Pimpernel and Rosemary

"You must arrange," she said, "As soon as you are well enough, to come over to us in England for a visit. It would be such a change for you, and Jasper and I would make you and Elza very welcome."

But Maurus shook his head, and stared straight out before him. "That, dear Lady Tarkington," he said, "can never be now." And slowly the tears gathered in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Broken-hearted, Rosemary bade him a final good night.

There was only one more chance of getting in touch with Elza to-night, and that was to ascertain if she were staying at any of the hotels in Cluj. And this Jasper did at Rosemary's request. He telephoned to the "Pannonia" and to the "New York," the only possible places where Elza might have put up for the night. True, when the Roumanian Government took over the Imrey palace two or three rooms were allowed to remain in possession of the family if they required them, but it was not likely that Elza would elect to sleep under the same roof as General Naniescu. Both hotels replied on the telephone that the gracious Countess Imrey was not there. Ujlak, unfortunately, had not the telephone installed.

There was, then, nothing to be done.

But the next day was even more trying than the one before. The morning wore on and there was no news of Elza. Anxiety for her friend was added to the heavy load which Rosemary had to bear. Anxiety and this unexpected uncertainty, which was positive torture.

Jasper, on the other hand, had become both helpful and sympathetic. Already the day before he had announced his intention of accompanying Rosemary to London. At first she had protested, but he looked so contrite and so abashed that she relented, and said more graciously:

"It is more than kind of you, dear, to suggest it, but I really am quite capable of looking after myself."

"I don't doubt it," he had replied with a sigh, "but I, too, have certain privileges, chief of which is looking after your welfare—and your safety."

She laughed. "I am perfectly safe. No one is going to run away with me."

"You might have trouble on the frontier."

"Not very likely," she retorted, "with a British passport."

Jasper had made no further remark just then, and the subject was dropped. But Rosemary knew from his manner and his look that he intended to accompany her. It would be no use protesting, though she had the feeling that she would so much rather have travelled alone.

But when the morning of the next day went by without news of Elza, Jasper was ready with a fresh suggestion. "Let me go to London for you," he said. "I could see the editor of The Times and ask him in any case to withhold publication until he heard from you. Then after that, if Elza's decision went the other way, you could always wire or write again."

Rosemary hesitated for a moment or two. She could not very well put into words the thought that was in her mind. But Jasper presently did it for her.

"You do not trust me," he said quietly.

For another fraction of a second she hesitated, then with a frank gesture of camaraderie she put her hand out to him: "I think I ought to carry my own business through myself," she said, and added softly: "You understand, dear, don't you?"

She could always win any man over with her smile, and at the soft tone of her voice Jasper captured her hand and buried his face in the soft, smooth palm.

"Tell me how I can serve you," he said, "but, in God's name, don't go away from me."

He was once more all kindness and consideration, more like the charming companion of the early days of her brief married life. With utmost patience he discussed the whole situation with her: the possibility of getting in touch with Elza and the advisability of communicating with The Times in any case, leaving it open for an ultimate change of tactics.