifi sobbed a little in her turn. But, even as 
 she preased against his heaving breast, the sleep of exhaus- 
 tion oTcrpowered her. 
 
 It was years, many years, since she had slept in his 
 arms. He held her yet a little longer for the comfort of 
 it. He thought, with a yearning tenderness, how, those 
 many years ago, he would have carried the little figure in 
 his arms, and laid her in her cot without awakening her. 
 
 Now she had grown out of his arms ; by her own words, 
 out of his life. It is the heartbreak of those who spend 
 themselves in a real, or vicarious, paternity, to have to 
 come to that inevitable parting of the ways; when the child
 
 364 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 they have sheltered chooses, or is forced by fate, to take 
 his own road; when the one who has hitherto been able 
 to suffice, must stand aside and see danger, unhappiness 
 threaten, and be powerless to avert it. 
 
 He led her gently, half blind with sleep as she was, to 
 her bedside; and parted from her there. 
 
 "Good night, KindckenJ" 
 
 "Good-bye . . ." she murmured; yawned, a*d 
 drooped against her pillow. 
 
 Averting his eyes from the open dressing case, which 
 repeated the glint of gold of the table, Fritz went back to 
 the sitting room. His mind was made up, after the simple 
 and complete manner of his nature. The situation was 
 almost an impossible one for him to solve. . . . The 
 man who had eloped with the singer's beautiful daughter, 
 had done so with every appearance of premeditated 
 villainy. Yet, so far, he seemed to have behaved in such 
 a manner as to have successfully concealed his real 
 character from his victim. Strangest of all was this 
 leaving her, alone in this little, utterly respectable, middle- 
 class hotel. . . . Where had he gone ? Had remorse 
 suddenly seized him, and had he abandoned his vile 
 project? Would he return on the morrow, as she so 
 confidently expected, to carry her away? 
 
 From the impenetrable stupidity of his overworked 
 compatriot, the waiter, Fritz had been able to extract 
 nothing but the bare fact that "there had been a gentle- 
 man with the young lady, yes, and he had gone away in 
 a motor." 
 
 Whichever alternative was likely to prove the trfte 
 one, then, Fifi would have an equally crying need of her
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 365 
 
 old Fritz. He would have either to sustain her, left 
 desolate by an act of the most weak-minded treachery; 
 or to tear her away from an allurement which spelt destruc- 
 tion. . . . There was yet the other contingency: 
 the possibility that the lover meant honestly after all. 
 The old musician had too much experience of life to place 
 much credence in this too consoling thought. Yet it 
 recurred again and again. Well, the morrow would 
 show. For the present his own course lay clear: nothing 
 would induce him to leave the house that held her; nay, 
 even the room that adjoined hers. He would watch, 
 within call, as he had watched those nights of her childish 
 sicknesses. Never, indeed, had more mortal sickness 
 threatened her. 
 
 He closed the windows, put out the electric light, set 
 the door that gave on the passage ever so little ajar, so 
 that the lightest footfall should not escape him; and grop- 
 ing his way to the saddle-back armchair, sat down, and 
 prepared himself in great patience for this night watch. 
 
 He trusted to chance not to be discovered. If he 
 were, well, he must find some manner of imposing his 
 will for there he meant to stay. 
 
 An hour dragged by; he heard various sounds that 
 denoted the closing of the quiet little establishment; 
 then a footfall, accompanied by heavy breathing, the 
 jingle of keys, and that rattle which an uncompromising 
 moreen petticoat gives to the feminine gait. The steps, 
 the panting, the jingle and the rustle halted on the 
 landing, which suddenly became plunged in darkness. 
 Then a door was carefully opened and closed hard by 
 and Biddicombe's hotel was wrapped in sleep.
 
 IV 
 AN EXCHANGE OF GIFTS 
 
 BROAD sunshine was flooding the little sitting room, 
 which Lord Desmond had characterized as "such a hole"; 
 and ugly as were its details, it had stamped it with all 
 the cheerfulness which blue sky, open windows and warm 
 airs must carry with them. 
 
 Through a gap in the houses opposite there was a glint 
 of the sea, dazzling; the smell of the sea was on the breeze, 
 its wholesome salt taste sought the lips; its voice was all 
 encompassing not obtrusive but endlessly pleasant to 
 the ear that cared to listen. 
 
 Old Fritz, still in the saddle-back armchair, could not 
 but feel something of the hopefulness of the lovely morn- 
 ing, of the strong vigour of the sea breath, creeping upon 
 tired frame and anxious mind. 
 
 The landlady of the hotel, in person, was spreading a 
 white cloth, with meticulous care, upon the centre table. 
 Strange uses had she been brought to, what with lady's- 
 maid work overnight, and waiter's work this morning! 
 But she had her reasons, as she was garrulously explain- 
 ing the while. 
 
 "I made the tea myself, Mr. Meyer, and I brought it 
 up myself, Mr. Meyer, as you see." She lifted the tray 
 from the sideboard even as she spoke, and, staggering 
 under its weight, set it in its place, with a parenthetical 
 
 366
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 367 
 
 "Don't stir, sir, I beg. We want as little gossip in the 
 house as possible, Mr. Meyer, as a gentleman like you will 
 understand. Dear! to be sure!" She paused in the act 
 of lifting a large blue and white cup to the side nearest 
 the armchair, and drew in her sucking breath of unction. 
 "To think of you sitting up here all night, and me not even 
 aware you were in my hotel! You could have knocked 
 me down with a feather, when I looked in out of the 
 
 young lady's room, this morning " Here she laid 
 
 her fat hand over her heart, as if the memory of that pal- 
 pitating moment was still too much for her; "and saw you 
 fast asleep in the armchair there." 
 
 "Well, well," said the old man with a faint smile. "I 
 haf explained to you why I did it. Poor foolish child, 
 she does not yet understand, my good madame, the posi- 
 tion she has placed herself in. Ach! " He turned 
 his golden-hazel eyes suddenly and sternly upon the 
 excellent woman's broad and honest countenance "I 
 pray Gott she may never understand!" 
 
 Mrs. Biddicombe gave her morning cap a slight toss. 
 If the old foreign gentleman thought she needed such 
 hints. 
 
 "Let me pour you out a cup, sir," she said, turning the 
 conversation with dignity. 
 
 But, teapot in hand, her natural good-natured garru- 
 lity began to pour from her again as copiously as the 
 strong decoction of "fruity" Indian tea from the spout. 
 
 "Well, as you say, she is indeed an innocent thing, 
 Mr. Meyer and that's plain for any one to see. A 
 child, you may say a child, in spite of her being so tall, 
 such a fine figure of a young lady, a regular child! She's
 
 368 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 sleeping still, sir, just like a baby, with that kitten curled 
 against her." She chuckled, with tears in her kind eyes. 
 "As innocent one as the other, you may say! I hadn't 
 the heart to disturb her, though it was near ten o'clock, 
 when I peeped in on her, just now me having over- 
 slept myself most unusual, sir." 
 
 Fritz absently stirred his sugarless tea. 
 
 "Let her sleep let her sleep." 
 
 "Well, she was guarded, I must say! (Couldn't you 
 fancy a bit of toast, sir?) What with you on the one 
 side of her, and me on the other oh, his lordship was 
 most particular about that! 'You'll sleep with her, you'll 
 take care of her, Mrs. Biddicombe,' his lordship said." 
 
 She dropped her tone of chuckling good-humour, and 
 her large, high-coloured face became suddenly clouded. 
 Sidling two or three steps nearer to the abstracted figure 
 in the chair, she hesitated and drew her finger along the 
 tablecloth. 
 
 "It's all a mystery, Mr. Meyer, sir," she said at last, 
 heaving a sigh. "What do you think is going to become 
 of her?" 
 
 Her voice had dropped to a whisper. From under his 
 shaggy gray eyebrows he cast upon her a repressive glance. 
 
 "I am here to look after her, madame." 
 
 "Ah, to be sure." 
 
 Mrs. Biddicombe was both disappointed and affronted. 
 But curiosity was permanent in her nature, and these 
 feelings were evanescent. 
 
 "As you was telling me," she proceeded engagingly, 
 "she's been like a child to you." 
 
 The old man frowned heavily and drank the cup of
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 369 
 
 tea at one draught. The landlady let herself subside on 
 to a chair, sitting on the edge of it to mark formality. 
 
 "Will he come back, do you think ?" she asked. And, 
 again, lowering her voice: "I could not help overhearing 
 his order to the choffer: 'London road,' he cries, 'and 
 top speed.'" 
 
