c^d
 
 A bend in the path showed Desiree in the moonlight 
 waiting.
 
 THE 
 
 WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 BY 
 
 LOUISE GERARD 
 
 AUTHOR OF "A SON OF THE SAHARA* 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE MACAULAY COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
 LOUISE GERARD 
 
 Printed in the U. S. A.
 
 To MY FRIEND 
 DOROTHEA THORNTON CLARKE 
 
 WITHOUT WHOSE HELP 
 
 AND CONSTANT ENCOURAGEMENT 
 
 NEITHER THIS NOR ANY OF MY BOOKS 
 
 WOULD HAVE BEEN WRITTEN 
 
 213SS21 I
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PART ONE 
 
 CHAFTBK 
 
 I MOTHER AND SON ........ 
 
 II THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE ....... 
 
 III DESIREE DE MAILLY 
 
 IV MANUEL BASSINO 
 
 V UNWELCOME GIFTS 16 
 
 VI UNCLE AND NIECE ......... 20 
 
 PART TWO 
 
 I JOHN WILSON 22 
 
 II THE ENCOUNTER 26 
 
 III BASSINO KEEPS His PROMISE ..... 29 
 
 IV CHATEAU DE MAILLY 33 
 
 V A CHANCE MEETING 38 
 
 VI JULIETTE 53 
 
 VII DINNER 55 
 
 VIII THE NECKLACE OF TEARS 65 
 
 IX AN EXPLANATION 74 
 
 X SECLUSION . , ; 77 
 
 XI THE GILBERTS 85 
 
 XII A MOTOR TRIP 88 
 
 XIII THE GILBERTS VISIT DESIREE ...... 93 
 
 XIV WILSON MEETS THE GILBERTS ...... 99 
 
 XV A PAIR OF KNAVES 107 
 
 XVI THE BRACELET . no 
 
 XVII THE DANCE 113 
 
 XVIII DISILLUSION ,, 123 
 
 vii
 
 Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER FACE 
 
 XIX THE QUARREL 126 
 
 XX MISUNDERSTOOD 133 
 
 XXI THE INTERVIEW 138 
 
 XXII SCHEMES 143 
 
 XXIII WILSON'S REMORSE 148 
 
 XXIV MANUEL BASSINO AERTVES 152 
 
 XXV DESIREE'S NEW HOME . , : 157 
 
 XXVI A GOOD SAMARITAN 167 
 
 XXVII THE GILBERTS MEET WITH AN OBSTACLE . . 171 
 
 XXVIII DESIRES FINDS A TRUE FRIEND 175 
 
 XXIX DESIREE'S BLINDNESS 179 
 
 XXX THE PRINCESS OF THE FAIRY TALE .... 184 
 
 XXXI A CONSULTATION .189 
 
 XXXII WILSON MEETS BASSINO 194 
 
 XXXIII THE OPERATION 207 
 
 XXXIV MACHINATIONS 211 
 
 XXXV THE THEFT 214 
 
 XXXVI THE ESCAPE 218 
 
 XXXVII REALIZATION 224 
 
 XXXVIII DESPAIR 227 
 
 XXXIX THE SACRIFICE 230 
 
 PART THREE 
 
 I THE ICE MAIDEN 235 
 
 II MRS. GREEN RECEIVES A LETTER ..... 247 
 
 III THE DECEPTION .251 
 
 IV EDWARD WILSON 256 
 
 V THE SECRET . 266 
 
 VI THE NEW STEWARD 270 
 
 VII THE RENOVATED CHATEAU 280 
 
 VIII MR. GREEN PREDICTS 293 
 
 IX A FLY IN THE OINTMENT ....... 296 
 
 X A DREAM THAT CAME TRUE 305
 
 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED
 
 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 PART ONE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 MOTHER AND SON 
 
 When John Wilson was a little boy his mother used 
 to tell him fairy tales. She was a young widow who had 
 to work hard for a living and she had not much time for 
 entertaining her small son. 
 
 The story John loved best was about a princess. Being 
 a fairy princess, of course she had golden hair, blue eyes, 
 skin like alabaster, and hands no bigger than rose-leaves. 
 She lived all alone in a ruined castle beset with dragons, 
 and of course an ogre wanted to marry her a dreadful 
 creature like a toad, with a black face and long yellow 
 teeth. The poor little princess spent most of her days in 
 weeping because of the dragons and the ogre. Then he, 
 John Wilson, aged five, came along, and in some mar- 
 velous manner rescued her. 
 
 And they married and lived happily ever after. But 
 they did not live in the mean little house in a back street 
 where John and his mother lived, with a lodger occupy- 
 ing the front sitting-room and bedroom. Their home 
 was the ruined castle in the mountains, miles away from 
 any city. They had a beautiful garden where lovely trees
 
 2 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 and flowers grew, and they kept fowls and ducks and 
 cows, all things that John loved, and that oame into his 
 life very seldom. 
 
 "When I'm a man I shall really marry a princess," he 
 said one day at the conclusion of this favorite story. 
 
 His mother laughed sadly, for princesses and her boy 
 were far asunder. 
 
 The little boy carried the princess about in his heart. 
 She went to school with him the board school and even 
 there there were boys who twitted him because of his 
 poverty, and the two neat, round patches that were almost 
 invariably in the seat of his trousers ; "the sun and moon" 
 they called them. For John was a sturdy youngster, who 
 wore out his clothes quickly so quickly that his mother 
 sat up dressmaking until after midnight to buy more 
 trousers. Yet she was glad her boy was strong, even if 
 it meant extra hard work for her. Health was all she 
 could give him for a start in life, and so that he should 
 have it, she half starved herself to feed her cub. 
 
 When the boys twitted John about the "sun and moon," 
 and because he had no pennies with which to buy sweets 
 and marbles, he refused to cry. Instead, he retired to 
 some quiet corner and told the princess. And she would 
 come out of his heart and sit beside him a tiny, fragile, 
 gentle thing, quite different from any of the little girls 
 who came into John's life and touch him with rose-leaf 
 hands. 
 
 "Never mind, John, if you are poor, I love you," she 
 would whisper. 
 
 And the little boy was quite happy again. 
 
 When John was five the princess was four, and when 
 he was eight she was seven. By that time, when his 
 confreres bullied him, it was not necessary to trouble the
 
 MOTHER AND SON 3 
 
 princess about the matter. He had learnt to retaliate with 
 his fists. 
 
 Nevertheless he still talked to her, and she talked to 
 him, but on other matters. 
 
 One winter's afternoon, as he was coming home from 
 school in the dusk, scuffling his feet in the gutter, picking 
 up an odd stone here and there as he went along, she said : 
 
 "What are you picking up all those dirty stones for, 
 John?" 
 
 "They're to keep the wolf from the door, Princess," 
 he answered promptly. 
 
 Then he had a long talk with her about the wolf. He 
 had just heard that the lodger was kept for that purpose. 
 The lodger was a thin, little, old woman, in John's esti- 
 mation not able to cope with the task assigned to her ; so 
 he was going back with his pocket filled with stones to 
 drive the ravening beast away. Hand in hand, in the 
 twilight, John and the princess, their hearts in their 
 mouths, crept down the long dark entry that led to the 
 back door, the little boy ready to push his companion 
 behind him should the wolf appear. But the back door 
 was reached in safety. Then John quickly put the princess 
 back into his heart ; she was never allowed out nowadays 
 when people were about, because once or twice the mere 
 world had laughed at her. 
 
 When John was twelve the princess was eleven. Then 
 he left school and went into an iron foundry. The image 
 of the princess grew fainter. -But sometimes when he was 
 indulging in strong language she would come and look 
 at him with soft, reproachful eyes, and put her tiny hands 
 to her ears, and the rough youth would stop, and try to 
 mold himself on lines his ideal would approve.
 
 4 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 When John was twenty-two the princess was eighteen, 
 and the faint shadow of her came between him and the 
 temptations that beset a healthy young man who has just 
 started to make money. 
 
 Then, although Wilson's years increased, the age of 
 the princess remained stationary. But she was a dream 
 maiden now, a high-born, honorable, dainty little thing, 
 possessed of every womanly charm and virtue an ideal 
 and in a hot, hard hunt for wealth the man almost 
 forgot about her. 
 
 Yet sometimes, when he rested for a moment from 
 the heated scramble, she would come and sit beside him. 
 And he would smile at her sadly. 
 
 For John Wilson knew now that if he married at all 
 it would not be a princess. Nevertheless, the lovely fairy 
 companion of his boyhood successfully came between him 
 and all other women.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE 
 
 A lamp was burning on a table in a third-rate New 
 York boarding-house. It showed a tawdry room, smelling 
 of cigarette smoke and patchouli. There was a dirty 
 cretonne curtain stretched across one corner. The iron 
 rod on which it hung had slipped out of position, expos- 
 ing several showy evening dresses. 
 
 On a dishevelled bed a woman lay a common-looking 
 creature. Once her hair had been bleached a bright 
 metallic yellow; now, from the scalp upwards, for a 
 couple of inches, it was a dull brown. Her mouth was 
 open, displaying an array of gold-mounted teeth. Her 
 bold eyes were glazed. In her day she had been hand- 
 some in a large, coarse way ; but now her day was done. 
 
 By the bed two men stood. They were both tall, slim, 
 handsome, and elegant, unmistakably well bred. The 
 younger was dark, the elder gray-haired. 
 
 "Well, mon pere, so that's the end of Cissy/' the former 
 said presently. "And a damned long time she was dying." 
 
 "And the end of The Triple Alliance' too," his father 
 remarked. 
 
 Turning from the bed, with a casual air Eugene de 
 Gilbert lighted a cigarette. 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that," he said in response to his 
 father's remark. 
 
 "Not so sure?" the Count de Gilbert repeated. "What 
 
 5
 
 6 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 do you mean? What have you got in your head now, 
 Eugene ?" he questioned in a tone of feverish anxiety. 
 
 "Several schemes to come between me and my pet 
 aversion work, mon cher" 
 
 "Come to the point, can't you ?" his father said irritably. 
 
 "Well, then, what's to prevent us from using Desiree ? 
 Let her keep us afloat until such time as we can put our 
 hands on 'The Necklace of Tears,' or as long as we need 
 her, should the necklace prove a fraud." 
 
 "Using Desiree!" the Count echoed. 
 
 "Yes, Desiree, my cousin, your niece and ward. 
 Desiree, Countess de Mailly," Eugene said, emphasizing 
 each word, as if pleased at the sensation his suggestion 
 had caused, and anxious to be still more impressive. 
 
 His father stared at him with awe and admiration. 
 
 "The very thing, Eugene!" he cried, excitedly. "The 
 very thing! You must go and fetch her at once." 
 
 Eugene flicked the ash from his cigarette. 
 
 "Not me," he replied. "If I set a foot in France I 
 shall have to fight for my country a damned uncomfort- 
 able job. You, mon pere, you must fetch her." 
 
 He paused and smiled wickedly. 
 
 " The Triple Alliance' is dead. Long live The Triple 
 Alliance' !" he finished, his voice raised to a shout. 
 
 "Be quiet, you fool," his father said hastily, giving a 
 nervous glance round. "Every police bureau in the States 
 knows that name. And don't you mention it to Desiree 
 unless you want to get us both imprisoned 7 for the rest of 
 our lives." 
 
 "Mon cher, your business in life is not to lecture me, 
 your dutiful son, whose one aim and object is to rectify 
 the lack of cash brought about by his father's wild and 
 extravagant youth. Your business is to go to France
 
 THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE 7 
 
 and fetch Desiree. There's no time to waste. The funds 
 are low. Now I'm off to the shipping office to book your 
 passage, and then to see about getting Cissy under the 
 daisies as cheaply as possible." 
 
 Whistling gayly, Eugene de Gilbert went from the 
 room, leaving his father staring at the woman who had 
 been dead barely half an hour.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 DESIREE DE MAILLY 
 
 Over New York the clocks were striking two two in 
 the morning, when the sky-scrapers stood black against 
 a star-strewn sky, and revelers were returning from 
 festivities. A little party of three had just come back 
 from a ball at a fashionable hotel to the second-rate lodg- 
 ing-house where they were staying. One of the three 
 went straight up to the shabby back sitting-room, and 
 sat there awaiting the arrival of the other two. 
 
 There was no light in the room, but a ray of the moon 
 fell into it, showing a girl in a cheap white silk evening 
 frock, who was sitting with her hands clasped listlessly on 
 her knee, her eyes downcast. 
 
 The door opening made her turn her head in that direc- 
 tion. 
 
 Two men entered. 
 
 "Hello, here's Desiree all alone in the dark," the 
 younger remarked. 
 
 The older man switched on the light. 
 
 "Don't start teasing your cousin," he said with a touch 
 of impatience. 
 
 The flare showed a young girl, slender and fragile, with 
 a thin, transparent face, misty blue eyes, and a wealth of 
 golden hair coiled like a crown on the top of her small 
 head; a nervous, high-strung child; as if transfixed, she 
 turned her eyes towards the two men, a frightened ex- 
 
 8
 
 DESIREE DE MAILLY 9 
 
 pression in them, as if dreading what they might do next. 
 Judging only by her face she looked about fifteen, but 
 the curves of her drooping figure and the fact that her 
 hair was up indicated that she must be older than that. 
 In spite of her thinness and the air of tragedy that lurked 
 about her she was exceedingly pretty, and with happiness, 
 care, and good feeding she would have been a remarkably 
 beautiful girl. 
 
 Crossing to her side, Eugene drew out a bracelet, a 
 handsome piece of jewelry a band of rubies and 
 diamonds, worth at least ^500. 
 
 "Ma cherie, would you like to try on this pretty 
 bracelet ?" he asked. 
 
 "Put it away, Eugene, at once," the old Count said, a 
 tremor in his voice. 
 
 "Oh, Desired doesn't understand," Eugene said, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 Nevertheless he put the bracelet into his pocket. Then 
 he turned towards a table where whisky and soda and 
 sandwiches stood. 
 
 "It's a damned good thing that Cissy is dead," he went 
 on as he helped himself to a drink, "for now it's a case of 
 a half, not a third, and I don't have to be forever pro- 
 pitiating her. Good luck to you, Desiree," he finished, 
 holding the glass towards the girl. "And may your 
 heritage prove all your uncle thinks it." 
 
 "Do be quiet," the Count said. "A curse on you and 
 your ill-timed jokes." 
 
 "A curse on me, eh, as well as on 'The Necklace of 
 Tears/ " Eugene commented, by no means perturbed. 
 "Beware, mon pdre, curses come home to roost." 
 
 With a snarl at his son the Count de Gilbert turned
 
 io THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 towards the table, with trembling hands pouring out a 
 glass of whisky and soda. 
 
 "Won't you have a sandwich, Desiree?" he asked. 
 
 "No, thank you, uncle." 
 
 "Desiree is never hungry," Eugene put in. "De- 
 siree never wants anything nowadays except to get back 
 to France and away from us. We'll take you back, little 
 cousin, when you're twenty-one, never fear. We're going 
 to be present at your birthday festivities. We wouldn't 
 miss them for worlds, would we, men peref" 
 
 The old Count scowled and fidgeted, and Eugene's 
 wicked smile deepened. Then he crossed to the girl's 
 side and leaned over her, his handsome face expressing 
 cruelty. 
 
 "Give me a kiss, Desiree." 
 
 She moved her head away quickly. 
 
 "I don't like being kissed," she said. 
 
 "But I like kissing you," he replied. "And I know 
 another who would like to Manuel Bassino, our new 
 millionaire friend from Brazil. Why did you run away 
 from him just now? Why didn't you wait and say good- 
 by when he had so kindly given us a lift in his motor? 
 Millionaires don't grow on every tree. You should en- 
 courage him, not treat him in that offhand manner. 
 Think how nice it would be for you and us if you 
 were the wife of a millionaire." 
 
 There was no reply from Desiree, but the expression 
 on her face indicated helpless terror the look of one 
 caught in a trap with no means at hand for escape.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 MANUEL BASSINO 
 
 A few days later the Count de Gilbert brought a friend 
 back to dinner. The visitor, who was a man of about 
 forty, was far from prepossessing, and to add to the dis- 
 advantages nature had bestowed on him, years of dissipa- 
 tion had left their mark. His hair was black, his com- 
 plexion swarthy, and undoubtedly there was a goodly 
 modicum of negro blood in him. His clothes were flashy, 
 and diamonds glittered in his shirt front and on his 
 short, fat fingers. 
 
 Between the courses he picked his teeth the while fast- 
 ening his vulgar and covetous gaze on the young girl 
 seated next to him. But Desiree ignored him entirely, 
 except when he leaned so close to her that his hot, rank 
 breath fanned her cheek; then she shivered and drew 
 away. 
 
 Once the meal was over she got up and seated herself 
 as far away from him as possible. But she did not 
 escape for long. Within a few minutes he was at her side 
 again, breathing heavily, talking in a thick, guttural voice 
 with a rasping American accent. 
 
 "In Rio I've got a palace, Countess," he said boast- 
 fully, as he puffed cigar smoke into her face, "half a 
 dozen automobiles, and more servants than I can reckon 
 up just now. My wife could be a queen out there, blazing 
 with diamonds. She could have any darned thing she 
 
 ii
 
 12 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 liked to ask for. I've got six hundred thousand dollars 
 a year. And I guess that's not a bad income as incomes 
 go." 
 
 He paused and laid a hot hand on the girl's thin one. 
 
 "You could be that queen if you liked to be a bit pleas- 
 ant to me," he finished with heavy emphasis. 
 
 His touch sent a shudder through her. Quickly she 
 drew her hand away. Without a word she rose and made 
 towards the door, almost falling over a chair in her haste 
 to escape. 
 
 Manuel Bassino watched her go, chagrin and desire on 
 his coarse face. 
 
 "Your niece don't encourage me nearly so much as 
 you do, Count," he remarked the moment the door closed 
 behind her. 
 
 "Desiree is not used to the world and its ways," was 
 the even response. "She had never been a day away 
 from her home until I brought her to America. And she 
 is not accustomed to men either." 
 
 "That innocent baby face of hers has set me on fire," 
 Bassino answered thickly. "I'm fed up on actresses and 
 the like. And I've got the pick of all that come to Rio. 
 I'm just crazy for that girl. So crazy that I'd marry her 
 in spite of everything. Though I know you'd let me have 
 her without that, if the check was big enough." 
 
 Eugene laughed, but his father bristled fiercely. 
 
 "My niece is not for sale," he said haughtily. 
 
 "Don't put on any airs for my benefit," Bassino 
 answered coolly. 
 
 "Her family is one of the oldest in France," the Count 
 began. 
 
 "I know all about the family," Bassino interrupted. 
 "She's a thoroughbred all right. A bit of good old blue
 
 MANUEL BASSINO 13 
 
 blood won't do my family any harm. That's why I mean 
 to marry her. But she don't seem to have the fancy for 
 me that I've got for her," he finished, a trifle despond- 
 ently. 
 
 "A French girl of the Countess de Mailly's position 
 has to marry the man her guardian chooses, not according 
 to her own fancy," the Count commented. 
 
 Bassino's eyes rested for a moment on Desiree's uncle. 
 
 "Would twenty-five thousand dollars square the deal ?" 
 
 "I shall not allow my niece to marry before she's 
 twenty-cne." 
 
 Here Eugene put in a word or two in French, a lan- 
 guage the Brazilian did not understand. 
 
 "Let him have her," he said quickly. "With her mar- 
 ried to him we have a regular source of income, and we 
 can still use her judiciously, if necessary." 
 
 A stubborn look appeared on his father's face. 
 
 "I've waited nearly twenty years for 'The Necklace 
 of Tears,' " he answered in the same language. "It 
 comes to Desiree when she's twenty-one. There's no 
 mistake about that. I've seen the terms of her grand- 
 father's will. In fifteen months, Eugene, the necklace 
 will be ours. And it's worth at least five million francs." 
 
 The younger man shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Well," he said, "you know my opinion of the old 
 Count de Mailly and the necklace." 
 
 The Count de Gilbert's verdict about waiting until 
 Desiree was twenty-one made Bassino sit up suddenly. 
 
 "Twenty-one!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say 
 I've got to wait a whole year and more?" 
 
 When the Count had finished talking to his son, he 
 turned his attention very deliberately once more to 
 Desiree's suitor.
 
 14 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "I refuse to allow her to be married until she is of age." 
 
 "Look here," Bassino said in an anxious manner, "I'll 
 give you a check for fifty thousand dollars if I can marry 
 her at once." 
 
 "You've heard my terms, Mr. Bassino. If you don't 
 like them " 
 
 The Count shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "The cash in hand, <mon pere, the cash in hand," Eugene 
 spluttered, sotto voce, in French. "For heaven's sake 
 don't let that slip for a shadowy 'Necklace of Tears.' 
 As far as America is concerned our day is about done. 
 Now that the war is over we must trek to Europe, where 
 'The Triple Alliance' is not so well known. And the trek 
 will cost money." 
 
 The elder Gilbert turned again to the Brazilian. 
 
 "Of course, if during the interval a more desirable 
 parti presents himself, naturally nothing is settled." 
 
 Bassino's swarthy face suddenly lost its look of assur- 
 ance and aggression. 
 
 "If I give you a check for fifty thousand dollars, now, 
 this minute, can I have the girl when she's twenty-one?" 
 he asked, his voice thick with anxiety. 
 
 "Well, of course, that is rather different," the old Count 
 answered. 
 
 Bassino's impatience increasing, he immediately drew 
 out a check-book and a fountain pen. Going to the table, 
 he wrote out a check for the amount and handed it to 
 Desiree's guardian. 
 
 The Count de Gilbert took it, folded it carefully, and 
 put it into his waistcoat pocket. 
 
 Bassino watched him do it. Then he said: 
 
 "Now that I'm the Countess Desiree's suitor I can come 
 here when I like and as often as I like? And when I put
 
 MANUEL BASSINO 15 
 
 the question, and she gives me the go-by, I suppose all 
 I've got to do is to lay the matter before you and that 
 settles it?" 
 
 "I think you have grasped the idea exactly," Eugene 
 replied. 
 
 "But what innocence, what beauty, what a feast for any 
 man," Bassino exclaimed, the fervor of his passion punc- 
 tuating each word. 
 
 In anticipation of the treat in store for him, he was 
 indeed a happy man.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 UNWELCOME GIFTS 
 
 By the window of the dingy sitting-room Desiree sat 
 knitting, a drooping, graceful figure in a shabby serge 
 frock, with the sun glinting on her crown of golden hair. 
 And the little hands that worked away so industriously 
 were not much bigger than those of John Wilson's fairy 
 princess. 
 
 In a deep chair close by her cousin lolled. Although 
 it was nearly midday, he was still in pyjamas and slippers. 
 He was breaking his fast in a continental manner. A cup 
 of black coffee, a liqueur, and a box of cigarettes stood 
 on the table beside him. 
 
 The sound of a heavy footstep on the stairs caused a 
 frightened look to pass over the girl's face. 
 
 "Eugene, there's Mr. Bassino," she said, a note of 
 terror in her voice. "He's been here every day this week. 
 Please, please, don't go and leave me alone with him," she 
 pleaded imploringly. 
 
 Her cousin laughed. 
 
 "What's wrong with Bassino?" he asked. "He's not 
 going to eat you." 
 
 "I don't like him." 
 
 "Well, you must be civil to your uncle's friends." 
 
 A moment later the door opened. The Brazilian 
 entered. In one hand he carried a huge bouquet of 
 parma violets, and tucked under his arm was an enormous 
 box of chocolates. 
 
 16
 
 UNWELCOME GIFTS 17 
 
 Nodding to Eugene, he crossed to the girl's side. 
 
 "I know you like flowers, Countess, so I brought you 
 some," he said, laying the bouquet on her knee. "You've 
 only got to say the word and I'll send a cartload round 
 every day. And I brought you some chocolates," he 
 continued, thrusting the box on her. "All girls like 
 them." 
 
 "Thank you ; I'd rather not have anything," she said in 
 a low voice. 
 
 "Nonsense," her cousin put in sharply. "If your uncle 
 says Mr. Bassino may bring you presents that settles it" 
 
 Desiree's hands started to tremble. The flowers re- 
 mained ignored on her knee. The great box of chocolates 
 Bassino laid on a little table beside her, for she had made 
 no attempt to take them. 
 
 For a moment or two he watched her, a look of longing 
 on his coarse face ; then he turned to her cousin. 
 
 For a few minutes the two men talked together ; then 
 Eugene got up and went from the room. 
 
 Although Desiree did not raise her eyes, she heard him 
 go, and she knitted more industriously than ever, as if t 
 bring something between herself and Bassino. 
 
 With greedy eyes he devoured her. At each of his 
 movements she started. To his remarks she gave low, 
 trembling replies. 
 
 Presently he drew his chair close to her side. 
 
 She got up quickly, as if to go from the room. But 
 he caught her arm and pulled her down again. 
 
 "No, Countess," he said thickly. "You always run 
 away when I come." 
 
 "I I don't want to stay," she said helplessly, like a 
 little child at bay.
 
 18 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "You've got to now," he said, still keeping a detaining 
 hand on her arm. 
 
 "Are you making that tie for me ?" he inquired, looking 
 at the knitting she held clutched tight in desperate little 
 hands. 
 
 "It's a Christmas present for my uncle," she said in a 
 frightened voice. 
 
 "What would you like me to get you for a Christmas 
 present?" he asked. 
 
 "Nothing, thank you." 
 
 "Come," he said affectionately, his sensual face close to 
 her innocent one, his hot breath fanning her thin cheek, 
 "all girls like pretty things. What would you like? I'm 
 a millionaire. And I guess not many have come into your 
 life, Countess." 
 
 "I don't want anything, thank you," she persisted with 
 trembling politeness. 
 
 "You mustn't think it's going to break me to get a few 
 things for you," he continued with a cajoling air. "What 
 about a rope of pearls? They'd suit you fine. And half 
 a dozen pretty frocks? Real good ones, that cost a mint 
 of money, not the cheap things you always wear." 
 
 For a moment the child turned her face towards him, 
 a look of hope on it 
 
 "Then you don't know that that " 
 
 She broke off, flushing painfully. 
 
 "I know all right," he responded. "But that don't 
 make any difference. You're such a little beauty, 
 Desiree." 
 
 The free use of her name brought a touch of hauteur 
 to the girl's sensitive face. Before she had time to say 
 anything he had taken one of her hands. She tried to 
 draw it away, but he held it in a vise-like grip.
 
 UNWELCOME GIFTS 19 
 
 "Your uncle's fixed up that you're to marry me," he 
 went on. 
 
 "No, no !" she gasped, trying to get away. 
 
 He slipped an arm round her, drawing her close to 
 his side. 
 
 "Girls who say 'No' must be kissed into saying 'Yes/ " 
 he said, his voice hoarse with passion. 
 
 She struggled frantically, giving little gasping screams. 
 But she was helpless against his strength. He drew her 
 closer, crushing his lips on hers. 
 
 And then she struggled no longer. She collapsed in his 
 arms, and lay there, limp and white, with closed eyes. 
 
 For a moment he surveyed her, annoyance and amuse- 
 ment in his gaze. 
 
 "Scute" he said, "my little thoroughbred has fainted." 
 
 Then he laid her on a couch and rang the bell.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 UNCLE AND NIECE 
 
 In a dejected attitude Desiree was sitting on the bed 
 in a stuffy little room on the top floor of the lodging- 
 house. In her simple night-gown, and with a thick plait 
 of golden hair hanging on either side of her small, tear- 
 stained face, she looked a child a child who for a 
 punishment had been sent to bed. 
 
 This idea was enhanced by the fact of her uncle stand- 
 ing severe and angry-looking at her side. 
 
 "Uncle, I don't want to marry Mr. Bassino. I don't, 
 really," a helpless little voice said. 
 
 "Don't be so foolish, Desiree. Think how rich you'll 
 be." 
 
 "I dont want to be rich." 
 
 "Nonsense. You've no dot worth talking about. Mr. 
 Bassino is an excellent parti, better than I'd hoped to get 
 for you. You ought to be grateful, not cry about it. 
 Besides, you're not going to be married until you're 
 twenty-one. You'll have plenty of time to get used to 
 ^he idea." 
 
 "I shall never get used to the idea. I shall always hate 
 him." 
 
 "Nonsense," her uncle said again. 
 
 "There's 'The Necklace of Tears/ That's mine when 
 I'm twenty-one. Can't I sell that instead of having to 
 marry Mr. Bassino?" she asked in a desperate voice. 
 
 20
 
 UNCLE AND NIECE 21 
 
 " The Necklace of Tears' ?" her uncle repeated. 
 
 He tried to make his tone contemptuous when the girl 
 mentioned her heritage. But he could not. In spite of 
 his efforts, when he spoke of the necklace a covetous note 
 crept into his voice. 
 
 "What's that worth?" he went on. "Perhaps thirty 
 thousand francs. That's nothing nowadays." 
 
 "I'll work for you. I'll do anything rather than marry 
 Mr. Bassino. Oh, uncle, don't make me," she pleaded, 
 the tears starting to fall again. 
 
 "Work ! What sort of work could you do ?" he asked 
 impatiently. 
 
 At his words Desiree's slim hands clasped one another 
 in an agony of helplessness. They certainly did not look 
 fit for work. 
 
 "If I say you are to marry Mr. Bassino, that's enough," 
 her uncle went on in a sharp tone. "So stop crying, and 
 don't let me have any more of this foolishness." 
 
 Angrily he turned from her and left the room, switch- 
 ing off the electric light behind him. 
 
 For a moment or two Desiree did not move, transfixed 
 by the fate that had overtaken her. 
 
 Then she dropped on her knees by the bedside. 
 
 "O God, in this great, dark world is there no one who 
 will save me?" she moaned. 
 
 The prayer of a frantic, helpless child left to the mercy 
 of a couple of scoundrels!
 
 PART TWO 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 JOHN WILSON 
 
 In a large house on the outskirts of an English manu- 
 facturing town a Christmas party was in full swing. 
 There were fully a hundred people present. Mrs. Green's 
 parties were always popular ; she had a liking for pretty 
 young girls, she loved match-making, and she generally 
 managed to get plenty of eligible men. 
 
 At that moment she was sitting in what she was pleased 
 to call the winter garden of her ostentatious home. She 
 was a woman well over fifty, plump and painted. Her 
 hair had been tinted a bright auburn, and added to con- 
 siderably. She was dressed in a most youthful manner, 
 in the height of fashion, and was smothered with showy 
 and expensive jewelry. 
 
 The man with her looked somewhat like a prize-fighter 
 in evening dress. He was of medium height, with a 
 width of shoulder that made him appear short and heavy, 
 his plain, strong face clean-shaven and inclined to red- 
 ness. His close-cropped hair was dark. His brown eyes 
 were shrewd and kindly the eyes of a man who knows 
 the world and the measure of most of the people in it. 
 His hands were large and powerful and chipped by 
 machinery. Yet they were not clumsy, for he handled 
 his companion's delicate fan with skill and care. 
 
 22
 
 JOHN WILSON 23 
 
 They were opposite types of the nouveau riche. The 
 woman was a blatant display of wealth, vulgar and lavish, 
 as if her one idea were to make the world gape at the 
 amount of money she had at her command. 
 
 But there was nothing about the man to suggest that 
 he had more than an average income. The studs in his 
 shirt front were of plain gold, and a corded black silk 
 ribbon took the place of a watch chain. 
 
 Although John Wilson had striven hard to attain 
 money, and now possessed an income of over 10,000 a 
 year, he did not love wealth for its own sake, or use it 
 merely to make a display. He liked it because it brought 
 within his reach what he had always hankered after, and 
 what, until five or six years ago, had been denied him 
 the best. He had a taste for old things old china, old 
 furniture, old houses, old wine, and old families prob- 
 ably begotten of being so new himself. 
 
 The few members of what he in his own mind called 
 "pedigree stock" who had crossed his path had proved 
 disappointing. There were one or two broken-down old 
 families in the town who mingled with the rich manu- 
 facturers families, with several daughters, who he knew 
 encouraged him because of his money. But the daugh- 
 ters in no way resembled the princess of his dreams. Of 
 the choice before him the daughters of self-made men 
 and the daughters of the poor off-shoots of well-connected 
 people he preferred the former ; for the latter seemed to 
 have the bad points of both classes and the good ones of 
 neither. 
 
 However, he was not thinking of these matters at that 
 moment. In a half -smiling, tolerant, quizzical manner 
 he was listening to his hostess.
 
 24 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Well, Mr. Wilson," she was saying, "it's Christmas 
 again, and you're still not married." 
 
 "If I remember rightly, Mrs. Green, every Christmas 
 Eve for the last seven years you've made the same remark 
 to me." 
 
 "And I shall go on making it. Every man ought to do 
 his bit nowadays." 
 
 He smiled, but he made no comment 
 
 "You're well enough off, so you can't make that excuse 
 now," she continued in a lecturing manner. "You're old 
 enough you're thirty-three so that's another reason you 
 can't put forward any longer. There are twenty girls 
 here this evening who would marry you if you asked 
 them. And then there's the 'man shortage.' " 
 
 "The girl I'd like isn't here to-night," he said, a twinkle 
 in his eyes. 
 
 "Who's she?" his hostess asked quickly, with an in- 
 quisitive air. 
 
 "The right one." 
 
 "Get along with you," she said, laughing. "You're 
 always finding some excuse for shirking your duty. I 
 believe the real truth is you don't care tuppence for 
 women." 
 
 Wilson had no immediate reply. 
 
 At that moment, vaguely before him was the little 
 phantom friend of his boyhood, the fairy princess, fragile, 
 lovely, and high-born, quite different from the merry, 
 laughing, pretty girls around him. 
 
 "Perhaps I'm not a family man," he suggested. 
 
 "Every man says that until he has a family." 
 
 Mrs. Green paused, regarding her guest thoughtfully. 
 
 "I'll tell you what's the matter with you, Mr. Wilson. 
 You stick too close to business."
 
 JOHN WILSON 25 
 
 He laughed good humoredly. 
 
 "If I hadn't stuck to business where should I have 
 been?" he asked. 
 
 She sighed, and a wistful look passed over her painted 
 face. 
 
 "There's such a thing as too much money for people 
 like you and me, who were brought up in a homely way. 
 Why don't you take a real holiday, and see what the 
 world's made of? I doubt if you've ever put a foot 
 outside of England." 
 
 "I once spent a week in Paris." 
 
 "On business, I'll bet," she said quickly. 
 
 "Guilty," he replied, smiling. 
 
 "Oh, business ! You men never think of anything else. 
 I'm fed up with it," she said impatiently. 
 
 Then she turned towards him with a motherly air. 
 
 "Look here," she said suddenly, "I hate to see you 
 going the way of Mr. Green. He's not happy unless he's 
 got the din of the factory in his ears. I'm going to the 
 south of France for three months to Nice. Why don't 
 you go there for a few weeks and see how other people 
 live? It would do you a world of good get you out 
 of the groove." 
 
 With shrewd, kindly eyes Wilson surveyed his hostess. 
 
 "I believe you've got the welfare of the world at heart, 
 although you make such a pose of frivolity," he remarked. 
 "And I'll think about your suggestion." 
 
 Then the band struck up, and, excusing himself, 
 Wilson went off in search of his next partner.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 One platform of the Gare de Lyons in Paris was 
 crowded with people, French and English, going south 
 to escape the winter, or seeing friends off. 
 
 Outside a Pullman carriage Eugene de Gilbert stood, 
 talking to some one inside, an acquaintance he had made 
 during the last week, of a type he occasionally picked up 
 a middle-aged woman, obviously wealthy, and without 
 male belongings. 
 
 Had anyone suggested to Mrs. Green that Eugene de 
 Gilbert had deliberately scraped acquaintance with her 
 she would have been most indignant. 
 
 For the last fortnight she had been staying at one of 
 the best hotels in Paris, a place where royalty could often 
 be seen, where a crowd of titled people went, people she 
 knew by name and sight through seeing their photographs 
 and reading about them in the many fashion and society 
 journals to which she subscribed. 
 
 On the fringe she had watched them enviously a 
 world of well-bred, titled people that she knew she could 
 never enter. 
 
 One afternoon, as she sat in the palm court, overlooked 
 by waiters in spite of her repeated calls for tea, an elegant 
 and handsome young man had descended from that giddy 
 sphere. He had seized one of the many waiters, brought 
 him to Mrs. Green's table, taken him to task for neglect- 
 
 26
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 27 
 
 ing the lady, talked in a friendly manner to her until her 
 tea came, and then with a bow and a smile he had gone 
 back to his own world. And the next minute he was 
 laughing and talking with dukes and duchesses, lords and 
 ladies, and a crowd of foreign titles. 
 
 At lunch the next day he had given her a bow and a 
 pleasant smile. 
 
 That night there had been a diner dansant. He had 
 come and asked her if he might have the pleasure of a 
 dance. 
 
 Flushed and flattered and flustered Mrs. Green had 
 been only too delighted to surrender herself to arms that 
 had embraced duchesses. 
 
 "You have the true dancing figure," he had said, as his 
 arm encircled her plump form. 
 
 She did not quite know what the "true dancing figure" 
 was, but she was very pleased to think that she had it. 
 
 It was evident that the young man was French, al- 
 though he spoke excellent English in a cultured, well- 
 bred voice. Quite casually he mentioned that his father 
 was a count. 
 
 The acquaintance ripened, until Mrs. Green's head was 
 slightly turned by the compliments and flattery of Eugene 
 de Gilbert, always suave of tongue in the presence of the 
 fair sex. 
 
 Now, on the seat beside her lay a great sheaf of carna- 
 tions, this fascinating Monsieur Gilbert's parting gift. 
 
 It was years since anyone had given her flowers out 
 of season, as it were merely for the sake of giving them, 
 not to celebrate some anniversary. 
 
 "How sweet of you to have brought them," she said 
 in an infatuated manner. 
 
 "I couldn't let you go without some memento of our
 
 28 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 delightful acquaintance," he answered, smiling in a frank, 
 boyish manner. 
 
 "I do hope we shan't quite lose sight of one another." 
 
 "I'm coming to Nice in about three weeks with my 
 father," he replied, "so I shall look forward to seeing 
 you there." 
 
 "I do so want to meet your father." 
 
 Eugene's smile turned to a wicked grin, which he 
 lowered his head to hide. 
 
 "And he's equally anxious to meet you," he assured her. 
 
 The whistle blew. Mrs. Green extended a parting 
 hand. The young man did not shake it, as she expected. 
 He put his lips to it instead, in an old-world, deferential 
 manner. 
 
 The train moved out, leaving Eugene standing bare- 
 headed and a trifle disconsolate-looking on the platform. 
 She waved until he was out of sight; then, with a sigh, 
 she subsided into her corner. 
 
 When the train was out of the station she drew some 
 letters from her satchel which she had not had time to 
 read sooner. 
 
 Among them was one from John Wilson, saying he 
 was taking her advice. He had decided to give himself 
 a fortnight's holiday the thorough change she had 
 recommended. She could expect him in Nice in about 
 ten days. And he had written for accommodation to 
 the hotel where Mrs. Green had said she would be staying.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 BASSINO KEEPS HIS PROMISE 
 
 Combining business with pleasure, Manuel Bassino 
 sailed from Brazil to Lisbon, timing himself to arrive 
 in the Portuguese capital a fortnight before Desiree's 
 twenty-first birthday. In that city there were men he 
 wanted to see and money matters to attend to. Once 
 they were done with, he would go by rail across Portugal 
 and Spain into France, arriving at Nice, close to which 
 his prospective bride lived, a day or two before her 
 twenty-first birthday. 
 
 He would have a special license with him and marry 
 her at once. As soon as possible he would take her back 
 to Brazil, wrest her from the clutch of her uncle and 
 cousin. 
 
 The fifty thousand dollars he had paid for her had 
 not lasted them very long. It was their look-out if they 
 had squandered it at Monte Carlo soon after reaching 
 Europe. He wasn't going to finance them any longer, 
 once the girl was his. But it was just as well to keep 
 in their good graces until he was sure of her. They had 
 had another ten thousand dollars out of him. Got it by 
 a sharp trick, too by making out Desiree was ill and 
 needed all sorts of special treatment. He didn't mind 
 footing her bills was glad of the chance, in fact. But 
 she had been ill so often that he had smelt a rat. 
 
 Instead of communicating with Desiree through her 
 
 29
 
 30 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 uncle, as he always had done since her return to France, 
 Bassino had sent a prepaid cablegram straight to the girl 
 herself to know how she was, and he had heard that she 
 had never been ill. 
 
 On reaching Europe, he found it disorganized and 
 uncomfortable. He had not been abroad since the war. 
 Things did not get done with the promptitude to which 
 he was accustomed in Rio. Nor was being a millionaire 
 quite so unique and all-powerful as it once had been. 
 The war had produced a whole crop of them so many 
 that they were no longer awe-inspiring. 
 
 Bassino fussed and fumed and raged, but, in spite of 
 the commotion he made, the Lisbon deal which he had 
 hoped to complete in a week could not be finished before 
 the end of a fortnight. It was a matter of a million 
 dollars. Although deeply in love, common sense pointed 
 out that the girl could wait, but the money would not. 
 
 So he stayed in Lisbon to complete his transactions, 
 iu the grip of two passions his love of gold and his 
 love of Desiree; when money was not uppermost in his 
 mind, brooding on the girl whose beauty had inflamed 
 him, whose innocence had him in thrall. 
 
 She was a catch, even for a man like himself with a 
 mint of money ; a girl with a title, and young and lovely 
 into the bargain. True, there was a flaw, but even that 
 might be rectified. That old fox, her uncle, had never 
 spent a cent on her. Once they were married he would 
 have the matter seen into. She had cost him a pretty 
 penny, his little thoroughbred, but you can't get a good 
 thing without paying for it, and, so long as he got her, 
 that was all he cared. 
 
 Always Bassino was haunted by the feeling that 
 Desiree might slip through his fingers. How she could
 
 BASSINO KEEPS HIS PROMISE 31 
 
 he did not know. Everyone was on his side except the 
 girl, and she did not count. 
 
 He wished she did count a little more that she did 
 not so openly show her fear and dislike of him. But 
 she was not used to men. Once they were married it 
 would be all right. Marriage made all the difference. 
 Just falling in love with her had made all the difference 
 to him; he had not looked at another woman since, and 
 was learning to talk and behave like a gentleman. And 
 marriage for her meant endless money for a girl who 
 hadn't a cent to bless herself with. Yet she was proud, 
 in spite of her frightened baby ways. 
 
 Well, he didn't mind her pride, even if it was turned 
 on him. He would be her husband. She would have to 
 swallow that fact before very long. The husband of the 
 Countess de Mailly! Wouldn't Rio stare! There was 
 not a girl in the place to touch her, and she was nothing 
 now to the beauty she would be when properly dressed, 
 and fed, and looked after. Perhaps even cured! 
 
 So Bassino's thoughts ran when he got them off money- 
 making. 
 
 At the end of a fortnight, his business satisfactorily 
 concluded, he left Lisbon in quest of his bride. He 
 crossed Portugal and Spain, eventually reaching the 
 French border. 
 
 There an uncomfortable surprise awaited him. An 
 unexpected railway strike had broken out. There were 
 no trains running. 
 
 "I'm a millionaire," he pompously informed a flurried 
 official at the border station. "I don't mind what I pay. 
 So get me a special train." 
 
 "You can have every train in the depot for all I care," 
 the official replied, "but all the drivers are out on strike."
 
 32 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Well, then, get me an automobile," Bassino exclaimed, 
 still believing implicitly in the power of money. 
 
 "I'll get you a dozen if you like, but there's no petrol 
 to run them with." 
 
 Then Bassino started to rage. 
 
 He was not the only one raging. The strike had left 
 the Count de Gilbert in Paris, unable to reach his niece 
 on her twenty-first birthday and "take charge of" her 
 heritage, as he had always promised. 
 
 It also left John Wilson in Nice, his fortnight's holiday 
 all but expired. But he was not raging. He loved the 
 sunny, fruitful land to which he had come. A few days 
 more there did not worry him. And if things were not 
 settled in a week or two, well, he had his car with him, 
 and the promise of enough petrol to get him back to Paris. 
 
 And it found Desiree de Mailly alone in her home, 
 without any relatives with whom to celebrate her coming 
 of age, in sole possession of "The Necklace of Tears," 
 a family heirloom that her uncle had given her to under- 
 stand was worth only about 1,000, and which he had told 
 his son was worth nearly 200,000!
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 CHATEAU DE MAILLY 
 
 Away in the mountains at the back of Nice an old 
 red-roofed chateau stood, a long, flat building in the last 
 stage of dilapidation. It was three stories high, once 
 pink-washed and painted with an elaborate fresco. Now 
 almost all the plaster had fallen off the walls, revealing 
 rough gray stones beneath. At one end a large square 
 tower stood. On the sea side it was open and edged 
 with marble balustrades a delightful spot on a hot day. 
 Most of the roof had fallen in. Weeds grew between 
 the mosaic of its floor, and bats found a refuge among 
 the rafters. 
 
 In front, along the whole length of the dwelling, a 
 wide terrace ran. Around the balustrades a profusion 
 of roses rioted, and a great spreading loquat-tree shaded 
 one corner. 
 
 A dozen French windows led out on to the terrace, 
 their long green shutters mostly broken and askew. 
 Beneath the terrace were cave-like rooms, an expanse of 
 cellars running right under the house. Nearly all the 
 doors were broken, or had disappeared entirely. In the 
 dim depths were old olive oil and wine presses, huge 
 broken vats in which the produce had once been stored, 
 and racks for drying raisins and figs. But spiders and 
 other creeping things reigned supreme there now. 
 
 From the terrace hardly a habitable house could be 
 
 33
 
 34 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 seen. There were the ruins of half a dozen within a two- 
 mile radius, even more dilapidated than the chateau itself. 
 It and its crumbling satellites were shut off from the rest 
 of the world by rounded hills and deep valleys, orange, 
 lemon, and olive groves, and dense patches of pine wood. 
 Beyond a wide bowlder-strewn valley, a straight wall of 
 gray mountain rose, like a huge cloud on the horizon. 
 Above it snow-clad peaks towered, white and glittering 
 against the azure sky. The sloping hills around had once 
 been terraced for cultivation, but nothing grew there now 
 except grass and weeds. 
 
 There were neglected vineyards, so long untended that 
 the stumpy little bushes were utterly ruined, a mass of 
 useless, twisted brown trailers, just sprouting young green 
 leaves. 
 
 In spite of the bright sunshine, the wealth of flowers 
 and fruitful trees, an air of dire poverty brooded over the 
 place. The old stone irrigation tanks which dotted the 
 hillsides spoke of it ; they were broken and decayed, filled 
 with slime and water weeds, the homes of a multitude of 
 frogs. The grassy terraces themselves told the same 
 story. Years had passed since they had been dug and 
 hoed and planted, producing the food a hungry world 
 needed so badly. The chateau itself carried on the pitiful 
 tale ; a generation at least had passed since paint or plas- 
 ter had been laid on it, since shutter or window had been 
 repaired. 
 
 Under the shade of the great loquat-tree the remnants 
 of some old iron garden furniture stood, bent and battered, 
 eaten into holes with rust. 
 
 On one of the chairs Desiree de Mailly was sitting, a 
 ball of white wool on her knee, a length of knitting in her 
 hands.
 
 CHATEAU DE MAILLY 35 
 
 By her side an old woman stood, bent and work-worn. 
 From a paper she was reading out some instructions 
 regarding the woolen garment the girl was making. 
 
 A sound on the weed-grown gravel drive made the old 
 woman stop suddenly. 
 
 "What can that be?" she asked, with the air of one to 
 whom the unexpected rarely happens. 
 
 "It sounds like a bicycle," Desiree said. 
 
 A few moments later a boy came up the marble steps. 
 In his hand were two telegrams addressed to "Mile, la 
 Comtesse de Mailly." 
 
 The old servant took and opened them. She read the 
 contents through to herself and then dismissed the boy. 
 
 "What is it, Juliette?" the girl asked. 
 
 "One is a telegram from your fiance, Monsieur Bassino. 
 He regrets that the railway strike has delayed him. But 
 he will come as soon as he can possibly get here. The 
 other is from your uncle. He and Monsieur Eugene are 
 coming by motor from Paris. I'm sure no one wants to 
 see them," she added sourly. 
 
 Desiree did not notice this comment about her uncle 
 and cousin. Other matters filled her mind. Mr. Bassino 
 was coming to claim her, a horror which had been hang- 
 ing over her for the last fifteen months. 
 
 "If only I didn't have to marry him," she wailed. 
 
 "You'll be better with him than with them, ma petite. 
 At least he loves you," Juliette said, with an air of making 
 the best of a bad job. 
 
 "I don't want his love," Desiree said wildly. 
 
 "But, Comtesse, you must marry some time, or what 
 will happen to you when I am gone? The flowers will 
 be as fragrant, and the birds will sing as sweetly, in 
 Monsieur Bassino's country as here."
 
 36 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "I want to stay here. I don't want ever to have to go 
 away again," the child cried. 
 
 Then her head dropped on the table, and she wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 Juliette laid her hand on the thin, bowed shoulders. 
 
 "There will be no more dinner of cabbage soup, no 
 more breakfasts of black coffee and dry bread, if you 
 marry this rich monsieur from Brazil. There will be 
 cakes and chocolates all day long. And he will buy you 
 a piano and take you to concerts, and you know you 
 would love that." 
 
 The old woman spoke as if to a tiny girl, who, with 
 promises of sweets and toys, must be bribed into doing 
 something she did not want to do. 
 
 But Desiree refused to be comforted. She remained 
 with her arms on the rusty iron table, her face hidden in 
 them, weeping helplessly. 
 
 "I don't want to be married," she sobbed. "I don't like 
 men. I can't bear Mr. Bassino. I shiver when he 
 touches me. I hate him to kiss me." 
 
 Juliette was used to these storms ; they always came at 
 the mention of the Comtesse's fiance. But he was rich, 
 and in her peasant mind that was everything. 
 
 "Hush, ma petite," she crooned, the girl's head held 
 lovingly against her chest. "It is far better that you 
 should be married. Every day things here grow dearer 
 and Hfe more hard. And if you ask monsieur your fiance, 
 he will let old Juliette come with you to his country." 
 
 "Do you think he will ?" Desiree asked, joy pictured on 
 her face. 
 
 "Of course he will, my jewel, if you ask him nicely." 
 
 "It might not be so dreadful if you were there," the 
 girl whispered, a trifle consoled.
 
 CHATEAU DE MAILLY 37 
 
 Juliette said nothing more on the matter. She kissed 
 and petted her charge until the tears were dried and a 
 weary head lay against her shoulder. 
 
 "Now," she said briskly, once the storm was over, 
 "Wolf shall take you for a walk, since Fm too busy to 
 go." 
 
 Picking up the two telegrams, she shuffled off into the 
 house, leaving Desiree hopelessly resigned to what the 
 future had in store for her.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 A CHANCE MEETING 
 
 Along a narrow mountain road Wilson was walking. 
 He did not quite know why he was walking when he 
 had his motor down in Nice. That afternoon an unusual 
 restlessness had driven him out of his hotel. He had 
 taken the first electric car that came along. When he 
 had reached its destination he had walked on and on, with 
 the strange feeling that he was walking towards his fate. 
 He did not encourage the idea. It was too absurd for a 
 shrewd business man who had made his money in iron. 
 
 He had climbed upwards out of a narrow valley, along 
 a hillside dotted with villas set among palms and orange 
 groves. He had passed groups of olives and clumps of 
 lemon and fig-trees, pursuing a narrow white road that 
 crawled along the top of a low mountain. 
 
 Behind, a sparkling sapphire framed by tropic trees, 
 was the Mediterranean. Ahead, a great range of snow- 
 clad heights, flanked on either side by lower gray ranges, 
 thrust glittering peaks into an azure sky ; a semi-circle of 
 mountains that shut out the everyday world, and left him 
 alone with an expanse of folded hills and hidden valleys. 
 
 Here and there quaint, red-tiled dwellings dotted the 
 landscape, set among olives and pines, with an occasional 
 towering cypress. Prickly aloes and pink roses formed 
 the hedgerows. Stumpy vines grew on the terraced hill- 
 sides. Every now and again the scene was a mosaic of 
 pink and yellow and white and crimson, the growths of 
 some little flower farm. 
 
 38
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 39 
 
 The air would be heavy with the scent of pines, roses, 
 and orange blossom. Then a bend in the road would 
 sweep it all away, and the wind would bring the pure, 
 cold breath of the snow-clad mountains. 
 
 Wilson strode along briskly, a broad, powerful figure 
 in gray Harris tweed, with a panama hat pulled well on 
 his head. As he proceeded, the road grew more and more 
 deserted. It seemed to him he had the world to himself, 
 a world of peace and beauty, which for years lack of 
 money had placed beyond his reach, until he had almost 
 forgotten he had ever wanted it. 
 
 He was just thinking this when a girl appeared around 
 a bend in the road. She was walking slowly, and on a 
 lead she had a gaunt, wolf-like hound, one of the German 
 police dogs that have become so numerous in France since 
 the war. 
 
 However, Wilson had no eyes for the dog, only for 
 the girl. She looked about sixteen or seventeen, a slender, 
 fragile child. Beneath a halo of golden hair large misty 
 blue eyes were set, vague and haunting, heavy with 
 tragedy. Her face was thin and ethereal, with a look 
 on it that wrung his heart. 
 
 In his early days that look had been on his mother's 
 face, when she had half-starved herself so that her 
 thoughtless cub should not feel the nip of hunger a look 
 he had removed before he was fourteen, and by the time 
 he was sixteen he had given her comfort ; for the last five 
 years of her life, until her death eighteen months ago, 
 luxury. 
 
 Wilson had seen such sad, wistful, innocent little faces 
 in pictures of the Annunciation. The girl was a wraith 
 of beauty, fit only for a dream. A dream she had been 
 to the man until that moment ; now he saw his ideal em- 
 bodied.
 
 ) THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Hardly knowing what he did, Wilson stopped abruptly. 
 His sodden bah made the dog bark in a savage, men- 
 manner. "Wolf! Wolf!" a soft voice said, with 
 a note of chiding. 
 
