She seemed to be listening; he could not be sure that she understood
or that her mind was fixed at all on what he was saying. Even while
speaking, numberless objections to her going occurred to him, but as
he had no better alternatives to suggest he did not voice them.
In his heart he really believed she ought to go back to Brookhollow.
It was perfectly evident she would not consent to go there. As for her
remaining in New York, perhaps the reasons for her going to Paris were
as good. He was utterly unable to judge; he only knew that she ought
to have the protection of experience, and that was lacking.
"I'm going to remain on board with you," he said, "until she sails.
I'm going to try to find my very good friend, the Princess Mistchenka,
and have you meet her. She has been very kind to me, and I shall ask
her to keep an eye on you while you are crossing, and to give you a
lot of good advice."
"A--princess," said Rue in a tired, discouraged voice, "is not very
likely to pay any attention to me, I think."
"She's one of those Russian or Caucasian princesses. You know they
don't rank very high. She told me herself. She's great fun--full of
life and wit and intelligence and wide experience. She knows a lot
about everything and everybody; she's been everywhere, travelled all
over the globe."
"I don't think," repeated Rue, "that she would care for me at all."
"Yes, she would. She's young and warm-hearted and human. Besides, she
is interested in art--knows a lot about it--even paints very well
herself."
"She must be wonderful."
"No--she's just a regular woman. It was because she was interested in
art that she came to the League, and I was introduced to her. That is
how I came to know her. She comes sometimes to my studio."
"Yes, but you are already an artist, and an interesting man----"
"Oh, Rue, I'm just beginning. She's kind, that's all--an energetic,
intelligent woman, full of interest in life. I know she'll give you
some splendid advice--tell you how to get settled in Paris--Lord! You
don't even know French, do you?"
"No."
"Not a word?"
"No.... I don't know anything, Mr. Neeland."
He tried to laugh reassuringly: "I thought it was to be Jim, not Mister," he reminded her.
But she only looked at him out of troubled eyes.