 Fritz pushed his chair from the table with a movement 
 of sharp impatience. He had permitted this woman's 
 garrulity in the hope of obtaining some light upon a situa- 
 tion all painful mystery to him. But what items of infor- 
 mation he had obtained were so contradictory; this last 
 remark of hers seemed to point to such determined and 
 heartless abandonment, that he felt as if he could endure 
 it all no longer. He must cut the knot. 
 
 But even while he strove to brace himself to the misery 
 of the coming struggle, she was flowing on: 
 
 "If only he'd come back to her, Mr. Meyer! I can't, 
 myself, but think he will, somehow. Oh, dear!" 
 Plunged thus unexpectedly into the heart of a most thrill- 
 ing and aristocratic romance, Mrs. Biddicombe could 
 not contemplate its collapse without pangs personal as 
 well as altruistic. "He didn't speak like a villain 
 no, nor looked like one! He's very handsome!" Here 
 the confidential undertone was again adopted: "When I 
 went up to them, last night, I don't mind owning, I was 
 thinking some ugly things about him, I can tell you 
 same as you this moment, Mr. Meyer. What with his 
 grand car, his grand choffer, his grand luggage and 
 his crossing out 'Miss,' where she had begun to write 
 it in the book, poor innocent, and his writing Mr. and 
 Mrs. Brown, large and bold on -
 
 370 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 She was interrupted by a fierce exclamation: 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Mr. Meyer, sir!" 
 
 Fritz had risen, towering, it seemed, in that leonine 
 wrath of his. 
 
 "Look here, my good madame, go and wake her. 
 But quick ! Go and wake her this minute, I must get 
 her away, at once!" 
 
 " Lord ! Mr. Meyer. There's no knowing, he might 
 come back!" 
 
 " Ach, are you woman; need I say more to you ? Can 
 you not see I dare not, I may not, trust her within his 
 reach again?" 
 
 The landlady had risen. She was trembling; her 
 florid face had assumed a purplish pallor. 
 
 "Won't you give them both the chance, sir?" 
 
 The old man was pacing backward and forward across 
 the window-bow; half to himself, half to her, he answered : 
 
 "I have been mad to think there was a chance!" 
 
 "You see, sir," pleaded she, "it's rather awkward for 
 me. I've given a pledge, so to speak, to his lordship 
 
 Her cheeks quivered with emotion, as she spoke. 
 
 " Ach, silence, madame!" cried the German, in the 
 soreness of his heart stirred beyond the bounds of courtesy. 
 "I will myself wake the child." 
 
 He was moving impetuously, still limping heavily on 
 the gouty foot, toward the bedroom door, when the 
 throb of a motor down the narrow street, the crash and 
 groan of its sudden halt before the door, made the two 
 look at each other with eyes in which a similar expecta- 
 tion chased the clouds of mutual annoyance.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 371 
 
 Then Mrs. Biddicombe clasped her hands, and a smile 
 as broad as the woman herself irradiated her countenance. 
 Hasty steps were springing on the stair. 
 
 "It's him! I knew it!" she breathed. Almost upon 
 the ejaculation Lord Desmond entered the room. He 
 was wrapped to the chin in a summer motor coat, and 
 his usually pallid face was gray with fatigue. But his 
 eyes were bright, almost boyish. He carried a small 
 box in his hand. Pressed with haste, and travel-stained 
 as he seemed, he had yet a made careful morning toilet, 
 and his cheek was fresh-shaven. 
 
 "Mrs. Biddicombe!" he cried, at sight of the land- 
 lady; then became aware of the musician's burly figure, 
 and stopped short, measuring him with a glance of sudden 
 haughty annoyance. 
 
 Fritz returned the look with piercing steadiness. Neither 
 spoke. 
 
 "Oh, my heart!" Mrs. Biddicombe was tactfully 
 flustered "You've given me such a turn, my lord!" 
 
 Desmond, at that, wheeled round upon her, and 
 resumed, as if he had not been interrupted: 
 
 "Will you kindly take these flowers to Miss Lovinska, 
 and tell her please " 
 
 Fritz's voice broke in, almost as ponderously as if his 
 great bulk had come between them: 
 
 "You will take no message from this gentleman to Miss 
 Lovinska." 
 
 "What's this?" inquired Lord Desmond, with indes- 
 cribable arrogance, and once more turned to face the old 
 man. 
 
 There was a pause, during which the two seemed
 
 372 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 to measure forces. And in the grip of its suspense none 
 heeded the halting of a cab under the window, nor the 
 shuffle of footsteps on the stairs. It was not until a 
 voice, well known to both of them, was heard repudiating 
 any suggestion of announcement, that the musician 
 and the diplomatist beheld, with blasted astonishment 
 and equal dismay, the appearance on the threshold, arm 
 in arm, of that incongruous pair of mischief-makers, 
 Sir Joseph Warren-Smith and Mr. Philip Scott. Intro- 
 duced by Hermann, the waiter, under the comprehensive 
 though inappropriate term: 
 
 "Gentlemen" 
 
 "Desmond Desmond!" ejaculated the Member of 
 Parliament, withdrawing his tightly gloved hand from the 
 support of the critic's arm, to uplift it in wooden repro- 
 bation. Then, turning to Scott, he piously interjected: 
 "Thank God, we are not too late!" Turning again upon 
 the prodigal: "Desmond, I hardly know how to frame 
 the words. Fortunately, most fortunately, we caught 
 an early train ! When Mr. Scott brought me the dread- 
 ful tidings, I was so overcome " 
 
 Here Scott took him considerately under the elbow: 
 "Yes," he said, "Sir Joseph was so overcome that I could 
 do no less than offer my humble assistance." 
 
 His small eyes, roaming from one to the other, now 
 halted upon Fritz, and twinkled with positive delight. 
 "Hullo, Mr. Meyer! You're beforehand with us, I 
 see." 
 
 He abandoned his charge, and minced up to the repetitor 
 with his hands hanging loosely from the wrists, his whole 
 personality an embodiment of satisfied malice. Truly,
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 373 
 
 the hour for the payment of scores was not wont to strike 
 with such promptitude! 
 
 "Panther's hot on the scent, you know," he murmured. 
 "She'll be down upon you, in the yellow sixty, before you 
 know where you are. Are you following the young ladj 
 in her new career ? Courier, perhaps ? By the way 
 where is the young lady ?" 
 
 Fritz's glance merely brushed him and somehow Mr. 
 Scott's humour, his very presence, seemed to evaporate. 
 Sir Joseph, rolling that ox-like eye in agonizing com- 
 position of his next moral appeal met Mrs. Biddi- 
 combe's fixed with the utmost disfavour upon himself. 
 
 "Tut, tut," he said fretfully to his brother-in-law, who 
 had thrown himself into his accustomed attitude of lan- 
 guid endurance: "this is very painful private matters, 
 matters of the utmost delicacy! What's that woman 
 doing there?" 
 
 "Mrs. Biddicombe," said Lord Desmond in tones of 
 elaborate courtesy, "will you be so good as to take these 
 flowers to Miss Lovinska, and kindly ask her to wear 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. Biddicombe cast a look of triumph at Sir Joseph, 
 and one of somewhat deprecating obstinacy at Mr. Meyer, 
 as she replied with alacrity. 
 
 "Yes, my lord." 
 
 Sir Joseph wrung his hands. "This is shameless, 
 positively shameless," he commented. 
 
 " And will you ask her, from me, to wear white to-day ? 
 - If she has a white dress." 
 
 " Yes, my lord," said Mrs. Biddicombe, yet more expan- 
 sively.
 
 374 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "This," said Sir Joseph into space, "is positively inde- 
 cent." He caught the critic's eye. "Mr. Scott, this is 
 indecent." 
 
 Mrs. Biddicombe, bustling toward the bedroom, halted 
 to survey the last speaker with a withering glance that 
 began at his spats and finished at his bald head. " Who- 
 ever he is, he's no gentleman," was the inward comment. 
 The good woman was hesitating no longer; she was alto- 
 gether the champion of the aristocratic lover. 
 
 "And, if you please," pursued Lord Desmond in his 
 everyday, rather worn-out voice, "tell Miss Lovinska 
 that I should like her to be ready in an hour." 
 
 Sir Joseph gasped. He had no words wherewith to 
 meet a situation so monstrous. Unobtrusively, as the 
 bedroom door closed upon the landlady, Fritz crossed the 
 room and stood before it. 
 
 Mr. Scott had recovered his momentarily obscured 
 pleasure in the situation. He sat down, crossed his round 
 legs, and brought each finger-tip to meet the correspond- 
 ing one; it was an attitude of much sagacity. 
 
