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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The City of Masks, by George Barr McCutcheon
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The City of Masks
+
+Author: George Barr McCutcheon
+
+Illustrator: May Wilson Preston
+
+Release Date: July 6, 2012 [EBook #40146]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CITY OF MASKS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Bruce Albrecht, Ernest Schaal, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+     [Illustration: THE HEAD AND SHOULDERS OF A MAN ROSE QUICKLY ABOVE
+                               THE LEDGE                 (_Page 265_)]
+
+
+
+
+                                THE CITY
+                                OF MASKS
+
+
+                       By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
+
+
+                               AUTHOR OF
+         "Mr. Bingle," "Jane Cable," "Black is White," Etc.
+
+
+                             [Illustration]
+
+
+                           With Frontispiece
+                         By MAY WILSON PRESTON
+
+
+                           A. L. BURT COMPANY
+        Publishers                                      New York
+
+           Published by arrangement with DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+                            Copyright, 1918
+                       BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC
+
+
+                          PRINTED IN U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                       PAGE
+
+       I  LADY JANE THORNE COMES TO DINNER                         1
+
+      II  OUT OF THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH                    12
+
+     III  THE CITY OF MASKS                                       24
+
+      IV  THE SCION OF A NEW YORK HOUSE                           37
+
+       V  MR. THOMAS TROTTER HEARS SOMETHING TO
+                HIS ADVANTAGE                                     50
+
+      VI  THE UNFAILING MEMORY                                    67
+
+     VII  THE FOUNDATION OF THE PLOT                              79
+
+    VIII  LADY JANE GOES ABOUT IT PROMPTLY                        94
+
+      IX  MR. TROTTER FALLS INTO A NEW POSITION                  110
+
+       X  PUTTING THEIR HEADS--AND HEARTS--TOGETHER              121
+
+      XI  WINNING BY A NOSE                                      134
+
+     XII  IN THE FOG                                             155
+
+    XIII  NOT CLOUDS ALONE HAVE LININGS                          172
+
+     XIV  DIPLOMACY                                              188
+
+      XV  ONE NIGHT AT SPANGLER'S                                202
+
+     XVI  SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND                             219
+
+    XVII  FRIDAY FOR LUCK                                        233
+
+   XVIII  FRIDAY FOR BAD LUCK                                    250
+
+     XIX  FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT                                 263
+
+      XX  AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES                              279
+
+     XXI  THE BRIDE-ELECT                                        294
+
+    XXII  THE BEGINNING                                          307
+
+
+
+
+                           THE CITY OF MASKS
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+
+                    LADY JANE THORNE COMES TO DINNER
+
+
+THE Marchioness carefully draped the dust-cloth over the head of an
+andiron and, before putting the question to the parlour-maid, consulted,
+with the intensity of a near-sighted person, the ornate French clock in
+the centre of the mantelpiece. Then she brushed her fingers on the
+voluminous apron that almost completely enveloped her slight person.
+
+"Well, who is it, Julia?"
+
+"It's Lord Temple, ma'am, and he wants to know if you're too busy to
+come to the 'phone. If you are, I'm to ask you something."
+
+The Marchioness hesitated. "How do you know it is Lord Eric? Did he
+mention his name?"
+
+"He did, ma'am. He said 'this is Tom Trotter speaking, Julia, and is
+your mistress disengaged?' And so I knew it couldn't be any one else but
+his Lordship."
+
+"And what are you to ask me?"
+
+"He wants to know if he may bring a friend around tonight, ma'am. A
+gentleman from Constantinople, ma'am."
+
+"A Turk? He knows I do not like Turks," said the Marchioness, more to
+herself than to Julia.
+
+"He didn't say, ma'am. Just Constantinople."
+
+The Marchioness removed her apron and handed it to Julia. You would
+have thought she expected to confront Lord Temple in person, or at
+least that she would be fully visible to him despite the distance and
+the intervening buildings that lay between. Tucking a few stray locks of
+her snow-white hair into place, she approached the telephone in the
+hall. She had never quite gotten over the impression that one could be
+seen through as well as heard over the telephone. She always smiled or
+frowned or gesticulated, as occasion demanded; she was never languid,
+never bored, never listless. A chat was a chat, at long range or short;
+it didn't matter.
+
+"Are you there? Good evening, Mr. Trotter. So charmed to hear your
+voice." She had seated herself at the little old Italian table.
+
+Mr. Trotter devoted a full two minutes to explanations.
+
+"Do bring him with you," cried she. "Your word is sufficient. He _must_
+be delightful. Of course, I shuddered a little when you mentioned
+Constantinople. I always do. One can't help thinking of the Armenians.
+Eh? Oh, yes,--and the harems."
+
+Mr. Trotter: "By the way, are you expecting Lady Jane tonight?"
+
+The Marchioness: "She rarely fails us, Mr. Trotter."
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Right-o! Well, good-bye,--and thank you. I'm sure you will
+like the baron. He is a trifle seedy, as I said before,--sailing vessel,
+you know, and all that sort of thing. By way of Cape Town,--pretty well
+up against it for the past year or two besides,--but a regular fellow,
+as they say over here."
+
+The Marchioness: "Where did you say he is stopping?"
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Can't for the life of me remember whether it's the
+'Sailors' Loft' or the 'Sailors' Bunk.' He told me too. On the
+water-front somewhere. I knew him in Hong Kong. He says he has cut it
+all out, however."
+
+The Marchioness: "Cut it all out, Mr. Trotter?"
+
+Mr. Trotter, laughing: "Drink, and all that sort of thing, you know.
+Jolly good thing too. I give you my personal guarantee that he--"
+
+The Marchioness: "Say no more about it, Mr. Trotter. I am sure we shall
+all be happy to receive any friend of yours. By the way, where are you
+now--where are you telephoning from?"
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Drug store just around the corner."
+
+The Marchioness: "A booth, I suppose?"
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Oh, yes. Tight as a sardine box."
+
+The Marchioness: "Good-bye."
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Oh--hello? I beg your pardon--are you there? Ah,
+I--er--neglected to mention that the baron may not appear at his best
+tonight. You see, the poor chap is a shade large for my clothes.
+Naturally, being a sailor-man, he hasn't--er--a very extensive wardrobe.
+I am fixing him out in a--er--rather abandoned evening suit of my own.
+That is to say, I abandoned it a couple of seasons ago. Rather nobby
+thing for a waiter, but not--er--what you might call--"
+
+The Marchioness, chuckling: "Quite good enough for a sailor, eh? Please
+assure him that no matter what he wears, or how he looks, he will not be
+conspicuous."
+
+After this somewhat ambiguous remark, the Marchioness hung up the
+receiver and returned to the drawing-room; a prolonged search revealing
+the dust-cloth on the "nub" of the andiron, just where she had left it,
+she fell to work once more on the velvety surface of a rare old Spanish
+cabinet that stood in the corner of the room.
+
+"Don't you want your apron, ma'am?" inquired Julia, sitting back on her
+heels and surveying with considerable pride the leg of an enormous
+throne seat she had been rubbing with all the strength of her stout
+arms.
+
+Her mistress ignored the question. She dabbed into a tiny recess and
+wriggled her finger vigorously.
+
+"I can't imagine where all the dust comes from, Julia," she said.
+
+"Some of it comes from Italy, and some of it from Spain, and some from
+France," said Julia promptly. "You could rub for a hundred years, ma'am,
+and there'd still be dust that you couldn't find, not to save your soul.
+And why not? I'd bet my last penny there's dust on that cabinet this
+very minute that settled before Napoleon was born, whenever that was."
+
+"I daresay," said the Marchioness absently.
+
+More often than otherwise she failed to hear all that Julia said to her,
+or in her presence rather, for Julia, wise in association, had come to
+consider these lapses of inattention as openings for prolonged and
+rarely coherent soliloquies on topics of the moment. Julia, by virtue of
+long service and a most satisfying avoidance of matrimony, was a
+privileged servant between the hours of eight in the morning and eight
+in the evening. After eight, or more strictly speaking, the moment
+dinner was announced, Julia became a perfect servant. She would no more
+have thought of addressing the Marchioness as "ma'am" than she would
+have called the King of England "mister." She had crossed the Atlantic
+with her mistress eighteen years before; in mid-ocean she celebrated her
+thirty-fifth birthday, and, as she had been in the family for ten years
+prior to that event, even a child may solve the problem that here
+presents a momentary and totally unnecessary break in the continuity of
+this narrative. Julia was English. She spoke no other language.
+Beginning with the soup, or the _hors d'oeuvres_ on occasion, French was
+spoken in the house of the Marchioness. Physically unable to speak
+French and psychologically unwilling to betray her ignorance, Julia
+became a model servant. She lapsed into perfect silence.
+
+The Marchioness seldom if ever dined alone. She always dined in state.
+Her guests,--English, Italian, Russian, Belgian, French, Spanish,
+Hungarian, Austrian, German,--conversed solely in French. It was a very
+agreeable way of symphonizing Babel.
+
+The room in which she and the temporarily imperfect though treasured
+servant were employed in the dusk of this stormy day in March was at the
+top of an old-fashioned building in the busiest section of the city, a
+building that had, so far, escaped the fate of its immediate neighbours
+and remained, a squat and insignificant pygmy, elbowing with some
+arrogance the lofty structures that had shot up on either side of it
+with incredible swiftness.
+
+It was a large room, at least thirty by fifty feet in dimensions, with a
+vaulted ceiling that encroached upon the space ordinarily devoted to
+what architects, builders and the Board of Health describe as an air
+chamber, next below the roof. There was no elevator in the building. One
+had to climb four flights of stairs to reach the apartment.
+
+From its long, heavily curtained windows one looked down upon a crowded
+cross-town thoroughfare, or up to the summit of a stupendous hotel on
+the opposite side of the street. There was a small foyer at the rear of
+this lofty room, with an entrance from the narrow hall outside.
+Suspended in the wide doorway between the two rooms was a pair of blue
+velvet Italian portières of great antiquity and, to a connoisseur,
+unrivaled quality. Beyond the foyer and extending to the area wall was
+the rather commodious dining-room, with its long oaken English table,
+its high-back chairs, its massive sideboard and the chandelier that is
+said to have hung in the Doges' Palace when the Bridge of Sighs was a
+new and thriving avenue of communication.
+
+At least, so stated the dealer's tag tucked carelessly among the crystal
+prisms, supplying the observer with the information that, in case one
+was in need of a chandelier, its price was five hundred guineas. The
+same curious-minded observer would have discovered, if he were not above
+getting down on his hands and knees and peering under the table, a price
+tag; and by exerting the strength necessary to pull the sideboard away
+from the wall, a similar object would have been exposed.
+
+In other words, if one really wanted to purchase any article of
+furniture or decoration in the singularly impressive apartment of the
+Marchioness, all one had to do was to signify the desire, produce a
+check or its equivalent, and give an address to the competent-looking
+young woman who would put in an appearance with singular promptness in
+response to a couple of punches at an electric button just outside the
+door, any time between nine and five o'clock, Sundays included.
+
+The drawing-room contained many priceless articles of furniture, wholly
+antique--(and so guaranteed), besides rugs, draperies, tapestries and
+stuffs of the rarest quality. Bronzes, porcelains, pottery, things of
+jade and alabaster, sconces, candlesticks and censers, with here and
+there on the walls lovely little "primitives" of untold value. The most
+exotic taste had ordered the distribution and arrangement of all these
+objects. There was no suggestion of crowding, nothing haphazard or
+bizarre in the exposition of treasure, nothing to indicate that a cheap
+intelligence revelled in rich possessions.
+
+You would have sat down upon the first chair that offered repose and you
+would have said you had wandered inadvertently into a palace. Then,
+emboldened by an interest that scorned politeness, you would have got up
+to inspect the riches at close range,--and you would have found
+price-marks everywhere to overcome the impression that Aladdin had been
+rubbing his lamp all the way up the dingy, tortuous stairs.
+
+You are not, however, in the shop of a dealer in antiques, price-marks
+to the contrary. You are in the home of a Marchioness, and she is not a
+dealer in old furniture, you may be quite sure of that. She does not owe
+a penny on a single article in the apartment nor does she, on the other
+hand, own a penny's worth of anything that meets the eye,--unless, of
+course, one excepts the dust-cloth and the can of polish that follows
+Julia about the room. Nor is it a loan exhibit, nor the setting for a
+bazaar.
+
+The apartment being on the top floor of a five-story building, it is
+necessary to account for the remaining four. In the rear of the fourth
+floor there was a small kitchen and pantry from which a dumb-waiter
+ascended and descended with vehement enthusiasm. The remainder of the
+floor was divided into four rather small chambers, each opening into the
+outer hall, with two bath-rooms inserted. Each of these rooms contained
+a series of lockers, not unlike those in a club-house. Otherwise they
+were unfurnished except for a few commonplace cane bottom chairs in
+various stages of decrepitude.
+
+The third floor represented a complete apartment of five rooms, daintily
+furnished. This was where the Marchioness really lived.
+
+Commerce, after a fashion, occupied the two lower floors. It stopped
+short at the bottom of the second flight of stairs where it encountered
+an obstacle in the shape of a grill-work gate that bore the laconic word
+"Private," and while commerce may have peeped inquisitively through and
+beyond the barrier it was never permitted to trespass farther than an
+occasional sly, surreptitious and unavailing twist of the knob.
+
+The entire second floor was devoted to work-rooms in which many sewing
+machines buzzed during the day and went to rest at six in the evening.
+Tables, chairs, manikins, wall-hooks and hangers thrust forward a
+bewildering assortment of fabrics in all stages of development, from an
+original uncut piece to a practically completed garment. In other words,
+here was the work-shop of the most exclusive, most expensive _modiste_
+in all the great city.
+
+The ground floor, or rather the floor above the English basement,
+contained the _salon_ and fitting rooms of an establishment known to
+every woman in the city as
+
+                               DEBORAH'S.
+
+To return to the Marchioness and Julia.
+
+"Not that a little dust or even a great deal of dirt will make any
+different to the Princess," the former was saying, "but, just the same,
+I feel better, if I _know_ we've done our best."
+
+"Thank the Lord, she don't come very often," was Julia's frank remark.
+"It's the stairs, I fancy."
+
+"And the car-fare," added her mistress. "Is it six o'clock, Julia?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, it is."
+
+The Marchioness groaned a little as she straightened up and tossed the
+dust-cloth on the table. "It catches me right across here," she
+remarked, putting her hand to the small of her back and wrinkling her
+eyes.
+
+"You shouldn't be doing my work," scolded Julia. "It's not for the likes
+of you to be--"
+
+"I shall lie down for half an hour," said the Marchioness calmly. "Come
+at half-past six, Julia."
+
+"Just Lady Jane, ma'am? No one else?"
+
+"No one else," said the other, and preceded Julia down the two flights
+of stairs to the charming little apartment on the third floor. "She is a
+dear girl, and I enjoy having her all to myself once in a while."
+
+"She is so, ma'am," agreed Julia, and added. "The oftener the better."
+
+At half-past seven Julia ran down the stairs to open the gate at the
+bottom. She admitted a slender young woman, who said, "Thank you," and
+"Good evening, Julia," in the softest, loveliest voice imaginable, and
+hurried up, past the apartment of the Marchioness, to the fourth floor.
+Julia, in cap and apron, wore a pleased smile as she went in to put the
+finishing touches on the coiffure of her mistress.
+
+"Pity there isn't more like her," she said, at the end of five minutes'
+reflection. Patting the silvery crown of the Marchioness, she observed
+in a less detached manner: "As I always says, the wonderful part is that
+it's all your own, ma'am."
+
+"I am beginning to dread the stairs as much as any one," said the
+Marchioness, as she passed out into the hall and looked up the dimly
+lighted steps. "That is a bad sign, Julia."
+
+A mass of coals crackled in the big fireplace on the top floor, and a
+tall man in the resplendent livery of a footman was engaged in poking
+them up when the Marchioness entered.
+
+"Bitterly cold, isn't it, Moody?" inquired she, approaching with stately
+tread, her lorgnon lifted.
+
+"It is, my lady,--extremely nawsty," replied Moody. "The trams are a bit
+off, or I should 'ave 'ad the coals going 'alf an hour sooner
+than--Ahem! They call it a blizzard, my lady."
+
+"I know, thank you, Moody."
+
+"Thank you, my lady," and he moved stiffly off in the direction of the
+foyer.
+
+The Marchioness languidly selected a magazine from the litter of
+periodicals on the table. It was _La Figaro_, and of recent date. There
+were magazines from every capital in Europe on that long and time-worn
+table.
+
+A warm, soft light filled the room, shed by antique lanthorns and
+wall-lamps that gave forth no cruel glare. Standing beside the table,
+the Marchioness was a remarkable picture. The slight, drooping figure of
+the woman with the dust-cloth and creaking knees had been transformed,
+like Cinderella, into a fairly regal creature attired in one of the most
+fetching costumes ever turned out by the rapacious Deborah, of the first
+floor front!
+
+The foyer curtains parted, revealing the plump, venerable figure of a
+butler who would have done credit to the lordliest house in all England.
+
+"Lady Jane Thorne," he announced, and a slim, radiant young person
+entered the room, and swiftly approached the smiling Marchioness.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER II
+
+                  OUT OF THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH
+
+
+"AM I late?" she inquired, a trace of anxiety in her smiling blue eyes.
+She was clasping the hand of the taut little Marchioness, who looked up
+into the lovely face with the frankest admiration.
+
+"I have only this instant finished dressing," said her hostess. "Moody
+informs me we're in for a blizzard. Is it so bad as all that?"
+
+"What a perfectly heavenly frock!" cried Lady Jane Thorne, standing off
+to take in the effect. "Turn around, do. Exquisite! Dear me, I wish I
+could--but there! Wishing is a form of envy. We shouldn't wish for
+anything, Marchioness. If we didn't, don't you see how perfectly
+delighted we should be with what we have? Oh, yes,--it is a horrid
+night. The trolley-cars are blocked, the omnibuses are stalled, and
+walking is almost impossible. How good the fire looks!"
+
+"Cheerful, isn't it? Now you must let me have my turn at wishing, my
+dear. If I could have my wish, you would be disporting yourself in the
+best that Deborah can turn out, and you would be worth millions to her
+as an advertisement. You've got style, figure, class, verve--everything.
+You carry your clothes as if you were made for them and not the other
+way round."
+
+"This gown is so old I sometimes think I _was_ made for it," said the
+girl gaily. "I can't remember when it was made for _me_."
+
+Moody had drawn two chairs up to the fire.
+
+"Rubbish!" said the Marchioness, sitting down. "Toast your toes, my
+dear."
+
+Lady Jane's gown was far from modish. In these days of swift-changing
+fashions for women, it had become passé long before its usefulness or
+its beauty had passed. Any woman would have told you that it was a
+"season before last model," which would be so distantly removed from the
+present that its owner may be forgiven the justifiable invention
+concerning her memory.
+
+But Lady Jane's figure was not old, nor passé, nor even a thing to be
+forgotten easily. She was straight, and slim, and sound of body and
+limb. That is to say, she stood well on her feet and suggested strength
+rather than fragility. Her neck and shoulders were smooth and white and
+firm; her arms shapely and capable, her hands long and slender and
+aristocratic. Her dark brown hair was abundant and wavy;--it had never
+experienced the baleful caress of a curling-iron. Her firm, red lips
+were of the smiling kind,--and she must have known that her teeth were
+white and strong and beautiful, for she smiled more often than not with
+parted lips. There was character, intelligence and breeding in her face.
+
+She wore a simple black velvet gown, close-fitting,--please remember
+that it was of an antiquity not even surpassed, as things go, by the
+oldest rug in the apartment,--with a short train. She was fully a head
+taller than the Marchioness, which isn't saying much when you are
+informed that the latter was at least half-a-head shorter than a woman
+of medium height.
+
+On the little finger of her right hand she wore a heavy seal ring of
+gold. If you had known her well enough to hold her hand--to the light, I
+mean,--you would have been able to decipher the markings of a crest,
+notwithstanding the fact that age had all but obliterated the lines.
+
+Dinner was formal only in the manner in which it was served. Behind the
+chair of the Marchioness, Moody posed loftily when not otherwise
+employed. A critical observer would have taken note of the threadbare
+condition of his coat, especially at the elbows, and the somewhat snug
+way in which it adhered to him, fore and aft. Indeed, there was an
+ever-present peril in its snugness. He was painfully deliberate and
+detached.
+
+From time to time, a second footman, addressed as McFaddan, paused back
+of Lady Jane. His chin was not quite so high in the air as Moody's; the
+higher he raised it the less it looked like a chin. McFaddan, you would
+remark, carried a great deal of weight above the hips. The ancient
+butler, Cricklewick, decanted the wine, lifted his right eyebrow for the
+benefit of Moody, the left in directing McFaddan, and cringed slightly
+with each trip upward of the dumb-waiter.
+
+The Marchioness and Lady Jane were in a gay mood despite the studied
+solemnity of the three servants. As dinner has no connection with this
+narrative except to introduce an effect of opulence, we will hurry
+through with it and allow Moody and McFaddan to draw back the chairs on
+a signal transmitted by Cricklewick, and return to the drawing-room with
+the two ladies.
+
+"A quarter of nine," said the Marchioness, peering at the French clock
+through her lorgnon. "I am quite sure the Princess will not venture out
+on such a night as this."
+
+"She's really quite an awful pill," said Lady Jane calmly. "I for one
+sha'n't be broken-hearted if she doesn't venture."
+
+"For heaven's sake, don't let Cricklewick hear you say such a thing,"
+said the Marchioness in a furtive undertone.
+
+"I've heard Cricklewick say even worse," retorted the girl. She lowered
+her voice to a confidential whisper. "No longer ago than yesterday he
+told me that she made him tired, or something of the sort."
+
+"Poor Cricklewick! I fear he is losing ambition," mused the Marchioness.
+"An ideal butler but a most dreary creature the instant he attempts to
+be a human being. It isn't possible. McFaddan is quite human. That's why
+he is so fat. I am not sure that I ever told you, but he was quite a
+slim, puny lad when Cricklewick took him out of the stables and made a
+very decent footman out of him. That was a great many years ago, of
+course. Camelford left him a thousand pounds in his will. I have always
+believed it was hush money. McFaddan was a very wide-awake chap in those
+days." The Marchioness lowered one eye-lid slowly.
+
+"And, by all reports, the Marquis of Camelford was very well worth
+watching," said Lady Jane.
+
+"Hear the wind!" cried the Marchioness, with a little shiver. "How it
+shrieks!"
+
+"We were speaking of the Marquis," said Lady Jane.
+
+"But one may always fall back on the weather," said the Marchioness
+drily. "Even at its worst it is a pleasanter thing to discuss than
+Camelford. You can't get anything out of me, my dear. I was his next
+door neighbour for twenty years, and I don't believe in talking about
+one's neighbour."
+
+Lady Jane stared for a moment. "But--how quaint you are!--you were
+married to him almost as long as that, were you not?"
+
+"My clearest,--I may even say my dearest,--recollection of him is as a
+neighbour, Lady Jane. He was most agreeable next door."
+
+Cricklewick appeared in the door.
+
+"Count Antonio Fogazario," he announced.
+
+A small, wizened man in black satin knee-breeches entered the room and
+approached the Marchioness. With courtly grace he lifted her fingers to
+his lips and, in a voice that quavered slightly, declared in French that
+his joy on seeing her again was only surpassed by the hideous gloom he
+had experienced during the week that had elapsed since their last
+meeting.
+
+"But now the gloom is dispelled and I am basking in sunshine so rare and
+soft and--"
+
+"My dear Count," broke in the Marchioness, "you forget that we are
+enjoying the worst blizzard of the year."
+
+"Enjoying,--vastly enjoying it!" he cried. "It is the most enchanting
+blizzard I have ever known. Ah, my dear Lady Jane! This _is_
+delightful!"
+
+His sharp little face beamed with pleasure. The vast pleated shirt front
+extended itself to amazing proportions, as if blown up by an invisible
+though prodigious bellows, and his elbow described an angle of
+considerable elevation as he clasped the slim hand of the tall young
+woman. The crown of his sleek black toupee was on a line with her
+shoulder.
+
+"God bless me," he added, in a somewhat astonished manner, "this is most
+gratifying. I could not have lifted it half that high yesterday without
+experiencing the most excruciating agony." He worked his arm up and down
+experimentally. "Quite all right, quite all right. I feared I was in for
+another siege. I cannot tell you how delighted I am. Ahem! Where was I?
+Oh, yes--This is a pleasure, Lady Jane, a positive delight. How charming
+you are look--"
+
+"Save your compliments, Count, for the Princess," interrupted the girl,
+smiling. "She is coming, you know."
+
+"I doubt it," he said, fumbling for his snuff-box. "I saw her this
+afternoon. Chilblains. Weather like this, you see. Quite a distance from
+her place to the street-cars. Frightful going. I doubt it very much.
+Now, what was it she said to me this afternoon? Something very
+important, I remember distinctly,--but it seems to have slipped my mind
+completely. I am fearfully annoyed with myself. I remember with great
+distinctness that it was something I was determined to remember, and
+here I am forgetting--Ah, let me see! It comes to me like a flash. I
+have it! She said she felt as though she had a cold coming on or
+something like that. Yes, I am sure that was it. I remember she blew her
+nose frequently, and she always makes a dreadful noise when she blows
+her nose. A really unforgettable noise, you know. Now, when I blow my
+nose, I don't behave like an elephant. I--"
+
+"You blow it like a gentleman," interrupted the Marchioness, as he
+paused in some confusion.
+
+"Indeed I do," he said gratefully. "In the most polished manner
+possible, my dear lady."
+
+Lady Jane put her handkerchief to her lips. There was a period of
+silence. The Count appeared to be thinking with great intensity. He had
+a harassed expression about the corners of his nose. It was he who broke
+the silence. He broke it with a most tremendous sneeze.
+
+"The beastly snuff," he said in apology.
+
+Cricklewick's voice seemed to act as an echo to the remark.
+
+"The Right-Honourable Mrs. Priestly-Duff," he announced, and an angular,
+middle-aged lady in a rose-coloured gown entered the room. She had a
+very long nose and prominent teeth; her neck was of amazing length and
+appeared to be attached to her shoulders by means of vertical,
+skin-covered ropes, running from torso to points just behind her ears,
+where they were lost in a matting of faded, straw-coloured hair. On
+second thought, it may be simpler to remark that her neck was amazingly
+scrawny. It will save confusion. Her voice was a trifle strident and her
+French execrable.
+
+"Isn't it awful?" she said as she joined the trio at the fireplace. "I
+thought I'd never get here. Two hours coming, my dear, and I must be
+starting home at once if I want to get there before midnight."
+
+"The Princess will be here," said the Marchioness.
+
+"I'll wait fifteen minutes," said the new-comer crisply, pulling up her
+gloves. "I've had a trying day, Marchioness. Everything has gone
+wrong,--even the drains. They're frozen as tight as a drum and heaven
+knows when they'll get them thawed out! Who ever heard of such weather
+in March?"
+
+"Ah, my dear Mrs. Priestly-Duff, you should not forget the beautiful
+sunshine we had yesterday," said the Count cheerily.
+
+"Precious little good it does today," she retorted, looking down upon
+him from a lofty height, and as if she had not noticed his presence
+before. "When did you come in, Count?"
+
+"It is quite likely the Princess will not venture out in such weather,"
+interposed the Marchioness, sensing squalls.
+
+"Well, I'll stop a bit anyway and get my feet warm. I hope she doesn't
+come. She is a good deal of a wet blanket, you must admit."
+
+"Wet blankets," began the Count argumentatively, and then, catching a
+glance from the Marchioness, cleared his throat, blew his nose, and
+mumbled something about poor people who had no blankets at all, God help
+them on such a night as this.
+
+Lady Jane had turned away from the group and was idly turning the leaves
+of the _Illustrated London News_. The smallest intelligence would have
+grasped the fact that Mrs. Priestly-Duff was not a genial soul.
+
+"Who else is coming?" she demanded, fixing the little hostess with the
+stare that had just been removed from the back of Lady Jane's head.
+
+Cricklewick answered from the doorway.
+
+"Lord Temple. Baron--ahem!--Whiskers--eh? Baron Wissmer. Prince Waldemar
+de Bosky. Count Wilhelm Frederick Von Blitzen."
+
+Four young men advanced upon the Marchioness, Lord Temple in the van. He
+was a tall, good-looking chap, with light brown hair that curled
+slightly above the ears, and eyes that danced.
+
+"This, my dear Marchioness, is my friend, Baron Wissmer," he said, after
+bending low over her hand.
+
+The Baron, whose broad hands were encased in immaculate white gloves
+that failed by a wide margin to button across his powerful wrists,
+smiled sheepishly as he enveloped her fingers in his huge palm.
+
+"It is good of you to let me come, Marchioness," he said awkwardly, a
+deep flush spreading over his sea-tanned face. "If I manage to deport
+myself like the bull in the china shop, pray lay it to clumsiness and
+not to ignorance. It has been a very long time since I touched the hand
+of a Marchioness."
+
+"Small people, like myself, may well afford to be kind and forgiving to
+giants," said she, smiling. "Dear me, how huge you are."
+
+"I was once in the Emperor's Guard," said he, straightening his figure
+to its full six feet and a half. "The Blue Hussars. I may add with pride
+that I was not so horribly clumsy in regimentals. After all, it is the
+clothes that makes the man." He smiled as he looked himself over. "I
+shall not be at all offended or even embarrassed if you say 'goodness,
+how you have grown!'"
+
+"The best tailor in London made that suit of clothes," said Lord Temple,
+surveying his friend with an appraising eye. Out of the corner of the
+same eye he explored the region beyond the group that now clustered
+about the hostess. Evidently he discovered what he was looking for.
+Leaving the Baron high and dry, he skirted the edge of the group and,
+with beaming face, came to Lady Jane.
+
+"My family is of Vienna," the Baron was saying to the Marchioness, "but
+of late years I have called Constantinople my home."
+
+"I understand," said she gently. She asked no other question, but,
+favouring him with a kindly smile, turned her attention to the men who
+lurked insignificantly in the shadow of his vast bulk.
+
+The Prince was a pale, dreamy young man with flowing black hair that
+must have been a constant menace to his vision, judging by the frequent
+and graceful sweep of his long, slender hand in brushing the encroaching
+forelock from his eyes, over which it spread briefly in the nature of a
+veil. He had the fingers of a musician, the bearing of a violinist. His
+head drooped slightly toward his left shoulder, which was always raised
+a trifle above the level of the right. And there was in his soft brown
+eyes the faraway look of the detached. The insignia of his house hung
+suspended by a red ribbon in the centre of his white shirt front, while
+on the lapel of his coat reposed the emblem of the Order of the Golden
+Star. He was a Pole.
+
+Count Von Blitzen, a fair-haired, pink-skinned German, urged himself
+forward with typical, not-to-be-denied arrogance, and crushed the
+fingers of the Marchioness in his fat hand. His broad face beamed with
+an all-enveloping smile.
+
+"Only patriots and lovers venture forth on such nights as this," he
+said, in a guttural voice that rendered his French almost laughable.
+
+"With an occasional thief or varlet," supplemented the Marchioness.
+
+"Ach, Dieu," murmured the Count.
+
+Fresh arrivals were announced by Cricklewick. For the next ten or
+fifteen minutes they came thick and fast, men and women of all ages,
+nationality and condition, and not one of them without a high-sounding
+title. They disposed themselves about the vast room, and a subdued vocal
+hubbub ensued. If here and there elderly guests, with gnarled and
+painfully scrubbed hands, preferred isolation and the pictorial contents
+of a magazine from the land of their nativity, it was not with snobbish
+intentions. They were absorbing the news from "home," in the regular
+weekly doses.
+
+The regal, resplendent Countess du Bara, of the Opera, held court in one
+corner of the room. Another was glorified by a petite baroness from the
+Artists' Colony far down-town, while a rather dowdy lady with a coronet
+monopolized the attention of a small group in the centre of the room.
+
+Lady Jane Thorne and Lord Temple sat together in a dim recess beyond the
+great chair of state, and conversed in low and far from impersonal
+tones.
+
+Cricklewick appeared in the doorway and in his most impressive manner
+announced Her Royal Highness, the Princess Mariana Theresa Sebastano
+Michelini Celestine di Pavesi.
+
+And with the entrance of royalty, kind reader, you may consider yourself
+introduced, after a fashion, to the real aristocracy of the City of New
+York, United States of America,--the titled riff-raff of the world's
+cosmopolis.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+
+                           THE CITY OF MASKS
+
+
+NEW YORK is not merely a melting pot for the poor and the humble of the
+lands of the earth. In its capacious depths, unknown and unsuspected,
+float atoms of an entirely different sort: human beings with the blood
+of the high-born and lofty in their veins, derelicts swept up by the
+varying winds of adversity, adventure, injustice, lawlessness, fear and
+independence.
+
+Lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, swarm to
+the Metropolis in the course of the speeding year, heralded by every
+newspaper in the land, fêted and feasted and glorified by a capricious
+and easily impressed public; they pass with pomp and panoply and we let
+them go with reluctance and a vociferous invitation to come again. They
+come and they go, and we are informed each morning and evening of every
+move they have made during the day and night. We are told what they eat
+for breakfast, luncheon and dinner; what they wear and what they do not
+wear; where they are entertained and by whom; who they are and why; what
+they think of New York and--but why go on? We deny them privacy, and
+they think we are a wonderful, considerate and hospitable people. They
+go back to their homes in far-off lands,--and that is the end of them so
+far as we are concerned.
+
+They merely pause on the lip of the melting pot, briefly peer into its
+simmering depths, and then,--pass on.
+
+It is not with such as they that this narrative has to deal. It is not
+of the heralded, the glorified and the toasted that we tell, but of
+those who slip into the pot with the coarser ingredients, and who never,
+by any chance, become actually absorbed by the processes of integration
+but remain for ever as they were in the beginning: distinct foreign
+substances.
+
+From all quarters of the globe the drift comes to our shores. New York
+swallows the good with the bad, and thrives, like the cannibal, on the
+man-food it gulps down with ravenous disregard for consequences or
+effect. It rarely disgorges.
+
+It eats all flesh, foul or fair, and it drinks good red blood out of the
+same cup that offers a black and nauseous bile. It conceals its inward
+revulsion behind a bland, disdainful smile, and holds out its hands for
+more of the meat and poison that comes up from the sea in ships.
+
+It is the City of Masks.
+
+Its men and women hide behind a million masks; no man looks beneath the
+mask his neighbour wears, for he is interested only in that which he
+sees with the least possible effort: the surface. He sees his neighbour
+but he knows him not. He keeps his own mask in place and wanders among
+the millions, secure in the thought that all other men are as casual as
+he,--and as charitable.
+
+From time to time the newspapers come forward with stories that amaze
+and interest those of us who remain, and always will remain, romantic
+and impressionable. They tell of the royal princess living in squalor on
+the lower east side; of the heir to a baronetcy dying in poverty in a
+hospital somewhere up-town; of the countess who defies the wolf by
+dancing in the roof-gardens; of the lost arch-duke who has been
+recognized in a gang of stevedores; of the earl who lands in jail as an
+ordinary hobo; of the baroness who supports a shiftless husband and
+their offspring by giving music-lessons; of the retiring scholar who
+scorns a life of idleness and a coronet besides; of shifty
+ne'er-do-wells with titles at homes and aliases elsewhere; of fugitive
+lords and forgotten ladies; of thieves and bauds and wastrels who stand
+revealed in their extremity as the sons and daughters of noble houses.
+
+In this City of Masks there are hundreds of men and women in whose veins
+the blood of a sound aristocracy flows. By choice or necessity they have
+donned the mask of obscurity. They tread the paths of oblivion. They
+toil, beg or steal to keep pace with circumstance. But the blood will
+not be denied. In the breast of each of these drifters throbs the pride
+of birth, in the soul of each flickers the unquenchable flame of caste.
+The mask is for the man outside, not for the man inside.
+
+Recently there died in one of the municipal hospitals an old
+flower-woman, familiar for three decades to the thousands who thread
+their way through the maze of streets in the lower end of Manhattan. To
+them she was known as Old Peg. To herself she was the Princess
+Feododric, born to the purple, daughter of one of the greatest families
+in Russia. She was never anything but the Princess to herself, despite
+the squalor in which she lived. Her epitaph was written in the bold,
+black head-lines of the newspapers; but her history was laid away with
+her mask in a graveyard far from palaces--and flower-stands. Her
+headstone revealed the uncompromising pride that survived her after
+death. By her direction it bore the name of Feododric, eldest daughter
+of His Highness, Prince Michael Androvodski; born in St. Petersburgh,
+September 12, 1841; died Jan. 7, 1912; wife of James Lumley, of County
+Cork, Ireland.
+
+It is of the high-born who dwell in low places that this tale is told.
+It is of an aristocracy that serves and smiles and rarely sneers behind
+its mask.
+
+When Cricklewick announced the Princess Mariana Theresa the hush of
+deference fell upon the assembled company. In the presence of royalty no
+one remained seated.
+
+She advanced slowly, ponderously into the room, bowing right and left as
+she crossed to the great chair at the upper end. One by one the others
+presented themselves and kissed the coarse, unlovely hand she held out
+to them. It was not "make-believe." It was her due. The blood of a king
+and a queen coursed through her veins; she had been born a Princess
+Royal.
+
+She was sixty, but her hair was as black as the coat of the raven. Time,
+tribulation, and a harsh destiny had put each its own stamp upon her
+dark, almost sinister, face. The black eyes were sharp and calculating,
+and they did not smile with her thin lips. She wore a great amount of
+jewellery and a gown of blue velvet, lavishly bespangled and generously
+embellished with laces of many periods, values and, you could say,
+nativity.
+
+The Honourable Mrs. Priestly-Duff having been a militant suffragette
+before a sudden and enforced departure from England, was the only person
+there with the hardihood to proclaim, not altogether _sotto voce_, that
+the "get-up" was a fright.
+
+Restraint vanished the instant the last kiss of tribute fell upon her
+knuckles. The Princess put her hand to her side, caught her breath
+sharply, and remarked to the Marchioness, who stood near by, that it was
+dreadful the way she was putting on weight. She was afraid of splitting
+something if she took a long, natural breath.
+
+"I haven't weighed myself lately," she said, "but the last time I had
+this dress on it felt like a kimono. Look at it now! You could not stuff
+a piece of tissue paper between it and me to save your soul. I shall
+have to let it out a couple of--What were you about to say, Count
+Fogazario?"
+
+The little Count, at the Marchioness's elbow, repeated something he had
+already said, and added:
+
+"And if it continues there will not be a trolley-car running by
+midnight."
+
+The Princess eyed him coldly. "That is just like a man," she said. "Not
+the faintest idea of what we were talking about, Marchioness."
+
+The Count bowed. "You were speaking of tissue paper, Princess," said he,
+stiffly. "I understood perfectly."
+
+Once a week the Marchioness held her amazing salon. Strictly speaking,
+it was a co-operative affair. The so-called guests were in reality
+contributors to and supporters of an enterprise that had been going on
+for the matter of five years in the heart of unsuspecting New York.
+According to his or her means, each of these exiles paid the tithe or
+tax necessary, and became in fact a member of the inner circle.
+
+From nearly every walk in life they came to this common, converging
+point, and sat them down with their equals, for the moment laying aside
+the mask to take up a long-discarded and perhaps despised reality. They
+became lords and ladies all over again, and not for a single instant was
+there the slightest deviation from dignity or form.
+
+Moral integrity was the only requirement, and that, for obvious reasons,
+was sometimes overlooked,--as for example in the case of the Countess
+who eloped with the young artist and lived in complacent shame and
+happiness with him in a three-room flat in East Nineteenth street. The
+artist himself was barred from the salon, not because of his ignoble
+action, but for the sufficient reason that he was of ignoble birth.
+Outside the charmed conclave he was looked upon as a most engaging chap.
+And there was also the case of the appallingly amiable baron who had
+fired four shots at a Russian Grand-Duke and got away with his life in
+spite of the vaunted secret service. It was of no moment whatsoever that
+one of his bullets accidentally put an end to the life of a guardsman.
+That was merely proof of his earnestness and in no way reflected on his
+standing as a nobleman. Nor was it adequate cause for rejection that
+certain of these men and women were being sought by Imperial Governments
+because they were political fugitives, with prices on their heads.
+
+The Marchioness, more prosperous than any of her associates, assumed the
+greater part of the burden attending this singular reversion to form. It
+was she who held the lease on the building, from cellar to roof, and it
+was she who paid that important item of expense: the rent. The
+Marchioness was no other than the celebrated Deborah, whose gowns
+issuing from the lower floors at prodigious prices, gave her a standing
+in New York that not even the plutocrats and parvenus could dispute. In
+private life she may have been a Marchioness, but to all New York she
+was known as the queen of dressmakers.
+
+If you desired to consult Deborah in person you inquired for Mrs.
+Sparflight, or if you happened to be a new customer and ignorant, you
+were set straight by an attendant (with a slight uplifting of the
+eyebrows) when you asked for Madame "Deborah."
+
+The ownership of the rare pieces of antique furniture, rugs, tapestries
+and paintings was vested in two members of the circle, one occupying a
+position in the centre of the ring, the other on the outer rim: Count
+Antonio Fogazario and Moody, the footman. For be it known that while
+Moody reverted once a week to a remote order of existence he was for the
+balance of the time an exceedingly prosperous, astute and highly
+respected dealer in antiques, with a shop in Madison Avenue and a
+clientele that considered it the grossest impertinence to dispute the
+prices he demanded. He always looked forward to these "drawing-rooms,"
+so to speak. It was rather a joy to disregard the aspirates. He dropped
+enough hs on a single evening to make up for a whole week of deliberate
+speech.
+
+As for Count Antonio, he was the purveyor of Italian antiques and
+primitive paintings, "authenticity guaranteed," doing business under the
+name of "Juneo & Co., Ltd. London, Paris, Rome, New York." He was known
+in the trade and at his bank as Mr. Juneo.
+
+Occasionally the exigencies of commerce necessitated the substitution of
+an article from stock for one temporarily loaned to the fifth-floor
+drawing-room.
+
+During the seven days in the week, Mr. Moody and Mr. Juneo observed a
+strained but common equality. Mr. Moody contemptuously referred to Mr.
+Juneo as a second-hand dealer, while Mr. Juneo, with commercial
+bitterness, informed his patrons that Pickett, Inc., needed a lot of
+watching. But on these Wednesday nights a vast abyss stretched between
+them. They were no longer rivals in business. Mr. Juneo, without the
+slightest sign of arrogance, put Mr. Moody in his place, and Mr. Moody,
+with perfect equanimity, quite properly stayed there.
+
+"A chair over here, Moody," the Count would say (to Pickett, Inc.,) and
+Moody, with all the top-lofty obsequiousness of the perfect footman,
+would place a chair in the designated spot, and say:
+
+"H'anythink else, my lord? Thank you, sir."
+
+On this particular Wednesday night two topics of paramount interest
+engaged the attention of the company. The newspapers of that day had
+printed the story of the apprehension and seizure of one Peter Jolinski,
+wanted in Warsaw on the charge of assassination.
+
+As Count Andreas Verdray he was known to this exclusive circle of
+Europeans, and to them he was a persecuted, unjustly accused fugitive
+from the land of his nativity. Russian secret service men had run him to
+earth after five years of relentless pursuit. As a respectable,
+industrious window-washer he had managed for years to evade arrest for a
+crime he had not committed, and now he was in jail awaiting extradition
+and almost certain death at the hands of his intriguing enemies. A
+cultured scholar, a true gentleman, he was, despite his vocation, one of
+the most distinguished units in this little world of theirs. The
+authorities in Warsaw charged him with instigating the plot to
+assassinate a powerful and autocratic officer of the Crown. In more or
+less hushed voices, the assemblage discussed the unhappy event.
+
+The other topic was the need of immediate relief for the family of the
+Baroness de Flamme, who was on her death-bed in Harlem and whose three
+small children, deprived of the support of a hard-working music-teacher
+and deserted by an unconscionably plebeian father, were in a pitiable
+state of destitution. Acting on the suggestion of Lord Temple, who as
+Thomas Trotter earned a weekly stipend of thirty dollars as chauffeur
+for a prominent Park Avenue gentleman, a collection was taken, each
+person giving according to his means. The largest contribution was from
+Count Fogazario, who headed the list with twenty-five dollars. The
+Marchioness was down for twenty. The smallest donation was from Prince
+Waldemar. Producing a solitary coin, he made change, and after saving
+out ten cents for carfare, donated forty cents.
+
+Cricklewick, Moody and McFaddan were not invited to contribute. No one
+would have dreamed of asking them to join in such a movement. And yet,
+of all those present, the three men-servants were in a better position
+than any one else to give handsomely. They were, in fact, the richest
+men there. The next morning, however, would certainly bring checks from
+their offices to the custodian of the fund, the Hon. Mrs. Priestly-Duff.
+They knew their places on Wednesday night, however.
+
+The Countess du Bara, from the Opera, sang later on in the evening;
+Prince Waldemar got out his violin and played; the gay young baroness
+from the Artists' Colony played accompaniments very badly on the baby
+grand piano; Cricklewick and the footmen served coffee and sandwiches,
+and every one smoked in the dining-room.
+
+At eleven o'clock the Princess departed. She complained a good deal of
+her feet.
+
+"It's the weather," she explained to the Marchioness, wincing a little
+as she made her way to the door.
+
+"Too bad," said the Marchioness. "Are we to be honoured on next
+Wednesday night, your highness? You do not often grace our gatherings,
+you know. I--"
+
+"It will depend entirely on circumstances," said the Princess,
+graciously.
+
+Circumstances, it may be mentioned,--though they never were mentioned on
+Wednesday nights,--had a great deal to do with the Princess's actions.
+She conducted a pawn-shop in Baxter street. As the widow and sole
+legatee of Moses Jacobs, she was quite a figure in the street. Customers
+came from all corners of the town, and without previous appointment.
+Report had it that Mrs. Jacobs was rolling in money. People slunk in and
+out of the front door of her place of business, penniless on entering,
+affluent on leaving,--if you would call the possession of a dollar or
+two affluence,--and always with the resolve in their souls to some day
+get even with the leech who stood behind the counter and doled out
+nickels where dollars were expected.
+
+It was an open secret that more than one of those who kissed the
+Princess's hand in the Marchioness's drawing-room carried pawnchecks
+issued by Mrs. Jacobs. Business was business. Sentiment entered the soul
+of the Princess only on such nights as she found it convenient and
+expedient to present herself at the Salon. It vanished the instant she
+put on her street clothes on the floor below and passed out into the
+night. Avarice stepped in as sentiment stepped out, and one should not
+expect too much of avarice.
+
+For one, the dreamy, half-starved Prince Waldemar was rarely without
+pawnchecks from her delectable establishment. Indeed it had been
+impossible for him to entertain the company on this stormy evening
+except for her grudging consent to substitute his overcoat for the
+Stradivarius he had been obliged to leave the day before.
+
+Without going too deeply into her history, it is only necessary to say
+that she was one of those wayward, wilful princesses royal who
+occasionally violate all tradition and marry good-looking young
+Americans or Englishmen, and disappear promptly and automatically from
+court circles.
+
+She ran away when she was nineteen with a young attaché in the British
+legation. It was the worst thing that could have happened to the poor
+chap. For years they drifted through many lands, finally ending in New
+York, where, their resources having been exhausted, she was forced to
+pawn her jewellery. The pawn-broker was one Abraham Jacobs, of Baxter
+street.
+
+The young English husband, disheartened and thoroughly disillusioned,
+shot himself one fine day. By a single coincidence, a few weeks
+afterward, old Abraham went to his fathers in the most agreeable fashion
+known to nature, leaving his business, including the princess's jewels,
+to his son Moses.
+
+With rare foresight and acumen, Mrs. Brinsley (the Princess, in other
+words), after several months of contemplative mourning, redeemed her
+treasure by marrying Moses. And when Moses, after begetting Solomon,
+David and Hannah, passed on at the age of twoscore years and ten, she
+continued the business with even greater success than he. She did not
+alter the name that flourished in large gold letters on the two show
+windows and above the hospitable doorway. For twenty years it had read:
+The Royal Exchange: M. Jacobs, Proprietor. And now you know all that is
+necessary to know about Mariana, to this day a true princess of the
+blood.
+
+Inasmuch as a large share of her business came through customers who
+preferred to visit her after the fall of night, there is no further need
+to explain her reply to the Marchioness.
+
+When midnight came the Marchioness was alone in the deserted
+drawing-room. The company had dispersed to the four corners of the
+storm-swept city, going by devious means and routes.
+
+They fared forth into the night _sans_ ceremony, _sans_ regalia. In the
+locker-rooms on the floor below each of these noble wights divested
+himself and herself of the raiment donned for the occasion. With the
+turning of a key in the locker door, barons became ordinary men,
+countesses became mere women, and all of them stole regretfully out of
+the passage at the foot of the first flight of stairs and shivered in
+the wind that blew through the City of Masks.
+
+"I've got more money than I know what to do with, Miss Emsdale," said
+Tom Trotter, as they went together out into the bitter wind. "I'll blow
+you off to a taxi."
+
+"I couldn't think of it," said the erstwhile Lady Jane, drawing her
+small stole close about her neck.
+
+"But it's on my way home," said he. "I'll drop you at your front door.
+Please do."
+
+"If I may stand half," she said resolutely.
+
+"We'll see," said he. "Wait here in the doorway till I fetch a taxi from
+the hotel over there. Oh, I say, Herman, would you mind asking one of
+those drivers over there to pick us up here?"
+
+"Sure," said Herman, one time Count Wilhelm Frederick Von Blitzen, who
+had followed them to the side-walk. "Fierce night, ain'd it? Py chiminy,
+ain'd it?"
+
+"Where is your friend, Mr. Trotter," inquired Miss Emsdale, as the
+stalwart figure of one of the most noted head-waiters in New York
+struggled off against the wind.
+
+"He beat it quite a while ago," said he, with an enlightening grin.
+
+"Oh?" said she, and met his glance in the darkness. A sudden warmth
+swept over her.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IV
+
+                     THE SCION OF A NEW YORK HOUSE
+
+
+AS Miss Emsdale and Thomas Trotter got down from the taxi, into a huge
+unbroken snowdrift in front of a house in one of the cross-town streets
+just off upper Fifth Avenue, a second taxi drew up behind them and
+barked a raucous command to pull up out of the way. But the first taxi
+was unable to do anything of the sort, being temporarily though
+explosively stalled in the drift along the curb. Whereupon the fare in
+the second taxi threw open the door and, with an audible imprecation,
+plunged into the drift, just in time to witness the interesting
+spectacle of a lady being borne across the snow-piled sidewalk in the
+arms of a stalwart man; and, as he gazed in amazement, the man and his
+burden ascended the half-dozen steps leading to the storm-vestibule of
+the very house to which he himself was bound.
+
+His first shock of apprehension was dissipated almost instantly. The
+man's burden giggled quite audibly as he set her down inside the storm
+doors. That giggle was proof positive that she was neither dead nor
+injured. She was very much alive, there could be no doubt about it. But
+who was she?
+
+The newcomer swore softly as he fumbled in his trousers' pocket for a
+coin for the driver who had run him up from the club. After an
+exasperating but seemingly necessary delay he hurried up the steps. He
+met the stalwart burden-bearer coming down. A servant had opened the
+door and the late burden was passing into the hall.
+
+He peered sharply into the face of the man who was leaving, and
+recognized him.
+
+"Hello," he said. "Some one ill, Trotter?"
+
+"No, Mr. Smith-Parvis," replied Trotter in some confusion. "Disagreeable
+night, isn't it?"
+
+"In some respects," said young Mr. Smith-Parvis, and dashed into the
+vestibule before the footman could close the door.
+
+Miss Emsdale turned at the foot of the broad stairway as she heard the
+servant greet the young master. A swift flush mounted to her cheeks. Her
+heart beat a little faster, notwithstanding the fact that it had been
+beating with unusual rapidity ever since Thomas Trotter disregarded her
+protests and picked her up in his strong arms.
+
+"Hello," he said, lowering his voice.
+
+There was a light in the library beyond. His father was there, taking
+advantage, no doubt, of the midnight lull to read the evening
+newspapers. The social activities of the Smith-Parvises gave him but
+little opportunity to read the evening papers prior to the appearance of
+the morning papers.
+
+"What is the bally rush?" went on the young man, slipping out of his
+fur-lined overcoat and leaving it pendant in the hands of the footman.
+Miss Emsdale, after responding to his hushed "hello" in an equally
+subdued tone, had started up the stairs.
+
+"It is very late, Mr. Smith-Parvis. Good night."
+
+"Never too late to mend," he said, and was supremely well-satisfied with
+what a superior intelligence might have recorded as a cryptic remark but
+what, to him, was an awfully clever "come-back." He had spent three
+years at Oxford. No beastly American college for him, by Jove!
+
+Overcoming a cultivated antipathy to haste,--which he considered the
+lowest form of ignorance,--he bounded up the steps, three at a time, and
+overtook her midway to the top.
+
+"I say, Miss Emsdale, I saw you come in, don't you know. I couldn't
+believe my eyes. What the deuce were you doing out with that
+common--er--chauffeur? D'you mean to say that you are running about with
+a chap of that sort, and letting him--"
+
+"If you _please_, Mr. Smith-Parvis!" interrupted Miss Emsdale coldly.
+"Good night!"
+
+"I don't mean to say you haven't the _right_ to go about with any one
+you please," he persisted, planting himself in front of her at the top
+of the steps. "But a common chauffeur--Well, now, 'pon my word, Miss
+Emsdale, really you might just as well be seen with Peasley down there."
+
+"Peasley is out of the question," said she, affecting a wry little
+smile, as of self-pity. "He is tooken, as you say in America. He walks
+out with Bessie, the parlour-maid."
+
+"Walks out? Good Lord, you don't mean to say you'd--but, of course,
+you're spoofing me. One never knows how to take you English, no matter
+how long one may have lived in England. But I am serious. You cannot
+afford to be seen running around nights with fellows of that stripe.
+Rotten bounders, that's what I call 'em. Ever been out with him before?"
+
+"Often, Mr. Smith-Parvis," she replied calmly. "I am sure you would like
+him if you knew him better. He is really a very--"
+
+"Nonsense! He is a good chauffeur, I've no doubt,--Lawrie Carpenter says
+he's a treasure, but I've no desire to know him any better. And I don't
+like to think of you knowing him quite as well as you do, Miss Emsdale.
+See what I mean?"
+
+"Perfectly. You mean that you will go to your mother with the report
+that I am not a fit person to be with the children. Isn't that what you
+mean?"
+
+"Not at all. I'm not thinking of the kids. I'm thinking of myself. I'm
+pretty keen about you, and--"
+
+"Aren't you forgetting yourself, Mr. Smith-Parvis?" she demanded curtly.
+
+"Oh, I know there'd be a devil of a row if the mater ever dreamed that
+I--Oh, I say! Don't rush off in a huff. Wait a--"
+
+But she had brushed past him and was swiftly ascending the second flight
+of stairs.
+
+He stared after her in astonishment. He couldn't understand such
+stupidity, not even in a governess. There wasn't another girl in New
+York City, so far as he knew, who wouldn't have been pleased out of her
+boots to receive the significant mark of interest he was bestowing upon
+this lowly governess,--and here was she turning her back upon,--Why,
+what was the matter with her? He passed his hand over his brow and
+blinked a couple of times. And she only a paid governess! It was
+incredible.
+
+He went slowly downstairs and, still in a sort of daze, found himself a
+few minutes later pouring out a large drink of whiskey in the
+dining-room. It was his habit to take a bottle of soda with his whiskey,
+but on this occasion he overcame it and gulped the liquor "neat." It
+appeared to be rather uplifting, so he had another. Then he went up to
+his own room and sulked for an hour before even preparing for bed. The
+more he thought of it, the graver her unseemly affront became.
+
+"And to have her insult _me_ like that," he said to himself over and
+over again, "when not three minutes before she had let that bally
+bounder carry her up--By gad, I'll give her something to think about in
+the morning. She sha'n't do that sort of thing to me. She'll find
+herself out of a job and with a damned poor reference in her pocket if
+she gets gay with me. She'll come down from her high horse, all right,
+all right. Positions like this one don't grow in the park. She's got to
+understand that. She can't go running around with chauffeurs and all--My
+God, to think that he had her in his arms! The one girl in all the world
+who has ever really made me sit up and take notice! Gad, I--I can't
+stand it--I can't bear to think of her cuddling up to that--The damned
+bounder!"
+
+He sprang to his feet and bolted out into the hall. He was a spoiled
+young man with an aversion: an aversion to being denied anything that he
+wanted.
+
+In the brief history of the Smith-Parvis family he occupied many full
+and far from prosaic pages. Smith-Parvis, Senior, was not a prodigal
+sort of person, and yet he had squandered a great many thousands of
+dollars in his time on Smith-Parvis, Junior. It costs money to bring up
+young men like Smith-Parvis, Junior; and by the same token it costs
+money to hold them down. The family history, if truthfully written,
+would contain passages in which the unbridled ambitions of Smith-Parvis,
+Junior, overwhelmed everything else. There would be the chapters
+excoriating the two chorus-girls who, in not widely separated instances,
+consented to release the young man from matrimonial pledges in return
+for so much cash; and there would be numerous paragraphs pertaining to
+auction-bridge, and others devoted entirely to tailors; to say nothing
+of uncompromising café and restaurant keepers who preferred the
+Smith-Parvis money to the Smith-Parvis trade.
+
+The young man, having come to the conclusion that he wanted Miss
+Emsdale, ruthlessly decided to settle the matter at once. He would not
+wait till morning. He would go up to her room and tell her that if she
+knew what was good for her she'd listen to what he had to say. She was
+too nice a girl to throw herself away on a rotter like Trotter.
+
+Then, as he came to the foot of the steps, he remembered the expression
+in her eyes as she swept past him an hour earlier. It suddenly occurred
+to him to pause and reflect. The look she gave him, now that he thought
+of it, was not that of a timid, frightened menial. Far from it! There
+was something imperious about it; he recalled the subtle, fleeting and
+hitherto unfamiliar chill it gave him.
+
+Somewhat to his own amazement, he returned to his room and closed the
+door with surprising care. He usually slammed it.
+
+"Dammit all," he said, half aloud, scowling at his reflection in the
+mirror across the room, "I--I wonder if she thinks she can put on airs
+with me." Later on he regained his self-assurance sufficiently to utter
+an ultimatum to the invisible offender: "You'll be eating out of my hand
+before you're two days older, my fine lady, or I'll know the reason
+why."
+
+Smith-Parvis, Junior, wore the mask of a gentleman. As a matter-of-fact,
+the entire Smith-Parvis family went about masked by a similar air of
+gentility.
+
+The hyphen had a good deal to do with it.
+
+The head of the family, up to the time he came of age, was William
+Philander Smith, commonly called Bill by the young fellows in Yonkers. A
+maternal uncle, name of Parvis, being without wife or child at the age
+of seventy-eight, indicated a desire to perpetuate his name by hitching
+it to the sturdiest patronymic in the English language, and forthwith
+made a will, leaving all that he possessed to his only nephew, on
+condition that the said nephew and all his descendants should bear,
+henceforth and for ever, the name of Smith-Parvis.
+
+That is how it all came about. William Philander, shortly after the
+fusion of names, fell heir to a great deal of money and in due time
+forsook Yonkers for Manhattan, where he took unto himself a wife in the
+person of Miss Angela Potts, only child of the late Simeon Potts, Esq.,
+and Mrs. Potts, neither of whom, it would seem, had the slightest desire
+to perpetuate the family name. Indeed, as Angela was getting along
+pretty well toward thirty, they rather made a point of abolishing it
+before it was too late.
+
+The first-born of William Philander and Angela was christened Stuyvesant
+Van Sturdevant Smith-Parvis, after one of the Pottses who came over at a
+time when the very best families in Holland, according to the infant's
+grandparents, were engaged in establishing an aristocracy at the foot of
+Manhattan Island.
+
+After Stuyvesant,--ten years after, in fact,--came Regina Angela, who
+languished a while in the laps of the Pottses and the Smith-Parvis
+nurses, and died expectedly. When Stuyvie was fourteen the twins,
+Lucille and Eudora, came, and at that the Smith-Parvises packed up and
+went to England to live. Stuyvie managed in some way to make his way
+through Eton and part of the way through Oxford. He was sent down in his
+third year. It wasn't so easy to have his own way there. Moreover, he
+did not like Oxford because the rest of the boys persisted in calling
+him an American. He didn't mind being called a New Yorker, but they were
+rather obstinate about it.
+
+Miss Emsdale was the new governess. The redoubtable Mrs. Sparflight had
+recommended her to Mrs. Smith-Parvis. Since her advent into the home in
+Fifth Avenue, some three or four months prior to the opening of this
+narrative, a marked change had come over Stuyvesant Van Sturdevant. It
+was principally noticeable in a recently formed habit of getting down to
+breakfast early. The twins and the governess had breakfast at half-past
+eight. Up to this time he had detested the twins. Of late, however, he
+appeared to have discovered that they were his sisters and rather
+interesting little beggars at that.
+
+They were very much surprised by his altered behaviour. To the new
+governess they confided the somewhat startling suspicion that Stuyvie
+must be having softening of the brain, just as "grandpa" had when "papa"
+discovered that he was giving diamond rings to the servants and smiling
+at strangers in the street. It must be that, said they, for never before
+had Stuyvie kissed them or brought them expensive candies or smiled at
+them as he was doing in these wonderful days.
+
+Stranger still, he never had been polite or agreeable to
+governesses--before. He always had called them frumps, or cats, or
+freaks, or something like that. Surely something must be the matter with
+him, or he wouldn't be so nice to Miss Emsdale. Up to now he positively
+had refused to look at her predecessors, much less to sit at the same
+table with them. He said they took away his appetite.
+
+The twins adored Miss Emsdale.
+
+"We love you because you are so awfuly good," they were wont to say.
+"And so beautiful," they invariably added, as if it were not quite the
+proper thing to say.
+
+It was obvious to Miss Emsdale that Stuyvesant endorsed the supplemental
+tribute of the twins. He made it very plain to the new governess that he
+thought more of her beauty than he did of her goodness. He ogled her in
+a manner which, for want of a better expression, may be described as
+possessive. Instead of being complimented by his surreptitious
+admiration, she was distinctly annoyed. She disliked him intensely.
+
+He was twenty-five. There were bags under his eyes. More than this need
+not be said in describing him, unless one is interested in the tiny
+black moustache that looked as though it might have been pasted, with
+great precision, in the centre of his long upper lip,--directly beneath
+the spreading nostrils of a broad and far from aristocratic nose. His
+lips were thick and coarse, his chin a trifle undershot. Physically, he
+was a well set-up fellow, tall and powerful.
+
+For reasons best known to himself, and approved by his parents, he
+affected a distinctly English manner of speech. In that particular, he
+frequently out-Englished the English themselves.
+
+As for Miss Emsdale, she was a long time going to sleep. The encounter
+with the scion of the house had left her in a disturbed frame of mind.
+She laid awake for hours wondering what the morrow would produce for
+her. Dismissal, no doubt, and with it a stinging rebuke for what Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis would consider herself justified in characterizing as
+unpardonable misconduct in one employed to teach innocent and
+impressionable young girls. Mingled with these dire thoughts were
+occasional thrills of delight. They were, however, of short duration and
+had to do with a pair of strong arms and a gentle, laughing voice.
+
+In addition to these shifting fears and thrills, there were even more
+disquieting sensations growing out of the unwelcome attentions of
+Smith-Parvis, Junior. They were, so to speak, getting on her nerves. And
+now he had not only expressed himself in words, but had actually
+threatened her. There could be no mistake about that.
+
+Her heart was heavy. She did not want to lose her position. The monthly
+checks she received from Mrs. Smith-Parvis meant a great deal to her. At
+least half of her pay went to England, and sometimes more than half. A
+friendly solicitor in London obtained the money on these drafts and
+forwarded it, without fee, to the sick young brother who would never
+walk again, the adored young brother who had fallen prey to the most
+cruel of all enemies: infantile paralysis.
+
+Jane Thorne was the only daughter of the Earl of Wexham, who shot
+himself in London when the girl was but twelve years old. He left a
+penniless widow and two children. Wexham Manor, with all its fields and
+forests, had been sacrificed beforehand by the reckless, ill-advised
+nobleman. The police found a half-crown in his pocket when they took
+charge of the body. It was the last of a once imposing fortune. The
+widow and children subsisted on the charity of a niggardly relative.
+With the death of the former, after ten unhappy years as a dependent,
+Jane resolutely refused to accept help from the obnoxious relative. She
+set out to earn a living for herself and the crippled boy. We find her,
+after two years of struggle and privation, installed as Miss Emsdale in
+the Smith-Parvis mansion, earning one hundred dollars a month.
+
+It is safe to say that if the Smith-Parvises had known that she was the
+daughter of an Earl, and that her brother was an Earl, there would have
+been great rejoicing among them; for it isn't everybody who can boast an
+Earl's daughter as governess.
+
+One night in each week she was free to do as she pleased. It was, in
+plain words, her night out. She invariably spent it with the Marchioness
+and the coterie of unmasked spirits from lands across the seas.
+
+What was she to say to Mrs. Smith-Parvis if called upon to account for
+her unconventional return of the night before? How could she explain?
+Her lips were closed by the seal of honour so far as the meetings above
+"Deborah's" were concerned. A law unwritten but steadfastly observed by
+every member of that remarkable, heterogeneous court, made it impossible
+for her to divulge her whereabouts or actions on this and other
+agreeable "nights out." No man or woman in that company would have
+violated, even under the gravest pressure, the compact under which so
+many well-preserved secrets were rendered secure from exposure.
+
+Stuyvesant, in his rancour, would draw an ugly picture of her midnight
+adventure. He would, no doubt, feel inspired to add a few conclusions of
+his own. Her word, opposed to his, would have no effect on the verdict
+of the indulgent mother. She would stand accused and convicted of
+conduct unbecoming a governess! For, after all, Thomas Trotter was a
+chauffeur, and she couldn't make anything nobler out of him without
+saying that he wasn't Thomas Trotter at all.
+
+She arose the next morning with a splitting headache, and the fear of
+Stuyvesant in her soul.
+
+He was waiting for her in the hall below. The twins were accorded an
+unusually affectionate greeting by their big brother. He went so far as
+to implant a random kiss on the features of each of the "brats," as he
+called them in secret. Then he roughly shoved them ahead into the
+breakfast-room.
+
+Fastening his gaze upon the pale, unsmiling face of Miss Emsdale, he
+whispered:
+
+"Don't worry, my dear. Mum's the word."
+
+He winked significantly. Revolted, she drew herself up and hurried after
+the children, unpleasantly conscious of the leer of admiration that
+rested upon her from behind.
+
+He was very gay at breakfast.
+
+"Mum's the word," he repeated in an undertone, as he drew back her chair
+at the conclusion of the meal. His lips were close to her ear, his hot
+breath on her cheek, as he bent forward to utter this reassuring remark.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+
+               MR. THOMAS TROTTER HEARS SOMETHING TO HIS
+                               ADVANTAGE
+
+
+TWO days later Thomas Trotter turned up at the old book shop of J.
+Bramble, in Lexington Avenue.
+
+"Well," he said, as he took his pipe out of his pocket and began to
+stuff tobacco into it, "I've got the sack."
+
+"Got the sack?" exclaimed Mr. Bramble, blinking through his horn-rimmed
+spectacles. "You can't be serious."
+
+"It's the gospel truth," affirmed Mr. Trotter, depositing his long,
+graceful body in a rocking chair facing the sheet-iron stove at the back
+of the shop. "Got my walking papers last night, Bramby."
+
+"What's wrong? I thought you were a fixture on the job. What have you
+been up to?"
+
+"I'm blessed if I know," said the young man, shaking his head slowly.
+"Kicked out without notice, that's all I know about it. Two weeks' pay
+handed me; and a simple statement that he was putting some one on in my
+place today."
+
+"Not even a reference?"
+
+"He offered me a good one," said Trotter ironically. "Said he would give
+me the best send-off a chauffeur ever had. I told him I couldn't accept
+a reference and a discharge from the same employer."
+
+"Rather foolish, don't you think?"
+
+"That's just what he said. I said I'd rather have an explanation than a
+reference, under the circumstances."
+
+"Um! What did he say to that?"
+
+"Said I'd better take what he was willing to give."
+
+Mr. Bramble drew up a chair and sat down. He was a small, sharp-featured
+man of sixty, bookish from head to foot.
+
+"Well, well," he mused sympathetically. "Too bad, too bad, my boy.
+Still, you ought to thank goodness it comes at a time when the streets
+are in the shape they're in now. Almost impossible to get about with an
+automobile in all this snow, isn't it? Rather a good time to be
+discharged, I should say."
+
+"Oh, I say, that _is_ optimism. 'Pon my soul, I believe you'd find
+something cheerful about going to hell," broke in Trotter, grinning.
+
+"Best way I know of to escape blizzards and snow-drifts," said Mr.
+Bramble, brightly.
+
+The front door opened. A cold wind blew the length of the book-littered
+room.
+
+"This Bramble's?" piped a thin voice.
+
+"Yes. Come in and shut the door."
+
+An even smaller and older man than himself obeyed the command. He wore
+the cap of a district messenger boy.
+
+"Mr. J. Bramble here?" he quaked, advancing.
+
+"Yes. What is it? A telegram?" demanded the owner of the shop, in some
+excitement.
+
+"I should say not. Wires down everywheres. Gee, that fire looks good. I
+gotta letter for you, Mr. Bramble." He drew off his red mittens and
+produced from the pocket of his thin overcoat, an envelope and receipt
+book. "Sign here," he said, pointing.
+
+Mr. Bramble signed and then studied the handwriting on the envelope, his
+lips pursed, one eye speculatively cocked.
+
+"I've never seen the writing before. Must be a new one," he reflected
+aloud, and sighed. "Poor things!"
+
+"That establishes the writer as a woman," said Trotter, removing his
+pipe. "Otherwise you would have said 'poor devils.' Now what do you mean
+by trifling with the women, you old rogue?" The loss of his position did
+not appear to have affected the nonchalant disposition of the
+good-looking Mr. Trotter.
+
+"God bless my soul," said Mr. Bramble, staring hard at the envelope, "I
+don't believe it is from one of them, after all. By 'one of them,' my
+lad, I mean the poor gentlewomen who find themselves obliged to sell
+their books in order to obtain food and clothing. They always write
+before they call, you see. Saves 'em not only trouble but humiliation.
+The other kind simply burst in with a parcel of rubbish and ask how much
+I'll give for the lot. But this,--Well, well, I wonder who it can be
+from? Doesn't seem like the sort of writing--"
+
+"Why don't you open it and see?" suggested his visitor.
+
+"A good idea," said Mr. Bramble; "a very clever thought. There _is_ a
+way to find out, isn't there?" His gaze fell upon the aged messenger,
+who warmed his bony hands at the stove. He paused, the tip of his
+forefinger inserted under the flap. "Sit down and warm yourself, my
+friend," he said. "Get your long legs out of the way, Tom, and make room
+for him. That's right! Must be pretty rough going outside for an old
+codger like you."
+
+The messenger "boy" sat down. "Yes, sir, it sure is. Takes 'em forever
+in this 'ere town to clean the snow off'n the streets. 'Twasn't that way
+in my day."
+
+"What do you mean by your 'day'?"
+
+"Haven't you ever heard about me?" demanded the old man, eyeing Mr.
+Bramble with interest.
+
+"Can't say that I have."
+
+"Well, can you beat that? There's a big, long street named after me way
+down town. My name is Canal, Jotham W. Canal." He winked and showed his
+toothless gums in an amiable grin. "I used to be purty close to old Boss
+Tweed; kind of a lieutenant, you might say. Things were so hot in the
+old town in those days that we used to charge a nickel apiece for
+snowballs. Five cents apiece, right off the griddle. That's how hot it
+was in my day."
+
+"My word!" exclaimed Mr. Bramble.
+
+"He's spoofing you," said young Mr. Trotter.
+
+"My God," groaned the messenger, "if I'd only knowed you was English I'd
+have saved my breath. Well, I guess I'll be on my way. Is there an
+answer, Mr. Bramble?"
+
+"Um--aw--I quite forgot the--" He tore open the envelope and held the
+missive to the light. "'Pon my soul!" he cried, after reading the first
+few lines and then jumping ahead to the signature. "This is most
+extraordinary." He was plainly agitated as he felt in his pocket for a
+coin. "No answer,--that is to say,--none at present. Ahem! That's all,
+boy. Goodbye."
+
+Mr. Canal shuffled out of the shop,--and out of this narrative as well.
+
+"This will interest you," said Mr. Bramble, lowering his voice as he
+edged his chair closer to the young man. "It is from Lady Jane Thorne--I
+should say, Miss Emsdale. Bless my soul!"
+
+Mr. Trotter's British complacency was disturbed. He abandoned his
+careless sprawl in the chair and sat up very abruptly.
+
+"What's that? From Lady Jane? Don't tell me it's anything serious. One
+would think she was on her deathbed, judging by the face you're--"
+
+"Read it for yourself," said the other, thrusting the letter into
+Trotter's hand. "It explains everything,--the whole blooming business.
+Read it aloud. Don't be uneasy," he added, noting the young man's glance
+toward the door. "No customers on a day like this. Some one may drop in
+to get warm, but--aha, I see you are interested."
+
+An angry flush darkened Trotter's face as his eyes ran down the page.
+
+    "'Dear Mr. Bramble: (she wrote) I am sending this to you by
+    special messenger, hoping it may reach you before Mr. Trotter
+    drops in. He has told me that he spends a good deal of his spare
+    time in your dear old shop, browsing among the books. In the
+    light of what may already have happened, I am quite sure you
+    will see him today. I feel that I may write freely to you, for
+    you are his friend and mine, and you will understand. I am
+    greatly distressed. Yesterday I was informed that he is to be
+    summarily dismissed by Mr. Carpenter. I prefer not to reveal the
+    source of information. All I may say is that I am, in a way,
+    responsible for his misfortune. If the blow has fallen, he is
+    doubtless perplexed and puzzled, and, I fear, very unhappy.
+    Influence has been brought to bear upon Mr. Carpenter, who, you
+    may not be by way of knowing, is a close personal friend of the
+    people in whose home I am employed. Indeed, notwithstanding the
+    difference in their ages, I may say that he is especially the
+    friend of young Mr. S-P. Mr. Trotter probably knows something
+    about the nature of this friendship, having been kept out till
+    all hours of the morning in his capacity as chauffeur. My object
+    in writing to you is two-fold: first, to ask you to prevail upon
+    him to act with discretion for the present, at least, as I have
+    reason to believe that there may be an attempt to carry out a
+    threat to "run him out of town"; secondly, to advise him that I
+    shall stop at your place at five o'clock this afternoon in quest
+    of a little book that now is out of print. Please explain to him
+    also that my uncertainty as to where a letter would reach him
+    under these new conditions accounts for this message to you.
+    Sincerely your friend,
+                                                    "JANE EMSDALE.'"
+
+"Read it again, slowly," said Mr. Bramble, blinking harder than ever.
+
+"What time is it now?" demanded Trotter, thrusting the letter into his
+own pocket. A quick glance at the watch on his wrist brought a groan of
+dismay from his lips. "Good Lord! A few minutes past ten. Seven hours!
+Hold on! I can almost see the words on your lips. I'll be discreet, so
+don't begin prevailing, there's a good chap. There's nothing to be said
+or done till I see her. But,--seven hours!"
+
+"Stop here and have a bite of lunch with me," said Mr. Bramble,
+soothingly.
+
+"Nothing could be more discreet than that," said Trotter, getting up to
+pace the floor. He was frowning.
+
+"It's quite cosy in our little dining-room upstairs. If you prefer, I'll
+ask Mirabeau to clear out and let us have the place to ourselves
+while--"
+
+"Not at all. I'll stop with you, but I will not have poor old Mirabeau
+evicted. We will show the letter to him. He is a Frenchman and he can
+read between the lines far better than either of us."
+
+At twelve-thirty, Mr. Bramble stuck a long-used card in the front door
+and locked it from the inside. The world was informed, in bold type,
+that he had gone to lunch and would not return until one-thirty.
+
+In the rear of the floor above the book-shop were the meagrely furnished
+bedrooms and kitchen shared by J. Bramble and Pierre Mirabeau,
+clock-maker and repairer. The kitchen was more than a kitchen. It was
+also a dining-room, a sitting-room and a scullery, and it was as clean
+and as neat as the proverbial pin. At the front was the work-shop of M.
+Mirabeau, filled with clocks of all sizes, shapes and ages. Back of
+this, as a sort of buffer between the quiet bedrooms and the busy
+resting-place of a hundred sleepless chimes, was located the combination
+store-room, utilized by both merchants: a musty, dingy place crowded
+with intellectual rubbish and a lapse of Time.
+
+Mirabeau, in response to a shout from the fat Irishwoman who came in by
+the day to cook, wash and clean up for the tenants, strode briskly into
+the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. He was a tall, spare old man
+with uncommonly bright eyes and a long grey beard.
+
+His joy on beholding the young guest at their board was surpassed only
+by the dejection communicated to his sensitive understanding by the
+dismal expression on the faces of J. Bramble and Thomas Trotter.
+
+He broke off in the middle of a sentence, and, still grasping the hand
+of the guest, allowed his gaze to dart from one to the other.
+
+"Mon dieu!" he exclaimed, swiftly altering his tone to one of the
+deepest concern. "What has happened? Has some one died? Don't tell me it
+is your grandfather, my boy. Don't tell me that the old villain has died
+at last and you will have to go back and step into his misguided boots.
+Nothing else can--"
+
+"Worse than that," interrupted Trotter, smiling. "I've lost my
+situation."
+
+M. Mirabeau heaved a sigh of relief. "Ah! My heart beats again. Still,"
+with a vastly different sigh, "he cannot go on living for ever. The time
+is bound to come when you--"
+
+An admonitory cough from Mr. Bramble, and a significant jerk of the head
+in the direction of the kitchen-range, which was almost completely
+obscured by the person of Mrs. O'Leary, caused M. Mirabeau to bring his
+remarks to an abrupt close.
+
+When he was twenty-five years younger, Monsieur Mirabeau, known to every
+one of consequence in Paris by his true and lawful name, Count André
+Drouillard, as handsome and as high-bred a gentleman as there was in all
+France, shot and killed, with all the necessary ceremony, a prominent
+though bourgeoise general in the French Army, satisfactorily ending a
+liaison in which the Countess and the aforesaid general were the
+principal characters. Notwithstanding the fact that the duel had been
+fought in the most approved French fashion, which almost invariably
+(except, in case of accident) provides for a few well-scattered shots
+and subsequent embraces on the part of the uninjured adversaries, the
+general fell with a bullet through his heart.
+
+So great was the consternation of the Republic, and so unpardonable the
+accuracy of the Count, that the authorities deemed it advisable to make
+an example of the unfortunate nobleman. He was court-martialled by the
+army and sentenced to be shot. On the eve of the execution he escaped
+and, with the aid of friends, made his way into Switzerland, where he
+found refuge in the home of a sequestered citizen who made antique
+clocks for a living. A price was put upon his head, and so relentless
+were the efforts to apprehend him that for months he did not dare show
+it outside the house of his protector.
+
+He repaid the clockmaker with honest toil. In course of time he became
+an expert repairer. With the confiscation of his estates in France, he
+resigned himself to the inevitable. He became a man without a country.
+One morning the newspapers in Paris announced the death, by suicide, of
+the long-sought pariah. A few days later he was on his way to the United
+States. His widow promptly re-married and, sad to relate, from all
+reports lived happily ever afterwards.
+
+The bourgeoise general, in his tomb in France, was not more completely
+dead to the world than Count André Drouillard; on the other hand, no
+livelier, sprightlier person ever lived than Pierre Mirabeau, repairer
+of clocks in Lexington Avenue.
+
+And so if you will look at it in quite the proper spirit, there is but
+one really morbid note in the story of M. Mirabeau: the melancholy
+snuffing-out of the poor general,--and even that was brightened to some
+extent by the most sumptuous military funeral in years.
+
+"What do you make of it?" demanded Mr. Trotter, half-an-hour later in
+the crowded work-shop of the clockmaker.
+
+M. Mirabeau held Miss Emsdale's letter off at arm's length, and squinted
+at it with great intensity, as if actually trying to read between the
+lines.
+
+"I have an opinion," said M. Mirabeau, frowning. Whereupon he rendered
+his deductions into words, and of his two listeners Thomas Trotter was
+the most dumbfounded.
+
+"But I don't know the blooming bounder," he exclaimed,--"except by sight
+and reputation. And I have reason to know that Lady Jane loathes and
+detests him."
+
+"Aha! There we have it! Why does she loathe and detest him?" cried M.
+Mirabeau. "Because, my stupid friend, he has been annoying her with his
+attentions. It is not an uncommon thing for rich young men to lose their
+heads over pretty young maids and nurses, and even governesses."
+
+"'Gad, if I thought he was annoying her I'd--I'd--"
+
+"There you go!" cried Mr. Bramble, nervously. "Just as she feared. She
+knew what she was about when she asked me to see that you did not do
+anything--"
+
+"Hang it all, Bramble, I'm not _doing_ anything, am I? I'm only _saying_
+things. Wait till I begin to do things before you preach."
+
+"That's just it!" cried Mr. Bramble. "You invariably do things when you
+get that look in your eyes. I knew you long before you knew yourself.
+You looked like that when you were five years old and wanted to thump
+Bobby Morgan, who was thirteen. You--"
+
+M. Mirabeau interrupted. He had not been following the discussion.
+Leaning forward, he eyed the young man keenly, even disconcertingly.
+
+"What is back of all this? Admitting that young Mr. S.-P. is enamoured
+of our lovely friend, what cause have you given him for jealousy? Have
+you--"
+
+"Great Scot!" exclaimed Trotter, fairly bouncing off the work-bench on
+which he sat with his long legs dangling. "Why,--why, if _that's_ the
+way he feels toward her he must have had a horrible jolt the other
+night. Good Lord!" A low whistle followed the exclamation.
+
+"Aha! Now we are getting at the cause. We already have the effect. Out
+with it," cried M. Mirabeau, eager as a boy. His fine eyes danced with
+excitement.
+
+"Now that I think of it, he saw me carry her up the steps the other
+night after we'd all been to the Marchioness's. The night of the
+blizzard, you know. Oh, I say! It's worse than I thought." He looked
+blankly from one to the other of the two old men.
+
+"Carried her up the steps, eh? In your good strong arms, eh? And you say
+'_now_ that I think of it.' Bless your heart, you scalawag, you've been
+thinking of nothing else since it happened. Ah!" sighed M. Mirabeau,
+"how wonderful it must have been! The feel of her in your arms, and the
+breath of her on your cheek, and--Ah! It is a sad thing not to grow old.
+I am not growing old despite my seventy years. If I could but grow old,
+and deaf, and feeble, perhaps I should then be able to command the blood
+that thrills now with the thought of--But, alas! I shall never be so old
+as that! You say he witnessed this remarkable--ah--exhibition of
+strength on your part?" He spoke briskly again.
+
+"The snow was a couple of feet deep, you see," explained Trotter, who
+had turned a bright crimson. "Dreadful night, wasn't it, Bramble?"
+
+"I know what kind of a night it was," said the old Frenchman,
+delightedly. "My warmest congratulations, my friend. She is the
+loveliest, the noblest, the truest--"
+
+"I beg your pardon," interrupted Trotter, stiffly. "It hasn't gone as
+far as all that."
+
+"It has gone farther than you think," said M. Mirabeau shrewdly. "And
+that is why you were discharged without--"
+
+"By gad! The worst of it all is, she will probably get her walking
+papers too,--if she hasn't already got them," groaned the young man.
+"Don't you see what has happened? The rotter has kicked up a rumpus
+about that innocent,--and if I do say it,--gallant act of mine the other
+night. They've had her on the carpet to explain. It looks bad for her.
+They're the sort of people you can't explain things to. What rotten
+luck! She needs the money and--"
+
+"Nothing of the kind has happened," said M. Mirabeau with conviction.
+"It isn't in young Mr. S.-P.'s plans to have her dismissed. That would
+be--ah, what is it you say?--spilling the beans, eh? The instant she
+relinquishes her place in that household all hope is lost, so far as he
+is concerned. He is shrewd enough to realize that, my friend. You are
+the fly in his ointment. It is necessary to the success of his
+enterprise to be well rid of you. He doesn't want to lose sight of her,
+however. He--"
+
+"Run me out of town, eh?" grated Trotter, his thoughts leaping back to
+the passage in Lady Jane's letter. "Easier said than done, he'll find."
+
+Mr. Bramble coughed. "Are we not going it rather blindly? All this is
+pure speculation. The young man may not have a hand in the business at
+all."
+
+"He'll discover he's put his foot in it if he tries any game on me,"
+said Mr. Trotter.
+
+M. Mirabeau beamed. "There is always a way to checkmate the villain in
+the story. You see it exemplified in every melodrama on the stage and in
+every shilling shocker. The hero,--and you are our hero,--puts him to
+rout by marrying the heroine and living happily to a hale old age. What
+could be more beautiful than the marriage of Lady Jane Thorne and Lord
+Eric Carruthers Ethelbert Temple? Mon dieu! It is--"
+
+"Rubbish!" exclaimed Mr. Trotter, suddenly looking down at his foot,
+which was employed in the laudable but unnecessary act of removing a
+tiny shaving from a crack in the floor. "Besides," he went on an instant
+later, acknowledging an interval of mental consideration, "she wouldn't
+have me."
+
+"It is my time to say 'rubbish,'" said the old Frenchman. "Why wouldn't
+she have you?"
+
+"Because she doesn't care for me in that way, if you must know," blurted
+out the young man.
+
+"Has she said so?"
+
+"Of course not. She wouldn't be likely to volunteer the information,
+would she?" with fine irony.
+
+"Then how do you know she doesn't care for you in that way?"
+
+"Well, I--I just simply know it, that's all."
+
+"I see. You are the smartest man of all time if you know a woman's heart
+without probing into it, or her mind without tricking it. She permitted
+you to carry her up the steps, didn't she?"
+
+"She had to," said Trotter forcibly. "That doesn't prove anything. And
+what's more, she objected to being carried."
+
+"Um! What did she say?"
+
+"Said she didn't in the least mind getting her feet wet. She'd have her
+boots off as soon as she got into the house."
+
+"Is that all?"
+
+"She said she was awfully heavy, and--Oh, there is no use talking to me.
+I know how to take a hint. She just didn't want me to--er--carry her,
+that's the long and the short of it."
+
+"Did she struggle violently?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"You heard me. Did she?"
+
+"Certainly not. She gave in when I insisted. What else could she do?" He
+whirled suddenly upon Mr. Bramble. "What are you grinning about,
+Bramby?"
+
+"Who's grinning?" demanded Mr. Bramble indignantly, after the lapse of
+thirty or forty seconds.
+
+"You _were_, confound you. I don't see anything to laugh at in--"
+
+"My advice to you," broke in M. Mirabeau, still detached, "is to ask
+her."
+
+"Ask her? Ask her what?"
+
+"To marry you. As I was saying--"
+
+"My God!" gasped Trotter.
+
+"That is my advice also," put in Mr. Bramble, fumbling with his glasses
+and trying to suppress a smile,--for fear it would be misinterpreted. "I
+can't think of anything more admirable than the union of the Temple and
+Wexham families in--"
+
+"But, good Lord," cried Trotter, "even if she'd have me, how on earth
+could I take care of her on a chauffeur's pay? And I'm not getting that
+now. I wish to call your attention to the fact that your little hero has
+less than fifty pounds,--a good deal less than fifty,--laid by for a
+rainy day."
+
+"I've known a great many people who were married on rainy days," said M.
+Mirabeau brightly, "and nothing unlucky came of it."
+
+"Moreover, when your grandfather passes away," urged Mr. Bramble, "you
+will be a very rich man,--provided, of course, he doesn't remain
+obstinate and leave his money to some one else. In any event, you would
+come in for sufficient to--"
+
+"You forget," began Trotter, gravely and with a dignity that chilled the
+eager old man, "that I will not go back to England, nor will I claim
+anything that is _in_ England, until a certain injustice is rectified
+and I am set straight in the eyes of the unbelievers."
+
+Mr. Bramble cleared his throat. "Time will clear up everything, my lad.
+God knows you never did the--"
+
+"God knows it all right enough, but God isn't a member of the Brunswick
+Club, and His voice is never heard there in counsel. He may lend a
+helping hand to those who are trying to clear my name, because they
+believe in me, but the whole business is beginning to look pretty dark
+to me."
+
+"Ahem! What does Miss--ah, Lady Jane think about the--ah, unfortunate
+affair?" stammered Mr. Bramble.
+
+"She doesn't believe a damn' word of it," exploded Trotter, his face
+lighting up.
+
+"Good!" cried M. Mirabeau. "Proof that she pities you, and what more
+could you ask for a beginning? She believes you were unjustly accused of
+cheating at cards, that there was a plot to ruin you and to drive you
+out of the Army, and that your grandfather ought to be hung to a lamp
+post for believing what she doesn't believe. Good! Now we are on solid,
+substantial ground. What time is it, Bramble?"
+
+Mr. Bramble looked at a half-dozen clocks in succession.
+
+"I'm blessed if I know," he said. "They range from ten o'clock to
+half-past six."
+
+"Just three hours and twenty-two minutes to wait," said Thomas Trotter.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VI
+
+                          THE UNFAILING MEMORY
+
+
+PRINCE WALDEMAR DE BOSKY, confronted by the prospect of continued cold
+weather, decided to make an appeal to Mrs. Moses Jacobs, sometime
+Princess Mariana di Pavesi. She had his overcoat, the precious one with
+the fur collar and the leather lining,--the one, indeed, that the
+friendly safe-blower who lodged across the hall from him had left behind
+at the outset of a journey up-state.
+
+"More than likely," said the safe-blower, who was not only surprised but
+gratified when the "little dago" came to visit him in the Tombs, "more
+than likely I sha'n't be needin' an overcoat for the next twelve or
+fourteen year, kid, so you ain't robbin' me,--no, sir, not a bit of it.
+I make you a present of it, with my compliments. Winter is comin' on an'
+I can't seem to think of anybody it would fit better'n it does you. You
+don't need to mention as havin' received it from me. The feller who
+owned it before I did might accidentally hear of it and--but I guess it
+ain't likely, come to think of it. To the best of my recollection, he
+lives 'way out West somewhere,--Toledo, I think, or maybe Omaha,--and
+he's probably got a new one by this time. Much obliged fer droppin' in
+here to see me, kid. So long,--and cut it out. Don't try to come any of
+that thanks guff on me. You might as well be usin' that coat as the
+moths. Besides, I owe you something for storage, don't forget that. I
+was in such a hurry the last time I left town I didn't have a chance to
+explain. You didn't know it then,--and I guess if you had knowed it you
+wouldn't have been so nice about lookin' out for my coat durin' the
+summer,--but I was makin' a mighty quick getaway. Thanks fer stoppin' in
+to remind me I left the coat in your room that night. I clean forgot it,
+I was in such a hurry. But lemme tell you one thing, kid, I'll never
+ferget the way you c'n make that fiddle talk. I don't know as you'd 'a'
+played fer me as you used to once in awhile if you'd knowed I was what I
+am, but it makes no difference now. I just loved hearin' you play. I
+used to have a hard time holdin' in the tears. And say, kid, keep
+straight. Keep on fiddlin'! So long! I may see you along about 1926 or
+8. And say, you needn't be ashamed to wear that coat. I didn't steal it.
+It was a clean case of mistaken identity, if there ever was one. It
+happened in a restaurant." He winked.
+
+And that is how the little violinist came to be the possessor of an
+overcoat with a sable collar and a soft leather lining.
+
+He needed it now, not only when he ventured upon the chilly streets but
+when he remained indoors. In truth, he found it much warmer walking the
+streets than sitting in his fireless room, or even in going to bed.
+
+It was a far cry from the dapper, dreamy-eyed courtier who kissed the
+chapped knuckles of the Princess Mariana on Wednesday night to the
+shrinking, pinched individual who threaded his way on Friday through the
+cramped lanes that led to the rear of the pawn-shop presided over by
+Mrs. Jacobs.
+
+And an incredibly vast gulf lay between the Princess Mariana and the
+female Shylock who peered at him over a glass show-case filled with
+material pledges in the shape of watches, chains, rings, bracelets, and
+other gaudy tributes left by a shifting constituency.
+
+"Well?" she demanded, fixing him with a cold, offensive stare. "What do
+you want?"
+
+He turned down the collar of his thin coat, and straightened his slight
+figure in response to this unfriendly greeting.
+
+"I came to see if you would allow me to take my overcoat for a few
+days,--until this cold spell is over,--with the understanding--"
+
+"Nothing doing," said she curtly. "Six dollars due on it."
+
+"But I have not the six dollars, madam. Surely you may trust me."
+
+"Why didn't you bring your fiddle along? You could leave it in place of
+the coat. Go and get it and I'll see what I can do."
+
+"I am to play tonight at the house of a Mr. Carpenter. He has heard of
+me through our friend Mr. Trotter, his chauffeur. You know Mr. Trotter,
+of course."
+
+"Sure I know him, and I don't like him. He insulted me once."
+
+"Ah, but you do not understand him, madam. He is an Englishman and he
+may have tried to be facetious or even pleasant in the way the
+English--"
+
+"Say, don't you suppose I know when I'm insulted? When a cheap guy like
+that comes in here with a customer of mine and tells me I'm so damned
+mean they won't even let me into hell when I die,--well, if you don't
+call that an insult, I'd like to know what it is. Don't talk to me about
+that bum!"
+
+"Is _that_ all he said?" involuntarily fell from the lips of the
+violinist, as if, to his way of thinking, Mr. Trotter's remark was an
+out-and-out compliment. "Surely you have no desire to go to hell when
+you die."
+
+"No, I haven't, but I don't want anybody coming in here telling me to my
+face that there'd be a revolution down there if I _tried_ to get in.
+I've got as much right there as anybody, I'd have him know. Cough up six
+or get out. That's all I've got to say to you, my little man."
+
+"It is freezing cold in my room. I--"
+
+"Don't blame me for that. I don't make the weather. And say, I'm busy.
+Cough up or--clear out."
+
+"You will not let me have it for a few days if I--"
+
+"Say, do you think I'm in business for my health? I haven't that much
+use--" she snapped her fingers--"for a fiddler anyhow. It's not a man's
+job. That's what I think of long-haired guys like--Beat it! I'm busy."
+
+With head erect the little violinist turned away. He was half way to the
+door when she called out to him.
+
+"Hey! Come back here! Now, see here, you little squirt, you needn't go
+turning up your nose at me and acting like that. I've got the goods on
+you and a lot more of those rummies up there. I looked 'em over the
+other night and I said to myself, says I: 'Gee whiz, couldn't I start
+something if I let out what I know about this gang!' Talk about
+earthquakes! They'd--Here! What are you doing? Get out from behind this
+counter! I'll call a cop if you--"
+
+The pallid, impassioned face of Prince Waldemar de Bosky was close to
+hers; his dark eyes were blazing not a foot from her nose.
+
+"If I thought you were that kind of a snake I'd kill you," he said
+quietly, levelly.
+
+"Are--are you threatening me?" sputtered Mrs. Jacobs, trying in vain to
+look away from those compelling eyes. She could not believe her senses.
+
+"No. I am merely telling you what I would do if you were that kind of a
+snake."
+
+"See here, don't you get gay! Don't you forget who you are addressing,
+young man. I am--"
+
+"I am addressing a second-hand junk dealer, madam. You are at home now,
+not sitting in the big chair up at--at--you know where. Please bear that
+in mind."
+
+"I'll call some one from out front and have you chucked into--"
+
+"Do you even _think_ of violating the confidence we repose in you?" he
+demanded. "The thought must have been in your mind or you would not have
+uttered that remark a moment ago. You are one of us, and we've treated
+you as a--a queen. I want to know just where you stand, Mrs. Jacobs."
+
+"You can't come in here and bawl me out like this, you little shrimp!
+I'll--"
+
+"Keep still! Now, listen to me. If I should go to our friends and repeat
+what you have just said, you would never see the inside of that room
+again. You would never have the opportunity to exchange a word with a
+single person you have met there. You would be stripped of the last
+vestige of glory that clings to you. Oh, you may sneer! But down in your
+heart you love that bit of glory,--and you would curse yourself if you
+lost it."
+
+"It's--it's all poppy-cock, the whole silly business," she blurted out.
+But it was not anger that caused her voice to tremble.
+
+"You know better than that," said he, coldly.
+
+"I don't care a rap about all that foolishness up there. It makes me
+sick," she muttered.
+
+"You may lie to me but you cannot lie to yourself, madam. Under that
+filthy, greasy skin of yours runs the blood that will not be denied.
+Pawn-broker, miser,--whatever you may be to the world, to yourself you
+are a princess royal. God knows we all despise you. You have not a
+friend among us. But we can no more overlook the fact that you are a
+princess of the blood than we can ignore the light of day. The blood
+that is in you demands its tribute. You have no control over the
+mysterious spark that fires your blood. It burns in spite of all you may
+do to quench it. It is there to stay. We despise you, even as you would
+despise us. Am I to carry your words to those who exalt you despite your
+calling, despite your meanness, despite all that is base and sordid in
+this rotten business of yours? Am I to let them know that you are the
+only--the only--what is the name of the animal I've heard Trotter
+mention?--ah, I have it,--the only skunk in our precious little circle?
+Tell me, madam, are you a skunk?"
+
+Her face was brick red; she was having difficulty with her breathing.
+The pale, white face of the little musician dazzled her in a most
+inexplicable way. Never before had she felt just like this.
+
+"Am I a--what?" she gasped, her eyes popping.
+
+"It is an animal that has an odour which--"
+
+"Good God, you don't have to tell me what it is," she cried, but in
+suppressed tones. Her gaze swept the rear part of the shop. "It's a good
+thing for you, young fellow, that nobody heard you call me that name.
+Thank the good Lord, it isn't a busy day here. If anybody _had_ heard
+you, I'd have you skinned alive."
+
+"A profitless undertaking," he said, smiling without mirth, "but quite
+in your line, if reports are true. You are an expert at skinning people,
+alive or dead. But we are digressing. Are you going to turn against us?"
+
+"I haven't said I was going to, have I?"
+
+"Not in so many words."
+
+"Well, then, what's all the fuss about? You come in here and shoot off
+your mouth as if--And say, who are you, anyhow? Tell me that! No, wait a
+minute. Don't tell me. I'll tell myself. When a man is kicked out of his
+own family because he'd sooner play a fiddle than carry a sword, I don't
+think he's got any right to come blatting to me about--"
+
+"The cruelest monster the world has ever known, madam," he interrupted,
+stiffening, "fiddled while Rome was burning. Fiddlers are not always
+gentle. You may not have heard of one very small and unimportant
+incident in my own life. It was I who fiddled,--badly, I must
+confess,--while the Opera House in Poltna was burning. A panic was
+averted. Not a life was lost. And when it was all over some one
+remembered the fiddler who remained upon the stage and finished the aria
+he was playing when the cry of fire went up from the audience. Brave
+men,--far braver men than he,--rushed back through the smoke and found
+him lying at the footlights, unconscious. But why waste words? Good
+morning, madam. I shall not trouble you again about the overcoat. Be
+good enough to remember that I have kissed your hand only because you
+are a princess and not because you have lent me five dollars on the
+wretched thing."
+
+The angry light in his brown eyes gave way to the dreamy look once more.
+He bowed stiffly and edged his way out from behind the counter into the
+clogged area that lay between him and the distant doorway. Towering
+above him on all sides were heaps of nondescript objects, classified
+under the generic name of furniture. The proprietress of this sordid,
+ill-smelling crib stared after him as he strode away, and into her eyes
+there stole a look of apprehension.
+
+She followed him to the front door, overtaking him as his hand was on
+the latch.
+
+"Hold on," she said, nervously glancing at the shifty-eyed, cringing
+assistant who toiled not in vain,--no one ever toiled in vain in the
+establishment of M. Jacobs, Inc.,--behind a clump of chairs;--"hold on a
+second. I don't want you to say a word to--to them about--about all
+this. You are right, de Bosky. I--I have not lost all that once was
+mine. You understand, don't you?"
+
+He smiled. "Perfectly. You can never lose it, no matter how low you may
+sink."
+
+"Well," she went on, hesitatingly, "suppose we forget it."
+
+He eyed her for a moment in silence, shaking his head reflectively. "It
+is most astonishing," he said at last.
+
+"What's astonishing?" she demanded sharply.
+
+"I was merely thinking of your perfect, your exquisite French, madam!"
+
+"French? Are you nutty? I've been talkin' to you in English all the
+time."
+
+He nodded his head slowly. "Perhaps that is why your French is so
+astonishing," he said, and let it go at that.
+
+"Look at me," she exclaimed, suddenly breaking into French as she spread
+out her thick arms and surveyed with disgust as much of her ample person
+as came within range of an obstructed vision, "just look at me. No one
+on earth would take _me_ for a princess, would he? And yet that is just
+what I am. I _think_ of myself as a princess, and always will, de Bosky.
+I think of myself,--of my most unlovely, unregal self,--as the superior
+of every other woman who treads the streets of New York, all of these
+base born women. I cannot help it. I cannot think of them as equals, not
+even the richest and the most arrogant of them. You say it is the blood,
+but you are wrong. Some of these women have a strain of royal blood in
+them--a far-off, remote strain, of course,--but they do not _know_ it.
+That's the point, my friend. It is the _knowing_ that makes us what we
+are. It isn't the blood itself. If we were deprived of the power to
+_think_, we could have the blood of every royal family in Europe in our
+veins, and that is all the good it would do us. We _think_ we are
+nobler, better than all the rest of creation, and we would keep on
+thinking it if we slept in the gutter and begged for a crust of bread.
+And the proof of all this is to be found in the fact that the rest of
+creation will not allow us to forget. They think as we do, in spite of
+themselves, and there you have the secret of the supremacy we feel, in
+spite of everything."
+
+Her brilliant, black eyes were flashing with something more than
+excitement. The joy, the realization of power glowed in their depths,
+welling up from fires that would never die. Waldemar de Bosky nodded his
+head in the most matter-of-fact way. He was not enthralled. All this was
+very simple and quite undebatable to him.
+
+"I take it, therefore, that you retract all that you said about its
+being poppycock," he said, turning up his coat collar and fastening it
+close to his throat with a long and formidable looking safety pin.
+
+"It may be poppycock," she said, "but we can't help liking it--not to
+save our lives."
+
+"And I shall not have to kill you as if you were a snake, eh?"
+
+"Not on your life," said Mrs. Moses Jacobs in English, opening the door
+for him.
+
+He passed out into the cold and windy street and she went back to her
+dingy nook at the end of the store, pausing on the way to inform an
+assistant that she was not to be disturbed, no matter who came in to see
+her.
+
+While she sat behind her glittering show-case and gazed pensively at the
+ceiling of her ugly storehouse, Waldemar de Bosky went shivering through
+the streets to his cold little backroom many blocks away. While she was
+for the moment living in the dim but unforgotten past, a kindly memory
+leading her out of the maze of other people's poverty and her own
+avarice into broad marble halls and vaulted rooms, he was thinking only
+of the bitter present with its foodless noon and of pockets that were
+empty. While maudlin tears ran down her oily cheeks and spilled
+aimlessly upon a greasy sweater with the spur of memory behind them,
+tears wrought by the sharp winds of the street glistened in his
+squinting eyes.
+
+Memory carried him back no farther than the week before and he was
+distressed only by its exceeding frailty. He could not, for the life of
+him, remember the address of J. Bramble, bookseller,--a most
+exasperating lapse in view of the fact that J. Bramble himself had urged
+him to come up some evening soon and have dinner with him, and to bring
+his Stradivarius along if he didn't mind. Mind? Why, he would have
+played his heart out for a good square meal. The more he tried to
+remember J. Bramble's address, the less he thought of the overcoat with
+the fur collar and the soft leather lining. He couldn't eat that, you
+know.
+
+In his bleak little room in the hall of the whistling winds, he took
+from its case with cold-benumbed fingers the cherished violin.
+Presently, as he played, the shivering flesh of him grew warm with the
+heat of an inward fire; the stiff, red fingers became limp and pliable;
+the misty eyes grew bright and feverish. Fire,--the fires of love and
+genius and hope combined,--burnt away the chill of despair; he was as
+warm as toast!
+
+And hours after the foodless noon had passed, he put the treasure back
+into its case and wiped the sweat from his marble brow. Something
+flashed across his mind. He shouted aloud as he caught at what the flash
+of memory revealed.
+
+"Lexington Avenue! Three hundred and something, Lexington Avenue! J.
+Bramble, bookseller! Ha! Come! Come! Let us be off!"
+
+He spoke to the violin as if it were a living companion. Grabbing up his
+hat and mittens, he dashed out of the room and went clattering down the
+hall with the black leather case clasped tightly under his arm.
+
+It was a long, long walk to three hundred and something Lexington
+Avenue, but in due time he arrived there and read the sign above the
+door. Ah, what a great thing it is to have a good, unfailing memory!
+
+And so it came to pass that Prince Waldemar de Bosky and Lady Jane
+Thorne met at the door of J. Bramble, bookseller, at five of the clock,
+and entered the shop together.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+
+                       THE FOUNDATION OF THE PLOT
+
+
+MR. BRAMBLE had never been quite able to resign himself to a definitely
+impersonal attitude toward Lord Eric Temple. He seemed to cling, despite
+himself, to a privilege long since outlawed by time and circumstance and
+the inevitable outgrowing of knickerbockers by the aforesaid Lord Eric.
+Back in the good old days it had been his pleasant,--and sometimes
+unpleasant,--duty to direct a very small Eric in matters not merely
+educational but of deportment as well. In short, Eric, at the age of
+five, fell into the capable, kindly and more or less resolute hands of a
+well-recommended tutor, and that tutor was no other than J. Bramble.
+
+At the age of twelve, the boy went off to school in a little high hat
+and an Eton suit, and J. Bramble was at once, you might say, out of the
+frying pan into the fire. In other words, he was promoted by his
+lordship, the boy's grandfather, to the honourable though somewhat
+onerous positions of secretary, librarian and cataloguer, all in one. He
+had been able to teach Eric a great many things he didn't know, but
+there was nothing he could impart to his lordship.
+
+That irascible old gentleman knew everything. After thrice informing his
+lordship that Sir Walter Scott was the author of _Guy Mannering_, and
+being thrice informed that he was nothing of the sort, the desolate Mr.
+Bramble realized that he was no longer a tutor,--and that he ought to be
+rather thankful for it. It exasperated him considerably, however, to
+have the authorship of _Guy Mannering_ arbitrarily ascribed to three
+different writers, on three separate occasions, when any schoolboy could
+have told the old gentleman that Fielding and Sterne and Addison had no
+more to do with the book than William Shakespeare himself. His lordship
+maintained that no one could tell _him_ anything about Scott; he had him
+on his shelves and he had read him from A to Izzard. And he was rather
+severe with Mr. Bramble for accepting a position as librarian when he
+didn't know any more than that about books.
+
+And from this you may be able to derive some sort of an opinion
+concerning the cantankerous, bull-headed old party (Bramble's
+appellation behind the hand) who ruled Fenlew Hall, the place where Tom
+Trotter was reared and afterwards disowned.
+
+Also you may be able to account in a measure for Mr. J. Bramble's
+attitude toward the tall young man, an attitude brought on no doubt by
+the revival, or more properly speaking the survival, of an authority
+exercised with rare futility but great satisfaction at a time when Eric
+was being trained in the way he should go. If at times Mr. Bramble
+appears to be mildly dictatorial, or gently critical, or sadly
+reproachful, you will understand that it is habit with him, and not the
+captiousness of old age. It was his custom to shake his head
+reprovingly, or to frown in a pained sort of way, or to purse his lips,
+or even to verbally take Mr. Trotter to task when that young man
+deviated,--not always accidentally,--from certain rules of deportment
+laid down for him to follow in his earliest efforts to be a "little
+gentleman."
+
+For example, when the two of them, after a rather impatient half-hour,
+observed Miss Emsdale step down from the trolley car at the corner above
+and head for the doorway through which they were peering, Mr. Bramble
+peremptorily said to Mr. Trotter:
+
+"Go and brush your hair. You will find a brush at the back of the shop.
+Look sharp, now. She will be here in a jiffy."
+
+And you will perhaps understand why Mr. Trotter paid absolutely no
+attention to him.
+
+Miss Emsdale and the little violinist came in together. The latter's
+teeth were chattering, his cheeks were blue with the cold.
+
+"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Bramble, blinking at de Bosky. Here was an
+unforeseen complication.
+
+Miss Emsdale was resourceful. "I stopped in to inquire, Mr.
+Bramble,--this is Mr. Bramble, isn't it?--if you have a copy of--"
+
+"Please close the door, Trotter, there's a good fellow," interrupted Mr.
+Bramble, frowning significantly at the young man.
+
+"It is closed," said Mr. Trotter, tactlessly. He was looking intently,
+inquiringly into the blue eyes of Miss Emsdale.
+
+"I closed it as I came in," chattered de Bosky.
+
+"Oh, did you?" said Mr. Bramble. "People always leave it open. I am so
+in the habit of having people leave the door open that I never notice
+when they close it. I--ahem! Step right this way, please, Miss
+Ems--ahem! I think we have just the book you want."
+
+"I am not in any haste, Mr. Bramble," said she, regarding de Bosky with
+pitying eyes. "Let us all go back to the stove and--and--" She
+hesitated, biting her lip. The poor chap undoubtedly was sensitive. They
+always are.
+
+"Good!" said Mr. Bramble eagerly. "And we'll have some tea. Bless my
+soul, how fortunate! I always have it at five o'clock. Trotter and I
+were just on the point of--so glad you happened in just at the right
+moment, Miss Emsdale. Ahem! And you too, de Bosky. Most extraordinary.
+You may leave your pipe on that shelf, Trotter. It smells dreadfully.
+No, no,--I wouldn't even put it in my pocket if I were you. Er--ahem!
+You have met Mr. Trotter, haven't you, Miss Emsdale?"
+
+"You poor old boob," said Trotter, laying his arm over Bramble's
+shoulder in the most affectionate way. "Isn't he a boob, Miss Emsdale?"
+
+"Not at all," said she severely. "He is a dear."
+
+"Bless my soul!" murmured Mr. Bramble, doing as well as could be
+expected. He blessed it again before he could catch himself up.
+
+"Sit here by the stove, Mr. de Bosky," said Miss Emsdale, a moment
+later. "Just as close as you can get to it."
+
+"I have but a moment to stay," said de Bosky, a wistful look in his dark
+eyes.
+
+"You'll have tea, de Bosky," said Mr. Bramble firmly. "Is the water
+boiling, Trotter?"
+
+A few minutes later, warmed by the cup of tea and a second slice of
+toast, de Bosky turned to Trotter.
+
+"Thanks again, my dear fellow, for speaking to your employer about my
+playing. This little affair tonight may be the beginning of an era of
+good fortune for me. I shall never forget your interest--"
+
+"Oh, that's off," said Trotter carelessly.
+
+"Off? You mean?" cried de Bosky.
+
+"I'm fired, and he has gone to Atlantic City for the week-end."
+
+"He--he isn't going to have his party in the private dining-room
+at,--you said it was to be a private dining-room, didn't you, with a few
+choice spirits--"
+
+"He has gone to Atlantic City with a few choice spirits," said Trotter,
+and then stared hard at the musician's face. "Oh, by Jove! I'm sorry,"
+he cried, struck by the look of dismay, almost of desperation, in de
+Bosky's eyes. "I didn't realize it meant so much to--"
+
+"It is really of no consequence," said de Bosky, lifting his chin once
+more and straightening his back. The tea-cup rattled ominously in the
+saucer he was clutching with tense fingers.
+
+"Never mind," said Mr. Bramble, anticipating a crash and inspired by the
+kindliest of motives; "between us we've smashed half a dozen of them, so
+don't feel the least bit uncomfortable if you _do_ drop--"
+
+"What are you talking about, Bramby?" demanded Trotter, scowling at the
+unfortunate bookseller. "Have some more tea, de Bosky. Hand up your cup.
+Little hot water, eh?"
+
+Mr. Bramble was perspiring. Any one with half an eye could see that it
+_was_ of consequence to de Bosky. The old bookseller's heart was very
+tender.
+
+"Don't drink too much of it," he warned, his face suddenly beaming.
+"You'll spoil your appetite for dinner." To the others: "Mr. de Bosky
+honours my humble board with his presence this evening. The finest
+porterhouse steak in New York--Eh, what?"
+
+"It is I," came a crisp voice from the bottom of the narrow stairway
+that led up to the living-quarters above. Monsieur Mirabeau, his
+whiskers neatly brushed and twisted to a point, his velvet lounging
+jacket adorned with a smart little boutonnière, his shoes polished till
+they glistened, approached the circle and, bending his gaunt frame with
+gallant disdain for the crick in his back, kissed the hand of the young
+lady. "I observed your approach, my dear Miss Emsdale. We have been
+expecting you for ages. Indeed, it has been the longest afternoon that
+any of us has ever experienced."
+
+Mr. Bramble frowned. "Ahem!" he coughed.
+
+"I am sorry if I have intruded," began de Bosky, starting to arise.
+
+"Sit still," said Thomas Trotter. He glanced at Miss Emsdale. "You're
+not in the way, old chap."
+
+"You mentioned a book, Miss Emsdale," murmured Mr. Bramble. "When you
+came in, you'll remember."
+
+She looked searchingly into Trotter's eyes, and finding her answer
+there, remarked:
+
+"Ample time for that, Mr. Bramble. Mr. de Bosky is my good friend. And
+as for dear M. Mirabeau,--ah, what shall I say of him?" She smiled
+divinely upon the grey old Frenchman.
+
+"I commend your modesty," said M. Mirabeau. "It prevents your saying
+what every one knows,--that I am your adorer!"
+
+Tom Trotter was pacing the floor. He stopped in front of her, a scowl on
+his handsome face.
+
+"Now, tell us just what the infernal dog said to you," he said.
+
+She started. "You--you have already heard something?" she cried,
+wonderingly.
+
+"Ah, what did I tell you?" cried M. Mirabeau triumphantly, glancing
+first at Trotter and then at Bramble. "He _is_ in love with her, and
+this is what comes of it. He resorts to--"
+
+"Is this magic?" she exclaimed.
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Trotter. "We've been putting two and two
+together, the three of us. Begin at the beginning," he went on,
+encouragingly. "Don't hold back a syllable of it."
+
+"You must promise to be governed by my advice," she warned him. "You
+must be careful,--oh, so very careful."
+
+"He will be good at any rate," said Mr. Bramble, fixing the young man
+with a look. Trotter's face went crimson.
+
+"Ahem!" came guardedly from M. Mirabeau. "Proceed, my dear. We are most
+impatient."
+
+The old Frenchman's deductions were not far from right. Young Mr.
+Smith-Parvis, unaccustomed to opposition and believing himself to be
+entitled to everything he set his heart on having, being by nature
+predatory, sustained an incredible shock when the pretty and desirable
+governess failed utterly to come up to expectations. Not only did she
+fail to come up to expectations but she took the wind completely out of
+his sails, leaving him adrift in a void so strange and unusual that it
+was hours before he got his bearings again. Some of the things she said
+to him got under a skin so thick and unsensitive that nothing had ever
+been sharp enough to penetrate it before.
+
+The smartting of the pain from these surprising jabs at his egotism put
+him into a state of fury that knew no bounds. He went so far as to
+accuse her of deliberately trying to be a lady,--a most ridiculous
+assumption that didn't fool him for an instant. She couldn't come that
+sort of thing with him! The sooner she got off her high-horse the better
+off she'd be. It had never entered the head of Smith-Parvis Jr. that a
+wage-earning woman could be a lady, any more than a wage-earning man
+could be a gentleman.
+
+The spirited encounter took place on the afternoon following her
+midnight adventure with Thomas Trotter. Stuyvesant lay in wait for her
+when she went out at five o'clock for her daily walk in the Park.
+Overtaking her in one of the narrow, remote little paths, he suggested
+that they cross over to Bustanoby's and have tea and a bite of something
+sweet. He was quite out of breath. She had given him a long chase, this
+long-limbed girl with her free English stride.
+
+"It's a nice quiet place," he said, "and we won't see a soul we know."
+
+Primed by assurance, he had the hardihood to grasp her arm with a sort
+of possessive familiarity. Whereupon, according to the narrator, he
+sustained his first disheartening shock. She jerked her arm away and
+faced him with blazing eyes.
+
+"Don't do that!" she said. "What do you mean by following me like this?"
+
+"Oh, come now," he exclaimed blankly; "don't be so damned uppish. I
+didn't sleep a wink last night, thinking about you. You--"
+
+"Nor did I sleep a wink, Mr. Smith-Parvis, thinking about you," she
+retorted, looking straight into his eyes. "I am afraid you don't know me
+as well as you think you do. Will you be good enough to permit me to
+continue my walk unmolested?"
+
+He laughed in her face. "Out here to meet the pretty chauffeur, are you?
+I thought so. Well, I'll stick around and make the crowd. Is he likely
+to pop up out of the bushes and try to bite me, my dear? Better give him
+the signal to lay low, unless you want to see him nicely booted."
+
+("My God!" fell from Thomas Trotter's compressed lips.)
+
+"Then I made a grievous mistake," she explained to the quartette. "It is
+all my fault, Mr. Trotter. I brought disaster upon you when I only
+intended to sound your praises. I told him that nothing could suit me
+better than to have you pop up out of the bushes, just for the pleasure
+it would give me to see him run for home as fast as he could go. It made
+him furious."
+
+Smith-Parvis Jr. proceeded to give her "what for," to use his own words.
+In sheer amazement, she listened to his vile insinuations. She was
+speechless.
+
+"And here am I," he had said, toward the end of the indictment, "a
+gentleman, born and bred, offering you what this scurvy bounder cannot
+possibly give you, and you pretend to turn up your nose at me. I am
+gentleman enough to overlook all that has transpired between you and
+that loafer, and I am gentleman enough to keep my mouth shut at home,
+where a word from me would pack you off in two seconds. And I'd like to
+see you get another fat job in New York after that. You ought to be
+jolly grateful to me."
+
+"If I am the sort of person you say I am," she had replied, trembling
+with fury, "how can you justify your conscience in letting me remain for
+a second longer in charge of your little sisters?"
+
+"What the devil do I care about them? I'm only thinking of you. I'm mad
+about you, can't you understand? And I'd like to know what conscience
+has to do with _that_."
+
+Then he had coolly, deliberately, announced his plan of action to her.
+
+"You are to stay on at the house as long as you like, getting your nice
+little pay check every month, and something from me besides. Ah, I'm no
+piker! Leave it all to me. As for this friend of yours, he has to go.
+He'll be out of a job tomorrow. I know Carpenter. He will do anything I
+ask. He'll have to, confound him. I've got him where he can't even
+squeak. And what's more, if this Trotter is not out of New York inside
+of three days, I'll land him in jail. Oh, don't think I can't do it, my
+dear. There's a way to get these renegade foreigners,--every one of
+'em,--so you'd better keep clear of him if you don't want to be mixed up
+in the business. I am doing all this for your own good. Some day you'll
+thank me. You are the first girl I've ever really loved, and--I--I just
+can't stand by and let you go to the devil with my eyes shut. I am going
+to save you, whether you like it or not. I am going to do the right
+thing by you, and you will never regret chucking this rotter for me. We
+will have to be a little careful at home, that's all. It would never do
+to let the old folks see that I am more than ordinarily interested in
+you, or you in me. Once, when I was a good deal younger and didn't have
+much sense, I spoiled a--but you wouldn't care to hear about it."
+
+She declared to them that she would never forget the significant grin he
+permitted himself in addition to the wink.
+
+"The dog!" grated Thomas Trotter, his knuckles white.
+
+M. Mirabeau straightened himself to his full height,--and a fine figure
+of a man was he!
+
+"Mr. Trotter," he said, with grave dignity, "it will afford me the
+greatest pleasure and honour to represent you in this crisis. Pray
+command me. No doubt the scoundrel will refuse to meet you, but at any
+rate a challenge may be--"
+
+Miss Emsdale broke in quickly. "Don't,--for heaven's sake, dear M.
+Mirabeau,--don't put such notions into his head! It is bad enough as it
+is. I beg of you--"
+
+"Besides," said Mr. Bramble, "one doesn't fight duels in this country,
+any more than one does in England. It's quite against the law."
+
+"I sha'n't need any one to represent me when it comes to punching his
+head," said Mr. Trotter.
+
+"It's against the law, strictly speaking, to punch a person's head,"
+began Mr. Bramble nervously.
+
+"But it's not against the law, confound you, Bramby, to provide a legal
+excuse for going to jail, is it? He says he's going to put me there.
+Well, I intend to make it legal and--"
+
+"Oh, goodness!" cried Miss Emsdale, in dismay.
+
+"--And I'm not going to jail for nothing, you can stake your life on
+that."
+
+"Do you think, Mr. Trotter, that it will add to my happiness if you are
+lodged in jail on my account?" said she. "Haven't I done you sufficient
+injury--"
+
+"Now, you are not to talk like that," he interrupted, reddening.
+
+"But I _shall_ talk like that," she said firmly. "I have not come here
+to ask you to take up my battles for me but to warn you of danger.
+Please do not interrupt me. I know you would enjoy it, and all that sort
+of thing, but it isn't to be considered. Hear me out."
+
+She went on with her story. Young Mr. Smith-Parvis, still contending
+that he was a gentleman and a friend as well as an abject adorer, made
+it very plain to her that he would stand no foolishness. He told her
+precisely what he would do unless she eased up a bit and acted like a
+good, sensible girl. He would have her dismissed without character and
+he would see to it that no respectable house would be open to her after
+she left the service of the Smith-Parvises.
+
+"But couldn't you put the true situation before his parents and tell 'em
+what sort of a rotten bounder he is?" demanded Trotter.
+
+"You do not know them, Mr. Trotter," she said forlornly.
+
+"And they'd kick you out without giving you a chance to prove to them
+that he is a filthy liar and--"
+
+"Just as Mr. Carpenter kicked you out," she said.
+
+"By gad, I--I wouldn't stay in their house another day if I were you,"
+he exclaimed wrathfully. "I'd quit so quickly they wouldn't have time
+to--"
+
+"And then what?" she asked bitterly. "Am I so rich and independent as
+all that? You forget that I must have a 'character,' Mr. Trotter. That,
+you see, would be denied me. I could not obtain employment. Even Mrs.
+Sparflight would be powerless to help me after the character they would
+give me."
+
+"But, good Lord, you--you're not going to stay on in the house with that
+da--that nasty brute, are you?" he cried, aghast.
+
+"I must have time to think, Mr. Trotter," she said quietly. "Now, don't
+say anything more,--please! I shall take good care of myself, never
+fear. My woes are small compared to yours, I am afraid. The next morning
+after our little scene in the park, he came down to breakfast, smiling
+and triumphant. He said he had news for me. Mr. Carpenter was to dismiss
+you that morning, but had agreed not to prefer charges against you,--at
+least, not for the present." She paused to moisten her lips. There was a
+harassed look in her eyes.
+
+"Charges?" said Trotter, after a moment. The other men leaned forward,
+fresh interest in their faces.
+
+"Did you say charges, Miss Emsdale?" asked Mr. Bramble, putting his hand
+to his ear.
+
+"He told me that Mr. Carpenter was at first determined to turn you over
+to the police, but that he had begged him to give you a chance. He--he
+says that Mr. Carpenter has had a private detective watching you for a
+fortnight, and--and--oh, I cannot say it!"
+
+"Go on," said Trotter harshly; "say it!"
+
+"Well, of course, I know and you understand it is simply part of his
+outrageous plan, but he says your late employer has positive proof that
+you took--that you took some marked bank notes out of his overcoat
+pocket a few days ago. He had been missing money and had provided
+himself with marked--"
+
+Trotter leaped to his feet with a cry of rage.
+
+"Sit down!" commanded Mr. Bramble. "Sit down! Where are you going?"
+
+"Great God! Do you suppose I can sit still and let him get away with
+anything like that?" roared Trotter. "I'm going to jam those words down
+Carpenter's craven throat. I'm--"
+
+"You forget he is in Atlantic City," said de Bosky, as if suddenly
+coming out of a dream.
+
+"Oh, Lord!" groaned Trotter, very white in the face.
+
+There were tears in Miss Emsdale's eyes. "They--he means to drive you
+out of town," she murmured brokenly.
+
+"Fine chance of that!" cried Trotter violently.
+
+"Let us be calm," said M. Mirabeau, gently taking the young man's arm
+and leading him back to the box on which he had been sitting. "You must
+not play into their hands, and that is what you would be doing if you
+went to him in a rage. As long as you remain passive, nothing will come
+of all this. If you show your teeth, they will stop at nothing. Take my
+word for it, Trotter, before many hours have passed you will be
+interviewed by a detective,--a genuine detective, by the way, for some
+of them can be hired to do anything, my boy,--and you will be given your
+choice of going to prison or to some far distant city. You--"
+
+"But how in thunder is he going to prove that I took any marked bills
+from him? You've got to prove those things, you know. The courts would
+not--"
+
+"Just a moment! Did he pay you by check or with bank notes this
+morning?"
+
+"He gave me a check for thirty dollars, and three ten-dollar bills and a
+five." ·
+
+"Have you them on your person at present?"
+
+"Not all of them. I have--wait a second! We'll see." He fumbled in his
+pocket for the bill-folder.
+
+"What did you do with the rest?"
+
+"Paid my landlady for--good Lord! I see what you mean! He paid me with
+marked bills! The--the damned scoundrel!"
+
+"He not only did that, my boy, but he put a man on your trail to recover
+them as fast as you disposed of them," said M. Mirabeau calmly.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VIII
+
+                    LADY JANE GOES ABOUT IT PROMPTLY
+
+
+A FEW minutes before six o'clock that same afternoon, Mr. James
+Cricklewick, senior member of the firm of Cricklewick, Stackable & Co.,
+linen merchants, got up from his desk in the crowded little compartment
+labelled "Private," and peered out of the second-floor window into the
+busy street below. Thousands of people were scurrying along the
+pavements in the direction of the brilliantly lighted Fifth Avenue, a
+few rods away; vague, dusky, unrecognizable forms in the darkness that
+comes so early and so abruptly to the cross-town streets at the end of a
+young March day. The middle of the street presented a serried line of
+snow heaps, piled up by the shovellers the day before,--symmetrical
+little mountains that formed an impassable range over which no chauffeur
+had the temerity to bolt in his senseless ambition to pass the car
+ahead.
+
+Mr. James Cricklewick sighed. He knew from past experience that the Rock
+of Ages was but little more enduring than the snow-capped range in front
+of him. Time and a persistent sun inevitably would do the work of man,
+but in the meantime Mr. Cricklewick's wagons and trucks were a day and a
+half behind with deliveries, and that was worth sighing about. As he
+stood looking down the street, he sighed again. For more than forty
+years Mr. Cricklewick had made constant use of the phrase: "It's always
+something." If there was no one to say it to, he satisfied himself by
+condensing the lament into a strictly personal sigh.
+
+He first resorted to the remark far back in the days when he was in the
+service of the Marquis of Camelford. If it wasn't one thing that was
+going wrong it was another; in any event it was "always something."
+
+Prosperity and environment had not succeeded in bringing him to the
+point where he could snap his fingers and lightly say in the face of
+annoyances: "It's really nothing."
+
+The fact that he was, after twenty-five years of ceaseless climbing, at
+the head of the well-known and thoroughly responsible house of
+Cricklewick, Stackable & Co., Linen Merchants and Drapers,--(he insisted
+on attaching the London word, not through sentiment, but for the sake of
+isolation),--operated not at all in bringing about a becalmed state of
+mind. Habitually he was disturbed by little things, which should not be
+in the least surprising when one stops to think of the multitudinous
+annoyances he must have experienced while managing the staff of
+under-servants in the extensive establishment of the late Marquis of
+Camelford.
+
+He had never quite outgrown the temperament which makes for a good and
+dependable butler,--and that, in a way, accounts for the contention that
+"it is always something," and also for the excellent credit of the house
+he headed. Mr. Cricklewick made no effort to deceive himself. He
+occasionally deceived his wife in a mild and innocuous fashion by
+secretly reverting to form, but not for an instant did he deceive
+himself. He was a butler and he always would be a butler, despite the
+fact that the business and a certain section of the social world looked
+upon him as a very fine type of English gentleman, with a crest in his
+shop window and a popularly accepted record of having enjoyed a speaking
+acquaintance with Edward, the late King of England. Indeed, the late
+king appears to have enjoyed the same privilege claimed and exercised by
+the clerks, stenographers and floorwalkers in his employ, although His
+Majesty had a slight advantage over them in being free to call him
+"Cricky" to his face instead of behind his back.
+
+Mr. Cricklewick, falling into a snug fortune when he was forty-five and
+at a time when the Marquis felt it to be necessary to curtail expenses
+by not only reducing his staff of servants but also the salaries of
+those who remained, married very nicely into a draper's family, and soon
+afterward voyaged to America to open and operate a branch of the concern
+in New York City. His fortune, including the savings of twenty years,
+amounted to something like thirty thousand pounds, most of which had
+been accumulated by a sheep-raising brother who had gone to and died in
+Australia. He put quite a bit of this into the business and became a
+partner, making himself doubly welcome to a family that had suffered
+considerably through competition in business and a complete lack of it
+in respect to the matrimonial possibilities of five fully matured
+daughters.
+
+Mr. Cricklewick had the further good sense to marry the youngest,
+prettiest and most ambitious of the quintette, and thereby paved the way
+for satisfactory though wholly unexpected social achievements in the
+City of Now York. His wife, with the customary British scorn for
+Americans, developed snobbish tendencies that rather alarmed Mr.
+Cricklewick at the outset of his business career in New York, but which
+ultimately produced the most remarkable results.
+
+Almost before he was safely out of the habit of saying "thank you" when
+it wasn't at all necessary to say it, his wife had him down at Hot
+Springs, Virginia, for a month in the fall season, where, because of his
+exceptionally mellifluous English accent and a stateliness he had never
+been able to overcome, he was looked upon by certain Anglo-maniacs as a
+real and unmistakable "toff."
+
+Cricklewick had been brought up in, or on, the very best of society.
+From his earliest days as third groom in the Camelford ménage to the end
+of his reign as major-domo, he had been in a position to observe and
+assimilate the manners of the elect. No one knew better than he how to
+go about being a gentleman. He had had his lessons, not to say examples,
+from the first gentlemen of England. Having been brought up on dukes and
+earls,--and all that sort of thing,--to say nothing of quite a majority
+in the House of Lords, he was in a fair way of knowing "what's what," to
+use his own far from original expression.
+
+You couldn't fool Cricklewick to save your life. The instant he looked
+upon you he could put you where you belonged, and, so far as he was
+concerned, that was where you would have to stay.
+
+It is doubtful if there was ever a more discerning, more discriminating
+butler in all England. It was his rather astonishing contention that one
+could be quite at one's ease with dukes and duchesses and absolutely
+ill-at-ease with ordinary people. That was his way of making the
+distinction. It wasn't possible to be on terms of intimacy with the
+people who didn't belong. They never seemed to know their place.
+
+The next thing he knew, after the Hot Springs visit, his name began to
+appear in the newspapers in columns next to advertising matter instead
+of the other way round. Up to this time it had been a struggle to get it
+in next to reading matter on account of the exorbitant rates demanded by
+the newspapers.
+
+He protested to his wife. "Oh, I say, my dear, this is cutting it a bit
+thick, you know. You can't really be in earnest about it. I shouldn't
+know how to act sitting down at a dinner table like that, you know. I am
+informed that these people are regarded as real swells over 'ere,--here,
+I should say. You must sit down and drop 'em a line saying we can't
+come. Say we've suddenly been called out of town, or had bad news from
+home, or--"
+
+"Rubbish! It will do them no end of good to see how you act at table.
+Haven't you had the very best of training? All you have to do--"
+
+"But I had it standing, my dear."
+
+"Just the same, I shall accept the invitation. They are very excellent
+people, and I see no reason why we shouldn't know the best while we're
+about it."
+
+"But they've got millions," he expostulated.
+
+"Well," said she, "you musn't believe everything you hear about people
+with millions. I must say that I've not seen anything especially vulgar
+about them. So don't let that stand in your way, old dear." It was
+unconscious irony.
+
+"It hasn't been a great while since I was a butler, my love; don't
+forget that. A matter of a little over seven years."
+
+"Pray do not forget," said she coldly, "that it hasn't been so very long
+since all these people over here were Indians."
+
+Mr. Cricklewick, being more or less hazy concerning overseas history,
+took heart. They went to the dinner and he, remembering just how certain
+noblemen of his acquaintance deported themselves, got on famously. And
+although his wife never had seen a duchess eat, except by proxy in the
+theatre, she left nothing to be desired,--except, perhaps, in the way of
+food, of which she was so fond that it was rather a bore to nibble as
+duchesses do.
+
+Being a sensible and far-seeing woman, she did not resent it when he
+mildly protested that Lady So-and-So wouldn't have done this, and the
+Duchess of You-Know wouldn't have done that. She looked upon him as a
+master in the School of Manners. It was not long before she was able not
+only to hold her own with the élite, but also to hold her lorgnette with
+them. If she did not care to see you in a crowd she could overlook you
+in the very smartest way.
+
+And so, after twenty or twenty-five years, we find the
+Cricklewicks,--mother, father and daughter,--substantially settled in
+the City of Masks, occupying an enviable position in society, and
+seldom, if ever,--even in the bosom of the family,--referring to the
+days of long ago,--a precaution no doubt inspired by the fear that they
+might be overheard and misunderstood by their own well-trained and
+admirable butler, whose respect they could not afford to lose.
+
+Once a week, on Wednesday nights, Mr. Cricklewick took off his mask. It
+was, in a sense, his way of going to confession. He told his wife,
+however, that he was going to the club.
+
+He sighed a little more briskly as he turned away from the window and
+crossed over to the closet in which his fur-lined coat and silk hat were
+hanging. It had taken time and a great deal of persuasion on the part of
+his wife to prove to him that it wasn't quite the thing to wear a silk
+hat with a sack coat in New York; he had grudgingly compromised with the
+barbaric demands of fashion by dispensing with the sack coat in favour
+of a cutaway. The silk hat was a fixture.
+
+"A lady asking to see you, sir," said his office-boy, after knocking on
+the door marked "Private."
+
+"Hold my coat for me, Thomas," said Mr. Cricklewick.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Thomas. "But she says you will see her, sir, just as
+soon as you gets a look at her."
+
+"Obviously," said Mr. Cricklewick, shaking himself down into the great
+coat. "Don't rub it the wrong way, you simpleton. You should always
+brush a silk hat with the nap and not--"
+
+"May I have a few words with you, Mr. Cricklewick?" inquired a sweet,
+clear voice from the doorway.
+
+The head of the house opened his lips to say something sharp to the
+office-boy, but the words died as he obeyed a magnetic influence and
+hazarded a glance at the intruder's face.
+
+"Bless my soul!" said he, staring. An instant later he had recovered
+himself. "Take my coat, Thomas. Come in, Lady--er--Miss Emsdale. Thank
+you. Run along, Thomas. This is--ah--a most unexpected pleasure." The
+door closed behind Thomas. "Pray have a chair, Miss Emsdale. Still quite
+cold, isn't it?"
+
+"I sha'n't detain you for more than five or ten minutes," said Miss
+Emsdale, sinking into a chair.
+
+"At your service,--quite at your service," said Mr. Cricklewick,
+dissolving in the presence of nobility. He could not have helped himself
+to save his life.
+
+Miss Emsdale came to the point at once. To save _her_ life she could not
+think of Cricklewick as anything but an upper servant.
+
+"Please see if we are quite alone, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, laying
+aside her little fur neck-piece.
+
+Mr. Cricklewick started. Like a flash there shot into his brain the
+voiceless groan: "It's always something." However, he made haste to
+assure her that they would not be disturbed. "It is closing time, you
+see," he concluded, not without hope.
+
+"I could not get here any earlier," she explained. "I stopped in to ask
+a little favour of you, Mr. Cricklewick."
+
+"You have only to mention it," said he, and then abruptly looked at his
+watch. The thought struck him that perhaps he did not have enough in his
+bill-folder; if not, it would be necessary to catch the cashier before
+the safe was closed for the day.
+
+"Lord Temple is in trouble, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, a queer little
+catch in her voice.
+
+"I--I am sorry to hear that," said he.
+
+"And I do not know of any one who is in a better position to help him
+than you," she went on coolly.
+
+"I shall be happy to be of service to Lord Temple," said Mr.
+Cricklewick, but not very heartily. Observation had taught him that
+young noblemen seldom if ever get into trouble half way; they make a
+practice of going in clean over their heads.
+
+"Owing to an unpleasant misunderstanding with Mr. Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis, he has lost his situation as chauffeur for Mr. Carpenter,"
+said she.
+
+"I hope he has not--ahem!--thumped him," said Mr. Cricklewick, in such
+dismay that he allowed the extremely undignified word to slip out.
+
+She smiled faintly. "I said unpleasant, Mr. Cricklewick,--not pleasant."
+
+"Bless my soul," said Mr. Cricklewick, blinking.
+
+"Mr. Smith-Parvis has prevailed upon Mr. Carpenter to dismiss him, and I
+fear, between them, they are planning to drive him out of the city in
+disgrace."
+
+"Bless me! This is too bad."
+
+Without divulging the cause of Smith-Parvis's animosity, she went
+briefly into the result thereof.
+
+"It is really infamous," she concluded, her eyes flashing. "Don't you
+agree with me?"
+
+Having it put to him so abruptly as that, Mr. Cricklewick agreed with
+her.
+
+"Well, then, we must put our heads together, Mr. Cricklewick," she said,
+with decision.
+
+"Quite so," said he, a little vaguely.
+
+"He is not to be driven out of the city," said she. "Nor is he to be
+unjustly accused of--of wrongdoing. We must see to that."
+
+Mr. Cricklewick cleared his throat. "He can avoid all that sort of
+thing, Lady--er--Miss Emsdale, by simply announcing that he is Lord
+Temple, heir to one of the--"
+
+"Oh, he wouldn't think of doing such a thing," said she quickly.
+
+"People would fall over themselves trying to put laurels on his head,"
+he urged. "And, unless I am greatly mistaken, the first to rush up would
+be the--er--the Smith-Parvises, headed by Stuyvesant."
+
+"No one knows the Smith-Parvises better than you, Mr. Cricklewick," she
+said, and for some reason he turned quite pink.
+
+"Mrs. Cricklewick and I have seen a great deal of them in the past few
+years," he said, almost apologetically.
+
+"And that encourages me to repeat that no one knows them better than
+you," she said coolly.
+
+"We are to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Parvis tonight," said Mr.
+Cricklewick.
+
+"Splendid!" she cried, eagerly. "That works in very nicely with the plan
+I have in mind. You must manage in some way to remark--quite casually,
+of course,--that you are very much interested in the affairs of a young
+fellow-countryman,--omitting the name, if you please,--who has been
+dismissed from service as a chauffeur, and who has been threatened--"
+
+"But my dear Miss Emsdale, I--"
+
+"--threatened with all sorts of things by his late employer. You may
+also add that you have communicated with our Ambassador at Washington,
+and that it is your intention to see your fellow-countryman through if
+it takes a--may I say leg, Mr. Cricklewick? Young Mr. Smith-Parvis will
+be there to hear you, so you may bluster as much as you please about
+Great Britain protecting her subjects to the very last shot. The entire
+machinery of the Foreign Office may be called into action, if necessary,
+to--but I leave all that to you. You might mention, modestly, that it's
+pretty ticklish business trying to twist the British lion's tail. Do you
+see what I mean?"
+
+Mr. Cricklewick may have had an inward conviction that this was hardly
+what you would call asking a favour of a person, but if he had he kept
+it pretty well to himself. It did not occur to him that his present
+position in the world, as opposed to hers, justified a rather stiff
+reluctance on his part to take orders, or even suggestions, from this
+penniless young person,--especially in his own sacred lair. On the
+contrary, he was possessed by the instant and enduring realization that
+it was the last thing he could bring himself to the point of doing. His
+father, a butler before him, had gone to considerable pains to convince
+him, at the outset of his career, that insolence is by far the greatest
+of vices.
+
+Still, in this emergency, he felt constrained to argue,--another vice
+sometimes modified by circumstances and the forbearance of one's
+betters.
+
+"But I haven't communicated with our Ambassador at Washington," he said.