 The bound quieted immediately. For a moment the 
 girl turned her face in Wilson's direction a timid, 
 Then she passed on, leaving him 
 after her. 
 He matched her go, wondering what she was doing in 
 
 Much as he desired, he could not follow her and say : 
 
 "Princess, all my life I've had your image enshrined 
 in my heart I've loved you wholly and truly, to the 
 exclusion of aO other women." 
 
 He could only stand and stare after her, held fast by 
 a civilization and ctmmtm sense that forbade him making 
 any such confession to an unknown person. 
 
 At a safe distance he followed her, determined to find 
 out whence she came and scrape acquaintance somehow. 
 He no longer saw the beauty of his surroundings ; be saw 
 nothing now but the fragile loveliness of his ideal. 
 
 He could visualize every point of her. He knew she 
 was dressed in white a short-sleeved, low-necked, one- 
 piece garment with a narrow edging of red, with a loose 
 red patent leather belt about her waist She wore white 
 shoes and stockings, and a tittle white hat with an up- 
 turned brim, split at each side. Through the splits red 
 cherries dangled about her ears. 
 
 Life had bcouglu Wilson a fair idea of the price of 
 everything. Although the girl was dressed with taste and 
 style, her dothes were not expensive. There were no 
 bracelets on her $******* arms, no rings on her fingers. 
 
 Keeping her in sight, he followed slowly, oblivious of 
 everything except the slim figure ahead.
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 41 
 
 An expected rumble of thunder brought him to his 
 senses. He looked round sharply. 
 
 The snow-clad mountains wore a mantle of black 
 clouds. Over the sea others were rising swiftly. There 
 was a long, low sough in the air. The dust started to 
 blow in spirals. The trees moved in the fretful manner 
 that portended a storm. 
 
 The one growl of thunder made the girl turn. She 
 started to retrace her steps, the dog straining at the lead. 
 
 Wilson halted and awaited her coming. 
 
 She had nearly reached him when there was another 
 peal of thunder, much closer at hand. 
 
 With a little cry of alarm she halted. 
 
 In all his life Wilson had never missed an opportunity, 
 and he had no intention of missing the present one. 
 
 Raising his hat, he went forward. 
 
 'There's going to be a pretty bad storm," he said. 
 "You'd be wise to seek shelter." 
 
 Wilson's voice was his great point: it was firm and 
 pleasant and kind. 
 
 When he spoke she started. Then she turned towards 
 him with a helpless gesture. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she said quickly. "But where can I go?'' 
 
 He rejoiced to find she could speak English, since his 
 knowledge of French was most limited. 
 
 "I'm so glad you understand English," he said. "I 
 only know about three words of French." 
 
 She did not hear him. There was a blinding flash of 
 lightning, followed immediately by a crashing roar of 
 thunder that shook the world. 
 
 The sound brought a moan of fear to her lips, and 
 the dog's lead dropped from her hand. 
 
 Close by there was a barn. 
 
 Seeing that the girl was almost frightened out of her
 
 42 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 wits, Wilson seized her arm and drew her into the shelter. 
 
 They were scarcely inside when there was an even more 
 terrifying crash, that made her hide her face in her hands 
 as if paralyzed with terror. 
 
 "There's nothing to be afraid of," he said soothingly. 
 "It'll soon be over." 
 
 ''It's the noise," she moaned, "the dreadful noise. It 
 always frightens me." 
 
 It took more than noise to upset Wilson's nerves, 
 hardened as they were by years spent in an iron foundry, 
 and he blessed the storm that had brought his ideal 
 trembling to his side. 
 
 Presently a deep gray shadow swept over the earth. 
 With a rush and roar the rain came, seeming to wash the 
 thunder away, for it retreated rapidly, grumbling and 
 growling in the distance. 
 
 "There's nothing more to be afraid of," he said when 
 the noise had abated somewhat. 
 
 "It's very stupid of me to be so afraid, but I always am 
 of thunder." 
 
 After that there was silence for a time. 
 
 Wilson seemed transfixed by the sight of the girl, 
 hardly able to credit that at last she stood before him, the 
 little phantom friend of his boyhood days, the princess of 
 his mother's fairy tale, golden hair, blue eyes, alabaster 
 skin, rose-leaf hands and all. But that princess had not 
 been dressed in a cotton frock and the cheapest of white 
 shoes and stockings. She had always worn a silk dress, 
 a cloak of ermine, a diamond necklace, and a golden 
 crown upon her dainty head. 
 
 His silence, or perhaps instinctively aware of the ad- 
 miration he had for her, alarmed the girl. Presently she 
 called, "Wolf ! Wolf !" in an agitated voice, although the 
 animal was standing only a few yards away.
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 43 
 
 At once the dog was at her side, thrusting its nose into 
 her hand. 
 
 "What a splendid beast he is," Wilson remarked. 
 
 "I was so afraid he might have deserted me," she said 
 nervously, as she stooped and took the lead. 
 
 "It would never do for you to go about in this lonely 
 part without some sort of a guardian." 
 
 Her lips opened, as if to make some confession, but 
 they closed again with the words unspoken. Then she 
 said a word to the dog, and made towards the door. 
 
 The rain was pouring down in a solid sheet, filling the 
 place with its roar. 
 
 "You can't go out," he said quickly. 
 
 "I'm not afraid of the rain." 
 
 "Perhaps not, but there's no sense in getting wet to 
 the skin. You mustn't think of going until it's over, 
 which won't be long now." 
 
 At that moment Wilson's voice was kinder than usual, 
 for his one desire was to put the girl at her ease. 
 
 In some degree he succeeded. Although she moved 
 farther away from him, she did not attempt to leave 
 the barn. 
 
 Presently he fetched a box from the back of the shed. 
 
 "You'd better sit down," he remarked, on placing it 
 beside her. "The rain doesn't seem like stopping yet." 
 
 In a shy voice she thanked him. But she did not sit 
 down at once. She felt for the box, as if to make sure 
 it were really there. Then she seated herself. 
 
 The dog put its head on her knee, and continued looking 
 up at her with worshipping eyes. 
 
 Time passed, but the deluge showed no sign of abating. 
 The girt did not look in Wilson's direction and her silence 
 was unbroken. 
 
 He lingered at her side, hoping she would make some
 
 44 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 comment. She had not ventured a remark on her own 
 account. The only one she had seemed like making had 
 died unspoken on her lips. 
 
 With the idea of finding some clue to her identity, 
 surreptitiously he studied the dog's collar, thinking her 
 name and address might be there. On the tiny brass 
 plate he saw engraved : "Desiree de Mailly, Domaine de 
 Mailly." 
 
 Was she Desiree de Mailly, this ideal of his heart, 
 desired by him more than anything that had come into 
 his life? 
 
 "I wonder if you are Miss de Mailly?" he inquired 
 presently. 
 
 At his question she started. 
 
 "Who told you my name?" she asked, a quiver of alarm 
 in her voice. 
 
 "I've just read it on Wolf's collar." 
 
 There was a further silence. 
 
 Wilson had never met a girl so high-strung and nervous. 
 Each time he spoke she started ; at his every little move- 
 ment a wave of fear passed over her face, as if she lived 
 constantly in a state of terror. 
 
 He was not usually at a loss for conversation, but 
 having at last before him the wraith of his ideal deprived 
 him of his flow of small talk. But a moment later he 
 pulled himself together, and talked on any and every 
 trivial subject that entered his head. It was uphill work, 
 however, her replies rarely being beyond monosyllables. 
 
 As the rain went on it grew rapidly colder. 
 
 Anxiously Wilson watched the drooping figure on the 
 box. A woolen costume was the sort of garment for a 
 day like this, not a thin cotton frock. 
 
 He saw the slender arms rapidly lose their smoothness, 
 getting red and "goose-fleshy" with cold, and finally a
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 45 
 
 mottled blue. Yet she never once said how cold it was, 
 or made any complaint, as would have been but natural 
 under the circumstances. She sat and endured in silence, 
 as if endurance were part and parcel of her life ; as if her 
 fate were not in her own hands, and she knew nothing she 
 could say or do would alter it. 
 
 Wilson felt he must hold her against his heart and 
 warm her, this wan little phantom of his ideal who had 
 lived there for so long. 
 
 "I'm afraid you're finding it very cold in this drafty 
 shed," he said presently. 
 
 "Yes, yes, perhaps I am. But it doesn't matter," she 
 answered, as if life were such a tragedy that mere per- 
 sonal discomforts were of no consequence. 
 
 He felt that in the same soft, sad, resigned, helpless 
 little voice she would have agreed she was miserable, or 
 hungry, or tired, as if she were surprised that anyone 
 should trouble to remark upon these facts when there 
 were such greater troubles in her life. 
 
 But when she started to shiver he could stand it no 
 longer. There was something too pathetic in her silent 
 endurance. Without a word he stripped off his coat and 
 wrapped it about her shoulders. 
 
 At his touch a stifled gasp of alarm escaped her lips, 
 to be choked back the moment she felt the warmth of his 
 coat around her. 
 
 "I can't have you sitting here shivering," he said firmly. 
 
 "But won't you be cold ?" 
 
 "The lack of my coat won't worry me," he answered. 
 "There was a time in my life when I always went about 
 in shirt sleeves." 
 
 "It's very kind of you to trouble about me," she said. 
 
 Something in her reply told him that kindness rarely 
 came her way.
 
 46 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 More than ever he wondered who could find it in their 
 hearts to be anything but gentle and considerate with such 
 a girl. 
 
 "I could hardly let you sit and shiver, could I?" he 
 remarked. 
 
 To this she had no reply. She drew his coat closer 
 round her. Then she ventured her first comment. 
 
 "Wolf doesn't growl at you," she said, as if the fact 
 were rather surprising. 
 
 "Why should he? He knows I'm quite harmless." 
 
 "He growls at at most of the men I know," she 
 replied. 
 
 The reply made Wilson move a step closer to this child 
 who lived under a cloud of fear, and who talked to him as 
 if she were twelve years old, not the seventeen she looked. 
 
 This time his movements did not make her start and 
 tremble. She just sat with her eyes downcast, fondling 
 the dog's head. 
 
 Again there was silence a silence that lasted nearly 
 half an hour and still the rain showed no sign of abating. 
 
 Presently Desiree rose to go, and again Wilson's voice 
 stopped her. 
 
 "You mustn't think of going out now," he said. 
 
 "But Juliette will be wondering what has happened 
 to me." 
 
 "If Juliette has any sense she'll know you must have 
 sheltered." 
 
 At his remark she seated herself again. It seemed to 
 W T ilson he had only a child to deal with. He had but to 
 speak and she obeyed, as if she were accustomed to other 
 people making up her mind for her. 
 
 The shadows started to thicken. Evening came early, 
 brought by the banked clouds overhead.
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 47 
 
 "It'll be dark in a few minutes," he commented 
 presently. 
 
 A willful smile crossed her face, but she said nothing. 
 
 Darkness approached rapidly, filling the barn with 
 gloomy shadows. With its coming the rain abated some- 
 what. 
 
 Desiree rose. Taking his coat from her shoulders she 
 held it towards him. 
 
 "It's not raining so much now," she said. 
 
 This time Wilson did not attempt to stop her. They 
 could not stay there all night. 
 
 "Your dress will be wet through in no time," he com- 
 mented. "You must have my coat to go home in." 
 
 "Oh, no, I couldn't do that," she said quickly. 
 
 Wilson was used to having his own way. Taking the 
 coat, he wrapped it round her again, with his big hands 
 guiding the slim, bare arms into the sleeves. He felt the 
 girl quiver at his touch, a quiver that thrilled him. 
 
 He buttoned the coat and turned up the collar, thus 
 enveloping her in stout tweed from neck to knee. After 
 the first little objection she stood quite still and let him 
 do as he wished, a helpless obedience that puzzled him. 
 
 The coat seemed to have brought her some of the 
 strength and power of its owner, as well as the combined 
 odors of heather, tar, sea, and smoke that go with Harris 
 tweed, for she said with an air of decision: 
 
 "You can't go all the way back to Nice without your 
 coat." 
 
 "How do you know I come from Nice?" 
 
 "All English people do," she replied. 
 
 "Then you must be from there yourself." 
 
 "No, I'm French." 
 
 "But you speak English perfectly." 
 
 "I was in America for some time."
 
 48 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 There was a moment's hesitation. 
 
 "Will you come with me ?" she went on timidly. "It's 
 only about twenty minutes' walk from here. If you care 
 to stay for dinner, perhaps it will be fine afterwards." 
 
 The one thing Wilson wanted was a closer acquain- 
 tance. He jumped at the invitation. 
 
 "We must start at once," she said. "The rain is holding 
 up a little now, but it may come on as bad as ever in a 
 few minutes." 
 
 Desiree said a few words in French to the dog, and 
 it made at once towards the door. 
 
 As they left the barn, because the girl looked so weary 
 and drooping, Wilson drew her arm through his, in a 
 firm, careful, decided manner, as though he meant it to 
 stay, and she let it stay there, as if glad of his strength 
 to support her. 
 
 Outside it was all but dark; a thick gloom through 
 which great raindrops spattered, quickly soaking his shirt. 
 This did not worry him ; his coat was keeping the princess 
 dry. The hound hurried on, straining at the lead. 
 
 "Wolf seems in a mighty hurry to get home," he 
 commented 
 
 "He knows we are late and that Juliette will scold him," 
 she answered. 
 
 It seemed to the man that he moved in heaven. He did 
 not know he was wet and cold cold with the bone- 
 piercing chill that often comes on the Mediterranean after 
 sunset. He only knew that his little phantom friend who 
 had lived in his heart so long was there, walking beside 
 him, at last a creature of flesh and blood. 
 
 Darkness had fallen when broken iron gates were 
 reached, leading up to what looked to be a narrow, weed- 
 grown lane.
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 49 
 
 Desiree stooped and loosened the dog, who, after cir- 
 cling round with barks of delight, darted off into the 
 night. 
 
 "Why have you let him go just when we need him 
 most?" Wilson asked, wondering how they were going 
 to grope their way along, for he could not see a yard 
 ahead of him. 
 
 A small hand was slipped through his arm again. 
 
 "We're nearly there now," she replied, "and I can find 
 my way up here with my eyee shut." 
 
 Then she laughed, as if at some dreary little joke of 
 her own. 
 
 Wilson certainly wondered how she found her way. 
 He knew they passed up a narrow, twisted path lined 
 with trees, for he heard the wind soughing in their tops 
 and the creak of their branches. Now and again he 
 splashed through deep puddles. Occasionally a bough 
 swept his sodden garments, soaking him still further with 
 its weight of moisture. 
 
 "We're there now," she said presently. 
 
 Wilson could still see only blackness. He stumbled 
 up some stone steps, guided by the hand on his sleeve. 
 Somewhere he heard the dog barking. Around, wooden 
 shutters creaked and groaned and slammed in the wind. 
 He could feel a house looming over him, but there was 
 not a light anywhere in it; only a blank stretch of solid 
 darkness and a garden moaning and whispering eerily. 
 
 Presently a glimmer of light percolated through the 
 cracks of the door they were approaching. 
 
 A moment later it opened. 
 
 An elderly woman stood on the threshold, a tiny lamp 
 smoking in her gnarled hand. She was poorly dressed, 
 in a bunchy black skirt, green with age, a black and white 
 striped cotton bodice, a blue check aoron, patched and
 
 50 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 well washed, and on her feet were worn black felt 
 slippers. 
 
 On seeing Wilson she gave a quick exclamation. 
 
 "Juliette," Desiree said quickly as she drew him in, 
 "this gentleman found me all alone in the thunderstorm. 
 He wouldn't let me come back without his coat, so I 
 brought him here for dinner. Light a fire in the spare 
 room, and lend him some of Pierre's clothes until his own 
 are dry. If the rain doesn't stop he'll have to stay all 
 night." 
 
 It was all said in French, very rapidly, and with an air 
 of excitement. 
 
 Juliette gave Wilson one brief glance. Then, anxiously, 
 she ran her hand over her young mistress. She pointed 
 to Desiree's sodden feet and drenched skirt, all the time 
 talking volubly in a scolding, albeit a caressing manner. 
 
 But Desiree's thoughts were all for Wilson. 
 
 "Don't bother about me, Juliette," she broke in quickly. 
 "Look after this gentleman." 
 
 Then she turned to him. 
 
 "Juliette will take you to your room," she said, "and 
 bring you some dry clothes." 
 
 She turned again to the servant. 
 
 "Take the English gentleman upstairs at once. He's 
 wet through. I'm so afraid he'll get cold." 
 
 Lamp in hand, the old woman turned, leading the way 
 along a huge, damp, resounding hall. The feeble light 
 showed the place to be absolutely devoid of furniture and 
 the plaster dropping from its walls. 
 
 At the foot of wide marble stairs Wilson paused. 
 Juliette was going upwards, taking with her the one 
 light, leaving her young mistress alone in the black, 
 drafty, whispering hall.
 
 A CHANCE MEETING 51 
 
 "We can't leave you all alone in the dark," he said, 
 wondering what sort of a place he was in. 
 
 Desiree turned her face towards him, smiling wistfully. 
 
 "I'm quite used to being alone in the dark," she 
 answered. 
 
 The echoes of her voice followed him upstairs. There 
 was a note of tragedy in it that he could not fathom. 
 
 Juliette took him along a huge corridor as bare as the 
 hall below, with broken, stained-glass windows, through 
 which the wind whistled and the rain spattered windows 
 with wide, wooden, worm-eaten seats. Eventually she 
 ushered him into a bedroom. 
 
 Lighting a candle standing on the chimney piece, she 
 muttered something in French, and then left him, giving 
 him an opportunity of studying his surroundings. 
 
 In the middle of a red-tiled floor a wooden bedstead 
 stood, worm-eaten and aged, with a coat of arms carved 
 on the cracked panels, looking as if any minute it might 
 fall to pieces. An ancient tallboy, too decayed even to be 
 of any value as an antique, leaned drunkenly against one 
 wall, where the paper hung loose paper that looked as if 
 a generation had passed since it had been put on. On 
 the opposite side a bare deal table stood, with a little jug 
 and basin on it and a tiny square mirror above. The 
 rain- leaked in at one corner, making an ever-increasing 
 damp patch on the ceiling; occasionally a drop accumu- 
 lated, and fell with a heavy splash on the floor. A pane in 
 one of the windows was broken, and stuffed up with 
 sacking. Down the wide chimney the wind howled on 
 to a huge flagged hearth that had two great stones in lieu 
 of a fireplace. 
 
 As Wilson surveyed his new quarters, he suddenly 
 remembered he had five thousand francs on his person.
 
 52 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 and tales of people decoyed to lonely houses and mur- 
 dered and robbed for the setting of the fairy princess 
 suggested a thieves' den more than anything else. 
 
 But he put the thought from him. It was an insult to 
 the pure, sad face of his ideal. Also, he recollected that 
 he had accosted the girl, not she him. Then he smiled 
 to himself. 
 
 At last he had found the princess! And this, of 
 course, was the ruined castle! 
 
 A knock on the door roused him. 
 
 Juliette entered with a couple of towels, a jug of hot 
 water, a coarse white shirt, and a pair of blue cotton 
 trousers, gray woolen socks and carpet slippers, and a 
 large basket of logs and chips and pine cones. 
 
 Putting the basket down, she placed the hot water and 
 the towels on the deal table, the clothes on the bed. 
 
 This accomplished, she turned towards the fireplace. 
 
 Between the two stones she laid first a crumpled piece 
 of paper, then a trio of pine cones, almost as large as 
 cocoanuts, then the chips, and, finally, a couplet)f logs. A 
 match was put to the pile. In a moment it was ablaze, 
 giving light and warmth to the bleak chamber. 
 
 "Vo\la!" she exclaimed with the air of one who per- 
 forms miracles. 
 
 Getting to her feet, she turned towards Wilson and 
 started talking and gesticulating. Then, suddenly realizing 
 he could understand very little of what she said, with a 
 shrug she left him in peace to change his dripping gar- 
 ments.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 JULIETTE 
 
 Juliette made her way down another corridor towards 
 a room at the far end. Without any preliminaries she 
 entered. A huge fire was blazing on the wide hearth. 
 Before it, in dressing-gown and slippers, Desiree was 
 sitting, her long hair loose and drying in the warmth. 
 
 At her entry the girl looked round. 
 
 "Have you made him quite comfortable, that English 
 gentleman ?" she asked. 
 
 "As comfortable as one can be here, Comtesse." 
 
 "He has not guessed," Desiree said. "Don't tell him." 
 
 "How can I tell him, ma petite? He can't understand 
 a word I say." 
 
 "What is he like? His voice is so kind. He feels so 
 nice. He touches one so carefully." 
 
 "He is only three or four inches taller than you, my 
 jewel, but very broad and strong. Yes, strong as a bull. 
 He is not handsome like Monsieur Eugene, but his face is 
 good and firm the face of a man one can trust." 
 
 Then she changed the conversation. 
 
 "Now what shall we give this English gentleman for 
 dinner? We can't serve only the s^up and puree of 
 potatoes that was for you," she finished. 
 
 "You must make an omelette," Desiree said. 
 
 "That means four eggs that I can sell at sixty centimes 
 apiece," was the grumbling reply. 
 
 53
 
 54 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "But hospitality comes first. This gentleman has been 
 very kind to me. And you must open one of those tins 
 of sardines you bought in case my uncle and cousin 
 came for lunch." 
 ' "Yes. Ten francs for two tins of sardines for them!" 
 
 There was a world of contempt in the old woman's 
 voice. 
 
 "Juliette, you mustn't speak of my uncle and cousin in 
 that manner," Desiree said chidingly. 
 
 "I speak of people as I find them," the old woman re- 
 torted. "But this dinner, this fete for the English 
 milord. Yes, the soup, the sardines, an omelette, the 
 puree of potatoes. So far, so good." 
 
 "Then dried figs and walnuts. And oranges, if Pierre 
 will venture out in the rain and gather them. And coffee. 
 Yes, and one of those bottles of wine that came with my 
 grandfather from Paris." 
 
 To the last item Juliette agreed heartily. 
 
 "Better this English gentleman should drink the wine 
 than them, for at least he gave his coat to shelter you." 
 
 There was no mistaking the weight of dislike for 
 "them" in the old servant's voice. 
 
 This time Desiree did not chide her, being too intent 
 on the unexpected guest's dinner. 
 
 "And what shall I wear ?" she asked. "The white silk 
 I wear when my uncle takes me to parties? No, that 
 would be much too grand. The blue muslin you have just 
 made me. You say it matches my eyes," she finished in 
 a dreary tone. 
 
 The remark caused the old woman to place her arms 
 about the girl, her withered lips crooning loving words.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 DINNER 
 
 A knock on his door roused Wilson. 
 
 "Diner est servi, monsieur" an old voice said. 
 
 He glanced at as much as he could see of himself in 
 the blurred mirror. The clothes brought to replace his 
 own were only a peasant's. A coarse white cotton shirt, 
 rough-dry, a pair of stiff blue cotton trousers and felt 
 slippers, were not exactly the garments in which he 
 wanted to face Desiree de Mailly. 
 
 He wished to cut as good a figure as possible before 
 her, and he felt that his present attire made him look too 
 much like the better-class artisan his father had been. 
 However, he also knew he could not appear in soaking 
 wet tweeds. 
 
 Outside the door he found an old man waiting, who 
 was attired similarly to himself, some of whose clothes 
 Wilson suspected that he himself was wearing. 
 
 In Pierre's wake he went downstairs. He was taken 
 through the big, dark hall and shown into a room that 
 was badly lighted a large place with bare whitewashed 
 walls, a beamed ceiling, and a tiled floor. At one end 
 was an old wooden settee, where a guitar lay ; at the other 
 was a cheap deal sideboard. In the middle of an expanse 
 of bare floor was an oak table black with age, and round 
 and about were half a dozen kitchen chairs. The long, 
 low windows were curtainless, with no sign of a cushion 
 
 55
 
 56 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 on their broad stone seats. There was not even a rug 
 on the broken tiled floor. On the table and the high 
 chimney-piece were little glass jam-jars full of carnations. 
 
 At least there was a good roaring fire of logs, the only 
 thing in the way of comfort the place seemed to possess. 
 
 Well in the shadows Desiree stood, looking more desir- 
 able than ever in a short-sleeved, frilly frock of cloudy 
 blue. 
 
 At Wilson's entrance she did not come forward. As 
 shy as a little child, she did not move, as if waiting for 
 him to come to her side, which he did at once. 
 
 To his surprise there was no one in the room but the 
 girl. 
 
 "Have the rest of the family had their dinner?" he 
 asked, delighted at the thought of a tete-a-tete meal. 
 
 "I am the family. No one lives here but me and Juliette 
 and Pierre." 
 
 "I must look a sight to appear at anyone's dinner 
 table," Wilson began apologetically. 
 
 "You look quite all right," she answered, her face 
 flushing suddenly. 
 
 She turned towards the table. 
 
 "I can't offer you very much, here in the country," she 
 went on. 
 
 "You've no idea what a treat all this is to me," he 
 assured her. 
 
 Only one corner of the table was set, with a coarse, 
 checked cloth of green and blue and white, with red lions 
 rampant on the white. The two places were laid with a 
 trio of common white plates, one on the top of the other, 
 and a soup plate on the top of each pile. There were a 
 leaden-looking spoon and fork, a black handled knife, 
 with a glass rest for the two last to repose on between
 
 DINNER 57 
 
 the courses. By the side of the plates was set a thick, 
 stemmed goblet, and in each was a fringed napkin to 
 match the table-cloth. 
 
 Wilson hardly noticed these details. He thought only 
 of the girl living in a depth of poverty altogether out of 
 keeping with her well-bred air. 
 
 In spite of her poverty, it was evident both her old 
 servitors adored her. Fussy and trembling, the old man 
 waited on them, hovering round the girl as if he lived for- 
 nothing but to serve her. 
 
 "Here is the soup, ma petite," he said. "Let me help 
 you." 
 
 Everything he put on her plate. He would not even let 
 her reach across for the salt. And she went about her 
 meal in a slow, dainty, hesitant manner that charmed her 
 visitor completely. 
 
 "Considering his age, your old servant manages very 
 well," Wilson remarked during the course of the repast, 
 since it very soon became evident that he must start all 
 conversations. 
 
 "Pierre was my grandfather's butler. He has served 
 my family for over sixty years. He's seventy-nine now." 
 
 Then she said something in French to the old man that 
 brought him hovering round her again, on his lips the 
 "ma petite" that Wilson loved. "My little one" seemed 
 the very name for her. 
 
 With that sudden realization of facts that had helped 
 Wilson materially in his career he knew that, but for his 
 presence, Desiree de Mailly would have dined off watery 
 soup and mashed potatoes. There would have been no 
 excellent sardines, no perfect omelette, no dessert, no 
 wine that must have come from a connoisseur's cellar, 
 perhaps no coffee.
 
 58 
 
 When the meal was over Pierre cleared the table, leav- 
 ing them alone to linger over the coffee. 
 
 Wilson drew out his cigarette case. 
 
 "Do you smoke?" he asked. 
 
 "Sometimes Eugene makes me, but I don't like it. It 
 always makes me cough and my tongue sore." 
 
 "Perhaps he gives you French cigarettes. You'll find 
 these English ones much milder. Try one." 
 
 He held the case towards her. 
 
 However, she made no attempt to take one. 
 
 "Won't you try mine?" he asked persuasively. 
 
 "Will will you give me one," she faltered, stretching 
 a hand towards him. 
 
 He was only too pleased to put one into her hand, for 
 the sake of letting his own touch hers for a moment. 
 
 But when she had the cigarette she placed the wrong 
 end between her lips. 
 
 However, he was too infatuated to attach any meaning 
 to what she had done. He only saw a child nervous and 
 shy in his company. During dinner, however, it had 
 struck him that she was very shortsighted, but he knew 
 that Frenchwomen would endure anything rather than 
 wear glasses. 
 
 "The gold tip goes into your mouth," he said with 
 amusement. 
 
 Once the cigarette was alight, it was obvious she was 
 the veriest novice, for she chewed the end and swallowed 
 the smoke. 
 
 "Not like that," he said, smiling at her efforts. "Watch 
 me, then you'll see how it's done." 
 
 For some reason his words brought tears to her eyes. 
 
 "I don't think I'm much good at smoking," she said, 
 her voice trembling as she put the cigarette down.
 
 DINNER 59 
 
 She was such a child that Wilson thought she suspected 
 him of scolding her because of her unsuccessful efforts. 
 
 He glanced towards the settee where the guitar was, 
 and changed the topic. 
 
 "Do you play the guitar ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said, as if relieved at the turn the conver- 
 sation had taken. 
 
 "Do play something, if you're not tired of entertaining 
 me." 
 
 She got up at once and fetched the instrument. 
 
 Seating herself again, she played several little tunes, 
 to which he listened enthralled as he studied her delicate 
 profile, her small hands, her crown of golden hair his 
 fairy princess complete, even to the ruined castle. At 
 that moment he gave no thought to the dragons and the 
 ogre. 
 
 Presently she broke into a little laughing, haunting 
 refrain that was the craze of the hour. 
 
 "That's the new dance," he remarked when she had 
 finished. 
 
 "Yes. I heard it about six weeks ago at Cannes, at a 
 party my uncle took me to." 
 
 "Do you know the dance too?" 
 
 "Yes, Eugene taught me. He dances splendidly." 
 
 Wilson felt jealous of this Eugene who had a way of 
 coming into her talk. 
 
 "Who's Eugene ?" he asked. 
 
 "My cousin." 
 
 Wilson got to his feet. 
 
 "See if I'm as good a partner as Eugene," he said, 
 going to her side. 
 
 "I can't dance and play as well," she answered
 
 60 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "I'll whistle," he said. "It's my one accomplishment 
 in the musical line." 
 
 He did not wait for "Yea" or "Nay." Taking the 
 guitar, he placed it on the table. Then he drew the girl 
 to her feet and started the measure. 
 
 If he whistled well, he danced even better, and when 
 he took Desiree into his arms he tasted bliss for the first 
 time. She was an excellent partner, no more weight 
 than holding a feather. And he had hard work to keep 
 himself from kissing the little face so close to his own. 
 
 "Now we'll have a tango," he said, the moment the 
 quaint little dance was finished, anxious to keep her in 
 his arms. 
 
 To his whistling they danced quite half-a-dozen 
 measures, and in the dancing the girl's face lost its tragic 
 look and took on one of fleeting, furtive happiness. 
 
 However, she was the first to stop. 
 
 "How foolish of us to behave in this childish manner," 
 she said. 
 
 "But you're only a child." 
 
 "I'm twenty-one to-day." 
 
 Wilson was surprised to hear this. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me at dinner it was your birth- 
 day, and I'd have drunk to your health and happiness," 
 he said, mentioning the two things his youthful hostess 
 obviously lacked. "Considering you are only just grown- 
 up to-day you can be forgiven any backslidings," he con- 
 cluded. 
 
 "How long have you been grown-up ?" she asked shyly. 
 
 "Getting on to thirteen years legally. But I put away 
 childish things when I took my first job when I was 
 twelve years old."
 
 DINNER 61 
 
 "Twelve years old !" she exclaimed. "Did you have to 
 work when you were only twelve?" 
 
 Wilson had no intention of deceiving his ideal by pre- 
 tending to be other than he was. 
 
 "I come of quite poor people, Miss de Mailly," he said. 
 "My father died when I was three. Afterwards my 
 mother supported herself and me by dressmaking and 
 letting lodgings. When I was twelve I got a job in an 
 iron foundry. It was not exactly pleasant work, but it 
 was well paid, and that was all I cared about. In those 
 days I earned ten shillings a week. Now I earn ; 10,000 
 a year." 
 
 He made the last statement with a certain grim satis- 
 faction. 
 
 "You talk as if you loved money," she said. 
 
 "It's not that exactly. But I appreciate it, as peeple 
 do who have felt its need. It puts a lot of things within 
 your reach that otherwise you couldn't have." 
 
 As he talked he looked at Desiree. 
 
 It had put her within his reach a girl to whom lie 
 could not have aspired had he been the thirty shillings a 
 week workman his father was. 
 
 "Ten thousand pounds a year ! What a lot of money. 
 I've only three thousand francs a year, this house, and 
 'The Necklace of Tears,' " Desiree remarked presently, 
 as if she had been cogitating on the matter. 
 
 "'The Necklace of Tears!' What's that?" he asked. 
 
 "I'll show you," she said, turning towards the door. 
 
 Wilson watched her go. 
 
 He was reckoning out that, at the low rate of exchange, 
 three thousand francs was not much more than 60 a 
 year. 
 
 Sixty pounds a year! That was all she had. Sixty
 
 62 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 pounds and this ruin of a house with butter at nineteen 
 francs a pound and meat at seventeen ! 
 
 The fact made him almost sick with pity. 
 
 No wonder she looked as if she were on the verge of 
 starvation, no wonder her home was a ruin. 
 
 To get away from his thoughts, he turned towards the 
 fireplace, grateful, indeed, that wood was cheap, for coal 
 was about four hundred francs a ton. 
 
 It seemed to him he had found the first of the dragons 
 poverty one he could easily slay if she would let him. 
 
 A couple of telegrams standing on the high chimney- 
 piece attracted his attention. 
 
 They were addressed to "Mile, la Comtesse de Mailly." 
 
 His gaze was fixed on them. 
 
 Was she the Countess de Mailly? That lovely, half- 
 starved, helpless child, who was trying to keep body and 
 soul together and two worn-out old servants on 60 a 
 year. 
 
 Desiree's entrance roused him. 
 
 "Are you the Countess de Mailly?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she said simply, coming to his side. 
 
 He was worked up to such a pitch over the 60 that 
 he almost expected to see her die of starvation before his 
 eyes. However, instead of falling down dead at his 
 feet she held an old leather case towards him. 
 
 "This is 'The Necklace of Tears/ " she said. 
 
 Wilson was thinking more about her than the necklace 
 how he could best rectify the straits in which he had 
 found her. 
 
 Absently he took the case and opened it. 
 
 On white velvet, yellowed with age, lay a diamond 
 necklace, a graded row, each stone perfect, clear and 
 crystal as a tear.
 
 DINNER 63 
 
 Wilson knew enough of gems to be well aware that a 
 fortune lay within his grip. 
 
 "What are you doing with this ?" he asked, astounded. 
 
 "It's mine." 
 
 "But you mustn't keep anything so valuable in this 
 lonely place." 
 
 "It only came this morning. My solicitor brought it," 
 she explained. "My uncle was to have been here to take 
 charge of it for me, but there was the railway strike, and 
 he couldn't get away from Paris. I had a telegram to say 
 he's coming by motor. 
 
 Wilson handed the case back to its owner, still hardly 
 able to credit what he had seen ; it was so out of keeping 
 with her surroundings. A necklace fit for an empress! 
 He doubted if she had any idea of its real value. 
 
 But it put quite another light on their relations. 
 
 She was no longer a beggar maid, to whom he was 
 only too ready to play the part of King Cophetua. That 
 necklace spelt a fortune. Her people would see that she 
 married some one of her own status, not a self-made 
 business man. 
 
 The neat little dream that Wilson had woven since 
 meeting his princess started to fade. 
 
 Somewhere in the drafty ruin a clock struck eleven, 
 reminding him that he ought to have gone some hours 
 ago. 
 
 "I must be going," he said. "I'd no idea it was so 
 late." 
 
 "You can't go back to Nice to-night," she answered 
 quickly. "It's still raining heavily. You must stay here. 
 I've told Juliette to make up the bed." 
 
 "But I'm giving you an awful lot of trouble." 
 
 "It's very nice having some one here," she said shyly. 

 
 64 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Wilson laughed. 
 
 She was such a child, in spite of her twenty-one years. 
 
 "And it's very nice being here," he said with gentle 
 mimicry. "But you mustn't let me keep you up. It's 
 quite time you were in bed and asleep." 
 
 "I can always go to sleep, but I can't always have some 
 one to talk to." 
 
 He drew a chair up for her. 
 
 "Then I'll let you talk another ten minutes," he re- 
 marked. 
 
 But during the ten minutes he did most of the talking. 
 
 Juliette's entry roused them. 
 
 "The monsieur's room is ready," she said. 
 
 Wilson rose, guessing her mission. 
 
 He took Desiree's hand into his, holding it carefully 
 in his strong grip. 
 
 "Good-night," he said, "and for heaven's sake don't 
 leave that thing lying about." 
 
 With animosity he glanced at "The Necklace of Tears," 
 which lay open in its case on the table, and which had 
 shattered his plans. 
 
 The thing winked at him evilly, as if enjoying his dis- 
 comfiture. 
 
 Then he went to bed, to be haunted by dreams of a 
 girl his fairy princess seated on a throne high above 
 him, too high for him to reach a girl with a small, wist- 
 ful face and diamonds streaming like tears from her 
 tragic eyes.
 
 THE NECKLACE OF TEARS 
 
 The next morning the sun trickling through the wooden 
 shutters roused Wilson. He got out of bed and pushed 
 them wide open, to see what the place looked like by 
 daylight. 
 
 The whole world was bathed in sunshine, making the 
 rain of the previous evening seem impossible. In the 
 distance, a misty blue on the skyline, the sea stretched. In 
 between were rounded hills and deep valleys, where every 
 sort of fruitful tree grew. On one side was a ridge of 
 gray mountains, over which snow-clad heights peeped. 
 
 Then he looked at his immediate surroundings. 
 
 Below a garden lay a large walled expanse set round 
 with orange-trees. In it palm, fig, lemon, loquat, and 
 walnut-trees flourished, with here and there a somber 
 cypress, a clump of bamboo, a patch of cactus, or a 
 golden rain of mimosa. There were old stone seats, 
 crumbling statues, and broken arches where roses, wis- 
 taria, and honeysuckle ran riot. In the wilderness a 
 few fowls scratched and a couple of tethered goats 
 browsed. 
 
 Just below his window was a wide marble terrace. Up 
 its white steps he must have stumbled the previous 
 evening. In one corner, under the shade of a spreading 
 tree, stood a battered iron table and a trio of chairs. 
 
 In one of the chairs Desiree sat, in the white dress she 
 
 65
 
 66 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 had worn the previous afternoon, her hands lying list- 
 lessly on her knee, her eys downcast. 
 
 As quickly as possible Wilson got into his clothes. The 
 night before he had found them dried and neatly folded 
 on a chair in his bedroom. 
 
 He was not long in making his way downstairs. 
 
 His step on the terrace made Desiree turn her head 
 in his direction, 
 
 "Did you sleep well ?" she asked politely, after he had 
 greeted her. 
 
 Wilson had not slept specially well. There would be 
 no more peaceful nights for him until his was the right 
 to sleep with her within his arms. He was a strong man 
 to whom love and passion had come for the first time. 
 The new forces raging within him left him a trifle stunned 
 and stupefied, not quite his usual observant self, more 
 especially when he thought of that necklace coming be- 
 tween him and the girl he wanted. 
 
 "Yes, Countess," was all he could say at the moment. 
 
 Desiree got to her feet. 
 
 "Breakfast won't be ready for another quarter of an 
 hour," she said. "Would you like to see my carnations ? 
 Pierre grows them because I love the scent of them." 
 
 "I would," he said, delighted to do anything or go 
 anywhere she suggested. 
 
 She led the way down the marble steps. On reaching 
 the bottom she turned her misty eyes towards the fragrant 
 wilderness. 
 
 "I love the scent of the early morning, don't you? 
 That's why I always have breakfast outside on the 
 terrace, not in my room, as most French people do." 
 
 Wilson loved anything so long as she was there, and 
 he agreed heartily.
 
 THE NECKLACE OF TEARS 67 
 
 She made her way towards a wooden gate at the far 
 end of the garden. Opened, it showed grass-grown ter- 
 races on a sloping hillside, where olives and figs grew, 
 and here and there a cherry, pear, peach, or almond-tree 
 lifted white or pink blossoms against an azure sky. Near 
 at hand were one or two cultivated patches, where lettuces, 
 potatoes, peas, spinach, and broad beans grew. One 
 little terrace was carefully guarded, roofed with rush mats 
 set on wooden frames. 
 
 Towards that spot Desiree went. On reaching it she 
 started to roll back one of the mats. 
 
 "Let me do that," Wilson said quickly, stooping over 
 her. 
 
 A rush of incense greeted them from the flowers be- 
 neath, a wealth of prize carnations. 
 
 "Pierre would like to grow more flowers for me, but 
 I won't let him," she said. "He has only strength enough 
 to grow the things we must eat. All this land is mine," 
 she went on, waving her hand vaguely round. "Juliette 
 sells the fruit when she can. It's a great help now that 
 things are so dear. Will you have one of my carnations ?" 
 she finished, stooping over the scented enclosure. 
 
 She held the flower towards him, smiling shyly as a 
 lonely child might at a new-found friend. He took it 
 eagerly, putting it in his buttonhole. 
 
 "That's the coat I wore," she said. "It smells quite 
 different from other men's coats. And it feels quite 
 different too," she continued, rubbing a slim finger up 
 and down its rough surface. 
 
 "It is quite different," he said, "you don't get much of 
 this sort of cloth in these parts. I wear it whenever I 
 can. I like it because it smells of the open air, the sea, 
 and the country, things that haven't come much into my
 
 68 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 life. Now I've made my pile I'm not so sure I shan't 
 retire and buy an estate somewhere, and go in for farm- 
 ing. It's what's wanted more than anything nowadays. 
 But it's very difficult to get out of harness when you've 
 been in it more than twenty years." 
 
 "It doesn't seem right that you should have had to work 
 so hard," she replied with sympathy. 
 
 "Why?" he asked. 
 
 "Because you seem so nice." 
 
 It was a child's reply, and Wilson laughed tenderly. 
 
 "Well, I hope you'll never change your opinion," he 
 said. 
 
 Then his gaze went to the finger that was still rubbing 
 his sleeve with the lightness of a butterfly's wing. 
 
 On that hillside, everything that could chirp or sing 
 or whistle or buzz was chirping and singing and whistling 
 and buzzing, and Wilson felt like joining in the joyous 
 chorus. 
 
 Without a doubt the Countess de Mailly had taken a 
 great fancy to him. And he began to patch up his dream. 
 
 He knew he was in a country where girls of the upper 
 class were not allowed to pick and choose their husbands, 
 but are compelled to marry those appointed by their 
 parents and guardians. He would see to it that the little 
 countess married the man she liked, no matter what mat- 
 rimonial plans her uncle might have in view, if by phe- 
 nomenal luck that man happened to be himself. 
 
 Although Desiree had never actually said so, all her 
 talk implied that her uncle was her guardian a very 
 indifferent and selfish one, considering the straits she 
 lived in. 
 
 If she stooped to love him, Wilson, he would marry
 
 THE NECKLACE OF TEARS 69 
 
 her, if he had to wade up to his neck in the gore of a 
 hundred uncles. 
 
 From the house a faint sound was wafted, and into his 
 blood-thirsty thoughts Desiree's soft voice came. 
 
 "I hear Juliette with the breakfast," she said. 
 
 She started towards the wooden gate leading into the 
 tangled garden, making her way along weed-grown paths, 
 through a scented wilderness where wistaria ran riot up 
 gloomy cypresses, where roses and vines arched old 
 arbors, and crept about silent fountains a pale wraith 
 of a girl, moving slowly, in a timid, hesitant manner, 
 having now in complete thrall the man who walked beside 
 her. 
 
 On the terrace the table was laid, a compromise between 
 French and English style. 
 
 There were two thick cups the size of pudding bowls, 
 a small jug of black coffee, a large one of hot goats' 
 milk, a tiny bowl of coarse sugar, a portion of a long 
 roll, a minute pat of butter, and, opposite the chair Juliette 
 drew up for the guest, a couple of boiled eggs. 
 
 The sight of them took his thoughts to the 60 a year, 
 and that, in all probability, his youthful hostess was sac- 
 rificing her own lunch or dinner, or both, to feed him. 
 
 "Why did you trouble to have eggs boiled for me ?" he 
 asked, on seating himself. 
 
 "I thought all English people had eggs for breakfast.'* 
 
 "Well, at least one French person is going to have an 
 egg this morning," he said, putting one on her plate. 
 
 "Oh, no," she broke in quickly, "they're for you." 
 
 "I shall turn sulky," he threatened. "I shan't eat mine 
 unless you eat yours." 
 
 There was a taking way about Wilson when he cared
 
 jo THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 to exercise it. And with that small, thin face turned 
 towards him he used all his powers. 
 
 "There is so little I can offer you," she said. "It has 
 not been very nice for you here. My house is very poor, 
 and all English people are rich," she finished apologeti- 
 cally. 
 
 To Wilson his brief stay in the dilapidated old chateau 
 had been heaven, but his acquaintance with her was too 
 short for him to say so. Instead, he put the question that 
 had been hovering on his lips ever since he had seen "The 
 Necklace of Tears." 
 
 "The richest people in England haven't a lovely place 
 like yours. But why don't you sell your necklace, 
 Countess ? Then you'd be as rich as any of us." 
 
 "My uncle wouldn't let me." 
 
 "But surely you can please yourself." 
 
 "He's my guardian," she said, as if that settled the 
 matter. "Besides " 
 
 She broke off. 
 
 "Besides what?" he asked. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 He looked at the girl. All those generations had left 
 her nothing but that necklace, pride, and a fragile, wistful 
 beauty. 
 
 "Why should you deny yourself in any way for the 
 sake of keeping an heirloom?" he questioned, thinking 
 he had the reason of her reluctance to part with the 
 jewel. "That sort of thing is out of date." 
 
 "I don't think I do," she said, a slight tremor in her 
 gentle voice. "But if if I sell it, the curse might fall on 
 someone else. So I shall keep it and have it buried with 
 me. Then it can do no further harm."
 
 THE NECKLACE OF TEARS 71 
 
 "So it's cursed, is it? I'm not surprised to hear that, 
 considering the evil way it winked at me." 
 
 At his words her hands came together in a tight clasp. 
 
 "Did it look at you like that?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 "It can't do me any harm," he said lightly. "What is 
 the curse supposed to be? I wish you'd tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 "An ancestor of mine got it in one of the Crusades. 
 He took it from the tomb of some Mohammedan saint. 
 The priests tried to stop him. They said it was cursed. 
 'The Necklace of Tears' they called it, for whoever 
 possessed it, misfortune would come on whatever the 
 owner loved best." 
 
 "And did it?" Wilson asked. 
 
 "He loved his wife best of all, and when he got back 
 home she was dead." 
 
 "And did it stop there?" 
 
 "No. The next de Mailly was a clever man who loved 
 learning more than anything else, and he went mad." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "The next owner loved his eldest son beyond all else, 
 and he saw the boy drown. It went on like that, bringing 
 sorrow and tears to whichever of us possessed it, right 
 up to my grandfather's day. He was a rich man who 
 loved money best, and he lost everything except this 
 house and the necklace." 
 
 "And how has the curse affected you?" Wilson asked, 
 all interest. 
 
 There was a moment's hesitation on Desiree's part. 
 Her lips opened, as if to make some confession, then 
 closed again with the words unspoken, as they had done 
 once before. An anxious expression crossed her face,
 
 72 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 and her hand started to toy nervously with the fringed 
 tablecloth. 
 
 "My father died before I was born, my mother when 
 I was a week old," she said eventually in a low voice, her 
 face averted. 
 
 As they talked, Juliette fussed round them, pouring 
 out the coffee, cutting the loaf, taking the top off Desiree's 
 egg, buttering her bread, as if the girl were four years 
 old instead of twenty-one. 
 
 Wilson envied the old woman. All these things he 
 would have liked to do. There was an air about the 
 child as if, were she left to herself, she would be as 
 helpless as a baby; a listless, weary air, as though the 
 many generations before her had left her utterly tired 
 out, an air one sometimes gets in the last members of a 
 very old and exclusive family that has never married out 
 of its class. 
 
 Over the simple repast Wilson lingered as long as he 
 dared. Once it was finished he had no excuse for staying. 
 
 Eventually he rose. 
 
 "I must go now," he said reluctantly. "But may I 
 come to-morrow and see if you're no worse for last 
 night's outing?" 
 
 "Please do, if you would care to," she answered shyly. 
 
 "If you talk like that you'll find me rapidly developing 
 into a nuisance," he answered. "I shall come so often and 
 so frequently that you'll end up by ordering me off the 
 premises." 
 
 Then he took her hand, holding it carefully, wishing 
 he dared to kiss it in the gallant manner of her country- 
 men; in its smallness and weakness it seemed made for 
 nothing else. 
 
 "Well, then, it's au rcvoir" he said gayly.
 
 THE NECKLACE OF TEARS 73 
 
 As Wilson made his way back along the narrow white 
 road to Nice, the carnation Desiree had given him in his 
 buttonhole, he whistled cheerfully. 
 
 He loved the Countess de Mailly, and it would not 
 take much to make her love him. But her uncle would 
 be sure to interfere. He would not let a dowry like that 
 necklace go to a stray Englishman of no social standing. 
 
 Wilson snapped his fingers. 
 
 He cared just about that much for her uncle and his 
 interference.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 AN EXPLANATION 
 
 On arriving at his hotel Wilson went first to the bureau 
 to get the key of his room. As he was making his way 
 across the large hall he met the manager. The latter 
 spoke English well, and a slight friendship had grown up 
 between them. 
 
 "Did you wonder what had happened to me last night?" 
 Wilson asked. 
 
 "I thought perhaps the rain had detained you some- 
 where," the manager replied diplomatically. 
 
 "I was miles away in the country when it came on," 
 Wilson explained. "But a good Samaritan found me, 
 and gave me dinner and bed and breakfast for love." 
 
 "You look as if you'd enjoyed the experience," the 
 manager remarked. 
 
 "I did, immensely." 
 
 In spite of his own elation Wilson could not help notic- 
 ing that the manager's face wore an air of depression. 
 
 "You're not looking specially gay," he commented. 
 
 "I'm not feeling it either. As a matter of fact I'm 
 very worried just now." 
 
 "What about?" Wilson asked. 
 
 There was no reason so far as he knew for the man- 
 ager to be worried. On the contrary, there was every 
 cause for rejoicing. The hotel was full to overflowing, 
 and the season looked as if it were a record one. 
 
 74
 
 AN EXPLANATION 75 
 
 As if glad to find someone to whom he could unburden 
 himself, the manager invited Wilson to his private office. 
 
 Asking him to be seated, he turned towards a cupboard. 
 Producing whisky and soda, he helped his guest and him- 
 self. 
 
 "I'm pretty sure 'The Triple Alliance' will pay me 
 another visit," he said gloomily on sitting down. 
 
 " The Triple Alliance.' Who and what are they ?" 
 
 "The smartest lot of jewel thieves that ever made an 
 hotel manager's life a burden to him." 
 
 "Where do they hail from ?" Wilson asked. 
 
 "No one knows. They were first heard of in America 
 about six or seven years ago. They're not the ordinary 
 style. They just pick up a valuable bracelet here and 
 there and then pass on. They stole one worth nearly 
 1,000 in this hotel last December, and another worth 
 500 in Cannes about six weeks ago." 
 
 "But why bracelets specially? Why don't they take 
 all they can lay hands on once they have the nerve to get 
 into anyone's bedroom?" 
 
 "They don't work in bedrooms, but in public, at dances 
 and the like, stealing bracelets off women's wrists. 
 There's a big ball on here next Monday. All the swells 
 in Nice are coming. Considering the amount of jewelry 
 there'll be on show, I'm afraid I shan't escape their atten- 
 tions, although I'm taking every precaution. It gives the 
 place such a bad name, especially after that affair last 
 December." 
 
 "Haven't the police any idea who they are?" Wilson 
 inquired. 
 
 "Not the faintest. But they must be people of good 
 appearance and address. For all I know, they may be
 
 76 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 some of the smartest crowd staying in the hotel at this 
 moment," the manager said despondently. 
 
 "But why 'The Triple Alliance' ?" 
 
 "They were christened that in the States, for all the 
 police there ever discovered was that there were three 
 of them." 
 
 "It would need someone with a pretty good nerve to 
 steal things in the open like that." 
 
 "It would, I agree. Yet 'The Triple Alliance* have 
 stolen about 20,000 worth of jewelry during the last six 
 years." 
 
 "You'll have quite a lot of private detectives on Mon- 
 day then?" 
 
 "Private detectives aren't much use in a crowded ball- 
 room." 
 
 "Then it seems you're pretty powerless," Wilson re- 
 marked, getting to his feet, "but I wouldn't worry about 
 the thing until it happens." 
 
 As he made his way towards the lift, foremost in his 
 mind was Desiree de Mailly's necklace. 
 
 She was in that lonely house miles away from any- 
 where, with only two old servants and a dog. She had 
 shown the necklace to him, a perfect stranger ; she would 
 be just as likely to show it to the next person who came 
 along. News about a thing so valuable as her heirloom 
 soon spreads. And there was this gang of jewel thieves 
 working the Riviera ! 
 
 Wilson felt he must go back at once to the old chateau 
 in the mountains and ask Desiree to let him keep the 
 necklace for her until her uncle came to take charge of it.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 SECLUSION 
 
 The next afternoon the hoot of a motor reached 
 Desiree as she sat knitting in a secluded corner of the 
 garden. Close by was a deep wide reservoir, with a little 
 tower at one end. Water lillies grew in it, and vines and 
 roses climbed up the tower. Over the water palms and 
 mimosa drooped, and about its low edge a mass of lav- 
 ender grew. On one wall a huge stone crocodile crouched, 
 water dripping softly from its open jaws into the old 
 tank. Near it an orange tree, with great balls of golden 
 fruit, gave green shade. An old stone seat stood under 
 the tree, and, close by, a large, flat, oblong block of gray 
 granite, that had once been an olive oil press, was doing 
 duty as a table. 
 
 At the sound of the approaching motor the frightened 
 girl dropped her work, and the hound, crouching at her 
 feet, growled in a low, menacing manner. A strained 
 expression came to her face. It must be either her uncle 
 and cousin or Mr. Bassino. 
 