 "Fact is, Lord Desmond," he said, "I've been dragged 
 into this affair of yours. What can a man do ? I was 
 rung up by La Marmora herself at midday yesterday 
 flight of Cub just discovered ' you'd better tell that 
 Smith creature,' she screams (beg pardon, Sir Joseph, 
 Panther's own words, hardly knew w r hat she was saying, 
 poor dear) ' get him to take some action, you brought 
 him to my house! (I didn't, but that's a detail) - 
 Make him useful for once.' You mustn't mind my 
 repeating what she said, Sir Joseph she was in a very 
 natural passion -
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 375 
 
 He flung his head against the back of the chair, struck 
 by the unconscious jocularity of his own description. 
 " Natural ! Jove ! I should think she was natural 
 in a passion! Well, it's no laughing matter, really." 
 
 "No, indeed," puffed Sir Joseph. 
 
 "No, indeed. We are here in the interest of virtue, 
 morality and the rest of it. Distracted family. Two 
 distracted families. There's yours, you know, and there's 
 hers Panther's. Shocking to think of a respectable 
 marriage project being interfered with by this ah " 
 he waved a loose hand "this kind of thing." 
 
 "Shocking, shocking!" groaned the M. P. 
 
 Lord Desmond, who had been slowly divesting himself 
 of his motor coat, as if the critic's speech were addressed 
 to any one but himself, now looked vaguely round at him. 
 
 " I'm rather busy would you mind leaving my sitting 
 room and taking Sir Joseph with you ? " He turned 
 to Fritz: "Would you mind?" 
 
 A gesture, quietly insolent, pointed in each case toward 
 the door. 
 
 Sir Joseph grew slowly purple, with a really alarm- 
 ing air of seeming to swell with suppressed emotion. And 
 the old musician moved not an inch from his post. Scott 
 pursed his lips and dropped his hands upon the arms of 
 his chair. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he said then, in his most man-of-the- 
 world manner, "believe me it's not worth it. Panther's 
 Cub's not worth it, really! Panther herself is on the 
 spring. My dear sir, she's here, here in Dover! Or will 
 be in a moment or two. She and Robecq he- he! 
 the bridegroom ! My dear good fellow, you were tracked
 
 376 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 with the greatest ease. That motor of yours, tele- 
 phones, detectives, police traps, all the rest of it. Cecil 
 hotel, dinner at Canterbury, night at Biddicombe's. We 
 had it all pat this morning. I rather think your brother's 
 on the way, too. Martia Marchioness in a frightful 
 state who knows if she won't turn up ? Happy 
 family party ! But it's Panther you'd better beware 
 of, really. Salome, he-he ! our Salome ! She's raging, 
 foaming! Vows she'll make a police case of it, ruin you 
 at F. O. Abduction of minor and all the rest of it. Not 
 a pretty business, really ! " 
 
 "Pretty business!" echoed Sir Joseph. He shot out 
 a threatening arm and shook it helplessly up and down. 
 " You must give her up, sir ! You must " 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Lord Desmond, after a slight pause, 
 "that I really can't oblige you in the matter." 
 
 He glanced around at all three, showing his teeth in a 
 mirthless, angry smile. Then: 
 
 "Lady Desmond and I," he announced with great 
 deliberation, " start for Paris this afternoon." 
 
 " Ach, mein Gott! " said Fritz under his breath. 
 
 "Lady Desmond!" echoed Scott, with an incredulous 
 crow of laughter. 
 
 "Lady Desmond " The fatal words gurgled in the 
 baronet's throat. "Married married!" he gasped, 
 horror-struck. 
 
 " Not yet, Joseph but in an hour's time. The motor 
 outside there is waiting for my bride. You may come 
 and sign the register if you like all of you at St. 
 Barnabas's Church on the cliff." 
 
 Inarticulate with rage, Sir Joseph turned once upon
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 377 
 
 himself and staggered into a chair, falling inertly, like 
 a lay figure that has suddenly lost its balance. 
 
 " There's law in England," he sputtered, then. " This 
 
 this is criminal! This can be stopped. This " 
 
 his arms began to beat the air. 
 
 "Hush, hush!" said Scott, rising. "As a matter of 
 fact, it can't be done, you know, Lord Desmond. The 
 girl's under age, you know. The mother refuses her 
 consent." 
 
 "Miss Lovinska is not under age and Madame la 
 Marmora will not refuse her consent." The strong voice, 
 the heavy German accents of the repetitor made all start. 
 "There is no obstacle whatever to the marriage." 
 
 Lord Desmond looked as haughtily indifferent to this 
 encouragement as to the preceding opposition, but Sir 
 Joseph was moved almost to tears. 
 
 "What! What! Mr. Scott, who is this wicked old 
 man?" 
 
 "Really, my good Meyer," said the person thus 
 appealed to, "this is not your business, you know." 
 
 "Mr. Scott," said Meyer with that glance of supreme 
 contempt, "it is at least more my business than 
 yours." 
 
 Unable to find a retort to so unanswerable a statement, 
 the critic turned acidly to Sir Joseph, in time to prevent 
 a fresh explosion. 
 
 "Pshaw, my dear sir, you are doing more harm than 
 good!" 
 
 Lord Desmond went to the door and opened it. 
 
 "Mr. Scott," he said, "and you, Joseph, I have already 
 politely requested you to leave my room. If you per-
 
 378 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 sist in remaining, I must ring the bell and have you 
 ejected." 
 
 The critic turned green, .nd dived for his hat. Twice 
 turned out in the space of forty-eight hours ! He would 
 remember it in due time and place. 
 
 "Allow me to remark," he said venomously, stopping 
 beside Lord Desmond who still held the door significantly 
 open, "that Panther's Cub seems to have succeeded in 
 what was the phrase, Sir Joseph? he-he! in gal- 
 vanizing your corpse to some purpose." 
 
 "No, Mr. Scott," answered the diplomatist smiling. 
 "Don't say galvanized say animated. Virginia Lov- 
 inska has given me something something I do not 
 expect you to appreciate a soul." 
 
 The critic muttered with a yellow look, that it was 
 supremely comic! Then with a roughness seldom per- 
 mitted in his silky accents: 
 
 "You had better come, Sir Joseph," he cried to his 
 unfortunate companion. "You can wait downstairs for 
 Madame la Marmora if you like. I have no desire to 
 be mixed up any more in this peculiar this unsavoury 
 business!" 
 
 Still smiling, Desmond closed the door on the speaker's 
 empty cackle; on his brother-in-law's tottering form; 
 and turned to find Fritz Meyer's gaze upon him 
 piercing, luminous compelling.
 
 V 
 
 ORANGE BLOSSOMS 
 
 CASSANDRA STURMINSTER had met her husband 
 casually at lunch on the previous day at their own resi- 
 dence; and from kim had learned that "young Des- 
 mond had made an infernal ass of himself. " 
 
 "The mater's awfully keen on my joining in the hue 
 and cry," he had gone on, his long teeth exposed in a 
 rueful smile, "but I can't see that I could be a ha'porth of 
 good." 
 
 Smiling in her own enigmatic way opposite him, his 
 wife responded. 
 
 "No, Wurzel, I don't see that you would be a ha'porth 
 of good." 
 
 "Ha-ha! "he laughed. 
 
 This enviable couple conducted what there was of con- 
 nubial life between them on humorous terms. 
 
 "Supposin' I did catch the chap," proceeded his lord- 
 ship, eating voraciously as he spoke, "nice kind of fellow 
 I should be to preach morality at him." 
 
 "You would, indeed, dear Wurzel." 
 
 His pale eye fixed her for a second. 
 
 "Would what?" - (The best people don't waste time 
 on manners nowadays.) 
 
 "Be a nice kind of fellow." 
 
 He kept staring till the joke side ef the question had 
 
 379
 
 380 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 penetrated ; then broke into his guffaw. She tinkled after, 
 less convincingly than usual. 
 
 "If a fellow wants to hang himself, why, let him hang 
 himself, I say." 
 
 " By all means, let him," said Cassandra. 
 
 "If Desmond chooses to bust himself up at the F. O., 
 let him bust himself up! Only make the scandal worse 
 if you try to stop it." 
 
 "Much worse," she sweetly agreed. 
 
 "Look here, Cassie," said his lordship at the end of the 
 meal. "I'm off to Newmarket, old girl. So if there's 
 any fresh row, if mater toddles round, or anything, you 
 can just let 'em know, you know." 
 
 "Ta-ta," she said, nodding her pretty head. 
 
 No news, however, had penetrated from Lowndes 
 Square or Prince's Gate to Sturminster House till the 
 next morning, when a distracted letter from Sir Joseph 
 arrived by special messenger at an hour when only 
 the under-servants of that establishment were thinking 
 of rising. 
 