+"And as for the Foreign Office taking the matter up--"
+
+"But, don't you see, _they_ couldn't possibly know that, Mr.
+Cricklewick," she interrupted, frowning slightly.
+
+"Quite true,--but I should be telling a falsehood if I said anything of
+the sort."
+
+"Knowing you to be an absolutely truthful and reliable man, Mr.
+Cricklewick," she said mendaciously, "they would not even dream of
+questioning your veracity. They do not believe you capable of telling a
+falsehood. Can't you see how splendidly it would all work out?"
+
+Mr. Cricklewick couldn't see, and said so.
+
+"Besides," he went on, "suppose that it should get to the ears of the
+Ambassador."
+
+"In that event, you could run over to Washington and tell him in private
+just who Thomas Trotter is, and then everything would be quite all
+right. You see," she went on earnestly, "all you have to do is to drop a
+few words for the benefit of young Mr. Smith-Parvis. He looks upon you
+as one of the most powerful and influential men in the city, and he
+wouldn't have you discover that he is in anyway connected with such a
+vile, underhanded--"
+
+"How am I to lead up to the subject of chauffeurs?" broke in
+Mr. Cricklewick weakly. "I can hardly begin talking about
+chauffeurs--er--out of a clear sky, you might say."
+
+"Don't begin by talking about chauffeurs," she counselled. "Lead up to
+the issue by speaking of the friendly relations that exist between
+England and America, and proceed with the hope that nothing may ever
+transpire to sever the bond of blood--and so on. You know what I mean.
+It is quite simple. And then look a little serious and distressed,--that
+ought to be easy, Mr. Cricklewick. You must see how naturally it all
+leads up to the unfortunate affair of your young countryman, whom you
+are bound to defend,--and _we_ are bound to defend,--no matter what the
+consequences may be."
+
+Two minutes later she arose triumphant, and put on her stole. Her eyes
+were sparkling.
+
+"I knew you couldn't stand by and see this outrageous thing done to Eric
+Temple. Thank you. I--goodness gracious, I quite forgot a most important
+thing. In the event that our little scheme does not have the desired
+result, and they persist in persecuting him, we must have something to
+fall back upon. I know McFaddan very slightly. (She did not speak of the
+ex-footman as Mr. McFaddan, nor did Cricklewick take account of the
+omission). He is, I am informed, one of the most influential men in New
+York,--one of the political bosses, Mr. Smith-Parvis says. He says he is
+a most unprincipled person. Well, don't you see, he is just the sort of
+person to fall back upon if all honest measures fail?"
+
+Mr. Cricklewick rather blankly murmured something about "honest
+measures," and then mopped his brow. Miss Emsdale's enthusiasm, while
+acutely ingenuous, had him "sweating blood," as he afterwards put it
+during a calm and lucid period of retrospection.
+
+"I--I assure you I have no influence with McFaddan," he began, looking
+at his handkerchief,--and being relieved, no doubt, to find no crimson
+stains,--applied it to his neck with some confidence and vigour. "In
+fact, we differ vastly in--"
+
+"McFaddan, being in a position to dictate to the police and, if it
+should come to the worst, to the magistrates, is a most valuable man to
+have on our side, Mr. Cricklewick. If you could see him tomorrow
+morning,--I suppose it is too late to see him this evening,--and tell
+him just what you want him to do, I'm sure--"
+
+"But, Miss Emsdale, you must allow me to say that McFaddan will
+absolutely refuse to take orders from me. He is no longer what you might
+say--er--in a position to be--er--you see what I mean, I hope."
+
+"Nonsense!" she said, dismissing his objection with a word. "McFaddan is
+an Irishman and therefore eternally committed to the under dog, right or
+wrong. When you explain the circumstances to him, he will come to our
+assistance like a flash. And don't, overlook the fact, Mr. Cricklewick,
+that McFaddan will never see the day when he can ignore a--a request
+from you." She had almost said command, but caught the word in time. "By
+the way, poor Trotter is out of a situation, and I may as well confess
+to you that he can ill afford to be without one. It has just occurred to
+me that you may know of some one among your wealthy friends, Mr.
+Cricklewick, who is in need of a good man. Please rack your brain. Some
+one to whom you can recommend him as a safe, skilful and competent
+chauffeur."
+
+"I am glad you mention it," said he, brightening perceptibly in the
+light of something tangible. "This afternoon I was called up on the
+telephone by a party--by some one, I mean to say,--asking for
+information concerning Klausen, the man who used to drive for me. I was
+obliged to say that his habits were bad, and that I could not recommend
+him. It was Mrs. Ellicott Millidew who inquired."
+
+"The young one or the old one?" inquired Miss Emsdale quickly.
+
+"The elder Mrs. Millidew," said Mr. Cricklewick, in a tone that implied
+deference to a lady who was entitled to it, even when she was not within
+earshot. "Not the pretty young widow," he added, risking a smile.
+
+"That's all right, then," said Miss Emsdale briskly. "I am sure it would
+be a most satisfactory place for him."
+
+"But she is a very exacting old lady," said he, "and will require
+references."
+
+"I am sure you can give him the very best of references," said she. "She
+couldn't ask for anything better than your word that he is a splendid
+man in every particular. Thank you so much, Mr. Cricklewick. And Lord
+Temple will be ever so grateful to you too, I'm sure. Oh, you cannot
+possibly imagine how relieved I am--about everything. We are very great
+friends, Lord Temple and I."
+
+He watched the faint hint of the rose steal into her cheeks and a
+velvety softness come into her eyes.
+
+"Nothing could be more perfect," he said, irrelevantly, but with real
+feeling, and the glow of the rose deepened.
+
+"Thank you again,--and good-bye," she said, turning toward the door.
+
+It was then that the punctilious Cricklewick forgot himself, and in his
+desire to be courteous, committed a most unpardonable offence.
+
+"My motor is waiting, Lady Jane," he said, the words falling out
+unwittingly. "May I not drop you at Mr. Smith-Parvis's door?"
+
+"No, thank you," she said graciously. "You are very good, but the stages
+go directly past the door."
+
+As the door closed behind her, Mr. Cricklewick sat down rather suddenly,
+overcome by his presumption. Think of it! He had had the brass to invite
+Lady Jane Thorne to accept a ride in his automobile! He might just as
+well have had the effrontery to ask her to dine at his house!
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IX
+
+                 MR. TROTTER FALLS INTO A NEW POSITION
+
+
+THE sagacity of M. Mirabeau went far toward nullifying the
+hastily laid plans of Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. It was he who
+suggested a prompt effort to recover the two marked bills that
+Trotter had handed to his landlady earlier in the day.
+
+Prince Waldemar de Bosky, with a brand new twenty-dollar bill in his
+possession,--(supplied by the excited Frenchman)--boarded a Lexington
+Avenue car and in due time mounted the steps leading to the front door
+of the lodging house kept by Mrs. Dulaney. Ostensibly he was in search
+of a room for a gentleman of refinement and culture; Mrs. Dulaney's
+house had been recommended to him as first class in every particular.
+The landlady herself showed him a room, fourth-floor front, just vacated
+(she said) by a most refined gentleman engaged in the phonograph
+business. It was her rule to demand references from prospective lodgers,
+but as she had been in the business a great many years it was now
+possible for her to distinguish a gentleman the instant she laid eyes on
+him, so it would only be necessary for the present applicant to pay the
+first week's rent in advance. He could then move in at once.
+
+With considerable mortification, she declared that she wouldn't insist
+on the "advance,"--knowing gentlemen as perfectly as she did,--were it
+not for the fact that her rent was due and she was short exactly that
+amount,--having recently sent more than she could spare to a sick sister
+in Bridgeport.
+
+De Bosky was very amiable about it,--and very courteous. He said that,
+so far as he knew, all gentlemen were prepared to pay five dollars in
+advance when they engaged lodgings by the week, and would she be so good
+as to take it out of the twenty-dollar bill?
+
+Mrs. Dulaney was slightly chagrined. The sight of a twenty-dollar bill
+caused her to regret not having asked for two weeks down instead of one.
+
+"If it does not inconvenience you, madam," said de Bosky, "I should like
+the change in new bills. You have no idea how it offends my artistic
+sense to--" He shuddered a little. "I make a point of never having
+filthy, germ-disseminating bank notes on my person."
+
+"And you are quite right," said she feelingly. "I wish to God I could
+afford to be as particular. If there's anything I hate it's a dirty old
+bill. Any one could tell that you are a real gentleman, Mr.--Mr.--I
+didn't get the name, did I?"
+
+"Drexel," he said.
+
+"Excuse me," she said, and moved over a couple of paces in order to
+place the parlour table between herself and the prospective lodger.
+Using it as a screen, she fished a thin flat purse from her stocking,
+and opened it. "I wouldn't do this in the presence of any one but a
+gentleman," she explained, without embarrassment. As she was twice the
+size of Prince Waldemar and of a ruggedness that challenged offence, one
+might have been justified in crediting her with egotism instead of
+modesty.
+
+Selecting the brightest and crispest from the layer of bank notes, she
+laid them on the table. De Bosky's eyes glistened.
+
+"The city has recently been flooded with counterfeit fives and tens,
+madam," he said politely. This afforded an excuse for holding the bills
+to the light for examination.
+
+"Now, don't tell me they're phoney," said Mrs. Dulaney, bristling. "I
+got 'em this morning from the squarest chap I've ever had in my--"
+
+"I have every reason to believe they are genuine," said he, concealing
+his exultation behind a patronizing smile. He had discovered the
+tell-tale marks on both bills. Carefully folding them, he stuck them
+into his waistcoat pocket. "You may expect me tomorrow, madam,--unless,
+of course, destiny should shape another end for me in the meantime. One
+never can tell, you know. I may be dead, or your comfortable house may
+be burned to the ground. It is--"
+
+"For the Lord's sake, don't make a crack like that," she cried
+vehemently. "It's bad luck to talk about fire."
+
+"In any event," said he jauntily, "you have my five dollars. Au revoir,
+madam. Auf wiedersehn!" He buttoned Mr. Bramble's ulster close about his
+throat and gravely bowed himself out into the falling night.
+
+In the meantime, Mr. Bramble had substituted two unmarked bills for
+those remaining in the possession of Thomas Trotter, and, with the
+return of Prince Waldemar, triumphant, M. Mirabeau arbitrarily
+confiscated the entire thirty dollars.
+
+"These bills must be concealed at once," he explained. "Temporarily they
+are out of circulation. Do not give them another thought, my dear
+Trotter. And now, Monsieur Bookseller, we are in a proper frame of mind
+to discuss the beefsteak you have neglected to order."
+
+"God bless my soul," cried Mr. Bramble in great dismay. His
+unceremonious departure an instant later was due to panic. Mrs. O'Leary
+had to be stopped before the tripe and tunny fish had gone too far.
+Moreover, he had forgotten to tell her that there would be two extra for
+dinner,--besides the extra sirloin.
+
+On the following Monday, Thomas Trotter entered the service of Mrs.
+Millidew, and on the same day Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis returned to New
+York after a hasty and more or less unpremeditated visit to Atlantic
+City, where he experienced a trying half hour with the unreasonable Mr.
+Carpenter, who spoke feelingly of a personal loss and most unfeelingly
+of the British Foreign Office. Every nation in the world, he raged, has
+a foreign office; foreign offices are as plentiful as birds'-nests. But
+Tom Trotters were as scarce as hen's-teeth. He would never find another
+like him.
+
+"And what's more," he interrupted himself to say, glowering at the
+shocked young man, "he's a gentleman, and that's something you
+ain't,--not in a million years."
+
+"Ass!" said Mr. Smith-Parvis, under his breath.
+
+"What's that?" roared the aggrieved one.
+
+"Don't shout like that! People are beginning to stare at--"
+
+"Thank the Lord I had sense enough to engage a private detective and not
+to call in the police, as you suggested. That would have been the limit.
+I've a notion to hunt that boy up and tell him the whole rotten story."
+
+"Go ahead and do it," invited Stuyvie, his eyes narrowing, "and I will
+do a little telling myself. There is one thing in particular your wife
+would give her ears to hear about you. It will simplify matters
+tremendously. Go ahead and tell him."
+
+Mr. Carpenter appeared to be reflecting. His inflamed sullen eyes
+assumed a misty, faraway expression.
+
+"For two cents I'd tell you to go to hell," he said, after a long
+silence.
+
+"Boy!" called Mr. Smith-Parvis loftily, signalling a passing bell-hop.
+"Go and get me some small change for this nickel."
+
+Mr. Carpenter's face relaxed into a sickly grin. "Can't you take a
+joke?" he inquired peevishly.
+
+"Never mind," said Stuyvie to the bell-boy. "I sha'n't need it after
+all."
+
+"What I'd like to know," mused Mr. Carpenter, later on, "is how in
+thunder the New York police department got wind of all this."
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis, Junior, wiped a fine moisture from his brow, and said:
+"I forgot to mention that I had to give that plain-clothes man fifty
+dollars to keep him from going to old man Cricklewick with the whole
+blooming story. It seems that he got it from your bally private
+detective."
+
+"Good!" said the other brightly. "You got off cheap," he added quickly,
+catching the look in Stuyvie's eye.
+
+"I did it to spare Cricklewick a whole lot of embarrassment," said the
+younger man stiffly.
+
+"I don't get you."
+
+"He never could look me in the face again if he found out I was the man
+he was panning so unmercifully the other night at our own dinner table."
+He wiped his brow again. "'Gad, he'd never forgive himself."
+
+Which goes to prove that Stuyvie was more considerate of the feelings of
+others than one might have credited him with being.
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+Mrs. Millidew was very particular about chauffeurs,--an idiosyncrasy, it
+may be said, that brought her into contact with a great many of them in
+the course of a twelvemonth. The last one to leave her without giving
+the customary week's notice had remained in her employ longer than any
+of his predecessors. A most astonishing discrepancy appeared in their
+statements as to the exact length of time he was in her service. Mrs.
+Millidew maintained that he was with her for exactly three weeks; the
+chauffeur swore to high heaven that it was three centuries.
+
+She had Thomas Trotter up before her.
+
+"You have been recommended to me by Mr. Cricklewick," she said,
+regarding him with a critical eye. "No other reference is necessary, so
+don't go fumbling in your pockets for a pack of filthy envelopes. What
+is your name?"
+
+She was a fat little old woman with yellow hair and exceedingly black
+and carefully placed eyebrows.
+
+"Thomas Trotter, madam."
+
+"How tall are you?"
+
+"Six feet."
+
+"I am afraid you will not do," she said, taking another look at him.
+
+Trotter stared. "I am sorry, madam."
+
+"You are much too tall. Nothing will fit you."
+
+"Are you speaking of livery, madam?"
+
+"I'm speaking of a uniform," she said. "I can't be buying new uniforms
+every two weeks. I don't mind a cap once in awhile, but uniforms cost
+money. Mr. Cricklewick didn't tell me you were so tall. As a matter of
+fact, I think I neglected to say to him that you would have to be under
+five feet nine and fairly thin. You couldn't possibly squeeze into the
+uniform, my man. I am sorry. I have tried everything but an English
+chauffeur, and--you _are_ English, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes, madam. Permit me to solve the problem for you. I never, under any
+circumstances, wear livery,--I beg your pardon, I should say a uniform."
+
+"You never what?" demanded Mrs. Millidew, blinking.
+
+"Wear livery," said he, succinctly.
+
+"That settles it," said she. "You'd have to if you worked for me. Now,
+see here, my man, it's possible you'll change your mind after you've
+seen the uniform I put on my chauffeurs. It's a sort of maroon--"
+
+"I beg your pardon, madam," he interrupted politely, favouring her with
+his never-failing smile. Her gaze rested for a moment on his white, even
+teeth, and then went up to meet his deep grey eyes. "A cap is as far as
+I go. A sort of blue fatigue cap, you know."
+
+"I like your face," said she regretfully. "You are quite a good-looking
+fellow. The last man I had looked like a street cleaner, even in his
+maroon coat and white pants. I--Don't you think you could be persuaded
+to put it on if I,--well, if I added five dollars a week to your wages?
+I like your looks. You look as if you might have been a soldier."
+
+Trotter swallowed hard. "I shouldn't in the least object to wearing the
+uniform of a soldier, Mrs. Millidew. That's quite different, you see."
+
+"Suppose I take you on trial for a couple of weeks," she ventured,
+surrendering to his smile and the light in his unservile eyes.
+Considering the matter settled, she went on brusquely: "How old are you,
+Trotter?"
+
+"Thirty."
+
+"Are you married? I never employ married men. Their wives are always
+having babies or operations or something disagreeable and unnecessary."
+
+"I am not married, Mrs. Millidew."
+
+"Who was your last employer in England?"
+
+"His Majesty King George the Fifth," said Trotter calmly.
+
+Her eyes bulged. "What?" she cried. Then her eyes narrowed. "And do you
+mean to tell me you didn't wear a uniform when you worked for him?"
+
+"I wore a uniform, madam."
+
+"Umph! America has spoiled you, I see. That's always the way.
+Independence is a curse. Have you ever been arrested? Wait! Don't
+answer. I withdraw the question. You would only lie, and that is a bad
+way to begin."
+
+"I lie only when it is absolutely necessary, Mrs. Millidew. In police
+courts, for example."
+
+"Good! Now, you are young, good looking and likely to be spoiled. It
+must be understood in the beginning, Trotter, that there is to be no
+foolishness with women." She regarded him severely.
+
+"No foolishness whatsoever," said he humbly, raising his eyes to heaven.
+
+"How long were you employed in your last job--ah, situation?"
+
+"Not quite a twelve-month, madam."
+
+"And now," she said, with a graciousness that surprised her, "perhaps
+you would like to put a few questions to me. The cooks always do."
+
+He smiled more engagingly than ever. "As they say in the advertisements
+of lost jewellery, madam,--'no questions asked,'" he said.
+
+"Eh? Oh, I see. Rather good. I hope you know your place, though," she
+added, narrowly. "I don't approve of freshness."
+
+"No more do I," said he, agreeably.
+
+"I suppose you are accustomed to driving in--er--in good society,
+Trotter. You know what I mean."
+
+"Perfectly. I have driven in the very best, madam, if I do say it as
+shouldn't. Beg pardon, I daresay you mean smart society?" He appeared to
+be very much concerned, even going so far as to send an appraising eye
+around the room,--doubtless for the purpose of satisfying himself that
+_she_ was quite up to the standard.
+
+"Of course," she said hastily. Something told her that if she didn't nab
+him on the spot he would get away from her. "Can you start in at once,
+Trotter?"
+
+"We have not agreed upon the wages, madam."
+
+"I have never paid less than forty a week," she said stiffly. "Even for
+bad ones," she added.
+
+He smiled, but said nothing, apparently waiting for her to proceed.
+
+"Would fifty a week suit you?" she asked, after a long pause. She was a
+little helpless.
+
+"Quite," said he.
+
+"It's a lot of money," she murmured. "But I like the way you speak
+English. By the way, let me hear you say: 'It is half after four, madam.
+Are you going on to Mrs. Brown's.'"
+
+Trotter laid himself out. He said "hawf-paast," and "fou-ah," and
+"Meddem," and "gehing," in a way that delighted her.
+
+"I shall be going out at three o'clock, Trotter. Be on time. I insist on
+punctuality."
+
+"Very good, madam," he said, and retreated in good order. She halted him
+at the door.
+
+"Above all things you mustn't let any of these silly women make a fool
+of you, Trotter," she said, a troubled gleam in her eyes.
+
+"I will do my best, madam," he assured her.
+
+And that very afternoon she appeared in triumph at the home of her
+daughter-in-law (the _young_ Mrs. Millidew) and invited that widowed
+siren to go out for a spin with her "behind the stunningest creature you
+ever laid your eyes on."
+
+"Where did you get him?" inquired the beautiful daughter-in-law, later
+on, in a voice perfectly audible to the man at the wheel. "He's the best
+looking thing in town. Don't be surprised if I steal him inside of a
+week." She might as well have been at the zoo, discussing impervious
+captives.
+
+"Now, don't try anything like that," cried Mrs. Millidew the elder,
+glaring fiercely.
+
+"I like the way his hair kinks in the back,--and just above his ears,"
+said the other. "And his skin is as smooth and as clear--"
+
+"Is there any drive in particular you would like to take, madam?" broke
+in Trotter, turning in the seat.
+
+"Up--up and down Fifth Avenue," said Mrs. Millidew promptly.
+
+"Did you ever see such teeth?" cried Mrs. Millidew, the younger,
+delightedly.
+
+Trotter's ears were noticeable on account of their colour.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+
+               PUTTING THEIR HEADS--AND HEARTS--TOGETHER
+
+
+"FOR every caress," philosophized the Marchioness, "there is a pinch.
+Somehow they manage to keep on pretty even terms. One receives the
+caresses fairly early in life, the pinches later on. You shouldn't be
+complaining at your time of life, my friend."
+
+She was speaking to Lord Temple, who had presented himself a full thirty
+minutes ahead of other expected guests at the Wednesday evening salon.
+He explained that he came early because he had to leave early. Mrs.
+Millidew was at the theatre. She was giving a box party. He had been
+directed to return to the theatre before the end of the second act. Mrs.
+Millidew, it appears, was in the habit of "walking out" on every play
+she attended, sometimes at the end of an act but more frequently in the
+middle of it, greatly to the relief of actors and audience.
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+("Tell me something good to read," said one of her guests, in the middle
+of the first act, addressing no one in particular, the audience being a
+very large one. "Is there anything new that's worth while?"
+
+"_The Three Musketeers_ is a corker," said the man next her. "Awfully
+exciting."
+
+"Write it down for me, dear boy. I will order it sent up tomorrow. One
+has so little time to read, you know. Anything else?"
+
+"You _must_ read _Trilby_," cried one of the other women, frowning
+slightly in the direction of the stage, where an actor was doing his
+best to break into the general conversation. "It's perfectly ripping, I
+hear. And there is another book called _Three Men in a Yacht_, or
+something like that. Have you had it?"
+
+"No. Good Lord, what a noisy person he is! One can't hear oneself think,
+the way he's roaring. _Three Men in a Yacht._ Put that down, too,
+Bertie. Dear me, how do you find the time to keep up with your reading,
+my dear? It's absolutely impossible for me. I'm always six months or a
+year behind--"
+
+"Have you read _Brewster's Millions_, Mrs. Corkwright?" timidly inquired
+a rather up-to-date gentleman.
+
+"That isn't a book. It's a play," said Mrs. Millidew. "I saw it ten
+years ago. There is a ship in it.")
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+"I'm not complaining," remarked Lord Temple, smiling down upon the
+Marchioness, who was seated in front of the fireplace. "I merely
+announced that the world is getting to be a dreary old place,--and
+that's all."
+
+"Ah, but you made the announcement after a silence of five minutes
+following my remark that Lady Jane Thorne finds it impossible to be with
+us tonight."
+
+He blushed. "Did it seem as long as that?" he said, penitently. "I'm
+sorry."
+
+"How do you like your new situation?" she inquired, changing the subject
+abruptly.
+
+He gave a slight start. It was an unwritten law that one's daily
+occupation should not be discussed at the weekly drawing-rooms. For
+example, it is easy to conceive that one could not be forgiven for
+asking the Count Pietro Poloni how many nickels he had taken in during
+the day as Humpy the Organ-grinder.
+
+Lord Temple also stared. Was it possible that she was forgetting that
+Thomas Trotter, the chauffeur, was hanging over the back of a chair in
+the locker room down-stairs,--where he had been left by a hurried and
+somewhat untidy Lord Temple?
+
+"As well as could be expected," he replied, after a moment.
+
+"Mrs. Millidew came in to see me today. She informed me that she had put
+in her thumb and pulled out a plum. Meaning you, of course."
+
+"How utterly English you are, my dear Marchioness. She mentioned a fruit
+of some kind, and you missed the point altogether. 'Peach' is the word
+she's been using for the past two days, just plain, ordinary 'peach.' A
+dozen times a day she sticks a finger almost up against my manly back,
+and says proudly: 'See my new chauffeur. Isn't he a peach?' I can't see
+how you make plum out of it."
+
+The Marchioness laughed. "It doesn't matter. She dragged me to the
+window this afternoon and pointed down at you sitting alone in all your
+splendour. I am afraid I gasped. I couldn't believe my eyes. You won't
+last long, dear boy. She's a dreadful woman."
+
+"I'm not worrying. I shouldn't be out of a situation long. Do you happen
+to know her daughter-in-law?"
+
+"I do," said the Marchioness, frowning.
+
+"She told me this morning that the instant I felt I couldn't stand
+the old lady any longer, she'd give me a job on the spot. As a
+matter-of-fact, she went so far as to say she'd be willing to pay me
+more money if I felt the slightest inclination to leave my present
+position at once."
+
+The Marchioness smiled faintly. "No other recommendation necessary, eh?"
+
+"Beg pardon?"
+
+"In other words, she is willing to accept you at your face value."
+
+"I daresay I have a competent face," he acknowledged, his smile
+broadening into a grin.
+
+"Designed especially for women," said she.
+
+He coloured. "Oh, I say, that's a bit rough."
+
+"And thoroughly approved by men," she added.
+
+"That's better," he said. "I'm not a ladies' man, you know,--thank God."
+His face clouded. "Is Lady Jane ill?"
+
+"Apparently not. She merely telephoned to say it would be impossible to
+come." She eyed him shrewdly. "Do you know anything about it, young
+man?"
+
+"Have you seen her,--lately?" he parried.
+
+"Yesterday afternoon," she answered, keeping her eyes upon his
+half-averted face. "See here, Eric Temple," she broke out suddenly, "she
+is unhappy--most unhappy. I am not sure that I ought to tell you--and
+yet, you are in love with her, so you should know. Now, don't say you
+are not in love with her! Save your breath. The trouble is, you are not
+the only man who is in that peculiar fix."
+
+"I know," he said, frowning darkly. "She's being annoyed by that
+infernal blighter."
+
+"Oho, so you _do_ know, then?" she cried. "She was very careful to leave
+you out of the story altogether. Well, I'm glad you know. What are you
+going to do about it?"
+
+"I? Why,--why, what _can_ I do?"
+
+"There is a great deal you can do."
+
+"But she has laid down the law, hard and fast. She won't let me," he
+groaned.
+
+The Marchioness blinked rapidly. "Well, of all the stupid,--Say that
+again, please."
+
+"She won't let me. I would in a second, you know,--no matter if it did
+land me in jail for--"
+
+"What are you talking about?" she gasped.
+
+"Punching his bally head till he wouldn't know it himself in the
+mirror," he grated, looking at his fist almost tearfully.
+
+The Marchioness opened her lips to say something, thought better of it,
+and turned her head to smile.
+
+"Moreover," he went on, "she's right. Might get her into no end of a
+mess with those people, you see. It breaks my heart to think of her--"
+
+"He wants her to run away with him and be married," she broke in.
+
+"What!" he almost shouted, glaring at her as if she were the real
+offender. "You--did she tell you that?"
+
+"Yes. He rather favours San Francisco. He wants her to go out there with
+him and be married by a chap to whom he promised the distinction while
+they were still in their teens."
+
+"The cur! That's his game, is it? Why, that's the foulest trick known
+to--"
+
+"But she isn't going, my friend,--so possess yourself in peace. That's
+why he is turning off so nasty. He is making things most unpleasant for
+her."
+
+He wondered how far Jane had gone in her confidences. Had she told the
+Marchioness everything?
+
+"Why doesn't she leave the place?" he demanded, as a feeler.
+
+Lady Jane had told the Marchioness everything, and a great deal more
+besides, including, it may be said, something touching upon her own
+feelings toward Lord Temple. But the Marchioness was under imperative
+orders. Not for the world, was Thomas Trotter to know that Miss Emsdale,
+among others, was a perfect fool about him.
+
+"She must have her bread and butter, you know," said she severely.
+
+"But she can get that elsewhere, can't she?"
+
+"Certainly. She can get it by marrying some decent, respectable fellow
+and all that sort of thing, but she can't get another place in New York
+as governess if the Smith-Parvis establishment turns her out with a bad
+name."
+
+He swallowed hard, and went a little pale. "Of course, she isn't
+thinking of--of getting married."
+
+"Yes, she is," said the Marchioness flatly.
+
+"Has--has she told you that in so many words, Marchioness?" he asked,
+his heart going to his boots.
+
+"Is it fair to ask that question, Lord Temple?"
+
+"No. It isn't fair. I have no right to pry into her affairs. I'm--I'm
+desperately concerned, that's all. It's my only excuse."
+
+"It isn't strange that she should be in love, is it?"
+
+"But I--I don't see who the deuce she can have found over here to--to
+fall in love with," he floundered.
+
+"There are millions of good, fine Americans, my friend. Young
+Smith-Parvis is one of the exceptions."
+
+"He isn't an American," said Lord Temple, savagely. "Don't insult
+America by mentioning his name in--"
+
+"Please, please! Be careful not to knock over the lamp, dear boy. It's
+Florentine, and Count Antonio says it came from some dreadful
+sixteenth-century woman's bedroom, price two hundred guineas net. She's
+afraid she's being watched."
+
+"She? Oh, you mean Lady Jane?"
+
+"Certainly. The other woman has been dead for centuries. Jane thinks it
+isn't safe for her to come here for a little while. There's no telling
+what the wretch may stoop to, you see."
+
+Lord Temple squared his shoulders. "I don't see how you can be so
+cheerful about it," he said icily. "I fear it isn't worth while to ask
+the favour I came to--er--to ask of you tonight."
+
+"Don't be silly. Tell me what I can do for you."
+
+"It isn't for me. It's for her. I came early tonight so that we could
+talk it all over before any one else arrived. I've slept precious little
+the last few nights, Marchioness." His brow was furrowed as with pain.
+"In the first place, you will agree that she cannot remain in that house
+up there. That's settled." As she did not offer any audible support, he
+demanded, after a pause: "Isn't it?"
+
+"I daresay she will have something to say about that," she said,
+temporizing. "She is her own mistress, you know."
+
+"But the poor girl doesn't know where to turn," he protested. "She'd
+chuck it in a second if something else turned up."
+
+"I spoke of marriage, you will remember," she remarked, drily.
+
+"I--I know," he gulped. "But we've just got to tide her over the rough
+going until she's--until she's ready, you see." He could not force the
+miserable word out of his mouth. "Now, I have a plan. Are you prepared
+to back me up in it?"
+
+"How can I answer that question?"
+
+"Well, I'll explain," he went on rapidly, eagerly. "We've got to make a
+new position for her. I can't do it without your help, of course, so
+we'll have to combine forces. Now, here's the scheme I've worked out.
+You are to give her a place here,--not downstairs in the shop, mind
+you,--but upstairs in your own, private apartment. You--"
+
+"Good heavens, man! What are you saying? Would you have Lady Jane Thorne
+go into service? Do you dare suggest that she should put on a cap and
+apron and--"
+
+"Not at all," he interrupted. "I want you to engage her as your private
+secretary, at a salary of one hundred dollars a month. She's receiving
+that amount from the Smith-Parvises. I don't see how she can get along
+on less, so--"
+
+"My dear man!" cried the Marchioness, in amazement. "What _are_ you
+talking about? In the first place, I haven't the slightest use for a
+private secretary. In the second place, I can't afford to pay one
+hundred--"
+
+"You haven't heard all I have to say--"
+
+"And in the third place, Lady Jane wouldn't consider it in the first
+place. Bless my soul, you _do_ need sleep. You are losing your--"
+
+"She sends nearly all of her salary over to the boy at home," he went on
+earnestly. "It will have to be one hundred dollars, at the very lowest.
+Now, here's my proposition. I am getting two hundred a month. It's just
+twice as much as I'm worth,--or any other chauffeur, for that matter.
+Well, now what's the matter with me taking just what I'm worth and
+giving her the other half? See what I mean?"
+
+He was standing before her, his eyes glowing, his voice full of boyish
+eagerness. As she looked up into his shining eyes, a tender smile came
+and played about her lips.
+
+"I see," she said softly.
+
+"Well?" he demanded anxiously, after a moment.
+
+"Do sit down," she said. "You appear to have grown prodigiously tall in
+the last few minutes. I shall have a dreadful crick in my neck, I'm
+afraid."
+
+He pulled up a chair and sat down.
+
+"I can get along like a breeze on a hundred dollars a month," he
+pursued. "I've worked it all out,--just how much I can save by moving
+into cheaper lodgings, and cutting out expensive cigarettes, and going
+on the water-wagon entirely,--although I rarely take a drink as it
+is,--and getting my clothes at a department store instead of having them
+sent out from London,--I'd be easy to fit, you see, even with
+hand-me-downs,--and in a lot of other ways. Besides, it would be a
+splendid idea for me to practise economy. I've never--"
+
+"You dear old goose," broke in the Marchioness, delightedly; "do you
+think for an instant that I will allow you to pay the salary of my
+private secretary,--if I should conclude to employ one?"
+
+"But you say you can't afford to employ one," he protested. "Besides, I
+shouldn't want her to be a real secretary. The work would be too hard
+and too confining. Old Bramble was my grandfather's secretary. He worked
+sixteen hours a day and never had a holiday. She must have plenty of
+fresh air and outdoor exercise and--and time to read and do all sorts of
+agreeable things. I couldn't think of allowing her to learn how to use a
+typing machine, or to write shorthand, or to get pains in her back
+bending over a desk for hours at a time. That isn't my scheme, at all.
+She mustn't do any of those stupid things. Naturally, if you were to pay
+her out of your own pocket, you'd be justified in demanding a lot of
+hard, exacting work--"
+
+"Just a moment, please. Let's be serious," said the Marchioness, pursing
+her lips.
+
+"Suffering--" he began, staring at her in astonishment.
+
+"I mean, let's seriously consider your scheme," she hastened to amend.
+"You are assuming, of course, that she will accept a position such as
+you suggest. Suppose she says no,--what then?"
+
+"I leave that entirely to you," said he, composedly. "You can persuade
+her, I'm sure."
+
+"She is no fool. She is perfectly well aware that I don't require the
+services of a secretary, that I am quite able to manage my private
+affairs myself. She would see through me in a second. She is as proud as
+Lucifer. I don't like to think of what she would say to me. And if I
+were to offer to pay her one hundred dollars a month, she would--well,
+she would think I was losing my mind. She knows I--"
+
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, slapping his knee, his face beaming. "That's
+the ticket! That simplifies everything. Let her think you _are_ losing
+your mind. From worry and overwork--and all that sort of thing. It's the
+very thing, Marchioness. She would drop everything to help you in a case
+like that."
+
+"Well, of all the--" began the Marchioness, aghast.
+
+"You can put it up to her something like this," he went on,
+enthusiastically. "Tell her you are on the point of having a nervous
+breakdown,--a sort of collapse, you know. You know how to put it, better
+than I do. You--"
+
+"I certainly do _not_ know how to put it better than you do," she cried,
+sitting up very straight.
+
+"Tell her you are dreadfully worried over not being able to remember
+things,--mental strain, and all that sort of thing. May have to give up
+business altogether unless you can--Is it a laughing matter,
+Marchioness?" he broke off, reddening to the roots of his hair.
+
+"You are delicious!" she cried, dabbing her eyes with a bit of a lace
+handkerchief. "I haven't laughed so heartily in months. Bless my soul,
+you'll have me telling her there is insanity in my family before you're
+through with it."
+
+"Not at all," he said severely. "People _never_ admit that sort of
+thing, you know. But certainly it isn't asking too much of you to act
+tired and listless, and a _little_ distracted, is it? She'll ask what's
+the matter, and you simply say you're afraid you're going to have a
+nervous breakdown or--or--"
+
+"Or paresis," she supplied.
+
+"Whatever you like," he said promptly. "Now you _will_ do this for me,
+won't you? You don't know what it will mean to me to feel that she is
+safe here with you."
+
+"I will do my best," she said, for she loved him dearly--and the girl
+that he loved dearly too.
+
+"Hurray!" he shouted,--and kissed her!
+
+"Don't be foolish," she cried out. "You've tumbled my hair, and Julia
+had a terrible time with it tonight."
+
+"When will you tackle--see her, I mean?" he asked, sitting down abruptly
+and drawing his chair a little closer.
+
+"The first time she comes in to see me," she replied firmly, "and not
+before. You must not demand too much of a sick, collapsible old lady,
+you know. Give me time,--and a chance to get my bearings."
+
+He drew a long breath. "I seem to be getting my own for the first time
+in days."
+
+She hesitated. "Of course, it is all very quixotic,--and most unselfish
+of you, Lord Temple. Not every man would do as much for a girl
+who--well, I'll not say a girl who is going to be married before long,
+because I'd only be speculating,--but for a girl, at any rate, who can
+never be expected to repay. I take it, of course, that Lady Jane is
+never, under any circumstances to know that you are the real paymaster."
+
+"She must never know," he gasped, turning a shade paler. "She would hate
+me, and--well, I couldn't stand that, you know."
+
+"And you will not repent when the time comes for her to marry?"
+
+"I'll--I'll be miserably unhappy, but--but, you will not hear a whimper
+out of me," he said, his face very long.
+
+"Spoken like a hero," she said, and again she laughed, apparently
+without reason. "Some one is coming. Will you stay?"
+
+"No; I'll be off, Marchioness. You don't know how relieved I am. I'll
+drop in tomorrow some time to see what she says,--and to arrange with
+you about the money. Good night!" He kissed her hand, and turned to
+McFaddan, who had entered the room. "Call a taxi for me, McFaddan."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+"Wait! Never mind. I'll walk or take a street car." To the Marchioness:
+"I'm beginning right now," he said, with his gayest smile.
+
+In the foyer he encountered Cricklewick.
+
+"Pleasant evening, Cricklewick," he said.
+
+"It is, your lordship. Most agreeable change, sir."
+
+"A bit soft under foot."
+
+"Slushy, sir," said Cricklewick, obsequiously.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XI
+
+                           WINNING BY A NOSE
+
+
+MRS. SMITH-PARVIS, having received the annual spring announcement
+from Juneo & Co., repaired, on an empty Thursday, to the show-rooms
+and galleries of the little Italian dealer in antiques.
+
+Twice a year she disdainfully,--and somewhat hastily,--went through
+his stock, always proclaiming at the outset that she was merely
+"looking around"; she'd come in later if she saw anything really
+worth having. It was her habit to demand the services of Mr. Juneo
+himself on these profitless visits to his establishment. She looked
+holes through the presumptuous underlings who politely adventured to
+inquire if she was looking for anything in particular. It would seem
+that the only thing in particular that she was looking for was the
+head of the house, and if he happened to be out she made it very
+plain that she didn't see how he ever did any business if he wasn't
+there to look after it.
+
+And if little Mr. Juneo was in, she swiftly conducted him through
+the various departments of his own shop, questioning the genuineness
+of everything, denouncing his prices, and departing at last with the
+announcement that she could always find what she wanted at
+Pickett's.
+
+At Pickett's she invariably encountered coldly punctilious gentlemen
+in "frockaway" coats, who were never quite sure, without inquiring,
+whether Mr. Moody was at liberty. Would she kindly take a seat and
+wait, or would she prefer to have a look about the galleries while
+some one went off to see if he could see her at once or a little
+later on? She liked all this. And she would wander about the
+luxurious rooms of the establishment of Pickett, Inc., content to
+stare languidly at other and less influential patrons who had to be
+satisfied with the smug attentions of ordinary salesmen.
+
+And Moody, being acutely English, laid it on very thick when it came
+to dealing with persons of the type of Mrs. Smith-Parvis. Somehow he
+had learned that in dealing with snobs one must transcend even in
+snobbishness. The only way to command the respect of a snob is to go
+him a little better,--indeed, according to Moody, it isn't altogether
+out of place to go him a great deal better. The loftier the snob, the
+higher you must shoot to get over his head (to quote Moody, whose
+training as a footman in one of the oldest houses in England had
+prepared him against almost any emergency). He assumed on occasion a
+polite, bored indifference that seldom failed to have the desired
+effect. In fact, he frequently went so far as to pretend to stifle a
+yawn while face to face with the most exalted of patrons,--a revelation
+of courage which, being carefully timed, usually put the patron in a
+corner from which she could escape only by paying a heavy ransom.
+
+He sometimes had a way of implying,--by his manner, of course,--that
+he would rather not sell the treasure at all than to have it go into
+_your_ mansion, where it would be manifestly alone in its splendour,
+notwithstanding the priceless articles you had picked up elsewhere
+in previous efforts to inhabit the place with glory. On the other
+hand, if you happened to be nobody at all and therefore likely to
+resent being squelched, he could sell you a ten-dollar candlestick
+quite as amiably as the humblest clerk in the place. Indeed, he was
+quite capable of giving it to you for nine dollars if he found he
+had not quite correctly sized you up in the beginning.
+
+As he never erred in sizing up people of the Smith-Parvis ilk, however,
+his profits were sublime. Accident, and nothing less, brought him into
+contact with the common people looking for bargains: such as the faulty
+adjustment of his monocle, or a similarity in backs, or the perverseness
+of the telephone, or a sudden shower. Sudden showers always remind
+pedestrians without umbrellas that they've been meaning for a long time
+to stop in and price things, and they clutter up the place so.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis was bent on discovering something cheap and unusual
+for the twins, whose joint birthday anniversary was but two days off. It
+occurred to her that it would be wise to give them another heirloom
+apiece. Something English, of course, in view of the fact that her
+husband's forebears had come over from England with the twenty or thirty
+thousand voyagers who stuffed the _Mayflower_ from stem to stern on her
+historic maiden trip across the Atlantic.
+
+Secretly, she had never got over being annoyed with the twins for having
+come regardless, so to speak. She had prayed for another boy like
+Stuyvesant, and along came the twins--no doubt as a sort of sop in the
+form of good measure. If there had to be twins, why under heaven
+couldn't she have been blessed with them on Stuyvesant's natal day? She
+couldn't have had too many Stuyvesants.
+
+Still, she considered it her duty to be as nice as possible to the
+twins, now that she had them; and besides, they were growing up to be
+surprisingly pretty girls, with a pleasantly increasing resemblance to
+Stuyvesant.
+
+Always, a day or two prior to the anniversary, she went surreptitiously
+into the antique shops and picked out for each of them a piece of
+jewellery, or a bit of china, or a strip of lace, or anything else that
+bore evidence of having once been in a very nice sort of family. On the
+glad morning she delivered her gifts, with sweet impressiveness, into
+the keeping of these remote little descendants of her beloved ancestors!
+Invariably something English, heirlooms that she had kept under lock and
+key since the day they came to Mr. Smith-Parvis under the terms of his
+great-grandmother's will. Up to the time Stuyvesant was sixteen he had
+been getting heirlooms from a long-departed great-grandfather, but on
+reaching that vital age, he declared that he preferred cash.
+
+The twins had a rare assortment of family heirlooms in the little glass
+cabinets upstairs.
+
+"You must cherish them for ever," said their mother, without
+compunction. "They represent a great deal more than mere money, my
+dears. They are the intrinsic bonds that connect you with a glorious
+past."
+
+When they were ten she gave them a pair of beautiful miniatures,--a most
+alluring and imperial looking young lady with powdered hair, and a
+gallant young gentleman with orders pinned all over his bright red coat.
+It appears that the lady of the miniature was a great personage at court
+a great many years before the misguided Colonists revolted against King
+George the Third, and they--her darling twins--were directly descended
+from her. The gentleman was her husband.
+
+"He was awfully handsome," one of the twins had said, being romantic.
+"Are we descended from him too, mamma?" she inquired innocently.
+
+"Certainly," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis severely.
+
+A predecessor of Miss Emsdale's got her walking papers for putting
+nonsense (as well as the truth) into the heads of the children. At
+least, she told them something that paved the way for a most
+embarrassing disclosure by one of the twins when a visitor was
+complimenting them on being such nice, lovely little ladies.
+
+"We ought to be," said Eudora proudly. "We are descended from Madam du
+Barry. We've got her picture upstairs."
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis took Miss Emsdale with her on this particular Thursday
+afternoon. This was at the suggestion of Stuyvesant, who held forth that
+an English governess was in every way qualified to pass upon English
+wares, new or old, and there wasn't any sense in getting "stung" when
+there was a way to protect oneself, and all that sort of thing.
+
+Stuyvesant also joined the hunt.
+
+"Rather a lark, eh, what?" he whispered in Miss Emsdale's ear as they
+followed his stately mother into the shop of Juneo & Co. She jerked her
+arm away.
+
+The proprietor was haled forth. Courteous, suave and polished though he
+was, Signor Juneo had the misfortune to be a trifle shabby, and
+sartorially remiss. Mrs. Smith-Parvis eyed him from a peak,--a very
+lofty peak.
+
+Ten minutes sufficed to convince her that he had nothing in his place
+that she could think of buying.
+
+"My dear sir," she said haughtily, "I know just what I want, so don't
+try to palm off any of this jewellery on me. Miss Emsdale knows the
+Queen Anne period quite as well as I do, I've no doubt. Queen Anne never
+laid eyes on that wristlet, Mr. Juneo."
+
+"Pardon me, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, I fear you misunderstood me," said the
+little dealer politely. "I think I said that it was of Queen Anne's
+period--"
+
+"What time is it, Stuyvesant?" broke in the lady, turning her back on
+the merchant. "We must be getting on to Pickett's. It is really a waste
+of time, coming to places like this. One should go to Pickett's in the
+first--"
+
+"There are a lot of ripping things here, mater," said Stuyvesant, his
+eyes resting on a comfortable couch in a somewhat secluded corner of the
+shop. "Take a look around. Miss Emsdale and I will take a back seat, so
+that you may go about it with an open mind. I daresay we confuse you
+frightfully, tagging at your heels all the time, what? Come along, Miss
+Emsdale. You look fagged and--"
+
+"Thank you, I am quite all right," said Miss Emsdale, the red spots in
+her cheeks darkening.
+
+"Oh, be a sport," he urged, under his voice. "I've just got to have a
+few words with you. It's been days since we've had a good talk. Looks as
+though you were deliberately avoiding me."
+
+"I am," said she succinctly.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis had gone on ahead with Signor Juneo, and was loudly
+criticizing a beautiful old Venetian mirror which he had the temerity to
+point out to her.
+
+"Well, I don't like it," Stuyvesant said roughly. "That sort of thing
+doesn't go with me, Miss Emsdale. And, hang it all, why haven't you had
+the decency to answer the two notes I stuck under your door last night
+and the night before?"
+
+"I did not read the second one," she said, flushing painfully. "You
+have no right to assume that I will meet you--oh, _can't_ you be a
+gentleman?"
+
+He gasped. "My God! Can you beat _that_!"
+
+"It is becoming unbearable, Mr. Smith-Parvis," said she, looking him
+straight in the eye. "If you persist, I shall be compelled to speak to
+your mother."
+
+"Go ahead," he said sarcastically. "I'm ready for exposure if you are."
+
+"And I am now prepared to give up my position," she added, white and
+calm.
+
+"Good!" he exclaimed promptly. "I'll see that you never regret it," he
+went on eagerly, his enormous vanity reaching out for but one
+conclusion.
+
+"You beast!" she hissed, and walked away.
+
+He looked bewildered. "I'm blowed if I understand what's got into women
+lately," he muttered, and passed his fingers over his brow.
+
+On the way to Pickett's, Mrs. Smith-Parvis dilated upon the unspeakable
+Mr. Juneo.
+
+"You will be struck at once, Miss Emsdale, by the contrast. The
+instant you come in contact with Mr. Moody, at Pickett's--he is really
+the head of the firm,--you will experience the delightful,--and
+unique, I may say,--sensation of being in the presence of a cultured,
+high-bred gentleman. They are most uncommon among shop-keepers in
+these days. This little Juneo is as common as dirt. He hasn't a shred
+of good-breeding. Utterly low-class Neapolitan person, I should say at
+a venture,--although I have never been by way of knowing any of the
+lower class Italians. They must be quite dreadful in their native
+gutters. Now, Mr. Moody,--but you shall see. Really, he is so splendid
+that one can almost imagine him in the House of Lords, or being
+privileged to sit down in the presence of the king, or--My word,
+Stuyvesant, what are you scowling at?"
+
+"I'm not scowling," growled Stuyvesant, from the little side seat in
+front of them.
+
+"He actually makes me feel sometimes as though I were dirt under his
+feet," went on Mrs. Smith-Parvis.
+
+"Oh, come now, mother, you know I never make you feel anything of the--"
+
+"I was referring to Mr. Moody, dear."
+
+"Oh,--well," said he, slightly crestfallen.
+
+Miss Emsdale suppressed a desire to giggle. Moody, a footman without the
+normal supply of aitches; Juneo, a nobleman with countless generations
+of nobility behind him!
+
+The car drew up to the curb on the side street paralleling Pickett's.
+Another limousine had the place of vantage ahead of them.
+
+"Blow your horn, Galpin," ordered Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "They have no right
+to stand there, blocking the way."
+
+"It's Mrs. Millidew's car, madam," said the footman up beside Galpin.
+
+"Never mind, Galpin," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis hastily. "We will get out
+here. It's only a step."
+
+Miss Emsdale started. A warm red suffused her cheeks. She had not seen
+Trotter since that day in Bramble's book-shop. Her heart began to beat
+rapidly.
+
+Trotter was standing on the curb, carrying on a conversation with some
+one inside the car. He too started perceptibly when his gaze fell upon
+the third person to emerge from the Smith-Parvis automobile. Almost
+instantly his face darkened and his tall frame stiffened. He had taken a
+second look at the first person to emerge. The reply he was in process
+of making to the occupant of his own car suffered a collapse. It became
+disjointed, incoherent and finally came to a halt. He was afforded a
+slight thrill of relief when Miss Emsdale deliberately ignored the hand
+that was extended to assist her in alighting.
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the younger, turned her head to glance at the passing
+trio. Her face lighted with a slight smile of recognition. The two
+Smith-Parvises bowed and smiled in return.
+
+"Isn't she beautiful?" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis to her son, without
+waiting to get out of earshot.
+
+"Oh, rather," said he, quite as distinctly.
+
+"Who is that extremely pretty girl?" inquired Mrs. Millidew, the
+younger, also quite loudly, addressing no one in particular.
+
+Trotter cleared his throat.
+
+"Oh, you wouldn't know, of course," she observed. "Go on, Trotter. You
+were telling me about your family in--was it Chester? Your dear old
+mother and the little sisters. I am very much interested."
+
+Trotter looked around cautiously, and again cleared his throat.
+
+"It is awfully good of you to be interested in my people," he said, an
+uneasy note in his voice. For his life, he could not remember just what
+he had been telling her in response to her inquiries. The whole thing
+had been knocked out of his head by the sudden appearance of one who
+knew that he had no dear old mother in Chester, nor little sisters
+anywhere who depended largely on him for support! "Chester," he said,
+rather vaguely. "Yes, to be sure,--Chester. Not far from Liverpool, you
+know,--it's where the cathedral is."
+
+"Tell me all about them," she persisted, leaning a little closer to the
+window, an encouraging smile on her carmine lips.
+
+In due time the impassive Mr. Moody issued forth from his private office
+and bore down upon the two matrons, who, having no especial love for
+each other, were striving their utmost to be cordial without
+compromising themselves by being agreeable.
+
+Mrs. Millidew the elder, arrayed in many colours, was telling Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis about a new masseuse she had discovered, and Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis was talking freely at the same time about a person named
+Juneo.
+
+Miss Emsdale had drifted over toward the broad show window looking out
+upon the cross-town street, where Thomas Trotter was visible,--out of
+the corner of her eye. Also the younger Mrs. Millidew.
+
+Stuyvesant, sullenly smoking a cigarette, lolled against a show-case
+across the room, dropping ashes every minute or two into the mouth of a
+fragile and, for the time being, priceless vase that happened to be
+conveniently located near his elbow.
+
+Mr. Moody adjusted his monocle and eyed his matronly visitors in a most
+unfeeling way.
+
+"Ah,--good awfternoon, Mrs. Millidew. Good awfternoon, Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis," he said, and then catching sight of an apparently
+neglected customer in the offing, beckoned to a smart looking salesman,
+and said, quite loudly:
+
+"See what that young man wants, Proctor."
+
+The young man, who happened to be young Mr. Smith-Parvis, started
+violently,--and glared.
+
+"Stupid blight-ah!" he said, also quite loudly, and disgustedly chucked
+his cigarette into the vase, whereupon the salesman, in some horror,
+grabbed it up and dumped the contents upon the floor.
+
+"You shouldn't do that, you know," he said, in a moment of righteous
+forgetfulness. "That's a peach-blow--"
+
+"Oh, is it?" snapped Stuyvesant, and walked away.
+
+"That is my son, Mr. Moody," explained Mrs. Smith-Parvis quickly. "Poor
+dear, he hates so to shop with me."
+
+"Ah,--ah, I see," drawled Mr. Moody. "Your son? Yes, yes." And then, as
+an afterthought, with a slight elevation of one eyebrow, "Bless my soul,
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis, you amaze me. It's incredible. You cawn't convince me
+that you have a son as old as--Well, now, really it's a bit thick."
+
+"I--I'm not spoofing you, Mr. Moody," cried Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+delightedly.
+
+His face relaxed slightly. One might have detected the faint, suppressed
+gleam of a smile in his eyes,--but it was so brief, so evanescent that
+it would be folly to put it down as such.
+
+The ensuing five minutes were devoted entirely to manoeuvres on the part
+of all three. Mrs. Smith-Parvis was trying to shunt Mrs. Millidew on to
+an ordinary salesman, and Mrs. Millidew was standing her ground,
+resolute in the same direction. The former couldn't possibly inspect
+heirlooms under the eye of that old busy-body, nor could the latter
+resort to cajolery in the effort to obtain a certain needle-point chair
+at bankrupt figures. As for Mr. Moody, he was splendid. The lordliest
+duke in all of Britain could not have presented a truer exemplification
+of lordliness than he. He quite outdid himself. The eighth letter in the
+alphabet behaved in a most gratifying manner; indeed, he even took
+chances with it, just to see how it would act if he were not watching
+it,--and not once did it fail him.
+
+"But, of course, one never can find anything one wants unless one goes
+to the really exclusive places, you know," Mrs. Smith-Parvis was saying.
+"It is a waste of time, don't you think?"
+
+"Quate--oh, yes, quate," drawled Mr. Moody, in a roving sort of way.
+That is to say, his interest seemed to be utterly detached, as if
+nothing that Mrs. Smith-Parvis said really mattered.
+
+"Naturally we try to find things in the cheaper places before we come
+here," went on the lady boldly.
+
+"More int'resting," said Mr. Moody, indulgently eyeing a great brass
+lanthorn that hung suspended over Mrs. Millidew's bonnet,--but safely to
+the left of it, he decided.
+
+"I've been looking for something odd and quaint and--and--you know,--of
+the Queen Anne period,--trinkets, you might say, Mr. Moody. What have
+you in that--"
+
+"Queen Anne? Oh, ah, yes, to be sure,--Queen Anne. Yes, yes. I see. 'Pon
+my soul, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, I fear we haven't anything at all. Most
+uncommon dearth of Queen Anne material nowadays. We cawn't get a thing.
+Snapped up in England, of course. I know of some extremely rare pieces
+to be had in New York, however, and, while I cannot procure them for you
+myself, I should be charmed to give you a letter to the dealer who has
+them."
+
+"Oh, how kind of you. That is really most gracious of you."
+
+"Mr. Juneo, of Juneo & Co., has quite a stock," interrupted Mr. Moody
+tolerantly,--"quite a remarkable collection, I may say. Indeed, nothing
+finer has been brought to New York in--in--in--"
+
+Mr. Moody faltered. His whole manner underwent a swift and peculiar
+change. His eyes were riveted upon the approaching figure of a young
+lady. Casually, from time to time, his roving, detached gaze had rested
+upon her back as she stood near the window. As a back, it did not mean
+anything to him.
+
+But now she was approaching,--and a queer, cold little something ran
+swiftly down his spine. It was Lady Jane Thorne!
+
+Smash went his house of cards into a jumbled heap. It collapsed from a
+lofty height. Lady Jane Thorne!
+
+No use trying to lord it over her! She was the real thing! Couldn't put
+on "lugs" with her,--not a bit of it! She knew!
+
+His monocle dropped. He tried to catch it. Missed!
+
+"My word!" he mumbled, as he stooped over to retrieve it from the rug at
+his feet. The exertion sent a ruddy glow to his neck and ears and brow.
+
+"Did you break it?" cried Mrs. Millidew.
+
+He stuck it in his waist-coat pocket without examination.
+
+"This is Miss Emsdale, our governess," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "She's an
+English girl, Mr. Moody."
+
+"Glad to meet you," stammered Mr. Moody, desperately.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Moody," said Jane, in the most matter-of-fact way.
+
+Mr. Moody knew that she was a paid governess. He had known it for many
+months. But that didn't alter the case. She was the "real thing." He
+couldn't put on any "side" with her. He couldn't bring himself to it,
+not if his life depended on it. Not even if she had been a scullery-maid
+and appeared before him in greasy ginghams. All very well to "stick it
+on" with these fashionable New Yorkers, but when it came to the daughter
+of the Earl of Wexham,--well, it didn't matter _what_ she was as long as
+he knew _who_ she was.
+
+His mask was off.
+
+The change in his manner was so abrupt, so complete, that his august
+customers could not fail to notice it. Something was wrong with the poor
+man! Certainly he was not himself. He looked ill,--at any rate, he did
+not look as well as usual. Heart, that's what it was, flashed through
+Mrs. Millidew's brain. Mrs. Smith-Parvis took it to be vertigo.
+Sometimes her husband looked like that when--
+
+"Will you please excuse me, ladies,--just for a moment or two?" he
+mumbled, in a most extraordinary voice. "I will go at once and write a
+note to Mr. Juneo. Make yourselves at 'ome. And--and--" He shot an
+appealing glance at Miss Emsdale,--"and you too, Miss."
+
+In a very few minutes a stenographer came out of the office into which
+Mr. Moody had disappeared, with a typewritten letter to Mr. Juneo, and
+the word that Mr. Moody had been taken suddenly ill and begged to be
+excused. He hoped that they would be so gracious as to allow Mr. Paddock
+to show them everything they had in stock,--and so on.
+
+"It was so sudden," said Mrs. Millidew. "I never saw such a change in a
+man in all my life. Heart, of course. High living, you may be sure. It
+gets them every time."
+
+"I shall run in tomorrow and tell him about Dr. Brodax," said Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis firmly. "He ought to see the best man in the city, of
+course, and no one--"
+
+"For the Lord's sake, don't let him get into the clutches of that man
+Brodax," interrupted Mrs. Millidew. "He is--"
+
+"No, thank you, Mr. Paddock,--I sha'n't wait. Another day will do just
+as well. Come, Miss Emsdale. Good-bye, my dear. Come and see me."
+
+"Dr. Brown stands at the very top of the profession as a heart
+specialist. He--"
+
+"I've never heard of him," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis icily, and led the way
+to the sidewalk, her head very high. You could say almost anything you
+pleased to Mrs. Smith-Parvis about her husband, or her family, or her
+religion, or even her figure, but you couldn't belittle her doctor. That
+was lese-majesty. She wouldn't have it.
+
+A more or less peaceful expedition came to grief within sixty seconds
+after its members reached the sidewalk,--and in a most astonishing
+manner.
+
+Stuyvesant was in a nasty humour. He had not noticed Thomas Trotter
+before. Coming upon the tall young man suddenly, after turning the
+corner of the building, he was startled into an expression of disgust.
+Trotter was holding open the limousine door for Mrs. Millidew, the
+elder.
+
+Young Mr. Smith-Parvis stopped short and stared in a most offensive
+manner at Mrs. Millidew's chauffeur.
+
+"By gad, you weren't long in getting a job after Carpenter fired you,
+were you? Fish!"
+
+Now, there is no way in the world to recall the word "fish" after it has
+been uttered in the tone employed by Stuyvesant. Ordinarily it is a most
+inoffensive word, and signifies something delectable. In French it is
+_poisson_, and we who know how to pronounce it say it with pleasure and
+gusto, quite as we say _pomme de terre_ when we mean potato. If
+Stuyvesant had said _poisson_, the chances are that nothing would have
+happened. But he didn't. He said fish.
+
+No doubt Thomas Trotter was in a bad humour also. He was a very sensible
+young man, and there was no reason why he should be jealous of
+Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. He had it from Miss Emsdale herself that she
+loathed and despised the fellow. And yet he saw red when she passed him
+a quarter of an hour before with Stuyvesant at her side. For some time
+he had been harassed by the thought that if she had not caught sight of
+him as she left the car, the young man's offer of assistance might not
+have been spurned. In any event, there certainly was something queer
+afoot. Why was she driving about with Mrs. Smith-Parvis,--_and_
+Stuyvesant,--as if she were one of the family and not a paid employé?
+
+In the twinkling of an eye, Thomas Trotter forgot that he was a
+chauffeur. He remembered only that he was Lord Eric Carruthers Ethelbert
+Temple, the grandson of a soldier, the great-grandson of a soldier, and
+the great-great grandson of a soldier whose father and grandfather had
+been soldiers before him.
+
+Thomas Trotter would have said,--and quite properly, too, considering
+his position:--"Quite so, sir."
+
+Lord Temple merely put his face a little closer to Stuyvesant's and
+said, very audibly, very distinctly: "You go to hell!"
+
+Stuyvesant fell back a step. He could not believe his ears. The fellow
+couldn't have said--and yet, there was no possible way of making
+anything else out of it. He _had_ said "You go to hell."
+
+Fortunately he had said it in the presence of ladies. Made bold by the
+continued presence of at least three ladies, Stuyvesant, assuming that a
+chauffeur would not dare go so far as a physical retort, snapped his
+fingers under Trotter's nose and said:
+
+"For two cents I'd kick you all over town for that."
+
+Miss Emsdale erred slightly in her agitation. She grasped Stuyvesant's
+arm. Trotter also erred. He thought she was trying to keep Smith-Parvis
+from carrying out the threat.
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the elder, cried out sharply: "What's all this? Trotter,
+get up on the seat at once. I--"
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the younger, leaned from the window and patted Trotter on
+the shoulder. Her eyes were sparkling.
+
+"Give it to him, Trotter. Don't mind me!" she cried.
+
+Stuyvesant turned to Miss Emsdale. "Don't be alarmed, my dear. I sha'n't
+do it, you know. Pray compose yourself. I--"
+
+At that juncture Lord Eric Temple reached out and, with remarkable
+precision, grasped Stuyvesant's nose between his thumb and forefinger.
+One sharp twist brought a surprised grunt from the owner of the nose, a
+second elicited a pained squeak, and the third,--pressed upward as well
+as both to the right and left,--resulted in a sharp howl of anguish.
+
+The release of his nose was attended by a sudden push that sent
+Stuyvesant backward two or three steps.
+
+"Oh, my God!" he gasped, and felt for his nose. There were tears in his
+eyes. There would have been tears in anybody's eyes after those
+merciless tweaks.
+
+Finding his nose still attached, he struck out wildly with both fists, a
+blind fury possessing him. Even a coward will strike if you pull his
+nose severely enough. As Trotter remained motionless after the
+distressing act of Lord Temple, Stuyvesant missed him by a good yard and
+a half, but managed to connect solidly with the corner of the limousine,
+barking his knuckles, a circumstance which subsequently provided him
+with something to substantiate his claim to having planted a "good one"
+on the blighter's jaw.
+
+His hat fell off and rolled still farther away from the redoubtable
+Trotter, luckily in the direction of the Smith-Parvis car. By the time
+Stuyvesant retrieved it, after making several clutches in his haste, he
+was, singularly enough, beyond the petrified figure of his mother.
+
+"Call the police! Call the police!" Mrs. Smith-Parvis was whimpering.
+"Where are the police?"
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the elder, cried out sharply: "Hush up! Don't be idiotic!
+Do you want to attract the police and a crowd and--What do you mean,
+Trotter, by attacking Mr. Smith-Par--"
+
+"Get out of the way, mother," roared Stuyvesant. "Let me at him! Don't
+hold me! I'll break his infernal neck--Shut up!" His voice sank to a
+hoarse whisper. "We don't want the police. Shut up, I say! My God,
+don't make a scene!"
+
+"Splendid!" cried Mrs. Millidew, the younger, enthusiastically,
+addressing herself to Trotter. "Perfectly splendid!"
+
+Trotter, himself once more, calmly stepped to the back of the car to see
+what, if any, damage Stuyvesant had done to the polished surface!
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis advanced. Her eyes were blazing.
+
+"You filthy brute!" she exclaimed.
+
+Up to this instant, Miss Emsdale had not moved. She was very white and
+breathless. Now her eyes flashed ominously.
+
+"Don't you dare call him a brute," she cried out.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis gasped, but was speechless in the face of this amazing
+defection. Stuyvesant opened his lips to speak, but observing that the
+traffic policeman at the Fifth Avenue corner was looking with some
+intensity at the little group, changed his mind and got into the
+automobile.
+
+"Come on!" he called out. "Get in here, both of you. I'll attend to
+this fellow later on. Come on, I say!"
+
+"How dare you speak to me in that manner?" flared Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+turning from Trotter to the girl. "What do you mean, Miss Emsdale? Are
+you defending this--"
+
+"Yes, I am defending him," cried Jane, passionately. "He--he didn't do
+half enough to him."
+
+"Good girl!" murmured Trotter, radiant.
+
+"That will do!" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis imperiously. "I shall not require
+your services after today, Miss Emsdale."
+
+"Oh, good Lord, mother,--don't be a fool," cried Stuyvesant. "Let me
+straighten this thing out. I--"
+
+"As you please, madam," said Jane, drawing herself up to her full
+height.
+
+"Drive to Dr. Brodax's, Galpin, as quickly as possible," directed
+Stuyvesant's mother, and entered the car beside her son.
+
+The footman closed the door and hopped up beside the chauffeur. He was
+very pink with excitement.
+
+"Oh, for heaven's sake--" began her son furiously, but the closing of
+the door smothered the rest of the complaint.
+
+"You may also take your notice, Trotter," said Mrs. Millidew the elder.
+"I can't put up with such behaviour as this."
+
+"Very good, madam. I'm sorry. I--"
+
+Miss Emsdale was walking away. He did not finish the sentence. His eyes
+were following her and they were full of concern.
+
+"You may come to me tomorrow, Trotter," said Mrs. Millidew, the younger.
+"Now, don't glare at me, mother-in-law," she added peevishly. "You've
+dismissed him, so don't, for heaven's sake, croak about me stealing him
+away from you."
+
+Trotter's employer closed her jaws with a snap, then opened them
+instantly to exclaim:
+
+"No, you don't, my dear. I withdraw the notice, Trotter. You stay on
+with me. Drop Mrs. Millidew at her place first, and then drive me home.
+That's all right, Dolly. I don't care if it is out of our way. I
+wouldn't leave you alone with him for anything in the world."
+
+Trotter sighed. Miss Emsdale had turned the corner.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+
+                               IN THE FOG
+
+
+MISS EMSDALE did not ask Mrs. Smith-Parvis for a "reference." She
+dreaded the interview that was set for seven o'clock that evening. The
+butler had informed her on her return to the house shortly after five
+that Mrs. Smith-Parvis would see her at seven in the library, after
+all, instead of in her boudoir, and she was to look sharp about being
+prompt.
+
+The young lady smiled. "It's all one to me, Rogers,--the library or
+the boudoir."
+
+"First it was the boudoir, Miss, and then it was the library, and then
+the boudoir again,--and now the library. It seems to be quite settled,
+however. It's been nearly 'arf an hour since the last change was made.
+Shouldn't surprise me if it sticks."
+
+"It gives me an hour and a half to get my things together," said she,
+much more brightly than he thought possible in one about to be
+"sacked." "Will you be good enough to order a taxi for me at half-past
+seven, Rogers?"
+
+Rogers stiffened. This was not the tone or the manner of a governess.
+He had a feeling that he ought to resent it, and yet he suddenly found
+himself powerless to do so. No one had spoken to him in just that way
+in fifteen years.
+
+"Very good, Miss Emsdale. Seven-thirty." He went away strangely
+puzzled, and not a little disgusted with himself.
+
+She expected to find that Stuyvesant had carried out his threat to
+vilify her, and was prepared for a bitter ten minutes with the
+outraged mistress of the house, who would hardly let her escape
+without a severe lacing. She would be dismissed without a "character."
+
+She packed her boxes and the two or three hand-bags that had come over
+from London with her. A heightened colour was in her cheeks, and there
+was a repelling gleam in her blue eyes. She was wondering whether she
+could keep herself in hand during the tirade. Her temper was a hot
+one.
+
+A not distant Irish ancestor occasionally got loose in her blood and
+played havoc with the strain inherited from a whole regiment of
+English forebears. On such occasions, she flared up in a fine Celtic
+rage, and then for days afterwards was in a penitential mood that
+shamed the poor old Irish ghost into complete and grovelling
+subjection.
+
+What she saw in the mirror over her dressing-table warned her that if
+she did not keep a pretty firm grip tonight on the throat of that wild
+Irishman who had got into the family-tree ages before the twig
+represented by herself appeared, Mrs. Smith-Parvis was reasonably
+certain to hear from him. A less captious observer, leaning over her
+shoulder, would have taken an entirely different view of the
+reflection. He (obviously he) would have pronounced it ravishing.
+
+Promptly at seven she entered the library. To her dismay, Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis was not alone. Her husband was there, and also
+Stuyvesant. If her life had depended on it, she could not have
+conquered the impulse to favour the latter's nose with a rather
+penetrating stare. A slight thrill of satisfaction shot through her.
+It _did_ seem to be a trifle red and enlarged.
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis, senior, was nervous. Otherwise he would not have
+risen from his comfortable chair.
+
+"Good evening, Miss Emsdale," he said, in a palliative tone. "Have
+this chair. Ahem!" Catching a look from his wife, he sat down again,
+and laughed quite loudly and mirthlessly, no doubt actuated by a
+desire to put the governess at her ease,--an effort that left him
+rather flat and wholly non-essential, it may be said.
+
+His wife lifted her lorgnon. She seemed a bit surprised and nonplussed
+on beholding Miss Emsdale.
+
+"Oh, I remember. It is you, of course."
+
+Miss Emsdale had the effrontery to smile. "Yes, Mrs. Smith-Parvis."
+
+Stuyvesant felt of his nose. He did it without thinking, and instantly
+muttered something under his breath.
+
+"We owe you, according to my calculations, fifty-five dollars and
+eighty-two cents," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis, abruptly consulting a tablet.
+"Seventeen days in this month. Will you be good enough to go over it for
+yourself? I do not wish to take advantage of you."
+
+"I sha'n't be exacting," said Miss Emsdale, a wave of red rushing to her
+brow. "I am content to accept your--"
+
+"Be good enough to figure it up, Miss Emsdale," insisted the other
+coldly. "We must have no future recriminations. Thirty-one days in this
+month. Thirty-one into one hundred goes how many times?"
+
+"I beg pardon," said the girl, puzzled. "Thirty-one into one hundred?"
+
+"Can't you do sums? It's perfectly simple. Any school child could do it
+in a--in a jiffy."
+
+"Quite simple," murmured her husband. "I worked it out for Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis in no time at all. Three dollars and twenty-two and a half
+cents a day. Perfectly easy, if you--"
+
+"I am sure it is quite satisfactory," said Miss Emsdale coldly.
+
+"Very well. Here is a check for the amount," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+laying the slip of paper on the end of the library table. "And now, Miss
+Emsdale, I feel constrained to tell you how gravely disappointed I am in
+you. For half-a-year I have laboured under the delusion that you were a
+lady, and qualified to have charge of two young and innocent--"
+
+"Oh, Lord," groaned Stuyvesant, fidgeting in his chair.
+
+"--young and innocent girls. I find, however, that you haven't the first
+instincts of a lady. I daresay it is too much to expect." She sighed
+profoundly. "I know something about the lower classes in London, having
+been at one time interested in settlement work there in connection with
+Lady Bannistell's committee, and I am aware that too much should not be
+expected of them. That is to say, too much in the way of--er--delicacy.
+Still, I thought you might prove to be an exception. I have learned my
+lesson. I shall in the future engage only German governesses. From time
+to time I have observed little things in you that disquieted me, but I
+overlooked them because you appeared to be earnestly striving to
+overcome the handicap placed upon you at birth. For example, I have
+found cigarette stubs in your room when I--"
+
+"Oh, I say, mother," broke in Stuyvesant; "cut it out."
+
+"My dear!"
+
+"You'd smoke 'em yourself if father didn't put up such a roar about it.
+Lot of guff about your grandmothers turning over in their graves. I
+don't see anything wrong in a woman smoking cigarettes. Besides, you may
+be accusing Miss Emsdale unjustly. What proof have you that the stubs
+were hers?"
+
+"I distinctly said that I found them in her room," said Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis icily. "I don't know how they got there."
+
+"Circumstantial evidence," retorted Stuyvie, an evil twist at one corner
+of his mouth. "Doesn't prove that she smoked 'em, does it?" He met Miss
+Emsdale's burning gaze for an instant, and then looked away. "Might have
+been the housekeeper. She smokes."
+
+"It was not the housekeeper," said Jane quietly. "I smoke."
+
+"We are digressing," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis sternly. "There are other
+instances of your lack of refinement, Miss Emsdale, but I shall not
+recite them. Suffice to say, I deeply deplore the fact that my children
+have been subject to contamination for so long. I am afraid they have
+acquired--"
+
+Jane had drawn herself up haughtily. She interrupted her employer.
+
+"Be good enough, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, to come to the point," she said.
+"Have you nothing more serious to charge me with than smoking? Out with
+it! Let's have the worst."
+
+"How dare you speak to me in that--My goodness!" She half started up
+from her chair. "What _have_ you been up to? Drinking? Or some low
+affair with the butler? Good heavens, have I been harbouring a--"
+
+"Don't get so excited, momsey," broke in Stuyvesant, trying to transmit
+a message of encouragement to Miss Emsdale by means of sundry winks and
+frowns and cautious head-shakings. "Keep your hair on."
+
+"My--my hair?" gasped his mother.
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis got up. "Stuyvesant, you'd better retire," he said,
+noisily. "Remember, sir, that you are speaking to your mother. It came
+out at the time of her illness,--when we were so near to losing
+her,--and you--"
+
+"Keep still, Philander," snapped Mrs. Smith-Parvis, very red in the
+face. "It came in again, thicker than before," she could not help
+explaining. "And don't be absurd, Stuyvesant. This is my affair. Please
+do not interfere again. I--What was I saying?"
+
+"Something about drinking and the butler, Mrs. Smith-Parvis," said Jane,
+drily. It was evident that Stuyvesant had not carried tales to his
+mother. She would not have to defend herself against a threatened
+charge. Her sense of humour was at once restored.
+
+"Naturally I cannot descend to the discussion of anything so perfectly
+vile. Your conduct this afternoon is sufficient--ah,--sufficient unto
+the day. I am forced to dismiss you without a reference. Furthermore, I
+consider it my duty to protect other women as unsuspecting as I have
+been. You are in no way qualified to have charge of young and well-bred
+girls. No apology is desired," she hastily declared, observing symptoms
+of protest in the face of the delinquent; "so please restrain yourself.
+I do not care to hear a single word of apology, or any appeal to be
+retained. You may go now, my girl. Spare us the tears. I am not turning
+you out into the streets tonight. You may remain until tomorrow
+morning."
+
+"I am going tonight," said Jane, quite white,--with suppressed anger.
+
+"It isn't necessary," said the other, loftily.
+
+"Where are you going?" inquired Mr. Smith-Parvis, senior, fumbling with
+his nose-glasses. "Have you any friends in the city?"
+
+Miss Emsdale ignored the question. She picked up the check and folded it
+carefully.
+
+"I should like to say good-bye to the--to Eudora and Lucille," she said,
+with an effort.
+
+"That is out of the question," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis.
+
+Jane deliberately turned her back upon Mrs. Smith-Parvis and moved
+toward the door. It was an eloquent back. Mrs. Smith-Parvis considered
+it positively insulting.
+
+"Stop!" she cried out. "Is that the way to leave a room, Miss Emsdale?
+Please remember who and what you are. I can not permit a servant to be
+insolent to me."
+
+"Oh, come now, Angela, dear," began Mr. Smith-Parvis, uncomfortably.
+"Seems to me she walks properly enough. What's the matter with
+her--There, she's gone! I can't see what--"
+
+"You would think the hussy imagines herself to be the Queen of England,"
+sputtered Mrs. Smith-Parvis angrily. "I've never seen such airs."
+
+The object of her derision mounted the stairs and entered her
+bed-chamber on the fourth floor. Her steamer-trunk and her bags were
+nowhere in sight. A wry little smile trembled on her lips.
+
+"Must you be going?" she said to herself, whimsically, as she adjusted
+her hat in front of the mirror.
+
+There was no one to say good-bye to her, except Peasley, the footman. He
+opened the big front door for her, and she passed out into the foggy
+March night. A fine mist blew upon her hot face.
+
+"Good-bye, Miss," said Peasley, following her to the top of the steps.
+
+"Good-bye, Peasley. Thank you for taking down my things."
+
+"You'll find 'em in the taxi," said he. He peered hard ahead and
+sniffed. "A bit thick, ain't it? Reminds one of London, Miss." He
+referred to the fog.
+
+At the bottom of the steps she encountered the irrepressible and
+somewhat jubilant scion of the house. His soft hat was pulled well down
+over his eyes, and the collar of his overcoat was turned up about his
+ears. He promptly accosted her, his voice lowered to an eager, confident
+undertone.
+
+"Don't cry, little girl," he said. "It isn't going to be bad at all.
+I--Oh, I say, now, listen to me!"
+
+She tried to pass, but he placed himself directly in her path. The
+taxi-cab loomed up vaguely through the screen of fog. At the corner
+below an electric street lamp produced the effect of a huge, circular
+vignette in the white mist. The raucous barking of automobile horns, and
+the whir of engines came out of the street, and shadowy will-o'-the-wisp
+lights scuttled through the yielding, opaque wall.
+
+"Be good enough to let me pass," she cried, suddenly possessed of a
+strange fear.
+
+"Everything is all right," he said. "I'm not going to see you turned out
+like this without a place to go--"
+
+"Will you compel me to call for help?" she said, backing away from him.
+
+"Help? Why, hang it all, can't you see that I'm trying to help you? It
+was a rotten thing for mother to do. Poor little girl, you sha'n't go
+wandering around the streets looking for--Why, I'd never forgive myself
+if I didn't do something to offset the cruel thing she's done to you
+tonight. Haven't I told you all along you could depend on me? Trust me,
+little girl. I'll--"
+
+Suddenly she blazed out at him.
+
+"I see it all! That is _your_ taxi, not mine! So that is your game, is
+it? You beast!"
+
+"Don't be a damn' fool," he grated. "I ought to be sore as a crab at
+you, but I'm not. You need me now, and I'm going to stand by you. I'll
+forgive all that happened today, but you've got to--"
+
+She struck his hand from her arm, and dashed out to the curb.
+
+"Driver!" she cried out. "If you are a man you will protect me from
+this--"
+
+"Hop in, Miss," interrupted the driver from his seat. "I've got all your
+bags and things up but,--What's that you're saying?"
+
+"I shall not enter this cab," she said resolutely. "If you are in the
+pay of this man--"
+
+"I was sent here in answer to a telephone call half an hour ago. That's
+all I know about it. What's the row?"
+
+"There is no row," said Stuyvesant, coming up. "Get in, Miss Emsdale.
+I'm through. I've done my best to help you."
+
+But she was now thoroughly alarmed. She sensed abduction.
+
+"No! Stay on your box, my man! Don't get down. I shall walk to my--"
+
+"Go ahead, driver. Take those things to the address I just gave you,"
+said Stuyvesant. "We'll be along later."
+
+"I knew! I knew!" she cried out. In a flash she was running down the
+sidewalk toward the corner.
+
+He followed her a few paces and then stopped, cursing softly.
+
+"Hey!" called out the driver, springing to the sidewalk. "What's all
+this? Getting me in wrong, huh? That's what the little roll of bills was
+for, eh? Well, guess again! Get out of the way, you, or I'll bat you one
+over the bean."
+
+In less time than it takes to tell it, he had whisked the trunk from the
+platform of the taxi and the three bags from the interior.
+
+"I ought to beat you up anyhow," he grunted. "The Parkingham Hotel, eh?
+Fine little place, that! How much did you say was in this roll?"
+
+"Never mind. Give it back to me at once or I'll--I'll call the police."
+
+"Go ahead! Call your head off. Good _night_!"
+
+Ten seconds later, Stuyvesant alone stood guard over the scattered
+effects on the curb. A tail-light winked blearily at him for an
+additional second or two, the taxi chortled disdainfully, and seemed to
+grind its teeth as it joined the down-town ghosts.
+
+"Blighter!" shouted Stuyvesant, and urged by a sudden sense of alarm,
+strode rapidly away,--not in the wake of Miss Emsdale nor toward the
+house from which she had been banished, but diagonally across the
+street. A glance in the direction she had taken revealed no sign of her,
+but the sound of excited voices reached his ear. On the opposite
+sidewalk he slowed down to a walk, and peering intently into the fog,
+listened with all his ears for the return of the incomprehensible
+governess, accompanied by a patrolman!
+
+A most amazing thing had happened to Lady Jane. At the corner below she
+bumped squarely into a pedestrian hurrying northward.
+
+"I'm sorry," exclaimed the pedestrian. He did not say "excuse me" or "I
+beg pardon."
+
+Jane gasped. "Tom--Mr. Trotter!"
+
+"Jane!" cried the man in surprise. "I say, what's up? 'Gad, you're
+trembling like a leaf."
+
+She tried to tell him.
+
+"Take a long breath," he suggested gently, as the words came swiftly and
+disjointedly from her lips.
+
+She did so, and started all over again. This time he was able to
+understand her.
+
+"Wait! Tell me the rest later on," he interrupted. "Come along! This
+looks pretty ugly to me. By gad, I--I believe he was planning to abduct
+you or something as--"
+
+"I must have a policeman," she protested, holding back. "I was looking
+for one when you came up."
+
+"Nonsense! We don't need a bobby. I can take care of--"
+
+"But that man will make off with my bags."
+
+"We'll see," he cried, and she was swept along up the street, running to
+keep pace with his prodigious strides. He had linked his arm through
+hers.
+
+They found her effects scattered along the edge of the sidewalk. Trotter
+laughed, but it was not a good-humoured laugh.
+
+"Skipped!" he grated. "I might have known it. Now, let me think. What is
+the next, the best thing to do? Go up there and ring that doorbell
+and--"
+
+"No! You are not to do that. Sit down here beside me. My--my knees are
+frightfully shaky. So silly of them. But I--I--really it was quite a
+shock I had, Mr. Trotter."
+
+"Better call me Tom,--for the present at least," he suggested, sitting
+down beside her on the trunk.
+
+"What a strange coincidence," she murmured. There was not much room on
+the trunk for two. He sat quite on one end of it.
+
+"You mean,--sitting there?" he inquired, blankly.
+
+"No. Your turning up as you did,--out of a clear sky."
+
+"I shouldn't call it clear," said he, suddenly diffident. "Thick as a
+blanket."
+
+"It was queer, though, wasn't it?"
+
+"Not a bit. I've been walking up and down past this house for twenty
+minutes at least. We were bound to meet. Sit still. I'll keep an eye out
+for an empty taxi. The first thing to do is to see that you get safely
+down to Mrs. Sparflight's."
+
+"How did you know I was to go there?" she demanded.
+
+"She told me," said he bluntly.
+
+"She wasn't to tell any one--at present." She peered closely,--at the
+side of his face.
+
+He abruptly changed the subject. "And then I'll come back here and wait
+till he ventures out. I'm off till nine o'clock. I sha'n't pull his nose
+this time."
+
+"Please explain," she insisted, clutching at his arm as he started to
+arise. "Did she send you up here, Mr. Trotter?"
+
+"No, she didn't," said he, almost gruffly, and stood up to hail an
+approaching automobile. "Can't see a thing," he went on. "We'll just
+have to stop 'em till we catch one that isn't engaged. Taxi?" he
+shouted.
+
+"No!" roared a voice from the shroud of mist.
+
+"The butler telephoned for one, I am sure," said she. "He must have been
+sent away before I came downstairs."
+
+"Don't think about it. You'll get yourself all wrought up
+and--and--Everything's all right, now, Lady Jane,--I should say Miss--"
+
+"Call me Jane," said she softly.
+
+"You--you don't mind?" he cried, and sat down beside her again. The
+trunk seemed to have increased in size. At any rate there was room to
+spare at the end.
+
+"Not--not in the least," she murmured.
+
+He was silent for a long time. "Would you mind calling me Eric,--just
+once?" he said at last, wistfully. His voice was very low. "I--I'm
+rather homesick for the sound of my own name, uttered by one of my own
+people."
+
+"Oh, you poor dear boy!"
+
+"Say 'Eric,'" he pleaded.
+
+"Eric," she half-whispered, suddenly shy.
+
+He drew a long, deep breath, and again was silent for a long time. Both
+of them appeared to have completely forgotten her plight.
+
+"We're both a long, long way from home, Jane," he said.
+
+"Yes, Eric."
+
+"Odd that we should be sitting here like this, on a trunk, on the
+sidewalk,--in a fog."
+
+"The 'two orphans,'" she said, with feeble attempt at sprightliness.
+
+"People passing by within a few yards of us and yet we--we're quite
+invisible." There was a thrill in his voice.
+
+"Almost as if we were in London, Eric,--lovely black old London."
+
+Footsteps went by in the fog in front of them, automobiles slid by
+behind them, tooting their unheard horns.
+
+"Oh, Jane, I--I can't help it," he whispered in her ear, and his arm
+went round her shoulders. "I--I love you so."
+
+She put her hand up to his cheek and held it there.
+
+"I--I know it, Eric," she said, ever so softly.
+
+It may have been five minutes, or ten minutes--even so long as half an
+hour. There is no way to determine the actual lapse of time, or
+consciousness, that followed her declaration. The patrolman who came up
+and stopped in front of them, peering hard at the dense, immobile mass
+that had attracted his attention for the simple reason that it wasn't
+there when he passed on his uptown round, couldn't have thrown any light
+on the question. He had no means of knowing just when it began.
+
+"Well, what's all this?" he demanded suspiciously.
+
+Jane sighed, and disengaged herself. Trotter stood up, confronting the
+questioner.
+
+"We're waiting for a taxi," he said.
+
+"What's this? A trunk?" inquired the officer, tapping the object with
+his night-stick.
+
+"It is," said Trotter.
+
+"Out of one of these houses along here?" He described a half-circle with
+his night-stick.
+
+"Right in front of you."
+
+"That's the Smith-Parvis house. They've got a couple of cars, my bucko.
+What you givin' me? Whadda you mean taxi?"
+
+"She happens not to be one of the family. The courtesy of the port is
+not extended to her, you see."
+
+"Hired girl?"
+
+"In a way. I say, officer, be a good fellow. Keep your eye peeled for a
+taxi as you go along and send it up for us. She had one ordered,
+but--well, you can see for yourself. It isn't here."
+
+"That's as plain as the nose on your face. I guess I'll just step up to
+the door and see if it's all right. Stay where you are. Looks queer to
+me."
+
+"Oh, it isn't necessary to inquire, officer," broke in Jane nervously.
+"You have my word for it that it's all right."
+
+"Oh, I have, have I? Fine! And what if them bags and things is filled
+with silver and God knows what? You don't--"
+
+"Go ahead and inquire," said Trotter, pressing her arm encouragingly.
+"Ask the butler if he didn't call a cab for Miss Emsdale,--and also ask
+him why in thunder it isn't here."
+
+The patrolman hesitated. "Who are you," he asked, stepping a little
+closer to Trotter.
+
+"I am this young lady's fiancé," said Trotter, with dignity.
+
+"Her what?"
+
+"Her steady," said Trotter.
+
+The policeman laughed,--good-naturedly, to their relief.
+
+"Oh, well, _that_ being the case," said he, and started away. "Excuse me
+for buttin' in."
+
+"Sure," said Trotter amiably. "If you see a taxi, old man."
+
+"Leave it to me," came back from the fog.
+
+Jane nestled close to her tall young man. His arm was about her.
+
+"Wasn't he perfectly lovely?" she murmured.
+
+"Everything is perfectly lovely," said he, vastly reassured. He had
+taken considerable risk with the word "fiancé."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIII
+
+                       NOT CLOUDS ALONE HAVE LININGS
+
+
+THE weather turned off warm. The rise in the temperature may have been
+responsible for the melting of Princess Mariana Theresa Sebastano
+Michelini Celestine di Pavesi's heart, or it may have sharply revealed
+to her calculating mind the prospect of a long and profitless season in
+cold storage for Prince de Bosky's fur-lined coat. In any event, she
+notified him by post to call for his coat and take it away with him.
+
+The same post brought a letter from the Countess du Bara advising him
+that her brother-in-law, who conducted an all-night café just off
+Broadway in the very heart of the thriftless district, had been
+compelled to dismiss the leader of his far-famed Czech orchestra, and
+that she had recommended him for the vacancy. He would have to hurry,
+however.
+
+In a postscript, she hoped he wouldn't mind wearing a red coat.
+
+The Countess du Bara was of the Opera, where she was known as
+Mademoiselle Belfort and occupied a fairly prominent position in the
+front row of chorus sopranos. Some day she was to make her début as
+a principal. The Director of the Opera had promised her that, and
+while she regarded his promise as being as good as gold, it was,
+unfortunately, far more elastic, as may be gathered from the fact that
+it already had stretched over three full seasons and looked capable of
+still further extension without being broken.
+
+But that is neither here nor there. It is only necessary to state that
+the Countess, being young and vigorous and satisfactorily endowed with
+good looks, was not without faith in the promises of man. In return for
+the Director's faith in her, she was one day going to make him famous as
+the discoverer of Corinne Belfort. For the moment, her importance, so
+far as this narrative is concerned, rests on the fact that her
+brother-in-law conducts a café and had named his youngest daughter
+Corinne, a doubtful compliment in view of his profane preference for
+John or even George. He was an American and had five daughters.
+
+De Bosky was ecstatic. Luck had turned. He was confident, even before he
+ventured to peer out of his single little window, that the sun was
+shining brightly and that birds were singing somewhere, if not in the
+heart of the congested East Side. And sure enough the sun was shining,
+and hurdy-gurdies were substituting for bobolinks, and the air was
+reeking of spring. A little wistfully he regretted that the change had
+not come when he needed the overcoat to shield his shivering body, and
+when the "opportunity" would have insured an abundance of meat and
+drink, to say nothing of a couple of extra blankets,--but why lament?
+
+There was a sprightliness in his gait, a gleam in his eyes, and a cheery
+word on his lips as he forged his way through the suddenly alive
+streets, and made his way to the Subway station. This morning he would
+not walk. There was something left of the four dollars he had earned the
+week before shovelling snow into the city's wagons. True, his hands were
+stiff and blistered, but all that would respond to the oil of affluence.
+There was no time to lose. She had said in the postscript that he would
+have to hurry.
+
+Two hours later he burst excitedly into the bookshop of J. Bramble and
+exclaimed:
+
+"And now, my dear, good friend, I shall soon be able to return to you
+the various amounts you have advanced me from time to time, out of the
+goodness of your heart, and I shall--what do I say?--blow you off to a
+banquet that even now, in contemplation, makes my own mouth water,--and
+I shall--"
+
+"Bless my soul," gasped Mr. Bramble. "Would you mind saying _all_ of it
+in English? What is the excitement? Just a moment, please." The latter
+to a mild-looking gentleman who was poising a book in one hand and
+inquiring the price with the uplifting of his eyebrows.
+
+De Bosky rapped three or four times on the violin case tucked under his
+arm.
+
+"After all the years and all the money I spent in mastering this--But,
+you are busy, my good friend. Pray forgive the interruption--"
+
+"What has happened?" demanded Mr. Bramble, uneasily.
+
+"I have fallen into a fortune. Twenty-five dollars a week,--so!" he said
+whimsically. "Also I shall restore the five dollars that Trotter forced
+me to take,--and the odd amounts M. Mirabeau has--Yes, yes, my friend, I
+am radiant. I am to lead the new orchestra at Spangler's café. I have
+concluded negotiations with--ah, how quickly it was done! And I
+approached him with fear and trembling. I would have played for him, so
+that he might judge,--but no! He said 'No, no!' It was not necessary.
+Corinne's word was enough for him. You do not know Corinne. She is
+beautiful. She is an artiste! One day she will be on the lips of every
+one. Go! Be quick! The gentleman is departing. You will have lost a--a
+sale, and all through the fault of me. I beseech you,--catch him quick.
+Do not permit me to bring you bad luck. Au revoir! I go at once to
+acquaint M. Mirabeau with--au revoir!"
+
+He dashed up the back stairway, leaving Mr. Bramble agape.
+
+"It was only a ten-cent book," he muttered to the back of the departing
+customer. "And, besides, you do not belong to the union," he shouted
+loudly, addressing himself to de Bosky, who stopped short on the stairs.
+
+"The union?"
+
+"The union will not permit you to play," said the bookseller, mounting
+the steps. "It will permit you to starve but not to play."
+
+"But the man--the man he said it was because I do not belong to the
+union that he engages me. He says the union holds him, up, what? So! He
+discharge the union--all of them. We form a new orchestra. Then we don't
+give a damn, he say. Not a tinkle damn! And Corinne say also not a
+tinkle damn! And I say not a tinkle damn! _Voila!_"
+
+"God bless my soul," said Mr. Bramble, shaking his head.
+
+M. Mirabeau rejoiced. He embraced the little musician, he pooh-hooed Mr.
+Bramble's calamitous regard for the union, and he wound up by inviting
+de Bosky to stop for lunch with him.
+
+"No, no,--impossible," exclaimed de Bosky, feeling in his waistcoat
+pocket absent-mindedly, and then glancing at a number of M. Mirabeau's
+clocks in rotation; "no, I have not the time. Your admirable clocks urge
+me to be off. See! I am to recover the overcoat of my excellent friend,
+the safe-blower. This letter,--see! Mrs. Moses Jacobs. She tells me to
+come and take it away with me. Am I not the lucky dog,--no, no! I mean
+am I not the lucky star? I must be off. She may change her mind. She--"
+
+"Mon dieu! I'd let her change it if I were you," cried M. Mirabeau. "I
+call it the height of misfortune to possess a fur coat on a day like
+this. One might as well rejoice over a linen coat in mid-winter. You are
+excited! Calm yourself. A bit of cold tongue, and a salad, and--"
+
+"Au revoir!" sang out de Bosky from the top of the steps. "And remember!
+I shall repay you within the fortnight, monsieur. I promise! Ah, it is a
+beautiful, a glorious day!"
+
+The old Frenchman dashed to the landing and called down after his
+speeding guest:
+
+"Fetch the coat with you to luncheon. I shall order some moth-balls, and
+after we've stuffed it full of them, we'll put the poor thing away for a
+long, long siesta. It shall be like the anaconda. I have a fine cedar
+chest--"
+
+But Mr. Bramble was speaking from the bottom of the steps.
+
+"And the unfeeling brutes may resort to violence. They often do. They
+have been known to inflict serious injury upon--"
+
+"Tonight I shall play at Spangler's," cried de Bosky, slapping his
+chest. "In a red coat,--and I shall not speak the English language. I am
+the recent importation from Budapesth. So! I am come especially to
+direct the orchestra--at great expense! In big letters on the menu card
+it shall be printed that I am late of the Royal Hungarian Orchestra, and
+at the greatest expense have I been secured. The newspapers shall say
+that I came across the ocean in a special steamer, all at Monsieur
+Spangler's expense. I and my red coat! So! Come tonight, my friend. Come
+and hear the great de Bosky in his little red coat,--and--"
+
+"Do not forget that you are to return for luncheon," sang out M.
+Mirabeau from the top of the stairs.
+
+There were tears in de Bosky's eyes. "God bless you both," he cried.
+"But for you I should have starved to death,--as long ago as last week.
+God bless you!"
+
+His frail body swayed a little as he made his way down the length of the
+shop. Commanding all his strength of will, he squared his shoulders and
+stiffened his trembling knees, but not soon enough to delude the
+observing Mr. Bramble, who hurried after him, peering anxiously through
+his horn-rimmed spectacles.
+
+"It is just like you foreigners," he said, overtaking the violinist near
+the door, and speaking with some energy. "Just like you, I say, to
+forget to eat breakfast when you are excited. You did not have a bite of
+breakfast, now did you? Up and out, all excited and eager, forgetting
+everything but--I say, Mirabeau, lend a hand! He is ready to drop. God
+bless my soul! Brace up, your highness,--I should say old chap--brace
+up! Damme, sir, what possessed you to refuse our invitation to dine with
+us last night? And it was the third time within the week. Answer me
+that, sir!"
+
+De Bosky sat weakly, limply, pathetically, before the two old men. They
+had led him to a chair at the back of the shop. Both were regarding him
+with justifiable severity. He smiled wanly as he passed his hand over
+his moist, pallid brow.
+
+"You are poor men. Why,--why should I become a charge upon you?"
+
+"Mon dieu!" sputtered M. Mirabeau, lifting his arms on high and shaking
+his head in absolute despair,--despair, you may be sure, over a most
+unaccountable and never-to-be-forgotten moment in which he found himself
+utterly and hopelessly without words.
+
+Mr. Bramble suddenly rammed a hand down into the pocket of his ancient
+smoking-coat, and fished out a huge, red, glistening apple.
+
+"Here! Eat this!"
+
+De Bosky shook his head. His smile broadened.
+
+"No, thank you. I--I do not like apples."
+
+The bookseller was aghast. Moreover, pity and alarm rendered him
+singularly inept in the choice of a reply to this definite statement.
+
+"Take it home to the children," he pleaded, with the best intention in
+the world.
+
+By this time, M. Mirabeau had found his tongue. He took the situation in
+hand. With tact and an infinite understanding, he astonished the
+matter-of-fact Mr. Bramble by appearing to find something amusing in the
+plight of their friend. He made light of the whole affair. Mr. Bramble,
+who could see no farther than the fact that the poor fellow was
+starving, was shocked. It certainly wasn't a thing one should treat as a
+joke,--and here was the old simpleton chuckling and grinning like a
+lunatic when he should be--
+
+Lunatic! Mr. Bramble suddenly went cold to the soles of his feet. A
+horrified look came into his eyes. Could it be possible that something
+had snapped in the old Frenchman's--but M. Mirabeau was now addressing
+him instead of the smiling de Bosky.
+
+"Come, come!" he was shouting merrily. "We're not following de Bosky to
+the grave. He is not even having a funeral. Cheer up! Mon dieu, such a
+face!"
+
+Mr. Bramble grew rosy. "Blooming rubbish," he snorted, still a trifle
+apprehensive.
+
+The clock-maker turned again to de Bosky. "Come upstairs at once. I
+shall myself fry eggs for you, and bacon,--nice and crisp,--and my
+coffee is not the worst in the world, my friend. _His_ is abominable.
+And toast, hot and buttery,--ah, I am not surprised that your mouth
+waters!"
+
+"It isn't my mouth that is watering," said de Bosky, wiping his eyes.
+
+"Any fool could see that," said Mr. Bramble, scowling at the maladroit
+Mirabeau.
+
+It was two o'clock when Prince Waldemar de Bosky took his departure from
+the hospitable home of the two old men, and, well-fortified in body as
+well as in spirit, moved upon the stronghold of Mrs. Moses Jacobs.
+
+The chatelaine of "The Royal Exchange. M. Jacobs, Proprietor," received
+him with surprising cordiality.
+
+"Well, well!" she called out cheerily as he approached the "desk." "I
+thought you'd never get here. I been waitin' since nine o'clock."
+
+Her dark, heavy face bore signs of a struggle to overcome the set,
+implacable expression that avarice and suspicion had stamped upon it in
+the course of a long and resolute abstinence from what we are prone to
+call the milk of human kindness. She was actually trying to beam as she
+leaned across the gem-laden showcase and extended her coarse, unlovely
+hand to the visitor.
+
+"I am sorry," said he, shaking hands with her. "I have been extremely
+busy. Besides, on a hot day like this, I could get along very nicely
+without a fur coat, Mrs. Jacobs."
+
+"Sure!" said she. "It sure is hot today. You ought to thank God you
+ain't as fat as I am. It's awful on fat people. Well, wasn't you
+surprised?"
+
+"It was most gracious of you, Mrs. Jacobs," he said with dignity. "I
+should have come in at once to express my appreciation of your--"
+
+"Oh, that's all right. Don't mention it. You're a decent little feller,
+de Bosky, and I've got a heart,--although most of these mutts around
+here don't think so. Yes, sir, I meant it when I said you could tear up
+the pawn ticket and take the coat--with the best wishes of yours truly."
+
+"Spoken like a lady," said he promptly. He was fanning himself with his
+hat.
+
+"Mind you, I don't ask you for a penny. The slate is clean. There's the
+coat, layin' over there on that counter. Take it along. No one can ever
+say that I'd let a fellow-creature freeze to death for the sake of a
+five-dollar bill. No, sir! With the compliments of 'The Royal
+Exchange,'--if you care to put it that way."
+
+"But I cannot permit you to cancel my obligation, Mrs. Jacobs. I shall
+hand you the money inside of a fortnight. I thank you, however, for the
+generous impulse--"
+
+"Cut it out," she interrupted genially. "Nix on the sentiment stuff. I'm
+in a good humour. Don't spoil it by tryin' to be polite. And don't talk
+about handin' me anything. I won't take it."
+
+"In that case, Mrs. Jacobs, I shall be obliged to leave the coat with
+you," he said stiffly.
+
+She stared. "You mean,--you won't accept it from me?"
+
+"I borrowed money on it. I can say no more, madam."
+
+"Well, I'll be--" She extended her hand again, a look of genuine
+pleasure in her black eyes. "Shake hands again, Prince de Bosky. I--I
+understand."
+
+"And I--I think I understand, Princess," said he, grasping the woman's
+hand.
+
+"I hope you do," said she huskily. "I--I just didn't know how to go
+about it, that's all. Ever since that day you were in here to see
+me,--that bitterly cold day,--I've been trying to think of a way to--And
+so I waited till it turned so hot that you'd know I wasn't trying to do
+it out of charity--You _do_ understand, don't you, Prince?"
+
+"Perfectly," said he, very soberly.
+
+"I feel better than I've felt in a good long time," she said, drawing a
+long breath.
+
+"That's the way we all feel sometimes," said he, smiling. "No doubt it's
+the sun," he added. "We haven't seen much of it lately."
+
+"Quit your kiddin'," she cried, donning her mask again and relapsing
+into the vernacular of the district.
+
+He bore the coat in triumph to the work-shop of M. Mirabeau, and loudly
+called for moth-balls as he mounted the steps.
+
+"I jest, good friend," he explained, as the old Frenchman laid aside his
+tools and started for the shelves containing a vast assortment of boxes
+and packages. "Time enough for all that. At four o'clock I am due at
+Spangler's for a rehearsal of the celebrated Royal Hungarian Orchestra,
+imported at great expense from Budapesth. I leave the treasure in your
+custody. Au revoir!" He had thrown the coat on the end of the work
+bench.
+
+"You will return for dinner," was M. Mirabeau's stern reminder. "A pot
+roast tonight, Bramble has announced. We will dine at six, since you
+must report at seven."
+
+"In my little red coat," sang out de Bosky blithely.
+
+"Mon dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman, in dismay, running his fingers over
+the lining of the coat. "They are already at work. The moths! See! Ah,
+_le diable!_ They have devoured--"
+
+"What!" cried de Bosky, snatching up the coat.
+
+"The arm pits and--ah, the seams fall apart! One could thrust his hand
+into the hole they have made. Too late!" he groaned. "They have ruined
+it, my friend."
+
+De Bosky leaned against the bench, the picture of distress. "What will
+my friend, the safe-blower, say to this? What will he think of me for--"
+
+"Now we know how the estimable Mrs. Jacobs came to have softening of the
+heart," exploded M. Mirabeau, pulling at his long whiskers.
+
+Mr. Bramble, abandoning the shop downstairs, shuffled into the room.
+
+"Did I hear you say 'moths'?" he demanded, consternation written all
+over his face. "For God's sake, don't turn them loose in the house.
+They'll be into everything--"
+
+"What is this?" cried de Bosky, peering intently between the crumbling
+edges of the rent, which widened hopelessly as he picked at it with
+nervous fingers.
+
+Stitched securely inside the fur at the point of the shoulder was a thin
+packet made of what at one time must have been part of a rubber
+rain-coat. The three men stared at it with interest.
+
+"Padding," said Mr. Bramble.
+
+"Rubbish," said M. Mirabeau, referring to Mr. Bramble's declaration. He
+was becoming excited. Thrusting a keen-edged knife into de Bosky's hand,
+he said: "Remove it--but with care, with care!"
+
+A moment later de Bosky held the odd little packet in his hand.
+
+"Cut the threads," said Mr. Bramble, readjusting his big spectacles. "It
+is sewed at the ends."
+
+The old bookseller was the first of the stupefied men to speak after the
+contents of the rubber bag were revealed to view.
+
+"God bless my soul!" he gasped.
+
+Bank notes,--many of them,--lay in de Bosky's palm.
+
+Almost mechanically he began to count them. They were of various
+denominations, none smaller than twenty dollars. The eyes of the men
+popped as he ran off in succession two five-hundred-dollar bills.
+
+Downstairs in the shop of J. Bramble, some one was pounding violently on
+a counter, but without results. He could produce no one to wait on him.
+He might as well have tried to rouse the dead.
+
+"Clever rascal," said M. Mirabeau at last. "The last place in the world
+one would think of looking for plunder."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked de Bosky, still dazed.
+
+"It is quite simple," said the Frenchman. "Who but your enterprising
+friend, the cracksman, could have thought of anything so original as
+hiding money in the lining of a fur overcoat? He leaves the coat in your
+custody, knowing you to be an honest man. At the expiration of his term,
+he will reclaim--"
+
+"Ah, but he has still a matter of ten or eleven years to serve," agreed
+de Bosky. "A great deal could happen in ten or eleven years. He would
+not have taken so great a risk. He--"
+
+"Um!" mused M. Mirabeau, frowning. "That is so."
+
+"What am I to do with it?" cried de Bosky. "Nearly three thousand
+dollars! Am I awake, Mr. Bramble?"
+
+"We can't all be dreaming the same thing," said the bookseller, his
+fascinated gaze fixed on the bank notes.
+
+"Ah-h!" exclaimed M. Mirabeau suddenly. "Try the other shoulder! There
+will be more. He would not have been so clumsy as to put it all on one
+side. He would have padded both shoulders alike."
+
+And to the increased amazement of all of them, a similar packet was
+found in the left shoulder of the coat.
+
+"What did I tell you!" cried the old Frenchman, triumphantly.
+
+Included among the contents of the second bag, was a neatly folded sheet
+of writing-paper. De Bosky, with trembling fingers, spread it out, and
+holding it to the light, read in a low, halting manner:
+
+    "'Finder is keeper. This coat dont belong to me, and the money
+    neither. It is nobodies buisness who they belonged to before. I
+    put the money inside here becaus it is a place no one would ever
+    look and I am taken a gamblers chanse on geting it back some
+    day. Stranger things have happened. Something tells me that they
+    are going to get me soon, and I dont want them to cop this
+    stuff. It was hard earned. Mighty hard. I am hereby trusting to
+    luck. I leave this coat with my neighbor, Mr. Debosky, so in
+    case they get me, they wont get it when they search my room. My
+    neighber is an honest man. He dont know what I am and he dont
+    know about this money. If anybody has to find it I hope it will
+    be him. Maybe they wont get me after all so all this writing is
+    in vain. But Im taken no chance on that, and Im willing to take
+    a chance on this stuff getting back to me somehow. I will say
+    this before closing. The money belonged to people in various
+    parts of the country and they could all afford to lose it,
+    espeshilly the doctor. He is a bigger robber than I am, only he
+    lets people see him get away with it. If this should fall into
+    the hands of the police I want them to believe me when I say my
+    neighber, a little forreigner who plays the violin till it
+    brings tears to my eyes, has no hand in this business. I am
+    simply asking him to take care of my coat and wear it till I
+    call for it, whenever that may be. And the following remarks is
+    for him. If he finds this dough, he can keep it and use as much
+    of it as he sees fit. I would sooner he had it than anybody,
+    because he is poorer than anybody. And what he dont know wont
+    hurt him. I mean what he dont know about who the stuff belonged
+    to in the beginning. Being of sound mind and so fourth I hereby
+    subscribe myself, in the year of our lord, September 26, 1912.
+
+                                                   "HENRY LOVELESS."
+
+"How very extraordinary," said Mr. Bramble after a long silence.
+
+"Nearly five thousand dollars," said M. Mirabeau. "What will you do
+with it, de Bosky?"
+
+The little violinist passed his hand over his brow, as if to clear
+away the last vestige of perplexity.
+
+"There is but one thing to do, my friends," he said slowly,
+straightening up and facing them. "You will understand, of course,
+that I cannot under any circumstances possess myself of this stolen
+property."
+
+Another silence ensued.
+
+"Certainly not," said Mr. Bramble at last.
+
+"It would be impossible," said M. Mirabeau, sighing.
+
+"I shall, therefore, address a letter to my friend, acquainting him
+with the mishap to his coat. I shall inform him that the insects
+have destroyed the fur in the shoulders, laying bare the padding,
+and that while I have been negligent in my care of his property up
+to this time, I shall not be so in the future. Without betraying the
+secret, I shall in some way let him know that the money is safe and
+that he may expect to regain all of it when he--when he comes out."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Bramble warmly.
+
+M. Mirabeau suddenly broke into uproarious laughter.
+
+"Mon dieu!" he gasped, when he could catch his breath. The others
+were staring at him in alarm. "It is rare! It is exquisite! The
+refinement of justice! That _this_ should have happened to the
+blood-sucking Mrs. Jacobs! Oho--ho--ho!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+
+                               DIPLOMACY
+
+
+MR. SMITH-PARVIS, Senior, entertained one old-fashioned, back-number
+idea,--relict of a throttled past; it was a pestiferous idea that always
+kept bobbing up in an insistent, aggravating way the instant he realized
+that he had a few minutes to himself.
+
+Psychologists might go so far as to claim that he had been born with it;
+that it was, after a fashion, hereditary. He had come of honest,
+hard-working Smiths; the men and women before him had cultivated the
+idea with such unwavering assiduity that, despite all that had conspired
+to stifle it, the thing still clung to him and would not be shaken off.
+
+In short, Mr. Smith-Parvis had an idea that a man should work.
+Especially a young man.
+
+In secret he squirmed over the fact that his son Stuyvesant had never
+been known to do a day's work in his life. Not that it was actually
+necessary for the young man to descend to anything so common and
+inelegant as earning his daily bread, or that there was even a remote
+prospect of the wolf sniffing around a future doorway. Not at all. He
+knew that Stuyvie didn't have to work. Still, it grieved him to see so
+much youthful energy going to waste. He had never quite gotten over the
+feeling that a man could make something besides a mere gentleman of
+himself, and do it without seriously impairing the family honour.
+
+He had once suggested to his wife that Stuyvesant ought to go to work.
+He didn't care what he took up, just so he took up something. Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis was horrified. She would not listen to his reiterations
+that he didn't mean clerking in a drygoods shop, or collecting fares on
+a street car, or repairing electric doorbells, or anything of the kind,
+and she wouldn't allow him to say just what sort of work he did mean.
+The subject was not mentioned again for years. Stuyvesant was allowed to
+go on being a gentleman in his own sweet way.
+
+One day Mrs. Smith-Parvis, to his surprise and joy, announced that she
+thought Stuyvesant ought to have a real chance to make something of
+himself,--a vocation or an avocation, she wasn't sure which,--and she
+couldn't see why the father of such a bright, capable boy had been so
+blind to the possibilities that lay before him. She actually blamed him
+for holding the young man back.
+
+"I suggested some time ago, my dear," he began, in self-defence, "that
+the boy ought to get a job and settle down to--"
+
+"Job? How I loathe that word. It is almost as bad as situation."
+
+"Well, then, position," he amended. "You wouldn't hear to it."
+
+"I have no recollection of any such conversation," said she firmly. "I
+have been giving the subject a great deal of thought lately. The dear
+boy is entitled to his opportunity. He must make a name for himself. I
+have decided, Philander, that he ought to go into the diplomatic
+service."
+
+"Oh, Lord!"
+
+"I don't blame you for saying 'Oh, Lord,' if you think I mean the
+American diplomatic service," she said, smiling. "That, of course, is
+not even to be considered. He must aim higher than that. I know it is a
+vulgar expression, but there is no class to the American embassies
+abroad. Compare our embassies with any of the other--"
+
+"But, my dear, you forget that--"
+
+"They are made up largely of men who have sprung from the most ordinary
+walks in life,--men totally unfitted for the social position that--
+Please do not argue, Philander. You know perfectly well that what I say
+is true. I shouldn't think of letting Stuyvesant enter the American
+diplomatic service. Do you remember that dreadful person who came to see
+us in Berlin,--about the trunks we sent up from Paris by _grande
+vitesse_? Well, just think of Stuyvesant--"
+
+"He was a clerk from the U. S. Consul's office," he interrupted
+doggedly. "Nothing whatever to do with the embassy. Besides, we can't--"
+
+"It doesn't matter. I have been giving it a great deal of thought
+lately, trying to decide which is the best service for Stuyvesant to
+enter. The English diplomatic corps in this country is perfectly
+stunning, and so is the French,--and the Russian, for that matter. He
+doesn't speak the Russian language, however, so I suppose we will have
+to--"
+
+"See here, my dear,--listen to me," he broke in resolutely. "Stuyvesant
+can't get into the service of any of these countries. He--"
+
+"I'd like to know why not!" she cried sharply. "He is a gentleman, he
+has manner, he is--Well, isn't he as good as any of the young men one
+sees at the English or the French Legations in Washington?"
+
+"I grant you all that, but he is an American just the same. He can't be
+born all over again, you know, with a new pair of parents. He's got to
+be in the American diplomatic corps, or in no corps at all. Now, get
+that through your head, my dear."
+
+She finally got it through her head, and resigned herself to the
+American service, deciding that the Court of St. James offered the most
+desirable prospects in view of its close proximity to the other great
+capitals of Europe.
+
+"Stuyvesant likes London next to Paris, and he could cross over to
+France whenever he felt the need of change."
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis looked harassed.
+
+"Easier said than done," he ventured. "These chaps in the legations have
+to stick pretty close to their posts. He can't be running about, all
+over the place, you know. It isn't expected. You might as well
+understand in the beginning that he'll have to work like a nailer for a
+good many years before he gets anywhere in the diplomatic service."
+
+"Nonsense. Doesn't the President appoint men to act as Ambassadors who
+never had an hour's experience in diplomacy? It's all a matter of
+politics. I'm sorry to say, Philander, the right men are never
+appointed. It seems to be the practice in this country to appoint men
+who, so far as I know, have absolutely no social standing. Mr. Choate
+was an exception, of course. I am sure that Stuyvesant will go to the
+top rapidly if he is given a chance. Now, how shall we go about it,
+Philander?" She considered the matter settled. Her husband shook his
+head.
+
+"Have you spoken to Stuyvie about it?" he inquired.
+
+"Oh, dear me, no. I want to surprise him."
+
+"I see," said he, rather grimly for him. "I see. We simply say: 'Here is
+a nice soft berth in the diplomatic corps, Stuyvie. You may sail
+tomorrow if you like.'"
+
+"Don't be silly. And please do not call him Stuyvie. I've spoken to you
+about that a thousand times, Philander. Now, don't you think you ought
+to run down to Washington and see the President? It may--"
+
+"No, I don't," said he flatly. "I'm not a dee fool."
+
+"Don't--don't you care to see your son make something of himself?" she
+cried in dismay.
+
+"Certainly. I'd like nothing better than--"
+
+"Then, try to take a little interest in him," she said coldly.
+
+"In the first place," said he resignedly, "what are his politics?"
+
+"The same as yours. He is a Republican. All the people we know are
+Republicans. The Democrats are too common for words."
+
+"Well, his first attempt at diplomacy will be to change his politics,"
+he said, waxing a little sarcastic as he gained courage. "And I'd advise
+you not to say nasty things about the Democrats. They are in the saddle
+now, you know. I suppose you've heard that the President is a Democrat?"
+
+"I can't help that," she replied stubbornly.
+
+"And he appoints nothing but Democrats."
+
+"Is there likely to be a Republican president soon?" she inquired,
+knitting her brows.
+
+"That's difficult to say."
+
+"I suppose Stuyvesant could, in a diplomatic sort of way, pretend to be
+a Democrat, couldn't he, dear?"
+
+"He lost nearly ten thousand dollars at the last election betting on
+what he said was a sure thing," said he, compressing his lips.
+
+"The poor dear!"
+
+"I can't see very much in this diplomatic game, anyhow," said Mr.
+Smith-Parvis determinedly.
+
+"I asked you a direct question, Philander," she said stiffly.
+
+"I--I seem to have forgotten just what--"
+
+"I asked you how we are to go about securing an appointment for him."
+
+"Oh," said he, wilting a little. "So you did. Well,--um--aw--let me
+think. There's only one way. He's got to have a pull. Does he know any
+one high up in the Democratic ranks? Any one who possesses great
+influence?" There was a twinkle in his eye.
+
+"I--I don't know," she replied, helplessly. "He is quite young,
+Philander. He can't be expected to know everybody. But you! Now that I
+think of it, you must know any number of influential Democrats. There
+must be some one to whom you could go. You would simply say to him that
+Stuyvesant agrees to enter the service, and that he will do everything
+in his power to raise it to the social standard--"
+
+"The man would die laughing," said he unfeelingly. "I was just thinking.
+Suppose I were to go to the only influential Democratic politician I
+know,--Cornelius McFaddan,--and tell him that Stuyvesant advocates the
+reconstruction of our diplomatic service along English lines, he would
+undoubtedly say things to me that I could neither forget nor forgive. I
+can almost hear him now."
+
+"You refuse to make any effort at all, then?"
+
+"Not at all," he broke in quickly. "I will see him. As a matter of fact,
+McFaddan is a very decent sort of chap, and he is keen to join the
+Oxford Country Club. He knows I am on the Board of Governors. In fact,
+he asked me not long ago what golf club I'd advise him to join. He
+thinks he's getting too fat. Wants to take up golf."
+
+"But you _couldn't_ propose him for membership in the Oxford,
+Philander," she said flatly. "Only the smartest people in town--"
+
+"Leave it to me," he interrupted, a flash of enthusiasm in his eyes. "By
+gad, I shouldn't be surprised if I could do something through him. He
+carries a good deal of weight."
+
+"Would it be wise to let him reduce it by playing golf?" she inquired
+doubtfully.
+
+He stared. "I mean politically. Figure of speech, my dear."
+
+"Oh, I see."
+
+"A little coddling on my part, and that sort of thing. They all want to
+break into society,--every last one of them. You never can tell. A
+little soft soap goes a long way sometimes. I could ask him to have
+luncheon with me at Bombay House. Um-m-m!" He fell into a reflective
+mood.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis also was thoughtful. An amazing idea had sprouted in
+her head.
+
+"Has he a wife?" she inquired, after many minutes.
+
+"They always have, those chaps," said he. "And a lot of children."
+
+"I was just wondering if it wouldn't be good policy to have them to
+dinner some night, Philander," she said.
+
+"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly and staring at her in
+astonishment.
+
+"Every little helps," she said argumentatively. "It would be like
+opening the seventh heaven to her if I were to invite her here to dine.
+Just think what it would mean to her. She would meet--"
+
+"They probably eat with their knives and tuck their napkins under their
+chins."
+
+"I am sure that would be amusing," said she, eagerly. "It is so
+difficult nowadays to provide amusement for one's guests. Really, my
+dear, I think it is quite an idea. We could explain beforehand to the
+people we'll have in to meet them,--explain everything, you know. The
+plan for Stuyvesant, and everything."
+
+He was still staring. "Well, who would you suggest having in with Mr.
+and Mrs. Con McFaddan?"
+
+"Oh, the Cricklewicks, and the Blodgetts,--and old Mrs. Millidew,--I've
+been intending to have her anyway,--and perhaps the Van Ostrons and
+Cicely Braithmere, and I am sure we could get dear old Percy Tromboy. He
+would be frightfully amused by the McFinnegans, and--"
+
+"McFaddan," he edged in.
+
+"--and he could get a world of material for those screaming Irish
+imitations he loves to give. Now, when will you see Mr. McFaddan?"
+
+"You'd have to call on his wife, wouldn't you, before asking her to
+dinner?"
+
+"She probably never has heard of the custom," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+composedly.
+
+The next day, Mr. Smith-Parvis strolled into the offices of Mr.
+Cornelius McFaddan, Contractor, and casually remarked what a wonderful
+view of the Bay he had from his windows.
+
+"I dropped in, Mr. McFaddan," he explained, "to see if you were really
+in earnest about wanting to join the Oxford Country Club." He had
+decided that it was best to go straight to the point.
+
+McFaddan regarded him narrowly. "Did I ever say I wanted to join the
+Oxford Country Club?" he demanded.
+
+"Didn't you?" asked his visitor, slightly disturbed by this ungracious
+response.
+
+"I did not," said Mr. McFaddan promptly.
+
+"Dear me, I--I was under the impression--Ahem! I am sure you spoke of
+wanting to join a golf club."
+
+"That must have been some time ago. I've joined one," said the other, a
+little more agreeably.
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis punched nervously with his cane at one of his pearl
+grey spats. The contractor allowed his gaze to shift. He didn't wear
+"spats" himself.
+
+"I am sorry. I daresay I could have rushed you through in the Oxford.
+They are mighty rigid and exclusive up there, but--well, you would have
+gone in with a rush. Men like you are always shoved through ahead of
+others. It isn't quite--ah--regular, you know, but it's done when a
+candidate of special prominence comes up. Of course, I need not explain
+that it's--ah--quite sub rosa?"
+
+"Sure," said Mr. McFaddan promptly; "I know. We do it at the Jolly Dog
+Club." He was again eyeing his visitor narrowly, speculatively. "It's
+mighty good of you, Mr. Smith-Parvis. Have a cigar?"
+
+"No, thank you. I seldom--
+On second thoughts, I will take one." It
+occurred to him that it was the diplomatic thing to do, no matter what
+kind of a cigar it was. Besides, he wouldn't feel called upon to
+terminate his visit at once if he lighted the man's cigar. He could at
+least smoke an inch or even an inch and a half of it before announcing
+that he would have to be going. And a great deal can happen during the
+consumption of an inch or so of tobacco.
+
+"That's a good cigar," he commented, after a couple of puffs. He took it
+from his lips and inspected it critically.
+
+Mr. McFaddan was pleased. "It ought to be," he said. "Fifty cents
+straight."
+
+The visitor looked at it with sudden respect. "A little better than I'm
+in the habit of smoking," he said ingratiatingly.
+
+"What does it cost to join the Oxford Club?" inquired the contractor.
+
+"Twelve hundred dollars admission, and two hundred a year dues," said
+Mr. Smith-Parvis, pricking up his ears. "Really quite reasonable."
+
+"My wife don't like the golf club I belong to," said the other,
+squinting at his own cigar. "Rough-neck crowd, she says."
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis looked politely concerned.
+
+"That's too bad," he said.
+
+The contractor appeared to be weighing something in his mind.
+
+"How long does it take to get into your club?" he asked.
+
+"Usually about five years," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, blandly. "Long
+waiting list, you know. Some of the best people in the city are on it,
+by the way. I daresay it wouldn't be more than two or three months in
+your case, however," he concluded.
+
+"I'll speak to the wife about it," said Mr. McFaddan. "She may put her
+foot down hard. Too swell for us, maybe. We're plain people."
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Mr. Smith-Parvis readily. "Extremely
+democratic club, my dear McFaddan. Exclusive and all that, but
+quite--ah--unconventional. Ha-ha!"
+
+Finding himself on the high-road to success, he adventured a little
+farther. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he got to his feet with
+an exclamation of well-feigned dismay.
+
+"My dear fellow, I had no idea it was so near the luncheon hour. Stupid
+of me. Why didn't you kick me out? Ha-ha! Let me know what you decide to
+do, and I will be delighted to--But better still, can't you have lunch
+with me? I could tell you something about the club and--What do you say
+to going around to Bombay House with me?"
+
+"I'd like nothing better," said the thoroughly perplexed politician.
+"Excuse me while I wash me hands."
+
+And peering earnestly into the mirror above the washstand in the corner
+of the office, Mr. McFaddan said to himself:
+
+"I must look easier to him than I do to meself. If I'm any kind of a
+guesser at all he's after one of two things. He either wants his tax
+assessment rejuced or wants to run for mayor of the city. The poor
+boob!"
+
+That evening Mr. Smith-Parvis announced, in a bland and casual manner,
+that things were shaping themselves beautifully.
+
+"I had McFaddan to lunch with me," he explained. "He was tremendously
+impressed."
+
+His wife was slightly perturbed. "And I suppose you were so stupid as to
+introduce him to a lot of men in the club who--"
+
+"I didn't have to," interrupted Mr. Smith-Parvis, a trifle crossly. "It
+was amazing how many of the members knew him. I daresay four out of
+every five men in the club shook hands with him and called him Mr.
+McFaddan. Two bank presidents called him Con, and, by gad, Angela, he
+actually introduced me to several really big bugs I've been wanting to
+meet for ten years or more. Most extraordinary, 'pon my word."
+
+"Did you--did you put out any feelers?"
+
+"About Stuyvie--sant? Certainly not. That would have been fatal. I did
+advance a few tactful and pertinent criticisms of our present diplomatic
+service, however. I was relieved to discover that he thinks it can be
+improved. He agreed with me when I advanced the opinion that we, as
+sovereign citizens of this great Republic, ought to see to it that a
+better, a higher class of men represent us abroad. He said,--in his
+rough, slangy way: 'You're dead right. What good are them authors and
+poets we're sendin' over there now? What we need is good, live
+hustlers,--men with ginger instead of ink in their veins.' I remember
+the words perfectly. 'Ginger instead of ink!' Ha-ha,--rather good, eh?"
+
+"You must dress at once, Philander," said his wife. "We are dining with
+the Hatchers."
+
+"That reminds me," he said, wrinkling his brow. "I dropped in to see
+Cricklewick on the way up. He didn't appear to be very enthusiastic
+about dining here with the McFaddans."
+
+"For heaven's sake, you don't mean to say you've already asked the man
+to dine with us!" cried his wife.
+
+"Not in so many words," he made haste to explain. "He spoke several
+times about his wife. Seemed to want me to know that she was a snappy
+old girl,--his words, not mine. The salt of the earth, and so on. Of
+course, I had to say something agreeable. So I said I'd like very much
+to have the pleasure of meeting her."
+
+"Oh, you did, did you?" witheringly.
+
+"He seemed really quite affected, my dear. It was several minutes before
+he could find the words to reply. Got very red in the face and managed
+to say finally that it was very kind of me. I think it rather made a hit
+with him. I merely mentioned the possibility of dining together some
+time,--_en famille_,--and that I'd like him to meet you. Nothing
+more,--not a thing more than that!" he cried, quailing a little under
+his wife's eye.
+
+"And what did he say to that?" she inquired. The rising inflection was
+ominous.
+
+"He was polite enough to say he'd be pleased to meet you," said he, with
+justifiable exasperation.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XV
+
+                        ONE NIGHT AT SPANGLER'S
+
+
+A FEW mornings after de Bosky's _premier_ as director of the Royal
+Hungarian Orchestra, Mrs. Sparflight called Jane Emsdale's attention to
+a news "story" in the _Times_. The headline was as follows:
+
+                           A ROYAL VIOLINIST
+
+                  _Prince de Bosky Leads the Orchestra
+                             at Spangler's_
+
+Three-quarters of a column were devoted to the first appearance in
+America of the royal musician; his remarkable talent; his glorious
+ancestry; his singular independence; and (through an interpreter) his
+impressions of New York.
+
+"Oh, I am so glad," cried Jane, after she had read the story. "The poor
+fellow was so dreadfully up against it."
+
+"We must go and hear him soon," said the other.
+
+They were at the breakfast-table. Jane had been with the elder woman for
+nearly a week. She was happy, radiant, contented. Not so much as an
+inkling of the truth arose to disturb her serenity. She believed herself
+to be actually in the pay of "Deborah." From morning till night she went
+cheerfully about the tasks set for her by her sorely tried employer,
+who, as time went on, found herself hard put to invent duties for a
+conscientious private secretary. Jane was much too active, much too
+eager; such indefatigable energy harassed rather than comforted her
+employer. And, not for the world, would the latter have called upon her
+to take over any of the work downstairs. The poor lady lay awake nights
+trying to think of something that she could set the girl to doing in the
+morning!
+
+A curt, pointed epistle had come to Mrs. Sparflight from Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis. That lady announced briefly that she had been obliged to
+discharge Miss Emsdale, and that she considered it her duty to warn Mrs.
+Sparflight against recommending her late governess to any one else.
+
+"You may answer the note, my dear," the Marchioness had said, her eyes
+twinkling as she watched Jane's face. "Thank her for the warning and say
+that I regret having sent Miss Emsdale to her. Say that I shall be
+exceedingly careful in the future. Sign it, and append your initials. It
+isn't a bad idea to let her know that I do not regard her communication
+as strictly confidential,--between friends, you might say. And now you
+must get out for a long walk today. A strong, healthy English girl like
+you shouldn't go without stretching her legs. You'll be losing the bloom
+in your cheek if you stay indoors as you've been doing the past week."
+
+Jane's dread of meeting her tormentor had kept her close to the
+apartment since the night of her rather unconventional arrival. Twice
+the eager Trotter, thrilled and exalted by his new-found happiness, had
+dashed in to see her, but only for a few minutes' stay on each occasion.
+
+"How do you like your new position?" he had asked in the dimness at the
+head of the stairway. She could not see his face, but it was because he
+kept her head rather closely pressed into the hollow of his shoulder.
+Otherwise she might have detected the guilty flicker in his eyes.
+
+"I love it. She is such a dear. But, really, Eric, I don't think I'm
+worth half what she pays me."
+
+He chuckled softly. "Oh, yes, you are. You are certainly worth half what
+my boss pays me."
+
+"But I do not earn it," she insisted.
+
+"Neither do I," said he.
+
+To return to the Marchioness and the newspaper:
+
+"We will go off on a little spree before long, my dear. A good dinner at
+Spangler's, a little music, and a chat with the sensation of the hour.
+Get Mrs. Hendricks on the telephone, please. I will ask her to join us
+there some night soon with her husband. He is the man who wrote that
+delightful novel with the name I never can remember. You will like him,
+I know. He is so dreadfully deaf that all one has to do to include him
+in the conversation is to return his smiles occasionally."
+
+And so, on a certain night in mid-April, it came to pass that Spangler's
+Café, gay and full of the din that sustains the _genus_ New Yorker in
+his contention that there is no other place in the world fit to live in,
+had among its patrons a number of the persons connected with this story
+of the City of Masks.
+
+First of all, there was the new leader of the orchestra, a dapper,
+romantic-looking young man in a flaming red coat. Ah, but you should
+have seen him! The admirable Mirabeau, true Frenchman that he was, had
+performed wonders with pomades and oils and the glossy brilliantine. The
+sleek black hair of the little Prince shone like the raven's wing; his
+dark, gipsy eyes, rendered more vivid by the skilful application of
+"lampblack," gleamed with an ardent excitement; there was colour in his
+cheeks, and a smile on his lips.
+
+At a table near the platform on which the orchestra was stationed, sat
+the Honourable Cornelius McFaddan, his wife, and a congenial party of
+friends. In a far-off corner, remote from the music, you would have
+discovered the Marchioness and her companions; the bland, perpetually
+smiling Mr. Hendricks who wrote the book, his wife, and the lovely,
+blue-eyed Jane.
+
+By a strange order of coincidence, young Mr. Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis,
+quite mellow and bereft of the power to focus steadily with eye or
+intellect, occupied a seat,--and frequently a seat and a half,--at a
+table made up of shrill-voiced young women and bald-headed gentlemen of
+uncertain age who had a whispering acquaintance with the head waiter and
+his assistants.
+
+The Countess du Bara, otherwise Corinne, entertained a few of the lesser
+lights of the Opera and two lean, hungry-looking critics she was
+cultivating against an hour of need.
+
+At a small, mean table alongside the swinging door through which a
+procession of waiters constantly streamed on their way from the kitchen,
+balancing trays at hazardous heights, sat two men who up to this moment
+have not been mentioned in these revelations. Very ordinary looking
+persons they were, in business clothes.
+
+One of them, a sallow, liverish individual, divided his interest between
+two widely separated tables. His companion was interested in nothing
+except his food, which being wholly unsatisfactory to him, relieved him
+of the necessity of talking about anything else. He spoke of it from
+time to time, however, usually to the waiter, who could only say that he
+was sorry. This man was a red-faced, sharp-nosed person with an
+unmistakable Cockney accent. He seemed to find a great deal of comfort
+in verbally longing for the day when he could get back to Simpson's in
+the Strand for a bit of "roast that is a roast."
+
+The crowd began to thin out shortly after the time set for the lifting
+of curtains in all of the theatres. It was then that the sallow-faced
+man arose from his seat and, after asking his companion to excuse him
+for a minute, approached Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. That gentleman had
+been dizzily ogling a dashing, spirited young woman at the table
+presided over by Mr. McFaddan, a circumstance which not only annoyed the
+lady but also one closer at hand. The latter was wanting to know, in
+some heat, what he took her for. If he thought she'd stand for anything
+like that, he had another guess coming.
+
+"May I have a word with you?" asked the sallow man, inserting his head
+between Stuyvesant and the protesting young woman.
+
+"The bouncer," cried the young woman, looking up. "Good work. That's
+what you get for making eyes at strange--"
+
+"Shut up," said Stuyvie, who had, after a moment's concentration,
+recognized the man. "What do you want?"
+
+"A word in private," said the other.
+
+Stuyvesant got up and followed him to a vacant table in the rear.
+
+"She is here," said the stranger. "Here in this restaurant. Not more
+than fifty feet from where we're sitting."
+
+The listener blinked. His brain was foggy.
+
+"What's that?" he mumbled, thickly.
+
+"The girl you're lookin' for," said the man.
+
+Stuyvesant sat up abruptly. His brain seemed to clear.
+
+"You mean--Miss Emsdale?" he demanded, rather distinctly.
+
+The little man in the red coat, sitting just above them on the edge of
+the platform, where he was resting after a particularly long and arduous
+number, pricked up his ears. He, too, had seen the radiant, friendly
+face of the English girl at the far end of the room, and had favoured
+her with more than one smile of appreciation.
+
+"Yes. Stand up and take a look. Keep back of this palm, so's she won't
+lamp you. 'Way over there with the white-haired old lady. Am I right?
+She's the one, ain't she?"
+
+Smith-Parvis became visibly excited. "Yes,--there's not the slightest
+doubt. How--how long has she been here? Why the devil didn't you tell me
+sooner?"
+
+"Don't get excited. Better not let her see you in this condition. She
+looks like a nice, refined girl. She--"
+
+"What do you mean 'condition'? I'm all right," retorted the young man,
+bellicose at once.
+
+"I know you are," said the other soothingly.
+
+"Darn the luck," growled Stuyvie, following a heroic effort to restore
+his physical equilibrium. "I wouldn't have had her see me here with this
+crowd for half the money in New York. She'll get a bad impression of me.
+Look at 'em! My Lord, they're all stewed. I say, you go over and tell
+that man with the big nose at the head of my table that I've been
+suddenly called away, and--"
+
+"Take my advice, and sit tight."
+
+Stuyvie's mind wandered. "Say, do you know who that rippin' creature is
+over there with the fat Irishman? She's a dream."
+
+The sallow man did not deign to look. He bent a little closer to Mr.
+Smith-Parvis.
+
+"Now, what is the next move, Mr. Smith-Parvis? I've located her right
+enough. Is this the end of the trail?"
+
+"Sh!" cautioned Stuyvie, loudly. Then even more loudly: "Don't you know
+any better than to roar like that? There's a man sitting up there--"
+
+"He can't understand a word of English. Wop. Just landed. That's the guy
+the papers have been--"
+
+"I am not in the least interested in your conversation," said Stuyvie
+haughtily. "What were you saying?"
+
+"Am I through? That's what I want to know."
+
+"You have found out where she's stopping?"
+
+"Yep. Stayin' with the white-haired old lady. Dressmaking establishment.
+The office will make a full report to you tomorrow."
+
+"Wait a minute. Let me think."
+
+The sallow man waited for some time. Then he said: "Excuse me, Mr.
+Smith-Parvis, but I've got a friend over here. Stranger in New York. I'm
+detailed to entertain him."
+
+"You've got to shake him," said Stuyvie, arrogantly. "I want you to
+follow her home, and I'm going with you. As soon as I know positively
+where she lives, I'll decide on the next step we're to take. We'll have
+to work out some plan to get her away from that dressmakin'
+'stablishment."
+
+The other gave him a hard look. "Don't count our people in on any rough
+stuff," he said levelly. "We don't go in for that sort of thing."
+
+Stuyvie winked. "We'll talk about that when the time comes."
+
+"Well, what I said goes. We're the oldest and most reliable agency in--"
+
+"I know all that," said Stuyvie, peevishly. "It is immaterial to me
+whether your agency or some other one does the job. Remember that, will
+you? I want that girl, and I don't give a--"
+
+"Good night, Mr. Smith-Parvis."
+
+"Wait a minute,--_wait_ a minute. Now, listen. When you see her getting
+ready to leave this place, rush out and get a taxi. I'll join you
+outside, and we'll--"
+
+"Very well. That's part of my job, I suppose. I will have to explain to
+my friend. He will understand." He lowered his voice to almost a
+whisper. "He's in the same business. Special from Scotland Yard. My God,
+what bulldogs these Britishers are. He's been clear around the world,
+lookin' for a young English swell who lit out a couple of years ago.
+We've been taken in on the case,--and I'm on the job with him from
+now--"
+
+"And say," broke in Stuyvie, irrelevantly, "before you leave find out
+who that girl is over there with the fat Irishman. Understand?"
+
+Prince Waldemar de Bosky's thoughts and reflections, up to the beginning
+of this duologue, were of the rosiest and most cheerful nature. He was
+not proud to be playing the violin in Spangler's, but he was human. He
+was not above being gratified by the applause and enthusiasm of the
+people who came to see if not to hear a prince of the blood perform.
+
+His friends were out there in front, and it was to them that he played.
+He was very happy. And the five thousand dollars in the old steel safe
+at the shop of Mirabeau the clockmaker! He had been thinking of them and
+of the letter he had posted to the man "up the river,"--and of the
+interest he would take in the reply when it came. Abruptly, in the midst
+of these agreeable thoughts, came the unlovely interruption.
+
+At first he was bewildered, uncertain as to the course he should pursue.
+He never had seen young Smith-Parvis before, but he had no difficulty in
+identifying him as the disturber of Trotter's peace of mind. That there
+was something dark and sinister behind the plans and motives of the
+young man and his spy was not a matter for doubt. How was he to warn
+Lady Jane? He was in a fearful state of perturbation as he stepped to
+the front of the platform for the next number on the program.
+
+As he played, he saw Smith-Parvis rejoin his party. He watched the
+sallow man weave his way among the diners to his own table. His anxious
+gaze sought out the Marchioness and Jane, and he was relieved to find
+that they were not preparing to depart. Also, he looked again at
+McFaddan and the dashing young woman at the foot of his table. He had
+recognized the man who once a week came under his critical observation
+as a proper footman. As a matter of fact, he had been a trifle
+flabbergasted by the intense stare with which McFaddan favoured him. Up
+to this hour he had not associated McFaddan with opulence or a
+tailor-made dress suit.
+
+After the encore, he descended from the platform and made his way,
+bowing right and left to the friendly throng, until he brought up at the
+Marchioness's table. There he paused and executed a profound bow.
+
+The Marchioness proffered her hand, which he was careful not to see, and
+said something to him in English. He shook his head, expressive of
+despair, and replied in the Hungarian tongue.
+
+"He does not understand English," said Jane, her eyes sparkling. Then
+she complimented him in French.
+
+De Bosky affected a faint expression of hope. He managed a few halting
+words in French. Jane was delighted. This was rare good fun. The
+musician turned to the others at the table and gave utterance to the
+customary "Parle vouz Francais, madame--m'sieu?"
+
+"Not a word," said Mrs. Hendricks. "_He_ understands it but he can't
+hear it," she went on, and suddenly turned a fiery red. "How silly of
+me," she said to the Marchioness, giggling hysterically.
+
+De Bosky's face cleared. He addressed himself to Jane; it was quite safe
+to speak to her in French. He forgot himself in his eagerness, however,
+and spoke with amazing fluency for one who but a moment before had been
+so at a loss. In a few quick, concise sentences he told her of
+Stuyvesant's presence, his condition and his immediate designs.