 Presently down the weed-grown path the old woman 
 came shuffling. 
 
 "Who is it ? Desiree asked in a frightened voke, before 
 the servant had time to speak. 
 
 "It's the English gentleman, ma petite" 
 
 A look of relief crossed the girl's face. 
 
 "Show him out here," she said. "And in a few minutes 
 
 77
 
 78 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 bring some tea. Yes, and some of those biscuits you 
 bought for my uncle and and Mr. Bassino when they 
 come." 
 
 "He will eat us out of house and home, this English 
 monsieur," the old crone grumbled. 
 
 She shuffled off, back to the terrace where Wilson was 
 waiting. 
 
 Like a needle towards a magnet he had been drawn 
 towards the Domaine de Mailly. In a seethe of impa- 
 tience he had spent the previous afternoon and all that 
 morning staring into the best shops in Nice, wanting 
 nothing but to buy things for Desiree, wondering what, 
 on so short an acquaintance, he dared to take her. 
 
 Finally, he purchased a large wicker basket full of 
 crystallized fruit, a specialty of the Riviera, that had in 
 it, among other delicacies, a whole pineapple and a melon. 
 Considering she lived in the wilds where dainties were 
 not easily procured, he bought, also, a large box of cakes 
 and another of chocolates, his one idea being to try and 
 get that half-starved look out of her face. 
 
 On the terrace he now awaited Juliette's return, the 
 three parcels in his motor just betow. 
 
 Presently the old woman came back. She mumbled 
 something and pointed a skinny finger towards a weed- 
 grown path. From her gestures Wilson understood his 
 quarry was to be found there. 
 
 Retrieving his parcels, he went in that direction. 
 
 There was no mistaking the look of welcome on the 
 little face turned towards him. 
 
 "So you're none the worse for your adventure?" he 
 said after greeting Desiree. 
 
 "No. And you, monsieur?" she asked shyly.
 
 SECLUSION 79 
 
 "I'm always flourishing nowadays. More so than ever 
 just at present," he added, smiling at her. 
 
 Then he put the three packages on the seat at her side. 
 
 "Considering you live so far away from civilization, I 
 thought you wouldn't be offended if I brought a few 
 cakes," he continued. 
 
 "It's very kind of you. We don't often get nice cakes 
 up here, not like the ones I have when I go to parties with 
 my uncle and cousin." 
 
 She bent over his gifts, touching them in the nervous, 
 shortsighted way he knew so well now. 
 
 "Why, there are three parcels !" she exclaimed. 
 
 "One is crystallized fruit and the other chocolates," 
 he said apologetically. "The woman in the shop where 
 I bought the cakes pressed them on me, and I hadn't the 
 moral courage to refuse." 
 
 "Crystallized fruit and chocolates! Oh, how lovely!" 
 
 Already she had seized the wicker basket and was open- 
 ing it. 
 
 She lifted the lid and ran a finger lightly over one of 
 the fruits. 
 
 "That's a pineapple, a whole pineapple," she said. 
 "And that's a melon," she went on, touching another, 
 'and that's a prickly pear," she continued, laying a finger 
 on a third. 
 
 Wilson watched her, too infatuated to see anything 
 except the delight his gifts had caused. 
 
 Then she opened the cakes and the chocolates. 
 
 "Don't they smell nice? You've brought enough for 
 an army. You must think I'm greedy." 
 
 All at once she turned towards him, suddenly remem- 
 bering her duties as hostess, 
 
 "I'm keeping you standing. Do sit down."
 
 So THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 He seated himself beside her. She picked up her knit- 
 ting and started working away industriously. 
 
 Wilson watched her. They fascinated him, those 
 slender white hands so busily at work on the soft wool, 
 and the small face to which his coming had brought a 
 look of furtive happiness. 
 
 Presently tea arrived, and a saucer on which half-a- 
 dozen biscuits reposed. 
 
 "Will will you pour the tea?" Desiree asked. "That 
 teapot is so big and heavy." 
 
 It was a great brown earthenware coffee-pot, about a 
 quarter full. 
 
 Wilson was only too ready to wait on her, to do any 
 task she deigned to assign to him. 
 
 The tea was of a pale yellow, and tasted principally 
 of smoke. In spite of this it seemed to him the most 
 delicious he had ever tasted, taken with Desiree in that 
 peaceful garden, where the air was filled with the scent 
 of wild lavender and roses, and the gentle drip of water. 
 
 He had what he wanted, his fairy princess all to him- 
 self, to wait on and tend and pet, as the two old servants 
 did. He would have stuffed her with the dainties he 
 had brought. No sooner had she finished one cake than 
 he was holding the box towards her again, but she first 
 missed her aim, and then fumbled in getting the cake out. 
 A frightened look crossed her face, and her hands started 
 to tremble so that Wilson glanced round, wondering what 
 the matter was, thinking some of her relatives whom he 
 already cordially hated had invaded their paradise, and 
 were going to give the child a severe lecture for enter- 
 taining stray men. 
 
 Seeing no one, he had to account for her agitation in 
 some other way.
 
 SECLUSION 81 
 
 She was upset at her own clumsiness the clumsiness 
 of a shy, nervous girl. 
 
 "You're a bit shortsighted, aren't you, Countess?" he 
 remarked, with the idea of putting her at her ease. 
 
 At his words she flushed painfully, and the tears rose 
 to her eyes. 
 
 His comment took her appetite away. When he offered 
 the cakes again she refused. 
 
 Wilson had arranged with himself to stay an hour, but it 
 was nearly two hours before he rose to go. During the time 
 he talked to Desiree about her dog, her knitting, the trees 
 and flowers round, any impersonal subject that entered 
 his head, and that would bring him a soft, shy answer, 
 for he had quickly seen that she was not used to asserting 
 herself, or accustomed to taking the lead in any way. 
 
 It was not Wilson's habit to let grass grow under his 
 feet. Besides, her uncle might turn up any minute and 
 clog his wheel. 
 
 When he got up to go he said : 
 
 "I'm going to take you out for lunch to-morrow, 
 Countess, to Monte Carlo, so you can expect me round 
 with the car about half-past ten." 
 
 "Oh, no. No, thank you," she said quickly, alarm in 
 her voice. 
 
 "How's that? Don't you trust my driving?" 
 
 "I never go about alone." 
 
 Wilson remembered that French girls of her class did 
 not go out unchaperoned with their male acquiantances. 
 
 "Juliette will make an excellent chaperone," he said. 
 
 "I I'd rather not go," she faltered. 
 
 He was surprised at her refusal. Her every action 
 said she liked him, that his attentions were welcome. He 
 had a gift for gaining the confidence of anything weaker
 
 82 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 than himself, and when he turned this talent on the girl 
 he loved it amounted to genius. 
 
 "Have you taken a sudden dislike to me?" he asked 
 teasingly. 
 
 "You know it isn't that," she whispered. 
 
 "What is it, then?" he asked coaxingly, bending over 
 her. 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Her lips opened, as 
 if to make some confession, and closed again with the 
 words unspoken, as he had noticed once or twice before. 
 
 He bent a little lower. 
 
 "What is the dreadful crime ?" he asked gently. 
 
 "I'm very nervous unless I'm with people who who 
 understand me," she confessed. 
 
 He could quite believe that. There was an air about 
 her as if she had never lived in this world, but in one of 
 her own, quite apart. 
 
 "I flatter myself that I understand you," he said. "It 
 would give me so much pleasure to take you," he went 
 on persuasively. "You must give a thought to that before 
 you turn me down. You wouldn't like to send me away 
 in tears, now would you?" 
 
 She laughed, a little tremulous ripple of amusement. 
 And Wilson felt he could go on making idiotic remarks 
 for the rest of his life, so long as they chased that tragic 
 look from her face. 
 
 "I couldn't imagine you crying, mon ami" she said. 
 
 "I shall if you don't say 'yes.' I shall weep gallons 
 here in front of you, until your stony heart is melted." 
 
 Wilson intended to have his own way. When it came 
 to a battle of wills between a man like himself and a 
 girl like Desiree de Mailly, there was not much doubt as 
 to which would be victor.
 
 SECLUSION 83 
 
 "I should like to go for a drive, but not for lunch," she 
 said. 
 
 It seemed to Wilson that he knew the reason of her 
 modified acceptance of his invitation. If she lunched 
 out, there might be people present who knew her and 
 would report her proceedings to her relatives, and a scold- 
 ing would be the outcome. 
 
 He had no wish for this to happen, not until his was 
 the right to take his stand beside her and bear the brunt 
 of her guardian's anger; so he did not press the matter 
 farther. 
 
 "Very well, I'll come round for you at half-past two 
 then," he said. 
 
 He was most anxious to take her somewhere, apart 
 from the pleasure it gave him. 
 
 The last two hours he had spent with her had left him 
 amazed at her ignorance. She appeared to know nothing 
 at all of what was happening in the world, next to nothing 
 of it. He had gathered from her conversation that she 
 had never been to a theater or a music-hall, or to a concert 
 even, that she could not play bridge, or drive a motor, or 
 play tennis, or hockey, or golf, or billiards, and knew 
 nothing of the pastimes the average girl of her position 
 indulged in. 
 
 "But do you never go anywhere or see anything?" he 
 had asked, astonished. 
 
 "Sometimes I go to dances with my uncle and cousin, 
 but not very often." 
 
 "But every girl ought to have a good time," he had 
 said. 
 
 Wistfully she had smiled at him. 
 
 Then Wilson had remembered the 60 a year, and he 
 had said no more on the subject, for it seemed to him
 
 84 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 that poverty shut her off from the world and all its amuse- 
 ments. 
 
 Having drawn a consent from the girl, he was silent 
 for a moment. Her mention of dances had brought "The 
 Triple Alliance" back to his mind. 
 
 "And I want you to do one more thing for me," he 
 went on, after a brief pause. "There's a gang of smart 
 jewel thieves somewhere near here just at present. I 
 want you to let me have charge of your heirloom until 
 your uncle comes. If they ever get an inkling of the 
 existence of a necklace like yours, they'll be here in no 
 time." 
 
 Wilson expected more of a battle over the necklace than 
 over the invitation. 
 
 To his surprise she arose at once. 
 
 "I shouldn't like it to be stolen," she said, alarm in her 
 voice. "My uncle would be so cross. I'll fetch it at once. 
 
 Wilson watched her go, loving her more than ever. 
 She trusted him implicitly, this girl who had known him 
 barely forty-eight hours! 
 
 He was well on his way back to Nice, with "The Neck- 
 lace of Tears" in his pocket, when he recollected that 
 Desiree knew neither his name nor address. She had 
 called him "monsieur" at first, and once or twice during 
 tea "mon ami." She had never inquired where he was 
 staying, who he was, or what he was doing in Nice. She 
 seemed to take him for granted, as some one who came 
 out of another world into hers. 
 
 He laughed to himself. He would see that such per- 
 fect trust and innocence had its right reward.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 THE GILBERTS 
 
 By moonlight, the country between Dijon and Lyons, 
 when passed through swiftly when one is half asleep in 
 the "Paris Marseilles rapide," looks like a flat white 
 expanse, with here and there a silvery sheet of water, and 
 always tall trees with long bare trunks sticking up on the 
 landscape, solitary clumps and rows, for all the world like 
 gigantic bulrushes. 
 
 That night there were no trains going swiftly south- 
 ward. An unlooked-for strike had upset the plans and 
 calculations of many a person. 
 
 The strike had sadly interfered with the arrangements 
 of the Gilberts. And now an unexpected hitch in their 
 motor had added to their misfortunes. For the last three 
 hours they had been stranded on a long stretch of lonely, 
 moon-flooded road. 
 
 Whilst Eugene leaned over the engine of the big racing 
 car, his father cursed profusely in a variety of languages. 
 
 "A fortune in the hands of that little fool, and us 
 stranded here," he fumed. 
 
 Then he shook his fist towards the distant railway. 
 
 "Curse them," he shouted. 
 
 From the raised hood came a muffled laugh. 
 
 "Curses won't end the strike, mon pcre, or it would 
 have been over in five minutes. Nor will they mend the 
 
 85
 
 86 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 car, or get us to Nice. It would be more to the point if 
 you gave me that spanner. Besides, I don't mind betting 
 you that you'll find 'The Necklace of Tears' a fraud." 
 
 The Count de Gilbert picked up the spanner that an 
 oily finger indicated. 
 
 "But I saw it once, years ago, Eugene," he persisted. 
 "I tell you it's worth more than a million dollars to-day. 
 Think what that means to us, once we get hold of it." 
 
 "If we get hold of the original necklace, that is," 
 Eugene answered smoothly. "But I'm pretty certain your 
 planning and scheming will come to nothing. Would the 
 old Count de Mailly have kept the necklace had it been 
 worth anything, and have lived for a quarter of a century 
 in abject poverty? He sold the original years ago, before 
 the smash. You'll find the present one a vile imitation." 
 
 "He wouldn't sell it, I tell you," the older man said 
 with impatient anger. "He loved it more than wife or 
 child. It spelt his god money." 
 
 Out of the bonnet came an ejaculation of disbelief, and 
 the remark: 
 
 "Would I keep a thing worth a fortune, and live on 
 bread and radishes? Not much! That necklace has 
 obsessed you since the day the old Count died." 
 
 "So it would you if you were my age. I tell you the 
 life we lead is too nerve-wearing for a man of my years." 
 
 "It's a gay life, that's the main thing." 
 
 Eugene paused. 
 
 "There's a Mrs. Green staying in Nice at present, the 
 wife of a rich English manufacturer a fat old woman, 
 smothered with jewelry, who dotes on me. I shan't let 
 the substance go for the shadow. We've only a thousand 
 francs between us. I shall keep an eye on her, in case 
 the necklace doesn't come up to expectations."
 
 THE GILBERTS 87 
 
 So saying, Eugene straightened himself and closed the 
 bonnet. 
 
 "Now, mon cher" he went on, wiping his hands on an 
 oily cloth, "that little hitch is righted at last. But we've 
 only enough petrol for another fifty miles, then time will 
 be lost in a hunt for more." 
 
 His words set his father fuming again, wringing his 
 hands in a sort of mad despair at the thought of the for- 
 tune in his niece's keeping that he was not there "to take 
 charge of." 
 
 The Count de Gilbert would have fumed still more had 
 he known that "The Necklace of Tears" had changed 
 hands, that it no longer had an unworldly girl for its 
 guardian, but was in the keeping of a wide-awake business 
 man.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 A MOTOR TRIP 
 
 The next afternoon Wilson was driving his car care- 
 fully up the twisted lane that led to the old chateau. 
 Olive trees lined the drive, gnarled and distorted, their 
 gray, petrified-looking trunks splashed with greenish- 
 yellow lichen. Occasionally there were clumps of spiky 
 aloes. Here and there a Judas-tree dripped purple tears 
 on the weed-grown drive trees quite big enough to hang 
 one's self on. 
 
 The hoot of his horn reached Desiree as she sat on the 
 terrace, dressed and ready, with a white cloak on a chair 
 beside her. On this occasion she did not start and 
 tremble. Somewhere within the house a clock had just 
 struck half-past two, and she knew who the visitor was. 
 
 She was snatching a fleeting joy from the fact of Wil- 
 son's company, but she had been too long subservient to 
 her guardian to think as yet of enlisting her new friend's 
 aid against the approaching marriage she hated. There 
 was a fearsome joy attached to being with this English- 
 man, and terror also, lest he should find out a certain 
 fact about her, and, because of it, turn from her a fact 
 she was doing her best to keep from him. 
 
 Wilson's step on the terrace brought a shy look of 
 welcome to her face. 
 
 "Are you quite ready ?" he asked, after greeting her. 
 
 She stood up at once, her hand going to the cloak on 
 the chair beside her. 
 
 88
 
 A MOTOR TRIP 89 
 
 Askance he looked at the wrap. It was a pretty gar- 
 ment, white and fringed, but thin and of poor quality, 
 painfully inadequate for a long motor drive. 
 
 "You'd better have something thicker," he remarked. 
 
 "I I haven't anything thicker. I don't often go motor- 
 ing." 
 
 He was sorry he had spoken, and he cursed himself 
 for a clumsy fool. How could the child have clothes for 
 all occasions on 60 a year! 
 
 "Never mind," he said soothingly, "I've an extra coat 
 in the car." 
 
 Because his words had distressed her, he drew her arm 
 through his, with a little patting, consoling gesture, and 
 went with her down the steps to the car. 
 
 He took a thick overcoat from the car, and assisted 
 her into it 
 
 "It's like your other coat, tnon ami," she remarked, 
 when it was on, rubbing a finger up and down its surface. 
 
 He laughed tenderly. She seemed to have an affection 
 even for his clothes, this poor, neglected little fairy prin- 
 cess. 
 
 "It's much the same sort of thing," he answered. 
 
 He helped her into the car, into the seat next the 
 driver's. She arranged herself in the slow way he was 
 accustomed to now, as if she had not strength to hurry. 
 
 Afterwards he wrapped a rug about her knees. Then, 
 producing another, he tucked Juliette away in the back 
 of the car, as if she were a luncheon hamper. 
 
 Seating himself beside Desiree, he set off down the 
 drive. 
 
 Once out on the high road they raced along, with a 
 wealth of peaceful hills and shady valleys on either side, 
 and a stretch of azure sea in the distance.
 
 90 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 More than once Wilson glanced at his companion. 
 
 She sat in silence, her hands clasped on her knee, her 
 misty eyes downcast beneath their dark, fringing lashes. 
 Despite the beauty of the view, she never once looked to 
 the right or the left, or made any comment on the 
 scenery. 
 
 But now he had learned that, like an old-fashioned child, 
 she rarely spoke unless spoken to. 
 
 "Are you fond of motoring, Countess?" he asked 
 presently. 
 
 "I like to feel the wind on my face," she answered. 
 
 He urged the car still faster, and was not long in reach- 
 ing Nice. There a more sober pace had to be adopted. 
 They drove through the town, along a palm-grown 
 promenade, where the blue sea broke on gray pebbles. 
 
 "That's where I'm staying," he remarked presently, 
 glancing towards a palatial hotel. 
 
 "Yes," she said in a low voice, but she did not look 
 in the direction he had indicated. 
 
 It was on his lips to ask Decree to let him take her to 
 the dance at the hotel the following evening, but he re- 
 membered that Juliette would hardly do for a chaperone 
 on suoh an occasion. 
 
 In course of time Nice was left behind. The car 
 mounted the hills on the other side, climbing upwards 
 along a road that curled among the mountains, giving 
 glimpses of deep clefts full of pines and eucalyptus trees. 
 
 All at once the sea burst into view again, far below a 
 glorious stretch, in streaks and patches of sapphire, jade, 
 and navy, that melted away into distance, where Corsica 
 lay like a shadow on the horizon. 
 
 Above was a cloudless sky of deepest blue. The air 
 was gold, tinged with sunshine. From the heights above
 
 A MOTOR TRIP . 91 
 
 came the soft, cold breath of snow, from below the incense 
 of pines, and a slight salt breeze from the sea. 
 
 "We're going along the Grande Corniche," Desiree 
 remarked presently. "Once Eugene took me. I love it. 
 It is so cool and sweet." 
 
 Wilson drove slowly along a mountain road that is 
 perhaps one of the most magnificent routes in the world, 
 anxious that his companion should miss nothing of the 
 panorama unfolding before them. 
 
 A turn in the road brought a bald, gray, buttress-like 
 rock into view, standing well below them but high above 
 the sea. On it a tiny village huddled, looking as if hewn 
 out of the solid rock, so at one with it that the place could 
 easily have been overlooked. 
 
 "That must be Eze," Wilson said. 
 
 "Juliette has a married daughter living there," Desiree 
 volunteered. 
 
 A further bend in the road brought a burst of snow- 
 clad heights, a round of gray hills and deep green valleys 
 up which pines marched. 
 
 "Don't those mountains look a treat with the sun on 
 them ?" he remarked, glancing at the glittering white peaks 
 that pierced an azure sky. 
 
 Desiree turned her face to meet their cold, pure breath. 
 
 "Yes," she said, her voice a whisper. 
 
 On arriving at Monte Carlo, Wilson drew up before 
 the finest hotel in the place. 
 
 "Shall we have tea here ?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, no," she said quickly. 
 
 At once he started the car again. 
 
 "Of course we won't, if you'd rather not, little girl," 
 he said, his mind on her relatives, his one desire to gain 
 her confidence. "I'm only out to do what you want. I'll
 
 92 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 get a box of chocolates at the next shop we pass, and we'll 
 make that do instead." 
 
 "I haven't eaten a quarter of what you brought yester- 
 day," she said in a relieved tone of voice. 
 
 "You must nibble your way through them quicker than 
 that, for I'm coming to see you again to-morrow after- 
 noon and I shall bring another box." 
 
 "Are you coming to-morrow?" she exclaimed, like a 
 pleased child. "It is so nice to have a friend." 
 
 As Wilson drove along, he wondered how long the time 
 would be before he could propose. A three days' 
 acquaintance seemed a trifle hurried, a week unthinkably 
 long. So he decided to wait another two days. Then he 
 brought it down to one. 
 
 It would be just as well to make sure of the little 
 Countess before her guardian arrived.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 THE GILBERTS VISIT DESIRED 
 
 Late that night the hoot of a motor coming along the 
 distant road reached Desiree. When the sound fell on 
 her ears she was sitting at her open bedroom window, 
 through which a soft scented breeze wafted. It was well 
 after midnight, and only a car bound for her premises 
 would be likely to come along the road at that hour. And 
 the time of its arrival said it was not Mr. Bassino. 
 
 She had been brooding on the Brazilian, the man she 
 would so soon have to call "husband," although to her 
 the word held no meaning except that he would be with 
 her always, and his would be the right to kiss and fondle 
 her. It seemed to her that death would be preferable. 
 
 She had been thinking about Wilson too. The next 
 time he came she would tell him about the approaching 
 marriage she hated; he was so kind and strong, this 
 English friend who had come so unexpectedly into her 
 life, that he might be able to do something to help her. 
 
 But with the hoot of that motor in her ears her decision 
 began to waver. Her guardian was coming; he would 
 insist on the marriage. Would she dare to go against his 
 decree ? 
 
 Her small hands clasped each other in an agony of 
 helplessness. 
 
 If only she had told her new friend about Mr. Bassino! 
 If only she could be quite sure of his aid ! 
 
 93
 
 94 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 A nearer hoot brought her to her feet hurriedly, her 
 white cotton dressing-gown falling in soft folds about her, 
 her golden hair hanging in two thick plaits to her knees. 
 Without pausing to light a candle, she passed across the 
 dark room and then down the long black corridor, a 
 white wraith in the shadows. 
 
 Outside one of the heavy wooden doors she paused, 
 and, knocking, opened it. 
 
 "Juliette, I hear them coming," she called breathlessly. 
 
 The woman got up, a withered figure in a calico night- 
 gown, an old-fashioned tasselled nightcap on her wisp 
 of iron-gray hair. 
 
 Crossing the room, she pushed open one of the tightly 
 shut windows, and stood with her head poked out, listen- 
 ing. 
 
 Another hoot, closer at hand, came to break the silence 
 of the night. 
 
 "Oh, yes, it's them this time," she muttered. 
 
 "Where's Wolf?" the girl asked anxiously. "He doesn't 
 like them, and Eugene has threatened to shoot him if he 
 dares to growl at him again." 
 
 A look of anxiety came to Juliette's face. 
 
 "He's in the hall, ma petite. Call him and shut him 
 in your bedroom, and keep him there all night if they 
 should be sleeping here." 
 
 Like a shadow Desiree passed quickly down the wide, 
 dark staircase. 
 
 "Wolf! Wolf!" she called softly. 
 
 The echoes of her soft voice went whispering through 
 the gloomy length of the huge hall. 
 
 A moment later a cold nose touched her hand. 
 
 Putting a finger through the dog's collar, she took him
 
 THE GILBERTS VISIT DESIREE 95 
 
 upstairs into her own room. Shutting the door carefully, 
 she went downstairs again into the dining room. 
 
 Presently Juliette appeared with a lamp, which she set 
 on the table. 
 
 There was the sound of a car drawing up near the 
 terrace, followed almost immediately by a loud knock on 
 the front door. 
 
 Juliette left the room. 
 
 A few moments later the two Gilberts entered. 
 
 Desiree turned to meet the newcomers. 
 
 "I hope you had a pleasant journey," she said dutifully, 
 after greeting her uncle. 
 
 "A pleasant journey!" he snapped. "How could it 
 have been a pleasant journey with this strike on?" 
 
 Eugene came forward, flicking his leather gloves play- 
 fully against her face, yet with a sting that streaked her 
 cheek with red and made her wince with pain. 
 
 "Your uncle had booked berths in the wagon lit, ma 
 cherie," he remarked, "so he didn't take kindly to four 
 days in the motor, not to mention the dust and the vile 
 hotels. But aren't you going to say you're pleased to 
 see me ?" 
 
 "Of course I am, Eugene," she said nervously. 
 
 "Well, you haven't a very effusive way of showing it. 
 Give me a kiss, little cousin." 
 
 He would have taken one there and then, but Desiree 
 moved away. 
 
 "I don't like being kissed," she said, distress in her 
 voice. 
 
 "But I like kissing you, which is the main thing so far 
 as I'm concerned." 
 
 He slipped an arm around her and drew her to his 
 side, laughing when she tried to get away. Then he
 
 96 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 kissed her, not once, but several times. When he released 
 her she was tearful and trembling. 
 
 "Let her alone, can't you?" his father interposed. 
 "There are plenty of other women, without you starting 
 on her." 
 
 "Desiree is different so innocent and frightened, so 
 refreshingly resistant. No wonder Bassino went mad 
 over her. I should have done so myself except that we 
 were brought up together." 
 
 The mere mention of the Brazilian's name made the 
 girl shiver. Eugene noted this, and he laughed in a cruel 
 manner. 
 
 "He'll be here any day now, my child," he went on. 
 "Then, if you faint every time he kisses you, you'll spend 
 your life in fainting." 
 
 "You mustn't take all your cousin says too much to 
 heart," her uncle broke in, seating himself and drawing 
 the girl to his side. 
 
 "So, Desiree, you're twenty-one ?" he continued, in the 
 same would-be amiable manner. 
 
 "Yes, Uncle." 
 
 "And did old Froillet bring you the family heirloom, 
 according to the terms of your grandfather's will ?" 
 
 "Yes, uncle." 
 
 "Then let us have a look at it. I want to see what the 
 de Mailly curse is really like," he said, a parched, covetous 
 note in his voice. 
 
 "I'm sorry, uncle, but it isn't here." 
 
 There was a moment of tense silence. 
 
 "Isn't here? What do you mean?" he asked sharply. 
 
 "I showed it to an English gentleman, and he said it 
 wasn't safe to keep it here in this lonely place. He asked
 
 THE GILBERTS VISIT DESIREE 97 
 
 me to let him look after it until you came, so I did, 
 because I knew you wouldn't like to have it stolen." 
 
 The Count de Gilbert just stared at the girl, but Eugene 
 laughed. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! What innocence !" he ejaculated. 
 
 With a snarl his father turned on him. 
 
 "You laugh!" he gasped. "You laugh!" 
 
 "Well, isn't it one of the biggest jokes that ever came 
 our way ? We shall see neither that Englishman nor the 
 necklace again." 
 
 "He said he would bring it back when you came, and 
 I know he will," Desiree put in with trembling indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 Her voice made her uncle turn in her direction again. 
 
 "What is the man's name?" 
 
 "I don't know. I met him by chance on the road here." 
 
 For a moment he looked at her as if he could not believe 
 his ears. 
 
 "You little fool ! You little fool !" he cried savagely. 
 
 "It proves the necklace was worth having, or this 
 Englishman wouldn't have gone off with it," Eugene 
 remarked. 
 
 Then he turned to his cousin. 
 
 "Where is he staying, Desiree, my innocent?" 
 
 "I don't know. I never asked him." 
 
 "I told you that necklace would prove a fraud, but it's 
 even more of a sell than I expected," he said, this time 
 addressing his father. 
 
 "Ring for Juliette, you fool, and find out what she 
 knows," was the savage answer. 
 
 All the bells in the house were broken, but Eugene's 
 call reached the old woman, crouched in the dark hall, 
 listening to the angry voices in the dining room.
 
 98 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 The moment she appeared the old Count turned on her 
 furiously. 
 
 "Who has been tampering with your mistress?" he 
 demanded. 
 
 "An Englishman has been here once or twice, that's 
 all," she answered. 
 
 "Do you know the Countess has given him The Neck- 
 lace of Tears'?" 
 
 "The necklace is the Countess Desiree's to do what she 
 likes with," Juliette answered defiantly. 
 
 Again Eugene laughed. 
 
 "This is what you didn't expect, mon p&re," he re- 
 marked. " 'A pretty kettle of fish,' that Englishman 
 would say." 
 
 "There's no need for you to be so angry, uncle," 
 Desiree broke in. "The gentleman is coming here to- 
 morrow afternoon, and I know he will give you the neck- 
 lace when you ask him for it." 
 
 Eugene glanced at her sharply. 
 
 "You seem to know a lot about him, Desiree, even if 
 you don't know his name and address. You prefer him 
 to Bassino, eh?" 
 
 His comment brought a flood of color to her thin 
 cheeks, and had the effect of silencing her completely.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 WILSON MEETS THE GILBERTS 
 
 The following afternoon, when Wilson entered his 
 paradise, he found the serpent there. The first indication 
 he had of its presence was a large racing car drawn up 
 under the terrace. It did not need Juliette's gestures to 
 tell him Desiree' s guardian had arrived. 
 
 Leaving in his car the offerings he had brought for his 
 goddess, he made his way along the weed-grown path 
 towards the shady corner by the old stone reservoir with 
 the crocodile, where he gathered Desiree and her uncle 
 were. 
 
 He found not only her guardian there, but another man 
 whom he guessed to be her cousin, for the two were 
 unmistakably father and son, both polished men of the 
 world, of a class that had not come into Wilson's life 
 hitherto. 
 
 Wilson's footsteps brought a blush to the girl's face 
 which her cousin was quick to note. She turned towards 
 him nervously, as if to make some request. Whatever 
 the request was, it remained unspoken, bitter experience 
 having taught her that anything she asked her cousin not 
 to do was the very thing he did. 
 
 Eugene heard Wilson's approach also. He glanced 
 round and surveyed the newcomer in a supercilious 
 manner. 
 
 "So this is the man little Desiree fancies/' he remarked 
 teasingly, sotto voce. 
 
 99
 
 ioo THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 His comment made her color deepen. 
 
 With trembling voice she greeted Wilson. 
 
 "This is the English gentleman who so kindly took 
 charge of my necklace," she said, introducing him to her 
 relatives. 
 
 Then she turned towards him again. 
 
 "Monsieur, this is my uncle, the Count de Gilbert, and 
 my cousin, Eugene. They both speak English," she said. 
 
 After that she sat in silence, obviously ill at ease. 
 
 The Gilberts greeted Wilson cordially; nevertheless he 
 was made to feel that, but for the fact of the necklace 
 being in his possession, they would be quite equal to 
 calling him "my good man." 
 
 He had always known that he would dislike Desiree's 
 relatives, but he did not know he would dislike them 
 quite so heartily. 
 
 At their invitation he seated himself; then the Count 
 inquired his name and address. 
 
 "I understand my niece did not bother about making 
 these inquiries," he finished, smiling at Desiree, as if the 
 fact of her naivete amused him. 
 
 Wilson mentioned who he was and where he was stay- 
 ing. 
 
 "Living all alone here in the country seems to have 
 made the Countess de Mailly remarkably unworldly," he 
 added. 
 
 Although he had no intention of wearing his heart on 
 his sleeve, he could not keep a touch of tenderness out of 
 his voice on mentioning her name. 
 
 "Of course, circumstances naturally tend to make her 
 so," her uncle remarked. 
 
 Immediately Wilson associated the comment with her 
 poverty, and he felt an intense hatred for the two men.
 
 WILSON MEETS THE GILBERTS 101 
 
 They had every appearance of wealth and prosperity. 
 That car of theirs was the latest and most up-to-date 
 pattern, and must have cost about 2,000. Yet they re- 
 fused to let the child sell her heirloom, and left her to 
 starve on 60 a year and the little that could be made on 
 the produce of her estate. 
 
 There was a brief silence. 
 
 Until meeting the Gilberts, Wilson had had the greater 
 dislike for Desiree's uncle, but now he positively loathed 
 her cousin. He hated Eugene's every look and action 
 his handsome, polished exterior, the cut and fit of his 
 clothes, his aristocratic air; but most of all the way he 
 sat with his chair quite close to Desiree's, his arm along 
 the back of hers, every now and again touching her cheek, 
 or playing with the loose curls that twisted themselves 
 so fascinatingly about her white neck. And it was evident 
 she did not want his attentions. She drew away each 
 time he touched her, with an air of helpless resistance. 
 And he seemed to take a wicked delight in teasing her. 
 
 Eugene himself broke the silence, speaking in French 
 quickly, and smiling maliciously as he spoke. 
 
 "I don't think much of your choice, Desiree. The man 
 looks like a navvy in his Sunday clothes. He's 'no class,' 
 as his own sort in England would say." 
 
 Although Wilson could not understand what was said, 
 he heard the disparaging tone. He heard the "no class" 
 too; for that was said in his own language, and he was 
 pretty certain he was being referred to. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Eugene," Desiree 
 said in French, with gentle dignity. "Mr. Wilson is my 
 friend." 
 
 "When Bassino comes along he'll soon send your friend 
 to the right about. He won't allow any trespassers.
 
 102 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Aren't you counting the days until he comes ? Didn't you 
 cry your eyes out because the strike has kept him away ?" 
 
 Wilson watched the two, wondering what was being 
 said, noting the girl's terrorized expression, the man's 
 cruel, teasing tone, feeling above all things that he would 
 like to thrash the handsome devil. 
 
 The Count's voice attracted Wilson's attention. 
 
 "My niece tells me you very kindly volunteered to take 
 charge of her necklace until I came." 
 
 Wilson agreed he had. Then he explained how he had 
 met Desiree, and the circumstances that led up to the 
 necklace being in his keeping. 
 
 During his speech a slight smile lingered on Eugene's 
 face. 
 
 "What do you think of it?" the latter asked. 
 
 "I've seen enough of gems to know it's worth a 
 fortune," Wilson replied. "And the last place to keep it 
 is in this lonely house, and the last person to have charge 
 of it is the Countess de Mailly." 
 
 The Gilberts exchanged glances, and an avaricious, 
 relieved look crept into the Count's eyes. 
 
 "Well, well, you must blame the railway strike," the 
 latter answered, in a voice that had suddenly grown flat 
 with emotion. "In the ordinary course of events I should 
 have been here to take charge of it. However, no harm 
 is done, and we must thank you, Mr. Wilson, for troub- 
 ling yourself in the matter." 
 
 He paused, expecting Wilson to hand over the neck- 
 lace there and then. 
 
 Although Wilson knew this was expected of him, he 
 showed no signs of producing the heirloom. 
 
 "Now that we are here," Eugene put in suavely, "it'll 
 be quite safe for my cousin to have her necklace."
 
 WILSON MEETS THE GILBERTS 103 
 
 "I'm sorry, but I haven't it with me," Wilson said 
 smoothly. "For safety's sake I deposited it with my 
 banker." 
 
 This was not true. At that moment the necklace was 
 lying in a little washleather bag in one of his inner pockets. 
 Since it had been in his keeping, in the daytime it rested 
 on his heart, at night under his pillow, where he tossed 
 on it in fitful slumber, hoping Desiree would put her 
 future into his hands as readily as she had put her neck- 
 lace. 
 
 Although her uncle and cousin had greeted him with 
 affability and friendliness, he did not trust them. His 
 one idea was not to let the necklace fall into their posses- 
 sion, and the only excuse he could think of was to pretend 
 it was at the bank. 
 
 At his reply there was a moment's pause, and the 
 Count de Gilbert's throat jerked with a peculiar choking 
 movement. 
 
 "And a very safe place for it to be," he said, when he 
 had swallowed his chagrin. "But we won't trouble you 
 to come up here with it. We'll come around to your 
 hotel for it to-morrow at about eleven in the morning." 
 
 Wilson could find no excuse for keeping it longer. 
 
 "Eleven will suit me all right," he said. "I shall be 
 quite glad to get rid of the responsibility and know it's in 
 safe keeping." 
 
 A look of relief passed over the Count's face, but 
 Eugene's gaze rested on him speculatively. 
 
 "You must stay and have chocolate with us," the elder 
 Gilbert went on. "Or tea, if you prefer it. That's what 
 the English generally drink at this hour, is it not?" 
 
 Wilson looked at Desiree, hoping she would second 
 the invitation.
 
 104 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Since the introduction she had not addressed a word 
 to him. She sat with her eyes downcast, knitting, and 
 every now and again her hands stumbled over the work. 
 
 Each time her uncle or cousin spoke she started 
 nervously, and her hands trembled as they worked away 
 at the soft wool. All through the interview it had been 
 obvious to Wilson that she lived in terror of her relatives, 
 and the fact cut him to the quick. It was torture to him 
 to see the girl he loved so wildly and passionately, and 
 with all the force of his strong nature, reduced to such a 
 state of fear by those who should have been her pro- 
 tectors. Above all things, he wanted to go to her side, 
 to take those trembling hands into one of his, to put his 
 arm round her slender, drooping figure, to press her close 
 to him, so that she could feel all the strength and pro- 
 tection that lay within his embrace, to whisper in her ear : 
 
 "There's no need to be afraid of those two villains now, 
 Princess. I'm here to look after you." 
 
 But he could only sit still in his chair, under a mask 
 of good fellowship, hating the Gilberts with a deep and 
 silent hatred. 
 
 Villains, that was what his mind had dubbed them, for 
 only villains could find it in their nature to inspire with 
 terror so gentle and timid a child. 
 
 Since Desiree did not second her uncle's invitation, 
 Wilson rose to go. 
 
 It was obvious that for some reason she wanted him 
 to go. 
 
 "I'm sorry I can't stay," he said, "but I liave to be 
 back at half-past four." 
 
 So saying, he made his adieux. 
 
 He went back to his car, at odds with the whole world.
 
 WILSON MEETS THE GILBERTS 105 
 
 There was no mistake about it that the Gilberts had 
 turned Desiree against him. 
 
 With a gloomy look on his face he got into his car, but 
 there was some slight hitch that prevented it from 
 starting, and he had to get out again. 
 
 He was not long in rectifying matters. Then he set 
 off down the drive. 
 
 As he turned out of the garden, he saw Desiree coming 
 along one of the tangled paths. He stopped at once, for 
 it seemed as if she had come purposely to waylay him. 
 
 In a moment he was at her side. 
 
 "You won't fail to let my uncle have the necklace?" 
 she said anxiously. "He was so angry when he heard 
 what I had done. He says it was very foolish of me to 
 trust a total stranger." 
 
 Tenderly Wilson watched her. 
 
 "I was hoping I was long past the stage of a stranger," 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes. But " 
 
 It seemed to Wilson that counter influences were 
 already at work, coming between him and his ideal. 
 
 There was a brief pause. 
 
 He was wondering whether he would propose there 
 and then, before matters grew worse. But he saw that 
 the girl was nervous and agitated, in no mood to listen to 
 what he had to say. 
 
 "I want to see you alone, Countess," he said presently. 
 "What about to-night after dinner?" 
 
 "I think my uncle wants to take me out" 
 
 "Well, to-morrow morning then, quite early?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said at once. "My uncle and Eugene 
 are never here in the morning." 
 
 "Then you can expect me between nine and ten, so that
 
 106 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 I can get back to Nice in time to deliver up your neck- 
 lace." 
 
 He made a mental addition "if necessary." 
 If Desiree deigned to accept him, Wilson intended to 
 keep the necklace. He would have as much right to it 
 then as her relatives, and he would see to it that it was 
 put where the Gilberts could not get at it. 
 
 So thinking, he took the helpless hands that had put the 
 necklace into his with such perfect trust and innocence, 
 and, lifting them to his lips, kissed them tenderly.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 A PAIR OF KNAVES 
 
 In the meantime by the reservoir the Gilberts sat 
 talking. 
 
 "Well, Eugene," the older man was saying, with an air 
 of triumph, "you see I was right about the necklace. A 
 fortune in our hands." 
 
 "It isn't in our hands," his son replied. "It's in Wil- 
 son's hands, which, believe me, is rather different." 
 
 "What do you mean?" the old Count asked sharply. 
 
 "It wouldn't surprise me if he found some excuse for 
 not giving it up. He may even decamp with it between 
 now and to-morrow. He's a sharp customer." 
 
 For a moment his words placed his father beyond 
 speech. 
 
 "Then why hasn't he gone off sooner?" he managed 
 to gasp at length. 
 
 "Because he wants to make a legitimate deal of it. 
 He wants Desiree as well. Your head is so full of the 
 necklace that you can't see what's going on under your 
 nose. We're not out of the woods yet." 
 
 "We can force him to give it up," the Count spluttered. 
 
 "It won't be so easy to force a man like Wilson. We've 
 no proof that he has the necklace, no receipt, only 
 Desiree's word. And as for going to the police about the 
 matter, it would be most undiplomatic on our part. Even 
 you will agree with this," his son went on. 
 
 107
 
 io8 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 At this remark a scared look came to the Count's face. 
 
 "Wilson may propose to Desiree," Eugene continued. 
 "She'd be sure to accept him, for she likes Wilson and 
 loathes Bassino. It would be no use telling Wilson she's 
 promised to the Dago. He'd merely put the question of 
 preference to the girl, and leave the choice with her. In 
 fact he'd be quite equal to running off with her, if we 
 frightened her into saying 'No' to him. Where should 
 we be then ? With Desiree married to a man like Wilson, 
 our source of income would be swept away. And he'd 
 see to it that the necklace didn't go astray. He doesn't 
 trust us. He had his tongue in his cheek when he said 
 'safe keeping.' No, no, it seems to me our future was 
 never darker than at this moment, with both Desiree and 
 the necklace likely to fall into the Englishman's clutches." 
 
 "No man in his senses would marry her," the Count 
 interrupted. 
 
 "Bassino has paid us fifty thousand dollars and more 
 to be allowed to do it, and he knows nothing about the 
 heirloom that ought to go with her. I don't mind betting 
 you one of Mrs. Green's bracelets that we shan't get 'The 
 Necklace of Tears' in any hurry," Eugene concluded. 
 
 "I was hoping we'd finished with all that," his father 
 said, anxiety in his voice. 
 
 "At the present moment we've two hundred francs in 
 the funds. With care it may last us a couple of days." 
 
 "For heaven's sake don't let us run any more risks. 
 Sell the motor to keep us going until we get the necklace." 
 
 "Not much. I like to think I've got that car, in case 
 we have to leave anywhere in a hurry." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 Leisurely Eugene drew a cigarette case from his pocket. 
 
 "The de Mailly necklace is living up to its reputation,"
 
 A PAIR OF KNAVES 109 
 
 he remarked as he lighted up. "You love it better than 
 you love your own son. You have schemed and planned 
 for twenty-one years to get it, and in pursuit of it Fm 
 pretty certain you've condemned Desiree to a life that 
 must be hell. And now, knowing you'd sell your soul 
 for it, the necklace avoids you. It's really the devil's own 
 joke," he concluded. 
 
 The Count de Gilbert said nothing. He sat staring 
 straight before him, a gray, pinched look on his face.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 THE BRACELET 
 
 In one of the principal hotels in Nice a dance was 
 taking place. The ballroom was a large circular hall with 
 a sort of cloister running round it. Just now, with palms 
 and screens and curtains, the columned way was made up 
 into numerous little secluded corners. In spite of the 
 size of the hall, it was crowded. The whole place was 
 a crush of fashionably dressed and wealthy people. 
 
 In one of the many recesses Mrs. Green sat with 
 Eugene de Gilbert. He leaned back with an arm half 
 round her bare shoulders, toying with one of her hands. 
 As he talked, for all his suave politeness, a look of sup- 
 pressed amusement lurked in his dark eyes. 
 
 "Nothing sets off a pretty arm so much as a pretty 
 bracelet," he was saying, as he played with the one on 
 her wrist. 
 
 It was an expensive piece of jewelry, but vulgar and 
 blatant a band of diamonds set in gold. 
 
 "It's not bad," she remarked, her gaze resting with 
 satisfaction on the ornament. "It cost Mr. Green 2,000. 
 He gave it to me on our silver wedding day." 
 
 "You don't mean to say you've been married twenty- 
 five years !" he exclaimed. "I understood child marriages 
 weren't tolerated in England." 
 
 At his compliment she giggled. 
 
 "What pretty things you do say, to be sure." 
 
 no
 
 THE BRACELET in 
 
 "It's the truth, I assure you," he said earnestly. "I 
 never dreamt you were a day over thirty. I only hope 
 Mr. Green appreciates his good luck," he finished with 
 a despondent air. 
 
 She sighed and glanced at the handsome face beside 
 her. 
 
 "He's too taken up with his business nowadays to 
 worry himself much about me." 
 
 "To the exclusion of his charming wife! It would 
 take more than business to come between me and my wife 
 if she were at all like you." 
 
 As he talked his hand rested on his companion's, and 
 with a careful movement one of his strong gun-metal 
 cuff-links was slipped through the safety chain of her 
 bracelet. 
 
 "After they reach a certain age men think more of 
 money than of women," she said with conviction. 
 
 "May I die before I reach that age!" he ejaculated 
 passionately. 
 
 "But you are so different," she said, smiling at him in 
 an infatuated manner. 
 
 At the far end of the big hall a band struck up. 
 
 "What a bore!" he exclaimed. "I'm engaged for this 
 a duty dance. I've a good mind to cut it and stay with 
 you, Mrs. Green. Shall I?" he went on, smiling at her 
 in an engaging, boyish fashion. "Say yes. Then if my 
 partner comes down on me like a ton of bricks I can say 
 'The woman tempted me.' " 
 
 She gave him a coquettish slap. 
 
 "What a caution you are, Mr. Gilbert. You know I'm 
 old enough to be your mother, yet I believe you're trying 
 to flirt with me. And you have such a way of making 
 a woman forget her years."
 
 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "And you have such a way of making a man forget 
 his other partners," he replied. "But I suppose I'd better 
 go and hunt her up," he finished, as if reluctant to leave 
 her. 
 
 Yet he got to his feet quickly. 
 
 There was a sharp snap of something breaking, a little 
 cry on the woman's part, a look of consternation on the 
 man's. 
 
 "What a clumsy devil I am," he said apologetically. 
 "My cuff-link must have caught in the safety-chain of 
 your bracelet. You must let me take it to-morrow and 
 have it mended for you." 
 
 "I shouldn't dream of troubling you," she answered. 
 "It's really nothing at all." 
 
 "Hadn't you better take the bracelet off. considering 
 the safety-chain is broken?" he asked, all solicitude. 
 
 "Oh, no, the clasp is perfectly secure. Now, you run 
 along to your partner, and don't spoil your dance by 
 worrying over a little thing like this," she finished, sur- 
 veying the broken chain. 
 
 "Well, don't forget that eighteen is ours. I shan't 
 know how to wait until then." 
 
 She gave him a little push. 
 
 "Oh, get along with you," she said. 
 
 As he walked away her faded eyes followed his hand- 
 some figure wistfully.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE DANCE 
 
 That evening Wilson went into the central hall of his 
 hotel to watch the people. Although he was fond of 
 dancing, he made no attempt to join in. There were 
 plenty of girls present, some of them pretty, all of them 
 well dressed. Four days ago any one of them would 
 have satisfied him, but he did not want to dance with 
 them now. He only wanted that pale wraith of a girl 
 Desiree to have her for his own, to dress her as these 
 girls were dressed, to feed her up until she had some 
 flesh on her bones, to make her look as a girl of twenty- 
 one should look gay and happy, not as if her life were 
 one long tragedy. 
 
 In this frame of mind he prowled in and out of the 
 columns surrounding the big hall. 
 
 Once he noticed the manager watching the crowded 
 room anxiously, and for a moment his mind went to 
 "The Triple Alliance." 
 
 Then he caught sight of a face that made him forget 
 everything else. 
 
 Among the crowd of dancers he could have sworn he 
 saw Desiree. But it was such a fleeting glimpse that he 
 told himself he must be mistaken. Had she been coming 
 to the ball she would have told him. She knew now the 
 hotel at which he was staying. 
 
 When the dance was over, brief as the glimpse had 
 
 "3
 
 ii 4 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 been, at the risk of making a nuisance of himself he 
 prowled round the many alcoves and recesses. 
 
 In one of them he saw her with her uncle Desiree, 
 looking a picture of fragile, high-born loveliness, in a 
 flounced white silk evening frock that, for all its fashion- 
 able cut, was probably the cheapest in the room. 
 
 The old Count and his niece were sitting with a clique 
 of titled people whom Wilson recognized as the best set 
 in the hotel. 
 
 On seeing him, the Count de Gilbert gave a casual nod 
 in his direction. But Desiree took no notice at all! 
 
 "The cut direct" was not what Wilson had expected. 
 He passed on, sorely wounded. He had not imagined 
 the girl to be a snob that she would ignore him because 
 she happened to be with people of her own set. He put 
 it down to her relatives. They had poisoned her mind 
 against him. Very much to the fore in his own mind 
 just then were the two words "no class" spoken in Eugene 
 de Gilbert's sneering voice. 
 
 Although Wilson did not intrude on the aristocratic 
 little coterie, he had no intention of letting Desiree go 
 without a struggle. 
 
 With his powerful hands clenched he passed on. She 
 had liked him until her uncle and cousin came along. 
 She was such a child, so easily influenced, so afraid of 
 her guardian. It was going to be a battle between him- 
 self and her highly-placed relatives relatives who had 
 left her to starve, and now were trying to come between 
 her and a well-to-do man of "no class" who loved her 
 and was only too ready to surround her with the luxuries 
 and comforts they were too selfish to give. 
 
 Thus Wilson fumed to himself as he passed on from 
 the alcove. However, he came to a halt not very far
 
 THE DANCE 115 
 
 from it, and took up his stand where he could watch the 
 party without being seen himself. 
 
 Presently the band struck up again. The people with 
 Desiree drifted off in ones and twos, leaving her alone 
 with her uncle. Then, without a word, the Count fol- 
 lowed in their wake. 
 
 The moment was one Wilson had been waiting for. 
 
 At once he went forward. 
 
 Desiree was sitting, as was her habit, with her hands 
 lying listlessly on her knee, her eyes downcast, as if the 
 gay world beyond the recess were something quite apart 
 from her life. 
 
 The thick carpet muffled Wilson's step, and his ap- 
 proach did not make her raise her eyes. 
 
 "Don't say you're going to cut me a second time, 
 Countess," he remarked with forced gayety. 
 
 At his voice she started visibly. 
 
 "Did I !" she exclaimed with dismay. "I I never saw 
 you. I'm very sorry. You know I wouldn't do a thing 
 like that intentionally." 
 
 The reply satisfied him that the "cut" was accident, not 
 design. Those beautiful blurred eyes were very short- 
 sighted. 
 
 "You did," he said, smiling. "You looked straight at 
 me, and never gave me a wink or nod." 
 
 At his words she colored, but she made no answer. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me you were coming here to- 
 night ?" he went on. 
 
 "I didn't know you would be here." 
 
 "But you heard me say I was staying at this hotel, 
 didn't you ?" 
 
 Her hands started to toy nervously with one of the 
 flounces of her dress.
 
 ii6 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "My uncle said we were going to a ball, but he never 
 told me it was at your hotel." 
 
 "But didn't you see the name when you came in?" 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "It it was dark when I came in," she faltered. 
 
 For a third time Wilson noticed that his remarks, made 
 quite unintentionally, had brought tears to her eyes. She 
 seemed altogether too sensitive for this world, this frail, 
 neglected child whom he had found and sheltered with 
 his coat. 
 
 "My dear little girl, I'm not scolding you," he said 
 gently. "I'm only too delighted to find you here." 
 
 In the present instance he saw her relatives at work, 
 refusing to tell her where she was going, lest she might 
 promise a dance to him. Yet they could bring her here, 
 and then leave her to look after herself, a girl who had 
 no more knowledge of the world than a baby. 
 
 "Is your uncle in the habit of leaving you all alone 
 like this ?" he asked, angry at her guardian's indifference. 
 
 "I'm quite used to being alone." 
 
 "So you told me once before, but I don't take kindly to 
 your being so neglected. And you're not going to be 
 alone now. I'm going to stay and talk to you." 
 
 So saying, he seated himself beside her. 
 
 "Oh, no, you mustn't stay," she said quickly. "My 
 uncle might not like it." 
 
 "So far as I'm concerned, it's what you like, not what 
 your uncle likes," he answered. 
 
 For all that he stood up, his intention being to leave her. 
 
 He had grasped the situation. They were with friends 
 of their own class who might not tolerate him as Desiree 
 did, and he had no intention of distressing her by staying. 
 
 "Will you finish this dance with me?" he asked.
 
 THE DANCE 117 
 
 "You'll bring me back here, won't you ?" she questioned 
 anxiously. 
 
 He leaned over her, until his face almost touched hers. 
 
 "Are you afraid I might run off with you ? Would it 
 be such a terrible thing if I did Desiree?" he finished 
 softly. 
 
 A deep blush mounted to her cheeks, but she did not 
 answer his question. 
 
 "My uncle always likes to know where to find me. He 
 sometimes dances with me. He says it's good for his 
 liver," she said with averted face. 
 
 "I'll bring you back to this very spot, so don't you 
 worry," he answered. 
 
 At his promise she got up. 
 
 The dance was one that permitted of a close embrace. 
 Wilson took advantage of this, prepared to relax his hold 
 if his partner showed any sign of resentment. 
 
 But she did not. She let him hold her, making no 
 resistance. Once she slipped on some debris from a 
 bouquet, a slip that brought her stumbling right on to him 
 and made his arm tighten round her. 
 
 "I should have fallen then but for you," she said, with 
 a little laugh. 
 
 "You don't suppose I'd let you come to any harm, do 
 you ?" he asked. 
 
 "You are so strong. I always feel safe with you." 
 
