"It seems strange," observed Nora, "that I never heard you mention that
you knew a Mr. Courtlandt."
"Why, Nora, there's a lot of things nobody mentions unless chance brings
them up. Courtlandt--the one I knew--has been dead these sixteen years. If
I knew he had had a son, I'd forgotten all about it. The only graveyard
isn't on the hillside; there's one under everybody's thatch."
The padre nodded approvingly.
Nora was not particularly pleased with this phase in the play. Courtlandt
would find a valiant champion in her father, who would blunder in when
some fine passes were being exchanged. And she could not tell him; she
would have cut out her tongue rather. It was true that she held the
principal cards in the game, but she could not table them and claim the
tricks as in bridge. She must patiently wait for him to lead, and he, as
she very well knew, would lead a card at a time, and then only after
mature deliberation. From the exhilaration which attended the prospect of
battle she passed into a state of depression, which lasted the rest of the
afternoon.
"Will you forgive me?" asked Celeste of Courtlandt. Never had she felt
more ill at ease. For a full ten minutes he chatted pleasantly, with never
the slightest hint regarding the episode in Paris. She could stand it no
longer. "Will you forgive me?"
"For what?"
"That night in Paris."
"Do not permit that to bother you in the least. I was never going to
recall it."
"Was it so unpleasant?"
"On the contrary, I was much amused."
"I did not tell you the truth."
"So I have found out."
"I do not believe that it was you," impulsively.
"Thanks. I had nothing to do with Miss Harrigan's imprisonment."
"Do you feel that you could make a confidant of me?"
He smiled. "My dear Miss Fournier, I have come to the place where I
distrust even myself."
"Forgive my curiosity!"
Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. "I am glad to see you again."
"Ah, Sahib!"
The little Frenchwoman was torn with curiosity and repression. She wanted
to know what causes had produced this unusual drama which was unfolding
before her eyes. To be presented with effects which had no apparent causes
was maddening. It was not dissimilar to being taken to the second act of a
modern problem play and being forced to leave before the curtain rose upon
the third act. She had laid all the traps her intelligent mind could
invent; and Nora had calmly walked over them or around. Nora's mind was
Celtic: French in its adroitness and Irish in its watchfulness and
tenacity. And now she had set her arts of persuasion in motion (aided by a
piquant beauty) to lift a corner of the veil from this man's heart.
Checkmate!