+
+Both Jane and the Marchioness were equal to the occasion. Although
+filled with consternation, they succeeded admirably in concealing their
+dismay behind a mask of smiles and a gay sort of chatter. De Bosky
+beamed and smirked and gesticulated. One would have thought he was
+regaling them with an amusing story.
+
+"He is capable of making a horrid scene," lamented Jane, through smiling
+lips. "He may come over to this table and--"
+
+"Compose yourself," broke in de Bosky, a smile on his lips but not in
+his eyes. "If he should attempt to annoy you here, I--I myself will take
+him in hand. Have no fear. You may depend on me."
+
+He was interrupted at this juncture by a brass-buttoned page who passed
+the table, murmuring the name of Mrs. Sparflight.
+
+Spangler's is an exceptional place. Pages do not bawl out one's name as
+if calling an "extra." On the contrary, in quiet, repressed tones they
+politely inquire at each table for the person wanted. Mr. Spangler was
+very particular about this. He came near to losing his license years
+before simply because a page had meandered through the restaurant
+bellowing the name of a gentleman whose influence was greater at City
+Hall than it was at his own fireside,--from which, by the way, he
+appears to have strayed on the night in question.
+
+"Dear me," cried the Marchioness, her agitation increasing. "No one
+knows I am here. How on earth--Here, boy!"
+
+A note was delivered to her. It was from Thomas Trotter. Her face
+brightened as she glanced swiftly through the scrawl.
+
+"Splendid!" she exclaimed. "It is from Mr. Trotter. He is waiting
+outside with his automobile."
+
+She passed the note to Jane, whose colour deepened. De Bosky drew a deep
+breath of relief, and, cheered beyond measure by her reassuring words,
+strode off, his head erect, his white teeth showing in a broad smile.
+
+Trotter wrote: "It is raining cats and dogs. I have the car outside. The
+family is at the theatre. Don't hurry. I can wait until 10:15. If you
+are not ready to come away by that time, you will find my friend Joe
+Glimm hanging about in front of the café,--drenched to the skin, I'll
+wager. You will recall him as the huge person I introduced to you
+recently as from Constantinople. Just put yourselves under his wing if
+anything happens. He is jolly well able to protect you. I know who's in
+there, but don't be uneasy. He will not dare molest you."
+
+"Shall I keep it for you?" asked Jane, her eyes shining.
+
+"I fancy it was intended for you, my dear," said the other drily.
+
+"How very interesting," observed Mr. Hendricks, who occasionally offered
+some such remark as his contribution to the gaiety of the evening. He
+had found it to be a perfectly safe shot, even when fired at random.
+
+In the meantime, Mr. McFaddan had come to the conclusion that the young
+man at the next table but one was obnoxious. It isn't exactly the way
+Mr. McFaddan would have put it, but as he would have put it less
+elegantly, it is better to supply him with a word out of stock.
+
+The dashing young woman upon whom Stuyvesant lavished his bold and
+significant glances happened to be Mrs. McFaddan, whose scant twelve
+months as a wife gave her certain privileges and a distinction that
+properly would have been denied her hearth-loving predecessor who came
+over from Ireland to marry Con McFaddan when he was promoted to the
+position of foreman in the works,--and who, true to her estate of
+muliebrity, produced four of the most exemplary step-children that any
+second wife could have discovered if she had gone storking over the
+entire city.
+
+Cornelius had married his stenographer. It was not his fault that she
+happened to be a very pretty young woman, nor could he be held
+responsible for the fact that he was approximately thirty years of age
+on the day she was born. Any way you look at it, she was his wife and
+dependent on him for some measure of protection.
+
+And Mr. McFaddan, being an influence, sent for the proprietor of the
+café himself, and whispered to him. Whereupon, Mr. Spangler, considering
+the side on which his bread was buttered, whispered back that it should
+be attended to at once.
+
+"And," pursued Mr. McFaddan, purple with suppressed rage, "if you don't,
+I will."
+
+A minute or two later, one of the waiters approached young Mr.
+Smith-Parvis and informed him that he was wanted outside at once.
+
+Stuyvesant's heart leaped. He at once surmised that Miss Emsdale,
+repentant and envious, had come off her high horse and was eager to get
+away from the dull, prosaic and stupidly respectable old "parties" over
+in the corner. Conceivably she had taken a little more champagne than
+was good for her. He got up immediately, and without so much as a word
+of apology to his host, made his way eagerly, though unsteadily, to the
+entrance-hall.
+
+He expected Miss Emsdale to follow; he was already framing in his
+beaddled brain the jolly little lecture he would give her when--
+
+A red-faced person jostled him in a most annoying manner.
+
+"Look sharp there," said Stuyvie thickly. "Watch where you're going."
+
+"Steady, sir,--steady!" came in a hushed, agitated voice from Mr.
+Spangler, who appeared to be addressing himself exclusively to the
+red-faced person. "Let me manage it,--please."
+
+"Who the devil is this bally old blighter?" demanded Stuyvie loudly.
+
+"Leave him to me, Spangler," said the red-faced man. "I have a few
+choice words I--"
+
+"Here! Confound you! Keep off of my toes, you fool! I say, Spangler,
+what's the matter with you? Throw him out! He's--"
+
+"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!"
+
+"I ought to knock your block off," said Mr. McFaddan, without raising
+his voice. As his face was within six inches of Stuyvesant's nose, the
+young man had no difficulty whatever in hearing what he said, and yet it
+should not be considered strange that he failed to understand. In all
+fairness, it must be said that he was bewildered. Under the
+circumstances any one would have been bewildered. Being spoken to in
+that fashion by a man you've never seen before in your life is, to say
+the least, surprising. "I'll give you ten seconds to apologize."
+
+"Ap--apologize? Confound you, what do you mean? You're drunk."
+
+"I said ten seconds," growled Cornelius.
+
+"And then what?" gulped Stuyvie.
+
+"A swat on the nose," said Mr. McFaddan.
+
+At no point in the course of this narrative has there been either proof
+or assertion that Smith-Parvis, Junior, possessed the back-bone of a
+caterpillar. It has been stated, however, that he was a young man of
+considerable bulk. We have assumed, correctly, that this rather
+impressive physique masked a craven spirit. As a matter of fact, he was
+such a prodigious coward that he practised all manner of "exercises" in
+order to develop something to inspire in his fellow-men the belief that
+he would be a pretty tough customer to tackle.
+
+Something is to be said for his method. It has been successfully
+practised by man ever since the day that Solomon, in all his glory,
+arrayed himself so sumptuously that the whole world hailed him as the
+wisest man extant.
+
+Stuyvie took great pride in revealing his well-developed arms; it was
+not an uncommon thing for him to ask you to feel his biceps, or his back
+muscles, or the cords in his thigh; he did a great deal of strutting in
+his bathing suit at such places as Atlantic City, Southampton and
+Newport. In a way, it paid to advertise.
+
+Now when Mr. McFaddan, a formidable-looking person, made that emphatic
+remark, Stuyvesant realized that there was no escape. He was trapped.
+Panic seized him. In sheer terror he struck blindly at the awful,
+reddish thing that filled his vision.
+
+He talked a good deal about it afterwards, explaining in a casual sort
+of way just how he had measured the distance and had picked out the
+point of the fat man's jaw. He even went so far as to say that he felt
+sorry for the poor devil even before he delivered the blow.
+
+The fact of the matter is, Stuyvie's wild, terrified swing,--delivered
+with the eyes not only closed but covered by the left arm,--landed
+squarely on Mr. McFaddan's jaw. And when the aggressor, after a moment
+or two of suspense, opened his eyes and lowered his arm, expecting to
+find his adversary's fist on its irresistible approach toward his nose,
+there was no Mr. McFaddan in sight;--at least, he was not where he had
+been the moment before.
+
+Mr. McFaddan lay in a crumpled heap against a chair, ten feet away.
+
+Stuyvie was suddenly aware that some one was assisting him into his
+coat, and that several men were hustling him toward the door.
+
+"Get out,--quick!" said one, who turned out to be the agitated Mr.
+Spangler. "Before he gets up. He is a terrible man."
+
+By this time they were in the vestibule.
+
+"I will not tell him who you are," Mr. Spangler was saying. "I will give
+you another name,--Jones or anything. He must never know who you are."
+
+"What's the difference?" chattered Stuyvie. "He's--he's dead, isn't he?"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+
+                       SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND
+
+
+IT was raining hard. Stuyvesant, thoroughly alarmed and not at all
+elated by his astonishing conquest, halted in dismay. The pelting
+torrent swept up against the side of the canvas awning that extended to
+the street; the thick matting on the sidewalk was almost afloat.
+Headlights of automobiles drawn up to the curb blazed dimly through the
+screen of water. He peered out beyond the narrow opening left for
+pedestrians and groaned.
+
+"Taxi!" he frantically shouted to the doorman. Some one tapped him on
+the shoulder. He started as if a gun had gone off at his back. It was
+all up! For once the police were on the spot when--A voice was shouting:
+
+"By thunder, I didn't think it was in you!"
+
+He whirled to face, not the expected bluecoat, but the sallow detective.
+
+"My God, how you startled me!"
+
+"I'd have bet my last dollar you hadn't the nerve to--ahem! I--I--Say,
+take a tip from me. Beat it! Don't hang around here waitin' for that
+girl. That guy in there is beginning to see straight again, and if he
+was to bust out here and find you--Well, it would be something awful!"
+
+"Get me a taxi, you infernal idiot!" roared the conqueror in flight,
+addressing the starter.
+
+"Have one here in five minutes, sir," began the taxi starter, grabbing
+up the telephone.
+
+"Five minutes?" gasped Stuyvie, with a quick glance over his shoulder.
+"Oh, Lord! Tell one of those chauffeurs out there I'll give him ten
+dollars to run me to the Grand Central Station. Hurry up!"
+
+"The Grand Central?" exclaimed the detective. "Great Scott, man, you
+don't have to beat it clear out of town, you know. What are you going to
+the Station for?"
+
+"For a taxi, you damn' fool," shouted Stuyvie. "Say, who was that man in
+there?"
+
+"Didn't you know him?"
+
+"Never saw him in my life before,--the blighter. Who is he?"
+
+The detective stared. He opened his mouth to reply, and as suddenly
+closed it. He, too, knew on which side his bread was precariously
+buttered.
+
+"I don't know," he said.
+
+"Well, the papers will give his name in the morning,--and mine, too,
+curse them," chattered Stuyvie.
+
+"Don't you think it," said the other promptly. "There won't be a word
+about it, take it from me. That guy,--whoever he is,--ain't going to
+have the newspapers say he was knocked down by a pinhead like you."
+
+The insult passed unnoticed. Stuyvie was gazing, pop-eyed, at a man who
+suddenly appeared at the mouth of the canopy, a tall fellow in a
+dripping raincoat.
+
+The newcomer's eyes were upon him. They were steady, unfriendly eyes. He
+advanced slowly.
+
+"I sha'n't wait," said Stuyvie, and swiftly passed out into the deluge.
+No other course was open to him. There was trouble ahead and trouble
+behind.
+
+Thomas Trotter laughed. The sallow-faced man made a trumpet of his hands
+and shouted after the departing one:
+
+"Beat it! He's coming!"
+
+The retreating footsteps quickened into a lively clatter. Trotter
+distinctly heard the sallow-faced man chuckle.
+
+The Marchioness and Jane went home in the big Millidew limousine instead
+of in a taxi. They left the restaurant soon after the departure of
+Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. The pensive-looking stranger from Scotland Yard
+came out close upon their heels. He was looking for his American guide.
+
+Trotter brought his car up to the awning and grinned broadly as he
+leaned forward for "orders."
+
+"Home, James," said Lady Jane, loftily.
+
+"Very good, my lady," said Trotter.
+
+The man from Scotland Yard squinted narrowly at the chauffeur's face. He
+moved a few paces nearer and stared harder. For a long time after the
+car had rolled away, he stood in the middle of the sidewalk, frowning
+perplexedly. Then he shook his head and apparently gave it up. He went
+inside to look for his friend.
+
+The next day, the sallow-faced detective received instructions over the
+telephone from one who refused to give his name to the operator. He was
+commanded to keep close watch on the movements of a certain party, and
+to await further orders.
+
+"I shall be out of town for a week or ten days," explained young Mr.
+Smith-Parvis.
+
+"I see," said the sallow-faced man. "Good idea. That guy--" But the
+receiver at the other end clicked rudely and without ceremony.
+
+Stuyvesant took an afternoon train for Virginia Hot Springs. At the
+Pennsylvania Station he bought all of the newspapers,--morning, noon and
+night. There wasn't a line in any one of them about the fracas. He was
+rather hurt about it. He was beginning to feel proud of his achievement.
+By the time the train reached Philadelphia he had worked himself into
+quite a fury over the way the New York papers suppress things that
+really ought to be printed. Subsidized, that's what they were. Jolly
+well bribed. He had given the fellow,--whoever he was,--a well-deserved
+drubbing, and the world would never hear of it! Miss Emsdale would not
+hear of it. He very much wished her to hear of it, too. The farther away
+he got from New York the more active became the conviction that he owed
+it to himself to go back there and thrash the fellow all over again, as
+publicly as possible,--in front of the Public Library at four o'clock in
+the afternoon, while he was about it.
+
+He had been at Hot Springs no longer than forty-eight hours when a long
+letter came from his mother. She urged him to return to New York as soon
+as possible. It was imperative that he should be present at a very
+important dinner she was giving on Friday night. One of the most
+influential politicians in New York was to be there,--a man whose name
+was a household word,--and she was sure something splendid would come of
+it.
+
+"You must not fail me, dear boy," she wrote. "I would not have him miss
+seeing you for anything in the world. Don't ask me any questions. I
+can't tell you anything now, but I will say that a great surprise is in
+store for my darling boy."
+
+Meanwhile the nosy individual from Scotland Yard had not been idle. The
+fleeting, all too brief glimpse he had had of the good-looking chauffeur
+in front of Spangler's spurred him to sudden energy in pursuit of what
+had long since shaped itself as a rather forlorn hope. He got out the
+photograph of the youngster in the smart uniform of the Guard, and
+studied it with renewed intensity. Mentally he removed the cocky little
+moustache so prevalent in the Army, and with equal arrogance tried to
+put one on the smooth-faced chauffeur. He allowed for elapsed time, and
+the wear and tear of three years knocking about the world, and altered
+circumstances, and still the resemblance persisted.
+
+For a matter of ten months he had been seeking the young gentleman who
+bore such a startling resemblance to the smiling chauffeur. He had
+traced him to Turkey, into Egypt, down the East Coast of Africa, over to
+Australia, up to Siam and China and Japan, across the Pacific to British
+Columbia, thence to the United States, where the trail was completely
+lost. His quarry had a good year and a half to two years the start of
+him.
+
+Still, a chap he knew quite well in the Yard, after chasing a man twice
+around the world, had nabbed him at the end of six years. So much for
+British perseverance.
+
+Inquiry had failed to produce the slightest enlightenment from the
+doorman or the starter at Spangler's. He always remembered them as the
+stupidest asses he had ever encountered. They didn't recognize the
+chauffeur, nor the car, nor the ladies; not only were they unable to
+tell him the number of the car, but they couldn't, for the life of them,
+approximate the number of ladies. All they seemed to know was that some
+one had been knocked down by a "swell" who was "hot-footing it" up the
+street.
+
+His sallow-faced friend, however, had provided him with an encouraging
+lead. That worthy knew the ladies, but somewhat peevishly explained that
+it was hardly to be expected that he should know all of the taxi-cab
+drivers in New York,--and as he had seen them arrive in a taxi-cab it
+was reasonable to assume that they had departed in one.
+
+"But it wasn't a taxi-cab," the Scotland Yard man protested. "It was a
+blinking limousine."
+
+"Then, all I got to say is that they're not the women I mean. If I'd
+been out here when they left I probably could have put you wise. But I
+was in there listenin' to what Con McFaddan was sayin' to poor old
+Spangler. The woman I mean is a dressmaker. She ain't got any more of a
+limo than I have. Did you notice what they looked like?"
+
+The Scotland Yard man, staring gloomily up the rain-swept street,
+confessed that he hadn't noticed anything but the chauffeur's face.
+
+"Well, there you are," remarked the sallow-faced man, shrugging his
+shoulders in a patronizing, almost pitying way.
+
+The Londoner winced.
+
+"I distinctly heard the chauffeur say 'Very good, my lady,'" he said,
+after a moment. "That was a bit odd, wasn't it, now? You don't have any
+such things as titles over 'ere, do you?"
+
+"Sure. Every steamer brings one or two of 'em to our little city."
+
+The Englishman scratched his head. Suddenly his face brightened.
+
+"I remember, after all,--in a vague sort of way, don't you know,--that
+one of the ladies had white hair. I recall an instant's speculation on
+my part. I remember looking twice to be sure that it was hair and not a
+bit of lace thrown--"
+
+"That's the party," exclaimed the sallow-faced man. "Now we're getting
+somewhere."
+
+The next afternoon, the man from Scotland Yard paid a visit to
+Deborah's. Not at all abashed at finding himself in a place where all
+save angels fear to tread, he calmly asked to be conducted into the
+presence of Mrs. Sparflight. He tactfully refrained from adding "alias
+Deborah, Limited. London, Paris and New York." He declined to state his
+business.
+
+"Madam," said he, coming straight to the point the instant he was
+ushered into the presence of the white-haired proprietress, "I sha'n't
+waste your time,--and mine, I may add,--by beating about the bush, as
+you Americans would say. I represent--"
+
+"If you are an insurance agent or a book agent, you need not waste any
+time at all," began Mrs. Sparflight. He held up his hand deprecatingly.
+
+"--Scotland Yard," he concluded, fixing his eyes upon her. The start she
+gave was helpful. He went on briskly. "Last night you were at a certain
+restaurant. You departed during the thunder-storm in a limousine driven
+by a young man whose face is familiar to me. In short, I am looking for
+a man who bears a most startling resemblance to him. May I prevail upon
+you to volunteer a bit of information?"
+
+Mrs. Sparflight betrayed agitation. A hunted, troubled look came into
+her eyes.
+
+"I--I don't quite understand," she stammered. "Who--who did you say you
+were?"
+
+"My name is Chambers, Alfred Chambers, Scotland Yard. In the event that
+you are ignorant of the character of the place called Scotland Yard, I
+may explain that--"
+
+"I know what it is," she interrupted hastily. "What is it that you want
+of me, Mr. Chambers?" She was rapidly gaining control of her wits.
+
+"Very little, madam. I should very much like to know whose car took you
+away from Sprinkler's last night."
+
+She looked him straight in the eye. "I haven't the remotest idea," she
+said.
+
+He nodded his head gently. "Would you, on the other hand, object to
+telling me how long James has been driving for her ladyship?"
+
+This was a facer. Mrs. Sparflight's gaze wavered.
+
+"Her ladyship?" she murmured weakly.
+
+"Yes, madam,--unless my hearing was temporarily defective," he said.
+
+"I don't know what you mean."
+
+"Your companion was a young lady of--"
+
+"My good man," interrupted the lady sharply, "my companion last night
+was my own private secretary."
+
+"A Miss Emsdale, I believe," said he.
+
+She gulped. "Precisely."
+
+"Um!" he mused. "And you do not know whose car you went off in,--is that
+right?"
+
+"I have no hesitancy in stating, Mr. Chambers, that the car does not
+belong to me or to my secretary," she said, smiling.
+
+"I trust you will pardon a seemingly rude question, Mrs. Sparflight. Is
+it the custom in New York for people to take possession of private
+automobiles--"
+
+"It is the custom for New York chauffeurs to pick up an extra dollar or
+two when their employers are not looking," she interrupted, with a shrug
+of her shoulders. She was instantly ashamed of her mendacity. She looked
+over her shoulder to see if Mr. Thomas Trotter's sweetheart was anywhere
+within hearing, and was relieved to find that she was not. "And now,
+sir, if it is a fair question, may I inquire just what this chauffeur's
+double has been doing that Scotland Yard should be seeking him so
+assiduously?"
+
+"He has been giving us a deuce of a chase, madam," said Mr. Chambers, as
+if that were the gravest crime a British subject could possibly commit.
+"By the way, did you by any chance obtain a fair look at the man who
+drove you home last night?"
+
+"Yes. He seemed quite a good-looking fellow."
+
+"Will you glance at this photograph, Mrs. Sparflight, and tell me
+whether you detect a resemblance?" He took a small picture from his coat
+pocket and held it out to her.
+
+She looked at it closely, holding it at various angles and distances,
+and nodded her head in doubtful acquiescence.
+
+"I think I do, Mr. Chambers. I am not surprised that you should have
+been struck by the resemblance. This man was a soldier, I perceive."
+
+Mr. Chambers restored the photograph to his pocket.
+
+"The King's Own," he replied succinctly. "Perhaps your secretary may be
+able to throw a little more light on the matter, madam. May I have the
+privilege of interrogating her?"
+
+"Not today," said Mrs. Sparflight, who had anticipated the request. "She
+is very busy."
+
+"Of course I am in no position to insist," said he pleasantly. "I trust
+you will forgive my intrusion, madam. I am here only in the interests of
+justice, and I have no desire to cause you the slightest annoyance.
+Permit me to bid you good day, Mrs. Sparflight. Thank you for your
+kindness in receiving me. Tomorrow, if it is quite agreeable to you, I
+shall call to see Miss Emsdale."
+
+At that moment, the door opened and Miss Emsdale came into the little
+office.
+
+"You rang for me, Mrs. Sparflight?" she inquired, with a quick glance at
+the stranger.
+
+Mrs. Sparflight blinked rapidly. "Not at all,--not at all. I did not
+ring."
+
+Miss Emsdale looked puzzled. "I am sure the buzzer--"
+
+"Pardon me," said Mr. Chambers, easily. "I fancy I can solve the
+mystery. Accidentally,--quite accidentally, I assure you,--I put my hand
+on the button on your desk, Mrs. Sparflight,--while you were glancing at
+the photograph. Like this,--do you see?" He put his hand on the top of
+the desk and leaned forward, just as he had done when he joined her in
+studying the picture a few moments before.
+
+A hot flush mounted to Mrs. Sparflight's face, and her eyes flashed. The
+next instant she smiled.
+
+"You are most resourceful, Mr. Chambers," she said. "It happens,
+however, that your cleverness gains you nothing. This young lady is one
+of our stenographers. I think I said that Miss Emsdale is my private
+secretary. She has no connection whatever with the business office. The
+button you inadvertently pressed simply disturbed one of the girls in
+the next room. You may return to your work, Miss Henry."
+
+She carried it off very well. Jane, sensing danger, was on the point of
+retiring,--somewhat hurriedly, it must be confessed,--when Mr. Chambers,
+in his most apologetic manner, remarked:
+
+"May I have a word with you, your ladyship?"
+
+It was a bold guess, encouraged by his discovery that the young lady was
+not only English but of a class distinctly remote from shops and
+stenography.
+
+Under the circumstances, Jane may be forgiven for dissembling, even at
+the cost of her employer's honour. She stopped short, whirled, and
+confronted the stranger with a look in her eyes that convicted her
+immediately. Her hand flew to her heart, and a little gasp broke from
+her parted lips.
+
+Mr. Chambers was smiling blandly. She looked from him to Mrs.
+Sparflight, utter bewilderment in her eyes.
+
+"Oh, Lord!" muttered that lady in great dismay.
+
+The man from Scotland Yard hazarded another and even more potential
+stroke while the iron was hot.
+
+"I am from Scotland Yard," he said. "We make some mistakes there, I
+admit, but not many." He proceeded to lie boldly. "I know who you are,
+my lady, and--But it is not necessary to go into that at present. Do not
+be alarmed. You have nothing to fear from me,--or from Scotland Yard.
+I--"
+
+"Well, I should hope _not_!" burst out Mrs. Sparflight indignantly.
+
+"What does he want?" cried Jane, in trepidation. She addressed her
+friend, but it was Mr. Chambers who answered.
+
+"I want you to supply me with a little information concerning Lord Eric
+Temple,--whom you addressed last evening as James."
+
+Jane began to tremble. Scotland Yard!
+
+"The man is crazy," said Mrs. Sparflight, leaping into the breach. "By
+what right, sir, do you come here to impose your--"
+
+"No offence is intended, ma'am," broke in Mr. Chambers. "Absolutely no
+offence. It is merely in the line of duty that I come. In plain words, I
+have been instructed to apprehend Lord Eric Temple and fetch him to
+London. You see, I am quite frank about it. You can aid me by being as
+frank in return, ladies."
+
+By this time Jane had regained command of herself. Drawing herself up,
+she faced the detective, and, casting discretion to the winds, took a
+most positive and determined stand.
+
+"I must decline,--no matter what the cost may be to myself,--to give you
+the slightest assistance concerning Lord Temple."
+
+To their infinite amazement, the man bowed very courteously and said:
+
+"I shall not insist. Pardon my methods and my intrusion. I shall trouble
+you no further. Good day, madam. Good day, your ladyship."
+
+He took his leave at once, leaving them staring blankly at the closed
+door. He was satisfied. He had found out just what he wanted to know,
+and he was naturally in some haste to get out before they began putting
+embarrassing questions to him.
+
+"Oh, dear," murmured Jane, distractedly. "What _are_ we to do? Scotland
+Yard! That can mean but one thing. His enemies at home have brought some
+vile, horrible charge against--"
+
+"We must warn him at once, Jane. There is no time to be lost. Telephone
+to the garage where Mrs. Millidew--"
+
+"But the man doesn't know that Eric is driving for Mrs. Millidew," broke
+in Jane, hopefully.
+
+"He _will_ know, and in very short order," said the other,
+sententiously. "Those fellows are positively uncanny. Go at once and
+telephone." She hesitated a moment, looking a little confused and
+guilty. "Lay aside your work, dear, for the time being. There is nothing
+very urgent about it, you know."
+
+In sheer desperation she had that very morning set her restless charge
+to work copying names out of the _Social Register_,--names she had
+checked off at random between the hours of ten and two the previous
+night.
+
+Jane's distress increased to a state bordering on anguish.
+
+"Oh, dear! He--he is out of town for two or three days."
+
+"Out of town?"
+
+"He told me last night he was to be off early this morning for Mrs.
+Millidew's country place somewhere on Long Island. Mrs. Millidew had to
+go down to see about improvements or repairs or something before the
+house is opened for the season."
+
+"Mrs. Millidew was in the shop this morning for a 'try-on,'" said the
+other. "She has changed her plans, no doubt."
+
+Jane's honest blue eyes wavered slightly as she met her friend's
+questioning gaze.
+
+"I think he said that young Mrs. Millidew was going down to look after
+the work for her mother-in-law."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVII
+
+                            FRIDAY FOR LUCK
+
+
+THE "drawing-room" that evening lacked not only distinction but
+animation as well. To begin with, the attendance was small. The
+Marchioness, after the usual collaboration with Julia in advance of the
+gathering, received a paltry half-dozen during the course of the
+evening. The Princess was there, and Count Antonio,--(he rarely missed
+coming), and the Hon. Mrs. Priestley-Duff. Lord Eric Temple and Lady
+Jane Thorne were missing, as were Prince Waldemar de Bosky, Count
+Wilhelm von Blitzen and the Countess du Bara. Extreme dulness prevailed.
+The Princess fell asleep, and, on being roused at a seasonable hour,
+declared that her eyes had been troubling her of late, so she kept them
+closed as much as possible on account of the lights.
+
+Mrs. Priestley-Duff, being greatly out-of-sorts, caustically remarked
+that the proper way to treat bothersome eyes is to put them to bed in a
+sound-proof room.
+
+Cricklewick yawned in the foyer, Moody yawned in the outer hall, and
+McFaddan in the pantry. The latter did not yawn luxuriously. There was
+something half-way about it.
+
+"Why don't you 'ave it out?" inquired Moody, sympathetically, after
+solicitous inquiry. "They say the bloomin' things are the cause of all
+the rheumatism we're 'aving nowadays. Is it a wisdom tooth?"
+
+"No," said McFaddan, with a suddenness that startled Moody; "it ain't.
+It's a whole jaw. It's a dam' fool jaw at that."
+
+"Now that I look at you closer," said Moody critically, "it seems to be
+a bit discoloured. Looks as though mortification had set in."
+
+"Ye never said a truer thing," said McFaddan. "It set in last night."
+
+The man from Scotland Yard waited across the street until he saw the
+lights in the windows of the third, fourth and fifth floors go out, and
+then strolled patiently away. Queer looking men and women came under his
+observation during the long and lonely vigil, entering and emerging from
+the darkened doorway across the street, but none of them, by any chance,
+bore the slightest resemblance to the elusive Lord Temple, or "her
+ladyship," the secretary. He made the quite natural error of putting the
+queer looking folk down as tailors and seamstresses who worked far into
+the night for the prosperous Deborah.
+
+Two days went by. He sat at a window in the hotel opposite and waited
+for the young lady to appear. On three separate occasions he followed
+her to Central Park and back. She was a brisk walker. She had the free
+stride of the healthy English girl. He experienced some difficulty in
+keeping her in sight, but even as he puffed laboriously behind, he was
+conscious of a sort of elation. It was good to see some one who walked
+as if she were in Hyde Park.
+
+For obvious reasons, his trailing was in vain. Jane did not meet Lord
+Temple for the excellent reason that Thomas Trotter was down on Long
+Island with the beautiful Mrs. Millidew. And while both Jane and Mrs.
+Sparflight kept a sharp lookout for Mr. Chambers, they failed to
+discover any sign of him. He seemed to have abandoned the quest. They
+were not lured into security, however. He would bob up, like
+Jack-in-the-box, when least expected.
+
+If they could only get word to Trotter! If they could only warn him of
+the peril that stalked him!
+
+Jane was in the depths. She had tumbled swiftly from the great height to
+which joy had wafted her; her hopes and dreams, and the castles they had
+built so deftly, shrunk up and vanished in the cloud that hung like a
+pall about her. Her faith in the man she loved was stronger than ever;
+nothing could shatter that. No matter what Scotland Yard might say or
+do, actuated by enemy injustice, she would never believe evil of him.
+And she would not give him up!
+
+"Marchioness," she said at the close of the second day, her blue eyes
+clouded with the agony of suspense, "is there not some way to resist
+extradition? Can't we fight it? Surely it isn't possible to take an
+innocent man out of this great, generous country--"
+
+"My dear child," said the Marchioness, putting down her coffee cup with
+so little precision that it clattered in the saucer, "there isn't
+_anything_ that Scotland Yard cannot do." She spoke with an air of
+finality.
+
+"I have been thinking," began Jane, haltingly. She paused for a moment.
+An appealing, wistful note was in her voice when she resumed, and her
+eyes were tenderly resolute. "He hasn't very much money, you know, poor
+boy. I have been thinking,--oh, I've been thinking of so many things,"
+she broke off confusedly.
+
+"Well, what have you been thinking?" inquired the other, helpfully.
+
+"It has occurred to me that I can get along very nicely on half of what
+you are paying me,--or even less. If it were not for the fact that my
+poor brother depends solely upon me for support, I could spare
+practically all of my salary to--for--"
+
+"Go on," said the Marchioness gently.
+
+"In any case, I can give Eric half of my salary if it will be of any
+assistance to him,--yes, a little more than half," said Jane, a warm,
+lovely flush in her cheeks.
+
+The Marchioness hastily pressed the serviette to her lips. She seemed to
+be choking. It was some time before she could trust herself to say:
+
+"Bless your heart, my dear, he wouldn't take it. Of course," she went
+on, after a moment, "it would please him beyond words if you were to
+suggest it to him."
+
+"I shall do more," said Jane, resolutely. "I shall insist."
+
+"It will tickle him almost to death," said the Marchioness, again
+raising the napkin to her lips.
+
+At twelve o'clock the next day, Trotter's voice came blithely over the
+telephone.
+
+"Are you there, darling? Lord, it seems like a century since I--"
+
+"Listen, Eric," she broke in. "I have something very important to tell
+you. Now, _do_ listen--are you there?"
+
+"Right-o! Whisper it, dear. The telephone has a million ears. I want to
+hear you say it,--oh, I've been wanting--"
+
+"It isn't that," she said. "You know I do, Eric. But this is something
+perfectly terrible."
+
+"Oh, I say, Jane, you haven't changed your mind about--about--"
+
+"As if I _could_," she cried. "I love you more than ever, Eric. Oh, what
+a silly thing to say over the telephone. I am blushing,--I hope no one
+heard--"
+
+"Listen!" said he promptly, music in his voice. "I'm just in from the
+country. I'll be down to see you about five this afternoon. Tell you all
+about the trip. Lived like a lord,--homelike sort of feeling,
+eh?--and--"
+
+"I don't care to hear about it," said Jane stiffly. "Besides, you must
+not come here today, Eric. It is the very worst thing you could do. He
+would be sure to see you."
+
+"He? What he?" he demanded quickly.
+
+"I can't explain. Listen, dear. Mrs. Sparflight and I have talked it all
+over and we've decided on the best thing to do."
+
+And she poured into the puzzled young man's ear the result of prolonged
+deliberations. He was to go to Bramble's Bookshop at half-past four, and
+proceed at once to the workshop of M. Mirabeau upstairs. She had
+explained the situation to Mr. Bramble in a letter. At five o'clock she
+would join him there. In the meantime, he was to keep off of the
+downtown streets as much as possible.
+
+"In the name of heaven, what's up?" he cried for the third time,--with
+variations.
+
+"A--a detective from Scotland Yard," she replied in a voice so low and
+cautious that he barely caught the words. "I--I can't say anything more
+now," she went on rapidly. "Something tells me he is just outside the
+door, listening to every word I utter."
+
+"Wait!" he ordered. "A detective? Has that beastly Smith-Parvis crowd
+dared to insinuate that you--that you--Oh, Lord, I can't even say it!"
+
+"I said 'Scotland Yard,' Eric," she said. "Don't you understand?"
+
+"No, I'm hanged if I do. But don't worry, dear. I'll be at Bramble's
+and, by the lord Harry, if they're trying to put up any sort of
+a--Hello! Are you there?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+Needless to say, he was at Bramble's Bookshop on the minute, vastly
+perturbed and eager for enlightenment.
+
+"Don't stop down here an instant," commanded Mr. Bramble, glancing
+warily at the front door. "Do as I tell you. Don't ask questions. Go
+upstairs and wait,--and don't show yourself under any circumstance. Did
+you happen to catch a glimpse of him anywhere outside?"
+
+"The street is full of 'hims,'" retorted Mr. Trotter in exasperation.
+"What the devil is all this about, Bramby?"
+
+"She will be here at five. There's nothing suspicious in her coming in
+to buy a book. It's all been thought out. Most natural thing in the
+world that she should buy a book, don't you see? Only you must not be
+buying one at the same time. Now, run along,--lively. Prince de Bosky is
+with Mirabeau. And don't come down till I give you the word."
+
+"See here, Bramble, if you let anything happen to her I'll--" Mr.
+Bramble relentlessly urged him up the steps.
+
+Long before Jane arrived, Trotter was in possession of the details. He
+was vastly perplexed.
+
+"I daresay one of those beastly cousins of mine has trumped up some
+charge that he figures will put me out of the running for ever," he said
+gloomily. He sat, slack and dejected, in a corner of the shop farthest
+removed from the windows. "I shouldn't mind so much if it weren't for
+Lady Jane. She--you see, M'sieur, she has promised to be my wife. This
+will hurt her terribly. The beastly curs!"
+
+"Sit down!" commanded M. Mirabeau. "You must not go raging up and down
+past those windows."
+
+"Confound you, Mirabeau, he doesn't know this place exists. He never
+will know unless he follows Lady Jane. I'll do as I jolly well please."
+
+De Bosky, inspired, produced a letter he had just received from his
+friend, the cracksman. He had read it to the bookseller and clockmaker,
+and now re-read it, with soulful fervour, for the benefit of the new
+arrival. He interrupted himself to beg M. Mirabeau to unlock the safe
+and bring forth the treasure.
+
+"You see what he says?" cried he, shaking the letter in front of
+Trotter's eyes. "And here is the money! See! Touch it, my friend. It is
+real. I thought I was also dreaming. Count them. Begin with this one.
+Now,--one hundred, two hundred--"
+
+"I haven't the remotest idea what you're talking about," said Trotter,
+staring blankly at the money.
+
+"What a fool I am!" cried de Bosky. "I begin at the back-end of the
+story. How could you know? Have you ever known such a fool as I,
+Mirabeau?"
+
+"Never," said M. Mirabeau, who had his ear cocked for sounds on the
+stairway.
+
+"And so," said the Prince, at the end of the hastily told story of the
+banknotes and the man up the river, "you see how it is. He replies to my
+carefully worded letter. Shall I read it again? No? But, I ask you, my
+dear Trotter, how am I to carry out his instructions? Naturally he is
+vague. All letters are read at the prison, I am informed. He says: 'And
+anything you may have come acrosst among my effects is so piffling that
+I hereby instructs you to burn it up, sos I won't have to be bothered
+with it when I come out, which ain't fer some time yet, and when I do
+get out I certainly am not coming to New York, anyhow. I am going west
+and start all over again. A feller has got a better chance out there.'
+That is all he has to say about this money, Trotter. I cannot burn it.
+What am I to do?"
+
+Trotter had an inspiration.
+
+"Put it into American Tobacco," he said.
+
+De Bosky stared. "Tobacco?"
+
+"Simplest way in the world to obey instructions. The easiest way to burn
+money is to convert it into tobacco. Slip down to Wall Street tomorrow
+and invest every cent of this money in American Tobacco, register the
+stock in the name of Henry Loveless and put it away for him. Save out
+enough for a round-trip ticket to Sing Sing, and run up there some day
+and tell him what you've done."
+
+"By Jove!" exclaimed de Bosky, his eyes dancing. "But," he added,
+doubtfully, "what am I to do if he doesn't approve?"
+
+"Tell him put it in his pipe and smoke it," said the resourceful Mr.
+Trotter.
+
+"You know," said the other admiringly, "I have never been one of those
+misguided persons who claim that the English have no sense of humour.
+I--"
+
+"Sh!" warned M. Mirabeau from the top of the steps. And then, like a
+true Frenchman, he bustled de Bosky out of the shop ahead of him and
+closed the door, leaving Trotter alone among the ticking clocks.
+
+Jane came swiftly up the steps, hurrying as if pursued. Mr. Bramble was
+pledging something, in a squeaky undertone, from the store below.
+
+"He may not have followed me," Jane called back in guarded tones, "but
+if he has, Mr. Bramble, you must be sure to throw him off the trail."
+
+"Trust me,--trust me implicitly," came in a strangled sort of voice from
+the faithful ex-tutor.
+
+"Oh,--Eric, dearest! How you startled me!" cried Lady Jane a moment
+later. She gasped the words, for she was almost smothered in the arms of
+her lover.
+
+"Forgive me," he murmured, without releasing her,--an oversight which
+she apparently had no immediate intention of resenting.
+
+A little later on, she suddenly drew away from him, with a quick,
+embarrassed glance around the noisy little shop. He laughed.
+
+"We are quite alone, Jane dear,--unless you count the clocks. They're
+all looking at us, but they never tell anything more than the time of
+day. And now, dear, what is this beastly business?"
+
+She closed the door to the stairway, very cautiously, and then came back
+to him. The frown deepened in his eyes as he listened to the story she
+told.
+
+"But why should I go into hiding?" he exclaimed, as she stopped to get
+her breath. "I haven't done anything wrong. What if they have trumped up
+some rotten charge against me? All the more reason why I should stand
+out and defend--"
+
+"But, dear, Scotland Yard is such a dreadful place," she cried,
+blanching. "They--"
+
+"Rubbish! I'm not afraid of Scotland Yard."
+
+"You--you're not?" she gasped, blankly. "But, Eric dear, you _must_ be
+afraid of Scotland Yard. You don't know what you are saying."
+
+"Oh, yes, I do. And as for this chap they've sent after me,--where is
+he? In two seconds I can tell him what's what. He'll go humping back to
+London--"
+
+"I knew you would say something like that," she declared, greatly
+perturbed. "But I sha'n't let you. Do you hear, Eric? I sha'n't let you.
+You _must_ hide. You must go away from New York,--tonight."
+
+"And leave you?" he scoffed. "What can you be thinking of, darling? Am
+I--Sit down, dear,--here beside me. You are frightened. That infernal
+brute has scared you almost out of--"
+
+"I _am_ frightened,--terribly frightened. So is the Marchioness,--and
+Mr. Bramble." She sat beside him on the bench. He took her cold hands in
+his own and pressed them gently, encouragingly. His eyes were very soft
+and tender.
+
+"Poor little girl!" For a long time he sat there looking at her white,
+averted face. A slow smile slowly struggled to the corners of his mouth.
+"I can't afford to run away," he said at last. "I've just got to stick
+by my job. It means a lot to me now, Jane dear."
+
+She looked up quickly, her face clearing.
+
+"I love you, Eric. I know you are innocent of anything they may charge
+you with. I _know_ it. And I would give all I have in the world to help
+you in your hour of trouble. Listen, dear. I want you to accept this in
+the right spirit. Don't let pride stand in the way. It is really
+something I want to do,--something that will make me--oh, so happy, if
+you will just let me do it. I am earning five guineas a week. It is more
+than I need. Now, dear, just for a little while,--until you have found
+another place in some city far away from New York,--you must let me
+share my--What is there to laugh at, Eric?" she cried in a hurt voice.
+
+He grew sober at once.
+
+"I'm--I'm sorry," he said. "Thank you,--and God bless you, Jane. It's
+fine. You're a brick. But,--but I can't accept it. Please don't say
+anything more about it, dear. I just _can't_,--that's all."
+
+"Oh, dear," she sighed. "And--and you refuse to go away? You will not
+escape while there is yet--"
+
+"See here, dear," he began, his jaw setting, "I am not underrating the
+seriousness of this affair. They may have put up a beast of a job on me.
+They fixed it so that I hadn't a chance three years ago. Perhaps they've
+decided to finish the job and have done with me for ever. I don't put it
+above them, curse them. Here's the story in a nutshell. I have two
+cousins in the Army, sons of my mother's sisters. They're a pair of
+rotters. It was they who hatched up the scheme to disgrace me in the
+service,--and, by gad, they did it to the queen's taste. I had to get
+out. There wasn't a chance for me to square myself. I--I sha'n't go into
+that, dear. You'll understand why. It--it hurts. Cheating at cards.
+That's enough, isn't it? Well, they got me. My grandfather and I--he is
+theirs as well as mine,--we never hit it off very well at best. My
+mother married Lord Temple. Grandfather was opposed to the match. Her
+sisters did everything in their power to widen the breach that followed
+the marriage. It may make it easier for you to understand when I remind
+you that my grandfather is one of the wealthiest peers in England.
+
+"Odd things happen in life. When my father died, I went to Fenlew Hall
+with my mother to live. Grandfather's heart had softened a little, you
+see. I was Lord Eric Temple before I was six years old. My mother died
+when I was ten. For fifteen years I lived on with Lord Fenlew, and,
+while we rowed a good deal,--he is a crotchety old tyrant, bless
+him!--he undoubtedly preferred me to either of my cousins. God bless him
+for that! He showed his good sense, if I do say it who shouldn't.
+
+"So they set to work. That's why I am here,--without going into details.
+That's why I am out of the Army. And I loved the Army, Jane,--God bless
+it! I used to pray for another war, horrible as it may sound, so that I
+could go out and fight for England as those lads did who went down to
+the bottom of Africa. I would cry myself to sleep because I was so young
+then, and so useless. I am not ashamed of the tears you see in my eyes
+now. You can't understand what it means to me, Jane."
+
+He drew a deep breath, cleared his throat, and then went on.
+
+"Lord Fenlew turned me out,--disowned me. Don't blame the old boy. They
+made out a good enough case against me. I was given the choice of
+resigning from the regiment or--well, the other thing. My father was
+practically penniless when he died. I had nothing of my own. It was up
+to me to earn an honest living,--or go to the devil. I thought I'd try
+out the former first. One can always go to the devil, you know. So off
+into the far places of the earth I wandered,--and I've steered pretty
+clear of the devil up to date.
+
+"It's easy to earn a living, dear, if you just half try.
+
+"And now for this new complication. For the three years that I have been
+away from England, not a single word have I sent home. I daresay they
+know that I am alive, and that I'll turn up some day like the bad penny.
+I was named in my grandfather's will. He once told me he intended to
+leave the bulk of the unentailed property to me,--not because he loved
+me well but because he loved my two cousins not at all. For all I know,
+he may never have altered his will. In that case, I still remain the
+chief legatee and a source of tremendous uneasiness to my precious aunts
+and their blackguard sons. It is possible, even probable, that they have
+decided the safest place to have me is behind the bars,--at least until
+Lord Fenlew has changed his will for the last time and lies securely in
+the family vault. I can think of no other explanation for the action of
+Scotland Yard. But, don't worry, dear. I haven't done anything wrong,
+and they can't stow me away in--"
+
+"The beasts!" cried Jane, furiously.
+
+He stroked her clenched fingers.
+
+"I wouldn't call 'em names, dear," he protested. "They're honest
+fellows, and simply doing--"
+
+"They are the most despicable wretches on earth."
+
+"You must be referring to my cousins. I thought--"
+
+"Now, Eric," she broke in firmly, "I sha'n't let you give yourself up.
+You owe something to me. I love you with all my soul. If they were to
+take you back to London and--and put you in prison,--I'd--I'd die. I
+could not endure--" She suddenly broke down and, burying her face on his
+shoulder, sobbed chokingly.
+
+He was deeply distressed.
+
+"Oh, I say, dearest, don't--don't go under like this. I--I can't stand
+it. Don't cry, darling. It breaks my heart to see you--"
+
+"I--I can't help it," she sobbed. "Give--give me a little--time. I'll be
+all right in a--minute."
+
+He whispered consolingly: "That's right. Take your time, dear. I never
+dreamed you cared so much."
+
+She looked up quickly, her eyes flashing through the tears.
+
+"And do you care less for me, now that you see what a weak, silly--"
+
+"Good Lord, no! I adore you more than ever. I--
+Who's there?"
+
+M. Mirabeau, coughing considerately, was rattling the latch of the door
+that separated the shop from the store-room beyond. A moment later he
+opened the door slowly and stuck his head through the aperture. Then,
+satisfied that his warning cough had been properly received, he entered
+the shop. The lovers were sitting bolt upright and some distance apart.
+Lady Jane was arranging a hat that had been somehow forgotten up to that
+instant.
+
+"A thousand pardons," said the old Frenchman, his voice lowered. "We
+must act at once. Follow me,--quickly, but as quietly as possible. He is
+downstairs. I have listened from the top of the steps. Poor old Bramble
+is doing his best to divert him. I have just this instant heard the
+villain announce that his watch needs looking into, and from that I draw
+a conclusion. He will come to my shop in spite of all that Bramble can
+do. Come! I know the way to safety."
+
+"But I'm not going to hide," began Trotter.
+
+Jane seized his arm and dragged him toward the door.
+
+"Yes, you are," she whispered fiercely. "You belong to me, Eric Temple.
+I shall do what I like with you. Don't be mulish, dear. I sha'n't leave
+you,--not for anything in the world."
+
+"Bravo!" whispered M. Mirabeau.
+
+Swiftly they stole through the door and past the landing. Scraps of
+conversation from below reached their ears. Jane's clutch tightened on
+her lover's arm. She recognized the voice of Mr. Alfred Chambers.
+
+"De Bosky will do the rest," whispered the clockmaker, as they were
+joined by the musician at the far end of the stock-room. "I must return
+to the shop. He will suspect at once if I am not at work when he
+appears,--for appear he will, you may be sure."
+
+He was gone in a second. De Bosky led them into the adjoining room and
+pointed to a tall step-ladder over in the corner. A trap-door in the
+ceiling was open, and blackness loomed beyond.
+
+"Go up!" commanded the agitated musician, addressing Trotter. "It is an
+air-chamber. Don't break your head on the rafters. Follow close behind,
+Lady Jane. I will hold the ladder. Close the trap after you,--and do not
+make a sound after you are once up there. This is the jolliest moment of
+my life! I was never so thrilled. It is beautiful! It is ravishing! Sh!
+Don't utter a word, I command you! We will foil him,--we will foil old
+Scotland Yard. Be quick! Splendid! You are wonderful, Mademoiselle. Such
+courage,--such grace,--such--Sh! I take the ladder away! Ha, he will
+never suspect. He--"
+
+"But how the deuce are we to get down from here?" groaned Trotter in a
+penetrating whisper from aloft.
+
+"You can't get down,--but as he can't get up, why bother your head about
+that? Close the trap!"
+
+"Oh-h!" shuddered Jane, in an ecstasy of excitement. She was kneeling
+behind her companion, peering down through the square little opening
+into which he had drawn her a moment before.
+
+Trotter cautiously lowered the trap-door,--and they were in Stygian
+darkness. She repeated the exclamation, but this time it was a sharp,
+quick gasp of dismay.
+
+For a long time they were silent, listening for sounds from below. At
+last he arose to his feet. His head came in contact with something
+solid. A smothered groan escaped his lips.
+
+"Good Lord!--
+Be careful, dear! There's not more than four feet
+head-room. Sit still till I find a match."
+
+"Are you hurt? What a dreadful bump it was. I wonder if he could have
+heard?"
+
+"They heard it in heaven," he replied, feeling his head.
+
+"How dark it is," she shuddered. "Don't you dare move an inch from my
+side, Eric. I'll scream."
+
+He laughed softly. "By Jove, it's rather a jolly lark, after all. A
+wonderful place this is for sweethearts." He dropped down beside her.
+
+After a time, she whispered: "You mentioned a match, Eric."
+
+"So I did," said he, and proceeded to go through the pocket in which he
+was accustomed to carry matches. "Thunderation! The box is empty."
+
+She was silent for a moment. "I really don't mind, dear."
+
+"I remember saying this morning that I never have any luck on Friday,"
+said he resignedly. "But," he added, a happy note in his voice, "I never
+dreamed there was such luck as this in store for me."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+
+                          FRIDAY FOR BAD LUCK
+
+
+SPEAKING of Friday and the mystery of luck. Luck is supposed to shift in
+one direction or another on the sixth day of every week in the year. It
+is supposed to shift for everybody. A great many people are either too
+ignorant or too supercilious to acknowledge this vast and oppressive
+truth, however. They regard Friday as a plain, ordinary day, and go on
+being fatuously optimistic.
+
+On the other hand, when it comes Friday, the capable and the far-seeing
+are prone to accept it as it was intended by the Creator, who, from
+confidential reports, paused on the sixth day (as we reckon it) of his
+labours and looked back on what already had been accomplished. He was
+dissatisfied. He set to work again. Right then and there Friday became
+an unlucky day, according to a great many philosophers. If the Creator
+had stopped then and let well-enough alone, there wouldn't have been
+any cause for complaint. He would have failed to create Adam (an
+afterthought), and the human race, lacking existence, would not have
+been compelled to put up with life,--which is a mess, after all.
+
+If more people would pause to consider the futility of living between
+Thursday and Saturday, a great deal of woe and misfortune might be
+avoided.
+
+For example, when Mrs. Smith-Parvis called on Mrs. McFaddan on the
+Monday of the week that is now making history through these pages, she
+completely overlooked the fact that there was a Friday still to be
+reckoned with.
+
+True, she had in mind a day somewhat more remote when, after coming face
+to face with the blooming Mrs. McFaddan who happened to open her own
+front door,--it being Maggie's day out,--she had been compelled to
+substitute herself in person for the cards she meant to leave. Mrs.
+McFaddan had cordially sung out to her from the front stoop, over the
+head of the shocked footman, that she was at home and would Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis please step in.
+
+Thursday, two weeks hence, was the day Mrs. Smith-Parvis had in mind.
+She had not been in the McFaddan parlour longer than a minute and a half
+before she realized that an invitation by word of mouth would do quite
+as well as an expensively engraved card by post. There was nothing
+formal about Mrs. McFaddan. She was sorry that Con wasn't home; he would
+hate like poison to have missed seeing Mrs. Smith-Parvis when she did
+them the honour to call. But Con was not likely to be in before
+seven,--he was that busy, poor man,--and it would be asking too much of
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis to wait till then.
+
+So, the lady from the upper East Side had no hesitancy in asking the
+lady from the lower West Side to dine with her on Thursday the
+nineteenth.
+
+"I am giving a series of informal dinners, Mrs. McFad-_dan_," she
+explained graciously.
+
+"They're the nicest kind," returned Mrs. McFaddan, somewhat startled by
+the pronunciation of her husband's good old Irish name. She knew little
+or nothing of French, but somehow she rather liked the emphasis, crisply
+nasal, her visitor put upon the final syllable. Before the visit came to
+an end, she was mentally repeating her own name after Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+and wondering whether Con would stand for it.
+
+"What date did you say?" she inquired, abruptly breaking in on a further
+explanation. The reply brought a look of disappointment to her face. "We
+can't come," she said flatly. "We're leaving on Saturday this week for
+Washington to be gone till the thirtieth. Important business, Con says."
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis thought quickly. Washington, eh?
+
+"Could you come on Friday night of this week, Mrs. McFad-_dan_?"
+
+"We could," said the other. "Don't you worry about Con cooking up an
+excuse for not coming, either. He does just about what I tell him."
+
+"Splendid!" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis, arising. "Friday at 8:30."
+
+"Have plenty of fish," said Mrs. McFaddan gaily.
+
+"Fish?" faltered the visitor.
+
+"It's Friday, you know."
+
+Greatly to Mrs. Smith-Parvis's surprise,--and in two or three cases,
+irritation,--every one she asked to meet the McFaddans on Friday
+accepted with alacrity. She asked the Dodges, feeling confident that
+they couldn't possibly be had on such short notice,--and the same
+with the Bittinger-Stuarts. They _did_ have previous engagements, but
+they promptly cancelled them. It struck her as odd,--and later on
+significant,--that, without exception, every woman she asked said she
+was just dying for a chance to have a little private "talk" with the
+notorious Mr. McFaddan.
+
+People who had never arrived at a dinner-party on time in their lives,
+appeared on Friday at the Smith-Parvis home all the way from five to
+fifteen minutes early.
+
+The Cricklewicks were not asked. Mr. Smith-Parvis remembered in time
+that the Irish hate the English, and it wouldn't do at all.
+
+Mr. McFaddan and his wife were the last to arrive. They were so late
+that not only the hostess but most of her guests experienced a sharp
+fear that they wouldn't turn up at all. There were side glances at the
+clock on the mantel, surreptitious squints at wrist-watches, and a
+queer, unnatural silence while the big clock in the upper hall chimed a
+quarter to nine.
+
+"Really, my dear," said Mrs. Dodge, who had the New York record for
+tardiness,--an hour and three-quarters, she claimed,--"I can't
+understand people being late for a dinner,--unless, of course, they mean
+to be intentionally rude."
+
+"I can't imagine what can have happened to them," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+nervously.
+
+"Accident on the Subway, no doubt," drawled Mr. Bittinger-Stuart, and
+instantly looked around in a startled sort of way to see if there was
+any cause for repenting the sarcasm.
+
+"Where is Stuyvesant?" inquired Mrs. Millidew the elder, who had arrived
+a little late. She had been obliged to call a taxi-cab at the last
+moment on account of the singular defection of her new chauffeur,--who,
+she proclaimed on entering, was to have his walking papers in the
+morning. Especially as it was raining pitchforks.
+
+"He is dressing, my dear," explained Stuyvesant's mother, with a
+maternal smile of apology.
+
+"I should have known better," pursued Mrs. Millidew, still chafing,
+"than to let him go gallivanting off to Long Island with Dolly."
+
+"I said he was dressing, Mrs. Millidew," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis stiffly.
+
+"If I could have five minutes alone with Mr. McFaddan," one of the
+ladies was saying to the host, "I know I could interest him in our plan
+to make Van Cortlandt Park the most attractive and the most exclusive
+country club in--"
+
+"My dear," interrupted another of her sex, "if you get him off in a
+corner and talk to him all evening about that ridiculous scheme of
+yours, I'll murder you. You know how long Jim has been working to get
+his brother appointed judge in the United States District Court,--his
+brother Charlie, you know,--the one who doesn't amount to much,--and
+I'll bet my last penny I can fix it if--"
+
+"It's an infernal outrage," boomed Mr. Dodge, addressing no one in
+particular. "Yes, sir, a pernicious outrage."
+
+"As I said before, the more you do for them the worse they treat you in
+return," agreed Mrs. Millidew. "It doesn't pay. Treat them like dogs and
+they'll be decent. If you try to be kind and--"
+
+Mr. Dodge expanded.
+
+"You see, it will cut straight through the centre of the most valuable
+piece of unimproved property in New York City. It isn't because I happen
+to be the owner of that property that I'm complaining. It's the
+high-handed way--Now, look! This is the Grand Concourse, and here is
+Bunker Avenue." He produced an invisible diagram with his foot, jostling
+Mr. Smith-Parvis off of the rug in order to extend the line beyond the
+intersection to a point where the proposed street was to be opened.
+"Right smack through this section of--"
+
+At that instant Mr. and Mrs. McFaddan were announced.
+
+"Where the deuce is Stuyvie?" Mr. Smith-Parvis whispered nervously into
+the ear of his wife as the new arrivals approached.
+
+"Diplomacy," whispered she succinctly. "All for effect. Last but not
+least. He--Good evening, dear Mrs. McFad-dán!"
+
+In the main hall, a moment before, Mr. McFaddan had whispered in _his_
+wife's ear. He transmitted an opinion of Peasley the footman.
+
+"He's a mutt." He had surveyed Peasley with a discriminating and
+intensely critical eye, taking him in from head to foot. "Under-gardener
+or vicar's man-of-all-work. Trained in a Sixth Avenue intelligence
+office. Never saw livery till he--"
+
+"Hush, Con! The man will hear you."
+
+"And if he should, he can't accuse me of betrayin' a secret."
+
+To digress for a moment, it is pertinent to refer to the strange cloud
+of preoccupation that descended upon Mr. McFaddan during the ride
+uptown,--not in the Subway, but in his own Packard limousine. Something
+back in his mind kept nagging at him,--something elusive yet strangely
+fresh, something that had to do with recent events. He could not rid
+himself of the impression that the Smith-Parvises were in some way
+involved.
+
+Suddenly, as they neared their destination, the fog lifted and his mind
+was as clear as day. His wife's unctuous reflections were shattered by
+the force of the explosion that burst from his lips. He remembered
+everything. This was the house in which Lady Jane Thorne was employed,
+and it was the scion thereof who had put up the job on young Trotter.
+Old Cricklewick had come to see him about it and had told him a story
+that made his blood boil. It was all painfully clear to him now.
+
+Their delay in arriving was due to the protracted argument that took
+place within a stone's throw of the Smith-Parvis home. Mr. McFaddan
+stopped the car and flatly refused to go an inch farther. He would be
+hanged if he'd have anything to do with a gang like that! His wife began
+by calling him a goose. Later on she called him a mule, and still later,
+in sheer exasperation, a beast. He capitulated. He was still mumbling
+incoherently as they mounted the steps and were admitted by the
+deficient Peasley.
+
+"What shall I say to the dirty spalpeen if he tries to shake hands with
+me?" Mr. McFaddan growled, three steps from the top.
+
+"Say anything you like," said she, "but, for God's sake, say it under
+your breath."
+
+However: the party was now complete with one notable exception. Stuyvie
+was sound asleep in his room. He had reached home late that afternoon
+and was in an irascible frame of mind. He didn't know the McFad-dáns,
+and he didn't care to know them. Dragging him home from Hot Springs to
+meet a cheap bounder,--what the deuce did she mean anyhow, entertaining
+that sort of people? And so on and so forth until his mother lost her
+temper and took it out on the maid who was dressing her hair.
+
+Peasley was sent upstairs to inform Mr. Stuyvesant that they were
+waiting for him.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis met her son at the foot of the stairs when he came
+lounging down. He was yawning and making futile efforts to smooth out
+the wrinkles in his coat, having reposed soundly in it for the better
+part of an hour.
+
+"You must be nice to Mr. McFad-dán," said she anxiously. "He has a great
+deal of influence with the powers that be."
+
+He stopped short, instantly alert.
+
+"Has a--a warrant been issued?" he demanded, leaping to a very natural
+and sickening conclusion as to the identity of the "powers."
+
+"Not yet, of course," she said, benignly. "It is a little too soon for
+that. But it will come, dear boy, if we can get Mr. McFad-dán on our
+side. That is to be the lovely surprise I spoke about in my--"
+
+"You--you call _that_ lovely?" he snapped.
+
+"If everything goes well, you will soon be at the Court of St. James.
+Wouldn't you call that lovely?"
+
+He was perspiring freely. "My God, that's just the thing I'm trying to
+avoid. If they get me into court, they'll--"
+
+"You do not understand. The diplomatic court,--corps, I mean. You are to
+go to London,--into the legation. The rarest opportunity--"
+
+"Oh, Lord!" gasped Stuyvesant, passing his hand over his wet brow. A
+wave of relief surged over him. He leaned against the banister, weakly.
+"Why didn't you say that in the first place?"
+
+"You must be very nice to Mr. McFad-dán," she said, taking his arm. "And
+to Mrs. McFad-dán also. She is rather stunning--and quite young."
+
+"That's nice," said Stuyvie, regaining a measure of his tolerant, blasé
+air.
+
+Now, while the intelligence of the reader has long since grasped the
+fact that the expected is about to happen, it is only fair to state that
+the swiftly moving events of the next few minutes were totally
+unexpected by any one of the persons congregated in Mrs. Smith-Parvis's
+drawing-room.
+
+Stuyvesant entered the room, a forced, unamiable smile on his lips. He
+nodded in the most casual, indifferent manner to those nearest the door.
+It was going to be a dull, deadly evening. The worst lot of he-fossils
+and scrawny-necked--
+
+"For the love o' Mike!"
+
+Up to that instant, one could have dropped a ten-pound weight on the
+floor without attracting the slightest attention. For a second or two
+following the shrill ejaculation, the crash of the axiomatic pin could
+have been heard from one end of the room to the other.
+
+Every eye, including Stuyvie's, was fixed upon the shocked, surprised
+face of the lady who uttered the involuntary exclamation.
+
+Mrs. McFaddan was staring wildly at the newcomer. Stuyvesant recognized
+her at once. The dashing, vivid face was only too familiar. In a flash
+the whole appalling truth was revealed to him. An involuntary "Oh,
+Lord!" oozed from his lips.
+
+Cornelius McFaddan suddenly clapped his hand to his mouth, smothering
+the words that surged up from the depths of his injured soul. He became
+quite purple in the face.
+
+"This is my son Stuyvesant, Mr. McFaddan," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis, in a
+voice strangely faint and faltering. And then, sensing catastrophe, she
+went on hurriedly: "Shall we go in to dinner? Has it been announced,
+Rogers?"
+
+Mr. McFaddan removed his hand.
+
+The hopes and ambitions, the desires and schemes of every one present
+went hurtling away on the hurricane of wrath that was liberated by that
+unfortunate action of Cornelius McFaddan. An unprejudiced observer would
+have explained, in justice to poor Cornelius, that the force of the
+storm blew his hand away, willy-nilly, despite his heroic efforts to
+check the resistless torrent.
+
+I may be forgiven for a confessed inadequacy to cope with a really great
+situation. My scope of delivery is limited. In a sense, however,
+short-comings of this nature are not infrequently blessings. It would be
+a pity for me or any other upstart to spoil, through sheer feebleness of
+expression, a situation demanding the incomparable virility of a
+Cornelius McFaddan.
+
+Suffice to say, Mr. McFaddan left nothing to the imagination. He had the
+stage to himself, and he stood squarely in the centre of it for what
+seemed like an age to the petrified audience. As a matter of fact, it
+was all over in three minutes. He was not profane. At no time did he
+forget there were ladies present. But from the things he said, no one
+doubted, then or afterwards, that the presence of ladies was the only
+thing that stood between Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis and an unhallowed
+grave.
+
+It may be enlightening to repeat his concluding remark to Stuyvie.
+
+"And if I thought ye'd even dream of settin' foot outside this house I'd
+gladly stand on the sidewalk in the rain, without food or drink, for
+forty-eight hours, waitin' for ye."
+
+And as that was the mildest thing he said to Stuyvie, it is only fair to
+state that Peasley, who was listening in the hall, hastily opened the
+front door and looked up and down the street for a policeman. With
+commendable foresight, he left it ajar and retired to the foot of the
+stairs, hoping, perhaps, that Stuyvesant might undertake to throw the
+obnoxious guest into the street,--in which case it would be possible for
+him to witness the whirlwind without being in the path of it.
+
+To Smith-Parvis, Senior, the eloquent McFaddan addressed these parting
+words:
+
+"I don't know what you had in mind when you invited me here, Mr.
+Smith-Parvis, but whatever it was you needn't worry about it,--not for a
+minute. Put it out of your mind altogether, my good man. And if I've
+told you anything at all about this pie-faced son of yours that ye
+didn't already know or suspect, you're welcome to the information. He's
+a bad egg,--and if ye don't believe me, ask Lady Jane Thorne,--if she
+happens to be about."
+
+He spoke without thinking, but he did no harm. No one there had the
+remotest idea who he meant when he referred to Lady Jane Thorne.
+
+"Come, Peggy, we'd better be going," he said to his wife. "If we want a
+bite o' dinner, I guess we'll have to go over to Healy's and get it."
+
+Far in the night, Mrs. Smith-Parvis groaned. Her husband, who sat beside
+her bed and held her hand with somnolent devotion, roused himself and
+inquired if the pain was just as bad as ever.
+
+She groaned again.
+
+He patted her hand soothingly. "There, there, now,--go to sleep again.
+You'll be all right--"
+
+"Again?" she cried plaintively. "How can you say such a thing? I haven't
+closed my eyes."
+
+"Oh, my dear," he expostulated. "You've been sound asleep for--"
+
+"I have not!" she exclaimed. "My poor head is splitting. You know I
+haven't been asleep, so why will you persist in saying that I have?"
+
+"At any rate," said he, taking up a train of thought that had become
+somewhat confused and unstable by passing through so many cat-naps, "we
+ought to be thankful it isn't worse. The dear boy might have gone to the
+electric chair if we had permitted him to follow the scoundrel to the
+sidewalk."
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis turned her face toward him. A spark of enthusiasm
+flashed for an instant in her tired eyes.
+
+"How many times did he knock him down at Spangler's?" she inquired.
+
+"Four," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, proudly.
+
+"And that dreadful woman was the cause of it all, writing notes to
+Stuyvesant and asking him to meet her--What was it Stuyvesant called
+them?"
+
+"Crush-notes, Angie. Now, try to go to sleep, dearie."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIX
+
+                         FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT
+
+
+"GOODNESS! What's that?" whispered Lady Jane, starting violently.
+
+For what seemed to them many hours, she and Thomas Trotter had sat,
+quite snugly comfortable, in the dark air-chamber. Comfortable, I say,
+but I fear that the bewildering joy of having her in his arms rendered
+him impervious to what under other conditions would most certainly have
+been a severe strain upon his physical endurance. In other words, she
+rested very comfortably and cosily in the crook of his arm, her head
+against his shoulder, while he, sitting bolt upright with no support
+whatsoever--But why try to provide him with cause for complaint when he
+was so obviously contented?
+
+Her suppressed exclamation followed close upon the roar and crash of an
+ear-splitting explosion. The reverberation rolled and rumbled and
+dwindled away into the queerest silence. Almost immediately the clatter
+of falling debris assailed their ears. She straightened up and clutched
+his arm convulsively.
+
+"Rain," he said, with a short laugh. For an instant his heart had stood
+still. So appalling was the crash that he involuntarily raised an arm to
+shield his beloved companion from the shattered walls that were so soon
+to tumble about their ears. "Beating on the tin roof," he went on,
+jerkily.
+
+"Oh,--wasn't it awful?" she gasped, in smothered tones. "Are you sure?"
+
+"I am now," he replied, "but, by Jove, I wasn't a second or two ago.
+Lord, I thought it was all over."
+
+"If we could only see!" she cried nervously.
+
+"Any how," he said, with a reassuring chuckle, "we sha'n't get wet."
+
+By this time the roar of rain on the roof so close to their heads was
+deafening.
+
+"Goodness, Eric,--it's--it's leaking here," she cried out suddenly,
+after a long silence.
+
+"That's the trouble with these ramshackle old--Oh, I say, Jane, your
+frock! It will be ruined. My word! The confounded roof's like a sieve."
+
+He set out,--on all fours,--cautiously to explore.
+
+"I--I am frightfully afraid of thunder," she cried out after him, a
+quaver in her voice. "And, Eric, wouldn't it be dreadful if the building
+were to be struck by lightning and we should be found up here in
+this--this unexplainable loft? What _could_ we say?"
+
+"Nothing, dearest," he replied, consolingly. "That is, provided the
+lightning did its work properly. Ouch! It's all right! Don't bother,
+dear. Nothing but a wall. Seems dry over here. Don't move. I'll come
+back for you."
+
+"It's--it's rather jolly, isn't it?" she cried nervously as his hand
+touched her shoulder. She grasped it eagerly. "Much jollier than if we
+could see." A few moments later: "Isn't it nice and dry over here. How
+clever of you, Eric, to find it in the dark."
+
+On their hands and knees they had crept to the place of shelter, and
+were seated on a broad, substantial beam with their backs against a
+thin, hollow-sounding partition. The journey was not without incident.
+As they felt their way over the loose and sometimes widely separated
+boards laid down to protect the laths and plaster of the ceiling below,
+his knee slipped off and before he could prevent it, his foot struck the
+lathing with considerable force.
+
+"Clumsy ass!" he muttered.
+
+After a long time, she said to him,--a little pathetically:
+
+"I hope M. Mirabeau doesn't forget we are up here."
+
+"I should hope not," he said fervently. "Mrs. Millidew is going out to
+dinner this evening. I'd--"
+
+"Oh-h!" she whispered tensely. "Look!"
+
+A thin streak of light appeared in front of them. Fascinated, they
+watched it widen, slowly,--relentlessly.
+
+The trap-door was being raised from below. A hand and arm came into
+view,--the propelling power.
+
+"Is that you, de Bosky?" called out Trotter, in a penetrating whisper.
+
+Abruptly the trap flew wide open and dropped back on the scantlings with
+a bang.
+
+The head and shoulders of a man,--a bald-headed man, at that,--rose
+quickly above the ledge, and an instant later a lighted lantern
+followed.
+
+"Oh, dear!" murmured Lady Jane, aghast. "It--it isn't Mr. de Bosky,
+Eric. It's that man."
+
+"I beg your pardon, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, setting the
+lantern down in order to brush the dust off of his hands. "Are you
+there?"
+
+"What is the meaning of this, sir?" demanded the young man on the beam,
+blinking rapidly in the unaccustomed glare.
+
+Mr. Chambers rested his elbows on the ledge. The light of the lantern
+shone full on his face, revealing the slow but sure growth of a joyous
+grin.
+
+"Permit me to introduce myself, your lordship. Mr. Alfred Chambers,
+of--"
+
+"I know,--I know!" broke in the other impatiently. "What the devil do
+you want?"
+
+"Good evening, Miss Emsdale," said Mr. Chambers, remembering his
+manners. "That is to say,--your ladyship. 'Pon my word, you can't
+possibly be more surprised than I am,--either of you. I shouldn't have
+dreamed of looking in this--this stuffy hole for--for anything except
+bats." He chortled.
+
+"I can't understand why some one below there doesn't knock that ladder
+from under you," said Mr. Trotter rudely.
+
+"I was on the point of giving up in despair," went on Mr. Chambers,
+unoffended. "You know, I shouldn't have thought of looking up here for
+you."
+
+His quarry bethought himself of the loyal, conspiring friends below.
+
+"See here, Mr. Chambers," he began earnestly, "I want you to understand
+that those gentlemen downstairs are absolutely innocent of any criminal
+complicity in--"
+
+"I understand perfectly," interrupted the man from Scotland Yard.
+"Perfectly. And the same applies to her ladyship. Everything's as right
+as rain, your lordship. Will you be so good, sir, as to come down at
+once?"
+
+"Certainly," cried the other. "With the greatest pleasure. Come,
+Jane,--"
+
+"Wait!" protested Jane. "I sha'n't move an inch until he promises to--to
+listen to reason. In the first place, this gentleman is a Mr. Trotter,"
+she went on rapidly, addressing the head and shoulders behind the
+lantern. "You will get yourself into a jolly lot of trouble if you--"
+
+"Thanks, Jane dear," interrupted her lover gently. "It's no use. He
+knows I am Eric Temple,--so we'll just have to make the best of it."
+
+"He doesn't know anything of the kind," said she. "He noticed a
+resemblance, that's all."
+
+Mr. Chambers beamed.
+
+"Quite so, your ladyship. I noticed it at once. If I do say it myself,
+there isn't a man in the department who has anything on me when it comes
+to that sort of thing. The inspector has frequently mentioned--"
+
+"By the way, Mr. Snooper, will you be kind enough to--"
+
+"Chambers, your lordship," interrupted the detective.
+
+"Kind enough to explain how you discovered that we were up here?"
+
+"Well, you see we were having our coffee,--after a most excellent
+dinner, your lordship, prepared, I am bound to say, for your discussion
+by the estimable Mr. Bramble,--"
+
+"Dinner? By George, you remind me that I am ravenously hungry. It must
+be quite late."
+
+"Half-past eight, sir,--approximately. As I was saying, we were enjoying
+our coffee,--the three of us only,--"
+
+Trotter made a wry face. "In that case, Mrs. Millidew will sack me in
+the morning, Jane. I had orders for eight sharp."
+
+"It really shouldn't matter, your lordship," said Mr. Chambers
+cheerfully. "Not in the least, if I may be so bold as to say so.
+However, to continue, sir. Or rather, to go back a little if I may. You
+see, I was rather certain you were hiding somewhere about the place. At
+least, I was certain her ladyship was. She came in and she didn't go
+out, if you see what I mean. I insisted on my right to search the
+premises. Do you follow me, sir?"
+
+"Reluctantly."
+
+"In due time, I came to the little dining-room, where I discovered the
+cook preparing dinner. You were not in evidence, your ladyship. I do not
+mind in the least confessing that I was ordered out by the cook. I
+retired to the clock-shop of M. Mirabeau and sat down to wait. The
+Polish young gentleman was there. As time went on, Mr. Bramble joined
+us. They were extremely ill-at-ease, your lordship, although they tried
+very hard to appear amused and unconcerned. The slightest noise caused
+them to fidget. Once, to test them, I stealthily dropped my pocket knife
+on the floor. Now, you would say, wouldn't you, that so small an object
+as a pen-knife--but that's neither here nor there. They jumped,--every
+blessed one of them. Presently the young Polish gentleman, whose face is
+strangely familiar to me,--I must have seen him in London,--announced
+that he was obliged to depart. A little later on,--you see, it was quite
+dark by this time,--the clockmaker prepared to close up for the night.
+Mr. Bramble looked at his watch two or three times in rapid succession,
+notwithstanding the fact that he was literally surrounded by clocks. He
+said he feared he would have to go and see about the dinner,--and would
+I kindly get out. I--"
+
+"They should have called in the police," interrupted his male listener
+indignantly. "That's what I should have done, confound your impudence."
+
+"Ah, now _there_ is a point I should have touched upon before,"
+explained Mr. Chambers, casting an uneasy glance down into the room
+below. "I may as well confess to you,--quite privately and
+confidentially, of course, your lordship,--that I--er--rather deceived
+the old gentlemen. Do not be alarmed. I am quite sure they can't hear
+what I am saying. You see. I told them in the beginning that I had
+surrounded the place with policemen and plain-clothes men. They--"
+
+"And hadn't you?" demanded Mr. Trotter quickly, a reckless light
+appearing in his eyes.
+
+"Not at all, sir,--not at all. Why should I? I am quite capable of
+handling the case single-handed. The less the police had to do with it
+the better for all parties concerned. Still, it was necessary to
+frighten them a little. Otherwise, they _might_ have ejected
+me--er--bodily, if you know what I mean. Or, for that matter, they might
+have called in the police, as you suggest. So I kept them from doing
+either by giving them to understand that if there was to be any calling
+of the police it would be I who would do it with my little whistle."
+
+He paused to chuckle.
+
+"You are making a long story of it," growled Mr. Trotter.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir. The interruptions, you see,--ahem! I followed
+Mr. Bramble to the dining-room. He was very nervous. He coughed a great
+deal, and very loudly. I was quite convinced that you were secreted
+somewhere about the place, but, for the life of me, I couldn't imagine
+where."
+
+"I suppose it hadn't occurred to you that we might have gone down the
+back stairway and escaped into the side-street," said Mr. Trotter
+sarcastically.
+
+Mr. Chambers cleared his throat and seemed curiously embarrassed.
+
+"Perhaps I should have stated before that a--er--a chap from a local
+agency was posted at the bottom of the kitchen stairway,--as a favour to
+me, so to speak. A chap who had been detailed to assist me,--But I shall
+explain all that in my report. So, you see, you couldn't have gone out
+that way without--Yes, yes,--as I was saying, I accompanied Mr. Bramble
+to the dining-room. The cook was in a very bad temper. The dinner was
+getting cold. I observed that three places had been laid. Fixing my eye
+upon Mr. Bramble I inquired who the third place was for. I shall never
+forget his expression, nor the admirable way in which he recovered
+himself. He was quite wonderful. He said it was for _me_. Rather neat of
+him, wasn't it?"
+
+"You don't mean to say you had the brass to--Well, 'pon my soul,
+Chambers, that _was_ going it a bit strong."
+
+"Under the circumstances, your lordship, I couldn't very well decline,"
+said Mr. Chambers apologetically. "He is such a decent, loyal old chap,
+sir, that it would have been cruel to let him see that I knew he was
+lying."
+
+"But, confound you, that was _my_ dinner," exclaimed Trotter wrathfully.
+
+"So I suspected, your lordship. I knew it _couldn't_ be her ladyship's.
+Well, we had got on to the coffee, and I was just on the point of asking
+Mr. Bramble for the loan of an umbrella, when there was a loud thump on
+the ceiling overhead. An instant later a large piece of plaster fell to
+the floor, not three feet behind my chair. I--"
+
+"By Jove! What a pity it didn't fall three feet nearer," exclaimed
+Trotter, a note of regret in his voice.
+
+Mr. Chambers generously overlooked the remark.
+
+"After that it was plain sailing," said he, quite pleasantly. "Now you
+know how I came to discover you, and how I happen to be here."
+
+"And those poor old dears," cried Lady Jane in distress; "where are
+they? What have you done to them?"
+
+"They are--" he looked downward again before answering--"yes, they are
+holding the ladder for me. Coming, gentlemen!" he called out. "We'll all
+be down in a jiffy."
+
+"Before we go any farther," said Trotter seriously, "I should like to
+know just what the charge is against me."
+
+"Beg pardon?"
+
+"The charge. What are you going to chuck me into prison for?"
+
+"Prison? My God, sir! Who said anything about prison?" gasped Mr.
+Chambers, staring wide-eyed at the young man.
+
+Trotter leaned forward, his face a study in emotions. Lady Jane uttered
+a soft little cry.
+
+"Then,--then they haven't trumped up some rotten charge against me?"
+
+"They? Charge? I say!" He bellowed the last to the supporters below.
+"Hold this bally thing steady, will you? Do you want me to break my
+neck?"
+
+"Well, don't jiggle it like that," came the voice of Mr. Bramble from
+below. "We can't hold it steady if you're going to _dance_ on it."
+
+Mr. Chambers once more directed his remarks to Mr. Trotter.
+
+"So far as I am aware, Lord Temple, there is no--er--charge against you.
+The only complaint I know of is that you haven't kept your grandfather
+informed as to your whereabouts. Naturally he is a bit annoyed about it.
+You see, if you had dropped him a line occasionally--"
+
+"Get on, man,--get on," urged Trotter excitedly.
+
+"He wouldn't have been put to the expense of having a man detached from
+Scotland Yard to look the world over for you. Personal influence did it,
+of course. He went direct to the chief and asked for the best man in the
+service. I happened to be on another case at the time," explained Mr.
+Chambers modestly, "but they took me off at once and started me out.
+I--"
+
+"In a nutshell, you represent my grandfather and not the King of
+England," interrupted Trotter.
+
+"On detached duty," said Mr. Chambers.
+
+"And you do not intend to arrest him?" cried Lady Jane.
+
+"Bless me, no!" exclaimed Mr. Chambers.
+
+"Then, what the deuce do you mean by frightening Miss Emsdale and my
+friends downstairs?" demanded Lord Fenlew's grandson. "Couldn't you have
+said in the beginning that there was no criminal charge against me?"
+
+"I hadn't the remotest idea, your lordship, that any one suspected you
+of crime," said Mr. Chambers, with dignity.
+
+"But, confound you, why didn't you explain the situation to Bramble?
+That was the sensible,--yes, the intelligent thing to do, Mr. Chambers."
+
+"That is precisely what I did, your lordship, while we were at
+dinner,--we had a bottle of the wine Mr. Bramble says you are especially
+partial to,--but it wasn't until your heel came through the ceiling that
+they believed _anything_ at all. Subsequently I discovered that her
+ladyship had prepared them for all sorts of trickery on my part. She had
+made them promise to die rather than give you up. Now that I see things
+as they are in a clear light, it occurs to me that your ladyship must
+have pretty thoroughly convinced the old gentlemen that Lord Temple is a
+fit subject for the gallows,--or at the very least, Newgate Prison. I
+fancy--"
+
+Lady Jane laughed aloud, gaily, unrestrainedly.
+
+"Oh, dear! What a mess I've made of things!" she cried. "Can you ever
+forgive me, Eric?"
+
+"Never!" he cried, and Mr. Chambers took that very instant to stoop over
+for a word with the men at the foot of the ladder. He went farther and
+had several words with them. Indeed, it is not unlikely that he, in his
+eagerness to please, would have stretched it into a real chat if the
+object of his consideration had not cried out:
+
+"And now let us get down from this stuffy place, Eric. I am sure there
+must be rats and all sorts of things up here. And it was such a jolly
+place before the lantern came."
+
+"Can you manage it, sir?" inquired Mr. Chambers anxiously, as Eric
+prepared to lower her through the trap-door.
+
+"Perfectly, thank you," said the young man. "If you will be good enough
+to stand aside and make room at the top of the ladder," he added, with a
+grin.
+
+Mr. Chambers also grinned. "There's a difference between walking on air
+and standing on it," said he, and hurriedly went down the steps.
+
+Presently they were all grouped at the foot of the ladder. Mr. Bramble
+was busily engaged in brushing the dust and cobwebs from the excited
+young lady's gown.
+
+M. Mirabeau rattled on at a prodigious rate. He clapped Trotter on the
+back at least half-a-dozen times, and, forgetting most of his excellent
+English, waxed eloquent over the amazing turn of affairs. The literal,
+matter-of-fact Mr. Bramble after a time succeeded in stemming the flow
+of exuberance.
+
+"If you don't mind, Mirabeau, I have a word I'd like to get in
+edgewise," he put in loudly, seizing an opportunity when the old
+Frenchman was momentarily out of breath.
+
+M. Mirabeau threw up his hands.
+
+"At a time like this?" he gasped incredulously.
+
+"And why not?" said Mr. Bramble stoutly. "It's time we opened that last
+bottle of Chianti and drank to the health of Lord Eric Temple,--and the
+beautiful Lady Jane."
+
+"The most sensible thing that has been uttered this evening," cried M.
+Mirabeau, with enthusiasm.
+
+Lord Temple took this occasion to remind them,--and himself as
+well,--that he was still Thomas Trotter and that the deuce would be to
+pay with Mrs. Millidew.
+
+"By George, she'll skin me alive if I've been the cause of her missing a
+good dinner," he said ruefully.
+
+"That reminds me,--" began Mr. Bramble, M. Mirabeau and Mr. Chambers in
+unison. Then they all laughed uproariously and trooped into the
+dining-room, where the visible signs of destruction were not confined to
+the floor three feet back of the chair lately occupied by the man from
+Scotland Yard. A very good dinner had been completely wrecked.
+
+Mrs. O'Leary, most competent of cooks, was already busily engaged in
+preparing another!
+
+"Now, Mr. Chambers," cried Jane, as she set her wine glass down on the
+table and touched her handkerchief to her lips, "tell us everything, you
+dear good man."
+
+Mr. Chambers, finding himself suddenly out of employment and with an
+unlimited amount of spare time on his hands, spent the better part of
+the first care-free hour he had known in months in the telling of his
+story.
+
+In a ruthlessly condensed and deleted form it was as follows: Lord
+Fenlew, quietly, almost surreptitiously, had set about to ascertain just
+how much of truth and how much of fiction there was in the unpublished
+charges that had caused his favourite grandson to abandon the Army and
+to seek obscurity that inevitably follows real or implied disgrace for
+one too proud to fight. His efforts were rewarded in a most distressing
+yet most satisfactory manner. One frightened and half-decent member of
+the little clique responsible for the ugly stories, confessed that the
+"whole bally business" was a put-up job.
+
+Lord Fenlew lost no time in putting his grandsons on the grill. He
+grilled them properly; when they left his presence they were scorched to
+a crisp, unsavoury mess. Indeed, his lordship went so far as to complain
+of the stench, and had the windows of Fenlew Hall opened to give the
+place a thorough airing after they had gone forth forevermore. With
+characteristic energy and promptness, he went to the head of the War
+Office, and laid bare the situation. With equal forethought and acumen
+he objected to the slightest publicity being given the vindication of
+Eric Temple. He insisted that nothing be said about the matter until the
+maligned officer returned to England and to the corps from which he had
+resigned. He refused to have his grandson's innocence publicly
+advertised! That, he maintained, would be to start more tongues to
+wagging, and unless the young man himself were on the ground to make the
+wagging useless, speculation would have a chance to thrive on winks and
+head-shakings, and the "bally business" would be in a worse shape than
+before. Moreover, he argued, it wasn't Eric's place to humiliate himself
+by _admitting_ his innocence. He wouldn't have that at all.
+
+Instead of beginning his search for the young man through the "lost,"
+"wanted" or "personal" columns of an international press, he went to
+Scotland Yard. He abhorred the idea of such printed insults as these:
+"If Lord Eric Temple will communicate with his grandfather he will learn
+something to his advantage" or "Will the young English nobleman who left
+London under a cloud in 1911 please address So-and-So"; or "Eric: All is
+well. Return at once and be forgiving"; or "£5,000 reward will be paid
+for information concerning the present whereabouts of one Eric Temple,
+grandson of Lord Fenlew, of Fenlew Hall"; etc., etc.
+
+"And now, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, after a minute and
+unsparing account of his own travels and adventures, "your grandfather
+is a very old man. I trust that you can start for England at once. I am
+authorized to draw upon him for all the money necessary to--"
+
+Lord Temple held up his hand. His eyes were glistening, his breast was
+heaving mightily, and his voice shook with suppressed emotion as he
+said, scarcely above a whisper:
+
+"First of all, I shall cable him tonight. He'd like that, you know.
+Better than anything."
+
+"A word direct from you, dear," said Jane softly, happily. "It will mean
+more to him than anything else in the world."
+
+"As you please, sir," said Mr. Chambers. "The matter is now entirely in
+your hands. I am, you understand, under orders not to return to England
+without you,--but, I leave everything to you, sir. I was only hoping
+that it would be possible for me to get back to my wife and babies
+before,--er,--well, I was about to say before they forget what I look
+like, but that would have been a stupid thing to say. They're not likely
+to forget a mug like mine."
+
+"I am sorry to say, Mr. Chambers, that you and I will have to be content
+to leave the matter of our departure entirely to the discretion of a
+third party," said Eric, and blushed. A shy, diffident smile played
+about his lips as he turned his wistful eyes upon Lady Jane Thorne.
+
+"Leave that to me, sir," said the man from Scotland Yard promptly and
+with decision, but with absolutely no understanding. "I shall be happy
+to attend to any little--Ow! Eh, what?"
+
+M. Mirabeau's boot had come violently in contact with his ankle. By a
+singular coincidence, Mr. Bramble, at precisely the same instant,
+effected a sly but emphatic prod in the ribs.
+
+"Ignoramus!" whispered the latter fiercely.
+
+"Imbecile!" hissed the former, and then, noting the bewildered look in
+the eyes of Mr. Chambers, went on to say in his most suave manner:
+"Can't you see that you are standing in the presence of the Third
+Party?"
+
+"Any fool could see that," said Mr. Chambers promptly, and bowed to Lady
+Jane. Later on he wanted to know what the deuce M. Mirabeau meant by
+kicking him on the shin.
+
+"How soon can _you_ be ready to start home, dear?" inquired Eric,
+ignoring the witnesses.
+
+Jane's cheeks were rosy. Her blue eyes danced.
+
+"It depends entirely on Mrs. Sparflight," said she.
+
+"What has Mrs. Sparflight to do with it?"
+
+"You dear silly, I can't go to Fenlew Hall with absolutely nothing to
+wear, can I?"
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XX
+
+                       AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES
+
+
+LATER in the evening, Mr. Thomas Trotter--(so far as he knew he was
+still in the service of Mrs. Millidew, operating under chauffeur's
+license No. So-and-So, Thomas Trotter, alien)--strode briskly into a
+Western Union office and sent off the following cablegram, directed to
+Lord Fenlew, Fenlew Hall, Old-marsh, Blightwind Banks, Surrey:
+
+    "God bless you. Returning earliest possible date. Will wire soon
+    as wedding day is set. Eric."
+
+It was a plain, matter-of-fact Britannical way of covering the
+situation. He felt there was nothing more that could be said at the
+moment, and his interest being centred upon two absorbing subjects he
+touched firmly upon both of them and let it go at that.
+
+Quite as direct and characteristic was the reply that came early the
+next day.
+
+    "Do nothing rash. Who and what is she? Fenlew."
+
+This was the beginning of a sharp, incisive conversation between two
+English noblemen separated by three thousand miles of water.
+
+    "Loveliest girl in the world. You will be daffy over her. Take
+    my word for it. Eric."
+
+(While we are about it, it is just as well to set forth the brisk
+dialogue now and get over with it. Something like forty-eight hours
+actually were required to complete the transoceanic conversation. We
+save time and avoid confusion, to say nothing of interrupted activities,
+by telling it all in a breath, so to speak, disregarding everything
+except sequence.)
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "I repeat, who and what is she?"
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Forgive oversight. She is daughter of late
+Earl of Wexham. I told you what she is."
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "What is date of wedding? Must know at
+once."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "I will ask her and let you know."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew--(the next day): "Still undecided. Something
+to do with gowns."
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "Nonsense. I cannot wait."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Gave her your message. She says you'll have
+to."
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "Tell her I can't. I am a very old man."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Thanks. That brought her round. May
+fifteenth in this city."
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "My blessings. Draw on me for any amount up
+to ten thousand pounds. Wedding present on the way."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Happiness complete."
+
+An ordinary telegram signed "Eric Temple" was delivered on board one of
+the huge American cruisers at Hampton Roads during this exchange of
+cablegrams. It was directed to Lieut. Samuel Pickering Aylesworth, who
+promptly replied: "Heartiest congratulations. Count on me for anything.
+Nothing could give me greater happiness than to stand up with you on the
+momentous occasion. It is great to know that you are not only still in
+the land of the living but that you are living in the land that I love
+best. My warmest felicitations to the future Lady Temple."
+
+Now, to go back to the morning on which the first cablegram was received
+from Lord Fenlew. At precisely ten minutes past nine o'clock we take up
+the thread of this narrative once more and find Thomas Trotter standing
+in the lower hall of Mrs. Millidew's home, awaiting the return of a
+parlour-maid who had gone to inform her mistress that the chauffeur was
+downstairs and wanted to see her when it was convenient. The chauffeur
+did not fail to observe the anxious, concerned look in the maid's eyes,
+nor the glance of sympathy she sent over her shoulder as she made the
+turn at the top of the stairs.
+
+Presently she came back. She looked positively distressed.
+
+"My goodness, Tommie," she said, "I'd hate to be you."
+
+He smiled, quite composedly. "Think I'd better beat it?" he inquired.
+
+"She's in an awful state," said the parlour-maid, twisting the hem of
+her apron.
+
+"I don't blame her," said Trotter coolly.
+
+"What was you up to?" asked she, with some severity.
+
+He thought for a second or two and then puzzled her vastly by replying:
+
+"Up to my ears."
+
+"Pickled?"
+
+"Permanently intoxicated," he assured her.
+
+"Well, all I got to say is you'll be sober when she gets through with
+you. I've been up against it myself, and I _know_. I've been on the
+point of quittin' half a dozen times."
+
+"A very sensible idea, Katie," said he, solemnly.
+
+She stiffened. "I guess you don't get me. I mean quittin' my job, Mr.
+Fresh."
+
+"I daresay I'll be quitting mine," said he and smiled so engagingly that
+Katie's rancour gave way at once to sympathy.
+
+"You poor kid! But listen. I'll give you a tip. You needn't be out of a
+job ten minutes. Young Mrs. Millidew is up there with the old girl now.
+They've been havin' it hot and heavy for fifteen minutes. The old one
+called the young one up on the 'phone at seven o'clock this morning and
+gave her the swellest tongue-lashin' you ever heard. Said she'd been
+stealin' her chauffeur, and--a lot of other things I'm ashamed to tell
+you. Over comes the young one, hotter'n fire, and they're havin' it out
+upstairs. I happened to be passin' the door a little while ago and I
+heard young Mrs. Millidew tell the Missus that if she fired you she'd
+take you on in two seconds. So, if you--"
+
+"Thanks, Katie," interrupted Trotter. "Did Mrs. Millidew say when she
+would see me?"
+
+"Soon as she gets something on," said Katie.
+
+At that moment, a door slammed violently on the floor above. There was a
+swift swish of skirts, and then the vivid, angry face of Mrs. Millidew,
+the younger, came suddenly into view. She leaned far out over the
+banister rail and searched the hallway below with quick, roving eyes.
+
+"Are you there, Trotter?" she called out in a voice that trembled
+perceptibly.
+
+He advanced a few paces, stopping beside the newel post. He looked
+straight up into her eyes.
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Millidew."
+
+"You begin driving for me today," she said hurriedly. "Do you
+understand?"
+
+"But, madam, I am not open to--"
+
+"Yes, you are," she interrupted. "You don't know it, but you are out of
+a job, Trotter."
+
+"I am not surprised," he said.
+
+"I don't care what you were doing last night,--that is your affair, not
+mine. You come to me at once at the same wages--"
+
+"I beg your pardon," he broke in. "I mean to say I am not seeking
+another situation."
+
+"If it is a question of pay, I will give you ten dollars a week more
+than you were receiving here. Now, don't haggle. That is sixty dollars a
+week. Hurry up! Decide! She will be out here in a minute. Oh, thunder!"
+
+The same door banged open and the voice of Mrs. Millidew, the elder,
+preceded its owner by some seconds in the race to the front.
+
+"You are not fired, Trotter," she squealed. Her head, considerably
+dishevelled, appeared alongside the gay spring bonnet that bedecked her
+daughter-in-law. "You ought to be fired for what you did last night, but
+you are not. Do you understand? Now, shut up, Dolly! It doesn't matter
+if I _did_ say I was going to fire him. I've changed my mind."
+
+"You are too late," said the younger Mrs. Millidew coolly. "I've just
+engaged him. He comes to me at--"
+
+"You little snake!"
+
+"Ladies, I beg of you--"
+
+"The next time I let him go gallivanting off with you for a couple of
+days--and _nights_,--you'll know it," cried the elder Mrs. Millidew,
+furiously. "I can see what you've been up to. You've been doing
+everything in your power to get him away from me--"
+
+"Just what do you mean to insinuate, Mother Millidew?" demanded the
+other, her voice rising.
+
+"My God!" cried Trotter's employer, straightening her figure and facing
+the other. Something like horror sounded in her cracked old voice.
+"Could--my God!--could it be possible?"
+
+"Speak plainly! What do you mean?"
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the elder, advanced her mottled face until it was but a
+few inches from that of her daughter-in-law.
+
+"Where were _you_ last night?" she demanded harshly.
+
+There was a moment of utter silence. Trotter, down below, caught his
+breath.
+
+Then, to his amazement, Mrs. Millidew the younger, instead of flying
+into a rage, laughed softly, musically.
+
+"Oh, you are too rich for words," she gurgled. "I wish,--heavens, how I
+wish you could see what a fool you look. Go back, quick, and look in the
+mirror before it wears off. You'll have the heartiest laugh you've had
+in years."
+
+She leaned against the railing and continued to laugh. Not a sound from
+Mrs. Millidew, the elder.
+
+"Do come up a few steps, Trotter," went on the younger gaily,--"and have
+a peep. You will--"
+
+The other found her voice. There was now an agitated note, as of alarm,
+in it.
+
+"Don't you dare come up those steps, Trotter;--I forbid you, do you
+hear!"
+
+Trotter replied with considerable dignity. He had been shocked by the
+scene.
+
+"I have no intention of moving in any direction except toward the front
+door," he said.
+
+"Don't go away," called out his employer. "You are not dismissed."
+
+"I came to explain my unavoidable absence last--"
+
+"Some other time,--some other time. I want the car at half-past ten."
+
+Young Mrs. Millidew was descending the stairs. Her smiling eyes were
+upon the distressed young man at the bottom. There was no response in
+his.
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Millidew," he said, raising his voice slightly.
+"I came not only to explain, but to notify you that I am giving up my
+place almost immediately."
+
+"What!" squeaked the old lady, coming to the top of the steps.
+
+"It is imperative. I shall, of course, stay on for a day or two while
+you are finding--"
+
+"Do you mean to say you are quitting of your own accord?" she gasped.
+
+"Yes, madam."
+
+"Don't call me 'madam'! I've told you that before. So--so, you are going
+to work for her in spite of me, are you? It's all been arranged, has it?
+You two have--"
+
+"He is coming to me today," said young Mrs. Millidew sweetly. "Aren't
+you, Trotter?"
+
+"No, I am not!" he exploded.
+
+She stopped short on the stairs, and gave him a startled, incredulous
+look. Any one else but Trotter would have been struck by her loveliness.
+
+"You're not?" cried Mrs. Millidew from the top step. It was almost a cry
+of relief. "Do you mean that?"
+
+"Absolutely."
+
+His employer fumbled for a pocket lost among the folds of her
+dressing-gown.
+
+"Well, you can't resign, my man. Don't think for a minute you can
+resign," she cried out shrilly.
+
+He thought she was looking for a handkerchief.
+
+"But I insist, Mrs. Millidew, that I--"
+
+"You can't resign for the simple reason that you're already fired," she
+sputtered. "I never allow any one to give _me_ notice, young man. No one
+ever left me without being discharged, let me tell you that. Where the
+dev--Oh, here it is!" She not only had found the pocket but the crisp
+slip of paper that it contained. "Here is a check for your week's wages.
+It isn't up till next Monday, but take it and get out. I never want to
+see your ugly face again."
+
+She crumpled the bit of paper in her hand and threw the ball in his
+direction. Its flight ended half-way down the steps.
+
+"Come and get it, if you want it," she said.
+
+"Good day, madam," he said crisply, and turned on his heel.
+
+"How many times must I tell you not to call me--Come back here, Dolly! I
+want to see you."
+
+But her tall, perplexed daughter-in-law passed out through the door,
+followed by the erect and lordly Mr. Trotter.
+
+"Good-bye, Tommie," whispered Katie, as he donned his grey fedora.
+
+"Good-bye, Katie," he said, smiling, and held out his hand to her. "You
+heard what she said. If you should ever think of resigning, I'd suggest
+you do it in writing and from a long way off." He looked behind the
+vestibule door and recovered a smart little walking-stick. "Something to
+lean upon in my misfortune," he explained to Katie.
+
+Young Mrs. Millidew was standing at the top of the steps, evidently
+waiting for him. Her brow wrinkled as she took him in from head to foot.
+He was wearing spats. His two-button serge coat looked as though it had
+been made for him,--and his correctly pressed trousers as well. He stood
+for a moment, his head erect, his heels a little apart, his stick under
+his arm, while he drew on,--with no inconsiderable effect--a pair of
+light tan gloves. And the smile with which he favoured her was certainly
+not that of a punctilious menial. On the contrary, it was the rather
+bland, casual smile of one who is very well satisfied with his position.
+
+In a cheery, off-hand manner he inquired if she was by any chance going
+in his direction.
+
+The metamorphosis was complete. The instant he stepped outside of Mrs.
+Millidew's door, the mask was cast aside. He stood now before the
+world,--and before the puzzled young widow in particular,--as a
+thoroughbred, cocksure English gentleman. In a moment his whole being
+seemed to have undergone a change. He carried himself differently; his
+voice and the manner in which he used it struck her at once as
+remarkably altered; more than anything else, was she impressed by the
+calm assurance of his inquiry.
+
+She was nonplussed. For a moment she hesitated between resentment and
+the swift-growing conviction that he was an equal.
+
+For the first time within the range of her memory, she felt herself
+completely rattled and uncertain of herself. She blushed like a
+fool,--as she afterwards confessed,--and stammered confusedly:
+
+"I--yes--that is, I am going home."
+
+"Come along, then," he said coolly, and she actually gasped.
+
+To her own amazement, she took her place beside him and descended the
+steps, her cheeks crimson. At the bottom, she cast a wild, anxious look
+up and down the street, and then over her shoulder at the second-story
+windows of the house they had just left.
+
+Queer little shivers were running all over her. She couldn't account for
+them,--any more than she could account for the astonishing performance
+to which she was now committed: that of walking jauntily through a
+fashionable cross-town street in the friendliest, most intimate manner
+with her mother-in-law's discharged chauffeur! Fifth Avenue but a few
+steps away, with all its mid-morning activities to be encountered! What
+on earth possessed her! "Come along, then," he had said with all the
+calmness of an old and privileged acquaintance! And obediently she had
+"come along"!
+
+His chin was up, his eyes were sparkling; his body was bent forward
+slightly at the waist to co-ordinate with the somewhat pronounced action
+of his legs; his hat was slightly tilted and placed well back on his
+head; his gay little walking-stick described graceful revolutions.
+
+She was suddenly aware of a new thrill--one of satisfaction. As she
+looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her face cleared.
+Instinctively she grasped the truth. Whatever he may have been
+yesterday, he was quite another person today,--and it was a pleasure to
+be seen with him!
+
+She lengthened her stride, and held up her head. Her red lips parted in
+a dazzling smile.
+
+"I suppose it is useless to ask you to change your mind,--Trotter," she
+said, purposely hesitating over the name.
+
+"Quite," said he, smiling into her eyes.
+
+She was momentarily disconcerted. She found it more difficult than she
+had thought to look into his eyes.
+
+"Why do you call yourself Trotter?" she asked, after a moment.
+
+"I haven't the remotest idea," he said. "It came to me quite
+unexpectedly."
+
+"It isn't a pretty name," she observed. "Couldn't you have done better?"
+
+"I daresay I might have called myself Marjoribanks with perfect
+propriety," said he. "Or Plantagenet, or Cholmondeley. But it would have
+been quite a waste of time, don't you think?"
+
+"Would you mind telling me who you really are?"
+
+"You wouldn't believe me."
+
+"Oh, yes, I would. I could believe anything of you."
+
+"Well, I am the Prince of Wales."
+
+She flushed. "I believe you," she said. "Forgive my impertinence,
+Prince."
+
+"Forgive mine, Mrs. Millidew," he said soberly. "My name is Temple, Eric
+Temple. That does not convey anything to you, of course."
+
+"It conveys something vastly more interesting than Trotter,--Thomas
+Trotter."
+
+"And yet I am morally certain that Trotter had a great deal more to him
+than Eric Temple ever had," said he. "Trotter was a rather good sort, if
+I do say it myself. He was a hard-working, honest, intelligent fellow
+who found the world a very jolly old thing. I shall miss Trotter
+terribly, Mrs. Millidew. He used to read me to sleep nearly every night,
+and if I got a headache or a pain anywhere he did my complaining for me.
+He was with me night and day for three years and more, and that, let me
+tell you, is the severest test. I've known him to curse me roundly, to
+call me nearly everything under the sun,--and yet I let him go on doing
+it without a word in self-defence. Once he saved my life in an Indian
+jungle,--he was a remarkably good shot, you see. And again he pulled me
+through a pretty stiff illness in Tokio. I don't know how I should have
+got on without Trotter."
+
+"You are really quite delicious, Mr. Eric Temple. By the way, did you
+allow the admirable Trotter to direct your affairs of the heart?"
+
+"I did," said he promptly.
+
+"That is rather disappointing," said she, shaking her head. "Trotter may
+not have played the game fairly, you know. With all the best intentions
+in the world, he may have taken advantage of your--shall I say
+indifference?"
+
+"You may take my word for it, Mrs. Millidew, good old Trotter went to a
+great deal of pains to arrange a very suitable match for me," said he
+airily. "He was a most discriminating chap."
+
+"How interesting," said she, stiffening slightly. "Am I permitted to
+inquire just what opportunities Thomas Trotter has had to select a
+suitable companion for the rather exotic Mr. Temple?"
+
+"Fortunately," said he, "the rather exotic Mr. Temple approves entirely
+of the choice made by Thomas Trotter."
+
+"I wouldn't trust a chauffeur too far, if I were you," said she, a
+little maliciously.
+
+"Just how far _would_ you trust one?" he inquired, lifting his eyebrows.
+
+She smiled. "Well,--the length of Long Island," she said, with the
+utmost composure.
+
+"Mr. Trotter's late employer would not, it appears, share your faith in
+the rascal," said he.
+
+"She is a rather evil-minded old party," said Mrs. Millidew, the
+younger, bowing to the occupants of an automobile which was moving
+slowly in the same direction down the Avenue.
+
+A lady in the rear seat of the limousine leaned forward to peer at the
+widow's companion, who raised his hat,--but not in greeting. The man who
+slumped down in the seat beside her, barely lifted his hat. A second
+later he sat up somewhat hastily and stared.
+
+The occupants of the car were Mrs. Smith-Parvis,--a trifle haggard about
+the eyes,--and her son Stuyvesant.
+
+Young Mrs. Millidew laughed. "Evidently they recognize you, Mr. Temple,
+in spite of your spats and stick."
+
+"I thought I was completely disguised," said he, twirling his stick.
+
+"Good-bye," said she, at the corner. She held out her hand. "It is very
+nice to have known you, Mr. Eric Temple. Our mutual acquaintance, the
+impeccable Trotter, has my address if you should care to avail yourself
+of it. After the end of June, I shall be on Long Island."
+
+"It is very good of you, Mrs. Millidew," he said, clasping her hand. His
+hat was off. The warm spring sun gleamed in his curly brown hair. "I
+hope to be in England before the end of June." He hesitated a moment,
+and then said: "Lady Temple and I will be happy to welcome you at Fenlew
+Hall when you next visit England. Good-bye."
+
+She watched him stride off down the Avenue. She was still looking after
+him with slightly disturbed eyes when the butler opened the door.
+
+"Any fool should have known," she said, to herself and not to the
+servant. A queer little light danced in her eyes. "As a matter of fact,
+I suppose I did know without realizing it. Is Mrs. Hemleigh at home,
+Brooks?"
+
+"She is expecting you, Mrs. Millidew."
+
+"By the way, Brooks, do you happen to know anything about Fenlew Hall?"
+
+Brooks was as good a liar as any one. He had come, highly recommended,
+from a Fifth Avenue intelligence office. He did not hesitate an instant.
+
+"The Duke of Aberdeen's county seat, ma'am? I know it quite well. I
+cawn't tell you 'ow many times I've been in the plice, ma'am, while I
+was valeting his Grice, the Duke of Manchester."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXI
+
+                            THE BRIDE-ELECT
+
+
+Four persons, a woman and three men, assembled in the insignificant
+hallway at the top of the steps reaching to the fifth floor of the
+building occupied by Deborah, Limited. To be precise, they were the
+butler, the parlour-maid and two austere footmen. Cricklewick was
+speaking.
+
+"Marriage is a most venturesome undertaking, my dear." He addressed
+himself to Julia, the parlour-maid. "So don't go saying it isn't."
+
+"I didn't say it wasn't," said Julia stoutly. "What I said was, if ever
+any two people were made for each other it's him and her."
+
+"In my time," said Cricklewick, "I've seen what looked to be the most
+excellent matches turn out to be nothing but fizzles."
+
+"Well, this one won't," said she.
+
+"As I was saying to McFaddan in the back 'all a minute ago, Mr.
+Cricklewick, the larst weddin' of any consequence I can remember
+hattending was when Lady Jane's mother was married to the Earl of
+Wexham. I sat on the box with old 'Oppins and we ran hover a dog drivin'
+away from St. George's in 'Anover Square." It was Moody who spoke. He
+seemed to relish the memory. "It was such a pretty little dog, too. I
+shall never forget it." He winked at Julia.
+
+"You needn't wink at me, Moody," said Julia. "I didn't like the little
+beast any more than you did."
+
+"Wot I've always wanted to know is how the blinkin' dog got loose in the
+street that day," mused McFaddan. "He was the most obstinate dog I ever
+saw. It was absolutely impossible to coax 'im into the stable-yard when
+Higgins's bull terrier was avisitin' us, and you couldn't get him into
+the stall with Dandy Boy,--not to save your life. He seemed to know that
+hoss would kick his bloomin' gizzard out. I used to throw little hunks
+of meat into the stall for him, too,--nice little morsels that any other
+dog in the world would have been proud to risk anything for. But him?
+Not a bit of it. He was the most disappointin', bull-headed animal I
+ever saw. I've always meant to ask how did it happen, Julia?"
+
+"I had him out for his stroll," said Julia, with a faraway, pleased
+expression in her eyes. "I thought as how he might be interested in
+seeing the bride and groom, and all that, when they came out of the
+church, so I took him around past Claridge's, and would you believe it
+he got away from me right in the thick of the carriages. He was that
+kind of a dog. He would always have his own way. I was terribly upset,
+McFaddan. You must remember how I carried on, crying and moaning and all
+that till her ladyship had to send for the doctor. It seemed to sort of
+get her mind off her bereavement, my hysterics did."
+
+"You made a puffeck nuisance of yourself," said Cricklewick.
+
+"I took notice, however, Mr. Cricklewick, that _you_ didn't shed any
+tears," said she coldly.
+
+"Certainly not," said the butler. "I admit I should have cried as much
+as anybody. You've no idea how fond the little darling was of me. There
+was hardly a day he didn't take a bite out of me, he liked me so much.
+He used to go without his regular meals, he had such a preference for my
+calves. I've got marks on me to this day."
+
+"And just to think, it was twenty-six years ago," sighed Moody. "'Ow
+times 'ave changed."
+
+"Not as much as you'd think," said Julia, a worried look in her eyes.
+"My mistress is talking of getting another dog,--after all these years.
+She swore she'd never have another one to take 'is place."
+
+"Thank 'eavings," said Moody devoutly, "I am in another situation." He
+winked and chuckled loudly.
+
+"As 'andsome a pair as you'll see in a twelve-month," said McFaddan. "He
+is a--"
+
+"Ahem!" coughed the butler. "There is some one on the stairs, Julia."
+
+Silently, swiftly, the group dissolved. Cricklewick took his place
+in the foyer, Julia clattered down the stairs to the barred gate,
+Moody went into the big drawing-room where sat the Marchioness,
+resplendent,--the Marchioness, who, twenty-six years before, had owned a
+pet that came to a sad and inglorious end on a happy wedding-day, and
+she alone of a large and imposing household had been the solitary
+mourner. She was the Marchioness of Camelford in those days.
+
+The nobility of New York,--or such of it as existed for the purpose of
+dignifying the salon,--was congregating on the eve of the marriage of
+Lady Jane Thorne and Lord Temple. Three o'clock the next afternoon was
+the hour set for the wedding, the place a modest little church, somewhat
+despised by its lordlier companions because it happened to be off in a
+somewhat obscure cross-town street and encouraged the unconventional.
+
+The bride-elect was not so proud or so self-absorbed that she could
+desert the Marchioness in the preparation of what promised to be the
+largest, the sprightliest and the most imposing salon of the year. She
+had put on an old gingham gown, had rolled up the sleeves, and had lent
+a hand with a will and an energy that distressed, yet pleased the older
+woman. She dusted and polished and scrubbed, and she laughed joyously
+and sang little snatches of song as she toiled. And then, when the work
+was done, she sat down to her last dinner with the delighted Marchioness
+and said she envied all the charwomen in the world if they felt as she
+did after an honest day's toil.
+
+"I daresay I ought to pay you a bit extra for the work you've done
+today," the Marchioness had said, a sly glint in her eyes. "Would a
+shilling be satisfactory, my good girl?"
+
+"Quite, ma'am," said Jane, radiant. "I've always wanted a lucky
+shillin', ma'am. I haven't one to me name."
+
+"You'll be having sovereigns after tomorrow, God bless you," said the
+other, a little catch in her voice,--and Jane got up from the table
+instantly and kissed her.
+
+"I am ashamed of myself for having taken so much from you, dear, and
+given so little in return," she said. "I haven't earned a tenth of what
+you've paid me."
+
+The Marchioness looked up and smiled,--and said nothing.
+
+"Isn't Lieutenant Aylesworth perfectly stunning?" Lady Jane inquired,
+long afterwards, as she obediently turned this way and that while the
+critical Deborah studied the effect of her latest creation in gowns.
+
+"Raise your arm, my dear,--so! I believe it is a trifle tight--What were
+you saying?"
+
+"Lieutenant Aylesworth,--isn't he adorable?"
+
+"My dear," said the Marchioness, "it hasn't been your good fortune to
+come in contact with many of the _real_ American men. You have seen the
+imitations. Therefore you are tremendously impressed with the real
+article when it is set before you. Aylesworth is a splendid fellow. He
+is big and clean and gentle. There isn't a rotten spot in him. But you
+must not think of him as an exception. There are a million men like him
+in this wonderful country,--ay, more than a million, my dear. Give me an
+American every time. If I couldn't get along with him and be happy to
+the end of my days with him, it would be my fault and not his. They know
+how to treat a woman, and that is more than you can say for our own
+countrymen as a class. All that a woman has to do to make an American
+husband happy is to let him think that he isn't doing quite enough for
+her. If I were twenty-five years younger than I am, I would get me an
+American husband and keep him on the jump from morning till night doing
+everything in his power to make himself perfectly happy over me. This
+Lieutenant Aylesworth is a fair example of what they turn out over here,
+my dear Jane. You will find his counterpart everywhere, and not always
+in the uniform of the U. S. Navy. They are a new breed of men, and they
+are full of the joy of living. They represent the revivified strength of
+a dozen run-down nations, our own Empire among them."
+
+"He may be all you claim for him," said Jane, "but give me an English
+gentleman every time."
+
+"That is because you happen to be very much in love with one, my
+dear,--and a rare one into the bargain. Eric Temple has lost nothing by
+being away from England for the past three years. He is as arrogant and
+as cocksure of himself as any other Englishmen, but he has picked up
+virtues that most of his countrymen disdain. Never fear, my dear,--he
+will be a good husband to you. But he will not eat out of your hand as
+these jolly Americans do. And when he is sixty he will be running true
+to form. He will be a lordly old dear and you will have to listen to his
+criticism of the government, and the navy and the army and all the rest
+of creation from morning till night and you will have to agree with him
+or he won't understand what the devil has got into you. But, as that is
+precisely what all English wives love better than anything else in the
+world, you will be happy."
+
+"I don't believe Eric will ever become crotchety or overbearing," said
+Jane stubbornly.
+
+"That would be a pity, dear," said the Marchioness, rising; "for of such
+is the kingdom of Britain."
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+Shortly after eleven o'clock, Julia came hurrying upstairs in great
+agitation. She tried vainly for awhile to attract the attention of the
+pompous Cricklewick by a series of sibilant whispers directed from
+behind the curtains in the foyer.
+
+The huge room was crowded. Everybody was there, including Count Andrew
+Drouillard, who rarely attended the functions; the Princess Mariana di
+Pavesi, young Baron Osterholz (who had but recently returned to New York
+after a tour of the West as a chorus-man in "The Merry Widow"); and
+Prince Waldemar de Bosky, excused for the night from Spangler's on
+account of a severe attack of ptomaine poisoning.
+
+"What do you want?" whispered Cricklewick, angrily, passing close to the
+curtains and cocking his ear without appearing to do so.
+
+"Come out here," whispered Julia.
+
+"Don't hiss like that! I can't come."
+
+"You must. It's something dreadful."
+
+"Is it McFaddan's wife?" whispered Cricklewick, in sudden dismay.
+
+"Worse than that. The police."
+
+"My Gawd!"
+
+The butler looked wildly about. He caught McFaddan's eye, and signalled
+him to come at once. If it was the police, McFaddan was the man to
+handle them. All the princes and lords and counts in New York combined
+were not worth McFaddan's little finger in an emergency like this.
+
+At the top of the steps Julia explained to the perspiring Cricklewick
+and the incredulous McFaddan.
+
+"They're at the gate down there, two of 'em in full uniform,--awful
+looking things,--and a man in a silk hat and evening dress. He says if
+we don't let him up he'll have the joint pulled."
+
+"We'll see about _that_," said McFaddan gruffly and not at all in the
+voice or manner of a well-trained footman. He led the way down the
+steps, followed by Cricklewick and the trembling Julia. At the last
+landing but one, he halted, and in a superlatively respectful whisper
+restored Cricklewick to his natural position as a superior.
+
+"You go ahead and see what they want," he said.
+
+"What's wrong with your going first?" demanded Cricklewick, holding
+back.
+
+"I suddenly remembered that the cops wouldn't know what to think if they
+saw me in this rig," confessed McFaddan, ingratiatingly. "They might
+drop dead, you know."
+
+"You can explain that you're attending a fancy dress party," said
+Cricklewick earnestly. "I am a respectable, dignified merchant and I--"
+
+"Go on, man! If you need me I'll be waitin' at the top of the steps.
+They don't know you from Adam, so what's there to be afraid of?"
+
+Fortified by McFaddan's promise, Cricklewick descended to the barred and
+locked grating.
+
+"What's goin' on here?" demanded the burliest policeman he had ever
+seen. The second bluecoat shook the gate till it rattled on its hinges.
+
+Mr. Cricklewick was staring, open-mouthed but speechless, at the figure
+behind the policemen.
+
+"Open up," commanded the second officer. "Get a move on."
+
+"We got to see what kind of a joint this is, uncle. This gentleman says
+something's been goin' on here for the past month to his certain
+knowledge,--"
+
+"Just a moment," broke in Cricklewick, hastily covering the lower part
+of his face with his hand,--that being the nearest he could come, under
+the circumstances, to emulating the maladroit ostrich. "I will call
+Mr.--"
+
+"You'll open the gate right now, me man, or we'll bust it in and jug the
+whole gang of ye," observed the burlier one, scowling.
+
+"Go ahead and bust," said Cricklewick, surprising himself quite as much
+as the officers. "Hey, Mack!" he called out. "Come down at once! Now,
+you'll see!" he rasped, turning to the policemen again. The light of
+victory was in his eye.
+
+"What's that!" roared the cop.
+
+"Break it down," ordered the young man in the rear. "I tell you there's
+a card game or--even worse--going on upstairs. I've had the place
+watched. All kinds of hoboes pass in and out of here on regular nights
+every week,--the rottenest lot of men and women I've--"
+
+"Hurry up, Mack!" shouted Mr. Cricklewick. He was alone. Julia had fled
+to the top landing.
+
+"Coming," boomed a voice from above. A gorgeous figure in full livery
+filled the vision of two policemen.
+
+"For the love o' Mike," gasped the burly one, and burst into a roar of
+laughter. "What is it?"
+
+"Well, of all the--" began the other.
+
+McFaddan interrupted him just in time to avoid additional ignominy.
+
+"What the hell do you guys mean by buttin' in here?" he roared, his face
+brick-red with anger.
+
+"Cut that out," snarled the burly one. "You'll mighty soon see what we
+mean by--"
+
+"Beat it. Clear out!" shouted McFaddan.
+
+"Smash the door down," shouted the young man in full evening dress.
+
+"Oh, my God!" gasped McFaddan, his eyes almost popping from his head. He
+had recognized the speaker.
+
+By singular coincidence all three of the men outside the gate recognized
+Mr. Cornelius McFaddan at the same time.
+
+"Holy mackerel!" gasped the burly one, grabbing for his cap. "It's--it's
+Mr. McFaddan or I'm a goat."
+
+"You're a goat all right," declared McFaddan in a voice that shook all
+the confidence out of both policemen and caused Mr. Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis to back sharply toward the steps leading to the street.
+"Where's Julia?" roared the district boss, glaring balefully at Stuyvie.
+"Get the key, Cricklewick,--quick. Let me out of here. I'll never have
+another chance like this. The dirty--"
+
+"Calm yourself, McFaddan," pleaded Cricklewick. "Remember where you
+are--and who is upstairs. We can't have a row, you know. It--"
+
+"What's the game, Mr. McFaddan?" inquired one of the policemen, very
+politely. "I hope we haven't disturbed a party or anything like that. We
+were sent over here by the sergeant on the complaint of this gentleman,
+who says--"
+
+"They've got a young girl up there," broke in Stuyvesant. "She's been
+decoyed into a den of crooks and white-slavers headed by the woman who
+runs the shop downstairs. I've had her watched. I--"
+
+"O'Flaherty," cried McFaddan, in a pleading voice, "will ye do me the
+favour of breaking this damned door down? I'll forgive ye for
+everything--yes, bedad, I'll get ye a promotion if ye'll only rip this
+accursed thing off its hinges."
+
+"Ain't this guy straight?" demanded O'Flaherty, turning upon Stuyvesant.
+"If he's been double-crossing us--"
+
+"I shall report you to the Commissioner of Police," cried Stuyvesant,
+retreating a step or two as the gate gave signs of yielding. "He is a
+friend of mine."
+
+"He is a friend of Mr. McFaddan's also," said O'Flaherty, scratching his
+head dubiously. "I guess you'll have to explain, young feller."
+
+"Ask him to explain," insisted Stuyvie.
+
+"Permit me," interposed Cricklewick, in an agitated voice. "This is a
+private little fancy dress party. We--"
+
+"Well, I'll be jiggered!" exclaimed Stuyvesant, coming closer to a real
+American being than he had ever been before in all his life. "It's old
+Cricklewick! Why, you old roué!"
+
+"I--I--let me help you, McFaddan," cried Cricklewick suddenly. "If we
+all put our strength to the bally thing, it may give way. Now! All
+together!"
+
+Julia came scuttling down the steps.
+
+"Be quiet!" she cried, tensely. "Whatever are we to do? She's coming
+down--they're both coming down. They are going over to the Ritz for
+supper. The best man is giving a party. Oh, my soul! Can't you do
+anything, McFaddan?"
+
+"Not until you unlock the gate," groaned McFaddan, perspiring freely.
+
+"There she is!" cried Stuyvesant, pointing up the stairs. "Now, will you
+believe me?"
+
+"Get out of sight, you!" whispered McFaddan violently, addressing the
+bewildered policemen. "Get back in the hall and don't breathe,--do you
+hear me? As for _you_--" Cricklewick's spasmodic grip on his arm checked
+the torrent.
+
+Lady Jane was standing at the top of the steps, peering intently
+downward.
+
+"What is it, Cricklewick?" she called out.
+
+"Nothing, my lady,--nothing at all," the butler managed to say with
+perfect composure. "Merely a couple of newspaper reporters asking
+for--ahem--an interview. Stupid blighters! I--I sent them away in jolly
+quick order."
+
+"Isn't that one of them still standing at the top of the steps?"
+inquired she.
+
+"It's--it's only the night-watchman," said McFaddan.
+
+"Oh, I see. Send him off, please. Lord Temple and I are leaving at once,
+Cricklewick. Julia, will you help me with my wraps?"
+
+She disappeared from view. Julia ran swiftly up the steps.
+
+Stuyvesant, apparently alone in the hall outside, put his hand to his
+head.
+
+"Did--did she say Lord Temple?"
+
+"Beat it!" said McFaddan.
+
+"The chap the papers have been--What the devil has she to do with Lord
+Temple?"
+
+"I forgot to get the key from Julia, damn it!" muttered McFaddan,
+suddenly trying the gate again.
+
+"I say, Jane!" called out a strong, masculine voice from regions above.
+"Are you nearly ready?"
+
+Rapid footsteps came down the unseen stairway, and a moment later the
+erstwhile Thomas Trotter, as fine a figure in evening dress as you'd see
+in a month of Sundays, stopped on the landing.
+
+"Will you see if there's a taxi waiting, Cricklewick?" he said. "Moody
+telephoned for one a few minutes ago. I'll be down in a second, Jane
+dear."
+
+He dashed back up the stairs.
+
+"Officer O'Flaherty!" called out Mr. McFaddan, in a cautious undertone,
+"will you be good enough to step downstairs and see if Lord Temple's
+taxi's outside?"
+
+"What'll we do with this gazabo, Mr. McFaddan?"
+
+"Was--is _that_ man--that chauffeur--was that Lord Temple?" sputtered
+Stuyvesant.
+
+"Yes, it was," snapped McFaddan. "And ye'd better be careful how ye
+speak of your betters. Now, clear out. I wouldn't have Lady Jane Thorne
+know I lied to her for anything in the world."
+
+"Lied? Lied about what?"
+
+"When I said ye were a decent night-watchman," said McFaddan.
+
+Stuyvesant went down the steps and into the street, puzzled and sick at
+heart.
+
+He paused irresolutely just outside the entrance. If they were really
+the Lord Temple and the Lady Jane Thorne whose appearance in the
+marriage license bureau at City Hall had provided a small sensation for
+the morning newspapers, it wouldn't be a bad idea to let them see that
+he was ready and willing to forget and forgive--
+
+"Move on, now! Get a move, you!" ordered O'Flaherty, giving him a shove.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXII
+
+                             THE BEGINNING
+
+
+THE brisk, businesslike little clergyman was sorely disappointed. He had
+looked forward to a rather smart affair, so to speak, on the afternoon
+of the fifteenth. Indeed, he had gone to some pains to prepare himself
+for an event far out of the ordinary. It isn't every day that one has
+the opportunity to perform a ceremony wherein a real Lord and Lady
+plight the troth; it isn't every parson who can say he has officiated
+for nobility. Such an event certainly calls for a little more than the
+customary preparations. He got out his newest vestments and did not
+neglect to brush his hair. His shoes were highly polished for the
+occasion and his nails shone with a brightness that fascinated him.
+Moreover, he had tuned up his voice; it had gone stale with the monotony
+of countless marriages in which he rarely took the trouble to notice
+whether the responses were properly made. By dint of a little extra
+exertion in the rectory he had brought it to a fine state of unctuous
+mellowness.
+
+Moreover, he had given some thought to the prayer. It wasn't going to be
+a perfunctory, listless thing, this prayer for Lord and Lady Temple. It
+was to be a profound utterance. The glib, everyday prayer wouldn't do at
+all on an occasion like this. The church would be filled with the best
+people in New York. Something fine and resonant and perhaps a little
+personal,--something to do with God, of course, but, in the main, worth
+listening to. In fact, something from the diaphragm, sonorous.
+
+For a little while he would take off the well-worn mask of humility and
+bask in the fulgent rays of his own light.
+
+But, to repeat, he was sorely disappointed. Instead of beaming upon an
+assemblage of the elect, he found himself confronted by a company that
+caused him to question his own good taste in shaving especially for the
+occasion and in wearing gold-rimmed nose-glasses instead of the "over
+the ears" he usually wore when in haste.
+
+He saw, with shocked and incredulous eyes, sparsely planted about the
+dim church as if separated by the order of one who realized that closer
+contact would result in something worse than passive antagonism, a
+strange and motley company.
+
+For a moment he trembled. Had he, by some horrible mischance, set two
+weddings for the same hour? He cudgelled his brain as he peeped through
+the vestry door. A sickening blank! He could recall no other ceremony
+for that particular hour,--and yet as he struggled for a solution the
+conviction became stronger that he had committed a most egregious error.
+Then and there, in a perspiring panic, he solemnly resolved to give
+these weddings a little more thought. He had been getting a bit
+slack,--really quite haphazard in checking off the daily grist.
+
+What was he to do when the noble English pair and their friends put in
+an appearance? Despite the fact that the young American sailor-chap who
+came to see him about the service had casually remarked that it was to
+be a most informal affair,--with "no trimmings" or something like
+that,--he knew that so far as these people were concerned, simplicity
+was merely comparative. Doubtless, the young couple, affecting
+simplicity, would appear without coronets; the guests probably would
+saunter in and, in a rather dégagé fashion, find seats for themselves
+without deigning to notice the obsequious verger in attendance. And here
+was the church partially filled,--certainly the best seats were
+taken,--by a most unseemly lot of people! What was to be done about it?
+He looked anxiously about for the sexton. Then he glanced at his watch.
+Ten minutes to spare.
+
+Some one tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face the stalwart
+young naval officer. A tall young man was standing at some distance
+behind the officer, clumsily drawing on a pair of pearl grey gloves. He
+wore a monocle. The good pastor's look of distress deepened.
+
+"Good afternoon," said the smiling lieutenant. "You see I got him here
+on time, sir."
+
+"Yes, yes," murmured the pastor. "Ha-ha! Ha-ha!" He laughed in his
+customary way. Not one but a thousand "best men" had spoken those very
+words to him before. The remark called for a laugh. It had become a
+habit.
+
+"Is everybody here?" inquired Aylesworth, peeping over his shoulder
+through the crack in the door. The pastor bethought himself and gently
+closed the door, whereupon the best man promptly opened it again and
+resumed his stealthy scrutiny of the dim edifice.
+
+"I can't fasten this beastly thing, Aylesworth," said the tall young man
+in the background. "Would you mind seeing what you can do with the bally
+thing?"
+
+"I see the Countess there," said Aylesworth, still gazing. "And the
+Marchioness, and--"
+
+"The Marchioness?" murmured the pastor, in fresh dismay.
+
+"I guess they're all here," went on the best man, turning away from the
+door and joining his nervous companion.
+
+"I'd sooner face a regiment of cavalry than--" began Eric Temple.
+
+"May I have the pleasure and the honour of greeting Lord Temple?" said
+the little minister, approaching with outstretched hand. "A--er--a very
+happy occasion, your lordship. Perhaps I would better explain the
+presence in the church of a--er--rather unusual crowd of--er--shall we
+say curiosity-seekers? You see, this is an open church. The doors are
+always open to the public. Very queer people sometimes get in, despite
+the watchfulness of the attendant, usually, I may say, when a wedding of
+such prominence--ahem!--er--"
+
+"I don't in the least mind," said Lord Temple good-humouredly. "If it's
+any treat to them, let them stay. Sure you've got the ring, Aylesworth?
+I say, I'm sorry now we didn't have a rehearsal. It isn't at all simple.
+You said it would be, confound you. You--"
+
+"All you have to do, old chap, is to give your arm to Lady Jane and
+follow the Baroness and me to the chancel. Say 'I do' and 'I will' to
+everything, and before you know it you'll come to and find yourself
+still breathing and walking on air. Isn't that so, Doctor?"
+
+"Quite,--quite so, I am sure."
+
+"Let me take a peep out there, Aylesworth. I'd like to get my bearings."
+
+"Pray do not be dismayed by the--" began the minister.
+
+"Hullo! There's Bramby sitting in the front seat,--my word, I've never
+known him to look so seraphic. Old Fogazario, and de Bosky, and--yes,
+there's Mirabeau, and the amiable Mrs. Moses Jacobs. 'Gad, she's
+resplendent! Du Bara and Herman and--By Jove, they're all here, every
+one of them. I say, Aylesworth, what time is it? I wonder if anything
+can have happened to Jane? Run out to the sidewalk, old chap, and have a
+look, will you? I--"
+
+"Are all bridegrooms like this?" inquired Aylesworth drily, addressing
+the bewildered minister.
+
+"Here she is!" sang out the bridegroom, leaping toward the little
+vestibule. "Thank heaven, Jane! I thought you'd met with an accident
+or--My God! How lovely you are, darling! Isn't she, Aylesworth?"
+
+"Permit me to present you, Doctor, to Lady Jane Thorne," interposed
+Aylesworth. "And to the Baroness Brangwyng."
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+From that moment on, the little divine was in a daze. He didn't know
+what to make of anything. Everything was wrong and yet everything was
+right! How could it be?
+
+How was he to know that his quaint, unpretentious little church was
+half-full of masked men and women? How was he to know that these
+queer-looking people out there were counts and countesses, barons and
+baronesses, princes and princesses? Swarthy Italians, sallow-faced
+Frenchmen, dark Hungarians, bearded Russians and pompous Teutons! How
+was he to know that once upon a time all of these had gone without masks
+in the streets and courts of far-off lands and had worn "purple and fine
+linen"? And those plainly, poorly dressed women? Where,--oh where, were
+the smart New Yorkers for whom he had furbished himself up so neatly?
+
+What manner of companions had this lovely bride,--ah, but _she_ had the
+real atmosphere!--What sort of people had she been thrown with during
+her stay in the City of New York? She who might have known the best, the
+most exclusive,--"bless me, what a pity!"
+
+Here and there in the motley throng, he espied a figure that suggested
+upper Fifth Avenue. The little lady with the snow-white hair; the tall
+brunette with the rather stunning hat; the austere gentleman far in the
+rear, the ruddy faced old man behind him, and the aggressive-looking
+individual with the green necktie,--Yes, any one of them might have come
+from uptown and ought to feel somewhat out of place in this singular
+gathering. The three gentlemen especially. He sized them up as
+financiers, as plutocrats. And yet they were back where the family
+servants usually sat.
+
+He got through with the service,--indulgently, it is to be feared, after
+all.
+
+He would say, on the whole, that he had never seen a handsomer couple
+than Lord and Lady Temple. There was compensation in that. Any one with
+half an eye could see that they came of the very best stock. And the
+little Baroness,--he had never seen a baroness before,--was somebody,
+too. She possessed manner,--that indefinable thing they called
+manner,--there was no mistake about it. He had no means of knowing, of
+course, that she was struggling hard to make a living in the "artist
+colony" down town.
+
+Well, well, it is a strange world, after all. You never can tell, mused
+the little pastor as he stood in the entrance of his church with
+half-a-dozen reporters and watched the strange company disperse,--some
+in motors, some in hansoms, and others on the soles of their feet. A
+large lady in many colours ran for a south-bound street car. He wondered
+who she could be. The cook, perhaps.
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+Lieutenant Aylesworth was saying good-bye to the bride and groom at the
+Grand Central Station. The train for Montreal was leaving shortly before
+ten o'clock.
+
+The wedding journey was to carry them through Canada to the Pacific and
+back to New York, leisurely, by way of the Panama Canal. Lord Fenlew had
+not been niggardly. All he demanded of his grandson in return was that
+they should come to Fenlew Hall before the first of August.
+
+"Look us up the instant you set foot in England, Sammy," said Eric,
+gripping his friend's hand. "Watch the newspapers. You'll see when our
+ship comes home, and after that you'll find us holding out our arms to
+you."
+
+"When my ship _leaves_ home," said the American, "I hope she'll steer
+for an English port. Good-bye, Lady Temple. Please live to be a hundred,
+that's all I ask of you."
+
+"Good-bye, Sam," she said, blushing as she uttered the name he had urged
+her to use.
+
+"You won't mind letting the children call me Uncle Sam, will you?" he
+said, a droll twist to his lips.
+
+"How quaint!" she murmured.
+
+"By Jove, Sammy," cried Eric warmly, "you've no idea how much better you
+look in Uncle Sam's uniform than you did in that stuffy frock coat this
+afternoon. Thank God, I can get into a uniform myself before long. You
+wouldn't understand, old chap, how good it feels to be in a British
+uniform."
+
+"I'm afraid we've outgrown the British uniform," said the other drily.
+"It used to be rather common over here, you know."
+
+"You don't know what all this means to me," said Temple seriously, his
+hand still clasping the American's. "I can hold up my head once more. I
+can fight for England. If she needs me, I can fight and die for her."
+
+"You're a queer lot, you Britishers," drawled the American. "You want to
+fight and die for Old England. I have a singularly contrary ambition. I
+want to _live_ and _fight_ for America."
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+On the twenty-fourth of July, 1914, Lord Eric Temple and his bride came
+home to England.
+
+                   THE END
+
+
+
+
+                Transcriber Notes:
+
+Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.
+
+Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS.
+
+Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe".
+
+Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of
+the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.
+
+Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected
+unless otherwise noted.
+
+On page 9, "Marchiness" was replaced with "Marchioness".
+
+On page 18, "unforgetable" was replaced with "unforgettable".
+
+On page 22, "respendent" was replaced with "resplendent".
+
+On page 26, "idlness" was replaced with "idleness".
+
+On page 47, "sacrified" was replaced with "sacrificed".
+
+On page 53, "spooffing" was replaced with "spoofing".
+
+On page 67, "shan't" was replaced with "sha'n't".
+
+On page 69, "constitutency" was replaced with "constituency".
+
+On page 78, "assed" was replaced with "passed".
+
+On page 80, "acccepting" was replaced with "accepting".
+
+On page 81, "lookingly" was replaced with "looking".
+
+On page 103, "acccused" was replaced with "accused".
+
+On page 107, "afternooon" was replaced with "afternoon".
+
+On page 224, "limmo" was replaced with "limo".
+
+On page 230, "pressent" was replaced with "present".
+
+On page 233, "EOR" was replaced with "FOR".
+
+On page 235, a period was placed after "in the depths".
+
+On page 240, "tobaccco" was replaced with "tobacco".
+
+On page 244, "crochetty" was replaced with "crotchety".
+
+On page 247, "properely" was replaced with "properly".
+
+On page 259, "expained" was replaced with "explained".
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The City of Masks, by George Barr McCutcheon
+
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+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The City of Masks, by George Barr McCutcheon
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The City of Masks
+
+Author: George Barr McCutcheon
+
+Illustrator: May Wilson Preston
+
+Release Date: July 6, 2012 [EBook #40146]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CITY OF MASKS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Bruce Albrecht, Ernest Schaal, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 436px;">
+<img src="images/Image_0001.png" width="436" height="700" alt="The Head and Shoulders of a Man Rose Quickly Above the Ledge (Page 265)" title="The Head and Shoulders of a Man Rose Quickly Above the Ledge (Page 265)" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 411px;">
+<img src="images/002.png" width="411" height="700" alt="THE CITY
+OF MASKS
+
+By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
+
+AUTHOR OF
+&quot;Mr. Bingle,&quot; &quot;Jane Cable,&quot; &quot;Black is White,&quot; Etc.
+
+With Frontispiece
+By MAY WILSON PRESTON
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY
+Publishers New York
+
+Published by arrangement with Dodd, Mead &amp; Company" title="THE CITY
+OF MASKS
+
+By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
+
+AUTHOR OF
+&quot;Mr. Bingle,&quot; &quot;Jane Cable,&quot; &quot;Black is White,&quot; Etc.