 The confession brought his face quite close to hers. 
 
 "You know I'll always look after you. You know 
 you're all right with me. You know I'd do anything 
 for you that I'm always at your service, don't you, 
 Desiree?" he whispered. 
 
 Again there was no reply, only the small hand he held 
 started to quiver. But he held it closer, in a firm and
 
 ii8 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 possessive grip, until there was no space left for nervous 
 trembling. 
 
 There was a little recess close by, screened from the 
 crowded room by a drooping palm. Into that Wilson 
 drew his partner. Then he had both arms around her, 
 straining her to his heart in a passionate embrace that 
 brought a faint gasp to her lips. 
 
 That smothered cry, with its undercurrent of fear, 
 made him relax his hold a little. 
 
 "You're not afraid of me, surely, my little one?" he 
 whispered, watching with passionate gaze the sweet inno- 
 cence that lay trembling but unresisting against his hard, 
 clean strength. 
 
 "My uncle " 
 
 "In England girls don't bother about what their unclea 
 think and say; they just please themselves." 
 
 "But they are not like me," she said sadly. 
 
 It seemed to Wilson that she referred to her position 
 and the restrictions it forced upon her, and he agreed 
 with himself that the girls he knew in no way resembled 
 the Countess de Mailly. They were not titled, they did 
 not possess family trees that went back beyond the 
 Crusades, or diamond necklaces worth tens of thousands 
 of pounds that they would surrender with child-like trust 
 into the hands of complete strangers. 
 
 "No, they're not like you, my little Countess," he said 
 fondly. "They're none of them so sweet and unworldly, 
 so innocent and lovely." 
 
 His arms tightened around her again until she was 
 crushed against him, feeling, as he intended she should 
 feel, all his strength and power. 
 
 "To-morrow when I come, Desiree, try to think only 
 of what you want. Don't bother about your uncle.
 
 THE DANCE 119 
 
 Leave him to me. Don't you think I'm strong enough 
 to tackle him?" 
 
 She lay weak as a baby in his grip, her heart beating 
 wildly against his, her lips slightly parted, her vague eyes 
 half-closed, a look of hope and wonder on her thin, tragic 
 face. 
 
 Tenderly Wilson watched her as she lay, a lovely, 
 delicate flower, upon his heart. 
 
 She was the last of her name, this fragile blossom of 
 an ancient tree; he was the first of his name to attain 
 place and power. With his own efforts, by sheer strength 
 and force of character, he had raised himself from 
 nothing until he was high enough to grasp at the Countess 
 de Mailly, and hold on to her if only she said "Yes." 
 
 Much as Wilson wanted to lay his heart and soul at 
 tfie girl's feet he desisted, fie knew one of the first 
 secrets of success is to do the right thing at the right 
 moment. 
 
 This was not the moment to propose to Desiree. In 
 two or three minutes at most, the dance would be over 
 and he would have to take her back to her uncle. It was 
 more than possible that to his proposal her upbringing 
 and fear of her guardian would make her say "No." 
 It might take more than the time he had on hand just 
 at present to coax a frightened "Yes" to her lips. In 
 either case she would go back to her relatives nervous 
 and agitated. They would be sharp enough to guess 
 what had happened, and would see to it that he and 
 Desiree did not meet again. 
 
 If he left things until the morning he would have plenty 
 of time on hand to coax her round to his way of thinking. 
 With only Desiree to deal with there would be no great 
 difficulty in gaining his end. Then he would come down
 
 120 . THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 to Nice and interview her relatives instead of delivering 
 up the necklace, announcing the fact of Desiree's engage- 
 ment. Whilst they were swallowing this piece of news 
 he would motor with all speed back to the chateau, to be 
 with her when they came along to dispute the matter, to 
 stay with her until they either consented to the engage- 
 ment, or 
 
 If her uncle made a row and refused to sanction their 
 marriage, well, he, Wilson, would use all the power he 
 possessed, and persuade the girl to elope with him. If 
 she were too afraid of her guardian to do that, there was 
 still another course left open to him. Under the pretext 
 of taking her for a drive he would entice her into his 
 motor, and then run off with her. He was not going to 
 let her go when it was so evident that she liked him, for, 
 left to themselves, he could easily turn that liking into 
 love. 
 
 Wildly as Wilson loved Desiree, he had no delusions 
 about her feelings towards himself. It was a child's 
 affection she had for him, not a woman's love. But if 
 he were careful, on that affection he could soon build 
 something stronger and deeper; and any man worthy of 
 the name would be careful with a girl so high-strung and 
 sensitive. To her, marriage would be purgatory unless it 
 meant a union of mind and heart and soul as well as 
 body. 
 
 Desiree's golden crown of hair just reached his lips. 
 He kissed the soft coils a phantom caress she could not 
 feel. 
 
 There must be nothing but the best for her, this little 
 girl whom he worshipped and adored. He would see to 
 it that their marriage was no second-rate affair. 
 
 So Wilson's thoughts ran as he watched the little face
 
 THE DANCE 121 
 
 that in his arms lost its tragic look, and took on one of 
 fleeting, furtive happiness. 
 
 He was in the grip of one of those sudden infatuations 
 that seize men occasionally; that, if the object proves 
 worthy, can settle down to the deep, steady love that 
 lasts a lifetime. But now he was blind to everything 
 except the beauty of the girl in his arms, the ideal he 
 had waited for so long, and had been true to since baby 
 days. 
 
 When the dance was over he took her back to the 
 alcove. 
 
 Her uncle was there. With latent anger he scanned 
 the couple. However, Wilson had his say first. 
 
 "I found the Countess all alone," he said pointedly, 
 "so I took the liberty of looking after her." 
 
 "It was most kind of you," her uncle answered suavely. 
 "I was called away unexpectedly. I shall not be leaving 
 her alone again." 
 
 Wilson knew he was dismissed, with a hint not to 
 venture in that direction again. He moved on towards 
 the ballroom, and he moved in heaven. There was only 
 one person there for him now Desiree Desiree, who 
 had not reprimanded him when he had dared to call her 
 by name, Desiree, who had lain, unresisting, against his 
 heart, hope and wonder replacing the tragic note in her 
 face. 
 
 To-morrow ! 
 
 To-morrow his would be the right to call her Desiree 
 for the rest of her life, to snap his fingers at her patroniz- 
 ing relatives, to keep "The Necklace of Tears" for his 
 little wife to wear when she was dressed as he would dress 
 her.
 
 122 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Thus Wilson's thoughts ran as he moved in his seventh 
 heaven. 
 
 When Desiree was dancing his eyes never left her. 
 Once she was with her uncle, generally she was with her 
 cousin, occasionally with one or the other of the little 
 coterie whose sacred precincts he had been forbidden 
 to enter. 
 
 As the evening wore on he noticed her again dancing 
 with her uncle. In the thick of the crowd they came 
 into collision with her cousin, who was dancing with 
 Mrs. Green. Wilson wondered what on earth Eugene 
 was doing with his townswoman, and how the two had 
 become acquainted, for she was even further removed 
 from that aristocratic set than he himself was. 
 
 Just as they collided, he saw the Count de Gilbert let 
 go of Desiree's hand. For a moment his hand rested on 
 Mrs. Green's plump wrist. There was a little flash of 
 something bright, then the couples parted. The whole 
 thing was so screened by Desiree's figure that only Wil- 
 son, with eyes for no one but the girl, would have noticed 
 it. The Count's hand went to his pocket. He drew out 
 a handkerchief, blew his nose, and put it back again, once 
 more taking his partner's hand. 
 
 It was all over in the space of half a minute. Wilson 
 was too full of Desiree to put any meaning on what he 
 had seen ; in fact he was hardly conscious of having seen 
 it 
 
 It was one of those things that one sees and does not 
 realize one has seen until a combination of circumstances 
 brings it back to one's mind again.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 DISILLUSION 
 
 Almost as soon as the dance was over Desiree and her 
 uncle left the ballroom. There was no mistaking the 
 girl's graceful figure. What was more, she was wearing 
 the pretty, fringed white cloak that appeared to be the 
 only outdoor garment she possessed. 
 
 Having no further interest in what was happening, 
 Wilson made his way to the manager's office for the 
 smoke and gossip in which the two frequently indulged 
 of an evening. 
 
 He had not been there very long when footsteps ap- 
 proached the room, and the sound of voices a woman's 
 tearful and anxious, a man's cultured and sympathetic. 
 
 "I wonder what has happened now?" the manager 
 remarked. He was not long in rinding out. A moment 
 later the door opened, admitting Eugene de Gilbert and 
 Mrs. Green. 
 
 'Some one must have taken it off my arm," she was 
 insisting. "Deliberately stolen it. I know it was there 
 when the dance started, because I remember looking at it." 
 
 The manager got to his feet and put down his cigar. 
 
 "Oh, Lord, 'The Triple Alliance' again," he said, sotto 
 voce, to Wilson. 
 
 Then he turned his attention to Mrs. Green. 
 
 "What is it, madam? What has happened?" 
 
 "My bracelet ! My diamond bracelet ! Mr. Green gave 
 2,000 for it. It's gone. Oh, won't he be angry," she 
 finished, tears running down her face. 
 
 123
 
 124 T1HE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Perhaps the clasp came unfastened, and it has dropped 
 somewhere in the ballroom," the manager suggested. 
 
 "It couldn't," she insisted hysterically. "It was much 
 too firm. Some one has stolen it stolen it off my very 
 arm!" 
 
 "Besides, we've looked everywhere, under every chair 
 and carpet," Eugene put in. 
 
 "Oh, you have been so kind, so sympathetic, so help- 
 ful," she said, turning to him. 
 
 "It's abominable that a lady can't come here without 
 having her jewels stolen," Eugene broke in angrily. 
 
 Eugene had a great deal more to say, but Wilson did 
 not hear it. He had suddenly stumbled on a truth that 
 left him dumbfounded. Like a flash there came before 
 him the little episode in the ballroom. 
 
 Mrs. Green had been Eugene de Gilbert's partner. 
 They were the couple with whom Desiree and her uncle 
 had collided. He remembered seeing the Count's hand 
 on the woman's wrist, the brief flash of light that had 
 followed, Desiree's screening figure, then her uncle's hand 
 go to his pocket with the pretense of drawing out a hand- 
 kerchief, but in reality to put the stolen bracelet there. 
 
 He remembered the girl had told him she had been in 
 Cannes about six weeks ago. Just when the last robbery 
 had taken place! And in America, where the nefarious 
 trio had first been heard of. 
 
 There could be no mistake. They were "The Triple 
 Alliance" the Count de Gilbert, his son, and Desiree! 
 
 She was one of that dastardly trio. Desiree, the girl 
 he loved all three trading on their old names and high 
 positions to keep suspicion from falling on them. 
 
 Wilson arose suddenly and left the office. 
 
 If the manager noticed his abrupt departure, it was to
 
 DISILLUSION 125 
 
 think that his acquaintance deemed the situation one he, 
 the manager, would prefer to deal with alone. 
 
 But Wilson wanted nothing but to get away from his 
 own sort and the terrible truth that had dawned upon him. 
 
 He was scrupulously honest and upright. That the 
 girl on whom he had set his heart should have proved a 
 thief was positive torture to him. 
 
 What a hopeless, infatuated fool he had been! 
 
 He had fallen madly in love with a girl just because 
 she was pretty, on a four days' acquaintance, endowing 
 her with all the virtues. 
 
 Wilson writhed. He did not often make mistakes. 
 That he should have made one now, in connection with 
 the only woman he had ever loved, was agony past all 
 bearing. 
 
 In mockery Desiree's innocent, wistful face rose up be- 
 fore him. Ghost-like her hands were on him, with their 
 clinging, helpless touch. What could be more deceptive 
 than her timid, hesitant ways? No one would suspect a 
 girl who was outwardly so child-like and unworldly. 
 
 A fool there was, and he made his prayer, 
 
 Even as you or I, 
 To a rag, a bone and a hank of hair. . , . 
 
 Jeeringly the words echoed through his brain. 
 
 He was that fool, idealizing a woman merely because 
 she represented his idea of feminine beauty, assigning 
 to her a crop of virtues she did not possess, too infatuated 
 to see the mean soul beneath the lovely exterior. 
 
 She was a thief, this girl whom he had worshipped, 
 giving her a reverence he had given to no woman before. 
 
 If there was one bright spot in his darkness, it was the 
 fact that he had not declared himself, that he had not lafd 
 his heart and soul at the feet of that aristocratic thief.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 THE QUARREL 
 
 Early the next morning the sound of an approaching 
 motor roused Desiree as she sat at breakfast on the 
 terrace, a breakfast that consisted of a cup of black coffee 
 and a slice of a stale loaf. 
 
 She was expecting a visitor that morning, but not quite 
 so early, for it was not much more than half-past eight. 
 The sound brought a look of trembling resolve to her 
 face. Her friend had been so nice the night before, so 
 kind and gentle and strong, that she had made up her 
 mind to confess everything. She would also tell him 
 about Mr. Bassino, and ask him to try to save her from 
 being compelled to marry a man she loathed. 
 
 After a sleepless night Wilson had risen early, and 
 had driven over to what once had been his paradise, and 
 was now a desert. He hardly knew why he had come. 
 On retiring he had made up his mind to return to England 
 the next day, but a force stronger than his own will 
 created a desire to see the girl once again before he put 
 her out of his life forever. And all the time he despised 
 himself because she had such a hold on him. 
 
 His step on the terrace made Desiree get up with a 
 little smile of welcome. 
 
 Wilson looked at her, wondering how a girl could 
 appear so helpless and innocent, and yet be one of a trio 
 of expert thieves. 
 
 126
 
 THE QUARREL 127 
 
 There was no response to her words of greeting; no 
 strong, careful grip on her hand ; no firm, kind voice that 
 was a caress in itself. 
 
 As the passing moments brought only silence, her smile 
 died away, and a look of dismay crept over her face. 
 
 ''What is it, <mon ami?" she faltered presently. 
 
 *'Oh, my God!" he burst out hoarsely. "You needn't 
 trouble yourself any longer to act a part for my benefit. 
 I've found out things for myself." 
 
 At his words she seemed to shrink, and with a little 
 heartbroken cry her hands went to her face. 
 
 "You know," she moaned. "And now you hate me." 
 
 4 'Did you imagine I could still love you, once I found 
 out what you really were?" 
 
 There was no reply, but her hands remained before 
 her face, as if to hide it from his view. 
 
 When Wilson was angry his words were few, but 
 always to the point. They could hit and cut with a force 
 and depth greater than any torrent of rage. And he was 
 angry now the cold, hard, merciless anger of the man 
 who has been deceived in the woman he loves. 
 
 "No wonder the world has no use for an aristocracy, 
 if you and your beautiful relatives represent it," he said 
 with biting scorn. "No wonder France tried to make a 
 clean sweep of hers." 
 
 Desiree's hands came from her face, and on it now 
 were surprise, bewilderment, and a touch of hauteur. 
 
 "I don't know what you're talking about," she said with 
 trembling voice. 
 
 That she should stand there looking at him with such 
 an air of injured innocence angered Wilson still further. 
 That innocent, helpless way of hers had fooled even him. 
 
 "A set of thieves and rogues, that's what you and your
 
 128 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 uncle and cousin are, taking advantage of your position 
 to victimize foolish women." 
 
 Desiree's drooping figure suddenly stiffened with dig- 
 nity. 
 
 "Will you please explain exactly what you mean?" 
 she asked quietly. 
 
 There was no anger in her voice, but its tone made 
 Wilson feel as far below her socially as her set at the 
 ball had intended him to feel. 
 
 That she could do this added to his rage, for he de- 
 spised her utterly, and he despised himself too, because 
 to him she was still Desiree the one woman he desired. 
 
 "Don't pretend you don't know. I've found you out. 
 And I know now that you and your uncle and cousin are 
 The Triple Alliance,' that dastardly set of jewel thieves. 
 I saw your cousin dancing with Mrs. Green. I saw you 
 and your uncle collide with them, a collision your cousin 
 helped to bring about. I saw your uncle take the bracelet 
 from her wrist, and you shielding him seeing it done and 
 saying nothing, helping them in their vile thieving." 
 
 As he talked, an incredulous expression passed over 
 the girl's face. She put out a hand to stop him. Slowly 
 she backed, as if to try to escape from what he was 
 saying, as though his words were raining on her like 
 blows. By the time he had finished speaking all color 
 had faded from her face. She looked frozen by the facts 
 he had put before her. 
 
 "How can I do any of the dreadful things you say?" 
 she gasped, in a voice that had lost all its soft music. 
 "How can I know what goes on around me when I am 
 blind!" 
 
 As she said the last three words she turned quickly, 
 and ran towards the house ; in her haste to escape, crash-
 
 THE QUARREL 129 
 
 ing her forehead against the portal of the door. With a 
 little cry of pain she flew on, leaving Wilson staring after 
 her, aghast. 
 
 At that moment his world was as dark as Desiree's. 
 
 Those three final words of hers left him rooted to the 
 spot. 
 
 He had heaped abuse and insults on a girl who had m 
 idea of what went on around her; who was the uncon- 
 scious tool of two scoundrels. 
 
 "I am blind." 
 
 Why had he not guessed it? How could he have been 
 so stupid ? Why had it not occurred to him that, although 
 she said "I hear," or "feel," or "smell," never by any 
 chance did she say "I see"; that he had never seen her 
 reading, or writing, or sewing ; only knitting ? To anyone 
 in his senses her phenomenal ignorance, her unworldli- 
 ness, her babyish looks and old-fashioned ways, would 
 have given the key to the tragedy that brooded over her 
 life. 
 
 Wilson knew he had not been in his senses where 
 Desiree was concerned. 
 
 He had been blind too blindly infatuated, too blind 
 to realize that her helplessness was something more than 
 normal. 
 
 Common sense, an attribute that had passed from him 
 since his discovery of the previous evening, came back 
 with a sudden rush. 
 
 Would she have told him she had been in America 
 and Cannes had she had any idea of what had been 
 happening in those places? Would she have entrusted 
 The Necklace of Tears' into his keeping? 
 
 My God! What had he done? 
 
 Wilson's hand went across his anguished eyes.
 
 130 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 He had hurt and insulted a helpless, neglected, sightless 
 child who had been left to the mercy of a couple of 
 scoundrels. 
 
 "I'm quite used to being alone in the dark." 
 
 Those words of hers, spoken in a soft, sad voice, rose 
 up and confronted him. 
 
 He groaned. 
 
 She was alone in the dark now, somewhere in the old 
 chateau alone with his cruel words, the little girl he 
 loved. 
 
 For her harrowing confession had not swept away his 
 love. It had made it all the deeper. 
 
 In his ears rang that agonized little voice. Before his 
 eyes were the small, thin hands hiding her stricken face 
 from his view. 
 
 "You know, and now you hate me." 
 
 Hate her because she was blind? Then she did not 
 know the sort of man with whom she was dealing. 
 
 The crashing blow she had struck herself in her wild 
 desire to escape from him and his insults filled his black 
 world with sickening echoes. 
 
 He was responsible for that too he, in his thoughtless 
 anger, a fool who could not put two and two together. 
 
 The cup of black coffee and slice of dry bread met his 
 gaze, mocking him with their tale of patient, brave endur- 
 ance, telling him anew of the depths of his own stupidity 
 and the girl's innocence. 
 
 She had no share in the ill-gotten gains, except, per- 
 haps, now and again the one frock she must have in which 
 to play her part. 
 
 Quickly he turned into the house, his only desire to 
 find the girl, to take her into his arms and whisper words 
 of love and comfort.
 
 THE QUARREL 131 
 
 He went into the dining-room, but there was no sign of 
 her there. He passed out again into the hall, and opened 
 all the doors that led into it, looking into empty, crumbling 
 chambers with broken windows, falling ceilings, and 
 damp, peeling walls, but Desiree was not in any one of 
 them. 
 
 He went upstairs, into room after room, still looking 
 for the girl "alone in the dark." 
 
 Finally he reached a door that was locked, and from 
 the other side came the sound of hopeless, heart-broken 
 sobbing Desiree weeping because of the insults and the 
 hideous accusations he had so suddenly poured upon her. 
 
 He knocked, but there was no answer. 
 
 "Desiree, you must let me in," he called, in a voice that 
 was hoarse with agony. 
 
 But he had no answer, except that the sobs grew more 
 choked and stifled. 
 
 Those tears from blind eyes tears of his making 
 fell like liquid fire upon his heart. 
 
 "You must let me in," he called again. "I must see 
 you. I'd no idea you didn't know that you couldn't 
 see what went on around you." 
 
 Still there was no response. 
 
 Beside himself, Wilson put his shoulder to the door, 
 to try to burst it open, in his mind nothing but a desire 
 to reach the girl and kiss away her tears. 
 
 But the door was of thick oak and iron. It resisted 
 the force he brought against it, and the only result of 
 hie efforts was a severely bruised shoulder. 
 
 Then Wilson came to his senses. 
 
 He could not force his way into a girl's bedroom. 
 
 Close by \vas a wide window-seat, in one of the
 
 132 T<HE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 stained-glass windows of the corridor. On that he 
 seated himself, waiting until Desiree should appear. 
 
 Time passed, but the door did not open. 
 
 Somewhere in the silent chateau an old clock whirred 
 and buzzed and then struck nine, filling the place with 
 its echoes. 
 
 It struck half-past nine, and then ten, and still the 
 door showed no signs of opening. But the sobs had died 
 away. Behind the thick door all was silent the silence 
 of intense suffering. 
 
 Again Wilson went to the door and knocked. 
 
 "Desiree, you must let me see you. I insist. Only 
 for a moment. I must explain things to you," he called 
 frantically. 
 
 If possible the silence was greater than ever. 
 
 With a gesture of pain and despair he turned away. 
 
 He would go back to Nice and have it out with those 
 two scoundrels. They were coming for the necklace at 
 eleven o'clock. 
 
 When he had settled with them he would come back 
 to Desiree.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 MISUNDERSTOOD 
 
 Desiree's dark world was whirling round her when she 
 turned and fled from Wilson a world that held nothing 
 but his voice as she had never heard it before harsh, 
 cold, and angry, saying things she could not believe. 
 Then into the whirl had come a sudden crash of pain. 
 
 Although it brought a cry to her lips, it also brought 
 a little order into the chaos, and it made her realize what 
 she really wanted to escape from the one friend of her 
 own choosing, from the man who had come into her 
 darkness, bringing with him a sense of perfect trust and 
 security. 
 
 Desiree felt her affliction deeply. She had never seen 
 the daylight. The world to her was a thick gray fog, 
 in which dark shadows moved vaguely. A sense of hav- 
 ing been robbed of her heritage of sight was always with 
 her, and a feeling that God had never intended that she 
 should go about and not see the things of His creating. 
 
 All her life she had felt an outcast, an object of scorn 
 and pity among her fellows. The fact of her blindness 
 filled her with morbid shame, as if it were some crime 
 she herself had committed. Anil her uncle and cousin 
 had always impressed on her that she was cursed because 
 of the necklace. 
 
 She knew she had deceived Wilson. On their first 
 meeting he had not guessed. Afterwards she had been 
 afraid to tell him, lest he should turn from her. When 
 
 133
 
 134 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 he was with her, her whole energies were concentrated 
 on keeping the fact of her blindness from him, and she 
 had managed to circumvent her lack of sight so deftly 
 that anyone with her in her own home and only for a 
 short time might not have guessed her affliction. 
 
 But she had made up her mind to confess. She had 
 confessed. But not in the way she had intended. The 
 confession had been wrung from her in agony, by the 
 incredible facts so unexpectedly put before her. 
 
 She never thought of Wilson as a lover. To her a lover 
 was a person like Bassino, who had come into her dark- 
 ness, breathing on her heavily with foul breath, puffing 
 cigar smoke into her face, touching her with hot and 
 greedy hands. 
 
 Wilson was put into the same category as Juliette and 
 Pierre, both people she loved and trusted someone who 
 was always kind and gentle, who looked after her, and 
 touched her with careful hands; yet who had brought 
 such a feeling of strength and power with him that the 
 wild hope had grown up within her that he might prove 
 a savior powerful enough to set aside her uncle's decree, 
 and save her from Mr. Bassino. 
 
 At that moment, far worse than her affliction, worse 
 even than the prospect of her marriage, was her one 
 friend's anger. She could not believe what he said about 
 her uncle and cousin, yet, because he said it, she felt it 
 must be true. 
 
 The appalling facts which Wilson had stated, and a 
 desire to escape from him, were the two things that filled 
 her mind as she crossed the big hall and went up the wide 
 staircase to her bedroom, with the unerring instinct that 
 came of a lifetime spent in finding her way about the old 
 chateau and its grounds.
 
 MISUNDERSTOOD 135 
 
 On reaching her room she locked the heavy door. Then 
 she threw herself on the bed, and remained there sobbing 
 in a heart-broken fashion. 
 
 So little had come into her dark, untaught life that she 
 never forgot any incident connected with the few things 
 that had come into it. 
 
 Juliette had always disliked her uncle and cousin. 
 Although she, herself, had tried to think she liked them, 
 in her heart of hearts she had always known she did not. 
 In the days of her childhood they were nearly as poor as 
 she was. Then they used to come and stay for months on 
 end at the chateau, forever grumbling at the meager fare 
 the place provided. 
 
 At the first rumor of war Eugene and her uncle had 
 gone to America. When she was eighteen her uncle had 
 come for her. 
 
 She went over the two miserable years she had spent 
 in America. 
 
 There were times when they seemed to have quite a lot 
 of money ; times when she was left alone in cheap lodging- 
 houses at the mercy of landladies, and her uncle and 
 Eugene lived at expensive hotels. Occasionally they took 
 her to parties. Every now and again she had a new silk 
 evening frock, quite different from the dresses Juliette 
 had always made for her. 
 
 Vividly there came back to her the very words Eugene 
 had once said after one of the parties. 
 
 "It's a damned good thing that Cissy is dead. Now 
 it's a case of half, not a third, and I don't have to be 
 forever propitiating her." 
 
 Perhaps about once every two months she was taken 
 to a party. Invariably during the evening, when she was 
 dancing with her uncle, there would be a collision, and
 
 136 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Eugene's voice apologizing, her uncle letting go her hand, 
 and a moment later his voice would say: 
 
 "Desiree, I need my handkerchief." 
 
 He would blow his nose, then the dance went on, but 
 immediately it was over she and her uncle left. 
 
 Sometimes, when the three of them were alone to- 
 gether, Eugene would make jokes about bracelets, laugh- 
 ing in his cruel, taunting way when her uncle reprimanded 
 him. 
 
 "Oh, Desiree doesn't understand," he would say. 
 
 What was it she did not understand? 
 
 That she was the dupe and tool of two highly-placed 
 jewel thieves, who had taken her as their third when their 
 woman confederate had died. 
 
 She understood now, and the realization was purgatory. 
 
 She had been so proud of her old name. There was 
 so little else she had had of which to be proud. 
 
 Into Desiree's chaotic world came the sound of some 
 one knocking at her door, and her friend's voice calling 
 her. 
 
 She buried her face deeper in the pillows and tried to 
 stifle her sobs. 
 
 She would rather have been tortured to death than 
 have gone and faced him with her sightless eyes and 
 disgraced name. 
 
 But the fact that he had followed her told her she must 
 escape still further, where he could not possibly reach her. 
 
 Worn out with weeping, she lay on the bed listening, 
 some sense within her telling her he was still outside, the 
 friend she dared not face. 
 
 There was another knock and call, but she did not 
 answer. She only wanted him to go away at once, and 
 never come into her disgraced life again.
 
 MISUNDERSTOOD 137 
 
 Presently she heard his step along the corridor. A few 
 moments later there was the sound of a motor going 
 down the drive. 
 
 Once certain he was gone, Desiree got up. With 
 trembling fingers she unlocked the heavy door and made 
 her way downstairs to the kitchen. 
 
 At her entry Juliette threw up her hands. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! What has happened?" she cried, as she 
 surveyed the girl's tear-stained face, her bruised forehead, 
 and tumbled hair. 
 
 Desiree did not wait to explain matters. 
 
 "I must go away from here at once where nobody 
 can find me." 
 
 "What is it? What has that Englishman been saying?" 
 
 However, Desiree avoided the question. 
 
 "I want to go away," she said with insistence. 
 
 "Where can you go, Comtesse? We have no money 
 for whims nowadays." 
 
 "Let me go to your daughter, Marie, at Eze. Nobody 
 will look for me there. Oh, Juliette, don't make me stay 
 here," she finished, the helpless tears starting to fall again. 
 
 "Come, come, ma petite, there must be no crying," the 
 old woman said fondly. "Of course you shall go to 
 Marie if you want to. I'll borrow Mere Toinet's mule 
 cart and we'll start at once." 
 
 As Juliette made her way towards a neighboring farm 
 she decided there had been some quarrel between the 
 English monsieur and "them" over the Countess Desiree. 
 It would be just as well to get the girl out of the way until 
 her rich fiance arrived. Then she would tell him where 
 the Comtesse was, and leave him to deal with the situation.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 
 On reaching his hotel Wilson went into the large hall. 
 He chose a quiet corner, out of earshot of the rest of the 
 room, and there awaited his visitors. 
 
 The Gilberts were not late. The last stroke of eleven 
 had barely died away when they appeared. 
 
 Leisurely they made their way in his direction, greeting 
 an acquaintance here and there. 
 
 At their entry Wilson arose. He stood with his back 
 half turned towards them, his right hand deep in his 
 pocket, while with the other he carelessly turned over 
 some newspapers on the table at his side. He did not 
 appear to notice the couple until they paused beside him, 
 nor did he respond to their greeting, or take either of 
 the hands held towards him. 
 
 "We've come to relieve you of the responsibility of the 
 necklace," the old Count said affably. 
 
 "I don't intend to give it up just yet," Wilson replied. 
 
 The Gilberts glanced at one another. 
 
 "What did I tell you, mum peref" Eugene said in an 
 undertone. "We're not out of the woods yet." 
 
 "You must return the necklace at once," the Count said 
 haughtily, his voice dry with anxiety". "It's my niece's 
 property." 
 
 "So I understand," Wilson answered. "That's why I 
 don't intend to let you have it." 
 
 138
 
 THE INTERVIEW 139 
 
 There was no mistaking the contempt and animosity 
 in his voice. 
 
 Elbowing his father aside, Eugene stepped forward. 
 
 "So you're going to try to stick to the necklace you 
 inveigled out of my cousin in her guardian's absence?" 
 he remarked in a threatening manner. 
 
 "No, I don't know that that's my idea exactly," Wilson 
 answered slowly, "but I've no intention of giving it to a 
 couple of rogues like you and your father." 
 
 "Rogues!" the older man spluttered. "Rogues!" 
 
 "Thieves, then, if you think that word describes you 
 better." 
 
 The Count's face blanched. 
 
 "Considering the hue and cry after Mrs. Green's brace- 
 let disappeared," Wilson went on, "I'm surprised you 
 dare show your faces here to-day. I saw you take her 
 bracelet, and I saw how the whole thing was engineered, 
 too. I saw you use a blind girl for your dupe and shield 
 a helpless child who had no idea what she was doing 
 You couple of scoundrels!" 
 
 There was a brief, tense pause. 
 
 The old Count glanced round quickly, his whole figure 
 shaking. But Eugene laughed, as if with intense amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "My good man, you must be drunk," he drawled. 
 "Lots of you English do start drinking whisky before 
 breakfast." 
 
 It had come the "my good man" that Wilson had 
 been expecting since meeting the Gilberts. Once he had 
 imagined it would cut him to the quick, coming from the 
 lips of a relative of the girl he loved. Now it seemed to 
 him he would rather be a "good man" than like either of 
 the polished knaves confronting him.
 
 140 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "At any rate I'm sober enough not to give the Countess 
 de Mailly's necklace to either of you." 
 
 "If we are responsible for the disappearance of Mrs. 
 Green's bracelet, as you seem to insinuate," Eugene went 
 on with an unperturbed air, "why didn't you say so last 
 night ? You were in the manager's office when I brought 
 her there to make the complaint." 
 
 "I'd no intention of dragging your cousin's name into 
 the affair," Wilson answered. 
 
 This was not quite true. At the actual time he had 
 been too dumbfounded at what he had imagined to be 
 Desiree's unveiling to be able to say a word. Now noth- 
 ing would have induced him to mention the affair to an 
 outsider. Her name was almost as sacred to him as 
 herself, and he intended to defend it, even if it meant 
 the Gilberts going scot free. 
 
 Eugene saw an excellent reason for Wilson's silence, 
 one he was quick to take advantage of. 
 
 "Come; we've had enough of this nonsense, Wilson," 
 he said in a sharp, superior tone. "To use an English 
 expression, you'll understand 'it won't wash.' You're 
 trying to find an excuse for keeping the necklace, and you 
 think you have one in accusing us of taking Mrs. Green's 
 bracelet. In fact, blackmail would be about the right 
 name for your proceedings." 
 
 "Call it what you like," Wilson replied evenly. "But, 
 whatever you call it, I intend to keep the necklace." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 Both the Gilberts saw they were safe in the shelter of 
 a girl's skirts, and they meant to make the most of their 
 refuge. 
 
 "You damned scoundrel," the Count burst out, "taking
 
 THE INTERVIEW 141 
 
 advantage of a blind child's trust to rob her of her 
 heritage." 
 
 Wilson's right hand came from his pocket in a clenched, 
 ominous manner, and he took a step in their direction, 
 his chin thrust slightly forward, in the way he had done 
 in past days when his school-fellows had twitted him 
 about the "sun and moon." 
 
 "Look here," he said, "if you start calling me names 
 I shall get angry. And when I get angry I make a row. 
 Then the whole place will hear what we're talking about." 
 
 He was maligning himself. When he was angry he was 
 quiet. He had been quiet with the two confederates so 
 quiet that they were beginning to think it was safe to 
 bully him, in spite of his knowledge of their doings. 
 
 However, the threat kept further abuse from their 
 lips. 
 
 There was another and further pause, which Eugene 
 broke. 
 
 "If you don't let me have my cousin's necklace at once 
 I shall inform the police." 
 
 "All right," Wilson said coolly. 
 
 It was now a game of bluff. Wilson knew he had no 
 right to the necklace, except the right of the strong to 
 defend the weak. And Eugene de Gilbert had every right 
 to call in the police, since he, Wilson, had refused to give 
 up Desiree's belongings. Wilson also knew that if the 
 police came he would have to give a reason for having 
 kept the necklace, and he could not do that without 
 Desiree being branded as one of "The Triple Alliance." 
 
 But he knew, too, that the Gilberts would not be any 
 too anxious for police interference. 
 
 Another pause ensued. 
 
 This time Wilson broke the silence.
 
 142 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "I think we understand each other fairly well," he said. 
 "I'm not going to let you rob the Countess de Mailly as 
 yon have robbed dozens of other people. I'm keeping 
 the necklace, since both it and she need better guardians 
 than you two beauties." 
 
 With this Wilson walked away, leaving the Gilberts 
 staring after him.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 SCHEMES 
 
 In unenviable frames of mind, the Count de Gilbert 
 and Eugene went back to their hotel. A thoughtful 
 silence enveloped them until they reached their own 
 quarters. They were not staying at a palatial place like 
 Wilson's ; at the moment the funds did not permit of it. 
 They had a chambre meublee in a third-rate hotel, and 
 for lunch and dinner they patronized more fashionable 
 resorts. 
 
 Once within the shelter of their own room the Count 
 let himself go. The beds were still unmade ; a debris of 
 coffee, rolls, and cigarette ends lay upon a small table. 
 Surveying the chaos, he paced up and down, swearing 
 profusely. 
 
 "Mon Dieu!" he raved. "I thought we'd done with this 
 life once and forever. These ups and downs, this con- 
 stant anxiety I tell you my nerve is going. I can't stand 
 much more. There's an end to everybody's luck. And 
 now this damned Englishman has found us out." 
 
 "I've often told you, mon ptre, that curses never do 
 any good," Eugene responded equably. "It's far better 
 to smile in the teeth of Fate." 
 
 "Smile? Yes, that's all you can do," his father snapped. 
 "Smile, and leave me to pull the chestnuts out of the fire 
 for you." 
 
 "Mon cher, if our years were reversed I'd have to do 
 
 143
 
 144 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 the pulling and you the enchanting. You're past an age 
 that attracts elderly women. They prefer men young 
 enough to be their sons. So I have to do the 'fatal fasci- 
 nation' act, much as I prefer the jeunes filles. Generally 
 speaking, young girls haven't jewelry worthy of our atten- 
 tion. When a woman loses her youth she tries to blind 
 men's eyes to the fact by the glitter of her diamonds." 
 
 So saying, Eugene picked a cigarette out of a box that 
 lay open on the table. Then he threw himself down in 
 a deep chair. It creaked ominously as he leaned back, so 
 he got up and pushed it close against the wall for support. 
 
 "It has a weak back," he remarked. "I must deal with 
 it tenderly." 
 
 His indifferent attitude roused his father still further. 
 
 "You and your accursed jokes!" he snarled. "And a 
 fortune in that damned Englishman's keeping. Will you 
 never take things seriously?" 
 
 "What's the use of being alive if one has to be serious 
 about it? I'm a butterfly. I neither toil nor spin. Or 
 perhaps I'm a lily of the field whichever it is. In any 
 case I'm something that never has and never intends to 
 work for a living. I'm not an honest plodder like our 
 friend Wilson." 
 
 "Curse him," the Count muttered. "We're entirely 
 in his hands." 
 
 "Wilson won't give us away," Eugene responded easily, 
 as he lighted his cigarette. "He's much too infatuated 
 with Desiree for that. I wronged him in the first act 
 It's the girl he wants, not the necklace. And through her, 
 if we're sharp, we may still get it." 
 
 The older man stopped his nervous pacing. 
 
 "Explain yourself," he said abruptly. 
 
 "We must remove Desiree from within his reach, and
 
 SCHEMES 145 
 
 then bargain with him. Tell him he can have whichever 
 he likes, either the necklace or the girl. And tell him he'll 
 have to make up his mind pretty quickly too, or we'll 
 marry her to Bassino. He'll be here any day now. He 
 won't waste time, that Dago, where Desiree is concerned." 
 
 In front of his son the old Count did a dance, begotten 
 of excitement and relief. 
 
 "The very thing, Eugene !" he cried. "The very thing !" 
 
 "We must get Desiree away at once," his son continued, 
 "before Wilson gets hold of her. I tell you he's not the 
 sort that lets grass grow under his feet." 
 
 "Leisurely Eugene got up and went towards the door. 
 
 "In ten minutes, won pere, I shall be round with the 
 car," he finished. 
 
 During the drive from Nice to the old chateau neither 
 father nor son saw much of the beauty of their surround- 
 ings. They were too intent on arranging where they 
 would take Desiree. 
 
 "Some little village in the mountains," was Eugene's 
 suggestion. "And you must stay with her. It won't be 
 a gay life for you, but you must keep your mind fixed 
 on the necklace. I'll stay in Nice and do the bargaining 
 with Wilson. Once he's seen Bassino I don't think he'll 
 be long in making up his mind not if he's the man I 
 take him for." 
 
 On reaching the old chateau they found it empty. 
 Although the front door stood open, no amount of 
 shouting produced either Desiree or Juliette, nor was 
 there any sign of the dog. 
 
 At the moment the fact did not alarm them. Juliette 
 was frequently at the neighboring farms selling produce, 
 and Desiree and her four-footed guardian might be out 
 for a walk, or somewhere in the tangled garden.
 
 I 4 6 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 
 
 They went into the garden, but neither shouts nor 
 searching brought any sign of the girl. 
 
 Their commotion brought old Pierre lumbering up 
 from one of the terraces beyond the wall, where he was 
 digging. 
 
 "Where's your mistress ?" Eugene demanded when the 
 old man appeared. 
 
 "Isn't mademoiselle in the house, monsieur?" 
 
 "No ; neither she nor Juliette. And they're not in the 
 grounds either." 
 
 "Then they must have gone out," Pierre said. 
 
 "You old fool, of course they've gone out. Isn't that 
 what we're telling you ?" the Count broke in. "What we 
 want to know is, where have they gone?" 
 
 "How do I know ?" the old servant mumbled. "They 
 don't tell me where they're going every time they go out. 
 In any case they'll be back soon. It's the hour for 
 dtjeuner" 
 
 With this the Gilberts had to be content. 
 
 They retraced their steps to the terrace and seated 
 themselves there, momentarily expecting Desiree. 
 
 Presently, in the house, the old clock struck one, re- 
 minding them that the hour for dejeuner was well past, 
 and that they themselves had not lunched, a fact that 
 Desiree's unlooked-for absence had taken from them. 
 
 Life had made the Count de Gilbert and his son quite 
 capable of waiting on themselves when necessary. They 
 raided the chateau's meager larder, lunching on boiled 
 eggs, sardines, dry bread, fruit, and a bottle of old wine 
 from the cellars. 
 
 Afterwards they sat smoking, awaiting the truant's 
 return.
 
 SCHEMES 147 
 
 The clock struck two and then three ; still there was no 
 sign of Desiree, nor of Juliette, nor of the dog. 
 
 As time passed, a gray look crept over the Count's face, 
 and Eugene grew thoughtful. 
 
 It appeared that Wilson had forestalled them and gone 
 off with their hostage. And "The Necklace of Tears" 
 seemed as far away as ever.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 WILSON'S REMORSE 
 
 After his interview with the Gilberts, Wilson's one 
 desire was to get back to Desiree there and then. How- 
 ever, he deemed it wiser to postpone his visit until the 
 afternoon, and give the girl time to recover. 
 
 It was nearly five o'clock before his motor drew up 
 under the terrace of the chateau. 
 
 He saw Juliette making her way towards the back 
 premises. At once he was out of the car and following 
 her. 
 
 "La Comtesse de Mailly ?" he asked. 
 
 Usually this brief interrogation sent Juliette's skinny 
 brown finger pointing in whichever direction Desiree 
 happened to be. On this occasion her hands remained 
 at her side, and she shook her head. 
 
 But Wilson was not so easily turned from his purpose. 
 
 "Ou est mademoiselle?" he asked slowly, in his best 
 French. 
 
 "Mademoiselle la Comtesse est partie" Juliette an- 
 swered promptly. 
 
 The news of her departure was a shock to Wilson. 
 In French he managed to ask where she had gone, but 
 the old woman either could not or would not understand 
 him. 
 
 Frantic at the thought of Desiree "alone in the dark," 
 he made his way into the chateau. For a second time 
 that day he looked into its moldering rooms, his foot- 
 
 148
 
 WILSON'S REMORSE 149 
 
 steps echoing in the forlorn old ruin as if he were walking 
 in the tomb of his dead hopes. 
 
 On going upstairs, he found the door which had been 
 locked in the morning now standing slightly ajar. 
 
 With a feeling of treading on sacred ground, Wilson 
 
 entered. 
 
 He surveyed the poor room, with its bare tiled floor, 
 damp, stained ceiling, and lack of all comfort, and thought 
 of his own luxurious chamber. There was a little hollow 
 in the narrow iron bed, with its patched and darned quilt, 
 where Desiree had lain when she wept her heart out, and 
 he was nearer tears at that moment than ever he had been 
 in his adult life, for he knew he was responsible for hers. 
 
 Then he looked for some clue to the fugitive's where- 
 abouts. 
 
 There was no wardrobe in the room, only a piece of 
 well-washed and faded cretonne hanging across one 
 corner. Behind that he peeped. 
 
 Wilson knew every one of the few clothes in which 
 he had seen Desiree. There was no sign of the blue 
 muslin dress, or the white one with the narrow piping 
 of red, or the pretty, white, fringed cloak, or the little hat 
 with the cherries, that in some marvelous manner had 
 been ironed out and retrimmed so that it looked none the 
 worse for its drenching. There was only the white silk 
 dress she had worn at the ball. 
 
 He looked into the drawers of a lopsided chest that 
 stood against one of the walls. They had been rummaged 
 into hurriedly, and apparently one or two garments from 
 each of the little piles of pretty underclothes had been 
 taken. 
 
 With careful fingers Wilson touched them. There 
 was no doubt about it ; she had flown from him his fairy
 
 150 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 princess away from him and his cruel words, for his 
 investigations showed she intended to stay away some 
 time, and was not returning that evening, as he had been 
 trying to make himself believe. 
 
 If he wanted further proof of the girl's innocence, he 
 had it now. She had gone, leaving him in possession of 
 "The Necklace of Tears." But he did not want any 
 further proof ; he only wanted Desiree. 
 
 Common sense told him she could not have gone far. 
 She had next to no money, no motor-car, and there were 
 practically no trains running. She could not get farther 
 than horse or mule could take her; surely only a few 
 miles away. 
 
 Wilson turned to the window and studied the view 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Up from the tangled garden came the faint murmur 
 of insects; a soft scented breeze wafted in at the open 
 lattice; every now and again a goat bell tinkled. The 
 peace of it all mocked him. 
 
 He was responsible for her flight ; he, in his stupidity ; 
 a clumsy fool who, in his anger, would not believe in the 
 innocence which stamped that little face, but must go and 
 pour vile accusations on a sensitive, high-strung girl. 
 
 Whatever he did, whatever sacrifice he made, he could 
 never make up to her for his fatal error. 
 
 With tortured eyes he studied the landscape. It seemed 
 to him the folded hills and valleys were endless. In any 
 one of them Desiree might be hidden, in any one of the 
 tiny farms in the secluded valleys, in any one of the little 
 homesteads dotted on the hills. It might take weeks to 
 find her. 
 
 In spite of the pain he was feeling, Wilson did not 
 waste time in useless lamentations.
 
 WILSON'S REMORSE 151 
 
 He had but one idea now to find Desiree. 
 
 His lack of French would make the feat almost im- 
 possible for him alone. He would go back to Nice at 
 once and engage an interpreter. Then he would start a 
 systematic search. 
 
 He was on his way back to Nice before it occurred to 
 him that Desiree might be farther away than he imagined. 
 Her uncle and cousin might have carried her off in their 
 big racing car, in order to use her as a means of getting 
 hold of the necklace. They were quite equal to it, and 
 quite sharp enough to guess the reason of his silence. 
 
 This idea added to his depression. Desiree left to 
 herself would be much easier to get hold of than Desiree 
 in the hands of the Gilberts. 
 
 To Wilson's surprise, on arriving at his hotel he found 
 the father and son awaiting him in the hall, and about 
 them both was an air of righteous indignation. 
 
 Before he had time to speak they had accosted him. 
 
 "I can put up with you stealing my niece's necklace," 
 the old Count spluttered angrily, "but I refuse to let you 
 abduct my niece as well." 
 
 "Abduct your niece !" Wilson repeated, for the moment 
 nonplussed. 
 
 "Yes, abduct my niece. The Countess is not in her 
 home. What have you done with her?" 
 
 "Oh, so that's it, is it ?" Wilson said with a relieved air. 
 n As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you the same 
 question." 
 
 His words left the two staring at each other. 
 
 Then suddenly it dawned on all three of them that 
 Desiree herself was responsible for her flight, and that, 
 as far as the girl was concerned, the game was still even.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 MANUEL BASSINO ARRIVES 
 
 Three days after Desiree's flight the chateau had 
 another visitor. He came in style, in a most expensive 
 %nd showy motor-car, -with a chauffeur and footman. 
 He wore a sable coat. There were diamonds in his tie 
 and on his fingers, and he smoked a long cigar. With an 
 air of having bought the place and all in it, he walked 
 up to the front door and knocked in a loud and aggressive 
 manner. 
 
 When Juliette appeared he said in English, with a 
 strong American accent: 
 
 "I want to see the Countess de Mailly." 
 
 Not understanding what he said, Juliette shook her 
 head; then he shouted the sentence at her. And as she 
 still failed to comprehend, he yelled again still louder. 
 Finally it dawned on him that she did not know what he 
 was talking about, and since he knew no French he hailed 
 the chauffeur to come and act as an interpreter. 
 
 The old woman gathered that the gross, aggressive man 
 before her was the Countess de Mailly 's fiance. Until 
 now she had been delighted at the thought of the rich parti 
 who had fallen to her mistress's lot. At this moment she 
 understood the girl's dread and hatred of him. 
 
 And Juliette's thoughts ran thus: When she was a 
 young girl, she would not have liked to have had to marry 
 this monsieur from South America, no matter how rich 
 he might be. And she was only a peasant, not a high- 
 born lady like the Comtesse Desiree. 
 
 152
 
 MANUEL BASSINO ARRIVES 153 
 
 The English monsieur was infinitely preferable, al- 
 though he had no sable coat, no shiny top hat, no big 
 cigar, no diamonds, no chauffeur, no footman, only a 
 very plain and serviceable car that he drove himself, and 
 was only a plain, ordinary sort of man of whom it was 
 impossible to say whether he had money or not. If he 
 were rich he did not have the fact branded on himself 
 and all his belongings like this Monsieur Bassino. 
 
 Juliette was determined not to tell him the Comtesse's 
 whereabouts. Things could be left to work out their own 
 salvation. She was not going to interfere in any way. 
 
 Having made up her mind to this, the old servant 
 disclaimed all knowledge of the girl's whereabouts. 
 
 "But she lives here, doesn't she?" Bassino asked 
 through his interpreter. 
 
 She had lived there until three days ago, when she had 
 gone away and no one knew where she had gone, he 
 learned. 
 
 In front of Juliette Bassino raged and swore. But she 
 watched him indifferently, persisting to the chauffeur 
 that the Countess de Mailly had gone away and no one 
 knew where she had gone. 
 
 "Ask the old hag if she knows where the Count de 
 Gilbert is?" Bassino asked at length. 
 
 Oh, yes, she could tell him that. And she gave the 
 address of an obscure hotel in Nice. 
 
 There, in a towering rage and in all his glory, Bassino 
 went. 
 
 On reaching the hotel he heard that both the Count and 
 his son were out. What was more, they were not likely 
 to be back until eight or nine that evening, and nobody 
 knew where they were at the moment. 
 
 There was nothing Bassino could do but wait. He
 
 154 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 retired to his hotel, the best in Nice, where he had a 
 whole suite of apartments. In an elaborate sitting-room, 
 where he had hoped to bring Desiree as his wife in the 
 course of a few days, he sat gnawing his thumb and 
 brooding over her unexpected disappearance. 
 
 At eight o'clock, in no very enviable frame of mind, 
 he went round to interview the Count de Gilbert. He 
 had paid fifty thousand dollars for his "little thorough- 
 bred," not counting the oddments those two blood-suckers 
 had had out of him, and now the goods were not there 
 according to contract. 
 
 In a towering rage he entered the Gilberts' shabby 
 quarters. 
 
 They greeted him and his temper with the air of mer 
 too obsessed with their own affairs to give a thought to 
 the outside world. 
 
 "Where's Desiree ?" he demanded angrily, the moment 
 he got into the room. 
 
 Eugene shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Ask me another," he said. 
 
 "I've given fifty thousand dollars for her, and don't 
 you forget it," the Brazilian blustered. 
 
 "And I'd give another fifty thousand to have her in 
 my hands at this moment," the Count informed him. 
 
 "Where's she gone?" Bassino bawled. 
 
 "Hang it, man, we're not deaf," Eugene said with 
 unusual irritability. 
 
 "What has happened to my fiance?" 
 
 "That's exactly what we want to know." 
 
 The evening of Desiree's disappearance the Gilberts 
 had returned to the chateau to find Juliette back at her 
 post again. On questioning her as to the girl's where- 
 abouts, she had said she had no idea where her mistress
 
 MANUEL BASSINO ARRIVES 155 
 
 was. She had explained her absence on their last visit 
 by saying she had missed the Comtesse, and had spent 
 the morning and afternoon searching for her. Then her 
 lips closed over her toothless gums in a thin, hard, deter- 
 mined line, in a manner that indicated that, whatever any- 
 one might say, they would get nothing more out of her. 
 
 The father and son had not wasted time over Juliette. 
 Never having interested themselves in the old woman's 
 affairs, they did not even know she had a daughter, let 
 alone one at Eze. 
 
 At once they had set about a systematic search for 
 Desiree, and that evening again had returned to Nice 
 disappointed. 
 
 "You've gone back on me, you couple of sharpers.' 
 You've sold Desiree to someone else," Bassino cried, 
 beside himself with fear and rage and balked passion. 
 
 "No, we haven't," Eugene answered. "She went away 
 of her own accord." 
 
 "Went away ! What do you mean by letting her go ?" 
 
 "We didn't let her go. She ran away. We've spent 
 the last three days in hunting for her," the Count ex- 
 plained. 
 
 "What made her run away?" the Brazilian asked in a 
 calmer tone. 
 
 Eugene's eyes rested superciliously on the gross figure 
 before him. 
 
 "I suspect the idea of you, and the fact that she has 
 fallen in love with some Englishman. You're a bitter 
 pill for any well-bred girl to swallow, even though you're 
 so well gilded," he finished, with no respect for the. 
 millionaire's feelings. 
 
 Bassino did not hear the insult to himself. He only 
 saw Desiree lost to him.
 
 156 TiHE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Eloped? Married?" he shrieked. 
 
 "No. This Englishman is looking for her as well, 
 damn him! And if he finds her it's all up with you. 
 He's as mad for her as you are." 
 
 Bassino turned towards the elder Gilbert. 
 
 "You're her guardian. You can make her marry me," 
 he said, anxiety and pain in his thick voice. 
 
 With only Desiree to deal with the Count knew he 
 could make her do anything he wanted. But if she 
 happened to have reached the shelter of Wilson's broad 
 back before they discovered her whereabouts, that would 
 be quite another matter. 
 
 "I could, if I can find her," he answered. 
 
 "Of course you can find her," Bassino answered briskly, 
 suddenly buoyed up by the thought of the power of 
 money. "I'll find her, if it costs me another fifty thou- 
 sand dollars. Who is this Englishman she's got a fancy 
 for? I'll travel double quick and let him know he's got 
 to let my property alone." 
 
 However, the Gilberts disclaimed all knowledge of 
 Wilson's name and address. If the Englishman and 
 Bassino had words over Desiree, there was a chance that 
 the fact of "The Triple Alliance" might slip out, and the 
 risk was one they were not going to run. 
 
