XXVII ADIEU TO THE ISAR

All things end, and the day after their return to Munich he appeared at the villa with a very long face.

“I leave to-night for England,” he groaned, flinging himself on the divan. “This morning I received a notice that the examinations will begin next Monday. I did not read the reason. The fact was enough.”

“Desolation!” Styr sat down abruptly, but she kept all sentiment out of her voice. “What in heaven’s name am I to do without you?”

“I wish I could think that you felt half as badly as I do. But while I go to untold horrors, you go on a tour to win new laurels.”

“Yes, in hot German cities and hotter concert rooms. And my Gastspiel does not begin until the 25th of August; but I find invitations from Switzerland—Zurich, Geneva, Lucerne. I shall accept them if the King consents. Yes,—I have work—but still! Well, you would have gone soon in any case.”

“I shall return the moment this beastly business is over and I have seen Bridg.”

“But as soon as you pass you are in the service—you must work in the Foreign Office for six months, and then you will be appointed, no doubt far from Munich.”

“I shall get a three months’ leave. Influence may not be able to get a man into the service, but it will do much later. I shall go when and where I wish. I am determined to spend the autumn in Munich. There will be that much more, at least. How in heaven’s name shall I ever get on without you?”

“Do not protest too much.” Styr had no belief that he would fly back to her, and once more was thankful that she had remade herself. She should miss him, but it would have been the last straw did she still retain the capacity to miss any man too much. She added dutifully: “Besides, I want you to marry.”

He kicked about among the cushions. “That, at least, you need not remind me of. But if I do, I shall come here on my honeymoon.”

“You might leave her behind.”

“I wish to heaven I could. Why not perfect these commercial marriages? If I give the girl the position of a married woman, which they all appear to be dying for, the prospect of a title, and the advantages of my mother’s protection in London, she might at least give me my complete liberty.”

“And her money.”

“Of course.”

“And you would come back to Munich and lie on my divan! You are fast nibbling through the icing of what Excellenz calls the big black cake of life, my friend, and must now look forward to an attack or two of indigestion. I have a presentiment that you will not come back to Munich until it has made you quite ill. Then, indeed, you will want consolation. I wonder how different you will be?”

He turned upon her large anxious eyes. “Do you really believe I shall have to go through the mill like other men? I should go to pieces! The only thing I can think of that I shouldn’t funk if it came to the point would be war. I shouldn’t hate that, although, no doubt, it would be dirty and uncomfortable. But the trials of life, petty and big! I hate the very thought of them, but I shall have them, of course—a few, anyhow. But I shall always come to you for consolation—always! Promise that no one shall take my place in the very slightest degree, that you will never have another intimate friend.”

“That is easy to promise. Do not permit your mind to boil with jealousy.”

“It will.” He looked as placid as a lake. “But no matter what comes, I can always conjure up this room—this room! Oh, I cannot leave it! I hate the Civil Service Commission! I hate the diplomatic service! I hate my creditors! I hate matrimony! And I hate my brother most of all.”

“You will feel much better after dinner. Come, it is ready.”

He remained with her until his servant came to fetch him for the night train. As he took her hand at parting his boyishness vanished, and his manner was a mixture of formality and sincere regret. “Good-by,” he said. “I wish this summer might have lasted forever. You have made it the most wonderful experience I shall ever have, and you will always be the most wonderful woman in the world to me.”

They were standing in the hall, before the open door. He suddenly smiled into her eyes with an expression that was not unlike a kiss. Then he shook hands with her once more and went out to his cab.

For the first few days she did not miss him at all; once more there was novelty in loneliness and freedom. When she did begin to miss him, she found a certain exhilaration in a sensation that was also a novelty. Then the King, still nursing his tooth, and always kindly, gave her another leave of absence, and she went to Switzerland.