+
+With Frontispiece
+By MAY WILSON PRESTON
+
+A. L. BURT COMPANY
+Publishers New York
+
+Published by arrangement with Dodd, Mead &amp; Company" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<p class="cnobmargin">Copyright, 1918</p>
+<p class="cnotmargin"><span class="smcap">By</span> DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, <span class="smcap">Inc</span></p>
+
+<p class="center">PRINTED IN U. S. A.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<p class="center">CONTENTS</p>
+
+<p>CHAPTER <span class="ralign">PAGE</span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I <span class="smcap">Lady Jane Thorne Comes to Dinner</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page1">1</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;II <span class="smcap">Out of the Four Corners of the Earth</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page12">12</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;III <span class="smcap">The City of Masks</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page24">24</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;IV <span class="smcap">The Scion of a New York House</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page37">37</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;V <span class="smcap">Mr. Thomas Trotter Hears Something to His Advantage</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page50">50</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;VI <span class="smcap">The Unfailing Memory</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page67">67</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;VII <span class="smcap">The Foundation of the Plot</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page79">79</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;VIII <span class="smcap">Lady Jane Goes About It Promptly</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page94">94</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;IX <span class="smcap">Mr. Trotter Falls into a New Position</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page110">110</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;X <span class="smcap">Putting Their Heads&mdash;and Hearts&mdash;Together</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page121">121</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;XI <span class="smcap">Winning by a Nose</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page134">134</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;XII <span class="smcap">In the Fog</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page155">155</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;XIII <span class="smcap">Not Clouds Alone Have Linings</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page172">172</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;XIV <span class="smcap">Diplomacy</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page188">188</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;XV <span class="smcap">One Night at Spangler&#39;s</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page202">202</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;XVI <span class="smcap">Scotland Yard Takes a Hand</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page219">219</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;XVII <span class="smcap">Friday for Luck</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page233">233</a></span></p>
+
+<p>XVIII <span class="smcap">Friday for Bad Luck</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page250">250</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;XIX <span class="smcap">From Darkness to Light</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page263">263</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;XX <span class="smcap">An Exchange of Courtesies</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page279">279</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;XXI <span class="smcap">The Bride-Elect</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page294">294</a></span></p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;XXII <span class="smcap">The Beginning</span> <span class="ralign"><a href="#page307">307</a></span></p>
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page1" id="page1"></a>[pg&nbsp;1]</span></p>
+
+<h1>THE CITY OF MASKS</h1>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>
+
+<h3>LADY JANE THORNE COMES TO DINNER</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">THE Marchioness carefully draped the dust-cloth
+over the head of an andiron and, before putting
+the question to the parlour-maid, consulted, with the intensity
+of a near-sighted person, the ornate French
+clock in the centre of the mantelpiece. Then she
+brushed her fingers on the voluminous apron that almost
+completely enveloped her slight person.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, who is it, Julia?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s Lord Temple, ma&#39;am, and he wants to know
+if you&#39;re too busy to come to the &#39;phone. If you are,
+I&#39;m to ask you something.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness hesitated. &quot;How do you know it
+is Lord Eric? Did he mention his name?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He did, ma&#39;am. He said &#39;this is Tom Trotter
+speaking, Julia, and is your mistress disengaged?&#39;
+And so I knew it couldn&#39;t be any one else but his Lordship.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And what are you to ask me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He wants to know if he may bring a friend around
+tonight, ma&#39;am. A gentleman from Constantinople,
+ma&#39;am.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A Turk? He knows I do not like Turks,&quot; said the
+Marchioness, more to herself than to Julia.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He didn&#39;t say, ma&#39;am. Just Constantinople.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page2" id="page2"></a>[pg&nbsp;2]</span>
+The Marchioness removed her apron and handed it to
+Julia. You would have thought she expected to confront
+Lord Temple in person, or at least that she would
+be fully visible to him despite the distance and the intervening
+buildings that lay between. Tucking a few
+stray locks of her snow-white hair into place, she approached
+the telephone in the hall. She had never quite
+gotten over the impression that one could be seen
+through as well as heard over the telephone. She always
+smiled or frowned or gesticulated, as occasion demanded;
+she was never languid, never bored, never listless.
+A chat was a chat, at long range or short; it
+didn&#39;t matter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Are you there? Good evening, Mr. Trotter. So
+charmed to hear your voice.&quot; She had seated herself
+at the little old Italian table.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter devoted a full two minutes to explanations.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Do bring him with you,&quot; cried she. &quot;Your word
+is sufficient. He <i>must</i> be delightful. Of course, I
+shuddered a little when you mentioned Constantinople.
+I always do. One can&#39;t help thinking of the Armenians.
+Eh? Oh, yes,&mdash;and the harems.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter: &quot;By the way, are you expecting Lady
+Jane tonight?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness: &quot;She rarely fails us, Mr. Trotter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter: &quot;Right-o! Well, good-bye,&mdash;and
+thank you. I&#39;m sure you will like the baron. He is a
+trifle seedy, as I said before,&mdash;sailing vessel, you know,
+and all that sort of thing. By way of Cape Town,&mdash;pretty
+well up against it for the past year or two besides,&mdash;but
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page3" id="page3"></a>[pg&nbsp;3]</span>
+a regular fellow, as they say over here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness: &quot;Where did you say he is stopping?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter: &quot;Can&#39;t for the life of me remember
+whether it&#39;s the &#39;Sailors&#39; Loft&#39; or the &#39;Sailors&#39; Bunk.&#39;
+He told me too. On the water-front somewhere. I
+knew him in Hong Kong. He says he has cut it all out,
+however.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness: &quot;Cut it all out, Mr. Trotter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter, laughing: &quot;Drink, and all that sort
+of thing, you know. Jolly good thing too. I give
+you my personal guarantee that he&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness: &quot;Say no more about it, Mr.
+Trotter. I am sure we shall all be happy to receive
+any friend of yours. By the way, where are you now&mdash;where
+are you telephoning from?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter: &quot;Drug store just around the corner.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness: &quot;A booth, I suppose?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter: &quot;Oh, yes. Tight as a sardine box.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness: &quot;Good-bye.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter: &quot;Oh&mdash;hello? I beg your pardon&mdash;are
+you there? Ah, I&mdash;er&mdash;neglected to mention
+that the baron may not appear at his best tonight.
+You see, the poor chap is a shade large for my clothes.
+Naturally, being a sailor-man, he hasn&#39;t&mdash;er&mdash;a very
+extensive wardrobe. I am fixing him out in a&mdash;er&mdash;rather
+abandoned evening suit of my own. That is to
+say, I abandoned it a couple of seasons ago. Rather
+nobby thing for a waiter, but not&mdash;er&mdash;what you
+might call&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness, chuckling: &quot;Quite good enough
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page4" id="page4"></a>[pg&nbsp;4]</span>
+for a sailor, eh? Please assure him that no matter
+what he wears, or how he looks, he will not be conspicuous.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">After this somewhat ambiguous remark, the Marchioness
+hung up the receiver and returned to the drawing-room;
+a prolonged search revealing the dust-cloth
+on the &quot;nub&quot; of the andiron, just where she had left it,
+she fell to work once more on the velvety surface of a
+rare old Spanish cabinet that stood in the corner of the
+room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t you want your apron, ma&#39;am?&quot; inquired
+Julia, sitting back on her heels and surveying with considerable
+pride the leg of an enormous throne seat she
+had been rubbing with all the strength of her stout
+arms.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Her mistress ignored the question. She dabbed into
+a tiny recess and wriggled her finger vigorously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I can&#39;t imagine where all the dust comes from,
+Julia,&quot; she said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Some of it comes from Italy, and some of it from
+Spain, and some from France,&quot; said Julia promptly.
+&quot;You could rub for a hundred years, ma&#39;am, and
+there&#39;d still be dust that you couldn&#39;t find, not to save
+your soul. And why not? I&#39;d bet my last penny
+there&#39;s dust on that cabinet this very minute that settled
+before Napoleon was born, whenever that was.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I daresay,&quot; said the Marchioness absently.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">More often than otherwise she failed to hear all that
+Julia said to her, or in her presence rather, for Julia,
+wise in association, had come to consider these lapses
+of inattention as openings for prolonged and rarely
+coherent soliloquies on topics of the moment. Julia,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page5" id="page5"></a>[pg&nbsp;5]</span>
+by virtue of long service and a most satisfying avoidance
+of matrimony, was a privileged servant between
+the hours of eight in the morning and eight in the evening.
+After eight, or more strictly speaking, the
+moment dinner was announced, Julia became a perfect
+servant. She would no more have thought of addressing
+the Marchioness as &quot;ma&#39;am&quot; than she would have
+called the King of England &quot;mister.&quot; She had crossed
+the Atlantic with her mistress eighteen years before; in
+mid-ocean she celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday, and,
+as she had been in the family for ten years prior to that
+event, even a child may solve the problem that here presents
+a momentary and totally unnecessary break in
+the continuity of this narrative. Julia was English.
+She spoke no other language. Beginning with the
+soup, or the <i>hors d&#39;&oelig;uvres</i> on occasion, French was
+spoken in the house of the Marchioness. Physically
+unable to speak French and psychologically unwilling
+to betray her ignorance, Julia became a model servant.
+She lapsed into perfect silence.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness seldom if ever dined alone. She always
+dined in state. Her guests,&mdash;English, Italian,
+Russian, Belgian, French, Spanish, Hungarian, Austrian,
+German,&mdash;conversed solely in French. It was a
+very agreeable way of symphonizing Babel.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The room in which she and the temporarily imperfect
+though treasured servant were employed in the dusk
+of this stormy day in March was at the top of an old-fashioned
+building in the busiest section of the city, a
+building that had, so far, escaped the fate of its immediate
+neighbours and remained, a squat and insignificant
+pygmy, elbowing with some arrogance the lofty
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page6" id="page6"></a>[pg&nbsp;6]</span>
+structures that had shot up on either side of it with
+incredible swiftness.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It was a large room, at least thirty by fifty feet in
+dimensions, with a vaulted ceiling that encroached upon
+the space ordinarily devoted to what architects, builders
+and the Board of Health describe as an air chamber,
+next below the roof. There was no elevator in
+the building. One had to climb four flights of stairs
+to reach the apartment.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">From its long, heavily curtained windows one looked
+down upon a crowded cross-town thoroughfare, or up
+to the summit of a stupendous hotel on the opposite side
+of the street. There was a small foyer at the rear of
+this lofty room, with an entrance from the narrow hall
+outside. Suspended in the wide doorway between the
+two rooms was a pair of blue velvet Italian portières
+of great antiquity and, to a connoisseur, unrivaled quality.
+Beyond the foyer and extending to the area
+wall was the rather commodious dining-room, with its
+long oaken English table, its high-back chairs, its
+massive sideboard and the chandelier that is said to
+have hung in the Doges&#39; Palace when the Bridge of
+Sighs was a new and thriving avenue of communication.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At least, so stated the dealer&#39;s tag tucked carelessly
+among the crystal prisms, supplying the observer with
+the information that, in case one was in need of a
+chandelier, its price was five hundred guineas. The
+same curious-minded observer would have discovered,
+if he were not above getting down on his hands and
+knees and peering under the table, a price tag; and by
+exerting the strength necessary to pull the sideboard
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page7" id="page7"></a>[pg&nbsp;7]</span>
+away from the wall, a similar object would have been
+exposed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In other words, if one really wanted to purchase any
+article of furniture or decoration in the singularly impressive
+apartment of the Marchioness, all one had to
+do was to signify the desire, produce a check or its
+equivalent, and give an address to the competent-looking
+young woman who would put in an appearance with
+singular promptness in response to a couple of punches
+at an electric button just outside the door, any time
+between nine and five o&#39;clock, Sundays included.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The drawing-room contained many priceless articles
+of furniture, wholly antique&mdash;(and so guaranteed),
+besides rugs, draperies, tapestries and stuffs of the
+rarest quality. Bronzes, porcelains, pottery, things of
+jade and alabaster, sconces, candlesticks and censers,
+with here and there on the walls lovely little &quot;primitives&quot;
+of untold value. The most exotic taste had ordered
+the distribution and arrangement of all these objects.
+There was no suggestion of crowding, nothing
+haphazard or bizarre in the exposition of treasure,
+nothing to indicate that a cheap intelligence revelled
+in rich possessions.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">You would have sat down upon the first chair that
+offered repose and you would have said you had wandered
+inadvertently into a palace. Then, emboldened
+by an interest that scorned politeness, you would have
+got up to inspect the riches at close range,&mdash;and you
+would have found price-marks everywhere to overcome
+the impression that Aladdin had been rubbing his lamp
+all the way up the dingy, tortuous stairs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">You are not, however, in the shop of a dealer in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page8" id="page8"></a>[pg&nbsp;8]</span>
+antiques, price-marks to the contrary. You are in the
+home of a Marchioness, and she is not a dealer in old
+furniture, you may be quite sure of that. She does not
+owe a penny on a single article in the apartment nor
+does she, on the other hand, own a penny&#39;s worth of
+anything that meets the eye,&mdash;unless, of course, one
+excepts the dust-cloth and the can of polish that follows
+Julia about the room. Nor is it a loan exhibit, nor the
+setting for a bazaar.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The apartment being on the top floor of a five-story
+building, it is necessary to account for the remaining
+four. In the rear of the fourth floor there was a small
+kitchen and pantry from which a dumb-waiter ascended
+and descended with vehement enthusiasm. The remainder
+of the floor was divided into four rather small
+chambers, each opening into the outer hall, with two
+bath-rooms inserted. Each of these rooms contained a
+series of lockers, not unlike those in a club-house.
+Otherwise they were unfurnished except for a few commonplace
+cane bottom chairs in various stages of decrepitude.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The third floor represented a complete apartment
+of five rooms, daintily furnished. This was where the
+Marchioness really lived.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Commerce, after a fashion, occupied the two lower
+floors. It stopped short at the bottom of the second
+flight of stairs where it encountered an obstacle in the
+shape of a grill-work gate that bore the laconic word
+&quot;Private,&quot; and while commerce may have peeped inquisitively
+through and beyond the barrier it was never
+permitted to trespass farther than an occasional sly,
+surreptitious and unavailing twist of the knob.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page9" id="page9"></a>[pg&nbsp;9]</span>
+The entire second floor was devoted to work-rooms in
+which many sewing machines buzzed during the day
+and went to rest at six in the evening. Tables, chairs,
+manikins, wall-hooks and hangers thrust forward a
+bewildering assortment of fabrics in all stages of development,
+from an original uncut piece to a practically
+completed garment. In other words, here was the work-shop
+of the most exclusive, most expensive <i>modiste</i> in
+all the great city.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The ground floor, or rather the floor above the English
+basement, contained the <i>salon</i> and fitting rooms of
+an establishment known to every woman in the city
+as</p>
+
+<p class="center">DEBORAH&#39;S.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">To return to the Marchioness and Julia.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not that a little dust or even a great deal of dirt
+will make any different to the Princess,&quot; the former was
+saying, &quot;but, just the same, I feel better, if I <i>know</i>
+we&#39;ve done our best.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thank the Lord, she don&#39;t come very often,&quot; was
+Julia&#39;s frank remark. &quot;It&#39;s the stairs, I fancy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And the car-fare,&quot; added her mistress. &quot;Is it six
+o&#39;clock, Julia?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, ma&#39;am, it is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness groaned a little as she straightened
+up and tossed the dust-cloth on the table. &quot;It catches
+me right across here,&quot; she remarked, putting her hand
+to the small of her back and wrinkling her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You shouldn&#39;t be doing my work,&quot; scolded Julia.
+&quot;It&#39;s not for the likes of you to be&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall lie down for half an hour,&quot; said the Marchioness
+calmly. &quot;Come at half-past six, Julia.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page10" id="page10"></a>[pg&nbsp;10]</span>
+&quot;Just Lady Jane, ma&#39;am? No one else?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No one else,&quot; said the other, and preceded Julia
+down the two flights of stairs to the charming little
+apartment on the third floor. &quot;She is a dear girl, and
+I enjoy having her all to myself once in a while.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She is so, ma&#39;am,&quot; agreed Julia, and added. &quot;The
+oftener the better.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At half-past seven Julia ran down the stairs to open
+the gate at the bottom. She admitted a slender young
+woman, who said, &quot;Thank you,&quot; and &quot;Good evening,
+Julia,&quot; in the softest, loveliest voice imaginable, and
+hurried up, past the apartment of the Marchioness, to
+the fourth floor. Julia, in cap and apron, wore a
+pleased smile as she went in to put the finishing touches
+on the coiffure of her mistress.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Pity there isn&#39;t more like her,&quot; she said, at the end
+of five minutes&#39; reflection. Patting the silvery crown
+of the Marchioness, she observed in a less detached manner:
+&quot;As I always says, the wonderful part is that it&#39;s
+all your own, ma&#39;am.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am beginning to dread the stairs as much as
+any one,&quot; said the Marchioness, as she passed out into
+the hall and looked up the dimly lighted steps. &quot;That
+is a bad sign, Julia.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A mass of coals crackled in the big fireplace on the
+top floor, and a tall man in the resplendent livery of a
+footman was engaged in poking them up when the Marchioness
+entered.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Bitterly cold, isn&#39;t it, Moody?&quot; inquired she, approaching
+with stately tread, her lorgnon lifted.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is, my lady,&mdash;extremely nawsty,&quot; replied
+Moody. &quot;The trams are a bit off, or I should &#39;ave
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page11" id="page11"></a>[pg&nbsp;11]</span>
+&#39;ad the coals going &#39;alf an hour sooner than&mdash;Ahem!
+They call it a blizzard, my lady.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I know, thank you, Moody.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thank you, my lady,&quot; and he moved stiffly off in
+the direction of the foyer.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness languidly selected a magazine from
+the litter of periodicals on the table. It was <i>La
+Figaro</i>, and of recent date. There were magazines
+from every capital in Europe on that long and time-worn
+table.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A warm, soft light filled the room, shed by antique
+lanthorns and wall-lamps that gave forth no cruel
+glare. Standing beside the table, the Marchioness was
+a remarkable picture. The slight, drooping figure of
+the woman with the dust-cloth and creaking knees had
+been transformed, like Cinderella, into a fairly regal
+creature attired in one of the most fetching costumes
+ever turned out by the rapacious Deborah, of the first
+floor front!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The foyer curtains parted, revealing the plump, venerable
+figure of a butler who would have done credit
+to the lordliest house in all England.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Lady Jane Thorne,&quot; he announced, and a slim,
+radiant young person entered the room, and swiftly approached
+the smiling Marchioness.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page12" id="page12"></a>[pg&nbsp;12]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>
+
+<h3>OUT OF THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;AM I late?&quot; she inquired, a trace of anxiety in
+her smiling blue eyes. She was clasping the
+hand of the taut little Marchioness, who looked up into
+the lovely face with the frankest admiration.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have only this instant finished dressing,&quot; said
+her hostess. &quot;Moody informs me we&#39;re in for a blizzard.
+Is it so bad as all that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What a perfectly heavenly frock!&quot; cried Lady
+Jane Thorne, standing off to take in the effect. &quot;Turn
+around, do. Exquisite! Dear me, I wish I could&mdash;but
+there! Wishing is a form of envy. We shouldn&#39;t
+wish for anything, Marchioness. If we didn&#39;t, don&#39;t
+you see how perfectly delighted we should be with what
+we have? Oh, yes,&mdash;it is a horrid night. The trolley-cars
+are blocked, the omnibuses are stalled, and walking
+is almost impossible. How good the fire looks!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Cheerful, isn&#39;t it? Now you must let me have my
+turn at wishing, my dear. If I could have my wish,
+you would be disporting yourself in the best that Deborah
+can turn out, and you would be worth millions
+to her as an advertisement. You&#39;ve got style, figure,
+class, verve&mdash;everything. You carry your clothes as
+if you were made for them and not the other way
+round.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;This gown is so old I sometimes think I <i>was</i> made
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page13" id="page13"></a>[pg&nbsp;13]</span>
+for it,&quot; said the girl gaily. &quot;I can&#39;t remember when
+it was made for <i>me</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Moody had drawn two chairs up to the fire.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Rubbish!&quot; said the Marchioness, sitting down.
+&quot;Toast your toes, my dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lady Jane&#39;s gown was far from modish. In these
+days of swift-changing fashions for women, it had become
+passé long before its usefulness or its beauty had
+passed. Any woman would have told you that it was
+a &quot;season before last model,&quot; which would be so distantly
+removed from the present that its owner may be
+forgiven the justifiable invention concerning her memory.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">But Lady Jane&#39;s figure was not old, nor passé, nor
+even a thing to be forgotten easily. She was straight,
+and slim, and sound of body and limb. That is to say,
+she stood well on her feet and suggested strength rather
+than fragility. Her neck and shoulders were smooth
+and white and firm; her arms shapely and capable, her
+hands long and slender and aristocratic. Her dark
+brown hair was abundant and wavy;&mdash;it had never experienced
+the baleful caress of a curling-iron. Her
+firm, red lips were of the smiling kind,&mdash;and she must
+have known that her teeth were white and strong and
+beautiful, for she smiled more often than not with
+parted lips. There was character, intelligence and
+breeding in her face.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She wore a simple black velvet gown, close-fitting,&mdash;please
+remember that it was of an antiquity not even
+surpassed, as things go, by the oldest rug in the apartment,&mdash;with
+a short train. She was fully a head taller
+than the Marchioness, which isn&#39;t saying much when
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page14" id="page14"></a>[pg&nbsp;14]</span>
+you are informed that the latter was at least half-a-head
+shorter than a woman of medium height.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On the little finger of her right hand she wore a
+heavy seal ring of gold. If you had known her well
+enough to hold her hand&mdash;to the light, I mean,&mdash;you
+would have been able to decipher the markings of a
+crest, notwithstanding the fact that age had all but
+obliterated the lines.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Dinner was formal only in the manner in which it was
+served. Behind the chair of the Marchioness, Moody
+posed loftily when not otherwise employed. A critical
+observer would have taken note of the threadbare condition
+of his coat, especially at the elbows, and the
+somewhat snug way in which it adhered to him, fore and
+aft. Indeed, there was an ever-present peril in its snugness.
+He was painfully deliberate and detached.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">From time to time, a second footman, addressed as
+McFaddan, paused back of Lady Jane. His chin was
+not quite so high in the air as Moody&#39;s; the higher he
+raised it the less it looked like a chin. McFaddan,
+you would remark, carried a great deal of weight above
+the hips. The ancient butler, Cricklewick, decanted
+the wine, lifted his right eyebrow for the benefit of
+Moody, the left in directing McFaddan, and cringed
+slightly with each trip upward of the dumb-waiter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness and Lady Jane were in a gay mood
+despite the studied solemnity of the three servants. As
+dinner has no connection with this narrative except to
+introduce an effect of opulence, we will hurry through
+with it and allow Moody and McFaddan to draw back
+the chairs on a signal transmitted by Cricklewick, and
+return to the drawing-room with the two ladies.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page15" id="page15"></a>[pg&nbsp;15]</span>
+&quot;A quarter of nine,&quot; said the Marchioness, peering at
+the French clock through her lorgnon. &quot;I am quite
+sure the Princess will not venture out on such a night
+as this.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She&#39;s really quite an awful pill,&quot; said Lady Jane
+calmly. &quot;I for one sha&#39;n&#39;t be broken-hearted if she
+doesn&#39;t venture.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For heaven&#39;s sake, don&#39;t let Cricklewick hear you
+say such a thing,&quot; said the Marchioness in a furtive
+undertone.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ve heard Cricklewick say even worse,&quot; retorted
+the girl. She lowered her voice to a confidential whisper.
+&quot;No longer ago than yesterday he told me that
+she made him tired, or something of the sort.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Poor Cricklewick! I fear he is losing ambition,&quot;
+mused the Marchioness. &quot;An ideal butler but a most
+dreary creature the instant he attempts to be a human
+being. It isn&#39;t possible. McFaddan is quite human.
+That&#39;s why he is so fat. I am not sure that I ever told
+you, but he was quite a slim, puny lad when Cricklewick
+took him out of the stables and made a very decent
+footman out of him. That was a great many years
+ago, of course. Camelford left him a thousand pounds
+in his will. I have always believed it was hush money.
+McFaddan was a very wide-awake chap in those days.&quot;
+The Marchioness lowered one eye-lid slowly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And, by all reports, the Marquis of Camelford was
+very well worth watching,&quot; said Lady Jane.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hear the wind!&quot; cried the Marchioness, with a
+little shiver. &quot;How it shrieks!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We were speaking of the Marquis,&quot; said Lady Jane.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But one may always fall back on the weather,&quot; said
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page16" id="page16"></a>[pg&nbsp;16]</span>
+the Marchioness drily. &quot;Even at its worst it is a
+pleasanter thing to discuss than Camelford. You can&#39;t
+get anything out of me, my dear. I was his next door
+neighbour for twenty years, and I don&#39;t believe in talking
+about one&#39;s neighbour.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lady Jane stared for a moment. &quot;But&mdash;how
+quaint you are!&mdash;you were married to him almost
+as long as that, were you not?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My clearest,&mdash;I may even say my dearest,&mdash;recollection
+of him is as a neighbour, Lady Jane. He was
+most agreeable next door.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cricklewick appeared in the door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Count Antonio Fogazario,&quot; he announced.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A small, wizened man in black satin knee-breeches entered
+the room and approached the Marchioness.
+With courtly grace he lifted her fingers to his lips and,
+in a voice that quavered slightly, declared in French
+that his joy on seeing her again was only surpassed
+by the hideous gloom he had experienced during the
+week that had elapsed since their last meeting.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But now the gloom is dispelled and I am basking
+in sunshine so rare and soft and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My dear Count,&quot; broke in the Marchioness, &quot;you
+forget that we are enjoying the worst blizzard of the
+year.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Enjoying,&mdash;vastly enjoying it!&quot; he cried. &quot;It is
+the most enchanting blizzard I have ever known. Ah,
+my dear Lady Jane! This <i>is</i> delightful!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His sharp little face beamed with pleasure. The
+vast pleated shirt front extended itself to amazing proportions,
+as if blown up by an invisible though prodigious
+bellows, and his elbow described an angle of considerable
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page17" id="page17"></a>[pg&nbsp;17]</span>
+elevation as he clasped the slim hand of the
+tall young woman. The crown of his sleek black toupee
+was on a line with her shoulder.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;God bless me,&quot; he added, in a somewhat astonished
+manner, &quot;this is most gratifying. I could not have
+lifted it half that high yesterday without experiencing
+the most excruciating agony.&quot; He worked his arm up
+and down experimentally. &quot;Quite all right, quite all
+right. I feared I was in for another siege. I cannot
+tell you how delighted I am. Ahem! Where was I?
+Oh, yes&mdash;This is a pleasure, Lady Jane, a positive
+delight. How charming you are look&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Save your compliments, Count, for the Princess,&quot;
+interrupted the girl, smiling. &quot;She is coming, you
+know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I doubt it,&quot; he said, fumbling for his snuff-box.
+&quot;I saw her this afternoon. Chilblains. Weather like
+this, you see. Quite a distance from her place to the
+street-cars. Frightful going. I doubt it very much.
+Now, what was it she said to me this afternoon? Something
+very important, I remember distinctly,&mdash;but it
+seems to have slipped my mind completely. I am fearfully
+annoyed with myself. I remember with great distinctness
+that it was something I was determined to
+remember, and here I am forgetting&mdash;Ah, let me
+see! It comes to me like a flash. I have it! She said
+she felt as though she had a cold coming on or something
+like that. Yes, I am sure that was it. I remember
+she blew her nose frequently, and she always
+makes a dreadful noise when she blows her nose. A
+really unforgettable noise, you know. Now, when I
+blow my nose, I don&#39;t behave like an elephant. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page18" id="page18"></a>[pg&nbsp;18]</span>
+&quot;You blow it like a gentleman,&quot; interrupted the
+Marchioness, as he paused in some confusion.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Indeed I do,&quot; he said gratefully. &quot;In the most
+polished manner possible, my dear lady.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lady Jane put her handkerchief to her lips. There
+was a period of silence. The Count appeared to be
+thinking with great intensity. He had a harassed
+expression about the corners of his nose. It was he
+who broke the silence. He broke it with a most tremendous
+sneeze.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The beastly snuff,&quot; he said in apology.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cricklewick&#39;s voice seemed to act as an echo to the
+remark.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The Right-Honourable Mrs. Priestly-Duff,&quot; he announced,
+and an angular, middle-aged lady in a rose-coloured
+gown entered the room. She had a very long
+nose and prominent teeth; her neck was of amazing
+length and appeared to be attached to her shoulders by
+means of vertical, skin-covered ropes, running from
+torso to points just behind her ears, where they were
+lost in a matting of faded, straw-coloured hair. On
+second thought, it may be simpler to remark that her
+neck was amazingly scrawny. It will save confusion.
+Her voice was a trifle strident and her French execrable.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Isn&#39;t it awful?&quot; she said as she joined the trio
+at the fireplace. &quot;I thought I&#39;d never get here. Two
+hours coming, my dear, and I must be starting home
+at once if I want to get there before midnight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The Princess will be here,&quot; said the Marchioness.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ll wait fifteen minutes,&quot; said the new-comer
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page19" id="page19"></a>[pg&nbsp;19]</span>
+crisply, pulling up her gloves. &quot;I&#39;ve had a trying
+day, Marchioness. Everything has gone wrong,&mdash;even
+the drains. They&#39;re frozen as tight as a drum
+and heaven knows when they&#39;ll get them thawed out!
+Who ever heard of such weather in March?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah, my dear Mrs. Priestly-Duff, you should not
+forget the beautiful sunshine we had yesterday,&quot; said
+the Count cheerily.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Precious little good it does today,&quot; she retorted,
+looking down upon him from a lofty height, and as if
+she had not noticed his presence before. &quot;When did
+you come in, Count?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is quite likely the Princess will not venture out
+in such weather,&quot; interposed the Marchioness, sensing
+squalls.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, I&#39;ll stop a bit anyway and get my feet warm.
+I hope she doesn&#39;t come. She is a good deal of a wet
+blanket, you must admit.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Wet blankets,&quot; began the Count argumentatively,
+and then, catching a glance from the Marchioness,
+cleared his throat, blew his nose, and mumbled something
+about poor people who had no blankets at all,
+God help them on such a night as this.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lady Jane had turned away from the group and was
+idly turning the leaves of the <i>Illustrated London News</i>.
+The smallest intelligence would have grasped the fact
+that Mrs. Priestly-Duff was not a genial soul.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Who else is coming?&quot; she demanded, fixing the
+little hostess with the stare that had just been removed
+from the back of Lady Jane&#39;s head.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cricklewick answered from the doorway.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page20" id="page20"></a>[pg&nbsp;20]</span>
+&quot;Lord Temple. Baron&mdash;ahem!&mdash;Whiskers&mdash;eh?
+Baron Wissmer. Prince Waldemar de Bosky.
+Count Wilhelm Frederick Von Blitzen.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Four young men advanced upon the Marchioness,
+Lord Temple in the van. He was a tall, good-looking
+chap, with light brown hair that curled slightly above
+the ears, and eyes that danced.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;This, my dear Marchioness, is my friend, Baron
+Wissmer,&quot; he said, after bending low over her hand.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Baron, whose broad hands were encased in immaculate
+white gloves that failed by a wide margin to
+button across his powerful wrists, smiled sheepishly as
+he enveloped her fingers in his huge palm.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is good of you to let me come, Marchioness,&quot; he
+said awkwardly, a deep flush spreading over his sea-tanned
+face. &quot;If I manage to deport myself like the
+bull in the china shop, pray lay it to clumsiness and
+not to ignorance. It has been a very long time since
+I touched the hand of a Marchioness.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Small people, like myself, may well afford to be
+kind and forgiving to giants,&quot; said she, smiling.
+&quot;Dear me, how huge you are.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I was once in the Emperor&#39;s Guard,&quot; said he,
+straightening his figure to its full six feet and a half.
+&quot;The Blue Hussars. I may add with pride that I
+was not so horribly clumsy in regimentals. After all,
+it is the clothes that makes the man.&quot; He smiled as
+he looked himself over. &quot;I shall not be at all offended
+or even embarrassed if you say &#39;goodness, how
+you have grown!&#39;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The best tailor in London made that suit of
+clothes,&quot; said Lord Temple, surveying his friend with
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page21" id="page21"></a>[pg&nbsp;21]</span>
+an appraising eye. Out of the corner of the same eye
+he explored the region beyond the group that now
+clustered about the hostess. Evidently he discovered
+what he was looking for. Leaving the Baron high
+and dry, he skirted the edge of the group and, with
+beaming face, came to Lady Jane.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My family is of Vienna,&quot; the Baron was saying to
+the Marchioness, &quot;but of late years I have called
+Constantinople my home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I understand,&quot; said she gently. She asked no
+other question, but, favouring him with a kindly smile,
+turned her attention to the men who lurked insignificantly
+in the shadow of his vast bulk.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Prince was a pale, dreamy young man with
+flowing black hair that must have been a constant
+menace to his vision, judging by the frequent and
+graceful sweep of his long, slender hand in brushing the
+encroaching forelock from his eyes, over which it spread
+briefly in the nature of a veil. He had the fingers of a
+musician, the bearing of a violinist. His head drooped
+slightly toward his left shoulder, which was always
+raised a trifle above the level of the right. And there
+was in his soft brown eyes the faraway look of the detached.
+The insignia of his house hung suspended by
+a red ribbon in the centre of his white shirt front, while
+on the lapel of his coat reposed the emblem of the Order
+of the Golden Star. He was a Pole.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Count Von Blitzen, a fair-haired, pink-skinned German,
+urged himself forward with typical, not-to-be-denied
+arrogance, and crushed the fingers of the Marchioness
+in his fat hand. His broad face beamed with
+an all-enveloping smile.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page22" id="page22"></a>[pg&nbsp;22]</span>
+&quot;Only patriots and lovers venture forth on such
+nights as this,&quot; he said, in a guttural voice that rendered
+his French almost laughable.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;With an occasional thief or varlet,&quot; supplemented
+the Marchioness.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ach, Dieu,&quot; murmured the Count.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Fresh arrivals were announced by Cricklewick. For
+the next ten or fifteen minutes they came thick and
+fast, men and women of all ages, nationality and condition,
+and not one of them without a high-sounding title.
+They disposed themselves about the vast room, and a
+subdued vocal hubbub ensued. If here and there elderly
+guests, with gnarled and painfully scrubbed hands,
+preferred isolation and the pictorial contents of a magazine
+from the land of their nativity, it was not with
+snobbish intentions. They were absorbing the news
+from &quot;home,&quot; in the regular weekly doses.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The regal, resplendent Countess du Bara, of the
+Opera, held court in one corner of the room. Another
+was glorified by a petite baroness from the Artists&#39; Colony
+far down-town, while a rather dowdy lady with a
+coronet monopolized the attention of a small group in
+the centre of the room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lady Jane Thorne and Lord Temple sat together
+in a dim recess beyond the great chair of state, and conversed
+in low and far from impersonal tones.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cricklewick appeared in the doorway and in his most
+impressive manner announced Her Royal Highness, the
+Princess Mariana Theresa Sebastano Michelini Celestine
+di Pavesi.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And with the entrance of royalty, kind reader, you
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page23" id="page23"></a>[pg&nbsp;23]</span>
+may consider yourself introduced, after a fashion, to
+the real aristocracy of the City of New York, United
+States of America,&mdash;the titled riff-raff of the world&#39;s
+cosmopolis.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page24" id="page24"></a>[pg&nbsp;24]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>
+
+<h3>THE CITY OF MASKS</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">NEW YORK is not merely a melting pot for the
+poor and the humble of the lands of the earth.
+In its capacious depths, unknown and unsuspected, float
+atoms of an entirely different sort: human beings with
+the blood of the high-born and lofty in their veins, derelicts
+swept up by the varying winds of adversity, adventure,
+injustice, lawlessness, fear and independence.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, counts and
+countesses, swarm to the Metropolis in the course of the
+speeding year, heralded by every newspaper in the land,
+fêted and feasted and glorified by a capricious and easily
+impressed public; they pass with pomp and panoply
+and we let them go with reluctance and a vociferous
+invitation to come again. They come and they go, and
+we are informed each morning and evening of every
+move they have made during the day and night. We
+are told what they eat for breakfast, luncheon and dinner;
+what they wear and what they do not wear; where
+they are entertained and by whom; who they are and
+why; what they think of New York and&mdash;but why go
+on? We deny them privacy, and they think we are a
+wonderful, considerate and hospitable people. They
+go back to their homes in far-off lands,&mdash;and that is
+the end of them so far as we are concerned.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">They merely pause on the lip of the melting pot,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page25" id="page25"></a>[pg&nbsp;25]</span>
+briefly peer into its simmering depths, and then,&mdash;pass
+on.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It is not with such as they that this narrative has to
+deal. It is not of the heralded, the glorified and the
+toasted that we tell, but of those who slip into the pot
+with the coarser ingredients, and who never, by any
+chance, become actually absorbed by the processes of
+integration but remain for ever as they were in the
+beginning: distinct foreign substances.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">From all quarters of the globe the drift comes to our
+shores. New York swallows the good with the bad,
+and thrives, like the cannibal, on the man-food it gulps
+down with ravenous disregard for consequences or
+effect. It rarely disgorges.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It eats all flesh, foul or fair, and it drinks good red
+blood out of the same cup that offers a black and nauseous
+bile. It conceals its inward revulsion behind a
+bland, disdainful smile, and holds out its hands for
+more of the meat and poison that comes up from the
+sea in ships.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It is the City of Masks.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Its men and women hide behind a million masks; no
+man looks beneath the mask his neighbour wears, for he
+is interested only in that which he sees with the least
+possible effort: the surface. He sees his neighbour but
+he knows him not. He keeps his own mask in place
+and wanders among the millions, secure in the thought
+that all other men are as casual as he,&mdash;and as charitable.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">From time to time the newspapers come forward with
+stories that amaze and interest those of us who remain,
+and always will remain, romantic and impressionable.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page26" id="page26"></a>[pg&nbsp;26]</span>
+They tell of the royal princess living in squalor on the
+lower east side; of the heir to a baronetcy dying in
+poverty in a hospital somewhere up-town; of the countess
+who defies the wolf by dancing in the roof-gardens;
+of the lost arch-duke who has been recognized in a gang
+of stevedores; of the earl who lands in jail as an ordinary
+hobo; of the baroness who supports a shiftless
+husband and their offspring by giving music-lessons;
+of the retiring scholar who scorns a life of idleness and a
+coronet besides; of shifty ne&#39;er-do-wells with titles at
+homes and aliases elsewhere; of fugitive lords and forgotten
+ladies; of thieves and bauds and wastrels who
+stand revealed in their extremity as the sons and daughters
+of noble houses.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In this City of Masks there are hundreds of men and
+women in whose veins the blood of a sound aristocracy
+flows. By choice or necessity they have donned the
+mask of obscurity. They tread the paths of oblivion.
+They toil, beg or steal to keep pace with circumstance.
+But the blood will not be denied. In the breast of
+each of these drifters throbs the pride of birth, in the
+soul of each flickers the unquenchable flame of caste.
+The mask is for the man outside, not for the man inside.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Recently there died in one of the municipal hospitals
+an old flower-woman, familiar for three decades to the
+thousands who thread their way through the maze of
+streets in the lower end of Manhattan. To them she
+was known as Old Peg. To herself she was the Princess
+Feododric, born to the purple, daughter of one of
+the greatest families in Russia. She was never anything
+but the Princess to herself, despite the squalor in
+which she lived. Her epitaph was written in the bold,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page27" id="page27"></a>[pg&nbsp;27]</span>
+black head-lines of the newspapers; but her history was
+laid away with her mask in a graveyard far from palaces&mdash;and
+flower-stands. Her headstone revealed the
+uncompromising pride that survived her after death.
+By her direction it bore the name of Feododric, eldest
+daughter of His Highness, Prince Michael Androvodski;
+born in St. Petersburgh, September 12, 1841; died
+Jan. 7, 1912; wife of James Lumley, of County Cork,
+Ireland.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It is of the high-born who dwell in low places that
+this tale is told. It is of an aristocracy that serves and
+smiles and rarely sneers behind its mask.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">When Cricklewick announced the Princess Mariana
+Theresa the hush of deference fell upon the assembled
+company. In the presence of royalty no one remained
+seated.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She advanced slowly, ponderously into the room, bowing
+right and left as she crossed to the great chair at
+the upper end. One by one the others presented themselves
+and kissed the coarse, unlovely hand she held out
+to them. It was not &quot;make-believe.&quot; It was her due.
+The blood of a king and a queen coursed through her
+veins; she had been born a Princess Royal.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She was sixty, but her hair was as black as the coat of
+the raven. Time, tribulation, and a harsh destiny had
+put each its own stamp upon her dark, almost sinister,
+face. The black eyes were sharp and calculating, and
+they did not smile with her thin lips. She wore a great
+amount of jewellery and a gown of blue velvet, lavishly
+bespangled and generously embellished with laces of
+many periods, values and, you could say, nativity.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Honourable Mrs. Priestly-Duff having been a
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page28" id="page28"></a>[pg&nbsp;28]</span>
+militant suffragette before a sudden and enforced departure
+from England, was the only person there with
+the hardihood to proclaim, not altogether <i>sotto voce</i>,
+that the &quot;get-up&quot; was a fright.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Restraint vanished the instant the last kiss of tribute
+fell upon her knuckles. The Princess put her hand to
+her side, caught her breath sharply, and remarked to
+the Marchioness, who stood near by, that it was dreadful
+the way she was putting on weight. She was afraid
+of splitting something if she took a long, natural breath.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I haven&#39;t weighed myself lately,&quot; she said, &quot;but the
+last time I had this dress on it felt like a kimono. Look
+at it now! You could not stuff a piece of tissue paper
+between it and me to save your soul. I shall have to
+let it out a couple of&mdash;What were you about to say,
+Count Fogazario?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The little Count, at the Marchioness&#39;s elbow, repeated
+something he had already said, and added:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And if it continues there will not be a trolley-car
+running by midnight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Princess eyed him coldly. &quot;That is just like a
+man,&quot; she said. &quot;Not the faintest idea of what we
+were talking about, Marchioness.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Count bowed. &quot;You were speaking of tissue
+paper, Princess,&quot; said he, stiffly. &quot;I understood perfectly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Once a week the Marchioness held her amazing salon.
+Strictly speaking, it was a co-operative affair. The so-called
+guests were in reality contributors to and supporters
+of an enterprise that had been going on for the
+matter of five years in the heart of unsuspecting New
+York. According to his or her means, each of these
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page29" id="page29"></a>[pg&nbsp;29]</span>
+exiles paid the tithe or tax necessary, and became in
+fact a member of the inner circle.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">From nearly every walk in life they came to this
+common, converging point, and sat them down with their
+equals, for the moment laying aside the mask to take up
+a long-discarded and perhaps despised reality. They
+became lords and ladies all over again, and not for a
+single instant was there the slightest deviation from
+dignity or form.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Moral integrity was the only requirement, and that,
+for obvious reasons, was sometimes overlooked,&mdash;as for
+example in the case of the Countess who eloped with the
+young artist and lived in complacent shame and happiness
+with him in a three-room flat in East Nineteenth
+street. The artist himself was barred from the salon,
+not because of his ignoble action, but for the sufficient
+reason that he was of ignoble birth. Outside the
+charmed conclave he was looked upon as a most engaging
+chap. And there was also the case of the appallingly
+amiable baron who had fired four shots at a Russian
+Grand-Duke and got away with his life in spite of
+the vaunted secret service. It was of no moment whatsoever
+that one of his bullets accidentally put an end
+to the life of a guardsman. That was merely proof of
+his earnestness and in no way reflected on his standing
+as a nobleman. Nor was it adequate cause for rejection
+that certain of these men and women were being
+sought by Imperial Governments because they were
+political fugitives, with prices on their heads.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness, more prosperous than any of her
+associates, assumed the greater part of the burden attending
+this singular reversion to form. It was she
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page30" id="page30"></a>[pg&nbsp;30]</span>
+who held the lease on the building, from cellar to roof,
+and it was she who paid that important item of expense:
+the rent. The Marchioness was no other than the celebrated
+Deborah, whose gowns issuing from the lower
+floors at prodigious prices, gave her a standing in New
+York that not even the plutocrats and parvenus could
+dispute. In private life she may have been a Marchioness,
+but to all New York she was known as the queen of
+dressmakers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">If you desired to consult Deborah in person you inquired
+for Mrs. Sparflight, or if you happened to be a
+new customer and ignorant, you were set straight by an
+attendant (with a slight uplifting of the eyebrows)
+when you asked for Madame &quot;Deborah.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The ownership of the rare pieces of antique furniture,
+rugs, tapestries and paintings was vested in two
+members of the circle, one occupying a position in the
+centre of the ring, the other on the outer rim: Count
+Antonio Fogazario and Moody, the footman. For be
+it known that while Moody reverted once a week to a
+remote order of existence he was for the balance of the
+time an exceedingly prosperous, astute and highly respected
+dealer in antiques, with a shop in Madison Avenue
+and a clientele that considered it the grossest
+impertinence to dispute the prices he demanded. He
+always looked forward to these &quot;drawing-rooms,&quot; so to
+speak. It was rather a joy to disregard the aspirates.
+He dropped enough hs on a single evening to make up
+for a whole week of deliberate speech.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">As for Count Antonio, he was the purveyor of Italian
+antiques and primitive paintings, &quot;authenticity guaranteed,&quot;
+doing business under the name of &quot;Juneo &amp;
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page31" id="page31"></a>[pg&nbsp;31]</span>
+Co., Ltd. London, Paris, Rome, New York.&quot; He was
+known in the trade and at his bank as Mr. Juneo.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Occasionally the exigencies of commerce necessitated
+the substitution of an article from stock for one temporarily
+loaned to the fifth-floor drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">During the seven days in the week, Mr. Moody and
+Mr. Juneo observed a strained but common equality.
+Mr. Moody contemptuously referred to Mr. Juneo as
+a second-hand dealer, while Mr. Juneo, with commercial
+bitterness, informed his patrons that Pickett, Inc.,
+needed a lot of watching. But on these Wednesday
+nights a vast abyss stretched between them. They were
+no longer rivals in business. Mr. Juneo, without the
+slightest sign of arrogance, put Mr. Moody in his place,
+and Mr. Moody, with perfect equanimity, quite properly
+stayed there.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A chair over here, Moody,&quot; the Count would say
+(to Pickett, Inc.,) and Moody, with all the top-lofty
+obsequiousness of the perfect footman, would place a
+chair in the designated spot, and say:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;H&#39;anythink else, my lord? Thank you, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On this particular Wednesday night two topics of
+paramount interest engaged the attention of the company.
+The newspapers of that day had printed the
+story of the apprehension and seizure of one Peter Jolinski,
+wanted in Warsaw on the charge of assassination.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">As Count Andreas Verdray he was known to this exclusive
+circle of Europeans, and to them he was a persecuted,
+unjustly accused fugitive from the land of his
+nativity. Russian secret service men had run him to
+earth after five years of relentless pursuit. As a respectable,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page32" id="page32"></a>[pg&nbsp;32]</span>
+industrious window-washer he had managed
+for years to evade arrest for a crime he had not committed,
+and now he was in jail awaiting extradition and
+almost certain death at the hands of his intriguing enemies.
+A cultured scholar, a true gentleman, he was,
+despite his vocation, one of the most distinguished
+units in this little world of theirs. The authorities in
+Warsaw charged him with instigating the plot to assassinate
+a powerful and autocratic officer of the Crown.
+In more or less hushed voices, the assemblage discussed
+the unhappy event.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The other topic was the need of immediate relief for
+the family of the Baroness de Flamme, who was on her
+death-bed in Harlem and whose three small children,
+deprived of the support of a hard-working music-teacher
+and deserted by an unconscionably plebeian
+father, were in a pitiable state of destitution. Acting
+on the suggestion of Lord Temple, who as Thomas
+Trotter earned a weekly stipend of thirty dollars as
+chauffeur for a prominent Park Avenue gentleman,
+a collection was taken, each person giving according to
+his means. The largest contribution was from Count
+Fogazario, who headed the list with twenty-five dollars.
+The Marchioness was down for twenty. The smallest
+donation was from Prince Waldemar. Producing a
+solitary coin, he made change, and after saving out ten
+cents for carfare, donated forty cents.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cricklewick, Moody and McFaddan were not invited
+to contribute. No one would have dreamed of asking
+them to join in such a movement. And yet, of all those
+present, the three men-servants were in a better position
+than any one else to give handsomely. They were,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page33" id="page33"></a>[pg&nbsp;33]</span>
+in fact, the richest men there. The next morning, however,
+would certainly bring checks from their offices to
+the custodian of the fund, the Hon. Mrs. Priestly-Duff.
+They knew their places on Wednesday night, however.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Countess du Bara, from the Opera, sang later
+on in the evening; Prince Waldemar got out his violin
+and played; the gay young baroness from the Artists&#39;
+Colony played accompaniments very badly on the baby
+grand piano; Cricklewick and the footmen served coffee
+and sandwiches, and every one smoked in the dining-room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At eleven o&#39;clock the Princess departed. She complained
+a good deal of her feet.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s the weather,&quot; she explained to the Marchioness,
+wincing a little as she made her way to the door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Too bad,&quot; said the Marchioness. &quot;Are we to be
+honoured on next Wednesday night, your highness?
+You do not often grace our gatherings, you know.
+I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It will depend entirely on circumstances,&quot; said the
+Princess, graciously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Circumstances, it may be mentioned,&mdash;though they
+never were mentioned on Wednesday nights,&mdash;had a
+great deal to do with the Princess&#39;s actions. She conducted
+a pawn-shop in Baxter street. As the widow
+and sole legatee of Moses Jacobs, she was quite a figure
+in the street. Customers came from all corners of the
+town, and without previous appointment. Report had
+it that Mrs. Jacobs was rolling in money. People slunk
+in and out of the front door of her place of business,
+penniless on entering, affluent on leaving,&mdash;if you
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page34" id="page34"></a>[pg&nbsp;34]</span>
+would call the possession of a dollar or two affluence,&mdash;and
+always with the resolve in their souls to some day
+get even with the leech who stood behind the counter
+and doled out nickels where dollars were expected.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It was an open secret that more than one of those
+who kissed the Princess&#39;s hand in the Marchioness&#39;s
+drawing-room carried pawnchecks issued by Mrs. Jacobs.
+Business was business. Sentiment entered the
+soul of the Princess only on such nights as she found it
+convenient and expedient to present herself at the
+Salon. It vanished the instant she put on her street
+clothes on the floor below and passed out into the night.
+Avarice stepped in as sentiment stepped out, and one
+should not expect too much of avarice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For one, the dreamy, half-starved Prince Waldemar
+was rarely without pawnchecks from her delectable establishment.
+Indeed it had been impossible for him to
+entertain the company on this stormy evening except
+for her grudging consent to substitute his overcoat for
+the Stradivarius he had been obliged to leave the day
+before.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Without going too deeply into her history, it is only
+necessary to say that she was one of those wayward,
+wilful princesses royal who occasionally violate all tradition
+and marry good-looking young Americans or
+Englishmen, and disappear promptly and automatically
+from court circles.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She ran away when she was nineteen with a young
+attaché in the British legation. It was the worst thing
+that could have happened to the poor chap. For years
+they drifted through many lands, finally ending in New
+York, where, their resources having been exhausted,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page35" id="page35"></a>[pg&nbsp;35]</span>
+she was forced to pawn her jewellery. The pawn-broker
+was one Abraham Jacobs, of Baxter street.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The young English husband, disheartened and thoroughly
+disillusioned, shot himself one fine day. By a
+single coincidence, a few weeks afterward, old Abraham
+went to his fathers in the most agreeable fashion known
+to nature, leaving his business, including the princess&#39;s
+jewels, to his son Moses.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">With rare foresight and acumen, Mrs. Brinsley (the
+Princess, in other words), after several months of contemplative
+mourning, redeemed her treasure by marrying
+Moses. And when Moses, after begetting Solomon,
+David and Hannah, passed on at the age of twoscore
+years and ten, she continued the business with even
+greater success than he. She did not alter the name
+that flourished in large gold letters on the two show
+windows and above the hospitable doorway. For
+twenty years it had read: The Royal Exchange: M.
+Jacobs, Proprietor. And now you know all that is
+necessary to know about Mariana, to this day a true
+princess of the blood.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Inasmuch as a large share of her business came
+through customers who preferred to visit her after the
+fall of night, there is no further need to explain her
+reply to the Marchioness.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">When midnight came the Marchioness was alone in
+the deserted drawing-room. The company had dispersed
+to the four corners of the storm-swept city, going
+by devious means and routes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">They fared forth into the night <i>sans</i> ceremony, <i>sans</i>
+regalia. In the locker-rooms on the floor below each
+of these noble wights divested himself and herself of the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page36" id="page36"></a>[pg&nbsp;36]</span>
+raiment donned for the occasion. With the turning of
+a key in the locker door, barons became ordinary men,
+countesses became mere women, and all of them stole
+regretfully out of the passage at the foot of the first
+flight of stairs and shivered in the wind that blew
+through the City of Masks.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ve got more money than I know what to do with,
+Miss Emsdale,&quot; said Tom Trotter, as they went together
+out into the bitter wind. &quot;I&#39;ll blow you off to
+a taxi.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I couldn&#39;t think of it,&quot; said the erstwhile Lady
+Jane, drawing her small stole close about her neck.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But it&#39;s on my way home,&quot; said he. &quot;I&#39;ll drop
+you at your front door. Please do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If I may stand half,&quot; she said resolutely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We&#39;ll see,&quot; said he. &quot;Wait here in the doorway
+till I fetch a taxi from the hotel over there. Oh, I say,
+Herman, would you mind asking one of those drivers
+over there to pick us up here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sure,&quot; said Herman, one time Count Wilhelm Frederick
+Von Blitzen, who had followed them to the side-walk.
+&quot;Fierce night, ain&#39;d it? Py chiminy, ain&#39;d
+it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Where is your friend, Mr. Trotter,&quot; inquired Miss
+Emsdale, as the stalwart figure of one of the most noted
+head-waiters in New York struggled off against the
+wind.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He beat it quite a while ago,&quot; said he, with an enlightening
+grin.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh?&quot; said she, and met his glance in the darkness.
+A sudden warmth swept over her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page37" id="page37"></a>[pg&nbsp;37]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SCION OF A NEW YORK HOUSE</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">AS Miss Emsdale and Thomas Trotter got down
+from the taxi, into a huge unbroken snowdrift in
+front of a house in one of the cross-town streets just
+off upper Fifth Avenue, a second taxi drew up behind
+them and barked a raucous command to pull up out of
+the way. But the first taxi was unable to do anything
+of the sort, being temporarily though explosively
+stalled in the drift along the curb. Whereupon the
+fare in the second taxi threw open the door and, with
+an audible imprecation, plunged into the drift, just in
+time to witness the interesting spectacle of a lady being
+borne across the snow-piled sidewalk in the arms of a
+stalwart man; and, as he gazed in amazement, the man
+and his burden ascended the half-dozen steps leading to
+the storm-vestibule of the very house to which he himself
+was bound.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His first shock of apprehension was dissipated almost
+instantly. The man&#39;s burden giggled quite audibly as
+he set her down inside the storm doors. That giggle
+was proof positive that she was neither dead nor injured.
+She was very much alive, there could be no
+doubt about it. But who was she?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The newcomer swore softly as he fumbled in his trousers&#39;
+pocket for a coin for the driver who had run him
+up from the club. After an exasperating but seemingly
+necessary delay he hurried up the steps. He met the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page38" id="page38"></a>[pg&nbsp;38]</span>
+stalwart burden-bearer coming down. A servant had
+opened the door and the late burden was passing into
+the hall.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He peered sharply into the face of the man who was
+leaving, and recognized him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hello,&quot; he said. &quot;Some one ill, Trotter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, Mr. Smith-Parvis,&quot; replied Trotter in some
+confusion. &quot;Disagreeable night, isn&#39;t it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In some respects,&quot; said young Mr. Smith-Parvis,
+and dashed into the vestibule before the footman could
+close the door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale turned at the foot of the broad stairway
+as she heard the servant greet the young master.
+A swift flush mounted to her cheeks. Her heart beat a
+little faster, notwithstanding the fact that it had been
+beating with unusual rapidity ever since Thomas Trotter
+disregarded her protests and picked her up in his
+strong arms.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hello,&quot; he said, lowering his voice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">There was a light in the library beyond. His father
+was there, taking advantage, no doubt, of the midnight
+lull to read the evening newspapers. The social activities
+of the Smith-Parvises gave him but little opportunity
+to read the evening papers prior to the appearance
+of the morning papers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What is the bally rush?&quot; went on the young man,
+slipping out of his fur-lined overcoat and leaving it
+pendant in the hands of the footman. Miss Emsdale,
+after responding to his hushed &quot;hello&quot; in an equally
+subdued tone, had started up the stairs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is very late, Mr. Smith-Parvis. Good night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Never too late to mend,&quot; he said, and was supremely
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page39" id="page39"></a>[pg&nbsp;39]</span>
+well-satisfied with what a superior intelligence
+might have recorded as a cryptic remark but what, to
+him, was an awfully clever &quot;come-back.&quot; He had spent
+three years at Oxford. No beastly American college
+for him, by Jove!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Overcoming a cultivated antipathy to haste,&mdash;which
+he considered the lowest form of ignorance,&mdash;he
+bounded up the steps, three at a time, and overtook her
+midway to the top.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I say, Miss Emsdale, I saw you come in, don&#39;t you
+know. I couldn&#39;t believe my eyes. What the deuce
+were you doing out with that common&mdash;er&mdash;chauffeur?
+D&#39;you mean to say that you are running about
+with a chap of that sort, and letting him&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If you <i>please</i>, Mr. Smith-Parvis!&quot; interrupted
+Miss Emsdale coldly. &quot;Good night!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t mean to say you haven&#39;t the <i>right</i> to go
+about with any one you please,&quot; he persisted, planting
+himself in front of her at the top of the steps. &quot;But a
+common chauffeur&mdash;Well, now, &#39;pon my word, Miss
+Emsdale, really you might just as well be seen with
+Peasley down there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Peasley is out of the question,&quot; said she, affecting
+a wry little smile, as of self-pity. &quot;He is tooken, as
+you say in America. He walks out with Bessie, the
+parlour-maid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Walks out? Good Lord, you don&#39;t mean to say
+you&#39;d&mdash;but, of course, you&#39;re spoofing me. One never
+knows how to take you English, no matter how long
+one may have lived in England. But I am serious.
+You cannot afford to be seen running around nights
+with fellows of that stripe. Rotten bounders, that&#39;s
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page40" id="page40"></a>[pg&nbsp;40]</span>
+what I call &#39;em. Ever been out with him before?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Often, Mr. Smith-Parvis,&quot; she replied calmly. &quot;I
+am sure you would like him if you knew him better. He
+is really a very&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nonsense! He is a good chauffeur, I&#39;ve no doubt,&mdash;Lawrie
+Carpenter says he&#39;s a treasure, but I&#39;ve no
+desire to know him any better. And I don&#39;t like to
+think of you knowing him quite as well as you do, Miss
+Emsdale. See what I mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Perfectly. You mean that you will go to your
+mother with the report that I am not a fit person to be
+with the children. Isn&#39;t that what you mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not at all. I&#39;m not thinking of the kids. I&#39;m
+thinking of myself. I&#39;m pretty keen about you,
+and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Aren&#39;t you forgetting yourself, Mr. Smith-Parvis?&quot;
+she demanded curtly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I know there&#39;d be a devil of a row if the mater
+ever dreamed that I&mdash;Oh, I say! Don&#39;t rush off in
+a huff. Wait a&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">But she had brushed past him and was swiftly ascending
+the second flight of stairs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He stared after her in astonishment. He couldn&#39;t
+understand such stupidity, not even in a governess.
+There wasn&#39;t another girl in New York City, so far as
+he knew, who wouldn&#39;t have been pleased out of her
+boots to receive the significant mark of interest he was
+bestowing upon this lowly governess,&mdash;and here was
+she turning her back upon,&mdash;Why, what was the matter
+with her? He passed his hand over his brow and
+blinked a couple of times. And she only a paid governess!
+It was incredible.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page41" id="page41"></a>[pg&nbsp;41]</span>
+He went slowly downstairs and, still in a sort of daze,
+found himself a few minutes later pouring out a large
+drink of whiskey in the dining-room. It was his habit
+to take a bottle of soda with his whiskey, but on this
+occasion he overcame it and gulped the liquor &quot;neat.&quot;
+It appeared to be rather uplifting, so he had another.
+Then he went up to his own room and sulked for an
+hour before even preparing for bed. The more he
+thought of it, the graver her unseemly affront became.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And to have her insult <i>me</i> like that,&quot; he said to
+himself over and over again, &quot;when not three minutes
+before she had let that bally bounder carry her up&mdash;By
+gad, I&#39;ll give her something to think about in the
+morning. She sha&#39;n&#39;t do that sort of thing to me.
+She&#39;ll find herself out of a job and with a damned poor
+reference in her pocket if she gets gay with me. She&#39;ll
+come down from her high horse, all right, all right.
+Positions like this one don&#39;t grow in the park. She&#39;s
+got to understand that. She can&#39;t go running around
+with chauffeurs and all&mdash;My God, to think that he
+had her in his arms! The one girl in all the world who
+has ever really made me sit up and take notice! Gad,
+I&mdash;I can&#39;t stand it&mdash;I can&#39;t bear to think of her
+cuddling up to that&mdash;The damned bounder!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He sprang to his feet and bolted out into the hall.
+He was a spoiled young man with an aversion: an aversion
+to being denied anything that he wanted.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In the brief history of the Smith-Parvis family he
+occupied many full and far from prosaic pages.
+Smith-Parvis, Senior, was not a prodigal sort of person,
+and yet he had squandered a great many thousands
+of dollars in his time on Smith-Parvis, Junior. It costs
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page42" id="page42"></a>[pg&nbsp;42]</span>
+money to bring up young men like Smith-Parvis, Junior;
+and by the same token it costs money to hold them
+down. The family history, if truthfully written, would
+contain passages in which the unbridled ambitions of
+Smith-Parvis, Junior, overwhelmed everything else.
+There would be the chapters excoriating the two chorus-girls
+who, in not widely separated instances, consented
+to release the young man from matrimonial pledges in
+return for so much cash; and there would be numerous
+paragraphs pertaining to auction-bridge, and others
+devoted entirely to tailors; to say nothing of uncompromising
+café and restaurant keepers who preferred
+the Smith-Parvis money to the Smith-Parvis trade.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The young man, having come to the conclusion that
+he wanted Miss Emsdale, ruthlessly decided to settle
+the matter at once. He would not wait till morning.
+He would go up to her room and tell her that if she
+knew what was good for her she&#39;d listen to what he had
+to say. She was too nice a girl to throw herself away
+on a rotter like Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Then, as he came to the foot of the steps, he remembered
+the expression in her eyes as she swept past him
+an hour earlier. It suddenly occurred to him to pause
+and reflect. The look she gave him, now that he
+thought of it, was not that of a timid, frightened menial.
+Far from it! There was something imperious about it;
+he recalled the subtle, fleeting and hitherto unfamiliar
+chill it gave him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Somewhat to his own amazement, he returned to his
+room and closed the door with surprising care. He
+usually slammed it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Dammit all,&quot; he said, half aloud, scowling at his
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page43" id="page43"></a>[pg&nbsp;43]</span>
+reflection in the mirror across the room, &quot;I&mdash;I wonder
+if she thinks she can put on airs with me.&quot; Later on he
+regained his self-assurance sufficiently to utter an ultimatum
+to the invisible offender: &quot;You&#39;ll be eating out
+of my hand before you&#39;re two days older, my fine lady,
+or I&#39;ll know the reason why.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Smith-Parvis, Junior, wore the mask of a gentleman.
+As a matter-of-fact, the entire Smith-Parvis family
+went about masked by a similar air of gentility.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The hyphen had a good deal to do with it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The head of the family, up to the time he came of age,
+was William Philander Smith, commonly called Bill by
+the young fellows in Yonkers. A maternal uncle, name
+of Parvis, being without wife or child at the age of
+seventy-eight, indicated a desire to perpetuate his name
+by hitching it to the sturdiest patronymic in the English
+language, and forthwith made a will, leaving all that
+he possessed to his only nephew, on condition that the
+said nephew and all his descendants should bear, henceforth
+and for ever, the name of Smith-Parvis.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">That is how it all came about. William Philander,
+shortly after the fusion of names, fell heir to a great
+deal of money and in due time forsook Yonkers for
+Manhattan, where he took unto himself a wife in the
+person of Miss Angela Potts, only child of the late
+Simeon Potts, Esq., and Mrs. Potts, neither of whom, it
+would seem, had the slightest desire to perpetuate the
+family name. Indeed, as Angela was getting along
+pretty well toward thirty, they rather made a point of
+abolishing it before it was too late.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The first-born of William Philander and Angela was
+christened Stuyvesant Van Sturdevant Smith-Parvis,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page44" id="page44"></a>[pg&nbsp;44]</span>
+after one of the Pottses who came over at a time when
+the very best families in Holland, according to the infant&#39;s
+grandparents, were engaged in establishing an
+aristocracy at the foot of Manhattan Island.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">After Stuyvesant,&mdash;ten years after, in fact,&mdash;came
+Regina Angela, who languished a while in the laps of
+the Pottses and the Smith-Parvis nurses, and died expectedly.
+When Stuyvie was fourteen the twins, Lucille
+and Eudora, came, and at that the Smith-Parvises
+packed up and went to England to live. Stuyvie managed
+in some way to make his way through Eton and
+part of the way through Oxford. He was sent down
+in his third year. It wasn&#39;t so easy to have his own
+way there. Moreover, he did not like Oxford because
+the rest of the boys persisted in calling him an American.
+He didn&#39;t mind being called a New Yorker, but
+they were rather obstinate about it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale was the new governess. The redoubtable
+Mrs. Sparflight had recommended her to Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis. Since her advent into the home in Fifth
+Avenue, some three or four months prior to the opening
+of this narrative, a marked change had come over Stuyvesant
+Van Sturdevant. It was principally noticeable
+in a recently formed habit of getting down to breakfast
+early. The twins and the governess had breakfast at
+half-past eight. Up to this time he had detested the
+twins. Of late, however, he appeared to have discovered
+that they were his sisters and rather interesting
+little beggars at that.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">They were very much surprised by his altered behaviour.
+To the new governess they confided the
+somewhat startling suspicion that Stuyvie must be having
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page45" id="page45"></a>[pg&nbsp;45]</span>
+softening of the brain, just as &quot;grandpa&quot; had when
+&quot;papa&quot; discovered that he was giving diamond rings
+to the servants and smiling at strangers in the street.
+It must be that, said they, for never before had Stuyvie
+kissed them or brought them expensive candies or smiled
+at them as he was doing in these wonderful days.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stranger still, he never had been polite or agreeable
+to governesses&mdash;before. He always had called them
+frumps, or cats, or freaks, or something like that.
+Surely something must be the matter with him, or he
+wouldn&#39;t be so nice to Miss Emsdale. Up to now he
+positively had refused to look at her predecessors, much
+less to sit at the same table with them. He said they
+took away his appetite.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The twins adored Miss Emsdale.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We love you because you are so awfuly good,&quot; they
+were wont to say. &quot;And so beautiful,&quot; they invariably
+added, as if it were not quite the proper thing to
+say.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It was obvious to Miss Emsdale that Stuyvesant endorsed
+the supplemental tribute of the twins. He made
+it very plain to the new governess that he thought more
+of her beauty than he did of her goodness. He ogled
+her in a manner which, for want of a better expression,
+may be described as possessive. Instead of being complimented
+by his surreptitious admiration, she was distinctly
+annoyed. She disliked him intensely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was twenty-five. There were bags under his eyes.
+More than this need not be said in describing him, unless
+one is interested in the tiny black moustache that looked
+as though it might have been pasted, with great precision,
+in the centre of his long upper lip,&mdash;directly beneath
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page46" id="page46"></a>[pg&nbsp;46]</span>
+the spreading nostrils of a broad and far from
+aristocratic nose. His lips were thick and coarse, his
+chin a trifle undershot. Physically, he was a well set-up
+fellow, tall and powerful.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For reasons best known to himself, and approved by
+his parents, he affected a distinctly English manner of
+speech. In that particular, he frequently out-Englished
+the English themselves.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">As for Miss Emsdale, she was a long time going to
+sleep. The encounter with the scion of the house had
+left her in a disturbed frame of mind. She laid awake
+for hours wondering what the morrow would produce
+for her. Dismissal, no doubt, and with it a stinging
+rebuke for what Mrs. Smith-Parvis would consider herself
+justified in characterizing as unpardonable misconduct
+in one employed to teach innocent and impressionable
+young girls. Mingled with these dire thoughts
+were occasional thrills of delight. They were, however,
+of short duration and had to do with a pair of
+strong arms and a gentle, laughing voice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In addition to these shifting fears and thrills, there
+were even more disquieting sensations growing out of
+the unwelcome attentions of Smith-Parvis, Junior.
+They were, so to speak, getting on her nerves. And
+now he had not only expressed himself in words, but
+had actually threatened her. There could be no mistake
+about that.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Her heart was heavy. She did not want to lose her
+position. The monthly checks she received from Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis meant a great deal to her. At least half
+of her pay went to England, and sometimes more than
+half. A friendly solicitor in London obtained the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page47" id="page47"></a>[pg&nbsp;47]</span>
+money on these drafts and forwarded it, without fee, to
+the sick young brother who would never walk again, the
+adored young brother who had fallen prey to the most
+cruel of all enemies: infantile paralysis.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane Thorne was the only daughter of the Earl of
+Wexham, who shot himself in London when the girl was
+but twelve years old. He left a penniless widow and
+two children. Wexham Manor, with all its fields and
+forests, had been sacrificed beforehand by the reckless,
+ill-advised nobleman. The police found a half-crown in
+his pocket when they took charge of the body. It was
+the last of a once imposing fortune. The widow and
+children subsisted on the charity of a niggardly relative.
+With the death of the former, after ten unhappy
+years as a dependent, Jane resolutely refused to accept
+help from the obnoxious relative. She set out to earn
+a living for herself and the crippled boy. We find her,
+after two years of struggle and privation, installed as
+Miss Emsdale in the Smith-Parvis mansion, earning one
+hundred dollars a month.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It is safe to say that if the Smith-Parvises had known
+that she was the daughter of an Earl, and that her
+brother was an Earl, there would have been great rejoicing
+among them; for it isn&#39;t everybody who can
+boast an Earl&#39;s daughter as governess.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">One night in each week she was free to do as she
+pleased. It was, in plain words, her night out. She
+invariably spent it with the Marchioness and the coterie
+of unmasked spirits from lands across the seas.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">What was she to say to Mrs. Smith-Parvis if called
+upon to account for her unconventional return of the
+night before? How could she explain? Her lips were
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page48" id="page48"></a>[pg&nbsp;48]</span>
+closed by the seal of honour so far as the meetings
+above &quot;Deborah&#39;s&quot; were concerned. A law unwritten
+but steadfastly observed by every member of that
+remarkable, heterogeneous court, made it impossible for
+her to divulge her whereabouts or actions on this and
+other agreeable &quot;nights out.&quot; No man or woman in
+that company would have violated, even under the
+gravest pressure, the compact under which so many
+well-preserved secrets were rendered secure from exposure.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant, in his rancour, would draw an ugly picture
+of her midnight adventure. He would, no doubt,
+feel inspired to add a few conclusions of his own. Her
+word, opposed to his, would have no effect on the verdict
+of the indulgent mother. She would stand accused
+and convicted of conduct unbecoming a governess!
+For, after all, Thomas Trotter was a chauffeur,
+and she couldn&#39;t make anything nobler out of him
+without saying that he wasn&#39;t Thomas Trotter at all.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She arose the next morning with a splitting headache,
+and the fear of Stuyvesant in her soul.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was waiting for her in the hall below. The twins
+were accorded an unusually affectionate greeting by
+their big brother. He went so far as to implant a random
+kiss on the features of each of the &quot;brats,&quot; as he
+called them in secret. Then he roughly shoved them
+ahead into the breakfast-room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Fastening his gaze upon the pale, unsmiling face of
+Miss Emsdale, he whispered:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t worry, my dear. Mum&#39;s the word.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He winked significantly. Revolted, she drew herself
+up and hurried after the children, unpleasantly conscious
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page49" id="page49"></a>[pg&nbsp;49]</span>
+of the leer of admiration that rested upon her
+from behind.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was very gay at breakfast.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mum&#39;s the word,&quot; he repeated in an undertone, as
+he drew back her chair at the conclusion of the meal.
+His lips were close to her ear, his hot breath on her
+cheek, as he bent forward to utter this reassuring
+remark.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" id="page50"></a>[pg&nbsp;50]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>
+
+<h3>MR. THOMAS TROTTER HEARS SOMETHING TO HIS ADVANTAGE</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">TWO days later Thomas Trotter turned up at the
+old book shop of J. Bramble, in Lexington
+Avenue.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well,&quot; he said, as he took his pipe out of his pocket
+and began to stuff tobacco into it, &quot;I&#39;ve got the sack.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Got the sack?&quot; exclaimed Mr. Bramble, blinking
+through his horn-rimmed spectacles. &quot;You can&#39;t be
+serious.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s the gospel truth,&quot; affirmed Mr. Trotter, depositing
+his long, graceful body in a rocking chair facing
+the sheet-iron stove at the back of the shop. &quot;Got my
+walking papers last night, Bramby.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s wrong? I thought you were a fixture on
+the job. What have you been up to?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m blessed if I know,&quot; said the young man, shaking
+his head slowly. &quot;Kicked out without notice, that&#39;s
+all I know about it. Two weeks&#39; pay handed me; and a
+simple statement that he was putting some one on in my
+place today.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not even a reference?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He offered me a good one,&quot; said Trotter ironically.
+&quot;Said he would give me the best send-off a chauffeur
+ever had. I told him I couldn&#39;t accept a reference
+and a discharge from the same employer.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Rather foolish, don&#39;t you think?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>[pg&nbsp;51]</span>
+&quot;That&#39;s just what he said. I said I&#39;d rather have
+an explanation than a reference, under the circumstances.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Um! What did he say to that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Said I&#39;d better take what he was willing to give.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble drew up a chair and sat down. He
+was a small, sharp-featured man of sixty, bookish from
+head to foot.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, well,&quot; he mused sympathetically. &quot;Too
+bad, too bad, my boy. Still, you ought to thank goodness
+it comes at a time when the streets are in the shape
+they&#39;re in now. Almost impossible to get about with
+an automobile in all this snow, isn&#39;t it? Rather a good
+time to be discharged, I should say.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I say, that <i>is</i> optimism. &#39;Pon my soul, I believe
+you&#39;d find something cheerful about going to hell,&quot;
+broke in Trotter, grinning.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Best way I know of to escape blizzards and snow-drifts,&quot;
+said Mr. Bramble, brightly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The front door opened. A cold wind blew the
+length of the book-littered room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;This Bramble&#39;s?&quot; piped a thin voice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes. Come in and shut the door.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">An even smaller and older man than himself obeyed
+the command. He wore the cap of a district messenger
+boy.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mr. J. Bramble here?&quot; he quaked, advancing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes. What is it? A telegram?&quot; demanded the
+owner of the shop, in some excitement.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I should say not. Wires down everywheres.
+Gee, that fire looks good. I gotta letter for you, Mr.
+Bramble.&quot; He drew off his red mittens and produced
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" id="page52"></a>[pg&nbsp;52]</span>
+from the pocket of his thin overcoat, an envelope and
+receipt book. &quot;Sign here,&quot; he said, pointing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble signed and then studied the handwriting
+on the envelope, his lips pursed, one eye speculatively
+cocked.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ve never seen the writing before. Must be a new
+one,&quot; he reflected aloud, and sighed. &quot;Poor things!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That establishes the writer as a woman,&quot; said
+Trotter, removing his pipe. &quot;Otherwise you would
+have said &#39;poor devils.&#39; Now what do you mean by
+trifling with the women, you old rogue?&quot; The loss of
+his position did not appear to have affected the nonchalant
+disposition of the good-looking Mr. Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;God bless my soul,&quot; said Mr. Bramble, staring hard
+at the envelope, &quot;I don&#39;t believe it is from one of them,
+after all. By &#39;one of them,&#39; my lad, I mean the poor
+gentlewomen who find themselves obliged to sell their
+books in order to obtain food and clothing. They always
+write before they call, you see. Saves &#39;em not
+only trouble but humiliation. The other kind simply
+burst in with a parcel of rubbish and ask how much I&#39;ll
+give for the lot. But this,&mdash;Well, well, I wonder
+who it can be from? Doesn&#39;t seem like the sort of
+writing&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Why don&#39;t you open it and see?&quot; suggested his
+visitor.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A good idea,&quot; said Mr. Bramble; &quot;a very clever
+thought. There <i>is</i> a way to find out, isn&#39;t there?&quot;
+His gaze fell upon the aged messenger, who warmed his
+bony hands at the stove. He paused, the tip of his
+forefinger inserted under the flap. &quot;Sit down and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page53" id="page53"></a>[pg&nbsp;53]</span>
+warm yourself, my friend,&quot; he said. &quot;Get your long
+legs out of the way, Tom, and make room for him.
+That&#39;s right! Must be pretty rough going outside for
+an old codger like you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The messenger &quot;boy&quot; sat down. &quot;Yes, sir, it sure
+is. Takes &#39;em forever in this &#39;ere town to clean the
+snow off&#39;n the streets. &#39;Twasn&#39;t that way in my day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What do you mean by your &#39;day&#39;?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Haven&#39;t you ever heard about me?&quot; demanded
+the old man, eyeing Mr. Bramble with interest.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Can&#39;t say that I have.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, can you beat that? There&#39;s a big, long
+street named after me way down town. My name is
+Canal, Jotham W. Canal.&quot; He winked and showed his
+toothless gums in an amiable grin. &quot;I used to be purty
+close to old Boss Tweed; kind of a lieutenant, you might
+say. Things were so hot in the old town in those days
+that we used to charge a nickel apiece for snowballs.
+Five cents apiece, right off the griddle. That&#39;s how
+hot it was in my day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My word!&quot; exclaimed Mr. Bramble.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He&#39;s spoofing you,&quot; said young Mr. Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My God,&quot; groaned the messenger, &quot;if I&#39;d only
+knowed you was English I&#39;d have saved my breath.
+Well, I guess I&#39;ll be on my way. Is there an answer,
+Mr. Bramble?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Um&mdash;aw&mdash;I quite forgot the&mdash;&quot; He tore open
+the envelope and held the missive to the light. &quot;&#39;Pon
+my soul!&quot; he cried, after reading the first few lines and
+then jumping ahead to the signature. &quot;This is most
+extraordinary.&quot; He was plainly agitated as he felt in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>[pg&nbsp;54]</span>
+his pocket for a coin. &quot;No answer,&mdash;that is to say,&mdash;none
+at present. Ahem! That&#39;s all, boy. Goodbye.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Canal shuffled out of the shop,&mdash;and out of this
+narrative as well.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;This will interest you,&quot; said Mr. Bramble, lowering
+his voice as he edged his chair closer to the young man.
+&quot;It is from Lady Jane Thorne&mdash;I should say, Miss
+Emsdale. Bless my soul!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Trotter&#39;s British complacency was disturbed.
+He abandoned his careless sprawl in the chair and sat
+up very abruptly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s that? From Lady Jane? Don&#39;t tell me
+it&#39;s anything serious. One would think she was on her
+deathbed, judging by the face you&#39;re&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Read it for yourself,&quot; said the other, thrusting the
+letter into Trotter&#39;s hand. &quot;It explains everything,&mdash;the
+whole blooming business. Read it aloud.
+Don&#39;t be uneasy,&quot; he added, noting the young man&#39;s
+glance toward the door. &quot;No customers on a day like
+this. Some one may drop in to get warm, but&mdash;aha,
+I see you are interested.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">An angry flush darkened Trotter&#39;s face as his eyes
+ran down the page.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="indent">&quot;&#39;Dear Mr. Bramble: (she wrote) I am sending this
+to you by special messenger, hoping it may reach you
+before Mr. Trotter drops in. He has told me that he
+spends a good deal of his spare time in your dear old
+shop, browsing among the books. In the light of what
+may already have happened, I am quite sure you will
+see him today. I feel that I may write freely to you,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>[pg&nbsp;55]</span>
+for you are his friend and mine, and you will understand.
+I am greatly distressed. Yesterday I was informed
+that he is to be summarily dismissed by Mr.
+Carpenter. I prefer not to reveal the source of information.
+All I may say is that I am, in a way,
+responsible for his misfortune. If the blow has fallen,
+he is doubtless perplexed and puzzled, and, I fear, very
+unhappy. Influence has been brought to bear upon
+Mr. Carpenter, who, you may not be by way of knowing,
+is a close personal friend of the people in whose
+home I am employed. Indeed, notwithstanding the
+difference in their ages, I may say that he is especially
+the friend of young Mr. S-P. Mr. Trotter probably
+knows something about the nature of this friendship,
+having been kept out till all hours of the morning in his
+capacity as chauffeur. My object in writing to you is
+two-fold: first, to ask you to prevail upon him to act
+with discretion for the present, at least, as I have reason
+to believe that there may be an attempt to carry out
+a threat to &quot;run him out of town&quot;; secondly, to advise
+him that I shall stop at your place at five o&#39;clock this
+afternoon in quest of a little book that now is out
+of print. Please explain to him also that my uncertainty
+as to where a letter would reach him under these
+new conditions accounts for this message to you. Sincerely
+your friend,</p>
+
+<p class="right">&quot;<span class="smcap">Jane Emsdale</span>.&#39;&quot;</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Read it again, slowly,&quot; said Mr. Bramble, blinking
+harder than ever.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What time is it now?&quot; demanded Trotter, thrusting
+the letter into his own pocket. A quick glance at
+the watch on his wrist brought a groan of dismay from
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>[pg&nbsp;56]</span>
+his lips. &quot;Good Lord! A few minutes past ten.
+Seven hours! Hold on! I can almost see the words on
+your lips. I&#39;ll be discreet, so don&#39;t begin prevailing,
+there&#39;s a good chap. There&#39;s nothing to be said or
+done till I see her. But,&mdash;seven hours!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Stop here and have a bite of lunch with me,&quot; said
+Mr. Bramble, soothingly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nothing could be more discreet than that,&quot; said
+Trotter, getting up to pace the floor. He was frowning.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s quite cosy in our little dining-room upstairs.
+If you prefer, I&#39;ll ask Mirabeau to clear out and let us
+have the place to ourselves while&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not at all. I&#39;ll stop with you, but I will not have
+poor old Mirabeau evicted. We will show the letter to
+him. He is a Frenchman and he can read between the
+lines far better than either of us.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At twelve-thirty, Mr. Bramble stuck a long-used card
+in the front door and locked it from the inside. The
+world was informed, in bold type, that he had gone to
+lunch and would not return until one-thirty.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In the rear of the floor above the book-shop were the
+meagrely furnished bedrooms and kitchen shared by J.
+Bramble and Pierre Mirabeau, clock-maker and repairer.
+The kitchen was more than a kitchen. It was
+also a dining-room, a sitting-room and a scullery, and
+it was as clean and as neat as the proverbial pin. At
+the front was the work-shop of M. Mirabeau, filled with
+clocks of all sizes, shapes and ages. Back of this, as a
+sort of buffer between the quiet bedrooms and the busy
+resting-place of a hundred sleepless chimes, was located
+the combination store-room, utilized by both merchants:
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" id="page57"></a>[pg&nbsp;57]</span>
+a musty, dingy place crowded with intellectual rubbish
+and a lapse of Time.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mirabeau, in response to a shout from the fat Irishwoman
+who came in by the day to cook, wash and clean
+up for the tenants, strode briskly into the kitchen, drying
+his hands on a towel. He was a tall, spare old man
+with uncommonly bright eyes and a long grey beard.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His joy on beholding the young guest at their board
+was surpassed only by the dejection communicated to
+his sensitive understanding by the dismal expression on
+the faces of J. Bramble and Thomas Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He broke off in the middle of a sentence, and, still
+grasping the hand of the guest, allowed his gaze to dart
+from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mon dieu!&quot; he exclaimed, swiftly altering his tone
+to one of the deepest concern. &quot;What has happened?
+Has some one died? Don&#39;t tell me it is your grandfather,
+my boy. Don&#39;t tell me that the old villain has
+died at last and you will have to go back and step into
+his misguided boots. Nothing else can&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Worse than that,&quot; interrupted Trotter, smiling.
+&quot;I&#39;ve lost my situation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau heaved a sigh of relief. &quot;Ah! My
+heart beats again. Still,&quot; with a vastly different sigh,
+&quot;he cannot go on living for ever. The time is bound
+to come when you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">An admonitory cough from Mr. Bramble, and a significant
+jerk of the head in the direction of the kitchen-range,
+which was almost completely obscured by the
+person of Mrs. O&#39;Leary, caused M. Mirabeau to bring
+his remarks to an abrupt close.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">When he was twenty-five years younger, Monsieur
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>[pg&nbsp;58]</span>
+Mirabeau, known to every one of consequence in Paris
+by his true and lawful name, Count André Drouillard,
+as handsome and as high-bred a gentleman as there was
+in all France, shot and killed, with all the necessary
+ceremony, a prominent though bourgeoise general in
+the French Army, satisfactorily ending a liaison in
+which the Countess and the aforesaid general were the
+principal characters. Notwithstanding the fact that
+the duel had been fought in the most approved French
+fashion, which almost invariably (except, in case of accident)
+provides for a few well-scattered shots and subsequent
+embraces on the part of the uninjured adversaries,
+the general fell with a bullet through his
+heart.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">So great was the consternation of the Republic, and
+so unpardonable the accuracy of the Count, that the
+authorities deemed it advisable to make an example of
+the unfortunate nobleman. He was court-martialled
+by the army and sentenced to be shot. On the eve of
+the execution he escaped and, with the aid of friends,
+made his way into Switzerland, where he found refuge
+in the home of a sequestered citizen who made antique
+clocks for a living. A price was put upon his head, and
+so relentless were the efforts to apprehend him that for
+months he did not dare show it outside the house of his
+protector.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He repaid the clockmaker with honest toil. In
+course of time he became an expert repairer. With
+the confiscation of his estates in France, he resigned
+himself to the inevitable. He became a man without
+a country. One morning the newspapers in Paris
+announced the death, by suicide, of the long-sought
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>[pg&nbsp;59]</span>
+pariah. A few days later he was on his way to the
+United States. His widow promptly re-married and,
+sad to relate, from all reports lived happily ever afterwards.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The bourgeoise general, in his tomb in France, was
+not more completely dead to the world than Count
+André Drouillard; on the other hand, no livelier,
+sprightlier person ever lived than Pierre Mirabeau, repairer
+of clocks in Lexington Avenue.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And so if you will look at it in quite the proper spirit,
+there is but one really morbid note in the story of M.
+Mirabeau: the melancholy snuffing-out of the poor general,&mdash;and
+even that was brightened to some extent by
+the most sumptuous military funeral in years.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What do you make of it?&quot; demanded Mr. Trotter,
+half-an-hour later in the crowded work-shop of the
+clockmaker.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau held Miss Emsdale&#39;s letter off at arm&#39;s
+length, and squinted at it with great intensity, as if
+actually trying to read between the lines.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have an opinion,&quot; said M. Mirabeau, frowning.
+Whereupon he rendered his deductions into words, and
+of his two listeners Thomas Trotter was the most dumbfounded.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I don&#39;t know the blooming bounder,&quot; he exclaimed,&mdash;&quot;except
+by sight and reputation. And I
+have reason to know that Lady Jane loathes and detests
+him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Aha! There we have it! Why does she loathe
+and detest him?&quot; cried M. Mirabeau. &quot;Because, my
+stupid friend, he has been annoying her with his attentions.
+It is not an uncommon thing for rich young men
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" id="page60"></a>[pg&nbsp;60]</span>
+to lose their heads over pretty young maids and nurses,
+and even governesses.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;&#39;Gad, if I thought he was annoying her I&#39;d&mdash;I&#39;d&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;There you go!&quot; cried Mr. Bramble, nervously.
+&quot;Just as she feared. She knew what she was about
+when she asked me to see that you did not do anything&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hang it all, Bramble, I&#39;m not <i>doing</i> anything, am
+I? I&#39;m only <i>saying</i> things. Wait till I begin to do
+things before you preach.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s just it!&quot; cried Mr. Bramble. &quot;You invariably
+do things when you get that look in your eyes.
+I knew you long before you knew yourself. You looked
+like that when you were five years old and wanted to
+thump Bobby Morgan, who was thirteen. You&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau interrupted. He had not been following
+the discussion. Leaning forward, he eyed the
+young man keenly, even disconcertingly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What is back of all this? Admitting that young
+Mr. S.-P. is enamoured of our lovely friend, what cause
+have you given him for jealousy? Have you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Great Scot!&quot; exclaimed Trotter, fairly bouncing
+off the work-bench on which he sat with his long legs
+dangling. &quot;Why,&mdash;why, if <i>that&#39;s</i> the way he feels
+toward her he must have had a horrible jolt the other
+night. Good Lord!&quot; A low whistle followed the exclamation.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Aha! Now we are getting at the cause. We already
+have the effect. Out with it,&quot; cried M. Mirabeau,
+eager as a boy. His fine eyes danced with excitement.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" id="page61"></a>[pg&nbsp;61]</span>
+&quot;Now that I think of it, he saw me carry her up the
+steps the other night after we&#39;d all been to the Marchioness&#39;s.
+The night of the blizzard, you know. Oh,
+I say! It&#39;s worse than I thought.&quot; He looked blankly
+from one to the other of the two old men.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Carried her up the steps, eh? In your good strong
+arms, eh? And you say &#39;<i>now</i> that I think of it.&#39;
+Bless your heart, you scalawag, you&#39;ve been thinking
+of nothing else since it happened. Ah!&quot; sighed M.
+Mirabeau, &quot;how wonderful it must have been! The
+feel of her in your arms, and the breath of her on your
+cheek, and&mdash;Ah! It is a sad thing not to grow old.
+I am not growing old despite my seventy years. If I
+could but grow old, and deaf, and feeble, perhaps I
+should then be able to command the blood that thrills
+now with the thought of&mdash;But, alas! I shall never
+be so old as that! You say he witnessed this remarkable&mdash;ah&mdash;exhibition
+of strength on your part?&quot;
+He spoke briskly again.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The snow was a couple of feet deep, you see,&quot; explained
+Trotter, who had turned a bright crimson.
+&quot;Dreadful night, wasn&#39;t it, Bramble?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I know what kind of a night it was,&quot; said the old
+Frenchman, delightedly. &quot;My warmest congratulations,
+my friend. She is the loveliest, the noblest, the
+truest&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I beg your pardon,&quot; interrupted Trotter, stiffly.
+&quot;It hasn&#39;t gone as far as all that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It has gone farther than you think,&quot; said M. Mirabeau
+shrewdly. &quot;And that is why you were discharged
+without&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By gad! The worst of it all is, she will probably
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>[pg&nbsp;62]</span>
+get her walking papers too,&mdash;if she hasn&#39;t already got
+them,&quot; groaned the young man. &quot;Don&#39;t you see what
+has happened? The rotter has kicked up a rumpus
+about that innocent,&mdash;and if I do say it,&mdash;gallant act
+of mine the other night. They&#39;ve had her on the carpet
+to explain. It looks bad for her. They&#39;re the sort
+of people you can&#39;t explain things to. What rotten
+luck! She needs the money and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nothing of the kind has happened,&quot; said M. Mirabeau
+with conviction. &quot;It isn&#39;t in young Mr. S.-P.&#39;s
+plans to have her dismissed. That would be&mdash;ah,
+what is it you say?&mdash;spilling the beans, eh? The instant
+she relinquishes her place in that household all
+hope is lost, so far as he is concerned. He is shrewd
+enough to realize that, my friend. You are the fly in
+his ointment. It is necessary to the success of his enterprise
+to be well rid of you. He doesn&#39;t want to
+lose sight of her, however. He&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Run me out of town, eh?&quot; grated Trotter, his
+thoughts leaping back to the passage in Lady Jane&#39;s
+letter. &quot;Easier said than done, he&#39;ll find.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble coughed. &quot;Are we not going it rather
+blindly? All this is pure speculation. The young man
+may not have a hand in the business at all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He&#39;ll discover he&#39;s put his foot in it if he tries any
+game on me,&quot; said Mr. Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau beamed. &quot;There is always a way to
+checkmate the villain in the story. You see it exemplified
+in every melodrama on the stage and in every shilling
+shocker. The hero,&mdash;and you are our hero,&mdash;puts
+him to rout by marrying the heroine and living
+happily to a hale old age. What could be more beautiful
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>[pg&nbsp;63]</span>
+than the marriage of Lady Jane Thorne and Lord
+Eric Carruthers Ethelbert Temple? Mon dieu! It
+is&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Rubbish!&quot; exclaimed Mr. Trotter, suddenly looking
+down at his foot, which was employed in the laudable
+but unnecessary act of removing a tiny shaving
+from a crack in the floor. &quot;Besides,&quot; he went on an
+instant later, acknowledging an interval of mental
+consideration, &quot;she wouldn&#39;t have me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is my time to say &#39;rubbish,&#39;&quot; said the old
+Frenchman. &quot;Why wouldn&#39;t she have you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Because she doesn&#39;t care for me in that way, if
+you must know,&quot; blurted out the young man.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Has she said so?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Of course not. She wouldn&#39;t be likely to volunteer
+the information, would she?&quot; with fine irony.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Then how do you know she doesn&#39;t care for you in
+that way?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, I&mdash;I just simply know it, that&#39;s all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I see. You are the smartest man of all time if
+you know a woman&#39;s heart without probing into it, or
+her mind without tricking it. She permitted you to
+carry her up the steps, didn&#39;t she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She had to,&quot; said Trotter forcibly. &quot;That doesn&#39;t
+prove anything. And what&#39;s more, she objected to being
+carried.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Um! What did she say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Said she didn&#39;t in the least mind getting her feet
+wet. She&#39;d have her boots off as soon as she got into
+the house.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is that all?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She said she was awfully heavy, and&mdash;Oh, there
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>[pg&nbsp;64]</span>
+is no use talking to me. I know how to take a hint.
+She just didn&#39;t want me to&mdash;er&mdash;carry her, that&#39;s
+the long and the short of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Did she struggle violently?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You heard me. Did she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Certainly not. She gave in when I insisted. What
+else could she do?&quot; He whirled suddenly upon Mr.
+Bramble. &quot;What are you grinning about, Bramby?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Who&#39;s grinning?&quot; demanded Mr. Bramble indignantly,
+after the lapse of thirty or forty seconds.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You <i>were</i>, confound you. I don&#39;t see anything
+to laugh at in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My advice to you,&quot; broke in M. Mirabeau, still
+detached, &quot;is to ask her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ask her? Ask her what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;To marry you. As I was saying&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My God!&quot; gasped Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That is my advice also,&quot; put in Mr. Bramble, fumbling
+with his glasses and trying to suppress a smile,&mdash;for
+fear it would be misinterpreted. &quot;I can&#39;t think of
+anything more admirable than the union of the Temple
+and Wexham families in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, good Lord,&quot; cried Trotter, &quot;even if she&#39;d
+have me, how on earth could I take care of her on a
+chauffeur&#39;s pay? And I&#39;m not getting that now. I
+wish to call your attention to the fact that your little
+hero has less than fifty pounds,&mdash;a good deal less than
+fifty,&mdash;laid by for a rainy day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ve known a great many people who were married
+on rainy days,&quot; said M. Mirabeau brightly, &quot;and nothing
+unlucky came of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page65" id="page65"></a>[pg&nbsp;65]</span>
+&quot;Moreover, when your grandfather passes away,&quot;
+urged Mr. Bramble, &quot;you will be a very rich man,&mdash;provided,
+of course, he doesn&#39;t remain obstinate and
+leave his money to some one else. In any event, you
+would come in for sufficient to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You forget,&quot; began Trotter, gravely and with a
+dignity that chilled the eager old man, &quot;that I will not
+go back to England, nor will I claim anything that is <i>in</i>
+England, until a certain injustice is rectified and I am
+set straight in the eyes of the unbelievers.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble cleared his throat. &quot;Time will clear
+up everything, my lad. God knows you never did
+the&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;God knows it all right enough, but God isn&#39;t a member
+of the Brunswick Club, and His voice is never heard
+there in counsel. He may lend a helping hand to those
+who are trying to clear my name, because they believe
+in me, but the whole business is beginning to look
+pretty dark to me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ahem! What does Miss&mdash;ah, Lady Jane think
+about the&mdash;ah, unfortunate affair?&quot; stammered Mr.
+Bramble.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She doesn&#39;t believe a damn&#39; word of it,&quot; exploded
+Trotter, his face lighting up.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good!&quot; cried M. Mirabeau. &quot;Proof that she
+pities you, and what more could you ask for a beginning?
+She believes you were unjustly accused of cheating
+at cards, that there was a plot to ruin you and to
+drive you out of the Army, and that your grandfather
+ought to be hung to a lamp post for believing what
+she doesn&#39;t believe. Good! Now we are on solid, substantial
+ground. What time is it, Bramble?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page66" id="page66"></a>[pg&nbsp;66]</span>
+Mr. Bramble looked at a half-dozen clocks in succession.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m blessed if I know,&quot; he said. &quot;They range from
+ten o&#39;clock to half-past six.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Just three hours and twenty-two minutes to wait,&quot;
+said Thomas Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page67" id="page67"></a>[pg&nbsp;67]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>
+
+<h3>THE UNFAILING MEMORY</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">PRINCE WALDEMAR DE BOSKY, confronted
+by the prospect of continued cold weather, decided
+to make an appeal to Mrs. Moses Jacobs, sometime
+Princess Mariana di Pavesi. She had his overcoat,
+the precious one with the fur collar and the leather
+lining,&mdash;the one, indeed, that the friendly safe-blower
+who lodged across the hall from him had left behind at
+the outset of a journey up-state.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;More than likely,&quot; said the safe-blower, who was
+not only surprised but gratified when the &quot;little dago&quot;
+came to visit him in the Tombs, &quot;more than likely I
+sha&#39;n&#39;t be needin&#39; an overcoat for the next twelve or
+fourteen year, kid, so you ain&#39;t robbin&#39; me,&mdash;no, sir,
+not a bit of it. I make you a present of it, with my
+compliments. Winter is comin&#39; on an&#39; I can&#39;t seem to
+think of anybody it would fit better&#39;n it does you. You
+don&#39;t need to mention as havin&#39; received it from me.
+The feller who owned it before I did might accidentally
+hear of it and&mdash;but I guess it ain&#39;t likely, come to
+think of it. To the best of my recollection, he lives &#39;way
+out West somewhere,&mdash;Toledo, I think, or maybe
+Omaha,&mdash;and he&#39;s probably got a new one by this time.
+Much obliged fer droppin&#39; in here to see me, kid. So
+long,&mdash;and cut it out. Don&#39;t try to come any of that
+thanks guff on me. You might as well be usin&#39; that
+coat as the moths. Besides, I owe you something for
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page68" id="page68"></a>[pg&nbsp;68]</span>
+storage, don&#39;t forget that. I was in such a hurry the
+last time I left town I didn&#39;t have a chance to explain.
+You didn&#39;t know it then,&mdash;and I guess if you had
+knowed it you wouldn&#39;t have been so nice about lookin&#39;
+out for my coat durin&#39; the summer,&mdash;but I was makin&#39;
+a mighty quick getaway. Thanks fer stoppin&#39; in to remind
+me I left the coat in your room that night. I
+clean forgot it, I was in such a hurry. But lemme tell
+you one thing, kid, I&#39;ll never ferget the way you c&#39;n
+make that fiddle talk. I don&#39;t know as you&#39;d &#39;a&#39; played
+fer me as you used to once in awhile if you&#39;d knowed I
+was what I am, but it makes no difference now. I just
+loved hearin&#39; you play. I used to have a hard time
+holdin&#39; in the tears. And say, kid, keep straight.
+Keep on fiddlin&#39;! So long! I may see you along about
+1926 or 8. And say, you needn&#39;t be ashamed to wear
+that coat. I didn&#39;t steal it. It was a clean case of
+mistaken identity, if there ever was one. It happened
+in a restaurant.&quot; He winked.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And that is how the little violinist came to be the
+possessor of an overcoat with a sable collar and a soft
+leather lining.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He needed it now, not only when he ventured upon the
+chilly streets but when he remained indoors. In truth,
+he found it much warmer walking the streets than sitting
+in his fireless room, or even in going to bed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It was a far cry from the dapper, dreamy-eyed courtier
+who kissed the chapped knuckles of the Princess
+Mariana on Wednesday night to the shrinking, pinched
+individual who threaded his way on Friday through the
+cramped lanes that led to the rear of the pawn-shop
+presided over by Mrs. Jacobs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page69" id="page69"></a>[pg&nbsp;69]</span>
+And an incredibly vast gulf lay between the Princess
+Mariana and the female Shylock who peered at him over
+a glass show-case filled with material pledges in the
+shape of watches, chains, rings, bracelets, and other
+gaudy tributes left by a shifting constituency.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well?&quot; she demanded, fixing him with a cold,
+offensive stare. &quot;What do you want?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He turned down the collar of his thin coat, and
+straightened his slight figure in response to this unfriendly
+greeting.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I came to see if you would allow me to take my
+overcoat for a few days,&mdash;until this cold spell is over,&mdash;with
+the understanding&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nothing doing,&quot; said she curtly. &quot;Six dollars due
+on it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I have not the six dollars, madam. Surely
+you may trust me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Why didn&#39;t you bring your fiddle along? You
+could leave it in place of the coat. Go and get it
+and I&#39;ll see what I can do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am to play tonight at the house of a Mr. Carpenter.
+He has heard of me through our friend Mr.
+Trotter, his chauffeur. You know Mr. Trotter, of
+course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sure I know him, and I don&#39;t like him. He insulted
+me once.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah, but you do not understand him, madam. He is
+an Englishman and he may have tried to be facetious or
+even pleasant in the way the English&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Say, don&#39;t you suppose I know when I&#39;m insulted?
+When a cheap guy like that comes in here with a customer
+of mine and tells me I&#39;m so damned mean they
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page70" id="page70"></a>[pg&nbsp;70]</span>
+won&#39;t even let me into hell when I die,&mdash;well, if you
+don&#39;t call that an insult, I&#39;d like to know what it is.
+Don&#39;t talk to me about that bum!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is <i>that</i> all he said?&quot; involuntarily fell from the
+lips of the violinist, as if, to his way of thinking, Mr.
+Trotter&#39;s remark was an out-and-out compliment.
+&quot;Surely you have no desire to go to hell when you
+die.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, I haven&#39;t, but I don&#39;t want anybody coming in
+here telling me to my face that there&#39;d be a revolution
+down there if I <i>tried</i> to get in. I&#39;ve got as much right
+there as anybody, I&#39;d have him know. Cough up six or
+get out. That&#39;s all I&#39;ve got to say to you, my little
+man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is freezing cold in my room. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t blame me for that. I don&#39;t make the
+weather. And say, I&#39;m busy. Cough up or&mdash;clear
+out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You will not let me have it for a few days if
+I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Say, do you think I&#39;m in business for my health?
+I haven&#39;t that much use&mdash;&quot; she snapped her fingers&mdash;&quot;for
+a fiddler anyhow. It&#39;s not a man&#39;s job. That&#39;s
+what I think of long-haired guys like&mdash;Beat it! I&#39;m
+busy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">With head erect the little violinist turned away.
+He was half way to the door when she called out to
+him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hey! Come back here! Now, see here, you little
+squirt, you needn&#39;t go turning up your nose at me and
+acting like that. I&#39;ve got the goods on you and a lot
+more of those rummies up there. I looked &#39;em over the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page71" id="page71"></a>[pg&nbsp;71]</span>
+other night and I said to myself, says I: &#39;Gee whiz,
+couldn&#39;t I start something if I let out what I know
+about this gang!&#39; Talk about earthquakes! They&#39;d&mdash;Here!
+What are you doing? Get out from behind
+this counter! I&#39;ll call a cop if you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The pallid, impassioned face of Prince Waldemar de
+Bosky was close to hers; his dark eyes were blazing
+not a foot from her nose.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If I thought you were that kind of a snake I&#39;d kill
+you,&quot; he said quietly, levelly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Are&mdash;are you threatening me?&quot; sputtered Mrs.
+Jacobs, trying in vain to look away from those compelling
+eyes. She could not believe her senses.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No. I am merely telling you what I would do if
+you were that kind of a snake.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;See here, don&#39;t you get gay! Don&#39;t you forget who
+you are addressing, young man. I am&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am addressing a second-hand junk dealer, madam.
+You are at home now, not sitting in the big chair up
+at&mdash;at&mdash;you know where. Please bear that in
+mind.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ll call some one from out front and have you
+chucked into&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Do you even <i>think</i> of violating the confidence we
+repose in you?&quot; he demanded. &quot;The thought must
+have been in your mind or you would not have uttered
+that remark a moment ago. You are one of us, and
+we&#39;ve treated you as a&mdash;a queen. I want to know just
+where you stand, Mrs. Jacobs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You can&#39;t come in here and bawl me out like this,
+you little shrimp! I&#39;ll&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Keep still! Now, listen to me. If I should go to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page72" id="page72"></a>[pg&nbsp;72]</span>
+our friends and repeat what you have just said, you
+would never see the inside of that room again. You
+would never have the opportunity to exchange a word
+with a single person you have met there. You would
+be stripped of the last vestige of glory that clings to
+you. Oh, you may sneer! But down in your heart you
+love that bit of glory,&mdash;and you would curse yourself
+if you lost it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s&mdash;it&#39;s all poppy-cock, the whole silly business,&quot;
+she blurted out. But it was not anger that caused her
+voice to tremble.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You know better than that,&quot; said he, coldly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t care a rap about all that foolishness up
+there. It makes me sick,&quot; she muttered.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You may lie to me but you cannot lie to yourself,
+madam. Under that filthy, greasy skin of yours runs
+the blood that will not be denied. Pawn-broker,
+miser,&mdash;whatever you may be to the world, to yourself
+you are a princess royal. God knows we all
+despise you. You have not a friend among us. But we
+can no more overlook the fact that you are a princess
+of the blood than we can ignore the light of day. The
+blood that is in you demands its tribute. You have
+no control over the mysterious spark that fires your
+blood. It burns in spite of all you may do to quench
+it. It is there to stay. We despise you, even as you
+would despise us. Am I to carry your words to those
+who exalt you despite your calling, despite your meanness,
+despite all that is base and sordid in this rotten
+business of yours? Am I to let them know that you are
+the only&mdash;the only&mdash;what is the name of the animal
+I&#39;ve heard Trotter mention?&mdash;ah, I have it,&mdash;the only
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page73" id="page73"></a>[pg&nbsp;73]</span>
+skunk in our precious little circle? Tell me, madam,
+are you a skunk?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Her face was brick red; she was having difficulty with
+her breathing. The pale, white face of the little musician
+dazzled her in a most inexplicable way. Never
+before had she felt just like this.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Am I a&mdash;what?&quot; she gasped, her eyes popping.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is an animal that has an odour which&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good God, you don&#39;t have to tell me what it is,&quot;
+she cried, but in suppressed tones. Her gaze swept the
+rear part of the shop. &quot;It&#39;s a good thing for you,
+young fellow, that nobody heard you call me that name.
+Thank the good Lord, it isn&#39;t a busy day here. If
+anybody <i>had</i> heard you, I&#39;d have you skinned alive.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A profitless undertaking,&quot; he said, smiling without
+mirth, &quot;but quite in your line, if reports are true. You
+are an expert at skinning people, alive or dead. But
+we are digressing. Are you going to turn against us?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I haven&#39;t said I was going to, have I?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not in so many words.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, then, what&#39;s all the fuss about? You come
+in here and shoot off your mouth as if&mdash;And say,
+who are you, anyhow? Tell me that! No, wait a
+minute. Don&#39;t tell me. I&#39;ll tell myself. When a man
+is kicked out of his own family because he&#39;d sooner play
+a fiddle than carry a sword, I don&#39;t think he&#39;s got any
+right to come blatting to me about&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The cruelest monster the world has ever known,
+madam,&quot; he interrupted, stiffening, &quot;fiddled while Rome
+was burning. Fiddlers are not always gentle. You
+may not have heard of one very small and unimportant
+incident in my own life. It was I who fiddled,&mdash;badly,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page74" id="page74"></a>[pg&nbsp;74]</span>
+I must confess,&mdash;while the Opera House in Poltna was
+burning. A panic was averted. Not a life was lost.
+And when it was all over some one remembered the fiddler
+who remained upon the stage and finished the aria
+he was playing when the cry of fire went up from the
+audience. Brave men,&mdash;far braver men than he,&mdash;rushed
+back through the smoke and found him lying at
+the footlights, unconscious. But why waste words?
+Good morning, madam. I shall not trouble you again
+about the overcoat. Be good enough to remember that
+I have kissed your hand only because you are a princess
+and not because you have lent me five dollars on the
+wretched thing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The angry light in his brown eyes gave way to the
+dreamy look once more. He bowed stiffly and edged
+his way out from behind the counter into the clogged
+area that lay between him and the distant doorway.
+Towering above him on all sides were heaps of nondescript
+objects, classified under the generic name of furniture.
+The proprietress of this sordid, ill-smelling
+crib stared after him as he strode away, and into her
+eyes there stole a look of apprehension.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She followed him to the front door, overtaking him
+as his hand was on the latch.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hold on,&quot; she said, nervously glancing at the
+shifty-eyed, cringing assistant who toiled not in vain,&mdash;no
+one ever toiled in vain in the establishment of M.
+Jacobs, Inc.,&mdash;behind a clump of chairs;&mdash;&quot;hold on a
+second. I don&#39;t want you to say a word to&mdash;to them
+about&mdash;about all this. You are right, de Bosky. I&mdash;I
+have not lost all that once was mine. You understand,
+don&#39;t you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page75" id="page75"></a>[pg&nbsp;75]</span>
+He smiled. &quot;Perfectly. You can never lose it, no
+matter how low you may sink.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well,&quot; she went on, hesitatingly, &quot;suppose we forget
+it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He eyed her for a moment in silence, shaking his
+head reflectively. &quot;It is most astonishing,&quot; he said
+at last.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s astonishing?&quot; she demanded sharply.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I was merely thinking of your perfect, your exquisite
+French, madam!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;French? Are you nutty? I&#39;ve been talkin&#39; to you
+in English all the time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He nodded his head slowly. &quot;Perhaps that is why
+your French is so astonishing,&quot; he said, and let it go
+at that.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Look at me,&quot; she exclaimed, suddenly breaking into
+French as she spread out her thick arms and surveyed
+with disgust as much of her ample person as came within
+range of an obstructed vision, &quot;just look at me. No
+one on earth would take <i>me</i> for a princess, would he?
+And yet that is just what I am. I <i>think</i> of myself
+as a princess, and always will, de Bosky. I think of
+myself,&mdash;of my most unlovely, unregal self,&mdash;as the
+superior of every other woman who treads the streets
+of New York, all of these base born women. I cannot
+help it. I cannot think of them as equals, not even the
+richest and the most arrogant of them. You say it is
+the blood, but you are wrong. Some of these women
+have a strain of royal blood in them&mdash;a far-off, remote
+strain, of course,&mdash;but they do not <i>know</i> it. That&#39;s
+the point, my friend. It is the <i>knowing</i> that makes us
+what we are. It isn&#39;t the blood itself. If we were
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page76" id="page76"></a>[pg&nbsp;76]</span>
+deprived of the power to <i>think</i>, we could have the blood
+of every royal family in Europe in our veins, and that
+is all the good it would do us. We <i>think</i> we are nobler,
+better than all the rest of creation, and we would keep
+on thinking it if we slept in the gutter and begged for
+a crust of bread. And the proof of all this is to be
+found in the fact that the rest of creation will not
+allow us to forget. They think as we do, in spite of
+themselves, and there you have the secret of the supremacy
+we feel, in spite of everything.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Her brilliant, black eyes were flashing with something
+more than excitement. The joy, the realization
+of power glowed in their depths, welling up from fires
+that would never die. Waldemar de Bosky nodded his
+head in the most matter-of-fact way. He was not enthralled.
+All this was very simple and quite undebatable
+to him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I take it, therefore, that you retract all that you
+said about its being poppycock,&quot; he said, turning up his
+coat collar and fastening it close to his throat with a
+long and formidable looking safety pin.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It may be poppycock,&quot; she said, &quot;but we can&#39;t
+help liking it&mdash;not to save our lives.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And I shall not have to kill you as if you were a
+snake, eh?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not on your life,&quot; said Mrs. Moses Jacobs in
+English, opening the door for him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He passed out into the cold and windy street and
+she went back to her dingy nook at the end of the store,
+pausing on the way to inform an assistant that she was
+not to be disturbed, no matter who came in to see her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">While she sat behind her glittering show-case and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page77" id="page77"></a>[pg&nbsp;77]</span>
+gazed pensively at the ceiling of her ugly storehouse,
+Waldemar de Bosky went shivering through the streets
+to his cold little backroom many blocks away. While
+she was for the moment living in the dim but unforgotten
+past, a kindly memory leading her out of the maze
+of other people&#39;s poverty and her own avarice into
+broad marble halls and vaulted rooms, he was thinking
+only of the bitter present with its foodless noon and of
+pockets that were empty. While maudlin tears ran
+down her oily cheeks and spilled aimlessly upon a
+greasy sweater with the spur of memory behind them,
+tears wrought by the sharp winds of the street glistened
+in his squinting eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Memory carried him back no farther than the week
+before and he was distressed only by its exceeding
+frailty. He could not, for the life of him, remember
+the address of J. Bramble, bookseller,&mdash;a most exasperating
+lapse in view of the fact that J. Bramble
+himself had urged him to come up some evening soon
+and have dinner with him, and to bring his Stradivarius
+along if he didn&#39;t mind. Mind? Why, he would have
+played his heart out for a good square meal. The more
+he tried to remember J. Bramble&#39;s address, the less he
+thought of the overcoat with the fur collar and the soft
+leather lining. He couldn&#39;t eat that, you know.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In his bleak little room in the hall of the whistling
+winds, he took from its case with cold-benumbed fingers
+the cherished violin. Presently, as he played, the
+shivering flesh of him grew warm with the heat of an inward
+fire; the stiff, red fingers became limp and pliable;
+the misty eyes grew bright and feverish. Fire,&mdash;the
+fires of love and genius and hope combined,&mdash;burnt
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page78" id="page78"></a>[pg&nbsp;78]</span>
+away the chill of despair; he was as warm as toast!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And hours after the foodless noon had passed, he put
+the treasure back into its case and wiped the sweat
+from his marble brow. Something flashed across his
+mind. He shouted aloud as he caught at what the flash
+of memory revealed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Lexington Avenue! Three hundred and something,
+Lexington Avenue! J. Bramble, bookseller! Ha!
+Come! Come! Let us be off!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He spoke to the violin as if it were a living companion.
+Grabbing up his hat and mittens, he dashed out
+of the room and went clattering down the hall with
+the black leather case clasped tightly under his arm.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It was a long, long walk to three hundred and something
+Lexington Avenue, but in due time he arrived
+there and read the sign above the door. Ah, what a
+great thing it is to have a good, unfailing memory!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And so it came to pass that Prince Waldemar de
+Bosky and Lady Jane Thorne met at the door of J.
+Bramble, bookseller, at five of the clock, and entered the
+shop together.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page79" id="page79"></a>[pg&nbsp;79]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FOUNDATION OF THE PLOT</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">MR. BRAMBLE had never been quite able to
+resign himself to a definitely impersonal attitude
+toward Lord Eric Temple. He seemed to cling,
+despite himself, to a privilege long since outlawed by
+time and circumstance and the inevitable outgrowing
+of knickerbockers by the aforesaid Lord Eric. Back
+in the good old days it had been his pleasant,&mdash;and
+sometimes unpleasant,&mdash;duty to direct a very small
+Eric in matters not merely educational but of deportment
+as well. In short, Eric, at the age of five, fell
+into the capable, kindly and more or less resolute hands
+of a well-recommended tutor, and that tutor was no
+other than J. Bramble.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At the age of twelve, the boy went off to school in a
+little high hat and an Eton suit, and J. Bramble was
+at once, you might say, out of the frying pan into the
+fire. In other words, he was promoted by his lordship,
+the boy&#39;s grandfather, to the honourable though somewhat
+onerous positions of secretary, librarian and cataloguer,
+all in one. He had been able to teach Eric a
+great many things he didn&#39;t know, but there was nothing
+he could impart to his lordship.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">That irascible old gentleman knew everything. After
+thrice informing his lordship that Sir Walter Scott was
+the author of <i>Guy Mannering</i>, and being thrice informed
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page80" id="page80"></a>[pg&nbsp;80]</span>
+that he was nothing of the sort, the desolate
+Mr. Bramble realized that he was no longer a tutor,&mdash;and
+that he ought to be rather thankful for it. It exasperated
+him considerably, however, to have the
+authorship of <i>Guy Mannering</i> arbitrarily ascribed to
+three different writers, on three separate occasions,
+when any schoolboy could have told the old gentleman
+that Fielding and Sterne and Addison had no more
+to do with the book than William Shakespeare himself.
+His lordship maintained that no one could tell
+<i>him</i> anything about Scott; he had him on his shelves
+and he had read him from A to Izzard. And he was
+rather severe with Mr. Bramble for accepting a position
+as librarian when he didn&#39;t know any more than
+that about books.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And from this you may be able to derive some sort
+of an opinion concerning the cantankerous, bull-headed
+old party (Bramble&#39;s appellation behind the hand) who
+ruled Fenlew Hall, the place where Tom Trotter was
+reared and afterwards disowned.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Also you may be able to account in a measure for Mr.
+J. Bramble&#39;s attitude toward the tall young man, an
+attitude brought on no doubt by the revival, or more
+properly speaking the survival, of an authority exercised
+with rare futility but great satisfaction at a time
+when Eric was being trained in the way he should go.
+If at times Mr. Bramble appears to be mildly dictatorial,
+or gently critical, or sadly reproachful, you will
+understand that it is habit with him, and not the captiousness
+of old age. It was his custom to shake his
+head reprovingly, or to frown in a pained sort of way,
+or to purse his lips, or even to verbally take Mr. Trotter
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page81" id="page81"></a>[pg&nbsp;81]</span>
+to task when that young man deviated,&mdash;not always
+accidentally,&mdash;from certain rules of deportment laid
+down for him to follow in his earliest efforts to be a
+&quot;little gentleman.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For example, when the two of them, after a rather
+impatient half-hour, observed Miss Emsdale step down
+from the trolley car at the corner above and head for
+the doorway through which they were peering, Mr.
+Bramble peremptorily said to Mr. Trotter:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go and brush your hair. You will find a brush at
+the back of the shop. Look sharp, now. She will be
+here in a jiffy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And you will perhaps understand why Mr. Trotter
+paid absolutely no attention to him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale and the little violinist came in together.
+The latter&#39;s teeth were chattering, his cheeks
+were blue with the cold.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;God bless my soul!&quot; said Mr. Bramble, blinking
+at de Bosky. Here was an unforeseen complication.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale was resourceful. &quot;I stopped in to inquire,
+Mr. Bramble,&mdash;this is Mr. Bramble, isn&#39;t it?&mdash;if
+you have a copy of&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Please close the door, Trotter, there&#39;s a good fellow,&quot;
+interrupted Mr. Bramble, frowning significantly
+at the young man.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is closed,&quot; said Mr. Trotter, tactlessly. He
+was looking intently, inquiringly into the blue eyes
+of Miss Emsdale.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I closed it as I came in,&quot; chattered de Bosky.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, did you?&quot; said Mr. Bramble. &quot;People always
+leave it open. I am so in the habit of having
+people leave the door open that I never notice when they
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page82" id="page82"></a>[pg&nbsp;82]</span>
+close it. I&mdash;ahem! Step right this way, please, Miss
+Ems&mdash;ahem! I think we have just the book you
+want.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am not in any haste, Mr. Bramble,&quot; said she, regarding
+de Bosky with pitying eyes. &quot;Let us all go
+back to the stove and&mdash;and&mdash;&quot; She hesitated, biting
+her lip. The poor chap undoubtedly was sensitive.
+They always are.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good!&quot; said Mr. Bramble eagerly. &quot;And we&#39;ll
+have some tea. Bless my soul, how fortunate! I always
+have it at five o&#39;clock. Trotter and I were just
+on the point of&mdash;so glad you happened in just at the
+right moment, Miss Emsdale. Ahem! And you too,
+de Bosky. Most extraordinary. You may leave your
+pipe on that shelf, Trotter. It smells dreadfully. No,
+no,&mdash;I wouldn&#39;t even put it in my pocket if I were you.
+Er&mdash;ahem! You have met Mr. Trotter, haven&#39;t you,
+Miss Emsdale?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You poor old boob,&quot; said Trotter, laying his arm
+over Bramble&#39;s shoulder in the most affectionate way.
+&quot;Isn&#39;t he a boob, Miss Emsdale?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not at all,&quot; said she severely. &quot;He is a dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Bless my soul!&quot; murmured Mr. Bramble, doing
+as well as could be expected. He blessed it again before
+he could catch himself up.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sit here by the stove, Mr. de Bosky,&quot; said Miss
+Emsdale, a moment later. &quot;Just as close as you can
+get to it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have but a moment to stay,&quot; said de Bosky, a
+wistful look in his dark eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;ll have tea, de Bosky,&quot; said Mr. Bramble
+firmly. &quot;Is the water boiling, Trotter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page83" id="page83"></a>[pg&nbsp;83]</span>
+A few minutes later, warmed by the cup of tea and
+a second slice of toast, de Bosky turned to Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thanks again, my dear fellow, for speaking to
+your employer about my playing. This little affair
+tonight may be the beginning of an era of good fortune
+for me. I shall never forget your interest&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, that&#39;s off,&quot; said Trotter carelessly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Off? You mean?&quot; cried de Bosky.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m fired, and he has gone to Atlantic City for the
+week-end.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He&mdash;he isn&#39;t going to have his party in the private
+dining-room at,&mdash;you said it was to be a private dining-room,
+didn&#39;t you, with a few choice spirits&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He has gone to Atlantic City with a few choice
+spirits,&quot; said Trotter, and then stared hard at the musician&#39;s
+face. &quot;Oh, by Jove! I&#39;m sorry,&quot; he cried,
+struck by the look of dismay, almost of desperation, in
+de Bosky&#39;s eyes. &quot;I didn&#39;t realize it meant so much
+to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is really of no consequence,&quot; said de Bosky, lifting
+his chin once more and straightening his back.
+The tea-cup rattled ominously in the saucer he was
+clutching with tense fingers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Never mind,&quot; said Mr. Bramble, anticipating a
+crash and inspired by the kindliest of motives; &quot;between
+us we&#39;ve smashed half a dozen of them, so don&#39;t
+feel the least bit uncomfortable if you <i>do</i> drop&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What are you talking about, Bramby?&quot; demanded
+Trotter, scowling at the unfortunate bookseller.
+&quot;Have some more tea, de Bosky. Hand up your cup.
+Little hot water, eh?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble was perspiring. Any one with half an
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page84" id="page84"></a>[pg&nbsp;84]</span>
+eye could see that it <i>was</i> of consequence to de Bosky.
+The old bookseller&#39;s heart was very tender.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t drink too much of it,&quot; he warned, his face
+suddenly beaming. &quot;You&#39;ll spoil your appetite for
+dinner.&quot; To the others: &quot;Mr. de Bosky honours my
+humble board with his presence this evening. The
+finest porterhouse steak in New York&mdash;Eh, what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is I,&quot; came a crisp voice from the bottom of the
+narrow stairway that led up to the living-quarters
+above. Monsieur Mirabeau, his whiskers neatly
+brushed and twisted to a point, his velvet lounging
+jacket adorned with a smart little boutonnière, his
+shoes polished till they glistened, approached the circle
+and, bending his gaunt frame with gallant disdain for
+the crick in his back, kissed the hand of the young lady.
+&quot;I observed your approach, my dear Miss Emsdale.
+We have been expecting you for ages. Indeed, it has
+been the longest afternoon that any of us has ever experienced.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble frowned. &quot;Ahem!&quot; he coughed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am sorry if I have intruded,&quot; began de Bosky,
+starting to arise.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sit still,&quot; said Thomas Trotter. He glanced at
+Miss Emsdale. &quot;You&#39;re not in the way, old chap.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You mentioned a book, Miss Emsdale,&quot; murmured
+Mr. Bramble. &quot;When you came in, you&#39;ll remember.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She looked searchingly into Trotter&#39;s eyes, and finding
+her answer there, remarked:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ample time for that, Mr. Bramble. Mr. de Bosky
+is my good friend. And as for dear M. Mirabeau,&mdash;ah,
+what shall I say of him?&quot; She smiled divinely
+upon the grey old Frenchman.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page85" id="page85"></a>[pg&nbsp;85]</span>
+&quot;I commend your modesty,&quot; said M. Mirabeau. &quot;It
+prevents your saying what every one knows,&mdash;that I
+am your adorer!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Tom Trotter was pacing the floor. He stopped in
+front of her, a scowl on his handsome face.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now, tell us just what the infernal dog said to
+you,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She started. &quot;You&mdash;you have already heard
+something?&quot; she cried, wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah, what did I tell you?&quot; cried M. Mirabeau
+triumphantly, glancing first at Trotter and then at
+Bramble. &quot;He <i>is</i> in love with her, and this is what
+comes of it. He resorts to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is this magic?&quot; she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not a bit of it,&quot; said Trotter. &quot;We&#39;ve been putting
+two and two together, the three of us. Begin at
+the beginning,&quot; he went on, encouragingly. &quot;Don&#39;t
+hold back a syllable of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You must promise to be governed by my advice,&quot;
+she warned him. &quot;You must be careful,&mdash;oh, so very
+careful.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He will be good at any rate,&quot; said Mr. Bramble,
+fixing the young man with a look. Trotter&#39;s face
+went crimson.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ahem!&quot; came guardedly from M. Mirabeau.
+&quot;Proceed, my dear. We are most impatient.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The old Frenchman&#39;s deductions were not far from
+right. Young Mr. Smith-Parvis, unaccustomed to opposition
+and believing himself to be entitled to everything
+he set his heart on having, being by nature predatory,
+sustained an incredible shock when the pretty
+and desirable governess failed utterly to come up to expectations.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page86" id="page86"></a>[pg&nbsp;86]</span>
+Not only did she fail to come up to expectations
+but she took the wind completely out of his sails,
+leaving him adrift in a void so strange and unusual that
+it was hours before he got his bearings again. Some
+of the things she said to him got under a skin so thick
+and unsensitive that nothing had ever been sharp
+enough to penetrate it before.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The smartting of the pain from these surprising jabs
+at his egotism put him into a state of fury that knew
+no bounds. He went so far as to accuse her of deliberately
+trying to be a lady,&mdash;a most ridiculous
+assumption that didn&#39;t fool him for an instant. She
+couldn&#39;t come that sort of thing with him! The sooner
+she got off her high-horse the better off she&#39;d be. It
+had never entered the head of Smith-Parvis Jr. that a
+wage-earning woman could be a lady, any more than
+a wage-earning man could be a gentleman.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The spirited encounter took place on the afternoon
+following her midnight adventure with Thomas Trotter.
+Stuyvesant lay in wait for her when she went out
+at five o&#39;clock for her daily walk in the Park. Overtaking
+her in one of the narrow, remote little paths,
+he suggested that they cross over to Bustanoby&#39;s and
+have tea and a bite of something sweet. He was
+quite out of breath. She had given him a long
+chase, this long-limbed girl with her free English
+stride.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s a nice quiet place,&quot; he said, &quot;and we won&#39;t
+see a soul we know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Primed by assurance, he had the hardihood to grasp
+her arm with a sort of possessive familiarity. Whereupon,
+according to the narrator, he sustained his first
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page87" id="page87"></a>[pg&nbsp;87]</span>
+disheartening shock. She jerked her arm away and
+faced him with blazing eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t do that!&quot; she said. &quot;What do you mean
+by following me like this?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, come now,&quot; he exclaimed blankly; &quot;don&#39;t be so
+damned uppish. I didn&#39;t sleep a wink last night, thinking
+about you. You&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nor did I sleep a wink, Mr. Smith-Parvis, thinking
+about you,&quot; she retorted, looking straight into his eyes.
+&quot;I am afraid you don&#39;t know me as well as you think
+you do. Will you be good enough to permit me to continue
+my walk unmolested?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He laughed in her face. &quot;Out here to meet the
+pretty chauffeur, are you? I thought so. Well, I&#39;ll
+stick around and make the crowd. Is he likely to
+pop up out of the bushes and try to bite me, my dear?
+Better give him the signal to lay low, unless you want
+to see him nicely booted.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">(&quot;My God!&quot; fell from Thomas Trotter&#39;s compressed
+lips.)</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Then I made a grievous mistake,&quot; she explained
+to the quartette. &quot;It is all my fault, Mr. Trotter.
+I brought disaster upon you when I only intended to
+sound your praises. I told him that nothing could
+suit me better than to have you pop up out of the
+bushes, just for the pleasure it would give me to see
+him run for home as fast as he could go. It made
+him furious.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Smith-Parvis Jr. proceeded to give her &quot;what for,&quot;
+to use his own words. In sheer amazement, she listened
+to his vile insinuations. She was speechless.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And here am I,&quot; he had said, toward the end of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page88" id="page88"></a>[pg&nbsp;88]</span>
+the indictment, &quot;a gentleman, born and bred, offering
+you what this scurvy bounder cannot possibly give you,
+and you pretend to turn up your nose at me. I am
+gentleman enough to overlook all that has transpired
+between you and that loafer, and I am gentleman
+enough to keep my mouth shut at home, where a word
+from me would pack you off in two seconds. And I&#39;d
+like to see you get another fat job in New York after
+that. You ought to be jolly grateful to me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If I am the sort of person you say I am,&quot; she had
+replied, trembling with fury, &quot;how can you justify
+your conscience in letting me remain for a second
+longer in charge of your little sisters?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What the devil do I care about them? I&#39;m only
+thinking of you. I&#39;m mad about you, can&#39;t you understand?
+And I&#39;d like to know what conscience has
+to do with <i>that</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Then he had coolly, deliberately, announced his plan
+of action to her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are to stay on at the house as long as you
+like, getting your nice little pay check every month,
+and something from me besides. Ah, I&#39;m no piker!
+Leave it all to me. As for this friend of yours, he has
+to go. He&#39;ll be out of a job tomorrow. I know Carpenter.
+He will do anything I ask. He&#39;ll have to, confound
+him. I&#39;ve got him where he can&#39;t even squeak.
+And what&#39;s more, if this Trotter is not out of New
+York inside of three days, I&#39;ll land him in jail. Oh,
+don&#39;t think I can&#39;t do it, my dear. There&#39;s a way to
+get these renegade foreigners,&mdash;every one of &#39;em,&mdash;so
+you&#39;d better keep clear of him if you don&#39;t want to be
+mixed up in the business. I am doing all this for your
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page89" id="page89"></a>[pg&nbsp;89]</span>
+own good. Some day you&#39;ll thank me. You are the
+first girl I&#39;ve ever really loved, and&mdash;I&mdash;I just can&#39;t
+stand by and let you go to the devil with my eyes shut.
+I am going to save you, whether you like it or not. I
+am going to do the right thing by you, and you will
+never regret chucking this rotter for me. We will have
+to be a little careful at home, that&#39;s all. It would
+never do to let the old folks see that I am more than
+ordinarily interested in you, or you in me. Once, when
+I was a good deal younger and didn&#39;t have much sense,
+I spoiled a&mdash;but you wouldn&#39;t care to hear about it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She declared to them that she would never forget the
+significant grin he permitted himself in addition to the
+wink.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The dog!&quot; grated Thomas Trotter, his knuckles
+white.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau straightened himself to his full height,&mdash;and
+a fine figure of a man was he!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mr. Trotter,&quot; he said, with grave dignity, &quot;it will
+afford me the greatest pleasure and honour to represent
+you in this crisis. Pray command me. No doubt the
+scoundrel will refuse to meet you, but at any rate a
+challenge may be&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale broke in quickly. &quot;Don&#39;t,&mdash;for
+heaven&#39;s sake, dear M. Mirabeau,&mdash;don&#39;t put such
+notions into his head! It is bad enough as it is. I
+beg of you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Besides,&quot; said Mr. Bramble, &quot;one doesn&#39;t fight
+duels in this country, any more than one does in England.
+It&#39;s quite against the law.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I sha&#39;n&#39;t need any one to represent me when it comes
+to punching his head,&quot; said Mr. Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page90" id="page90"></a>[pg&nbsp;90]</span>
+&quot;It&#39;s against the law, strictly speaking, to punch a
+person&#39;s head,&quot; began Mr. Bramble nervously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But it&#39;s not against the law, confound you, Bramby,
+to provide a legal excuse for going to jail, is it? He
+says he&#39;s going to put me there. Well, I intend to
+make it legal and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, goodness!&quot; cried Miss Emsdale, in dismay.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;&mdash;And I&#39;m not going to jail for nothing, you can
+stake your life on that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Do you think, Mr. Trotter, that it will add to my
+happiness if you are lodged in jail on my account?&quot;
+said she. &quot;Haven&#39;t I done you sufficient injury&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now, you are not to talk like that,&quot; he interrupted,
+reddening.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I <i>shall</i> talk like that,&quot; she said firmly. &quot;I
+have not come here to ask you to take up my battles for
+me but to warn you of danger. Please do not interrupt
+me. I know you would enjoy it, and all that sort
+of thing, but it isn&#39;t to be considered. Hear me
+out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She went on with her story. Young Mr. Smith-Parvis,
+still contending that he was a gentleman and a
+friend as well as an abject adorer, made it very plain
+to her that he would stand no foolishness. He told her
+precisely what he would do unless she eased up a bit
+and acted like a good, sensible girl. He would have her
+dismissed without character and he would see to it that
+no respectable house would be open to her after she left
+the service of the Smith-Parvises.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But couldn&#39;t you put the true situation before his
+parents and tell &#39;em what sort of a rotten bounder he
+is?&quot; demanded Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page91" id="page91"></a>[pg&nbsp;91]</span>
+&quot;You do not know them, Mr. Trotter,&quot; she said
+forlornly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And they&#39;d kick you out without giving you a
+chance to prove to them that he is a filthy liar and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Just as Mr. Carpenter kicked you out,&quot; she said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By gad, I&mdash;I wouldn&#39;t stay in their house another
+day if I were you,&quot; he exclaimed wrathfully.
+&quot;I&#39;d quit so quickly they wouldn&#39;t have time to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And then what?&quot; she asked bitterly. &quot;Am I so
+rich and independent as all that? You forget that I
+must have a &#39;character,&#39; Mr. Trotter. That, you see,
+would be denied me. I could not obtain employment.
+Even Mrs. Sparflight would be powerless to help me
+after the character they would give me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, good Lord, you&mdash;you&#39;re not going to stay
+on in the house with that da&mdash;
+that nasty brute, are
+you?&quot; he cried, aghast.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I must have time to think, Mr. Trotter,&quot; she said
+quietly. &quot;Now, don&#39;t say anything more,&mdash;please!
+I shall take good care of myself, never fear. My woes
+are small compared to yours, I am afraid. The next
+morning after our little scene in the park, he came down
+to breakfast, smiling and triumphant. He said he had
+news for me. Mr. Carpenter was to dismiss you that
+morning, but had agreed not to prefer charges against
+you,&mdash;at least, not for the present.&quot; She paused to
+moisten her lips. There was a harassed look in her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Charges?&quot; said Trotter, after a moment. The
+other men leaned forward, fresh interest in their faces.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Did you say charges, Miss Emsdale?&quot; asked Mr.
+Bramble, putting his hand to his ear.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page92" id="page92"></a>[pg&nbsp;92]</span>
+&quot;He told me that Mr. Carpenter was at first determined
+to turn you over to the police, but that he had
+begged him to give you a chance. He&mdash;he says that
+Mr. Carpenter has had a private detective watching you
+for a fortnight, and&mdash;and&mdash;oh, I cannot say it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go on,&quot; said Trotter harshly; &quot;say it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, of course, I know and you understand it is
+simply part of his outrageous plan, but he says your
+late employer has positive proof that you took&mdash;that
+you took some marked bank notes out of his overcoat
+pocket a few days ago. He had been missing money
+and had provided himself with marked&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter leaped to his feet with a cry of rage.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sit down!&quot; commanded Mr. Bramble. &quot;Sit
+down! Where are you going?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Great God! Do you suppose I can sit still and
+let him get away with anything like that?&quot; roared
+Trotter. &quot;I&#39;m going to jam those words down Carpenter&#39;s
+craven throat. I&#39;m&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You forget he is in Atlantic City,&quot; said de Bosky,
+as if suddenly coming out of a dream.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, Lord!&quot; groaned Trotter, very white in the
+face.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">There were tears in Miss Emsdale&#39;s eyes. &quot;They&mdash;he
+means to drive you out of town,&quot; she murmured
+brokenly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Fine chance of that!&quot; cried Trotter violently.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Let us be calm,&quot; said M. Mirabeau, gently taking
+the young man&#39;s arm and leading him back to the box
+on which he had been sitting. &quot;You must not play
+into their hands, and that is what you would be doing
+if you went to him in a rage. As long as you remain
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page93" id="page93"></a>[pg&nbsp;93]</span>
+passive, nothing will come of all this. If you show your
+teeth, they will stop at nothing. Take my word for
+it, Trotter, before many hours have passed you will
+be interviewed by a detective,&mdash;a genuine detective, by
+the way, for some of them can be hired to do anything,
+my boy,&mdash;and you will be given your choice of going
+to prison or to some far distant city. You&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But how in thunder is he going to prove that I
+took any marked bills from him? You&#39;ve got to prove
+those things, you know. The courts would not&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Just a moment! Did he pay you by check or with
+bank notes this morning?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He gave me a check for thirty dollars, and three
+ten-dollar bills and a five.&quot; ·</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Have you them on your person at present?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not all of them. I have&mdash;wait a second! We&#39;ll
+see.&quot; He fumbled in his pocket for the bill-folder.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What did you do with the rest?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Paid my landlady for&mdash;good Lord! I see what
+you mean! He paid me with marked bills! The&mdash;the
+damned scoundrel!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He not only did that, my boy, but he put a man on
+your trail to recover them as fast as you disposed of
+them,&quot; said M. Mirabeau calmly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page94" id="page94"></a>[pg&nbsp;94]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>LADY JANE GOES ABOUT IT PROMPTLY</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">A FEW minutes before six o&#39;clock that same afternoon,
+Mr. James Cricklewick, senior member of
+the firm of Cricklewick, Stackable &amp; Co., linen merchants,
+got up from his desk in the crowded little
+compartment labelled &quot;Private,&quot; and peered out of the
+second-floor window into the busy street below. Thousands
+of people were scurrying along the pavements in
+the direction of the brilliantly lighted Fifth Avenue, a
+few rods away; vague, dusky, unrecognizable forms in
+the darkness that comes so early and so abruptly to the
+cross-town streets at the end of a young March day.
+The middle of the street presented a serried line of snow
+heaps, piled up by the shovellers the day before,&mdash;symmetrical
+little mountains that formed an impassable
+range over which no chauffeur had the temerity to bolt
+in his senseless ambition to pass the car ahead.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. James Cricklewick sighed. He knew from past
+experience that the Rock of Ages was but little more
+enduring than the snow-capped range in front of him.
+Time and a persistent sun inevitably would do the work
+of man, but in the meantime Mr. Cricklewick&#39;s wagons
+and trucks were a day and a half behind with deliveries,
+and that was worth sighing about. As he stood looking
+down the street, he sighed again. For more than
+forty years Mr. Cricklewick had made constant use
+of the phrase: &quot;It&#39;s always something.&quot; If there
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page95" id="page95"></a>[pg&nbsp;95]</span>
+was no one to say it to, he satisfied himself by condensing
+the lament into a strictly personal sigh.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He first resorted to the remark far back in the days
+when he was in the service of the Marquis of Camelford.
+If it wasn&#39;t one thing that was going wrong it
+was another; in any event it was &quot;always something.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Prosperity and environment had not succeeded in
+bringing him to the point where he could snap his fingers
+and lightly say in the face of annoyances: &quot;It&#39;s
+really nothing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The fact that he was, after twenty-five years of ceaseless
+climbing, at the head of the well-known and thoroughly
+responsible house of Cricklewick, Stackable &amp;
+Co., Linen Merchants and Drapers,&mdash;(he insisted on
+attaching the London word, not through sentiment,
+but for the sake of isolation),&mdash;operated not at all
+in bringing about a becalmed state of mind. Habitually
+he was disturbed by little things, which should not
+be in the least surprising when one stops to think of the
+multitudinous annoyances he must have experienced
+while managing the staff of under-servants in the extensive
+establishment of the late Marquis of Camelford.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He had never quite outgrown the temperament
+which makes for a good and dependable butler,&mdash;and
+that, in a way, accounts for the contention that &quot;it is
+always something,&quot; and also for the excellent credit of
+the house he headed. Mr. Cricklewick made no effort
+to deceive himself. He occasionally deceived his wife
+in a mild and innocuous fashion by secretly reverting
+to form, but not for an instant did he deceive himself.
+He was a butler and he always would be a butler, despite
+the fact that the business and a certain section
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page96" id="page96"></a>[pg&nbsp;96]</span>
+of the social world looked upon him as a very fine type
+of English gentleman, with a crest in his shop window
+and a popularly accepted record of having enjoyed a
+speaking acquaintance with Edward, the late King of
+England. Indeed, the late king appears to have enjoyed
+the same privilege claimed and exercised by the
+clerks, stenographers and floorwalkers in his employ,
+although His Majesty had a slight advantage over
+them in being free to call him &quot;Cricky&quot; to his face
+instead of behind his back.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick, falling into a snug fortune when he
+was forty-five and at a time when the Marquis felt it to
+be necessary to curtail expenses by not only reducing
+his staff of servants but also the salaries of those who
+remained, married very nicely into a draper&#39;s family,
+and soon afterward voyaged to America to open and
+operate a branch of the concern in New York City.