 "I don't know who he is. I only know there is such 
 a person," the Count answered. "And the best thing 
 you can do is to join forces with us, and help us to 
 search for Desiree." 
 
 By this method the Count de Gilbert saw unlimited 
 means at his disposal. But once the girl was found, 
 Wilson, not Bassino, should have her, provided he handed 
 over "The Necklace of Tears."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 DESIREE'S NEW HOME 
 
 Each day, from eight in the morning until it was dark, 
 Wilson scoured the country round Nice trying to find 
 some clew to Desiree's whereabouts. Often he would 
 leave his car at a tiny wayside farm, and with his inter- 
 preter tramp along rough mountain tracks and plunge 
 into deep, secluded valleys, visiting lonely homesteads set 
 far away from the world. 
 
 Most of the little farms had heard of the young 
 chatelaine. She was very beautiful, but blind, "la pauvre 
 tnignonne." Occasionally one met her walking on the 
 roads with her wolf dog. She lived at the Domaine de 
 Mailly, two, four, or ten kilometers away, as the case 
 might be. All her life she had lived there with a couple 
 of old servants, except when she was in America with 
 her uncle. 
 
 At first when the peasants started this rigamarole 
 Wilson's hopes would rise. 
 
 But she had left her home, he would explain through 
 his interpreter. Did they know where she had gone? 
 
 Then they would shrug their shoulders. 
 
 ;How could they know where she had gone? Who 
 could account for the sudden whims and caprices of the 
 aristocracy ? 
 
 And this was all Wilson had gathered by lunch-time 
 on the fifth day. 
 
 157
 
 158 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Sometimes, as he walked along the stony tracks, he 
 would close his eyes for a moment to see what the world 
 was like to Desiree. A world of night, of ghastly loneli- 
 ness, which he knew he had made even blacker. 
 
 Once he met the Gilberts, undoubtedly on the same 
 errand as himself. The two search-parties vouchsafed 
 one another no acknowledgment beyond scowls. 
 
 One day after lunch, as he wandered down one of the 
 cobbled streets of a remote village, a dusty postcard in 
 a tiny shop caught his attention. It was a picture of a 
 walled village, standing high above the sea on a great 
 jutting spur of mountain a view of Eze. 
 
 As Wilson looked at it, there flashed into his mind a 
 remark of Desiree's, made on the occasion when he had 
 taken her for a motor drive to Monte Carlo: "Juliette 
 has a married daughter living there." 
 
 He stared at the postcard, brooding on that day. No 
 wonder Desiree had refused his invitation to lunch. No 
 wonder she had insisted on Juliette coming with her. No 
 wonder she would not go into the hotel with him and 
 have tea. But the greatest wonder of all was how he 
 could have been such a fool as not to have guessed her 
 infirmity. 
 
 Wilson made his way quickly back to the little cafe 
 where he had lunched, still marveling on how the girl 
 had managed to deceive him. But he had attributed her 
 one or two little blunders to short-sightedness and ex- 
 cessive nervousness. 
 
 He disturbed the interpreter in the midst of a comfort- 
 able smoke and flirtation with the cafe waitress, and be- 
 fore many minutes had passed they were driving as fast 
 as they could go in the direction of Eze. 
 
 An hour later the place came into view.
 
 DESIREE'S NEW HOME 159 
 
 For the sake of quickness they had come by the road 
 that skirted the sea. Then they turned and crawled up- 
 wards, pursuing a narrow, twisted way, up and up, until 
 the sea lay far below and the gray mountains rose like 
 a wall ahead of them, halting when the motor could get 
 no further and the village towered above them like an 
 old fort, grim and gray against the blue sky, with its 
 ruined castle high above everything. 
 
 Leaving the car, they went up a steep track leading 
 towards the one gate in the crumbling stone wall that gave 
 access to the place, and on through a dark, tunnel-like 
 entrance. 
 
 At certain hours of the day, when the children are at 
 school, and the adults are working in the fields and vine- 
 yards on the adjacent mountains, one can walk from end 
 to end of Eze without meeting a person. 
 
 It seemed to Wilson that he had alighted upon a de- 
 serted village. 
 
 They passed out of the arch into a weed-grown square. 
 Ahead were twisted, tortuous streets, none of them 
 much more than a yard wide, that went up and down 
 according to the incline of the rock. In several places 
 the houses met across the passage-like streets, looking 
 as if they would have fallen if they had not had a neigh- 
 bor to lean on. 
 
 Up one of the shadowed, narrow ways they started. 
 There did not appear to be a soul in the place. All the 
 little windows were shuttered, all the doors closed. They 
 went up one passage and down another. Fowls and goats 
 wandered at will about the place, scratching and browsing 
 among the weeds that grew between the cobbled ways 
 ways that had a narrow streak of red bricks running up 
 the middle of them to mark them as public thoroughfares.
 
 160 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Occasionally the encircling wall was reached. In parts 
 the rock went sheer down, with here and there a fig, an 
 aloe, or a clump of prickly pears growing in the crevices 
 of its sides. Once or twice they knocked at doors, hoping 
 to get some information from the inmates. But their 
 knocks met with no response. 
 
 In a stable scooped out of the very rock a donkey 
 brayed, filling the silent village with its hideous voice. 
 
 Wilson passed on, deciding he would now start a sys- 
 tematic hunt, and knock at every door until he found 
 someone at home. 
 
 He was about to put this scheme into force when he 
 saw a form slinking up one of the dark alleys a form 
 he thought he knew. 
 
 "Wolf ! Wolf !" he called quickly. 
 
 One wolf-dog is very like another. But, for all that, 
 Wilson was not mistaken. At his voice the animal 
 stopped, looked round, wagged its tail, and then trotted on 
 again. 
 
 He knew his search for Desiree was ended, for her 
 four-footed guardian never strayed far from her. 
 
 Telling his interpreter to go back to the car, Wilson 
 followed quickly after the animal. 
 
 Presently, by one of the low wooden doors let into the 
 deep walls, the dog paused and scratched and whined. A 
 moment later the door opened, and it was lost to sight. 
 
 Wilson was some distance down the narrow street, 
 but near enough to note the door. 
 
 He went forward quickly and knocked. 
 
 "Entrez," a voice said. 
 
 It was a soft, sad little voice that he would have known 
 anywhere, no matter what language it spoke. 
 
 He opened the door. A low room met his gaze, entered
 
 DESIREE'S NEW HOME 161 
 
 by an arched way ; a room with a stone floor, whitewashed 
 stone walls, and heavy beams across the ceiling, support- 
 ing the rough planks of some crude chamber above. It 
 had one little low window overlooking a precipice, and far 
 below was the azure sea where white-sailed ships cast 
 violet shadows. 
 
 By one of the walls stood an old oak chest, with a 
 heavy wooden chair on either side of it. On a wide chim- 
 ney-piece high above an open fireplace, where an iron 
 cooking-pot hung, were a few specimens of coarse 
 crockery. In the middle of the floor was a small, bare, 
 black table. A wide wooden bench with a cushion or 
 two filled the space by the window. 
 
 There Desiree was sitting, the dog already at her feet ; 
 and she seemed to be the only person in the tiny house. 
 
 The opening door made her turn her head in that direc- 
 tion. A small, tortured face met Wilson's view, with 
 deep, dark rings under the sightless eyes and a black 
 bruise on the white forehead. 
 
 Her look of suffering cut him to the quick. He just 
 stood on the doorstep gazing at her, feeling as tortured 
 as she looked. 
 
 "What is it ? Who is there ?" she asked in French, as 
 the moments passed and nothing was said. 
 
 Into the darkness at the far end of the room a dull 
 yellow patch had come, and in the patch a dark, vague 
 shadow stood, and that was all the girl could see. She 
 imagined the visitor to be someone with a message or 
 parcel for Marie; some neighbor, since the dog had not 
 given the menacing bark that always portended a 
 stranger. 
 
 "Desiree," he said hoarsely.
 
 162 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 At his voice a little cry broke from her lips, and her 
 hands went to her face to hide it from his view. 
 
 "Oh, no! Oh, no! Go away," she moaned. 
 
 Wilson had no intention of going away. Gosing the 
 door, at the risk of a scene, he went forward. 
 
 "No, my little one, I'm not going to leave you alone in 
 the dark," he said gently. 
 
 With his heart full of love and sympathy, he leaned 
 over her to take her hands from her stricken face. She 
 tried to push him away, and when this had no effect she 
 hid her face in the cushions of the bench and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 It took more than tears to turn Wilson from his pur- 
 pose. 
 
 Seating himself beside her, he lifted her from her hid- 
 ing-place. He laid her head on his shoulder, and kept a 
 strong arm around her. 
 
 "If any crying has to be done," he said firmly, "it's 
 going to be done here." 
 
 For a moment she struggled against his decree. Then, 
 finding there was no escape, she hid her face against 
 his rough tweed coat, and the sobs went on. 
 
 Wilson had had no idea a girl could cry so much. And 
 each one of the great sobs seemed as if it would tear her 
 to pieces. 
 
 He patted her back and smoothed her hair, and when 
 her handkerchief was wet through he gave her his own. 
 
 He did not kiss her or speak of love. The sort of love 
 he wanted to talk about she was in no condition to listen 
 to. It was a mother she needed, and he tried to fill the 
 role as well as he was able. 
 
 In some degree he must have succeeded. Presently the 
 sobs died down to long, convulsive gasps and shivers.
 
 DESIREE'S NEW HOME 163 
 
 Then, with a careful finger, Wilson touched the wet 
 cheek that was nearest to him. 
 
 "Well, have you finished for the time being ?" he asked. 
 
 "I am disgraced," a choked voice said, still full of tears. 
 
 "Nothing of the sort. Nobody knows but me. And 
 I'm not going to say a word." 
 
 "I I've been so proud of my name. And now !" 
 
 "Nobody in their senses would ever blame you." 
 
 After this there was a long silence. On a broad, hard 
 shoulder Desiree sniffed and choked, and with a large 
 handkerchief mopped a small face Wilson had not been 
 allowed to see since the tears started. 
 
 He had come back into her life again, this one friend 
 of her own choosing, with his kind, quiet ways and big, 
 careful hands, this time bringing with him comfort as 
 well as a feeling of perfect security. The world never 
 seemed quite so dark when he was there. 
 
 "I deceived you," she whispered presently, in a shamed 
 voice. 
 
 "How did you manage that ?" 
 
 "I I never told you I couldn't see. I was so ashamed. 
 I I always feel such a pariah." 
 
 "Never mind, I know now," he said gently. 
 
 With a caressing gesture his hand rested on her head. 
 He was wishing she had told him at the first. Then it 
 would have saved him a ghastly blunder, and both of 
 them the last few days of mental torture. 
 
 Again there was silence between them. 
 
 Desiree did not resist being held, too utterly worn out 
 to move, hardly aware of anything, in fact, except that 
 strength and comfort and sympathy had come into her 
 life again.
 
 164 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "You won't make me go back and have to be with 
 them?" she asked presently. 
 
 At the appeal Wilson's arm tightened round her. She 
 was so utterly helpless, so absolutely at the mercy of 
 anyone who came into her dark life. 
 
 "Make you?" he said passionately. "My God, no! 
 I'm going to take charge of you now," he went on more 
 steadily. "You can come back with me to my hotel. And 
 to-morrow, or the next day, or when I think you're equal 
 to it, we'll come to some arrangement about the future." 
 
 At the promise Desiree looked up, and a pathetic little 
 face came into view, swollen and tearstained, but without 
 its tortured look. 
 
 "You're feeling better now, aren't you?" he asked. 
 
 She nodded, and her head remained on the resting 
 place he had provided. 
 
 At close quarters he studied her eyes. He had not had 
 much opportunity hitherto. Generally when she had been 
 with him they were downcast as much from shame as 
 shyness, he now realized. There was a blurred look 
 about them, a sort of mistiness, but for all their blindness 
 they were beautiful. 
 
 However, it was not her eyes he next commented on. 
 
 "And you're not going to cry any more," he continued 
 firmly. "I don't allow crying when I'm about. I look 
 upon it as a personal insult. And you wouldn't like to 
 hurt my feelings, would you?" 
 
 Desiree said nothing. Her mouth quivered, and she 
 started rubbing a finger up and down the cloth of his coat. 
 
 When that finger started rubbing him, it required firm- 
 ness on the part of Wilson to remember his motherly 
 role. But he knew he might lose more than he could gain 
 by rushing the situation. The girl was even more of a
 
 DESIREE'S NEW HOME 165 
 
 child than he had deemed, left as she had been to wander 
 alone in her dark world ; more like twelve years old than 
 twenty-one; by no means ripe for the sort of love he 
 wanted. 
 
 Presently she drew away from him, with an air of 
 having suddenly realized that it was not right to be where 
 she was. 
 
 However, Wilson did not give her time to dwell on the 
 subject. 
 
 "We'd better be getting your things together," he said. 
 "The motor is waiting somewhere just outside the village, 
 so we can start back at once. And I'll leave my inter- 
 preter to explain matters to Juliette's daughter," he 
 finished, getting to his feet. 
 
 "I think my things are in there," she said, pointing to 
 a low wooden door let into the thick wall, as she got up. 
 
 "You stay where you are," he said. "I'll do the pack- 
 ing." 
 
 He was fearful lest she might hit or hurt herself, 
 moving about in rooms that were not familiar. 
 
 With an obedience that he now knew was due to utter 
 helplessness she sat down. 
 
 Wilson made his way into the bedroom, a low, dark 
 little place with a stone floor and one wall of the same 
 material. In it was a truckle bed, a chair, and a minute 
 washstand. There was a little trunk standing in one 
 corner, containing most of the things Desiree had taken 
 with her on her flight. Into it Wilson placed the blue 
 muslin dress that was lying on the bed, and one or two 
 other articles in the cupboard-like room that could belong 
 to no one but Desiree. On a large iron nail run into a 
 crevice of the stone hung the thin white cloak and the 
 little hat with the cherries.
 
 166 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 With these in one hand, and carrying the trunk in the 
 other, he passed out of the chamber. 
 
 He wrapped the cloak about Desiree and put the hat 
 on her head, with the cherries dangling about her ears, as 
 he had seen them on their first meeting. 
 
 "Is it on straight?" she questioned anxiously. 
 
 It was, so far as Wilson could see, and the query filled 
 him anew with pity. His fairy princess was far worse 
 off than his mother's fairy tale had depicted. She could 
 not even see if her hat were on straight ! 
 
 Then he drew her arm through his, and took her out of 
 the poor little house, the dog at their heels. 
 
 As he drove back to Nice, it seemed to Wilson he had 
 won all round, for he had both Desiree and the necklace.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 A GOOD SAMARITAN 
 
 On reaching his hotel Wilson found it was not the 
 easiest thing in the world to get a young, unchaperoned 
 girl installed there as his guest. It was all very well 
 for him to say he was Desiree's guardian, but it would 
 be difficult to get other people to see him in that light. 
 
 Leaving his charge in the big lounge hall, he went to 
 the bureau to engage a room for her. 
 
 At his request the clerk muttered something, and imme- 
 diately telephoned for the manager. 
 
 When the latter appeared Wilson repeated his request. 
 
 "I'm sorry, but there isn't a room vacant," was the 
 smooth reply. 
 
 "Never mind, the Countess de Mailly can have my 
 room," Wilson said. "And you can give me a shake- 
 down in the billiard room or the lounge. Anywhere. I 
 don't mind so long as she's comfortable." 
 
 However, the manager remained obdurate. There was 
 neither billiard room nor lounge, nor even a bathroom 
 available. 
 
 "But some one moved out of a room on my corridor 
 only this morning," Wilson insisted. 
 
 This remark of his made matters even worse. 
 
 "It isn't done in this hotel, Mr. Wilson," the manager 
 explained. "Not openly, at least. You could have brought 
 the lady with you when you first came, as your wife or
 
 168 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 sister, and then it would have been no concern of mine. 
 As it is !" 
 
 The manager shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 It was a moment or so before Wilson grasped the 
 situation. He seldom swore, but when it dawned on him 
 what the manager meant he indulged in a regular orgy 
 of bad language. 
 
 "You damned fool," he finished. "This is a straight 
 deal. The child hasn't a friend in the world except 
 myself." 
 
 The manager said nothing, but he looked down his nose. 
 He had heard similar tales. 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Wilson? What's the trouble?" an 
 inquisitive voice startled him by asking. 
 
 The voice made him turn quickly; it belonged to the 
 only married woman that he knew in the place. 
 
 "It's a girl, Mrs. Green," he said, smiling. 
 
 She wagged a finger at him. 
 
 "That's an unusual trouble for you, Mr. Wilson." 
 
 "She's stranded here without friends or money, owing 
 to the strike. I brought her along with me. And now 
 they haven't the decency or pretend they've too much 
 decency to let me have a room for her," he explained. 
 
 Mrs. Green knew her man if the manager did not. 
 She wondered what sort of a girl had aroused John 
 Wilson's interest to such an extent that he was prepared 
 to lose his steady-going reputation on her account. 
 
 "Who is she? What's her name?" she asked, all 
 curiosity. 
 
 Wilson gave the facts about Desiree that would most 
 appeal to Mrs. Green. 
 
 "De Mailly is her name. She's French. The Countess
 
 A GOOD SAMARITAN 169 
 
 de Mailly. She's only a kid. Just twenty-one. And 
 she's blind." 
 
 "Blind ! Poor child. And a countess !" 
 
 Mrs. Green turned quickly towards the manager. 
 
 "Make a bed up in my dressing room for the Countess. 
 I'll look after her." 
 
 Wilson could have hugged his friend. This arrange- 
 ment appeared to satisfy the manager. It dawned on 
 him Wilson was not the Don Juan he had imagined. 
 
 "Where is she?" Mrs. Green asked. 
 
 "She's in the hall. But she's very nervous with 
 strangers," Wilson said diplomatically. "I'll go and tell 
 her about you first." 
 
 He turned into the lounge hall where Desiree was 
 sitting, the dog's head on her knee, a frightened expres- 
 sion on her face. 
 
 At Wilson's approach a little smiled chased away her 
 scared look. 
 
 "The hotel is full," he explained. "But an English 
 lady, a friend of mine, insists on you sleeping in her 
 dressing room. She's a good sort. I'm sure you'll like 
 her. I said you were stranded here because of the strike. 
 I couldn't say anything about them." 
 
 >He paused for a moment, taking one of her hands 
 into his. 
 
 "She's the woman they took the bracelet from," he 
 went on gently. "I'm sorry. But you mustn't worry 
 about that. She has no idea who took it. But she'll be 
 sure to speak about having lost it, so I thought it was 
 wiser to tell you." 
 
 At his words Desiree's hand started to tremble. 
 
 "Can't I stay with you ? I I shall feel so uncomfort- 
 able and ashamed being with her."
 
 170 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "By and by you'll be with me always, I hope," he said 
 earnestly. "But this is the best I can manage at present." 
 
 Then Mrs. Green, unable to restrain herself any longer, 
 bore down on them. 
 
 She did not wait to be presented to Desiree. 
 
 "The poor child is utterly worn out," she cried. "She 
 must go to bed at once. You won't see anything more 
 of her to-night, Mr. Wilson. No wonder you swore at 
 the manager." 
 
 "Did I swear at him? I was feeling fairly ratty. I 
 knew the Countess was at the end of her tether." 
 
 Then he drew the girl to her feet. 
 
 "Good-night, Desiree. I'll see you again at breakfast. 
 In the meantime Mrs. Green will look after you." 
 
 "You bet I will," Mrs. Green agreed heartily. 
 
 She put her arm around Desiree's waist. 
 
 "Come along, my dear." 
 
 Wilson watched them go, glad he had circumnavigated 
 an unprepared- for corner so successfully. 
 
 Then he turned his attention to the dog. 
 
 "You, old chap, will have to sleep in the garage. But 
 there'll be no difficulty in getting accommodation for you. 
 You're not a helpless girl with all the world against you." 
 
 Having relieved his feelings a little by this remark, 
 with the dog at his heels Wilson made in the direction of 
 the garage.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 THE GILBERTS MEET WITH AN OBSTACLE 
 
 At the end of a five days' search the Gilberts were 
 no nearer finding their hostage, and the fact began to 
 weigh on them heavily. What was more, Bassino had 
 turned oasty, refusing point blank to lend them any 
 money, and employing private detectives of his own to 
 hunt for Desiree. 
 
 Funds were painfully low. That evening the father and 
 son dined in their bedroom, meagerly, off a few dry slices 
 of ham and rolls. During the course of the frugal meal 
 Eugene had been unusually silent. 
 
 "Since we can't find Desiree," he remarked presently, 
 "we shall have to try another little game of bluff." 
 
 "What have you got in your head now ?" the older man 
 growled. 
 
 The Count loved his meals, and to have to dine off 
 ham and rolls did not improve his temper. 
 
 "What's to prevent us from going to Wilson and say- 
 ing we have her ? I can't sell that bracelet here in Nice. 
 I can't get any more petrol on tick. To-morrow I shall 
 have to sell the motor to keep us going. If we don't get 
 hold of the necklace within the next few days we shall 
 have to give it up as a bad job and go back to Paris and 
 realize on our last deal. We're in a bad way, won pere 
 bankrupt, our source of income swept away. You were a 
 fool to keep Bassino dangling on for the sake of the neck- 
 
 171
 
 i;2 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 lace. You ought to have let him have Desiree there and 
 then. We could have milked him when the funds were 
 low. As it is, he won't let us have a cent." 
 
 Eugene helped himself carefully to mustard, which he 
 spread over the dry ham. 
 
 "The only luxury left to us," he went on. "And when 
 this pot is finished, goodness knows where the next is 
 coming from. It may even have to be worked for," he 
 concluded with a shudder. 
 
 "Curse you and your ill-timed jokes," his father said. 
 
 "Not me, mon cher," Eugene replied, unruffled, "not 
 your dutiful son, who is only trying to rectify the mistakes 
 brought about by avaricious age. Curse Wilson, whose 
 honesty has reduced us to this plight." 
 
 "Why must that damned Englishman interfere in things 
 that don't concern him?" 
 
 "I believe that is what is called a 'national character- 
 istic/" Eugene replied. 
 
 "Come to the point, can't you ?" the old Count broke in 
 irritably. 
 
 "The point that which has position, but no magnitude, 
 like ourselves is that to-night, after dinner, we'll go to 
 our friend Wilson. We'll say that we have found Desiree, 
 and that if he refuses to give up the necklace we'll take 
 her where he'll never see her any more. He won't like 
 that. He'll spend the night, perhaps, in making up his 
 mind. Yes, we'll allow him that much rope. At night a 
 man thinks deeply about the girl he wants to marry. And 
 by the morning he'll have decided in favor of Desiree. 
 Then we'll have the necklace and leave him, or Bassino, 
 to find the girl." 
 
 "I can't carry it through," his father said peevishly.
 
 "I'm afraid of Wilson. A quiet man is always danger- 
 ous." 
 
 "All right. Leave it to me then. I'm afraid of noth- 
 ing except work." 
 
 Both the Gilberts appeared in Wilson's hotel after din- 
 ner suave, polished, and well dressed, as if there had 
 been no scrambled-through meal of dry ham and rolls 
 immediately behind them, no poverty ahead. 
 
 Wilson was sitting in his usual corner in the hall, deep 
 in some newspaper. 
 
 Eugene's voice roused him to the fact of their presence. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Wilson, you may have the necklace, but 
 we have Desiree." 
 
 The remark took Wilson by surprise a surprise 
 which Eugene misinterpreted. 
 
 "And if you don't let us have the necklace," he went 
 on in a threatening manner, "we're going to marry her to 
 a South American millionaire, a man as mad for her as 
 you are." 
 
 Wilson had recovered from his astonishment. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said slowly. 
 
 He could afford to be casual about the matter. Desiree 
 was upstairs, comfortably tucked up in a bed in Mrs. 
 Green's dressing room. Immediately after dinner the 
 latter had bustled out to see how her charge was faring. 
 Had Desiree been kidnaped he would have heard of it 
 long before now. 
 
 "Well, what are you going to do about it?" the Count 
 de Gilbert asked. 
 
 "Nothing," Wilson said, returning to his newspaper. 
 
 His attitude told the confederates there was some 
 hitch in their plan.
 
 I 7 4 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Don't you try to bluff me, my good man," Eugene 
 started. 
 Putting the newspaper down, Wilson got to his feet. 
 
 "The Countess de Mailly is here," he said, "in this hotel, 
 in charge of a friend of mine. You can believe me or 
 not, as you like. In any case, I'm not going to subject 
 her to the ordeal of an interview with you two black- 
 guards. You've lost all round on this deal. And I'll show 
 you one of the things you've lost." 
 
 Wilson paused and felt in his waistcoat pocket. Then 
 he drew out "The Necklace of Tears" and dangled it 
 before the Gilberts. 
 
 It was a foolish thing to do, but at that moment he was 
 overelated with his own success. And he was thinking 
 that the best punishment he could dole out to the two 
 scoundrels was a sight of the necklace they had schemed 
 for and lost. 
 
 In the electric light it broke up into a million facets, 
 winking in a malicious manner at the two men who 
 coveted it. 
 
 Putting the necklace back into his pocket, Wilson 
 turned on his heel and walked away. 
 
 Eugene watched his broad figure until it disappeared. 
 
 "So, mon ptre, the necklace is not at the banker's. It's 
 on the person of Mr. Wilson." 
 
 Thereupon he lapsed into thoughtful silence.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 DESIREE FINDS A TRUE FRIEND 
 
 When Wilson said Desiree would hear about the 
 bracelet he was wrong. Mrs. Green with a young girl 
 to look after was a very different person from the painted, 
 powdered, overdressed woman who acted as if she were 
 thirty years younger than she really was. She was of a 
 type who had only one role in this world, that of a mother, 
 and when her children get beyond the mothering stage she 
 develops either religion, melancholy, or frivolity. 
 
 The minute she got Desiree into her room she forgot 
 her youthful pose and became her real self. In no time 
 she had the girl into dressing-gown and slippers, resting 
 in an easy chair, and drinking a comforting cup of tea 
 Mrs. Green herself had made for her. And when Desiree 
 raised a demur, she said: 
 
 "You're doing me a good turn, Countess, not me you. 
 I've no one to look after nowadays ; they've all got beyond 
 me." 
 
 Although Desiree had said nothing, Mrs. Green knew 
 her head was aching. As soon as the bed was made up 
 her charge was placed in it, with the blinds down and 
 eau-de-cologne on her hands and forehead and handker- 
 chief. When dinner time came, she chose dishes from 
 the menu most suitable for an appetite pain had made 
 capricious. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Green, flabby and unpainted,
 
 176 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 with the few remaining wisps of her own hair hanging 
 from under a coquettish nightcap, was up long before her 
 usual hour, hovering over her charge's bed to see if she 
 were better. 
 
 Mrs. Green had her own private bathroom leading off 
 her bedroom. She did not ring for the chambermaid to 
 prepare a bath for Desiree as she did when she wanted 
 one herself. She filled the bath, putting a plump hand 
 in frequently to make sure it was the right heat; when 
 she had it to her liking, popping in a scented tablet. Then 
 she left the girl, with instructions to be sure and call if 
 there was anything she could not find, or wanted, and she, 
 Mrs. Green, would be only too pleased to bring or get it. 
 
 Afterwards she insisted on helping Desiree into her 
 clothes and brushing and dressing her hair, although the 
 girl was quite capable of doing these things for herself. 
 
 As she brushed out the long strands she said : 
 
 "Once I had a little girl, Rose, her name was. But she 
 died when she was eight years old. Me and Mr. Green 
 wasn't so well off in those days, or we might have saved 
 her. But it meant a special train to London and an opera- 
 tion at once. Well, and we just couldn't afford it. She 
 was very pretty, my Rosie, with blue eyes and dark brown 
 hair. If she'd lived, she'd have been nearly twenty-one 
 now. Just about the same age as you, my dear. And if 
 I'd had her, I could have brushed her hair, just like I'm 
 doing yours." 
 
 Mrs. Green stopped and sniffed and brushed again 
 more vigorously than ever. 
 
 "Boys are all very well," she went on presently, "but 
 they've no use for mothers. I've got three fine, big boys, 
 twenty-four, twenty-one, and nineteen. But if I was to 
 go into Arthur or Jim or Ted's room and say, 'Let me
 
 DESIREE FINDS A TRUE FRIEND 177 
 
 brush your hair for you, dearie, or button up your waist- 
 coat, they'd look at me as if I was cracked. You can't 
 dress boys up for a ball, or put a tuck in their trousers. 
 You can only mend their socks. And now we're so well 
 off that they won't even wear their socks mended !" 
 
 Two tears splashed down on Desiree's white neck, big 
 and hot, and she touched Mrs. Green's plump arm with a 
 gentle, caressing hand. 
 
 The girl did not know the accent was common, for it 
 was a foreign language. But she heard the pain in Mrs. 
 Green's voice the pain of a woman who has no role in 
 this life except that of a mother ; who would have moth- 
 ered her children until they were old and gray, and who 
 had lost the one girl on whom she might have lavished her 
 affection. 
 
 "Sometimes I talk like this to Mr. Green, and he gets 
 angry," she went on. "But if you talk about things that 
 hurt, it makes them hurt less. Sometimes, too, when I 
 see a pretty frock advertised in the morning paper, I say 
 to him, 'Now, wouldn't that just have suited our Rosie?' 
 And he tells me to 'shut up,' and he pushes his plate away 
 and won't have any more breakfast. Men get queer and 
 short-tempered when they get older. And they forget 
 the little ones that have gone." 
 
 As Desiree listened to the rigmarole, it seemed to her' 
 Mr. Green had not forgotten that he remembered 
 almost as keenly as his wife, and that the woman's life 
 was nothing but the grave of a little child. 
 
 When her hair was brushed and dressed and neatly 
 coiled in a golden crown on the top of her small head, 
 Desiree got up, and, putting her arms round Mrs. Green's 
 neck, kissed her. 
 
 The kiss made Mrs. Green start on another tack.
 
 i;8 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "There's ray Arthur; he's twenty-four, a fine, good- 
 looking boy, and so steady ; his father's right hand in the 
 business. You'd like him, Countess, and he'd like you, 
 because he likes fair girls." 
 
 Mrs. Green paused and did a rapid piece of match- 
 making; then, just as rapidly, she undid it again. She 
 remembered another who "liked" Desiree the man who 
 had brought her to the hotel the previous evening. She 
 sighed deeply, seeing a desirable daughter-in-law vanish 
 a girl who was a countess, and as helpless as a little 
 child, whom she could have fussed over and petted for 
 the rest of her life. 
 
 "Now, my dear, you run along down to breakfast," 
 she said. "Mr. Wilson always has his downstairs, and 
 he said I wasn't to keep you up here for both dinner and 
 breakfast. As for me, I'm not fit to appear before lunch. 
 I'm too busy getting the 'footprints off the sands of 
 time.' " 
 
 Then she remembered Desiree could not find her way 
 alone. After kissing the girl fondly, she rang for a 
 chambermaid to take her down.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 DESIREE'S BLINDNESS 
 
 Although Wilson had ordered breakfast for half-past 
 eight, he was in the dining room just after the clock 
 struck eight. The moment Desiree appeared he crossed 
 to her side. Relieving the chambermaid of her charge, he 
 took the girl to his own table. 
 
 Now he knew her for what she really was, untaught 
 and afflicted, wholly ignorant of the world and all that 
 went on in it, and although he loved her none the less, he 
 put his own love in the background and treated her as a 
 big brother would a little sister of whom he was fond. 
 
 "Well, Desiree," he said, once they were seated, 
 "French people are going to have two eggs for breakfast 
 this morning, as well as a lot of other things." 
 
 "You must think I live to eat," she answered, smiling 
 at him shyly. 
 
 "You're going to live to do a lot of things you've never 
 done before," he replied emphatically. 
 
 "What sort of things ?" she asked, with timid curiosity. 
 
 "Well, after lunch, for instance, you're going with 
 Mrs. Green to buy new hats and dresses, as many as you 
 like, and whatever you fancy. And to-night I'm going 
 to take you out to dinner and a dance." 
 
 A little flush of excitement came to her face, then it 
 died away and she was silent again. 
 
 As they awaited the coming of breakfast, Desiree's
 
 i8o THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 mind was running on the comfort and luxury that had 
 suddenly come into her life, and the things her friend 
 said she must buy and do. 
 
 "They'll cost a lot of money, tnon ami," she ventured 
 presently. "I don't know how I shall be able to pay you 
 back." 
 
 "Don't you worry about that," he said cheerfully. "If 
 the worst comes to the worst, you can sell your necklace 
 instead of having it buried with you." 
 
 At the mention of the necklace an anxious expression 
 crossed her face. 
 
 Wilson thought it was because he had suggested she 
 should sell her heirloom. However, he was wrong. 
 
 At that moment, foremost in Desiree's mind was the 
 curse on it the evil that always came on whatever or 
 whoever the owner liked the best. She knew w r hat was 
 her most cherished possession the friend sitting opposite 
 to her. And she would rather have died than have any 
 evil come on him. 
 
 "Perhaps I'd better sell it," she said. "Is it worth 
 enough to buy Mrs. Green another bracelet with, as well 
 as pay for all the things I'm having now ?" 
 
 Her words told Wilson what he had always suspected 
 that she had no idea of the fortune her heirloom repre 
 sented. 
 
 "Has Mrs. Green been harping on her loss ?" he asked 
 sharply, a note of concern in his voice, for he realized 
 to the fullest how Desiree would feel on the subject. 
 
 "Oh, no. She never said anything at all about it. She 
 talked of quite different things. -But I can't bear to think 
 of anything being taken from her." 
 
 With Desiree now in his keeping, Wilson had no inten- 
 tion of selling the necklace. Married to him, she could
 
 DESIREE'S BLINDNESS 181 
 
 keep her heirloom. As for it being cursed, he never gave 
 a thought to that. 
 
 "I'll take it to a jeweler's this afternoon and see how 
 much it's really worth," he remarked. 
 
 "Yes, do please. I'd like to buy Mrs. Green a bracelet 
 like the one they she that's lost," she finished in a 
 shamefaced way. 
 
 The arrival of breakfast turned their attention to other 
 matters. 
 
 After pouring out the coffee, Wilson took the tops off 
 Desiree's eggs for her, buttered her roll, and put all she 
 wanted within reach of her fingers. During the repast, 
 he marveled continually how she managed as well as 
 she did. Considering their few meetings, he quite saw 
 how she had deceived him. She went about her meal with 
 no more blunders than a shortsighted, imaginative girl 
 might make who wandered in a world of dreams, occa- 
 sionally coming down to earth and the mere facts around 
 her. But Wilson knew her whole energies were concen- 
 trated on keeping her affliction from obtruding on the 
 outside world. 
 
 "Can't you see at all, Desiree ?" he asked presently. 
 
 In watching her slow, gentle movements it seemed in- 
 credible that she was sightless. 
 
 "I know when it's night and when it's day. In the day- 
 time people are just vague shadows that move in a thick 
 mist." 
 
 The pathetic confession told Wilson that whatever was 
 wrong with her eyes, at least the optic nerve was not 
 wholly atrophied. 
 
 Then he remembered having read somewhere that 
 people who are really blind blind with the blindness of
 
 182 
 
 dead eyes cannot cry. Yet how Desiree had wept ! The 
 shoulder of his coat seemed still damp with her tears. 
 
 With this fallacy well to the fore in his mind he asked : 
 
 "Have you ever had your eyes examined?" 
 
 "Not that I can remember. My uncle always said it 
 would be no use." 
 
 Then slowly, in shame, the tears started to trickle down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "Now. what did I say about crying? It hurts my feel- 
 ings." 
 
 His voice was a caress. After a few sniffs the tears 
 stopped. In Desiree's darkness now was the voice of her 
 friend, kind and comforting. She wanted to go and lean 
 against the strength that had invaded the gloom surround- 
 ing her, never to have to move away from it. He felt so 
 like part of herself, this man with his kind, quiet ways, 
 that for all their quietness had such a feeling of power 
 behind them. 
 
 For some minutes Wilson was silent. 
 
 He attended to his charge's wants, putting butter and 
 marmalade on her toast, and then cutting it up into neat 
 little strips that were easy to handle. He saw she was 
 almost afraid to eat, lest she should spill or drop things 
 on herself. Her inborn daintiness must have made her 
 affliction doubly hard. 
 
 As he did these little things for her, he was thinking 
 of what she had said. 
 
 So far as she knew, her eyes had never been examined. 
 Her uncle, the one who should have attended to the 
 matter, had not troubled about it. Considering what 
 Wilson now knew of the Gilberts, he put a question to 
 himself; "Why hadn't her guardian given her a chance of 
 seeing?"
 
 DESIREE'S BLINDNESS 183 
 
 His shrewd mind did not have to search far for a 
 reason. 
 
 Desiree blind would be much more easily robbed of her 
 heritage than a Desiree who could see. 
 
 As matters stood, she could neither read nor write, and 
 in worldly matters she was as ignorant as a child of ten, 
 as easily gulled. 
 
 As he pondered on the matter, the feeling grew within 
 him more and more that the Count de Gilbert had pur- 
 posely kept his niece in darkness and ignorance. 
 
 Her father had died before she was born, her mother 
 when she was a week old, but whether her grandfather 
 had lived long enough to have had her eyes thoroughly 
 tested and examined Wilson did not know. 
 
 "How old were you when your grandfather died?" 
 Wilson asked presently. 
 
 "I was just over a month old." 
 
 The answer satisfied him. 
 
 At a month old it might not be known that the child's 
 eyes were defective. 
 
 And an operation in her babyhood might have cured 
 her! 
 
 At that moment Wilson could have cheerfully strangled 
 the Count de Gilbert, for he was now almost certain that 
 Desiree had been condemned to years of blindness by her 
 scheming thief of a guardian. And the one question that 
 filled his mind was, Had he come into her life too late to 
 do any good ?
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 THE PRINCESS OF THE FAIRY TALE 
 
 That morning Wilson took his charge for a drive to a 
 favorite spot of his a jutting tongue of land where pink 
 and white and yellow villas nestled among orange, lemon, 
 and loquat trees; where palms stood out against a 
 sapphire sky; where the air was fragrant with the scent 
 of peach blossom, and cherry trees covered the ground 
 with a snow of white petals, and the olives stood gray and 
 old against the greenness of the spring. 
 
 He drove his car right to the end of the cape. There, 
 scant grass and wild thyme grew, and stunted pines stood, 
 twisted and lichen-grown, leaning back from the sea in 
 which they were sometimes mirrored. 
 
 The waves broke gently on shelving cliffs. Here and 
 there little pools glittered like sapphires and emeralds and 
 jewels of jade among the brown rocks. Beyond, an ex- 
 panse of milky blue water stretched away to a misty 
 horizon. Behind, the mountains of the mainland stood up 
 like a wall, shutting out the workaday world, their tops 
 covered with a blur of white clouds. 
 
 Wilson's heart was bleeding when he helped Desiree 
 from the car. She could see nothing of the beautj around 
 her, and he determined that she should have light if it lay 
 within die power of man to give it to her. 
 
 Because she could not see, he took her to the sweetest 
 spot he could find, where wild thyme and lavender grew, 
 
 184
 
 THE PRINCESS OF THE FAIRY TALE 185 
 
 and bushes of fragrant roses; where the sun drew out 
 the incense of the pines, and the sea crooned on the rocks 
 below. 
 
 He picked a little corner that was nothing but scent 
 and soft, murmurous sounds, where a faint, fresh, salt 
 breeze fanned her hair, making the loose curls dance about 
 her wistful face. 
 
 Taking off his coat, he folded it up for her to sit on. 
 Then he stretched himself beside her, watching her as she 
 sat with the cherries dangling about her ears, her tragic 
 eyes fixed on an expanse of blue she could not see. 
 
 "It's very nice here," she said presently. "So sweet 
 and fresh and peaceful. I love to hear the sea whisper- 
 ing so softly. I don't like noise. That's why I'm so 
 afraid of thunder. But if it hadn't been for that storm 
 I should never have known you." 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that," Wilson responded. "I'd 
 seen you, even if you hadn't seen me. I should have 
 tracked you to your lair, and scraped acquaintance some- 
 how." 
 
 "Would you ?" she asked. "Why ?" 
 
 "Because, Desiree, you are so beautiful," he answered* 
 a touch of passion in his voice. 
 
 His words made her shiver. 
 
 "Mr. Bassino always says things like that," she said in 
 a low voice. "I I don't like him. And once he kissed 
 me." 
 
 At this Wilson pricked up his ears. 
 
 "Who's Mr. Bassino?" he asked sharply. 
 
 "The man my uncle says I must marry. I have so 
 wanted to ask you to help me to tell me what to do 
 about it. I can't bear him near me. When he touches 
 me I feel I must scream. If I were a little girl I know
 
 186 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 I should. But my uncle says I must marry him, because 
 he's a millionaire." 
 
 She went on to say where she had mej: the Brazilian, 
 and how he would be coming to claim her any day now 
 that she was twenty-one. 
 
 As Wilson listened, it seemed to him that more than 
 ever was she the poor little princess of his mother's fairy- 
 tale. There was even the ogre ! And more than ever he 
 hated her relatives, who would have thrust on her a man 
 she loathed. 
 
 "Don't you worry about the ogre, Princess," he said 
 fondly. "Leave him to me." 
 
 "You won't make me marry Mr. Bassino ?" 
 
 That pleading, pathetic little face, with the small mouth 
 trembling like a pale rosebud in its fragile loveliness, 
 almost made Wilson forget his brotherly role in a mad 
 desire to put his lips on it, and make it tremble through 
 love, not fear. 
 
 "You're never going to be (made to do anything now, 
 Desiree. You're going to do just whatever you like for 
 all the rest of your life. If you don't want to marry Mr. 
 Bassino, that settles it. I'll see nobody makes you." 
 
 This promise took the strained look from her face. 
 
 "You've no idea what a relief it is to me to hear you 
 say that. I'm so afraid of that man. I'd rather die than 
 have to be with him always," she confessed. 
 
 "How would you like being with me always ?" he asked 
 tenderly. 
 
 One of the "rose-leaf" hands that Wilson loved came 
 in his direction, hovered for a moment, missed its aim, 
 hovered again, and then settled on his arm. "I like being 
 with you better than with anybody else," she said. "And
 
 THE PRINCESS OF THE FAIRY TALE 187 
 
 I've never really liked being with anyone before except 
 Juliette and Pierre." 
 
 Wilson took the little hand into his and held it there, 
 and Desiree was quite content to let it remain. 
 
 "Why did you call me Princess ?" she asked presently. 
 
 Then he told her the fairy tale his mother used to tell 
 him when he was a small boy, about the princess with the 
 blue eyes and golden hair, with the skin like alabaster and 
 hands no bigger than rose leaves, who lived all alone in a 
 ruined castle. But he left off with the slaying of the 
 dragons and the ogre. He did not add that she married 
 him and they lived happily ever after in the old castle 
 far off in the mountains. 
 
 She smiled sadly. 
 
 "There's one dragon you can't slay, mon ami. He'll 
 be with me always." 
 
 Wilson knew she referred to her blindness. He was 
 not so sure that even that dragon could not be slain also, 
 but he said nothing of this to Desiree. 
 
 After lunch that day, when she was out shopping with 
 Mrs. Green, he went to the manager and inquired the 
 name of the best eye specialist in the place. Then he 
 telephoned and made an appointment for five o'clock. At 
 four he had arranged to meet Desiree and her chaperone 
 at a fashionable restaurant for tea. 
 
 Having nothing else to do, in the interval he went to a 
 large jeweler's shop. First of all he looked at rings 
 rings so small that they refused to do more than go over 
 the top of his little finger. Finally he chose one mounted 
 with a big pearl set round with diamonds. 
 
 Having made his purchase, he produced "The Necklace 
 of Tears."
 
 i88 THE WUMAX Hi: DMSIRF.D 
 
 "I wonder if you'd mind giving me a rough idea of 
 what this is worth ?" he asked. 
 
 On seeing it, a look of awe passed over the jeweler's 
 face, to be chased away a moment later by an incredulous 
 expression. 
 
 "Just a moment," he said. 
 
 He fetched various little implements and a bottle or 
 two. Then he tapped and tested all the stones, and looked 
 at them through a magnifying glass. 
 
 Afterwards, with a deep sigh, he straightened himself, 
 and stood looking at the necklace as if at some god. 
 
 "When you brought it out I couldn't believe my eyes," 
 he said at length. "The stones are real, every one of 
 them. Diamonds have practically trebled in value 
 during the last few years. You'd get 200,000 for that if 
 you took it to the right market America, of course. If 
 you want to sell it, I can find you a customer at a five per 
 cent, commission," he finished, handing it back reluctantly. 
 
 Wilson scooped up the necklace and put it into its bag. 
 
 "It's not for sale," he said. "I'm only getting it valued 
 for a friend." 
 
 He left the shop, thinking that Desiree was as well off 
 as he was, for her necklace represented a fortune 
 equaling his own.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 A CONSULTATION 
 
 Promptly at five o'clock Wilson's motor drew up out- 
 side tihe doctor's house. During tea he had told Desiree 
 where be was taking her, and Mrs. Green had volunteered 
 to accompany them. 
 
 When they were ushered into the waiting room 
 Desiree sat beside him, saying nothing, her hands clasped 
 tightly together on her knee, a strained expression on her 
 face. 
 
 Hardly knowing what he was saying, Wilson talked in 
 a light vein to Mrs. Green. 
 
 They did not have to wait very long before being 
 ushered into the consulting room. Leaving Mrs. Green 
 behind, Wilson went in with the patient. 
 
 As Desiree entered, the doctor glanced at her sharply. 
 She looked in a nervous, overwrought condition ; more as 
 if she were on trial for her life than coming in for a 
 consultation. Very soon he had her installed in a chair, 
 and the examination started. 
 
 In a fever of anxiety Wilson sat waiting. If the verdict 
 were unfavorable, he would not let it rest at that. He 
 would take her to Paris, London, America to every 
 specialist the world over before he gave up the task as 
 hopeless. 
 
 All this he arranged with himself as he listened to the 
 doctor's questions and Desiree's replies in a low, trembling 
 
 189
 
 igo THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 voice that spoke of the mental strain she was enduring, 
 and saw those beautiful blurred eyes being looked into 
 by sharp, clever ones, in a variety of lights and through a 
 variety of instruments. 
 
 On making the appointment Wilson had asked that 
 Desiree should not be in the room when the verdict was 
 given. Whether it was good or bad, he wanted to break 
 the news himself, for in the first case the relief would be 
 almost a shock ; in the second, he wanted to ease the blow 
 as much as possible. 
 
 A quarter of an hour had barely elapsed when the 
 specialist put down his instruments. 
 
 "I think I've seen all I need," he remarked. 
 
 As he spoke he glanced at Wilson, censure in his 
 gaze. 
 
 At once Wilson was on his feet, anxious to get 
 Desiree out of the way for a moment and to hear what 
 the specialist had to say. 
 
 "I'll take the Countess de Mailly back to her friend," 
 he said, hurrying with her towards the door. 
 
 Leaving Desiree with Mrs. Green, he made his way 
 with all haste back to the consulting room. 
 
 "Well ?" he asked, the moment the door was closed. 
 
 Wilson felt his voice was more a croak than a question, 
 for his throat had gone suddenly hard and dry. 
 
 "There's no reason why your young friend shouldn't 
 see as well as you or I can," the doctor replied. 
 
 Wilson did not wait to hear any more. At once he 
 was back in the waiting room. 
 
 His footstep made Desiree start up, her face white and 
 drawn. 
 
 "It's all right," he said quickly. 
 
 "All right?" she repeated faintly.
 
 A CONSULTATION 191 
 
 "There's a very good chance of a cure. Every chance, 
 in fact." 
 
 "Every chance ?" she repeated, in a dazed voice. "Then 
 my uncle Oh, mon Dieu!" 
 
 Her hands went to her face, as if to shut out some 
 hideous truth. Then she started to sway slightly. 
 
 "She's going to faint," Mrs. Green said quickly, 
 scrambling to her feet with more haste than elegance. 
 
 Quick as she was, Wilson was quicker. Light and 
 limp, Desiree fell into his arms. 
 
 "Poor little girl! She's had a rough time. And now 
 she knows what I suspected," he said, as he laid her on 
 the couch. 
 
 "What's that?" Mrs. Green asked. 
 
 "That she could have been cured years ago had anyone 
 troubled to attend to the matter." 
 
 Mrs. Green threw up her hands with horror. 
 
 Without waiting to explain things further, Wilson 
 went back to the consulting room. 
 
 His abrupt entry made the doctor look round. 
 
 "The Countess has fainted." Wilson said, his voice 
 heavy with anxiety. 
 
 However, the specialist took the announcement very 
 casually. 
 
 "I'm not surprised. It was evident the Countess de 
 Mailly felt her infirmity deeply, and the relief has been 
 too much for her. Why wasn't the operation done years 
 ago?" he went on in a severe tone. "Through gross 
 neglect she has been condemned to pass the whole of her 
 young life in darkness." 
 
 The words roused Wilson to the fact that for the sake 
 of her own good name Desiree's relatives must be 
 screened.
 
 192 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "The Countess has only been in my charge twenty- 
 four hours, or you may be sure it would have been done 
 sooner." 
 
 The doctor's gaze rested on him with interest this time, 
 not censure. 
 
 He was wondering how this girl of his own nation, one 
 of the old noblesse, had come into the keeping of the 
 obviously self-made Englishman. But she had come with 
 a chaperone and from an hotel whose clientele were be- 
 yond reproach. There were a lot of questions he wanted 
 to ask, but he had a very good idea of the type of man 
 with whom he was dealing, and he deemed it better to keep 
 strictly to professional matters. 
 
 "When would you like me to operate?" he asked. 
 
 "To-morrow, if possible. I won't have the child kept 
 in darkness one day longer than is necessary." 
 
 "To-morrow then," the doctor agreed. 
 
 "And let her have the best of everything," Wilson said. 
 "Don't stint for anything. She's got a lot to make up for 
 in the way of comfort." 
 
 "I'll see she lacks nothing," the doctor replied, still 
 wondering how his new patient came to be under Wilson's 
 protection. 
 
 Then he had more to say about Desiree's case, but it 
 was of a technical nature. Most of it was beyond Wil- 
 son's comprehension, but he gathered that the operation 
 could have been done when Desiree was a baby. 
 
 Seeing Wilson was fidgeting with anxiety, the doctor 
 picked up a bottle of eau-de-cologne and went into the 
 waiting room. 
 
 Desiree woke to the world feeling like a condemned 
 prisoner reprieved. In the darkness was the voice of 
 *he friend who was trying to save he/; the subtle odor
 
 A CONSULTATION 193 
 
 of heather and smoke that always clung about his gar- 
 meats; the feeling of strength and power he had brought 
 into her helpless life. 
 
 She stretched her hands towards him. 
 
 "To be able to see!" she whispered. "To be just like 
 everyone else! I can't believe it. Oh, my savior! My 
 king!" 
 
 Wilson did not know what she said, for she spoke in 
 French. But the doctor did, and Mrs. Green had a good 
 idea, and they both went quickly into the consulting room 
 on the pretext of arranging further details about the 
 coming operation. 
 
 Once they had gone, Wilson knelt by Desiree's couch, 
 stroking her hair, patting her hands, for he saw she was 
 distraught with relief and the knowledge of her uncle's 
 treachery. 
 
 "It must be a god who has come into my night," that 
 soft, faint voice went on in its own language. "Only 
 gods can bring light into darkness." 
 
 But when she took his hands and would have pressed 
 her lips on them, Wilson had a word to say too. 
 
 "No, Desiree. No, my little one, I'm not going to 
 have your precious kisses on my great paws. This is the 
 place for them." He stooped until his lips rested on hers. 
 Then he did the kissing. 
 
 The pressure of his lips, tender and passionate, sent a 
 long tremor through the girl. The kiss startled her with 
 its message of longing and desire, but she did not shrink 
 from it, as she did from those her cousin forced on her, 
 and the one Bassino had once stolen. Although it fright- 
 ened her, and left her weak and trembling, it also left 
 her with a desire to press closer to the giver, to know all 
 that the caress held,
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 WILSON MEETS BASSINO 
 
 When Desiree had recovered sufficiently to leave the 
 house, Wilson accompanied her back to the hotel. After- 
 wards he went out again on a little mission of his own. 
 
 Considering the happenings of the last twenty-four 
 hours, he was in a mood for celebrating. He drew up 
 in front of a little shop which made up for lack of window 
 space and the few things displayed therein by its enormous 
 charges, and the fact that in the expanse of rooms behind 
 were garments fit for the wives and daughters of princes 
 and millionaires garments the eyes of mere shop-gazers 
 were never allowed to rest upon. 
 
 Wilson knew what he wanted. Whoever heard of a 
 fairy princess who had not a cloak of ermine ? His poor 
 little princess had only a cheap wrap, a mixture of wool 
 and cotton, altogether out of keeping with her position. 
 
 He was in a reckless mood, begotten of the taste of 
 Desiree's lips, and the thought of the sight that was so 
 soon to be hers. He intended to have what he wanted, no 
 matter what it cost. 
 
 Before long the coveted garment was spread before 
 him a cloak of white fur, glossy as silk, soft as velvet, 
 all lined with the richest of white silk, with a fringe of 
 black-tipped tails, and a hood that would draw up in a 
 most fascinating manner about a small face. 
 
 When the cloak was packed up and put into his motor, 
 
 194
 
 WILSON MEETS EASSINO 195 
 
 he went to a florist's shop and bought roses a great 
 bouquet of pale pink ones, like Desiree's wistful mouth; 
 a mouth that he determined should be neither pale nor 
 wistful once the final dragon was slain, but smiling and 
 happy and coral red, as a young girl's should be. A 
 bouquet, too, that matched a new evening frock Mrs. 
 Green had started to talk about during tea, before he had 
 mentioned the appointment with the specialist and hope 
 had taken thought of all else from Desiree. 
 
 With his two purchases he returned to the hotel. 
 
