Rosemary, being very human and very young, felt all the better after she had had a good cry. Better mentally, that is to say. Physically she was tired, hot, overstrained; her eyes ached, her limbs ached, her head ached, but mentally she felt better.
Presently she struggled back to her feet, dabbed her eyes with cold water, put powder on her nose and a comb through her hair. She did not want to look a sight when presently Jasper came back from his walk; and she told him all that had happened.
By the way, where was Jasper?
Rosemary was just aching to review the whole situation with him. No need now for secrecy with regard to Philip and little Anna's foolish conspiracy. Soon the whole world would know of it, friend and foe alike. And Jasper would be able to help, of course, or at any rate to advise. He had done so much for the Roumanian Government in the past, there was just a chance they might do something at his request—out of gratitude.
Gratitude? Rosemary smiled ironically to herself at thought of connecting so gentle an emotion with men like Naniescu. Still, Jasper might think of something, of some way out of the situation, which Rosemary still persisted in thinking unreal. It was, of course, the climax of a plan formed as far back as the Five Arts' Ball at the Albert Hall, when Naniescu first proposed to her that she should come to Transylvania. To get her here, then to close on Philip and Anna a trap which had no doubt long ago been set, and finally to use them as a lever in order to force her, Rosemary, to write those articles which would soothe the vanity of Roumanian bureaucrats and throw dust in the eyes of the sentimental public.
As if in response to Rosemary's wish for his presence, Jasper presently walked in, courteous, chivalrous, full of apologies for having left her to face Naniescu alone.
"I must have been dreaming," he said contritely, "while I wandered out of the park, for, all of a sudden, I found myself away upon the mountain-side, thinking of you. Your dear face peeped at me through the trees and then I realized that I was leaving you in the lurch, and that you might be wanting me—and I not there! Can you, I wonder, forgive me?"
He sat down beside her on the sofa and took her hand, and one by one he kissed each rosy finger-tip.
"Wherever I am, little one," he said softly, "I always see you. Your presence beside me this morning was so real that I was never wholly conscious that you were not actually there. Will you forgive me?" he asked again.
Rosemary turned to him with a smile. There was no one in the world quite so kind as Jasper; his kind, grave eyes were fixed on her with such a look of adoration that instinctively Rosemary nestled closer to him like a trusting child, and on an impulse she told him everything: the arrest of Philip Imrey and of little Anna, and Naniescu's infamous proposal.
But Jasper didn't say much. He did not even seem very attentive; while she spoke of little Anna, of Philip and of Naniescu, his mind appeared to wander, as if he were thinking of something else, and Rosemary hearkened in vain for a word of indignation from him when she told him about Naniescu's abominable "either-or." Yet she studied his face very closely, those fine aristocratic features with their somewhat affected wearied expression, and the dark eyes set closely together like those of an eagle or a hawk. He said nothing. He only looked as if he were thinking hard. Pondering over something that puzzled and worried him. Rosemary wondered what it was. And later on, when she pressed him with questions, he seemed to drag himself back to the present situation with a great effort of nerve and will, and even then he did not appear to have a firm grasp of it. He put irrelevant counter-questions, and once or twice answered at random. His chief concern seemed to be that she, Rosemary, knowing the foolish game Philip and Anna were playing, had not succeeded in putting a stop to it.
"The girl appeared sensible enough," he said almost irritably. "I believe she would have listened to you. That sort of thing is just romantic nonsense. It never does any good, and more often than not it brings trouble on the innocent rather than on the guilty. The same thing applies to the Germans, the Austrians and to the Hungarians. They have been beaten and they have got to take their punishment. All these political intrigues are just folly!”
Of course Jasper was right. Of course he was sensible, and just and clear-thinking. But while Rosemary paid ungrudging tribute to his judgment, she felt more and more chilled by his total lack not only of sympathy, but even of attention, as if the matter of Philip and Anna's life and liberty hardly interested him. Now Rosemary hardly liked to ask him for advice, for fear he might tell her to assent to Naniescu's wish—and to write those articles against which her sense of right and wrong, of truth and professional honour rebelled.