+His fortune, including the savings of twenty years,
+amounted to something like thirty thousand pounds,
+most of which had been accumulated by a sheep-raising
+brother who had gone to and died in Australia. He
+put quite a bit of this into the business and became a
+partner, making himself doubly welcome to a family
+that had suffered considerably through competition in
+business and a complete lack of it in respect to the
+matrimonial possibilities of five fully matured daughters.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick had the further good sense to marry
+the youngest, prettiest and most ambitious of the quintette,
+and thereby paved the way for satisfactory
+though wholly unexpected social achievements in the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page97" id="page97"></a>[pg&nbsp;97]</span>
+City of Now York. His wife, with the customary British
+scorn for Americans, developed snobbish tendencies
+that rather alarmed Mr. Cricklewick at the outset of
+his business career in New York, but which ultimately
+produced the most remarkable results.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Almost before he was safely out of the habit of saying
+&quot;thank you&quot; when it wasn&#39;t at all necessary to
+say it, his wife had him down at Hot Springs, Virginia,
+for a month in the fall season, where, because of his exceptionally
+mellifluous English accent and a stateliness
+he had never been able to overcome, he was looked upon
+by certain Anglo-maniacs as a real and unmistakable
+&quot;toff.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cricklewick had been brought up in, or on, the very
+best of society. From his earliest days as third groom
+in the Camelford ménage to the end of his reign as
+major-domo, he had been in a position to observe and
+assimilate the manners of the elect. No one knew better
+than he how to go about being a gentleman. He
+had had his lessons, not to say examples, from the first
+gentlemen of England. Having been brought up on
+dukes and earls,&mdash;and all that sort of thing,&mdash;to say
+nothing of quite a majority in the House of Lords, he
+was in a fair way of knowing &quot;what&#39;s what,&quot; to use
+his own far from original expression.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">You couldn&#39;t fool Cricklewick to save your life. The
+instant he looked upon you he could put you where you
+belonged, and, so far as he was concerned, that was
+where you would have to stay.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It is doubtful if there was ever a more discerning,
+more discriminating butler in all England. It was his
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page98" id="page98"></a>[pg&nbsp;98]</span>
+rather astonishing contention that one could be quite
+at one&#39;s ease with dukes and duchesses and absolutely
+ill-at-ease with ordinary people. That was his way of
+making the distinction. It wasn&#39;t possible to be on
+terms of intimacy with the people who didn&#39;t belong.
+They never seemed to know their place.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The next thing he knew, after the Hot Springs visit,
+his name began to appear in the newspapers in columns
+next to advertising matter instead of the other way
+round. Up to this time it had been a struggle to get it
+in next to reading matter on account of the exorbitant
+rates demanded by the newspapers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He protested to his wife. &quot;Oh, I say, my dear, this
+is cutting it a bit thick, you know. You can&#39;t really be
+in earnest about it. I shouldn&#39;t know how to act sitting
+down at a dinner table like that, you know. I am informed
+that these people are regarded as real swells
+over &#39;ere,&mdash;here, I should say. You must sit down
+and drop &#39;em a line saying we can&#39;t come. Say we&#39;ve
+suddenly been called out of town, or had bad news
+from home, or&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Rubbish! It will do them no end of good to see
+how you act at table. Haven&#39;t you had the very best
+of training? All you have to do&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I had it standing, my dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Just the same, I shall accept the invitation. They
+are very excellent people, and I see no reason why we
+shouldn&#39;t know the best while we&#39;re about it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But they&#39;ve got millions,&quot; he expostulated.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well,&quot; said she, &quot;you musn&#39;t believe everything you
+hear about people with millions. I must say that I&#39;ve
+not seen anything especially vulgar about them. So
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page99" id="page99"></a>[pg&nbsp;99]</span>
+don&#39;t let that stand in your way, old dear.&quot; It was
+unconscious irony.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It hasn&#39;t been a great while since I was a butler,
+my love; don&#39;t forget that. A matter of a little over
+seven years.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Pray do not forget,&quot; said she coldly, &quot;that it
+hasn&#39;t been so very long since all these people over here
+were Indians.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick, being more or less hazy concerning
+overseas history, took heart. They went to the dinner
+and he, remembering just how certain noblemen of his
+acquaintance deported themselves, got on famously.
+And although his wife never had seen a duchess eat, except
+by proxy in the theatre, she left nothing to be desired,&mdash;except,
+perhaps, in the way of food, of which
+she was so fond that it was rather a bore to nibble as
+duchesses do.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Being a sensible and far-seeing woman, she did not resent
+it when he mildly protested that Lady So-and-So
+wouldn&#39;t have done this, and the Duchess of You-Know
+wouldn&#39;t have done that. She looked upon him
+as a master in the School of Manners. It was not long
+before she was able not only to hold her own with the
+élite, but also to hold her lorgnette with them. If she
+did not care to see you in a crowd she could overlook
+you in the very smartest way.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And so, after twenty or twenty-five years, we find
+the Cricklewicks,&mdash;mother, father and daughter,&mdash;substantially
+settled in the City of Masks, occupying an enviable
+position in society, and seldom, if ever,&mdash;even
+in the bosom of the family,&mdash;referring to the days of
+long ago,&mdash;a precaution no doubt inspired by the fear
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100" id="page100"></a>[pg&nbsp;100]</span>
+that they might be overheard and misunderstood by
+their own well-trained and admirable butler, whose respect
+they could not afford to lose.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Once a week, on Wednesday nights, Mr. Cricklewick
+took off his mask. It was, in a sense, his way of going
+to confession. He told his wife, however, that he was
+going to the club.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He sighed a little more briskly as he turned away
+from the window and crossed over to the closet in which
+his fur-lined coat and silk hat were hanging. It had
+taken time and a great deal of persuasion on the part
+of his wife to prove to him that it wasn&#39;t quite the thing
+to wear a silk hat with a sack coat in New York; he
+had grudgingly compromised with the barbaric demands
+of fashion by dispensing with the sack coat in
+favour of a cutaway. The silk hat was a fixture.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A lady asking to see you, sir,&quot; said his office-boy,
+after knocking on the door marked &quot;Private.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hold my coat for me, Thomas,&quot; said Mr. Cricklewick.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, sir,&quot; said Thomas. &quot;But she says you will
+see her, sir, just as soon as you gets a look at her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Obviously,&quot; said Mr. Cricklewick, shaking himself
+down into the great coat. &quot;Don&#39;t rub it the wrong
+way, you simpleton. You should always brush a silk
+hat with the nap and not&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;May I have a few words with you, Mr. Cricklewick?&quot;
+inquired a sweet, clear voice from the doorway.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The head of the house opened his lips to say something
+sharp to the office-boy, but the words died as he
+obeyed a magnetic influence and hazarded a glance at
+the intruder&#39;s face.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page101" id="page101"></a>[pg&nbsp;101]</span>
+&quot;Bless my soul!&quot; said he, staring. An instant later
+he had recovered himself. &quot;Take my coat, Thomas.
+Come in, Lady&mdash;er&mdash;Miss Emsdale. Thank you.
+Run along, Thomas. This is&mdash;ah&mdash;a most unexpected
+pleasure.&quot; The door closed behind Thomas.
+&quot;Pray have a chair, Miss Emsdale. Still quite cold,
+isn&#39;t it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I sha&#39;n&#39;t detain you for more than five or ten minutes,&quot;
+said Miss Emsdale, sinking into a chair.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;At your service,&mdash;quite at your service,&quot; said Mr.
+Cricklewick, dissolving in the presence of nobility. He
+could not have helped himself to save his life.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale came to the point at once. To save
+<i>her</i> life she could not think of Cricklewick as anything
+but an upper servant.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Please see if we are quite alone, Mr. Cricklewick,&quot;
+she said, laying aside her little fur neck-piece.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick started. Like a flash there shot into
+his brain the voiceless groan: &quot;It&#39;s always something.&quot;
+However, he made haste to assure her that
+they would not be disturbed. &quot;It is closing time, you
+see,&quot; he concluded, not without hope.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I could not get here any earlier,&quot; she explained.
+&quot;I stopped in to ask a little favour of you, Mr. Cricklewick.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You have only to mention it,&quot; said he, and then
+abruptly looked at his watch. The thought struck him
+that perhaps he did not have enough in his bill-folder; if
+not, it would be necessary to catch the cashier before
+the safe was closed for the day.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Lord Temple is in trouble, Mr. Cricklewick,&quot; she
+said, a queer little catch in her voice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page102" id="page102"></a>[pg&nbsp;102]</span>
+&quot;I&mdash;I am sorry to hear that,&quot; said he.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And I do not know of any one who is in a better
+position to help him than you,&quot; she went on coolly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall be happy to be of service to Lord Temple,&quot;
+said Mr. Cricklewick, but not very heartily. Observation
+had taught him that young noblemen seldom if
+ever get into trouble half way; they make a practice
+of going in clean over their heads.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Owing to an unpleasant misunderstanding with Mr.
+Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis, he has lost his situation as
+chauffeur for Mr. Carpenter,&quot; said she.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I hope he has not&mdash;ahem!&mdash;thumped him,&quot; said
+Mr. Cricklewick, in such dismay that he allowed the extremely
+undignified word to slip out.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She smiled faintly. &quot;I said unpleasant, Mr. Cricklewick,&mdash;not
+pleasant.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Bless my soul,&quot; said Mr. Cricklewick, blinking.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mr. Smith-Parvis has prevailed upon Mr. Carpenter
+to dismiss him, and I fear, between them,
+they are planning to drive him out of the city in disgrace.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Bless me! This is too bad.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Without divulging the cause of Smith-Parvis&#39;s animosity,
+she went briefly into the result thereof.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is really infamous,&quot; she concluded, her eyes flashing.
+&quot;Don&#39;t you agree with me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Having it put to him so abruptly as that, Mr.
+Cricklewick agreed with her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, then, we must put our heads together, Mr.
+Cricklewick,&quot; she said, with decision.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quite so,&quot; said he, a little vaguely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He is not to be driven out of the city,&quot; said she.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103" id="page103"></a>[pg&nbsp;103]</span>
+&quot;Nor is he to be unjustly accused of&mdash;of wrongdoing.
+We must see to that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick cleared his throat. &quot;He can avoid
+all that sort of thing, Lady&mdash;er&mdash;Miss Emsdale, by
+simply announcing that he is Lord Temple, heir to one
+of the&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, he wouldn&#39;t think of doing such a thing,&quot; said
+she quickly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;People would fall over themselves trying to put
+laurels on his head,&quot; he urged. &quot;And, unless I am
+greatly mistaken, the first to rush up would be the&mdash;er&mdash;the
+Smith-Parvises, headed by Stuyvesant.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No one knows the Smith-Parvises better than you,
+Mr. Cricklewick,&quot; she said, and for some reason he
+turned quite pink.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mrs. Cricklewick and I have seen a great deal of
+them in the past few years,&quot; he said, almost apologetically.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And that encourages me to repeat that no one
+knows them better than you,&quot; she said coolly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We are to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Parvis tonight,&quot;
+said Mr. Cricklewick.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Splendid!&quot; she cried, eagerly. &quot;That works in
+very nicely with the plan I have in mind. You must
+manage in some way to remark&mdash;quite casually, of
+course,&mdash;that you are very much interested in the affairs
+of a young fellow-countryman,&mdash;omitting the
+name, if you please,&mdash;who has been dismissed from
+service as a chauffeur, and who has been threatened&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But my dear Miss Emsdale, I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;&mdash;threatened with all sorts of things by his late
+employer. You may also add that you have communicated
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104" id="page104"></a>[pg&nbsp;104]</span>
+with our Ambassador at Washington, and that it
+is your intention to see your fellow-countryman through
+if it takes a&mdash;may I say leg, Mr. Cricklewick? Young
+Mr. Smith-Parvis will be there to hear you, so you may
+bluster as much as you please about Great Britain protecting
+her subjects to the very last shot. The entire
+machinery of the Foreign Office may be called into
+action, if necessary, to&mdash;but I leave all that to you.
+You might mention, modestly, that it&#39;s pretty ticklish
+business trying to twist the British lion&#39;s tail. Do you
+see what I mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick may have had an inward conviction
+that this was hardly what you would call asking a
+favour of a person, but if he had he kept it pretty well
+to himself. It did not occur to him that his present
+position in the world, as opposed to hers, justified a
+rather stiff reluctance on his part to take orders, or
+even suggestions, from this penniless young person,&mdash;especially
+in his own sacred lair. On the contrary, he
+was possessed by the instant and enduring realization
+that it was the last thing he could bring himself to
+the point of doing. His father, a butler before him,
+had gone to considerable pains to convince him, at the
+outset of his career, that insolence is by far the greatest
+of vices.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Still, in this emergency, he felt constrained to argue,&mdash;another
+vice sometimes modified by circumstances and
+the forbearance of one&#39;s betters.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I haven&#39;t communicated with our Ambassador
+at Washington,&quot; he said. &quot;And as for the Foreign
+Office taking the matter up&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, don&#39;t you see, <i>they</i> couldn&#39;t possibly know
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105" id="page105"></a>[pg&nbsp;105]</span>
+that, Mr. Cricklewick,&quot; she interrupted, frowning
+slightly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quite true,&mdash;but I should be telling a falsehood
+if I said anything of the sort.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Knowing you to be an absolutely truthful and reliable
+man, Mr. Cricklewick,&quot; she said mendaciously,
+&quot;they would not even dream of questioning your veracity.
+They do not believe you capable of telling a
+falsehood. Can&#39;t you see how splendidly it would all
+work out?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick couldn&#39;t see, and said so.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Besides,&quot; he went on, &quot;suppose that it should get
+to the ears of the Ambassador.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In that event, you could run over to Washington
+and tell him in private just who Thomas Trotter is, and
+then everything would be quite all right. You see,&quot;
+she went on earnestly, &quot;all you have to do is to drop
+a few words for the benefit of young Mr. Smith-Parvis.
+He looks upon you as one of the most powerful and influential
+men in the city, and he wouldn&#39;t have you discover
+that he is in anyway connected with such a vile,
+underhanded&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How am I to lead up to the subject of chauffeurs?&quot;
+broke in Mr. Cricklewick weakly. &quot;I can hardly begin
+talking about chauffeurs&mdash;er&mdash;out of a clear
+sky, you might say.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t begin by talking about chauffeurs,&quot; she
+counselled. &quot;Lead up to the issue by speaking of the
+friendly relations that exist between England and
+America, and proceed with the hope that nothing may
+ever transpire to sever the bond of blood&mdash;and so on.
+You know what I mean. It is quite simple. And then
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page106" id="page106"></a>[pg&nbsp;106]</span>
+look a little serious and distressed,&mdash;that ought to be
+easy, Mr. Cricklewick. You must see how naturally it
+all leads up to the unfortunate affair of your young
+countryman, whom you are bound to defend,&mdash;and <i>we</i>
+are bound to defend,&mdash;no matter what the consequences
+may be.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Two minutes later she arose triumphant, and put on
+her stole. Her eyes were sparkling.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I knew you couldn&#39;t stand by and see this outrageous
+thing done to Eric Temple. Thank you. I&mdash;goodness
+gracious, I quite forgot a most important
+thing. In the event that our little scheme does not
+have the desired result, and they persist in persecuting
+him, we must have something to fall back upon. I
+know McFaddan very slightly. (She did not speak of
+the ex-footman as Mr. McFaddan, nor did Cricklewick
+take account of the omission). He is, I am informed,
+one of the most influential men in New York,&mdash;one
+of the political bosses, Mr. Smith-Parvis says. He
+says he is a most unprincipled person. Well, don&#39;t
+you see, he is just the sort of person to fall back upon
+if all honest measures fail?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick rather blankly murmured something
+about &quot;honest measures,&quot; and then mopped his brow.
+Miss Emsdale&#39;s enthusiasm, while acutely ingenuous, had
+him &quot;sweating blood,&quot; as he afterwards put it during
+a calm and lucid period of retrospection.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I assure you I have no influence with McFaddan,&quot;
+he began, looking at his handkerchief,&mdash;and
+being relieved, no doubt, to find no crimson stains,&mdash;applied
+it to his neck with some confidence and vigour.
+&quot;In fact, we differ vastly in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page107" id="page107"></a>[pg&nbsp;107]</span>
+&quot;McFaddan, being in a position to dictate to the
+police and, if it should come to the worst, to the magistrates,
+is a most valuable man to have on our side, Mr.
+Cricklewick. If you could see him tomorrow morning,&mdash;I
+suppose it is too late to see him this evening,&mdash;and
+tell him just what you want him to do, I&#39;m sure&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, Miss Emsdale, you must allow me to say that
+McFaddan will absolutely refuse to take orders from
+me. He is no longer what you might say&mdash;er&mdash;in a
+position to be&mdash;er&mdash;you see what I mean, I hope.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nonsense!&quot; she said, dismissing his objection with
+a word. &quot;McFaddan is an Irishman and therefore
+eternally committed to the under dog, right or wrong.
+When you explain the circumstances to him, he will come
+to our assistance like a flash. And don&#39;t, overlook the
+fact, Mr. Cricklewick, that McFaddan will never see
+the day when he can ignore a&mdash;a request from you.&quot;
+She had almost said command, but caught the word
+in time. &quot;By the way, poor Trotter is out of a situation,
+and I may as well confess to you that he can ill
+afford to be without one. It has just occurred to me
+that you may know of some one among your wealthy
+friends, Mr. Cricklewick, who is in need of a good man.
+Please rack your brain. Some one to whom you can
+recommend him as a safe, skilful and competent chauffeur.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am glad you mention it,&quot; said he, brightening
+perceptibly in the light of something tangible. &quot;This
+afternoon I was called up on the telephone by a party&mdash;by
+some one, I mean to say,&mdash;asking for information
+concerning Klausen, the man who used to drive for me.
+I was obliged to say that his habits were bad, and that
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108" id="page108"></a>[pg&nbsp;108]</span>
+I could not recommend him. It was Mrs. Ellicott
+Millidew who inquired.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The young one or the old one?&quot; inquired Miss
+Emsdale quickly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The elder Mrs. Millidew,&quot; said Mr. Cricklewick, in
+a tone that implied deference to a lady who was entitled
+to it, even when she was not within earshot. &quot;Not
+the pretty young widow,&quot; he added, risking a smile.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s all right, then,&quot; said Miss Emsdale briskly.
+&quot;I am sure it would be a most satisfactory place for
+him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But she is a very exacting old lady,&quot; said he,
+&quot;and will require references.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am sure you can give him the very best of references,&quot;
+said she. &quot;She couldn&#39;t ask for anything better
+than your word that he is a splendid man in every
+particular. Thank you so much, Mr. Cricklewick.
+And Lord Temple will be ever so grateful to you too,
+I&#39;m sure. Oh, you cannot possibly imagine how relieved
+I am&mdash;about everything. We are very great
+friends, Lord Temple and I.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He watched the faint hint of the rose steal into her
+cheeks and a velvety softness come into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nothing could be more perfect,&quot; he said, irrelevantly,
+but with real feeling, and the glow of the rose
+deepened.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thank you again,&mdash;and good-bye,&quot; she said, turning
+toward the door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It was then that the punctilious Cricklewick forgot
+himself, and in his desire to be courteous, committed a
+most unpardonable offence.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My motor is waiting, Lady Jane,&quot; he said, the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page109" id="page109"></a>[pg&nbsp;109]</span>
+words falling out unwittingly. &quot;May I not drop you
+at Mr. Smith-Parvis&#39;s door?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, thank you,&quot; she said graciously. &quot;You are
+very good, but the stages go directly past the door.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">As the door closed behind her, Mr. Cricklewick sat
+down rather suddenly, overcome by his presumption.
+Think of it! He had had the brass to invite Lady
+Jane Thorne to accept a ride in his automobile! He
+might just as well have had the effrontery to ask her
+to dine at his house!</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page110" id="page110"></a>[pg&nbsp;110]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>
+
+<h3>MR. TROTTER FALLS INTO A NEW POSITION</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">THE sagacity of M. Mirabeau went far toward
+nullifying the hastily laid plans of Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis. It was he who suggested a prompt
+effort to recover the two marked bills that Trotter had
+handed to his landlady earlier in the day.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Prince Waldemar de Bosky, with a brand new
+twenty-dollar bill in his possession,&mdash;(supplied by the
+excited Frenchman)&mdash;boarded a Lexington Avenue
+car and in due time mounted the steps leading to the
+front door of the lodging house kept by Mrs. Dulaney.
+Ostensibly he was in search of a room for a gentleman
+of refinement and culture; Mrs. Dulaney&#39;s house had
+been recommended to him as first class in every particular.
+The landlady herself showed him a room,
+fourth-floor front, just vacated (she said) by a most
+refined gentleman engaged in the phonograph business.
+It was her rule to demand references from prospective
+lodgers, but as she had been in the business a great
+many years it was now possible for her to distinguish a
+gentleman the instant she laid eyes on him, so it would
+only be necessary for the present applicant to pay the
+first week&#39;s rent in advance. He could then move in
+at once.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">With considerable mortification, she declared that she
+wouldn&#39;t insist on the &quot;advance,&quot;&mdash;knowing gentlemen
+as perfectly as she did,&mdash;were it not for the fact that
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111" id="page111"></a>[pg&nbsp;111]</span>
+her rent was due and she was short exactly that amount,&mdash;having
+recently sent more than she could spare to a
+sick sister in Bridgeport.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky was very amiable about it,&mdash;and very
+courteous. He said that, so far as he knew, all gentlemen
+were prepared to pay five dollars in advance
+when they engaged lodgings by the week, and would
+she be so good as to take it out of the twenty-dollar
+bill?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Dulaney was slightly chagrined. The sight of
+a twenty-dollar bill caused her to regret not having
+asked for two weeks down instead of one.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If it does not inconvenience you, madam,&quot; said de
+Bosky, &quot;I should like the change in new bills. You
+have no idea how it offends my artistic sense to&mdash;&quot;
+He shuddered a little. &quot;I make a point of never having
+filthy, germ-disseminating bank notes on my person.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And you are quite right,&quot; said she feelingly. &quot;I
+wish to God I could afford to be as particular. If
+there&#39;s anything I hate it&#39;s a dirty old bill. Any one
+could tell that you are a real gentleman, Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;I
+didn&#39;t get the name, did I?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Drexel,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Excuse me,&quot; she said, and moved over a couple of
+paces in order to place the parlour table between herself
+and the prospective lodger. Using it as a screen,
+she fished a thin flat purse from her stocking, and
+opened it. &quot;I wouldn&#39;t do this in the presence of any
+one but a gentleman,&quot; she explained, without embarrassment.
+As she was twice the size of Prince Waldemar
+and of a ruggedness that challenged offence, one
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page112" id="page112"></a>[pg&nbsp;112]</span>
+might have been justified in crediting her with egotism
+instead of modesty.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Selecting the brightest and crispest from the layer of
+bank notes, she laid them on the table. De Bosky&#39;s
+eyes glistened.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The city has recently been flooded with counterfeit
+fives and tens, madam,&quot; he said politely. This afforded
+an excuse for holding the bills to the light for examination.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now, don&#39;t tell me they&#39;re phoney,&quot; said Mrs. Dulaney,
+bristling. &quot;I got &#39;em this morning from the
+squarest chap I&#39;ve ever had in my&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have every reason to believe they are genuine,&quot;
+said he, concealing his exultation behind a patronizing
+smile. He had discovered the tell-tale marks on both
+bills. Carefully folding them, he stuck them into his
+waistcoat pocket. &quot;You may expect me tomorrow,
+madam,&mdash;unless, of course, destiny should shape another
+end for me in the meantime. One never can tell,
+you know. I may be dead, or your comfortable house
+may be burned to the ground. It is&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For the Lord&#39;s sake, don&#39;t make a crack like that,&quot;
+she cried vehemently. &quot;It&#39;s bad luck to talk about
+fire.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In any event,&quot; said he jauntily, &quot;you have my
+five dollars. Au revoir, madam. Auf wiedersehn!&quot;
+He buttoned Mr. Bramble&#39;s ulster close about his
+throat and gravely bowed himself out into the falling
+night.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In the meantime, Mr. Bramble had substituted two
+unmarked bills for those remaining in the possession of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page113" id="page113"></a>[pg&nbsp;113]</span>
+Thomas Trotter, and, with the return of Prince Waldemar,
+triumphant, M. Mirabeau arbitrarily confiscated
+the entire thirty dollars.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;These bills must be concealed at once,&quot; he explained.
+&quot;Temporarily they are out of circulation. Do not
+give them another thought, my dear Trotter. And
+now, Monsieur Bookseller, we are in a proper frame of
+mind to discuss the beefsteak you have neglected to
+order.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;God bless my soul,&quot; cried Mr. Bramble in great
+dismay. His unceremonious departure an instant later
+was due to panic. Mrs. O&#39;Leary had to be stopped
+before the tripe and tunny fish had gone too far.
+Moreover, he had forgotten to tell her that there would
+be two extra for dinner,&mdash;besides the extra sirloin.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On the following Monday, Thomas Trotter entered
+the service of Mrs. Millidew, and on the same day Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis returned to New York after a
+hasty and more or less unpremeditated visit to Atlantic
+City, where he experienced a trying half hour with the
+unreasonable Mr. Carpenter, who spoke feelingly of a
+personal loss and most unfeelingly of the British Foreign
+Office. Every nation in the world, he raged, has
+a foreign office; foreign offices are as plentiful as birds&#39;-nests.
+But Tom Trotters were as scarce as hen&#39;s-teeth.
+He would never find another like him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And what&#39;s more,&quot; he interrupted himself to say,
+glowering at the shocked young man, &quot;he&#39;s a gentleman,
+and that&#39;s something you ain&#39;t,&mdash;not in a million
+years.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ass!&quot; said Mr. Smith-Parvis, under his breath.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page114" id="page114"></a>[pg&nbsp;114]</span>
+&quot;What&#39;s that?&quot; roared the aggrieved one.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t shout like that! People are beginning to
+stare at&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thank the Lord I had sense enough to engage a
+private detective and not to call in the police, as you
+suggested. That would have been the limit. I&#39;ve a
+notion to hunt that boy up and tell him the whole
+rotten story.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go ahead and do it,&quot; invited Stuyvie, his eyes narrowing,
+&quot;and I will do a little telling myself. There
+is one thing in particular your wife would give her ears
+to hear about you. It will simplify matters tremendously.
+Go ahead and tell him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Carpenter appeared to be reflecting. His inflamed
+sullen eyes assumed a misty, faraway expression.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For two cents I&#39;d tell you to go to hell,&quot; he said,
+after a long silence.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Boy!&quot; called Mr. Smith-Parvis loftily, signalling
+a passing bell-hop. &quot;Go and get me some small change
+for this nickel.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Carpenter&#39;s face relaxed into a sickly grin.
+&quot;Can&#39;t you take a joke?&quot; he inquired peevishly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Never mind,&quot; said Stuyvie to the bell-boy. &quot;I
+sha&#39;n&#39;t need it after all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What I&#39;d like to know,&quot; mused Mr. Carpenter,
+later on, &quot;is how in thunder the New York police
+department got wind of all this.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Smith-Parvis, Junior, wiped a fine moisture from
+his brow, and said: &quot;I forgot to mention that I had
+to give that plain-clothes man fifty dollars to keep him
+from going to old man Cricklewick with the whole
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page115" id="page115"></a>[pg&nbsp;115]</span>
+blooming story. It seems that he got it from your
+bally private detective.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good!&quot; said the other brightly. &quot;You got off
+cheap,&quot; he added quickly, catching the look in Stuyvie&#39;s
+eye.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I did it to spare Cricklewick a whole lot of embarrassment,&quot;
+said the younger man stiffly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t get you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He never could look me in the face again if he
+found out I was the man he was panning so unmercifully
+the other night at our own dinner table.&quot; He
+wiped his brow again. &quot;&#39;Gad, he&#39;d never forgive himself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Which goes to prove that Stuyvie was more considerate
+of the feelings of others than one might have
+credited him with being.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Millidew was very particular about chauffeurs,&mdash;an
+idiosyncrasy, it may be said, that brought her
+into contact with a great many of them in the course
+of a twelvemonth. The last one to leave her without
+giving the customary week&#39;s notice had remained in her
+employ longer than any of his predecessors. A most
+astonishing discrepancy appeared in their statements
+as to the exact length of time he was in her service.
+Mrs. Millidew maintained that he was with her for
+exactly three weeks; the chauffeur swore to high heaven
+that it was three centuries.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She had Thomas Trotter up before her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You have been recommended to me by Mr. Cricklewick,&quot;
+she said, regarding him with a critical eye.
+&quot;No other reference is necessary, so don&#39;t go fumbling
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page116" id="page116"></a>[pg&nbsp;116]</span>
+in your pockets for a pack of filthy envelopes. What
+is your name?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She was a fat little old woman with yellow hair and
+exceedingly black and carefully placed eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thomas Trotter, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How tall are you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Six feet.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am afraid you will not do,&quot; she said, taking another
+look at him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter stared. &quot;I am sorry, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are much too tall. Nothing will fit you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Are you speaking of livery, madam?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m speaking of a uniform,&quot; she said. &quot;I can&#39;t
+be buying new uniforms every two weeks. I don&#39;t mind
+a cap once in awhile, but uniforms cost money. Mr.
+Cricklewick didn&#39;t tell me you were so tall. As a matter
+of fact, I think I neglected to say to him that you
+would have to be under five feet nine and fairly thin.
+You couldn&#39;t possibly squeeze into the uniform, my man.
+I am sorry. I have tried everything but an English
+chauffeur, and&mdash;you <i>are</i> English, aren&#39;t you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, madam. Permit me to solve the problem for
+you. I never, under any circumstances, wear livery,&mdash;I
+beg your pardon, I should say a uniform.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You never what?&quot; demanded Mrs. Millidew, blinking.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Wear livery,&quot; said he, succinctly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That settles it,&quot; said she. &quot;You&#39;d have to if you
+worked for me. Now, see here, my man, it&#39;s possible
+you&#39;ll change your mind after you&#39;ve seen the uniform
+I put on my chauffeurs. It&#39;s a sort of maroon&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I beg your pardon, madam,&quot; he interrupted politely,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page117" id="page117"></a>[pg&nbsp;117]</span>
+favouring her with his never-failing smile. Her
+gaze rested for a moment on his white, even teeth, and
+then went up to meet his deep grey eyes. &quot;A cap is
+as far as I go. A sort of blue fatigue cap, you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I like your face,&quot; said she regretfully. &quot;You are
+quite a good-looking fellow. The last man I had looked
+like a street cleaner, even in his maroon coat and white
+pants. I&mdash;Don&#39;t you think you could be persuaded
+to put it on if I,&mdash;well, if I added five dollars a week
+to your wages? I like your looks. You look as if
+you might have been a soldier.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter swallowed hard. &quot;I shouldn&#39;t in the least
+object to wearing the uniform of a soldier, Mrs. Millidew.
+That&#39;s quite different, you see.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Suppose I take you on trial for a couple of weeks,&quot;
+she ventured, surrendering to his smile and the light in
+his unservile eyes. Considering the matter settled, she
+went on brusquely: &quot;How old are you, Trotter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thirty.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Are you married? I never employ married men.
+Their wives are always having babies or operations or
+something disagreeable and unnecessary.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am not married, Mrs. Millidew.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Who was your last employer in England?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;His Majesty King George the Fifth,&quot; said Trotter
+calmly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Her eyes bulged. &quot;What?&quot; she cried. Then her
+eyes narrowed. &quot;And do you mean to tell me you
+didn&#39;t wear a uniform when you worked for him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I wore a uniform, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Umph! America has spoiled you, I see. That&#39;s
+always the way. Independence is a curse. Have you
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page118" id="page118"></a>[pg&nbsp;118]</span>
+ever been arrested? Wait! Don&#39;t answer. I withdraw
+the question. You would only lie, and that is a
+bad way to begin.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I lie only when it is absolutely necessary, Mrs. Millidew.
+In police courts, for example.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good! Now, you are young, good looking and
+likely to be spoiled. It must be understood in the beginning,
+Trotter, that there is to be no foolishness with
+women.&quot; She regarded him severely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No foolishness whatsoever,&quot; said he humbly, raising
+his eyes to heaven.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How long were you employed in your last job&mdash;ah,
+situation?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not quite a twelve-month, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And now,&quot; she said, with a graciousness that surprised
+her, &quot;perhaps you would like to put a few questions
+to me. The cooks always do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He smiled more engagingly than ever. &quot;As they say
+in the advertisements of lost jewellery, madam,&mdash;&#39;no
+questions asked,&#39;&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Eh? Oh, I see. Rather good. I hope you know
+your place, though,&quot; she added, narrowly. &quot;I don&#39;t
+approve of freshness.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No more do I,&quot; said he, agreeably.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I suppose you are accustomed to driving in&mdash;er&mdash;in
+good society, Trotter. You know what I mean.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Perfectly. I have driven in the very best, madam,
+if I do say it as shouldn&#39;t. Beg pardon, I daresay you
+mean smart society?&quot; He appeared to be very much
+concerned, even going so far as to send an appraising
+eye around the room,&mdash;doubtless for the purpose of
+satisfying himself that <i>she</i> was quite up to the standard.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page119" id="page119"></a>[pg&nbsp;119]</span>
+&quot;Of course,&quot; she said hastily. Something told her
+that if she didn&#39;t nab him on the spot he would get away
+from her. &quot;Can you start in at once, Trotter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We have not agreed upon the wages, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have never paid less than forty a week,&quot; she said
+stiffly. &quot;Even for bad ones,&quot; she added.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He smiled, but said nothing, apparently waiting for
+her to proceed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Would fifty a week suit you?&quot; she asked, after a
+long pause. She was a little helpless.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quite,&quot; said he.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s a lot of money,&quot; she murmured. &quot;But I like
+the way you speak English. By the way, let me hear
+you say: &#39;It is half after four, madam. Are you
+going on to Mrs. Brown&#39;s.&#39;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter laid himself out. He said &quot;hawf-paast,&quot;
+and &quot;fou-ah,&quot; and &quot;Meddem,&quot; and &quot;gehing,&quot; in a
+way that delighted her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall be going out at three o&#39;clock, Trotter. Be
+on time. I insist on punctuality.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Very good, madam,&quot; he said, and retreated in good
+order. She halted him at the door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Above all things you mustn&#39;t let any of these silly
+women make a fool of you, Trotter,&quot; she said, a troubled
+gleam in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I will do my best, madam,&quot; he assured her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And that very afternoon she appeared in triumph at
+the home of her daughter-in-law (the <i>young</i> Mrs. Millidew)
+and invited that widowed siren to go out for a
+spin with her &quot;behind the stunningest creature you
+ever laid your eyes on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Where did you get him?&quot; inquired the beautiful
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page120" id="page120"></a>[pg&nbsp;120]</span>
+daughter-in-law, later on, in a voice perfectly audible
+to the man at the wheel. &quot;He&#39;s the best looking thing
+in town. Don&#39;t be surprised if I steal him inside of a
+week.&quot; She might as well have been at the zoo, discussing
+impervious captives.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now, don&#39;t try anything like that,&quot; cried Mrs. Millidew
+the elder, glaring fiercely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I like the way his hair kinks in the back,&mdash;and just
+above his ears,&quot; said the other. &quot;And his skin is as
+smooth and as clear&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is there any drive in particular you would like to
+take, madam?&quot; broke in Trotter, turning in the seat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Up&mdash;up and down Fifth Avenue,&quot; said Mrs. Millidew
+promptly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Did you ever see such teeth?&quot; cried Mrs. Millidew,
+the younger, delightedly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter&#39;s ears were noticeable on account of their
+colour.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page121" id="page121"></a>[pg&nbsp;121]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>
+
+<h3>PUTTING THEIR HEADS&mdash;AND HEARTS&mdash;TOGETHER</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;FOR every caress,&quot; philosophized the Marchioness,
+&quot;there is a pinch. Somehow they manage
+to keep on pretty even terms. One receives the caresses
+fairly early in life, the pinches later on. You
+shouldn&#39;t be complaining at your time of life, my
+friend.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She was speaking to Lord Temple, who had presented
+himself a full thirty minutes ahead of other
+expected guests at the Wednesday evening salon. He
+explained that he came early because he had to leave
+early. Mrs. Millidew was at the theatre. She was
+giving a box party. He had been directed to return to
+the theatre before the end of the second act. Mrs. Millidew,
+it appears, was in the habit of &quot;walking out&quot;
+on every play she attended, sometimes at the end of an
+act but more frequently in the middle of it, greatly to
+the relief of actors and audience.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="indent">(&quot;Tell me something good to read,&quot; said one of her
+guests, in the middle of the first act, addressing no one
+in particular, the audience being a very large one. &quot;Is
+there anything new that&#39;s worth while?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;<i>The Three Musketeers</i> is a corker,&quot; said the man
+next her. &quot;Awfully exciting.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Write it down for me, dear boy. I will order it
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page122" id="page122"></a>[pg&nbsp;122]</span>
+sent up tomorrow. One has so little time to read, you
+know. Anything else?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You <i>must</i> read <i>Trilby</i>,&quot; cried one of the other
+women, frowning slightly in the direction of the stage,
+where an actor was doing his best to break into the
+general conversation. &quot;It&#39;s perfectly ripping, I hear.
+And there is another book called <i>Three Men in a Yacht</i>,
+or something like that. Have you had it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No. Good Lord, what a noisy person he is! One
+can&#39;t hear oneself think, the way he&#39;s roaring. <i>Three
+Men in a Yacht.</i> Put that down, too, Bertie. Dear
+me, how do you find the time to keep up with your reading,
+my dear? It&#39;s absolutely impossible for me. I&#39;m
+always six months or a year behind&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Have you read <i>Brewster&#39;s Millions</i>, Mrs. Corkwright?&quot;
+timidly inquired a rather up-to-date gentleman.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That isn&#39;t a book. It&#39;s a play,&quot; said Mrs. Millidew.
+&quot;I saw it ten years ago. There is a ship in it.&quot;)</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m not complaining,&quot; remarked Lord Temple, smiling
+down upon the Marchioness, who was seated in front
+of the fireplace. &quot;I merely announced that the world
+is getting to be a dreary old place,&mdash;and that&#39;s all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah, but you made the announcement after a silence
+of five minutes following my remark that Lady Jane
+Thorne finds it impossible to be with us tonight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He blushed. &quot;Did it seem as long as that?&quot; he
+said, penitently. &quot;I&#39;m sorry.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How do you like your new situation?&quot; she inquired,
+changing the subject abruptly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page123" id="page123"></a>[pg&nbsp;123]</span>
+He gave a slight start. It was an unwritten law
+that one&#39;s daily occupation should not be discussed at
+the weekly drawing-rooms. For example, it is easy
+to conceive that one could not be forgiven for asking
+the Count Pietro Poloni how many nickels he
+had taken in during the day as Humpy the Organ-grinder.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple also stared. Was it possible that she
+was forgetting that Thomas Trotter, the chauffeur, was
+hanging over the back of a chair in the locker room
+down-stairs,&mdash;where he had been left by a hurried and
+somewhat untidy Lord Temple?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;As well as could be expected,&quot; he replied, after a
+moment.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mrs. Millidew came in to see me today. She informed
+me that she had put in her thumb and pulled out
+a plum. Meaning you, of course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How utterly English you are, my dear Marchioness.
+She mentioned a fruit of some kind, and you
+missed the point altogether. &#39;Peach&#39; is the word she&#39;s
+been using for the past two days, just plain, ordinary
+&#39;peach.&#39; A dozen times a day she sticks a finger almost
+up against my manly back, and says proudly: &#39;See my
+new chauffeur. Isn&#39;t he a peach?&#39; I can&#39;t see how
+you make plum out of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness laughed. &quot;It doesn&#39;t matter.
+She dragged me to the window this afternoon and
+pointed down at you sitting alone in all your splendour.
+I am afraid I gasped. I couldn&#39;t believe my eyes.
+You won&#39;t last long, dear boy. She&#39;s a dreadful
+woman.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m not worrying. I shouldn&#39;t be out of a situation
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page124" id="page124"></a>[pg&nbsp;124]</span>
+long. Do you happen to know her daughter-in-law?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I do,&quot; said the Marchioness, frowning.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She told me this morning that the instant I felt I
+couldn&#39;t stand the old lady any longer, she&#39;d give me
+a job on the spot. As a matter-of-fact, she went so
+far as to say she&#39;d be willing to pay me more money if
+I felt the slightest inclination to leave my present position
+at once.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness smiled faintly. &quot;No other recommendation
+necessary, eh?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Beg pardon?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In other words, she is willing to accept you at your
+face value.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I daresay I have a competent face,&quot; he acknowledged,
+his smile broadening into a grin.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Designed especially for women,&quot; said she.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He coloured. &quot;Oh, I say, that&#39;s a bit rough.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And thoroughly approved by men,&quot; she added.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s better,&quot; he said. &quot;I&#39;m not a ladies&#39; man,
+you know,&mdash;thank God.&quot; His face clouded. &quot;Is
+Lady Jane ill?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Apparently not. She merely telephoned to say it
+would be impossible to come.&quot; She eyed him shrewdly.
+&quot;Do you know anything about it, young man?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Have you seen her,&mdash;lately?&quot; he parried.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yesterday afternoon,&quot; she answered, keeping her
+eyes upon his half-averted face. &quot;See here, Eric Temple,&quot;
+she broke out suddenly, &quot;she is unhappy&mdash;most
+unhappy. I am not sure that I ought to tell you&mdash;and
+yet, you are in love with her, so you should know.
+Now, don&#39;t say you are not in love with her! Save
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page125" id="page125"></a>[pg&nbsp;125]</span>
+your breath. The trouble is, you are not the only
+man who is in that peculiar fix.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I know,&quot; he said, frowning darkly. &quot;She&#39;s being
+annoyed by that infernal blighter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oho, so you <i>do</i> know, then?&quot; she cried. &quot;She was
+very careful to leave you out of the story altogether.
+Well, I&#39;m glad you know. What are you going to do
+about it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I? Why,&mdash;why, what <i>can</i> I do?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;There is a great deal you can do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But she has laid down the law, hard and fast. She
+won&#39;t let me,&quot; he groaned.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness blinked rapidly. &quot;Well, of all the
+stupid,&mdash;Say that again, please.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She won&#39;t let me. I would in a second, you know,&mdash;no
+matter if it did land me in jail for&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What are you talking about?&quot; she gasped.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Punching his bally head till he wouldn&#39;t know it
+himself in the mirror,&quot; he grated, looking at his fist
+almost tearfully.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness opened her lips to say something,
+thought better of it, and turned her head to smile.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Moreover,&quot; he went on, &quot;she&#39;s right. Might get
+her into no end of a mess with those people, you see.
+It breaks my heart to think of her&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He wants her to run away with him and be married,&quot;
+she broke in.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What!&quot; he almost shouted, glaring at her as if
+she were the real offender. &quot;You&mdash;did she tell you
+that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes. He rather favours San Francisco. He
+wants her to go out there with him and be married by
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page126" id="page126"></a>[pg&nbsp;126]</span>
+a chap to whom he promised the distinction while they
+were still in their teens.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The cur! That&#39;s his game, is it? Why, that&#39;s the
+foulest trick known to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But she isn&#39;t going, my friend,&mdash;so possess yourself
+in peace. That&#39;s why he is turning off so nasty.
+He is making things most unpleasant for her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He wondered how far Jane had gone in her confidences.
+Had she told the Marchioness everything?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Why doesn&#39;t she leave the place?&quot; he demanded,
+as a feeler.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lady Jane had told the Marchioness everything, and
+a great deal more besides, including, it may be said,
+something touching upon her own feelings toward Lord
+Temple. But the Marchioness was under imperative
+orders. Not for the world, was Thomas Trotter to
+know that Miss Emsdale, among others, was a perfect
+fool about him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She must have her bread and butter, you know,&quot;
+said she severely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But she can get that elsewhere, can&#39;t she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Certainly. She can get it by marrying some decent,
+respectable fellow and all that sort of thing, but
+she can&#39;t get another place in New York as governess if
+the Smith-Parvis establishment turns her out with a bad
+name.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He swallowed hard, and went a little pale. &quot;Of
+course, she isn&#39;t thinking of&mdash;of getting married.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, she is,&quot; said the Marchioness flatly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Has&mdash;has she told you that in so many words,
+Marchioness?&quot; he asked, his heart going to his boots.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is it fair to ask that question, Lord Temple?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page127" id="page127"></a>[pg&nbsp;127]</span>
+&quot;No. It isn&#39;t fair. I have no right to pry into her
+affairs. I&#39;m&mdash;I&#39;m desperately concerned, that&#39;s all.
+It&#39;s my only excuse.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It isn&#39;t strange that she should be in love, is it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I&mdash;I don&#39;t see who the deuce she can have
+found over here to&mdash;to fall in love with,&quot; he floundered.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;There are millions of good, fine Americans, my
+friend. Young Smith-Parvis is one of the exceptions.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He isn&#39;t an American,&quot; said Lord Temple, savagely.
+&quot;Don&#39;t insult America by mentioning his name in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Please, please! Be careful not to knock over the
+lamp, dear boy. It&#39;s Florentine, and Count Antonio
+says it came from some dreadful sixteenth-century
+woman&#39;s bedroom, price two hundred guineas net.
+She&#39;s afraid she&#39;s being watched.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She? Oh, you mean Lady Jane?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Certainly. The other woman has been dead for
+centuries. Jane thinks it isn&#39;t safe for her to come
+here for a little while. There&#39;s no telling what the
+wretch may stoop to, you see.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple squared his shoulders. &quot;I don&#39;t see
+how you can be so cheerful about it,&quot; he said icily. &quot;I
+fear it isn&#39;t worth while to ask the favour I came to&mdash;er&mdash;to
+ask of you tonight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t be silly. Tell me what I can do for you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It isn&#39;t for me. It&#39;s for her. I came early tonight
+so that we could talk it all over before any one
+else arrived. I&#39;ve slept precious little the last few
+nights, Marchioness.&quot; His brow was furrowed as with
+pain. &quot;In the first place, you will agree that she cannot
+remain in that house up there. That&#39;s settled.&quot;
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page128" id="page128"></a>[pg&nbsp;128]</span>
+As she did not offer any audible support, he demanded,
+after a pause: &quot;Isn&#39;t it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I daresay she will have something to say about
+that,&quot; she said, temporizing. &quot;She is her own mistress,
+you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But the poor girl doesn&#39;t know where to turn,&quot; he
+protested. &quot;She&#39;d chuck it in a second if something
+else turned up.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I spoke of marriage, you will remember,&quot; she remarked,
+drily.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I know,&quot; he gulped. &quot;But we&#39;ve just got to
+tide her over the rough going until she&#39;s&mdash;until she&#39;s
+ready, you see.&quot; He could not force the miserable
+word out of his mouth. &quot;Now, I have a plan. Are
+you prepared to back me up in it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How can I answer that question?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, I&#39;ll explain,&quot; he went on rapidly, eagerly.
+&quot;We&#39;ve got to make a new position for her. I can&#39;t do
+it without your help, of course, so we&#39;ll have to combine
+forces. Now, here&#39;s the scheme I&#39;ve worked out. You
+are to give her a place here,&mdash;not downstairs in the
+shop, mind you,&mdash;but upstairs in your own, private
+apartment. You&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good heavens, man! What are you saying?
+Would you have Lady Jane Thorne go into service?
+Do you dare suggest that she should put on a cap and
+apron and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not at all,&quot; he interrupted. &quot;I want you to engage
+her as your private secretary, at a salary of one
+hundred dollars a month. She&#39;s receiving that amount
+from the Smith-Parvises. I don&#39;t see how she can get
+along on less, so&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page129" id="page129"></a>[pg&nbsp;129]</span>
+&quot;My dear man!&quot; cried the Marchioness, in amazement.
+&quot;What <i>are</i> you talking about? In the first
+place, I haven&#39;t the slightest use for a private secretary.
+In the second place, I can&#39;t afford to pay one hundred&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You haven&#39;t heard all I have to say&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And in the third place, Lady Jane wouldn&#39;t consider
+it in the first place. Bless my soul, you <i>do</i> need
+sleep. You are losing your&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She sends nearly all of her salary over to the boy
+at home,&quot; he went on earnestly. &quot;It will have to be
+one hundred dollars, at the very lowest. Now, here&#39;s
+my proposition. I am getting two hundred a month.
+It&#39;s just twice as much as I&#39;m worth,&mdash;or any other
+chauffeur, for that matter. Well, now what&#39;s the matter
+with me taking just what I&#39;m worth and giving her
+the other half? See what I mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was standing before her, his eyes glowing, his
+voice full of boyish eagerness. As she looked up into
+his shining eyes, a tender smile came and played about
+her lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I see,&quot; she said softly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well?&quot; he demanded anxiously, after a moment.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Do sit down,&quot; she said. &quot;You appear to have
+grown prodigiously tall in the last few minutes. I shall
+have a dreadful crick in my neck, I&#39;m afraid.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He pulled up a chair and sat down.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I can get along like a breeze on a hundred dollars
+a month,&quot; he pursued. &quot;I&#39;ve worked it all out,&mdash;just
+how much I can save by moving into cheaper lodgings,
+and cutting out expensive cigarettes, and going on the
+water-wagon entirely,&mdash;although I rarely take a drink
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page130" id="page130"></a>[pg&nbsp;130]</span>
+as it is,&mdash;and getting my clothes at a department
+store instead of having them sent out from London,&mdash;I&#39;d
+be easy to fit, you see, even with hand-me-downs,&mdash;and
+in a lot of other ways. Besides, it would be a
+splendid idea for me to practise economy. I&#39;ve
+never&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You dear old goose,&quot; broke in the Marchioness, delightedly;
+&quot;do you think for an instant that I will
+allow you to pay the salary of my private secretary,&mdash;if
+I should conclude to employ one?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But you say you can&#39;t afford to employ one,&quot; he
+protested. &quot;Besides, I shouldn&#39;t want her to be a real
+secretary. The work would be too hard and too confining.
+Old Bramble was my grandfather&#39;s secretary.
+He worked sixteen hours a day and never had a holiday.
+She must have plenty of fresh air and outdoor exercise
+and&mdash;and time to read and do all sorts of agreeable
+things. I couldn&#39;t think of allowing her to learn how
+to use a typing machine, or to write shorthand, or to
+get pains in her back bending over a desk for hours at a
+time. That isn&#39;t my scheme, at all. She mustn&#39;t do
+any of those stupid things. Naturally, if you were
+to pay her out of your own pocket, you&#39;d be justified
+in demanding a lot of hard, exacting work&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Just a moment, please. Let&#39;s be serious,&quot; said the
+Marchioness, pursing her lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Suffering&mdash;&quot; he began, staring at her in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I mean, let&#39;s seriously consider your scheme,&quot; she
+hastened to amend. &quot;You are assuming, of course,
+that she will accept a position such as you suggest.
+Suppose she says no,&mdash;what then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page131" id="page131"></a>[pg&nbsp;131]</span>
+&quot;I leave that entirely to you,&quot; said he, composedly.
+&quot;You can persuade her, I&#39;m sure.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She is no fool. She is perfectly well aware that I
+don&#39;t require the services of a secretary, that I am quite
+able to manage my private affairs myself. She would
+see through me in a second. She is as proud as Lucifer.
+I don&#39;t like to think of what she would say to me.
+And if I were to offer to pay her one hundred dollars
+a month, she would&mdash;well, she would think I was losing
+my mind. She knows I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By Jove!&quot; he exclaimed, slapping his knee, his face
+beaming. &quot;That&#39;s the ticket! That simplifies everything.
+Let her think you <i>are</i> losing your mind. From
+worry and overwork&mdash;and all that sort of thing. It&#39;s
+the very thing, Marchioness. She would drop everything
+to help you in a case like that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, of all the&mdash;&quot; began the Marchioness, aghast.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You can put it up to her something like this,&quot; he
+went on, enthusiastically. &quot;Tell her you are on the
+point of having a nervous breakdown,&mdash;a sort of collapse,
+you know. You know how to put it, better than
+I do. You&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I certainly do <i>not</i> know how to put it better than
+you do,&quot; she cried, sitting up very straight.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Tell her you are dreadfully worried over not being
+able to remember things,&mdash;mental strain, and all that
+sort of thing. May have to give up business altogether
+unless you can&mdash;Is it a laughing matter, Marchioness?&quot;
+he broke off, reddening to the roots of his hair.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are delicious!&quot; she cried, dabbing her eyes with
+a bit of a lace handkerchief. &quot;I haven&#39;t laughed so
+heartily in months. Bless my soul, you&#39;ll have me telling
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page132" id="page132"></a>[pg&nbsp;132]</span>
+her there is insanity in my family before you&#39;re
+through with it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not at all,&quot; he said severely. &quot;People <i>never</i> admit
+that sort of thing, you know. But certainly it isn&#39;t
+asking too much of you to act tired and listless, and a
+<i>little</i> distracted, is it? She&#39;ll ask what&#39;s the matter,
+and you simply say you&#39;re afraid you&#39;re going to have a
+nervous breakdown or&mdash;or&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Or paresis,&quot; she supplied.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Whatever you like,&quot; he said promptly. &quot;Now you
+<i>will</i> do this for me, won&#39;t you? You don&#39;t know what
+it will mean to me to feel that she is safe here with you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I will do my best,&quot; she said, for she loved him
+dearly&mdash;and the girl that he loved dearly too.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hurray!&quot; he shouted,&mdash;and kissed her!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t be foolish,&quot; she cried out. &quot;You&#39;ve tumbled
+my hair, and Julia had a terrible time with it tonight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;When will you tackle&mdash;see her, I mean?&quot; he
+asked, sitting down abruptly and drawing his chair a
+little closer.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The first time she comes in to see me,&quot; she replied
+firmly, &quot;and not before. You must not demand too
+much of a sick, collapsible old lady, you know. Give
+me time,&mdash;and a chance to get my bearings.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He drew a long breath. &quot;I seem to be getting my
+own for the first time in days.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She hesitated. &quot;Of course, it is all very quixotic,&mdash;and
+most unselfish of you, Lord Temple. Not every
+man would do as much for a girl who&mdash;well, I&#39;ll not
+say a girl who is going to be married before long, because
+I&#39;d only be speculating,&mdash;but for a girl, at any
+rate, who can never be expected to repay. I take it,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page133" id="page133"></a>[pg&nbsp;133]</span>
+of course, that Lady Jane is never, under any circumstances
+to know that you are the real paymaster.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She must never know,&quot; he gasped, turning a shade
+paler. &quot;She would hate me, and&mdash;well, I couldn&#39;t
+stand that, you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And you will not repent when the time comes for
+her to marry?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ll&mdash;I&#39;ll be miserably unhappy, but&mdash;but, you
+will not hear a whimper out of me,&quot; he said, his face
+very long.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Spoken like a hero,&quot; she said, and again she
+laughed, apparently without reason. &quot;Some one is
+coming. Will you stay?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No; I&#39;ll be off, Marchioness. You don&#39;t know how
+relieved I am. I&#39;ll drop in tomorrow some time to see
+what she says,&mdash;and to arrange with you about the
+money. Good night!&quot; He kissed her hand, and
+turned to McFaddan, who had entered the room. &quot;Call
+a taxi for me, McFaddan.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Very good, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Wait! Never mind. I&#39;ll walk or take a street
+car.&quot; To the Marchioness: &quot;I&#39;m beginning right
+now,&quot; he said, with his gayest smile.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In the foyer he encountered Cricklewick.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Pleasant evening, Cricklewick,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is, your lordship. Most agreeable change, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A bit soft under foot.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Slushy, sir,&quot; said Cricklewick, obsequiously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page134" id="page134"></a>[pg&nbsp;134]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>
+
+<h3>WINNING BY A NOSE</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">MRS. SMITH-PARVIS, having received the annual
+spring announcement from Juneo &amp; Co.,
+repaired, on an empty Thursday, to the show-rooms
+and galleries of the little Italian dealer in antiques.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Twice a year she disdainfully,&mdash;and somewhat hastily,&mdash;went
+through his stock, always proclaiming at
+the outset that she was merely &quot;looking around&quot;;
+she&#39;d come in later if she saw anything really worth
+having. It was her habit to demand the services of
+Mr. Juneo himself on these profitless visits to his
+establishment. She looked holes through the presumptuous
+underlings who politely adventured to inquire if
+she was looking for anything in particular. It would
+seem that the only thing in particular that she was
+looking for was the head of the house, and if he happened
+to be out she made it very plain that she didn&#39;t
+see how he ever did any business if he wasn&#39;t there to
+look after it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And if little Mr. Juneo was in, she swiftly conducted
+him through the various departments of his own shop,
+questioning the genuineness of everything, denouncing
+his prices, and departing at last with the announcement
+that she could always find what she wanted at Pickett&#39;s.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At Pickett&#39;s she invariably encountered coldly punctilious
+gentlemen in &quot;frockaway&quot; coats, who were never
+quite sure, without inquiring, whether Mr. Moody was
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page135" id="page135"></a>[pg&nbsp;135]</span>
+at liberty. Would she kindly take a seat and wait, or
+would she prefer to have a look about the galleries
+while some one went off to see if he could see her at once
+or a little later on? She liked all this. And she would
+wander about the luxurious rooms of the establishment
+of Pickett, Inc., content to stare languidly at other and
+less influential patrons who had to be satisfied with the
+smug attentions of ordinary salesmen.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And Moody, being acutely English, laid it on very
+thick when it came to dealing with persons of the type
+of Mrs. Smith-Parvis. Somehow he had learned that
+in dealing with snobs one must transcend even in snobbishness.
+The only way to command the respect of a
+snob is to go him a little better,&mdash;indeed, according
+to Moody, it isn&#39;t altogether out of place to go him a
+great deal better. The loftier the snob, the higher you
+must shoot to get over his head (to quote Moody, whose
+training as a footman in one of the oldest houses in
+England had prepared him against almost any emergency).
+He assumed on occasion a polite, bored indifference
+that seldom failed to have the desired effect. In
+fact, he frequently went so far as to pretend to stifle a
+yawn while face to face with the most exalted of patrons,&mdash;a
+revelation of courage which, being carefully
+timed, usually put the patron in a corner from which
+she could escape only by paying a heavy ransom.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He sometimes had a way of implying,&mdash;by his manner,
+of course,&mdash;that he would rather not sell the treasure
+at all than to have it go into <i>your</i> mansion, where
+it would be manifestly alone in its splendour, notwithstanding
+the priceless articles you had picked up elsewhere
+in previous efforts to inhabit the place with glory.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page136" id="page136"></a>[pg&nbsp;136]</span>
+On the other hand, if you happened to be nobody at all
+and therefore likely to resent being squelched, he could
+sell you a ten-dollar candlestick quite as amiably as
+the humblest clerk in the place. Indeed, he was quite
+capable of giving it to you for nine dollars if he found
+he had not quite correctly sized you up in the beginning.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">As he never erred in sizing up people of the Smith-Parvis
+ilk, however, his profits were sublime. Accident,
+and nothing less, brought him into contact with
+the common people looking for bargains: such as the
+faulty adjustment of his monocle, or a similarity in
+backs, or the perverseness of the telephone, or a sudden
+shower. Sudden showers always remind pedestrians
+without umbrellas that they&#39;ve been meaning for a long
+time to stop in and price things, and they clutter up
+the place so.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Smith-Parvis was bent on discovering something
+cheap and unusual for the twins, whose joint birthday
+anniversary was but two days off. It occurred to
+her that it would be wise to give them another heirloom
+apiece. Something English, of course, in view
+of the fact that her husband&#39;s forebears had come over
+from England with the twenty or thirty thousand voyagers
+who stuffed the <i>Mayflower</i> from stem to stern
+on her historic maiden trip across the Atlantic.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Secretly, she had never got over being annoyed with
+the twins for having come regardless, so to speak. She
+had prayed for another boy like Stuyvesant, and along
+came the twins&mdash;no doubt as a sort of sop in the form
+of good measure. If there had to be twins, why under
+heaven couldn&#39;t she have been blessed with them on
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page137" id="page137"></a>[pg&nbsp;137]</span>
+Stuyvesant&#39;s natal day? She couldn&#39;t have had too
+many Stuyvesants.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Still, she considered it her duty to be as nice as possible
+to the twins, now that she had them; and besides,
+they were growing up to be surprisingly pretty girls,
+with a pleasantly increasing resemblance to Stuyvesant.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Always, a day or two prior to the anniversary, she
+went surreptitiously into the antique shops and picked
+out for each of them a piece of jewellery, or a bit of
+china, or a strip of lace, or anything else that bore evidence
+of having once been in a very nice sort of family.
+On the glad morning she delivered her gifts, with sweet
+impressiveness, into the keeping of these remote little
+descendants of her beloved ancestors! Invariably
+something English, heirlooms that she had kept under
+lock and key since the day they came to Mr. Smith-Parvis
+under the terms of his great-grandmother&#39;s will.
+Up to the time Stuyvesant was sixteen he had been getting
+heirlooms from a long-departed great-grandfather,
+but on reaching that vital age, he declared that he preferred
+cash.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The twins had a rare assortment of family heirlooms
+in the little glass cabinets upstairs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You must cherish them for ever,&quot; said their mother,
+without compunction. &quot;They represent a great deal
+more than mere money, my dears. They are the intrinsic
+bonds that connect you with a glorious past.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">When they were ten she gave them a pair of beautiful
+miniatures,&mdash;a most alluring and imperial looking
+young lady with powdered hair, and a gallant young
+gentleman with orders pinned all over his bright red
+coat. It appears that the lady of the miniature was a
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page138" id="page138"></a>[pg&nbsp;138]</span>
+great personage at court a great many years before the
+misguided Colonists revolted against King George the
+Third, and they&mdash;her darling twins&mdash;were directly
+descended from her. The gentleman was her husband.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He was awfully handsome,&quot; one of the twins had
+said, being romantic. &quot;Are we descended from him
+too, mamma?&quot; she inquired innocently.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Certainly,&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis severely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A predecessor of Miss Emsdale&#39;s got her walking
+papers for putting nonsense (as well as the truth) into
+the heads of the children. At least, she told them
+something that paved the way for a most embarrassing
+disclosure by one of the twins when a visitor was
+complimenting them on being such nice, lovely little
+ladies.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We ought to be,&quot; said Eudora proudly. &quot;We are
+descended from Madam du Barry. We&#39;ve got her picture
+upstairs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Smith-Parvis took Miss Emsdale with her on
+this particular Thursday afternoon. This was at the
+suggestion of Stuyvesant, who held forth that an English
+governess was in every way qualified to pass upon
+English wares, new or old, and there wasn&#39;t any sense
+in getting &quot;stung&quot; when there was a way to protect
+oneself, and all that sort of thing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant also joined the hunt.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Rather a lark, eh, what?&quot; he whispered in Miss
+Emsdale&#39;s ear as they followed his stately mother into
+the shop of Juneo &amp; Co. She jerked her arm away.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The proprietor was haled forth. Courteous, suave
+and polished though he was, Signor Juneo had the misfortune
+to be a trifle shabby, and sartorially remiss.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page139" id="page139"></a>[pg&nbsp;139]</span>
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis eyed him from a peak,&mdash;a very lofty
+peak.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Ten minutes sufficed to convince her that he had
+nothing in his place that she could think of buying.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My dear sir,&quot; she said haughtily, &quot;I know just
+what I want, so don&#39;t try to palm off any of this jewellery
+on me. Miss Emsdale knows the Queen Anne
+period quite as well as I do, I&#39;ve no doubt. Queen Anne
+never laid eyes on that wristlet, Mr. Juneo.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Pardon me, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, I fear you misunderstood
+me,&quot; said the little dealer politely. &quot;I think
+I said that it was of Queen Anne&#39;s period&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What time is it, Stuyvesant?&quot; broke in the lady,
+turning her back on the merchant. &quot;We must be getting
+on to Pickett&#39;s. It is really a waste of time, coming
+to places like this. One should go to Pickett&#39;s in
+the first&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;There are a lot of ripping things here, mater,&quot; said
+Stuyvesant, his eyes resting on a comfortable couch in
+a somewhat secluded corner of the shop. &quot;Take a look
+around. Miss Emsdale and I will take a back seat, so
+that you may go about it with an open mind. I daresay
+we confuse you frightfully, tagging at your heels
+all the time, what? Come along, Miss Emsdale. You
+look fagged and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thank you, I am quite all right,&quot; said Miss Emsdale,
+the red spots in her cheeks darkening.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, be a sport,&quot; he urged, under his voice. &quot;I&#39;ve
+just got to have a few words with you. It&#39;s been days
+since we&#39;ve had a good talk. Looks as though you were
+deliberately avoiding me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am,&quot; said she succinctly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page140" id="page140"></a>[pg&nbsp;140]</span>
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis had gone on ahead with Signor
+Juneo, and was loudly criticizing a beautiful old Venetian
+mirror which he had the temerity to point out to
+her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, I don&#39;t like it,&quot; Stuyvesant said roughly.
+&quot;That sort of thing doesn&#39;t go with me, Miss Emsdale.
+And, hang it all, why haven&#39;t you had the decency
+to answer the two notes I stuck under your door
+last night and the night before?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I did not read the second one,&quot; she said, flushing
+painfully. &quot;You have no right to assume that I will
+meet you&mdash;oh, <i>can&#39;t</i> you be a gentleman?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He gasped. &quot;My God! Can you beat <i>that</i>!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is becoming unbearable, Mr. Smith-Parvis,&quot; said
+she, looking him straight in the eye. &quot;If you persist, I
+shall be compelled to speak to your mother.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go ahead,&quot; he said sarcastically. &quot;I&#39;m ready for
+exposure if you are.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And I am now prepared to give up my position,&quot;
+she added, white and calm.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good!&quot; he exclaimed promptly. &quot;I&#39;ll see that
+you never regret it,&quot; he went on eagerly, his enormous
+vanity reaching out for but one conclusion.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You beast!&quot; she hissed, and walked away.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He looked bewildered. &quot;I&#39;m blowed if I understand
+what&#39;s got into women lately,&quot; he muttered, and passed
+his fingers over his brow.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On the way to Pickett&#39;s, Mrs. Smith-Parvis dilated
+upon the unspeakable Mr. Juneo.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You will be struck at once, Miss Emsdale, by the
+contrast. The instant you come in contact with Mr.
+Moody, at Pickett&#39;s&mdash;he is really the head of the firm,&mdash;you
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page141" id="page141"></a>[pg&nbsp;141]</span>
+will experience the delightful,&mdash;and unique, I
+may say,&mdash;sensation of being in the presence of a cultured,
+high-bred gentleman. They are most uncommon
+among shop-keepers in these days. This little
+Juneo is as common as dirt. He hasn&#39;t a shred of
+good-breeding. Utterly low-class Neapolitan person, I
+should say at a venture,&mdash;although I have never been
+by way of knowing any of the lower class Italians.
+They must be quite dreadful in their native gutters.
+Now, Mr. Moody,&mdash;but you shall see. Really, he is
+so splendid that one can almost imagine him in the
+House of Lords, or being privileged to sit down in the
+presence of the king, or&mdash;
+My word, Stuyvesant,
+what are you scowling at?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m not scowling,&quot; growled Stuyvesant, from the
+little side seat in front of them.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He actually makes me feel sometimes as though I
+were dirt under his feet,&quot; went on Mrs. Smith-Parvis.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, come now, mother, you know I never make you
+feel anything of the&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I was referring to Mr. Moody, dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh,&mdash;well,&quot; said he, slightly crestfallen.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale suppressed a desire to giggle. Moody,
+a footman without the normal supply of aitches; Juneo,
+a nobleman with countless generations of nobility behind
+him!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The car drew up to the curb on the side street paralleling
+Pickett&#39;s. Another limousine had the place
+of vantage ahead of them.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Blow your horn, Galpin,&quot; ordered Mrs. Smith-Parvis.
+&quot;They have no right to stand there, blocking
+the way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page142" id="page142"></a>[pg&nbsp;142]</span>
+&quot;It&#39;s Mrs. Millidew&#39;s car, madam,&quot; said the footman
+up beside Galpin.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Never mind, Galpin,&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis hastily.
+&quot;We will get out here. It&#39;s only a step.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale started. A warm red suffused her
+cheeks. She had not seen Trotter since that day in
+Bramble&#39;s book-shop. Her heart began to beat
+rapidly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter was standing on the curb, carrying on a
+conversation with some one inside the car. He too
+started perceptibly when his gaze fell upon the third
+person to emerge from the Smith-Parvis automobile.
+Almost instantly his face darkened and his tall frame
+stiffened. He had taken a second look at the first person
+to emerge. The reply he was in process of making
+to the occupant of his own car suffered a collapse. It
+became disjointed, incoherent and finally came to a
+halt. He was afforded a slight thrill of relief when
+Miss Emsdale deliberately ignored the hand that was
+extended to assist her in alighting.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Millidew, the younger, turned her head to
+glance at the passing trio. Her face lighted with a
+slight smile of recognition. The two Smith-Parvises
+bowed and smiled in return.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Isn&#39;t she beautiful?&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis to
+her son, without waiting to get out of earshot.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, rather,&quot; said he, quite as distinctly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Who is that extremely pretty girl?&quot; inquired
+Mrs. Millidew, the younger, also quite loudly, addressing
+no one in particular.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter cleared his throat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, you wouldn&#39;t know, of course,&quot; she observed.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page143" id="page143"></a>[pg&nbsp;143]</span>
+&quot;Go on, Trotter. You were telling me about your
+family in&mdash;was it Chester? Your dear old mother
+and the little sisters. I am very much interested.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter looked around cautiously, and again cleared
+his throat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is awfully good of you to be interested in my
+people,&quot; he said, an uneasy note in his voice. For
+his life, he could not remember just what he had been
+telling her in response to her inquiries. The whole
+thing had been knocked out of his head by the sudden
+appearance of one who knew that he had no dear old
+mother in Chester, nor little sisters anywhere who depended
+largely on him for support! &quot;Chester,&quot; he
+said, rather vaguely. &quot;Yes, to be sure,&mdash;Chester.
+Not far from Liverpool, you know,&mdash;it&#39;s where the
+cathedral is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Tell me all about them,&quot; she persisted, leaning a
+little closer to the window, an encouraging smile on
+her carmine lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In due time the impassive Mr. Moody issued forth
+from his private office and bore down upon the two
+matrons, who, having no especial love for each other,
+were striving their utmost to be cordial without compromising
+themselves by being agreeable.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Millidew the elder, arrayed in many colours,
+was telling Mrs. Smith-Parvis about a new masseuse
+she had discovered, and Mrs. Smith-Parvis was talking
+freely at the same time about a person named Juneo.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale had drifted over toward the broad show
+window looking out upon the cross-town street, where
+Thomas Trotter was visible,&mdash;out of the corner of her
+eye. Also the younger Mrs. Millidew.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page144" id="page144"></a>[pg&nbsp;144]</span>
+Stuyvesant, sullenly smoking a cigarette, lolled
+against a show-case across the room, dropping ashes
+every minute or two into the mouth of a fragile and,
+for the time being, priceless vase that happened to be
+conveniently located near his elbow.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Moody adjusted his monocle and eyed his matronly
+visitors in a most unfeeling way.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah,&mdash;good awfternoon, Mrs. Millidew. Good
+awfternoon, Mrs. Smith-Parvis,&quot; he said, and then
+catching sight of an apparently neglected customer in
+the offing, beckoned to a smart looking salesman, and
+said, quite loudly:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;See what that young man wants, Proctor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The young man, who happened to be young Mr.
+Smith-Parvis, started violently,&mdash;and glared.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Stupid blight-ah!&quot; he said, also quite loudly, and
+disgustedly chucked his cigarette into the vase, whereupon
+the salesman, in some horror, grabbed it up and
+dumped the contents upon the floor.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You shouldn&#39;t do that, you know,&quot; he said, in a
+moment of righteous forgetfulness. &quot;That&#39;s a peach-blow&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, is it?&quot; snapped Stuyvesant, and walked away.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That is my son, Mr. Moody,&quot; explained Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis quickly. &quot;Poor dear, he hates so to
+shop with me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah,&mdash;ah, I see,&quot; drawled Mr. Moody. &quot;Your
+son? Yes, yes.&quot; And then, as an afterthought, with
+a slight elevation of one eyebrow, &quot;Bless my soul, Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis, you amaze me. It&#39;s incredible. You
+cawn&#39;t convince me that you have a son as old as&mdash;
+Well,
+now, really it&#39;s a bit thick.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page145" id="page145"></a>[pg&nbsp;145]</span>
+&quot;I&mdash;I&#39;m not spoofing you, Mr. Moody,&quot; cried Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis delightedly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His face relaxed slightly. One might have detected
+the faint, suppressed gleam of a smile in his eyes,&mdash;but
+it was so brief, so evanescent that it would be folly
+to put it down as such.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The ensuing five minutes were devoted entirely to
+man&oelig;uvres on the part of all three. Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+was trying to shunt Mrs. Millidew on to an ordinary
+salesman, and Mrs. Millidew was standing her
+ground, resolute in the same direction. The former
+couldn&#39;t possibly inspect heirlooms under the eye of
+that old busy-body, nor could the latter resort to cajolery
+in the effort to obtain a certain needle-point chair
+at bankrupt figures. As for Mr. Moody, he was splendid.
+The lordliest duke in all of Britain could not
+have presented a truer exemplification of lordliness than
+he. He quite outdid himself. The eighth letter in
+the alphabet behaved in a most gratifying manner; indeed,
+he even took chances with it, just to see how it
+would act if he were not watching it,&mdash;and not once
+did it fail him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, of course, one never can find anything one
+wants unless one goes to the really exclusive places,
+you know,&quot; Mrs. Smith-Parvis was saying. &quot;It is a
+waste of time, don&#39;t you think?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quate&mdash;oh, yes, quate,&quot; drawled Mr. Moody, in
+a roving sort of way. That is to say, his interest
+seemed to be utterly detached, as if nothing that Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis said really mattered.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Naturally we try to find things in the cheaper
+places before we come here,&quot; went on the lady boldly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page146" id="page146"></a>[pg&nbsp;146]</span>
+&quot;More int&#39;resting,&quot; said Mr. Moody, indulgently
+eyeing a great brass lanthorn that hung suspended over
+Mrs. Millidew&#39;s bonnet,&mdash;but safely to the left of it,
+he decided.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ve been looking for something odd and quaint
+and&mdash;and&mdash;you know,&mdash;of the Queen Anne period,&mdash;trinkets,
+you might say, Mr. Moody. What have you
+in that&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Queen Anne? Oh, ah, yes, to be sure,&mdash;Queen
+Anne. Yes, yes. I see. &#39;Pon my soul, Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+I fear we haven&#39;t anything at all. Most uncommon
+dearth of Queen Anne material nowadays.
+We cawn&#39;t get a thing. Snapped up in England, of
+course. I know of some extremely rare pieces to be
+had in New York, however, and, while I cannot procure
+them for you myself, I should be charmed to give you
+a letter to the dealer who has them.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, how kind of you. That is really most gracious
+of you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mr. Juneo, of Juneo &amp; Co., has quite a stock,&quot; interrupted
+Mr. Moody tolerantly,&mdash;&quot;quite a remarkable
+collection, I may say. Indeed, nothing finer has been
+brought to New York in&mdash;in&mdash;in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Moody faltered. His whole manner underwent
+a swift and peculiar change. His eyes were riveted
+upon the approaching figure of a young lady. Casually,
+from time to time, his roving, detached gaze had
+rested upon her back as she stood near the window.
+As a back, it did not mean anything to him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">But now she was approaching,&mdash;and a queer, cold
+little something ran swiftly down his spine. It was
+Lady Jane Thorne!</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page147" id="page147"></a>[pg&nbsp;147]</span>
+Smash went his house of cards into a jumbled heap.
+It collapsed from a lofty height. Lady Jane Thorne!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">No use trying to lord it over her! She was the real
+thing! Couldn&#39;t put on &quot;lugs&quot; with her,&mdash;not a bit
+of it! She knew!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His monocle dropped. He tried to catch it.
+Missed!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My word!&quot; he mumbled, as he stooped over to retrieve
+it from the rug at his feet. The exertion sent a
+ruddy glow to his neck and ears and brow.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Did you break it?&quot; cried Mrs. Millidew.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He stuck it in his waist-coat pocket without examination.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;This is Miss Emsdale, our governess,&quot; said Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis. &quot;She&#39;s an English girl, Mr. Moody.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Glad to meet you,&quot; stammered Mr. Moody, desperately.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How do you do, Mr. Moody,&quot; said Jane, in the
+most matter-of-fact way.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Moody knew that she was a paid governess.
+He had known it for many months. But that didn&#39;t
+alter the case. She was the &quot;real thing.&quot; He couldn&#39;t
+put on any &quot;side&quot; with her. He couldn&#39;t bring himself
+to it, not if his life depended on it. Not even if
+she had been a scullery-maid and appeared before him
+in greasy ginghams. All very well to &quot;stick it on&quot;
+with these fashionable New Yorkers, but when it came
+to the daughter of the Earl of Wexham,&mdash;well, it
+didn&#39;t matter <i>what</i> she was as long as he knew <i>who</i>
+she was.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His mask was off.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The change in his manner was so abrupt, so complete,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page148" id="page148"></a>[pg&nbsp;148]</span>
+that his august customers could not fail to notice
+it. Something was wrong with the poor man! Certainly
+he was not himself. He looked ill,&mdash;at any
+rate, he did not look as well as usual. Heart, that&#39;s
+what it was, flashed through Mrs. Millidew&#39;s brain.
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis took it to be vertigo. Sometimes
+her husband looked like that when&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Will you please excuse me, ladies,&mdash;just for a
+moment or two?&quot; he mumbled, in a most extraordinary
+voice. &quot;I will go at once and write a note to Mr.
+Juneo. Make yourselves at &#39;ome. And&mdash;and&mdash;&quot; He
+shot an appealing glance at Miss Emsdale,&mdash;&quot;and
+you too, Miss.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In a very few minutes a stenographer came out of
+the office into which Mr. Moody had disappeared, with a
+typewritten letter to Mr. Juneo, and the word that
+Mr. Moody had been taken suddenly ill and begged to
+be excused. He hoped that they would be so gracious
+as to allow Mr. Paddock to show them everything they
+had in stock,&mdash;and so on.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It was so sudden,&quot; said Mrs. Millidew. &quot;I never
+saw such a change in a man in all my life. Heart, of
+course. High living, you may be sure. It gets them
+every time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall run in tomorrow and tell him about Dr.
+Brodax,&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis firmly. &quot;He ought
+to see the best man in the city, of course, and no one&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For the Lord&#39;s sake, don&#39;t let him get into the
+clutches of that man Brodax,&quot; interrupted Mrs. Millidew.
+&quot;He is&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, thank you, Mr. Paddock,&mdash;I sha&#39;n&#39;t wait.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page149" id="page149"></a>[pg&nbsp;149]</span>
+Another day will do just as well. Come, Miss Emsdale.
+Good-bye, my dear. Come and see me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Dr. Brown stands at the very top of the profession
+as a heart specialist. He&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ve never heard of him,&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+icily, and led the way to the sidewalk, her head very
+high. You could say almost anything you pleased to
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis about her husband, or her family, or
+her religion, or even her figure, but you couldn&#39;t
+belittle her doctor. That was lese-majesty. She
+wouldn&#39;t have it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A more or less peaceful expedition came to grief
+within sixty seconds after its members reached the sidewalk,&mdash;and
+in a most astonishing manner.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant was in a nasty humour. He had not
+noticed Thomas Trotter before. Coming upon the
+tall young man suddenly, after turning the corner of
+the building, he was startled into an expression of disgust.
+Trotter was holding open the limousine door
+for Mrs. Millidew, the elder.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Young Mr. Smith-Parvis stopped short and stared
+in a most offensive manner at Mrs. Millidew&#39;s chauffeur.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By gad, you weren&#39;t long in getting a job after
+Carpenter fired you, were you? Fish!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Now, there is no way in the world to recall the word
+&quot;fish&quot; after it has been uttered in the tone employed
+by Stuyvesant. Ordinarily it is a most inoffensive
+word, and signifies something delectable. In French
+it is <i>poisson</i>, and we who know how to pronounce it say
+it with pleasure and gusto, quite as we say <i>pomme
+de terre</i> when we mean potato. If Stuyvesant had said
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page150" id="page150"></a>[pg&nbsp;150]</span>
+<i>poisson</i>, the chances are that nothing would have happened.
+But he didn&#39;t. He said fish.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">No doubt Thomas Trotter was in a bad humour
+also. He was a very sensible young man, and there
+was no reason why he should be jealous of Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis. He had it from Miss Emsdale herself
+that she loathed and despised the fellow. And yet he
+saw red when she passed him a quarter of an hour
+before with Stuyvesant at her side. For some time
+he had been harassed by the thought that if she had
+not caught sight of him as she left the car, the young
+man&#39;s offer of assistance might not have been spurned.
+In any event, there certainly was something queer afoot.
+Why was she driving about with Mrs. Smith-Parvis,&mdash;<i>and</i>
+Stuyvesant,&mdash;as if she were one of the family and
+not a paid employé?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In the twinkling of an eye, Thomas Trotter forgot
+that he was a chauffeur. He remembered only that he
+was Lord Eric Carruthers Ethelbert Temple, the
+grandson of a soldier, the great-grandson of a soldier,
+and the great-great grandson of a soldier whose father
+and grandfather had been soldiers before him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Thomas Trotter would have said,&mdash;and quite properly,
+too, considering his position:&mdash;&quot;Quite so, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple merely put his face a little closer to
+Stuyvesant&#39;s and said, very audibly, very distinctly:
+&quot;You go to hell!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant fell back a step. He could not believe
+his ears. The fellow couldn&#39;t have said&mdash;and yet,
+there was no possible way of making anything else
+out of it. He <i>had</i> said &quot;You go to hell.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Fortunately he had said it in the presence of ladies.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page151" id="page151"></a>[pg&nbsp;151]</span>
+Made bold by the continued presence of at least three
+ladies, Stuyvesant, assuming that a chauffeur would not
+dare go so far as a physical retort, snapped his fingers
+under Trotter&#39;s nose and said:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For two cents I&#39;d kick you all over town for that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale erred slightly in her agitation. She
+grasped Stuyvesant&#39;s arm. Trotter also erred. He
+thought she was trying to keep Smith-Parvis from
+carrying out the threat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Millidew, the elder, cried out sharply:
+&quot;What&#39;s all this? Trotter, get up on the seat at once.
+I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Millidew, the younger, leaned from the window
+and patted Trotter on the shoulder. Her eyes were
+sparkling.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Give it to him, Trotter. Don&#39;t mind me!&quot; she
+cried.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant turned to Miss Emsdale. &quot;Don&#39;t be
+alarmed, my dear. I sha&#39;n&#39;t do it, you know. Pray
+compose yourself. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At that juncture Lord Eric Temple reached out
+and, with remarkable precision, grasped Stuyvesant&#39;s
+nose between his thumb and forefinger. One sharp
+twist brought a surprised grunt from the owner of the
+nose, a second elicited a pained squeak, and the third,&mdash;pressed
+upward as well as both to the right and left,&mdash;resulted
+in a sharp howl of anguish.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The release of his nose was attended by a sudden
+push that sent Stuyvesant backward two or three
+steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, my God!&quot; he gasped, and felt for his nose.
+There were tears in his eyes. There would have been
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page152" id="page152"></a>[pg&nbsp;152]</span>
+tears in anybody&#39;s eyes after those merciless tweaks.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Finding his nose still attached, he struck out wildly
+with both fists, a blind fury possessing him. Even a
+coward will strike if you pull his nose severely enough.
+As Trotter remained motionless after the distressing
+act of Lord Temple, Stuyvesant missed him by a good
+yard and a half, but managed to connect solidly with
+the corner of the limousine, barking his knuckles, a
+circumstance which subsequently provided him with
+something to substantiate his claim to having planted
+a &quot;good one&quot; on the blighter&#39;s jaw.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His hat fell off and rolled still farther away from
+the redoubtable Trotter, luckily in the direction of the
+Smith-Parvis car. By the time Stuyvesant retrieved it,
+after making several clutches in his haste, he was, singularly
+enough, beyond the petrified figure of his
+mother.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Call the police! Call the police!&quot; Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+was whimpering. &quot;Where are the police?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Millidew, the elder, cried out sharply: &quot;Hush
+up! Don&#39;t be idiotic! Do you want to attract the
+police and a crowd and&mdash;What do you mean, Trotter,
+by attacking Mr. Smith-Par&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Get out of the way, mother,&quot; roared Stuyvesant.
+&quot;Let me at him! Don&#39;t hold me! I&#39;ll break his infernal
+neck&mdash;Shut up!&quot; His voice sank to a hoarse
+whisper. &quot;We don&#39;t want the police. Shut up, I say!
+My God, don&#39;t make a scene!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Splendid!&quot; cried Mrs. Millidew, the younger, enthusiastically,
+addressing herself to Trotter. &quot;Perfectly
+splendid!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter, himself once more, calmly stepped to the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page153" id="page153"></a>[pg&nbsp;153]</span>
+back of the car to see what, if any, damage Stuyvesant
+had done to the polished surface!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Smith-Parvis advanced. Her eyes were blazing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You filthy brute!&quot; she exclaimed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Up to this instant, Miss Emsdale had not moved.
+She was very white and breathless. Now her eyes
+flashed ominously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t you dare call him a brute,&quot; she cried out.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Smith-Parvis gasped, but was speechless in the
+face of this amazing defection. Stuyvesant opened his
+lips to speak, but observing that the traffic policeman
+at the Fifth Avenue corner was looking with some
+intensity at the little group, changed his mind and got
+into the automobile.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Come on!&quot; he called out. &quot;Get in here, both of
+you. I&#39;ll attend to this fellow later on. Come on, I
+say!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How dare you speak to me in that manner?&quot; flared
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis, turning from Trotter to the girl.
+&quot;What do you mean, Miss Emsdale? Are you defending
+this&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, I am defending him,&quot; cried Jane, passionately.
+&quot;He&mdash;he didn&#39;t do half enough to him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good girl!&quot; murmured Trotter, radiant.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That will do!&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis imperiously.
+&quot;I shall not require your services after today, Miss
+Emsdale.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, good Lord, mother,&mdash;don&#39;t be a fool,&quot; cried
+Stuyvesant. &quot;Let me straighten this thing out. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;As you please, madam,&quot; said Jane, drawing herself
+up to her full height.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page154" id="page154"></a>[pg&nbsp;154]</span>
+&quot;Drive to Dr. Brodax&#39;s, Galpin, as quickly as possible,&quot;
+directed Stuyvesant&#39;s mother, and entered the car
+beside her son.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The footman closed the door and hopped up beside
+the chauffeur. He was very pink with excitement.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, for heaven&#39;s sake&mdash;&quot; began her son furiously,
+but the closing of the door smothered the rest of the
+complaint.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You may also take your notice, Trotter,&quot; said
+Mrs. Millidew the elder. &quot;I can&#39;t put up with such
+behaviour as this.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Very good, madam. I&#39;m sorry. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale was walking away. He did not finish
+the sentence. His eyes were following her and they
+were full of concern.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You may come to me tomorrow, Trotter,&quot; said
+Mrs. Millidew, the younger. &quot;Now, don&#39;t glare at
+me, mother-in-law,&quot; she added peevishly. &quot;You&#39;ve
+dismissed him, so don&#39;t, for heaven&#39;s sake, croak about
+me stealing him away from you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter&#39;s employer closed her jaws with a snap,
+then opened them instantly to exclaim:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, you don&#39;t, my dear. I withdraw the notice,
+Trotter. You stay on with me. Drop Mrs. Millidew
+at her place first, and then drive me home. That&#39;s all
+right, Dolly. I don&#39;t care if it is out of our way. I
+wouldn&#39;t leave you alone with him for anything in the
+world.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter sighed. Miss Emsdale had turned the corner.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page155" id="page155"></a>[pg&nbsp;155]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>
+
+<h3>IN THE FOG</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">MISS EMSDALE did not ask Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+for a &quot;reference.&quot; She dreaded the interview
+that was set for seven o&#39;clock that evening. The butler
+had informed her on her return to the house shortly
+after five that Mrs. Smith-Parvis would see her at
+seven in the library, after all, instead of in her boudoir,
+and she was to look sharp about being prompt.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The young lady smiled. &quot;It&#39;s all one to me, Rogers,&mdash;the
+library or the boudoir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;First it was the boudoir, Miss, and then it was the
+library, and then the boudoir again,&mdash;and now the
+library. It seems to be quite settled, however. It&#39;s
+been nearly &#39;arf an hour since the last change was made.
+Shouldn&#39;t surprise me if it sticks.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It gives me an hour and a half to get my things together,&quot;
+said she, much more brightly than he thought
+possible in one about to be &quot;sacked.&quot; &quot;Will you
+be good enough to order a taxi for me at half-past
+seven, Rogers?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Rogers stiffened. This was not the tone or the manner
+of a governess. He had a feeling that he ought
+to resent it, and yet he suddenly found himself powerless
+to do so. No one had spoken to him in just that
+way in fifteen years.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Very good, Miss Emsdale. Seven-thirty.&quot; He
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page156" id="page156"></a>[pg&nbsp;156]</span>
+went away strangely puzzled, and not a little disgusted
+with himself.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She expected to find that Stuyvesant had carried out
+his threat to vilify her, and was prepared for a bitter
+ten minutes with the outraged mistress of the house,
+who would hardly let her escape without a severe lacing.
+She would be dismissed without a &quot;character.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She packed her boxes and the two or three hand-bags
+that had come over from London with her. A heightened
+colour was in her cheeks, and there was a repelling
+gleam in her blue eyes. She was wondering whether
+she could keep herself in hand during the tirade. Her
+temper was a hot one.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A not distant Irish ancestor occasionally got loose
+in her blood and played havoc with the strain inherited
+from a whole regiment of English forebears. On such
+occasions, she flared up in a fine Celtic rage, and then
+for days afterwards was in a penitential mood that
+shamed the poor old Irish ghost into complete and
+grovelling subjection.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">What she saw in the mirror over her dressing-table
+warned her that if she did not keep a pretty firm grip
+tonight on the throat of that wild Irishman who had
+got into the family-tree ages before the twig represented
+by herself appeared, Mrs. Smith-Parvis was
+reasonably certain to hear from him. A less captious
+observer, leaning over her shoulder, would have taken
+an entirely different view of the reflection. He (obviously
+he) would have pronounced it ravishing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Promptly at seven she entered the library. To her
+dismay, Mrs. Smith-Parvis was not alone. Her husband
+was there, and also Stuyvesant. If her life had
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page157" id="page157"></a>[pg&nbsp;157]</span>
+depended on it, she could not have conquered the impulse
+to favour the latter&#39;s nose with a rather penetrating
+stare. A slight thrill of satisfaction shot
+through her. It <i>did</i> seem to be a trifle red and enlarged.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Smith-Parvis, senior, was nervous. Otherwise
+he would not have risen from his comfortable chair.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good evening, Miss Emsdale,&quot; he said, in a palliative
+tone. &quot;Have this chair. Ahem!&quot; Catching
+a look from his wife, he sat down again, and laughed
+quite loudly and mirthlessly, no doubt actuated by a
+desire to put the governess at her ease,&mdash;an effort that
+left him rather flat and wholly non-essential, it may be
+said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His wife lifted her lorgnon. She seemed a bit surprised
+and nonplussed on beholding Miss Emsdale.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I remember. It is you, of course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale had the effrontery to smile. &quot;Yes,
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant felt of his nose. He did it without thinking,
+and instantly muttered something under his breath.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We owe you, according to my calculations, fifty-five
+dollars and eighty-two cents,&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+abruptly consulting a tablet. &quot;Seventeen days
+in this month. Will you be good enough to go over it
+for yourself? I do not wish to take advantage of
+you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I sha&#39;n&#39;t be exacting,&quot; said Miss Emsdale, a wave
+of red rushing to her brow. &quot;I am content to accept
+your&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Be good enough to figure it up, Miss Emsdale,&quot; insisted
+the other coldly. &quot;We must have no future
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page158" id="page158"></a>[pg&nbsp;158]</span>
+recriminations. Thirty-one days in this month.
+Thirty-one into one hundred goes how many times?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I beg pardon,&quot; said the girl, puzzled. &quot;Thirty-one
+into one hundred?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Can&#39;t you do sums? It&#39;s perfectly simple. Any
+school child could do it in a&mdash;in a jiffy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quite simple,&quot; murmured her husband. &quot;I worked
+it out for Mrs. Smith-Parvis in no time at all. Three
+dollars and twenty-two and a half cents a day. Perfectly
+easy, if you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am sure it is quite satisfactory,&quot; said Miss
+Emsdale coldly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Very well. Here is a check for the amount,&quot; said
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis, laying the slip of paper on the end
+of the library table. &quot;And now, Miss Emsdale, I feel
+constrained to tell you how gravely disappointed I am
+in you. For half-a-year I have laboured under the delusion
+that you were a lady, and qualified to have
+charge of two young and innocent&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, Lord,&quot; groaned Stuyvesant, fidgeting in his
+chair.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;&mdash;young and innocent girls. I find, however, that
+you haven&#39;t the first instincts of a lady. I daresay it
+is too much to expect.&quot; She sighed profoundly. &quot;I
+know something about the lower classes in London, having
+been at one time interested in settlement work there
+in connection with Lady Bannistell&#39;s committee, and I
+am aware that too much should not be expected of them.
+That is to say, too much in the way of&mdash;er&mdash;delicacy.
+Still, I thought you might prove to be an exception.
+I have learned my lesson. I shall in the future engage
+only German governesses. From time to time I
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page159" id="page159"></a>[pg&nbsp;159]</span>
+have observed little things in you that disquieted me,
+but I overlooked them because you appeared to be
+earnestly striving to overcome the handicap placed
+upon you at birth. For example, I have found cigarette
+stubs in your room when I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I say, mother,&quot; broke in Stuyvesant; &quot;cut it
+out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My dear!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;d smoke &#39;em yourself if father didn&#39;t put up
+such a roar about it. Lot of guff about your grandmothers
+turning over in their graves. I don&#39;t see anything
+wrong in a woman smoking cigarettes. Besides,
+you may be accusing Miss Emsdale unjustly. What
+proof have you that the stubs were hers?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I distinctly said that I found them in her room,&quot;
+said Mrs. Smith-Parvis icily. &quot;I don&#39;t know how they
+got there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Circumstantial evidence,&quot; retorted Stuyvie, an evil
+twist at one corner of his mouth. &quot;Doesn&#39;t prove that
+she smoked &#39;em, does it?&quot; He met Miss Emsdale&#39;s
+burning gaze for an instant, and then looked away.
+&quot;Might have been the housekeeper. She smokes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It was not the housekeeper,&quot; said Jane quietly.
+&quot;I smoke.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We are digressing,&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis sternly.
+&quot;There are other instances of your lack of refinement,
+Miss Emsdale, but I shall not recite them. Suffice to
+say, I deeply deplore the fact that my children have
+been subject to contamination for so long. I am afraid
+they have acquired&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane had drawn herself up haughtily. She interrupted
+her employer.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page160" id="page160"></a>[pg&nbsp;160]</span>
+&quot;Be good enough, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, to come to the
+point,&quot; she said. &quot;Have you nothing more serious to
+charge me with than smoking? Out with it! Let&#39;s
+have the worst.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How dare you speak to me in that&mdash;My goodness!&quot;
+She half started up from her chair. &quot;What
+<i>have</i> you been up to? Drinking? Or some low affair
+with the butler? Good heavens, have I been harbouring
+a&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t get so excited, momsey,&quot; broke in Stuyvesant,
+trying to transmit a message of encouragement to
+Miss Emsdale by means of sundry winks and frowns
+and cautious head-shakings. &quot;Keep your hair on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My&mdash;my hair?&quot; gasped his mother.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Smith-Parvis got up. &quot;Stuyvesant, you&#39;d better
+retire,&quot; he said, noisily. &quot;Remember, sir, that you
+are speaking to your mother. It came out at the time
+of her illness,&mdash;when we were so near to losing her,&mdash;and
+you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Keep still, Philander,&quot; snapped Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+very red in the face. &quot;It came in again, thicker than
+before,&quot; she could not help explaining. &quot;And don&#39;t
+be absurd, Stuyvesant. This is my affair. Please do
+not interfere again. I&mdash;What was I saying?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Something about drinking and the butler, Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis,&quot; said Jane, drily. It was evident that
+Stuyvesant had not carried tales to his mother. She
+would not have to defend herself against a threatened
+charge. Her sense of humour was at once restored.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Naturally I cannot descend to the discussion of
+anything so perfectly vile. Your conduct this afternoon
+is sufficient&mdash;ah,&mdash;sufficient unto the day. I
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page161" id="page161"></a>[pg&nbsp;161]</span>
+am forced to dismiss you without a reference. Furthermore,
+I consider it my duty to protect other women
+as unsuspecting as I have been. You are in no way
+qualified to have charge of young and well-bred girls.
+No apology is desired,&quot; she hastily declared, observing
+symptoms of protest in the face of the delinquent; &quot;so
+please restrain yourself. I do not care to hear a single
+word of apology, or any appeal to be retained. You
+may go now, my girl. Spare us the tears. I am not
+turning you out into the streets tonight. You may
+remain until tomorrow morning.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am going tonight,&quot; said Jane, quite white,&mdash;with
+suppressed anger.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It isn&#39;t necessary,&quot; said the other, loftily.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Where are you going?&quot; inquired Mr. Smith-Parvis,
+senior, fumbling with his nose-glasses. &quot;Have you
+any friends in the city?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Miss Emsdale ignored the question. She picked up
+the check and folded it carefully.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I should like to say good-bye to the&mdash;to Eudora
+and Lucille,&quot; she said, with an effort.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That is out of the question,&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane deliberately turned her back upon Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+and moved toward the door. It was an eloquent
+back. Mrs. Smith-Parvis considered it positively insulting.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Stop!&quot; she cried out. &quot;Is that the way to leave a
+room, Miss Emsdale? Please remember who and what
+you are. I can not permit a servant to be insolent to
+me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, come now, Angela, dear,&quot; began Mr. Smith-Parvis,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page162" id="page162"></a>[pg&nbsp;162]</span>
+uncomfortably. &quot;Seems to me she walks properly
+enough. What&#39;s the matter with her&mdash;There,
+she&#39;s gone! I can&#39;t see what&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You would think the hussy imagines herself to be
+the Queen of England,&quot; sputtered Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+angrily. &quot;I&#39;ve never seen such airs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The object of her derision mounted the stairs and
+entered her bed-chamber on the fourth floor. Her
+steamer-trunk and her bags were nowhere in sight. A
+wry little smile trembled on her lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Must you be going?&quot; she said to herself, whimsically,
+as she adjusted her hat in front of the mirror.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">There was no one to say good-bye to her, except
+Peasley, the footman. He opened the big front door
+for her, and she passed out into the foggy March night.
+A fine mist blew upon her hot face.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good-bye, Miss,&quot; said Peasley, following her to the
+top of the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good-bye, Peasley. Thank you for taking down
+my things.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;ll find &#39;em in the taxi,&quot; said he. He peered
+hard ahead and sniffed. &quot;A bit thick, ain&#39;t it? Reminds
+one of London, Miss.&quot; He referred to the fog.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At the bottom of the steps she encountered the irrepressible
+and somewhat jubilant scion of the house.
+His soft hat was pulled well down over his eyes, and
+the collar of his overcoat was turned up about his ears.
+He promptly accosted her, his voice lowered to an
+eager, confident undertone.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t cry, little girl,&quot; he said. &quot;It isn&#39;t going to
+be bad at all. I&mdash;Oh, I say, now, listen to me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She tried to pass, but he placed himself directly in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page163" id="page163"></a>[pg&nbsp;163]</span>
+her path. The taxi-cab loomed up vaguely through
+the screen of fog. At the corner below an electric
+street lamp produced the effect of a huge, circular vignette
+in the white mist. The raucous barking of automobile
+horns, and the whir of engines came out of the
+street, and shadowy will-o&#39;-the-wisp lights scuttled
+through the yielding, opaque wall.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Be good enough to let me pass,&quot; she cried, suddenly
+possessed of a strange fear.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Everything is all right,&quot; he said. &quot;I&#39;m not going
+to see you turned out like this without a place to go&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Will you compel me to call for help?&quot; she said,
+backing away from him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Help? Why, hang it all, can&#39;t you see that I&#39;m
+trying to help you? It was a rotten thing for mother
+to do. Poor little girl, you sha&#39;n&#39;t go wandering
+around the streets looking for&mdash;Why, I&#39;d never
+forgive myself if I didn&#39;t do something to offset the cruel
+thing she&#39;s done to you tonight. Haven&#39;t I told you
+all along you could depend on me? Trust me, little
+girl. I&#39;ll&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Suddenly she blazed out at him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I see it all! That is <i>your</i> taxi, not mine! So that
+is your game, is it? You beast!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t be a damn&#39; fool,&quot; he grated. &quot;I ought to be
+sore as a crab at you, but I&#39;m not. You need me now,
+and I&#39;m going to stand by you. I&#39;ll forgive all that
+happened today, but you&#39;ve got to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She struck his hand from her arm, and dashed out to
+the curb.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Driver!&quot; she cried out. &quot;If you are a man you
+will protect me from this&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page164" id="page164"></a>[pg&nbsp;164]</span>
+&quot;Hop in, Miss,&quot; interrupted the driver from his seat.
+&quot;I&#39;ve got all your bags and things up but,&mdash;What&#39;s
+that you&#39;re saying?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall not enter this cab,&quot; she said resolutely.
+&quot;If you are in the pay of this man&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I was sent here in answer to a telephone call half
+an hour ago. That&#39;s all I know about it. What&#39;s the
+row?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;There is no row,&quot; said Stuyvesant, coming up.
+&quot;Get in, Miss Emsdale. I&#39;m through. I&#39;ve done my
+best to help you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">But she was now thoroughly alarmed. She sensed
+abduction.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No! Stay on your box, my man! Don&#39;t get
+down. I shall walk to my&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go ahead, driver. Take those things to the address
+I just gave you,&quot; said Stuyvesant. &quot;We&#39;ll be
+along later.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I knew! I knew!&quot; she cried out. In a flash she
+was running down the sidewalk toward the corner.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He followed her a few paces and then stopped, cursing
+softly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hey!&quot; called out the driver, springing to the sidewalk.
+&quot;What&#39;s all this? Getting me in wrong, huh?
+That&#39;s what the little roll of bills was for, eh? Well,
+guess again! Get out of the way, you, or I&#39;ll bat you
+one over the bean.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In less time than it takes to tell it, he had whisked
+the trunk from the platform of the taxi and the three
+bags from the interior.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I ought to beat you up anyhow,&quot; he grunted.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page165" id="page165"></a>[pg&nbsp;165]</span>
+&quot;The Parkingham Hotel, eh? Fine little place, that!
+How much did you say was in this roll?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Never mind. Give it back to me at once or I&#39;ll&mdash;I&#39;ll
+call the police.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go ahead! Call your head off. Good <i>night</i>!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Ten seconds later, Stuyvesant alone stood guard over
+the scattered effects on the curb. A tail-light winked
+blearily at him for an additional second or two, the taxi
+chortled disdainfully, and seemed to grind its teeth as
+it joined the down-town ghosts.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Blighter!&quot; shouted Stuyvesant, and urged by a
+sudden sense of alarm, strode rapidly away,&mdash;not in
+the wake of Miss Emsdale nor toward the house from
+which she had been banished, but diagonally across the
+street. A glance in the direction she had taken revealed
+no sign of her, but the sound of excited voices
+reached his ear. On the opposite sidewalk he slowed
+down to a walk, and peering intently into the fog, listened
+with all his ears for the return of the incomprehensible
+governess, accompanied by a patrolman!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A most amazing thing had happened to Lady Jane.
+At the corner below she bumped squarely into a
+pedestrian hurrying northward.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m sorry,&quot; exclaimed the pedestrian. He did not
+say &quot;excuse me&quot; or &quot;I beg pardon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane gasped. &quot;Tom&mdash;Mr. Trotter!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Jane!&quot; cried the man in surprise. &quot;I say, what&#39;s
+up? &#39;Gad, you&#39;re trembling like a leaf.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She tried to tell him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Take a long breath,&quot; he suggested gently, as the
+words came swiftly and disjointedly from her lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page166" id="page166"></a>[pg&nbsp;166]</span>
+She did so, and started all over again. This time
+he was able to understand her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Wait! Tell me the rest later on,&quot; he interrupted.
+&quot;Come along! This looks pretty ugly to me. By
+gad, I&mdash;I believe he was planning to abduct you or
+something as&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I must have a policeman,&quot; she protested, holding
+back. &quot;I was looking for one when you came up.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nonsense! We don&#39;t need a bobby. I can take
+care of&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But that man will make off with my bags.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We&#39;ll see,&quot; he cried, and she was swept along up
+the street, running to keep pace with his prodigious
+strides. He had linked his arm through hers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">They found her effects scattered along the edge of
+the sidewalk. Trotter laughed, but it was not a good-humoured
+laugh.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Skipped!&quot; he grated. &quot;I might have known it.
+Now, let me think. What is the next, the best thing
+to do? Go up there and ring that doorbell and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No! You are not to do that. Sit down here
+beside me. My&mdash;my knees are frightfully shaky. So
+silly of them. But I&mdash;I&mdash;really it was quite a shock
+I had, Mr. Trotter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Better call me Tom,&mdash;for the present at least,&quot;
+he suggested, sitting down beside her on the trunk.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What a strange coincidence,&quot; she murmured.
+There was not much room on the trunk for two. He
+sat quite on one end of it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You mean,&mdash;sitting there?&quot; he inquired, blankly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No. Your turning up as you did,&mdash;out of a
+clear sky.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page167" id="page167"></a>[pg&nbsp;167]</span>
+&quot;I shouldn&#39;t call it clear,&quot; said he, suddenly diffident.
+&quot;Thick as a blanket.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It was queer, though, wasn&#39;t it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not a bit. I&#39;ve been walking up and down past
+this house for twenty minutes at least. We were bound
+to meet. Sit still. I&#39;ll keep an eye out for an empty
+taxi. The first thing to do is to see that you get
+safely down to Mrs. Sparflight&#39;s.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How did you know I was to go there?&quot; she demanded.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She told me,&quot; said he bluntly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She wasn&#39;t to tell any one&mdash;at present.&quot; She
+peered closely,&mdash;at the side of his face.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He abruptly changed the subject. &quot;And then I&#39;ll
+come back here and wait till he ventures out. I&#39;m off
+till nine o&#39;clock. I sha&#39;n&#39;t pull his nose this time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Please explain,&quot; she insisted, clutching at his arm
+as he started to arise. &quot;Did she send you up here,
+Mr. Trotter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, she didn&#39;t,&quot; said he, almost gruffly, and stood
+up to hail an approaching automobile. &quot;Can&#39;t see
+a thing,&quot; he went on. &quot;We&#39;ll just have to stop &#39;em
+till we catch one that isn&#39;t engaged. Taxi?&quot; he
+shouted.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No!&quot; roared a voice from the shroud of mist.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The butler telephoned for one, I am sure,&quot; said she.
+&quot;He must have been sent away before I came downstairs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t think about it. You&#39;ll get yourself all
+wrought up and&mdash;and&mdash;Everything&#39;s all right,
+now, Lady Jane,&mdash;I should say Miss&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Call me Jane,&quot; said she softly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page168" id="page168"></a>[pg&nbsp;168]</span>
+&quot;You&mdash;you don&#39;t mind?&quot; he cried, and sat down
+beside her again. The trunk seemed to have increased
+in size. At any rate there was room to spare at the
+end.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not&mdash;not in the least,&quot; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was silent for a long time. &quot;Would you mind
+calling me Eric,&mdash;just once?&quot; he said at last, wistfully.
+His voice was very low. &quot;I&mdash;I&#39;m rather
+homesick for the sound of my own name, uttered by
+one of my own people.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, you poor dear boy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Say &#39;Eric,&#39;&quot; he pleaded.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Eric,&quot; she half-whispered, suddenly shy.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He drew a long, deep breath, and again was silent for
+a long time. Both of them appeared to have completely
+forgotten her plight.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We&#39;re both a long, long way from home, Jane,&quot; he
+said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, Eric.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Odd that we should be sitting here like this, on a
+trunk, on the sidewalk,&mdash;in a fog.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The &#39;two orphans,&#39;&quot; she said, with feeble attempt
+at sprightliness.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;People passing by within a few yards of us and yet
+we&mdash;we&#39;re quite invisible.&quot; There was a thrill in his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Almost as if we were in London, Eric,&mdash;lovely black
+old London.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Footsteps went by in the fog in front of them, automobiles
+slid by behind them, tooting their unheard
+horns.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page169" id="page169"></a>[pg&nbsp;169]</span>
+&quot;Oh, Jane, I&mdash;I can&#39;t help it,&quot; he whispered in
+her ear, and his arm went round her shoulders. &quot;I&mdash;I
+love you so.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She put her hand up to his cheek and held it there.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I know it, Eric,&quot; she said, ever so softly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It may have been five minutes, or ten minutes&mdash;even
+so long as half an hour. There is no way to determine
+the actual lapse of time, or consciousness, that followed
+her declaration. The patrolman who came up
+and stopped in front of them, peering hard at the
+dense, immobile mass that had attracted his attention
+for the simple reason that it wasn&#39;t there when he
+passed on his uptown round, couldn&#39;t have thrown any
+light on the question. He had no means of knowing
+just when it began.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, what&#39;s all this?&quot; he demanded suspiciously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane sighed, and disengaged herself. Trotter stood
+up, confronting the questioner.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We&#39;re waiting for a taxi,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s this? A trunk?&quot; inquired the officer, tapping
+the object with his night-stick.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is,&quot; said Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Out of one of these houses along here?&quot; He described
+a half-circle with his night-stick.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Right in front of you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s the Smith-Parvis house. They&#39;ve got a
+couple of cars, my bucko. What you givin&#39; me?
+Whadda you mean taxi?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She happens not to be one of the family. The
+courtesy of the port is not extended to her, you see.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hired girl?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page170" id="page170"></a>[pg&nbsp;170]</span>
+&quot;In a way. I say, officer, be a good fellow. Keep
+your eye peeled for a taxi as you go along and send it up
+for us. She had one ordered, but&mdash;well, you can see
+for yourself. It isn&#39;t here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s as plain as the nose on your face. I guess
+I&#39;ll just step up to the door and see if it&#39;s all right.
+Stay where you are. Looks queer to me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, it isn&#39;t necessary to inquire, officer,&quot; broke in
+Jane nervously. &quot;You have my word for it that it&#39;s
+all right.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I have, have I? Fine! And what if them bags
+and things is filled with silver and God knows what?
+You don&#39;t&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go ahead and inquire,&quot; said Trotter, pressing her
+arm encouragingly. &quot;Ask the butler if he didn&#39;t call
+a cab for Miss Emsdale,&mdash;and also ask him why in
+thunder it isn&#39;t here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The patrolman hesitated. &quot;Who are you,&quot; he
+asked, stepping a little closer to Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am this young lady&#39;s fiancé,&quot; said Trotter, with
+dignity.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Her what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Her steady,&quot; said Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The policeman laughed,&mdash;good-naturedly, to their
+relief.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, well, <i>that</i> being the case,&quot; said he, and started
+away. &quot;Excuse me for buttin&#39; in.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sure,&quot; said Trotter amiably. &quot;If you see a taxi,
+old man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Leave it to me,&quot; came back from the fog.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane nestled close to her tall young man. His arm
+was about her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page171" id="page171"></a>[pg&nbsp;171]</span>
+&quot;Wasn&#39;t he perfectly lovely?&quot; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Everything is perfectly lovely,&quot; said he, vastly reassured.
+He had taken considerable risk with the word
+&quot;fiancé.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page172" id="page172"></a>[pg&nbsp;172]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>
+
+<h3>NOT CLOUDS ALONE HAVE LININGS</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">THE weather turned off warm. The rise in the temperature
+may have been responsible for the melting
+of Princess Mariana Theresa Sebastano Michelini
+Celestine di Pavesi&#39;s heart, or it may have sharply revealed
+to her calculating mind the prospect of a long
+and profitless season in cold storage for Prince de
+Bosky&#39;s fur-lined coat. In any event, she notified him
+by post to call for his coat and take it away with him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The same post brought a letter from the Countess
+du Bara advising him that her brother-in-law, who
+conducted an all-night café just off Broadway in the
+very heart of the thriftless district, had been compelled
+to dismiss the leader of his far-famed Czech orchestra,
+and that she had recommended him for the
+vacancy. He would have to hurry, however.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In a postscript, she hoped he wouldn&#39;t mind wearing
+a red coat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Countess du Bara was of the Opera, where she
+was known as Mademoiselle Belfort and occupied a
+fairly prominent position in the front row of chorus
+sopranos. Some day she was to make her début as a
+principal. The Director of the Opera had promised
+her that, and while she regarded his promise as being
+as good as gold, it was, unfortunately, far more elastic,
+as may be gathered from the fact that it already had
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page173" id="page173"></a>[pg&nbsp;173]</span>
+stretched over three full seasons and looked capable
+of still further extension without being broken.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">But that is neither here nor there. It is only necessary
+to state that the Countess, being young and vigorous
+and satisfactorily endowed with good looks, was
+not without faith in the promises of man. In return
+for the Director&#39;s faith in her, she was one day going
+to make him famous as the discoverer of Corinne Belfort.
+For the moment, her importance, so far as this
+narrative is concerned, rests on the fact that her brother-in-law
+conducts a café and had named his youngest
+daughter Corinne, a doubtful compliment in view of his
+profane preference for John or even George. He was
+an American and had five daughters.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky was ecstatic. Luck had turned. He was
+confident, even before he ventured to peer out of his
+single little window, that the sun was shining brightly
+and that birds were singing somewhere, if not in the
+heart of the congested East Side. And sure enough the
+sun was shining, and hurdy-gurdies were substituting
+for bobolinks, and the air was reeking of spring. A
+little wistfully he regretted that the change had not
+come when he needed the overcoat to shield his shivering
+body, and when the &quot;opportunity&quot; would have insured
+an abundance of meat and drink, to say nothing of a
+couple of extra blankets,&mdash;but why lament?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">There was a sprightliness in his gait, a gleam in his
+eyes, and a cheery word on his lips as he forged his
+way through the suddenly alive streets, and made his
+way to the Subway station. This morning he would
+not walk. There was something left of the four dollars
+he had earned the week before shovelling snow into the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page174" id="page174"></a>[pg&nbsp;174]</span>
+city&#39;s wagons. True, his hands were stiff and blistered,
+but all that would respond to the oil of affluence. There
+was no time to lose. She had said in the postscript
+that he would have to hurry.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Two hours later he burst excitedly into the bookshop
+of J. Bramble and exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And now, my dear, good friend, I shall soon be
+able to return to you the various amounts you have
+advanced me from time to time, out of the goodness of
+your heart, and I shall&mdash;what do I say?&mdash;blow you
+off to a banquet that even now, in contemplation, makes
+my own mouth water,&mdash;and I shall&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Bless my soul,&quot; gasped Mr. Bramble. &quot;Would
+you mind saying <i>all</i> of it in English? What is the excitement?
+Just a moment, please.&quot; The latter to a
+mild-looking gentleman who was poising a book in one
+hand and inquiring the price with the uplifting of his
+eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky rapped three or four times on the violin
+case tucked under his arm.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;After all the years and all the money I spent in
+mastering this&mdash;But, you are busy, my good friend.
+Pray forgive the interruption&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What has happened?&quot; demanded Mr. Bramble,
+uneasily.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have fallen into a fortune. Twenty-five dollars
+a week,&mdash;so!&quot; he said whimsically. &quot;Also I shall
+restore the five dollars that Trotter forced me to take,&mdash;and
+the odd amounts M. Mirabeau has&mdash;Yes, yes,
+my friend, I am radiant. I am to lead the new orchestra
+at Spangler&#39;s café. I have concluded negotiations
+with&mdash;ah, how quickly it was done! And I
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page175" id="page175"></a>[pg&nbsp;175]</span>
+approached him with fear and trembling. I would
+have played for him, so that he might judge,&mdash;but
+no! He said &#39;No, no!&#39; It was not necessary. Corinne&#39;s
+word was enough for him. You do not know
+Corinne. She is beautiful. She is an artiste! One
+day she will be on the lips of every one. Go! Be
+quick! The gentleman is departing. You will have
+lost a&mdash;a sale, and all through the fault of me. I beseech
+you,&mdash;catch him quick. Do not permit me to
+bring you bad luck. Au revoir! I go at once to
+acquaint M. Mirabeau with&mdash;au revoir!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He dashed up the back stairway, leaving Mr. Bramble
+agape.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It was only a ten-cent book,&quot; he muttered to the
+back of the departing customer. &quot;And, besides, you
+do not belong to the union,&quot; he shouted loudly, addressing
+himself to de Bosky, who stopped short on the
+stairs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The union?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The union will not permit you to play,&quot; said the
+bookseller, mounting the steps. &quot;It will permit you
+to starve but not to play.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But the man&mdash;the man he said it was because I
+do not belong to the union that he engages me. He
+says the union holds him, up, what? So! He discharge
+the union&mdash;all of them. We form a new orchestra.
+Then we don&#39;t give a damn, he say. Not
+a tinkle damn! And Corinne say also not a tinkle
+damn! And I say not a tinkle damn! <i>Voila!</i>&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;God bless my soul,&quot; said Mr. Bramble, shaking his
+head.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau rejoiced. He embraced the little musician,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page176" id="page176"></a>[pg&nbsp;176]</span>
+he pooh-hooed Mr. Bramble&#39;s calamitous regard
+for the union, and he wound up by inviting de
+Bosky to stop for lunch with him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, no,&mdash;impossible,&quot; exclaimed de Bosky, feeling
+in his waistcoat pocket absent-mindedly, and then
+glancing at a number of M. Mirabeau&#39;s clocks in rotation;
+&quot;no, I have not the time. Your admirable clocks
+urge me to be off. See! I am to recover the overcoat
+of my excellent friend, the safe-blower. This letter,&mdash;see!
+Mrs. Moses Jacobs. She tells me to come and
+take it away with me. Am I not the lucky dog,&mdash;no,
+no! I mean am I not the lucky star? I must be off.
+She may change her mind. She&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mon dieu! I&#39;d let her change it if I were you,&quot;
+cried M. Mirabeau. &quot;I call it the height of misfortune
+to possess a fur coat on a day like this. One might as
+well rejoice over a linen coat in mid-winter. You are
+excited! Calm yourself. A bit of cold tongue, and a
+salad, and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Au revoir!&quot; sang out de Bosky from the top of
+the steps. &quot;And remember! I shall repay you within
+the fortnight, monsieur. I promise! Ah, it is a
+beautiful, a glorious day!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The old Frenchman dashed to the landing and called
+down after his speeding guest:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Fetch the coat with you to luncheon. I shall order
+some moth-balls, and after we&#39;ve stuffed it full of them,
+we&#39;ll put the poor thing away for a long, long siesta.
+It shall be like the anaconda. I have a fine cedar
+chest&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">But Mr. Bramble was speaking from the bottom of
+the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page177" id="page177"></a>[pg&nbsp;177]</span>
+&quot;And the unfeeling brutes may resort to violence.
+They often do. They have been known to inflict serious
+injury upon&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Tonight I shall play at Spangler&#39;s,&quot; cried de
+Bosky, slapping his chest. &quot;In a red coat,&mdash;and I
+shall not speak the English language. I am the recent
+importation from Budapesth. So! I am come especially
+to direct the orchestra&mdash;at great expense! In
+big letters on the menu card it shall be printed that I am
+late of the Royal Hungarian Orchestra, and at the
+greatest expense have I been secured. The newspapers
+shall say that I came across the ocean in a special
+steamer, all at Monsieur Spangler&#39;s expense. I and my
+red coat! So! Come tonight, my friend. Come and
+hear the great de Bosky in his little red coat,&mdash;and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Do not forget that you are to return for luncheon,&quot;
+sang out M. Mirabeau from the top of the stairs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">There were tears in de Bosky&#39;s eyes. &quot;God bless
+you both,&quot; he cried. &quot;But for you I should have
+starved to death,&mdash;as long ago as last week. God
+bless you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His frail body swayed a little as he made his way
+down the length of the shop. Commanding all his
+strength of will, he squared his shoulders and stiffened
+his trembling knees, but not soon enough to delude the
+observing Mr. Bramble, who hurried after him, peering
+anxiously through his horn-rimmed spectacles.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is just like you foreigners,&quot; he said, overtaking
+the violinist near the door, and speaking with some
+energy. &quot;Just like you, I say, to forget to eat breakfast
+when you are excited. You did not have a bite of
+breakfast, now did you? Up and out, all excited and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page178" id="page178"></a>[pg&nbsp;178]</span>
+eager, forgetting everything but&mdash;I say, Mirabeau,
+lend a hand! He is ready to drop. God bless my
+soul! Brace up, your highness,&mdash;I should say old
+chap&mdash;brace up! Damme, sir, what possessed you to
+refuse our invitation to dine with us last night? And
+it was the third time within the week. Answer me
+that, sir!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky sat weakly, limply, pathetically, before
+the two old men. They had led him to a chair at the
+back of the shop. Both were regarding him with justifiable
+severity. He smiled wanly as he passed his hand
+over his moist, pallid brow.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are poor men. Why,&mdash;why should I become
+a charge upon you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mon dieu!&quot; sputtered M. Mirabeau, lifting his
+arms on high and shaking his head in absolute despair,&mdash;despair,
+you may be sure, over a most unaccountable
+and never-to-be-forgotten moment in which he found
+himself utterly and hopelessly without words.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble suddenly rammed a hand down into
+the pocket of his ancient smoking-coat, and fished out
+a huge, red, glistening apple.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Here! Eat this!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky shook his head. His smile broadened.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, thank you. I&mdash;I do not like apples.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The bookseller was aghast. Moreover, pity and
+alarm rendered him singularly inept in the choice of
+a reply to this definite statement.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Take it home to the children,&quot; he pleaded, with
+the best intention in the world.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">By this time, M. Mirabeau had found his tongue.
+He took the situation in hand. With tact and an infinite
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page179" id="page179"></a>[pg&nbsp;179]</span>
+understanding, he astonished the matter-of-fact
+Mr. Bramble by appearing to find something amusing
+in the plight of their friend. He made light of the
+whole affair. Mr. Bramble, who could see no farther
+than the fact that the poor fellow was starving, was
+shocked. It certainly wasn&#39;t a thing one should treat
+as a joke,&mdash;and here was the old simpleton chuckling
+and grinning like a lunatic when he should be&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lunatic! Mr. Bramble suddenly went cold to the
+soles of his feet. A horrified look came into his eyes.
+Could it be possible that something had snapped in the
+old Frenchman&#39;s&mdash;but M. Mirabeau was now addressing
+him instead of the smiling de Bosky.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Come, come!&quot; he was shouting merrily. &quot;We&#39;re
+not following de Bosky to the grave. He is not even
+having a funeral. Cheer up! Mon dieu, such a
+face!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble grew rosy. &quot;Blooming rubbish,&quot; he
+snorted, still a trifle apprehensive.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The clock-maker turned again to de Bosky. &quot;Come
+upstairs at once. I shall myself fry eggs for you, and
+bacon,&mdash;nice and crisp,&mdash;and my coffee is not the
+worst in the world, my friend. <i>His</i> is abominable.
+And toast, hot and buttery,&mdash;ah, I am not surprised
+that your mouth waters!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It isn&#39;t my mouth that is watering,&quot; said de Bosky,
+wiping his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Any fool could see that,&quot; said Mr. Bramble, scowling
+at the maladroit Mirabeau.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It was two o&#39;clock when Prince Waldemar de Bosky
+took his departure from the hospitable home of the
+two old men, and, well-fortified in body as well as in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page180" id="page180"></a>[pg&nbsp;180]</span>
+spirit, moved upon the stronghold of Mrs. Moses
+Jacobs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The chatelaine of &quot;The Royal Exchange. M. Jacobs,
+Proprietor,&quot; received him with surprising cordiality.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, well!&quot; she called out cheerily as he approached
+the &quot;desk.&quot; &quot;I thought you&#39;d never get
+here. I been waitin&#39; since nine o&#39;clock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Her dark, heavy face bore signs of a struggle to
+overcome the set, implacable expression that avarice
+and suspicion had stamped upon it in the course of a
+long and resolute abstinence from what we are prone
+to call the milk of human kindness. She was actually
+trying to beam as she leaned across the gem-laden showcase
+and extended her coarse, unlovely hand to the
+visitor.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am sorry,&quot; said he, shaking hands with her. &quot;I
+have been extremely busy. Besides, on a hot day like
+this, I could get along very nicely without a fur coat,
+Mrs. Jacobs.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sure!&quot; said she. &quot;It sure is hot today. You
+ought to thank God you ain&#39;t as fat as I am. It&#39;s
+awful on fat people. Well, wasn&#39;t you surprised?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It was most gracious of you, Mrs. Jacobs,&quot; he
+said with dignity. &quot;I should have come in at once
+to express my appreciation of your&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, that&#39;s all right. Don&#39;t mention it. You&#39;re
+a decent little feller, de Bosky, and I&#39;ve got a heart,&mdash;although
+most of these mutts around here don&#39;t think
+so. Yes, sir, I meant it when I said you could tear up
+the pawn ticket and take the coat&mdash;with the best
+wishes of yours truly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page181" id="page181"></a>[pg&nbsp;181]</span>
+&quot;Spoken like a lady,&quot; said he promptly. He was
+fanning himself with his hat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mind you, I don&#39;t ask you for a penny. The slate
+is clean. There&#39;s the coat, layin&#39; over there on that
+counter. Take it along. No one can ever say that I&#39;d
+let a fellow-creature freeze to death for the sake of a
+five-dollar bill. No, sir! With the compliments of
+&#39;The Royal Exchange,&#39;&mdash;if you care to put it that
+way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I cannot permit you to cancel my obligation,
+Mrs. Jacobs. I shall hand you the money inside of a
+fortnight. I thank you, however, for the generous
+impulse&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Cut it out,&quot; she interrupted genially. &quot;Nix on
+the sentiment stuff. I&#39;m in a good humour. Don&#39;t
+spoil it by tryin&#39; to be polite. And don&#39;t talk about
+handin&#39; me anything. I won&#39;t take it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In that case, Mrs. Jacobs, I shall be obliged to
+leave the coat with you,&quot; he said stiffly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She stared. &quot;You mean,&mdash;you won&#39;t accept it from
+me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I borrowed money on it. I can say no more,
+madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, I&#39;ll be&mdash;&quot; She extended her hand again, a
+look of genuine pleasure in her black eyes. &quot;Shake
+hands again, Prince de Bosky. I&mdash;I understand.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And I&mdash;I think I understand, Princess,&quot; said he,
+grasping the woman&#39;s hand.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I hope you do,&quot; said she huskily. &quot;I&mdash;I just
+didn&#39;t know how to go about it, that&#39;s all. Ever since
+that day you were in here to see me,&mdash;that bitterly
+cold day,&mdash;I&#39;ve been trying to think of a way to&mdash;And
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page182" id="page182"></a>[pg&nbsp;182]</span>
+so I waited till it turned so hot that you&#39;d know I
+wasn&#39;t trying to do it out of charity&mdash;You <i>do</i> understand,
+don&#39;t you, Prince?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Perfectly,&quot; said he, very soberly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I feel better than I&#39;ve felt in a good long time,&quot;
+she said, drawing a long breath.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s the way we all feel sometimes,&quot; said he,
+smiling. &quot;No doubt it&#39;s the sun,&quot; he added. &quot;We
+haven&#39;t seen much of it lately.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quit your kiddin&#39;,&quot; she cried, donning her mask
+again and relapsing into the vernacular of the district.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He bore the coat in triumph to the work-shop of M.
+Mirabeau, and loudly called for moth-balls as he
+mounted the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I jest, good friend,&quot; he explained, as the old
+Frenchman laid aside his tools and started for the
+shelves containing a vast assortment of boxes and
+packages. &quot;Time enough for all that. At four
+o&#39;clock I am due at Spangler&#39;s for a rehearsal of the
+celebrated Royal Hungarian Orchestra, imported at
+great expense from Budapesth. I leave the treasure in
+your custody. Au revoir!&quot; He had thrown the coat
+on the end of the work bench.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You will return for dinner,&quot; was M. Mirabeau&#39;s
+stern reminder. &quot;A pot roast tonight, Bramble has
+announced. We will dine at six, since you must report
+at seven.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In my little red coat,&quot; sang out de Bosky blithely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mon dieu!&quot; exclaimed the Frenchman, in dismay,
+running his fingers over the lining of the coat. &quot;They
+are already at work. The moths! See! Ah, <i>le
+diable!</i> They have devoured&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page183" id="page183"></a>[pg&nbsp;183]</span>
+&quot;What!&quot; cried de Bosky, snatching up the coat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The arm pits and&mdash;ah, the seams fall apart!
+One could thrust his hand into the hole they have made.
+Too late!&quot; he groaned. &quot;They have ruined it, my
+friend.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky leaned against the bench, the picture of
+distress. &quot;What will my friend, the safe-blower, say to
+this? What will he think of me for&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now we know how the estimable Mrs. Jacobs came
+to have softening of the heart,&quot; exploded M. Mirabeau,
+pulling at his long whiskers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Bramble, abandoning the shop downstairs, shuffled
+into the room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Did I hear you say &#39;moths&#39;?&quot; he demanded, consternation
+written all over his face. &quot;For God&#39;s sake,
+don&#39;t turn them loose in the house. They&#39;ll be into
+everything&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What is this?&quot; cried de Bosky, peering intently
+between the crumbling edges of the rent, which widened
+hopelessly as he picked at it with nervous fingers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stitched securely inside the fur at the point of the
+shoulder was a thin packet made of what at one time
+must have been part of a rubber rain-coat. The three
+men stared at it with interest.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Padding,&quot; said Mr. Bramble.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Rubbish,&quot; said M. Mirabeau, referring to Mr.
+Bramble&#39;s declaration. He was becoming excited.
+Thrusting a keen-edged knife into de Bosky&#39;s hand, he
+said: &quot;Remove it&mdash;but with care, with care!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A moment later de Bosky held the odd little packet
+in his hand.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page184" id="page184"></a>[pg&nbsp;184]</span>
+&quot;Cut the threads,&quot; said Mr. Bramble, readjusting
+his big spectacles. &quot;It is sewed at the ends.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The old bookseller was the first of the stupefied men
+to speak after the contents of the rubber bag were revealed
+to view.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;God bless my soul!&quot; he gasped.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Bank notes,&mdash;many of them,&mdash;lay in de Bosky&#39;s
+palm.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Almost mechanically he began to count them. They
+were of various denominations, none smaller than twenty
+dollars. The eyes of the men popped as he ran off in
+succession two five-hundred-dollar bills.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Downstairs in the shop of J. Bramble, some one was
+pounding violently on a counter, but without results.
+He could produce no one to wait on him. He might as
+well have tried to rouse the dead.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Clever rascal,&quot; said M. Mirabeau at last. &quot;The
+last place in the world one would think of looking for
+plunder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What do you mean?&quot; asked de Bosky, still dazed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is quite simple,&quot; said the Frenchman. &quot;Who
+but your enterprising friend, the cracksman, could
+have thought of anything so original as hiding money
+in the lining of a fur overcoat? He leaves the coat in
+your custody, knowing you to be an honest man. At
+the expiration of his term, he will reclaim&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah, but he has still a matter of ten or eleven years
+to serve,&quot; agreed de Bosky. &quot;A great deal could happen
+in ten or eleven years. He would not have taken
+so great a risk. He&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Um!&quot; mused M. Mirabeau, frowning. &quot;That is
+so.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page185" id="page185"></a>[pg&nbsp;185]</span>
+&quot;What am I to do with it?&quot; cried de Bosky.
+&quot;Nearly three thousand dollars! Am I awake, Mr.
+Bramble?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We can&#39;t all be dreaming the same thing,&quot; said the
+bookseller, his fascinated gaze fixed on the bank notes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah-h!&quot; exclaimed M. Mirabeau suddenly. &quot;Try
+the other shoulder! There will be more. He would not
+have been so clumsy as to put it all on one side. He
+would have padded both shoulders alike.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And to the increased amazement of all of them, a
+similar packet was found in the left shoulder of the
+coat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What did I tell you!&quot; cried the old Frenchman,
+triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Included among the contents of the second bag, was
+a neatly folded sheet of writing-paper. De Bosky,
+with trembling fingers, spread it out, and holding it to
+the light, read in a low, halting manner:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="indent">&quot;&#39;Finder is keeper. This coat dont belong to me,
+and the money neither. It is nobodies buisness who
+they belonged to before. I put the money inside here
+becaus it is a place no one would ever look and I am
+taken a gamblers chanse on geting it back some day.
+Stranger things have happened. Something tells me
+that they are going to get me soon, and I dont want them
+to cop this stuff. It was hard earned. Mighty hard.
+I am hereby trusting to luck. I leave this coat with my
+neighbor, Mr. Debosky, so in case they get me, they
+wont get it when they search my room. My neighber
+is an honest man. He dont know what I am and he
+dont know about this money. If anybody has to find
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page186" id="page186"></a>[pg&nbsp;186]</span>
+it I hope it will be him. Maybe they wont get me after
+all so all this writing is in vain. But Im taken no
+chance on that, and Im willing to take a chance on this
+stuff getting back to me somehow. I will say this before
+closing. The money belonged to people in various
+parts of the country and they could all afford to
+lose it, espeshilly the doctor. He is a bigger robber
+than I am, only he lets people see him get away with it.
+If this should fall into the hands of the police I want
+them to believe me when I say my neighber, a little forreigner
+who plays the violin till it brings tears to my
+eyes, has no hand in this business. I am simply asking
+him to take care of my coat and wear it till I call for it,
+whenever that may be. And the following remarks is
+for him. If he finds this dough, he can keep it and use
+as much of it as he sees fit. I would sooner he had it
+than anybody, because he is poorer than anybody.
+And what he dont know wont hurt him. I mean what
+he dont know about who the stuff belonged to in the
+beginning. Being of sound mind and so fourth I hereby
+subscribe myself, in the year of our lord, September
+26, 1912.</p>
+
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="right">&quot;<span class="smcap">Henry Loveless</span>.&quot;</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How very extraordinary,&quot; said Mr. Bramble after
+a long silence.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nearly five thousand dollars,&quot; said M. Mirabeau.
+&quot;What will you do with it, de Bosky?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The little violinist passed his hand over his brow,
+as if to clear away the last vestige of perplexity.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;There is but one thing to do, my friends,&quot; he said
+slowly, straightening up and facing them. &quot;You will
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page187" id="page187"></a>[pg&nbsp;187]</span>
+understand, of course, that I cannot under any circumstances
+possess myself of this stolen property.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Another silence ensued.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Certainly not,&quot; said Mr. Bramble at last.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It would be impossible,&quot; said M. Mirabeau, sighing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall, therefore, address a letter to my friend,
+acquainting him with the mishap to his coat. I shall
+inform him that the insects have destroyed the fur in
+the shoulders, laying bare the padding, and that while
+I have been negligent in my care of his property up to
+this time, I shall not be so in the future. Without
+betraying the secret, I shall in some way let him know
+that the money is safe and that he may expect to regain
+all of it when he&mdash;when he comes out.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good!&quot; exclaimed Mr. Bramble warmly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau suddenly broke into uproarious laughter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mon dieu!&quot; he gasped, when he could catch his
+breath. The others were staring at him in alarm. &quot;It
+is rare! It is exquisite! The refinement of justice!
+That <i>this</i> should have happened to the blood-sucking
+Mrs. Jacobs! Oho&mdash;ho&mdash;ho!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page188" id="page188"></a>[pg&nbsp;188]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>
+
+<h3>DIPLOMACY</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">MR. SMITH-PARVIS, Senior, entertained one
+old-fashioned, back-number idea,&mdash;relict of a
+throttled past; it was a pestiferous idea that always
+kept bobbing up in an insistent, aggravating way the
+instant he realized that he had a few minutes to himself.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Psychologists might go so far as to claim that he
+had been born with it; that it was, after a fashion,
+hereditary. He had come of honest, hard-working
+Smiths; the men and women before him had cultivated
+the idea with such unwavering assiduity that, despite
+all that had conspired to stifle it, the thing still clung
+to him and would not be shaken off.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In short, Mr. Smith-Parvis had an idea that a man
+should work. Especially a young man.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In secret he squirmed over the fact that his son Stuyvesant
+had never been known to do a day&#39;s work in his
+life. Not that it was actually necessary for the young
+man to descend to anything so common and inelegant as
+earning his daily bread, or that there was even a remote
+prospect of the wolf sniffing around a future doorway.
+Not at all. He knew that Stuyvie didn&#39;t have to work.
+Still, it grieved him to see so much youthful energy
+going to waste. He had never quite gotten over the
+feeling that a man could make something besides a mere
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page189" id="page189"></a>[pg&nbsp;189]</span>
+gentleman of himself, and do it without seriously impairing
+the family honour.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He had once suggested to his wife that Stuyvesant
+ought to go to work. He didn&#39;t care what he took up,
+just so he took up something. Mrs. Smith-Parvis was
+horrified. She would not listen to his reiterations that
+he didn&#39;t mean clerking in a drygoods shop, or collecting
+fares on a street car, or repairing electric doorbells,
+or anything of the kind, and she wouldn&#39;t allow
+him to say just what sort of work he did mean. The
+subject was not mentioned again for years. Stuyvesant
+was allowed to go on being a gentleman in his
+own sweet way.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">One day Mrs. Smith-Parvis, to his surprise and joy,
+announced that she thought Stuyvesant ought to have
+a real chance to make something of himself,&mdash;a vocation
+or an avocation, she wasn&#39;t sure which,&mdash;and she
+couldn&#39;t see why the father of such a bright, capable
+boy had been so blind to the possibilities that lay before
+him. She actually blamed him for holding the young
+man back.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I suggested some time ago, my dear,&quot; he began, in
+self-defence, &quot;that the boy ought to get a job and
+settle down to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Job? How I loathe that word. It is almost as
+bad as situation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, then, position,&quot; he amended. &quot;You wouldn&#39;t
+hear to it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have no recollection of any such conversation,&quot;
+said she firmly. &quot;I have been giving the subject a
+great deal of thought lately. The dear boy is entitled
+to his opportunity. He must make a name for himself.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page190" id="page190"></a>[pg&nbsp;190]</span>
+I have decided, Philander, that he ought to go into the
+diplomatic service.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, Lord!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t blame you for saying &#39;Oh, Lord,&#39; if you
+think I mean the American diplomatic service,&quot; she
+said, smiling. &quot;That, of course, is not even to be considered.
+He must aim higher than that. I know it is
+a vulgar expression, but there is no class to the American
+embassies abroad. Compare our embassies with
+any of the other&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, my dear, you forget that&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They are made up largely of men who have sprung
+from the most ordinary walks in life,&mdash;men totally unfitted
+for the social position that&mdash;
+Please do not
+argue, Philander. You know perfectly well that what
+I say is true. I shouldn&#39;t think of letting Stuyvesant
+enter the American diplomatic service. Do you remember
+that dreadful person who came to see us in Berlin,&mdash;about
+the trunks we sent up from Paris by <i>grande
+vitesse</i>? Well, just think of Stuyvesant&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He was a clerk from the U. S. Consul&#39;s office,&quot; he
+interrupted doggedly. &quot;Nothing whatever to do with
+the embassy. Besides, we can&#39;t&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It doesn&#39;t matter. I have been giving it a great
+deal of thought lately, trying to decide which is the best
+service for Stuyvesant to enter. The English diplomatic
+corps in this country is perfectly stunning, and
+so is the French,&mdash;and the Russian, for that matter.
+He doesn&#39;t speak the Russian language, however, so I
+suppose we will have to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;See here, my dear,&mdash;listen to me,&quot; he broke in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page191" id="page191"></a>[pg&nbsp;191]</span>
+resolutely. &quot;Stuyvesant can&#39;t get into the service of
+any of these countries. He&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;d like to know why not!&quot; she cried sharply.