 That night as he got into his evening clothes he scanned 
 himself critically, wishing he looked more like the men 
 in Desiree's own set, and less like a prize-fighter. After- 
 wards he went down to the hall and awaited the girl's 
 coming. 
 
 Presently one of the chambermaids brought her in. 
 There were mostly men in the hall just then, awaiting 
 their womenfolk. Wilson knew that none of their wives 
 and daughters and sisters could be compared with Desiree. 
 And the men seemed to know it, too, for they all stared 
 at her with open or covert admiration, according to their 
 nationality. 
 
 In buying a frock for a young girl Mrs. Green could 
 be trusted; all her own tastes were youthful, and at a 
 good French shop, however outre the style might be, it 
 would not be common or vulgar. 
 
 Desiree was wearing a quaint, sack-like garment of 
 pale pink silk, stiff with quality, with a low, round neck, 
 and little straight sleeves about three inches long a frock 
 that did not come much below her knees. There was a 
 fluff of white swansdown about the neck and sleeves and 
 hem. Loose and low about her waist was a golden girdle, 
 and she wore gold shoes and stockings to match. So
 
 196 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 attired, she looked like a child of fourteen who, "for fun," 
 had put her hair up. 
 
 The moment she appeared Wilson went forward, the 
 bouquet in one hand, the ermine cloak over his arm. He 
 did not feel awkward, ladened with flowers and costly 
 furs; he never felt awkward when doing anything for 
 Desiree. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, 
 this which he had spent his life in waiting for. Nor did 
 the array of eyes turned on him and the girl unnerve 
 him in any way. 
 
 He put the bouquet into her hands, the cloak about 
 her shoulders, and she smiled at him, a shy, worshiping 
 smile such as one might give to a kindly and condescend- 
 iag god. 
 
 "How nice these smell," she said, burying her face in 
 the roses. "And how nice this feels," she went on, finger- 
 ing the cloak. "What is it?" 
 
 "Ermine," he answered, watching her fondly. 
 
 JHis fairy princess had no idea how beautiful she was, 
 or of the richness of her garments, or that all the eyes in 
 the room were fixed on her. 
 
 Then he did something that made the assembly stare 
 still more. 
 
 Out from some inner pocket he drew "The Neckiace 
 of Tears," and with his big hands clasped it about her 
 slender throat. 
 
 He took a step back and looked at her, everything and 
 everybody forgotten except Desiree with her high-bred, 
 fragile beauty, attired in the richest of silk and ermine and 
 diamonds, crowned with her own golden hair. 
 
 She stood before him, the fairy princess of his boyhood 
 days, whom he had carried round in his heart and loved 
 and worshiped, who had comforted him and been kind
 
 WILSON MEETS BASSINO 197 
 
 to him when the other boys had made sport of his patched 
 clothes and his poverty. The last dragon was all but slain, 
 and when it was really dead they would marry and live 
 happily ever after in the old castle far off in the moun- 
 tains. She would marry him, John Wilson, who had 
 come from nothing, and had once carried stones about in 
 his pocket to keep the wolf from the door. She would 
 be his, this lovely girl, Desiree, Countess de Mailly. 
 
 Then he drew one "rose-leaf" hand through his arm. 
 
 "Come along, Princess," he said gayly. 
 
 It was a beautiful evening, and the distance betweea 
 their hotel and the one where the diner dansant was taking 
 place was so short that by mutual consent no carriage was 
 taken. 
 
 On a gently rippling sea the dusk was settling, turning 
 the blue water into pewter, a heaving expanse that 
 stretched away to the pearly gray of the distant horizon. 
 The remains of a sunset lingered on the westward hills 
 soft, blurred smears of gold and red and mauve and 
 orange, that were reflected faintly on the heaving water. 
 In a jagged semicircle the great hills stood around the 
 wide sweep of the whispering bay, and close at hand 
 palms shivered and sighed faintly, and little waves broke 
 and whispered on gray pebbles. 
 
 As Wilson looked at this earthly paradise he knew that 
 he had always loved beauty, and that, until now, very 
 little of it had come into his life. Generally speaking, 
 money-making is not a pretty occupation, unless con- 
 nected with the arts, but since the world must go round, 
 somebody must do the unlovely things. 
 
 At that moment he was glad there were plenty of people 
 who were blind; not blind as Desiree was, but blind to 
 the sordidness of their lives and occupations. He had
 
 198 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 never been really blind to the sordidness of his own. As 
 a small boy he had resented it numbly ; as a youth he had 
 realized that it had to be endured ; as a man he had tried 
 to glaze over its ugliness with a sheen of gold. But now 
 it was all behind him, the poverty and the ugliness. He 
 had worked hard and kept straight, and the fairy princess 
 had been his talisman against temptation an ideal that, 
 unlike most ideals, had eventually taken form. Now he 
 was going to have his reward this peaceful, fruitful, 
 beautiful land that must have been the Garden of Eden 
 and Desiree. The girl Eve fresh from her Maker 
 could not have been more lovely, more innocent, more 
 desirable, than the child he hoped to marry. 
 
 Thus Wilson's thoughts ran as he walked to the neigh- 
 boring hotel with Desiree on his arm. In spite of the 
 blissful realms in which he moved, he was all attention 
 for his companion, seeing that the little feet in their golden 
 shoes did not halt or stumble. 
 
 If people had stared at them in their own hotel, they 
 stared still more in the one Wilson entered. 
 
 During dinner, infatuated as he was, and accustomed 
 by now to the stares that always followed his companion, 
 Wilson could not help noticing that a man seated at the 
 far end of the big room stared more blatantly than any 
 of the others. He not only stared, but once or twice he 
 got up and looked at Desiree as if he could not credit 
 what he saw. 
 
 No wonder Bassino looked at the Countess de Mailly 
 and could not believe his eyes. 
 
 When he knew her she was in shabby, cheap garments, 
 in the back sitting-room of a third-rate New York lodg- 
 ing house; a trembling, shrinking girl who, in spite of 
 her poverty, refused to take the costly presents he would
 
 WILSON MEETS BASSINO 199 
 
 have poured on her ; a wistful, furtive shadow of a girl, 
 who had tried to escape from the room every time he 
 came, who had fainted when he kissed her. 
 
 Now she was attired like a princess, the best-dressed 
 woman in the room with a diamond necklace worth a 
 fortune round her neck, and on the chair beside her an 
 ermine cloak fit for a queen. And she was more beautiful 
 than ever, for happiness had given life and color to her 
 face. 
 
 As Bassino watched the couple with the sharp eyes of 
 jealousy, he knew it must be Desiree. There could not 
 be two girls so alike and yet similarly afflicted. And he 
 saw the man unobtrusively help and assist her in a variety 
 of little ways that he would not have done had she been 
 quite normal. 
 
 Noticing the gross, sensual-looking man's continual 
 scrutiny, Wilson moved himself slightly, so that his 
 broad figure came between Desiree and those covetous, 
 bloodshot eyes. Although she could not see the swarthy 
 foreigner, instinctively Wilson knew she would resent the 
 admiration of such a man. Then, intent on seeing to her 
 needs, he forgot all about the episode. 
 
 When dessert was over, and the coming of coffee and 
 liqueurs brought some of the diners to their feet, Bassino 
 bore down in the direction of his fiancee. 
 
 As Wilson sat trying to instruct Desiree in the art of 
 cigarette smoking, all at once a thick voice said with 
 savage jealousy and a strong American accent: 
 
 "What are you doing here alone with this man, 
 Desiree ?" 
 
 The voice brought a little cry of fear to her lips, and 
 the cigarette fell from her fingers. 
 
 Wilson looked round quickly.
 
 200 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Standing just beside him was the swarthy, bloated 
 man he had noticed earlier in the evening. Unexpected 
 as the situation was, he grasped it. 
 
 He was face to face with the ogre. This was the man 
 her uncle would force on her this gross, dissipated brute. 
 He became almost sick at the thought of those coarse, 
 sensual lips having rested on Desiree's. 
 
 "Anything you have to say, Mr. Bassino, kindly say 
 it to me," he put in quickly. 
 
 "You ! What the hell have you to do with it ?" Baasino 
 asked savagely. 
 
 "I'm looking after the Countess de Mailly at present," 
 Wilson answered quietly. 
 
 "Looking after the Countess de Mailly! It's my busi- 
 ness to look after her, not yours. S acre I Don't you 
 know the Countess is my fiancee?" 
 
 "I heard her uncle was trying to force her to marry 
 you." 
 
 "Force! Nonsense! A French girl has got to marry 
 the man her guardian chooses for her," Bassino replied, 
 with an air of holding himself in. 
 
 "In England we go by what the girl says," Wilaom an- 
 swered. 
 
 He paused, eyeing the child's frightened face tenderly. 
 
 "What do you say, Desiree? Do you want to arry 
 Mr. Bassino?" 
 
 "No, no !" she whispered, terror in her voice. 
 
 "There you are," Wilson said, "you're had your 
 answer." 
 
 Bassino's swarthy face turned purple. He saw the in- 
 nocence and beauty he coveted slipping from him. 
 
 "Desiree! You call her Desiree? My affianced wife! 
 I refuse to let her go. She must come with me at once."
 
 WILSON MEETS BASSINO 201 
 
 His voice, suddenly raised, brought the attention of 
 the people at the adjacent tables in their direction. 
 
 "Be quiet, can't you?" Wilson said with cold impa- 
 tience. "You've heard what the Countess has to say. 
 Go away, and don't make a row." 
 
 To be dismissed in this casual manner infuriated Bas- 
 sino still further. 
 
 "Do you know who I am? I'm a millionaire," he 
 shouted, as if that fact made him all-powerful. 
 
 When he liked, Wilson could be quietly offensive. Just 
 now he not only liked, but wanted to be; he loathed the 
 coarse brute who had dared to aspire to Desiree. 
 
 "Well, I daresay it's not so much your fault as the fault 
 of an easily gulled and misguided public," he said. 
 
 It was a moment or two before Bassino grasped all 
 that lay within Wilson's reply. When he did, he posi- 
 tively danced with rage. 
 
 "You darned thief!" he raved. "You dare insult me 
 as well as steal my girl." 
 
 He made as if to drag Desiree away there and then, but 
 with a quick upward jerk of his arms Wilson knocked 
 aside his hands. 
 
 "Be quiet," he said again, for by now the Brazilian's 
 noise had attracted the attention of the whole room. 
 "Whatever you have to say, come round and say it at 
 my hotel to-morrow, not here, in a public room, before 
 this lady." 
 
 To-morrow Desiree would be in a nursing home, and 
 Bassino could rave as much as he liked and she would 
 not be there to hear him. 
 
 "I shall have the girl," Bassino shouted, beside himself 
 with rage and passion. "I tell you she's mine. I paid her 
 guardian fifty thousand dollars for her."
 
 202 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Then Wilson got to his feet, suddenly savage at the 
 commotion Bassino was making, and the undesired at- 
 tention he was drawing to Desiree. 
 
 With clenched fist he turned on the Brazilian. 
 
 "If you don't shut up, I'll shove your yellow teeth 
 down your throat," he said. "Shouting your back-stair 
 slave-dealings for all the room to hear !" 
 
 "Hear! Hear!" several voices said, sotto voce, in 
 English. 
 
 "The Countess is going to marry whom she likes," 
 Wilson went on, "not any wealthy scum her uncle thinks 
 well to shove on her. I'm her guardian now. Do you 
 understand ?" 
 
 Before that clenched fist Bassino retreated, spluttering 
 and raging. "I shall go to her uncle. I refuse to give her 
 up," he screamed from a safe distance. 
 
 Wilson turned to Desiree, who sat white- faced and 
 trembling behind him. 
 
 He had a feeling that the Brazilian would follow them 
 round all the evening, cursing and raging, half-mad at 
 the thought of the girl he saw slipping from him. 
 
 "Desiree, I think we'd better go," he said. 
 
 At once she was on her feet. 
 
 Picking up her cloak and flowers, Wilson drew her 
 hand on to his arm, and started down the room, Bassino 
 following. But he did not follow far. The men who 
 had quietly applauded Wilson's action got up from their 
 tables and unobtrusively impeded the Brazilian's way. 
 Wilson and his charge were out of the door before 
 Bassino was half-way down the room, and when the latter 
 reached the door a little group of men had gathered there, 
 who ignored him when he asked to pass.
 
 WILSON MEETS BASSINO 203 
 
 Once safely out of the hotel, Desiree relaxed her clutch 
 on Wilson's arm. 
 
 "I'm so glad to get away from that man," she said with 
 relief. "I'm so afraid of him. However can I thank 
 you?" 
 
 "You can thank me best by not worrying any more 
 about him," Wilson replied. 
 
 Outside, all was peace and moonlight. The sea was a 
 heaving sheet of silver. The white light from above 
 crowned the palm trees as if with snow. The vague hills 
 and the bay were wrapped in a luminous veil of misty, 
 milky blue. High above, in the deep, dark vault of a 
 star-strewn sky, the moon soared, a mass of burning 
 silver. 
 
 "Shall we have a little walk ?" he asked. 
 
 "I should love to. It's so quiet and cool here by the 
 sea." 
 
 For some minutes the walk went on in silence, to the 
 music of molten waves that broke on pebbles which the 
 moon had turned into ingots of silver. 
 
 "What are you thinking about, Desiree?" he asked 
 presently. 
 
 Two little hands were on Wilson's sleeve instead of 
 one, clasping his arm with a gentle, clinging pressure, and 
 a small, thin face was turned on him, radiant with hope 
 and happiness. 
 
 "To-morrow it will be light," she said. 
 
 "Perhaps not quite to-morrow, my little girl. They're 
 sure to keep your eyes bandaged up for a week or two." 
 
 He paused, regarding her tenderly, wondering what 
 hopes and desires, what conception of things, lived in her 
 dark, untaught world.
 
 204 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "What's the first thing you'd like to see, Princess?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "You," she said, without hesitation. 
 
 "Why?" he asked gently. 
 
 " 'God said, let there be light, and there was Kght/ " 
 she whispered. 
 
 The answer left him silent. 
 
 For the first time he realized that she had never seen 
 him, a fact he had not paused to consider before. And 
 now the thought sent a cold chill through him. 
 
 What would she think of him when she saw him 
 when he was something more than "a vague shadow in 
 a thick mist" ? Those whispered words of hers suggested 
 some heroic figure. 
 
 Wilson knew he was not handsome. At that moment 
 the image he conjured up of himself was a libel. 
 
 When those beautiful eyes could see, they would see 
 him as he really was his ugly face, his clumsy figure, 
 his great, chipped hands. The mere sight of him might 
 sweep away all her liking. 
 
 What a hopeless blank life would be without those 
 little hands to touch him, without that small face turned 
 on him with trust and affection. 
 
 In the moonlight, with strained, hungry eyes, Wilson 
 watched his companion. 
 
 Then a great temptation suddenly beset him. 
 
 She was so easily deceived, so utterly helpless. 
 
 He could find an excuse for not taking her to the 
 specialist the next day. He could pretend he was going 
 to another. It would be easy work to bribe a man into 
 doing a mock operation. Then a few weeks of bandaged 
 eyes and afterwards still darkness. 
 
 As Wilson walked along with Desiree on one side of
 
 WILSON MEETS BASSINO 205 
 
 him, the devil walked on the other and whispered in his 
 ear, telling him of all ke might lose if he did the right 
 thing. 
 
 In the white moonlight, to the murmur of the silvered 
 sea, with his eyes fixed on the girl, Wilson fought against 
 temptation, desire, and fear fear that Desiree might 
 turn from him when she saw him. 
 
 If he kept her in darkness he could not stay in Nice for 
 fear his sins should find him out He would take her to 
 England, to his own town. In the best suburb there he 
 had a pleasant house, with an efficient staff of servants. 
 He would have a winter garden built for her that held all 
 the flowers of her own fragrant, sunny land, and when 
 the days were dull and wet she could wander in it. And 
 he would have a music room fitted up for her, and she 
 should have the best teachers, and every luxury and com- 
 fort that he could think of. 
 
 Every morning he would set off to business with her 
 kisses on his lips ; each lunch time she would come down 
 the front steps to meet him, in her timid hesitant way, 
 brought there by the hoot of his motor in the drive. And 
 again in the evening his helpless, cherished little wife, 
 who waited for his comings, who had no life outside of 
 him. 
 
 He would take her to dances and concerts. She would 
 have a real good time. And people would say: 
 
 ''There's John Wilson and his beautiful wife, the 
 French countess. She's blind." 
 
 But they would not add, "Poor child," for when she 
 was with him there would be happiness on her face. He 
 would see to that, even if he had to commit a dastardly 
 crime in order to keep her. 
 
 And there would be blissful evenings when they were
 
 206 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 quite alone together, when he read to her, and she played 
 to him. And he would carry her upstairs in his arms, 
 and each night hold her pressed close against his heart, 
 and each day work hard so that she could have everything 
 she wanted everything except the one great gift of sight, 
 and that he would deliberately hold back from her, lest 
 in giving it her love should be swept away from him. 
 The act of a coward and a scoundrel ! 
 
 If he kept her in darkness he would be as big a fiend 
 as her uncle worse even the vilest of brutes, caring for 
 nothing so long as he gained possession of her body.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 THE OPERATION 
 
 The next day was an anxious one for Wilson. At 
 eleven o'clock he drove Desiree round to the nursing 
 home. There he left her, knowing there would be very 
 little likelihood of seeing her before the following morn- 
 ing. 
 
 The operation was to take place that afternoon. 
 
 After lunch he fidgeted round the hotel vestibule, and 
 in and out of the great hall, staring aimlessly into the 
 little shop windows surrounding it, and in a fever of 
 anxiety awaited a telephone message from the specialist. 
 
 At about five o'clock one reached him, saying every- 
 thing was satisfactory. He asked when he might see the 
 patient, and was told that no visitors would be allowed 
 before the next afternoon. 
 
 At four the following day Wilson was at the nursing 
 home. He was shown into a big, dim room, where the 
 doctor greeted him, and a white-clad nurse hovered over 
 a bed in the darkest corner. 
 
 "The anaesthetic has tried our patient severely," the 
 doctor commented. "She's in a very poor state of health 
 almost as if she'd been half -starved and utterly neg- 
 lected all her life," he went on, looking at Wilson as if 
 hoping for some light on the matter. "But with care and 
 attention she'll soon be as healthy and strong as you could 
 expect a girl of her rather over-bred, nervous type to be." 
 
 207
 
 2o8 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 There was a note in the doctor's voice that suggested 
 he, himself, would have preferred some one more robust 
 and less blue-blooded. Wilson resented the tone. It 
 cast a slur on his princess. He felt like saying his own 
 blood was red enough and his own health robust enough 
 to satisfy anybody, and that, between them, he and 
 Desiree would about strike an average. But a soft little 
 voice said "Mon ami," with an eager note of welcome, and 
 then he had thoughts for nothing else. 
 
 Accustomed now to the gloom, Wilson crossed to the 
 bed. 
 
 Limp and white among a fluff of soft pillows Desiree 
 lay, her eyes bandaged, a long golden plait on either side 
 of her thin face, her hands lying weak as a baby's on the 
 coverlet. 
 
 All afternoon she had been waiting for his voice the 
 voice of the god who had invaded her darkness, dispelling 
 the terrors that beset her, bringing with him the gift of 
 light. 
 
 High-born and fastidious, she wanted no man's love, 
 no man's kisses, except those of the one she was pleased 
 to bow her head before and call "master." 
 
 She waited, submissive, hoping the god would kiss her, 
 as he had once done the tender, passionate caress that 
 thrilled and frightened her, yet left her wanting to feel 
 the pressure of his lips again. 
 
 But no kiss was given. 
 
 Instead, there was the light, careful touch of his finger 
 on her cheek and his kind voice said : 
 
 "Well, Desiree?" 
 
 She smiled at him shyly. Then she took the hand that 
 caressed her and pressed it on her heart, since he had
 
 THE OPERATION 209 
 
 said she must not kiss it, holding it there with her own 
 two hands. 
 
 Wilson did not stop her. He kept on looking down at 
 her, feeling the throb of her heart beneath his hand the 
 heart of his abject slave, had he but known it, overflowing 
 with gratitude, tender, passionate, and true. 
 
 He was thinking of the time, two or three weeks hence, 
 when those bandaged eyes would rest on him full of 
 sight, when he would be something more than a shadow. 
 
 Then his imagination got to work again, as it used to 
 in years gone by, when he was a small, shabby boy and 
 he and the princess were all in all to one another. 
 
 If only the fairy tale would come true! If only she 
 would stoop to love him, once she had seen him! Then 
 one day he might come to her as she lay weak and white 
 in bed. There would be no bandage on her eyes then. It 
 would not be his hand she nursed on her breast, but a 
 tiny morsel of humanity, with a fluffy head their first- 
 born and she would say : 
 
 "Oh, look, John !" in a weak, excited voice, full of sur- 
 prise and delight at the miracle they had accomplished 
 between them. 
 
 Strong man as he was, the thought set him trembling. 
 In an anxious, longing manner he watched her the girl 
 he loved, who had never seen him. 
 
 As Wilson stood there worrying about his personal 
 appearance, and lack of breeding, looking at the two 
 little hands that held one of his pressed against a soft, 
 warm breast, it did not strike him to consider that if 
 Desiree had had eyes to see with when they first met, he 
 might have had no chance at all. Had she even deigned 
 to look in his direction, in all probability she would hare 
 seen only a short, thickset, commonplace man who was
 
 210 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 wildly infatuated with herself, who put himself in her 
 way on every possible occasion, and whose attentions she 
 would have resented. She might never have known the 
 real John Wilson, the honest, upright, just, and kindly 
 man that lived beneath the plain exterior.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 MACHINATIONS 
 
 That evening, when Wilson went into the dining-room 
 of his hotel, among the people assembled there he saw 
 Eugene de Gilbert. Wondering what the latter wanted, 
 Wilson watched him. He had no fears on Desiree's ac- 
 count. Where she was concerned he had taken every 
 precaution. At the nursing home he had given instruc- 
 tions that no one, no matter what relationship he might 
 claim to the patient, was to be admitted to see her. Wolf 
 now lived at the home, sleeping every night in Desiree's 
 room, and day and night Wilson paid private detectives 
 to watch the place, so that there was no fear of her being 
 kidnaped, for he had a feeling that the Gilberts would 
 not rest until they had either the girl or the necklace. 
 And as Desiree was what Wilson set most store on, he 
 thought more about her safety than about that of her 
 heirloom. 
 
 After dinner, as he sat in the big hall, he noticed 
 Eugene was still in the hotel. However, the latter made 
 no attempt to speak, ignoring Wilson as completely as 
 though he had never met him. 
 
 The previous day Wilson had had a further round with 
 Bassino, who had come to the hotel hot on Desiree's trail, 
 only to find her gone. Wilson had threatened to horse- 
 whip him if he dared as much as speak to her again, and 
 Bassino had retired, but whether for good it was as yet 
 impossible to say. 
 
 211
 
 212 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 At first Wilson connected Eugene's presence with the 
 Brazilian, deeming him some emissary from the latter. 
 But as the evening passed without Eugene addressing 
 him, Wilson put the idea out of his head. 
 
 But if Eugene de Gilbert did not claim Wilson's ac- 
 quaintance in any way, he kept a sharp eye on his doings, 
 especially in the dining-room, and particularly on the 
 bottle of wine he drank. 
 
 Generally speaking, W'ilson had a small bottle of Bur- 
 gundy with his lunch and another with his dinner. This 
 methodical little habit of his Eugene silently cursed. He 
 wished Wilson would leave half his luncheon wine to be 
 carried over to dinner. He had an excellent reason for 
 wishing this. 
 
 Before Eugene had been twenty-four hours in the hotel 
 he had discovered where Wilson's room was, and he had 
 learned that the Englishman always slept with his door 
 locked. 
 
 For a week Eugene lived at the big hotel, spending 
 money he could ill afford, at each lunch watching Wilson 
 as a hungry spider watches a fly hovering just beyond 
 its web. 
 
 Assured of Desiree's safety, Wilson did not trouble 
 himself much about Eugene. The way he had out- 
 maneuvered the Gilberts, perhaps, had left him a trifle 
 swollen-headed where they were concerned. 
 
 Haunted by the thought of what might happen wben 
 Desiree saw him, Wilson was at the nursing home as 
 often as he was allowed there. Every afternoon was 
 spent with the girl, reading and talking to her ; a Desiree 
 no longer in bed, but sitting up with bandaged eyes. He 
 brought her every sort of expensive fruit and flower, 
 trying to bind her closer to him before the bandages were
 
 MACHINATIONS 213 
 
 removed. He gave her everything he could think of in 
 the way of costly little trifles everything except the one 
 thing she wanted, the pressure of his lips on hers. 
 
 Eugene de Gilbert had been eight days in the hotel 
 before the opportunity he was waiting for arrived. 
 
 Then one day at lunch Wilson drank only half his wine. 
 When the meal was over, in an abstracted manner he 
 corked up the bottle. In the ordinary course of events 
 it would appear at dinner. 
 
 Eugene watched his doings with covert eagerness. 
 After Wilson had left the dining-room Eugene sat with 
 his eyes on the half-empty bottle, as if all his hopes were 
 centered on it. 
 
 When all the other guests had gone he still lingered 
 at his table, with coffee and liqueur at his elbow, smoking 
 a cigarette as with pencil and paper he appeared to be 
 working out some system for breaking the bank at Monte 
 Carlo, an occupation the waiters understood and re- 
 spected. One by one they vanished also, until the only 
 people in the big room were Eugene and the waiter who 
 attended to his table. 
 
 Then he looked up suddenly from his engrossing 
 occupation. 
 
 "Hello," he said, addressing the waiter, "am I the last ? 
 Don't wait if you want your lunch," he went on casually. 
 "I shan't want anything else except peace and quiet to 
 work out my system." 
 
 The man turned away. Eugene waited until he was 
 safely out of the room, then he got up and went over 
 to Wilson's table. 
 
 Quickly he uncorked the bottle, dropped a few tablets 
 into the wine, and corked it up again. Then, drinking off 
 his coffee and liqueur, he strolled leisurely from the room.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE THEFT 
 
 That night the Count de Gilbert dined with his son. 
 He ate very little of the elaborate dinner spread before 
 him. Every now and again he glanced surreptitiously 
 in Wilson's direction, anxiety on his face when the other 
 first tasted his wine, relief when he saw the bottle empty. 
 
 When the meal was over they both followed Wilson 
 into the hall, and sat watching him stealthily. 
 
 The drug was not one that worked quickly. It took 
 hold of its victim slowly, insidiously. As the evening 
 wore on, Wilson was conscious of feeling drowsy, but 
 he paid no heed to the matter. Since Desiree had come 
 into his life he had had quite a few sleepless nights, 
 especially latterly, and had he given any thought to the 
 matter he would have put down his drowsiness to lack 
 of sleep. But he was thinking that in a week's time 
 Desiree's eyes would be uncovered, and in the dim light 
 of a shaded room he would have to meet her face to face. 
 If she shrank from him, then all joy and sweetness would 
 vanish from his life. He tried not to let his mind dwell 
 on the matter, but to think instead of the warm welcome 
 that was always his lot; of the fact that his gifts were 
 never refused, but always thanked for in a soft, grateful 
 voice. 
 
 Perhaps an hour earlier than usual Wilson made his 
 way to the lift, stifling a yawn as he went, unaware of 
 the two pairs of eyes that were watching him so intently. 
 
 214
 
 THE THEFT 215 
 
 Once in the privacy of his own bedroom, he yawned 
 more freely. But, sleepy and tired as he was feeling, he 
 did not forget to slip "The Necklace of Tears" under his 
 pillow. Nor did he forget to press his lips to the ragged 
 remains of a carnation which he carried in his pocket- 
 book, the flower Desiree had given him that first morning 
 in the ruined castle. 
 
 Then he got into bed and switched off the light, not 
 to toss on the necklace until the small hours of the morn- 
 ing, as he usually did, but to fall sound asleep almost 
 immediately. 
 
 Down in the hall the Gilberts waited. 
 
 Once Wilson had left the place a strained expression 
 crept through the usually debonair look on both their 
 faces. 
 
 Espying Eugene, Mrs. Green bore down on him. He 
 was not in a flirtatious mood that evening, but he remem- 
 bered his pose sufficiently to say: 
 
 "Have you had the luck to hear anything of your 
 bracelet?" 
 
 The question made his father fidget. 
 
 Finding them both distrait and self-absorbed, Mrs. 
 Green went off in search of more amusing companions, 
 thinking to herself that Eugene de Gilbert was very "off 
 song" that evening. She had accosted him several times 
 during his stay in the hotel; although he never openly 
 avoided her, he dodged her as much as possible. Once 
 or twice she had mentioned the Countess de Mailly, the 
 beautiful and charming girl of whom she had had charge 
 for a couple of days. She told him about the successful 
 operation. And she wondered how the girl came to be 
 stranded there, and how John Wilson had come to have 
 charge of her.
 
 216 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Eugene listened to all she had to say, but he never 
 claimed any relationship to Desiree. 
 
 But of the two things in Wilson's possession, he had 
 quickly come to see it would be much easier to get hold 
 of the necklace than the girl. 
 
 About an hour after Wilson had retired Eugene looked 
 at his father. 
 
 "I think we might set to work now," he said, rising. 
 
 The Count said nothing at all. He rose also, and in 
 his son's wake made towards the lift. But his steps 
 dragged ; he walked in a feeble, decrepit manner, as if he 
 suddenly had grown old. 
 
 Taking the lift, they gave the number of Eugene's 
 room. Once there, as soon as the lift had descended, they 
 made their way towards the staircase, down a couple of 
 flights, and on to the floor where Wilson's quarters were 
 situated. 
 
 The bedroom door was of the automatic-locking kind, 
 which is unlocked on entering, and which locks itself on 
 being closed, to be opened again without any trouble by 
 a handle on the inside. 
 
 When they reached Wilson's room, Eugene produced 
 a bunch of skeleton keys. Whilst his father kept watch, 
 he stealthily tried one after the other in the lock. The 
 corridor was deserted. It was the hour when the "early- 
 to-beds" had already retired, and the night birds had not 
 yet thought of going to their rooms. Should anyone 
 have questioned their actions, the two confederates could 
 have said they were knocking at a friend's door. 
 
 Within a few minutes Eugene had found a key to fit ; 
 then they both slipped into the room, closing the door 
 quietly behind them. 
 
 Once inside, they switched on the light, gave a sharp
 
 THE THEFT 217 
 
 glance at Wilson sleeping the heavy sleep of the drugged, 
 and then quietly set about their investigations. 
 
 They were not long in finding the necklace. 
 
 Understanding the nature of the man with whom he 
 was dealing, Eugene had a good idea where to look for 
 any possession of Desiree's that was in Wilson's keeping. 
 
 "We'll look under his pillow first," he whispered, 
 making straight for the bed. 
 
 With a stealthy hand he felt under Wilson's dark head, 
 and drew out a little washleather bag. Opening it, he 
 slipped the necklace into his hand. It lay there, a pool 
 of light, winking maliciously at the covetous eyes that 
 were glued on it. 
 
 With a sigh of relief Eugene slipped it into his pocket, 
 and threw the washleather bag on the floor. 
 
 Then he leant over the bed and addressed the drugged 
 man. 
 
 "You're welcome to Desiree, Mr. Wilson, now we have 
 the necklace. But she won't like you so well when she 
 has eyes to see with. She is fastidious, my little cousin. 
 You'll lose all round on this deal, my friend." 
 
 So saying, he turned from the bed. 
 
 Switching off the electric light, they opened the door 
 an inch or so, and stood listening. Then, satisfied there 
 was no one about, they slipped out.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE ESCAPE 
 
 The Gilberts had their plans cut and dried. Should 
 the necklace fall into their hands, they had made all 
 arrangements for getting off with it. They had hired a 
 motor-boat. Once they had their booty their one idea 
 was to get away as quickly as possible, and with the least 
 fuss. They had arranged to go to Marseilles by water, 
 to catch a liner to America, and dispose of the necklace 
 there. 
 
 Because of Desiree they knew Wilson would not make 
 any hue and cry, lest her connection with "The Triple 
 Alliance" should come to light. For various reasons the 
 duel had been a silent one, and whoever lost had to take 
 his beating in silence. 
 
 To get out of the hotel to the spot where their craft 
 was anchored was only a matter of minutes. Not much 
 more than a quarter of an hour after the robbery the 
 throb of their engine was stirring the echoes of the 
 muffled bay. 
 
 Both men were expert drivers. Once aboard, Eugene 
 took the wheel. His eyes were the younger and sharper. 
 He had arranged to drive until daylight, when his father 
 would relieve him. 
 
 They had no sooner started than the old Count said in 
 a thin, quavering voice: 
 
 "The necklace, Eugene. Let me see it again," 
 
 218
 
 THE ESCAPE 219 
 
 Intent on escape, it had not been out of the younger 
 man's pocket since leaving Wilson's bedroom, and he was 
 as anxious as his father to see the fruit of their schemings. 
 
 He drew it out, scanning it in the Jjaint starlight, and 
 it flashed and wriggled like a snake of fire in the blue 
 night. 
 
 "With care, mon pere, it should last us for the rest of 
 our lives. But we must avoid Monte Carlo, or it may 
 melt as quickly as Bassino's fifty thousand dollars did." 
 
 Then he handed it to his father. 
 
 The old man took it, holding it in crooked miser claws. 
 
 "It's more than thirty years since I've had it in my 
 hands, Eugene. Thirty years. And all that time it has 
 been glittering before me." 
 
 "Well, it won't be in our hands much more than thirty 
 days, I hope." 
 
 "You will sell it?" the old Count cried, a stifled note 
 of anguish in his voice. 
 
 "What else have we got it for?" Eugene enquired. 
 
 His father cast a quick glance at him, full of hatred 
 and malice. And now that he had the necklace in his 
 hands, he crooned over it like a man over his best beloved. 
 
 "Oh, you beauty! You beauty!" he said again and 
 again. 
 
 And in the thick night the diamonds flashed like some 
 evil light hovering over the boat. 
 
 "You'd better put the thing into your pocket and get 
 some sleep," Eugene remarked presently. 
 
 With a stealthy, furtive glance at his son, the old Count 
 curled himself up in the bottom of the boat. But he did 
 not go to sleep. He lay with the necklace in the crook 
 of his arm, touching it and stroking it tenderly with
 
 220 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 skinny old fingers, as if it were some live thing that he 
 loved. 
 
 Eugene paid no heed to him. All his attention was 
 needed for guiding the little craft through the muffled, 
 misty blueness of Mediterranean night. He pressed the 
 boat forward, his mind not dwelling on the beauty and 
 perfection of the necklace but on all he would do with 
 the money it would realize. 
 
 The night wore on, a night of blueness and stealthy 
 lapping, with a blaze of white stars overhead, and tiny 
 yellow dots winking on the distant coast-line. And the 
 throb of the engine drowned the old Count's voice croon- 
 ing to his treasure. 
 
 The hours passed one by one ; then into the soft indigo 
 of the night there came a faint pink tinge that rapidly 
 grew red, as the rosy lips of morning yawned over a 
 sleepy earth. The indigo grew less dense. The stars lost 
 their light. The dark veil lifted rapidly, becoming instead 
 a wreathing, pearly mist. Great shafts of orange, car- 
 mine, and glowing green shot suddenly across the sky, 
 turning the gray mist into a rainbow. Then over the rim 
 of the world the sun rose, an arc of gold. 
 , Eugene greeted it with a wide yawn. Stretching out 
 his foot, he touched his father. 
 
 "Come, mon cher, it's your turn," he said. 
 
 "Eugene," an old voice whined, "you won't sell her, 
 will you? She's such a beauty." 
 
 Eugene laughed. 
 
 "Why, you're as bad as the old Count de Mailly, living 
 on bread and radishes and keeping a fortune to look at. 
 No, mon pcre, as a diet, bread and radishes don't appeal 
 to me." 
 
 The elder Gilbert cast a stealthy, malignant glance at
 
 THE ESCAPE 221 
 
 his son. However, he made no comment. Putting the 
 necklace into his pocket, he got to his feet to take his 
 turn at the wheel. 
 
 When his father was settled, Eugene stretched himself 
 along the bottom of the boat, and very soon was sound 
 asleep. 
 
 Once assured his son was sleeping, the old Count drew 
 out his treasure and laid it on the seat before him. He 
 smiled at it fondly, and then glanced at the recumbent 
 form of his son. 
 
 "He says he will sell you, my beauty," he whispered. 
 "But will he ? It's not like selling Desiree ; she was only 
 a girl. Only wait. I'll save you. We shall not be 
 parted, we who have loved so truly for so long. Thirty 
 years since we first met. For thirty years I've lived with 
 your image before me. How I've planned and schemed 
 to possess you ! What if one girl's eyes were kept dark 
 for the sake of the light in yours. And now he would 
 sell you, the fiend !" 
 
 With skinny fingers he caressed the necklace again. 
 
 "But I shan't let him, my beauty. Trust me. I'll save 
 you." 
 
 Letting go the steering-wheel, he rubbed his hands 
 together in an ecstacy of mad triumph and cunning. 
 
 Then he leant forward and opened a valve in the 
 bottom of the boat. 
 
 Eugene was sleeping as soundly as if he were drugged, 
 worn out with his night at the wheel and the tension 
 of the evening. 
 
 As he slept he dreamt he was in a bath, the water 
 creeping gradually upwards and upwards until it was in 
 his mouth.
 
 222 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 He awoke, choking and spluttering, to find himself 
 lying in a boat half full of water a boat that was gradu- 
 ally settling down with the soft stealthy movement of a 
 craft about to sink. 
 
 He sat up quickly. 
 
 Opposite, a horrible old figure crouched, its mouth 
 dribbling, its eyes blazing with madness, its claw-like 
 hands holding "The Necklace of Tears," crooning over it, 
 crying, and kissing it. 
 
 In a moment Eugene was on his feet, with a suddenness 
 that made the boat sway ominously. He had grasped the 
 situation. Delight at having the necklace he had schemed 
 for and coveted so many years had turned his father's 
 brain. The madman had opened the valve at the bottom 
 of the boat; the craft was sinking rapidly, and the coast 
 ten miles away. 
 
 With a quick movement Eugene made towards the 
 valve, to try to close it. Guessing his intention, his father 
 fell on him, wrestling with the strength of madness to 
 keep him away from his purpose. 
 
 "You shan't do it," he screamed. "I'll drown you 
 rather than let you sell her." 
 
 In the struggle Eugene got the necklace, but he did not 
 reach the valve. Under the weight of water and their 
 wrestling the boat suddenly, softly subsided. 
 
 For a few moments nothing showed on the misty, milky 
 blueness of the sea except a few bubbles. 
 
 Then the two men came to the surface fighting like cats. 
 
 With an effort the younger pushed off his opponent, 
 and started swimming towards the distant coast, holding 
 the necklace in one hand. 
 
 With a slower movement his father followed. 
 
 "Give her back to me, Eugene. Give her back to me,"
 
 THE ESCAPE 223 
 
 he screamed again and again, in a voice that as the 
 minutes passed grew fainter and fainter. 
 
 But farther and farther ahead, like an evil, laughing 
 thing on the surface of the water, the necklace flashed and 
 glittered. 
 
 There was a last faint, imploring cry, a gasp, and a 
 gurgle, and the Count de Gilbert sank to rise no more. 
 A ray of sunshine caught the necklace, and it winked 
 more gayly, more wickedly than ever. To the end it had 
 eluded the man who loved it more than anything else on 
 this earth, who had been false to his trust, and who had 
 done worse than murder in a vain endeavor to possess it. 
 
 Heedless of his father's death, Eugene swam on, 
 towards a coast that seemed to get ever more distant. 
 
 At the end of two hours he clutched the necklace as a 
 drowning man clutches a straw. 
 
 Then he sank, to come to the surface again, and sink 
 again, to appear and disappear, and finally to appear no 
 more. 
 
 In death his hands relaxed. Like a streak of evil light 
 the necklace sank, gliding swiftly to its last home in the 
 depths of the sea, twinkling maliciously as it went. 
 
 From Eugene, too, it had taken what he loved the best 
 his wicked, worthless life.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 REALIZATION 
 
 The next morning Wilson awoke feeling very heavy 
 about the head. Yawning, he sat up. Then his yawn 
 stopped half way, and he stayed with his gaze fixed on 
 something near the bed. 
 
 Lying on the floor, limp and empty-looking, was the 
 washleather bag in which he always carried Desiree's 
 heritage ! 
 
 He knew he had put it under his pillow. The sight of 
 it lying there on the floor sent a chill through him. He 
 remembered his unusual drowsiness of the evening before, 
 and the fact that he had slept through the night without 
 once waking, a thing he had not done since Desiree had 
 come into his life. 
 
 Quickly he felt under his pillow. 
 
 The necklace was gone! 
 
 He was out of bed in a moment and picking up the 
 washleather bag. It was empty, as its flat, limp appear- 
 ance said it would be. In a frenzy he snatched up the 
 pillows, looking in and under them. Then he felt in the 
 pockets of his dress suit which lay on a near-by chair. 
 
 His investigations all told the same story a story he 
 had known and tried not to believe the moment his eyes 
 had alighted on the little bag. 
 
 "The Necklace of Tears" had gone ! 
 
 For some moments he was stupefied by the discovery. 
 
 224
 
 REALIZATION 225 
 
 He knew very well who had stolen it. The Gilberts. 
 He knew now why Eugene had been hanging around 
 the hotel for the last week or more. He realized, too, 
 that he had been drugged. How they had managed that 
 he did not know. He did not think about the matter at 
 all. He only knew Desiree's heritage had gone, had been 
 stolen from him, the necklace she had placed in his hands 
 with such perfect faith and trust. 
 
 He sat down heavily on the bed and tried to think about 
 the matter rationally. And the more he thought about it 
 the more he realized that he would have to take his 
 beating in silence. 
 
 Assuming he found the Gilberts, he could not openly 
 accuse them of stealing the necklace. As Desiree's 
 guardian the Count had a right to have charge of it. He 
 could not explain why he wanted it back without de- 
 nouncing them, without dragging in "The Triple Alli- 
 ance" and smirching the girl's good name. 
 
 He was tied hand and foot. Moreover, by now the 
 Gilberts would be far enough away. It would be useless 
 to ask Desiree to let him prosecute her guardian. In- 
 stinctively he knew she would rather lose her fortune 
 than risk dishonoring her name. 
 
 Two hundred thousand pounds! That was what the 
 accursed thing was worth 200,000, that he with his 
 cocksure ways had allowed to be stolen; 200,000, that 
 Desiree had put into his hands with the faith of a little 
 child. 
 
 As Wilson sat on his bed trying to grapple with the 
 problem that beset him the devil came and whispered 
 in his ear again. 
 
 She was such a child, so easily deceived, that little girl
 
 226 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 who had had no eyes with which to see. He would only 
 have to go to her and say: 
 
 "Desiree, I've sold your necklace. It fetched 20,000," 
 and she would believe him. 
 
 But he refused to listen to the voice of the tempter. 
 
 He had sacrificed her once on the altar of his own 
 stupidity; he was not going to do it again. 
 
 There was only one thing to do he must pay back 
 every penny of that sacred trust, a crushing debt of honor 
 that would ruin him. When he had paid that off, con- 
 sidering the orgy of extravagance he had been indulging 
 in lately, he would not have ^500 left in the world. 
 
 John Wilson was unnerved. 
 
 The wonderful pile of gold for which he had worked 
 so hard and so honestly, the only thing about him that 
 he considered put him on a level with the Countess de 
 Mailly, would be swept away. Without it he dared not 
 aspire to her. 
 
 His head fell on his hands. 
 
 Why had he put a finger on that accursed necklace? 
 Why had he ever touched the damned thing? Why must 
 he go and meddle in matters that did not concern him? 
 Why had he asked Desiree to let him have charge of it ? 
 The Gilberts would have stolen it from her, but that 
 would have been no concern of his. 
 
 Wilson's world was very dark just then. The necklace 
 was indeed a "Necklace of Tears" for him, for it seemed 
 to have taken from him what he loved best Desiree, 
 Countess de Mailly.
 
 DESPAIR 
 
 That day when Mrs. Green came in for lunch she 
 found Wilson in the vestibule, with an air about him as 
 if he might be waiting for her. 
 
 "Hello!" she said, before he had time to speak. 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "Nothing. Why?" 
 
 "You look a bit hipped." 
 
 He looked more than a "bit hipped." He looked posi- 
 tively haggard. 
 
 "I've got to go back to England unexpectedly on busi- 
 ness," he replied. 
 
 Mrs. Green wagged a finger at him. 
 
 "So that's it, is it?" she remarked. "And you don't 
 like having to leave the Countess Desiree?" 
 
 "I don't," Wilson said truthfully. "And I may not be 
 able to get back again for a month or two," he went on. 
 "I know you're at a loose end until the beginning of May, 
 so I'm going to ask you a favor." 
 
 "Ask away," Mrs. Green said with encouragement. 
 
 "The Countess will be out and about in another week. 
 I want someone I can trust to look after her, to take her 
 round a bit, and let her see what the world's made of, 
 to keep a foreign bounder called Bassino off her track 
 if he comes round pestering her, to be her guardian and 
 honorary dame de compagnie until she has found her feet 
 
 227
 
 228 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 You'd have a good time going round with her, Mrs. 
 Green. She's in the best set, and has 10,000 a year now 
 she's of age." 
 
 To go about with a countess was Mrs. Green's idea of 
 heaven, more especially as the countess was a young girl 
 she could mother. 
 
 *It's just the sort of job I'm looking for," she said. 
 
 She knew now how the two had met, and she assumed 
 that, seeing the girl was utterly neglected, left entirely to 
 the mercy of ignorant servants, Wilson had taken upon 
 himself to look after her and her affairs. 
 
 Again Mrs. Green glanced at Wilson, noting anew his 
 worn and haggard appearance, the misery that lurked in 
 his steady brown eyes. 
 
 All at once it dawned on her to wonder if "business" 
 were only an excuse; if he had proposed to the girl and 
 had been rejected, and was now taking himself off. He 
 certainly looked as if he had received his death-sentence. 
 A question hovered on her lips. Then she deemed it more 
 diplomatic to say nothing. 
 
 After leaving Mrs. Green, Wilson went to the bureau 
 to say he would be leaving that evening. There he found 
 the manager in the act of hanging up the telephone 
 receiver. 
 
 "Here's a bit of a tragedy," the latter remarked. 
 
 Wilson had no thought except for his own that hence- 
 forth Desiree was so far above him that she could not 
 be grasped at. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked absently. 
 
 "Did you ever meet a Eugene de Gilbert who has been 
 staying here for the last week? He and his father, the 
 Count de Gilbert, were frequently in the place, and knew 
 all the best people here. They've both been drowned.
 
 DESPAIR 229 
 
 I've just had a through telephone message. Their bodies 
 were washed ashore somewhere near Toulon." 
 
 A thrill of hope coursed through Wilson. 
 
 "That's a bit of hard luck," he said, turning away 
 quickly. 
 
 Forgetful of his lunch, he left the hotel, in quest of 
 the interpreter he had employed on a former occasion. 
 Having found his man, with him he went to the police 
 station. 
 
 There he spent money he could now ill afford in trying 
 to discover if "The Necklace of Tears" had been found 
 on either of the bodies. 
 
 His enquiries proved that nothing of the sort had been 
 heard of, and that it could not have been stolen had it 
 been there, since the corpses had been found by a con- 
 tingent of sailors from one of the cruisers lying in the 
 bay. 
 
 He came away from the police station with the cold 
 comfort of knowing that at least the Gilberts would 
 trouble Desiree no more.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE SACRIFICE 
 
 In one of the rooms of the nursing home Desiree sat 
 knitting, and as she knitted she was brooding over the 
 fact that a week hence she would see her friend for the 
 first time. She had but a vague idea what he was like, 
 but, from the first, instinct had told her he was quite 
 different from the other men who had played prominent 
 parts in her life her uncle and cousin and the million- 
 aire, Bassino. 
 
 She knew Wilson was not what she had been brought 
 up to look upon as a "gentleman." He had told her so 
 himself on the occasion of their first meeting, and after- 
 wards her cousin had not forgotten to impress the fact 
 upon her. 
 
 To dance with her friend was not like dancing with 
 Mr. Bassino ; in the latter case it was like being pressed 
 tightly against a foul, hot, dirty cushion, and it left her 
 sick and suffocated, full of vague, horrible fears. But 
 with her friend it was quite different ; then there was only 
 hardness and strength, a nice clean sensation, and a feel- 
 ing that no matter how close he held her, it would be all 
 right. She never wanted to struggle and get away from 
 him, as she did when she had had to dance with her 
 cousin and Mr. Bassino. 
 
 She knew Wilson was not tall, because when they 
 danced together his voice was about on a level with her 
 
 230
 
 THE SACRIFICE 231 
 
 ear, not above her head, as Eugene's was. She knew he 
 was broad because on his shoulder she had once found 
 a refuge from her troubles. She knew his hands were 
 large and hard and inclined to be rough-skinned, but they 
 were always kind. 
 
 He was sitting with her now, somewhere in the dark- 
 ness. She could feel his presence, although he was not 
 in a very talkative mood that afternoon. She knitted 
 away industriously, wondering why he was so unusually 
 quiet, feeling too lowly and meek to speak unless spoken 
 to. One does not converse freely with people who can 
 perform miracles. 
 
 "Desiree," his voice said presently, a strained note in it, 
 "I can't have you going about thinking yourself a pauper. 
 I've taken the law into my own hands. I've sold your 
 necklace. It fetched 200,000, and I'm going to invest 
 the money for you in good sound English securities." 
 
 Wilson expected a flood of reproaches for having dared 
 to part with her heirloom without permission. 
 
 However, no reproaches came. 
 
 All Desiree thought was that the necklace had gone, 
 and now no harm would fall on her cherished friend. 
 
 "Then I shall be able to buy Mrs. Green another 
 bracelet," she remarked, as if 200,000 were no more 
 than that amount of pence. 
 
 But she did not add "and pay you back." 
 
 She did not want to pay him back. She loved his gifts 
 not because of their value she had no idea of that but 
 merely because he had given them. 
 
 "You'll be a rich woman. You'll have at least 10,000 
 a year." 
 
 "Ten thousand pounds a year! Then I shall have as
 
 232 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 much money as you," she exclaimed, with a child's delight 
 at equaling a loved friend in some way. 
 
 Her words made him wince. 
 
 He was a proud man, too proud to ask a woman to 
 marry him when he coukl not support her, too humble 
 to imagine that he might aspire to Desiree now his 
 fortune had gone. 
 
 He lapsed into silence again. She went on knitting, 
 yet as she knitted she felt the tension on the man. 
 
 "What is it, mon ami?" she asked presently, an anxious 
 note in her voice. "I feel that something is worrying 
 you." 
 
 Something was worrying him. He sat in agony, feast- 
 ing his eyes on the girl all the beauty and the innocence 
 and the gentle sweetness he wanted; for which he had 
 worked hard and kept straight, for the sake of an ideal 
 which he had once thought would never take form, which 
 had taken form, and which he had lost through his own 
 stupidity and folly. 
 
 "I have to go to England unexpectedly on business/' 
 he said in as casual a voice as he could muster. "I must 
 start to-night, but I'm leaving Mrs. Green to take care 
 of you until I come back." 
 
 He had no intention of coming back, of letting Desiree 
 see him as he really was, and a pauper into the bargain. 
 But he was not going to tell her so. She liked him, as 
 a neglected, loveless child would like anyone who hap- 
 pened to be kind to it To think she was losing him 
 would make her fret. But when her bandages were 
 removed, in the new world revealed to her and the new 
 friends she made in it, his memory would soon grow less 
 vivid.
 
 THE SACRIFICE 233 
 
 "Shall you be away for very long ?" she asked, a sharp 
 note of anxiety in her voice. 
 
 "You'll be able to see when I come back," he said, 
 avoiding her question. 
 
 Desiree imagined his absence would be a matter of 
 only a week or two, and a look of relief passed over her 
 face. 
 
 Wilson saw his deception had succeeded. 
 
 He tried to keep up the farce, to put aside his own loss 
 and troubles, to talk to the girl in his usual brotherly 
 manner. But before long he found himself just sitting 
 in silence, looking at her. 
 
 It was the last time he would be with her. To-night 
 he would pass out of her life for ever. He was no longer 
 John Wilson, Esquire, a successful business man, so 
 pleased with himself and his success that he had dared 
 to aspire to the Countess de Mailly. He was John Wil- 
 son, a bankrupt and a fool, yet not fool enough to ask 
 for things that were beyond him. 
 
 Presently Desiree put down her work and came to his 
 side, hovering round him, touching him gently, as her 
 phantom used to when he was a small boy and unhappy. 
 
 "I feel that something is the matter," she said. "Is 
 there nothing I can do?" 
 
 "It's only business worries, little girl," he answered, 
 watching her with tortured eyes. 
 
 Tea came a silent meal. He looked after the girl's 
 wants, but he forgot his own. 
 
 Soon after the meal was over he rose to go. Desiree- 
 got up also. 
 
 He took her hands, holding them for the last time. 
 
 "Good-by, my little girl," he said hoarsely.
 
 234 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 She raised her face, with a timid, hopeful movement. 
 But it was her hands that Wilson kissed, not her lips. 
 
 Then she heard the door close behind him. 
 
 Beneath the bandages Desiree's tears started oozing. 
 He had gone for one long week, perhaps two, without 
 giving her the one gift she wanted. 
 
 To Wilson, making his way out of the house, it seemed 
 the fairy tale was ended. The dragons were slain, the 
 ogre disposed of, but the princess would fall to the lot 
 of another. All he had got out of the deal was poverty, 
 and the ragged remains of a carnation.
 
 PART THREE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE ICE MAIDEN 
 
 At a large house in the center of Paris a garden party 
 was taking place. Behind the mansion was a grassy 
 stretch, so quiet and peaceful that it might have been 
 miles away in the country. High walls surrounded it. 
 To heighten them still further and keep out prying eyes 
 was ivy-grown trellis. Great sycamores screened the 
 gray of the adjacent dwellings. In the midst of the 
 garden a fountain splashed into a sunken basin dotted 
 with water lilies, where goldfish swam. A bright border 
 of flowers flared out against the dingy walls; quaint 
 statues stood at the corners of the graveled paths, and 
 here and there were wide stone seats. 
 