She could almost hear Jasper saying:
"You can get quite near the truth in your articles and satisfy Naniescu and you will save those two hotheads from the consequences of their own indiscretion. Believe me you would be doing far more good that way to this miserable country than Philip ever did with his ill-considered articles."
Perhaps Jasper had actually said all this. Rosemary could not be sure. For the last few minutes her mind had been absent from her body. It had flown over mountains and seas, right across the great plains of Hungary and the fields of waving corn, to a small, dark corner in the crowded Albert Hall, with noisy jazz music buzzing in the distance like phantom melodies, with laughter and chatter all around, glittering jewels, fantastic clothes and waving fans; and here Rosemary's mind came to a halt and insistently beckoned to memory. She recalled every moment of that night, every incident stood oat like a picture before her now: the dance with Peter, and then the box with the heavy curtains that shut her right out of the world—alone with Peter. She recalled every line of his face, those fine white hands made to meld brush or pen rather than a cricket-ball, the fair, curly head, the tense dark eyes.
What sympathy she would have got from Peter if only he were here! His judgment, perhaps, would not have been so sound as Jasper's: Rosemary would not feel that she could rely on Peter to say or do only what was right, what was just and reasonable. He would be guided by his heart and not by his head; he would be wrong, no doubt—utterly wrong—in his judgments, in his advice. But oh! he would be so human, so full of pity, so understanding! And for the first time since her marriage to Jasper, Rosemary allowed herself to think of Peter, to long for Peter, to mourn that which Peter had meant in her life: youth, humanity and enthusiasm.
And suddenly she was brought back to Kis-Imre and to the reality of the present situation by a direct question put to her by Jasper:
"Why didn't you tell me, dear, that Peter Blakeney was in Transylvania?"
Jasper had put the question quite gently and kindly. He never put on with Rosemary any airs of marital authority, nor was there even a hint of reproach in his tone. But the question did bring Rosemary's mind back in a second from the Albert Hall to Kis-Imre. She frowned, very much puzzled, and turned to look straight at Jasper. He, too, appeared to have come back to Kis-Imre from the land of nowhere. He still had on a puzzled and pondering expression, but with it a certain look of hardness, which he seldom had when his wife was nigh.
"Peter Blakeney?" Rosemary asked slowly. "What in the world do you mean?"
"Don't look so scared, little one," Jasper rejoined, his stern face breaking into a smile. "As a matter of fact the whole thing has puzzled me to such an extent that I am afraid I must have appeared very unresponsive just now——" He paused, and, leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, and instead of looking at his wife, he gazed intently down on his hands, as if he wished to avoid making her feel uncomfortable by staring directly at her.
"A moment ago," he resumed presently, "as I was crossing the hall, General Naniescu came out of the smoking-room into the outer vestibule. He did not see me, and I was just debating in my mind whether I would speak to him when he turned to a young officer who was evidently in attendance, and what he said to him was this: 'Ring up Mr. Blakeney at once and tell him I will see him about the business at five o'clock this afternoon; you may tell him that on the whole I think I have been successful.'"
"Impossible!" Rosemary exclaimed impulsively.
"So I thought at the time," Jasper rejoined. "Therefore I recrossed the hall and spoke a few words to Naniescu. He appeared vexed when he saw me, and I distinctly saw him make a sign to the officer, who did not then go to the telephone, although a moment ago Naniescu had ordered him to ring up at once. I kept the general talking for a few minutes in the hall. He did not refer to his conversation with you, nor did he refer in any way to Peter."
"You must have misunderstood the name," Rosemary insisted.
