That made du Mond a bounder and a cad—which Cameron already knew—but nothing more sinister than that.
What was sinister was Cameron's own instant reaction, immediate rage in response to a perception that a rival was trying—trying—
Trying to what?
Trying to take over my "property," trying to challenge my authority on my own ground. I reacted, not as a man and a Firemaster, but as an animal, an animal being challenged for his territory and his females.
To be precise, I reacted as a wolf. A shudder convulsed him, as he realized just how close he had come to going over the edge. Is the wolf taking over the man?
Shaken, he dropped back into his chair and stared at the eight furrows in the top of his desk. For many long minutes he was unable to move or even think, sunk in a paralysis of shock.
Then he shook his head—Like a dog shaking himself dry—
No! That way lay madness! Wake up! he told himself angrily. There is no point in looking for more signs of something you might well be able to control with a little exertion of will! He sneered at himself. You do remember using your will, don't you? You were ready enough to boast to Rose about it!
No, the important thing now was to exert his self-control and that so-vaunted Will. He must immediately bring things back to normal. He must immediately begin to analyze matters as he would have in the past. Think, man! What else about that conversation was important?
He felt anger begin to rise again as he recollected du Mond's impertinence, but he throttled it down successfully.
What was important?
Then he had it. Rose's reaction. She didn't act as if she believed him. She didn't act as if she was coming under the spell of his rather dubious charm. In fact, unless I miss my guess, she fled him as soon as she could.
Suddenly he felt much, much better; felt tension simply draining out of him. Rose Hawkins was too clever for du Mond; she saw through his blandishments, and she did not trust him. That meant he need not look for treachery on her part. Whether or not she believed du Mond's claim that his Master was mad—which, unfortunately, I cannot honestly ignore—at least she had the sense to see why du Mond was attempting to charm her.
He spent several minutes in a deep-breathing exercise, calming himself, regaining complete control of himself, and only when he was certain of his own inner state did he call up Rose's image in the mirror.
She was reading; to his pleasure and gratification, she was reading one of the Apprentice-texts he had recommended. So, her suggestion that she at least engage in the theoretical side of an Apprenticeship so that she could help with research had not been a ruse. She really did intend to follow through on the idea, at least for now.
We will see what happens when she encounters some of the more difficult books. Then again... they couldn't be any more abstruse than some of the medieval texts she had already mastered.
She had arranged herself in a pose which would have driven a teacher of deportment to distraction; sitting sideways on the upholstered, high-backed divan, her back against one arm, with both feet braced against the opposite arm-cushion, knees bent, and skirts modestly tucked around her legs. No properly-bred young lady would ever have taken a seat on a divan like that! And no properly-bred young lady would ever slouch the way she was now. She frowned a little as she read, rubbed her eyes now and again, and adjusted her eyeglasses from time to time as if her eyes were bothering her. While this was a printed book, the print was very fine; he hoped she was not having too much trouble with it.
Perhaps I should suggest she visit an occulist in San Francisco at my expense? I doubt that she had the wherewithal to have glasses properly fitted these past several years—not with the state her wardrobe was in. That was probably one more economy she was forced to bear with.
Then he snorted at his own naivete. Of course she hasn't seen an occulist; everything else in her wardrobe came out of the Sears, Roebuck catalog, so her eyeglasses probably did, too. He clearly remembered his amazement at the pages devoted to eyeglasses and spectacles, complete with a so-called "test" to determine which of the eighteen available strengths one should order. She tested herself, no doubt, with that same exact care she uses for everything else. The only problem is, the test itself is hardly exact, and what they offer even less so.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and made some mental calculations. Useless to send her there before Thanksgiving; no one will be able to fit her in, even with me as her patron. Besides, if she's going into the city, I want her to have some time to enjoy herself a little. If I have her read some of the more important works this week and next, I can send her in for three days in the second week of December—and that will give me three days in which to put some of that to the test. Hmm. Thursday through Sunday, I believe. There should be something playing at the Opera House, and I'll arrange for something on whichever weekend night the Opera isn't. Is she frivolous enough for an operetta at the Columbia Theater? Perhaps a recital, instead...
He started to summon his secretary, then realized his agent in the city could take care of everything. Somehow, he did not want du Mond to know precisely what his arrangements were going to be for her... I could use a Salamander to write the letter for me. No, wait, I have a better notion.
So he reached instead for the telegraphy machine, and began tapping out his orders to his agent at the railhead. Have the apartment opened for her... notify the servants... appointment with an occulist... tickets... She didn't know her way around the city; he added another order. Snyder to have a carriage or cab and experienced driver for her. While she might well enjoy the cable cars, he had better warn her to either take Snyder or the maid with her on any excursions, and confine herself to the paid conveyance after dark.
He felt altogether like an indulgent uncle arranging a holiday treat by the time he was finished. And he couldn't wait to until after dinner to tell her; he had to see her reaction now.
He reached for the speaking-tube, and cleared his throat, remembering to act as if he did not know she was there. "Ah... Rose? Do you happen to be there?"
She jerked her head up at the first sound of his voice, and with a look of guilt, swung her feet to the floor, put the book down, and moved to the speaking-tube in her room. "Jason? Yes, actually, the weather is not as pleasant as I would like, and I stayed here. Can I help you?"
"Actually," he responded, his jaw dropping open in the lupine equivalent of a grin, although she could not see it, "I thought I might help you. You're going to be working very hard for the next few days, and I had promised you periodic rewards for hard work. What would you say to an excursion into the city in about a fortnight?"
Her face lit up with pleasure and an emotion he did not recognize. "Oh, that would be absolutely splendid!" she exclaimed. "There are some things I did not like to ask anyone else to get—"
She blushes so very prettily.
"It occurred to me that you were working very diligently and deserved one of those treats I mentioned to you." The telegraph was tapping a reply to his message, and he translated it effortlessly. "The Opera will have a Friday night performance of La Giaconda, the Columbia Theater is presenting Babes in Toyland, on Saturday, or if you are so inclined, you can go see that ham, young Barrymore, overact his way through Shakespeare. I am aware that you wear eyeglasses—"