 The mansion stood remote and aloof from its plebeian 
 neighbors, with shallow stone steps leading down into the 
 screened pleasance. Dotted about the grass were tables 
 on which silver and china flashed in the mild gold of an 
 early June sun, and gilded chairs. 
 
 On one of the stone seats a girl sat, a young man 
 beside her. He had eyes for nothing but his companion, 
 but her gaze was fixed on a mass of blue lobelia that 
 edged the border. 
 
 Time passed, and she said nothing, in spite of his 
 impassioned stare. 
 
 235
 
 236 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Your eyes are as blue as that lobelia, Countess," he 
 remarked presently. "But why don't you turn them on 
 me, instead of wasting their beauty on those unapprecia- 
 tive, common little flowers?" 
 
 Her attention came to him with the grave, critical 
 gaze of a thoughtful child. 
 
 "Once I had not eyes with which to see flowers," she 
 answered. 
 
 "And now you have eyes that drive men mad," he said 
 hoarsely. "Countess Desiree " he began. 
 
 She got up quickly, with a slightly disdainful air, as if 
 she knew what was coming. 
 
 "No, don't go," he implored. "Stay and listen to what 
 I have to say." 
 
 "I know what you're going to say, and I don't want 
 to listen." 
 
 He laughed to hide his chagrin. 
 
 "So it's true then, 'Ice Maiden,' that you turn us down 
 at the rate of two a day ?" 
 
 Hastily she walked away from him, to be pounced 
 upon almost immediately by another of his sex, and then 
 to be swallowed up by the crowd that surged in and out 
 of the house, up and down the steps, around and among 
 the scattered chairs and tables. 
 
 The gathering represented the most exclusive set in 
 Paris, all members of the old nobility, and the only un- 
 titled people present were foreigners. 
 
 Perhaps the happiest person there was Mrs. Green. 
 She sat with a duchess on one side of her, a baroness on 
 the other. In appearance she had improved vastly since 
 the time John Wilson had gone back to poverty and left 
 Desiree in her care. She was less obviously painted and 
 powdered and tinted, less youthful in her attire, more
 
 THE ICE MAIDEN 237 
 
 quietly dressed. She wore a dark blue silk dress, a wide 
 hat to match that had no trimming beyond a sweep of 
 white osprey feathers, and on one of her pretty wrists 
 a sapphire bracelet flashed, a present her youthful charge 
 had insisted on giving her soon after their arrival in Paris. 
 
 So attired, she did not look a vulgar fifty-two mas- 
 querading as twenty, but a jolly and attractive forty, 
 which was the most a woman of her type and years could 
 hope to attain. 
 
 In halting French she was conversing amicably with 
 her neighbors, both of whom were about her own age, 
 and both of whom possessed marriageable sons. 
 
 As Mrs. Green talked to her companions, blissfully 
 happy in having attained social heights once undreamt of, 
 she kept a watch on two figures in the throng. 
 
 One was that of a short, flashily-dressed, foreign- 
 looking man who was dogging the steps of a graceful, 
 slender girl who, with a little bevy of admirers, moved 
 slowly through the crowd. 
 
 Bassino did not look either as stout or as aggressive 
 as in the days when he had had a round with Wilson 
 over the possession of the Countess de Mailly. He was 
 almost thin and woefully haggard a man consumed by 
 a devouring and hopeless passion. 
 
 "Monsieur Bassino has not taken his conge with the 
 good grace of our young men," the Baroness remarked 
 presently, noting the girl and her shadow. "He is an 
 excellent parti one of the best in Paris yet they say 
 she has refused him, not once, but a dozen times." 
 
 "Can you be surprised at this infatuation ?" Mrs. Green 
 put in. "Desiree grows more beautiful every day." 
 
 "And more cold," the Duchess said with a sigh. 
 "Always and to everybody 'The Ice Maiden,'"
 
 238 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Not to your charming Victor surely?" the Baroness 
 purred sympathetically, yet there was an undercurrent 
 of malicious delight in her well-modulated voice. "Not 
 surely to the handsomest man in Paris?" 
 
 "The poor boy is frantic. I could make a match for 
 him now with Miss Lambert of Boston," the Duchess 
 replied sorrowfully. "She has money but no looks. 
 But Victor is so stupid. He says he has done with 
 women that he will go abroad and work for his living! 
 Did you ever hear such folly? And all because 'The 
 Ice Maiden' has refused him." 
 
 "She refuses everybody," Mrs. Green put in, by way 
 of consolation. 
 
 "But it is different in Victor's case," the Duchess re- 
 plied. "I was at school with Desiree's mother." 
 
 Mrs. Green did not quite see why this fact should 
 forward Victor's suit, but she decided she had not the 
 French point of view, so she said nothing. 
 
 Her attention went again to Desiree, whom fashionable 
 Paris had christened "The Ice Maiden." 
 
 Two months ago she had brought the girl to Paris. 
 Before a month had passed she and her charge were the 
 most sought after people in the most exclusive and 
 aristocratic set. Desiree was the beauty and the sensation 
 of the season a girl who had been blind until she was 
 twenty-one, when she suddenly inherited both sight and 
 money. 
 
 Exclusive French mothers with eligible sons suddenly 
 remembered they had been at school with Desiree's 
 mother, or that they had known her father, or were in 
 some way distantly connected with herself. They would 
 have taken her from beneath Mrs. Green's motherly wing 
 and installed her in their own homes, but Desiree refused
 
 THE ICE MAIDEN 239 
 
 their offers, preferring to live in an hotel with her 
 homely chaperone. 
 
 All sorts of romantic tales were afloat about the young 
 and beautiful heiress how some man had met her quite 
 by chance, a blind girl wandering about all alone in a 
 little hamlet in the distant Maritime Alps, with a diamond 
 necklace worth millions of francs about her neck ; how he 
 had declared she could be cured, and had taken her to a 
 specialist; how he had sold her necklace for a fabulous 
 sum, and then disappeared. 
 
 Whether this was true or not, Paris did not know. 
 But it knew the Countess de Mailly owed her sight and 
 her riches to an Englishman, because she had said so 
 herself. 
 
 Of that Englishman Desiree had often talked during 
 the first few weeks after her operation. Like a little 
 child she had clung to Mrs. Green, wondering why her 
 friend stayed away, like a little child asking for him day 
 after day. 
 
 "Why didn't Mr. Wilson stay until I was better?" 
 was one of her questions. 
 
 "To tell you the truth, my dear, I suspect he was 
 fidgeting about his business,"'' Mrs. Green had said one 
 day. "Some men are like that. Business is more to 
 them than wife or child." 
 
 After that Desiree had ceased to ask for her friend. 
 
 It seemed to her he had come and done what he con- 
 sidered his duty towards someone helpless and friendless 
 whom Fate had thrown across his path. Then, in a cold, 
 hard, English way, he had gone, wanting no thanks, no 
 reward. Once or twice stiff, brief notes had come from 
 him in connection with the disposal of her fortune
 
 240 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 notes she could neither read nor reply to, that had to be 
 answered by another. 
 
 Mrs. Green had engaged a staid and capable governess 
 for her charge. Every morning the lovely young heiress 
 whom Paris feted and courted and flattered had to do 
 her lessons as if she were still in the schoolroom. She 
 learnt with amazing rapidity. Every moment that could 
 be snatched from a whirl of gayeties was spent in study, 
 to achieve one end to be able to read and reply to those 
 brief, curt notes herself. 
 
 As Desiree moved among the fashionable throng, cold, 
 proud, and disdainful, Wilson's last note was tucked away 
 beneath her dress a note that all the passionate gratitude 
 and worship within her heart could not warm into one 
 single suggestion of affection or love. There was nothing 
 in it but the voice of cold, hard duty. 
 
 It ran: 
 
 "Mv DEAR DESIREE, Everything connected with the 
 disposal of your money is now settled. It is put into 
 excellent securities, and will bring in a steady income of 
 10,470 a year. I have arranged with a well-known firm 
 of solicitors to look after your affairs, and you should 
 hear from them by this post. 
 
 "Hoping you are quite better now and enjoying your- 
 self in Paris, with kind regards to yourself and Mrs. 
 Green, 
 
 "I remain, 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 "JOHN WILSON." 
 
 That note she had been able to read for herself. She 
 had answered it, too, and the reply was now on its way 
 to England, written with painful care in a large, round, 
 childish hand.
 
 THE ICE MAIDEN 241 
 
 "Mv DEAR FRIEND, It is most kind of you to take 
 so much trouble on my account, and I can never thank 
 you enough for all you have done for me. I am sorry 
 I have not been able to write before and say for myself 
 how grateful I am, but you will quite understand why 
 I could not. 
 
 "You must not imagine that I think only of money. 
 I say this because in all your letters you talk of nothing 
 else. One true friend is worth more to me than all the 
 money in the world, and I would rather have my sight 
 than the fortune you have gained for me by selling 'The 
 Necklace of Tears.' And I always remember that I owe 
 my sight, my riches, and my good name to you. 
 
 "Perhaps some day, when you can find time to leave 
 your business, you will come to France again. I shall 
 look forward to that day. I want to meet you face to 
 face and thank you personally for all you have done for 
 me. 
 
 "Always yours most gratefully, 
 
 "DESIREE DE MAILLY." 
 
 As the girl sauntered about the garden with her small 
 troop of admirers her thoughts were with none of them. 
 They were with the letter she had posted off to Wilson, 
 a note with a tacit invitation in it, that she hoped he 
 would see and understand. 
 
 Tired of the men who dogged her steps, presently she 
 went into the house. -By skillful strategy she shook off 
 her cavaliers and sought a refuge in the library. From 
 one of the shelves she took a volume of an encyclopedia, 
 and, seating herself in a deep chair, set about in quest 
 of the knowledge that darkness had kept from her. 
 
 However, she was not left long in peace. 
 
 Within a few minutes the door opening made her look 
 round. On seeing who the intruder was she got up 
 quickly.
 
 242 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Well, you see, Countess," a thick voice said, "you can't 
 shake me as easily as you do the rest of the crowd." 
 
 Desiree made no reply. She stood toying rather nerv- 
 ously with a long chain of ivory beads, watching Bassino 
 with beautiful, grave eyes out of which she tried to keep 
 dislike and loathing. 
 
 He came to her side, looking at her in a hungry, 
 hopeless manner. 
 
 "At least it's you I want, not your money," he re- 
 marked presently. 
 
 "I know that," she answered quietly. 
 
 "Won't you let that stand in my favor?" he asked, 
 despair and passion in his voice. "Desiree, if only you'd 
 have me, you could wipe your feet on me for the rest of 
 your life, and I'd reckon myself the luckiest man alive." 
 
 The passion in his voice and eyes made her move from 
 him with a little shudder of repulsion. 
 
 He laughed wildly. 
 
 "Why do you always steer away like that when I come 
 near you," he asked bitterly, "as if I'd leave a dirty mark 
 on you if I touched you? Good God! If ever a man 
 had his sins burnt out of him by a raging fire, it's me in 
 my mad love for you." 
 
 His words only sent her farther away, edging, not too 
 obviously, towards the door. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he went on in a wild, distraught manner, 
 "you're going to run away from me now, as you've always 
 done since our first meeting. But before you go I want 
 to tell you one thing. I know when I'm beat. I know 
 when I'm done. And I'm starting back to Rio to- 
 morrow." 
 
 A look of relief crossed Desiree's face, and Bassino 
 was quick to see it.
 
 THE ICE MAIDEN 243 
 
 "'Good riddance!' Say it," he continued bitterly. 
 "You can't hurt me more than you've done already." 
 
 His hand went to his pocket. He drew out a check 
 representing in francs 50,000 dollars, and signed in a 
 large, round, unformed hand "Desiree de Mailly." 
 
 "You sent me this," he said thickly, "the price I paid 
 your uncle for you. Do you think 50,000 dollars is going 
 to compensate me for losing you ? By hell, no, Desiree ! 
 That's what I shall do with this and every check of the 
 sort you send me." 
 
 He drew a match from his pocket and, striking it, set 
 fire to the check. 
 
 With grave eyes she watched him. 
 
 She was not afraid of him now. He was no longer 
 an unseen horror that her uncle would thrust upon her, 
 had sold her to! 
 
 She loathed Bassino as much as ever, but sorrow had 
 taken the place of fear. 
 
 "I'm very sorry," she said. 
 
 "It's not your pity I want, but you," he started, in a 
 wild, impassioned manner. "You, in my arms, all night, 
 all day. Desiree, if only " 
 
 She turned quickly and fled, wanting nothing now but 
 to get away from him, to keep out of his sight until he 
 had really gone. 
 
 Leaving the house, she went back to the garden, 
 towards the spot where Mrs. Green was sitting. 
 
 Her approach brought sweet, artificial smiles to the 
 Baroness's worldly mouth, and she shook a delicate fore- 
 finger reprovingly at the girl. 
 
 "Why have you been so cruel to my Jacques?" she 
 asked. "He tells me you refused to wear the roses he 
 sent you for last night's ball."
 
 244 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Desiree's mouth curled disdainfully. 
 
 "I have so many flowers given to me nowadays I can't 
 wear them all." 
 
 "Whose did you wear then?" the Baroness asked 
 sharply. 
 
 "Those matnan bought me to go with my dress," the 
 girl answered, smiling at Mrs. Green. 
 
 "Shall we go now?" she continued, addressing her 
 chaperone. "I'm so tired, and there's a ball again to- 
 night." 
 
 Mrs. Green was on her feet at once, ready to do any- 
 thing her charge suggested, beaming at the "maman" 
 that came so naturally to those proud young lips before 
 all these titles to her, Mrs. Green, who, in her young 
 days, had sold ribbons behind a counter! 
 
 "Why, yes, my dear, I'm ready any time you are," 
 she answered. 
 
 Once they were in the privacy of the motor which 
 Mrs. Green had hired during their stay in Paris Desiree 
 said a trifle petulantly: 
 
 "Maman, why didn't the Baroness du Chalet remember 
 her husband was my father's second cousin when I was 
 poor and blind?" 
 
 Mrs. Green took the girl's small hand into her plump 
 one and patted it consolingly. 
 
 "My dear, you must learn to take the world as it is." 
 
 "I've learnt that the people who were kind to me in 
 the days when I was poor and afflicted were the ones 
 who can lay no claim to me who were not at school 
 with my mother, or friends of my father's, or distant 
 connections of my own. They were not of my own 
 nation even. I'm not stupid if I am ignorant. These 
 people only come now because I'm rich. They are not
 
 THE ICE MAIDEN 245 
 
 like you and Mr. Wilson, who were kind to me when 
 I had nothing. Maman, is Mr. Wilson anything like 
 Jacques du Chalet?" she finished. 
 
 Mrs. Green was used to such questions. They told her 
 who was the last man to lay his heart at Desiree's feet. 
 
 "No, Mr. Wilson is quite different." 
 
 "Better looking?" 
 
 "I've often told you good looks are not Wilson's great 
 point. He's strong-looking, and when you've said that 
 you've said all. And he's come up from nothing, and 
 looks as if he had risen." 
 
 Desiree had heard of people going from something to 
 nothing ; there were several cases among her own connec- 
 tions the Gilberts, for instance. But she had never 
 heard of any of her own immediate relatives coming 
 from nothing to something. 
 
 "It must be very wonderful to get up from nothing," 
 she remarked. 
 
 Mrs. Green, however, did not seem to think it so very 
 marvelous. 
 
 "I know lots who have done it," she replied, "me and 
 Mr. Green among the number. Why, there was a day 
 when I served in a draper's shop, and he was an errand 
 boy at a steel works. I wouldn't dream of telling this 
 to everybody, my dear," she went on confidentially, "but 
 you're so different. You like me for what I am, not for 
 what I have, and you'd be just as nice to me if I hadn't 
 a penny." 
 
 "Yes," Desiree said in a meditating manner, "that's 
 why, awful as Mr. Bassino is, I can't quite ignore him 
 When he speaks to me, since I always remember that when 
 he first asked me to marry him I was poor and blind. 
 I can't accuse him of wanting me for my money. He's
 
 246 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 starting back for South America to-morrow," she fin- 
 ished with an air of relief. 
 
 Then she lapsed into silence, thinking of the other 
 man who had invaded her darkness and had befriended 
 her when she was poor and of no account. 
 
 She sat on, with his cold little note pressed against her 
 heart a queen among women; a ruler of men by right 
 of her wondrous beauty ; too proud to run after the one 
 man she wanted a man who preferred his business to 
 herself. 
 
 Speculatively Mrs. Green watched her, wondering if 
 Desiree were regretting having refused John Wilson now 
 life had shown her the world's lack of sincerity.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 MRS. GREEN RECEIVES A LETTER 
 
 Mrs. Green was sitting up in bed, her boudoir cap 
 askew on her head, a breakfast tray on a little table beside 
 her, an open letter in her hand. 
 
 As she read it a look of dismay came to her face. 
 
 "Well, I never did!" she exclaimed when the pages 
 were finished. 
 
 "What is it, ma/man? What has happened now?" 
 Desiree asked. 
 
 "Well, I never did," Mrs. Green said again. "But isn't 
 that just like a man ! Never any pleasing them. If you're 
 there they let you see you're not wanted. Then, when 
 you go away and start enjoying yourself, this comes along. 
 Just read it, my dear," she finished, handing the letter to 
 Desiree. 
 
 The girl took the letter and read it through slowly. 
 
 It was from Mr. Green, insisting that his wife come 
 home at once, complaining that he was tired of pouring 
 out his own breakfast coffee, and that the boys said it 
 was not much use having a mother if she was going to 
 spend the rest of her life gallivanting over the Continent 
 with duchesses and countesses and the like. Not that any 
 one of them grudged her enjoying herself, but there was 
 reason in all things; and no married woman ought to 
 desert her husband and family for six months on end, 
 The boys were complaining that the bureau drawers were 
 
 247
 
 248 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 always untidy nowadays, that their socks came back in 
 odd ones masquerading as pairs, that their handkerchiefs 
 all got mixed up, and Arthur, on more than one occasion, 
 had run his best shirts to earth in his father's wardrobe 
 all things that never happened when their mother was at 
 home. 
 
 And there had been days days of dire calamity 
 when he, Mr. Green, on coming home for lunch, had not 
 been able to find the morning paper ! Cook was manag- 
 ing the housekeeping and all that very well there was 
 nothing at which to grumble on that score but she did 
 not seem to realize how it tried a man's temper to come 
 home and find the morning paper missing deliberately 
 torn up to light a fire, and without a word of apology ! 
 
 There was no harm in her chaperoning that wonder- 
 child, the Countess de Mailly, for a bit, but the boys hoped 
 it would not give her ideas above their own set at home. 
 And she must remember that her own sons had some 
 claim on her, even if the Countess did call her "mamian," 
 and the boys only called her by the sensible English word 
 "mother." 
 
 He, Mr. Green, and the boys were glad she, Mrs. 
 Green, had been such a success socially. That last photo 
 she had sent of herself in what she said was a dark blue 
 silk dress and the big hat with the feather was a stunner, 
 and she looked quite the "grand lady." But it was time 
 now that: she gave a thought to them slaving away at home 
 for her to buy hats with a bit of a feather in them that 
 cost 30 apiece. 
 
 If she was afraid to come home because of the bracelet 
 that was stolen, then she need not be. No one was going 
 ;o throw it up to her. It was very kind of the Countess 
 de Mailly to have given her another, but it was not at all
 
 MRS. GREEN RECEIVES A LETTER 249 
 
 necessary. He, Mr. Green, could afford to give her all 
 the bracelets she wanted, and allow for the loss of one or 
 two when she happened to be traveling in foreign parts. 
 
 The letter ended up with a frantic cry that he might 
 as well have no wife at all as one who appeared to have 
 made up her mind to spend the rest of her life on the 
 Continent. 
 
 "Did you ever hear such a fuss, Desiree ?" Mrs. Green 
 asked, when the letter was handed back. "And all be- 
 cause I've stayed away four and a half months instead 
 of three ! Why, you'd almost think they'd missed me !" 
 
 "I should say they have," Desiree answered gently. 
 
 Mrs. Green grabbed at the letter again. 
 
 "Do you think so, my dear? Why, to live with them 
 you'd say they had no use for 'Ma.' " 
 
 She read the letter through again. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I do keep an eye on their socks and 
 things, and see they're all sorted out properly when they 
 come from the laundry. And I always do take care that 
 nobody runs off with the morning paper, in case Mr. 
 Green should come home for lunch and want another look 
 at it. But I've got so used to doing it that I forgot I did." 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 "I'm having a great time here in Paris. Yet I suppose 
 if they want me at home I must go." 
 
 She paused, and her gaze was fixed on her charge. 
 
 By now Mrs. Green was certain that Desiree regretted 
 not having accepted Wilson's offer, and she determined 
 to give the girl a chance of rectifying her error. 
 
 "Why don't you come back with me, my dear, and have 
 a look at England ? Mr. Green and the boys would be so 
 pleased and proud. They're not classy, like the people 
 we know here, but they'd make you right welcome."
 
 250 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Thank you very much, but I think I shall go back to 
 Nice. I want to get my place there in working order. 
 And then next year you must come and stay with me, 
 and bring Mr. Green and the. boys, if they will leave their 
 business," Desiree answered quietly. 
 
 "But I don't like leaving you all alone," Mrs. Green 
 protested. 
 
 "I shall take Miss Ryder back with me. She can be my 
 companion as well as my governess. Besides, I'm used 
 to being alone," she added. 
 
 Loth to part with her charge, Mrs. Green tried further 
 persuasions, but Desiree was firm in her determination to 
 return to her home in the South of France. 
 
 She wanted to go with Mrs. Green, but she knew 
 Wilson lived in the same town, and she was too proud to 
 follow after the man who had gone away from her.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE DECEPTION 
 
 Soon after her return to England Mrs. Green gave a 
 party. Wilson was among those invited. On receiving 
 her card he had intended to refuse; gayety and himself 
 were very out of tune nowadays. But he had to go, 
 drawn there by the fact that Mrs. Green had only just 
 left Desiree. 
 
 He was late in arriving. Once there, he had no wish 
 to dance. He mooned around, avoiding possible partners, 
 hugging his misery to himself. Outwardly he seemed 
 much the same as usual, except that there was a look of 
 settled dreariness at the back of his steady brown eyes. 
 
 About his own future he had not yet decided. Since 
 leaving France he had been too busy selling his business, 
 settling his affairs, and investing Desiree's fortune to the 
 best advantage, to give much thought to himself. Now 
 that everything was settled, a hopeless blank confronted 
 him, a future that held neither love nor money, but year 
 after year of hard work, without the buoyancy of first 
 youth to support him, and with no possible princess to 
 whom to look forward. 
 
 He had not been long in the house before Mrs. Green 
 saw him. 
 
 "I'd given you up," she said by way of greeting. 
 
 "I'm late, but I couldn't get away any sooner. How is 
 everybody? And how did you leave Desiree?" he went 
 
 251
 
 252 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 on, going straight to his point, but in as casual a tone as 
 he could muster. 
 
 "As well as if nothing had ever been the matter with 
 her." 
 
 "No doubt she enjoyed herself in Paris." 
 
 "She ought to have enjoyed herself. . The men simply 
 swarmed after her. She was the rage the sensation. We 
 went everywhere, to all the best people. But I never saw 
 a girl so stand-offish with men, so particular, so scornful. 
 'The Ice Maiden' they called her, because she refused to 
 melt to any one of them, and some of them were hot 
 enough in love with her to have thawed a glacier." 
 
 "Is she as beautiful as ever?" Wilson asked, a parched 
 note in his voice. 
 
 "Why don't you go and see for yourself?" 
 
 "I can't spare the time," he answered. 
 
 Mrs. Green glanced at him keenly. 
 
 All of a sudden it struck her if Wilson had ever pro- 
 posed. It was not in keeping with his character to let the 
 girl go, merely because she had refused him. He would 
 have renewed his attack. But he always had avoided the 
 matrimonial noose. In the eleventh hour he might have 
 decided he preferred bachelorhood to Desiree, although 
 Mrs. Green could not imagine any man in his senses 
 doing such a thing. 
 
 "Can't spare the time indeed!" she said impatiently. 
 "If you really wanted to go you could. I believe you're 
 afraid you might fall in love with her enough to want to 
 get married, and you're deliberately avoiding temptation." 
 
 "When the Countess Desiree marries it will be a man of 
 her own set," he replied stiffly. 
 
 "There were plenty of her own set after her in Paris, 
 yet she gave them all the go-by."
 
 THE DECEPTION 253 
 
 "She's still a child. It'll take her a year or two to 
 grow up." 
 
 "Oh, you and your excuses ! When you find a girl you 
 fancy you jib at her as if she were a dose of poison. 
 You're a born bachelor, that's what you are, John Wilson, 
 and I've no patience with you." 
 
 With this Mrs. Green sailed off. 
 
 For perhaps an hour longer Wilson mooned round her 
 premises, then, feeling too much like a skeleton at the 
 feast, he took himself and his gnawing misery back home. 
 
 There he found a letter awaiting him in the round, 
 unformed hand he knew now the second of the sort he 
 had seen. To the first he had replied briefly, saying he 
 would be pleased to do anything for her, to help or advise 
 her in any way, that his services were always at her 
 disposal ; but he had made no mention of visiting France. 
 
 Eagerly he opened the letter, wondering what Desiree 
 had to say. 
 
 It was sent from the old chateau in the mountains, and 
 i't ran: 
 
 "My DEAR FRIEND, As perhaps you know, Mrs. 
 Green has left Paris for England, and I have come back 
 here to the peace and quiet of the country. I do not 
 think I cared much about Paris. It has such strange 
 values. Mr. Bassino was tolerated, even encouraged, 
 merely because he had money. So I came back here, 
 having decided I prefer trees and flowers and views and 
 Wolf and my two old servants to all the people I met 
 in Paris. 
 
 "But I wish I had some one here with me who really 
 knew how to look after the place. There is so much I 
 want to do, but I don't know how to set about it. I want 
 to have this old house that I love made habitable for one 
 thing. I want to start a home for blind babies. And I
 
 254 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 want to grow food on my land, because the world is 
 hungry, and I know what that means. 
 
 "There is no relative or connection of my own that 
 I care to call upon for help or advice. When I was poor 
 they forgot about me, and now their offers do not ring 
 true. Alone I cannot do any of the things I want to do. 
 I am only really three months old. It is three months 
 to-day since I first saw the light. I feel very young and 
 ignorant, and the world is a large and strange place. 
 
 "I would like to have an Englishman here, as steward 
 on my estate, because I have learned to trust your nation. 
 He need not necessarily be a farmer, but a man who 
 knows how to deal with the world and men and money 
 things I have not learned to do, that I sometimes feel I 
 never shall learn, having so many years of darkness and 
 ignorance behind me. 
 
 "Please send me some reliable man out from England, 
 who could live in the house here and be always at hand 
 for me to consult, and to advise me someone you can 
 trust and recommend. 
 
 "Always yours most gratefully, 
 
 "DESIREE DE MAILLY. 
 
 "P. S. Miss Ryder, my governess and companion, 
 says that in a case like this a salary must be mentioned. 
 You will perhaps know what to offer. Would 1,000 a 
 year be enough? D. DE M." 
 
 As Wilson read the letter through, he read between the 
 lines. Desiree was grown up, yet really only a child, 
 alone for the first time since riches and sight had come 
 into her life, unable to cope with her new world, and 
 afraid of it. 
 
 Then his future was no longer blank. Life suddenly 
 had an object. He would answer the call in person. 
 
 The girl had never seen him. He would go himself, 
 pretending he was sending his cousin. He would be her 
 servant and steward. Then at least he could serve her
 
 THE DECEPTION 255 
 
 his fairy princess although his poverty and her position 
 now placed them as far asunder as the poles. 
 
 There and then he sat down and wrote a letter to 
 Desiree. 
 
 He regretted he was too busy to come himself, he said, 
 but he was sending his cousin, Edward Wilson, a most 
 reliable man, one she could depend on in every way. 
 Three hundred pounds a year would be an ample salary. 
 She could expect her new steward in about a week's time. 
 He would let her know the exact day and train later on.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 EDWARD WILSON 
 
 About a week later Wilson was driving in a hired car- 
 riage along the narrow road leading to the old chateau. 
 The Judas trees no longer dripped purple tears on the 
 white dust. The tears had gone, and in their place were 
 smooth, glossy leaves. The vineyards now were not just 
 an array of knobbly stumps, with here and there a touch 
 of green on their tops. They had sprouted and spread, 
 stretching long green arms along wood and wire sup- 
 ports, and the bees buzzed among them, seeking honey 
 in the masses of tiny flowers. The cherries no longer 
 held white arms towards an azure sky; their branches 
 drooped slightly, heavy with red fruit. And the loquats 
 stood yellow-ripe against the deep green of their great 
 shiny leaves. 
 
 As Wilson drove along he was realizing that one de- 
 ception invariably begets another. For one thing, he had 
 had to make arrangements for any letters that Desiree 
 chanced to send to him to be forwarded under cover to 
 his new address, and he would have to reply to hers in 
 the same roundabout way. Also, it had dawned on him 
 that by hook or by crook he must have an interview with 
 Pierre and Juliette before seeing the girl, for the two 
 old servants had not been blind. 
 
 To attain this end he left Paris by an earlier train 
 than the one he had mentioned in his letter to Desiree. 
 He decided to break his journey at Marseilles, and go on 
 
 256
 
 EDWARD WILSON 257 
 
 by a local train, one that arrived in Nice about an hour 
 before the one he was due to come by. If he arrived at 
 the chateau unexpectedly, he would have a much better 
 chance of seeing the servants before he saw their mistress. 
 
 Provided he could see either of the old retainers alone, 
 he felt there would be no difficulty in making them fall 
 in with his plans. 
 
 Wilson's French had made amazing strides since his 
 first visit to the chateau. During the last few dreary 
 months he had tried to find a brief forgetfulness in 
 learning the language, an occupation that proved a form 
 of torture, since it had seemed then that there would be 
 no chance of ever conversing with Desiree in her own 
 tongue. 
 
 Luck was with Wilson. At the broken iron gates lead- 
 ing into the Domaine de Mailly his carriage overtook 
 Juliette a different Juliette from the shuffling old crea- 
 ture of his first visit. Her mouth was no longer toothless, 
 her clothes no longer green with age, and washed and 
 patched until there was hardly any of the original gar- 
 ment left. She wore a neat black dress and a large white 
 apron, with a black mushroom hat on her head, tied 
 under her chin with ribbon. 
 
 On seeing the occupant of the carriage she threw up 
 her hands. 
 
 "It's the English monsieur himself!" she cried. 
 
 At once Wilson was out of the carriage and laying his 
 campaign of deceit before her. 
 
 "But why all this pretending and pretence?" she asked. 
 "The Comtesse will be more pleased to see you than your 
 cousin." 
 
 "I don't want the Countess to know it's me," he re-
 
 258 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 plied, a painful flush deepening the red of his plain, strong 
 face. 
 
 Juliette cast a sharp glance at him. 
 
 "Well, then, you are Monsieur Wilson's cousin, if it 
 pleases you better." 
 
 She told him Desiree had gone with her governess into 
 the distant town to meet the train. Then she drove with 
 him to the chateau, showed him his room, and, leaving 
 him to wash and tidy himself, went off to let Pierre into 
 the secret. 
 
 As Wilson washed off the dirt and grime of the 
 journey, it seemed incredible that he was back in the 
 ruined castle. Already the air of dire poverty had left 
 the place, although but little had been done as yet towards 
 its repair. 
 
 The room was the one in which he had slept on the night 
 Desiree had given him shelter. The window had been 
 mended, the decayed furniture removed. There was now 
 a modern bed, a new suite of furniture, and rugs on the 
 tiled floor. 
 
 Downstairs, too, he had noticed improvements. 
 Although the plaster was still off the walls of the great 
 hall, there had been an attempt at furnishing the place. 
 In it he had seen a set of the colored plaited wicker fur- 
 niture so common in France a settee, a couple of arm- 
 chairs, four small ones, and a table to match, looking lost 
 and forlorn in the great expanse of the floor. 
 
 After washing and unpacking some of his things 
 Wilson went downstairs again. In the hall a smart maid 
 awaited him. He was taken into the dining-room. On 
 one corner of the long table a slight repast was laid a 
 plate of sandwiches, a dish of fruit, and a bottle of Bur- 
 gundy. It was not spread on a colored cloth, but on one
 
 EDWARD WILSON 259 
 
 of the finest linen, and the china and glass were of the 
 best quality ; otherwise the old dining-room was as he first 
 knew it, except that there were rugs on the floor, curtains 
 in the windows, and the kitchen chairs had been replaced 
 by rush-seated ones. 
 
 As Wilson ate sandwiches with the healthy appetite 
 of a strong man he glanced round the room and smiled 
 tenderly. She had not yet learned how to grapple with 
 10,000 odd a year, this little girl who once had had only 
 sixty pounds. 
 
 Although all the improvements had been made with 
 good taste, none of them was in proportion to her income. 
 
 Wilson knew exactly how the beamed old dining-room 
 ought to be furnished as a mediaeval refectory. And 
 so it should be, now he was at hand to help and advise 
 the child. And that vast hall in front of the house wanted 
 great heavy pieces of furniture, old armor, books, and 
 deep divans divans that could be drawn up round the 
 wide open fireplace in the winter when a freezing wind 
 was blowing down from the snow-clad heights behind. 
 The hall must be made into a combined smoking-room, 
 library, and lounge that would give an air of comfort 
 and homelikeness the moment one entered the house. 
 Those bits of wicker furniture could go into some morn- 
 ing room, cool and whitewashed, with rush mats and light 
 curtains, for hot summer use. 
 
 When his hunger was appeased he sat on, planning to 
 himself how the mansion could best be modernized, whilst 
 still retaining its old features, when the sound of wheels 
 coming up the drive sent his mind to other matters, and 
 made his throat swell with a choking, excited sensation. 
 
 He knew who would be coming Desiree, whose eyes
 
 e6o THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 would rest on him for the first time full of sight. But, 
 thank God ! she would be thinking him his cousin. 
 
 He heard the carriage halt. A few moments later there 
 was the sound of light little feet entering the hall beyond. 
 Then a soft voice said with consternation and distress: 
 
 "Oh, Juliette, Mr. Wilson's cousin was not at the 
 station. What can have happened to him ? Can I possibly 
 have missed him? But Miss Ryder accosted every lone 
 and lost-looking Englishman there." 
 
 "He's here, my jewel. He came by an earlier train." 
 
 "Here! Oh, where?" 
 
 "In the dining-room." 
 
 There was a quick little movement in the direction of 
 the half-open door. Conscious of a queer numb feeling, 
 Wilson got to his feet. 
 
 A girl appeared on the threshold, dressed in white 
 from head to foot, with a wide, drooping hat, a long lace 
 veil, a string of ivory beads about her throat, and ivory 
 bracelets on her slim bare arms Desiree, ten times more 
 desirable, fulfilling all the promise of the wraith-like, 
 neglected child he had found. 
 
 Her face was no longer thin, but delicately rounded 
 and faintly pink with health; her lips were no longer 
 pale, but coral red ; her eyes no longer vague and misty, 
 but limpid pools of soft dark blue. She did not droop 
 now; she carried herself proudly, looking taller than she 
 really was. It seemed to Wilson that she towered above 
 him ; a princess truly, cold, dainty, and imperious. 
 
 Although her face was more mature, it had lost none 
 of its innocence. Wistfulness still lurked in the curves 
 of the proud little mouth, and in the soft blue eyes was 
 a thoughtful, searching look. 
 
 Wilson stood dazed by the vision of grace and beauty
 
 EDWARD WILSON 261 
 
 confronting him, knowing exactly how much he had lost 
 by doing the "right thing." 
 
 He had tried to deal as honestly by the girl he loved as 
 he had dealt with the rest of the world. And now 
 
 The dream he had dreamt the night he had slept at the 
 chateau had come true, with some slight variations. She 
 was on a throne high above him, too high for him to 
 reach. But he was doing the weeping silent, unseen 
 tears that agony wrung from his heart, because Fate had 
 decreed he could not have the one woman he wanted. 
 
 Desiree glanced at him quickly. There was neither 
 surprise nor disappointment nor contempt in her glance, 
 as Wilson feared there might be. There was only the 
 critical, searching look that fell to the lot of all strangers 
 now. 
 
 Then she came towards him with outstretched hand. 
 
 "I'm so sorry I missed you. Why didn't you wire and 
 say you were coming by an earlier train ?" 
 
 Like a man stunned Wilson took her hand into his. 
 
 "I should have done so, Countess," he lied, "had I 
 known you were coming to the station to meet me." 
 
 At his voice Desiree started, and a quiver ran through 
 the hand she was just drawing from his relaxing grip. 
 
 She gave one quick, startled look at him, and then her 
 eyes dropped. 
 
 The princess, gracious and imperious, a trifle conde- 
 scending, perhaps, vanished. In her place came the 
 Desiree Wilson knew a young girl, confused and blush- 
 ing, with downcast eyes, yet smiling at him shyly in wel- 
 come. 
 
 It was very easy for Wilson to come pretending to be 
 his cousin. Because Desiree had never seen him, it did 
 not follow that she would not recognize him. He reckoned
 
 262 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 without the years of blindness that lay behind her years 
 that had taught her to recognize people by voice and 
 touch and step. 
 
 Desiree knew her champion was there the man who 
 had come into her night and saved her. His was the 
 same kind, firm, pleasant voice, the same strong, careful 
 grip on her hand. His hands, brown and powerful, had 
 led her from darkness into light, had lifted her from 
 poverty to splendor, had kept dishonor and a loathsome 
 marriage at bay. 
 
 Paris had taught the girl the value of her own rank 
 and wealth and beauty. She wanted them all now, not 
 for herself, but to lay at the feet of her hero. 
 
 Unable to meet his gaze, she stood wondering why he 
 had come back calling her "Countess" instead of 
 "Desiree," bringing with him the feeling of an im- 
 measurable gulf between them, they who had once been 
 so close that their lips had touched. Why he had come 
 back pretending to be his cousin ? 
 
 She wanted nothing but to fall on her knees before him, 
 to kiss the hands that had rescued her from darkness, 
 misery, and disgrace, to put them on her head, on her 
 heart, as a sign that she was his abject slave. 
 
 But modesty forbade any such performance. 
 
 "I hope you will like my house," a soft, confused voice 
 said. "And I hope you'll be quite comfortable here. 
 Please do ask for anything you want. I shall be only 
 too glad to get it, because of all your cousin did for 
 me." 
 
 There was only one thing Wilson wanted the Countess 
 de Mailly and that he dared not ask for. 
 
 "I like your house immensely, and the whole surround-
 
 EDWARD WILSON 263 
 
 ings. The only thing I want at present is to get to work 
 on it all as soon as possible," he said. 
 
 To compose herself, Desiree turned from him and 
 went to one of the long windows to let in Wolf, who was 
 scratching frantically at the glass panels. 
 
 As Wilson watched her go, again he cursed that fatal 
 necklace. 
 
 But for it he would be a rich man still, standing on a 
 pile of gold that raised him to something approaching 
 her level, not what he was now her paid servant. 
 
 If only there had been no railway strike ! If only the 
 Gilberts had turned up in time to have got that accursed 
 necklace ! Then 
 
 Bassino would have come along to claim his bride. 
 Considering how Desiree loathed the man, it would not 
 have been difficult to have persuaded her to elope with 
 him, Wilson. 
 
 They would have married, for, liking him and know- 
 ing nothing of what marriage meant, she would have 
 fallen in with his suggestion readily. He could have 
 taken her to some quiet, scented, out-of-the-way spot 
 a new world that had nothing in it that she knew save 
 him ; where utter helplessness would have made her cling 
 to him still closer. 
 
 There would have been happy days for the girl, safe 
 in the knowledge that he stood between her and a mar- 
 riage she loathed, relatives she disliked, poverty and 
 neglect; blissful days for him with the helpless little girl 
 he worshiped to cherish and comfort and look after; 
 days of strength and self-control, whilst he turned a 
 blind child's trust and liking into love, a white passion to 
 match his own. 
 
 And one evening, when he came to her bedside to kiss
 
 264 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 her good-night, she would put her weak arms about his 
 neck, refusing to let him go, pressing against him with 
 innocent desire. Afterwards day and night they would 
 be together, and no world could be dark where such love 
 was. 
 
 Then one day, perhaps, when she was sitting on his 
 knee, hugging one of his hands to her breast, or perhaps 
 one morning early, when she leaned across him, tickling 
 his face with the end of one of her long plaits, with the 
 idea of teasing him into full wakef ulness, little knowing he 
 was wide awake and watching her, rejoicing that she had 
 found happiness within his arms, it would have occurred 
 to him to wonder why she could not see, if her eyes had 
 ever been examined. He would have taken her to a 
 specialist. Then, if light meant disillusion, a common- 
 place man instead of a hero, at least he would be her 
 husband ; she could not have got away from that fact, he 
 thought, with a touch of savagery. And she would be 
 his now, this lovely girl; his by the right of vows ex- 
 changed and nights spent in his arms. 
 
 Into the whirl of regrets and imaginings in which 
 Wilson was moving Desiree's voice came again. 
 
 "You must be tired after your long journey. I do 
 hope Juliette looked after you properly." 
 
 Wilson came back to earth again. Desiree had not 
 eloped with him. He had been fool enough to touch that 
 accursed "Necklace of Tears." He had done the right 
 thing by her all along the line, and his reward was a crop 
 of bitterness, not a harvest of love. 
 
 "Juliette has looked after me very well indeed," he 
 said, surprised to find his tone of voice quite normal. 
 'She has seen after all my creature comforts, even to
 
 EDWARD WILSON 265 
 
 feeding me," he finished, glancing at the diminished heap 
 of sandwiches on the table. 
 
 "I'm so glad," Desiree said shyly, still avoiding his 
 gaze. "I I shouldn't like to think of you being neglected 
 in any way." 
 
 "It's you who are being neglected, Countess, not me. 
 I'm sure you must need something, after your long, hot, 
 dusty drive down to Nice and back." 
 
 For a moment soft blue eyes met steady brown ones. 
 
 Yes, this must be the same man John Wilson, not 
 Edward. There was no mistake. There could not be two 
 men so kind and thoughtful, with the same firm, pleasant 
 voices, the same strong, careful hands. 
 
 But why had he come back as a servant to his slave, 
 this man she would call "master" ?
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE SECRET 
 
 In the kitchen Juliette stood, her nose deep in some 
 pot in which a dish was being prepared for luncheon. 
 The chateau now boasted a cook as well as a housemaid, 
 but, having done all the cooking for years, Juliette trusted 
 no one but herself. At that moment the cook was outside 
 shelling peas, and the housemaid was busy in some other 
 quarter of the dilapidated mansioa 
 
 The kitchen was more like a long brick passage than 
 anything else, with a wide stone slab running all down 
 one side, and a shelf above, where copper pots and pans 
 gleamed. Pairs of bricks stood at intervals down the 
 slab. Between each pair a few sticks smouldered, and 
 on them pans simmered and boiled. 
 
 In days of poverty Juliette had always cooked in this 
 fashion. She had produced excellent dishes by this 
 method, and her lips had set in a straight, hard line when 
 her mistress had mentioned getting a proper kitchen 
 range. But the new cook had agreed with her mistress. 
 She had never been called upon to cook in this gipsy 
 fashion, and the countess must quite understand that the 
 most perfect gems of her art could not be produced unless 
 she had a proper stove. 
 
 The Countess quite understood. She understood also 
 that there was going to be trouble in the kitchen depart- 
 ment. Juliette was not going to surrender the reins she 
 
 266
 
 THE SECRET 267 
 
 had held for more than twenty-one years either into the 
 hands of a newcomer or into those of her mistress. 
 Desiree did not feel equal to coping with the situation; 
 she was torn between love of the old woman who had 
 served her so faithfully and a desire to have some say 
 in the management of her own house. A kitchen range 
 had been ordered, but where it was going to be put when 
 it came the girl did not know. All these were problems 
 with which her new steward would wrestle. 
 
 As Juliette sniffed scornfully at the gently simmering 
 duck, to make sure that the interloper had put in the 
 exact proportion of onions and herbs, an excited voice 
 said all at once : 
 
 "Juliette, why didn't you tell me it was my Mr. Wilson 
 who had come?" 
 
 "Your Mr. Wilson. What next, Comtesse? Are you 
 going to lay claim to every man who comes to the house ? 
 Paris must have turned your head." 
 
 "Don't be silly. Don't try and deceive me. You know 
 as well as I do that he is my Mr. Wilson." 
 
 "Well, if you say I know, I suppose I must know, and 
 that ends the matter." 
 
 "But why has he come pretending to be his cousin?" 
 
 "Perhaps because he knows he's not handsome," 
 Juliette suggested shrewdly. 
 
 "Not handsome !" 
 
 Desiree's voice was a soft shriek of denial. 
 
 "Certainly I wouldn't call him good looking," the old 
 woman replied. 
 
 She sniffed again at the duck. 
 
 "I'm sure that new cook of yours has put too much 
 onion in the stew," she complained. 
 
 Desiree ignored this side-issue.
 
 268 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "His face is splendid," she declared, in defence of her 
 hero. "So strong and kind and noble." 
 
 "If you think so, all the better for Monsieur Wilson," 
 Juliette put in. 
 
 "He has a figure like Hercules," the girl went on. "And 
 his hands ! They are hands that can do things, not useless 
 bits of skin and bone like mine." 
 
 Desiree threw out her own small hands and gazed at 
 them contemptuously. 
 
 "Oh, Juliette, just think what he has done for me," she 
 cried. "And now he's afraid of me." 
 
 "It's not you he's afraid of, mademoiselle, but thanks 
 and a fuss," Juliette explained. "The English are always 
 like that. There is nothing that nation hates more." 
 
 "He's just what I thought he would be," the girl de- 
 clared, "great and noble, yet modest and humble." 
 
 "Oh, la, la!" Juliette exclaimed. "This Monsieur 
 Wilson has always worn a halo. From the first there was 
 nothing in the house good enough for him." 
 
 Desiree laid an imploring hand on the old woman's 
 arm. 
 
 "Don't tell him I've guessed who he really is," she 
 pleaded, "or he may run away again." 
 
 Juliette cast a teasing, affectionate glance at her mis- 
 tress. 
 
 He was just the man for the Comtesse Desiree, who, 
 despite her years, was still only a child, this steady-going, 
 capable, English monsieur. He would not take advantage 
 of her innocence and ignorance. He would look after the 
 girl, her money and her estate, not squander her heritage. 
 She would be far better married to him than to one of 
 those gay young sparks from Paris, who might end up 
 by breaking her heart and spending her fortune.
 
 THE SECRET 269 
 
 "A pretty comedy we're going to have, Comtesse," she 
 remarked. "But still, it's your business, not mine, so 
 why should I say anything?" 
 
 She turned again to the stew, as if it were of far greater 
 importance than Desiree's discovery, and once more 
 sniffed at it disapprovingly.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE NEW STEWARD 
 
 Wilson had come back to the Domaine de Mailly deter- 
 mined to do his duty and avoid temptation, but when he 
 found temptation avoiding him he altered his tactics some- 
 what. 
 
 He saw nothing more of Desiree that first day except 
 at lunch and dinner, when she appeared in company with 
 her governess, a staid person of sixty. At both meals 
 the girl had very little to say, leaving all the conversation 
 to him and Miss Ryder, though once or twice he caught 
 her eyes fixed on him eyes that dropped the moment his 
 own came in her direction. 
 
 On the afternoon of the second day he ran her to 
 earth, alone by the old reservoir with the crocodile, an 
 array of lesson-books on the old oil press beside her. 
 
 He paused, watching her with eyes that held a stifled, 
 worshiping gleam. 
 
 "Do you know, Countess," he said, "that you've omitted 
 to tell me what you want me to do ?" 
 
 With a startled air she looked up at him. She had no 
 intention of telling him to do anything. A slave does not 
 give orders to a master. 
 
 "You you must do just what you like," she faltered. 
 
 "Then I'd like first of all to get this house comfortable 
 for you." 
 
 "Of course, if you think so," she answered shyly. 
 270
 
 THE NEW STEWARD 271 
 
 With pencil and note-book Wilson spent the rest of 
 the afternoon in going over and around the old mansion, 
 deciding how the place could be best done up with the 
 least discomfort to the inmates. 
 
 At dinner that night he laid his scheme before his 
 employer. 
 
 "Of course it shall be done like that, if you like it that 
 way," she said when he had finished. 
 
 Then Wilson had to laugh. 
 
 "But it's what you like, Countess, not what I like. 
 You're master here, not I." 
 
 A faint blush came to Desiree's face, but she made no 
 reply. 
 
 The next morning, since there was no sign of tempta- 
 tion, he sought for it diligently, eventually finding it in 
 one of the moldering rooms upstairs, doing lessons with 
 Miss Ryder. 
 
 He excused himself for intruding, but when he set out 
 to do a thing he liked to get on with it. 
 
 Had he the Countess's permission to go to Nice and 
 get estimates for the renovations from reliable firms of 
 builders ? 
 
 He had her permission, given in a meek, small voice. 
 
 That morning Wilson went to Nice, in a mule cart 
 driven by old Pierre, the only conveyance the chateau 
 possessed. Desiree had not yet dared to buy many things 
 for herself; the mule cart and a couple of cows Juliette 
 had purchased; both were things the old woman under- 
 stood, and over which it would have taken a very clever 
 person to swindle her. 
 
 Wilson was more than two hours in getting to Nice, a 
 journey a motor could have done in a quarter of the
 
 272 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 time, and the idea of the wasted hours irritated him, for 
 he wanted them all to spend in Desiree's service. 
 
 The next day after lunch Desiree would have escaped, 
 as she always did, the moment the meal was over, but as 
 he stood, holding the dining-room door open for her and 
 Miss Ryder, he said : 
 
 "I think we'd better begin by buying a motor car, 
 There's too much time wasted in jogging up and down 
 to Nice in that mule cart." 
 
 "I wouldn't dare to. I should get so 'done,'" she 
 confessed, in confusion the truth slipping out. 
 
 Wilson knew this was more than possible, but he had 
 no intention of making the girl more nervous than she 
 already was by letting her see he knew how utterly in- 
 capable she was, for that confession betrayed that she 
 had been "done" not once, but several times. 
 
 "I can come with you and see that that doesn't hap- 
 pen," he answered. "What sort of a car would you like?" 
 
 Only just in time she remembered not to say "one like 
 yours." 
 
 "I don't know," she responded, anxious that her 
 champion should have exactly what he liked, since he 
 appeared to have put aside money and luxury in order 
 to come and be her servant. 
 
 "How would it suit you if we got old Pierre to drive 
 us to Nice to-morrow morning and had a look at some ?" 
 he inquired. 
 
 "That would suit me all right," she said. 
 
 The matter being arranged, Desiree would have slipped 
 away there and then, but again his voice stopped her. 
 
 "When you have time I should like you to show me 
 round the estate, so that I can get some idea how much 
 there really is of it, and what should be done."
 
 THE NEW STEWARD 273 
 
 "I can come any time," she said submissively. 
 
 "Then perhaps we can go now," he answered, delighted 
 with himself at having enticed her out for a walk. 
 
 She vanished, to appear in the hall some minutes later 
 with a big drooping hat on her head, and a green parasol 
 to screen and shade her eyes from the sun. 
 
 With Wolf at their heels they set out. 
 
 As they went down the wide marble steps of the 
 terrace together, Wilson heard that the highroad bounded 
 her property on one side, and that it extended deep into 
 the hills and valleys, in the shape of a gigantic horseshoe. 
 
 Desiree took him through the tangled garden, out on the 
 earthy terrace where her carnations grew, down a steep 
 hillside, coming eventually to a narrow way, half lane, 
 half footpath, that meandered up and down, through olive 
 groves and pine woods, past orchards and vineyards, 
 among groups of fig and orange and lemon trees, round 
 palms and cypresses, which he learned was the boundary 
 of her estate. 
 
 As they walked together, now in sunshine, now in 
 shade, in a world full of flowers, and sweet with the scent 
 of broom, wild thyme, lavender, and roses, for the nonce 
 Wilson forgot they were mistress and servant. There 
 was such a feeling of fellowship and equality, as if what 
 was lacking in one was balanced by the other. 
 
 John Wilson, the lover, would not admit that the 
 princess had any shortcomings. But John Wilson, a wise 
 and sensible man, who had lived through a sudden, wild 
 infatuation to a deep, steady, abiding love, and a clear 
 vision of his ideal, knew the girl lacked stamina, strength, 
 and will-power, and that she tried to make up for these 
 deficiencies with an intense pride, and anyone cruel 
 enough to pull down that barrier would find behind it only
 
 274 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 a helpless child, totally unfitted and unable to cope with 
 the world and the people in it. 
 
 He had so much stamina, strength, and will-power 
 himself that her lack of these qualities did not trouble 
 him. He worried over what Desiree had that he had not 
 birth and breeding and money too humble before his 
 goddess to realize that his lack of these attributes would 
 not trouble her, provided she really loved him. 
 
 The estate proved to be more extensive than he had 
 imagined. When they had walked about two miles he 
 called a halt. They sat down on a grassy bank, the dog 
 stretched at their feet. 
 
 "Have we much farther to go ?" he asked. 
 
 "It's about five English miles all the way round," she 
 replied. 
 
 As Desiree talked she did not look at Wilson, but at 
 the dog, for Wolf looked at her with the same steady 
 brown eyes as the man, in the same faithful worshiping 
 way. 
 
 "Can you walk so far?" he asked, all concern. When 
 he had inveigled her out with him he had had no idea the 
 walk would be so long. 
 
 Never at any time in her life had Desiree walked five 
 miles on end, but she was sure she could do it now, for 
 there was a strange feeling of being able to draw strength 
 from her companion. 
 
