Harriet and the Piper | Page 9

admiration firmly in check, she had maintained a big-sister

attitude that was as wholesome for herself as for him.
But here, she thought with sudden satisfaction, might be her answer to
his grandmother's snubs, might be the realization of her own ambition,
after all. Ward was but four years her junior, and Ward would be
Richard Carter's heir.
No, that was nonsense, of course. And yet she played with the thought
amusedly, enjoying the vision of the old lady's anger and confusion,
and of the world's amazement at the masterly move of the quiet
secretary. Richard would be generous, thought Harriet idly, Isabelle
philosophical and indifferent, but how old Madame Carter would
writhe!
"It's the Bellamys and their crowd," said Ward, watching the approach
of newcomers. "Look at that man with them, that fellow with the
hair--that's Blondin! That's the man I was telling you about the other
night, the man whose name I couldn't remember!"
"WHO?"
Harriet did not know whether she said it or screamed it. She lost all
consciousness of her surroundings and her neighbours for a few terrible
seconds; her mouth was dry, her throat constricted, and a hideous
weakness ran like nausea through her entire body. The brilliant terrace
swam in a mass of mingled colours before her eyes; the casual, happy
chatter about her was brassy and unintelligible. The hand with which
she touched the sugar tongs was icy cold, a pain split her forehead, and
she felt suddenly tired and broken. She sat perfectly still, like a
trembling little mouse in a trap, the colour drained from her face, her
breast rising and falling as if she had been running.
Ward had gone across to greet the Bellamys; Harriet fixed her eyes
with a sort of fascination upon the man to whom she presently saw him
talking. Almost everyone else in the group was looking at him, too;
Royal Blondin was used to it; one of his favourite affectations was an
apparent unconsciousness of being observed.

He talked to everyone, to children, to great persons and small, with the
same air of intense concentration with which he was now honouring
Ward. Well over six feet in height, he had dropped his leonine head,
with its thick locks of dark hair, a little on one side; his mobile, thin
lips were set, and his piercing eyes searched the boy's face with a sort
of passionate attention.
His figure was one to challenge attention anywhere. He wore a loosely
cut suit of pongee silk, the collar of the shirt flowing open, and a blue
scarf knotted at the throat. On one of his long dark hands there was a
blazing sapphire ring, and about his wide- brimmed Panama hat the
folded silk was of the same colour. Harriet could catch the intonations
of his voice, a deep and musical voice, which turned the trifles they
were discussing into matters of sudden import and beauty.
Introductions were in order, everyone wanted to meet the Bellamys'
friend, and Harriet saw that it pleased him, for some inscrutable reason,
to continue his ridiculous conversation with the flattered Ward, and to
accept names and greetings absently, in an aside, as it were, smiling
perfunctorily and briefly at the eager girls and women, and returning
immediately to his concerned and passionate undertones with the boy.
Isabelle fluttered forward, to fare a little more fortunately. Ward
dropped into the background now, and his beautiful little mother stood
in a full sunset flood of light, with her small hand in that of the lion,
and the cream and black hat, with its pink roses, close to the drooping,
reverential head.
It was Isabelle who brought him to the tea table. Harriet had felt, with a
sure premonition of disaster, that it must be. She might not escape,
there was nothing for it but courage, now. Her breath was behaving
badly, and the muscles contracted in her throat, but she managed a
smile.
"And this is Miss Field, Mr. Blondin," said Isabella. "She will give you
some tea!"
"Miss Field," said Royal Blondin, and his dark hand came across the

tea-cups. Harriet, as his thin mouth twitched with just the hint of a
smile, looked straight into his eyes, and she knew he was as frightened
as she. But from neither was there a visible sign of consternation. "No
tea," the man said, making of the decision a splendid and significant
renunciation. "Nothing-- nothing!"
"He only eats about once a month, and then it's dates and hay and
camel's milk and carrots!" Ward was beginning. Royal Blondin gave
him a look, deeply amused and affectionate.
"Not quite so bad, Laddie!" he protested, mildly.
"We might manage the dates," Isabelle smiled. Harriet had not spoken
because she was quite unable to command her voice. But she gained