 It was addressed to the Most Honourable the Marquis 
 or the Most Honourable the Marchioness of Stur- 
 minster, and urged either or both to join in an immediate 
 and desperate expedition to save the family honour. 
 
 Cassandra, lost in down and lace and a kind of rococo 
 riot of filmy lawn and pink ribbons, pondered a while, and 
 then made up her mind. 
 
 She ordered the car round at half-past eight, and that 
 extraordinary matutinal hour saw her whirling away to 
 Victoria station, her countenance enveloped in almost 
 impenetrable folds of gray gauze.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 381 
 
 From her carriage window at Dover she watched the 
 portly forms of her brother-in-law and the critic toddling 
 down the station to the waiting row of flies; and only 
 when invited to do so by the guard did she alight with a 
 little artfully surprised laugh; and in her turn order her- 
 self to be driven to Biddicombe's Hotel. 
 
 She had studied Sir Joseph's letter more than once 
 during the journey down and had pondered upon it 
 with a very unusual seriousness upon her elfish counten- 
 ance. 
 
 "The detective has informed us," wrote Sir Joseph 
 his formal business hand driven by a passion that scored 
 the page fiercely black " that from unimpeachable infor- 
 mation Desmond and that infamous young woman have 
 been traced from Branksome to the Hotel Cecil thence to 
 Canterbury, and thence again to one Biddicombe's Marine 
 Hotel, Dover, where they have put up for the night. They 
 proceeded by motor car, which was noted on more than 
 one occasion for exceeding legal speed limit." 
 
 It was singular that Cassandra, so easily moved to 
 laughter, should not have had a smile for this pompous 
 phraseology; or even for the comic incongruity of the 
 name of the Hotel which the eloping pair had selected. 
 Through the mist of her veil she now ran her eye in aston- 
 ishment over its dingy facade; then alighting, paid the 
 cabman extravagantly and paused a second to listen to 
 the sound of a voice issuing from the open bow windows 
 of the first floor. She recognized the M. P.'s grating 
 accents. 
 
 " Mr. Scott, this is indecent 
 
 Then, a little nervously, she entered the hall. The
 
 382 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 haggard form of an incredibly grease-spotted and unmis- 
 takably German waiter rushed to meet her. She hesi- 
 tated and softly enquired if there was not a Mademoiselle 
 Lovinska in the house. 
 
 Hermann drove a grimy hand across his harassed brow. 
 There was a young lady, who first called herself Mrs. 
 Brown, and whom Mrs. Biddicombe now spoke of as 
 Miss Loosky. He hardly liked himself to pronounce 
 upon so complicated a matter; and after writhing some 
 seconds in the dilemma, suggested an interview with Mrs. 
 Biddicombe herself. 
 
 " If madame will walk into the coffee-room ? " 
 
 After some delay minutes which seemed of intol- 
 erable length to Cassandra in the dreary surroundings 
 of that apartment the proprietress duly presented her- 
 self. She gave the seated veiled figure an inclination that 
 was cool, not to say suspicious. 
 
 " What might you be wanting with me, if you please, 
 madame? If it is accommodation " 
 
 With an impulsive gesture the other flung back her 
 motor veil. 
 
 " I am Lady Sturminster " (Mrs. Biddicombe felt 
 that her first suspiciousness had been more than justi- 
 fied: "It was another of them." But) "Oh, Mrs. 
 Biddicombe," the soft Southern voice went on and what 
 it said was as astonishing as it was gratifying to the 
 hearer. Stiffness melted from that good woman's deport- 
 ment as rapidly as from a jelly in the sun. There ensued 
 a rapid and animated dialogue, at the end of which, with 
 much pantomimic airs of precaution and many expan- 
 sive smiles, the landlady conducted the new visitor
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 383 
 
 tiptoe up the stairs and into " Miss Loosky's " own bed- 
 chamber. 
 
 Fifi turned a startled face from the strange counten- 
 ance to Mrs. Biddicombe. She had not the least idea who 
 this tall, pretty, fashionable being might be; but her heart 
 began to beat violently. 
 
 "My dear," said the unknown, "I'm Lord Desmond's 
 sister-in-law, and I've come to see if I can help you." 
 
 "And, my dear," burst forth from the triumphant Mrs. 
 Biddicombe, " it's the Marchioness of Stunninster." 
 
 The girl whitened. But Cassandra, coming lightly up 
 to her, placed a butterfly touch on each shoulder and left 
 an almost intangible kiss between the waves of chestnut 
 hair. 
 
 " Do you know that I saw you the day before yesterday 
 at Branksome. You did not see me, but I saw you through 
 the window, you and Desmond sitting together by the 
 sun-dial; I thought you looked just lovely, I did indeed," 
 as the golden-hazel eyes fixed upon her became ever more 
 filled with wonder. "I thought you looked made for 
 happiness, and, my dear, I thought, too, I just could not 
 bear to think of your being unhappy " 
 
 " But I'm going to be happy," cried the girl, with a note 
 of fear sharply defiant in her voice. She stretched out 
 a hand toward the cardboard box on the dressing 
 table, and Cassandra, following the movement, saw 
 that it contained a bunch of lily of the valley, and a 
 sprig of orange blossoms. Then she knew what the heavy 
 fragrance was, that had greeted her nostrils from the 
 threshold.
 
 384 
 
 A quiver like that of pale sunshine passed over her face, 
 very different from its usual determined gaiety. 
 
 "I think you will be happy, honey," she said, under 
 her breath, then glanced across at Mrs. Biddicombe, 
 who stood surveying them with a maternal air of respon- 
 sibility. 
 
 "Orange blossoms " she said. 
 
 The good woman's countenance became illuminated 
 with a far more blatant effulgence than her own. 
 
 "Did I not know it?" she exclaimed, striking her fat 
 palms together. "There now, Mr. Meyer wouldn't 
 believe me and even your ladyship had your doubts. 
 I knew his lordship meant right : ' Let her wear white, 
 Mrs. Biddicombe,' he says; ' tell her to put on the flowers,' 
 he says dear, to be sure; and they orange blossoms!" 
 
 Her distended mouth suddenly quivered at the cor- 
 ners like an overgrown child's; her eyes became suffused. 
 " Dear, to be sure," she whimpered, " if it were my own 
 daughter I couldn't be more glad! Miss Loosky, my 
 dear," she proceeded on a fresh impetus, " it's my opinion 
 his lordship means to make you his bride this very morn- 
 ing." 
 
 She broke off. The lovely young Marchioness gave 
 her an unmistakable sign of warning, and then she saw 
 with some dismay, that Fifi's head was bending low under 
 the wings of her sheltering hair, as if she wished to hide 
 her face. 
 
 "Of course, Mrs. Biddicombe," said Cassandra, with 
 a delicate deliberation, "it isn't always easy to arrange 
 for a runaway match. I daresay my poor brother-in- 
 law has had endless difficulties."
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 385 
 
 Fifi jerked up her head; suddenly caught Cassandra's 
 hand and kissed it. 
 
 Cassandra gave her fingers a quick little pressure, and 
 proceeded with brisk cheerfulness as if quite unaware 
 of any need for emotion. 
 
 " But orange blossoms, and a white dress yes, it does 
 look like the wedding to-day."
 
 VI 
 FRITZ GIVES HIS CONSENT 
 
 LORD DESMOND and Fritz Meyer stood face to faee; 
 and, in the silence the sounds from the inner room were 
 indistinctly audible to both. A woman's soft voice, 
 the rustle of garments shaken free of tissue paper, a sub- 
 dued current of laughter, and all at once Fifi's young voice 
 on a high note of joy. "Oh ! Mayn't I ask him?" 
 
 The colour sprang to Desmond's cheek; he made a 
 movement toward the door even as the handle rattled 
 under an impulsive hand. 
 
 "Lord Desmond are they gone? Oh, Lord Des- 
 mond!" Then, with a falling note of disappointment: 
 
 "Oh " as Fritz's outstretched arm kept the door 
 
 from opening. 
 
 "One moment, child!" commanded the old musician. 
 Even as he spoke he turned the key in the lock and with- 
 drew it. And, once again, the "Oh!" was repeated in a 
 still more pronounced tone of chagrin. 
 
 Then, in a low voice of controlled anger: 
 
 "Will you kindly step aside?" said Desmond to the 
 interloper. "I have to speak to my bride." 
 
 "One moment, young man," said the other again, com- 
 ing down into the room and standing so as to guard, this 
 time, the other door. "You have spoken brave words 
 about your bride, just now. But explain to me this thing ) 
 
 386
 
 "JJ7// you kindly step aside?" said Desmond to the inter- 
 loper. "/ Juive to speak to my bride "
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 387 
 
 if you please." His lowered accents took a deeper 
 emphasis: "How comes it, Lord Desmond Brooke, that 
 this maiden has been one day and one night under 
 your protection and is not yet Lady Desmond Brooke ? " 
 
 "What business is that of yours?" said the younger 
 man, flashing. "Stand out of the way, sir! What a 
 ridiculous situation ! What the devil is it to you ? " he 
 cried. 
 