"I thought so at first, but I had confirmation of it later on. Naniescu very obviously and very clumsily manœuvred me toward the dining-room, the doors of which were wide open. As soon as he had got me into the room he closed the doors. Now, I happen to have very sharp ears, and although Naniescu talked to me at the top of his voice I distinctly heard what was going on in the hall. The officer called up the Hôtel New York at Cluj, after which there was a pause. I tried to take my leave of the general, for I wanted to come up to you, but he would not let me go. He talked incessantly and always at the top of his voice on all sorts of irrelevant topics. He dragged me to the window at the farther end of the room to show me the view. He tried to persuade me to go out with him for a turn in the park. Finally fortune favoured me; my sharp ears caught the ring of the telephone bell. I gave Naniescu the slip and just had the door open when I heard the officer say quite distinctly in French:
"'Is that you, Mr. Blakeney? Mr. Blakeney, his Excellency will see you——' At this point," Jasper went on, "Naniescu with a loud guffaw took hold of my arm and made some facetious remark which I did not catch. However, he had made it so obvious that he did not wish me to hear the telephone message, and, on the other hand, I had heard the officer name Peter so distinctly that I allowed myself to be dragged back into the room, and made no further attempt to pry into Naniescu's—or Peter's—secrets."
"But this is all nonsense," Rosemary broke in warmly. "Peter is not in Transylvania. I am sure he is not. He would have told me. He would have let me know. It is some other Blakeney whom Naniescu was calling up."
Jasper shrugged. "Perhaps," he said quietly.
"I am sure," Rosemary insisted.
Jasper said nothing more after that, and Rosemary was conscious of a feeling of irritation against him, because he was so obviously convinced that Peter was in Transylvania and in secret communication with that odious Naniescu. How could he imagine such a thing? Peter! Peter with the lovely Hungarian mother! Peter? Nonsense! But Rosemary could not sit still. She jumped to her feet and began fidgeting about the room, arranging her dress, her hair, fidgeting, fidgeting. She would not look at Jasper, and she was determined not to say anything more. He would discover his mistake soon enough, and if she said anything now she might use words, phrases, expressions which later on she would regret.
Peter intriguing with a Roumanian! Nonsense! And yet her nerves were terribly on edge, more so now than they were after her interview with Naniescu. And she could not bear to look at Jasper. She was afraid that she would hate him for his thoughts about Peter. Fortunately after a little while the luncheon-bell sounded. Jasper jumped to his feet. He too seemed relieved that the subject of Peter could now be conveniently dropped.
"Will you see Elza?" he said abruptly.
"Elza?" Rosemary asked. "Why?"
"Naniescu and his suite are in the house," Jasper replied dryly. "They will stay to lunch. I don't know what Elza will feel about it."
"She will feel as I do," Rosemary retorted hotly, "that the man's presence at her table is an outrage."
"But he told me that Philip and Anna will be allowed to come home."
"Yes. Provisionally. Until I——"
"Elza need not know about that," Jasper broke in hurriedly. "That is why I thought you would see her. She need not know that Philip's release is only—conditional——"
Rosemary thought the matter over for a moment. As always, Jasper was right. Elza need not know. Not yet.
"Shall I go to her now," she said, "and tell her?"
"I think it would come best from you. It will be such good news for her, poor thing."
"Poor darling!" Rosemary sighed; then she added more coldly: "But what about me?"
"What do you mean?"
"Am I expected to sit at table with that mealy-mouthed Roumanian?"
Jasper smiled. "How else would you explain the situation to Elza?" he asked.
All this had brought about a fresh train of thought, and Rosemary was quite thankful that Jasper was showing such sympathy for Elza. He was quite right. Elza need not be told that the release of Philip and Anna was only conditional. There was a month still ahead before Elza need be told the truth.
"Will you keep Naniescu talking," Rosemary said finally, "while I see Elza?"
She looked quite cool and self-possessed now, beautifully dressed, one row of perfect pearls round her neck, circles of diamonds in her ears, a great lady conscious of her own beauty. "How wonderful you are!" came as an involuntary exclamation from her husband's lips, and his dark, deep-set eyes lit up with a sudden flash of passionate admiration as they rested on the vision of loveliness before him.
Then together they went out of the room, Rosemary just a step or two in front of her husband. She still could not bear to look at him, and when she caught his look of bold admiration she coldly turned her head away. Obedient to her wish, he went downstairs to keep Naniescu talking, while she went to break the good news to Elza. But walking along the stately gallery that led to her hostess's rooms, Rosemary's thoughts were not with Elza, her lips were murmuring almost audibly:
Peter intriguing with a Roumanian?
What nonsense!
Jasper must be mad!