"Is there another?" in despair.
"Once upon a time, Donald, there was. There is nothing now but ashes. I am
telling you this so that it will not be so hard for you to return to the
old friendly footing. You are a brave man. Any man is who takes his heart
in his hand and offers it to a woman. You are going to take my hand and
promise to be my friend always."
"Ah, Nora!"
"You mustn't, Donald. I can't return to the ballroom with my eyes red. You
will never know how a woman on the stage has to fight to earn her bread.
And that part is only a skirmish compared to the ceaseless war men wage
against her. She has only the fortifications of her wit and her presence
of mind. Was I not abducted in the heart of Paris? And but for the
cowardice of the man, who knows what might have happened? If I have
beauty, God gave it to me to wear, and wear it I will. My father, the
padre, you and the Barone; I would not trust any other men living. I am
often unhappy, but I do not inflict this unhappiness on others. Be you the
same. Be my friend; be brave and fight it out of your heart." Quickly she
drew his head toward her and lightly kissed the forehead. "There! Ah,
Donald, I very much need a friend."
"All right, Nora," bravely indeed, for the pain in his young heart cried
out for the ends of the earth in which to hide. "All right! I'm young;
maybe I'll get over it in time. Always count on me. You wouldn't mind
going back to the ballroom alone, would you? I've got an idea I'd like to
smoke over it. No, I'll take you to the end of the conservatory and come
back. I can't face the rest of them just now."
Nora had hoped against hope that it was only infatuation, but in the last
few days she could not ignore the truth that he really loved her. She had
thrown him and Celeste together in vain. Poor Celeste, poor lovely
Celeste, who wore her heart upon her sleeve, patent to all eyes save
Donald's! Thus, it was with defined purpose that she had lured him this
night into the garden. She wanted to disillusion him.
The Barone, glooming in an obscure corner of the conservatory, saw them
come in. Abbott's brave young face deceived him. At the door Abbott smiled
and bowed and returned to the garden. The Barone rose to follow him. He
had committed a theft of which he was genuinely sorry; and he was man
enough to seek his rival and apologize. But fate had chosen for him the
worst possible time. He had taken but a step forward, when a tableau
formed by the door, causing him to pause irresolutely.