 "It is a great thing to me. Your deeds and your 
 words, look you, my lord, are in discord." 
 
 "My deeds and my words " retorted Lord Desmond 
 fiercely. But he broke off under the fulminating glance, 
 the roar that fell upon him from the old man : 
 
 "You have sullied her good name." 
 
 "Good God!" Desmond caught Meyer by the arm. 
 "Lower your voice, man, she may be listening!" There 
 was a moment's heavy silence, while Meyer, breathing 
 hard, held the other under a glance that seemed as if it 
 would fain tear the flesh from him to get to his heart. 
 " She believes in me she believes in me completely " 
 
 " Ach The German, in his turn laid a heavy 
 
 hand upon the speaker, and drew him, unresisting, to the 
 window. "It is so, then, as I suspected," he denounced, 
 and the whisper in which he spoke, increased rather than 
 diminished the force of the indictment. "You hound, 
 
 you took her to betray her !" Then his rage fell 
 
 away beneath a storm of tender remembrance. "She 
 prayed at my knee, last night!" 
 
 Lord Desmond was struggling with an emotion not less 
 than that of the old musician. 
 
 "Her innocence enfolded her," he cried, "like wings,
 
 388 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 like angels' wings ! And I I have been kneeling at 
 her feet in my heart, the whole night! When I took her 
 away I you are right I don't want to excuse myself 
 I don't want to speak of that All night, all night, 
 the old beautiful words have been ringing in my ears 
 ' a garden enclosed is my sister and my spouse ' Dash- 
 ing along at mad speed, every throb of the motor beat 
 them into my brain. Oh, cannot you see how it has 
 been?" 
 
 If Meyer had wanted to tear the heart from the man's 
 body, it was now as if he held it between his hands. 
 
 "She is a child she trusted you," he said slowly. 
 
 "She trusts me," passionately amended Desmond. 
 
 "And now, you " The old man spoke with the 
 
 grave authority of one who has a right to question; and 
 the young man went on as if he accepted that right. 
 
 "I have scarcely drawn a breath since I understood. 
 All night I have been working to repair. I flew to 
 Canterbury for a special licence. I had to get a licence 
 for to-day. I scarcely know how I managed in the time, 
 by what insistence, what frantic expense of bribe and 
 argument. Somehow I got round the authorities. My 
 name worked something, my money more; back in 
 Dover at ten had to make myself decent to see the 
 clergyman; I had warned him by telegram. Oh, yes, 
 she shall be married in Church. You see, you under- 
 stand, I want her to feel that all is right with us, all 
 sanctified. The mere registry-office marriage is not for 
 her I must bring her to the altar." 
 
 He fell suddenly silent, then resumed between his 
 teeth:
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 389 
 
 "I'd rather blow my brains out before God, I'd 
 rather kill her than that she should ever know!" 
 
 Fritz Meyer drew a long breath and relaxed the mighty 
 gaze that seemed to have driven the other man to utter 
 self-betrayal. Desmond passed his hand dazedly over his 
 head. 
 
 "I can't imagine," he said, wearily, "why on earth I 
 should be saying all this to you!" 
 
 Silently the repetitor limped to the bedroom door, 
 inserted the key, and unlocked it. Then he stood aside, 
 and with that gesture of sweeping command: 
 
 "You may go to her," he said. "You need fear no 
 difficulty about your marriage." 
 
 Desmond stared. He felt as if he had been hypnotized, 
 and, once more passed his hand across his forehead as if 
 to wipe away the dazed impression. Then he hastened 
 to the door and knocked. 
 
 Promptly Mrs. Biddicombe opened and pushed Fifi 
 across the threshold with a motherly hand. Desmond's 
 eyes lighted at sight of the tall white figure; but a moment 
 after, he found himself staring again. Behind the lovely 
 apparition of his bride, Cassandra was advancing toward 
 him, her lips arching into smiles. 
 
 "We've done our best, my lord," Mrs. Biddicombe was 
 saying in her jovial, wheezy tone. "Though it's a bride 
 in white serge, your lordship has, I'm sure she looks a 
 picture! And, your lordship, it has to be a hat! But 
 those white wings are that becoming and after all, 
 there's no mistaking orange blossom." 
 
 Lord Desmond had taken Fifi's hand into his and drawn 
 her to his side white-winged hat and white serge gar-
 
 390 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 ments, she was the most beautiful and desirable of brides. 
 But his glance sought beyond her, questioning the mean- 
 ing of Lady Sturminster's presence. 
 
 Cassandra then came forward. 
 
 "Excuse me," she said, "dear Virginia. Desmond, 
 will you listen to me for a second ? " 
 
 Fifi, bewildered, stepped back to find Meyer's arm 
 around her. And while the old man silently held her 
 encircled, brother and sister-in-law retired to the window- 
 bow and held a brief colloquy. Mrs. Biddicombe surveyed 
 them from the threshold with critical satisfaction: two 
 noble aristocratic beings they were! 
 
 "I've come as a friend, Desmond," said Cassandra, 
 leaning toward him and speaking low, with unwonted 
 gravity on her childish face. 
 
 Still his eyes questioned. She hesitated. 
 
 " I didn't know what you meant to do with her," she 
 said at last, looking down. Then she suddenly opened 
 the full softness of her glance upon him. "I didn't 
 
 want " she began, and then laughed, though with 
 
 a little catch, as though the pretty mechanism of her 
 laughter did not work very well any more. " I didn't 
 want another life spoilt by you Brookes." 
 
 And as she said these words, the man looking at her, 
 knew all at once, and wondered how he had never seen 
 it before, that that mask of gaiety was but the merest 
 film trying to cover the tragedy of a broken heart. 
 
 From his own stirred emotions there was about to 
 spring a deep word of sympathy ; but with a flickering side- 
 long look and a smiling curve of lip, mutely she forbade 
 it. She chose to laugh instead of to cry; that was her
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 391 
 
 way, let it be respected! Awkwardly he changed the 
 words that were upon his lips. 
 
 "And, if you had found me as bad " 
 
 " As Wurzel ? " she concluded with her usual airiness. 
 "I'd have taken her then." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "I'd have taken her from you, I say; and just made it 
 straight as straight as I could. Oh, when I saw that 
 young thing, two days ago, I just knew what she was. 
 And so you see, we Americans, we aren't like you, we 
 haven't got all those fine distinctions of class you have 
 over here my heart went out to her, I just felt as if 
 she was a young sister." 
 
 "Cassie," he said, "you are a good woman." 
 
 He took her hand and pressed it. She drew it from his 
 clasp. 
 
 " Hurry, now." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," he said and looked at his watch. As 
 he came down into the room, Fifi impulsively sprang 
 toward him. 
 
 " We've got to be in Church in ten minutes, Virginia." 
 Cassandra stood in the window, watching them. No 
 one was paying any attention to her; for once she could 
 let the tears well into her eyes.
 
 VII 
 LA MARMORA'S FINAL DEFEAT 
 
 PERHAPS the most astounding of the astounding array 
 of visitors that had passed through the unobtrusive por- 
 tals of Biddecombe's Hotel these last twenty-four hours, 
 was now deposited by the big sixty. 
 
 This monstrous machine ground into the little street 
 like an engine of destruction; and ejected like a bomb 
 the form of Madame la Marmora. 
 
 She dashed into the hall as if propelled by an exterior 
 force; and almost prostrated Sir Joseph who hurried out 
 from the front sitting room to meet her. Flung back upon 
 her fierce advance, she surveyed him with a look that was 
 like a slap in the face. 
 
 " Well ! You ! you Smith, where is my daughter ? " 
 
 Scott, grinning in the doorway, turned upon the sound 
 of another approaching footstep, to grin again as he beheld 
 the Baron's figure, blocking up the, entrance. 
 
 "Your daughter, Madame," said Sir Joseph vindic- 
 tively, "is, I understand, dressing herself for her mar- 
 riage with my unhappy brother-in-law." 
 
 Fulvia la Marmora repeated the word, upon a whis- 
 pering breath: 
 
 " Marriage ! " 
 
 Scott could see, silhouetted against the outer light, 
 the shrug of the impresario's shoulders. 
 
 392
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 393 
 
 "Where is she?" demanded the mother savagely, and 
 caught Sir Joseph's woodenly gesticulating gloved hand. 
 
