With the same inward bitterness that attends the mental processes of a
performing tiger on being sent back to its cage, Courtlandt returned to
his taxicab. He wanted to roar and lash and devour something. Instead, he
could only twist the ends of his mustache savagely. So she was a grand
duchess, or at least the morganatic wife of a grand duke! It did not seem
possible that any woman could be so full of malice. He simply could not
understand. It was essentially the Italian spirit; doubtless, till she
heard his voice, she had forgotten all about the episode that had
foundered his ship of happiness.
Her statement as to the primal cause was purely inventive. There was not a
grain of truth in it. He could not possibly have been so rude. He had been
too indifferent. Too indifferent! The repetition of the phrase made him
sit straighter. Pshaw! It could not be that. He possessed a little vanity;
if he had not, his history would not have been worth a scrawl. But he
denied the possession vehemently, as men are wont to do. Strange, a man
will admit smashing those ten articles of advisement known as the
decalogue and yet deny the inherent quality which surrenders the
admission--vanity. However you may look at it, man's vanity is a complex
thing. The vanity of a woman has a definite and commendable purpose: the
conquest of man, his purse, and half of his time. Too indifferent! Was it
possible that he had roused her enmity simply because he had made it
evident that her charms did not interest him? Beyond lifting his hat to
her, perhaps exchanging a comment on the weather, his courtesies had not
been extended. Courtlandt was peculiar in some respects. A woman attracted
him, or she did not. In the one case he was affable, winning, pleasant,
full of those agreeable little surprises that in turn attract a woman. In
the other case, he passed on, for his impressions were instant and did not
require the usual skirmishing.
A grand duchess! The straw-colored mustache now described two aggressive
points. What an impossible old world it was! The ambition of the English
nobility was on a far lower scale than that of their continental cousins.
On the little isle they were satisfied to marry soubrettes and chorus
girls. Here, the lady must be no less a personage than a grand-opera
singer or a première danseuse. The continental noble at least showed
some discernment; he did not choose haphazard; he desired the finished
product and was not to be satisfied with the material in the raw.
Oh, stubborn Dutchman that he had been! Blind fool! To have run away
instead of fighting to the last ditch for his happiness! The Desimone
woman was right: it had taken him a long time to come to the conclusion
that she had done him an ill turn. And during all these weary months he
had drawn a melancholy picture of himself as a wounded lion, creeping into
the jungle to hide its hurts, when, truth be known, he had taken the ways
of the jackass for a model. He saw plainly enough now. More than this,
where there had been mere obstacles to overcome there were now steep
mountains, perhaps inaccessible for all he knew. His jaw set, and the
pressure of his lips broke the sweep of his mustache, converting it into
bristling tufts, warlike and resolute.