 "I think so," she said. "I'm not at all tired yet." 
 
 After a few minutes' rest the walk went on again. 
 
 The girl was all eyes for the things around her. The 
 most ordinary of birds and butterflies and flowers were 
 a delight to her, something to which to call Wilson's 
 attention. He always responded heartily, remembering 
 she had only been able to see them for a few months.
 
 THE NEW STEWARD 275 
 
 Occasionally a crumbling house was reached, in which 
 he learned that in her grandfather's wealthy days the 
 people connected with the estate had lived. Whilst she 
 rested he went over the decaying dwellings, to see if 
 they could be made habitable again. 
 
 Wilson was the type of man who could make a success 
 of anything that needed a pair of strong hands, with a 
 masterly brain behind them. He intended to do his 
 best for Desiree, as he always had done; to make her 
 property pay its way, to be a faithful steward. By now 
 he realized she was not going to issue orders, but was 
 leaving the whole thing entirely to him. 
 
 "There'll be no tea for you to-day," he remarked, after 
 leaving one of the ruined houses, "unless we happen to 
 drop across some friendly cottage." 
 
 Desiree was talking to him freely now. During the 
 walk it seemed as if the gulf had been bridged that they 
 were quite close together again. 
 
 "There's no friendly cottage to drop across," she re- 
 plied. "The nearest inhabited place is still the chateau. 
 But there's plenty of fruit. Anything that grows on this 
 side we can have," she finished, waving a hand to the 
 right of them." 
 
 In the shade of a trio of somber cypresses they feasted 
 on red cherries and yellow loquats that Wilson had gath- 
 ered from the abundance around, and for his sake 
 Desiree regretted that another week or two must pass 
 before the peaches and apricots would be ripe enough 
 for eating. 
 
 "And after that there will be pears," she said. "Any 
 quantity of them. And then figs by the ton. And grapes, 
 but not many of those. The vineyards have been neg-
 
 276 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 lected for so long that they are utterly ruined. And then 
 come oranges and lemons again." 
 
 "You ought to sell your fruit," he remarked. 
 
 "I've so much money now that I don't want any more. 
 Jufiette is bottling some of the fruit and making jam and 
 giving a lot away. But I shouldn't care to sell it, now 
 that I'm so well off." 
 
 "But it's far better to sell it than let it go to waste. 
 Every pound of cherries or peaches or figs or oranges 
 that you put on the market automatically makes cherries 
 and peaches and figs and oranges cheaper for the rest of 
 the world. If you want to grow food you must sell it. 
 If there's any one corner of your estate less beautiful 
 than another, it wouldn't be a bad idea to put up a fruit 
 bottling and jam factory. Then all these tons of fruit 
 won't be going to waste. And we'll have people out from 
 Nice to work for us bring them up every morning and 
 take them back every evening in a motor-lorry a day in 
 the country they'll be paid for, instead of having to pay 
 for themselves. And the lorry will do to take our produce 
 down in, and to bring back stores. 
 
 As Wilson talked, interested in his scheme, with the 
 feeling of "oneness" that being alone with Desiree had 
 brought, he did not say "you" and "your" to his em- 
 ployer, but "we" and "our." This seemed so natural to 
 Desiree that she did not notice it. She looked at him with 
 wondering gaze, marveling at the rapidly developed 
 scheme. 
 
 "It sounds very nice, but I couldn't do it," she con- 
 fessed. 
 
 "I don't suppose you could. It's little things like that 
 that I'm here to look after."
 
 THE NEW STEWARD 277 
 
 "What would you call a big thing?" she asked, in an 
 awed tone of voice. 
 
 "Well, to run thfe estate as it should be run, and to 
 make it support itself and the home for blind babies." 
 
 Wilson said it with a sort of relish, as if he enjoyed 
 the task ahead of him. Like many a man, he did not 
 crave so much for a life of leisure and amusement as for 
 congenial occupation. He wanted work, but work that 
 he really liked and that interested him, and in managing 
 Desiree's estate he had it. 
 
 And she admired her companion all the more. 
 
 He was a man who could tackle big things, and look 
 as if he enjoyed the prospect, instead of being scared out 
 of his life at the mere idea, as she would be. She could 
 not even tackle her own household. There was a strike 
 on there now. 
 
 Both Juliette and the cook had refused to have anything 
 to do with the English breakfast which she had ordered 
 for her hero, a breakfast of porridge and bacon and eggs, 
 such as she had gathered from Mrs. Green all English 
 people had. 
 
 Eggs, yes ; both the cook and Juliette could understand 
 a man having a boiled egg with his first dejeuner. But 
 whoever heard of a civilized person eating pudding and 
 meat at eight o'clock in the morning ? 
 
 "If this English monsieur is to have pudding and meat 
 with his breakfast, then mademoiselle will have to cook 
 them herself," the cook had declared. 
 
 And Juliette had seconded this motion, for once siding 
 with her rival. If things went on like this the Comtesse 
 would be expecting them to cook a dinner with seven or 
 eight courses at eight o'clock in the morning! Any idea 
 of the sort must be nipped in the bud.
 
 278 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Wilson breakfasted in the dining-room, in solitary 
 state, in an English manner, on porridge and bacon and 
 eggs. But he little knew who had cooked it. Desiree, 
 with painful effort and burnt fingers, determined that her 
 hero should be fed after the manner of his nation. She 
 did for him what she would not have dared to do for her- 
 self. She braved a couple of irate and refractory women 
 who stood in the kitchen whilst she cooked his breakfast, 
 sneering at her attempts, criticizing her methods. 
 
 However, she said nothing of this to Wilson. A man 
 so capable would think her a poor creature since she could 
 not exact obedience from her own menials. 
 
 She put the matter completely out of her mind, refusing 
 to let the painful morning scene mar the happiness of the 
 moment. 
 
 There was a brief silence during which cherries and 
 loquats were demolished. 
 
 All at once Desiree cast a quick glance at her compan- 
 ion. Then she averted her face so that he should not see 
 the soft little smile that came to her lips, in spite of all 
 efforts the smile of a girl about to tease her lover. 
 
 "Mr. Wilson, is your cousin anything like you?" a 
 demure voice asked presently, with an undercurrent of 
 mischief in it. 
 
 The question made Wilson wriggle uncomfortably, 
 suddenly brought face to face with his own deception and 
 the unflattering image of himself he always conjured up 
 when thinking of himself in connection with Desiree. 
 
 "He's a very ordinary sort," he answered, in as casual 
 a tone as he could command at the moment. 
 
 Then his gaze went to the girl beside him, with her 
 small hands full of red cherries, the big hat shading her 
 perfect face.
 
 THE NEW STEWARD 279 
 
 "What do you imagine him to be like?" he asked, 
 wanting to find out what her idea of him really was. 
 
 "He's not very tall," she answered gravely; "about as 
 tall as you, I should say. And he's awfully good-looking ; 
 his face is so strong and firm and kind. He has a figure 
 like Hercules, and such nice hands the hands of a man 
 who can do things. And I know there's not a greater or 
 more noble man on this earth than my Mr. Wilson," she 
 finished earnestly. 
 
 Inwardly Wilson groaned. 
 
 It was as he had always suspected and feared. In her 
 mind she had some glorified, impossible hero masquerad- 
 ing as himself. More than ever was he glad he had come 
 back as his cousin.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THE RENOVATED CHATEAU 
 
 The next morning Wilson was up rather earlier than 
 usual. There were one or two matters he wanted to go 
 into before he took Desiree to Nice in quest of a car. 
 By now he knew every inch of the old chateau, and, as a 
 short cut to his bedroom to wash his hands prior to break- 
 fast, he passed in by the back premises. 
 
 The door of the passage-like kitchen stood slightly 
 ajar, and from it issued the smell and sound of frizzling 
 bacon. Kitchen accommodation was one of the many 
 problems with which Wilson had to deal ; the present one 
 was wholly inadequate for the mansion as it would be 
 after the contemplated changes were made. A new wing 
 would have to be built on, with a kitchen and a servants' 
 hall, and, above, the most up-to-date of bathrooms and 
 extra bedrooms. 
 
 All this he was thinking as he entered the house. Then 
 through the half -open door he saw something that took 
 his mind to other matters, and which had for him the 
 fascination and drawing powers of a magnet for a needle. 
 
 Between two of the pairs of bricks Desiree stood, with 
 a ridiculously small frilled apron tied about her waist, a 
 knife in one hand, a frown on her brow, her attention 
 divided between simmering porridge and a pan in which 
 rashers of bacon were frying. Close by Juliette and the 
 cook stood, flushed and rebellious looking, both with 
 
 280
 
 THE RENOVATED CHATEAU 281 
 
 tightly pursed lips, one watching the coffee and the other 
 making the toast. 
 
 "Are you having a cooking lesson, Countess?" Wilson 
 asked in English. 
 
 His voice made the knife drop from her hand to the 
 stone floor with a sharp clatter. 
 
 "No, I'm showing Juliette and cook how to do eggs 
 and bacon and make porridge in the English manner," 
 she answered bravely, terrified lest he should find out her 
 incompetence and despise her. 
 
 Wilson felt like asking from what source she had got 
 her own knowledge, but he desisted. Also it seemed to 
 him the women were not taking much notice of their in- 
 structress ; they had had their backs half turned towards 
 her, and had been ignoring her completely until his voice 
 had startled them into attention. 
 
 He glanced from the strained little face before him to 
 the grim set faces of the two women, and smiled slightly. 
 
 Being a healthy man, he enjoyed his meals, but he 
 never gave a thought as to who had prepared them, 
 Now it dawned on him that the three breakfasts he had 
 had at the chateau had been cooked by Desiree. He 
 wished he had known this fact sooner, so that he could 
 have appreciated them more. For all that, he hated to 
 see the child in unlovely surroundings, or worried over 
 domestic matters. It seemed to him that all the joy and 
 beauty and happiness in the world could not recompense 
 her for the dark, miserable years she had lived through. 
 And it had very quickly dawned on him that there was 
 trouble between mistress and maids. 
 
 "Well, Juliette and cook must be very slow in learning, 
 if you still have to show them how to cook an English 
 breakfast," he remarked in broken French.
 
 282 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 His comment had the effect he intended. It made the 
 two women bridle at this slur on their intelligence. More- 
 over, there was a note in his voice that said he was going 
 to have no nonsense that they had now to deal with a 
 man who intended to be master, not a nervous and easily 
 bullied mistress. 
 
 "Mademoiselle la Comtesse won't trust me, monsieur," 
 the cook said haughtily, "although I can fry eggs and 
 bacon far better than Juliette." 
 
 "Indeed you can't," Juliette cried, snatching a knife 
 and elbowing Desiree aside. "In days gone by I have 
 often fried eggs and bacon and made a pudding of oats. 
 They were favorite luncheon dishes with the old Count 
 de Mailly. Run along, ma petite/' she finished, turning, 
 all smiles, to Desiree. "Old Juliette will do this for you 
 every morning since you can't trust your new cook.** 
 
 "Can't trust me, indeed!" the cook flared. "It's you 
 that's forever poking your nose into things I'm cooking, 
 taking off lids and spoiling the flavor, prying and interfer- 
 ing." 
 
 "I should think I don't trust you and your new-fangled 
 ways and your kitchen stoves," Juliette shrieked. "I've 
 cooked like this for forty years, and if it's good enough 
 for me, it's good enough for you." 
 
 Helplessly Desiree glanced at Wilson. It had come at 
 last, what she had been daily expecting and dreading 
 a battle royal between her old servant and the new one. 
 
 "No, Juliette, it's not good enough for you," Wilson's 
 voice broke in firmly and quietly, speaking rather slowly 
 in broken French. "You don't suppose that, after all your 
 years of faithful service, your mistress would be content 
 to let you stay here still working? With your knowledge 
 of poultry and cows, of butter and cheese-making, you're
 
 THE RENOVATED CHATEAU 283 
 
 to have charge of a model dairy the Countess is going to 
 have built, with three dairy maids under you." 
 
 (This was the first time Desiree had heard of the 
 dairy.) 
 
 "And me, monsieur, shall I be expected to stay here 
 and cook on bricks and sticks like a vagabond ?" the cook 
 asked. "I would have you know that I've cooked for 
 ladies with higher titles and bigger incomes than Made- 
 moiselle la Comtesse." 
 
 "Your mistress is going to have an up-to-date kitchen 
 built, with a proper kitchen range, and you are to have 
 a couple of kitchen maids. But we must all have patience. 
 These things can't be done in five minutes. 
 
 The two women quieted down, looking at each other 
 now, not as rivals, but as heads of departments. 
 
 Wilson left the kitchen. With fluttering heart and 
 trembling hands Desiree followed him, fearing he had 
 found out her utter incapability. 
 
 "If there's any trouble in the kitchen department again, 
 Countess, tell me at once," he remarked, when they were 
 out of earshot of the place. "I'm more used to dealing 
 with people than you are. And there's almost bound to 
 be trouble when a servant has been supreme in a house as 
 long as Juliette has." 
 
 "Oh, don't scold her," the girl said quickly, all fears 
 now for the old woman she loved. 
 
 "I wouldn't dream of it," he answered. "That's why I 
 gave her a job outside of the house that'll keep her mind 
 employed, and not mean much work." 
 
 Desiree loved and admired her champion more than 
 ever. 
 
 "I never knew anyone so clever as you," she said. 
 "You sorted them out beautifully."
 
 284 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 He was even more clever than she imagined, for he 
 gave no hint that he was aware how incapable she 
 was. 
 
 Juliette's remark about "luncheon dishes" had given 
 Wilson the clue to the girl's presence in the kitchen. 
 
 "And don't you bother about introducing new customs 
 for me," he said. "Why can't I have just coffee and rolls 
 on the terrace, under the loquat tree, as I had as I hear 
 you have sometimes," he finished in the same breath. 
 
 Every minute of the day Desiree wanted to be with 
 him. She welcomed the idea of a tete-a-tcte breakfast 
 on the terrace, but she wanted him to have the things to 
 which he was accustomed and which he liked. 
 
 "I'd like you to have exactly what you'd have if you 
 were at home," she said. 
 
 "If I were at home I should have coffee and boiled 
 eggs and fruit for my breakfast, and if it were fine enough 
 I should eat it in the garden," he said untruthfully. 
 
 That same morning Wilson had breakfast on the 
 terrace with Desiree. The scent of flowers and dew came 
 up from the tangled garden, where bees buzzed drowsily, 
 as they had done four months before when she had given 
 him shelter in the ruined castle. His employer had not 
 much to say. She was thinking of all that had happened 
 since then, and what her fate would have been if he had 
 not come into her life. 
 
 When the meal was finished he said : 
 
 "As soon as you're ready, Countess, we'll set out on 
 the track of a car." 
 
 She went up to her room, wishing he would call her 
 Desiree, and she wanted above all things to call him John. 
 It was the nicest name a man could have, and it sounded 
 just like him firm and kind and strong and good.
 
 THE RENOVATED CHATEAU 285 
 
 This time Wilson did not find the drive down to Nice 
 at all long. Desiree was beside him, her soft voice talking, 
 her small hands pointing to this and that wondrous view. 
 And he could only watch her, rejoicing in her sight as 
 much as she herself did. 
 
 He knew Nice well now, that white town by a blue 
 sea, set in the midst of green trees, within a semi-circle 
 of gray mountains that the sun turned into mounds of 
 gold; where the fairy tale had been played out, leaving 
 him the loser. But he did not let his mind dwell on his 
 loss. He had work before him now to serve the princess 
 faithfully. 
 
 After lunch they went to one of the principal motor 
 agencies in the town. Once in the showroom, Wilson 
 did not trouble Desiree about the matter. He looked at 
 the various cars, examining their intricate parts, knowing 
 exactly what type and style would be best suited to her 
 purpose. 
 
 Desiree watched him, saying nothing. She loved to see 
 him dealing with men and things in his calm, capable 
 manner, as he had dealt with her and the terrors and 
 darkness in which he had found her. 
 
 Above all things, she wanted to put her hands on his 
 arm and squeeze it squeeze hard and deep into the 
 swelling muscles beneath. The world had become so 
 safe and delightful now he had come back, with his 
 strength and kind, unruffled ways. 
 
 A car was finally decided on. There was a trial run. 
 On their return Wilson said : 
 
 "Now, Countess, all you have to do is to make out a 
 check." 
 
 "That's about all I'm capable of doing,'' she confessed. 
 
 He smiled down at her. Desiree no longer towered
 
 286 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 above him. She had got back to her right height, three 
 inches less than he was. 
 
 "It's a very useful accomplishment," he replied. 
 
 They drove back in state, leaving Pierre to bring up 
 the mule cart. 
 
 When the chateau was reached, Desiree did not imme- 
 diately leave her steward. She hovered round, watching 
 him garage the car in the old stables. He went about the 
 task with the air of a man who loves the car he is driving, 
 steering it carefully, so as to get no chip or flaw on its 
 newness. 
 
 "Do you like the car?" she asked, when it was safely 
 stalled and he came to her side. 
 
 Wilson loved a really good motor, and there was a note 
 in the girl's voice as if she considered the new purchase 
 much more his than hers. It took him all his time to 
 keep his finger off that delicately rounded cheek and from 
 asking teasingly: 
 
 "Do you like it, Desiree ?" 
 
 But he remembered they were mistress and servant 
 now, she with 10,000 a year and a title, he, a man who 
 had come up from the gutter, with only 300 a year, and 
 that of her giving. 
 
 "Yes, I like it," he said soberly, "and a car is a neces- 
 sity when you live so far away from civilization." 
 
 "Don't you like the country?" she asked, a touch of 
 alarm in her voice. 
 
 "Personally I prefer the wilds," he answered. "But 
 to run a place like this properly you must have something 
 to get you in touch with the world quickly. And this car 
 will do it in about half an hour, if we ignore the speed 
 limit."
 
 THE RENOVATED CHATEAU 287 
 
 Wilson preferred the country more and more as the 
 days went on. 
 
 Before a fortnight had passed he had men digging up 
 the weed-grown terraces on the hillsides, and bricklayers 
 and carpenters at work on the house. Twice a week he 
 went down to Nice, to a college of agriculture, to learn 
 how things were grown in that part of France, so that 
 he could serve his princess better ; to see plans connected 
 with her house, and the home for blind babies that was to 
 be built in the sweetest corner of her wilderness of an 
 estate, and the factory for which he had found a spot 
 where it would not prove an eyesore. 
 
 When the various contracts were drawn up he would 
 bring them to his employer. 
 
 "Well, Countess, this is a fair price for things nowa- 
 days," he would say, "so if it's agreeable to you we'll close 
 with this offer." 
 
 "If you say it's all right, of course it must be," she 
 would reply, in the old trustful way that always thrilled 
 him. 
 
 And she always wondered why he was content to be 
 her servant when he could be her master, and how much 
 longer the farce would have to be kept up. She had 
 written one letter to John Wilson in England, saying how 
 pleased and delighted she was with his cousin. In every 
 way a girl could, she encouraged him, waiting for the 
 days when, in his arms, she could tell him she had always 
 known he was John Wilson, not Edward. 
 
 With his fountain pen she would put "Desiree de 
 Mailly" at the foot of bewildering columns of figures and 
 confusing sentences, and leave the rest to him. 
 
 Wilson rejoiced that he was there to come between 
 her and all sordid matters. Best above all he loved to
 
 288 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 watch her wandering about in her own grounds, seeing 
 sights and beauties that for twenty-one years had been 
 denied her. During his months in England he had often 
 wondered into what she would develop when she had 
 sight and money the unfoimed, ignorant child who had 
 made love and passion flame up in him for the first time. 
 And now he knew her for what she was a quiet, thought- 
 ful, home-loving girl, anxious to do good and be good to 
 all around her, as beautiful in character as in face, a gem 
 among women. 
 
 Often when he was up on the old tower of the chateau 
 superintending the renovations, he would espy a little 
 patch of white somewhere in the green below Desiree 
 standing entranced with the beauty of the world in which 
 she lived. Every corner of the Domaine de Mailly gave 
 some glorious view of sea or mountain, deep valley and 
 rounded hills. Eve let loose in the Garden of Eden could 
 not have been more interested in the things of her Maker's 
 creating than the girl who wandered so happily in the 
 grounds of her own home. 
 
 Occasionally, when he was in the midst of instructing 
 an army of workmen, a soft, excited voice would say : 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Wilson, do come and see what I've found." 
 
 No matter how busy he might be, that request was a 
 command. 
 
 He would be taken to some spot in the spreading 
 grounds and shown, perhaps, half a dozen tree frogs 
 crouched asleep on a bough, one after the other, like the 
 train of ivory elephants one sees carved on a tusk, little 
 bright green things with gilded eyes, looking as if made 
 of india rubber, that Desiree would touch, making one 
 golden eye open lazily and close again, as if the owner 
 were aware no harm would come to it from the hand
 
 THE RENOVATED CHATEAU 289 
 
 that caressed it so gently. Or the call might be merely 
 to see a gray lizard, or a grasshopper about three inches 
 long, or a tiny black scorpion, or a huge bronze beetle, 
 or a woodpecker at work on a tree, or a train of brown 
 ants marching along a path, two abreast, for all the world 
 like a minute, endless army, or an array of brown and 
 green frogs disporting themselves in one of the old irriga- 
 tion tanks pretty little fellows, full of droll antics, who 
 acted as if their one aim in life were to amuse the girl 
 who had been so long in darkness ; frogs that filled each 
 of the warm nights with their croaking. 
 
 When the excited little voice reached Wilson, it needed 
 great self-control on his part not to say: 
 
 "Well, Eve, what is it now?" 
 
 But wonderful as were all the flowers and trees, the 
 birds, beasts, and fishes to Desiree, there was nothing 
 in the vast scheme of nature to compare with the man 
 who had come into her darkness, bringing light. 
 
 When the sun set over the mountains, turning their 
 hard grayness into velvet softness, painting the sky with 
 orange and rose and amber and vivid green, making the 
 old tanks into glittering jewels, the distant sea a fallen 
 rainbow, it was wonderful, something to clasp hands in 
 ecstasy over, to look at with marveling eyes. But it was 
 not so wonderful as "my Mr. Wilson." 
 
 When night rose like a mist from the landscape, swal- 
 lowing up first the sea, then the valleys, making the 
 mountains but deep shadows against an indigo sky where 
 silver stars flashed stars that seemed to have showered 
 down to earth in the fireflies that/swarmed in the garden 
 and danced about the trees like tiny silver lamps it was 
 marvelous, a scene to watch with rapt eyes. But it was 
 not so marvelous as "my Mr. Wilson."
 
 290 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 In the dim gold of evening, when the angelus sounded 
 softly from a distant village, sending the workmen to 
 their homes, bringing dinner out on the chateau terrace 
 the one hour of the day when the gnarled old olives lost 
 their gray look and took on a tender green against the 
 blue-gray of the sky when the first of the frogs started 
 croaking in the ponds and tanks around, and bats flew 
 like little ghosts in the gloaming, the peace and beauty of 
 it all almost made one weep. But tears of gratitude more 
 often sparkled in Desiree's eyes. But for "my Mr. 
 Wilson" she would never have seen night settle so softly 
 upon the earth. 
 
 It was delightful, too, to wander with him after dinner 
 in the garden in the moonlight, when the world was a 
 place of ebony and silver, and the mountains loomed like 
 nightrack on the horizon to go from one to the other 
 of the old irrigation tanks, to strike their stone walls with 
 a stick and silence all the croakers. 
 
 But droll and delightful as those frogs were, afraid of 
 her, Desiree, who would rather have died than intention- 
 ally injure one of them, they were not so droll and de- 
 lightful as "my Mr. Wilson." 
 
 "My Mr. Wilson is so amusing," Desiree said to him 
 one night as they strolled in the moonlight with Wolf as 
 a chaperon. 
 
 Wilson wondered what had given her this impression. 
 He knew he had made one or two idiotic remarks with 
 the idea of chasing the tragedy for a moment from that 
 wan little face, but he could not remember more than 
 that. 
 
 Desiree had not looked upon him as amusing in those 
 first days of their acquaintance. He had been a god, a 
 hero, neither of them the beings one expects to pose as
 
 THE RENOVATED CHATEAU 291 
 
 wags. He was still both of these to her, but a man into 
 the bargain an intensely lovable, delightfully stupid 
 man, who imagined she would not recognize him merely 
 because'he had come back to her as his cousin. 
 
 His presence sent her singing through the old house 
 which, when he had first come there, had had nothing 
 but drafty sighs and the splash of rain, like tears. 
 
 Very often, when her lessons were over, she would 
 come straight out and look at him, as in white overalls 
 he superintended the renovations. 
 
 For a time, on the pretext of seeing how things were 
 getting on, she would watch him as he gave a hand here, 
 advice there, instructions about this, that, and the other 
 thing, at everybody's beck and call, yet never out o-f 
 temper, never flurried, supremely master of himself and 
 those around him. 
 
 "You work too hard," she would often say. "For a 
 change come and help me to gather fruit for lunch and 
 dinner." 
 
 It was an invitation he could never refuse, to wander 
 in the fruit-laden orchards with the princess, to stand with 
 her under peach and apricot trees, whilst she looked 
 critically at the crop. 
 
 "That one is going to be for you now," she would 
 say, pointing at a particularly fine specimen. 
 
 And it would be eaten there and then, in company 
 with several others of its kind, sitting with Desiree under 
 the shade of a pine, or olive, or walnut tree. There was 
 no sign of "The Ice Maiden" then, only a young girl, 
 teasing and tender. 
 
 "I had cherries in my hat the first day I met my Mr. 
 Wilson," she remarked one morning when they were 
 feasting on the last of this crop.
 
 292 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 Wilson knew this quite well, and the comment made 
 him fidgety. 
 
 He heard a great deal about "my Mr. Wilson" during 
 his stay at the chateau, and he hated him with a deep 
 and ferocious hatred. There was no one on earth so 
 handsome, so clever, so noble. He was a pack of aggres- 
 sive virtues, bristling with every good point imaginable. 
 He loathed the glorified image of himself that lived in 
 the girl's mind. It never dawned on him to think that 
 Desiree was favoring him, encouraging him even; he 
 never dreamed she had seen through his deception, for 
 one or two letters of hers had already reached him under 
 cover from England, thanking him for sending her such 
 an excellent and reliable steward, saying how much she 
 liked his cousin, and what a nice man he was; he only 
 saw himself privileged because of that impossible person 
 "my Mr. Wilson."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 MR. GREEN PREDICTS 
 
 One day Mr. Green came home to lunch with an air 
 about him that his wife knew an air that portended 
 news. 
 
 "What is it ?" she asked, the moment he was seated at 
 the table. 
 
 "Annie, what has John Wilson been on with in 
 France?" he asked mysteriously. 
 
 "Nothing that I know of, though I did once think he 
 was sufficiently in love to marry." 
 
 "You and your matchmaking," her husband exclaimed 
 impatiently. "What I want to know is, was he speculat- 
 ing over there?" 
 
 "Now, Mr. Green, if he had been, would he be likely 
 to tell me ? What questions you men do ask, to be sure." 
 
 Mr. Green helped himself liberally to salmon mayon- 
 naise. 
 
 "Well, I've just heard that Wilson has sold his busi- 
 ness for something like 200,000." 
 
 "I'm sure it's worth it," she replied, by no means im- 
 pressed with the news. 
 
 "Not only has he sold his business," Mr. Green went on 
 heavily, "but he has gone and got himself a job abroad." 
 
 "All men aren't like you," she answered, glad of an 
 opportunity of getting a thrust home. "Wilson wants to 
 know what the world's made of, and I don't blame him." 
 
 Her husband ignored this remark. 
 
 293
 
 -94 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "Now I ask you, what does it mean?" he continued im- 
 pressively. "What does it mean when a man sells his 
 business and goes and takes some tuppence ha'penny job 
 abroad?" 
 
 "I never was any good at riddles," she replied placidly. 
 
 "It means, Annie, that he's ruined," Mr. Green said, 
 dropping his bomb. 
 
 With fork half way to her mouth his wife stared at 
 him, her eyes round with horror. 
 
 "Not John Wilson!" she exclaimed. "He's such a 
 good sort." 
 
 "John Wilson it is," her husband answered calmly. 
 "And what I want to know is, how did he come a cropper ? 
 He must have got himself into some devil of a mess in 
 France. I heard on good authority that he had been 
 negotiating for the sale of his business since the moment 
 he returned. Men don't sell a business like his and skip 
 off abroad unless things have gone mightily wrong with 
 them. If you ask me, he's been dabbling in foreign stocks 
 and shares that he doesn't understand. Or else " 
 
 He paused, inspiration on his face. 
 
 "I say, Annie, did he go much to Monte Carlo ?" He 
 slapped his leg. 
 
 "That's it, I bet you anything," he continued, not wait- 
 ing for any reply. "Wilson has been to the tables and 
 burned himself badly, like many a man before him. I 
 shouldn't have thought it of him. He's such a level- 
 headed sort. But then you never know. One thing is 
 certain, he's down among the dead men now. And this, 
 Annie, comes of folks going abroad. There's Wilson 
 ruined, and you with your best bracelet stolen, all through 
 trespassing about in foreign lands. England is good 
 enough for me."
 
 MR. GREEN PREDICTS 295 
 
 Mrs. Green hardly heard the caustic comments on her 
 love of change and travel. She saw a mystery solved 
 one that had often puzzled her. 
 
 "So that was why Wilson didn't propose to the Countess 
 de Mailly," she said. "Anyone with half an eye could 
 see he was madly in love with her." 
 
 A tear trickled down her face.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 A FLY IN THE OINTMENT 
 
 During the first fortnight of his stay at the Domaine de 
 Mailly it seemed to Wilson that he had gained a lesser 
 paradise. 
 
 Then a fly appeared in his ointment not one alone, 
 but a swarm. 
 
 The old families around learned that the Countess de 
 Mailly was back, living quietly on her estate the young 
 heiress whose beauty and romantic story had taken Paris 
 by storm. 
 
 People who for years had ignored her existence began 
 to call. They came in motors from thirty miles and more 
 away, in carriages and pairs from Nice. Hardly a day 
 passed without bringing its visitor, and every caller had 
 a coat of arms on carriage or car. 
 
 If by chance Wilson appeared during their visit, lorg- 
 nettes and monocles would be turned on him, as if he 
 were some strange beast more especially if he appeared 
 in overalls, as he had done on more than one occasion, 
 when coming in to consult Desiree on some point con- 
 nected with the renovations, unaware that she had visitors. 
 
 One afternoon when this happened, blissfully ignorant 
 that there was anything the matter with her man, she had 
 introduced him to a princess a real one, not of the fairy 
 species, with long ears, a pronounced moustache, and a 
 pendulous nose; a haughty and impecunious dame, who 
 
 296
 
 A FLY IN THE OINTMENT 297 
 
 had brought her son, a weedy, degenerate princeling, 
 From the moment of Desiree's entrance the prince had 
 not taken his eyes off her. With open admiration he 
 ogled her, as if he could not credit that so much youth, 
 beauty, and money thrice blessed trinity could go to- 
 gether. The Countess de Mailly in no way resembled the 
 previous moneyed specimens his mother had produced 
 for his inspection. 
 
 "My steward, Mr. Wilson," Desiree had said, smiling 
 at the broad figure in overalls as she had not deigned to 
 smile at the prince. 
 
 Wilson had withdrawn as soon as he was able, seeing 
 hostility in the woman's stare, patronage in the man's 
 offhand greeting. 
 
 "Am I to understand that that er gentleman live* 
 here in the chateau, Countess?" the princess had asked 
 in an incredulous tone the moment Wilson had vanished* 
 
 Desiree smiled softly to herself. 
 
 "I like to have Mr. Wilson where I can lay a finger oil 
 him at any moment," she replied. "It makes me feel so 
 safe." 
 
 "My dear child, have you never heard of the conven- 
 tions ?" the princess exclaimed, horrified. 
 
 "Miss Ryder, my governess, represents them. She is 
 sixty, and her father was an English bishop." 
 
 At this reply the lorgnettes were switched on Desiree. 
 
 The girl was very beautiful and very rich, and it was 
 obvious that the prince was most epris. Money was 
 badly needed to repair their fallen fortunes, and at last 
 it seemed as if he were prepared to swallow it, presented 
 in this palatable form. Of course the Countess de Mailly 
 was not quite the same as other French girls of good 
 birth. She had twenty-one years of blindness behind
 
 298 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 her, during which, according to all reports, she had been 
 left entirely to servants, utterly neglected by her guar- 
 dian; in fact she was only just beginning to read and 
 write. So naturally it was not so very surprising if she 
 could not quite distinguish the difference between this 
 English person with the queer name and a French aris- 
 tocrat. 
 
 "As an old school companion of your mother's, my dear 
 young friend, I must tell you " the princess began. 
 
 What she was going to say was not finished. Another 
 visitor was announced a bachelor on the far side of 
 forty, who -claimed acquaintance on the score of having 
 known Desiree's father. 
 
 Occasionally when well-placed fortune-hunters were 
 there Wilson would come in for tea. It was a refined 
 form of torture to him, to give Desiree a chance of really 
 measuring him side by side with the suave, polished, 
 elegant men of her own class. 
 
 But she did not always give him the opportunity. 
 
 Sometimes when she was standing watching him as he 
 moved, calm and unflurried, among a host of work- 
 people, the sound of carriage wheels or the hoot of a 
 motor would bring her even closer to his side. 
 
 "Mr. Wilson, hide me. There are some people coming 
 to sec me, and I don't want to see them." 
 
 She would seize his arm and hurry with him into the 
 deep shadows of an olive grove, or the depths of some 
 dark pine wood, and make him sit down beside her, 
 hidden in the shade of the trees. 
 
 The carriage would stop. A few minutes later Pierre's 
 old voice would come calling: 
 
 "Mademoiselle ! Mademoiselle !" 
 
 But Desiree's hands we already over her ears.
 
 A FLY IN THE OINTMENT 299 
 
 "I don't hear anybody calling, do you, Mr. Wilson?'" 
 she would question, looking the incarnation of mischief. 
 
 Then Wilson had to unbend and smile back at her. 
 
 Whilst Miss Ryder gave tea or chocolate to undesired 
 visitors, Desiree remained hidden at some distance with 
 the man of her choice. And he would stretch himself 
 beside her, giving himself up to the joy of the moment. 
 
 Occasionally, when his eyes wandered from the girl, 
 it would seem that a fly crawled in his ear, a fly that 
 refused to go at the first or even the second hit, and 
 perhaps a third brought a suppressed gurgle of delight 
 which told him the tormentor was a blade of grass in 
 Desiree's hand. 
 
 Forgetting the gulf between them, he would grab at 
 the small, teasing hand, and hold it for a moment quiver- 
 ing in his, then let it go suddenly. For all at once he 
 would remember her position and his poverty, and that 
 she could be a real princess if she wanted. The prince- 
 ling simply haunted the house ; hardly a day passed with- 
 out his coming, bringing the girl gifts, or wanting to take 
 her somewhere. 
 
 Then the grass would tickle no more. Instead, 
 Desiree would sit bolt upright beside her steward, won- 
 dering why he could not see what she was trying to show 
 him. 
 
 When her visitors said disparaging things, or looked 
 in a disapproving manner at her idol, with an effort she 
 kept herself from flaring up at them, from telling them 
 what she thought of them and him. .But most of all she 
 wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and weep because 
 they could not see how wonderful he was; to tell him 
 what they had said, and how it hurt her; to hear him 
 laugh in his pleasant, kindly manner at all these people
 
 300 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 and their petty ways, he, a man so infinitely their superior, 
 to hear him say: 
 
 "I don't care a hang what they say, Desiree, so long as 
 you love me." 
 
 But she could not do any such thing. He held himself 
 so aloof, as if he were really the god that, in her darkness, 
 she had thought him aloof, yet unfailingly kind and 
 helpful and considerate. 
 
 Sometimes it needed a terrible effort not to throw 
 herself on his hard strength as he lay stretched out on 
 the ground beside her. She wanted to have his arms 
 around her again, holding her safe and secure, crushed 
 so close against him that it seemed they were one. 
 
 It never occurred to Wilson to consider that Desiree 
 did not take any of her men visitors gathering fruit with 
 her, that she did not run off with them and hide in the 
 woods, and then sit demure and sedate at their sides, 
 tickling their ears with grass. 
 
 But what was not obvious to Wilson very soon became 
 obvious to the outside world. To all other men, Desiree 
 was "The Ice Maiden," cold and scornful, not even con- 
 descending to pour out their tea or chocolate when they 
 came to see her, letting her governess officiate at the tea- 
 table. 
 
 With thoughtful eyes she watched her new friends. 
 
 In past days, when she was living at the chateau, these 
 smart mothers had not brought their sons, these middle- 
 aged bachelors had not remembered they were friends of 
 her father. No one had come to see her when she really 
 needed a friend; no one except Mr. Wilson. He was 
 the only one who had come then with gifts and invitations. 
 
 When entertaining in her own drawing-room Desiree
 
 A FLY IN THE OINTMENT 301 
 
 was always the princess, cold, haughty, and imperious, 
 unless Wilson chanced to appear. 
 
 Then she was no longer a ruler, but a slave girl. 
 
 Miss Ryder was not allowed to pour out his tea. 
 Desiree did that herself. And she carried it to him, and 
 from the array of dainties fetched what she knew he 
 liked the best. 
 
 The difference was so marked, the preference so 
 obvious, that the titled and aristocratic set that now 
 claimed the girl as one of themselves soon began to talk. 
 
 The talk came to a head one day at a reception in Nice. 
 The real princess was there, spiteful and malignant be- 
 cause the princeling had been refused. In a corner she 
 and various other fashionable mothers were talking, their 
 gaze fixed on Desiree, who was sitting close by. 
 
 "If I had to say who the Countess de Mailly favors, 
 I should say she is guilty of the bad taste of being in love 
 with her own steward," the princess's well-bred, malicious 
 voice remarked. 
 
 Desiree heard what was said, and, what was more, she 
 knew she was intended to hear. 
 
 In a sudden gust of anger at the falseness, hypocrisy, 
 and flattery around her, she got up quickly, and faced the 
 gossipers in the corner. 
 
 "Mr. Wilson was my friend when I most needed one," 
 she said. "He helped me when I was poor and blind. 
 He did not wait until I had sight and riches. I was as 
 much the daughter of your old school friend then as now, 
 but you could not remember it until I had 10,000 a year. 
 And now you sneer at my preference!" 
 
 Before anyone had recovered sufficiently to make any 
 reply, she turned and went quickly from the room, to seek 
 a refuge in the splendid motor-car which Wilson had
 
 302 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 selected for her, to be driven home by the smart chauffeur 
 he had engaged. 
 
 As the days passed and Wilson still remained unre- 
 sponsive, in spite of all the timid advances she made, her 
 heart grew cold and heavy, and the soft little voice no 
 longer sang about the old house. 
 
 Perhaps he did not love her? Perhaps he was only 
 doing what he considered his duty, in a cold, hard, English 
 way, and had come back to help her because she was so 
 helpless ? 
 
 Then one day it seemed to Desiree that she had a 
 reason for his silence. 
 
 A letter came from Mrs. Green, and among various 
 items was one that ran: 
 
 "I have just heard that your friend, John Wilson, is 
 ruined. That must have been why he left Nice in such 
 a hurry, before you were really better. The moment he 
 got back to England he set about selling his business. 
 A few weeks ago it was sold for about 200,000, and he 
 has taken a post abroad. Nobody knows where he has 
 gone. He has burnt his bridges behind him. I thought 
 you would like to know this, because you were wondering 
 why he had left Nice before you were quite cured. He 
 is a proud man, who would clear out if he were hard hit, 
 and according to rumor he had not a penny left. No one 
 knows how he came to grief, but the fact remains that 
 he has." 
 
 In her letters to Mrs. Green Desiree had never men- 
 tioned that Wilson had come back to her as her steward. 
 He had gone away from her once, and she was afraid he 
 might go again if he learned that she had guessed his real 
 identity. 
 
 She read the paragraph through again and again, and 
 then sat staring at it thoughtfully.
 
 A FLY IN THE OINTMENT 303 
 
 How had he been ruined, this man who had come into 
 her life with 10,000 a year, who had vanished, after 
 performing miracles, and reappeared, shorn of his riches, 
 too poor and too proud so she gathered from Mrs. 
 Green's letter to ask the woman he loved to marry him ? 
 
 All day Desiree carried the problem about with her, 
 brooding on it silently. 
 
 When Mr. Wilson came into her life he had 10,000 
 a year and she had nothing. Now she had the money 
 and he was penniless. He had sold his business for 
 200,000. "The Necklace of Tears" had been sold for 
 that amount so he had said. 
 
 It suddenly dawned on Desiree that she had never 
 asked him to whom he had sold her heirloom. She had 
 been only too glad to get rid of it, lest misfortune should 
 fall on her idol. And misfortune had fallen on him, 
 despite her efforts. 
 
 The necklace had never been mentioned since he had 
 come back into her life. It was connected with her uncle 
 and cousin, people she tried not to think about. 
 
 Desiree found herself thinking about them now. 
 
 They had wanted the necklace. Almost from the day 
 of her birth her uncle had schemed and planned to get it, 
 condemning her to years of darkness for the sake of its 
 evil, glittering stones, pretending to her it was of no real 
 value. Mr. Wilson had saved, not only the necklace, but 
 what to her was infinitely more precious the honor of 
 her name. 
 
 Looking at the matter calmly, in the light of wider 
 wisdom, it did not seem possible that her uncle and 
 cousin would let the necklace go lightly. Had the 
 scheming and plotting gone on after it had left her pos-
 
 304 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 session? In the end had they succeeded in stealing it 
 from Mr. Wilson? 
 
 Why had he gone back to England so unexpectedly? 
 That afternoon in the nursing home the news of his 
 departure had fallen on her with the suddenness of a 
 thunderbolt. 
 
 She remembered the tension under which he had been 
 laboring. Since that day she had learned that, the night 
 before his going, her uncle and cousin had left Nice in a 
 motor-boat and had been drowned off Toulon. No one 
 had been able to find out why they had gone out in a small 
 boat on a dark night, but it proved to her that they wanted 
 to get away quickly and quietly and without anyone know- 
 ing where they had gone. 
 
 Had they somehow managed to steal the necklace from 
 Mr. Wilson? Had they been drowned in running away 
 with it? Had he ruined himself to pay a debt of honor 
 to her, who wanted nothing from him but love? And 
 now he was poor, so poor and so proud that he dared 
 not ask for what was his own. 
 
 The thought thrilled her. It was all in keeping with 
 her estimate of his character. 
 
 But they might go on for months, years even, like this, 
 unless someone took the matter firmly in hand. If he 
 was afraid to speak, then she must not be. Not now 
 not when she had the key to his silence. 
 
 The thought set her heart trembling. 
 
 It was hard, cruel, that she should have to ask for the 
 man she wanted, she who spent her days in avoiding offers 
 she did not want But their weeks together showed he 
 was not going to say anything. Without actual words 
 she could not show him more plainly than she had already 
 done that he might lay his suit before her.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 A DREAM THAT CAME TRUE 
 
 That night, when Desiree dressed for dinner, she put 
 on a frock which in the ordinary way she would have 
 considered too elaborate for a meal en famille; one, more- 
 over, that had not seen daylight since Wilson's return 
 the pink silk frock with the white swansdown that she had 
 worn on the night before her operation. 
 
 The sight of her in it, under the soft green shade of the 
 loquat-tree, caused a spasm of pain to pass over Wilson's 
 face. 
 
 What dreams he had dreamt that night when he had 
 first seen her in a frock for which he had paid, when he 
 had clasped that accursed "Necklace of Tears" about her 
 throat, and wrapped her in a cloak of ermine beautiful 
 dreams which those two villains and his own carelessness 
 had swept away. 
 
 During dinner he was unusually silent, brooding on 
 what he had lost. 
 
 And Desiree had never seemed more desirable, more 
 lovely, more bright-eyed and radiant, like one who had 
 just inherited a vast fortune. 
 
 All through dinner he watched her anxiously, a tortured 
 look in his eyes. 
 
 Perhaps she had made up her mind to marry the prince. 
 If she did he would have to go. He could not stay if she 
 were married to another man. That would be agony past 
 all bearing. 
 
 305
 
 306 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 The meal went through its course steadily. When 
 coffee arrived the lamp came, turning the green shadows 
 into gold. 
 
 Beyond the terrace day had melted into night a gilded 
 evening that turned softly into silver as the moon gathered 
 strength, flooding the world with white light. In the 
 reservoirs frogs croaked loudly. A myriad of tiny lamps 
 about the trees and shrubs, the fireflies hung and darted. 
 A light breeze, faintly sweet with orange blossom, made 
 the leaves overhead sigh gently. The mountains that 
 ringed the paradise loomed like clouds against the milky 
 sky, where the moon soared, a half globe of flaming silver. 
 There were no trees, only shadows that sighed vaguely. 
 No valleys, only deeper depths of indigo where nightin- 
 gales sang. 
 
 As Wilson stirred his coffee his gaze was on the soft, 
 blurred, scented scene. 
 
 How he loved it all the peace and the beauty this 
 land that was Desiree's. To live there always with her 
 as his wife, this girl who was so decidedly part of it 
 and him; to come between her and a rough-and-tumble 
 world; to work hard on her estate and make a model 
 place of it; to hand it on, perfected, to their children! 
 A mad dream that he in his conceit had once dared to 
 dream. 
 
 A voice broke into his broodings. 
 
 "Often I have sat here in the dark, wondering what 
 the world was made of," it said. 
 
 "And what have you found it made of, Countess ?" he 
 asked, a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watched her. 
 
 "I've found that it is personality that counts, not the 
 person ; that it doesn't matter what people are so long as 
 they ring true."
 
 A DREAM THAT CAME TRUE 307 
 
 Wilson's thoughts went to the princeling. What unseen 
 treasures had a young girl's eyes discovered in that de- 
 generate specimen? 
 
 He lapsed into silence once more. 
 
 Again her voice broke into his breedings, with a des- 
 perate "do or die" note in it. 
 
 "Mr. Wilson, to whom did you sell my necklace?" 
 
 He woke to the fact that he and Desiree were alone, 
 that Miss Ryder had gone, and that the girl was looking 
 at him with wide, strained eyes. 
 
 For a moment he tried to keep up the farce. 
 
 "What do you mean, Countess?" he asked, a guilty 
 flush deepening the red of his face. 
 
 "Don't pretend you don't know. Don't pretend to be 
 your cousin any longer. I know, I've always known, 
 you are John Wilson." 
 
 Wilson cast one quick glance at the small face opposite 
 him. 
 
 His fraud had been discovered, his lies found out! 
 There was nothing left but to confess confess and have 
 to leave a lesser paradise, for a guilty conscience said 
 those blue eyes were looking at him with coldness and 
 accusation. 
 
 "I didn't sell it," he said hoarsely. 
 
 "Did they steal it from you ?" she asked breathlessly. 
 
 He had no time to invent an explanation. 
 
 In his hesitation she read the truth. 
 
 "Did you ruin yourself to pay me back the price of it?" 
 she asked tensely. 
 
 "It was a debt of honor," he said, his voice flat. 
 
 Desiree rose from her chair, her face crimson, her 
 eyes strained, her breast heaving. 
 
 "How dared you, how dared you do it?" she gasped.
 
 308 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "How dared you ruin yourself because of me? I don't 
 want your money. I don't want anything from you 
 except except love." 
 
 As she said the last two words she turned quickly, 
 running from him as she had run once before, not hiding 
 herself in the house this time, but seeking a refuge in the 
 garden, in the seethe of shame in which she moved, hardly 
 knowing where she was going. 
 
 For a moment Wilson was too astounded to do any- 
 thing. Then he was on his feet, following after her. 
 
 What a fool he was always had been, for that matter, 
 where Desiree was concerned. And his last rank piece of 
 folly was to imagine she had not recognized him ! 
 
 He thought of all the little advances she had made 
 during the last few weeks to which he had been too stupid 
 to respond, keeping them both on the rack, finally making 
 her do what was wholly alien to her nature and what had 
 left her burning with shame. 
 
 Then he remembered having read somewhere that a 
 princess must always propose to the man she loves if that 
 man chances to be a commoner. He would tell her that 
 the moment he found her, as he kissed the shame from 
 her face. 
 
 But Desiree was not so easy to find. 
 
 By the time he reached the foot of the steps there was 
 no sign of her anywhere. 
 
 Wilson paused. 
 
 All around frogs croaked, crickets whirred, and fire- 
 flies flashed gayly. But as he stood listening he noticed 
 that the old reservoir with the stone crocodile, where the 
 frogs usually croaked the loudest, was silent. 
 
 By now he had learned enough of the habits of the
 
 A DREAM THAT CAME TRUE 309 
 
 creatures to know that their silence portended the pres- 
 ence of some person. 
 
 In that direction he hurried through a maze of scented 
 trees. 
 
 Presently a bend in the path showed Desiree standing 
 in the moonlight, the water a silver sheet behind her. 
 
 "You make me forget myself," she flashed the moment 
 he appeared, "you, with your cold, hard, English heart." 
 
 Wilson was no more afraid of her anger now than he 
 had been of her tears on a former occasion. In a moment 
 he had her in his arms, and immediately her shamed face 
 was hidden against his shoulder. 
 
 "I don't think you'll find my heart specially cold and 
 hard, even if it is English," he whispered. 
 
 Then he had a lot more to say into her ear, the only 
 part of her face that was accessible. 
 
 A thin cloud veiled the moon for a few minutes. When 
 it passed, the light revealed John Wilson and the princess 
 of his dreams sitting on the old stone seat together. But 
 she was not sitting sedately beside him as was her habit 
 when she was a phantom of his own imaginings and he 
 was a small shabby boy with the "sun and moon" in his 
 trousers. He had found another place for her, where 
 he had never thought of putting her in those far-off days. 
 
 She was on his knee, her head resting on his shoulder, 
 hugging one of his hands to her breast. There was a 
 flush of happiness on her face now, not crimson shame. 
 He had kissed all that away as he had explained that a 
 princess even a fairy one must always propose to a 
 commoner, and that there was nothing untoward in her 
 proceedings, but had he dreamt she was willing to tako 
 on such an ordinary sort of man, he would have let her 
 waive her royal prerogative and done the job himself.
 
 3 o8 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 "How dared you ruin yourself because of me? I don't 
 want your money. I don't want anything from you 
 except except love." 
 
 As she said the last two words she turned quickly, 
 running from him as she had run once before, not hiding 
 herself in the house this time, but seeking a refuge in the 
 garden, in the seethe of shame in which she moved, hardly 
 knowing where she was going. 
 
 For a moment Wilson was too astounded to do any- 
 thing. Then he was on his feet, following after her. 
 
 What a fool he was always had been, for that matter, 
 where Desiree was concerned. And his last rank piece of 
 folly was to imagine she had not recognized him ! 
 
 He thought of all the little advances she had made 
 during the last few weeks to which he had been too stupid 
 to respond, keeping them both on the rack, finally making 
 her do what was wholly alien to her nature and what had 
 left her burning with shame. 
 
 Then he remembered having read somewhere that a 
 princess must always propose to the man she loves if that 
 man chances to be a commoner. He would tell her that 
 the moment he found her, as he kissed the shame from 
 her face. 
 
 But Desiree was not so easy to find. 
 
 By the time he reached the foot of the steps there was 
 no sign of her anywhere. 
 
 Wilson paused. 
 
 All around frogs croaked, crickets whirred, and fire- 
 flies flashed gayly. But as he stood listening he noticed 
 that the old reservoir with the stone crocodile, where the 
 frogs usually croaked the loudest, was silent. 
 
 By now he had learned enough of the habits of the
 
 A DREAM THAT CAME TRUE 309 
 
 creatures to know that their silence portended the pres- 
 ence of some person. 
 
 In that direction he hurried through a maze of scented 
 trees. 
 
 Presently a bend in the path showed Desiree standing 
 in the moonlight, the water a silver sheet behind her. 
 
 "You make me forget myself," she flashed the moment 
 he appeared, "y u with your cold, hard, English heart." 
 
 Wilson was no more afraid of her anger now than he 
 had been of her tears on a former occasion. In a moment 
 he had her in his arms, and immediately her shamed face 
 was hidden against his shoulder. 
 
 "I don't think you'll find my heart specially cold and 
 hard, even if it is English," he whispered. 
 
 Then he had a lot more to say into her ear, the only 
 part of her face that was accessible. 
 
 A thin cloud veiled the moon for a few minutes. When 
 it passed, the light revealed John Wilson and the princess 
 of his dreams sitting on the old stone seat together. But 
 she was not sitting sedately beside him as was her habit 
 when she was a phantom of his own imaginings and he 
 was a small shabby boy with the "sun and moon" in his 
 trousers. He had found another place for her, where 
 he had never thought of putting her in those far-off days. 
 
 She was on his knee, her head resting on his shoulder, 
 hugging one of his hands to her breast. There was a 
 flush of happiness on her face now, not crimson shame. 
 He had kissed all that away as he had explained that a 
 princess even a fairy one must always propose to a 
 commoner, and that there was nothing untoward in her 
 proceedings, but had he dreamt she was willing to take 
 on such an ordinary sort of man, he would have let her 
 waive her royal prerogative and done the job himself.
 
 THE WOMAN HE DESIRED 
 
 And now she leaned against him, smiling softly, looking 
 at him with worshiping eyes, his hand tightly clasped. 
 
 "I want everything to be yours," she was whispering. 
 "I don't want any money. I want to have to say, 'John, 
 may I have another cup of coffee, or a piece of chicken, 
 or a cigarette, or a new frock?' because it's all yours. 
 And you to say, 'Why, my darling, yes, of course!' sur- 
 prised that I should even ask you. I don't want you ever 
 to be cross and say, 'You know you can, without worrying 
 me about it/ I want everything to be yours all to come 
 from you. I want you to take back all the money for that 
 horrid necklace. You don't owe me anything. I owe 
 everything to you you, who have given me light and 
 love." 
 
 Wilson kissed the child again and pressed her closer, 
 praying that he might never fail her. 
 
 He had reached the land that few attain the land 
 where dreams come true. 
 
 THE END.