 "You'll find them on the first floor," said the Member 
 of Parliament, unconsciously returning that contamina- 
 ting pressure in the abandonment of a common emotion. 
 " Lord Desmond is in the sitting room, the door just facing 
 you on the landing." 
 
 There was a rush like the passage of a storm wind as 
 La Marmora tore past him to the stairs, her silk motor 
 cloak noisily brushing the narrow walls on either side as 
 she went. 
 
 "She won't knock on the door," remarked Scott. 
 "Well, Baron, aren't you going to run after her? Hullo, 
 I say, why not do the Lochinvar business, with that car 
 at the hall door?" 
 
 While Sir Joseph panted and puffed and wiped his 
 forehead, swelling with melancholy triumph at his own 
 masterly operations, the impresario advanced with his 
 usual deliberation, and gently pressed Mr. Scott on one side 
 in order to pass into the room. He sat down then, upon 
 the first chair, and said, drawling even more than usual: 
 
 "It strikes me, Mr. Scott, that the Lochinvar busi- 
 ness has been pretty successfully done already. No, 
 sir, I'm not here after the daughter, I'm here after the 
 mother." 
 
 "Good God!" said the baronet, as he joined them. 
 
 "Oh, Salome!" interpreted the critic, and a peculiar 
 glance came into his eyes. "Well, she is playing hell 
 and Tommy upstairs. Hadn't you better look after 
 Salome?"
 
 394 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Do you think," said Robecq, with apparent irrele- 
 vance, "that they'd be capable of providing me with an 
 egg flip in this place ?" 
 
 "Rummy sort of place for his lordship to have chosen!" 
 interpolated Scott. "Yes I should think you might 
 get an old egg or so." 
 
 "And some young brandy " smiled the Baron. 
 
 He was astonishingly calm, though there was now a thud 
 of feet overhead and a confusion of voices. 
 
 "She'll tear the cub limb from limb, I vow!" said 
 Scott, all delighted intentness, while the other concluded 
 his phrase with a placidity which seemed to be aware 
 of neither interruption. 
 
 "Well beaten up together, perhaps we could disguise 
 that egg she's had nothing to eat to-day." 
 
 He rose and rang the bell as he spoke. 
 
 "Baron," said Scott, running to the door and running 
 back again, grinning with eagerness, "oughtn't you, 
 oughtn't we really to see what's going on up there ?" 
 
 "Oh, let her scream off the first steam I'll come in 
 with the egg flip," said the philosophic manager, again 
 pulling the old-fashioned bell-rope. 
 
 "Listen to her! listen to her!" cried Scott again. 
 
 "Perhaps, indeed, we ought to lend Madame la Mar- 
 mora the weight of our presence," suggested Sir Joseph, 
 who was now possessed by as kindling a desire to be in 
 at the fray, as the critic himself. 
 
 "Mr. Scott," said Robecq, "would you mind hanging 
 on to that bell-rope ? I just want to write out a tele- 
 gram." 
 
 He sat down at the battered writing table and began
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 395 
 
 to write carefully with a fountain pen. The wording of 
 this despatch had been rehearsed many times between 
 the night of the garden party and this morning. It was 
 addressed to Madame lima, in Prague, and ran, in Ger- 
 man, to this effect: 
 
 "Would you be disposed to undertake the part of 
 Salome for me in London. First performance Covent 
 Garden, June 23rd." 
 
 "Here is the waiter," interrupted Scott. 
 Robecq unostentatiously folded the telegram. 
 "He'll have it posted for you," suggested the critic. 
 "Thank you, dear friend," said the manager. "I'm 
 not yet sure if I'll have to send it." 
 
 La Marmora broke into the room even as Desmond 
 had taken her daughter's hand to lead her downstairs. 
 She hurled herself upon them in her whirlwind fury; 
 halted a single second to grasp the scene and then fell 
 upon the girl like a hawk upon its prey. 
 
 "So, I've caught you, miss!" With an irresistible 
 strength she dragged her from her bridegroom's side. 
 Then as the orange blossom and lily of the valley at Fifi's 
 breast struck her senses, a convulsion passed over her face. 
 "Ah, mais won/" she cried, "we've no use for orange 
 blossom to-day." 
 
 "Mama! Mama!" 
 
 The flowers were within the frenzied woman's grasp. 
 She turned her face, a mask of fury upon the man : 
 
 "Lord Desmond, I'll ruin you for this!" 
 
 He felt helpless before such a display of virdence;
 
 396 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 unable to meet an experience so foreign to even- instinct. 
 to every convention of his life. 
 
 "Let the maiden go!" 
 
 It was Fritz who spoke. Not angrily, nor even loudly; 
 and yet it was as if the sound of those few words withered 
 the woman's rage with a livid terror. She dropped Fifi's 
 arm, cowered back, and stared at the old musician : 
 
 "You here!" 
 
 Fritz came forward and took the centre of the room; 
 at the same time, it seemed, the centre of authority. In 
 his shabby clothes, with his haggard, unshorn face, with 
 his heavy simplicity of speech and manner he yet once 
 again dominated. 
 
 "Madame la Marmora has been in anxiety about her 
 daughter " he said; "anxiety wantonly inflicted. But 
 when she knows that the young lady is about to espouse 
 the man of her choice, she will withdraw all opposition to 
 the union." 
 
 "Miserable!" screamed the singer, recovering the cour- 
 age of her passion. 
 
 "Lord V mercy!" ejaculated Mrs. Biddicombe. 
 
 "Take your bride away, Lord Desmond," ordered Fritz. 
 
 "I forbid the marriage! I will forbid it at the altar!" 
 
 The Panther was on the spring again. But now the old 
 man came between her menace and the lovers, with uplifted 
 hand. 
 
 "She will have her mother's consent." He raised his 
 voice over the rising outcry. "Madame, I claim my 
 right!" 
 
 Once again she shrank, cowered. He kept her for a 
 moment under his glance, and then went on quietly.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 397 
 
 "My right as an old friend " 
 
 There was a pause. Cassandra, white and shaken, 
 came down into the room; and, picking up the flowers 
 on the floor, began to fasten them again at the girl's breast. 
 
 " Madame la Marmora consents to your marriage 
 Miss Fifi," said Fritz. "Take her away, Lord Desmond, 
 I say." 
 
 There was a moment's breathlessness in which every 
 one instinctively waited for the denial. The prima donna 
 stood, huddled together, glaring under her eyebrows, 
 drawing her breath hissingly between closed teeth; the 
 very personification of hatred, of opposition, of vengeance 
 baffled. But she spoke no word. 
 
 "Go," said the musician again. Then Desmond 
 silently took Fifi's hand within his arm and, followed by 
 Cassandra, moved toward the door. 
 
 Mrs. Biddicombe vanished discreetly by the bedroom. 
 
 "I'll stand by you, dear," whispered Lady Stunninster 
 to Fifi, striving to bring comfort into the words. But the 
 bride and bridegroom went slowly and silently forth, with 
 the weight of the mother's unspoken curse upon their 
 hearts. 
 
 "Good heavens!" cried Mr. Scott, rushing to the win- 
 dow; "they're off!" 
 
 The Baron stopped in his careful beating of yolk and 
 brandy and looked up, then, with an unexpected agility, 
 arrested Sir Joseph in his bovine charge upon the door. 
 
 "No, my dear sir, you don't," he purred. "You just 
 keep quiet keep quiet, I tell you." 
 
 He held a dripping fork in one hand and the baronet's
 
 398 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 coat sleeve by the other. Whether it was the fear of 
 receiving any of that doubtful yolk upon his garment, 
 or that his innate dignity recoiled from a personal struggle, 
 certain it is that Sir Joseph remained, inactive; pro- 
 testing, indignant, agonized, but inactive. 
 
 Mr. Scott, peering over the grimy blind, kept up a run- 
 ning fire of comments, each of which seemed to strike 
 the baronet like pellets of shot. 
 
 "There she goes! All in white, ha-ha! and 
 impossible! Yes dash my soul!" cried Mr. Scott, 
 struck into an unusual vigour of expletive: "It's young 
 Lady Sturminster! Upon my solemn word of honour it 
 is the fair Cassandra! As lovey-dovey as you please 
 her arm about the blushing bride. Well, I daresay she's 
 got a score to pay off with your noble family eh, Sir 
 Joseph? She's scoring 'em off there! Oh, what will 
 Martia Marchioness say? Off they go! Looks a little 
 down in the mouth, our diplomatist! Wonder how the 
 cub managed it? Really, you know," said Mr. Scott, 
 coming away from the window, "she's shown a deal more 
 cunning than any one would have given her credit for, 
 has Panther's Cub!" 
 
 The Baron had gone back to his egg flip and now showed 
 some signs of haste, as he poured in the hot milk. 
 
