books.jibble.org

Page 12

Harmony was as delicately strung, as vibratingly responsive as
the strings of her own violin, and under the even lightness of
his tone she felt many things that met a response in
her--loneliness and struggle, and the ever-present anxiety about
money, grim determination, hope and fear, and even occasional
despair. He was still young, but there were lines in his face and
a hint of gray in his hair. Even had he been less frank, she
would have known soon enough--the dingy little pension, the
shabby clothes--

She held out her hand.

"Thank you for telling me," she said simply. "I think I
understand very well because--it's music with me: violin. And my
friends have gone, so I am alone, too."

He leaned his elbows on the table and looked out over the crowd
without seeing it.

"It's curious, isn't it?" he said. "Here we are, you and I,
meeting in the center of Europe, both lonely as the mischief,
both working our heads off for an idea that may never pan out!
Why aren't you at home to-night, eating a civilized beefsteak and
running upstairs to get ready for a nice young man to bring you a
box of chocolates? Why am I not measuring out calico in Shipley &
West's? Instead, we are going to Frau Schwarz', to listen to cold
ham and scorched compote eaten in six different languages."

Harmony made no immediate reply. He seemed to expect none. She
was drawing on her gloves, her eyes, like his, roving over the
crowd.

Far back among the tables a young man rose and yawned. Then,
seeing Byrne, he waved a greeting to him. Byrne's eyes, from
being introspective, became watchful.

The young man was handsome in a florid, red-checked way, with
black hair and blue eyes. Unlike Byrne, he was foppishly neat. He
was not alone. A slim little Austrian girl, exceedingly chic,
rose when he did and threw away the end of a cigarette.

"Why do we go so soon?" she demanded fretfully in German. "It is
early still."

He replied in English. It was a curious way they had, and
eminently satisfactory, each understanding better than he spoke
the other's language.

"Because, my beloved," he said lightly, "you are smoking a great
many poisonous and highly expensive cigarettes. Also I wish to
speak to Peter."

The girl followed his eyes and stiffened jealously.

"Who is that with Peter?"

"We are going over to find out, little one. Old Peter with a
woman at last!"

The little Austrian walked delicately, swaying her slim body with
a slow and sensuous grace. She touched an officer as she passed
him, and paused to apologize, to the officer's delight and her
escort's irritation. And Peter Byrne watched and waited, a line
of annoyance between his brows. The girl was ahead; that
complicated things.

When she was within a dozen feet of the table he rose hastily,
with a word of apology, and met the couple. It was adroitly done.
He had taken the little Austrian's arm and led her by the table
while he was still greeting her. He held her in conversation in
his absurd German until they had reached the swinging doors,
while her companion followed helplessly. And he bowed her out,
protesting his undying admiration for her eyes, while the florid
youth alternately raged behind him and stared back at Harmony,
interested and unconscious behind her table.

The little Austrian was on the pavement when Byrne turned,
unsmiling, to the other man.

"That won't do, you know, Stewart," he said, grave but not
unfriendly.

Previous Page | Next Page

Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Tue 16th Dec 2025, 21:32

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart