"That is like a woman," the Barone agreed, and he knew something about
them. "And where is this man now?"
"Here," said Courtlandt, pushing back his chair and rising. "I am he." He
turned his back upon them and sought the garden.
Tableau!
"Dash me!" cried the colonel, who, being the least interested personally,
was first to recover his speech.
The Barone drew in his breath sharply. Then he looked at Abbott.
"I suspected it," replied Abbott to the mute question. Since the episode
of that morning his philosophical outlook had broadened. He had fought a
duel and had come out of it with flying colors. As long as he lived he was
certain that the petty affairs of the day were never again going to
disturb him.
"Let him be," was the colonel's suggestion, adding a gesture in the
direction of the casement door through which Courtlandt had gone. "He's as
big a man as Nora is a woman. If he has returned with the determination of
winning her, he will."
They did not see Courtlandt again. After a few minutes of restless
to-and-froing, he proceeded down to the landing, helped himself to the
colonel's motor-boat, and returned to Bellaggio. At the hotel he asked for
the duke, only to be told that the duke and madame had left that morning
for Paris. Courtlandt saw that he had permitted one great opportunity to
slip past. He gave up the battle. One more good look at her, and he would
go away. The odds had been too strong for him, and he knew that he was
broken.
When the motor-boat came back, Abbott and the Barone made use of it also.
They crossed in silence, heavy-hearted.
On landing Abbott said: "It is probable that I shall not see you again
this year. I am leaving to-morrow for Paris. It's a great world, isn't it,
where they toss us around like dice? Some throw sixes and others deuces.
And in this game you and I have lost two out of three."
"I shall return to Rome," replied the Barone. "My long leave of absence is
near its end."
"What in the world can have happened?" demanded Nora, showing the two
notes to Celeste. "Here's Donald going to Paris to-morrow and the Barone
to Rome. They will bid us good-by at tea. I don't understand. Donald was
to remain until we left for America, and the Barone's leave does not end
until October."
"To-morrow?" Dim-eyed, Celeste returned the notes.
"Yes. You play the fourth ballade and I'll sing from Madame. It will
be very lonesome without them." Nora gazed into the wall mirror and gave a
pat or two to her hair.
When the men arrived, it was impressed on Nora's mind that never had she
seen them so amiable toward each other. They were positively friendly. And
why not? The test of the morning had proved each of them to his own
individual satisfaction, and had done away with those stilted mannerisms
that generally make rivals ridiculous in all eyes save their own. The
revelation at luncheon had convinced them of the futility of things in
general and of woman in particular. They were, without being aware of the
fact, each a consolation to the other. The old adage that misery loves
company was never more nicely typified.