 Sir Joseph flung himself into an armchair. His atti- 
 tude was that of one overcome by adverse fate. 
 
 "All up, eh?" said Scott. 
 
 "Eh?" repeated the baronet with a lack-lustre glance. 
 
 "U. P., you know," chuckled the other. "Do you 
 think Panther and the old German are murdering each 
 other up there?"
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 399 
 
 The manager put down the glass of flip and paused on 
 his way to the door. 
 
 "What did I hear you say?" he asked. 
 
 "Old Fritz, you know Panther's keeper. It is he 
 who has done it all. Ain't it, Sir Joseph ? Bless you, 
 my children! Most extraordinary business, you know, 
 Robecq," he proceeded, warming to his usual confidential 
 inquisitiveness, when he broke off, surprised. The Baron 
 had walked back again to the table, and, sitting down, 
 took up the fork. 
 
 "I reckon," he remarked, "this will be more palatable 
 if I go on beating it for some time. If Fritz is up there, 
 I needn't hurry."
 
 VIII 
 JEANNE -MARIE MEYER 
 
 "Je les maudis, maudis!" said the singer, as beneath 
 the window the throbbing of the motor became lost in 
 the smooth roll of departing wheels. 
 
 Fritz Meyer turned his head. He had been staring 
 out through the open casement at that peep of bright 
 seas between the houses. His eyes the eyes of the 
 tamer, the eyes of the man who had been Panther's keeper 
 so long fell now, terrible, upon the mother who cursed 
 her child. 
 
 " Jeanne-Marie Meyer," he said then, in a voice 
 vibrating with the passion long gathered of years, 
 "down on your knees and thank God that our child 
 has gone in purity and honour, to wed an honourable 
 man!" 
 
 The singer shrank from him, tottered across the room 
 and flung herself face downward on the sofa. There 
 she lay as one annihilated. After a pause he moved 
 ponderously nearer to her. 
 
 "How dared you curse our child! It was not for 
 that I left her with you!" 
 
 Her shoulders began to heave. The deep note of 
 wrath left his tones and was succeeded by a sorrowful 
 sternness. He went on in German: 
 
 " Ach, Frau, when from one day to another you turned 
 
 400
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 401 
 
 my poor little home from heaven to hell, you left me one 
 hope one hope that was also the greatest of my griefs : 
 you took the child. Ach, when I sought you in 
 vain, both of you, till there was not a penny between 
 myself and starvation and I had to pawn my father's 
 watch to get back to my work for daily bread, even 
 then it was this thought that kept the life in me: 
 You had not had the heart to leave your little child 
 behind you!" 
 
 The heaving of the shoulders became more violent. 
 A kind of sobbing moan accompanied it. 
 
 "When I found you again," he went on, and there 
 was a hush in his voice; it might have been that of a man 
 who, having fought in vain for another's life, stood look- 
 ing down at last on the hopelessness of death, "when 
 I found you in Paris, you still clung to the little one. 
 You begged for her, with tears and sobs. It was in my 
 power then to let you keep the child and to help you 
 back to an honest life ... I left you our child, I 
 stood by you in your work, I kept our secret, I was as 
 your servant I, who had been your husband, became 
 for the world your servant. I saw my child grow up 
 under another's name that she should not know the shame 
 of her mother's life; I obliterated my sacred paternal 
 rights. For so many years, ah, so many years, have I 
 been so much less than man. It was to save you. Ach, 
 fool that I was ! The child was not to save you . . . 
 nothing could save you. You but loved it as the beasts 
 do their young, by the instinct of the animal. It was 
 not your rival then ! " 
 
 Her long body writhed as if in physical agony. She
 
 402 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 clenched and unclenched her hands and rolled her head 
 between them, and the moan turned into a snarl, the 
 snarl of the cowed panther beneath the lash. 
 
 "And to-day, ah, Thou my God, I see the end of my 
 long sacrifice. Unnatural mother! Shameless woman! 
 You had rather see your child parted from the man she 
 loves, see her a creature for public dishonour, than know 
 her his happy wife ! And why ? For what vile reason ? 
 Because you, you have fixed your shameless fancy upon 
 your daughter's lover. Ach, wanton ! " 
 
 She turned on her side, drawing up her knees, and 
 with her arm over her eyes. 
 
 " Tais toi tais toil" she panted. 
 
 "Now it is finished," said Meyer. He folded his 
 arms. "The man who once loved you, who still cease- 
 lessly worked, blindly hoped for you, is no more. He 
 who was your husband is dead. . . . The father 
 lives. The father only is left. My daughter and I pass 
 out of your life for ever." 
 
 La Marmora, huddled on the sofa, dropped her head 
 upon her knees and broke into sobbing. He came a 
 step closer to her. 
 
 "Ach, du weinst! The first time we met, you were 
 crying. Poor little Jeanne-Marie, the street singer, 
 beaten by the old organ-grinder, whose thin little arm 
 was ever lifted as if to ward off a blow! It was I who 
 taught you how to laugh, how to be afraid no more. 
 Those days in the little home the home you dese- 
 crated! Now it is farewell between us, and again you 
 weep, wieder du weinst!" 
 
 She lifted her head. She was broken, overthrown.
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 403 
 
 But it was anger still, the helpless anger of the conquered, 
 that looked out of her streaming eyes. 
 
 " You mean to abandon me, then ? " 
 
 " Would you keep me by your side ? " 
 
 " Without you I am lost And you know it ! " She 
 flung the words at him, with a sudden ferocity of reproach. 
 
 He closed his eyes for a minute and breathed deep; 
 then, with a slight and exceedingly bitter smile : 
 
 "Fulvia la Marmora, the great singer, is lost without 
 the poor repetitor! So be it then . . . for a little 
 while A very little while, Jeanne . . ! The years 
 are coming on you too: it is almost the end of the fugue." 
 
 She sprang to her feet, straightened herself and leaned 
 toward him, with so swaying a movement that, thinking 
 she was going to fall, he put out his hand : 
 
 "The end of the fugue . . . with me!" Her 
 tears were all dried up; her very throat was parched. 
 
 By the hand with which he held her he pressed her 
 back upon the sofa. Then, sitting beside her, still keep- 
 ing his grasp upon her, with a touch as gentle as it was 
 merciless, he went on : 
 
 "Already your golden voice is leaving you. Is it not 
 so ? Note by note. This year have we not had to trans- 
 pose Ach! and transpose again ? " 
 
 Open-mouthed, scarcely breathing, she sat, her eyes 
 fixed upon his face, as if she had lost even the power of 
 looking away. 
 
 "And your beauty! Poor woman, day by day that 
 is fading. Paint cannot hide those lines, those falling 
 muscles. Do you think the false brightness of your 
 hair replaces the old, wonderful tint? . . . For all
 
 404 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 your precautions, your youth is gone from you for 
 all your art your voice is going ! " 
 
 With a movement as sudden as it was fierce she leaped 
 from beside him, then tore her hat from her head and 
 flung herself against the chimney-piece to stare at her 
 own image in the mirror. One or two china ornaments 
 were in her way: she swept them from the marble. 
 Almost a minute was filled with that desperate gaze, 
 then she staggered back into the room and a long scream 
 rang from her a scream suddenly broken, as if the 
 vocal chords had given way. 
 
 With a face blasted by terror, she caught at her throat ; 
 and, as she reeled, the old musician opened his arms 
 to receive her. 
 
 "Ach, duArme!" 
 
 He knew too well what had happened. The crystal 
 was shattered. Fulvia la Marmora had been; only 
 Jeanne-Marie Meyer remained. 
 
 "Ach, du Arme!" he repeated, clasping her close to 
 his great breast, which rose and fell under overpowering 
 emotion of pity. " If all leaves you all the world, 
 all your triumphs there is still old Fritz " 
 
 A moment he pressed her, only the more compas- 
 sionately for the shudder and the groan of misery that 
 escaped her. Then, for there were steps without, he made 
 her sit; and to shield her, stood before her. 
 
 After a knock and a discreet pause, Robecq entered. 
 A single masterly glance sufficed to show him all there 
 was to see; the shattered china on the floor, the collapsed 
 figure of the singer, leaning with both arms outstretched
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 405 
 
 across the table; her dishevelled head between them; 
 Fritz's face of trouble. 
 
 If he had ever doubted, he doubted no longer what 
 was the tie between them. But this was none of his 
 business. His business was with only one thing 
 La Marmora's voice. 
 
 "One moment, mein bester Meyer. Fulvia! Fulvia 
 my dear," he tapped her arm and she raised her face. 
 He started ever so slightly at sight of it, but continued 
 courageously, in his matter of fact, good-humoured, 
 scolding drawl : 
 
 "Tsha tsha! . . . And the voice? Drink 
 this, at once." 
 
 There was a reek of brandy in the room mingling with 
 the insistent fragrance of a little crushed orange spray 
 on the floor. 
 
 The singer's lips moved. No sound came. She 
 reared herself in her chair, and again both hands sought 
 her throat. At last, a gasping whisper came : 
 
 "Imbecile! . . " 
 
 The impresario's florid face turned pale. He shot 
 at Fritz one ferocious glance of inquiry. The old Ger- 
 man slowly bowed his head. 
 
 "Twenty thousand devils!" ejaculated the impre- 
 sario, and, as if scarcely aware of his own action, drained 
 the egg flip at a draught. 
 
 He had long foreseen the possibility of such a 
 disaster, and was already indeed making prepara- 
 tions against it; but when it came in reality, it 
 effected him oddly; and from an unwontedly altruistic 
 point of view.
 
 406 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "My God," he thought, as he laid down the glass, 
 " the wretched creature's face ! " 
 
 La Marmora was no longer the Queen of Song she 
 was " the wretched creature! " 
 
 He was a good-natured man, and he could not endure 
 to remain in the room with the tragedy a moment longer. 
 
 "Tut, tut," he said, perfunctorily consoling, "get her 
 home, Fritz, get her home! I'll look in in the evening 
 and bring a doctor hein, I'd better bring a doctor. 
 You'll soon be all right, my dear." 
 
 Already he was on the threshold. He was in a hurry, 
 as far as Robecq could ever be in a hurry, to send that 
 telegram. 
 
 Fritz closed the door which the impresario had left 
 open, and came back to the table. 
 
 La Marmora had fallen back into her hopeless atti- 
 tude, and lay as one in a stupor. He took a chair oppo- 
 site to her, and sat patiently, his gouty foot extended in 
 its cloth slipper, waiting till the moment should come 
 when she would turn to him. He was the only one she 
 could turn to now in the world.
 
 IX 
 
 LADY DESMOND 
 
 FIFI ran up to her room alone to tie on her motor 
 veil. Lord Desmond had arranged to motor to Folke- 
 stone, dine there and take the night boat. 
 
 At the Church door, Cassandra had taken leave of 
 them, with a gay word to the bridegroom : with a speech- 
 less, almost passionate embrace to the bride. She had 
 gone off in a rattling fly, drawing the gray gossamer over 
 her face. Fifi did not know why, but she thought her 
 new sister-in-law was crying. 
 
 Preliminary farewells had also been exchanged with 
 Mrs. Biddicombe, very exuberant on the good lady's 
 part, very generous on Lord Desmond's. 
 
 The girl was glad to find herself alone a moment; she 
 had so strange a sense of mounting exhilaration that it 
 seemed almost more than she could bear. At the first 
 touch of his ring on her finger, the shadow had been lifted 
 from her heart, for ever the shadow that had lain 
 there, almost since she could reason at all. The shadow 
 of the childhood without a home, of the imprisoned 
 girlhood. The shadow of her mother's doubtful posi- 
 tion, of her unnatural jealousy. The shadow of that 
 foolish Como adventure. All the accumulated trouble 
 of the last three days, culminating in the maternal male- 
 diction; all had been swept away! The old life was 
 
 407
 
 408 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 done with and everything belonging to it. The Baron 
 . . . with his false friendliness and his horrible 
 endearments! . . Fritz, with his scoldings, his sus- 
 piciousness, his perpetual interference! . . . Scott, 
 with his sneers. The mother who hated, who struck, 
 who cursed! It was not likely, it was not even possible 
 that she should ever be brought into contact with any 
 of them again, and she was glad. She had stepped 
 into u new and radiant life; and a love beyond the 
 most romantic dream of her innocent imagination 
 was hers. 
 
 All the way back from the church he had hardly 
 spoken a word to her. But that had not been needed; 
 the blue eyes had rested upon her and brought to her 
 soul the fulfilment of that deep promise they had held 
 from the first. Until the motor stopped, he had clasped 
 her hand, the hand with the wedding ring. How strange 
 it felt. She looked at it now as if she could hardly 
 believe her vision. She was his wife Desmond's 
 wife! Oh, how right she had been to trust him! 
 
 A knock came upon the door. Just gathering up the 
 veil she hurried to open, flinging it over her hat as she 
 went. It was Desmond. 
 
 "I'm coming," she explained, with a happy catch 
 in her breath. But, instead of leading her downstairs, 
 he pressed her back into the room. 
 
 "Wait a little," he said huskily, "just for a little 
 while. I want to be in this room with you, just for a 
 minute." 
 
 His glance went about the shabby place, as he spoke, 
 rested on the bed where she had lain in her exhaustion and
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 409 
 
 desolation last night, then came back to her. He put 
 out his hand as if he would take hers but drew it back. 
 
 "Why?" said she, all in wonder. 
 
 "Yes," he exclaimed, and his voice was hurried, low., 
 pulsating with a breathless agitation, as if with the over- 
 quick beatings of his heart. "I am afraid of you." 
 
 "Afraid . .?" 
 
 He murmured, as if to himself, so low that she could 
 hardly catch the words: 'A garden enclosed is my 
 sister and my spouse. . . .' Sit there, darling, I've 
 got to make reparation." He knelt on one knee beside her: 
 
 "Here, here in this room. I shouldn't have taken you 
 away like that I should have " he caught himself 
 up "I should have managed better, differently oh, 
 darling, so differently! I shall never forgive myself. 
 But I must hear you say you forgive me." 
 
 "Oh, Desmond " she breathed with the soft sur- 
 render of that night when she had first heard love words 
 from his lips. The long folds of her veil were hanging 
 loosely down. 
 
 But, as she leaned, almost unconsciously toward his 
 breast, he still did not take her in his arms, only caught 
 one end of the gossamer and kissed it. 
 
 Her hands went out to him. Then he kissed the finger 
 with the wedding ring. And only after that at last their 
 lips met. As he held her she felt the stormy beating of 
 his heart against her breast. Once he had complained 
 of being "dead" there was life exultant life in his 
 veins now. 
 
 "My love, my bride my wife! Oh, Virginia, you'll 
 teach me."
 
 410 PANTHER'S CUB 
 
 "Indeed, yes," she said bewildered, yet ecstatic. "Only 
 what shall I teach you ? " 
 
 He rose to his feet. 
 
 "To feed among the lilies " he said. And with 
 those strange words, led her to the door. 
 
 Just outside the sitting room stood old Fritz, waiting 
 for them. 
 
 Both halted as they saw him. Desmond's glance was 
 haughty. This odd old man, with his unwarrantable 
 authority, evidently hypnotic, was almost the last person 
 he desired to meet. The aristocrat had bared his heart 
 once to the shabby musician; there was the more reason 
 now to encase himself in the armour of his class. In 
 Fifi's glance was dismay Had she not done with the 
 old life after all ? 
 
 "I have but a few words to say," said Meyer, in a 
 laboured way, as if he had read their thoughts. "Only 
 to tell this child over whom I have watched all her life 
 that her mother has withdrawn what she said in anger. 
 She accepts your marriage. She will in time forgive 
 you, Fifi, even if " speech seemed difficult to him: 
 he chose each word as with a painful deliberation, "even 
 if you never meet again." 
 
 Old memories the suffering she read in his eyes and 
 his face, overcame the girl's selfish impulse. 
 
 "Oh, Fritz!" she cried, and the first tears she had shed 
 that day gushed from her eyes, as she cast herself in 
 her old headlong way into his arms. 
 
 "May the good God keep you!" said the old man 
 gently. "May He bless you!" 
 
 He lifted her head between both his hands, and kissed
 
 PANTHER'S CUB 411 
 
 tier brow. And turning to Desmond who, biting his 
 Hp, had taken a step back : 
 
 "Forgive me, my lord," he said; "she has been to me 
 as my own child." 
 
 As he spoke, he took the girl's hand and, as it were, 
 gave her to her bridegroom. His bearing was so simple, 
 that Desmond would not have been the gentleman he 
 was, had he not met him in the same spirit. 
 
 Taking the proffered hand, he paused on the top of 
 the stairs, to say, with as much cordiality as he could 
 force into his voice : 
 
 "I am the last person to wish my wife to forget old 
 friends, Mr. Meyer. Remember that you will always 
 be welcome at my house." 
 
 Fritz Meyer bowed. There was an immeasurable 
 depth of ironic sorrow in those golden-hazel eyes, so like 
 Virginia's: 
 
 "Thank you," he said. "Thank you, my lord, jou 
 are indeed kind!" 
 
 THE HND
 
 A 000137831 4