He was telling her something of his life. "My uncle brought me up. I was to have his money. So I played around a lot and then finally got into the diplomatic service. There was a year in Siam. You'd love it there, Hildegarde. The white days and the white nights. And the strangeness of it all. There was a sacred elephant who sounded his trumpet when his keeper left him, an infernal racket that waked everybody, and we'd all go hunting for the keeper and bring him back before we could get any sleep. And there was a little prince, only a baby, who wanted his mother, yet was forced to play the king. And there were the temple bells and the gay bazaars."
"Why did you leave?"
"The war came. And after that, the deluge! You see, my uncle didn't want me to fight. Oh, he was conscientious enough—a pacifist. But when I told him I was going, he said if I did, I could shift for myself. But I went—and I haven't seen him since. Not long ago he wrote me a letter, making overtures. But I won't go back and eat out of his hand. Not after the things he said to me. And so I came here with your father."
A little tale of heroism. And how simply put! She was aware of a feeling of warmth about her heart for Merry. Of admiration.
"It was fine of you," she said heartily.
"Oh, I didn't tell you to show myself off. Only I had to explain that I wouldn't be playing jackal to Louis if things hadn't been just as they are. I wanted you to understand."
His hands lay quietly on the table; his golden, attentive eyes had a deeper glow.