+&quot;He is a gentleman, he has manner, he is&mdash;
+Well,
+isn&#39;t he as good as any of the young men one sees at
+the English or the French Legations in Washington?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I grant you all that, but he is an American just the
+same. He can&#39;t be born all over again, you know, with
+a new pair of parents. He&#39;s got to be in the American
+diplomatic corps, or in no corps at all. Now, get that
+through your head, my dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She finally got it through her head, and resigned herself
+to the American service, deciding that the Court of
+St. James offered the most desirable prospects in view
+of its close proximity to the other great capitals of
+Europe.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Stuyvesant likes London next to Paris, and he could
+cross over to France whenever he felt the need of
+change.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Smith-Parvis looked harassed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Easier said than done,&quot; he ventured. &quot;These
+chaps in the legations have to stick pretty close to their
+posts. He can&#39;t be running about, all over the place,
+you know. It isn&#39;t expected. You might as well understand
+in the beginning that he&#39;ll have to work like
+a nailer for a good many years before he gets anywhere
+in the diplomatic service.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nonsense. Doesn&#39;t the President appoint men to
+act as Ambassadors who never had an hour&#39;s experience
+in diplomacy? It&#39;s all a matter of politics. I&#39;m
+sorry to say, Philander, the right men are never appointed.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page192" id="page192"></a>[pg&nbsp;192]</span>
+It seems to be the practice in this country to
+appoint men who, so far as I know, have absolutely no
+social standing. Mr. Choate was an exception, of
+course. I am sure that Stuyvesant will go to the top
+rapidly if he is given a chance. Now, how shall we
+go about it, Philander?&quot; She considered the matter
+settled. Her husband shook his head.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Have you spoken to Stuyvie about it?&quot; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, dear me, no. I want to surprise him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I see,&quot; said he, rather grimly for him. &quot;I see.
+We simply say: &#39;Here is a nice soft berth in the diplomatic
+corps, Stuyvie. You may sail tomorrow if you
+like.&#39;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t be silly. And please do not call him Stuyvie.
+I&#39;ve spoken to you about that a thousand times,
+Philander. Now, don&#39;t you think you ought to run
+down to Washington and see the President? It
+may&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, I don&#39;t,&quot; said he flatly. &quot;I&#39;m not a dee fool.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t&mdash;don&#39;t you care to see your son make something
+of himself?&quot; she cried in dismay.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Certainly. I&#39;d like nothing better than&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Then, try to take a little interest in him,&quot; she said
+coldly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In the first place,&quot; said he resignedly, &quot;what are
+his politics?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The same as yours. He is a Republican. All the
+people we know are Republicans. The Democrats are
+too common for words.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, his first attempt at diplomacy will be to
+change his politics,&quot; he said, waxing a little sarcastic
+as he gained courage. &quot;And I&#39;d advise you not to say
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page193" id="page193"></a>[pg&nbsp;193]</span>
+nasty things about the Democrats. They are in the
+saddle now, you know. I suppose you&#39;ve heard that
+the President is a Democrat?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I can&#39;t help that,&quot; she replied stubbornly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And he appoints nothing but Democrats.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is there likely to be a Republican president soon?&quot;
+she inquired, knitting her brows.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s difficult to say.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I suppose Stuyvesant could, in a diplomatic sort of
+way, pretend to be a Democrat, couldn&#39;t he, dear?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He lost nearly ten thousand dollars at the last election
+betting on what he said was a sure thing,&quot; said he,
+compressing his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The poor dear!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I can&#39;t see very much in this diplomatic game, anyhow,&quot;
+said Mr. Smith-Parvis determinedly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I asked you a direct question, Philander,&quot; she
+said stiffly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I seem to have forgotten just what&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I asked you how we are to go about securing an
+appointment for him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh,&quot; said he, wilting a little. &quot;So you did. Well,&mdash;um&mdash;aw&mdash;let
+me think. There&#39;s only one way.
+He&#39;s got to have a pull. Does he know any one high
+up in the Democratic ranks? Any one who possesses
+great influence?&quot; There was a twinkle in his eye.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I don&#39;t know,&quot; she replied, helplessly. &quot;He
+is quite young, Philander. He can&#39;t be expected to
+know everybody. But you! Now that I think of it,
+you must know any number of influential Democrats.
+There must be some one to whom you could go. You
+would simply say to him that Stuyvesant agrees to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page194" id="page194"></a>[pg&nbsp;194]</span>
+enter the service, and that he will do everything in his
+power to raise it to the social standard&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The man would die laughing,&quot; said he unfeelingly.
+&quot;I was just thinking. Suppose I were to go to the
+only influential Democratic politician I know,&mdash;Cornelius
+McFaddan,&mdash;and tell him that Stuyvesant advocates
+the reconstruction of our diplomatic service along
+English lines, he would undoubtedly say things to me
+that I could neither forget nor forgive. I can almost
+hear him now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You refuse to make any effort at all, then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not at all,&quot; he broke in quickly. &quot;I will see him.
+As a matter of fact, McFaddan is a very decent sort
+of chap, and he is keen to join the Oxford Country
+Club. He knows I am on the Board of Governors. In
+fact, he asked me not long ago what golf club I&#39;d advise
+him to join. He thinks he&#39;s getting too fat. Wants to
+take up golf.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But you <i>couldn&#39;t</i> propose him for membership in
+the Oxford, Philander,&quot; she said flatly. &quot;Only the
+smartest people in town&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Leave it to me,&quot; he interrupted, a flash of enthusiasm
+in his eyes. &quot;By gad, I shouldn&#39;t be surprised
+if I could do something through him. He carries
+a good deal of weight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Would it be wise to let him reduce it by playing
+golf?&quot; she inquired doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He stared. &quot;I mean politically. Figure of speech,
+my dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I see.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A little coddling on my part, and that sort of
+thing. They all want to break into society,&mdash;every
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page195" id="page195"></a>[pg&nbsp;195]</span>
+last one of them. You never can tell. A little soft
+soap goes a long way sometimes. I could ask him to
+have luncheon with me at Bombay House. Um-m-m!&quot;
+He fell into a reflective mood.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Smith-Parvis also was thoughtful. An amazing
+idea had sprouted in her head.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Has he a wife?&quot; she inquired, after many minutes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They always have, those chaps,&quot; said he. &quot;And
+a lot of children.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I was just wondering if it wouldn&#39;t be good policy
+to have them to dinner some night, Philander,&quot; she
+said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, my God!&quot; he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly
+and staring at her in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Every little helps,&quot; she said argumentatively. &quot;It
+would be like opening the seventh heaven to her if I
+were to invite her here to dine. Just think what it
+would mean to her. She would meet&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They probably eat with their knives and tuck their
+napkins under their chins.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am sure that would be amusing,&quot; said she, eagerly.
+&quot;It is so difficult nowadays to provide amusement for
+one&#39;s guests. Really, my dear, I think it is quite an
+idea. We could explain beforehand to the people we&#39;ll
+have in to meet them,&mdash;explain everything, you know.
+The plan for Stuyvesant, and everything.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was still staring. &quot;Well, who would you suggest
+having in with Mr. and Mrs. Con McFaddan?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, the Cricklewicks, and the Blodgetts,&mdash;and old
+Mrs. Millidew,&mdash;I&#39;ve been intending to have her anyway,&mdash;and
+perhaps the Van Ostrons and Cicely Braithmere,
+and I am sure we could get dear old Percy Tromboy.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page196" id="page196"></a>[pg&nbsp;196]</span>
+He would be frightfully amused by the McFinnegans,
+and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;McFaddan,&quot; he edged in.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;&mdash;and he could get a world of material for those
+screaming Irish imitations he loves to give. Now, when
+will you see Mr. McFaddan?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;d have to call on his wife, wouldn&#39;t you, before
+asking her to dinner?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She probably never has heard of the custom,&quot; said
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis composedly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The next day, Mr. Smith-Parvis strolled into the offices
+of Mr. Cornelius McFaddan, Contractor, and casually
+remarked what a wonderful view of the Bay he
+had from his windows.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I dropped in, Mr. McFaddan,&quot; he explained, &quot;to
+see if you were really in earnest about wanting to join
+the Oxford Country Club.&quot; He had decided that it
+was best to go straight to the point.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">McFaddan regarded him narrowly. &quot;Did I ever say
+I wanted to join the Oxford Country Club?&quot; he demanded.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Didn&#39;t you?&quot; asked his visitor, slightly disturbed
+by this ungracious response.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I did not,&quot; said Mr. McFaddan promptly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Dear me, I&mdash;I was under the impression&mdash;Ahem!
+I am sure you spoke of wanting to join a
+golf club.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That must have been some time ago. I&#39;ve joined
+one,&quot; said the other, a little more agreeably.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Smith-Parvis punched nervously with his cane
+at one of his pearl grey spats. The contractor allowed
+his gaze to shift. He didn&#39;t wear &quot;spats&quot; himself.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page197" id="page197"></a>[pg&nbsp;197]</span>
+&quot;I am sorry. I daresay I could have rushed you
+through in the Oxford. They are mighty rigid and
+exclusive up there, but&mdash;well, you would have gone in
+with a rush. Men like you are always shoved through
+ahead of others. It isn&#39;t quite&mdash;ah&mdash;regular, you
+know, but it&#39;s done when a candidate of special prominence
+comes up. Of course, I need not explain that it&#39;s&mdash;ah&mdash;quite
+sub rosa?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sure,&quot; said Mr. McFaddan promptly; &quot;I know.
+We do it at the Jolly Dog Club.&quot; He was again eyeing
+his visitor narrowly, speculatively. &quot;It&#39;s mighty good
+of you, Mr. Smith-Parvis. Have a cigar?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, thank you. I seldom&mdash;
+On second thoughts,
+I will take one.&quot; It occurred to him that it was the
+diplomatic thing to do, no matter what kind of a cigar
+it was. Besides, he wouldn&#39;t feel called upon to terminate
+his visit at once if he lighted the man&#39;s cigar.
+He could at least smoke an inch or even an inch and
+a half of it before announcing that he would have to be
+going. And a great deal can happen during the consumption
+of an inch or so of tobacco.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s a good cigar,&quot; he commented, after a couple
+of puffs. He took it from his lips and inspected it
+critically.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. McFaddan was pleased. &quot;It ought to be,&quot; he
+said. &quot;Fifty cents straight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The visitor looked at it with sudden respect. &quot;A
+little better than I&#39;m in the habit of smoking,&quot; he said
+ingratiatingly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What does it cost to join the Oxford Club?&quot; inquired
+the contractor.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Twelve hundred dollars admission, and two hundred
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page198" id="page198"></a>[pg&nbsp;198]</span>
+a year dues,&quot; said Mr. Smith-Parvis, pricking up
+his ears. &quot;Really quite reasonable.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My wife don&#39;t like the golf club I belong to,&quot; said
+the other, squinting at his own cigar. &quot;Rough-neck
+crowd, she says.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Smith-Parvis looked politely concerned.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s too bad,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The contractor appeared to be weighing something
+in his mind.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How long does it take to get into your club?&quot; he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Usually about five years,&quot; said Mr. Smith-Parvis,
+blandly. &quot;Long waiting list, you know. Some of the
+best people in the city are on it, by the way. I daresay
+it wouldn&#39;t be more than two or three months in your
+case, however,&quot; he concluded.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;ll speak to the wife about it,&quot; said Mr. McFaddan.
+&quot;She may put her foot down hard. Too swell
+for us, maybe. We&#39;re plain people.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not a bit of it,&quot; said Mr. Smith-Parvis readily.
+&quot;Extremely democratic club, my dear McFaddan.
+Exclusive and all that, but quite&mdash;ah&mdash;unconventional.
+Ha-ha!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Finding himself on the high-road to success, he adventured
+a little farther. Glancing up at the clock on
+the wall, he got to his feet with an exclamation of well-feigned
+dismay.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My dear fellow, I had no idea it was so near the
+luncheon hour. Stupid of me. Why didn&#39;t you kick
+me out? Ha-ha! Let me know what you decide to
+do, and I will be delighted to&mdash;
+But better still, can&#39;t
+you have lunch with me? I could tell you something
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page199" id="page199"></a>[pg&nbsp;199]</span>
+about the club and&mdash;
+What do you say to going
+around to Bombay House with me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;d like nothing better,&quot; said the thoroughly perplexed
+politician. &quot;Excuse me while I wash me hands.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And peering earnestly into the mirror above the
+washstand in the corner of the office, Mr. McFaddan
+said to himself:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I must look easier to him than I do to meself. If
+I&#39;m any kind of a guesser at all he&#39;s after one of two
+things. He either wants his tax assessment rejuced or
+wants to run for mayor of the city. The poor boob!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">That evening Mr. Smith-Parvis announced, in a
+bland and casual manner, that things were shaping
+themselves beautifully.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I had McFaddan to lunch with me,&quot; he explained.
+&quot;He was tremendously impressed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His wife was slightly perturbed. &quot;And I suppose
+you were so stupid as to introduce him to a lot of men
+in the club who&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I didn&#39;t have to,&quot; interrupted Mr. Smith-Parvis,
+a trifle crossly. &quot;It was amazing how many of the
+members knew him. I daresay four out of every five
+men in the club shook hands with him and called him
+Mr. McFaddan. Two bank presidents called him Con,
+and, by gad, Angela, he actually introduced me to several
+really big bugs I&#39;ve been wanting to meet for ten
+years or more. Most extraordinary, &#39;pon my word.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Did you&mdash;did you put out any feelers?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;About Stuyvie&mdash;sant? Certainly not. That
+would have been fatal. I did advance a few tactful
+and pertinent criticisms of our present diplomatic service,
+however. I was relieved to discover that he thinks
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page200" id="page200"></a>[pg&nbsp;200]</span>
+it can be improved. He agreed with me when I advanced
+the opinion that we, as sovereign citizens of this
+great Republic, ought to see to it that a better, a
+higher class of men represent us abroad. He said,&mdash;in
+his rough, slangy way: &#39;You&#39;re dead right. What
+good are them authors and poets we&#39;re sendin&#39; over
+there now? What we need is good, live hustlers,&mdash;men
+with ginger instead of ink in their veins.&#39; I remember
+the words perfectly. &#39;Ginger instead of ink!&#39; Ha-ha,&mdash;rather
+good, eh?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You must dress at once, Philander,&quot; said his wife.
+&quot;We are dining with the Hatchers.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That reminds me,&quot; he said, wrinkling his brow.
+&quot;I dropped in to see Cricklewick on the way up. He
+didn&#39;t appear to be very enthusiastic about dining here
+with the McFaddans.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For heaven&#39;s sake, you don&#39;t mean to say you&#39;ve
+already asked the man to dine with us!&quot; cried his wife.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not in so many words,&quot; he made haste to explain.
+&quot;He spoke several times about his wife. Seemed to
+want me to know that she was a snappy old girl,&mdash;his
+words, not mine. The salt of the earth, and so on. Of
+course, I had to say something agreeable. So I said
+I&#39;d like very much to have the pleasure of meeting her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, you did, did you?&quot; witheringly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He seemed really quite affected, my dear. It was
+several minutes before he could find the words to reply.
+Got very red in the face and managed to say finally
+that it was very kind of me. I think it rather made a
+hit with him. I merely mentioned the possibility of
+dining together some time,&mdash;<i>en famille</i>,&mdash;and that I&#39;d
+like him to meet you. Nothing more,&mdash;not a thing
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page201" id="page201"></a>[pg&nbsp;201]</span>
+more than that!&quot; he cried, quailing a little under his
+wife&#39;s eye.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And what did he say to that?&quot; she inquired. The
+rising inflection was ominous.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He was polite enough to say he&#39;d be pleased to meet
+you,&quot; said he, with justifiable exasperation.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page202" id="page202"></a>[pg&nbsp;202]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>
+
+<h3>ONE NIGHT AT SPANGLER&#39;S</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">A FEW mornings after de Bosky&#39;s <i>premier</i> as director
+of the Royal Hungarian Orchestra, Mrs.
+Sparflight called Jane Emsdale&#39;s attention to a news
+&quot;story&quot; in the <i>Times</i>. The headline was as follows:</p>
+
+<p class="center"><span class="smcap">A Royal Violinist</span></p>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Prince de Bosky Leads the Orchestra<br />
+at Spangler&#39;s</i></p>
+
+<p class="indent">Three-quarters of a column were devoted to the first
+appearance in America of the royal musician; his remarkable
+talent; his glorious ancestry; his singular independence;
+and (through an interpreter) his impressions
+of New York.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I am so glad,&quot; cried Jane, after she had read
+the story. &quot;The poor fellow was so dreadfully up
+against it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We must go and hear him soon,&quot; said the other.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">They were at the breakfast-table. Jane had been
+with the elder woman for nearly a week. She was
+happy, radiant, contented. Not so much as an inkling
+of the truth arose to disturb her serenity. She believed
+herself to be actually in the pay of &quot;Deborah.&quot; From
+morning till night she went cheerfully about the tasks
+set for her by her sorely tried employer, who, as time
+went on, found herself hard put to invent duties for a
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page203" id="page203"></a>[pg&nbsp;203]</span>
+conscientious private secretary. Jane was much too
+active, much too eager; such indefatigable energy harassed
+rather than comforted her employer. And, not
+for the world, would the latter have called upon her to
+take over any of the work downstairs. The poor lady
+lay awake nights trying to think of something that she
+could set the girl to doing in the morning!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A curt, pointed epistle had come to Mrs. Sparflight
+from Mrs. Smith-Parvis. That lady announced briefly
+that she had been obliged to discharge Miss Emsdale,
+and that she considered it her duty to warn Mrs. Sparflight
+against recommending her late governess to any
+one else.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You may answer the note, my dear,&quot; the Marchioness
+had said, her eyes twinkling as she watched Jane&#39;s
+face. &quot;Thank her for the warning and say that I regret
+having sent Miss Emsdale to her. Say that I shall
+be exceedingly careful in the future. Sign it, and append
+your initials. It isn&#39;t a bad idea to let her know
+that I do not regard her communication as strictly confidential,&mdash;between
+friends, you might say. And now
+you must get out for a long walk today. A strong,
+healthy English girl like you shouldn&#39;t go without
+stretching her legs. You&#39;ll be losing the bloom in your
+cheek if you stay indoors as you&#39;ve been doing the past
+week.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane&#39;s dread of meeting her tormentor had kept her
+close to the apartment since the night of her rather unconventional
+arrival. Twice the eager Trotter, thrilled
+and exalted by his new-found happiness, had dashed in
+to see her, but only for a few minutes&#39; stay on each
+occasion.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page204" id="page204"></a>[pg&nbsp;204]</span>
+&quot;How do you like your new position?&quot; he had asked
+in the dimness at the head of the stairway. She could
+not see his face, but it was because he kept her head
+rather closely pressed into the hollow of his shoulder.
+Otherwise she might have detected the guilty flicker in
+his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I love it. She is such a dear. But, really, Eric,
+I don&#39;t think I&#39;m worth half what she pays me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He chuckled softly. &quot;Oh, yes, you are. You are
+certainly worth half what my boss pays me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I do not earn it,&quot; she insisted.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Neither do I,&quot; said he.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">To return to the Marchioness and the newspaper:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We will go off on a little spree before long, my dear.
+A good dinner at Spangler&#39;s, a little music, and a chat
+with the sensation of the hour. Get Mrs. Hendricks on
+the telephone, please. I will ask her to join us there
+some night soon with her husband. He is the man who
+wrote that delightful novel with the name I never can
+remember. You will like him, I know. He is so dreadfully
+deaf that all one has to do to include him in the
+conversation is to return his smiles occasionally.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And so, on a certain night in mid-April, it came to
+pass that Spangler&#39;s Café, gay and full of the din that
+sustains the <i>genus</i> New Yorker in his contention that
+there is no other place in the world fit to live in, had
+among its patrons a number of the persons connected
+with this story of the City of Masks.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">First of all, there was the new leader of the orchestra,
+a dapper, romantic-looking young man in a flaming red
+coat. Ah, but you should have seen him! The admirable
+Mirabeau, true Frenchman that he was, had performed
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page205" id="page205"></a>[pg&nbsp;205]</span>
+wonders with pomades and oils and the glossy
+brilliantine. The sleek black hair of the little Prince
+shone like the raven&#39;s wing; his dark, gipsy eyes, rendered
+more vivid by the skilful application of &quot;lampblack,&quot;
+gleamed with an ardent excitement; there was
+colour in his cheeks, and a smile on his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At a table near the platform on which the orchestra
+was stationed, sat the Honourable Cornelius McFaddan,
+his wife, and a congenial party of friends. In a far-off
+corner, remote from the music, you would have discovered
+the Marchioness and her companions; the bland,
+perpetually smiling Mr. Hendricks who wrote the book,
+his wife, and the lovely, blue-eyed Jane.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">By a strange order of coincidence, young Mr. Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis, quite mellow and bereft of the
+power to focus steadily with eye or intellect, occupied
+a seat,&mdash;and frequently a seat and a half,&mdash;at a table
+made up of shrill-voiced young women and bald-headed
+gentlemen of uncertain age who had a whispering acquaintance
+with the head waiter and his assistants.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Countess du Bara, otherwise Corinne, entertained
+a few of the lesser lights of the Opera and two
+lean, hungry-looking critics she was cultivating against
+an hour of need.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At a small, mean table alongside the swinging door
+through which a procession of waiters constantly
+streamed on their way from the kitchen, balancing trays
+at hazardous heights, sat two men who up to this moment
+have not been mentioned in these revelations.
+Very ordinary looking persons they were, in business
+clothes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">One of them, a sallow, liverish individual, divided his
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page206" id="page206"></a>[pg&nbsp;206]</span>
+interest between two widely separated tables. His companion
+was interested in nothing except his food, which
+being wholly unsatisfactory to him, relieved him of the
+necessity of talking about anything else. He spoke of
+it from time to time, however, usually to the waiter,
+who could only say that he was sorry. This man was
+a red-faced, sharp-nosed person with an unmistakable
+Cockney accent. He seemed to find a great deal of
+comfort in verbally longing for the day when he could
+get back to Simpson&#39;s in the Strand for a bit of &quot;roast
+that is a roast.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The crowd began to thin out shortly after the time
+set for the lifting of curtains in all of the theatres.
+It was then that the sallow-faced man arose from his
+seat and, after asking his companion to excuse him for
+a minute, approached Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. That
+gentleman had been dizzily ogling a dashing, spirited
+young woman at the table presided over by Mr. McFaddan,
+a circumstance which not only annoyed the lady
+but also one closer at hand. The latter was wanting to
+know, in some heat, what he took her for. If he
+thought she&#39;d stand for anything like that, he had another
+guess coming.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;May I have a word with you?&quot; asked the sallow
+man, inserting his head between Stuyvesant and the
+protesting young woman.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The bouncer,&quot; cried the young woman, looking up.
+&quot;Good work. That&#39;s what you get for making eyes at
+strange&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Shut up,&quot; said Stuyvie, who had, after a moment&#39;s
+concentration, recognized the man. &quot;What do you
+want?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page207" id="page207"></a>[pg&nbsp;207]</span>
+&quot;A word in private,&quot; said the other.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant got up and followed him to a vacant table
+in the rear.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She is here,&quot; said the stranger. &quot;Here in this
+restaurant. Not more than fifty feet from where we&#39;re
+sitting.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The listener blinked. His brain was foggy.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s that?&quot; he mumbled, thickly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The girl you&#39;re lookin&#39; for,&quot; said the man.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant sat up abruptly. His brain seemed to
+clear.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You mean&mdash;Miss Emsdale?&quot; he demanded, rather
+distinctly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The little man in the red coat, sitting just above them
+on the edge of the platform, where he was resting after
+a particularly long and arduous number, pricked up his
+ears. He, too, had seen the radiant, friendly face of
+the English girl at the far end of the room, and had
+favoured her with more than one smile of appreciation.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes. Stand up and take a look. Keep back of
+this palm, so&#39;s she won&#39;t lamp you. &#39;Way over there
+with the white-haired old lady. Am I right? She&#39;s
+the one, ain&#39;t she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Smith-Parvis became visibly excited. &quot;Yes,&mdash;there&#39;s
+not the slightest doubt. How&mdash;how long has
+she been here? Why the devil didn&#39;t you tell me
+sooner?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t get excited. Better not let her see you in
+this condition. She looks like a nice, refined girl.
+She&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What do you mean &#39;condition&#39;? I&#39;m all right,&quot;
+retorted the young man, bellicose at once.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page208" id="page208"></a>[pg&nbsp;208]</span>
+&quot;I know you are,&quot; said the other soothingly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Darn the luck,&quot; growled Stuyvie, following a heroic
+effort to restore his physical equilibrium. &quot;I wouldn&#39;t
+have had her see me here with this crowd for half the
+money in New York. She&#39;ll get a bad impression of
+me. Look at &#39;em! My Lord, they&#39;re all stewed. I
+say, you go over and tell that man with the big nose
+at the head of my table that I&#39;ve been suddenly called
+away, and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Take my advice, and sit tight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvie&#39;s mind wandered. &quot;Say, do you know who
+that rippin&#39; creature is over there with the fat Irishman?
+She&#39;s a dream.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The sallow man did not deign to look. He bent a
+little closer to Mr. Smith-Parvis.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now, what is the next move, Mr. Smith-Parvis?
+I&#39;ve located her right enough. Is this the end of the
+trail?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sh!&quot; cautioned Stuyvie, loudly. Then even more
+loudly: &quot;Don&#39;t you know any better than to roar like
+that? There&#39;s a man sitting up there&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He can&#39;t understand a word of English. Wop.
+Just landed. That&#39;s the guy the papers have been&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am not in the least interested in your conversation,&quot;
+said Stuyvie haughtily. &quot;What were you saying?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Am I through? That&#39;s what I want to know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You have found out where she&#39;s stopping?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yep. Stayin&#39; with the white-haired old lady.
+Dressmaking establishment. The office will make a full
+report to you tomorrow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Wait a minute. Let me think.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page209" id="page209"></a>[pg&nbsp;209]</span>
+The sallow man waited for some time. Then he
+said: &quot;Excuse me, Mr. Smith-Parvis, but I&#39;ve got a
+friend over here. Stranger in New York. I&#39;m detailed
+to entertain him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;ve got to shake him,&quot; said Stuyvie, arrogantly.
+&quot;I want you to follow her home, and I&#39;m going with
+you. As soon as I know positively where she lives, I&#39;ll
+decide on the next step we&#39;re to take. We&#39;ll have to
+work out some plan to get her away from that dressmakin&#39;
+&#39;stablishment.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The other gave him a hard look. &quot;Don&#39;t count our
+people in on any rough stuff,&quot; he said levelly. &quot;We
+don&#39;t go in for that sort of thing.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvie winked. &quot;We&#39;ll talk about that when the
+time comes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, what I said goes. We&#39;re the oldest and most
+reliable agency in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I know all that,&quot; said Stuyvie, peevishly. &quot;It is
+immaterial to me whether your agency or some other
+one does the job. Remember that, will you? I want
+that girl, and I don&#39;t give a&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good night, Mr. Smith-Parvis.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Wait a minute,&mdash;<i>wait</i> a minute. Now, listen.
+When you see her getting ready to leave this place, rush
+out and get a taxi. I&#39;ll join you outside, and we&#39;ll&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Very well. That&#39;s part of my job, I suppose. I
+will have to explain to my friend. He will understand.&quot;
+He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. &quot;He&#39;s in the
+same business. Special from Scotland Yard. My
+God, what bulldogs these Britishers are. He&#39;s been
+clear around the world, lookin&#39; for a young English
+swell who lit out a couple of years ago. We&#39;ve been
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page210" id="page210"></a>[pg&nbsp;210]</span>
+taken in on the case,&mdash;and I&#39;m on the job with him
+from now&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And say,&quot; broke in Stuyvie, irrelevantly, &quot;before
+you leave find out who that girl is over there with the
+fat Irishman. Understand?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Prince Waldemar de Bosky&#39;s thoughts and reflections,
+up to the beginning of this duologue, were of the
+rosiest and most cheerful nature. He was not proud to
+be playing the violin in Spangler&#39;s, but he was human.
+He was not above being gratified by the applause and
+enthusiasm of the people who came to see if not to hear
+a prince of the blood perform.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His friends were out there in front, and it was to them
+that he played. He was very happy. And the five
+thousand dollars in the old steel safe at the shop of
+Mirabeau the clockmaker! He had been thinking of
+them and of the letter he had posted to the man &quot;up
+the river,&quot;&mdash;and of the interest he would take in the
+reply when it came. Abruptly, in the midst of these
+agreeable thoughts, came the unlovely interruption.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At first he was bewildered, uncertain as to the course
+he should pursue. He never had seen young Smith-Parvis
+before, but he had no difficulty in identifying him
+as the disturber of Trotter&#39;s peace of mind. That
+there was something dark and sinister behind the plans
+and motives of the young man and his spy was not a
+matter for doubt. How was he to warn Lady Jane?
+He was in a fearful state of perturbation as he stepped
+to the front of the platform for the next number on the
+program.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">As he played, he saw Smith-Parvis rejoin his party.
+He watched the sallow man weave his way among the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page211" id="page211"></a>[pg&nbsp;211]</span>
+diners to his own table. His anxious gaze sought out
+the Marchioness and Jane, and he was relieved to find
+that they were not preparing to depart. Also, he
+looked again at McFaddan and the dashing young
+woman at the foot of his table. He had recognized the
+man who once a week came under his critical observation
+as a proper footman. As a matter of fact, he had
+been a trifle flabbergasted by the intense stare with
+which McFaddan favoured him. Up to this hour he
+had not associated McFaddan with opulence or a tailor-made
+dress suit.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">After the encore, he descended from the platform and
+made his way, bowing right and left to the friendly
+throng, until he brought up at the Marchioness&#39;s table.
+There he paused and executed a profound bow.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness proffered her hand, which he was
+careful not to see, and said something to him in English.
+He shook his head, expressive of despair, and
+replied in the Hungarian tongue.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He does not understand English,&quot; said Jane, her
+eyes sparkling. Then she complimented him in
+French.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky affected a faint expression of hope. He
+managed a few halting words in French. Jane was
+delighted. This was rare good fun. The musician
+turned to the others at the table and gave utterance to
+the customary &quot;Parle vouz Francais, madame&mdash;m&#39;sieu?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not a word,&quot; said Mrs. Hendricks. &quot;<i>He</i> understands
+it but he can&#39;t hear it,&quot; she went on, and suddenly
+turned a fiery red. &quot;How silly of me,&quot; she said
+to the Marchioness, giggling hysterically.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page212" id="page212"></a>[pg&nbsp;212]</span>
+De Bosky&#39;s face cleared. He addressed himself to
+Jane; it was quite safe to speak to her in French. He
+forgot himself in his eagerness, however, and spoke
+with amazing fluency for one who but a moment before
+had been so at a loss. In a few quick, concise sentences
+he told her of Stuyvesant&#39;s presence, his condition
+and his immediate designs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Both Jane and the Marchioness were equal to the
+occasion. Although filled with consternation, they succeeded
+admirably in concealing their dismay behind a
+mask of smiles and a gay sort of chatter. De Bosky
+beamed and smirked and gesticulated. One would have
+thought he was regaling them with an amusing story.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He is capable of making a horrid scene,&quot; lamented
+Jane, through smiling lips. &quot;He may come over to
+this table and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Compose yourself,&quot; broke in de Bosky, a smile on
+his lips but not in his eyes. &quot;If he should attempt to
+annoy you here, I&mdash;I myself will take him in hand.
+Have no fear. You may depend on me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was interrupted at this juncture by a brass-buttoned
+page who passed the table, murmuring the name
+of Mrs. Sparflight.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Spangler&#39;s is an exceptional place. Pages do not
+bawl out one&#39;s name as if calling an &quot;extra.&quot; On the
+contrary, in quiet, repressed tones they politely inquire
+at each table for the person wanted. Mr. Spangler was
+very particular about this. He came near to losing
+his license years before simply because a page had meandered
+through the restaurant bellowing the name of a
+gentleman whose influence was greater at City Hall than
+it was at his own fireside,&mdash;from which, by the way,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page213" id="page213"></a>[pg&nbsp;213]</span>
+he appears to have strayed on the night in question.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Dear me,&quot; cried the Marchioness, her agitation increasing.
+&quot;No one knows I am here. How on
+earth&mdash;Here, boy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A note was delivered to her. It was from Thomas
+Trotter. Her face brightened as she glanced swiftly
+through the scrawl.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Splendid!&quot; she exclaimed. &quot;It is from Mr. Trotter.
+He is waiting outside with his automobile.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She passed the note to Jane, whose colour deepened.
+De Bosky drew a deep breath of relief, and, cheered
+beyond measure by her reassuring words, strode off, his
+head erect, his white teeth showing in a broad smile.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter wrote: &quot;It is raining cats and dogs. I
+have the car outside. The family is at the theatre.
+Don&#39;t hurry. I can wait until 10:15. If you are not
+ready to come away by that time, you will find my friend
+Joe Glimm hanging about in front of the café,&mdash;drenched
+to the skin, I&#39;ll wager. You will recall him
+as the huge person I introduced to you recently as from
+Constantinople. Just put yourselves under his wing if
+anything happens. He is jolly well able to protect
+you. I know who&#39;s in there, but don&#39;t be uneasy. He
+will not dare molest you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Shall I keep it for you?&quot; asked Jane, her eyes
+shining.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I fancy it was intended for you, my dear,&quot; said the
+other drily.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How very interesting,&quot; observed Mr. Hendricks,
+who occasionally offered some such remark as his contribution
+to the gaiety of the evening. He had found
+it to be a perfectly safe shot, even when fired at random.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page214" id="page214"></a>[pg&nbsp;214]</span>
+In the meantime, Mr. McFaddan had come to the
+conclusion that the young man at the next table but
+one was obnoxious. It isn&#39;t exactly the way Mr. McFaddan
+would have put it, but as he would have put it
+less elegantly, it is better to supply him with a word out
+of stock.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The dashing young woman upon whom Stuyvesant
+lavished his bold and significant glances happened to be
+Mrs. McFaddan, whose scant twelve months as a wife
+gave her certain privileges and a distinction that properly
+would have been denied her hearth-loving predecessor
+who came over from Ireland to marry Con McFaddan
+when he was promoted to the position of foreman
+in the works,&mdash;and who, true to her estate of muliebrity,
+produced four of the most exemplary step-children
+that any second wife could have discovered if she
+had gone storking over the entire city.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cornelius had married his stenographer. It was
+not his fault that she happened to be a very pretty
+young woman, nor could he be held responsible for the
+fact that he was approximately thirty years of age on
+the day she was born. Any way you look at it, she
+was his wife and dependent on him for some measure of
+protection.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And Mr. McFaddan, being an influence, sent for the
+proprietor of the café himself, and whispered to him.
+Whereupon, Mr. Spangler, considering the side on which
+his bread was buttered, whispered back that it should be
+attended to at once.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And,&quot; pursued Mr. McFaddan, purple with suppressed
+rage, &quot;if you don&#39;t, I will.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A minute or two later, one of the waiters approached
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page215" id="page215"></a>[pg&nbsp;215]</span>
+young Mr. Smith-Parvis and informed him that he was
+wanted outside at once.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant&#39;s heart leaped. He at once surmised
+that Miss Emsdale, repentant and envious, had come
+off her high horse and was eager to get away from the
+dull, prosaic and stupidly respectable old &quot;parties&quot;
+over in the corner. Conceivably she had taken a little
+more champagne than was good for her. He got up
+immediately, and without so much as a word of apology
+to his host, made his way eagerly, though unsteadily,
+to the entrance-hall.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He expected Miss Emsdale to follow; he was already
+framing in his beaddled brain the jolly little lecture he
+would give her when&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A red-faced person jostled him in a most annoying
+manner.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Look sharp there,&quot; said Stuyvie thickly. &quot;Watch
+where you&#39;re going.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Steady, sir,&mdash;steady!&quot; came in a hushed, agitated
+voice from Mr. Spangler, who appeared to be addressing
+himself exclusively to the red-faced person. &quot;Let
+me manage it,&mdash;please.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Who the devil is this bally old blighter?&quot; demanded
+Stuyvie loudly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Leave him to me, Spangler,&quot; said the red-faced
+man. &quot;I have a few choice words I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Here! Confound you! Keep off of my toes, you
+fool! I say, Spangler, what&#39;s the matter with you?
+Throw him out! He&#39;s&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Gentlemen! Gentlemen!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I ought to knock your block off,&quot; said Mr. McFaddan,
+without raising his voice. As his face was within
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216" id="page216"></a>[pg&nbsp;216]</span>
+six inches of Stuyvesant&#39;s nose, the young man had no
+difficulty whatever in hearing what he said, and yet it
+should not be considered strange that he failed to understand.
+In all fairness, it must be said that he was
+bewildered. Under the circumstances any one would
+have been bewildered. Being spoken to in that fashion
+by a man you&#39;ve never seen before in your life is, to
+say the least, surprising. &quot;I&#39;ll give you ten seconds
+to apologize.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ap&mdash;apologize? Confound you, what do you
+mean? You&#39;re drunk.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I said ten seconds,&quot; growled Cornelius.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And then what?&quot; gulped Stuyvie.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A swat on the nose,&quot; said Mr. McFaddan.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At no point in the course of this narrative has there
+been either proof or assertion that Smith-Parvis,
+Junior, possessed the back-bone of a caterpillar. It
+has been stated, however, that he was a young man of
+considerable bulk. We have assumed, correctly, that
+this rather impressive physique masked a craven spirit.
+As a matter of fact, he was such a prodigious coward
+that he practised all manner of &quot;exercises&quot; in order
+to develop something to inspire in his fellow-men the
+belief that he would be a pretty tough customer to
+tackle.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Something is to be said for his method. It has been
+successfully practised by man ever since the day that
+Solomon, in all his glory, arrayed himself so sumptuously
+that the whole world hailed him as the wisest man
+extant.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvie took great pride in revealing his well-developed
+arms; it was not an uncommon thing for him to
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217" id="page217"></a>[pg&nbsp;217]</span>
+ask you to feel his biceps, or his back muscles, or the
+cords in his thigh; he did a great deal of strutting in his
+bathing suit at such places as Atlantic City, Southampton
+and Newport. In a way, it paid to advertise.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Now when Mr. McFaddan, a formidable-looking person,
+made that emphatic remark, Stuyvesant realized
+that there was no escape. He was trapped. Panic
+seized him. In sheer terror he struck blindly at the
+awful, reddish thing that filled his vision.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He talked a good deal about it afterwards, explaining
+in a casual sort of way just how he had measured
+the distance and had picked out the point of the fat
+man&#39;s jaw. He even went so far as to say that he felt
+sorry for the poor devil even before he delivered the
+blow.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The fact of the matter is, Stuyvie&#39;s wild, terrified
+swing,&mdash;delivered with the eyes not only closed but covered
+by the left arm,&mdash;landed squarely on Mr. McFaddan&#39;s
+jaw. And when the aggressor, after a moment
+or two of suspense, opened his eyes and lowered his arm,
+expecting to find his adversary&#39;s fist on its irresistible
+approach toward his nose, there was no Mr. McFaddan
+in sight;&mdash;at least, he was not where he had been
+the moment before.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. McFaddan lay in a crumpled heap against a
+chair, ten feet away.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvie was suddenly aware that some one was assisting
+him into his coat, and that several men were hustling
+him toward the door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Get out,&mdash;quick!&quot; said one, who turned out to be
+the agitated Mr. Spangler. &quot;Before he gets up. He
+is a terrible man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page218" id="page218"></a>[pg&nbsp;218]</span>
+By this time they were in the vestibule.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I will not tell him who you are,&quot; Mr. Spangler was
+saying. &quot;I will give you another name,&mdash;Jones or
+anything. He must never know who you are.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s the difference?&quot; chattered Stuyvie. &quot;He&#39;s&mdash;he&#39;s
+dead, isn&#39;t he?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page219" id="page219"></a>[pg&nbsp;219]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>
+
+<h3>SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">IT was raining hard. Stuyvesant, thoroughly
+alarmed and not at all elated by his astonishing conquest,
+halted in dismay. The pelting torrent swept up
+against the side of the canvas awning that extended to
+the street; the thick matting on the sidewalk was almost
+afloat. Headlights of automobiles drawn up to
+the curb blazed dimly through the screen of water.
+He peered out beyond the narrow opening left for pedestrians
+and groaned.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Taxi!&quot; he frantically shouted to the doorman.
+Some one tapped him on the shoulder. He started
+as if a gun had gone off at his back. It was all up!
+For once the police were on the spot when&mdash;A voice
+was shouting:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By thunder, I didn&#39;t think it was in you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He whirled to face, not the expected bluecoat, but
+the sallow detective.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My God, how you startled me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;d have bet my last dollar you hadn&#39;t the nerve
+to&mdash;ahem! I&mdash;I&mdash;Say, take a tip from me.
+Beat it! Don&#39;t hang around here waitin&#39; for that girl.
+That guy in there is beginning to see straight again,
+and if he was to bust out here and find you&mdash;Well,
+it would be something awful!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Get me a taxi, you infernal idiot!&quot; roared the conqueror
+in flight, addressing the starter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page220" id="page220"></a>[pg&nbsp;220]</span>
+&quot;Have one here in five minutes, sir,&quot; began the taxi
+starter, grabbing up the telephone.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Five minutes?&quot; gasped Stuyvie, with a quick
+glance over his shoulder. &quot;Oh, Lord! Tell one of
+those chauffeurs out there I&#39;ll give him ten dollars to
+run me to the Grand Central Station. Hurry up!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The Grand Central?&quot; exclaimed the detective.
+&quot;Great Scott, man, you don&#39;t have to beat it clear out
+of town, you know. What are you going to the Station
+for?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For a taxi, you damn&#39; fool,&quot; shouted Stuyvie.
+&quot;Say, who was that man in there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Didn&#39;t you know him?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Never saw him in my life before,&mdash;the blighter.
+Who is he?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The detective stared. He opened his mouth to reply,
+and as suddenly closed it. He, too, knew on which
+side his bread was precariously buttered.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t know,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, the papers will give his name in the morning,&mdash;and
+mine, too, curse them,&quot; chattered Stuyvie.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t you think it,&quot; said the other promptly.
+&quot;There won&#39;t be a word about it, take it from me.
+That guy,&mdash;whoever he is,&mdash;ain&#39;t going to have the
+newspapers say he was knocked down by a pinhead like
+you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The insult passed unnoticed. Stuyvie was gazing,
+pop-eyed, at a man who suddenly appeared at the
+mouth of the canopy, a tall fellow in a dripping raincoat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The newcomer&#39;s eyes were upon him. They were
+steady, unfriendly eyes. He advanced slowly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page221" id="page221"></a>[pg&nbsp;221]</span>
+&quot;I sha&#39;n&#39;t wait,&quot; said Stuyvie, and swiftly passed out
+into the deluge. No other course was open to him.
+There was trouble ahead and trouble behind.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Thomas Trotter laughed. The sallow-faced man
+made a trumpet of his hands and shouted after the departing
+one:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Beat it! He&#39;s coming!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The retreating footsteps quickened into a lively clatter.
+Trotter distinctly heard the sallow-faced man
+chuckle.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness and Jane went home in the big
+Millidew limousine instead of in a taxi. They left the
+restaurant soon after the departure of Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis. The pensive-looking stranger from
+Scotland Yard came out close upon their heels. He
+was looking for his American guide.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter brought his car up to the awning and grinned
+broadly as he leaned forward for &quot;orders.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Home, James,&quot; said Lady Jane, loftily.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Very good, my lady,&quot; said Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The man from Scotland Yard squinted narrowly at
+the chauffeur&#39;s face. He moved a few paces nearer and
+stared harder. For a long time after the car had
+rolled away, he stood in the middle of the sidewalk,
+frowning perplexedly. Then he shook his head and apparently
+gave it up. He went inside to look for his
+friend.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The next day, the sallow-faced detective received instructions
+over the telephone from one who refused to
+give his name to the operator. He was commanded
+to keep close watch on the movements of a certain
+party, and to await further orders.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page222" id="page222"></a>[pg&nbsp;222]</span>
+&quot;I shall be out of town for a week or ten days,&quot; explained
+young Mr. Smith-Parvis.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I see,&quot; said the sallow-faced man. &quot;Good idea.
+That guy&mdash;&quot; But the receiver at the other end
+clicked rudely and without ceremony.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant took an afternoon train for Virginia Hot
+Springs. At the Pennsylvania Station he bought all
+of the newspapers,&mdash;morning, noon and night. There
+wasn&#39;t a line in any one of them about the fracas. He
+was rather hurt about it. He was beginning to feel
+proud of his achievement. By the time the train
+reached Philadelphia he had worked himself into quite
+a fury over the way the New York papers suppress
+things that really ought to be printed. Subsidized,
+that&#39;s what they were. Jolly well bribed. He had
+given the fellow,&mdash;whoever he was,&mdash;a well-deserved
+drubbing, and the world would never hear of it! Miss
+Emsdale would not hear of it. He very much wished
+her to hear of it, too. The farther away he got from
+New York the more active became the conviction that
+he owed it to himself to go back there and thrash the
+fellow all over again, as publicly as possible,&mdash;in front
+of the Public Library at four o&#39;clock in the afternoon,
+while he was about it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He had been at Hot Springs no longer than forty-eight
+hours when a long letter came from his mother.
+She urged him to return to New York as soon as
+possible. It was imperative that he should be present
+at a very important dinner she was giving on Friday
+night. One of the most influential politicians in
+New York was to be there,&mdash;a man whose name was a
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page223" id="page223"></a>[pg&nbsp;223]</span>
+household word,&mdash;and she was sure something splendid
+would come of it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You must not fail me, dear boy,&quot; she wrote. &quot;I
+would not have him miss seeing you for anything in the
+world. Don&#39;t ask me any questions. I can&#39;t tell you
+anything now, but I will say that a great surprise is in
+store for my darling boy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Meanwhile the nosy individual from Scotland Yard
+had not been idle. The fleeting, all too brief glimpse
+he had had of the good-looking chauffeur in front of
+Spangler&#39;s spurred him to sudden energy in pursuit of
+what had long since shaped itself as a rather forlorn
+hope. He got out the photograph of the youngster in
+the smart uniform of the Guard, and studied it with
+renewed intensity. Mentally he removed the cocky little
+moustache so prevalent in the Army, and with equal
+arrogance tried to put one on the smooth-faced chauffeur.
+He allowed for elapsed time, and the wear and
+tear of three years knocking about the world, and altered
+circumstances, and still the resemblance persisted.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For a matter of ten months he had been seeking the
+young gentleman who bore such a startling resemblance
+to the smiling chauffeur. He had traced him to Turkey,
+into Egypt, down the East Coast of Africa, over
+to Australia, up to Siam and China and Japan, across
+the Pacific to British Columbia, thence to the United
+States, where the trail was completely lost. His quarry
+had a good year and a half to two years the start of
+him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Still, a chap he knew quite well in the Yard, after
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page224" id="page224"></a>[pg&nbsp;224]</span>
+chasing a man twice around the world, had nabbed him
+at the end of six years. So much for British perseverance.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Inquiry had failed to produce the slightest enlightenment
+from the doorman or the starter at Spangler&#39;s.
+He always remembered them as the stupidest asses
+he had ever encountered. They didn&#39;t recognize the
+chauffeur, nor the car, nor the ladies; not only were
+they unable to tell him the number of the car, but they
+couldn&#39;t, for the life of them, approximate the number
+of ladies. All they seemed to know was that some one
+had been knocked down by a &quot;swell&quot; who was &quot;hot-footing
+it&quot; up the street.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His sallow-faced friend, however, had provided him
+with an encouraging lead. That worthy knew the
+ladies, but somewhat peevishly explained that it was
+hardly to be expected that he should know all of the
+taxi-cab drivers in New York,&mdash;and as he had seen
+them arrive in a taxi-cab it was reasonable to assume
+that they had departed in one.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But it wasn&#39;t a taxi-cab,&quot; the Scotland Yard man
+protested. &quot;It was a blinking limousine.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Then, all I got to say is that they&#39;re not the women
+I mean. If I&#39;d been out here when they left I probably
+could have put you wise. But I was in there listenin&#39;
+to what Con McFaddan was sayin&#39; to poor old
+Spangler. The woman I mean is a dressmaker. She
+ain&#39;t got any more of a limo than I have. Did you
+notice what they looked like?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Scotland Yard man, staring gloomily up the
+rain-swept street, confessed that he hadn&#39;t noticed anything
+but the chauffeur&#39;s face.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page225" id="page225"></a>[pg&nbsp;225]</span>
+&quot;Well, there you are,&quot; remarked the sallow-faced
+man, shrugging his shoulders in a patronizing, almost
+pitying way.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Londoner winced.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I distinctly heard the chauffeur say &#39;Very good,
+my lady,&#39;&quot; he said, after a moment. &quot;That was a
+bit odd, wasn&#39;t it, now? You don&#39;t have any such
+things as titles over &#39;ere, do you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sure. Every steamer brings one or two of &#39;em
+to our little city.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Englishman scratched his head. Suddenly his
+face brightened.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I remember, after all,&mdash;in a vague sort of way,
+don&#39;t you know,&mdash;that one of the ladies had white hair.
+I recall an instant&#39;s speculation on my part. I remember
+looking twice to be sure that it was hair and
+not a bit of lace thrown&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s the party,&quot; exclaimed the sallow-faced man.
+&quot;Now we&#39;re getting somewhere.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The next afternoon, the man from Scotland Yard
+paid a visit to Deborah&#39;s. Not at all abashed at finding
+himself in a place where all save angels fear to
+tread, he calmly asked to be conducted into the presence
+of Mrs. Sparflight. He tactfully refrained from
+adding &quot;alias Deborah, Limited. London, Paris and
+New York.&quot; He declined to state his business.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Madam,&quot; said he, coming straight to the point the
+instant he was ushered into the presence of the white-haired
+proprietress, &quot;I sha&#39;n&#39;t waste your time,&mdash;and
+mine, I may add,&mdash;by beating about the bush, as you
+Americans would say. I represent&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If you are an insurance agent or a book agent, you
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page226" id="page226"></a>[pg&nbsp;226]</span>
+need not waste any time at all,&quot; began Mrs. Sparflight.
+He held up his hand deprecatingly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;&mdash;Scotland Yard,&quot; he concluded, fixing his eyes
+upon her. The start she gave was helpful. He went
+on briskly. &quot;Last night you were at a certain restaurant.
+You departed during the thunder-storm in a
+limousine driven by a young man whose face is familiar
+to me. In short, I am looking for a man who bears a
+most startling resemblance to him. May I prevail upon
+you to volunteer a bit of information?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Sparflight betrayed agitation. A hunted,
+troubled look came into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I don&#39;t quite understand,&quot; she stammered.
+&quot;Who&mdash;who did you say you were?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My name is Chambers, Alfred Chambers, Scotland
+Yard. In the event that you are ignorant of the character
+of the place called Scotland Yard, I may explain
+that&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I know what it is,&quot; she interrupted hastily.
+&quot;What is it that you want of me, Mr. Chambers?&quot;
+She was rapidly gaining control of her wits.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Very little, madam. I should very much like to
+know whose car took you away from Sprinkler&#39;s last
+night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She looked him straight in the eye. &quot;I haven&#39;t the
+remotest idea,&quot; she said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He nodded his head gently. &quot;Would you, on the
+other hand, object to telling me how long James has
+been driving for her ladyship?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">This was a facer. Mrs. Sparflight&#39;s gaze wavered.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Her ladyship?&quot; she murmured weakly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page227" id="page227"></a>[pg&nbsp;227]</span>
+&quot;Yes, madam,&mdash;unless my hearing was temporarily
+defective,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t know what you mean.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Your companion was a young lady of&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My good man,&quot; interrupted the lady sharply, &quot;my
+companion last night was my own private secretary.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A Miss Emsdale, I believe,&quot; said he.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She gulped. &quot;Precisely.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Um!&quot; he mused. &quot;And you do not know whose
+car you went off in,&mdash;is that right?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have no hesitancy in stating, Mr. Chambers, that
+the car does not belong to me or to my secretary,&quot; she
+said, smiling.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I trust you will pardon a seemingly rude question,
+Mrs. Sparflight. Is it the custom in New York for
+people to take possession of private automobiles&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is the custom for New York chauffeurs to pick up
+an extra dollar or two when their employers are not
+looking,&quot; she interrupted, with a shrug of her shoulders.
+She was instantly ashamed of her mendacity.
+She looked over her shoulder to see if Mr. Thomas
+Trotter&#39;s sweetheart was anywhere within hearing, and
+was relieved to find that she was not. &quot;And now, sir,
+if it is a fair question, may I inquire just what this
+chauffeur&#39;s double has been doing that Scotland Yard
+should be seeking him so assiduously?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He has been giving us a deuce of a chase, madam,&quot;
+said Mr. Chambers, as if that were the gravest crime a
+British subject could possibly commit. &quot;By the way,
+did you by any chance obtain a fair look at the man who
+drove you home last night?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page228" id="page228"></a>[pg&nbsp;228]</span>
+&quot;Yes. He seemed quite a good-looking fellow.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Will you glance at this photograph, Mrs. Sparflight,
+and tell me whether you detect a resemblance?&quot;
+He took a small picture from his coat pocket and held
+it out to her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She looked at it closely, holding it at various angles
+and distances, and nodded her head in doubtful acquiescence.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I think I do, Mr. Chambers. I am not surprised
+that you should have been struck by the resemblance.
+This man was a soldier, I perceive.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers restored the photograph to his pocket.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The King&#39;s Own,&quot; he replied succinctly. &quot;Perhaps
+your secretary may be able to throw a little more
+light on the matter, madam. May I have the privilege
+of interrogating her?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not today,&quot; said Mrs. Sparflight, who had anticipated
+the request. &quot;She is very busy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Of course I am in no position to insist,&quot; said he
+pleasantly. &quot;I trust you will forgive my intrusion,
+madam. I am here only in the interests of justice,
+and I have no desire to cause you the slightest annoyance.
+Permit me to bid you good day, Mrs. Sparflight.
+Thank you for your kindness in receiving me. Tomorrow,
+if it is quite agreeable to you, I shall call to
+see Miss Emsdale.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At that moment, the door opened and Miss Emsdale
+came into the little office.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You rang for me, Mrs. Sparflight?&quot; she inquired,
+with a quick glance at the stranger.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Sparflight blinked rapidly. &quot;Not at all,&mdash;not
+at all. I did not ring.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page229" id="page229"></a>[pg&nbsp;229]</span>
+Miss Emsdale looked puzzled. &quot;I am sure the
+buzzer&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Pardon me,&quot; said Mr. Chambers, easily. &quot;I fancy
+I can solve the mystery. Accidentally,&mdash;quite accidentally,
+I assure you,&mdash;I put my hand on the button
+on your desk, Mrs. Sparflight,&mdash;while you were glancing
+at the photograph. Like this,&mdash;do you see?&quot;
+He put his hand on the top of the desk and leaned forward,
+just as he had done when he joined her in studying
+the picture a few moments before.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A hot flush mounted to Mrs. Sparflight&#39;s face, and
+her eyes flashed. The next instant she smiled.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are most resourceful, Mr. Chambers,&quot; she said.
+&quot;It happens, however, that your cleverness gains you
+nothing. This young lady is one of our stenographers.
+I think I said that Miss Emsdale is my private secretary.
+She has no connection whatever with the business
+office. The button you inadvertently pressed simply
+disturbed one of the girls in the next room. You
+may return to your work, Miss Henry.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She carried it off very well. Jane, sensing danger,
+was on the point of retiring,&mdash;somewhat hurriedly, it
+must be confessed,&mdash;when Mr. Chambers, in his most
+apologetic manner, remarked:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;May I have a word with you, your ladyship?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It was a bold guess, encouraged by his discovery that
+the young lady was not only English but of a class distinctly
+remote from shops and stenography.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Under the circumstances, Jane may be forgiven for
+dissembling, even at the cost of her employer&#39;s honour.
+She stopped short, whirled, and confronted the stranger
+with a look in her eyes that convicted her immediately.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page230" id="page230"></a>[pg&nbsp;230]</span>
+Her hand flew to her heart, and a little gasp broke from
+her parted lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers was smiling blandly. She looked
+from him to Mrs. Sparflight, utter bewilderment in her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, Lord!&quot; muttered that lady in great dismay.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The man from Scotland Yard hazarded another and
+even more potential stroke while the iron was hot.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am from Scotland Yard,&quot; he said. &quot;We make
+some mistakes there, I admit, but not many.&quot; He proceeded
+to lie boldly. &quot;I know who you are, my lady,
+and&mdash;But it is not necessary to go into that at present.
+Do not be alarmed. You have nothing to fear
+from me,&mdash;or from Scotland Yard. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, I should hope <i>not</i>!&quot; burst out Mrs. Sparflight
+indignantly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What does he want?&quot; cried Jane, in trepidation.
+She addressed her friend, but it was Mr. Chambers
+who answered.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I want you to supply me with a little information
+concerning Lord Eric Temple,&mdash;whom you addressed
+last evening as James.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane began to tremble. Scotland Yard!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The man is crazy,&quot; said Mrs. Sparflight, leaping
+into the breach. &quot;By what right, sir, do you come
+here to impose your&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No offence is intended, ma&#39;am,&quot; broke in Mr.
+Chambers. &quot;Absolutely no offence. It is merely in
+the line of duty that I come. In plain words, I have
+been instructed to apprehend Lord Eric Temple and
+fetch him to London. You see, I am quite frank about
+it. You can aid me by being as frank in return, ladies.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page231" id="page231"></a>[pg&nbsp;231]</span>
+By this time Jane had regained command of herself.
+Drawing herself up, she faced the detective, and, casting
+discretion to the winds, took a most positive and
+determined stand.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I must decline,&mdash;no matter what the cost may be
+to myself,&mdash;to give you the slightest assistance concerning
+Lord Temple.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">To their infinite amazement, the man bowed very
+courteously and said:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall not insist. Pardon my methods and my intrusion.
+I shall trouble you no further. Good day,
+madam. Good day, your ladyship.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He took his leave at once, leaving them staring
+blankly at the closed door. He was satisfied. He had
+found out just what he wanted to know, and he was
+naturally in some haste to get out before they began
+putting embarrassing questions to him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, dear,&quot; murmured Jane, distractedly. &quot;What
+<i>are</i> we to do? Scotland Yard! That can mean but
+one thing. His enemies at home have brought some
+vile, horrible charge against&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We must warn him at once, Jane. There is no
+time to be lost. Telephone to the garage where Mrs.
+Millidew&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But the man doesn&#39;t know that Eric is driving for
+Mrs. Millidew,&quot; broke in Jane, hopefully.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He <i>will</i> know, and in very short order,&quot; said the
+other, sententiously. &quot;Those fellows are positively
+uncanny. Go at once and telephone.&quot; She hesitated a
+moment, looking a little confused and guilty. &quot;Lay
+aside your work, dear, for the time being. There is
+nothing very urgent about it, you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page232" id="page232"></a>[pg&nbsp;232]</span>
+In sheer desperation she had that very morning set
+her restless charge to work copying names out of the
+<i>Social Register</i>,&mdash;names she had checked off at random
+between the hours of ten and two the previous
+night.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane&#39;s distress increased to a state bordering on
+anguish.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, dear! He&mdash;he is out of town for two or three
+days.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Out of town?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He told me last night he was to be off early this
+morning for Mrs. Millidew&#39;s country place somewhere
+on Long Island. Mrs. Millidew had to go down to see
+about improvements or repairs or something before the
+house is opened for the season.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mrs. Millidew was in the shop this morning for a
+&#39;try-on,&#39;&quot; said the other. &quot;She has changed her
+plans, no doubt.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane&#39;s honest blue eyes wavered slightly as she met
+her friend&#39;s questioning gaze.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I think he said that young Mrs. Millidew was
+going down to look after the work for her mother-in-law.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page233" id="page233"></a>[pg&nbsp;233]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
+
+<h3>FRIDAY FOR LUCK</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">THE &quot;drawing-room&quot; that evening lacked not
+only distinction but animation as well. To begin
+with, the attendance was small. The Marchioness,
+after the usual collaboration with Julia in advance of
+the gathering, received a paltry half-dozen during the
+course of the evening. The Princess was there, and
+Count Antonio,&mdash;(he rarely missed coming), and the
+Hon. Mrs. Priestley-Duff. Lord Eric Temple and
+Lady Jane Thorne were missing, as were Prince Waldemar
+de Bosky, Count Wilhelm von Blitzen and the
+Countess du Bara. Extreme dulness prevailed. The
+Princess fell asleep, and, on being roused at a seasonable
+hour, declared that her eyes had been troubling
+her of late, so she kept them closed as much as possible
+on account of the lights.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Priestley-Duff, being greatly out-of-sorts, caustically
+remarked that the proper way to treat bothersome
+eyes is to put them to bed in a sound-proof room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cricklewick yawned in the foyer, Moody yawned in
+the outer hall, and McFaddan in the pantry. The latter
+did not yawn luxuriously. There was something
+half-way about it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Why don&#39;t you &#39;ave it out?&quot; inquired Moody, sympathetically,
+after solicitous inquiry. &quot;They say the
+bloomin&#39; things are the cause of all the rheumatism
+we&#39;re &#39;aving nowadays. Is it a wisdom tooth?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page234" id="page234"></a>[pg&nbsp;234]</span>
+&quot;No,&quot; said McFaddan, with a suddenness that
+startled Moody; &quot;it ain&#39;t. It&#39;s a whole jaw. It&#39;s a
+dam&#39; fool jaw at that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now that I look at you closer,&quot; said Moody critically,
+&quot;it seems to be a bit discoloured. Looks as
+though mortification had set in.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ye never said a truer thing,&quot; said McFaddan.
+&quot;It set in last night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The man from Scotland Yard waited across the
+street until he saw the lights in the windows of the third,
+fourth and fifth floors go out, and then strolled
+patiently away. Queer looking men and women came
+under his observation during the long and lonely vigil,
+entering and emerging from the darkened doorway
+across the street, but none of them, by any chance, bore
+the slightest resemblance to the elusive Lord Temple,
+or &quot;her ladyship,&quot; the secretary. He made the quite
+natural error of putting the queer looking folk down
+as tailors and seamstresses who worked far into the
+night for the prosperous Deborah.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Two days went by. He sat at a window in the hotel
+opposite and waited for the young lady to appear.
+On three separate occasions he followed her to Central
+Park and back. She was a brisk walker. She had the
+free stride of the healthy English girl. He experienced
+some difficulty in keeping her in sight, but even
+as he puffed laboriously behind, he was conscious of
+a sort of elation. It was good to see some one who
+walked as if she were in Hyde Park.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For obvious reasons, his trailing was in vain. Jane
+did not meet Lord Temple for the excellent reason that
+Thomas Trotter was down on Long Island with the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page235" id="page235"></a>[pg&nbsp;235]</span>
+beautiful Mrs. Millidew. And while both Jane and
+Mrs. Sparflight kept a sharp lookout for Mr. Chambers,
+they failed to discover any sign of him. He
+seemed to have abandoned the quest. They were not
+lured into security, however. He would bob up, like
+Jack-in-the-box, when least expected.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">If they could only get word to Trotter! If they
+could only warn him of the peril that stalked him!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane was in the depths. She had tumbled swiftly
+from the great height to which joy had wafted her;
+her hopes and dreams, and the castles they had built
+so deftly, shrunk up and vanished in the cloud that hung
+like a pall about her. Her faith in the man she loved
+was stronger than ever; nothing could shatter that.
+No matter what Scotland Yard might say or do, actuated
+by enemy injustice, she would never believe evil of
+him. And she would not give him up!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Marchioness,&quot; she said at the close of the second
+day, her blue eyes clouded with the agony of suspense,
+&quot;is there not some way to resist extradition? Can&#39;t
+we fight it? Surely it isn&#39;t possible to take an innocent
+man out of this great, generous country&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My dear child,&quot; said the Marchioness, putting down
+her coffee cup with so little precision that it clattered in
+the saucer, &quot;there isn&#39;t <i>anything</i> that Scotland Yard
+cannot do.&quot; She spoke with an air of finality.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have been thinking,&quot; began Jane, haltingly. She
+paused for a moment. An appealing, wistful note was
+in her voice when she resumed, and her eyes were tenderly
+resolute. &quot;He hasn&#39;t very much money, you
+know, poor boy. I have been thinking,&mdash;oh, I&#39;ve been
+thinking of so many things,&quot; she broke off confusedly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page236" id="page236"></a>[pg&nbsp;236]</span>
+&quot;Well, what have you been thinking?&quot; inquired the
+other, helpfully.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It has occurred to me that I can get along very
+nicely on half of what you are paying me,&mdash;or even
+less. If it were not for the fact that my poor brother
+depends solely upon me for support, I could spare practically
+all of my salary to&mdash;for&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go on,&quot; said the Marchioness gently.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In any case, I can give Eric half of my salary if it
+will be of any assistance to him,&mdash;yes, a little more
+than half,&quot; said Jane, a warm, lovely flush in her
+cheeks.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness hastily pressed the serviette to her
+lips. She seemed to be choking. It was some time
+before she could trust herself to say:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Bless your heart, my dear, he wouldn&#39;t take it. Of
+course,&quot; she went on, after a moment, &quot;it would please
+him beyond words if you were to suggest it to him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall do more,&quot; said Jane, resolutely. &quot;I shall
+insist.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It will tickle him almost to death,&quot; said the Marchioness,
+again raising the napkin to her lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At twelve o&#39;clock the next day, Trotter&#39;s voice came
+blithely over the telephone.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Are you there, darling? Lord, it seems like a century
+since I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Listen, Eric,&quot; she broke in. &quot;I have something
+very important to tell you. Now, <i>do</i> listen&mdash;are you
+there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Right-o! Whisper it, dear. The telephone has a
+million ears. I want to hear you say it,&mdash;oh, I&#39;ve
+been wanting&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page237" id="page237"></a>[pg&nbsp;237]</span>
+&quot;It isn&#39;t that,&quot; she said. &quot;You know I do, Eric.
+But this is something perfectly terrible.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I say, Jane, you haven&#39;t changed your mind
+about&mdash;about&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;As if I <i>could</i>,&quot; she cried. &quot;I love you more than
+ever, Eric. Oh, what a silly thing to say over the telephone.
+I am blushing,&mdash;I hope no one heard&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Listen!&quot; said he promptly, music in his voice.
+&quot;I&#39;m just in from the country. I&#39;ll be down to see
+you about five this afternoon. Tell you all about the
+trip. Lived like a lord,&mdash;homelike sort of feeling,
+eh?&mdash;and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t care to hear about it,&quot; said Jane stiffly.
+&quot;Besides, you must not come here today, Eric. It is
+the very worst thing you could do. He would be sure
+to see you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He? What he?&quot; he demanded quickly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I can&#39;t explain. Listen, dear. Mrs. Sparflight
+and I have talked it all over and we&#39;ve decided on the
+best thing to do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And she poured into the puzzled young man&#39;s ear the
+result of prolonged deliberations. He was to go to
+Bramble&#39;s Bookshop at half-past four, and proceed at
+once to the workshop of M. Mirabeau upstairs. She
+had explained the situation to Mr. Bramble in a letter.
+At five o&#39;clock she would join him there. In the meantime,
+he was to keep off of the downtown streets as
+much as possible.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In the name of heaven, what&#39;s up?&quot; he cried for
+the third time,&mdash;with variations.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A&mdash;a detective from Scotland Yard,&quot; she replied
+in a voice so low and cautious that he barely caught
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page238" id="page238"></a>[pg&nbsp;238]</span>
+the words. &quot;I&mdash;I can&#39;t say anything more now,&quot;
+she went on rapidly. &quot;Something tells me he is just
+outside the door, listening to every word I utter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Wait!&quot; he ordered. &quot;A detective? Has that
+beastly Smith-Parvis crowd dared to insinuate that
+you&mdash;that you&mdash;Oh, Lord, I can&#39;t even say it!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I said &#39;Scotland Yard,&#39; Eric,&quot; she said. &quot;Don&#39;t
+you understand?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, I&#39;m hanged if I do. But don&#39;t worry, dear.
+I&#39;ll be at Bramble&#39;s and, by the lord Harry, if they&#39;re
+trying to put up any sort of a&mdash;Hello! Are you
+there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">There was no answer.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Needless to say, he was at Bramble&#39;s Bookshop on
+the minute, vastly perturbed and eager for enlightenment.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t stop down here an instant,&quot; commanded Mr.
+Bramble, glancing warily at the front door. &quot;Do as I
+tell you. Don&#39;t ask questions. Go upstairs and wait,&mdash;and
+don&#39;t show yourself under any circumstance.
+Did you happen to catch a glimpse of him anywhere
+outside?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The street is full of &#39;hims,&#39;&quot; retorted Mr. Trotter
+in exasperation. &quot;What the devil is all this about,
+Bramby?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She will be here at five. There&#39;s nothing suspicious
+in her coming in to buy a book. It&#39;s all been
+thought out. Most natural thing in the world that she
+should buy a book, don&#39;t you see? Only you must
+not be buying one at the same time. Now, run along,&mdash;lively.
+Prince de Bosky is with Mirabeau. And
+don&#39;t come down till I give you the word.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page239" id="page239"></a>[pg&nbsp;239]</span>
+&quot;See here, Bramble, if you let anything happen to
+her I&#39;ll&mdash;&quot; Mr. Bramble relentlessly urged him up
+the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Long before Jane arrived, Trotter was in possession
+of the details. He was vastly perplexed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I daresay one of those beastly cousins of mine has
+trumped up some charge that he figures will put me
+out of the running for ever,&quot; he said gloomily. He sat,
+slack and dejected, in a corner of the shop farthest removed
+from the windows. &quot;I shouldn&#39;t mind so much
+if it weren&#39;t for Lady Jane. She&mdash;you see, M&#39;sieur,
+she has promised to be my wife. This will hurt her
+terribly. The beastly curs!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sit down!&quot; commanded M. Mirabeau. &quot;You must
+not go raging up and down past those windows.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Confound you, Mirabeau, he doesn&#39;t know this
+place exists. He never will know unless he follows
+Lady Jane. I&#39;ll do as I jolly well please.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky, inspired, produced a letter he had just
+received from his friend, the cracksman. He had read
+it to the bookseller and clockmaker, and now re-read it,
+with soulful fervour, for the benefit of the new arrival.
+He interrupted himself to beg M. Mirabeau to unlock
+the safe and bring forth the treasure.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You see what he says?&quot; cried he, shaking the
+letter in front of Trotter&#39;s eyes. &quot;And here is the
+money! See! Touch it, my friend. It is real. I
+thought I was also dreaming. Count them. Begin
+with this one. Now,&mdash;one hundred, two hundred&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I haven&#39;t the remotest idea what you&#39;re talking
+about,&quot; said Trotter, staring blankly at the money.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What a fool I am!&quot; cried de Bosky. &quot;I begin
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page240" id="page240"></a>[pg&nbsp;240]</span>
+at the back-end of the story. How could you
+know? Have you ever known such a fool as I, Mirabeau?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Never,&quot; said M. Mirabeau, who had his ear cocked
+for sounds on the stairway.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And so,&quot; said the Prince, at the end of the hastily
+told story of the banknotes and the man up the river,
+&quot;you see how it is. He replies to my carefully worded
+letter. Shall I read it again? No? But, I ask you,
+my dear Trotter, how am I to carry out his instructions?
+Naturally he is vague. All letters are read at
+the prison, I am informed. He says: &#39;And anything
+you may have come acrosst among my effects is so
+piffling that I hereby instructs you to burn it up, sos I
+won&#39;t have to be bothered with it when I come out,
+which ain&#39;t fer some time yet, and when I do get out I
+certainly am not coming to New York, anyhow. I
+am going west and start all over again. A feller has
+got a better chance out there.&#39; That is all he has
+to say about this money, Trotter. I cannot burn it.
+What am I to do?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter had an inspiration.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Put it into American Tobacco,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">De Bosky stared. &quot;Tobacco?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Simplest way in the world to obey instructions.
+The easiest way to burn money is to convert it into tobacco.
+Slip down to Wall Street tomorrow and invest
+every cent of this money in American Tobacco, register
+the stock in the name of Henry Loveless and put it away
+for him. Save out enough for a round-trip ticket to
+Sing Sing, and run up there some day and tell him what
+you&#39;ve done.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page241" id="page241"></a>[pg&nbsp;241]</span>
+&quot;By Jove!&quot; exclaimed de Bosky, his eyes dancing.
+&quot;But,&quot; he added, doubtfully, &quot;what am I to do if he
+doesn&#39;t approve?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Tell him put it in his pipe and smoke it,&quot; said the
+resourceful Mr. Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You know,&quot; said the other admiringly, &quot;I have
+never been one of those misguided persons who claim
+that the English have no sense of humour. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Sh!&quot; warned M. Mirabeau from the top of the
+steps. And then, like a true Frenchman, he bustled de
+Bosky out of the shop ahead of him and closed the door,
+leaving Trotter alone among the ticking clocks.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane came swiftly up the steps, hurrying as if pursued.
+Mr. Bramble was pledging something, in a
+squeaky undertone, from the store below.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He may not have followed me,&quot; Jane called back
+in guarded tones, &quot;but if he has, Mr. Bramble, you
+must be sure to throw him off the trail.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Trust me,&mdash;trust me implicitly,&quot; came in a strangled
+sort of voice from the faithful ex-tutor.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh,&mdash;Eric, dearest! How you startled me!&quot;
+cried Lady Jane a moment later. She gasped the
+words, for she was almost smothered in the arms of
+her lover.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Forgive me,&quot; he murmured, without releasing her,&mdash;an
+oversight which she apparently had no immediate
+intention of resenting.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A little later on, she suddenly drew away from him,
+with a quick, embarrassed glance around the noisy
+little shop. He laughed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We are quite alone, Jane dear,&mdash;unless you count
+the clocks. They&#39;re all looking at us, but they never
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page242" id="page242"></a>[pg&nbsp;242]</span>
+tell anything more than the time of day. And now,
+dear, what is this beastly business?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She closed the door to the stairway, very cautiously,
+and then came back to him. The frown deepened in
+his eyes as he listened to the story she told.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But why should I go into hiding?&quot; he exclaimed, as
+she stopped to get her breath. &quot;I haven&#39;t done anything
+wrong. What if they have trumped up some rotten
+charge against me? All the more reason why I
+should stand out and defend&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, dear, Scotland Yard is such a dreadful place,&quot;
+she cried, blanching. &quot;They&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Rubbish! I&#39;m not afraid of Scotland Yard.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&mdash;you&#39;re not?&quot; she gasped, blankly. &quot;But,
+Eric dear, you <i>must</i> be afraid of Scotland Yard. You
+don&#39;t know what you are saying.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, yes, I do. And as for this chap they&#39;ve sent
+after me,&mdash;where is he? In two seconds I can tell him
+what&#39;s what. He&#39;ll go humping back to London&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I knew you would say something like that,&quot; she declared,
+greatly perturbed. &quot;But I sha&#39;n&#39;t let you.
+Do you hear, Eric? I sha&#39;n&#39;t let you. You <i>must</i> hide.
+You must go away from New York,&mdash;tonight.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And leave you?&quot; he scoffed. &quot;What can you be
+thinking of, darling? Am I&mdash;
+Sit down, dear,&mdash;here
+beside me. You are frightened. That infernal brute
+has scared you almost out of&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I <i>am</i> frightened,&mdash;terribly frightened. So is the
+Marchioness,&mdash;and Mr. Bramble.&quot; She sat beside him
+on the bench. He took her cold hands in his own and
+pressed them gently, encouragingly. His eyes were
+very soft and tender.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page243" id="page243"></a>[pg&nbsp;243]</span>
+&quot;Poor little girl!&quot; For a long time he sat there
+looking at her white, averted face. A slow smile slowly
+struggled to the corners of his mouth. &quot;I can&#39;t afford
+to run away,&quot; he said at last. &quot;I&#39;ve just got to
+stick by my job. It means a lot to me now, Jane dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She looked up quickly, her face clearing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I love you, Eric. I know you are innocent of anything
+they may charge you with. I <i>know</i> it. And I
+would give all I have in the world to help you in your
+hour of trouble. Listen, dear. I want you to accept
+this in the right spirit. Don&#39;t let pride stand in the
+way. It is really something I want to do,&mdash;something
+that will make me&mdash;oh, so happy, if you will just let
+me do it. I am earning five guineas a week. It is more
+than I need. Now, dear, just for a little while,&mdash;until
+you have found another place in some city far away
+from New York,&mdash;you must let me share my&mdash;What
+is there to laugh at, Eric?&quot; she cried in a hurt voice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He grew sober at once.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m&mdash;I&#39;m sorry,&quot; he said. &quot;Thank you,&mdash;and
+God bless you, Jane. It&#39;s fine. You&#39;re a brick. But,&mdash;but
+I can&#39;t accept it. Please don&#39;t say anything
+more about it, dear. I just <i>can&#39;t</i>,&mdash;that&#39;s all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, dear,&quot; she sighed. &quot;And&mdash;and you refuse
+to go away? You will not escape while there is yet&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;See here, dear,&quot; he began, his jaw setting, &quot;I am
+not underrating the seriousness of this affair. They
+may have put up a beast of a job on me. They fixed it
+so that I hadn&#39;t a chance three years ago. Perhaps
+they&#39;ve decided to finish the job and have done with me
+for ever. I don&#39;t put it above them, curse them. Here&#39;s
+the story in a nutshell. I have two cousins in the Army,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page244" id="page244"></a>[pg&nbsp;244]</span>
+sons of my mother&#39;s sisters. They&#39;re a pair of rotters.
+It was they who hatched up the scheme to disgrace
+me in the service,&mdash;and, by gad, they did it to
+the queen&#39;s taste. I had to get out. There wasn&#39;t a
+chance for me to square myself. I&mdash;I sha&#39;n&#39;t go into
+that, dear. You&#39;ll understand why. It&mdash;it hurts.
+Cheating at cards. That&#39;s enough, isn&#39;t it? Well,
+they got me. My grandfather and I&mdash;he is theirs as
+well as mine,&mdash;we never hit it off very well at best.
+My mother married Lord Temple. Grandfather was
+opposed to the match. Her sisters did everything in
+their power to widen the breach that followed the marriage.
+It may make it easier for you to understand
+when I remind you that my grandfather is one of the
+wealthiest peers in England.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Odd things happen in life. When my father died,
+I went to Fenlew Hall with my mother to live. Grandfather&#39;s
+heart had softened a little, you see. I was
+Lord Eric Temple before I was six years old. My
+mother died when I was ten. For fifteen years I lived
+on with Lord Fenlew, and, while we rowed a good deal,&mdash;he
+is a crotchety old tyrant, bless him!&mdash;he undoubtedly
+preferred me to either of my cousins. God
+bless him for that! He showed his good sense, if I do
+say it who shouldn&#39;t.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;So they set to work. That&#39;s why I am here,&mdash;without
+going into details. That&#39;s why I am out of
+the Army. And I loved the Army, Jane,&mdash;God bless
+it! I used to pray for another war, horrible as it may
+sound, so that I could go out and fight for England as
+those lads did who went down to the bottom of Africa.
+I would cry myself to sleep because I was so young then,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page245" id="page245"></a>[pg&nbsp;245]</span>
+and so useless. I am not ashamed of the tears you
+see in my eyes now. You can&#39;t understand what it
+means to me, Jane.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He drew a deep breath, cleared his throat, and then
+went on.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Lord Fenlew turned me out,&mdash;disowned me. Don&#39;t
+blame the old boy. They made out a good enough case
+against me. I was given the choice of resigning from
+the regiment or&mdash;well, the other thing. My father
+was practically penniless when he died. I had nothing
+of my own. It was up to me to earn an honest living,&mdash;or
+go to the devil. I thought I&#39;d try out the former
+first. One can always go to the devil, you know. So
+off into the far places of the earth I wandered,&mdash;and
+I&#39;ve steered pretty clear of the devil up to date.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s easy to earn a living, dear, if you just half
+try.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And now for this new complication. For the three
+years that I have been away from England, not a
+single word have I sent home. I daresay they know
+that I am alive, and that I&#39;ll turn up some day like the
+bad penny. I was named in my grandfather&#39;s will.
+He once told me he intended to leave the bulk of the unentailed
+property to me,&mdash;not because he loved me well
+but because he loved my two cousins not at all. For
+all I know, he may never have altered his will. In that
+case, I still remain the chief legatee and a source of
+tremendous uneasiness to my precious aunts and their
+blackguard sons. It is possible, even probable, that
+they have decided the safest place to have me is behind
+the bars,&mdash;at least until Lord Fenlew has changed his
+will for the last time and lies securely in the family
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page246" id="page246"></a>[pg&nbsp;246]</span>
+vault. I can think of no other explanation for the action
+of Scotland Yard. But, don&#39;t worry, dear. I
+haven&#39;t done anything wrong, and they can&#39;t stow me
+away in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The beasts!&quot; cried Jane, furiously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He stroked her clenched fingers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I wouldn&#39;t call &#39;em names, dear,&quot; he protested.
+&quot;They&#39;re honest fellows, and simply doing&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They are the most despicable wretches on earth.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You must be referring to my cousins. I
+thought&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now, Eric,&quot; she broke in firmly, &quot;I sha&#39;n&#39;t let you
+give yourself up. You owe something to me. I love
+you with all my soul. If they were to take you back
+to London and&mdash;and put you in prison,&mdash;I&#39;d&mdash;I&#39;d
+die. I could not endure&mdash;&quot; She suddenly broke down
+and, burying her face on his shoulder, sobbed chokingly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was deeply distressed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I say, dearest, don&#39;t&mdash;don&#39;t go under like
+this. I&mdash;I can&#39;t stand it. Don&#39;t cry, darling. It
+breaks my heart to see you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I can&#39;t help it,&quot; she sobbed. &quot;Give&mdash;give
+me a little&mdash;time. I&#39;ll be all right in a&mdash;minute.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He whispered consolingly: &quot;That&#39;s right. Take
+your time, dear. I never dreamed you cared so much.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She looked up quickly, her eyes flashing through the
+tears.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And do you care less for me, now that you see what
+a weak, silly&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good Lord, no! I adore you more than ever.
+I&mdash;
+Who&#39;s there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page247" id="page247"></a>[pg&nbsp;247]</span>
+M. Mirabeau, coughing considerately, was rattling
+the latch of the door that separated the shop from the
+store-room beyond. A moment later he opened the
+door slowly and stuck his head through the aperture.
+Then, satisfied that his warning cough had been properly
+received, he entered the shop. The lovers were
+sitting bolt upright and some distance apart. Lady
+Jane was arranging a hat that had been somehow forgotten
+up to that instant.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A thousand pardons,&quot; said the old Frenchman, his
+voice lowered. &quot;We must act at once. Follow me,&mdash;quickly,
+but as quietly as possible. He is downstairs.
+I have listened from the top of the steps. Poor old
+Bramble is doing his best to divert him. I have just
+this instant heard the villain announce that his watch
+needs looking into, and from that I draw a conclusion.
+He will come to my shop in spite of all that Bramble
+can do. Come! I know the way to safety.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I&#39;m not going to hide,&quot; began Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane seized his arm and dragged him toward the
+door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, you are,&quot; she whispered fiercely. &quot;You belong
+to me, Eric Temple. I shall do what I like with
+you. Don&#39;t be mulish, dear. I sha&#39;n&#39;t leave you,&mdash;not
+for anything in the world.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Bravo!&quot; whispered M. Mirabeau.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Swiftly they stole through the door and past the
+landing. Scraps of conversation from below reached
+their ears. Jane&#39;s clutch tightened on her lover&#39;s arm.
+She recognized the voice of Mr. Alfred Chambers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;De Bosky will do the rest,&quot; whispered the clockmaker,
+as they were joined by the musician at the far
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page248" id="page248"></a>[pg&nbsp;248]</span>
+end of the stock-room. &quot;I must return to the shop.
+He will suspect at once if I am not at work when he
+appears,&mdash;for appear he will, you may be sure.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He was gone in a second. De Bosky led them into
+the adjoining room and pointed to a tall step-ladder
+over in the corner. A trap-door in the ceiling was
+open, and blackness loomed beyond.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go up!&quot; commanded the agitated musician, addressing
+Trotter. &quot;It is an air-chamber. Don&#39;t
+break your head on the rafters. Follow close behind,
+Lady Jane. I will hold the ladder. Close the trap
+after you,&mdash;and do not make a sound after you are
+once up there. This is the jolliest moment of my life!
+I was never so thrilled. It is beautiful! It is ravishing!
+Sh! Don&#39;t utter a word, I command you! We
+will foil him,&mdash;we will foil old Scotland Yard. Be
+quick! Splendid! You are wonderful, Mademoiselle.
+Such courage,&mdash;such grace,&mdash;such&mdash;
+Sh! I take
+the ladder away! Ha, he will never suspect. He&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But how the deuce are we to get down from here?&quot;
+groaned Trotter in a penetrating whisper from aloft.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You can&#39;t get down,&mdash;but as he can&#39;t get up, why
+bother your head about that? Close the trap!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh-h!&quot; shuddered Jane, in an ecstasy of excitement.
+She was kneeling behind her companion, peering
+down through the square little opening into which he
+had drawn her a moment before.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter cautiously lowered the trap-door,&mdash;and they
+were in Stygian darkness. She repeated the exclamation,
+but this time it was a sharp, quick gasp of dismay.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For a long time they were silent, listening for sounds
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page249" id="page249"></a>[pg&nbsp;249]</span>
+from below. At last he arose to his feet. His head
+came in contact with something solid. A smothered
+groan escaped his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good Lord!&mdash;
+Be careful, dear! There&#39;s not
+more than four feet head-room. Sit still till I find a
+match.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Are you hurt? What a dreadful bump it was. I
+wonder if he could have heard?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They heard it in heaven,&quot; he replied, feeling his
+head.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How dark it is,&quot; she shuddered. &quot;Don&#39;t you dare
+move an inch from my side, Eric. I&#39;ll scream.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He laughed softly. &quot;By Jove, it&#39;s rather a jolly
+lark, after all. A wonderful place this is for sweethearts.&quot;
+He dropped down beside her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">After a time, she whispered: &quot;You mentioned a
+match, Eric.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;So I did,&quot; said he, and proceeded to go through the
+pocket in which he was accustomed to carry matches.
+&quot;Thunderation! The box is empty.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She was silent for a moment. &quot;I really don&#39;t mind,
+dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I remember saying this morning that I never have
+any luck on Friday,&quot; said he resignedly. &quot;But,&quot; he
+added, a happy note in his voice, &quot;I never dreamed
+there was such luck as this in store for me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page250" id="page250"></a>[pg&nbsp;250]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>FRIDAY FOR BAD LUCK</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">SPEAKING of Friday and the mystery of luck.
+Luck is supposed to shift in one direction or
+another on the sixth day of every week in the year. It
+is supposed to shift for everybody. A great many
+people are either too ignorant or too supercilious to
+acknowledge this vast and oppressive truth, however.
+They regard Friday as a plain, ordinary day, and go
+on being fatuously optimistic.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On the other hand, when it comes Friday, the capable
+and the far-seeing are prone to accept it as it was intended
+by the Creator, who, from confidential reports,
+paused on the sixth day (as we reckon it) of his labours
+and looked back on what already had been accomplished.
+He was dissatisfied. He set to work again.
+Right then and there Friday became an unlucky day,
+according to a great many philosophers. If the Creator
+had stopped then and let well-enough alone, there
+wouldn&#39;t have been any cause for complaint. He would
+have failed to create Adam (an afterthought), and the
+human race, lacking existence, would not have been
+compelled to put up with life,&mdash;which is a mess, after
+all.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">If more people would pause to consider the futility
+of living between Thursday and Saturday, a great deal
+of woe and misfortune might be avoided.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For example, when Mrs. Smith-Parvis called on
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page251" id="page251"></a>[pg&nbsp;251]</span>
+Mrs. McFaddan on the Monday of the week that is
+now making history through these pages, she completely
+overlooked the fact that there was a Friday
+still to be reckoned with.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">True, she had in mind a day somewhat more remote
+when, after coming face to face with the blooming Mrs.
+MCFaddan who happened to open her own front door,&mdash;it
+being Maggie&#39;s day out,&mdash;she had been compelled
+to substitute herself in person for the cards she meant
+to leave. Mrs. McFaddan had cordially sung out to
+her from the front stoop, over the head of the shocked
+footman, that she was at home and would Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+please step in.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Thursday, two weeks hence, was the day Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+had in mind. She had not been in the McFaddan
+parlour longer than a minute and a half before she
+realized that an invitation by word of mouth would do
+quite as well as an expensively engraved card by post.
+There was nothing formal about Mrs. McFaddan.
+She was sorry that Con wasn&#39;t home; he would hate like
+poison to have missed seeing Mrs. Smith-Parvis when
+she did them the honour to call. But Con was not
+likely to be in before seven,&mdash;he was that busy, poor
+man,&mdash;and it would be asking too much of Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+to wait till then.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">So, the lady from the upper East Side had no hesitancy
+in asking the lady from the lower West Side to
+dine with her on Thursday the nineteenth.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am giving a series of informal dinners, Mrs.
+McFad-<i>dan</i>,&quot; she explained graciously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They&#39;re the nicest kind,&quot; returned Mrs. McFaddan,
+somewhat startled by the pronunciation of her husband&#39;s
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page252" id="page252"></a>[pg&nbsp;252]</span>
+good old Irish name. She knew little or nothing
+of French, but somehow she rather liked the emphasis,
+crisply nasal, her visitor put upon the final syllable.
+Before the visit came to an end, she was mentally repeating
+her own name after Mrs. Smith-Parvis, and
+wondering whether Con would stand for it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What date did you say?&quot; she inquired, abruptly
+breaking in on a further explanation. The reply
+brought a look of disappointment to her face. &quot;We
+can&#39;t come,&quot; she said flatly. &quot;We&#39;re leaving on Saturday
+this week for Washington to be gone till the thirtieth.
+Important business, Con says.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Smith-Parvis thought quickly. Washington,
+eh?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Could you come on Friday night of this week,
+Mrs. McFad-<i>dan</i>?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We could,&quot; said the other. &quot;Don&#39;t you worry
+about Con cooking up an excuse for not coming, either.
+He does just about what I tell him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Splendid!&quot; said Mrs. Smith-Parvis, arising.
+&quot;Friday at 8:30.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Have plenty of fish,&quot; said Mrs. McFaddan gaily.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Fish?&quot; faltered the visitor.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s Friday, you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Greatly to Mrs. Smith-Parvis&#39;s surprise,&mdash;and in
+two or three cases, irritation,&mdash;every one she asked
+to meet the McFaddans on Friday accepted with
+alacrity. She asked the Dodges, feeling confident that
+they couldn&#39;t possibly be had on such short notice,&mdash;and
+the same with the Bittinger-Stuarts. They <i>did</i>
+have previous engagements, but they promptly cancelled
+them. It struck her as odd,&mdash;and later on significant,&mdash;that,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page253" id="page253"></a>[pg&nbsp;253]</span>
+without exception, every woman she
+asked said she was just dying for a chance to have a
+little private &quot;talk&quot; with the notorious Mr. McFaddan.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">People who had never arrived at a dinner-party on
+time in their lives, appeared on Friday at the Smith-Parvis
+home all the way from five to fifteen minutes
+early.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Cricklewicks were not asked. Mr. Smith-Parvis
+remembered in time that the Irish hate the English, and
+it wouldn&#39;t do at all.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. McFaddan and his wife were the last to arrive.
+They were so late that not only the hostess but most of
+her guests experienced a sharp fear that they wouldn&#39;t
+turn up at all. There were side glances at the clock
+on the mantel, surreptitious squints at wrist-watches,
+and a queer, unnatural silence while the big clock in
+the upper hall chimed a quarter to nine.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Really, my dear,&quot; said Mrs. Dodge, who had the
+New York record for tardiness,&mdash;an hour and three-quarters,
+she claimed,&mdash;&quot;I can&#39;t understand people being
+late for a dinner,&mdash;unless, of course, they mean to
+be intentionally rude.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I can&#39;t imagine what can have happened to them,&quot;
+said Mrs. Smith-Parvis nervously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Accident on the Subway, no doubt,&quot; drawled Mr.
+Bittinger-Stuart, and instantly looked around in a
+startled sort of way to see if there was any cause for
+repenting the sarcasm.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Where is Stuyvesant?&quot; inquired Mrs. Millidew the
+elder, who had arrived a little late. She had been
+obliged to call a taxi-cab at the last moment on account
+of the singular defection of her new chauffeur,&mdash;who,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page254" id="page254"></a>[pg&nbsp;254]</span>
+she proclaimed on entering, was to have his walking
+papers in the morning. Especially as it was raining
+pitchforks.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He is dressing, my dear,&quot; explained Stuyvesant&#39;s
+mother, with a maternal smile of apology.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I should have known better,&quot; pursued Mrs. Millidew,
+still chafing, &quot;than to let him go gallivanting off
+to Long Island with Dolly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I said he was dressing, Mrs. Millidew,&quot; said Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis stiffly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If I could have five minutes alone with Mr. McFaddan,&quot;
+one of the ladies was saying to the host, &quot;I
+know I could interest him in our plan to make Van
+Cortlandt Park the most attractive and the most exclusive
+country club in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My dear,&quot; interrupted another of her sex, &quot;if you
+get him off in a corner and talk to him all evening
+about that ridiculous scheme of yours, I&#39;ll murder you.
+You know how long Jim has been working to get his
+brother appointed judge in the United States District
+Court,&mdash;his brother Charlie, you know,&mdash;the one who
+doesn&#39;t amount to much,&mdash;and I&#39;ll bet my last penny
+I can fix it if&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s an infernal outrage,&quot; boomed Mr. Dodge, addressing
+no one in particular. &quot;Yes, sir, a pernicious
+outrage.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;As I said before, the more you do for them the worse
+they treat you in return,&quot; agreed Mrs. Millidew. &quot;It
+doesn&#39;t pay. Treat them like dogs and they&#39;ll be decent.
+If you try to be kind and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Dodge expanded.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You see, it will cut straight through the centre of
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page255" id="page255"></a>[pg&nbsp;255]</span>
+the most valuable piece of unimproved property in New
+York City. It isn&#39;t because I happen to be the owner
+of that property that I&#39;m complaining. It&#39;s the high-handed
+way&mdash;Now, look! This is the Grand Concourse,
+and here is Bunker Avenue.&quot; He produced an
+invisible diagram with his foot, jostling Mr. Smith-Parvis
+off of the rug in order to extend the line beyond
+the intersection to a point where the proposed street
+was to be opened. &quot;Right smack through this section
+of&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At that instant Mr. and Mrs. McFaddan were announced.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Where the deuce is Stuyvie?&quot; Mr. Smith-Parvis
+whispered nervously into the ear of his wife as the new
+arrivals approached.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Diplomacy,&quot; whispered she succinctly. &quot;All for
+effect. Last but not least. He&mdash;Good evening,
+dear Mrs. McFad-dán!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In the main hall, a moment before, Mr. McFaddan
+had whispered in <i>his</i> wife&#39;s ear. He transmitted an
+opinion of Peasley the footman.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He&#39;s a mutt.&quot; He had surveyed Peasley with a
+discriminating and intensely critical eye, taking him in
+from head to foot. &quot;Under-gardener or vicar&#39;s man-of-all-work.
+Trained in a Sixth Avenue intelligence
+office. Never saw livery till he&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hush, Con! The man will hear you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And if he should, he can&#39;t accuse me of betrayin&#39;
+a secret.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">To digress for a moment, it is pertinent to refer to
+the strange cloud of preoccupation that descended upon
+Mr. McFaddan during the ride uptown,&mdash;not in the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page256" id="page256"></a>[pg&nbsp;256]</span>
+Subway, but in his own Packard limousine. Something
+back in his mind kept nagging at him,&mdash;something
+elusive yet strangely fresh, something that had
+to do with recent events. He could not rid himself
+of the impression that the Smith-Parvises were in
+some way involved.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Suddenly, as they neared their destination, the fog
+lifted and his mind was as clear as day. His wife&#39;s
+unctuous reflections were shattered by the force of the
+explosion that burst from his lips. He remembered
+everything. This was the house in which Lady Jane
+Thorne was employed, and it was the scion thereof who
+had put up the job on young Trotter. Old Cricklewick
+had come to see him about it and had told him a
+story that made his blood boil. It was all painfully
+clear to him now.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Their delay in arriving was due to the protracted
+argument that took place within a stone&#39;s throw of the
+Smith-Parvis home. Mr. McFaddan stopped the car
+and flatly refused to go an inch farther. He would be
+hanged if he&#39;d have anything to do with a gang like
+that! His wife began by calling him a goose. Later
+on she called him a mule, and still later, in sheer exasperation,
+a beast. He capitulated. He was still
+mumbling incoherently as they mounted the steps and
+were admitted by the deficient Peasley.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What shall I say to the dirty spalpeen if he tries
+to shake hands with me?&quot; Mr. McFaddan growled,
+three steps from the top.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Say anything you like,&quot; said she, &quot;but, for God&#39;s
+sake, say it under your breath.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page257" id="page257"></a>[pg&nbsp;257]</span>
+However: the party was now complete with one
+notable exception. Stuyvie was sound asleep in his
+room. He had reached home late that afternoon and
+was in an irascible frame of mind. He didn&#39;t know the
+McFad-dáns, and he didn&#39;t care to know them. Dragging
+him home from Hot Springs to meet a cheap
+bounder,&mdash;what the deuce did she mean anyhow, entertaining
+that sort of people? And so on and so forth
+until his mother lost her temper and took it out on
+the maid who was dressing her hair.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Peasley was sent upstairs to inform Mr. Stuyvesant
+that they were waiting for him.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Smith-Parvis met her son at the foot of the
+stairs when he came lounging down. He was yawning
+and making futile efforts to smooth out the wrinkles
+in his coat, having reposed soundly in it for the better
+part of an hour.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You must be nice to Mr. McFad-dán,&quot; said she
+anxiously. &quot;He has a great deal of influence with
+the powers that be.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He stopped short, instantly alert.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Has a&mdash;a warrant been issued?&quot; he demanded,
+leaping to a very natural and sickening conclusion as to
+the identity of the &quot;powers.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not yet, of course,&quot; she said, benignly. &quot;It is a
+little too soon for that. But it will come, dear boy, if
+we can get Mr. McFad-dán on our side. That is to
+be the lovely surprise I spoke about in my&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&mdash;you call <i>that</i> lovely?&quot; he snapped.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If everything goes well, you will soon be at the
+Court of St. James. Wouldn&#39;t you call that lovely?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page258" id="page258"></a>[pg&nbsp;258]</span>
+He was perspiring freely. &quot;My God, that&#39;s just the
+thing I&#39;m trying to avoid. If they get me into court,
+they&#39;ll&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You do not understand. The diplomatic court,&mdash;corps,
+I mean. You are to go to London,&mdash;into the
+legation. The rarest opportunity&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, Lord!&quot; gasped Stuyvesant, passing his hand
+over his wet brow. A wave of relief surged over him.
+He leaned against the banister, weakly. &quot;Why didn&#39;t
+you say that in the first place?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You must be very nice to Mr. McFad-dán,&quot; she
+said, taking his arm. &quot;And to Mrs. McFad-dán also.
+She is rather stunning&mdash;and quite young.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s nice,&quot; said Stuyvie, regaining a measure of
+his tolerant, blasé air.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Now, while the intelligence of the reader has long
+since grasped the fact that the expected is about to
+happen, it is only fair to state that the swiftly moving
+events of the next few minutes were totally unexpected
+by any one of the persons congregated in Mrs. Smith-Parvis&#39;s
+drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant entered the room, a forced, unamiable
+smile on his lips. He nodded in the most casual, indifferent
+manner to those nearest the door. It was going
+to be a dull, deadly evening. The worst lot of he-fossils
+and scrawny-necked&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For the love o&#39; Mike!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Up to that instant, one could have dropped a ten-pound
+weight on the floor without attracting the slightest
+attention. For a second or two following the
+shrill ejaculation, the crash of the axiomatic pin could
+have been heard from one end of the room to the other.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page259" id="page259"></a>[pg&nbsp;259]</span>
+Every eye, including Stuyvie&#39;s, was fixed upon the
+shocked, surprised face of the lady who uttered the involuntary
+exclamation.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. McFaddan was staring wildly at the newcomer.
+Stuyvesant recognized her at once. The dashing, vivid
+face was only too familiar. In a flash the whole appalling
+truth was revealed to him. An involuntary &quot;Oh,
+Lord!&quot; oozed from his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Cornelius McFaddan suddenly clapped his hand to
+his mouth, smothering the words that surged up from
+the depths of his injured soul. He became quite purple
+in the face.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;This is my son Stuyvesant, Mr. McFaddan,&quot; said
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis, in a voice strangely faint and faltering.
+And then, sensing catastrophe, she went on
+hurriedly: &quot;Shall we go in to dinner? Has it been
+announced, Rogers?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. McFaddan removed his hand.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The hopes and ambitions, the desires and schemes of
+every one present went hurtling away on the hurricane
+of wrath that was liberated by that unfortunate action
+of Cornelius McFaddan. An unprejudiced observer
+would have explained, in justice to poor Cornelius, that
+the force of the storm blew his hand away, willy-nilly,
+despite his heroic efforts to check the resistless torrent.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">I may be forgiven for a confessed inadequacy to cope
+with a really great situation. My scope of delivery is
+limited. In a sense, however, short-comings of this nature
+are not infrequently blessings. It would be a pity
+for me or any other upstart to spoil, through sheer
+feebleness of expression, a situation demanding the incomparable
+virility of a Cornelius McFaddan.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page260" id="page260"></a>[pg&nbsp;260]</span>
+Suffice to say, Mr. McFaddan left nothing to the
+imagination. He had the stage to himself, and he stood
+squarely in the centre of it for what seemed like an
+age to the petrified audience. As a matter of fact,
+it was all over in three minutes. He was not profane.
+At no time did he forget there were ladies present.
+But from the things he said, no one doubted, then or
+afterwards, that the presence of ladies was the only
+thing that stood between Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis and
+an unhallowed grave.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">It may be enlightening to repeat his concluding remark
+to Stuyvie.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And if I thought ye&#39;d even dream of settin&#39; foot
+outside this house I&#39;d gladly stand on the sidewalk in
+the rain, without food or drink, for forty-eight hours,
+waitin&#39; for ye.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">And as that was the mildest thing he said to Stuyvie,
+it is only fair to state that Peasley, who was listening
+in the hall, hastily opened the front door and looked
+up and down the street for a policeman. With commendable
+foresight, he left it ajar and retired to the
+foot of the stairs, hoping, perhaps, that Stuyvesant
+might undertake to throw the obnoxious guest into the
+street,&mdash;in which case it would be possible for him
+to witness the whirlwind without being in the path
+of it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">To Smith-Parvis, Senior, the eloquent McFaddan addressed
+these parting words:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t know what you had in mind when you invited
+me here, Mr. Smith-Parvis, but whatever it was
+you needn&#39;t worry about it,&mdash;not for a minute. Put
+it out of your mind altogether, my good man. And
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page261" id="page261"></a>[pg&nbsp;261]</span>
+if I&#39;ve told you anything at all about this pie-faced
+son of yours that ye didn&#39;t already know or suspect,
+you&#39;re welcome to the information. He&#39;s a bad egg,&mdash;and
+if ye don&#39;t believe me, ask Lady Jane Thorne,&mdash;if
+she happens to be about.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He spoke without thinking, but he did no harm.
+No one there had the remotest idea who he meant when
+he referred to Lady Jane Thorne.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Come, Peggy, we&#39;d better be going,&quot; he said to his
+wife. &quot;If we want a bite o&#39; dinner, I guess we&#39;ll have
+to go over to Healy&#39;s and get it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Far in the night, Mrs. Smith-Parvis groaned. Her
+husband, who sat beside her bed and held her hand with
+somnolent devotion, roused himself and inquired if the
+pain was just as bad as ever.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She groaned again.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He patted her hand soothingly. &quot;There, there, now,&mdash;go
+to sleep again. You&#39;ll be all right&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Again?&quot; she cried plaintively. &quot;How can you
+say such a thing? I haven&#39;t closed my eyes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, my dear,&quot; he expostulated. &quot;You&#39;ve been
+sound asleep for&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have not!&quot; she exclaimed. &quot;My poor head is
+splitting. You know I haven&#39;t been asleep, so why
+will you persist in saying that I have?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;At any rate,&quot; said he, taking up a train of thought
+that had become somewhat confused and unstable by
+passing through so many cat-naps, &quot;we ought to be
+thankful it isn&#39;t worse. The dear boy might have gone
+to the electric chair if we had permitted him to follow
+the scoundrel to the sidewalk.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Smith-Parvis turned her face toward him. A
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page262" id="page262"></a>[pg&nbsp;262]</span>
+spark of enthusiasm flashed for an instant in her tired
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How many times did he knock him down at Spangler&#39;s?&quot;
+she inquired.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Four,&quot; said Mr. Smith-Parvis, proudly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And that dreadful woman was the cause of it all,
+writing notes to Stuyvesant and asking him to meet
+her&mdash;What was it Stuyvesant called them?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Crush-notes, Angie. Now, try to go to sleep,
+dearie.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page263" id="page263"></a>[pg&nbsp;263]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2>
+
+<h3>FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;GOODNESS! What&#39;s that?&quot; whispered Lady
+Jane, starting violently.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For what seemed to them many hours, she and
+Thomas Trotter had sat, quite snugly comfortable, in
+the dark air-chamber. Comfortable, I say, but I fear
+that the bewildering joy of having her in his arms rendered
+him impervious to what under other conditions
+would most certainly have been a severe strain upon
+his physical endurance. In other words, she rested
+very comfortably and cosily in the crook of his arm, her
+head against his shoulder, while he, sitting bolt upright
+with no support whatsoever&mdash;But why try to provide
+him with cause for complaint when he was so obviously
+contented?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Her suppressed exclamation followed close upon the
+roar and crash of an ear-splitting explosion. The reverberation
+rolled and rumbled and dwindled away into
+the queerest silence. Almost immediately the clatter of
+falling debris assailed their ears. She straightened up
+and clutched his arm convulsively.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Rain,&quot; he said, with a short laugh. For an instant
+his heart had stood still. So appalling was the crash
+that he involuntarily raised an arm to shield his beloved
+companion from the shattered walls that were so
+soon to tumble about their ears. &quot;Beating on the tin
+roof,&quot; he went on, jerkily.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page264" id="page264"></a>[pg&nbsp;264]</span>
+&quot;Oh,&mdash;wasn&#39;t it awful?&quot; she gasped, in smothered
+tones. &quot;Are you sure?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am now,&quot; he replied, &quot;but, by Jove, I wasn&#39;t a
+second or two ago. Lord, I thought it was all over.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If we could only see!&quot; she cried nervously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Any how,&quot; he said, with a reassuring chuckle, &quot;we
+sha&#39;n&#39;t get wet.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">By this time the roar of rain on the roof so close
+to their heads was deafening.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Goodness, Eric,&mdash;it&#39;s&mdash;it&#39;s leaking here,&quot; she
+cried out suddenly, after a long silence.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That&#39;s the trouble with these ramshackle old&mdash;Oh,
+I say, Jane, your frock! It will be ruined. My
+word! The confounded roof&#39;s like a sieve.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He set out,&mdash;on all fours,&mdash;cautiously to explore.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I am frightfully afraid of thunder,&quot; she cried
+out after him, a quaver in her voice. &quot;And, Eric,
+wouldn&#39;t it be dreadful if the building were to be struck
+by lightning and we should be found up here in this&mdash;this
+unexplainable loft? What <i>could</i> we say?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nothing, dearest,&quot; he replied, consolingly. &quot;That
+is, provided the lightning did its work properly. Ouch!
+It&#39;s all right! Don&#39;t bother, dear. Nothing but a
+wall. Seems dry over here. Don&#39;t move. I&#39;ll come
+back for you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s&mdash;it&#39;s rather jolly, isn&#39;t it?&quot; she cried nervously
+as his hand touched her shoulder. She grasped
+it eagerly. &quot;Much jollier than if we could see.&quot; A
+few moments later: &quot;Isn&#39;t it nice and dry over here.
+How clever of you, Eric, to find it in the dark.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On their hands and knees they had crept to the place
+of shelter, and were seated on a broad, substantial beam
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page265" id="page265"></a>[pg&nbsp;265]</span>
+with their backs against a thin, hollow-sounding partition.
+The journey was not without incident. As they
+felt their way over the loose and sometimes widely separated
+boards laid down to protect the laths and plaster
+of the ceiling below, his knee slipped off and before
+he could prevent it, his foot struck the lathing with
+considerable force.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Clumsy ass!&quot; he muttered.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">After a long time, she said to him,&mdash;a little pathetically:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I hope M. Mirabeau doesn&#39;t forget we are up here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I should hope not,&quot; he said fervently. &quot;Mrs. Millidew
+is going out to dinner this evening. I&#39;d&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh-h!&quot; she whispered tensely. &quot;Look!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A thin streak of light appeared in front of them.
+Fascinated, they watched it widen, slowly,&mdash;relentlessly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The trap-door was being raised from below. A hand
+and arm came into view,&mdash;the propelling power.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is that you, de Bosky?&quot; called out Trotter, in a
+penetrating whisper.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Abruptly the trap flew wide open and dropped back
+on the scantlings with a bang.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The head and shoulders of a man,&mdash;a bald-headed
+man, at that,&mdash;rose quickly above the ledge, and an
+instant later a lighted lantern followed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, dear!&quot; murmured Lady Jane, aghast. &quot;It&mdash;it
+isn&#39;t Mr. de Bosky, Eric. It&#39;s that man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I beg your pardon, Lord Temple,&quot; said Mr. Alfred
+Chambers, setting the lantern down in order to brush
+the dust off of his hands. &quot;Are you there?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What is the meaning of this, sir?&quot; demanded the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page266" id="page266"></a>[pg&nbsp;266]</span>
+young man on the beam, blinking rapidly in the unaccustomed
+glare.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers rested his elbows on the ledge. The
+light of the lantern shone full on his face, revealing the
+slow but sure growth of a joyous grin.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Permit me to introduce myself, your lordship. Mr.
+Alfred Chambers, of&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I know,&mdash;I know!&quot; broke in the other impatiently.
+&quot;What the devil do you want?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good evening, Miss Emsdale,&quot; said Mr. Chambers,
+remembering his manners. &quot;That is to say,&mdash;your
+ladyship. &#39;Pon my word, you can&#39;t possibly be more
+surprised than I am,&mdash;either of you. I shouldn&#39;t have
+dreamed of looking in this&mdash;this stuffy hole for&mdash;for
+anything except bats.&quot; He chortled.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I can&#39;t understand why some one below there doesn&#39;t
+knock that ladder from under you,&quot; said Mr. Trotter
+rudely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I was on the point of giving up in despair,&quot; went on
+Mr. Chambers, unoffended. &quot;You know, I shouldn&#39;t
+have thought of looking up here for you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His quarry bethought himself of the loyal, conspiring
+friends below.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;See here, Mr. Chambers,&quot; he began earnestly, &quot;I
+want you to understand that those gentlemen downstairs
+are absolutely innocent of any criminal complicity in&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I understand perfectly,&quot; interrupted the man from
+Scotland Yard. &quot;Perfectly. And the same applies to
+her ladyship. Everything&#39;s as right as rain, your
+lordship. Will you be so good, sir, as to come down
+at once?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page267" id="page267"></a>[pg&nbsp;267]</span>
+&quot;Certainly,&quot; cried the other. &quot;With the greatest
+pleasure. Come, Jane,&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Wait!&quot; protested Jane. &quot;I sha&#39;n&#39;t move an inch
+until he promises to&mdash;to listen to reason. In the first
+place, this gentleman is a Mr. Trotter,&quot; she went on
+rapidly, addressing the head and shoulders behind the
+lantern. &quot;You will get yourself into a jolly lot of
+trouble if you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thanks, Jane dear,&quot; interrupted her lover gently.
+&quot;It&#39;s no use. He knows I am Eric Temple,&mdash;so we&#39;ll
+just have to make the best of it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He doesn&#39;t know anything of the kind,&quot; said she.
+&quot;He noticed a resemblance, that&#39;s all.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers beamed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quite so, your ladyship. I noticed it at once. If
+I do say it myself, there isn&#39;t a man in the department
+who has anything on me when it comes to that sort of
+thing. The inspector has frequently mentioned&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By the way, Mr. Snooper, will you be kind enough
+to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Chambers, your lordship,&quot; interrupted the detective.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Kind enough to explain how you discovered that
+we were up here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, you see we were having our coffee,&mdash;after a
+most excellent dinner, your lordship, prepared, I am
+bound to say, for your discussion by the estimable Mr.
+Bramble,&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Dinner? By George, you remind me that I am ravenously
+hungry. It must be quite late.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Half-past eight, sir,&mdash;approximately. As I was
+saying, we were enjoying our coffee,&mdash;the three of us
+only,&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page268" id="page268"></a>[pg&nbsp;268]</span>
+Trotter made a wry face. &quot;In that case, Mrs. Millidew
+will sack me in the morning, Jane. I had orders
+for eight sharp.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It really shouldn&#39;t matter, your lordship,&quot; said
+Mr. Chambers cheerfully. &quot;Not in the least, if I may
+be so bold as to say so. However, to continue, sir.
+Or rather, to go back a little if I may. You see, I
+was rather certain you were hiding somewhere about
+the place. At least, I was certain her ladyship was.
+She came in and she didn&#39;t go out, if you see what I
+mean. I insisted on my right to search the premises.
+Do you follow me, sir?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Reluctantly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In due time, I came to the little dining-room, where
+I discovered the cook preparing dinner. You were
+not in evidence, your ladyship. I do not mind in the
+least confessing that I was ordered out by the cook. I
+retired to the clock-shop of M. Mirabeau and sat down
+to wait. The Polish young gentleman was there. As
+time went on, Mr. Bramble joined us. They were extremely
+ill-at-ease, your lordship, although they tried
+very hard to appear amused and unconcerned. The
+slightest noise caused them to fidget. Once, to test
+them, I stealthily dropped my pocket knife on the floor.
+Now, you would say, wouldn&#39;t you, that so small an
+object as a pen-knife&mdash;but that&#39;s neither here nor
+there. They jumped,&mdash;every blessed one of them.
+Presently the young Polish gentleman, whose face is
+strangely familiar to me,&mdash;I must have seen him in
+London,&mdash;announced that he was obliged to depart.
+A little later on,&mdash;you see, it was quite dark by this
+time,&mdash;the clockmaker prepared to close up for the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page269" id="page269"></a>[pg&nbsp;269]</span>
+night. Mr. Bramble looked at his watch two or three
+times in rapid succession, notwithstanding the fact
+that he was literally surrounded by clocks. He said
+he feared he would have to go and see about the dinner,&mdash;and
+would I kindly get out. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They should have called in the police,&quot; interrupted
+his male listener indignantly. &quot;That&#39;s what I should
+have done, confound your impudence.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ah, now <i>there</i> is a point I should have touched upon
+before,&quot; explained Mr. Chambers, casting an uneasy
+glance down into the room below. &quot;I may as well confess
+to you,&mdash;quite privately and confidentially, of
+course, your lordship,&mdash;that I&mdash;er&mdash;rather deceived
+the old gentlemen. Do not be alarmed. I am quite
+sure they can&#39;t hear what I am saying. You see. I
+told them in the beginning that I had surrounded the
+place with policemen and plain-clothes men. They&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And hadn&#39;t you?&quot; demanded Mr. Trotter quickly,
+a reckless light appearing in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not at all, sir,&mdash;not at all. Why should I? I am
+quite capable of handling the case single-handed. The
+less the police had to do with it the better for all parties
+concerned. Still, it was necessary to frighten them a
+little. Otherwise, they <i>might</i> have ejected me&mdash;er&mdash;bodily,
+if you know what I mean. Or, for that matter,
+they might have called in the police, as you suggest. So
+I kept them from doing either by giving them to understand
+that if there was to be any calling of the police it
+would be I who would do it with my little whistle.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He paused to chuckle.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are making a long story of it,&quot; growled Mr.
+Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page270" id="page270"></a>[pg&nbsp;270]</span>
+&quot;I beg your  pardon, sir. The interruptions, you
+see,&mdash;ahem! I followed Mr. Bramble to the dining-room.
+He was very nervous. He coughed a great
+deal, and very loudly. I was quite convinced that you
+were secreted somewhere about the place, but, for the
+life of me, I couldn&#39;t imagine where.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I suppose it hadn&#39;t occurred to you that we might
+have gone down the back stairway and escaped into the
+side-street,&quot; said Mr. Trotter sarcastically.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers cleared his throat and seemed curiously
+embarrassed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Perhaps I should have stated before that a&mdash;er&mdash;a
+chap from a local agency was posted at the bottom of
+the kitchen stairway,&mdash;as a favour to me, so to speak.
+A chap who had been detailed to assist me,&mdash;But I
+shall explain all that in my report. So, you see, you
+couldn&#39;t have gone out that way without&mdash;Yes, yes,&mdash;as
+I was saying, I accompanied Mr. Bramble to the
+dining-room. The cook was in a very bad temper.
+The dinner was getting cold. I observed that three
+places had been laid. Fixing my eye upon Mr. Bramble
+I inquired who the third place was for. I shall never
+forget his expression, nor the admirable way in which
+he recovered himself. He was quite wonderful. He
+said it was for <i>me</i>. Rather neat of him, wasn&#39;t it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You don&#39;t mean to say you had the brass to&mdash;Well,
+&#39;pon my soul, Chambers, that <i>was</i> going it a bit
+strong.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Under the circumstances, your lordship, I couldn&#39;t
+very well decline,&quot; said Mr. Chambers apologetically.
+&quot;He is such a decent, loyal old chap, sir, that it would
+have been cruel to let him see that I knew he was lying.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page271" id="page271"></a>[pg&nbsp;271]</span>
+&quot;But, confound you, that was <i>my</i> dinner,&quot; exclaimed
+Trotter wrathfully.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;So I suspected, your lordship. I knew it <i>couldn&#39;t</i>
+be her ladyship&#39;s. Well, we had got on to the coffee,
+and I was just on the point of asking Mr. Bramble for
+the loan of an umbrella, when there was a loud thump
+on the ceiling overhead. An instant later a large piece
+of plaster fell to the floor, not three feet behind my
+chair. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By Jove! What a pity it didn&#39;t fall three feet
+nearer,&quot; exclaimed Trotter, a note of regret in his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers generously overlooked the remark.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;After that it was plain sailing,&quot; said he, quite
+pleasantly. &quot;Now you know how I came to discover
+you, and how I happen to be here.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And those poor old dears,&quot; cried Lady Jane in distress;
+&quot;where are they? What have you done to
+them?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They are&mdash;&quot; he looked downward again before answering&mdash;&quot;yes,
+they are holding the ladder for me.
+Coming, gentlemen!&quot; he called out. &quot;We&#39;ll all be
+down in a jiffy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Before we go any farther,&quot; said Trotter seriously,
+&quot;I should like to know just what the charge is against
+me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Beg pardon?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The charge. What are you going to chuck me into
+prison for?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Prison? My God, sir! Who said anything about
+prison?&quot; gasped Mr. Chambers, staring wide-eyed at
+the young man.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page272" id="page272"></a>[pg&nbsp;272]</span>
+Trotter leaned forward, his face a study in emotions.
+Lady Jane uttered a soft little cry.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Then,&mdash;then they haven&#39;t trumped up some rotten
+charge against me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They? Charge? I say!&quot; He bellowed the last
+to the supporters below. &quot;Hold this bally thing
+steady, will you? Do you want me to break my neck?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, don&#39;t jiggle it like that,&quot; came the voice of
+Mr. Bramble from below. &quot;We can&#39;t hold it steady if
+you&#39;re going to <i>dance</i> on it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers once more directed his remarks to Mr.
+Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;So far as I am aware, Lord Temple, there is no&mdash;er&mdash;charge
+against you. The only complaint I know
+of is that you haven&#39;t kept your grandfather informed
+as to your whereabouts. Naturally he is a bit annoyed
+about it. You see, if you had dropped him a line occasionally&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Get on, man,&mdash;get on,&quot; urged Trotter excitedly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He wouldn&#39;t have been put to the expense of having
+a man detached from Scotland Yard to look the world
+over for you. Personal influence did it, of course. He
+went direct to the chief and asked for the best man in
+the service. I happened to be on another case at the
+time,&quot; explained Mr. Chambers modestly, &quot;but they
+took me off at once and started me out. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In a nutshell, you represent my grandfather and
+not the King of England,&quot; interrupted Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;On detached duty,&quot; said Mr. Chambers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And you do not intend to arrest him?&quot; cried Lady
+Jane.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Bless me, no!&quot; exclaimed Mr. Chambers.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page273" id="page273"></a>[pg&nbsp;273]</span>
+&quot;Then, what the deuce do you mean by frightening
+Miss Emsdale and my friends downstairs?&quot; demanded
+Lord Fenlew&#39;s grandson. &quot;Couldn&#39;t you have said
+in the beginning that there was no criminal charge
+against me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I hadn&#39;t the remotest idea, your lordship, that any
+one suspected you of crime,&quot; said Mr. Chambers, with
+dignity.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, confound you, why didn&#39;t you explain the situation
+to Bramble? That was the sensible,&mdash;yes, the
+intelligent thing to do, Mr. Chambers.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That is precisely what I did, your lordship, while
+we were at dinner,&mdash;we had a bottle of the wine Mr.
+Bramble says you are especially partial to,&mdash;but it
+wasn&#39;t until your heel came through the ceiling that
+they believed <i>anything</i> at all. Subsequently I discovered
+that her ladyship had prepared them for all sorts
+of trickery on my part. She had made them promise
+to die rather than give you up. Now that I see things
+as they are in a clear light, it occurs to me that your
+ladyship must have pretty thoroughly convinced the old
+gentlemen that Lord Temple is a fit subject for the
+gallows,&mdash;or at the very least, Newgate Prison. I
+fancy&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lady Jane laughed aloud, gaily, unrestrainedly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, dear! What a mess I&#39;ve made of things!&quot; she
+cried. &quot;Can you ever forgive me, Eric?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Never!&quot; he cried, and Mr. Chambers took that very
+instant to stoop over for a word with the men at the
+foot of the ladder. He went farther and had several
+words with them. Indeed, it is not unlikely that he, in
+his eagerness to please, would have stretched it into a
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page274" id="page274"></a>[pg&nbsp;274]</span>
+real chat if the object of his consideration had not
+cried out:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And now let us get down from this stuffy place,
+Eric. I am sure there must be rats and all sorts of
+things up here. And it was such a jolly place before
+the lantern came.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Can you manage it, sir?&quot; inquired Mr. Chambers
+anxiously, as Eric prepared to lower her through the
+trap-door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Perfectly, thank you,&quot; said the young man. &quot;If
+you will be good enough to stand aside and make room
+at the top of the ladder,&quot; he added, with a grin.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers also grinned. &quot;There&#39;s a difference
+between walking on air and standing on it,&quot; said he,
+and hurriedly went down the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Presently they were all grouped at the foot of the
+ladder. Mr. Bramble was busily engaged in brushing
+the dust and cobwebs from the excited young lady&#39;s
+gown.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau rattled on at a prodigious rate. He
+clapped Trotter on the back at least half-a-dozen times,
+and, forgetting most of his excellent English, waxed eloquent
+over the amazing turn of affairs. The literal,
+matter-of-fact Mr. Bramble after a time succeeded in
+stemming the flow of exuberance.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If you don&#39;t mind, Mirabeau, I have a word I&#39;d like
+to get in edgewise,&quot; he put in loudly, seizing an opportunity
+when the old Frenchman was momentarily out of
+breath.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau threw up his hands.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;At a time like this?&quot; he gasped incredulously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And why not?&quot; said Mr. Bramble stoutly. &quot;It&#39;s
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page275" id="page275"></a>[pg&nbsp;275]</span>
+time we opened that last bottle of Chianti and drank
+to the health of Lord Eric Temple,&mdash;and the beautiful
+Lady Jane.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The most sensible thing that has been uttered this
+evening,&quot; cried M. Mirabeau, with enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple took this occasion to remind them,&mdash;and
+himself as well,&mdash;that he was still Thomas Trotter
+and that the deuce would be to pay with Mrs. Millidew.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By George, she&#39;ll skin me alive if I&#39;ve been the cause
+of her missing a good dinner,&quot; he said ruefully.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That reminds me,&mdash;&quot; began Mr. Bramble, M. Mirabeau
+and Mr. Chambers in unison. Then they all
+laughed uproariously and trooped into the dining-room,
+where the visible signs of destruction were not
+confined to the floor three feet back of the chair lately
+occupied by the man from Scotland Yard. A very
+good dinner had been completely wrecked.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. O&#39;Leary, most competent of cooks, was already
+busily engaged in preparing another!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Now, Mr. Chambers,&quot; cried Jane, as she set her
+wine glass down on the table and touched her handkerchief
+to her lips, &quot;tell us everything, you dear good
+man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Chambers, finding himself suddenly out of employment
+and with an unlimited amount of spare time on
+his hands, spent the better part of the first care-free
+hour he had known in months in the telling of his story.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In a ruthlessly condensed and deleted form it was as
+follows: Lord Fenlew, quietly, almost surreptitiously,
+had set about to ascertain just how much of truth and
+how much of fiction there was in the unpublished charges
+that had caused his favourite grandson to abandon the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page276" id="page276"></a>[pg&nbsp;276]</span>
+Army and to seek obscurity that inevitably follows
+real or implied disgrace for one too proud to fight.
+His efforts were rewarded in a most distressing yet
+most satisfactory manner. One frightened and half-decent
+member of the little clique responsible for the
+ugly stories, confessed that the &quot;whole bally business&quot;
+was a put-up job.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Fenlew lost no time in putting his grandsons
+on the grill. He grilled them properly; when they
+left his presence they were scorched to a crisp, unsavoury
+mess. Indeed, his lordship went so far as to
+complain of the stench, and had the windows of Fenlew
+Hall opened to give the place a thorough airing
+after they had gone forth forevermore. With characteristic
+energy and promptness, he went to the head
+of the War Office, and laid bare the situation. With
+equal forethought and acumen he objected to the
+slightest publicity being given the vindication of Eric
+Temple. He insisted that nothing be said about the
+matter until the maligned officer returned to England
+and to the corps from which he had resigned. He refused
+to have his grandson&#39;s innocence publicly advertised!
+That, he maintained, would be to start more
+tongues to wagging, and unless the young man himself
+were on the ground to make the wagging useless,
+speculation would have a chance to thrive on winks and
+head-shakings, and the &quot;bally business&quot; would be in a
+worse shape than before. Moreover, he argued, it
+wasn&#39;t Eric&#39;s place to humiliate himself by <i>admitting</i>
+his innocence. He wouldn&#39;t have that at all.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Instead of beginning his search for the young man
+through the &quot;lost,&quot; &quot;wanted&quot; or &quot;personal&quot; columns
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page277" id="page277"></a>[pg&nbsp;277]</span>
+of an international press, he went to Scotland Yard.
+He abhorred the idea of such printed insults as these:
+&quot;If Lord Eric Temple will communicate with his grandfather
+he will learn something to his advantage&quot; or
+&quot;Will the young English nobleman who left London
+under a cloud in 1911 please address So-and-So&quot;;
+or &quot;Eric: All is well. Return at once and be forgiving&quot;;
+or &quot;£5,000 reward will be paid for information
+concerning the present whereabouts of one Eric Temple,
+grandson of Lord Fenlew, of Fenlew Hall&quot;; etc., etc.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And now, Lord Temple,&quot; said Mr. Alfred Chambers,
+after a minute and unsparing account of his own
+travels and adventures, &quot;your grandfather is a very
+old man. I trust that you can start for England at
+once. I am authorized to draw upon him for all the
+money necessary to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple held up his hand. His eyes were
+glistening, his breast was heaving mightily, and his
+voice shook with suppressed emotion as he said, scarcely
+above a whisper:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;First of all, I shall cable him tonight. He&#39;d like
+that, you know. Better than anything.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A word direct from you, dear,&quot; said Jane softly,
+happily. &quot;It will mean more to him than anything
+else in the world.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;As you please, sir,&quot; said Mr. Chambers. &quot;The
+matter is now entirely in your hands. I am, you understand,
+under orders not to return to England without
+you,&mdash;but, I leave everything to you, sir. I was
+only hoping that it would be possible for me to get back
+to my wife and babies before,&mdash;er,&mdash;well, I was about
+to say before they forget what I look like, but that
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page278" id="page278"></a>[pg&nbsp;278]</span>
+would have been a stupid thing to say. They&#39;re not
+likely to forget a mug like mine.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am sorry to say, Mr. Chambers, that you and I
+will have to be content to leave the matter of our departure
+entirely to the discretion of a third party,&quot;
+said Eric, and blushed. A shy, diffident smile played
+about his lips as he turned his wistful eyes upon Lady
+Jane Thorne.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Leave that to me, sir,&quot; said the man from Scotland
+Yard promptly and with decision, but with absolutely
+no understanding. &quot;I shall be happy to attend to any
+little&mdash;Ow! Eh, what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">M. Mirabeau&#39;s boot had come violently in contact
+with his ankle. By a singular coincidence, Mr. Bramble,
+at precisely the same instant, effected a sly but
+emphatic prod in the ribs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ignoramus!&quot; whispered the latter fiercely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Imbecile!&quot; hissed the former, and then, noting the
+bewildered look in the eyes of Mr. Chambers, went on to
+say in his most suave manner: &quot;Can&#39;t you see that you
+are standing in the presence of the Third Party?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Any fool could see that,&quot; said Mr. Chambers
+promptly, and bowed to Lady Jane. Later on he
+wanted to know what the deuce M. Mirabeau meant by
+kicking him on the shin.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How soon can <i>you</i> be ready to start home, dear?&quot;
+inquired Eric, ignoring the witnesses.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Jane&#39;s cheeks were rosy. Her blue eyes danced.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It depends entirely on Mrs. Sparflight,&quot; said she.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What has Mrs. Sparflight to do with it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You dear silly, I can&#39;t go to Fenlew Hall with absolutely
+nothing to wear, can I?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page279" id="page279"></a>[pg&nbsp;279]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2>
+
+<h3>AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">LATER in the evening, Mr. Thomas Trotter&mdash;(so
+far as he knew he was still in the service of
+Mrs. Millidew, operating under chauffeur&#39;s license No.
+So-and-So, Thomas Trotter, alien)&mdash;strode briskly
+into a Western Union office and sent off the following
+cablegram, directed to Lord Fenlew, Fenlew Hall, Old-marsh,
+Blightwind Banks, Surrey:</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="indent">&quot;God bless you. Returning earliest possible date.
+Will wire soon as wedding day is set. Eric.&quot;</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p class="indent">It was a plain, matter-of-fact Britannical way of
+covering the situation. He felt there was nothing
+more that could be said at the moment, and his interest
+being centred upon two absorbing subjects he touched
+firmly upon both of them and let it go at that.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Quite as direct and characteristic was the reply that
+came early the next day.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="indent">&quot;Do nothing rash. Who and what is she? Fenlew.&quot;</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p class="indent">This was the beginning of a sharp, incisive conversation
+between two English noblemen separated by three
+thousand miles of water.</p>
+
+<blockquote>
+<p class="indent">&quot;Loveliest girl in the world. You will be daffy over
+her. Take my word for it. Eric.&quot;</p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<p class="indent">(While we are about it, it is just as well to set forth
+the brisk dialogue now and get over with it. Something
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page280" id="page280"></a>[pg&nbsp;280]</span>
+like forty-eight hours actually were required to
+complete the transoceanic conversation. We save time
+and avoid confusion, to say nothing of interrupted activities,
+by telling it all in a breath, so to speak, disregarding
+everything except sequence.)</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: &quot;I repeat, who and
+what is she?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: &quot;Forgive oversight.
+She is daughter of late Earl of Wexham. I told you
+what she is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: &quot;What is date
+of wedding? Must know at once.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: &quot;I will ask her and
+let you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew&mdash;(the next day):
+&quot;Still undecided. Something to do with gowns.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: &quot;Nonsense. I cannot
+wait.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: &quot;Gave her your
+message. She says you&#39;ll have to.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: &quot;Tell her I can&#39;t.
+I am a very old man.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: &quot;Thanks. That
+brought her round. May fifteenth in this city.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: &quot;My blessings.
+Draw on me for any amount up to ten thousand pounds.
+Wedding present on the way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: &quot;Happiness complete.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">An ordinary telegram signed &quot;Eric Temple&quot; was
+delivered on board one of the huge American cruisers
+at Hampton Roads during this exchange of cablegrams.
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page281" id="page281"></a>[pg&nbsp;281]</span>
+It was directed to Lieut. Samuel Pickering Aylesworth,
+who promptly replied: &quot;Heartiest congratulations.
+Count on me for anything. Nothing could give me
+greater happiness than to stand up with you on the
+momentous occasion. It is great to know that you
+are not only still in the land of the living but that you
+are living in the land that I love best. My warmest
+felicitations to the future Lady Temple.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Now, to go back to the morning on which the first
+cablegram was received from Lord Fenlew. At precisely
+ten minutes past nine o&#39;clock we take up the
+thread of this narrative once more and find Thomas
+Trotter standing in the lower hall of Mrs. Millidew&#39;s
+home, awaiting the return of a parlour-maid who had
+gone to inform her mistress that the chauffeur was
+downstairs and wanted to see her when it was convenient.
+The chauffeur did not fail to observe the anxious, concerned
+look in the maid&#39;s eyes, nor the glance of sympathy
+she sent over her shoulder as she made the turn
+at the top of the stairs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Presently she came back. She looked positively distressed.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My goodness, Tommie,&quot; she said, &quot;I&#39;d hate to be
+you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He smiled, quite composedly. &quot;Think I&#39;d better
+beat it?&quot; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She&#39;s in an awful state,&quot; said the parlour-maid,
+twisting the hem of her apron.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t blame her,&quot; said Trotter coolly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What was you up to?&quot; asked she, with some severity.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page282" id="page282"></a>[pg&nbsp;282]</span>
+He thought for a second or two and then puzzled her
+vastly by replying:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Up to my ears.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Pickled?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Permanently intoxicated,&quot; he assured her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, all I got to say is you&#39;ll be sober when she
+gets through with you. I&#39;ve been up against it myself,
+and I <i>know</i>. I&#39;ve been on the point of quittin&#39; half a
+dozen times.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;A very sensible idea, Katie,&quot; said he, solemnly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She stiffened. &quot;I guess you don&#39;t get me. I mean
+quittin&#39; my job, Mr. Fresh.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I daresay I&#39;ll be quitting mine,&quot; said he and smiled
+so engagingly that Katie&#39;s rancour gave way at once to
+sympathy.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You poor kid! But listen. I&#39;ll give you a tip.
+You needn&#39;t be out of a job ten minutes. Young Mrs.
+Millidew is up there with the old girl now. They&#39;ve
+been havin&#39; it hot and heavy for fifteen minutes. The
+old one called the young one up on the &#39;phone at seven
+o&#39;clock this morning and gave her the swellest tongue-lashin&#39;
+you ever heard. Said she&#39;d been stealin&#39; her
+chauffeur, and&mdash;a lot of other things I&#39;m ashamed to
+tell you. Over comes the young one, hotter&#39;n fire, and
+they&#39;re havin&#39; it out upstairs. I happened to be passin&#39;
+the door a little while ago and I heard young Mrs.
+Millidew tell the Missus that if she fired you she&#39;d take
+you on in two seconds. So, if you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thanks, Katie,&quot; interrupted Trotter. &quot;Did Mrs.
+Millidew say when she would see me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Soon as she gets something on,&quot; said Katie.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page283" id="page283"></a>[pg&nbsp;283]</span>
+At that moment, a door slammed violently on the
+floor above. There was a swift swish of skirts, and
+then the vivid, angry face of Mrs. Millidew, the younger,
+came suddenly into view. She leaned far out over the
+banister rail and searched the hallway below with quick,
+roving eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Are you there, Trotter?&quot; she called out in a voice
+that trembled perceptibly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He advanced a few paces, stopping beside the newel
+post. He looked straight up into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, Mrs. Millidew.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You begin driving for me today,&quot; she said hurriedly.
+&quot;Do you understand?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But, madam, I am not open to&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, you are,&quot; she interrupted. &quot;You don&#39;t
+know it, but you are out of a job, Trotter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am not surprised,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t care what you were doing last night,&mdash;that
+is your affair, not mine. You come to me at once at
+the same wages&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I beg your pardon,&quot; he broke in. &quot;I mean to say
+I am not seeking another situation.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;If it is a question of pay, I will give you ten dollars
+a week more than you were receiving here. Now, don&#39;t
+haggle. That is sixty dollars a week. Hurry up!
+Decide! She will be out here in a minute. Oh, thunder!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The same door banged open and the voice of Mrs.
+Millidew, the elder, preceded its owner by some seconds
+in the race to the front.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are not fired, Trotter,&quot; she squealed. Her
+head, considerably dishevelled, appeared alongside the
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page284" id="page284"></a>[pg&nbsp;284]</span>
+gay spring bonnet that bedecked her daughter-in-law.
+&quot;You ought to be fired for what you did last night, but
+you are not. Do you understand? Now, shut up,
+Dolly! It doesn&#39;t matter if I <i>did</i> say I was going to
+fire him. I&#39;ve changed my mind.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are too late,&quot; said the younger Mrs. Millidew
+coolly. &quot;I&#39;ve just engaged him. He comes to me
+at&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You little snake!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ladies, I beg of you&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The next time I let him go gallivanting off with
+you for a couple of days&mdash;and <i>nights</i>,&mdash;you&#39;ll know
+it,&quot; cried the elder Mrs. Millidew, furiously. &quot;I can
+see what you&#39;ve been up to. You&#39;ve been doing everything
+in your power to get him away from me&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Just what do you mean to insinuate, Mother Millidew?&quot;
+demanded the other, her voice rising.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My God!&quot; cried Trotter&#39;s employer, straightening
+her figure and facing the other. Something like horror
+sounded in her cracked old voice. &quot;Could&mdash;my God!&mdash;could
+it be possible?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Speak plainly! What do you mean?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mrs. Millidew, the elder, advanced her mottled face
+until it was but a few inches from that of her daughter-in-law.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Where were <i>you</i> last night?&quot; she demanded
+harshly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">There was a moment of utter silence. Trotter,
+down below, caught his breath.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Then, to his amazement, Mrs. Millidew the younger,
+instead of flying into a rage, laughed softly, musically.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, you are too rich for words,&quot; she gurgled. &quot;I
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page285" id="page285"></a>[pg&nbsp;285]</span>
+wish,&mdash;heavens, how I wish you could see what a fool
+you look. Go back, quick, and look in the mirror before
+it wears off. You&#39;ll have the heartiest laugh
+you&#39;ve had in years.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She leaned against the railing and continued to laugh.
+Not a sound from Mrs. Millidew, the elder.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Do come up a few steps, Trotter,&quot; went on the
+younger gaily,&mdash;&quot;and have a peep. You will&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The other found her voice. There was now an agitated
+note, as of alarm, in it.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t you dare come up those steps, Trotter;&mdash;I
+forbid you, do you hear!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Trotter replied with considerable dignity. He had
+been shocked by the scene.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I have no intention of moving in any direction except
+toward the front door,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t go away,&quot; called out his employer. &quot;You
+are not dismissed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I came to explain my unavoidable absence last&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Some other time,&mdash;some other time. I want the
+car at half-past ten.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Young Mrs. Millidew was descending the stairs. Her
+smiling eyes were upon the distressed young man at the
+bottom. There was no response in his.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I beg your pardon, Mrs. Millidew,&quot; he said, raising
+his voice slightly. &quot;I came not only to explain, but to
+notify you that I am giving up my place almost immediately.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What!&quot; squeaked the old lady, coming to the top
+of the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is imperative. I shall, of course, stay on for
+a day or two while you are finding&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page286" id="page286"></a>[pg&nbsp;286]</span>
+&quot;Do you mean to say you are quitting of your own
+accord?&quot; she gasped.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, madam.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t call me &#39;madam&#39;! I&#39;ve told you that before.
+So&mdash;so, you are going to work for her in spite
+of me, are you? It&#39;s all been arranged, has it? You
+two have&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He is coming to me today,&quot; said young Mrs. Millidew
+sweetly. &quot;Aren&#39;t you, Trotter?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;No, I am not!&quot; he exploded.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She stopped short on the stairs, and gave him a
+startled, incredulous look. Any one else but Trotter
+would have been struck by her loveliness.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;re not?&quot; cried Mrs. Millidew from the top
+step. It was almost a cry of relief. &quot;Do you mean
+that?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Absolutely.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His employer fumbled for a pocket lost among the
+folds of her dressing-gown.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, you can&#39;t resign, my man. Don&#39;t think for a
+minute you can resign,&quot; she cried out shrilly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He thought she was looking for a handkerchief.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;But I insist, Mrs. Millidew, that I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You can&#39;t resign for the simple reason that you&#39;re
+already fired,&quot; she sputtered. &quot;I never allow any one
+to give <i>me</i> notice, young man. No one ever left me
+without being discharged, let me tell you that. Where
+the dev&mdash;Oh, here it is!&quot; She not only had found
+the pocket but the crisp slip of paper that it contained.
+&quot;Here is a check for your week&#39;s wages. It isn&#39;t up
+till next Monday, but take it and get out. I never
+want to see your ugly face again.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page287" id="page287"></a>[pg&nbsp;287]</span>
+She crumpled the bit of paper in her hand and threw
+the ball in his direction. Its flight ended half-way
+down the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Come and get it, if you want it,&quot; she said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good day, madam,&quot; he said crisply, and turned on
+his heel.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How many times must I tell you not to call me&mdash;Come
+back here, Dolly! I want to see you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">But her tall, perplexed daughter-in-law passed out
+through the door, followed by the erect and lordly Mr.
+Trotter.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good-bye, Tommie,&quot; whispered Katie, as he donned
+his grey fedora.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good-bye, Katie,&quot; he said, smiling, and held out his
+hand to her. &quot;You heard what she said. If you
+should ever think of resigning, I&#39;d suggest you do it in
+writing and from a long way off.&quot; He looked behind
+the vestibule door and recovered a smart little walking-stick.
+&quot;Something to lean upon in my misfortune,&quot;
+he explained to Katie.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Young Mrs. Millidew was standing at the top of the
+steps, evidently waiting for him. Her brow wrinkled
+as she took him in from head to foot. He was wearing
+spats. His two-button serge coat looked as though it
+had been made for him,&mdash;and his correctly pressed
+trousers as well. He stood for a moment, his head
+erect, his heels a little apart, his stick under his arm,
+while he drew on,&mdash;with no inconsiderable effect&mdash;a
+pair of light tan gloves. And the smile with which he
+favoured her was certainly not that of a punctilious
+menial. On the contrary, it was the rather bland,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page288" id="page288"></a>[pg&nbsp;288]</span>
+casual smile of one who is very well satisfied with his
+position.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">In a cheery, off-hand manner he inquired if she was
+by any chance going in his direction.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The metamorphosis was complete. The instant he
+stepped outside of Mrs. Millidew&#39;s door, the mask was
+cast aside. He stood now before the world,&mdash;and before
+the puzzled young widow in particular,&mdash;as a
+thoroughbred, cocksure English gentleman. In a moment
+his whole being seemed to have undergone a
+change. He carried himself differently; his voice and
+the manner in which he used it struck her at once as
+remarkably altered; more than anything else, was she
+impressed by the calm assurance of his inquiry.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She was nonplussed. For a moment she hesitated between
+resentment and the swift-growing conviction that
+he was an equal.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For the first time within the range of her memory,
+she felt herself completely rattled and uncertain of
+herself. She blushed like a fool,&mdash;as she afterwards
+confessed,&mdash;and stammered confusedly:</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;yes&mdash;that is, I am going home.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Come along, then,&quot; he said coolly, and she actually
+gasped.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">To her own amazement, she took her place beside
+him and descended the steps, her cheeks crimson. At
+the bottom, she cast a wild, anxious look up and down
+the street, and then over her shoulder at the second-story
+windows of the house they had just left.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Queer little shivers were running all over her. She
+couldn&#39;t account for them,&mdash;any more than she could
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page289" id="page289"></a>[pg&nbsp;289]</span>
+account for the astonishing performance to which she
+was now committed: that of walking jauntily through
+a fashionable cross-town street in the friendliest, most
+intimate manner with her mother-in-law&#39;s discharged
+chauffeur! Fifth Avenue but a few steps away, with
+all its mid-morning activities to be encountered! What
+on earth possessed her! &quot;Come along, then,&quot; he had
+said with all the calmness of an old and privileged acquaintance!
+And obediently she had &quot;come along&quot;!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">His chin was up, his eyes were sparkling; his body
+was bent forward slightly at the waist to co-ordinate
+with the somewhat pronounced action of his legs; his
+hat was slightly tilted and placed well back on his
+head; his gay little walking-stick described graceful
+revolutions.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She was suddenly aware of a new thrill&mdash;one of
+satisfaction. As she looked at him out of the corner
+of her eye, her face cleared. Instinctively she grasped
+the truth. Whatever he may have been yesterday, he
+was quite another person today,&mdash;and it was a pleasure
+to be seen with him!</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She lengthened her stride, and held up her head.
+Her red lips parted in a dazzling smile.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I suppose it is useless to ask you to change your
+mind,&mdash;Trotter,&quot; she said, purposely hesitating over
+the name.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quite,&quot; said he, smiling into her eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She was momentarily disconcerted. She found it
+more difficult than she had thought to look into his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Why do you call yourself Trotter?&quot; she asked,
+after a moment.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page290" id="page290"></a>[pg&nbsp;290]</span>
+&quot;I haven&#39;t the remotest idea,&quot; he said. &quot;It came
+to me quite unexpectedly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It isn&#39;t a pretty name,&quot; she observed. &quot;Couldn&#39;t
+you have done better?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I daresay I might have called myself Marjoribanks
+with perfect propriety,&quot; said he. &quot;Or Plantagenet,
+or Cholmondeley. But it would have been quite a waste
+of time, don&#39;t you think?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Would you mind telling me who you really are?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You wouldn&#39;t believe me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, yes, I would. I could believe anything of you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, I am the Prince of Wales.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She flushed. &quot;I believe you,&quot; she said. &quot;Forgive
+my impertinence, Prince.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Forgive mine, Mrs. Millidew,&quot; he said soberly.
+&quot;My name is Temple, Eric Temple. That does not
+convey anything to you, of course.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It conveys something vastly more interesting than
+Trotter,&mdash;Thomas Trotter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And yet I am morally certain that Trotter had a
+great deal more to him than Eric Temple ever had,&quot;
+said he. &quot;Trotter was a rather good sort, if I do say
+it myself. He was a hard-working, honest, intelligent
+fellow who found the world a very jolly old thing. I
+shall miss Trotter terribly, Mrs. Millidew. He used
+to read me to sleep nearly every night, and if I got
+a headache or a pain anywhere he did my complaining
+for me. He was with me night and day for three years
+and more, and that, let me tell you, is the severest test.
+I&#39;ve known him to curse me roundly, to call me nearly
+everything under the sun,&mdash;and yet I let him go on
+doing it without a word in self-defence. Once he saved
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page291" id="page291"></a>[pg&nbsp;291]</span>
+my life in an Indian jungle,&mdash;he was a remarkably
+good shot, you see. And again he pulled me through
+a pretty stiff illness in Tokio. I don&#39;t know how I
+should have got on without Trotter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You are really quite delicious, Mr. Eric Temple.
+By the way, did you allow the admirable Trotter to
+direct your affairs of the heart?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I did,&quot; said he promptly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That is rather disappointing,&quot; said she, shaking
+her head. &quot;Trotter may not have played the game
+fairly, you know. With all the best intentions in the
+world, he may have taken advantage of your&mdash;shall I
+say indifference?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You may take my word for it, Mrs. Millidew, good
+old Trotter went to a great deal of pains to arrange a
+very suitable match for me,&quot; said he airily. &quot;He was
+a most discriminating chap.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How interesting,&quot; said she, stiffening slightly.
+&quot;Am I permitted to inquire just what opportunities
+Thomas Trotter has had to select a suitable companion
+for the rather exotic Mr. Temple?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Fortunately,&quot; said he, &quot;the rather exotic Mr.
+Temple approves entirely of the choice made by Thomas
+Trotter.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I wouldn&#39;t trust a chauffeur too far, if I were you,&quot;
+said she, a little maliciously.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Just how far <i>would</i> you trust one?&quot; he inquired,
+lifting his eyebrows.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She smiled. &quot;Well,&mdash;the length of Long Island,&quot;
+she said, with the utmost composure.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Mr. Trotter&#39;s late employer would not, it appears,
+share your faith in the rascal,&quot; said he.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page292" id="page292"></a>[pg&nbsp;292]</span>
+&quot;She is a rather evil-minded old party,&quot; said Mrs.
+Millidew, the younger, bowing to the occupants of an
+automobile which was moving slowly in the same direction
+down the Avenue.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">A lady in the rear seat of the limousine leaned forward
+to peer at the widow&#39;s companion, who raised his
+hat,&mdash;but not in greeting. The man who slumped down
+in the seat beside her, barely lifted his hat. A second
+later he sat up somewhat hastily and stared.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The occupants of the car were Mrs. Smith-Parvis,&mdash;a
+trifle haggard about the eyes,&mdash;and her son Stuyvesant.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Young Mrs. Millidew laughed. &quot;Evidently they
+recognize you, Mr. Temple, in spite of your spats and
+stick.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I thought I was completely disguised,&quot; said he,
+twirling his stick.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good-bye,&quot; said she, at the corner. She held out
+her hand. &quot;It is very nice to have known you, Mr.
+Eric Temple. Our mutual acquaintance, the impeccable
+Trotter, has my address if you should care to
+avail yourself of it. After the end of June, I shall be
+on Long Island.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It is very good of you, Mrs. Millidew,&quot; he said,
+clasping her hand. His hat was off. The warm spring
+sun gleamed in his curly brown hair. &quot;I hope to be in
+England before the end of June.&quot; He hesitated a moment,
+and then said: &quot;Lady Temple and I will be
+happy to welcome you at Fenlew Hall when you next
+visit England. Good-bye.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She watched him stride off down the Avenue. She
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page293" id="page293"></a>[pg&nbsp;293]</span>
+was still looking after him with slightly disturbed eyes
+when the butler opened the door.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Any fool should have known,&quot; she said, to herself
+and not to the servant. A queer little light danced in
+her eyes. &quot;As a matter of fact, I suppose I did know
+without realizing it. Is Mrs. Hemleigh at home,
+Brooks?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;She is expecting you, Mrs. Millidew.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By the way, Brooks, do you happen to know anything
+about Fenlew Hall?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Brooks was as good a liar as any one. He had come,
+highly recommended, from a Fifth Avenue intelligence
+office. He did not hesitate an instant.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The Duke of Aberdeen&#39;s county seat, ma&#39;am? I
+know it quite well. I cawn&#39;t tell you &#39;ow many times
+I&#39;ve been in the plice, ma&#39;am, while I was valeting his
+Grice, the Duke of Manchester.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page294" id="page294"></a>[pg&nbsp;294]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BRIDE-ELECT</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">FOUR persons, a woman and three men, assembled
+in the insignificant hallway at the top of the steps
+reaching to the fifth floor of the building occupied by
+Deborah, Limited. To be precise, they were the butler,
+the parlour-maid and two austere footmen. Cricklewick
+was speaking.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Marriage is a most venturesome undertaking, my
+dear.&quot; He addressed himself to Julia, the parlour-maid.
+&quot;So don&#39;t go saying it isn&#39;t.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I didn&#39;t say it wasn&#39;t,&quot; said Julia stoutly. &quot;What
+I said was, if ever any two people were made for each
+other it&#39;s him and her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;In my time,&quot; said Cricklewick, &quot;I&#39;ve seen what
+looked to be the most excellent matches turn out to be
+nothing but fizzles.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, this one won&#39;t,&quot; said she.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;As I was saying to McFaddan in the back &#39;all a
+minute ago, Mr. Cricklewick, the larst weddin&#39; of any
+consequence I can remember hattending was when Lady
+Jane&#39;s mother was married to the Earl of Wexham. I
+sat on the box with old &#39;Oppins and we ran hover a dog
+drivin&#39; away from St. George&#39;s in &#39;Anover Square.&quot;
+It was Moody who spoke. He seemed to relish the
+memory. &quot;It was such a pretty little dog, too. I
+shall never forget it.&quot; He winked at Julia.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You needn&#39;t wink at me, Moody,&quot; said Julia. &quot;I
+didn&#39;t like the little beast any more than you did.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page295" id="page295"></a>[pg&nbsp;295]</span>
+&quot;Wot I&#39;ve always wanted to know is how the blinkin&#39;
+dog got loose in the street that day,&quot; mused McFaddan.
+&quot;He was the most obstinate dog I ever saw. It was
+absolutely impossible to coax &#39;im into the stable-yard
+when Higgins&#39;s bull terrier was avisitin&#39; us, and you
+couldn&#39;t get him into the stall with Dandy Boy,&mdash;not to
+save your life. He seemed to know that hoss would
+kick his bloomin&#39; gizzard out. I used to throw little
+hunks of meat into the stall for him, too,&mdash;nice little
+morsels that any other dog in the world would have been
+proud to risk anything for. But him? Not a bit of it.
+He was the most disappointin&#39;, bull-headed animal I ever
+saw. I&#39;ve always meant to ask how did it happen, Julia?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I had him out for his stroll,&quot; said Julia, with a
+faraway, pleased expression in her eyes. &quot;I thought
+as how he might be interested in seeing the bride and
+groom, and all that, when they came out of the church,
+so I took him around past Claridge&#39;s, and would you
+believe it he got away from me right in the thick of
+the carriages. He was that kind of a dog. He would
+always have his own way. I was terribly upset, McFaddan.
+You must remember how I carried on, crying
+and moaning and all that till her ladyship had to send
+for the doctor. It seemed to sort of get her mind off
+her bereavement, my hysterics did.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You made a puffeck nuisance of yourself,&quot; said
+Cricklewick.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I took notice, however, Mr. Cricklewick, that <i>you</i>
+didn&#39;t shed any tears,&quot; said she coldly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Certainly not,&quot; said the butler. &quot;I admit I should
+have cried as much as anybody. You&#39;ve no idea how
+fond the little darling was of me. There was hardly a
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page296" id="page296"></a>[pg&nbsp;296]</span>
+day he didn&#39;t take a bite out of me, he liked me so much.
+He used to go without his regular meals, he had such a
+preference for my calves. I&#39;ve got marks on me to this
+day.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;And just to think, it was twenty-six years ago,&quot;
+sighed Moody. &quot;&#39;Ow times &#39;ave changed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not as much as you&#39;d think,&quot; said Julia, a worried
+look in her eyes. &quot;My mistress is talking of getting
+another dog,&mdash;after all these years. She swore she&#39;d
+never have another one to take &#39;is place.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Thank &#39;eavings,&quot; said Moody devoutly, &quot;I am in
+another situation.&quot; He winked and chuckled loudly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;As &#39;andsome a pair as you&#39;ll see in a twelve-month,&quot;
+said McFaddan. &quot;He is a&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ahem!&quot; coughed the butler. &quot;There is some one
+on the stairs, Julia.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Silently, swiftly, the group dissolved. Cricklewick
+took his place in the foyer, Julia clattered down the
+stairs to the barred gate, Moody went into the big drawing-room
+where sat the Marchioness, resplendent,&mdash;the
+Marchioness, who, twenty-six years before, had owned
+a pet that came to a sad and inglorious end on a happy
+wedding-day, and she alone of a large and imposing
+household had been the solitary mourner. She was the
+Marchioness of Camelford in those days.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The nobility of New York,&mdash;or such of it as existed
+for the purpose of dignifying the salon,&mdash;was congregating
+on the eve of the marriage of Lady Jane Thorne
+and Lord Temple. Three o&#39;clock the next afternoon
+was the hour set for the wedding, the place a modest
+little church, somewhat despised by its lordlier companions
+because it happened to be off in a somewhat
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page297" id="page297"></a>[pg&nbsp;297]</span>
+obscure cross-town street and encouraged the unconventional.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The bride-elect was not so proud or so self-absorbed
+that she could desert the Marchioness in the preparation
+of what promised to be the largest, the sprightliest
+and the most imposing salon of the year. She had put
+on an old gingham gown, had rolled up the sleeves, and
+had lent a hand with a will and an energy that distressed,
+yet pleased the older woman. She dusted and
+polished and scrubbed, and she laughed joyously and
+sang little snatches of song as she toiled. And then,
+when the work was done, she sat down to her last dinner
+with the delighted Marchioness and said she envied all
+the charwomen in the world if they felt as she did after
+an honest day&#39;s toil.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I daresay I ought to pay you a bit extra for the
+work you&#39;ve done today,&quot; the Marchioness had said, a
+sly glint in her eyes. &quot;Would a shilling be satisfactory,
+my good girl?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quite, ma&#39;am,&quot; said Jane, radiant. &quot;I&#39;ve always
+wanted a lucky shillin&#39;, ma&#39;am. I haven&#39;t one to me
+name.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;ll be having sovereigns after tomorrow, God
+bless you,&quot; said the other, a little catch in her voice,&mdash;and
+Jane got up from the table instantly and kissed her.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I am ashamed of myself for having taken so much
+from you, dear, and given so little in return,&quot; she said.
+&quot;I haven&#39;t earned a tenth of what you&#39;ve paid me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The Marchioness looked up and smiled,&mdash;and said
+nothing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Isn&#39;t Lieutenant Aylesworth perfectly stunning?&quot;
+Lady Jane inquired, long afterwards, as she obediently
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page298" id="page298"></a>[pg&nbsp;298]</span>
+turned this way and that while the critical Deborah
+studied the effect of her latest creation in gowns.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Raise your arm, my dear,&mdash;so! I believe it is a
+trifle tight&mdash;What were you saying?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Lieutenant Aylesworth,&mdash;isn&#39;t he adorable?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My dear,&quot; said the Marchioness, &quot;it hasn&#39;t been
+your good fortune to come in contact with many of the
+<i>real</i> American men. You have seen the imitations.
+Therefore you are tremendously impressed with the
+real article when it is set before you. Aylesworth is
+a splendid fellow. He is big and clean and gentle.
+There isn&#39;t a rotten spot in him. But you must not
+think of him as an exception. There are a million men
+like him in this wonderful country,&mdash;ay, more than a
+million, my dear. Give me an American every time.
+If I couldn&#39;t get along with him and be happy to the
+end of my days with him, it would be my fault and not
+his. They know how to treat a woman, and that is
+more than you can say for our own countrymen as a
+class. All that a woman has to do to make an American
+husband happy is to let him think that he isn&#39;t
+doing quite enough for her. If I were twenty-five
+years younger than I am, I would get me an American
+husband and keep him on the jump from morning till
+night doing everything in his power to make himself
+perfectly happy over me. This Lieutenant Aylesworth
+is a fair example of what they turn out over here, my
+dear Jane. You will find his counterpart everywhere,
+and not always in the uniform of the U. S. Navy.
+They are a new breed of men, and they are full of the
+joy of living. They represent the revivified strength of a
+dozen run-down nations, our own Empire among them.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page299" id="page299"></a>[pg&nbsp;299]</span>
+&quot;He may be all you claim for him,&quot; said Jane, &quot;but
+give me an English gentleman every time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That is because you happen to be very much in
+love with one, my dear,&mdash;and a rare one into the bargain.
+Eric Temple has lost nothing by being away
+from England for the past three years. He is as arrogant
+and as cocksure of himself as any other Englishmen,
+but he has picked up virtues that most of his
+countrymen disdain. Never fear, my dear,&mdash;he will be
+a good husband to you. But he will not eat out of your
+hand as these jolly Americans do. And when he is sixty
+he will be running true to form. He will be a lordly old
+dear and you will have to listen to his criticism of the
+government, and the navy and the army and all the rest
+of creation from morning till night and you will have to
+agree with him or he won&#39;t understand what the devil
+has got into you. But, as that is precisely what all
+English wives love better than anything else in the
+world, you will be happy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t believe Eric will ever become crotchety or
+overbearing,&quot; said Jane stubbornly.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;That would be a pity, dear,&quot; said the Marchioness,
+rising; &quot;for of such is the kingdom of Britain.&quot;</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="indent">Shortly after eleven o&#39;clock, Julia came hurrying
+upstairs in great agitation. She tried vainly for awhile
+to attract the attention of the pompous Cricklewick by
+a series of sibilant whispers directed from behind the
+curtains in the foyer.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The huge room was crowded. Everybody was there,
+including Count Andrew Drouillard, who rarely attended
+the functions; the Princess Mariana di Pavesi,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page300" id="page300"></a>[pg&nbsp;300]</span>
+young Baron Osterholz (who had but recently returned
+to New York after a tour of the West as a chorus-man
+in &quot;The Merry Widow&quot;); and Prince Waldemar de
+Bosky, excused for the night from Spangler&#39;s on account
+of a severe attack of ptomaine poisoning.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What do you want?&quot; whispered Cricklewick, angrily,
+passing close to the curtains and cocking his ear
+without appearing to do so.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Come out here,&quot; whispered Julia.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Don&#39;t hiss like that! I can&#39;t come.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You must. It&#39;s something dreadful.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is it McFaddan&#39;s wife?&quot; whispered Cricklewick, in
+sudden dismay.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Worse than that. The police.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;My Gawd!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The butler looked wildly about. He caught McFaddan&#39;s
+eye, and signalled him to come at once. If
+it was the police, McFaddan was the man to handle
+them. All the princes and lords and counts in New
+York combined were not worth McFaddan&#39;s little finger
+in an emergency like this.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">At the top of the steps Julia explained to the perspiring
+Cricklewick and the incredulous McFaddan.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They&#39;re at the gate down there, two of &#39;em in full
+uniform,&mdash;awful looking things,&mdash;and a man in a silk
+hat and evening dress. He says if we don&#39;t let him up
+he&#39;ll have the joint pulled.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We&#39;ll see about <i>that</i>,&quot; said McFaddan gruffly and
+not at all in the voice or manner of a well-trained footman.
+He led the way down the steps, followed by
+Cricklewick and the trembling Julia. At the last landing
+but one, he halted, and in a superlatively respectful
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page301" id="page301"></a>[pg&nbsp;301]</span>
+whisper restored Cricklewick to his natural position as
+a superior.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You go ahead and see what they want,&quot; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s wrong with your going first?&quot; demanded
+Cricklewick, holding back.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I suddenly remembered that the cops wouldn&#39;t
+know what to think if they saw me in this rig,&quot; confessed
+McFaddan, ingratiatingly. &quot;They might drop
+dead, you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You can explain that you&#39;re attending a fancy
+dress party,&quot; said Cricklewick earnestly. &quot;I am a respectable,
+dignified merchant and I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go on, man! If you need me I&#39;ll be waitin&#39; at the
+top of the steps. They don&#39;t know you from Adam, so
+what&#39;s there to be afraid of?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Fortified by McFaddan&#39;s promise, Cricklewick descended
+to the barred and locked grating.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s goin&#39; on here?&quot; demanded the burliest policeman
+he had ever seen. The second bluecoat shook
+the gate till it rattled on its hinges.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Mr. Cricklewick was staring, open-mouthed but
+speechless, at the figure behind the policemen.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Open up,&quot; commanded the second officer. &quot;Get a
+move on.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;We got to see what kind of a joint this is, uncle.
+This gentleman says something&#39;s been goin&#39; on here for
+the past month to his certain knowledge,&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Just a moment,&quot; broke in Cricklewick, hastily covering
+the lower part of his face with his hand,&mdash;that
+being the nearest he could come, under the circumstances,
+to emulating the maladroit ostrich. &quot;I will
+call Mr.&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page302" id="page302"></a>[pg&nbsp;302]</span>
+&quot;You&#39;ll open the gate right now, me man, or we&#39;ll
+bust it in and jug the whole gang of ye,&quot; observed the
+burlier one, scowling.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Go ahead and bust,&quot; said Cricklewick, surprising
+himself quite as much as the officers. &quot;Hey, Mack!&quot;
+he called out. &quot;Come down at once! Now, you&#39;ll
+see!&quot; he rasped, turning to the policemen again. The
+light of victory was in his eye.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s that!&quot; roared the cop.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Break it down,&quot; ordered the young man in the rear.
+&quot;I tell you there&#39;s a card game or&mdash;even worse&mdash;going
+on upstairs. I&#39;ve had the place watched. All
+kinds of hoboes pass in and out of here on regular
+nights every week,&mdash;the rottenest lot of men and
+women I&#39;ve&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hurry up, Mack!&quot; shouted Mr. Cricklewick. He
+was alone. Julia had fled to the top landing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Coming,&quot; boomed a voice from above. A gorgeous
+figure in full livery filled the vision of two policemen.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;For the love o&#39; Mike,&quot; gasped the burly one, and
+burst into a roar of laughter. &quot;What is it?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, of all the&mdash;&quot; began the other.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">McFaddan interrupted him just in time to avoid additional
+ignominy.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What the hell do you guys mean by buttin&#39; in
+here?&quot; he roared, his face brick-red with anger.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Cut that out,&quot; snarled the burly one. &quot;You&#39;ll
+mighty soon see what we mean by&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Beat it. Clear out!&quot; shouted McFaddan.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Smash the door down,&quot; shouted the young man in
+full evening dress.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, my God!&quot; gasped McFaddan, his eyes almost
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page303" id="page303"></a>[pg&nbsp;303]</span>
+popping from his head. He had recognized the
+speaker.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">By singular coincidence all three of the men outside
+the gate recognized Mr. Cornelius McFaddan at the
+same time.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Holy mackerel!&quot; gasped the burly one, grabbing
+for his cap. &quot;It&#39;s&mdash;it&#39;s Mr. McFaddan or I&#39;m a goat.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;re a goat all right,&quot; declared McFaddan in a
+voice that shook all the confidence out of both policemen
+and caused Mr. Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis to back
+sharply toward the steps leading to the street.
+&quot;Where&#39;s Julia?&quot; roared the district boss, glaring
+balefully at Stuyvie. &quot;Get the key, Cricklewick,&mdash;quick.
+Let me out of here. I&#39;ll never have another
+chance like this. The dirty&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Calm yourself, McFaddan,&quot; pleaded Cricklewick.
+&quot;Remember where you are&mdash;and who is upstairs. We
+can&#39;t have a row, you know. It&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;s the game, Mr. McFaddan?&quot; inquired one
+of the policemen, very politely. &quot;I hope we haven&#39;t
+disturbed a party or anything like that. We were sent
+over here by the sergeant on the complaint of this
+gentleman, who says&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;They&#39;ve got a young girl up there,&quot; broke in Stuyvesant.
+&quot;She&#39;s been decoyed into a den of crooks and
+white-slavers headed by the woman who runs the shop
+downstairs. I&#39;ve had her watched. I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;O&#39;Flaherty,&quot; cried McFaddan, in a pleading voice,
+&quot;will ye do me the favour of breaking this damned door
+down? I&#39;ll forgive ye for everything&mdash;yes, bedad,
+I&#39;ll get ye a promotion if ye&#39;ll only rip this accursed
+thing off its hinges.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page304" id="page304"></a>[pg&nbsp;304]</span>
+&quot;Ain&#39;t this guy straight?&quot; demanded O&#39;Flaherty,
+turning upon Stuyvesant. &quot;If he&#39;s been double-crossing
+us&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I shall report you to the Commissioner of Police,&quot;
+cried Stuyvesant, retreating a step or two as the gate
+gave signs of yielding. &quot;He is a friend of mine.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;He is a friend of Mr. McFaddan&#39;s also,&quot; said O&#39;Flaherty,
+scratching his head dubiously. &quot;I guess you&#39;ll
+have to explain, young feller.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Ask him to explain,&quot; insisted Stuyvie.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Permit me,&quot; interposed Cricklewick, in an agitated
+voice. &quot;This is a private little fancy dress party.
+We&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Well, I&#39;ll be jiggered!&quot; exclaimed Stuyvesant, coming
+closer to a real American being than he had ever
+been before in all his life. &quot;It&#39;s old Cricklewick!
+Why, you old roué!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&mdash;I&mdash;let me help you, McFaddan,&quot; cried
+Cricklewick suddenly. &quot;If we all put our strength to
+the bally thing, it may give way. Now! All together!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Julia came scuttling down the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Be quiet!&quot; she cried, tensely. &quot;Whatever are we
+to do? She&#39;s coming down&mdash;they&#39;re both coming
+down. They are going over to the Ritz for supper.
+The best man is giving a party. Oh, my soul! Can&#39;t
+you do anything, McFaddan?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Not until you unlock the gate,&quot; groaned McFaddan,
+perspiring freely.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;There she is!&quot; cried Stuyvesant, pointing up the
+stairs. &quot;Now, will you believe me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Get out of sight, you!&quot; whispered McFaddan violently,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page305" id="page305"></a>[pg&nbsp;305]</span>
+addressing the bewildered policemen. &quot;Get
+back in the hall and don&#39;t breathe,&mdash;do you hear me?
+As for <i>you</i>&mdash;&quot; Cricklewick&#39;s spasmodic grip on his
+arm checked the torrent.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Lady Jane was standing at the top of the steps,
+peering intently downward.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What is it, Cricklewick?&quot; she called out.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Nothing, my lady,&mdash;nothing at all,&quot; the butler
+managed to say with perfect composure. &quot;Merely a
+couple of newspaper reporters asking for&mdash;ahem&mdash;an
+interview. Stupid blighters! I&mdash;I sent them
+away in jolly quick order.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Isn&#39;t that one of them still standing at the top of
+the steps?&quot; inquired she.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;It&#39;s&mdash;it&#39;s only the night-watchman,&quot; said McFaddan.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Oh, I see. Send him off, please. Lord Temple
+and I are leaving at once, Cricklewick. Julia, will you
+help me with my wraps?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">She disappeared from view. Julia ran swiftly up
+the steps.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant, apparently alone in the hall outside,
+put his hand to his head.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Did&mdash;did she say Lord Temple?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Beat it!&quot; said McFaddan.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The chap the papers have been&mdash;What the
+devil has she to do with Lord Temple?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I forgot to get the key from Julia, damn it!&quot;
+muttered McFaddan, suddenly trying the gate again.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I say, Jane!&quot; called out a strong, masculine voice
+from regions above. &quot;Are you nearly ready?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Rapid footsteps came down the unseen stairway, and
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page306" id="page306"></a>[pg&nbsp;306]</span>
+a moment later the erstwhile Thomas Trotter, as fine
+a figure in evening dress as you&#39;d see in a month of
+Sundays, stopped on the landing.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Will you see if there&#39;s a taxi waiting, Cricklewick?&quot;
+he said. &quot;Moody telephoned for one a few
+minutes ago. I&#39;ll be down in a second, Jane dear.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He dashed back up the stairs.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Officer O&#39;Flaherty!&quot; called out Mr. McFaddan, in
+a cautious undertone, &quot;will you be good enough to step
+downstairs and see if Lord Temple&#39;s taxi&#39;s outside?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;What&#39;ll we do with this gazabo, Mr. McFaddan?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Was&mdash;is <i>that</i> man&mdash;that chauffeur&mdash;was that
+Lord Temple?&quot; sputtered Stuyvesant.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, it was,&quot; snapped McFaddan. &quot;And ye&#39;d
+better be careful how ye speak of your betters. Now,
+clear out. I wouldn&#39;t have Lady Jane Thorne know
+I lied to her for anything in the world.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Lied? Lied about what?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;When I said ye were a decent night-watchman,&quot;
+said McFaddan.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Stuyvesant went down the steps and into the street,
+puzzled and sick at heart.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He paused irresolutely just outside the entrance.
+If they were really the Lord Temple and the Lady Jane
+Thorne whose appearance in the marriage license bureau
+at City Hall had provided a small sensation for
+the morning newspapers, it wouldn&#39;t be a bad idea to
+let them see that he was ready and willing to forget
+and forgive&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Move on, now! Get a move, you!&quot; ordered
+O&#39;Flaherty, giving him a shove.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page307" id="page307"></a>[pg&nbsp;307]</span></p>
+
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE BEGINNING</h3>
+
+<p class="indent">THE brisk, businesslike little clergyman was
+sorely disappointed. He had looked forward to
+a rather smart affair, so to speak, on the afternoon
+of the fifteenth. Indeed, he had gone to some pains to
+prepare himself for an event far out of the ordinary.
+It isn&#39;t every day that one has the opportunity to perform
+a ceremony wherein a real Lord and Lady plight
+the troth; it isn&#39;t every parson who can say he has
+officiated for nobility. Such an event certainly calls
+for a little more than the customary preparations.
+He got out his newest vestments and did not neglect
+to brush his hair. His shoes were highly polished for
+the occasion and his nails shone with a brightness that
+fascinated him. Moreover, he had tuned up his voice;
+it had gone stale with the monotony of countless marriages
+in which he rarely took the trouble to notice
+whether the responses were properly made. By dint
+of a little extra exertion in the rectory he had brought
+it to a fine state of unctuous mellowness.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Moreover, he had given some thought to the prayer.
+It wasn&#39;t going to be a perfunctory, listless thing, this
+prayer for Lord and Lady Temple. It was to be
+a profound utterance. The glib, everyday prayer
+wouldn&#39;t do at all on an occasion like this. The church
+would be filled with the best people in New York.
+Something fine and resonant and perhaps a little personal,&mdash;something
+to do with God, of course, but, in
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page308" id="page308"></a>[pg&nbsp;308]</span>
+the main, worth listening to. In fact, something from
+the diaphragm, sonorous.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For a little while he would take off the well-worn
+mask of humility and bask in the fulgent rays of his
+own light.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">But, to repeat, he was sorely disappointed. Instead
+of beaming upon an assemblage of the elect, he found
+himself confronted by a company that caused him to
+question his own good taste in shaving especially for
+the occasion and in wearing gold-rimmed nose-glasses
+instead of the &quot;over the ears&quot; he usually wore when
+in haste.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He saw, with shocked and incredulous eyes, sparsely
+planted about the dim church as if separated by the
+order of one who realized that closer contact would
+result in something worse than passive antagonism, a
+strange and motley company.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">For a moment he trembled. Had he, by some horrible
+mischance, set two weddings for the same hour?
+He cudgelled his brain as he peeped through the vestry
+door. A sickening blank! He could recall no other
+ceremony for that particular hour,&mdash;and yet as he
+struggled for a solution the conviction became stronger
+that he had committed a most egregious error. Then
+and there, in a perspiring panic, he solemnly resolved to
+give these weddings a little more thought. He had been
+getting a bit slack,&mdash;really quite haphazard in checking
+off the daily grist.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">What was he to do when the noble English pair and
+their friends put in an appearance? Despite the fact
+that the young American sailor-chap who came to see
+him about the service had casually remarked that it
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page309" id="page309"></a>[pg&nbsp;309]</span>
+was to be a most informal affair,&mdash;with &quot;no trimmings&quot;
+or something like that,&mdash;he knew that so far
+as these people were concerned, simplicity was merely
+comparative. Doubtless, the young couple, affecting
+simplicity, would appear without coronets; the guests
+probably would saunter in and, in a rather dégagé
+fashion, find seats for themselves without deigning to
+notice the obsequious verger in attendance. And here
+was the church partially filled,&mdash;certainly the best
+seats were taken,&mdash;by a most unseemly lot of people!
+What was to be done about it? He looked anxiously
+about for the sexton. Then he glanced at his watch.
+Ten minutes to spare.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Some one tapped him on the shoulder. He turned
+to face the stalwart young naval officer. A tall young
+man was standing at some distance behind the officer,
+clumsily drawing on a pair of pearl grey gloves. He
+wore a monocle. The good pastor&#39;s look of distress
+deepened.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good afternoon,&quot; said the smiling lieutenant.
+&quot;You see I got him here on time, sir.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Yes, yes,&quot; murmured the pastor. &quot;Ha-ha! Ha-ha!&quot;
+He laughed in his customary way. Not one
+but a thousand &quot;best men&quot; had spoken those very
+words to him before. The remark called for a laugh.
+It had become a habit.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Is everybody here?&quot; inquired Aylesworth, peeping
+over his shoulder through the crack in the door.
+The pastor bethought himself and gently closed the
+door, whereupon the best man promptly opened it
+again and resumed his stealthy scrutiny of the dim
+edifice.</p>
+
+<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page310" id="page310"></a>[pg&nbsp;310]</span>
+&quot;I can&#39;t fasten this beastly thing, Aylesworth,&quot; said
+the tall young man in the background. &quot;Would you
+mind seeing what you can do with the bally thing?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I see the Countess there,&quot; said Aylesworth, still
+gazing. &quot;And the Marchioness, and&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;The Marchioness?&quot; murmured the pastor, in fresh
+dismay.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I guess they&#39;re all here,&quot; went on the best man,
+turning away from the door and joining his nervous
+companion.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;d sooner face a regiment of cavalry than&mdash;&quot; began
+Eric Temple.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;May I have the pleasure and the honour of greeting
+Lord Temple?&quot; said the little minister, approaching
+with outstretched hand. &quot;A&mdash;er&mdash;a very happy
+occasion, your lordship. Perhaps I would better explain
+the presence in the church of a&mdash;er&mdash;rather unusual
+crowd of&mdash;er&mdash;shall we say curiosity-seekers?
+You see, this is an open church. The doors are always
+open to the public. Very queer people sometimes get
+in, despite the watchfulness of the attendant, usually,
+I may say, when a wedding of such prominence&mdash;ahem!&mdash;er&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I don&#39;t in the least mind,&quot; said Lord Temple good-humouredly.
+&quot;If it&#39;s any treat to them, let them stay.
+Sure you&#39;ve got the ring, Aylesworth? I say, I&#39;m
+sorry now we didn&#39;t have a rehearsal. It isn&#39;t at all
+simple. You said it would be, confound you. You&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;All you have to do, old chap, is to give your arm
+to Lady Jane and follow the Baroness and me to the
+chancel. Say &#39;I do&#39; and &#39;I will&#39; to everything, and
+before you know it you&#39;ll come to and find yourself
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page311" id="page311"></a>[pg&nbsp;311]</span>
+still breathing and walking on air. Isn&#39;t that so, Doctor?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Quite,&mdash;quite so, I am sure.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Let me take a peep out there, Aylesworth. I&#39;d
+like to get my bearings.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Pray do not be dismayed by the&mdash;&quot; began the
+minister.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Hullo! There&#39;s Bramby sitting in the front seat,&mdash;my
+word, I&#39;ve never known him to look so seraphic.
+Old Fogazario, and de Bosky, and&mdash;yes, there&#39;s Mirabeau,
+and the amiable Mrs. Moses Jacobs. &#39;Gad,
+she&#39;s resplendent! Du Bara and Herman and&mdash;By
+Jove, they&#39;re all here, every one of them. I say,
+Aylesworth, what time is it? I wonder if anything
+can have happened to Jane? Run out to the sidewalk,
+old chap, and have a look, will you? I&mdash;&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Are all bridegrooms like this?&quot; inquired Aylesworth
+drily, addressing the bewildered minister.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Here she is!&quot; sang out the bridegroom, leaping
+toward the little vestibule. &quot;Thank heaven, Jane! I
+thought you&#39;d met with an accident or&mdash;My God!
+How lovely you are, darling! Isn&#39;t she, Aylesworth?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Permit me to present you, Doctor, to Lady Jane
+Thorne,&quot; interposed Aylesworth. &quot;And to the Baroness
+Brangwyng.&quot;</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="indent">From that moment on, the little divine was in a daze.
+He didn&#39;t know what to make of anything. Everything
+was wrong and yet everything was right! How
+could it be?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">How was he to know that his quaint, unpretentious
+little church was half-full of masked men and women?
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page312" id="page312"></a>[pg&nbsp;312]</span>
+How was he to know that these queer-looking people
+out there were counts and countesses, barons and baronesses,
+princes and princesses? Swarthy Italians,
+sallow-faced Frenchmen, dark Hungarians, bearded
+Russians and pompous Teutons! How was he to know
+that once upon a time all of these had gone without
+masks in the streets and courts of far-off lands and
+had worn &quot;purple and fine linen&quot;? And those plainly,
+poorly dressed women? Where,&mdash;oh where, were the
+smart New Yorkers for whom he had furbished himself
+up so neatly?</p>
+
+<p class="indent">What manner of companions had this lovely bride,&mdash;ah,
+but <i>she</i> had the real atmosphere!&mdash;What sort
+of people had she been thrown with during her stay in
+the City of New York? She who might have known the
+best, the most exclusive,&mdash;&quot;bless me, what a pity!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Here and there in the motley throng, he espied a
+figure that suggested upper Fifth Avenue. The little
+lady with the snow-white hair; the tall brunette with
+the rather stunning hat; the austere gentleman far in
+the rear, the ruddy faced old man behind him, and the
+aggressive-looking individual with the green necktie,&mdash;Yes,
+any one of them might have come from uptown
+and ought to feel somewhat out of place in this singular
+gathering. The three gentlemen especially. He
+sized them up as financiers, as plutocrats. And yet
+they were back where the family servants usually sat.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He got through with the service,&mdash;indulgently, it
+is to be feared, after all.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">He would say, on the whole, that he had never seen
+a handsomer couple than Lord and Lady Temple.
+There was compensation in that. Any one with half
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page313" id="page313"></a>[pg&nbsp;313]</span>
+an eye could see that they came of the very best stock.
+And the little Baroness,&mdash;he had never seen a baroness
+before,&mdash;was somebody, too. She possessed manner,&mdash;that
+indefinable thing they called manner,&mdash;there
+was no mistake about it. He had no means of knowing,
+of course, that she was struggling hard to make
+a living in the &quot;artist colony&quot; down town.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Well, well, it is a strange world, after all. You
+never can tell, mused the little pastor as he stood in
+the entrance of his church with half-a-dozen reporters
+and watched the strange company disperse,&mdash;some in
+motors, some in hansoms, and others on the soles of
+their feet. A large lady in many colours ran for a
+south-bound street car. He wondered who she could
+be. The cook, perhaps.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="indent">Lieutenant Aylesworth was saying good-bye to the
+bride and groom at the Grand Central Station. The
+train for Montreal was leaving shortly before ten
+o&#39;clock.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The wedding journey was to carry them through
+Canada to the Pacific and back to New York, leisurely,
+by way of the Panama Canal. Lord Fenlew had not
+been niggardly. All he demanded of his grandson in
+return was that they should come to Fenlew Hall before
+the first of August.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Look us up the instant you set foot in England,
+Sammy,&quot; said Eric, gripping his friend&#39;s hand.
+&quot;Watch the newspapers. You&#39;ll see when our ship
+comes home, and after that you&#39;ll find us holding out
+our arms to you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;When my ship <i>leaves</i> home,&quot; said the American,
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="page314" id="page314"></a>[pg&nbsp;314]</span>
+&quot;I hope she&#39;ll steer for an English port. Good-bye,
+Lady Temple. Please live to be a hundred, that&#39;s all I
+ask of you.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;Good-bye, Sam,&quot; she said, blushing as she uttered
+the name he had urged her to use.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You won&#39;t mind letting the children call me Uncle
+Sam, will you?&quot; he said, a droll twist to his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;How quaint!&quot; she murmured.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;By Jove, Sammy,&quot; cried Eric warmly, &quot;you&#39;ve no
+idea how much better you look in Uncle Sam&#39;s uniform
+than you did in that stuffy frock coat this afternoon.
+Thank God, I can get into a uniform myself before
+long. You wouldn&#39;t understand, old chap, how good
+it feels to be in a British uniform.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;I&#39;m afraid we&#39;ve outgrown the British uniform,&quot;
+said the other drily. &quot;It used to be rather common
+over here, you know.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You don&#39;t know what all this means to me,&quot; said
+Temple seriously, his hand still clasping the American&#39;s.
+&quot;I can hold up my head once more. I can
+fight for England. If she needs me, I can fight and
+die for her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="indent">&quot;You&#39;re a queer lot, you Britishers,&quot; drawled the
+American. &quot;You want to fight and die for Old England.
+I have a singularly contrary ambition. I want
+to <i>live</i> and <i>fight</i> for America.&quot;</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="indent">On the twenty-fourth of July, 1914, Lord Eric
+Temple and his bride came home to England.</p>
+
+<h3>THE END</h3>
+
+<hr class="hr2"/>
+
+<div class="tnote">
+<h2>Transcriber Notes:</h2>
+
+<p class="indent">Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of
+the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up
+paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Thus
+the page number of the illustration might not match the page number in
+the List of Illustrations, and the order of illustrations may not be the
+same in the List of Illustrations and in the book.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected
+unless otherwise noted.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 9, &quot;Marchiness&quot; was replaced with &quot;Marchioness&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 18, &quot;unforgetable&quot; was replaced with &quot;unforgettable&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 22, &quot;respendent&quot; was replaced with &quot;resplendent&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 26, &quot;idlness&quot; was replaced with &quot;idleness&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 47, &quot;sacrified&quot; was replaced with &quot;sacrificed&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 53, &quot;spooffing&quot; was replaced with &quot;spoofing&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 67, &quot;shan&#39;t&quot; was replaced with &quot;sha&#39;n&#39;t&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 69, &quot;constitutency&quot; was replaced with &quot;constituency&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 78, &quot;assed&quot; was replaced with &quot;passed&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 80, &quot;acccepting&quot; was replaced with &quot;accepting&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 81, &quot;lookingly&quot; was replaced with &quot;looking&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 103, &quot;acccused&quot; was replaced with &quot;accused&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 107, &quot;afternooon&quot; was replaced with &quot;afternoon&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 224, &quot;limmo&quot; was replaced with &quot;limo&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 230, &quot;pressent&quot; was replaced with &quot;present&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 233, &quot;EOR&quot; was replaced with &quot;FOR&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 235, a period was placed after &quot;in the depths&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 240, &quot;tobaccco&quot; was replaced with &quot;tobacco&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 244, &quot;crochetty&quot; was replaced with &quot;crotchety&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 247, &quot;properely&quot; was replaced with &quot;properly&quot;.</p>
+
+<p class="indent">On page 259, &quot;expained&quot; was replaced with &quot;explained&quot;.</p>
+
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The City of Masks, by George Barr McCutcheon
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+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The City of Masks, by George Barr McCutcheon
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The City of Masks
+
+Author: George Barr McCutcheon
+
+Illustrator: May Wilson Preston
+
+Release Date: July 6, 2012 [EBook #40146]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CITY OF MASKS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Bruce Albrecht, Ernest Schaal, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+     [Illustration: THE HEAD AND SHOULDERS OF A MAN ROSE QUICKLY ABOVE
+                               THE LEDGE                 (_Page 265_)]
+
+
+
+
+                                THE CITY
+                                OF MASKS
+
+
+                       By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
+
+
+                               AUTHOR OF
+         "Mr. Bingle," "Jane Cable," "Black is White," Etc.
+
+
+                             [Illustration]
+
+
+                           With Frontispiece
+                         By MAY WILSON PRESTON
+
+
+                           A. L. BURT COMPANY
+        Publishers                                      New York
+
+           Published by arrangement with DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+                            Copyright, 1918
+                       BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC
+
+
+                          PRINTED IN U. S. A.
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                       PAGE
+
+       I  LADY JANE THORNE COMES TO DINNER                         1
+
+      II  OUT OF THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH                    12
+
+     III  THE CITY OF MASKS                                       24
+
+      IV  THE SCION OF A NEW YORK HOUSE                           37
+
+       V  MR. THOMAS TROTTER HEARS SOMETHING TO
+                HIS ADVANTAGE                                     50
+
+      VI  THE UNFAILING MEMORY                                    67
+
+     VII  THE FOUNDATION OF THE PLOT                              79
+
+    VIII  LADY JANE GOES ABOUT IT PROMPTLY                        94
+
+      IX  MR. TROTTER FALLS INTO A NEW POSITION                  110
+
+       X  PUTTING THEIR HEADS--AND HEARTS--TOGETHER              121
+
+      XI  WINNING BY A NOSE                                      134
+
+     XII  IN THE FOG                                             155
+
+    XIII  NOT CLOUDS ALONE HAVE LININGS                          172
+
+     XIV  DIPLOMACY                                              188
+
+      XV  ONE NIGHT AT SPANGLER'S                                202
+
+     XVI  SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND                             219
+
+    XVII  FRIDAY FOR LUCK                                        233
+
+   XVIII  FRIDAY FOR BAD LUCK                                    250
+
+     XIX  FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT                                 263
+
+      XX  AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES                              279
+
+     XXI  THE BRIDE-ELECT                                        294
+
+    XXII  THE BEGINNING                                          307
+
+
+
+
+                           THE CITY OF MASKS
+
+                               CHAPTER I
+
+                    LADY JANE THORNE COMES TO DINNER
+
+
+THE Marchioness carefully draped the dust-cloth over the head of an
+andiron and, before putting the question to the parlour-maid, consulted,
+with the intensity of a near-sighted person, the ornate French clock in
+the centre of the mantelpiece. Then she brushed her fingers on the
+voluminous apron that almost completely enveloped her slight person.
+
+"Well, who is it, Julia?"
+
+"It's Lord Temple, ma'am, and he wants to know if you're too busy to
+come to the 'phone. If you are, I'm to ask you something."
+
+The Marchioness hesitated. "How do you know it is Lord Eric? Did he
+mention his name?"
+
+"He did, ma'am. He said 'this is Tom Trotter speaking, Julia, and is
+your mistress disengaged?' And so I knew it couldn't be any one else but
+his Lordship."
+
+"And what are you to ask me?"
+
+"He wants to know if he may bring a friend around tonight, ma'am. A
+gentleman from Constantinople, ma'am."
+
+"A Turk? He knows I do not like Turks," said the Marchioness, more to
+herself than to Julia.
+
+"He didn't say, ma'am. Just Constantinople."
+
+The Marchioness removed her apron and handed it to Julia. You would
+have thought she expected to confront Lord Temple in person, or at
+least that she would be fully visible to him despite the distance and
+the intervening buildings that lay between. Tucking a few stray locks of
+her snow-white hair into place, she approached the telephone in the
+hall. She had never quite gotten over the impression that one could be
+seen through as well as heard over the telephone. She always smiled or
+frowned or gesticulated, as occasion demanded; she was never languid,
+never bored, never listless. A chat was a chat, at long range or short;
+it didn't matter.
+
+"Are you there? Good evening, Mr. Trotter. So charmed to hear your
+voice." She had seated herself at the little old Italian table.
+
+Mr. Trotter devoted a full two minutes to explanations.
+
+"Do bring him with you," cried she. "Your word is sufficient. He _must_
+be delightful. Of course, I shuddered a little when you mentioned
+Constantinople. I always do. One can't help thinking of the Armenians.
+Eh? Oh, yes,--and the harems."
+
+Mr. Trotter: "By the way, are you expecting Lady Jane tonight?"
+
+The Marchioness: "She rarely fails us, Mr. Trotter."
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Right-o! Well, good-bye,--and thank you. I'm sure you will
+like the baron. He is a trifle seedy, as I said before,--sailing vessel,
+you know, and all that sort of thing. By way of Cape Town,--pretty well
+up against it for the past year or two besides,--but a regular fellow,
+as they say over here."
+
+The Marchioness: "Where did you say he is stopping?"
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Can't for the life of me remember whether it's the
+'Sailors' Loft' or the 'Sailors' Bunk.' He told me too. On the
+water-front somewhere. I knew him in Hong Kong. He says he has cut it
+all out, however."
+
+The Marchioness: "Cut it all out, Mr. Trotter?"
+
+Mr. Trotter, laughing: "Drink, and all that sort of thing, you know.
+Jolly good thing too. I give you my personal guarantee that he--"
+
+The Marchioness: "Say no more about it, Mr. Trotter. I am sure we shall
+all be happy to receive any friend of yours. By the way, where are you
+now--where are you telephoning from?"
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Drug store just around the corner."
+
+The Marchioness: "A booth, I suppose?"
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Oh, yes. Tight as a sardine box."
+
+The Marchioness: "Good-bye."
+
+Mr. Trotter: "Oh--hello? I beg your pardon--are you there? Ah,
+I--er--neglected to mention that the baron may not appear at his best
+tonight. You see, the poor chap is a shade large for my clothes.
+Naturally, being a sailor-man, he hasn't--er--a very extensive wardrobe.
+I am fixing him out in a--er--rather abandoned evening suit of my own.
+That is to say, I abandoned it a couple of seasons ago. Rather nobby
+thing for a waiter, but not--er--what you might call--"
+
+The Marchioness, chuckling: "Quite good enough for a sailor, eh? Please
+assure him that no matter what he wears, or how he looks, he will not be
+conspicuous."
+
+After this somewhat ambiguous remark, the Marchioness hung up the
+receiver and returned to the drawing-room; a prolonged search revealing
+the dust-cloth on the "nub" of the andiron, just where she had left it,
+she fell to work once more on the velvety surface of a rare old Spanish
+cabinet that stood in the corner of the room.
+
+"Don't you want your apron, ma'am?" inquired Julia, sitting back on her
+heels and surveying with considerable pride the leg of an enormous
+throne seat she had been rubbing with all the strength of her stout
+arms.
+
+Her mistress ignored the question. She dabbed into a tiny recess and
+wriggled her finger vigorously.
+
+"I can't imagine where all the dust comes from, Julia," she said.
+
+"Some of it comes from Italy, and some of it from Spain, and some from
+France," said Julia promptly. "You could rub for a hundred years, ma'am,
+and there'd still be dust that you couldn't find, not to save your soul.
+And why not? I'd bet my last penny there's dust on that cabinet this
+very minute that settled before Napoleon was born, whenever that was."
+
+"I daresay," said the Marchioness absently.
+
+More often than otherwise she failed to hear all that Julia said to her,
+or in her presence rather, for Julia, wise in association, had come to
+consider these lapses of inattention as openings for prolonged and
+rarely coherent soliloquies on topics of the moment. Julia, by virtue of
+long service and a most satisfying avoidance of matrimony, was a
+privileged servant between the hours of eight in the morning and eight
+in the evening. After eight, or more strictly speaking, the moment
+dinner was announced, Julia became a perfect servant. She would no more
+have thought of addressing the Marchioness as "ma'am" than she would
+have called the King of England "mister." She had crossed the Atlantic
+with her mistress eighteen years before; in mid-ocean she celebrated her
+thirty-fifth birthday, and, as she had been in the family for ten years
+prior to that event, even a child may solve the problem that here
+presents a momentary and totally unnecessary break in the continuity of
+this narrative. Julia was English. She spoke no other language.
+Beginning with the soup, or the _hors d'oeuvres_ on occasion, French was
+spoken in the house of the Marchioness. Physically unable to speak
+French and psychologically unwilling to betray her ignorance, Julia
+became a model servant. She lapsed into perfect silence.
+
+The Marchioness seldom if ever dined alone. She always dined in state.
+Her guests,--English, Italian, Russian, Belgian, French, Spanish,
+Hungarian, Austrian, German,--conversed solely in French. It was a very
+agreeable way of symphonizing Babel.
+
+The room in which she and the temporarily imperfect though treasured
+servant were employed in the dusk of this stormy day in March was at the
+top of an old-fashioned building in the busiest section of the city, a
+building that had, so far, escaped the fate of its immediate neighbours
+and remained, a squat and insignificant pygmy, elbowing with some
+arrogance the lofty structures that had shot up on either side of it
+with incredible swiftness.
+
+It was a large room, at least thirty by fifty feet in dimensions, with a
+vaulted ceiling that encroached upon the space ordinarily devoted to
+what architects, builders and the Board of Health describe as an air
+chamber, next below the roof. There was no elevator in the building. One
+had to climb four flights of stairs to reach the apartment.
+
+From its long, heavily curtained windows one looked down upon a crowded
+cross-town thoroughfare, or up to the summit of a stupendous hotel on
+the opposite side of the street. There was a small foyer at the rear of
+this lofty room, with an entrance from the narrow hall outside.
+Suspended in the wide doorway between the two rooms was a pair of blue
+velvet Italian portieres of great antiquity and, to a connoisseur,
+unrivaled quality. Beyond the foyer and extending to the area wall was
+the rather commodious dining-room, with its long oaken English table,
+its high-back chairs, its massive sideboard and the chandelier that is
+said to have hung in the Doges' Palace when the Bridge of Sighs was a
+new and thriving avenue of communication.
+
+At least, so stated the dealer's tag tucked carelessly among the crystal
+prisms, supplying the observer with the information that, in case one
+was in need of a chandelier, its price was five hundred guineas. The
+same curious-minded observer would have discovered, if he were not above
+getting down on his hands and knees and peering under the table, a price
+tag; and by exerting the strength necessary to pull the sideboard away
+from the wall, a similar object would have been exposed.
+
+In other words, if one really wanted to purchase any article of
+furniture or decoration in the singularly impressive apartment of the
+Marchioness, all one had to do was to signify the desire, produce a
+check or its equivalent, and give an address to the competent-looking
+young woman who would put in an appearance with singular promptness in
+response to a couple of punches at an electric button just outside the
+door, any time between nine and five o'clock, Sundays included.
+
+The drawing-room contained many priceless articles of furniture, wholly
+antique--(and so guaranteed), besides rugs, draperies, tapestries and
+stuffs of the rarest quality. Bronzes, porcelains, pottery, things of
+jade and alabaster, sconces, candlesticks and censers, with here and
+there on the walls lovely little "primitives" of untold value. The most
+exotic taste had ordered the distribution and arrangement of all these
+objects. There was no suggestion of crowding, nothing haphazard or
+bizarre in the exposition of treasure, nothing to indicate that a cheap
+intelligence revelled in rich possessions.
+
+You would have sat down upon the first chair that offered repose and you
+would have said you had wandered inadvertently into a palace. Then,
+emboldened by an interest that scorned politeness, you would have got up
+to inspect the riches at close range,--and you would have found
+price-marks everywhere to overcome the impression that Aladdin had been
+rubbing his lamp all the way up the dingy, tortuous stairs.
+
+You are not, however, in the shop of a dealer in antiques, price-marks
+to the contrary. You are in the home of a Marchioness, and she is not a
+dealer in old furniture, you may be quite sure of that. She does not owe
+a penny on a single article in the apartment nor does she, on the other
+hand, own a penny's worth of anything that meets the eye,--unless, of
+course, one excepts the dust-cloth and the can of polish that follows
+Julia about the room. Nor is it a loan exhibit, nor the setting for a
+bazaar.
+
+The apartment being on the top floor of a five-story building, it is
+necessary to account for the remaining four. In the rear of the fourth
+floor there was a small kitchen and pantry from which a dumb-waiter
+ascended and descended with vehement enthusiasm. The remainder of the
+floor was divided into four rather small chambers, each opening into the
+outer hall, with two bath-rooms inserted. Each of these rooms contained
+a series of lockers, not unlike those in a club-house. Otherwise they
+were unfurnished except for a few commonplace cane bottom chairs in
+various stages of decrepitude.
+
+The third floor represented a complete apartment of five rooms, daintily
+furnished. This was where the Marchioness really lived.
+
+Commerce, after a fashion, occupied the two lower floors. It stopped
+short at the bottom of the second flight of stairs where it encountered
+an obstacle in the shape of a grill-work gate that bore the laconic word
+"Private," and while commerce may have peeped inquisitively through and
+beyond the barrier it was never permitted to trespass farther than an
+occasional sly, surreptitious and unavailing twist of the knob.
+
+The entire second floor was devoted to work-rooms in which many sewing
+machines buzzed during the day and went to rest at six in the evening.
+Tables, chairs, manikins, wall-hooks and hangers thrust forward a
+bewildering assortment of fabrics in all stages of development, from an
+original uncut piece to a practically completed garment. In other words,
+here was the work-shop of the most exclusive, most expensive _modiste_
+in all the great city.
+
+The ground floor, or rather the floor above the English basement,
+contained the _salon_ and fitting rooms of an establishment known to
+every woman in the city as
+
+                               DEBORAH'S.
+
+To return to the Marchioness and Julia.
+
+"Not that a little dust or even a great deal of dirt will make any
+different to the Princess," the former was saying, "but, just the same,
+I feel better, if I _know_ we've done our best."
+
+"Thank the Lord, she don't come very often," was Julia's frank remark.
+"It's the stairs, I fancy."
+
+"And the car-fare," added her mistress. "Is it six o'clock, Julia?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, it is."
+
+The Marchioness groaned a little as she straightened up and tossed the
+dust-cloth on the table. "It catches me right across here," she
+remarked, putting her hand to the small of her back and wrinkling her
+eyes.
+
+"You shouldn't be doing my work," scolded Julia. "It's not for the likes
+of you to be--"
+
+"I shall lie down for half an hour," said the Marchioness calmly. "Come
+at half-past six, Julia."
+
+"Just Lady Jane, ma'am? No one else?"
+
+"No one else," said the other, and preceded Julia down the two flights
+of stairs to the charming little apartment on the third floor. "She is a
+dear girl, and I enjoy having her all to myself once in a while."
+
+"She is so, ma'am," agreed Julia, and added. "The oftener the better."
+
+At half-past seven Julia ran down the stairs to open the gate at the
+bottom. She admitted a slender young woman, who said, "Thank you," and
+"Good evening, Julia," in the softest, loveliest voice imaginable, and
+hurried up, past the apartment of the Marchioness, to the fourth floor.
+Julia, in cap and apron, wore a pleased smile as she went in to put the
+finishing touches on the coiffure of her mistress.
+
+"Pity there isn't more like her," she said, at the end of five minutes'
+reflection. Patting the silvery crown of the Marchioness, she observed
+in a less detached manner: "As I always says, the wonderful part is that
+it's all your own, ma'am."
+
+"I am beginning to dread the stairs as much as any one," said the
+Marchioness, as she passed out into the hall and looked up the dimly
+lighted steps. "That is a bad sign, Julia."
+
+A mass of coals crackled in the big fireplace on the top floor, and a
+tall man in the resplendent livery of a footman was engaged in poking
+them up when the Marchioness entered.
+
+"Bitterly cold, isn't it, Moody?" inquired she, approaching with stately
+tread, her lorgnon lifted.
+
+"It is, my lady,--extremely nawsty," replied Moody. "The trams are a bit
+off, or I should 'ave 'ad the coals going 'alf an hour sooner
+than--Ahem! They call it a blizzard, my lady."
+
+"I know, thank you, Moody."
+
+"Thank you, my lady," and he moved stiffly off in the direction of the
+foyer.
+
+The Marchioness languidly selected a magazine from the litter of
+periodicals on the table. It was _La Figaro_, and of recent date. There
+were magazines from every capital in Europe on that long and time-worn
+table.
+
+A warm, soft light filled the room, shed by antique lanthorns and
+wall-lamps that gave forth no cruel glare. Standing beside the table,
+the Marchioness was a remarkable picture. The slight, drooping figure of
+the woman with the dust-cloth and creaking knees had been transformed,
+like Cinderella, into a fairly regal creature attired in one of the most
+fetching costumes ever turned out by the rapacious Deborah, of the first
+floor front!
+
+The foyer curtains parted, revealing the plump, venerable figure of a
+butler who would have done credit to the lordliest house in all England.
+
+"Lady Jane Thorne," he announced, and a slim, radiant young person
+entered the room, and swiftly approached the smiling Marchioness.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER II
+
+                  OUT OF THE FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH
+
+
+"AM I late?" she inquired, a trace of anxiety in her smiling blue eyes.
+She was clasping the hand of the taut little Marchioness, who looked up
+into the lovely face with the frankest admiration.
+
+"I have only this instant finished dressing," said her hostess. "Moody
+informs me we're in for a blizzard. Is it so bad as all that?"
+
+"What a perfectly heavenly frock!" cried Lady Jane Thorne, standing off
+to take in the effect. "Turn around, do. Exquisite! Dear me, I wish I
+could--but there! Wishing is a form of envy. We shouldn't wish for
+anything, Marchioness. If we didn't, don't you see how perfectly
+delighted we should be with what we have? Oh, yes,--it is a horrid
+night. The trolley-cars are blocked, the omnibuses are stalled, and
+walking is almost impossible. How good the fire looks!"
+
+"Cheerful, isn't it? Now you must let me have my turn at wishing, my
+dear. If I could have my wish, you would be disporting yourself in the
+best that Deborah can turn out, and you would be worth millions to her
+as an advertisement. You've got style, figure, class, verve--everything.
+You carry your clothes as if you were made for them and not the other
+way round."
+
+"This gown is so old I sometimes think I _was_ made for it," said the
+girl gaily. "I can't remember when it was made for _me_."
+
+Moody had drawn two chairs up to the fire.
+
+"Rubbish!" said the Marchioness, sitting down. "Toast your toes, my
+dear."
+
+Lady Jane's gown was far from modish. In these days of swift-changing
+fashions for women, it had become passe long before its usefulness or
+its beauty had passed. Any woman would have told you that it was a
+"season before last model," which would be so distantly removed from the
+present that its owner may be forgiven the justifiable invention
+concerning her memory.
+
+But Lady Jane's figure was not old, nor passe, nor even a thing to be
+forgotten easily. She was straight, and slim, and sound of body and
+limb. That is to say, she stood well on her feet and suggested strength
+rather than fragility. Her neck and shoulders were smooth and white and
+firm; her arms shapely and capable, her hands long and slender and
+aristocratic. Her dark brown hair was abundant and wavy;--it had never
+experienced the baleful caress of a curling-iron. Her firm, red lips
+were of the smiling kind,--and she must have known that her teeth were
+white and strong and beautiful, for she smiled more often than not with
+parted lips. There was character, intelligence and breeding in her face.
+
+She wore a simple black velvet gown, close-fitting,--please remember
+that it was of an antiquity not even surpassed, as things go, by the
+oldest rug in the apartment,--with a short train. She was fully a head
+taller than the Marchioness, which isn't saying much when you are
+informed that the latter was at least half-a-head shorter than a woman
+of medium height.
+
+On the little finger of her right hand she wore a heavy seal ring of
+gold. If you had known her well enough to hold her hand--to the light, I
+mean,--you would have been able to decipher the markings of a crest,
+notwithstanding the fact that age had all but obliterated the lines.
+
+Dinner was formal only in the manner in which it was served. Behind the
+chair of the Marchioness, Moody posed loftily when not otherwise
+employed. A critical observer would have taken note of the threadbare
+condition of his coat, especially at the elbows, and the somewhat snug
+way in which it adhered to him, fore and aft. Indeed, there was an
+ever-present peril in its snugness. He was painfully deliberate and
+detached.
+
+From time to time, a second footman, addressed as McFaddan, paused back
+of Lady Jane. His chin was not quite so high in the air as Moody's; the
+higher he raised it the less it looked like a chin. McFaddan, you would
+remark, carried a great deal of weight above the hips. The ancient
+butler, Cricklewick, decanted the wine, lifted his right eyebrow for the
+benefit of Moody, the left in directing McFaddan, and cringed slightly
+with each trip upward of the dumb-waiter.
+
+The Marchioness and Lady Jane were in a gay mood despite the studied
+solemnity of the three servants. As dinner has no connection with this
+narrative except to introduce an effect of opulence, we will hurry
+through with it and allow Moody and McFaddan to draw back the chairs on
+a signal transmitted by Cricklewick, and return to the drawing-room with
+the two ladies.
+
+"A quarter of nine," said the Marchioness, peering at the French clock
+through her lorgnon. "I am quite sure the Princess will not venture out
+on such a night as this."
+
+"She's really quite an awful pill," said Lady Jane calmly. "I for one
+sha'n't be broken-hearted if she doesn't venture."
+
+"For heaven's sake, don't let Cricklewick hear you say such a thing,"
+said the Marchioness in a furtive undertone.
+
+"I've heard Cricklewick say even worse," retorted the girl. She lowered
+her voice to a confidential whisper. "No longer ago than yesterday he
+told me that she made him tired, or something of the sort."
+
+"Poor Cricklewick! I fear he is losing ambition," mused the Marchioness.
+"An ideal butler but a most dreary creature the instant he attempts to
+be a human being. It isn't possible. McFaddan is quite human. That's why
+he is so fat. I am not sure that I ever told you, but he was quite a
+slim, puny lad when Cricklewick took him out of the stables and made a
+very decent footman out of him. That was a great many years ago, of
+course. Camelford left him a thousand pounds in his will. I have always
+believed it was hush money. McFaddan was a very wide-awake chap in those
+days." The Marchioness lowered one eye-lid slowly.
+
+"And, by all reports, the Marquis of Camelford was very well worth
+watching," said Lady Jane.
+
+"Hear the wind!" cried the Marchioness, with a little shiver. "How it
+shrieks!"
+
+"We were speaking of the Marquis," said Lady Jane.
+
+"But one may always fall back on the weather," said the Marchioness
+drily. "Even at its worst it is a pleasanter thing to discuss than
+Camelford. You can't get anything out of me, my dear. I was his next
+door neighbour for twenty years, and I don't believe in talking about
+one's neighbour."
+
+Lady Jane stared for a moment. "But--how quaint you are!--you were
+married to him almost as long as that, were you not?"
+
+"My clearest,--I may even say my dearest,--recollection of him is as a
+neighbour, Lady Jane. He was most agreeable next door."
+
+Cricklewick appeared in the door.
+
+"Count Antonio Fogazario," he announced.
+
+A small, wizened man in black satin knee-breeches entered the room and
+approached the Marchioness. With courtly grace he lifted her fingers to
+his lips and, in a voice that quavered slightly, declared in French that
+his joy on seeing her again was only surpassed by the hideous gloom he
+had experienced during the week that had elapsed since their last
+meeting.
+
+"But now the gloom is dispelled and I am basking in sunshine so rare and
+soft and--"
+
+"My dear Count," broke in the Marchioness, "you forget that we are
+enjoying the worst blizzard of the year."
+
+"Enjoying,--vastly enjoying it!" he cried. "It is the most enchanting
+blizzard I have ever known. Ah, my dear Lady Jane! This _is_
+delightful!"
+
+His sharp little face beamed with pleasure. The vast pleated shirt front
+extended itself to amazing proportions, as if blown up by an invisible
+though prodigious bellows, and his elbow described an angle of
+considerable elevation as he clasped the slim hand of the tall young
+woman. The crown of his sleek black toupee was on a line with her
+shoulder.
+
+"God bless me," he added, in a somewhat astonished manner, "this is most
+gratifying. I could not have lifted it half that high yesterday without
+experiencing the most excruciating agony." He worked his arm up and down
+experimentally. "Quite all right, quite all right. I feared I was in for
+another siege. I cannot tell you how delighted I am. Ahem! Where was I?
+Oh, yes--This is a pleasure, Lady Jane, a positive delight. How charming
+you are look--"
+
+"Save your compliments, Count, for the Princess," interrupted the girl,
+smiling. "She is coming, you know."
+
+"I doubt it," he said, fumbling for his snuff-box. "I saw her this
+afternoon. Chilblains. Weather like this, you see. Quite a distance from
+her place to the street-cars. Frightful going. I doubt it very much.
+Now, what was it she said to me this afternoon? Something very
+important, I remember distinctly,--but it seems to have slipped my mind
+completely. I am fearfully annoyed with myself. I remember with great
+distinctness that it was something I was determined to remember, and
+here I am forgetting--Ah, let me see! It comes to me like a flash. I
+have it! She said she felt as though she had a cold coming on or
+something like that. Yes, I am sure that was it. I remember she blew her
+nose frequently, and she always makes a dreadful noise when she blows
+her nose. A really unforgettable noise, you know. Now, when I blow my
+nose, I don't behave like an elephant. I--"
+
+"You blow it like a gentleman," interrupted the Marchioness, as he
+paused in some confusion.
+
+"Indeed I do," he said gratefully. "In the most polished manner
+possible, my dear lady."
+
+Lady Jane put her handkerchief to her lips. There was a period of
+silence. The Count appeared to be thinking with great intensity. He had
+a harassed expression about the corners of his nose. It was he who broke
+the silence. He broke it with a most tremendous sneeze.
+
+"The beastly snuff," he said in apology.
+
+Cricklewick's voice seemed to act as an echo to the remark.
+
+"The Right-Honourable Mrs. Priestly-Duff," he announced, and an angular,
+middle-aged lady in a rose-coloured gown entered the room. She had a
+very long nose and prominent teeth; her neck was of amazing length and
+appeared to be attached to her shoulders by means of vertical,
+skin-covered ropes, running from torso to points just behind her ears,
+where they were lost in a matting of faded, straw-coloured hair. On
+second thought, it may be simpler to remark that her neck was amazingly
+scrawny. It will save confusion. Her voice was a trifle strident and her
+French execrable.
+
+"Isn't it awful?" she said as she joined the trio at the fireplace. "I
+thought I'd never get here. Two hours coming, my dear, and I must be
+starting home at once if I want to get there before midnight."
+
+"The Princess will be here," said the Marchioness.
+
+"I'll wait fifteen minutes," said the new-comer crisply, pulling up her
+gloves. "I've had a trying day, Marchioness. Everything has gone
+wrong,--even the drains. They're frozen as tight as a drum and heaven
+knows when they'll get them thawed out! Who ever heard of such weather
+in March?"
+
+"Ah, my dear Mrs. Priestly-Duff, you should not forget the beautiful
+sunshine we had yesterday," said the Count cheerily.
+
+"Precious little good it does today," she retorted, looking down upon
+him from a lofty height, and as if she had not noticed his presence
+before. "When did you come in, Count?"
+
+"It is quite likely the Princess will not venture out in such weather,"
+interposed the Marchioness, sensing squalls.
+
+"Well, I'll stop a bit anyway and get my feet warm. I hope she doesn't
+come. She is a good deal of a wet blanket, you must admit."
+
+"Wet blankets," began the Count argumentatively, and then, catching a
+glance from the Marchioness, cleared his throat, blew his nose, and
+mumbled something about poor people who had no blankets at all, God help
+them on such a night as this.
+
+Lady Jane had turned away from the group and was idly turning the leaves
+of the _Illustrated London News_. The smallest intelligence would have
+grasped the fact that Mrs. Priestly-Duff was not a genial soul.
+
+"Who else is coming?" she demanded, fixing the little hostess with the
+stare that had just been removed from the back of Lady Jane's head.
+
+Cricklewick answered from the doorway.
+
+"Lord Temple. Baron--ahem!--Whiskers--eh? Baron Wissmer. Prince Waldemar
+de Bosky. Count Wilhelm Frederick Von Blitzen."
+
+Four young men advanced upon the Marchioness, Lord Temple in the van. He
+was a tall, good-looking chap, with light brown hair that curled
+slightly above the ears, and eyes that danced.
+
+"This, my dear Marchioness, is my friend, Baron Wissmer," he said, after
+bending low over her hand.
+
+The Baron, whose broad hands were encased in immaculate white gloves
+that failed by a wide margin to button across his powerful wrists,
+smiled sheepishly as he enveloped her fingers in his huge palm.
+
+"It is good of you to let me come, Marchioness," he said awkwardly, a
+deep flush spreading over his sea-tanned face. "If I manage to deport
+myself like the bull in the china shop, pray lay it to clumsiness and
+not to ignorance. It has been a very long time since I touched the hand
+of a Marchioness."
+
+"Small people, like myself, may well afford to be kind and forgiving to
+giants," said she, smiling. "Dear me, how huge you are."
+
+"I was once in the Emperor's Guard," said he, straightening his figure
+to its full six feet and a half. "The Blue Hussars. I may add with pride
+that I was not so horribly clumsy in regimentals. After all, it is the
+clothes that makes the man." He smiled as he looked himself over. "I
+shall not be at all offended or even embarrassed if you say 'goodness,
+how you have grown!'"
+
+"The best tailor in London made that suit of clothes," said Lord Temple,
+surveying his friend with an appraising eye. Out of the corner of the
+same eye he explored the region beyond the group that now clustered
+about the hostess. Evidently he discovered what he was looking for.
+Leaving the Baron high and dry, he skirted the edge of the group and,
+with beaming face, came to Lady Jane.
+
+"My family is of Vienna," the Baron was saying to the Marchioness, "but
+of late years I have called Constantinople my home."
+
+"I understand," said she gently. She asked no other question, but,
+favouring him with a kindly smile, turned her attention to the men who
+lurked insignificantly in the shadow of his vast bulk.
+
+The Prince was a pale, dreamy young man with flowing black hair that
+must have been a constant menace to his vision, judging by the frequent
+and graceful sweep of his long, slender hand in brushing the encroaching
+forelock from his eyes, over which it spread briefly in the nature of a
+veil. He had the fingers of a musician, the bearing of a violinist. His
+head drooped slightly toward his left shoulder, which was always raised
+a trifle above the level of the right. And there was in his soft brown
+eyes the faraway look of the detached. The insignia of his house hung
+suspended by a red ribbon in the centre of his white shirt front, while
+on the lapel of his coat reposed the emblem of the Order of the Golden
+Star. He was a Pole.
+
+Count Von Blitzen, a fair-haired, pink-skinned German, urged himself
+forward with typical, not-to-be-denied arrogance, and crushed the
+fingers of the Marchioness in his fat hand. His broad face beamed with
+an all-enveloping smile.
+
+"Only patriots and lovers venture forth on such nights as this," he
+said, in a guttural voice that rendered his French almost laughable.
+
+"With an occasional thief or varlet," supplemented the Marchioness.
+
+"Ach, Dieu," murmured the Count.
+
+Fresh arrivals were announced by Cricklewick. For the next ten or
+fifteen minutes they came thick and fast, men and women of all ages,
+nationality and condition, and not one of them without a high-sounding
+title. They disposed themselves about the vast room, and a subdued vocal
+hubbub ensued. If here and there elderly guests, with gnarled and
+painfully scrubbed hands, preferred isolation and the pictorial contents
+of a magazine from the land of their nativity, it was not with snobbish
+intentions. They were absorbing the news from "home," in the regular
+weekly doses.
+
+The regal, resplendent Countess du Bara, of the Opera, held court in one
+corner of the room. Another was glorified by a petite baroness from the
+Artists' Colony far down-town, while a rather dowdy lady with a coronet
+monopolized the attention of a small group in the centre of the room.
+
+Lady Jane Thorne and Lord Temple sat together in a dim recess beyond the
+great chair of state, and conversed in low and far from impersonal
+tones.
+
+Cricklewick appeared in the doorway and in his most impressive manner
+announced Her Royal Highness, the Princess Mariana Theresa Sebastano
+Michelini Celestine di Pavesi.
+
+And with the entrance of royalty, kind reader, you may consider yourself
+introduced, after a fashion, to the real aristocracy of the City of New
+York, United States of America,--the titled riff-raff of the world's
+cosmopolis.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER III
+
+                           THE CITY OF MASKS
+
+
+NEW YORK is not merely a melting pot for the poor and the humble of the
+lands of the earth. In its capacious depths, unknown and unsuspected,
+float atoms of an entirely different sort: human beings with the blood
+of the high-born and lofty in their veins, derelicts swept up by the
+varying winds of adversity, adventure, injustice, lawlessness, fear and
+independence.
+
+Lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses, swarm to
+the Metropolis in the course of the speeding year, heralded by every
+newspaper in the land, feted and feasted and glorified by a capricious
+and easily impressed public; they pass with pomp and panoply and we let
+them go with reluctance and a vociferous invitation to come again. They
+come and they go, and we are informed each morning and evening of every
+move they have made during the day and night. We are told what they eat
+for breakfast, luncheon and dinner; what they wear and what they do not
+wear; where they are entertained and by whom; who they are and why; what
+they think of New York and--but why go on? We deny them privacy, and
+they think we are a wonderful, considerate and hospitable people. They
+go back to their homes in far-off lands,--and that is the end of them so
+far as we are concerned.
+
+They merely pause on the lip of the melting pot, briefly peer into its
+simmering depths, and then,--pass on.
+
+It is not with such as they that this narrative has to deal. It is not
+of the heralded, the glorified and the toasted that we tell, but of
+those who slip into the pot with the coarser ingredients, and who never,
+by any chance, become actually absorbed by the processes of integration
+but remain for ever as they were in the beginning: distinct foreign
+substances.
+
+From all quarters of the globe the drift comes to our shores. New York
+swallows the good with the bad, and thrives, like the cannibal, on the
+man-food it gulps down with ravenous disregard for consequences or
+effect. It rarely disgorges.
+
+It eats all flesh, foul or fair, and it drinks good red blood out of the
+same cup that offers a black and nauseous bile. It conceals its inward
+revulsion behind a bland, disdainful smile, and holds out its hands for
+more of the meat and poison that comes up from the sea in ships.
+
+It is the City of Masks.
+
+Its men and women hide behind a million masks; no man looks beneath the
+mask his neighbour wears, for he is interested only in that which he
+sees with the least possible effort: the surface. He sees his neighbour
+but he knows him not. He keeps his own mask in place and wanders among
+the millions, secure in the thought that all other men are as casual as
+he,--and as charitable.
+
+From time to time the newspapers come forward with stories that amaze
+and interest those of us who remain, and always will remain, romantic
+and impressionable. They tell of the royal princess living in squalor on
+the lower east side; of the heir to a baronetcy dying in poverty in a
+hospital somewhere up-town; of the countess who defies the wolf by
+dancing in the roof-gardens; of the lost arch-duke who has been
+recognized in a gang of stevedores; of the earl who lands in jail as an
+ordinary hobo; of the baroness who supports a shiftless husband and
+their offspring by giving music-lessons; of the retiring scholar who
+scorns a life of idleness and a coronet besides; of shifty
+ne'er-do-wells with titles at homes and aliases elsewhere; of fugitive
+lords and forgotten ladies; of thieves and bauds and wastrels who stand
+revealed in their extremity as the sons and daughters of noble houses.
+
+In this City of Masks there are hundreds of men and women in whose veins
+the blood of a sound aristocracy flows. By choice or necessity they have
+donned the mask of obscurity. They tread the paths of oblivion. They
+toil, beg or steal to keep pace with circumstance. But the blood will
+not be denied. In the breast of each of these drifters throbs the pride
+of birth, in the soul of each flickers the unquenchable flame of caste.
+The mask is for the man outside, not for the man inside.
+
+Recently there died in one of the municipal hospitals an old
+flower-woman, familiar for three decades to the thousands who thread
+their way through the maze of streets in the lower end of Manhattan. To
+them she was known as Old Peg. To herself she was the Princess
+Feododric, born to the purple, daughter of one of the greatest families
+in Russia. She was never anything but the Princess to herself, despite
+the squalor in which she lived. Her epitaph was written in the bold,
+black head-lines of the newspapers; but her history was laid away with
+her mask in a graveyard far from palaces--and flower-stands. Her
+headstone revealed the uncompromising pride that survived her after
+death. By her direction it bore the name of Feododric, eldest daughter
+of His Highness, Prince Michael Androvodski; born in St. Petersburgh,
+September 12, 1841; died Jan. 7, 1912; wife of James Lumley, of County
+Cork, Ireland.
+
+It is of the high-born who dwell in low places that this tale is told.
+It is of an aristocracy that serves and smiles and rarely sneers behind
+its mask.
+
+When Cricklewick announced the Princess Mariana Theresa the hush of
+deference fell upon the assembled company. In the presence of royalty no
+one remained seated.
+
+She advanced slowly, ponderously into the room, bowing right and left as
+she crossed to the great chair at the upper end. One by one the others
+presented themselves and kissed the coarse, unlovely hand she held out
+to them. It was not "make-believe." It was her due. The blood of a king
+and a queen coursed through her veins; she had been born a Princess
+Royal.
+
+She was sixty, but her hair was as black as the coat of the raven. Time,
+tribulation, and a harsh destiny had put each its own stamp upon her
+dark, almost sinister, face. The black eyes were sharp and calculating,
+and they did not smile with her thin lips. She wore a great amount of
+jewellery and a gown of blue velvet, lavishly bespangled and generously
+embellished with laces of many periods, values and, you could say,
+nativity.
+
+The Honourable Mrs. Priestly-Duff having been a militant suffragette
+before a sudden and enforced departure from England, was the only person
+there with the hardihood to proclaim, not altogether _sotto voce_, that
+the "get-up" was a fright.
+
+Restraint vanished the instant the last kiss of tribute fell upon her
+knuckles. The Princess put her hand to her side, caught her breath
+sharply, and remarked to the Marchioness, who stood near by, that it was
+dreadful the way she was putting on weight. She was afraid of splitting
+something if she took a long, natural breath.
+
+"I haven't weighed myself lately," she said, "but the last time I had
+this dress on it felt like a kimono. Look at it now! You could not stuff
+a piece of tissue paper between it and me to save your soul. I shall
+have to let it out a couple of--What were you about to say, Count
+Fogazario?"
+
+The little Count, at the Marchioness's elbow, repeated something he had
+already said, and added:
+
+"And if it continues there will not be a trolley-car running by
+midnight."
+
+The Princess eyed him coldly. "That is just like a man," she said. "Not
+the faintest idea of what we were talking about, Marchioness."
+
+The Count bowed. "You were speaking of tissue paper, Princess," said he,
+stiffly. "I understood perfectly."
+
+Once a week the Marchioness held her amazing salon. Strictly speaking,
+it was a co-operative affair. The so-called guests were in reality
+contributors to and supporters of an enterprise that had been going on
+for the matter of five years in the heart of unsuspecting New York.
+According to his or her means, each of these exiles paid the tithe or
+tax necessary, and became in fact a member of the inner circle.
+
+From nearly every walk in life they came to this common, converging
+point, and sat them down with their equals, for the moment laying aside
+the mask to take up a long-discarded and perhaps despised reality. They
+became lords and ladies all over again, and not for a single instant was
+there the slightest deviation from dignity or form.
+
+Moral integrity was the only requirement, and that, for obvious reasons,
+was sometimes overlooked,--as for example in the case of the Countess
+who eloped with the young artist and lived in complacent shame and
+happiness with him in a three-room flat in East Nineteenth street. The
+artist himself was barred from the salon, not because of his ignoble
+action, but for the sufficient reason that he was of ignoble birth.
+Outside the charmed conclave he was looked upon as a most engaging chap.
+And there was also the case of the appallingly amiable baron who had
+fired four shots at a Russian Grand-Duke and got away with his life in
+spite of the vaunted secret service. It was of no moment whatsoever that
+one of his bullets accidentally put an end to the life of a guardsman.
+That was merely proof of his earnestness and in no way reflected on his
+standing as a nobleman. Nor was it adequate cause for rejection that
+certain of these men and women were being sought by Imperial Governments
+because they were political fugitives, with prices on their heads.
+
+The Marchioness, more prosperous than any of her associates, assumed the
+greater part of the burden attending this singular reversion to form. It
+was she who held the lease on the building, from cellar to roof, and it
+was she who paid that important item of expense: the rent. The
+Marchioness was no other than the celebrated Deborah, whose gowns
+issuing from the lower floors at prodigious prices, gave her a standing
+in New York that not even the plutocrats and parvenus could dispute. In
+private life she may have been a Marchioness, but to all New York she
+was known as the queen of dressmakers.
+
+If you desired to consult Deborah in person you inquired for Mrs.
+Sparflight, or if you happened to be a new customer and ignorant, you
+were set straight by an attendant (with a slight uplifting of the
+eyebrows) when you asked for Madame "Deborah."
+
+The ownership of the rare pieces of antique furniture, rugs, tapestries
+and paintings was vested in two members of the circle, one occupying a
+position in the centre of the ring, the other on the outer rim: Count
+Antonio Fogazario and Moody, the footman. For be it known that while
+Moody reverted once a week to a remote order of existence he was for the
+balance of the time an exceedingly prosperous, astute and highly
+respected dealer in antiques, with a shop in Madison Avenue and a
+clientele that considered it the grossest impertinence to dispute the
+prices he demanded. He always looked forward to these "drawing-rooms,"
+so to speak. It was rather a joy to disregard the aspirates. He dropped
+enough hs on a single evening to make up for a whole week of deliberate
+speech.
+
+As for Count Antonio, he was the purveyor of Italian antiques and
+primitive paintings, "authenticity guaranteed," doing business under the
+name of "Juneo & Co., Ltd. London, Paris, Rome, New York." He was known
+in the trade and at his bank as Mr. Juneo.
+
+Occasionally the exigencies of commerce necessitated the substitution of
+an article from stock for one temporarily loaned to the fifth-floor
+drawing-room.
+
+During the seven days in the week, Mr. Moody and Mr. Juneo observed a
+strained but common equality. Mr. Moody contemptuously referred to Mr.
+Juneo as a second-hand dealer, while Mr. Juneo, with commercial
+bitterness, informed his patrons that Pickett, Inc., needed a lot of
+watching. But on these Wednesday nights a vast abyss stretched between
+them. They were no longer rivals in business. Mr. Juneo, without the
+slightest sign of arrogance, put Mr. Moody in his place, and Mr. Moody,
+with perfect equanimity, quite properly stayed there.
+
+"A chair over here, Moody," the Count would say (to Pickett, Inc.,) and
+Moody, with all the top-lofty obsequiousness of the perfect footman,
+would place a chair in the designated spot, and say:
+
+"H'anythink else, my lord? Thank you, sir."
+
+On this particular Wednesday night two topics of paramount interest
+engaged the attention of the company. The newspapers of that day had
+printed the story of the apprehension and seizure of one Peter Jolinski,
+wanted in Warsaw on the charge of assassination.
+
+As Count Andreas Verdray he was known to this exclusive circle of
+Europeans, and to them he was a persecuted, unjustly accused fugitive
+from the land of his nativity. Russian secret service men had run him to
+earth after five years of relentless pursuit. As a respectable,
+industrious window-washer he had managed for years to evade arrest for a
+crime he had not committed, and now he was in jail awaiting extradition
+and almost certain death at the hands of his intriguing enemies. A
+cultured scholar, a true gentleman, he was, despite his vocation, one of
+the most distinguished units in this little world of theirs. The
+authorities in Warsaw charged him with instigating the plot to
+assassinate a powerful and autocratic officer of the Crown. In more or
+less hushed voices, the assemblage discussed the unhappy event.
+
+The other topic was the need of immediate relief for the family of the
+Baroness de Flamme, who was on her death-bed in Harlem and whose three
+small children, deprived of the support of a hard-working music-teacher
+and deserted by an unconscionably plebeian father, were in a pitiable
+state of destitution. Acting on the suggestion of Lord Temple, who as
+Thomas Trotter earned a weekly stipend of thirty dollars as chauffeur
+for a prominent Park Avenue gentleman, a collection was taken, each
+person giving according to his means. The largest contribution was from
+Count Fogazario, who headed the list with twenty-five dollars. The
+Marchioness was down for twenty. The smallest donation was from Prince
+Waldemar. Producing a solitary coin, he made change, and after saving
+out ten cents for carfare, donated forty cents.
+
+Cricklewick, Moody and McFaddan were not invited to contribute. No one
+would have dreamed of asking them to join in such a movement. And yet,
+of all those present, the three men-servants were in a better position
+than any one else to give handsomely. They were, in fact, the richest
+men there. The next morning, however, would certainly bring checks from
+their offices to the custodian of the fund, the Hon. Mrs. Priestly-Duff.
+They knew their places on Wednesday night, however.
+
+The Countess du Bara, from the Opera, sang later on in the evening;
+Prince Waldemar got out his violin and played; the gay young baroness
+from the Artists' Colony played accompaniments very badly on the baby
+grand piano; Cricklewick and the footmen served coffee and sandwiches,
+and every one smoked in the dining-room.
+
+At eleven o'clock the Princess departed. She complained a good deal of
+her feet.
+
+"It's the weather," she explained to the Marchioness, wincing a little
+as she made her way to the door.
+
+"Too bad," said the Marchioness. "Are we to be honoured on next
+Wednesday night, your highness? You do not often grace our gatherings,
+you know. I--"
+
+"It will depend entirely on circumstances," said the Princess,
+graciously.
+
+Circumstances, it may be mentioned,--though they never were mentioned on
+Wednesday nights,--had a great deal to do with the Princess's actions.
+She conducted a pawn-shop in Baxter street. As the widow and sole
+legatee of Moses Jacobs, she was quite a figure in the street. Customers
+came from all corners of the town, and without previous appointment.
+Report had it that Mrs. Jacobs was rolling in money. People slunk in and
+out of the front door of her place of business, penniless on entering,
+affluent on leaving,--if you would call the possession of a dollar or
+two affluence,--and always with the resolve in their souls to some day
+get even with the leech who stood behind the counter and doled out
+nickels where dollars were expected.
+
+It was an open secret that more than one of those who kissed the
+Princess's hand in the Marchioness's drawing-room carried pawnchecks
+issued by Mrs. Jacobs. Business was business. Sentiment entered the soul
+of the Princess only on such nights as she found it convenient and
+expedient to present herself at the Salon. It vanished the instant she
+put on her street clothes on the floor below and passed out into the
+night. Avarice stepped in as sentiment stepped out, and one should not
+expect too much of avarice.
+
+For one, the dreamy, half-starved Prince Waldemar was rarely without
+pawnchecks from her delectable establishment. Indeed it had been
+impossible for him to entertain the company on this stormy evening
+except for her grudging consent to substitute his overcoat for the
+Stradivarius he had been obliged to leave the day before.
+
+Without going too deeply into her history, it is only necessary to say
+that she was one of those wayward, wilful princesses royal who
+occasionally violate all tradition and marry good-looking young
+Americans or Englishmen, and disappear promptly and automatically from
+court circles.
+
+She ran away when she was nineteen with a young attache in the British
+legation. It was the worst thing that could have happened to the poor
+chap. For years they drifted through many lands, finally ending in New
+York, where, their resources having been exhausted, she was forced to
+pawn her jewellery. The pawn-broker was one Abraham Jacobs, of Baxter
+street.
+
+The young English husband, disheartened and thoroughly disillusioned,
+shot himself one fine day. By a single coincidence, a few weeks
+afterward, old Abraham went to his fathers in the most agreeable fashion
+known to nature, leaving his business, including the princess's jewels,
+to his son Moses.
+
+With rare foresight and acumen, Mrs. Brinsley (the Princess, in other
+words), after several months of contemplative mourning, redeemed her
+treasure by marrying Moses. And when Moses, after begetting Solomon,
+David and Hannah, passed on at the age of twoscore years and ten, she
+continued the business with even greater success than he. She did not
+alter the name that flourished in large gold letters on the two show
+windows and above the hospitable doorway. For twenty years it had read:
+The Royal Exchange: M. Jacobs, Proprietor. And now you know all that is
+necessary to know about Mariana, to this day a true princess of the
+blood.
+
+Inasmuch as a large share of her business came through customers who
+preferred to visit her after the fall of night, there is no further need
+to explain her reply to the Marchioness.
+
+When midnight came the Marchioness was alone in the deserted
+drawing-room. The company had dispersed to the four corners of the
+storm-swept city, going by devious means and routes.
+
+They fared forth into the night _sans_ ceremony, _sans_ regalia. In the
+locker-rooms on the floor below each of these noble wights divested
+himself and herself of the raiment donned for the occasion. With the
+turning of a key in the locker door, barons became ordinary men,
+countesses became mere women, and all of them stole regretfully out of
+the passage at the foot of the first flight of stairs and shivered in
+the wind that blew through the City of Masks.
+
+"I've got more money than I know what to do with, Miss Emsdale," said
+Tom Trotter, as they went together out into the bitter wind. "I'll blow
+you off to a taxi."
+
+"I couldn't think of it," said the erstwhile Lady Jane, drawing her
+small stole close about her neck.
+
+"But it's on my way home," said he. "I'll drop you at your front door.
+Please do."
+
+"If I may stand half," she said resolutely.
+
+"We'll see," said he. "Wait here in the doorway till I fetch a taxi from
+the hotel over there. Oh, I say, Herman, would you mind asking one of
+those drivers over there to pick us up here?"
+
+"Sure," said Herman, one time Count Wilhelm Frederick Von Blitzen, who
+had followed them to the side-walk. "Fierce night, ain'd it? Py chiminy,
+ain'd it?"
+
+"Where is your friend, Mr. Trotter," inquired Miss Emsdale, as the
+stalwart figure of one of the most noted head-waiters in New York
+struggled off against the wind.
+
+"He beat it quite a while ago," said he, with an enlightening grin.
+
+"Oh?" said she, and met his glance in the darkness. A sudden warmth
+swept over her.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IV
+
+                     THE SCION OF A NEW YORK HOUSE
+
+
+AS Miss Emsdale and Thomas Trotter got down from the taxi, into a huge
+unbroken snowdrift in front of a house in one of the cross-town streets
+just off upper Fifth Avenue, a second taxi drew up behind them and
+barked a raucous command to pull up out of the way. But the first taxi
+was unable to do anything of the sort, being temporarily though
+explosively stalled in the drift along the curb. Whereupon the fare in
+the second taxi threw open the door and, with an audible imprecation,
+plunged into the drift, just in time to witness the interesting
+spectacle of a lady being borne across the snow-piled sidewalk in the
+arms of a stalwart man; and, as he gazed in amazement, the man and his
+burden ascended the half-dozen steps leading to the storm-vestibule of
+the very house to which he himself was bound.
+
+His first shock of apprehension was dissipated almost instantly. The
+man's burden giggled quite audibly as he set her down inside the storm
+doors. That giggle was proof positive that she was neither dead nor
+injured. She was very much alive, there could be no doubt about it. But
+who was she?
+
+The newcomer swore softly as he fumbled in his trousers' pocket for a
+coin for the driver who had run him up from the club. After an
+exasperating but seemingly necessary delay he hurried up the steps. He
+met the stalwart burden-bearer coming down. A servant had opened the
+door and the late burden was passing into the hall.
+
+He peered sharply into the face of the man who was leaving, and
+recognized him.
+
+"Hello," he said. "Some one ill, Trotter?"
+
+"No, Mr. Smith-Parvis," replied Trotter in some confusion. "Disagreeable
+night, isn't it?"
+
+"In some respects," said young Mr. Smith-Parvis, and dashed into the
+vestibule before the footman could close the door.
+
+Miss Emsdale turned at the foot of the broad stairway as she heard the
+servant greet the young master. A swift flush mounted to her cheeks. Her
+heart beat a little faster, notwithstanding the fact that it had been
+beating with unusual rapidity ever since Thomas Trotter disregarded her
+protests and picked her up in his strong arms.
+
+"Hello," he said, lowering his voice.
+
+There was a light in the library beyond. His father was there, taking
+advantage, no doubt, of the midnight lull to read the evening
+newspapers. The social activities of the Smith-Parvises gave him but
+little opportunity to read the evening papers prior to the appearance of
+the morning papers.
+
+"What is the bally rush?" went on the young man, slipping out of his
+fur-lined overcoat and leaving it pendant in the hands of the footman.
+Miss Emsdale, after responding to his hushed "hello" in an equally
+subdued tone, had started up the stairs.
+
+"It is very late, Mr. Smith-Parvis. Good night."
+
+"Never too late to mend," he said, and was supremely well-satisfied with
+what a superior intelligence might have recorded as a cryptic remark but
+what, to him, was an awfully clever "come-back." He had spent three
+years at Oxford. No beastly American college for him, by Jove!
+
+Overcoming a cultivated antipathy to haste,--which he considered the
+lowest form of ignorance,--he bounded up the steps, three at a time, and
+overtook her midway to the top.
+
+"I say, Miss Emsdale, I saw you come in, don't you know. I couldn't
+believe my eyes. What the deuce were you doing out with that
+common--er--chauffeur? D'you mean to say that you are running about with
+a chap of that sort, and letting him--"
+
+"If you _please_, Mr. Smith-Parvis!" interrupted Miss Emsdale coldly.
+"Good night!"
+
+"I don't mean to say you haven't the _right_ to go about with any one
+you please," he persisted, planting himself in front of her at the top
+of the steps. "But a common chauffeur--Well, now, 'pon my word, Miss
+Emsdale, really you might just as well be seen with Peasley down there."
+
+"Peasley is out of the question," said she, affecting a wry little
+smile, as of self-pity. "He is tooken, as you say in America. He walks
+out with Bessie, the parlour-maid."
+
+"Walks out? Good Lord, you don't mean to say you'd--but, of course,
+you're spoofing me. One never knows how to take you English, no matter
+how long one may have lived in England. But I am serious. You cannot
+afford to be seen running around nights with fellows of that stripe.
+Rotten bounders, that's what I call 'em. Ever been out with him before?"
+
+"Often, Mr. Smith-Parvis," she replied calmly. "I am sure you would like
+him if you knew him better. He is really a very--"
+
+"Nonsense! He is a good chauffeur, I've no doubt,--Lawrie Carpenter says
+he's a treasure, but I've no desire to know him any better. And I don't
+like to think of you knowing him quite as well as you do, Miss Emsdale.
+See what I mean?"
+
+"Perfectly. You mean that you will go to your mother with the report
+that I am not a fit person to be with the children. Isn't that what you
+mean?"
+
+"Not at all. I'm not thinking of the kids. I'm thinking of myself. I'm
+pretty keen about you, and--"
+
+"Aren't you forgetting yourself, Mr. Smith-Parvis?" she demanded curtly.
+
+"Oh, I know there'd be a devil of a row if the mater ever dreamed that
+I--Oh, I say! Don't rush off in a huff. Wait a--"
+
+But she had brushed past him and was swiftly ascending the second flight
+of stairs.
+
+He stared after her in astonishment. He couldn't understand such
+stupidity, not even in a governess. There wasn't another girl in New
+York City, so far as he knew, who wouldn't have been pleased out of her
+boots to receive the significant mark of interest he was bestowing upon
+this lowly governess,--and here was she turning her back upon,--Why,
+what was the matter with her? He passed his hand over his brow and
+blinked a couple of times. And she only a paid governess! It was
+incredible.
+
+He went slowly downstairs and, still in a sort of daze, found himself a
+few minutes later pouring out a large drink of whiskey in the
+dining-room. It was his habit to take a bottle of soda with his whiskey,
+but on this occasion he overcame it and gulped the liquor "neat." It
+appeared to be rather uplifting, so he had another. Then he went up to
+his own room and sulked for an hour before even preparing for bed. The
+more he thought of it, the graver her unseemly affront became.
+
+"And to have her insult _me_ like that," he said to himself over and
+over again, "when not three minutes before she had let that bally
+bounder carry her up--By gad, I'll give her something to think about in
+the morning. She sha'n't do that sort of thing to me. She'll find
+herself out of a job and with a damned poor reference in her pocket if
+she gets gay with me. She'll come down from her high horse, all right,
+all right. Positions like this one don't grow in the park. She's got to
+understand that. She can't go running around with chauffeurs and all--My
+God, to think that he had her in his arms! The one girl in all the world
+who has ever really made me sit up and take notice! Gad, I--I can't
+stand it--I can't bear to think of her cuddling up to that--The damned
+bounder!"
+
+He sprang to his feet and bolted out into the hall. He was a spoiled
+young man with an aversion: an aversion to being denied anything that he
+wanted.
+
+In the brief history of the Smith-Parvis family he occupied many full
+and far from prosaic pages. Smith-Parvis, Senior, was not a prodigal
+sort of person, and yet he had squandered a great many thousands of
+dollars in his time on Smith-Parvis, Junior. It costs money to bring up
+young men like Smith-Parvis, Junior; and by the same token it costs
+money to hold them down. The family history, if truthfully written,
+would contain passages in which the unbridled ambitions of Smith-Parvis,
+Junior, overwhelmed everything else. There would be the chapters
+excoriating the two chorus-girls who, in not widely separated instances,
+consented to release the young man from matrimonial pledges in return
+for so much cash; and there would be numerous paragraphs pertaining to
+auction-bridge, and others devoted entirely to tailors; to say nothing
+of uncompromising cafe and restaurant keepers who preferred the
+Smith-Parvis money to the Smith-Parvis trade.
+
+The young man, having come to the conclusion that he wanted Miss
+Emsdale, ruthlessly decided to settle the matter at once. He would not
+wait till morning. He would go up to her room and tell her that if she
+knew what was good for her she'd listen to what he had to say. She was
+too nice a girl to throw herself away on a rotter like Trotter.
+
+Then, as he came to the foot of the steps, he remembered the expression
+in her eyes as she swept past him an hour earlier. It suddenly occurred
+to him to pause and reflect. The look she gave him, now that he thought
+of it, was not that of a timid, frightened menial. Far from it! There
+was something imperious about it; he recalled the subtle, fleeting and
+hitherto unfamiliar chill it gave him.
+
+Somewhat to his own amazement, he returned to his room and closed the
+door with surprising care. He usually slammed it.
+
+"Dammit all," he said, half aloud, scowling at his reflection in the
+mirror across the room, "I--I wonder if she thinks she can put on airs
+with me." Later on he regained his self-assurance sufficiently to utter
+an ultimatum to the invisible offender: "You'll be eating out of my hand
+before you're two days older, my fine lady, or I'll know the reason
+why."
+
+Smith-Parvis, Junior, wore the mask of a gentleman. As a matter-of-fact,
+the entire Smith-Parvis family went about masked by a similar air of
+gentility.
+
+The hyphen had a good deal to do with it.
+
+The head of the family, up to the time he came of age, was William
+Philander Smith, commonly called Bill by the young fellows in Yonkers. A
+maternal uncle, name of Parvis, being without wife or child at the age
+of seventy-eight, indicated a desire to perpetuate his name by hitching
+it to the sturdiest patronymic in the English language, and forthwith
+made a will, leaving all that he possessed to his only nephew, on
+condition that the said nephew and all his descendants should bear,
+henceforth and for ever, the name of Smith-Parvis.
+
+That is how it all came about. William Philander, shortly after the
+fusion of names, fell heir to a great deal of money and in due time
+forsook Yonkers for Manhattan, where he took unto himself a wife in the
+person of Miss Angela Potts, only child of the late Simeon Potts, Esq.,
+and Mrs. Potts, neither of whom, it would seem, had the slightest desire
+to perpetuate the family name. Indeed, as Angela was getting along
+pretty well toward thirty, they rather made a point of abolishing it
+before it was too late.
+
+The first-born of William Philander and Angela was christened Stuyvesant
+Van Sturdevant Smith-Parvis, after one of the Pottses who came over at a
+time when the very best families in Holland, according to the infant's
+grandparents, were engaged in establishing an aristocracy at the foot of
+Manhattan Island.
+
+After Stuyvesant,--ten years after, in fact,--came Regina Angela, who
+languished a while in the laps of the Pottses and the Smith-Parvis
+nurses, and died expectedly. When Stuyvie was fourteen the twins,
+Lucille and Eudora, came, and at that the Smith-Parvises packed up and
+went to England to live. Stuyvie managed in some way to make his way
+through Eton and part of the way through Oxford. He was sent down in his
+third year. It wasn't so easy to have his own way there. Moreover, he
+did not like Oxford because the rest of the boys persisted in calling
+him an American. He didn't mind being called a New Yorker, but they were
+rather obstinate about it.
+
+Miss Emsdale was the new governess. The redoubtable Mrs. Sparflight had
+recommended her to Mrs. Smith-Parvis. Since her advent into the home in
+Fifth Avenue, some three or four months prior to the opening of this
+narrative, a marked change had come over Stuyvesant Van Sturdevant. It
+was principally noticeable in a recently formed habit of getting down to
+breakfast early. The twins and the governess had breakfast at half-past
+eight. Up to this time he had detested the twins. Of late, however, he
+appeared to have discovered that they were his sisters and rather
+interesting little beggars at that.
+
+They were very much surprised by his altered behaviour. To the new
+governess they confided the somewhat startling suspicion that Stuyvie
+must be having softening of the brain, just as "grandpa" had when "papa"
+discovered that he was giving diamond rings to the servants and smiling
+at strangers in the street. It must be that, said they, for never before
+had Stuyvie kissed them or brought them expensive candies or smiled at
+them as he was doing in these wonderful days.
+
+Stranger still, he never had been polite or agreeable to
+governesses--before. He always had called them frumps, or cats, or
+freaks, or something like that. Surely something must be the matter with
+him, or he wouldn't be so nice to Miss Emsdale. Up to now he positively
+had refused to look at her predecessors, much less to sit at the same
+table with them. He said they took away his appetite.
+
+The twins adored Miss Emsdale.
+
+"We love you because you are so awfuly good," they were wont to say.
+"And so beautiful," they invariably added, as if it were not quite the
+proper thing to say.
+
+It was obvious to Miss Emsdale that Stuyvesant endorsed the supplemental
+tribute of the twins. He made it very plain to the new governess that he
+thought more of her beauty than he did of her goodness. He ogled her in
+a manner which, for want of a better expression, may be described as
+possessive. Instead of being complimented by his surreptitious
+admiration, she was distinctly annoyed. She disliked him intensely.
+
+He was twenty-five. There were bags under his eyes. More than this need
+not be said in describing him, unless one is interested in the tiny
+black moustache that looked as though it might have been pasted, with
+great precision, in the centre of his long upper lip,--directly beneath
+the spreading nostrils of a broad and far from aristocratic nose. His
+lips were thick and coarse, his chin a trifle undershot. Physically, he
+was a well set-up fellow, tall and powerful.
+
+For reasons best known to himself, and approved by his parents, he
+affected a distinctly English manner of speech. In that particular, he
+frequently out-Englished the English themselves.
+
+As for Miss Emsdale, she was a long time going to sleep. The encounter
+with the scion of the house had left her in a disturbed frame of mind.
+She laid awake for hours wondering what the morrow would produce for
+her. Dismissal, no doubt, and with it a stinging rebuke for what Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis would consider herself justified in characterizing as
+unpardonable misconduct in one employed to teach innocent and
+impressionable young girls. Mingled with these dire thoughts were
+occasional thrills of delight. They were, however, of short duration and
+had to do with a pair of strong arms and a gentle, laughing voice.
+
+In addition to these shifting fears and thrills, there were even more
+disquieting sensations growing out of the unwelcome attentions of
+Smith-Parvis, Junior. They were, so to speak, getting on her nerves. And
+now he had not only expressed himself in words, but had actually
+threatened her. There could be no mistake about that.
+
+Her heart was heavy. She did not want to lose her position. The monthly
+checks she received from Mrs. Smith-Parvis meant a great deal to her. At
+least half of her pay went to England, and sometimes more than half. A
+friendly solicitor in London obtained the money on these drafts and
+forwarded it, without fee, to the sick young brother who would never
+walk again, the adored young brother who had fallen prey to the most
+cruel of all enemies: infantile paralysis.
+
+Jane Thorne was the only daughter of the Earl of Wexham, who shot
+himself in London when the girl was but twelve years old. He left a
+penniless widow and two children. Wexham Manor, with all its fields and
+forests, had been sacrificed beforehand by the reckless, ill-advised
+nobleman. The police found a half-crown in his pocket when they took
+charge of the body. It was the last of a once imposing fortune. The
+widow and children subsisted on the charity of a niggardly relative.
+With the death of the former, after ten unhappy years as a dependent,
+Jane resolutely refused to accept help from the obnoxious relative. She
+set out to earn a living for herself and the crippled boy. We find her,
+after two years of struggle and privation, installed as Miss Emsdale in
+the Smith-Parvis mansion, earning one hundred dollars a month.
+
+It is safe to say that if the Smith-Parvises had known that she was the
+daughter of an Earl, and that her brother was an Earl, there would have
+been great rejoicing among them; for it isn't everybody who can boast an
+Earl's daughter as governess.
+
+One night in each week she was free to do as she pleased. It was, in
+plain words, her night out. She invariably spent it with the Marchioness
+and the coterie of unmasked spirits from lands across the seas.
+
+What was she to say to Mrs. Smith-Parvis if called upon to account for
+her unconventional return of the night before? How could she explain?
+Her lips were closed by the seal of honour so far as the meetings above
+"Deborah's" were concerned. A law unwritten but steadfastly observed by
+every member of that remarkable, heterogeneous court, made it impossible
+for her to divulge her whereabouts or actions on this and other
+agreeable "nights out." No man or woman in that company would have
+violated, even under the gravest pressure, the compact under which so
+many well-preserved secrets were rendered secure from exposure.
+
+Stuyvesant, in his rancour, would draw an ugly picture of her midnight
+adventure. He would, no doubt, feel inspired to add a few conclusions of
+his own. Her word, opposed to his, would have no effect on the verdict
+of the indulgent mother. She would stand accused and convicted of
+conduct unbecoming a governess! For, after all, Thomas Trotter was a
+chauffeur, and she couldn't make anything nobler out of him without
+saying that he wasn't Thomas Trotter at all.
+
+She arose the next morning with a splitting headache, and the fear of
+Stuyvesant in her soul.
+
+He was waiting for her in the hall below. The twins were accorded an
+unusually affectionate greeting by their big brother. He went so far as
+to implant a random kiss on the features of each of the "brats," as he
+called them in secret. Then he roughly shoved them ahead into the
+breakfast-room.
+
+Fastening his gaze upon the pale, unsmiling face of Miss Emsdale, he
+whispered:
+
+"Don't worry, my dear. Mum's the word."
+
+He winked significantly. Revolted, she drew herself up and hurried after
+the children, unpleasantly conscious of the leer of admiration that
+rested upon her from behind.
+
+He was very gay at breakfast.
+
+"Mum's the word," he repeated in an undertone, as he drew back her chair
+at the conclusion of the meal. His lips were close to her ear, his hot
+breath on her cheek, as he bent forward to utter this reassuring remark.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER V
+
+               MR. THOMAS TROTTER HEARS SOMETHING TO HIS
+                               ADVANTAGE
+
+
+TWO days later Thomas Trotter turned up at the old book shop of J.
+Bramble, in Lexington Avenue.
+
+"Well," he said, as he took his pipe out of his pocket and began to
+stuff tobacco into it, "I've got the sack."
+
+"Got the sack?" exclaimed Mr. Bramble, blinking through his horn-rimmed
+spectacles. "You can't be serious."
+
+"It's the gospel truth," affirmed Mr. Trotter, depositing his long,
+graceful body in a rocking chair facing the sheet-iron stove at the back
+of the shop. "Got my walking papers last night, Bramby."
+
+"What's wrong? I thought you were a fixture on the job. What have you
+been up to?"
+
+"I'm blessed if I know," said the young man, shaking his head slowly.
+"Kicked out without notice, that's all I know about it. Two weeks' pay
+handed me; and a simple statement that he was putting some one on in my
+place today."
+
+"Not even a reference?"
+
+"He offered me a good one," said Trotter ironically. "Said he would give
+me the best send-off a chauffeur ever had. I told him I couldn't accept
+a reference and a discharge from the same employer."
+
+"Rather foolish, don't you think?"
+
+"That's just what he said. I said I'd rather have an explanation than a
+reference, under the circumstances."
+
+"Um! What did he say to that?"
+
+"Said I'd better take what he was willing to give."
+
+Mr. Bramble drew up a chair and sat down. He was a small, sharp-featured
+man of sixty, bookish from head to foot.
+
+"Well, well," he mused sympathetically. "Too bad, too bad, my boy.
+Still, you ought to thank goodness it comes at a time when the streets
+are in the shape they're in now. Almost impossible to get about with an
+automobile in all this snow, isn't it? Rather a good time to be
+discharged, I should say."
+
+"Oh, I say, that _is_ optimism. 'Pon my soul, I believe you'd find
+something cheerful about going to hell," broke in Trotter, grinning.
+
+"Best way I know of to escape blizzards and snow-drifts," said Mr.
+Bramble, brightly.
+
+The front door opened. A cold wind blew the length of the book-littered
+room.
+
+"This Bramble's?" piped a thin voice.
+
+"Yes. Come in and shut the door."
+
+An even smaller and older man than himself obeyed the command. He wore
+the cap of a district messenger boy.
+
+"Mr. J. Bramble here?" he quaked, advancing.
+
+"Yes. What is it? A telegram?" demanded the owner of the shop, in some
+excitement.
+
+"I should say not. Wires down everywheres. Gee, that fire looks good. I
+gotta letter for you, Mr. Bramble." He drew off his red mittens and
+produced from the pocket of his thin overcoat, an envelope and receipt
+book. "Sign here," he said, pointing.
+
+Mr. Bramble signed and then studied the handwriting on the envelope, his
+lips pursed, one eye speculatively cocked.
+
+"I've never seen the writing before. Must be a new one," he reflected
+aloud, and sighed. "Poor things!"
+
+"That establishes the writer as a woman," said Trotter, removing his
+pipe. "Otherwise you would have said 'poor devils.' Now what do you mean
+by trifling with the women, you old rogue?" The loss of his position did
+not appear to have affected the nonchalant disposition of the
+good-looking Mr. Trotter.
+
+"God bless my soul," said Mr. Bramble, staring hard at the envelope, "I
+don't believe it is from one of them, after all. By 'one of them,' my
+lad, I mean the poor gentlewomen who find themselves obliged to sell
+their books in order to obtain food and clothing. They always write
+before they call, you see. Saves 'em not only trouble but humiliation.
+The other kind simply burst in with a parcel of rubbish and ask how much
+I'll give for the lot. But this,--Well, well, I wonder who it can be
+from? Doesn't seem like the sort of writing--"
+
+"Why don't you open it and see?" suggested his visitor.
+
+"A good idea," said Mr. Bramble; "a very clever thought. There _is_ a
+way to find out, isn't there?" His gaze fell upon the aged messenger,
+who warmed his bony hands at the stove. He paused, the tip of his
+forefinger inserted under the flap. "Sit down and warm yourself, my
+friend," he said. "Get your long legs out of the way, Tom, and make room
+for him. That's right! Must be pretty rough going outside for an old
+codger like you."
+
+The messenger "boy" sat down. "Yes, sir, it sure is. Takes 'em forever
+in this 'ere town to clean the snow off'n the streets. 'Twasn't that way
+in my day."
+
+"What do you mean by your 'day'?"
+
+"Haven't you ever heard about me?" demanded the old man, eyeing Mr.
+Bramble with interest.
+
+"Can't say that I have."
+
+"Well, can you beat that? There's a big, long street named after me way
+down town. My name is Canal, Jotham W. Canal." He winked and showed his
+toothless gums in an amiable grin. "I used to be purty close to old Boss
+Tweed; kind of a lieutenant, you might say. Things were so hot in the
+old town in those days that we used to charge a nickel apiece for
+snowballs. Five cents apiece, right off the griddle. That's how hot it
+was in my day."
+
+"My word!" exclaimed Mr. Bramble.
+
+"He's spoofing you," said young Mr. Trotter.
+
+"My God," groaned the messenger, "if I'd only knowed you was English I'd
+have saved my breath. Well, I guess I'll be on my way. Is there an
+answer, Mr. Bramble?"
+
+"Um--aw--I quite forgot the--" He tore open the envelope and held the
+missive to the light. "'Pon my soul!" he cried, after reading the first
+few lines and then jumping ahead to the signature. "This is most
+extraordinary." He was plainly agitated as he felt in his pocket for a
+coin. "No answer,--that is to say,--none at present. Ahem! That's all,
+boy. Goodbye."
+
+Mr. Canal shuffled out of the shop,--and out of this narrative as well.
+
+"This will interest you," said Mr. Bramble, lowering his voice as he
+edged his chair closer to the young man. "It is from Lady Jane Thorne--I
+should say, Miss Emsdale. Bless my soul!"
+
+Mr. Trotter's British complacency was disturbed. He abandoned his
+careless sprawl in the chair and sat up very abruptly.
+
+"What's that? From Lady Jane? Don't tell me it's anything serious. One
+would think she was on her deathbed, judging by the face you're--"
+
+"Read it for yourself," said the other, thrusting the letter into
+Trotter's hand. "It explains everything,--the whole blooming business.
+Read it aloud. Don't be uneasy," he added, noting the young man's glance
+toward the door. "No customers on a day like this. Some one may drop in
+to get warm, but--aha, I see you are interested."
+
+An angry flush darkened Trotter's face as his eyes ran down the page.
+
+    "'Dear Mr. Bramble: (she wrote) I am sending this to you by
+    special messenger, hoping it may reach you before Mr. Trotter
+    drops in. He has told me that he spends a good deal of his spare
+    time in your dear old shop, browsing among the books. In the
+    light of what may already have happened, I am quite sure you
+    will see him today. I feel that I may write freely to you, for
+    you are his friend and mine, and you will understand. I am
+    greatly distressed. Yesterday I was informed that he is to be
+    summarily dismissed by Mr. Carpenter. I prefer not to reveal the
+    source of information. All I may say is that I am, in a way,
+    responsible for his misfortune. If the blow has fallen, he is
+    doubtless perplexed and puzzled, and, I fear, very unhappy.
+    Influence has been brought to bear upon Mr. Carpenter, who, you
+    may not be by way of knowing, is a close personal friend of the
+    people in whose home I am employed. Indeed, notwithstanding the
+    difference in their ages, I may say that he is especially the
+    friend of young Mr. S-P. Mr. Trotter probably knows something
+    about the nature of this friendship, having been kept out till
+    all hours of the morning in his capacity as chauffeur. My object
+    in writing to you is two-fold: first, to ask you to prevail upon
+    him to act with discretion for the present, at least, as I have
+    reason to believe that there may be an attempt to carry out a
+    threat to "run him out of town"; secondly, to advise him that I
+    shall stop at your place at five o'clock this afternoon in quest
+    of a little book that now is out of print. Please explain to him
+    also that my uncertainty as to where a letter would reach him
+    under these new conditions accounts for this message to you.
+    Sincerely your friend,
+                                                    "JANE EMSDALE.'"
+
+"Read it again, slowly," said Mr. Bramble, blinking harder than ever.
+
+"What time is it now?" demanded Trotter, thrusting the letter into his
+own pocket. A quick glance at the watch on his wrist brought a groan of
+dismay from his lips. "Good Lord! A few minutes past ten. Seven hours!
+Hold on! I can almost see the words on your lips. I'll be discreet, so
+don't begin prevailing, there's a good chap. There's nothing to be said
+or done till I see her. But,--seven hours!"
+
+"Stop here and have a bite of lunch with me," said Mr. Bramble,
+soothingly.
+
+"Nothing could be more discreet than that," said Trotter, getting up to
+pace the floor. He was frowning.
+
+"It's quite cosy in our little dining-room upstairs. If you prefer, I'll
+ask Mirabeau to clear out and let us have the place to ourselves
+while--"
+
+"Not at all. I'll stop with you, but I will not have poor old Mirabeau
+evicted. We will show the letter to him. He is a Frenchman and he can
+read between the lines far better than either of us."
+
+At twelve-thirty, Mr. Bramble stuck a long-used card in the front door
+and locked it from the inside. The world was informed, in bold type,
+that he had gone to lunch and would not return until one-thirty.
+
+In the rear of the floor above the book-shop were the meagrely furnished
+bedrooms and kitchen shared by J. Bramble and Pierre Mirabeau,
+clock-maker and repairer. The kitchen was more than a kitchen. It was
+also a dining-room, a sitting-room and a scullery, and it was as clean
+and as neat as the proverbial pin. At the front was the work-shop of M.
+Mirabeau, filled with clocks of all sizes, shapes and ages. Back of
+this, as a sort of buffer between the quiet bedrooms and the busy
+resting-place of a hundred sleepless chimes, was located the combination
+store-room, utilized by both merchants: a musty, dingy place crowded
+with intellectual rubbish and a lapse of Time.
+
+Mirabeau, in response to a shout from the fat Irishwoman who came in by
+the day to cook, wash and clean up for the tenants, strode briskly into
+the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. He was a tall, spare old man
+with uncommonly bright eyes and a long grey beard.
+
+His joy on beholding the young guest at their board was surpassed only
+by the dejection communicated to his sensitive understanding by the
+dismal expression on the faces of J. Bramble and Thomas Trotter.
+
+He broke off in the middle of a sentence, and, still grasping the hand
+of the guest, allowed his gaze to dart from one to the other.
+
+"Mon dieu!" he exclaimed, swiftly altering his tone to one of the
+deepest concern. "What has happened? Has some one died? Don't tell me it
+is your grandfather, my boy. Don't tell me that the old villain has died
+at last and you will have to go back and step into his misguided boots.
+Nothing else can--"
+
+"Worse than that," interrupted Trotter, smiling. "I've lost my
+situation."
+
+M. Mirabeau heaved a sigh of relief. "Ah! My heart beats again. Still,"
+with a vastly different sigh, "he cannot go on living for ever. The time
+is bound to come when you--"
+
+An admonitory cough from Mr. Bramble, and a significant jerk of the head
+in the direction of the kitchen-range, which was almost completely
+obscured by the person of Mrs. O'Leary, caused M. Mirabeau to bring his
+remarks to an abrupt close.
+
+When he was twenty-five years younger, Monsieur Mirabeau, known to every
+one of consequence in Paris by his true and lawful name, Count Andre
+Drouillard, as handsome and as high-bred a gentleman as there was in all
+France, shot and killed, with all the necessary ceremony, a prominent
+though bourgeoise general in the French Army, satisfactorily ending a
+liaison in which the Countess and the aforesaid general were the
+principal characters. Notwithstanding the fact that the duel had been
+fought in the most approved French fashion, which almost invariably
+(except, in case of accident) provides for a few well-scattered shots
+and subsequent embraces on the part of the uninjured adversaries, the
+general fell with a bullet through his heart.
+
+So great was the consternation of the Republic, and so unpardonable the
+accuracy of the Count, that the authorities deemed it advisable to make
+an example of the unfortunate nobleman. He was court-martialled by the
+army and sentenced to be shot. On the eve of the execution he escaped
+and, with the aid of friends, made his way into Switzerland, where he
+found refuge in the home of a sequestered citizen who made antique
+clocks for a living. A price was put upon his head, and so relentless
+were the efforts to apprehend him that for months he did not dare show
+it outside the house of his protector.
+
+He repaid the clockmaker with honest toil. In course of time he became
+an expert repairer. With the confiscation of his estates in France, he
+resigned himself to the inevitable. He became a man without a country.
+One morning the newspapers in Paris announced the death, by suicide, of
+the long-sought pariah. A few days later he was on his way to the United
+States. His widow promptly re-married and, sad to relate, from all
+reports lived happily ever afterwards.
+
+The bourgeoise general, in his tomb in France, was not more completely
+dead to the world than Count Andre Drouillard; on the other hand, no
+livelier, sprightlier person ever lived than Pierre Mirabeau, repairer
+of clocks in Lexington Avenue.
+
+And so if you will look at it in quite the proper spirit, there is but
+one really morbid note in the story of M. Mirabeau: the melancholy
+snuffing-out of the poor general,--and even that was brightened to some
+extent by the most sumptuous military funeral in years.
+
+"What do you make of it?" demanded Mr. Trotter, half-an-hour later in
+the crowded work-shop of the clockmaker.
+
+M. Mirabeau held Miss Emsdale's letter off at arm's length, and squinted
+at it with great intensity, as if actually trying to read between the
+lines.
+
+"I have an opinion," said M. Mirabeau, frowning. Whereupon he rendered
+his deductions into words, and of his two listeners Thomas Trotter was
+the most dumbfounded.
+
+"But I don't know the blooming bounder," he exclaimed,--"except by sight
+and reputation. And I have reason to know that Lady Jane loathes and
+detests him."
+
+"Aha! There we have it! Why does she loathe and detest him?" cried M.
+Mirabeau. "Because, my stupid friend, he has been annoying her with his
+attentions. It is not an uncommon thing for rich young men to lose their
+heads over pretty young maids and nurses, and even governesses."
+
+"'Gad, if I thought he was annoying her I'd--I'd--"
+
+"There you go!" cried Mr. Bramble, nervously. "Just as she feared. She
+knew what she was about when she asked me to see that you did not do
+anything--"
+
+"Hang it all, Bramble, I'm not _doing_ anything, am I? I'm only _saying_
+things. Wait till I begin to do things before you preach."
+
+"That's just it!" cried Mr. Bramble. "You invariably do things when you
+get that look in your eyes. I knew you long before you knew yourself.
+You looked like that when you were five years old and wanted to thump
+Bobby Morgan, who was thirteen. You--"
+
+M. Mirabeau interrupted. He had not been following the discussion.
+Leaning forward, he eyed the young man keenly, even disconcertingly.
+
+"What is back of all this? Admitting that young Mr. S.-P. is enamoured
+of our lovely friend, what cause have you given him for jealousy? Have
+you--"
+
+"Great Scot!" exclaimed Trotter, fairly bouncing off the work-bench on
+which he sat with his long legs dangling. "Why,--why, if _that's_ the
+way he feels toward her he must have had a horrible jolt the other
+night. Good Lord!" A low whistle followed the exclamation.
+
+"Aha! Now we are getting at the cause. We already have the effect. Out
+with it," cried M. Mirabeau, eager as a boy. His fine eyes danced with
+excitement.
+
+"Now that I think of it, he saw me carry her up the steps the other
+night after we'd all been to the Marchioness's. The night of the
+blizzard, you know. Oh, I say! It's worse than I thought." He looked
+blankly from one to the other of the two old men.
+
+"Carried her up the steps, eh? In your good strong arms, eh? And you say
+'_now_ that I think of it.' Bless your heart, you scalawag, you've been
+thinking of nothing else since it happened. Ah!" sighed M. Mirabeau,
+"how wonderful it must have been! The feel of her in your arms, and the
+breath of her on your cheek, and--Ah! It is a sad thing not to grow old.
+I am not growing old despite my seventy years. If I could but grow old,
+and deaf, and feeble, perhaps I should then be able to command the blood
+that thrills now with the thought of--But, alas! I shall never be so old
+as that! You say he witnessed this remarkable--ah--exhibition of
+strength on your part?" He spoke briskly again.
+
+"The snow was a couple of feet deep, you see," explained Trotter, who
+had turned a bright crimson. "Dreadful night, wasn't it, Bramble?"
+
+"I know what kind of a night it was," said the old Frenchman,
+delightedly. "My warmest congratulations, my friend. She is the
+loveliest, the noblest, the truest--"
+
+"I beg your pardon," interrupted Trotter, stiffly. "It hasn't gone as
+far as all that."
+
+"It has gone farther than you think," said M. Mirabeau shrewdly. "And
+that is why you were discharged without--"
+
+"By gad! The worst of it all is, she will probably get her walking
+papers too,--if she hasn't already got them," groaned the young man.
+"Don't you see what has happened? The rotter has kicked up a rumpus
+about that innocent,--and if I do say it,--gallant act of mine the other
+night. They've had her on the carpet to explain. It looks bad for her.
+They're the sort of people you can't explain things to. What rotten
+luck! She needs the money and--"
+
+"Nothing of the kind has happened," said M. Mirabeau with conviction.
+"It isn't in young Mr. S.-P.'s plans to have her dismissed. That would
+be--ah, what is it you say?--spilling the beans, eh? The instant she
+relinquishes her place in that household all hope is lost, so far as he
+is concerned. He is shrewd enough to realize that, my friend. You are
+the fly in his ointment. It is necessary to the success of his
+enterprise to be well rid of you. He doesn't want to lose sight of her,
+however. He--"
+
+"Run me out of town, eh?" grated Trotter, his thoughts leaping back to
+the passage in Lady Jane's letter. "Easier said than done, he'll find."
+
+Mr. Bramble coughed. "Are we not going it rather blindly? All this is
+pure speculation. The young man may not have a hand in the business at
+all."
+
+"He'll discover he's put his foot in it if he tries any game on me,"
+said Mr. Trotter.
+
+M. Mirabeau beamed. "There is always a way to checkmate the villain in
+the story. You see it exemplified in every melodrama on the stage and in
+every shilling shocker. The hero,--and you are our hero,--puts him to
+rout by marrying the heroine and living happily to a hale old age. What
+could be more beautiful than the marriage of Lady Jane Thorne and Lord
+Eric Carruthers Ethelbert Temple? Mon dieu! It is--"
+
+"Rubbish!" exclaimed Mr. Trotter, suddenly looking down at his foot,
+which was employed in the laudable but unnecessary act of removing a
+tiny shaving from a crack in the floor. "Besides," he went on an instant
+later, acknowledging an interval of mental consideration, "she wouldn't
+have me."
+
+"It is my time to say 'rubbish,'" said the old Frenchman. "Why wouldn't
+she have you?"
+
+"Because she doesn't care for me in that way, if you must know," blurted
+out the young man.
+
+"Has she said so?"
+
+"Of course not. She wouldn't be likely to volunteer the information,
+would she?" with fine irony.
+
+"Then how do you know she doesn't care for you in that way?"
+
+"Well, I--I just simply know it, that's all."
+
+"I see. You are the smartest man of all time if you know a woman's heart
+without probing into it, or her mind without tricking it. She permitted
+you to carry her up the steps, didn't she?"
+
+"She had to," said Trotter forcibly. "That doesn't prove anything. And
+what's more, she objected to being carried."
+
+"Um! What did she say?"
+
+"Said she didn't in the least mind getting her feet wet. She'd have her
+boots off as soon as she got into the house."
+
+"Is that all?"
+
+"She said she was awfully heavy, and--Oh, there is no use talking to me.
+I know how to take a hint. She just didn't want me to--er--carry her,
+that's the long and the short of it."
+
+"Did she struggle violently?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"You heard me. Did she?"
+
+"Certainly not. She gave in when I insisted. What else could she do?" He
+whirled suddenly upon Mr. Bramble. "What are you grinning about,
+Bramby?"
+
+"Who's grinning?" demanded Mr. Bramble indignantly, after the lapse of
+thirty or forty seconds.
+
+"You _were_, confound you. I don't see anything to laugh at in--"
+
+"My advice to you," broke in M. Mirabeau, still detached, "is to ask
+her."
+
+"Ask her? Ask her what?"
+
+"To marry you. As I was saying--"
+
+"My God!" gasped Trotter.
+
+"That is my advice also," put in Mr. Bramble, fumbling with his glasses
+and trying to suppress a smile,--for fear it would be misinterpreted. "I
+can't think of anything more admirable than the union of the Temple and
+Wexham families in--"
+
+"But, good Lord," cried Trotter, "even if she'd have me, how on earth
+could I take care of her on a chauffeur's pay? And I'm not getting that
+now. I wish to call your attention to the fact that your little hero has
+less than fifty pounds,--a good deal less than fifty,--laid by for a
+rainy day."
+
+"I've known a great many people who were married on rainy days," said M.
+Mirabeau brightly, "and nothing unlucky came of it."
+
+"Moreover, when your grandfather passes away," urged Mr. Bramble, "you
+will be a very rich man,--provided, of course, he doesn't remain
+obstinate and leave his money to some one else. In any event, you would
+come in for sufficient to--"
+
+"You forget," began Trotter, gravely and with a dignity that chilled the
+eager old man, "that I will not go back to England, nor will I claim
+anything that is _in_ England, until a certain injustice is rectified
+and I am set straight in the eyes of the unbelievers."
+
+Mr. Bramble cleared his throat. "Time will clear up everything, my lad.
+God knows you never did the--"
+
+"God knows it all right enough, but God isn't a member of the Brunswick
+Club, and His voice is never heard there in counsel. He may lend a
+helping hand to those who are trying to clear my name, because they
+believe in me, but the whole business is beginning to look pretty dark
+to me."
+
+"Ahem! What does Miss--ah, Lady Jane think about the--ah, unfortunate
+affair?" stammered Mr. Bramble.
+
+"She doesn't believe a damn' word of it," exploded Trotter, his face
+lighting up.
+
+"Good!" cried M. Mirabeau. "Proof that she pities you, and what more
+could you ask for a beginning? She believes you were unjustly accused of
+cheating at cards, that there was a plot to ruin you and to drive you
+out of the Army, and that your grandfather ought to be hung to a lamp
+post for believing what she doesn't believe. Good! Now we are on solid,
+substantial ground. What time is it, Bramble?"
+
+Mr. Bramble looked at a half-dozen clocks in succession.
+
+"I'm blessed if I know," he said. "They range from ten o'clock to
+half-past six."
+
+"Just three hours and twenty-two minutes to wait," said Thomas Trotter.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER VI
+
+                          THE UNFAILING MEMORY
+
+
+PRINCE WALDEMAR DE BOSKY, confronted by the prospect of continued cold
+weather, decided to make an appeal to Mrs. Moses Jacobs, sometime
+Princess Mariana di Pavesi. She had his overcoat, the precious one with
+the fur collar and the leather lining,--the one, indeed, that the
+friendly safe-blower who lodged across the hall from him had left behind
+at the outset of a journey up-state.
+
+"More than likely," said the safe-blower, who was not only surprised but
+gratified when the "little dago" came to visit him in the Tombs, "more
+than likely I sha'n't be needin' an overcoat for the next twelve or
+fourteen year, kid, so you ain't robbin' me,--no, sir, not a bit of it.
+I make you a present of it, with my compliments. Winter is comin' on an'
+I can't seem to think of anybody it would fit better'n it does you. You
+don't need to mention as havin' received it from me. The feller who
+owned it before I did might accidentally hear of it and--but I guess it
+ain't likely, come to think of it. To the best of my recollection, he
+lives 'way out West somewhere,--Toledo, I think, or maybe Omaha,--and
+he's probably got a new one by this time. Much obliged fer droppin' in
+here to see me, kid. So long,--and cut it out. Don't try to come any of
+that thanks guff on me. You might as well be usin' that coat as the
+moths. Besides, I owe you something for storage, don't forget that. I
+was in such a hurry the last time I left town I didn't have a chance to
+explain. You didn't know it then,--and I guess if you had knowed it you
+wouldn't have been so nice about lookin' out for my coat durin' the
+summer,--but I was makin' a mighty quick getaway. Thanks fer stoppin' in
+to remind me I left the coat in your room that night. I clean forgot it,
+I was in such a hurry. But lemme tell you one thing, kid, I'll never
+ferget the way you c'n make that fiddle talk. I don't know as you'd 'a'
+played fer me as you used to once in awhile if you'd knowed I was what I
+am, but it makes no difference now. I just loved hearin' you play. I
+used to have a hard time holdin' in the tears. And say, kid, keep
+straight. Keep on fiddlin'! So long! I may see you along about 1926 or
+8. And say, you needn't be ashamed to wear that coat. I didn't steal it.
+It was a clean case of mistaken identity, if there ever was one. It
+happened in a restaurant." He winked.
+
+And that is how the little violinist came to be the possessor of an
+overcoat with a sable collar and a soft leather lining.
+
+He needed it now, not only when he ventured upon the chilly streets but
+when he remained indoors. In truth, he found it much warmer walking the
+streets than sitting in his fireless room, or even in going to bed.
+
+It was a far cry from the dapper, dreamy-eyed courtier who kissed the
+chapped knuckles of the Princess Mariana on Wednesday night to the
+shrinking, pinched individual who threaded his way on Friday through the
+cramped lanes that led to the rear of the pawn-shop presided over by
+Mrs. Jacobs.
+
+And an incredibly vast gulf lay between the Princess Mariana and the
+female Shylock who peered at him over a glass show-case filled with
+material pledges in the shape of watches, chains, rings, bracelets, and
+other gaudy tributes left by a shifting constituency.
+
+"Well?" she demanded, fixing him with a cold, offensive stare. "What do
+you want?"
+
+He turned down the collar of his thin coat, and straightened his slight
+figure in response to this unfriendly greeting.
+
+"I came to see if you would allow me to take my overcoat for a few
+days,--until this cold spell is over,--with the understanding--"
+
+"Nothing doing," said she curtly. "Six dollars due on it."
+
+"But I have not the six dollars, madam. Surely you may trust me."
+
+"Why didn't you bring your fiddle along? You could leave it in place of
+the coat. Go and get it and I'll see what I can do."
+
+"I am to play tonight at the house of a Mr. Carpenter. He has heard of
+me through our friend Mr. Trotter, his chauffeur. You know Mr. Trotter,
+of course."
+
+"Sure I know him, and I don't like him. He insulted me once."
+
+"Ah, but you do not understand him, madam. He is an Englishman and he
+may have tried to be facetious or even pleasant in the way the
+English--"
+
+"Say, don't you suppose I know when I'm insulted? When a cheap guy like
+that comes in here with a customer of mine and tells me I'm so damned
+mean they won't even let me into hell when I die,--well, if you don't
+call that an insult, I'd like to know what it is. Don't talk to me about
+that bum!"
+
+"Is _that_ all he said?" involuntarily fell from the lips of the
+violinist, as if, to his way of thinking, Mr. Trotter's remark was an
+out-and-out compliment. "Surely you have no desire to go to hell when
+you die."
+
+"No, I haven't, but I don't want anybody coming in here telling me to my
+face that there'd be a revolution down there if I _tried_ to get in.
+I've got as much right there as anybody, I'd have him know. Cough up six
+or get out. That's all I've got to say to you, my little man."
+
+"It is freezing cold in my room. I--"
+
+"Don't blame me for that. I don't make the weather. And say, I'm busy.
+Cough up or--clear out."
+
+"You will not let me have it for a few days if I--"
+
+"Say, do you think I'm in business for my health? I haven't that much
+use--" she snapped her fingers--"for a fiddler anyhow. It's not a man's
+job. That's what I think of long-haired guys like--Beat it! I'm busy."
+
+With head erect the little violinist turned away. He was half way to the
+door when she called out to him.
+
+"Hey! Come back here! Now, see here, you little squirt, you needn't go
+turning up your nose at me and acting like that. I've got the goods on
+you and a lot more of those rummies up there. I looked 'em over the
+other night and I said to myself, says I: 'Gee whiz, couldn't I start
+something if I let out what I know about this gang!' Talk about
+earthquakes! They'd--Here! What are you doing? Get out from behind this
+counter! I'll call a cop if you--"
+
+The pallid, impassioned face of Prince Waldemar de Bosky was close to
+hers; his dark eyes were blazing not a foot from her nose.
+
+"If I thought you were that kind of a snake I'd kill you," he said
+quietly, levelly.
+
+"Are--are you threatening me?" sputtered Mrs. Jacobs, trying in vain to
+look away from those compelling eyes. She could not believe her senses.
+
+"No. I am merely telling you what I would do if you were that kind of a
+snake."
+
+"See here, don't you get gay! Don't you forget who you are addressing,
+young man. I am--"
+
+"I am addressing a second-hand junk dealer, madam. You are at home now,
+not sitting in the big chair up at--at--you know where. Please bear that
+in mind."
+
+"I'll call some one from out front and have you chucked into--"
+
+"Do you even _think_ of violating the confidence we repose in you?" he
+demanded. "The thought must have been in your mind or you would not have
+uttered that remark a moment ago. You are one of us, and we've treated
+you as a--a queen. I want to know just where you stand, Mrs. Jacobs."
+
+"You can't come in here and bawl me out like this, you little shrimp!
+I'll--"
+
+"Keep still! Now, listen to me. If I should go to our friends and repeat
+what you have just said, you would never see the inside of that room
+again. You would never have the opportunity to exchange a word with a
+single person you have met there. You would be stripped of the last
+vestige of glory that clings to you. Oh, you may sneer! But down in your
+heart you love that bit of glory,--and you would curse yourself if you
+lost it."
+
+"It's--it's all poppy-cock, the whole silly business," she blurted out.
+But it was not anger that caused her voice to tremble.
+
+"You know better than that," said he, coldly.
+
+"I don't care a rap about all that foolishness up there. It makes me
+sick," she muttered.
+
+"You may lie to me but you cannot lie to yourself, madam. Under that
+filthy, greasy skin of yours runs the blood that will not be denied.
+Pawn-broker, miser,--whatever you may be to the world, to yourself you
+are a princess royal. God knows we all despise you. You have not a
+friend among us. But we can no more overlook the fact that you are a
+princess of the blood than we can ignore the light of day. The blood
+that is in you demands its tribute. You have no control over the
+mysterious spark that fires your blood. It burns in spite of all you may
+do to quench it. It is there to stay. We despise you, even as you would
+despise us. Am I to carry your words to those who exalt you despite your
+calling, despite your meanness, despite all that is base and sordid in
+this rotten business of yours? Am I to let them know that you are the
+only--the only--what is the name of the animal I've heard Trotter
+mention?--ah, I have it,--the only skunk in our precious little circle?
+Tell me, madam, are you a skunk?"
+
+Her face was brick red; she was having difficulty with her breathing.
+The pale, white face of the little musician dazzled her in a most
+inexplicable way. Never before had she felt just like this.
+
+"Am I a--what?" she gasped, her eyes popping.
+
+"It is an animal that has an odour which--"
+
+"Good God, you don't have to tell me what it is," she cried, but in
+suppressed tones. Her gaze swept the rear part of the shop. "It's a good
+thing for you, young fellow, that nobody heard you call me that name.
+Thank the good Lord, it isn't a busy day here. If anybody _had_ heard
+you, I'd have you skinned alive."
+
+"A profitless undertaking," he said, smiling without mirth, "but quite
+in your line, if reports are true. You are an expert at skinning people,
+alive or dead. But we are digressing. Are you going to turn against us?"
+
+"I haven't said I was going to, have I?"
+
+"Not in so many words."
+
+"Well, then, what's all the fuss about? You come in here and shoot off
+your mouth as if--And say, who are you, anyhow? Tell me that! No, wait a
+minute. Don't tell me. I'll tell myself. When a man is kicked out of his
+own family because he'd sooner play a fiddle than carry a sword, I don't
+think he's got any right to come blatting to me about--"
+
+"The cruelest monster the world has ever known, madam," he interrupted,
+stiffening, "fiddled while Rome was burning. Fiddlers are not always
+gentle. You may not have heard of one very small and unimportant
+incident in my own life. It was I who fiddled,--badly, I must
+confess,--while the Opera House in Poltna was burning. A panic was
+averted. Not a life was lost. And when it was all over some one
+remembered the fiddler who remained upon the stage and finished the aria
+he was playing when the cry of fire went up from the audience. Brave
+men,--far braver men than he,--rushed back through the smoke and found
+him lying at the footlights, unconscious. But why waste words? Good
+morning, madam. I shall not trouble you again about the overcoat. Be
+good enough to remember that I have kissed your hand only because you
+are a princess and not because you have lent me five dollars on the
+wretched thing."
+
+The angry light in his brown eyes gave way to the dreamy look once more.
+He bowed stiffly and edged his way out from behind the counter into the
+clogged area that lay between him and the distant doorway. Towering
+above him on all sides were heaps of nondescript objects, classified
+under the generic name of furniture. The proprietress of this sordid,
+ill-smelling crib stared after him as he strode away, and into her eyes
+there stole a look of apprehension.
+
+She followed him to the front door, overtaking him as his hand was on
+the latch.
+
+"Hold on," she said, nervously glancing at the shifty-eyed, cringing
+assistant who toiled not in vain,--no one ever toiled in vain in the
+establishment of M. Jacobs, Inc.,--behind a clump of chairs;--"hold on a
+second. I don't want you to say a word to--to them about--about all
+this. You are right, de Bosky. I--I have not lost all that once was
+mine. You understand, don't you?"
+
+He smiled. "Perfectly. You can never lose it, no matter how low you may
+sink."
+
+"Well," she went on, hesitatingly, "suppose we forget it."
+
+He eyed her for a moment in silence, shaking his head reflectively. "It
+is most astonishing," he said at last.
+
+"What's astonishing?" she demanded sharply.
+
+"I was merely thinking of your perfect, your exquisite French, madam!"
+
+"French? Are you nutty? I've been talkin' to you in English all the
+time."
+
+He nodded his head slowly. "Perhaps that is why your French is so
+astonishing," he said, and let it go at that.
+
+"Look at me," she exclaimed, suddenly breaking into French as she spread
+out her thick arms and surveyed with disgust as much of her ample person
+as came within range of an obstructed vision, "just look at me. No one
+on earth would take _me_ for a princess, would he? And yet that is just
+what I am. I _think_ of myself as a princess, and always will, de Bosky.
+I think of myself,--of my most unlovely, unregal self,--as the superior
+of every other woman who treads the streets of New York, all of these
+base born women. I cannot help it. I cannot think of them as equals, not
+even the richest and the most arrogant of them. You say it is the blood,
+but you are wrong. Some of these women have a strain of royal blood in
+them--a far-off, remote strain, of course,--but they do not _know_ it.
+That's the point, my friend. It is the _knowing_ that makes us what we
+are. It isn't the blood itself. If we were deprived of the power to
+_think_, we could have the blood of every royal family in Europe in our
+veins, and that is all the good it would do us. We _think_ we are
+nobler, better than all the rest of creation, and we would keep on
+thinking it if we slept in the gutter and begged for a crust of bread.
+And the proof of all this is to be found in the fact that the rest of
+creation will not allow us to forget. They think as we do, in spite of
+themselves, and there you have the secret of the supremacy we feel, in
+spite of everything."
+
+Her brilliant, black eyes were flashing with something more than
+excitement. The joy, the realization of power glowed in their depths,
+welling up from fires that would never die. Waldemar de Bosky nodded his
+head in the most matter-of-fact way. He was not enthralled. All this was
+very simple and quite undebatable to him.
+
+"I take it, therefore, that you retract all that you said about its
+being poppycock," he said, turning up his coat collar and fastening it
+close to his throat with a long and formidable looking safety pin.
+
+"It may be poppycock," she said, "but we can't help liking it--not to
+save our lives."
+
+"And I shall not have to kill you as if you were a snake, eh?"
+
+"Not on your life," said Mrs. Moses Jacobs in English, opening the door
+for him.
+
+He passed out into the cold and windy street and she went back to her
+dingy nook at the end of the store, pausing on the way to inform an
+assistant that she was not to be disturbed, no matter who came in to see
+her.
+
+While she sat behind her glittering show-case and gazed pensively at the
+ceiling of her ugly storehouse, Waldemar de Bosky went shivering through
+the streets to his cold little backroom many blocks away. While she was
+for the moment living in the dim but unforgotten past, a kindly memory
+leading her out of the maze of other people's poverty and her own
+avarice into broad marble halls and vaulted rooms, he was thinking only
+of the bitter present with its foodless noon and of pockets that were
+empty. While maudlin tears ran down her oily cheeks and spilled
+aimlessly upon a greasy sweater with the spur of memory behind them,
+tears wrought by the sharp winds of the street glistened in his
+squinting eyes.
+
+Memory carried him back no farther than the week before and he was
+distressed only by its exceeding frailty. He could not, for the life of
+him, remember the address of J. Bramble, bookseller,--a most
+exasperating lapse in view of the fact that J. Bramble himself had urged
+him to come up some evening soon and have dinner with him, and to bring
+his Stradivarius along if he didn't mind. Mind? Why, he would have
+played his heart out for a good square meal. The more he tried to
+remember J. Bramble's address, the less he thought of the overcoat with
+the fur collar and the soft leather lining. He couldn't eat that, you
+know.
+
+In his bleak little room in the hall of the whistling winds, he took
+from its case with cold-benumbed fingers the cherished violin.
+Presently, as he played, the shivering flesh of him grew warm with the
+heat of an inward fire; the stiff, red fingers became limp and pliable;
+the misty eyes grew bright and feverish. Fire,--the fires of love and
+genius and hope combined,--burnt away the chill of despair; he was as
+warm as toast!
+
+And hours after the foodless noon had passed, he put the treasure back
+into its case and wiped the sweat from his marble brow. Something
+flashed across his mind. He shouted aloud as he caught at what the flash
+of memory revealed.
+
+"Lexington Avenue! Three hundred and something, Lexington Avenue! J.
+Bramble, bookseller! Ha! Come! Come! Let us be off!"
+
+He spoke to the violin as if it were a living companion. Grabbing up his
+hat and mittens, he dashed out of the room and went clattering down the
+hall with the black leather case clasped tightly under his arm.
+
+It was a long, long walk to three hundred and something Lexington
+Avenue, but in due time he arrived there and read the sign above the
+door. Ah, what a great thing it is to have a good, unfailing memory!
+
+And so it came to pass that Prince Waldemar de Bosky and Lady Jane
+Thorne met at the door of J. Bramble, bookseller, at five of the clock,
+and entered the shop together.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VII
+
+                       THE FOUNDATION OF THE PLOT
+
+
+MR. BRAMBLE had never been quite able to resign himself to a definitely
+impersonal attitude toward Lord Eric Temple. He seemed to cling, despite
+himself, to a privilege long since outlawed by time and circumstance and
+the inevitable outgrowing of knickerbockers by the aforesaid Lord Eric.
+Back in the good old days it had been his pleasant,--and sometimes
+unpleasant,--duty to direct a very small Eric in matters not merely
+educational but of deportment as well. In short, Eric, at the age of
+five, fell into the capable, kindly and more or less resolute hands of a
+well-recommended tutor, and that tutor was no other than J. Bramble.
+
+At the age of twelve, the boy went off to school in a little high hat
+and an Eton suit, and J. Bramble was at once, you might say, out of the
+frying pan into the fire. In other words, he was promoted by his
+lordship, the boy's grandfather, to the honourable though somewhat
+onerous positions of secretary, librarian and cataloguer, all in one. He
+had been able to teach Eric a great many things he didn't know, but
+there was nothing he could impart to his lordship.
+
+That irascible old gentleman knew everything. After thrice informing his
+lordship that Sir Walter Scott was the author of _Guy Mannering_, and
+being thrice informed that he was nothing of the sort, the desolate Mr.
+Bramble realized that he was no longer a tutor,--and that he ought to be
+rather thankful for it. It exasperated him considerably, however, to
+have the authorship of _Guy Mannering_ arbitrarily ascribed to three
+different writers, on three separate occasions, when any schoolboy could
+have told the old gentleman that Fielding and Sterne and Addison had no
+more to do with the book than William Shakespeare himself. His lordship
+maintained that no one could tell _him_ anything about Scott; he had him
+on his shelves and he had read him from A to Izzard. And he was rather
+severe with Mr. Bramble for accepting a position as librarian when he
+didn't know any more than that about books.
+
+And from this you may be able to derive some sort of an opinion
+concerning the cantankerous, bull-headed old party (Bramble's
+appellation behind the hand) who ruled Fenlew Hall, the place where Tom
+Trotter was reared and afterwards disowned.
+
+Also you may be able to account in a measure for Mr. J. Bramble's
+attitude toward the tall young man, an attitude brought on no doubt by
+the revival, or more properly speaking the survival, of an authority
+exercised with rare futility but great satisfaction at a time when Eric
+was being trained in the way he should go. If at times Mr. Bramble
+appears to be mildly dictatorial, or gently critical, or sadly
+reproachful, you will understand that it is habit with him, and not the
+captiousness of old age. It was his custom to shake his head
+reprovingly, or to frown in a pained sort of way, or to purse his lips,
+or even to verbally take Mr. Trotter to task when that young man
+deviated,--not always accidentally,--from certain rules of deportment
+laid down for him to follow in his earliest efforts to be a "little
+gentleman."
+
+For example, when the two of them, after a rather impatient half-hour,
+observed Miss Emsdale step down from the trolley car at the corner above
+and head for the doorway through which they were peering, Mr. Bramble
+peremptorily said to Mr. Trotter:
+
+"Go and brush your hair. You will find a brush at the back of the shop.
+Look sharp, now. She will be here in a jiffy."
+
+And you will perhaps understand why Mr. Trotter paid absolutely no
+attention to him.
+
+Miss Emsdale and the little violinist came in together. The latter's
+teeth were chattering, his cheeks were blue with the cold.
+
+"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Bramble, blinking at de Bosky. Here was an
+unforeseen complication.
+
+Miss Emsdale was resourceful. "I stopped in to inquire, Mr.
+Bramble,--this is Mr. Bramble, isn't it?--if you have a copy of--"
+
+"Please close the door, Trotter, there's a good fellow," interrupted Mr.
+Bramble, frowning significantly at the young man.
+
+"It is closed," said Mr. Trotter, tactlessly. He was looking intently,
+inquiringly into the blue eyes of Miss Emsdale.
+
+"I closed it as I came in," chattered de Bosky.
+
+"Oh, did you?" said Mr. Bramble. "People always leave it open. I am so
+in the habit of having people leave the door open that I never notice
+when they close it. I--ahem! Step right this way, please, Miss
+Ems--ahem! I think we have just the book you want."
+
+"I am not in any haste, Mr. Bramble," said she, regarding de Bosky with
+pitying eyes. "Let us all go back to the stove and--and--" She
+hesitated, biting her lip. The poor chap undoubtedly was sensitive. They
+always are.
+
+"Good!" said Mr. Bramble eagerly. "And we'll have some tea. Bless my
+soul, how fortunate! I always have it at five o'clock. Trotter and I
+were just on the point of--so glad you happened in just at the right
+moment, Miss Emsdale. Ahem! And you too, de Bosky. Most extraordinary.
+You may leave your pipe on that shelf, Trotter. It smells dreadfully.
+No, no,--I wouldn't even put it in my pocket if I were you. Er--ahem!
+You have met Mr. Trotter, haven't you, Miss Emsdale?"
+
+"You poor old boob," said Trotter, laying his arm over Bramble's
+shoulder in the most affectionate way. "Isn't he a boob, Miss Emsdale?"
+
+"Not at all," said she severely. "He is a dear."
+
+"Bless my soul!" murmured Mr. Bramble, doing as well as could be
+expected. He blessed it again before he could catch himself up.
+
+"Sit here by the stove, Mr. de Bosky," said Miss Emsdale, a moment
+later. "Just as close as you can get to it."
+
+"I have but a moment to stay," said de Bosky, a wistful look in his dark
+eyes.
+
+"You'll have tea, de Bosky," said Mr. Bramble firmly. "Is the water
+boiling, Trotter?"
+
+A few minutes later, warmed by the cup of tea and a second slice of
+toast, de Bosky turned to Trotter.
+
+"Thanks again, my dear fellow, for speaking to your employer about my
+playing. This little affair tonight may be the beginning of an era of
+good fortune for me. I shall never forget your interest--"
+
+"Oh, that's off," said Trotter carelessly.
+
+"Off? You mean?" cried de Bosky.
+
+"I'm fired, and he has gone to Atlantic City for the week-end."
+
+"He--he isn't going to have his party in the private dining-room
+at,--you said it was to be a private dining-room, didn't you, with a few
+choice spirits--"
+
+"He has gone to Atlantic City with a few choice spirits," said Trotter,
+and then stared hard at the musician's face. "Oh, by Jove! I'm sorry,"
+he cried, struck by the look of dismay, almost of desperation, in de
+Bosky's eyes. "I didn't realize it meant so much to--"
+
+"It is really of no consequence," said de Bosky, lifting his chin once
+more and straightening his back. The tea-cup rattled ominously in the
+saucer he was clutching with tense fingers.
+
+"Never mind," said Mr. Bramble, anticipating a crash and inspired by the
+kindliest of motives; "between us we've smashed half a dozen of them, so
+don't feel the least bit uncomfortable if you _do_ drop--"
+
+"What are you talking about, Bramby?" demanded Trotter, scowling at the
+unfortunate bookseller. "Have some more tea, de Bosky. Hand up your cup.
+Little hot water, eh?"
+
+Mr. Bramble was perspiring. Any one with half an eye could see that it
+_was_ of consequence to de Bosky. The old bookseller's heart was very
+tender.
+
+"Don't drink too much of it," he warned, his face suddenly beaming.
+"You'll spoil your appetite for dinner." To the others: "Mr. de Bosky
+honours my humble board with his presence this evening. The finest
+porterhouse steak in New York--Eh, what?"
+
+"It is I," came a crisp voice from the bottom of the narrow stairway
+that led up to the living-quarters above. Monsieur Mirabeau, his
+whiskers neatly brushed and twisted to a point, his velvet lounging
+jacket adorned with a smart little boutonniere, his shoes polished till
+they glistened, approached the circle and, bending his gaunt frame with
+gallant disdain for the crick in his back, kissed the hand of the young
+lady. "I observed your approach, my dear Miss Emsdale. We have been
+expecting you for ages. Indeed, it has been the longest afternoon that
+any of us has ever experienced."
+
+Mr. Bramble frowned. "Ahem!" he coughed.
+
+"I am sorry if I have intruded," began de Bosky, starting to arise.
+
+"Sit still," said Thomas Trotter. He glanced at Miss Emsdale. "You're
+not in the way, old chap."
+
+"You mentioned a book, Miss Emsdale," murmured Mr. Bramble. "When you
+came in, you'll remember."
+
+She looked searchingly into Trotter's eyes, and finding her answer
+there, remarked:
+
+"Ample time for that, Mr. Bramble. Mr. de Bosky is my good friend. And
+as for dear M. Mirabeau,--ah, what shall I say of him?" She smiled
+divinely upon the grey old Frenchman.
+
+"I commend your modesty," said M. Mirabeau. "It prevents your saying
+what every one knows,--that I am your adorer!"
+
+Tom Trotter was pacing the floor. He stopped in front of her, a scowl on
+his handsome face.
+
+"Now, tell us just what the infernal dog said to you," he said.
+
+She started. "You--you have already heard something?" she cried,
+wonderingly.
+
+"Ah, what did I tell you?" cried M. Mirabeau triumphantly, glancing
+first at Trotter and then at Bramble. "He _is_ in love with her, and
+this is what comes of it. He resorts to--"
+
+"Is this magic?" she exclaimed.
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Trotter. "We've been putting two and two
+together, the three of us. Begin at the beginning," he went on,
+encouragingly. "Don't hold back a syllable of it."
+
+"You must promise to be governed by my advice," she warned him. "You
+must be careful,--oh, so very careful."
+
+"He will be good at any rate," said Mr. Bramble, fixing the young man
+with a look. Trotter's face went crimson.
+
+"Ahem!" came guardedly from M. Mirabeau. "Proceed, my dear. We are most
+impatient."
+
+The old Frenchman's deductions were not far from right. Young Mr.
+Smith-Parvis, unaccustomed to opposition and believing himself to be
+entitled to everything he set his heart on having, being by nature
+predatory, sustained an incredible shock when the pretty and desirable
+governess failed utterly to come up to expectations. Not only did she
+fail to come up to expectations but she took the wind completely out of
+his sails, leaving him adrift in a void so strange and unusual that it
+was hours before he got his bearings again. Some of the things she said
+to him got under a skin so thick and unsensitive that nothing had ever
+been sharp enough to penetrate it before.
+
+The smartting of the pain from these surprising jabs at his egotism put
+him into a state of fury that knew no bounds. He went so far as to
+accuse her of deliberately trying to be a lady,--a most ridiculous
+assumption that didn't fool him for an instant. She couldn't come that
+sort of thing with him! The sooner she got off her high-horse the better
+off she'd be. It had never entered the head of Smith-Parvis Jr. that a
+wage-earning woman could be a lady, any more than a wage-earning man
+could be a gentleman.
+
+The spirited encounter took place on the afternoon following her
+midnight adventure with Thomas Trotter. Stuyvesant lay in wait for her
+when she went out at five o'clock for her daily walk in the Park.
+Overtaking her in one of the narrow, remote little paths, he suggested
+that they cross over to Bustanoby's and have tea and a bite of something
+sweet. He was quite out of breath. She had given him a long chase, this
+long-limbed girl with her free English stride.
+
+"It's a nice quiet place," he said, "and we won't see a soul we know."
+
+Primed by assurance, he had the hardihood to grasp her arm with a sort
+of possessive familiarity. Whereupon, according to the narrator, he
+sustained his first disheartening shock. She jerked her arm away and
+faced him with blazing eyes.
+
+"Don't do that!" she said. "What do you mean by following me like this?"
+
+"Oh, come now," he exclaimed blankly; "don't be so damned uppish. I
+didn't sleep a wink last night, thinking about you. You--"
+
+"Nor did I sleep a wink, Mr. Smith-Parvis, thinking about you," she
+retorted, looking straight into his eyes. "I am afraid you don't know me
+as well as you think you do. Will you be good enough to permit me to
+continue my walk unmolested?"
+
+He laughed in her face. "Out here to meet the pretty chauffeur, are you?
+I thought so. Well, I'll stick around and make the crowd. Is he likely
+to pop up out of the bushes and try to bite me, my dear? Better give him
+the signal to lay low, unless you want to see him nicely booted."
+
+("My God!" fell from Thomas Trotter's compressed lips.)
+
+"Then I made a grievous mistake," she explained to the quartette. "It is
+all my fault, Mr. Trotter. I brought disaster upon you when I only
+intended to sound your praises. I told him that nothing could suit me
+better than to have you pop up out of the bushes, just for the pleasure
+it would give me to see him run for home as fast as he could go. It made
+him furious."
+
+Smith-Parvis Jr. proceeded to give her "what for," to use his own words.
+In sheer amazement, she listened to his vile insinuations. She was
+speechless.
+
+"And here am I," he had said, toward the end of the indictment, "a
+gentleman, born and bred, offering you what this scurvy bounder cannot
+possibly give you, and you pretend to turn up your nose at me. I am
+gentleman enough to overlook all that has transpired between you and
+that loafer, and I am gentleman enough to keep my mouth shut at home,
+where a word from me would pack you off in two seconds. And I'd like to
+see you get another fat job in New York after that. You ought to be
+jolly grateful to me."
+
+"If I am the sort of person you say I am," she had replied, trembling
+with fury, "how can you justify your conscience in letting me remain for
+a second longer in charge of your little sisters?"
+
+"What the devil do I care about them? I'm only thinking of you. I'm mad
+about you, can't you understand? And I'd like to know what conscience
+has to do with _that_."
+
+Then he had coolly, deliberately, announced his plan of action to her.
+
+"You are to stay on at the house as long as you like, getting your nice
+little pay check every month, and something from me besides. Ah, I'm no
+piker! Leave it all to me. As for this friend of yours, he has to go.
+He'll be out of a job tomorrow. I know Carpenter. He will do anything I
+ask. He'll have to, confound him. I've got him where he can't even
+squeak. And what's more, if this Trotter is not out of New York inside
+of three days, I'll land him in jail. Oh, don't think I can't do it, my
+dear. There's a way to get these renegade foreigners,--every one of
+'em,--so you'd better keep clear of him if you don't want to be mixed up
+in the business. I am doing all this for your own good. Some day you'll
+thank me. You are the first girl I've ever really loved, and--I--I just
+can't stand by and let you go to the devil with my eyes shut. I am going
+to save you, whether you like it or not. I am going to do the right
+thing by you, and you will never regret chucking this rotter for me. We
+will have to be a little careful at home, that's all. It would never do
+to let the old folks see that I am more than ordinarily interested in
+you, or you in me. Once, when I was a good deal younger and didn't have
+much sense, I spoiled a--but you wouldn't care to hear about it."
+
+She declared to them that she would never forget the significant grin he
+permitted himself in addition to the wink.
+
+"The dog!" grated Thomas Trotter, his knuckles white.
+
+M. Mirabeau straightened himself to his full height,--and a fine figure
+of a man was he!
+
+"Mr. Trotter," he said, with grave dignity, "it will afford me the
+greatest pleasure and honour to represent you in this crisis. Pray
+command me. No doubt the scoundrel will refuse to meet you, but at any
+rate a challenge may be--"
+
+Miss Emsdale broke in quickly. "Don't,--for heaven's sake, dear M.
+Mirabeau,--don't put such notions into his head! It is bad enough as it
+is. I beg of you--"
+
+"Besides," said Mr. Bramble, "one doesn't fight duels in this country,
+any more than one does in England. It's quite against the law."
+
+"I sha'n't need any one to represent me when it comes to punching his
+head," said Mr. Trotter.
+
+"It's against the law, strictly speaking, to punch a person's head,"
+began Mr. Bramble nervously.
+
+"But it's not against the law, confound you, Bramby, to provide a legal
+excuse for going to jail, is it? He says he's going to put me there.
+Well, I intend to make it legal and--"
+
+"Oh, goodness!" cried Miss Emsdale, in dismay.
+
+"--And I'm not going to jail for nothing, you can stake your life on
+that."
+
+"Do you think, Mr. Trotter, that it will add to my happiness if you are
+lodged in jail on my account?" said she. "Haven't I done you sufficient
+injury--"
+
+"Now, you are not to talk like that," he interrupted, reddening.
+
+"But I _shall_ talk like that," she said firmly. "I have not come here
+to ask you to take up my battles for me but to warn you of danger.
+Please do not interrupt me. I know you would enjoy it, and all that sort
+of thing, but it isn't to be considered. Hear me out."
+
+She went on with her story. Young Mr. Smith-Parvis, still contending
+that he was a gentleman and a friend as well as an abject adorer, made
+it very plain to her that he would stand no foolishness. He told her
+precisely what he would do unless she eased up a bit and acted like a
+good, sensible girl. He would have her dismissed without character and
+he would see to it that no respectable house would be open to her after
+she left the service of the Smith-Parvises.
+
+"But couldn't you put the true situation before his parents and tell 'em
+what sort of a rotten bounder he is?" demanded Trotter.
+
+"You do not know them, Mr. Trotter," she said forlornly.
+
+"And they'd kick you out without giving you a chance to prove to them
+that he is a filthy liar and--"
+
+"Just as Mr. Carpenter kicked you out," she said.
+
+"By gad, I--I wouldn't stay in their house another day if I were you,"
+he exclaimed wrathfully. "I'd quit so quickly they wouldn't have time
+to--"
+
+"And then what?" she asked bitterly. "Am I so rich and independent as
+all that? You forget that I must have a 'character,' Mr. Trotter. That,
+you see, would be denied me. I could not obtain employment. Even Mrs.
+Sparflight would be powerless to help me after the character they would
+give me."
+
+"But, good Lord, you--you're not going to stay on in the house with that
+da--that nasty brute, are you?" he cried, aghast.
+
+"I must have time to think, Mr. Trotter," she said quietly. "Now, don't
+say anything more,--please! I shall take good care of myself, never
+fear. My woes are small compared to yours, I am afraid. The next morning
+after our little scene in the park, he came down to breakfast, smiling
+and triumphant. He said he had news for me. Mr. Carpenter was to dismiss
+you that morning, but had agreed not to prefer charges against you,--at
+least, not for the present." She paused to moisten her lips. There was a
+harassed look in her eyes.
+
+"Charges?" said Trotter, after a moment. The other men leaned forward,
+fresh interest in their faces.
+
+"Did you say charges, Miss Emsdale?" asked Mr. Bramble, putting his hand
+to his ear.
+
+"He told me that Mr. Carpenter was at first determined to turn you over
+to the police, but that he had begged him to give you a chance. He--he
+says that Mr. Carpenter has had a private detective watching you for a
+fortnight, and--and--oh, I cannot say it!"
+
+"Go on," said Trotter harshly; "say it!"
+
+"Well, of course, I know and you understand it is simply part of his
+outrageous plan, but he says your late employer has positive proof that
+you took--that you took some marked bank notes out of his overcoat
+pocket a few days ago. He had been missing money and had provided
+himself with marked--"
+
+Trotter leaped to his feet with a cry of rage.
+
+"Sit down!" commanded Mr. Bramble. "Sit down! Where are you going?"
+
+"Great God! Do you suppose I can sit still and let him get away with
+anything like that?" roared Trotter. "I'm going to jam those words down
+Carpenter's craven throat. I'm--"
+
+"You forget he is in Atlantic City," said de Bosky, as if suddenly
+coming out of a dream.
+
+"Oh, Lord!" groaned Trotter, very white in the face.
+
+There were tears in Miss Emsdale's eyes. "They--he means to drive you
+out of town," she murmured brokenly.
+
+"Fine chance of that!" cried Trotter violently.
+
+"Let us be calm," said M. Mirabeau, gently taking the young man's arm
+and leading him back to the box on which he had been sitting. "You must
+not play into their hands, and that is what you would be doing if you
+went to him in a rage. As long as you remain passive, nothing will come
+of all this. If you show your teeth, they will stop at nothing. Take my
+word for it, Trotter, before many hours have passed you will be
+interviewed by a detective,--a genuine detective, by the way, for some
+of them can be hired to do anything, my boy,--and you will be given your
+choice of going to prison or to some far distant city. You--"
+
+"But how in thunder is he going to prove that I took any marked bills
+from him? You've got to prove those things, you know. The courts would
+not--"
+
+"Just a moment! Did he pay you by check or with bank notes this
+morning?"
+
+"He gave me a check for thirty dollars, and three ten-dollar bills and a
+five." .
+
+"Have you them on your person at present?"
+
+"Not all of them. I have--wait a second! We'll see." He fumbled in his
+pocket for the bill-folder.
+
+"What did you do with the rest?"
+
+"Paid my landlady for--good Lord! I see what you mean! He paid me with
+marked bills! The--the damned scoundrel!"
+
+"He not only did that, my boy, but he put a man on your trail to recover
+them as fast as you disposed of them," said M. Mirabeau calmly.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER VIII
+
+                    LADY JANE GOES ABOUT IT PROMPTLY
+
+
+A FEW minutes before six o'clock that same afternoon, Mr. James
+Cricklewick, senior member of the firm of Cricklewick, Stackable & Co.,
+linen merchants, got up from his desk in the crowded little compartment
+labelled "Private," and peered out of the second-floor window into the
+busy street below. Thousands of people were scurrying along the
+pavements in the direction of the brilliantly lighted Fifth Avenue, a
+few rods away; vague, dusky, unrecognizable forms in the darkness that
+comes so early and so abruptly to the cross-town streets at the end of a
+young March day. The middle of the street presented a serried line of
+snow heaps, piled up by the shovellers the day before,--symmetrical
+little mountains that formed an impassable range over which no chauffeur
+had the temerity to bolt in his senseless ambition to pass the car
+ahead.
+
+Mr. James Cricklewick sighed. He knew from past experience that the Rock
+of Ages was but little more enduring than the snow-capped range in front
+of him. Time and a persistent sun inevitably would do the work of man,
+but in the meantime Mr. Cricklewick's wagons and trucks were a day and a
+half behind with deliveries, and that was worth sighing about. As he
+stood looking down the street, he sighed again. For more than forty
+years Mr. Cricklewick had made constant use of the phrase: "It's always
+something." If there was no one to say it to, he satisfied himself by
+condensing the lament into a strictly personal sigh.
+
+He first resorted to the remark far back in the days when he was in the
+service of the Marquis of Camelford. If it wasn't one thing that was
+going wrong it was another; in any event it was "always something."
+
+Prosperity and environment had not succeeded in bringing him to the
+point where he could snap his fingers and lightly say in the face of
+annoyances: "It's really nothing."
+
+The fact that he was, after twenty-five years of ceaseless climbing, at
+the head of the well-known and thoroughly responsible house of
+Cricklewick, Stackable & Co., Linen Merchants and Drapers,--(he insisted
+on attaching the London word, not through sentiment, but for the sake of
+isolation),--operated not at all in bringing about a becalmed state of
+mind. Habitually he was disturbed by little things, which should not be
+in the least surprising when one stops to think of the multitudinous
+annoyances he must have experienced while managing the staff of
+under-servants in the extensive establishment of the late Marquis of
+Camelford.
+
+He had never quite outgrown the temperament which makes for a good and
+dependable butler,--and that, in a way, accounts for the contention that
+"it is always something," and also for the excellent credit of the house
+he headed. Mr. Cricklewick made no effort to deceive himself. He
+occasionally deceived his wife in a mild and innocuous fashion by
+secretly reverting to form, but not for an instant did he deceive
+himself. He was a butler and he always would be a butler, despite the
+fact that the business and a certain section of the social world looked
+upon him as a very fine type of English gentleman, with a crest in his
+shop window and a popularly accepted record of having enjoyed a speaking
+acquaintance with Edward, the late King of England. Indeed, the late
+king appears to have enjoyed the same privilege claimed and exercised by
+the clerks, stenographers and floorwalkers in his employ, although His
+Majesty had a slight advantage over them in being free to call him
+"Cricky" to his face instead of behind his back.
+
+Mr. Cricklewick, falling into a snug fortune when he was forty-five and
+at a time when the Marquis felt it to be necessary to curtail expenses
+by not only reducing his staff of servants but also the salaries of
+those who remained, married very nicely into a draper's family, and soon
+afterward voyaged to America to open and operate a branch of the concern
+in New York City. His fortune, including the savings of twenty years,
+amounted to something like thirty thousand pounds, most of which had
+been accumulated by a sheep-raising brother who had gone to and died in
+Australia. He put quite a bit of this into the business and became a
+partner, making himself doubly welcome to a family that had suffered
+considerably through competition in business and a complete lack of it
+in respect to the matrimonial possibilities of five fully matured
+daughters.
+
+Mr. Cricklewick had the further good sense to marry the youngest,
+prettiest and most ambitious of the quintette, and thereby paved the way
+for satisfactory though wholly unexpected social achievements in the
+City of Now York. His wife, with the customary British scorn for
+Americans, developed snobbish tendencies that rather alarmed Mr.
+Cricklewick at the outset of his business career in New York, but which
+ultimately produced the most remarkable results.
+
+Almost before he was safely out of the habit of saying "thank you" when
+it wasn't at all necessary to say it, his wife had him down at Hot
+Springs, Virginia, for a month in the fall season, where, because of his
+exceptionally mellifluous English accent and a stateliness he had never
+been able to overcome, he was looked upon by certain Anglo-maniacs as a
+real and unmistakable "toff."
+
+Cricklewick had been brought up in, or on, the very best of society.
+From his earliest days as third groom in the Camelford menage to the end
+of his reign as major-domo, he had been in a position to observe and
+assimilate the manners of the elect. No one knew better than he how to
+go about being a gentleman. He had had his lessons, not to say examples,
+from the first gentlemen of England. Having been brought up on dukes and
+earls,--and all that sort of thing,--to say nothing of quite a majority
+in the House of Lords, he was in a fair way of knowing "what's what," to
+use his own far from original expression.
+
+You couldn't fool Cricklewick to save your life. The instant he looked
+upon you he could put you where you belonged, and, so far as he was
+concerned, that was where you would have to stay.
+
+It is doubtful if there was ever a more discerning, more discriminating
+butler in all England. It was his rather astonishing contention that one
+could be quite at one's ease with dukes and duchesses and absolutely
+ill-at-ease with ordinary people. That was his way of making the
+distinction. It wasn't possible to be on terms of intimacy with the
+people who didn't belong. They never seemed to know their place.
+
+The next thing he knew, after the Hot Springs visit, his name began to
+appear in the newspapers in columns next to advertising matter instead
+of the other way round. Up to this time it had been a struggle to get it
+in next to reading matter on account of the exorbitant rates demanded by
+the newspapers.
+
+He protested to his wife. "Oh, I say, my dear, this is cutting it a bit
+thick, you know. You can't really be in earnest about it. I shouldn't
+know how to act sitting down at a dinner table like that, you know. I am
+informed that these people are regarded as real swells over 'ere,--here,
+I should say. You must sit down and drop 'em a line saying we can't
+come. Say we've suddenly been called out of town, or had bad news from
+home, or--"
+
+"Rubbish! It will do them no end of good to see how you act at table.
+Haven't you had the very best of training? All you have to do--"
+
+"But I had it standing, my dear."
+
+"Just the same, I shall accept the invitation. They are very excellent
+people, and I see no reason why we shouldn't know the best while we're
+about it."
+
+"But they've got millions," he expostulated.
+
+"Well," said she, "you musn't believe everything you hear about people
+with millions. I must say that I've not seen anything especially vulgar
+about them. So don't let that stand in your way, old dear." It was
+unconscious irony.
+
+"It hasn't been a great while since I was a butler, my love; don't
+forget that. A matter of a little over seven years."
+
+"Pray do not forget," said she coldly, "that it hasn't been so very long
+since all these people over here were Indians."
+
+Mr. Cricklewick, being more or less hazy concerning overseas history,
+took heart. They went to the dinner and he, remembering just how certain
+noblemen of his acquaintance deported themselves, got on famously. And
+although his wife never had seen a duchess eat, except by proxy in the
+theatre, she left nothing to be desired,--except, perhaps, in the way of
+food, of which she was so fond that it was rather a bore to nibble as
+duchesses do.
+
+Being a sensible and far-seeing woman, she did not resent it when he
+mildly protested that Lady So-and-So wouldn't have done this, and the
+Duchess of You-Know wouldn't have done that. She looked upon him as a
+master in the School of Manners. It was not long before she was able not
+only to hold her own with the elite, but also to hold her lorgnette with
+them. If she did not care to see you in a crowd she could overlook you
+in the very smartest way.
+
+And so, after twenty or twenty-five years, we find the
+Cricklewicks,--mother, father and daughter,--substantially settled in
+the City of Masks, occupying an enviable position in society, and
+seldom, if ever,--even in the bosom of the family,--referring to the
+days of long ago,--a precaution no doubt inspired by the fear that they
+might be overheard and misunderstood by their own well-trained and
+admirable butler, whose respect they could not afford to lose.
+
+Once a week, on Wednesday nights, Mr. Cricklewick took off his mask. It
+was, in a sense, his way of going to confession. He told his wife,
+however, that he was going to the club.
+
+He sighed a little more briskly as he turned away from the window and
+crossed over to the closet in which his fur-lined coat and silk hat were
+hanging. It had taken time and a great deal of persuasion on the part of
+his wife to prove to him that it wasn't quite the thing to wear a silk
+hat with a sack coat in New York; he had grudgingly compromised with the
+barbaric demands of fashion by dispensing with the sack coat in favour
+of a cutaway. The silk hat was a fixture.
+
+"A lady asking to see you, sir," said his office-boy, after knocking on
+the door marked "Private."
+
+"Hold my coat for me, Thomas," said Mr. Cricklewick.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Thomas. "But she says you will see her, sir, just as
+soon as you gets a look at her."
+
+"Obviously," said Mr. Cricklewick, shaking himself down into the great
+coat. "Don't rub it the wrong way, you simpleton. You should always
+brush a silk hat with the nap and not--"
+
+"May I have a few words with you, Mr. Cricklewick?" inquired a sweet,
+clear voice from the doorway.
+
+The head of the house opened his lips to say something sharp to the
+office-boy, but the words died as he obeyed a magnetic influence and
+hazarded a glance at the intruder's face.
+
+"Bless my soul!" said he, staring. An instant later he had recovered
+himself. "Take my coat, Thomas. Come in, Lady--er--Miss Emsdale. Thank
+you. Run along, Thomas. This is--ah--a most unexpected pleasure." The
+door closed behind Thomas. "Pray have a chair, Miss Emsdale. Still quite
+cold, isn't it?"
+
+"I sha'n't detain you for more than five or ten minutes," said Miss
+Emsdale, sinking into a chair.
+
+"At your service,--quite at your service," said Mr. Cricklewick,
+dissolving in the presence of nobility. He could not have helped himself
+to save his life.
+
+Miss Emsdale came to the point at once. To save _her_ life she could not
+think of Cricklewick as anything but an upper servant.
+
+"Please see if we are quite alone, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, laying
+aside her little fur neck-piece.
+
+Mr. Cricklewick started. Like a flash there shot into his brain the
+voiceless groan: "It's always something." However, he made haste to
+assure her that they would not be disturbed. "It is closing time, you
+see," he concluded, not without hope.
+
+"I could not get here any earlier," she explained. "I stopped in to ask
+a little favour of you, Mr. Cricklewick."
+
+"You have only to mention it," said he, and then abruptly looked at his
+watch. The thought struck him that perhaps he did not have enough in his
+bill-folder; if not, it would be necessary to catch the cashier before
+the safe was closed for the day.
+
+"Lord Temple is in trouble, Mr. Cricklewick," she said, a queer little
+catch in her voice.
+
+"I--I am sorry to hear that," said he.
+
+"And I do not know of any one who is in a better position to help him
+than you," she went on coolly.
+
+"I shall be happy to be of service to Lord Temple," said Mr.
+Cricklewick, but not very heartily. Observation had taught him that
+young noblemen seldom if ever get into trouble half way; they make a
+practice of going in clean over their heads.
+
+"Owing to an unpleasant misunderstanding with Mr. Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis, he has lost his situation as chauffeur for Mr. Carpenter,"
+said she.
+
+"I hope he has not--ahem!--thumped him," said Mr. Cricklewick, in such
+dismay that he allowed the extremely undignified word to slip out.
+
+She smiled faintly. "I said unpleasant, Mr. Cricklewick,--not pleasant."
+
+"Bless my soul," said Mr. Cricklewick, blinking.
+
+"Mr. Smith-Parvis has prevailed upon Mr. Carpenter to dismiss him, and I
+fear, between them, they are planning to drive him out of the city in
+disgrace."
+
+"Bless me! This is too bad."
+
+Without divulging the cause of Smith-Parvis's animosity, she went
+briefly into the result thereof.
+
+"It is really infamous," she concluded, her eyes flashing. "Don't you
+agree with me?"
+
+Having it put to him so abruptly as that, Mr. Cricklewick agreed with
+her.
+
+"Well, then, we must put our heads together, Mr. Cricklewick," she said,
+with decision.
+
+"Quite so," said he, a little vaguely.
+
+"He is not to be driven out of the city," said she. "Nor is he to be
+unjustly accused of--of wrongdoing. We must see to that."
+
+Mr. Cricklewick cleared his throat. "He can avoid all that sort of
+thing, Lady--er--Miss Emsdale, by simply announcing that he is Lord
+Temple, heir to one of the--"
+
+"Oh, he wouldn't think of doing such a thing," said she quickly.
+
+"People would fall over themselves trying to put laurels on his head,"
+he urged. "And, unless I am greatly mistaken, the first to rush up would
+be the--er--the Smith-Parvises, headed by Stuyvesant."
+
+"No one knows the Smith-Parvises better than you, Mr. Cricklewick," she
+said, and for some reason he turned quite pink.
+
+"Mrs. Cricklewick and I have seen a great deal of them in the past few
+years," he said, almost apologetically.
+
+"And that encourages me to repeat that no one knows them better than
+you," she said coolly.
+
+"We are to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Parvis tonight," said Mr.
+Cricklewick.
+
+"Splendid!" she cried, eagerly. "That works in very nicely with the plan
+I have in mind. You must manage in some way to remark--quite casually,
+of course,--that you are very much interested in the affairs of a young
+fellow-countryman,--omitting the name, if you please,--who has been
+dismissed from service as a chauffeur, and who has been threatened--"
+
+"But my dear Miss Emsdale, I--"
+
+"--threatened with all sorts of things by his late employer. You may
+also add that you have communicated with our Ambassador at Washington,
+and that it is your intention to see your fellow-countryman through if
+it takes a--may I say leg, Mr. Cricklewick? Young Mr. Smith-Parvis will
+be there to hear you, so you may bluster as much as you please about
+Great Britain protecting her subjects to the very last shot. The entire
+machinery of the Foreign Office may be called into action, if necessary,
+to--but I leave all that to you. You might mention, modestly, that it's
+pretty ticklish business trying to twist the British lion's tail. Do you
+see what I mean?"
+
+Mr. Cricklewick may have had an inward conviction that this was hardly
+what you would call asking a favour of a person, but if he had he kept
+it pretty well to himself. It did not occur to him that his present
+position in the world, as opposed to hers, justified a rather stiff
+reluctance on his part to take orders, or even suggestions, from this
+penniless young person,--especially in his own sacred lair. On the
+contrary, he was possessed by the instant and enduring realization that
+it was the last thing he could bring himself to the point of doing. His
+father, a butler before him, had gone to considerable pains to convince
+him, at the outset of his career, that insolence is by far the greatest
+of vices.
+
+Still, in this emergency, he felt constrained to argue,--another vice
+sometimes modified by circumstances and the forbearance of one's
+betters.
+
+"But I haven't communicated with our Ambassador at Washington," he said.
+"And as for the Foreign Office taking the matter up--"
+
+"But, don't you see, _they_ couldn't possibly know that, Mr.
+Cricklewick," she interrupted, frowning slightly.
+
+"Quite true,--but I should be telling a falsehood if I said anything of
+the sort."
+
+"Knowing you to be an absolutely truthful and reliable man, Mr.
+Cricklewick," she said mendaciously, "they would not even dream of
+questioning your veracity. They do not believe you capable of telling a
+falsehood. Can't you see how splendidly it would all work out?"
+
+Mr. Cricklewick couldn't see, and said so.
+
+"Besides," he went on, "suppose that it should get to the ears of the
+Ambassador."
+
+"In that event, you could run over to Washington and tell him in private
+just who Thomas Trotter is, and then everything would be quite all
+right. You see," she went on earnestly, "all you have to do is to drop a
+few words for the benefit of young Mr. Smith-Parvis. He looks upon you
+as one of the most powerful and influential men in the city, and he
+wouldn't have you discover that he is in anyway connected with such a
+vile, underhanded--"
+
+"How am I to lead up to the subject of chauffeurs?" broke in
+Mr. Cricklewick weakly. "I can hardly begin talking about
+chauffeurs--er--out of a clear sky, you might say."
+
+"Don't begin by talking about chauffeurs," she counselled. "Lead up to
+the issue by speaking of the friendly relations that exist between
+England and America, and proceed with the hope that nothing may ever
+transpire to sever the bond of blood--and so on. You know what I mean.
+It is quite simple. And then look a little serious and distressed,--that
+ought to be easy, Mr. Cricklewick. You must see how naturally it all
+leads up to the unfortunate affair of your young countryman, whom you
+are bound to defend,--and _we_ are bound to defend,--no matter what the
+consequences may be."
+
+Two minutes later she arose triumphant, and put on her stole. Her eyes
+were sparkling.
+
+"I knew you couldn't stand by and see this outrageous thing done to Eric
+Temple. Thank you. I--goodness gracious, I quite forgot a most important
+thing. In the event that our little scheme does not have the desired
+result, and they persist in persecuting him, we must have something to
+fall back upon. I know McFaddan very slightly. (She did not speak of the
+ex-footman as Mr. McFaddan, nor did Cricklewick take account of the
+omission). He is, I am informed, one of the most influential men in New
+York,--one of the political bosses, Mr. Smith-Parvis says. He says he is
+a most unprincipled person. Well, don't you see, he is just the sort of
+person to fall back upon if all honest measures fail?"
+
+Mr. Cricklewick rather blankly murmured something about "honest
+measures," and then mopped his brow. Miss Emsdale's enthusiasm, while
+acutely ingenuous, had him "sweating blood," as he afterwards put it
+during a calm and lucid period of retrospection.
+
+"I--I assure you I have no influence with McFaddan," he began, looking
+at his handkerchief,--and being relieved, no doubt, to find no crimson
+stains,--applied it to his neck with some confidence and vigour. "In
+fact, we differ vastly in--"
+
+"McFaddan, being in a position to dictate to the police and, if it
+should come to the worst, to the magistrates, is a most valuable man to
+have on our side, Mr. Cricklewick. If you could see him tomorrow
+morning,--I suppose it is too late to see him this evening,--and tell
+him just what you want him to do, I'm sure--"
+
+"But, Miss Emsdale, you must allow me to say that McFaddan will
+absolutely refuse to take orders from me. He is no longer what you might
+say--er--in a position to be--er--you see what I mean, I hope."
+
+"Nonsense!" she said, dismissing his objection with a word. "McFaddan is
+an Irishman and therefore eternally committed to the under dog, right or
+wrong. When you explain the circumstances to him, he will come to our
+assistance like a flash. And don't, overlook the fact, Mr. Cricklewick,
+that McFaddan will never see the day when he can ignore a--a request
+from you." She had almost said command, but caught the word in time. "By
+the way, poor Trotter is out of a situation, and I may as well confess
+to you that he can ill afford to be without one. It has just occurred to
+me that you may know of some one among your wealthy friends, Mr.
+Cricklewick, who is in need of a good man. Please rack your brain. Some
+one to whom you can recommend him as a safe, skilful and competent
+chauffeur."
+
+"I am glad you mention it," said he, brightening perceptibly in the
+light of something tangible. "This afternoon I was called up on the
+telephone by a party--by some one, I mean to say,--asking for
+information concerning Klausen, the man who used to drive for me. I was
+obliged to say that his habits were bad, and that I could not recommend
+him. It was Mrs. Ellicott Millidew who inquired."
+
+"The young one or the old one?" inquired Miss Emsdale quickly.
+
+"The elder Mrs. Millidew," said Mr. Cricklewick, in a tone that implied
+deference to a lady who was entitled to it, even when she was not within
+earshot. "Not the pretty young widow," he added, risking a smile.
+
+"That's all right, then," said Miss Emsdale briskly. "I am sure it would
+be a most satisfactory place for him."
+
+"But she is a very exacting old lady," said he, "and will require
+references."
+
+"I am sure you can give him the very best of references," said she. "She
+couldn't ask for anything better than your word that he is a splendid
+man in every particular. Thank you so much, Mr. Cricklewick. And Lord
+Temple will be ever so grateful to you too, I'm sure. Oh, you cannot
+possibly imagine how relieved I am--about everything. We are very great
+friends, Lord Temple and I."
+
+He watched the faint hint of the rose steal into her cheeks and a
+velvety softness come into her eyes.
+
+"Nothing could be more perfect," he said, irrelevantly, but with real
+feeling, and the glow of the rose deepened.
+
+"Thank you again,--and good-bye," she said, turning toward the door.
+
+It was then that the punctilious Cricklewick forgot himself, and in his
+desire to be courteous, committed a most unpardonable offence.
+
+"My motor is waiting, Lady Jane," he said, the words falling out
+unwittingly. "May I not drop you at Mr. Smith-Parvis's door?"
+
+"No, thank you," she said graciously. "You are very good, but the stages
+go directly past the door."
+
+As the door closed behind her, Mr. Cricklewick sat down rather suddenly,
+overcome by his presumption. Think of it! He had had the brass to invite
+Lady Jane Thorne to accept a ride in his automobile! He might just as
+well have had the effrontery to ask her to dine at his house!
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER IX
+
+                 MR. TROTTER FALLS INTO A NEW POSITION
+
+
+THE sagacity of M. Mirabeau went far toward nullifying the
+hastily laid plans of Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. It was he who
+suggested a prompt effort to recover the two marked bills that
+Trotter had handed to his landlady earlier in the day.
+
+Prince Waldemar de Bosky, with a brand new twenty-dollar bill in his
+possession,--(supplied by the excited Frenchman)--boarded a Lexington
+Avenue car and in due time mounted the steps leading to the front door
+of the lodging house kept by Mrs. Dulaney. Ostensibly he was in search
+of a room for a gentleman of refinement and culture; Mrs. Dulaney's
+house had been recommended to him as first class in every particular.
+The landlady herself showed him a room, fourth-floor front, just vacated
+(she said) by a most refined gentleman engaged in the phonograph
+business. It was her rule to demand references from prospective lodgers,
+but as she had been in the business a great many years it was now
+possible for her to distinguish a gentleman the instant she laid eyes on
+him, so it would only be necessary for the present applicant to pay the
+first week's rent in advance. He could then move in at once.
+
+With considerable mortification, she declared that she wouldn't insist
+on the "advance,"--knowing gentlemen as perfectly as she did,--were it
+not for the fact that her rent was due and she was short exactly that
+amount,--having recently sent more than she could spare to a sick sister
+in Bridgeport.
+
+De Bosky was very amiable about it,--and very courteous. He said that,
+so far as he knew, all gentlemen were prepared to pay five dollars in
+advance when they engaged lodgings by the week, and would she be so good
+as to take it out of the twenty-dollar bill?
+
+Mrs. Dulaney was slightly chagrined. The sight of a twenty-dollar bill
+caused her to regret not having asked for two weeks down instead of one.
+
+"If it does not inconvenience you, madam," said de Bosky, "I should like
+the change in new bills. You have no idea how it offends my artistic
+sense to--" He shuddered a little. "I make a point of never having
+filthy, germ-disseminating bank notes on my person."
+
+"And you are quite right," said she feelingly. "I wish to God I could
+afford to be as particular. If there's anything I hate it's a dirty old
+bill. Any one could tell that you are a real gentleman, Mr.--Mr.--I
+didn't get the name, did I?"
+
+"Drexel," he said.
+
+"Excuse me," she said, and moved over a couple of paces in order to
+place the parlour table between herself and the prospective lodger.
+Using it as a screen, she fished a thin flat purse from her stocking,
+and opened it. "I wouldn't do this in the presence of any one but a
+gentleman," she explained, without embarrassment. As she was twice the
+size of Prince Waldemar and of a ruggedness that challenged offence, one
+might have been justified in crediting her with egotism instead of
+modesty.
+
+Selecting the brightest and crispest from the layer of bank notes, she
+laid them on the table. De Bosky's eyes glistened.
+
+"The city has recently been flooded with counterfeit fives and tens,
+madam," he said politely. This afforded an excuse for holding the bills
+to the light for examination.
+
+"Now, don't tell me they're phoney," said Mrs. Dulaney, bristling. "I
+got 'em this morning from the squarest chap I've ever had in my--"
+
+"I have every reason to believe they are genuine," said he, concealing
+his exultation behind a patronizing smile. He had discovered the
+tell-tale marks on both bills. Carefully folding them, he stuck them
+into his waistcoat pocket. "You may expect me tomorrow, madam,--unless,
+of course, destiny should shape another end for me in the meantime. One
+never can tell, you know. I may be dead, or your comfortable house may
+be burned to the ground. It is--"
+
+"For the Lord's sake, don't make a crack like that," she cried
+vehemently. "It's bad luck to talk about fire."
+
+"In any event," said he jauntily, "you have my five dollars. Au revoir,
+madam. Auf wiedersehn!" He buttoned Mr. Bramble's ulster close about his
+throat and gravely bowed himself out into the falling night.
+
+In the meantime, Mr. Bramble had substituted two unmarked bills for
+those remaining in the possession of Thomas Trotter, and, with the
+return of Prince Waldemar, triumphant, M. Mirabeau arbitrarily
+confiscated the entire thirty dollars.
+
+"These bills must be concealed at once," he explained. "Temporarily they
+are out of circulation. Do not give them another thought, my dear
+Trotter. And now, Monsieur Bookseller, we are in a proper frame of mind
+to discuss the beefsteak you have neglected to order."
+
+"God bless my soul," cried Mr. Bramble in great dismay. His
+unceremonious departure an instant later was due to panic. Mrs. O'Leary
+had to be stopped before the tripe and tunny fish had gone too far.
+Moreover, he had forgotten to tell her that there would be two extra for
+dinner,--besides the extra sirloin.
+
+On the following Monday, Thomas Trotter entered the service of Mrs.
+Millidew, and on the same day Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis returned to New
+York after a hasty and more or less unpremeditated visit to Atlantic
+City, where he experienced a trying half hour with the unreasonable Mr.
+Carpenter, who spoke feelingly of a personal loss and most unfeelingly
+of the British Foreign Office. Every nation in the world, he raged, has
+a foreign office; foreign offices are as plentiful as birds'-nests. But
+Tom Trotters were as scarce as hen's-teeth. He would never find another
+like him.
+
+"And what's more," he interrupted himself to say, glowering at the
+shocked young man, "he's a gentleman, and that's something you
+ain't,--not in a million years."
+
+"Ass!" said Mr. Smith-Parvis, under his breath.
+
+"What's that?" roared the aggrieved one.
+
+"Don't shout like that! People are beginning to stare at--"
+
+"Thank the Lord I had sense enough to engage a private detective and not
+to call in the police, as you suggested. That would have been the limit.
+I've a notion to hunt that boy up and tell him the whole rotten story."
+
+"Go ahead and do it," invited Stuyvie, his eyes narrowing, "and I will
+do a little telling myself. There is one thing in particular your wife
+would give her ears to hear about you. It will simplify matters
+tremendously. Go ahead and tell him."
+
+Mr. Carpenter appeared to be reflecting. His inflamed sullen eyes
+assumed a misty, faraway expression.
+
+"For two cents I'd tell you to go to hell," he said, after a long
+silence.
+
+"Boy!" called Mr. Smith-Parvis loftily, signalling a passing bell-hop.
+"Go and get me some small change for this nickel."
+
+Mr. Carpenter's face relaxed into a sickly grin. "Can't you take a
+joke?" he inquired peevishly.
+
+"Never mind," said Stuyvie to the bell-boy. "I sha'n't need it after
+all."
+
+"What I'd like to know," mused Mr. Carpenter, later on, "is how in
+thunder the New York police department got wind of all this."
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis, Junior, wiped a fine moisture from his brow, and said:
+"I forgot to mention that I had to give that plain-clothes man fifty
+dollars to keep him from going to old man Cricklewick with the whole
+blooming story. It seems that he got it from your bally private
+detective."
+
+"Good!" said the other brightly. "You got off cheap," he added quickly,
+catching the look in Stuyvie's eye.
+
+"I did it to spare Cricklewick a whole lot of embarrassment," said the
+younger man stiffly.
+
+"I don't get you."
+
+"He never could look me in the face again if he found out I was the man
+he was panning so unmercifully the other night at our own dinner table."
+He wiped his brow again. "'Gad, he'd never forgive himself."
+
+Which goes to prove that Stuyvie was more considerate of the feelings of
+others than one might have credited him with being.
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+Mrs. Millidew was very particular about chauffeurs,--an idiosyncrasy, it
+may be said, that brought her into contact with a great many of them in
+the course of a twelvemonth. The last one to leave her without giving
+the customary week's notice had remained in her employ longer than any
+of his predecessors. A most astonishing discrepancy appeared in their
+statements as to the exact length of time he was in her service. Mrs.
+Millidew maintained that he was with her for exactly three weeks; the
+chauffeur swore to high heaven that it was three centuries.
+
+She had Thomas Trotter up before her.
+
+"You have been recommended to me by Mr. Cricklewick," she said,
+regarding him with a critical eye. "No other reference is necessary, so
+don't go fumbling in your pockets for a pack of filthy envelopes. What
+is your name?"
+
+She was a fat little old woman with yellow hair and exceedingly black
+and carefully placed eyebrows.
+
+"Thomas Trotter, madam."
+
+"How tall are you?"
+
+"Six feet."
+
+"I am afraid you will not do," she said, taking another look at him.
+
+Trotter stared. "I am sorry, madam."
+
+"You are much too tall. Nothing will fit you."
+
+"Are you speaking of livery, madam?"
+
+"I'm speaking of a uniform," she said. "I can't be buying new uniforms
+every two weeks. I don't mind a cap once in awhile, but uniforms cost
+money. Mr. Cricklewick didn't tell me you were so tall. As a matter of
+fact, I think I neglected to say to him that you would have to be under
+five feet nine and fairly thin. You couldn't possibly squeeze into the
+uniform, my man. I am sorry. I have tried everything but an English
+chauffeur, and--you _are_ English, aren't you?"
+
+"Yes, madam. Permit me to solve the problem for you. I never, under any
+circumstances, wear livery,--I beg your pardon, I should say a uniform."
+
+"You never what?" demanded Mrs. Millidew, blinking.
+
+"Wear livery," said he, succinctly.
+
+"That settles it," said she. "You'd have to if you worked for me. Now,
+see here, my man, it's possible you'll change your mind after you've
+seen the uniform I put on my chauffeurs. It's a sort of maroon--"
+
+"I beg your pardon, madam," he interrupted politely, favouring her with
+his never-failing smile. Her gaze rested for a moment on his white, even
+teeth, and then went up to meet his deep grey eyes. "A cap is as far as
+I go. A sort of blue fatigue cap, you know."
+
+"I like your face," said she regretfully. "You are quite a good-looking
+fellow. The last man I had looked like a street cleaner, even in his
+maroon coat and white pants. I--Don't you think you could be persuaded
+to put it on if I,--well, if I added five dollars a week to your wages?
+I like your looks. You look as if you might have been a soldier."
+
+Trotter swallowed hard. "I shouldn't in the least object to wearing the
+uniform of a soldier, Mrs. Millidew. That's quite different, you see."
+
+"Suppose I take you on trial for a couple of weeks," she ventured,
+surrendering to his smile and the light in his unservile eyes.
+Considering the matter settled, she went on brusquely: "How old are you,
+Trotter?"
+
+"Thirty."
+
+"Are you married? I never employ married men. Their wives are always
+having babies or operations or something disagreeable and unnecessary."
+
+"I am not married, Mrs. Millidew."
+
+"Who was your last employer in England?"
+
+"His Majesty King George the Fifth," said Trotter calmly.
+
+Her eyes bulged. "What?" she cried. Then her eyes narrowed. "And do you
+mean to tell me you didn't wear a uniform when you worked for him?"
+
+"I wore a uniform, madam."
+
+"Umph! America has spoiled you, I see. That's always the way.
+Independence is a curse. Have you ever been arrested? Wait! Don't
+answer. I withdraw the question. You would only lie, and that is a bad
+way to begin."
+
+"I lie only when it is absolutely necessary, Mrs. Millidew. In police
+courts, for example."
+
+"Good! Now, you are young, good looking and likely to be spoiled. It
+must be understood in the beginning, Trotter, that there is to be no
+foolishness with women." She regarded him severely.
+
+"No foolishness whatsoever," said he humbly, raising his eyes to heaven.
+
+"How long were you employed in your last job--ah, situation?"
+
+"Not quite a twelve-month, madam."
+
+"And now," she said, with a graciousness that surprised her, "perhaps
+you would like to put a few questions to me. The cooks always do."
+
+He smiled more engagingly than ever. "As they say in the advertisements
+of lost jewellery, madam,--'no questions asked,'" he said.
+
+"Eh? Oh, I see. Rather good. I hope you know your place, though," she
+added, narrowly. "I don't approve of freshness."
+
+"No more do I," said he, agreeably.
+
+"I suppose you are accustomed to driving in--er--in good society,
+Trotter. You know what I mean."
+
+"Perfectly. I have driven in the very best, madam, if I do say it as
+shouldn't. Beg pardon, I daresay you mean smart society?" He appeared to
+be very much concerned, even going so far as to send an appraising eye
+around the room,--doubtless for the purpose of satisfying himself that
+_she_ was quite up to the standard.
+
+"Of course," she said hastily. Something told her that if she didn't nab
+him on the spot he would get away from her. "Can you start in at once,
+Trotter?"
+
+"We have not agreed upon the wages, madam."
+
+"I have never paid less than forty a week," she said stiffly. "Even for
+bad ones," she added.
+
+He smiled, but said nothing, apparently waiting for her to proceed.
+
+"Would fifty a week suit you?" she asked, after a long pause. She was a
+little helpless.
+
+"Quite," said he.
+
+"It's a lot of money," she murmured. "But I like the way you speak
+English. By the way, let me hear you say: 'It is half after four, madam.
+Are you going on to Mrs. Brown's.'"
+
+Trotter laid himself out. He said "hawf-paast," and "fou-ah," and
+"Meddem," and "gehing," in a way that delighted her.
+
+"I shall be going out at three o'clock, Trotter. Be on time. I insist on
+punctuality."
+
+"Very good, madam," he said, and retreated in good order. She halted him
+at the door.
+
+"Above all things you mustn't let any of these silly women make a fool
+of you, Trotter," she said, a troubled gleam in her eyes.
+
+"I will do my best, madam," he assured her.
+
+And that very afternoon she appeared in triumph at the home of her
+daughter-in-law (the _young_ Mrs. Millidew) and invited that widowed
+siren to go out for a spin with her "behind the stunningest creature you
+ever laid your eyes on."
+
+"Where did you get him?" inquired the beautiful daughter-in-law, later
+on, in a voice perfectly audible to the man at the wheel. "He's the best
+looking thing in town. Don't be surprised if I steal him inside of a
+week." She might as well have been at the zoo, discussing impervious
+captives.
+
+"Now, don't try anything like that," cried Mrs. Millidew the elder,
+glaring fiercely.
+
+"I like the way his hair kinks in the back,--and just above his ears,"
+said the other. "And his skin is as smooth and as clear--"
+
+"Is there any drive in particular you would like to take, madam?" broke
+in Trotter, turning in the seat.
+
+"Up--up and down Fifth Avenue," said Mrs. Millidew promptly.
+
+"Did you ever see such teeth?" cried Mrs. Millidew, the younger,
+delightedly.
+
+Trotter's ears were noticeable on account of their colour.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER X
+
+               PUTTING THEIR HEADS--AND HEARTS--TOGETHER
+
+
+"FOR every caress," philosophized the Marchioness, "there is a pinch.
+Somehow they manage to keep on pretty even terms. One receives the
+caresses fairly early in life, the pinches later on. You shouldn't be
+complaining at your time of life, my friend."
+
+She was speaking to Lord Temple, who had presented himself a full thirty
+minutes ahead of other expected guests at the Wednesday evening salon.
+He explained that he came early because he had to leave early. Mrs.
+Millidew was at the theatre. She was giving a box party. He had been
+directed to return to the theatre before the end of the second act. Mrs.
+Millidew, it appears, was in the habit of "walking out" on every play
+she attended, sometimes at the end of an act but more frequently in the
+middle of it, greatly to the relief of actors and audience.
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+("Tell me something good to read," said one of her guests, in the middle
+of the first act, addressing no one in particular, the audience being a
+very large one. "Is there anything new that's worth while?"
+
+"_The Three Musketeers_ is a corker," said the man next her. "Awfully
+exciting."
+
+"Write it down for me, dear boy. I will order it sent up tomorrow. One
+has so little time to read, you know. Anything else?"
+
+"You _must_ read _Trilby_," cried one of the other women, frowning
+slightly in the direction of the stage, where an actor was doing his
+best to break into the general conversation. "It's perfectly ripping, I
+hear. And there is another book called _Three Men in a Yacht_, or
+something like that. Have you had it?"
+
+"No. Good Lord, what a noisy person he is! One can't hear oneself think,
+the way he's roaring. _Three Men in a Yacht._ Put that down, too,
+Bertie. Dear me, how do you find the time to keep up with your reading,
+my dear? It's absolutely impossible for me. I'm always six months or a
+year behind--"
+
+"Have you read _Brewster's Millions_, Mrs. Corkwright?" timidly inquired
+a rather up-to-date gentleman.
+
+"That isn't a book. It's a play," said Mrs. Millidew. "I saw it ten
+years ago. There is a ship in it.")
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+"I'm not complaining," remarked Lord Temple, smiling down upon the
+Marchioness, who was seated in front of the fireplace. "I merely
+announced that the world is getting to be a dreary old place,--and
+that's all."
+
+"Ah, but you made the announcement after a silence of five minutes
+following my remark that Lady Jane Thorne finds it impossible to be with
+us tonight."
+
+He blushed. "Did it seem as long as that?" he said, penitently. "I'm
+sorry."
+
+"How do you like your new situation?" she inquired, changing the subject
+abruptly.
+
+He gave a slight start. It was an unwritten law that one's daily
+occupation should not be discussed at the weekly drawing-rooms. For
+example, it is easy to conceive that one could not be forgiven for
+asking the Count Pietro Poloni how many nickels he had taken in during
+the day as Humpy the Organ-grinder.
+
+Lord Temple also stared. Was it possible that she was forgetting that
+Thomas Trotter, the chauffeur, was hanging over the back of a chair in
+the locker room down-stairs,--where he had been left by a hurried and
+somewhat untidy Lord Temple?
+
+"As well as could be expected," he replied, after a moment.
+
+"Mrs. Millidew came in to see me today. She informed me that she had put
+in her thumb and pulled out a plum. Meaning you, of course."
+
+"How utterly English you are, my dear Marchioness. She mentioned a fruit
+of some kind, and you missed the point altogether. 'Peach' is the word
+she's been using for the past two days, just plain, ordinary 'peach.' A
+dozen times a day she sticks a finger almost up against my manly back,
+and says proudly: 'See my new chauffeur. Isn't he a peach?' I can't see
+how you make plum out of it."
+
+The Marchioness laughed. "It doesn't matter. She dragged me to the
+window this afternoon and pointed down at you sitting alone in all your
+splendour. I am afraid I gasped. I couldn't believe my eyes. You won't
+last long, dear boy. She's a dreadful woman."
+
+"I'm not worrying. I shouldn't be out of a situation long. Do you happen
+to know her daughter-in-law?"
+
+"I do," said the Marchioness, frowning.
+
+"She told me this morning that the instant I felt I couldn't stand
+the old lady any longer, she'd give me a job on the spot. As a
+matter-of-fact, she went so far as to say she'd be willing to pay me
+more money if I felt the slightest inclination to leave my present
+position at once."
+
+The Marchioness smiled faintly. "No other recommendation necessary, eh?"
+
+"Beg pardon?"
+
+"In other words, she is willing to accept you at your face value."
+
+"I daresay I have a competent face," he acknowledged, his smile
+broadening into a grin.
+
+"Designed especially for women," said she.
+
+He coloured. "Oh, I say, that's a bit rough."
+
+"And thoroughly approved by men," she added.
+
+"That's better," he said. "I'm not a ladies' man, you know,--thank God."
+His face clouded. "Is Lady Jane ill?"
+
+"Apparently not. She merely telephoned to say it would be impossible to
+come." She eyed him shrewdly. "Do you know anything about it, young
+man?"
+
+"Have you seen her,--lately?" he parried.
+
+"Yesterday afternoon," she answered, keeping her eyes upon his
+half-averted face. "See here, Eric Temple," she broke out suddenly, "she
+is unhappy--most unhappy. I am not sure that I ought to tell you--and
+yet, you are in love with her, so you should know. Now, don't say you
+are not in love with her! Save your breath. The trouble is, you are not
+the only man who is in that peculiar fix."
+
+"I know," he said, frowning darkly. "She's being annoyed by that
+infernal blighter."
+
+"Oho, so you _do_ know, then?" she cried. "She was very careful to leave
+you out of the story altogether. Well, I'm glad you know. What are you
+going to do about it?"
+
+"I? Why,--why, what _can_ I do?"
+
+"There is a great deal you can do."
+
+"But she has laid down the law, hard and fast. She won't let me," he
+groaned.
+
+The Marchioness blinked rapidly. "Well, of all the stupid,--Say that
+again, please."
+
+"She won't let me. I would in a second, you know,--no matter if it did
+land me in jail for--"
+
+"What are you talking about?" she gasped.
+
+"Punching his bally head till he wouldn't know it himself in the
+mirror," he grated, looking at his fist almost tearfully.
+
+The Marchioness opened her lips to say something, thought better of it,
+and turned her head to smile.
+
+"Moreover," he went on, "she's right. Might get her into no end of a
+mess with those people, you see. It breaks my heart to think of her--"
+
+"He wants her to run away with him and be married," she broke in.
+
+"What!" he almost shouted, glaring at her as if she were the real
+offender. "You--did she tell you that?"
+
+"Yes. He rather favours San Francisco. He wants her to go out there with
+him and be married by a chap to whom he promised the distinction while
+they were still in their teens."
+
+"The cur! That's his game, is it? Why, that's the foulest trick known
+to--"
+
+"But she isn't going, my friend,--so possess yourself in peace. That's
+why he is turning off so nasty. He is making things most unpleasant for
+her."
+
+He wondered how far Jane had gone in her confidences. Had she told the
+Marchioness everything?
+
+"Why doesn't she leave the place?" he demanded, as a feeler.
+
+Lady Jane had told the Marchioness everything, and a great deal more
+besides, including, it may be said, something touching upon her own
+feelings toward Lord Temple. But the Marchioness was under imperative
+orders. Not for the world, was Thomas Trotter to know that Miss Emsdale,
+among others, was a perfect fool about him.
+
+"She must have her bread and butter, you know," said she severely.
+
+"But she can get that elsewhere, can't she?"
+
+"Certainly. She can get it by marrying some decent, respectable fellow
+and all that sort of thing, but she can't get another place in New York
+as governess if the Smith-Parvis establishment turns her out with a bad
+name."
+
+He swallowed hard, and went a little pale. "Of course, she isn't
+thinking of--of getting married."
+
+"Yes, she is," said the Marchioness flatly.
+
+"Has--has she told you that in so many words, Marchioness?" he asked,
+his heart going to his boots.
+
+"Is it fair to ask that question, Lord Temple?"
+
+"No. It isn't fair. I have no right to pry into her affairs. I'm--I'm
+desperately concerned, that's all. It's my only excuse."
+
+"It isn't strange that she should be in love, is it?"
+
+"But I--I don't see who the deuce she can have found over here to--to
+fall in love with," he floundered.
+
+"There are millions of good, fine Americans, my friend. Young
+Smith-Parvis is one of the exceptions."
+
+"He isn't an American," said Lord Temple, savagely. "Don't insult
+America by mentioning his name in--"
+
+"Please, please! Be careful not to knock over the lamp, dear boy. It's
+Florentine, and Count Antonio says it came from some dreadful
+sixteenth-century woman's bedroom, price two hundred guineas net. She's
+afraid she's being watched."
+
+"She? Oh, you mean Lady Jane?"
+
+"Certainly. The other woman has been dead for centuries. Jane thinks it
+isn't safe for her to come here for a little while. There's no telling
+what the wretch may stoop to, you see."
+
+Lord Temple squared his shoulders. "I don't see how you can be so
+cheerful about it," he said icily. "I fear it isn't worth while to ask
+the favour I came to--er--to ask of you tonight."
+
+"Don't be silly. Tell me what I can do for you."
+
+"It isn't for me. It's for her. I came early tonight so that we could
+talk it all over before any one else arrived. I've slept precious little
+the last few nights, Marchioness." His brow was furrowed as with pain.
+"In the first place, you will agree that she cannot remain in that house
+up there. That's settled." As she did not offer any audible support, he
+demanded, after a pause: "Isn't it?"
+
+"I daresay she will have something to say about that," she said,
+temporizing. "She is her own mistress, you know."
+
+"But the poor girl doesn't know where to turn," he protested. "She'd
+chuck it in a second if something else turned up."
+
+"I spoke of marriage, you will remember," she remarked, drily.
+
+"I--I know," he gulped. "But we've just got to tide her over the rough
+going until she's--until she's ready, you see." He could not force the
+miserable word out of his mouth. "Now, I have a plan. Are you prepared
+to back me up in it?"
+
+"How can I answer that question?"
+
+"Well, I'll explain," he went on rapidly, eagerly. "We've got to make a
+new position for her. I can't do it without your help, of course, so
+we'll have to combine forces. Now, here's the scheme I've worked out.
+You are to give her a place here,--not downstairs in the shop, mind
+you,--but upstairs in your own, private apartment. You--"
+
+"Good heavens, man! What are you saying? Would you have Lady Jane Thorne
+go into service? Do you dare suggest that she should put on a cap and
+apron and--"
+
+"Not at all," he interrupted. "I want you to engage her as your private
+secretary, at a salary of one hundred dollars a month. She's receiving
+that amount from the Smith-Parvises. I don't see how she can get along
+on less, so--"
+
+"My dear man!" cried the Marchioness, in amazement. "What _are_ you
+talking about? In the first place, I haven't the slightest use for a
+private secretary. In the second place, I can't afford to pay one
+hundred--"
+
+"You haven't heard all I have to say--"
+
+"And in the third place, Lady Jane wouldn't consider it in the first
+place. Bless my soul, you _do_ need sleep. You are losing your--"
+
+"She sends nearly all of her salary over to the boy at home," he went on
+earnestly. "It will have to be one hundred dollars, at the very lowest.
+Now, here's my proposition. I am getting two hundred a month. It's just
+twice as much as I'm worth,--or any other chauffeur, for that matter.
+Well, now what's the matter with me taking just what I'm worth and
+giving her the other half? See what I mean?"
+
+He was standing before her, his eyes glowing, his voice full of boyish
+eagerness. As she looked up into his shining eyes, a tender smile came
+and played about her lips.
+
+"I see," she said softly.
+
+"Well?" he demanded anxiously, after a moment.
+
+"Do sit down," she said. "You appear to have grown prodigiously tall in
+the last few minutes. I shall have a dreadful crick in my neck, I'm
+afraid."
+
+He pulled up a chair and sat down.
+
+"I can get along like a breeze on a hundred dollars a month," he
+pursued. "I've worked it all out,--just how much I can save by moving
+into cheaper lodgings, and cutting out expensive cigarettes, and going
+on the water-wagon entirely,--although I rarely take a drink as it
+is,--and getting my clothes at a department store instead of having them
+sent out from London,--I'd be easy to fit, you see, even with
+hand-me-downs,--and in a lot of other ways. Besides, it would be a
+splendid idea for me to practise economy. I've never--"
+
+"You dear old goose," broke in the Marchioness, delightedly; "do you
+think for an instant that I will allow you to pay the salary of my
+private secretary,--if I should conclude to employ one?"
+
+"But you say you can't afford to employ one," he protested. "Besides, I
+shouldn't want her to be a real secretary. The work would be too hard
+and too confining. Old Bramble was my grandfather's secretary. He worked
+sixteen hours a day and never had a holiday. She must have plenty of
+fresh air and outdoor exercise and--and time to read and do all sorts of
+agreeable things. I couldn't think of allowing her to learn how to use a
+typing machine, or to write shorthand, or to get pains in her back
+bending over a desk for hours at a time. That isn't my scheme, at all.
+She mustn't do any of those stupid things. Naturally, if you were to pay
+her out of your own pocket, you'd be justified in demanding a lot of
+hard, exacting work--"
+
+"Just a moment, please. Let's be serious," said the Marchioness, pursing
+her lips.
+
+"Suffering--" he began, staring at her in astonishment.
+
+"I mean, let's seriously consider your scheme," she hastened to amend.
+"You are assuming, of course, that she will accept a position such as
+you suggest. Suppose she says no,--what then?"
+
+"I leave that entirely to you," said he, composedly. "You can persuade
+her, I'm sure."
+
+"She is no fool. She is perfectly well aware that I don't require the
+services of a secretary, that I am quite able to manage my private
+affairs myself. She would see through me in a second. She is as proud as
+Lucifer. I don't like to think of what she would say to me. And if I
+were to offer to pay her one hundred dollars a month, she would--well,
+she would think I was losing my mind. She knows I--"
+
+"By Jove!" he exclaimed, slapping his knee, his face beaming. "That's
+the ticket! That simplifies everything. Let her think you _are_ losing
+your mind. From worry and overwork--and all that sort of thing. It's the
+very thing, Marchioness. She would drop everything to help you in a case
+like that."
+
+"Well, of all the--" began the Marchioness, aghast.
+
+"You can put it up to her something like this," he went on,
+enthusiastically. "Tell her you are on the point of having a nervous
+breakdown,--a sort of collapse, you know. You know how to put it, better
+than I do. You--"
+
+"I certainly do _not_ know how to put it better than you do," she cried,
+sitting up very straight.
+
+"Tell her you are dreadfully worried over not being able to remember
+things,--mental strain, and all that sort of thing. May have to give up
+business altogether unless you can--Is it a laughing matter,
+Marchioness?" he broke off, reddening to the roots of his hair.
+
+"You are delicious!" she cried, dabbing her eyes with a bit of a lace
+handkerchief. "I haven't laughed so heartily in months. Bless my soul,
+you'll have me telling her there is insanity in my family before you're
+through with it."
+
+"Not at all," he said severely. "People _never_ admit that sort of
+thing, you know. But certainly it isn't asking too much of you to act
+tired and listless, and a _little_ distracted, is it? She'll ask what's
+the matter, and you simply say you're afraid you're going to have a
+nervous breakdown or--or--"
+
+"Or paresis," she supplied.
+
+"Whatever you like," he said promptly. "Now you _will_ do this for me,
+won't you? You don't know what it will mean to me to feel that she is
+safe here with you."
+
+"I will do my best," she said, for she loved him dearly--and the girl
+that he loved dearly too.
+
+"Hurray!" he shouted,--and kissed her!
+
+"Don't be foolish," she cried out. "You've tumbled my hair, and Julia
+had a terrible time with it tonight."
+
+"When will you tackle--see her, I mean?" he asked, sitting down abruptly
+and drawing his chair a little closer.
+
+"The first time she comes in to see me," she replied firmly, "and not
+before. You must not demand too much of a sick, collapsible old lady,
+you know. Give me time,--and a chance to get my bearings."
+
+He drew a long breath. "I seem to be getting my own for the first time
+in days."
+
+She hesitated. "Of course, it is all very quixotic,--and most unselfish
+of you, Lord Temple. Not every man would do as much for a girl
+who--well, I'll not say a girl who is going to be married before long,
+because I'd only be speculating,--but for a girl, at any rate, who can
+never be expected to repay. I take it, of course, that Lady Jane is
+never, under any circumstances to know that you are the real paymaster."
+
+"She must never know," he gasped, turning a shade paler. "She would hate
+me, and--well, I couldn't stand that, you know."
+
+"And you will not repent when the time comes for her to marry?"
+
+"I'll--I'll be miserably unhappy, but--but, you will not hear a whimper
+out of me," he said, his face very long.
+
+"Spoken like a hero," she said, and again she laughed, apparently
+without reason. "Some one is coming. Will you stay?"
+
+"No; I'll be off, Marchioness. You don't know how relieved I am. I'll
+drop in tomorrow some time to see what she says,--and to arrange with
+you about the money. Good night!" He kissed her hand, and turned to
+McFaddan, who had entered the room. "Call a taxi for me, McFaddan."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+"Wait! Never mind. I'll walk or take a street car." To the Marchioness:
+"I'm beginning right now," he said, with his gayest smile.
+
+In the foyer he encountered Cricklewick.
+
+"Pleasant evening, Cricklewick," he said.
+
+"It is, your lordship. Most agreeable change, sir."
+
+"A bit soft under foot."
+
+"Slushy, sir," said Cricklewick, obsequiously.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XI
+
+                           WINNING BY A NOSE
+
+
+MRS. SMITH-PARVIS, having received the annual spring announcement
+from Juneo & Co., repaired, on an empty Thursday, to the show-rooms
+and galleries of the little Italian dealer in antiques.
+
+Twice a year she disdainfully,--and somewhat hastily,--went through
+his stock, always proclaiming at the outset that she was merely
+"looking around"; she'd come in later if she saw anything really
+worth having. It was her habit to demand the services of Mr. Juneo
+himself on these profitless visits to his establishment. She looked
+holes through the presumptuous underlings who politely adventured to
+inquire if she was looking for anything in particular. It would seem
+that the only thing in particular that she was looking for was the
+head of the house, and if he happened to be out she made it very
+plain that she didn't see how he ever did any business if he wasn't
+there to look after it.
+
+And if little Mr. Juneo was in, she swiftly conducted him through
+the various departments of his own shop, questioning the genuineness
+of everything, denouncing his prices, and departing at last with the
+announcement that she could always find what she wanted at
+Pickett's.
+
+At Pickett's she invariably encountered coldly punctilious gentlemen
+in "frockaway" coats, who were never quite sure, without inquiring,
+whether Mr. Moody was at liberty. Would she kindly take a seat and
+wait, or would she prefer to have a look about the galleries while
+some one went off to see if he could see her at once or a little
+later on? She liked all this. And she would wander about the
+luxurious rooms of the establishment of Pickett, Inc., content to
+stare languidly at other and less influential patrons who had to be
+satisfied with the smug attentions of ordinary salesmen.
+
+And Moody, being acutely English, laid it on very thick when it came
+to dealing with persons of the type of Mrs. Smith-Parvis. Somehow he
+had learned that in dealing with snobs one must transcend even in
+snobbishness. The only way to command the respect of a snob is to go
+him a little better,--indeed, according to Moody, it isn't altogether
+out of place to go him a great deal better. The loftier the snob, the
+higher you must shoot to get over his head (to quote Moody, whose
+training as a footman in one of the oldest houses in England had
+prepared him against almost any emergency). He assumed on occasion a
+polite, bored indifference that seldom failed to have the desired
+effect. In fact, he frequently went so far as to pretend to stifle a
+yawn while face to face with the most exalted of patrons,--a revelation
+of courage which, being carefully timed, usually put the patron in a
+corner from which she could escape only by paying a heavy ransom.
+
+He sometimes had a way of implying,--by his manner, of course,--that
+he would rather not sell the treasure at all than to have it go into
+_your_ mansion, where it would be manifestly alone in its splendour,
+notwithstanding the priceless articles you had picked up elsewhere
+in previous efforts to inhabit the place with glory. On the other
+hand, if you happened to be nobody at all and therefore likely to
+resent being squelched, he could sell you a ten-dollar candlestick
+quite as amiably as the humblest clerk in the place. Indeed, he was
+quite capable of giving it to you for nine dollars if he found he
+had not quite correctly sized you up in the beginning.
+
+As he never erred in sizing up people of the Smith-Parvis ilk, however,
+his profits were sublime. Accident, and nothing less, brought him into
+contact with the common people looking for bargains: such as the faulty
+adjustment of his monocle, or a similarity in backs, or the perverseness
+of the telephone, or a sudden shower. Sudden showers always remind
+pedestrians without umbrellas that they've been meaning for a long time
+to stop in and price things, and they clutter up the place so.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis was bent on discovering something cheap and unusual
+for the twins, whose joint birthday anniversary was but two days off. It
+occurred to her that it would be wise to give them another heirloom
+apiece. Something English, of course, in view of the fact that her
+husband's forebears had come over from England with the twenty or thirty
+thousand voyagers who stuffed the _Mayflower_ from stem to stern on her
+historic maiden trip across the Atlantic.
+
+Secretly, she had never got over being annoyed with the twins for having
+come regardless, so to speak. She had prayed for another boy like
+Stuyvesant, and along came the twins--no doubt as a sort of sop in the
+form of good measure. If there had to be twins, why under heaven
+couldn't she have been blessed with them on Stuyvesant's natal day? She
+couldn't have had too many Stuyvesants.
+
+Still, she considered it her duty to be as nice as possible to the
+twins, now that she had them; and besides, they were growing up to be
+surprisingly pretty girls, with a pleasantly increasing resemblance to
+Stuyvesant.
+
+Always, a day or two prior to the anniversary, she went surreptitiously
+into the antique shops and picked out for each of them a piece of
+jewellery, or a bit of china, or a strip of lace, or anything else that
+bore evidence of having once been in a very nice sort of family. On the
+glad morning she delivered her gifts, with sweet impressiveness, into
+the keeping of these remote little descendants of her beloved ancestors!
+Invariably something English, heirlooms that she had kept under lock and
+key since the day they came to Mr. Smith-Parvis under the terms of his
+great-grandmother's will. Up to the time Stuyvesant was sixteen he had
+been getting heirlooms from a long-departed great-grandfather, but on
+reaching that vital age, he declared that he preferred cash.
+
+The twins had a rare assortment of family heirlooms in the little glass
+cabinets upstairs.
+
+"You must cherish them for ever," said their mother, without
+compunction. "They represent a great deal more than mere money, my
+dears. They are the intrinsic bonds that connect you with a glorious
+past."
+
+When they were ten she gave them a pair of beautiful miniatures,--a most
+alluring and imperial looking young lady with powdered hair, and a
+gallant young gentleman with orders pinned all over his bright red coat.
+It appears that the lady of the miniature was a great personage at court
+a great many years before the misguided Colonists revolted against King
+George the Third, and they--her darling twins--were directly descended
+from her. The gentleman was her husband.
+
+"He was awfully handsome," one of the twins had said, being romantic.
+"Are we descended from him too, mamma?" she inquired innocently.
+
+"Certainly," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis severely.
+
+A predecessor of Miss Emsdale's got her walking papers for putting
+nonsense (as well as the truth) into the heads of the children. At
+least, she told them something that paved the way for a most
+embarrassing disclosure by one of the twins when a visitor was
+complimenting them on being such nice, lovely little ladies.
+
+"We ought to be," said Eudora proudly. "We are descended from Madam du
+Barry. We've got her picture upstairs."
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis took Miss Emsdale with her on this particular Thursday
+afternoon. This was at the suggestion of Stuyvesant, who held forth that
+an English governess was in every way qualified to pass upon English
+wares, new or old, and there wasn't any sense in getting "stung" when
+there was a way to protect oneself, and all that sort of thing.
+
+Stuyvesant also joined the hunt.
+
+"Rather a lark, eh, what?" he whispered in Miss Emsdale's ear as they
+followed his stately mother into the shop of Juneo & Co. She jerked her
+arm away.
+
+The proprietor was haled forth. Courteous, suave and polished though he
+was, Signor Juneo had the misfortune to be a trifle shabby, and
+sartorially remiss. Mrs. Smith-Parvis eyed him from a peak,--a very
+lofty peak.
+
+Ten minutes sufficed to convince her that he had nothing in his place
+that she could think of buying.
+
+"My dear sir," she said haughtily, "I know just what I want, so don't
+try to palm off any of this jewellery on me. Miss Emsdale knows the
+Queen Anne period quite as well as I do, I've no doubt. Queen Anne never
+laid eyes on that wristlet, Mr. Juneo."
+
+"Pardon me, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, I fear you misunderstood me," said the
+little dealer politely. "I think I said that it was of Queen Anne's
+period--"
+
+"What time is it, Stuyvesant?" broke in the lady, turning her back on
+the merchant. "We must be getting on to Pickett's. It is really a waste
+of time, coming to places like this. One should go to Pickett's in the
+first--"
+
+"There are a lot of ripping things here, mater," said Stuyvesant, his
+eyes resting on a comfortable couch in a somewhat secluded corner of the
+shop. "Take a look around. Miss Emsdale and I will take a back seat, so
+that you may go about it with an open mind. I daresay we confuse you
+frightfully, tagging at your heels all the time, what? Come along, Miss
+Emsdale. You look fagged and--"
+
+"Thank you, I am quite all right," said Miss Emsdale, the red spots in
+her cheeks darkening.
+
+"Oh, be a sport," he urged, under his voice. "I've just got to have a
+few words with you. It's been days since we've had a good talk. Looks as
+though you were deliberately avoiding me."
+
+"I am," said she succinctly.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis had gone on ahead with Signor Juneo, and was loudly
+criticizing a beautiful old Venetian mirror which he had the temerity to
+point out to her.
+
+"Well, I don't like it," Stuyvesant said roughly. "That sort of thing
+doesn't go with me, Miss Emsdale. And, hang it all, why haven't you had
+the decency to answer the two notes I stuck under your door last night
+and the night before?"
+
+"I did not read the second one," she said, flushing painfully. "You
+have no right to assume that I will meet you--oh, _can't_ you be a
+gentleman?"
+
+He gasped. "My God! Can you beat _that_!"
+
+"It is becoming unbearable, Mr. Smith-Parvis," said she, looking him
+straight in the eye. "If you persist, I shall be compelled to speak to
+your mother."
+
+"Go ahead," he said sarcastically. "I'm ready for exposure if you are."
+
+"And I am now prepared to give up my position," she added, white and
+calm.
+
+"Good!" he exclaimed promptly. "I'll see that you never regret it," he
+went on eagerly, his enormous vanity reaching out for but one
+conclusion.
+
+"You beast!" she hissed, and walked away.
+
+He looked bewildered. "I'm blowed if I understand what's got into women
+lately," he muttered, and passed his fingers over his brow.
+
+On the way to Pickett's, Mrs. Smith-Parvis dilated upon the unspeakable
+Mr. Juneo.
+
+"You will be struck at once, Miss Emsdale, by the contrast. The
+instant you come in contact with Mr. Moody, at Pickett's--he is really
+the head of the firm,--you will experience the delightful,--and
+unique, I may say,--sensation of being in the presence of a cultured,
+high-bred gentleman. They are most uncommon among shop-keepers in
+these days. This little Juneo is as common as dirt. He hasn't a shred
+of good-breeding. Utterly low-class Neapolitan person, I should say at
+a venture,--although I have never been by way of knowing any of the
+lower class Italians. They must be quite dreadful in their native
+gutters. Now, Mr. Moody,--but you shall see. Really, he is so splendid
+that one can almost imagine him in the House of Lords, or being
+privileged to sit down in the presence of the king, or--My word,
+Stuyvesant, what are you scowling at?"
+
+"I'm not scowling," growled Stuyvesant, from the little side seat in
+front of them.
+
+"He actually makes me feel sometimes as though I were dirt under his
+feet," went on Mrs. Smith-Parvis.
+
+"Oh, come now, mother, you know I never make you feel anything of the--"
+
+"I was referring to Mr. Moody, dear."
+
+"Oh,--well," said he, slightly crestfallen.
+
+Miss Emsdale suppressed a desire to giggle. Moody, a footman without the
+normal supply of aitches; Juneo, a nobleman with countless generations
+of nobility behind him!
+
+The car drew up to the curb on the side street paralleling Pickett's.
+Another limousine had the place of vantage ahead of them.
+
+"Blow your horn, Galpin," ordered Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "They have no right
+to stand there, blocking the way."
+
+"It's Mrs. Millidew's car, madam," said the footman up beside Galpin.
+
+"Never mind, Galpin," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis hastily. "We will get out
+here. It's only a step."
+
+Miss Emsdale started. A warm red suffused her cheeks. She had not seen
+Trotter since that day in Bramble's book-shop. Her heart began to beat
+rapidly.
+
+Trotter was standing on the curb, carrying on a conversation with some
+one inside the car. He too started perceptibly when his gaze fell upon
+the third person to emerge from the Smith-Parvis automobile. Almost
+instantly his face darkened and his tall frame stiffened. He had taken a
+second look at the first person to emerge. The reply he was in process
+of making to the occupant of his own car suffered a collapse. It became
+disjointed, incoherent and finally came to a halt. He was afforded a
+slight thrill of relief when Miss Emsdale deliberately ignored the hand
+that was extended to assist her in alighting.
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the younger, turned her head to glance at the passing
+trio. Her face lighted with a slight smile of recognition. The two
+Smith-Parvises bowed and smiled in return.
+
+"Isn't she beautiful?" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis to her son, without
+waiting to get out of earshot.
+
+"Oh, rather," said he, quite as distinctly.
+
+"Who is that extremely pretty girl?" inquired Mrs. Millidew, the
+younger, also quite loudly, addressing no one in particular.
+
+Trotter cleared his throat.
+
+"Oh, you wouldn't know, of course," she observed. "Go on, Trotter. You
+were telling me about your family in--was it Chester? Your dear old
+mother and the little sisters. I am very much interested."
+
+Trotter looked around cautiously, and again cleared his throat.
+
+"It is awfully good of you to be interested in my people," he said, an
+uneasy note in his voice. For his life, he could not remember just what
+he had been telling her in response to her inquiries. The whole thing
+had been knocked out of his head by the sudden appearance of one who
+knew that he had no dear old mother in Chester, nor little sisters
+anywhere who depended largely on him for support! "Chester," he said,
+rather vaguely. "Yes, to be sure,--Chester. Not far from Liverpool, you
+know,--it's where the cathedral is."
+
+"Tell me all about them," she persisted, leaning a little closer to the
+window, an encouraging smile on her carmine lips.
+
+In due time the impassive Mr. Moody issued forth from his private office
+and bore down upon the two matrons, who, having no especial love for
+each other, were striving their utmost to be cordial without
+compromising themselves by being agreeable.
+
+Mrs. Millidew the elder, arrayed in many colours, was telling Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis about a new masseuse she had discovered, and Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis was talking freely at the same time about a person named
+Juneo.
+
+Miss Emsdale had drifted over toward the broad show window looking out
+upon the cross-town street, where Thomas Trotter was visible,--out of
+the corner of her eye. Also the younger Mrs. Millidew.
+
+Stuyvesant, sullenly smoking a cigarette, lolled against a show-case
+across the room, dropping ashes every minute or two into the mouth of a
+fragile and, for the time being, priceless vase that happened to be
+conveniently located near his elbow.
+
+Mr. Moody adjusted his monocle and eyed his matronly visitors in a most
+unfeeling way.
+
+"Ah,--good awfternoon, Mrs. Millidew. Good awfternoon, Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis," he said, and then catching sight of an apparently
+neglected customer in the offing, beckoned to a smart looking salesman,
+and said, quite loudly:
+
+"See what that young man wants, Proctor."
+
+The young man, who happened to be young Mr. Smith-Parvis, started
+violently,--and glared.
+
+"Stupid blight-ah!" he said, also quite loudly, and disgustedly chucked
+his cigarette into the vase, whereupon the salesman, in some horror,
+grabbed it up and dumped the contents upon the floor.
+
+"You shouldn't do that, you know," he said, in a moment of righteous
+forgetfulness. "That's a peach-blow--"
+
+"Oh, is it?" snapped Stuyvesant, and walked away.
+
+"That is my son, Mr. Moody," explained Mrs. Smith-Parvis quickly. "Poor
+dear, he hates so to shop with me."
+
+"Ah,--ah, I see," drawled Mr. Moody. "Your son? Yes, yes." And then, as
+an afterthought, with a slight elevation of one eyebrow, "Bless my soul,
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis, you amaze me. It's incredible. You cawn't convince me
+that you have a son as old as--Well, now, really it's a bit thick."
+
+"I--I'm not spoofing you, Mr. Moody," cried Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+delightedly.
+
+His face relaxed slightly. One might have detected the faint, suppressed
+gleam of a smile in his eyes,--but it was so brief, so evanescent that
+it would be folly to put it down as such.
+
+The ensuing five minutes were devoted entirely to manoeuvres on the part
+of all three. Mrs. Smith-Parvis was trying to shunt Mrs. Millidew on to
+an ordinary salesman, and Mrs. Millidew was standing her ground,
+resolute in the same direction. The former couldn't possibly inspect
+heirlooms under the eye of that old busy-body, nor could the latter
+resort to cajolery in the effort to obtain a certain needle-point chair
+at bankrupt figures. As for Mr. Moody, he was splendid. The lordliest
+duke in all of Britain could not have presented a truer exemplification
+of lordliness than he. He quite outdid himself. The eighth letter in the
+alphabet behaved in a most gratifying manner; indeed, he even took
+chances with it, just to see how it would act if he were not watching
+it,--and not once did it fail him.
+
+"But, of course, one never can find anything one wants unless one goes
+to the really exclusive places, you know," Mrs. Smith-Parvis was saying.
+"It is a waste of time, don't you think?"
+
+"Quate--oh, yes, quate," drawled Mr. Moody, in a roving sort of way.
+That is to say, his interest seemed to be utterly detached, as if
+nothing that Mrs. Smith-Parvis said really mattered.
+
+"Naturally we try to find things in the cheaper places before we come
+here," went on the lady boldly.
+
+"More int'resting," said Mr. Moody, indulgently eyeing a great brass
+lanthorn that hung suspended over Mrs. Millidew's bonnet,--but safely to
+the left of it, he decided.
+
+"I've been looking for something odd and quaint and--and--you know,--of
+the Queen Anne period,--trinkets, you might say, Mr. Moody. What have
+you in that--"
+
+"Queen Anne? Oh, ah, yes, to be sure,--Queen Anne. Yes, yes. I see. 'Pon
+my soul, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, I fear we haven't anything at all. Most
+uncommon dearth of Queen Anne material nowadays. We cawn't get a thing.
+Snapped up in England, of course. I know of some extremely rare pieces
+to be had in New York, however, and, while I cannot procure them for you
+myself, I should be charmed to give you a letter to the dealer who has
+them."
+
+"Oh, how kind of you. That is really most gracious of you."
+
+"Mr. Juneo, of Juneo & Co., has quite a stock," interrupted Mr. Moody
+tolerantly,--"quite a remarkable collection, I may say. Indeed, nothing
+finer has been brought to New York in--in--in--"
+
+Mr. Moody faltered. His whole manner underwent a swift and peculiar
+change. His eyes were riveted upon the approaching figure of a young
+lady. Casually, from time to time, his roving, detached gaze had rested
+upon her back as she stood near the window. As a back, it did not mean
+anything to him.
+
+But now she was approaching,--and a queer, cold little something ran
+swiftly down his spine. It was Lady Jane Thorne!
+
+Smash went his house of cards into a jumbled heap. It collapsed from a
+lofty height. Lady Jane Thorne!
+
+No use trying to lord it over her! She was the real thing! Couldn't put
+on "lugs" with her,--not a bit of it! She knew!
+
+His monocle dropped. He tried to catch it. Missed!
+
+"My word!" he mumbled, as he stooped over to retrieve it from the rug at
+his feet. The exertion sent a ruddy glow to his neck and ears and brow.
+
+"Did you break it?" cried Mrs. Millidew.
+
+He stuck it in his waist-coat pocket without examination.
+
+"This is Miss Emsdale, our governess," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "She's an
+English girl, Mr. Moody."
+
+"Glad to meet you," stammered Mr. Moody, desperately.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Moody," said Jane, in the most matter-of-fact way.
+
+Mr. Moody knew that she was a paid governess. He had known it for many
+months. But that didn't alter the case. She was the "real thing." He
+couldn't put on any "side" with her. He couldn't bring himself to it,
+not if his life depended on it. Not even if she had been a scullery-maid
+and appeared before him in greasy ginghams. All very well to "stick it
+on" with these fashionable New Yorkers, but when it came to the daughter
+of the Earl of Wexham,--well, it didn't matter _what_ she was as long as
+he knew _who_ she was.
+
+His mask was off.
+
+The change in his manner was so abrupt, so complete, that his august
+customers could not fail to notice it. Something was wrong with the poor
+man! Certainly he was not himself. He looked ill,--at any rate, he did
+not look as well as usual. Heart, that's what it was, flashed through
+Mrs. Millidew's brain. Mrs. Smith-Parvis took it to be vertigo.
+Sometimes her husband looked like that when--
+
+"Will you please excuse me, ladies,--just for a moment or two?" he
+mumbled, in a most extraordinary voice. "I will go at once and write a
+note to Mr. Juneo. Make yourselves at 'ome. And--and--" He shot an
+appealing glance at Miss Emsdale,--"and you too, Miss."
+
+In a very few minutes a stenographer came out of the office into which
+Mr. Moody had disappeared, with a typewritten letter to Mr. Juneo, and
+the word that Mr. Moody had been taken suddenly ill and begged to be
+excused. He hoped that they would be so gracious as to allow Mr. Paddock
+to show them everything they had in stock,--and so on.
+
+"It was so sudden," said Mrs. Millidew. "I never saw such a change in a
+man in all my life. Heart, of course. High living, you may be sure. It
+gets them every time."
+
+"I shall run in tomorrow and tell him about Dr. Brodax," said Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis firmly. "He ought to see the best man in the city, of
+course, and no one--"
+
+"For the Lord's sake, don't let him get into the clutches of that man
+Brodax," interrupted Mrs. Millidew. "He is--"
+
+"No, thank you, Mr. Paddock,--I sha'n't wait. Another day will do just
+as well. Come, Miss Emsdale. Good-bye, my dear. Come and see me."
+
+"Dr. Brown stands at the very top of the profession as a heart
+specialist. He--"
+
+"I've never heard of him," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis icily, and led the way
+to the sidewalk, her head very high. You could say almost anything you
+pleased to Mrs. Smith-Parvis about her husband, or her family, or her
+religion, or even her figure, but you couldn't belittle her doctor. That
+was lese-majesty. She wouldn't have it.
+
+A more or less peaceful expedition came to grief within sixty seconds
+after its members reached the sidewalk,--and in a most astonishing
+manner.
+
+Stuyvesant was in a nasty humour. He had not noticed Thomas Trotter
+before. Coming upon the tall young man suddenly, after turning the
+corner of the building, he was startled into an expression of disgust.
+Trotter was holding open the limousine door for Mrs. Millidew, the
+elder.
+
+Young Mr. Smith-Parvis stopped short and stared in a most offensive
+manner at Mrs. Millidew's chauffeur.
+
+"By gad, you weren't long in getting a job after Carpenter fired you,
+were you? Fish!"
+
+Now, there is no way in the world to recall the word "fish" after it has
+been uttered in the tone employed by Stuyvesant. Ordinarily it is a most
+inoffensive word, and signifies something delectable. In French it is
+_poisson_, and we who know how to pronounce it say it with pleasure and
+gusto, quite as we say _pomme de terre_ when we mean potato. If
+Stuyvesant had said _poisson_, the chances are that nothing would have
+happened. But he didn't. He said fish.
+
+No doubt Thomas Trotter was in a bad humour also. He was a very sensible
+young man, and there was no reason why he should be jealous of
+Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. He had it from Miss Emsdale herself that she
+loathed and despised the fellow. And yet he saw red when she passed him
+a quarter of an hour before with Stuyvesant at her side. For some time
+he had been harassed by the thought that if she had not caught sight of
+him as she left the car, the young man's offer of assistance might not
+have been spurned. In any event, there certainly was something queer
+afoot. Why was she driving about with Mrs. Smith-Parvis,--_and_
+Stuyvesant,--as if she were one of the family and not a paid employe?
+
+In the twinkling of an eye, Thomas Trotter forgot that he was a
+chauffeur. He remembered only that he was Lord Eric Carruthers Ethelbert
+Temple, the grandson of a soldier, the great-grandson of a soldier, and
+the great-great grandson of a soldier whose father and grandfather had
+been soldiers before him.
+
+Thomas Trotter would have said,--and quite properly, too, considering
+his position:--"Quite so, sir."
+
+Lord Temple merely put his face a little closer to Stuyvesant's and
+said, very audibly, very distinctly: "You go to hell!"
+
+Stuyvesant fell back a step. He could not believe his ears. The fellow
+couldn't have said--and yet, there was no possible way of making
+anything else out of it. He _had_ said "You go to hell."
+
+Fortunately he had said it in the presence of ladies. Made bold by the
+continued presence of at least three ladies, Stuyvesant, assuming that a
+chauffeur would not dare go so far as a physical retort, snapped his
+fingers under Trotter's nose and said:
+
+"For two cents I'd kick you all over town for that."
+
+Miss Emsdale erred slightly in her agitation. She grasped Stuyvesant's
+arm. Trotter also erred. He thought she was trying to keep Smith-Parvis
+from carrying out the threat.
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the elder, cried out sharply: "What's all this? Trotter,
+get up on the seat at once. I--"
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the younger, leaned from the window and patted Trotter on
+the shoulder. Her eyes were sparkling.
+
+"Give it to him, Trotter. Don't mind me!" she cried.
+
+Stuyvesant turned to Miss Emsdale. "Don't be alarmed, my dear. I sha'n't
+do it, you know. Pray compose yourself. I--"
+
+At that juncture Lord Eric Temple reached out and, with remarkable
+precision, grasped Stuyvesant's nose between his thumb and forefinger.
+One sharp twist brought a surprised grunt from the owner of the nose, a
+second elicited a pained squeak, and the third,--pressed upward as well
+as both to the right and left,--resulted in a sharp howl of anguish.
+
+The release of his nose was attended by a sudden push that sent
+Stuyvesant backward two or three steps.
+
+"Oh, my God!" he gasped, and felt for his nose. There were tears in his
+eyes. There would have been tears in anybody's eyes after those
+merciless tweaks.
+
+Finding his nose still attached, he struck out wildly with both fists, a
+blind fury possessing him. Even a coward will strike if you pull his
+nose severely enough. As Trotter remained motionless after the
+distressing act of Lord Temple, Stuyvesant missed him by a good yard and
+a half, but managed to connect solidly with the corner of the limousine,
+barking his knuckles, a circumstance which subsequently provided him
+with something to substantiate his claim to having planted a "good one"
+on the blighter's jaw.
+
+His hat fell off and rolled still farther away from the redoubtable
+Trotter, luckily in the direction of the Smith-Parvis car. By the time
+Stuyvesant retrieved it, after making several clutches in his haste, he
+was, singularly enough, beyond the petrified figure of his mother.
+
+"Call the police! Call the police!" Mrs. Smith-Parvis was whimpering.
+"Where are the police?"
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the elder, cried out sharply: "Hush up! Don't be idiotic!
+Do you want to attract the police and a crowd and--What do you mean,
+Trotter, by attacking Mr. Smith-Par--"
+
+"Get out of the way, mother," roared Stuyvesant. "Let me at him! Don't
+hold me! I'll break his infernal neck--Shut up!" His voice sank to a
+hoarse whisper. "We don't want the police. Shut up, I say! My God,
+don't make a scene!"
+
+"Splendid!" cried Mrs. Millidew, the younger, enthusiastically,
+addressing herself to Trotter. "Perfectly splendid!"
+
+Trotter, himself once more, calmly stepped to the back of the car to see
+what, if any, damage Stuyvesant had done to the polished surface!
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis advanced. Her eyes were blazing.
+
+"You filthy brute!" she exclaimed.
+
+Up to this instant, Miss Emsdale had not moved. She was very white and
+breathless. Now her eyes flashed ominously.
+
+"Don't you dare call him a brute," she cried out.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis gasped, but was speechless in the face of this amazing
+defection. Stuyvesant opened his lips to speak, but observing that the
+traffic policeman at the Fifth Avenue corner was looking with some
+intensity at the little group, changed his mind and got into the
+automobile.
+
+"Come on!" he called out. "Get in here, both of you. I'll attend to
+this fellow later on. Come on, I say!"
+
+"How dare you speak to me in that manner?" flared Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+turning from Trotter to the girl. "What do you mean, Miss Emsdale? Are
+you defending this--"
+
+"Yes, I am defending him," cried Jane, passionately. "He--he didn't do
+half enough to him."
+
+"Good girl!" murmured Trotter, radiant.
+
+"That will do!" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis imperiously. "I shall not require
+your services after today, Miss Emsdale."
+
+"Oh, good Lord, mother,--don't be a fool," cried Stuyvesant. "Let me
+straighten this thing out. I--"
+
+"As you please, madam," said Jane, drawing herself up to her full
+height.
+
+"Drive to Dr. Brodax's, Galpin, as quickly as possible," directed
+Stuyvesant's mother, and entered the car beside her son.
+
+The footman closed the door and hopped up beside the chauffeur. He was
+very pink with excitement.
+
+"Oh, for heaven's sake--" began her son furiously, but the closing of
+the door smothered the rest of the complaint.
+
+"You may also take your notice, Trotter," said Mrs. Millidew the elder.
+"I can't put up with such behaviour as this."
+
+"Very good, madam. I'm sorry. I--"
+
+Miss Emsdale was walking away. He did not finish the sentence. His eyes
+were following her and they were full of concern.
+
+"You may come to me tomorrow, Trotter," said Mrs. Millidew, the younger.
+"Now, don't glare at me, mother-in-law," she added peevishly. "You've
+dismissed him, so don't, for heaven's sake, croak about me stealing him
+away from you."
+
+Trotter's employer closed her jaws with a snap, then opened them
+instantly to exclaim:
+
+"No, you don't, my dear. I withdraw the notice, Trotter. You stay on
+with me. Drop Mrs. Millidew at her place first, and then drive me home.
+That's all right, Dolly. I don't care if it is out of our way. I
+wouldn't leave you alone with him for anything in the world."
+
+Trotter sighed. Miss Emsdale had turned the corner.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XII
+
+                               IN THE FOG
+
+
+MISS EMSDALE did not ask Mrs. Smith-Parvis for a "reference." She
+dreaded the interview that was set for seven o'clock that evening. The
+butler had informed her on her return to the house shortly after five
+that Mrs. Smith-Parvis would see her at seven in the library, after
+all, instead of in her boudoir, and she was to look sharp about being
+prompt.
+
+The young lady smiled. "It's all one to me, Rogers,--the library or
+the boudoir."
+
+"First it was the boudoir, Miss, and then it was the library, and then
+the boudoir again,--and now the library. It seems to be quite settled,
+however. It's been nearly 'arf an hour since the last change was made.
+Shouldn't surprise me if it sticks."
+
+"It gives me an hour and a half to get my things together," said she,
+much more brightly than he thought possible in one about to be
+"sacked." "Will you be good enough to order a taxi for me at half-past
+seven, Rogers?"
+
+Rogers stiffened. This was not the tone or the manner of a governess.
+He had a feeling that he ought to resent it, and yet he suddenly found
+himself powerless to do so. No one had spoken to him in just that way
+in fifteen years.
+
+"Very good, Miss Emsdale. Seven-thirty." He went away strangely
+puzzled, and not a little disgusted with himself.
+
+She expected to find that Stuyvesant had carried out his threat to
+vilify her, and was prepared for a bitter ten minutes with the
+outraged mistress of the house, who would hardly let her escape
+without a severe lacing. She would be dismissed without a "character."
+
+She packed her boxes and the two or three hand-bags that had come over
+from London with her. A heightened colour was in her cheeks, and there
+was a repelling gleam in her blue eyes. She was wondering whether she
+could keep herself in hand during the tirade. Her temper was a hot
+one.
+
+A not distant Irish ancestor occasionally got loose in her blood and
+played havoc with the strain inherited from a whole regiment of
+English forebears. On such occasions, she flared up in a fine Celtic
+rage, and then for days afterwards was in a penitential mood that
+shamed the poor old Irish ghost into complete and grovelling
+subjection.
+
+What she saw in the mirror over her dressing-table warned her that if
+she did not keep a pretty firm grip tonight on the throat of that wild
+Irishman who had got into the family-tree ages before the twig
+represented by herself appeared, Mrs. Smith-Parvis was reasonably
+certain to hear from him. A less captious observer, leaning over her
+shoulder, would have taken an entirely different view of the
+reflection. He (obviously he) would have pronounced it ravishing.
+
+Promptly at seven she entered the library. To her dismay, Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis was not alone. Her husband was there, and also
+Stuyvesant. If her life had depended on it, she could not have
+conquered the impulse to favour the latter's nose with a rather
+penetrating stare. A slight thrill of satisfaction shot through her.
+It _did_ seem to be a trifle red and enlarged.
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis, senior, was nervous. Otherwise he would not have
+risen from his comfortable chair.
+
+"Good evening, Miss Emsdale," he said, in a palliative tone. "Have
+this chair. Ahem!" Catching a look from his wife, he sat down again,
+and laughed quite loudly and mirthlessly, no doubt actuated by a
+desire to put the governess at her ease,--an effort that left him
+rather flat and wholly non-essential, it may be said.
+
+His wife lifted her lorgnon. She seemed a bit surprised and nonplussed
+on beholding Miss Emsdale.
+
+"Oh, I remember. It is you, of course."
+
+Miss Emsdale had the effrontery to smile. "Yes, Mrs. Smith-Parvis."
+
+Stuyvesant felt of his nose. He did it without thinking, and instantly
+muttered something under his breath.
+
+"We owe you, according to my calculations, fifty-five dollars and
+eighty-two cents," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis, abruptly consulting a tablet.
+"Seventeen days in this month. Will you be good enough to go over it for
+yourself? I do not wish to take advantage of you."
+
+"I sha'n't be exacting," said Miss Emsdale, a wave of red rushing to her
+brow. "I am content to accept your--"
+
+"Be good enough to figure it up, Miss Emsdale," insisted the other
+coldly. "We must have no future recriminations. Thirty-one days in this
+month. Thirty-one into one hundred goes how many times?"
+
+"I beg pardon," said the girl, puzzled. "Thirty-one into one hundred?"
+
+"Can't you do sums? It's perfectly simple. Any school child could do it
+in a--in a jiffy."
+
+"Quite simple," murmured her husband. "I worked it out for Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis in no time at all. Three dollars and twenty-two and a half
+cents a day. Perfectly easy, if you--"
+
+"I am sure it is quite satisfactory," said Miss Emsdale coldly.
+
+"Very well. Here is a check for the amount," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+laying the slip of paper on the end of the library table. "And now, Miss
+Emsdale, I feel constrained to tell you how gravely disappointed I am in
+you. For half-a-year I have laboured under the delusion that you were a
+lady, and qualified to have charge of two young and innocent--"
+
+"Oh, Lord," groaned Stuyvesant, fidgeting in his chair.
+
+"--young and innocent girls. I find, however, that you haven't the first
+instincts of a lady. I daresay it is too much to expect." She sighed
+profoundly. "I know something about the lower classes in London, having
+been at one time interested in settlement work there in connection with
+Lady Bannistell's committee, and I am aware that too much should not be
+expected of them. That is to say, too much in the way of--er--delicacy.
+Still, I thought you might prove to be an exception. I have learned my
+lesson. I shall in the future engage only German governesses. From time
+to time I have observed little things in you that disquieted me, but I
+overlooked them because you appeared to be earnestly striving to
+overcome the handicap placed upon you at birth. For example, I have
+found cigarette stubs in your room when I--"
+
+"Oh, I say, mother," broke in Stuyvesant; "cut it out."
+
+"My dear!"
+
+"You'd smoke 'em yourself if father didn't put up such a roar about it.
+Lot of guff about your grandmothers turning over in their graves. I
+don't see anything wrong in a woman smoking cigarettes. Besides, you may
+be accusing Miss Emsdale unjustly. What proof have you that the stubs
+were hers?"
+
+"I distinctly said that I found them in her room," said Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis icily. "I don't know how they got there."
+
+"Circumstantial evidence," retorted Stuyvie, an evil twist at one corner
+of his mouth. "Doesn't prove that she smoked 'em, does it?" He met Miss
+Emsdale's burning gaze for an instant, and then looked away. "Might have
+been the housekeeper. She smokes."
+
+"It was not the housekeeper," said Jane quietly. "I smoke."
+
+"We are digressing," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis sternly. "There are other
+instances of your lack of refinement, Miss Emsdale, but I shall not
+recite them. Suffice to say, I deeply deplore the fact that my children
+have been subject to contamination for so long. I am afraid they have
+acquired--"
+
+Jane had drawn herself up haughtily. She interrupted her employer.
+
+"Be good enough, Mrs. Smith-Parvis, to come to the point," she said.
+"Have you nothing more serious to charge me with than smoking? Out with
+it! Let's have the worst."
+
+"How dare you speak to me in that--My goodness!" She half started up
+from her chair. "What _have_ you been up to? Drinking? Or some low
+affair with the butler? Good heavens, have I been harbouring a--"
+
+"Don't get so excited, momsey," broke in Stuyvesant, trying to transmit
+a message of encouragement to Miss Emsdale by means of sundry winks and
+frowns and cautious head-shakings. "Keep your hair on."
+
+"My--my hair?" gasped his mother.
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis got up. "Stuyvesant, you'd better retire," he said,
+noisily. "Remember, sir, that you are speaking to your mother. It came
+out at the time of her illness,--when we were so near to losing
+her,--and you--"
+
+"Keep still, Philander," snapped Mrs. Smith-Parvis, very red in the
+face. "It came in again, thicker than before," she could not help
+explaining. "And don't be absurd, Stuyvesant. This is my affair. Please
+do not interfere again. I--What was I saying?"
+
+"Something about drinking and the butler, Mrs. Smith-Parvis," said Jane,
+drily. It was evident that Stuyvesant had not carried tales to his
+mother. She would not have to defend herself against a threatened
+charge. Her sense of humour was at once restored.
+
+"Naturally I cannot descend to the discussion of anything so perfectly
+vile. Your conduct this afternoon is sufficient--ah,--sufficient unto
+the day. I am forced to dismiss you without a reference. Furthermore, I
+consider it my duty to protect other women as unsuspecting as I have
+been. You are in no way qualified to have charge of young and well-bred
+girls. No apology is desired," she hastily declared, observing symptoms
+of protest in the face of the delinquent; "so please restrain yourself.
+I do not care to hear a single word of apology, or any appeal to be
+retained. You may go now, my girl. Spare us the tears. I am not turning
+you out into the streets tonight. You may remain until tomorrow
+morning."
+
+"I am going tonight," said Jane, quite white,--with suppressed anger.
+
+"It isn't necessary," said the other, loftily.
+
+"Where are you going?" inquired Mr. Smith-Parvis, senior, fumbling with
+his nose-glasses. "Have you any friends in the city?"
+
+Miss Emsdale ignored the question. She picked up the check and folded it
+carefully.
+
+"I should like to say good-bye to the--to Eudora and Lucille," she said,
+with an effort.
+
+"That is out of the question," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis.
+
+Jane deliberately turned her back upon Mrs. Smith-Parvis and moved
+toward the door. It was an eloquent back. Mrs. Smith-Parvis considered
+it positively insulting.
+
+"Stop!" she cried out. "Is that the way to leave a room, Miss Emsdale?
+Please remember who and what you are. I can not permit a servant to be
+insolent to me."
+
+"Oh, come now, Angela, dear," began Mr. Smith-Parvis, uncomfortably.
+"Seems to me she walks properly enough. What's the matter with
+her--There, she's gone! I can't see what--"
+
+"You would think the hussy imagines herself to be the Queen of England,"
+sputtered Mrs. Smith-Parvis angrily. "I've never seen such airs."
+
+The object of her derision mounted the stairs and entered her
+bed-chamber on the fourth floor. Her steamer-trunk and her bags were
+nowhere in sight. A wry little smile trembled on her lips.
+
+"Must you be going?" she said to herself, whimsically, as she adjusted
+her hat in front of the mirror.
+
+There was no one to say good-bye to her, except Peasley, the footman. He
+opened the big front door for her, and she passed out into the foggy
+March night. A fine mist blew upon her hot face.
+
+"Good-bye, Miss," said Peasley, following her to the top of the steps.
+
+"Good-bye, Peasley. Thank you for taking down my things."
+
+"You'll find 'em in the taxi," said he. He peered hard ahead and
+sniffed. "A bit thick, ain't it? Reminds one of London, Miss." He
+referred to the fog.
+
+At the bottom of the steps she encountered the irrepressible and
+somewhat jubilant scion of the house. His soft hat was pulled well down
+over his eyes, and the collar of his overcoat was turned up about his
+ears. He promptly accosted her, his voice lowered to an eager, confident
+undertone.
+
+"Don't cry, little girl," he said. "It isn't going to be bad at all.
+I--Oh, I say, now, listen to me!"
+
+She tried to pass, but he placed himself directly in her path. The
+taxi-cab loomed up vaguely through the screen of fog. At the corner
+below an electric street lamp produced the effect of a huge, circular
+vignette in the white mist. The raucous barking of automobile horns, and
+the whir of engines came out of the street, and shadowy will-o'-the-wisp
+lights scuttled through the yielding, opaque wall.
+
+"Be good enough to let me pass," she cried, suddenly possessed of a
+strange fear.
+
+"Everything is all right," he said. "I'm not going to see you turned out
+like this without a place to go--"
+
+"Will you compel me to call for help?" she said, backing away from him.
+
+"Help? Why, hang it all, can't you see that I'm trying to help you? It
+was a rotten thing for mother to do. Poor little girl, you sha'n't go
+wandering around the streets looking for--Why, I'd never forgive myself
+if I didn't do something to offset the cruel thing she's done to you
+tonight. Haven't I told you all along you could depend on me? Trust me,
+little girl. I'll--"
+
+Suddenly she blazed out at him.
+
+"I see it all! That is _your_ taxi, not mine! So that is your game, is
+it? You beast!"
+
+"Don't be a damn' fool," he grated. "I ought to be sore as a crab at
+you, but I'm not. You need me now, and I'm going to stand by you. I'll
+forgive all that happened today, but you've got to--"
+
+She struck his hand from her arm, and dashed out to the curb.
+
+"Driver!" she cried out. "If you are a man you will protect me from
+this--"
+
+"Hop in, Miss," interrupted the driver from his seat. "I've got all your
+bags and things up but,--What's that you're saying?"
+
+"I shall not enter this cab," she said resolutely. "If you are in the
+pay of this man--"
+
+"I was sent here in answer to a telephone call half an hour ago. That's
+all I know about it. What's the row?"
+
+"There is no row," said Stuyvesant, coming up. "Get in, Miss Emsdale.
+I'm through. I've done my best to help you."
+
+But she was now thoroughly alarmed. She sensed abduction.
+
+"No! Stay on your box, my man! Don't get down. I shall walk to my--"
+
+"Go ahead, driver. Take those things to the address I just gave you,"
+said Stuyvesant. "We'll be along later."
+
+"I knew! I knew!" she cried out. In a flash she was running down the
+sidewalk toward the corner.
+
+He followed her a few paces and then stopped, cursing softly.
+
+"Hey!" called out the driver, springing to the sidewalk. "What's all
+this? Getting me in wrong, huh? That's what the little roll of bills was
+for, eh? Well, guess again! Get out of the way, you, or I'll bat you one
+over the bean."
+
+In less time than it takes to tell it, he had whisked the trunk from the
+platform of the taxi and the three bags from the interior.
+
+"I ought to beat you up anyhow," he grunted. "The Parkingham Hotel, eh?
+Fine little place, that! How much did you say was in this roll?"
+
+"Never mind. Give it back to me at once or I'll--I'll call the police."
+
+"Go ahead! Call your head off. Good _night_!"
+
+Ten seconds later, Stuyvesant alone stood guard over the scattered
+effects on the curb. A tail-light winked blearily at him for an
+additional second or two, the taxi chortled disdainfully, and seemed to
+grind its teeth as it joined the down-town ghosts.
+
+"Blighter!" shouted Stuyvesant, and urged by a sudden sense of alarm,
+strode rapidly away,--not in the wake of Miss Emsdale nor toward the
+house from which she had been banished, but diagonally across the
+street. A glance in the direction she had taken revealed no sign of her,
+but the sound of excited voices reached his ear. On the opposite
+sidewalk he slowed down to a walk, and peering intently into the fog,
+listened with all his ears for the return of the incomprehensible
+governess, accompanied by a patrolman!
+
+A most amazing thing had happened to Lady Jane. At the corner below she
+bumped squarely into a pedestrian hurrying northward.
+
+"I'm sorry," exclaimed the pedestrian. He did not say "excuse me" or "I
+beg pardon."
+
+Jane gasped. "Tom--Mr. Trotter!"
+
+"Jane!" cried the man in surprise. "I say, what's up? 'Gad, you're
+trembling like a leaf."
+
+She tried to tell him.
+
+"Take a long breath," he suggested gently, as the words came swiftly and
+disjointedly from her lips.
+
+She did so, and started all over again. This time he was able to
+understand her.
+
+"Wait! Tell me the rest later on," he interrupted. "Come along! This
+looks pretty ugly to me. By gad, I--I believe he was planning to abduct
+you or something as--"
+
+"I must have a policeman," she protested, holding back. "I was looking
+for one when you came up."
+
+"Nonsense! We don't need a bobby. I can take care of--"
+
+"But that man will make off with my bags."
+
+"We'll see," he cried, and she was swept along up the street, running to
+keep pace with his prodigious strides. He had linked his arm through
+hers.
+
+They found her effects scattered along the edge of the sidewalk. Trotter
+laughed, but it was not a good-humoured laugh.
+
+"Skipped!" he grated. "I might have known it. Now, let me think. What is
+the next, the best thing to do? Go up there and ring that doorbell
+and--"
+
+"No! You are not to do that. Sit down here beside me. My--my knees are
+frightfully shaky. So silly of them. But I--I--really it was quite a
+shock I had, Mr. Trotter."
+
+"Better call me Tom,--for the present at least," he suggested, sitting
+down beside her on the trunk.
+
+"What a strange coincidence," she murmured. There was not much room on
+the trunk for two. He sat quite on one end of it.
+
+"You mean,--sitting there?" he inquired, blankly.
+
+"No. Your turning up as you did,--out of a clear sky."
+
+"I shouldn't call it clear," said he, suddenly diffident. "Thick as a
+blanket."
+
+"It was queer, though, wasn't it?"
+
+"Not a bit. I've been walking up and down past this house for twenty
+minutes at least. We were bound to meet. Sit still. I'll keep an eye out
+for an empty taxi. The first thing to do is to see that you get safely
+down to Mrs. Sparflight's."
+
+"How did you know I was to go there?" she demanded.
+
+"She told me," said he bluntly.
+
+"She wasn't to tell any one--at present." She peered closely,--at the
+side of his face.
+
+He abruptly changed the subject. "And then I'll come back here and wait
+till he ventures out. I'm off till nine o'clock. I sha'n't pull his nose
+this time."
+
+"Please explain," she insisted, clutching at his arm as he started to
+arise. "Did she send you up here, Mr. Trotter?"
+
+"No, she didn't," said he, almost gruffly, and stood up to hail an
+approaching automobile. "Can't see a thing," he went on. "We'll just
+have to stop 'em till we catch one that isn't engaged. Taxi?" he
+shouted.
+
+"No!" roared a voice from the shroud of mist.
+
+"The butler telephoned for one, I am sure," said she. "He must have been
+sent away before I came downstairs."
+
+"Don't think about it. You'll get yourself all wrought up
+and--and--Everything's all right, now, Lady Jane,--I should say Miss--"
+
+"Call me Jane," said she softly.
+
+"You--you don't mind?" he cried, and sat down beside her again. The
+trunk seemed to have increased in size. At any rate there was room to
+spare at the end.
+
+"Not--not in the least," she murmured.
+
+He was silent for a long time. "Would you mind calling me Eric,--just
+once?" he said at last, wistfully. His voice was very low. "I--I'm
+rather homesick for the sound of my own name, uttered by one of my own
+people."
+
+"Oh, you poor dear boy!"
+
+"Say 'Eric,'" he pleaded.
+
+"Eric," she half-whispered, suddenly shy.
+
+He drew a long, deep breath, and again was silent for a long time. Both
+of them appeared to have completely forgotten her plight.
+
+"We're both a long, long way from home, Jane," he said.
+
+"Yes, Eric."
+
+"Odd that we should be sitting here like this, on a trunk, on the
+sidewalk,--in a fog."
+
+"The 'two orphans,'" she said, with feeble attempt at sprightliness.
+
+"People passing by within a few yards of us and yet we--we're quite
+invisible." There was a thrill in his voice.
+
+"Almost as if we were in London, Eric,--lovely black old London."
+
+Footsteps went by in the fog in front of them, automobiles slid by
+behind them, tooting their unheard horns.
+
+"Oh, Jane, I--I can't help it," he whispered in her ear, and his arm
+went round her shoulders. "I--I love you so."
+
+She put her hand up to his cheek and held it there.
+
+"I--I know it, Eric," she said, ever so softly.
+
+It may have been five minutes, or ten minutes--even so long as half an
+hour. There is no way to determine the actual lapse of time, or
+consciousness, that followed her declaration. The patrolman who came up
+and stopped in front of them, peering hard at the dense, immobile mass
+that had attracted his attention for the simple reason that it wasn't
+there when he passed on his uptown round, couldn't have thrown any light
+on the question. He had no means of knowing just when it began.
+
+"Well, what's all this?" he demanded suspiciously.
+
+Jane sighed, and disengaged herself. Trotter stood up, confronting the
+questioner.
+
+"We're waiting for a taxi," he said.
+
+"What's this? A trunk?" inquired the officer, tapping the object with
+his night-stick.
+
+"It is," said Trotter.
+
+"Out of one of these houses along here?" He described a half-circle with
+his night-stick.
+
+"Right in front of you."
+
+"That's the Smith-Parvis house. They've got a couple of cars, my bucko.
+What you givin' me? Whadda you mean taxi?"
+
+"She happens not to be one of the family. The courtesy of the port is
+not extended to her, you see."
+
+"Hired girl?"
+
+"In a way. I say, officer, be a good fellow. Keep your eye peeled for a
+taxi as you go along and send it up for us. She had one ordered,
+but--well, you can see for yourself. It isn't here."
+
+"That's as plain as the nose on your face. I guess I'll just step up to
+the door and see if it's all right. Stay where you are. Looks queer to
+me."
+
+"Oh, it isn't necessary to inquire, officer," broke in Jane nervously.
+"You have my word for it that it's all right."
+
+"Oh, I have, have I? Fine! And what if them bags and things is filled
+with silver and God knows what? You don't--"
+
+"Go ahead and inquire," said Trotter, pressing her arm encouragingly.
+"Ask the butler if he didn't call a cab for Miss Emsdale,--and also ask
+him why in thunder it isn't here."
+
+The patrolman hesitated. "Who are you," he asked, stepping a little
+closer to Trotter.
+
+"I am this young lady's fiance," said Trotter, with dignity.
+
+"Her what?"
+
+"Her steady," said Trotter.
+
+The policeman laughed,--good-naturedly, to their relief.
+
+"Oh, well, _that_ being the case," said he, and started away. "Excuse me
+for buttin' in."
+
+"Sure," said Trotter amiably. "If you see a taxi, old man."
+
+"Leave it to me," came back from the fog.
+
+Jane nestled close to her tall young man. His arm was about her.
+
+"Wasn't he perfectly lovely?" she murmured.
+
+"Everything is perfectly lovely," said he, vastly reassured. He had
+taken considerable risk with the word "fiance."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIII
+
+                       NOT CLOUDS ALONE HAVE LININGS
+
+
+THE weather turned off warm. The rise in the temperature may have been
+responsible for the melting of Princess Mariana Theresa Sebastano
+Michelini Celestine di Pavesi's heart, or it may have sharply revealed
+to her calculating mind the prospect of a long and profitless season in
+cold storage for Prince de Bosky's fur-lined coat. In any event, she
+notified him by post to call for his coat and take it away with him.
+
+The same post brought a letter from the Countess du Bara advising him
+that her brother-in-law, who conducted an all-night cafe just off
+Broadway in the very heart of the thriftless district, had been
+compelled to dismiss the leader of his far-famed Czech orchestra, and
+that she had recommended him for the vacancy. He would have to hurry,
+however.
+
+In a postscript, she hoped he wouldn't mind wearing a red coat.
+
+The Countess du Bara was of the Opera, where she was known as
+Mademoiselle Belfort and occupied a fairly prominent position in the
+front row of chorus sopranos. Some day she was to make her debut as
+a principal. The Director of the Opera had promised her that, and
+while she regarded his promise as being as good as gold, it was,
+unfortunately, far more elastic, as may be gathered from the fact that
+it already had stretched over three full seasons and looked capable of
+still further extension without being broken.
+
+But that is neither here nor there. It is only necessary to state that
+the Countess, being young and vigorous and satisfactorily endowed with
+good looks, was not without faith in the promises of man. In return for
+the Director's faith in her, she was one day going to make him famous as
+the discoverer of Corinne Belfort. For the moment, her importance, so
+far as this narrative is concerned, rests on the fact that her
+brother-in-law conducts a cafe and had named his youngest daughter
+Corinne, a doubtful compliment in view of his profane preference for
+John or even George. He was an American and had five daughters.
+
+De Bosky was ecstatic. Luck had turned. He was confident, even before he
+ventured to peer out of his single little window, that the sun was
+shining brightly and that birds were singing somewhere, if not in the
+heart of the congested East Side. And sure enough the sun was shining,
+and hurdy-gurdies were substituting for bobolinks, and the air was
+reeking of spring. A little wistfully he regretted that the change had
+not come when he needed the overcoat to shield his shivering body, and
+when the "opportunity" would have insured an abundance of meat and
+drink, to say nothing of a couple of extra blankets,--but why lament?
+
+There was a sprightliness in his gait, a gleam in his eyes, and a cheery
+word on his lips as he forged his way through the suddenly alive
+streets, and made his way to the Subway station. This morning he would
+not walk. There was something left of the four dollars he had earned the
+week before shovelling snow into the city's wagons. True, his hands were
+stiff and blistered, but all that would respond to the oil of affluence.
+There was no time to lose. She had said in the postscript that he would
+have to hurry.
+
+Two hours later he burst excitedly into the bookshop of J. Bramble and
+exclaimed:
+
+"And now, my dear, good friend, I shall soon be able to return to you
+the various amounts you have advanced me from time to time, out of the
+goodness of your heart, and I shall--what do I say?--blow you off to a
+banquet that even now, in contemplation, makes my own mouth water,--and
+I shall--"
+
+"Bless my soul," gasped Mr. Bramble. "Would you mind saying _all_ of it
+in English? What is the excitement? Just a moment, please." The latter
+to a mild-looking gentleman who was poising a book in one hand and
+inquiring the price with the uplifting of his eyebrows.
+
+De Bosky rapped three or four times on the violin case tucked under his
+arm.
+
+"After all the years and all the money I spent in mastering this--But,
+you are busy, my good friend. Pray forgive the interruption--"
+
+"What has happened?" demanded Mr. Bramble, uneasily.
+
+"I have fallen into a fortune. Twenty-five dollars a week,--so!" he said
+whimsically. "Also I shall restore the five dollars that Trotter forced
+me to take,--and the odd amounts M. Mirabeau has--Yes, yes, my friend, I
+am radiant. I am to lead the new orchestra at Spangler's cafe. I have
+concluded negotiations with--ah, how quickly it was done! And I
+approached him with fear and trembling. I would have played for him, so
+that he might judge,--but no! He said 'No, no!' It was not necessary.
+Corinne's word was enough for him. You do not know Corinne. She is
+beautiful. She is an artiste! One day she will be on the lips of every
+one. Go! Be quick! The gentleman is departing. You will have lost a--a
+sale, and all through the fault of me. I beseech you,--catch him quick.
+Do not permit me to bring you bad luck. Au revoir! I go at once to
+acquaint M. Mirabeau with--au revoir!"
+
+He dashed up the back stairway, leaving Mr. Bramble agape.
+
+"It was only a ten-cent book," he muttered to the back of the departing
+customer. "And, besides, you do not belong to the union," he shouted
+loudly, addressing himself to de Bosky, who stopped short on the stairs.
+
+"The union?"
+
+"The union will not permit you to play," said the bookseller, mounting
+the steps. "It will permit you to starve but not to play."
+
+"But the man--the man he said it was because I do not belong to the
+union that he engages me. He says the union holds him, up, what? So! He
+discharge the union--all of them. We form a new orchestra. Then we don't
+give a damn, he say. Not a tinkle damn! And Corinne say also not a
+tinkle damn! And I say not a tinkle damn! _Voila!_"
+
+"God bless my soul," said Mr. Bramble, shaking his head.
+
+M. Mirabeau rejoiced. He embraced the little musician, he pooh-hooed Mr.
+Bramble's calamitous regard for the union, and he wound up by inviting
+de Bosky to stop for lunch with him.
+
+"No, no,--impossible," exclaimed de Bosky, feeling in his waistcoat
+pocket absent-mindedly, and then glancing at a number of M. Mirabeau's
+clocks in rotation; "no, I have not the time. Your admirable clocks urge
+me to be off. See! I am to recover the overcoat of my excellent friend,
+the safe-blower. This letter,--see! Mrs. Moses Jacobs. She tells me to
+come and take it away with me. Am I not the lucky dog,--no, no! I mean
+am I not the lucky star? I must be off. She may change her mind. She--"
+
+"Mon dieu! I'd let her change it if I were you," cried M. Mirabeau. "I
+call it the height of misfortune to possess a fur coat on a day like
+this. One might as well rejoice over a linen coat in mid-winter. You are
+excited! Calm yourself. A bit of cold tongue, and a salad, and--"
+
+"Au revoir!" sang out de Bosky from the top of the steps. "And remember!
+I shall repay you within the fortnight, monsieur. I promise! Ah, it is a
+beautiful, a glorious day!"
+
+The old Frenchman dashed to the landing and called down after his
+speeding guest:
+
+"Fetch the coat with you to luncheon. I shall order some moth-balls, and
+after we've stuffed it full of them, we'll put the poor thing away for a
+long, long siesta. It shall be like the anaconda. I have a fine cedar
+chest--"
+
+But Mr. Bramble was speaking from the bottom of the steps.
+
+"And the unfeeling brutes may resort to violence. They often do. They
+have been known to inflict serious injury upon--"
+
+"Tonight I shall play at Spangler's," cried de Bosky, slapping his
+chest. "In a red coat,--and I shall not speak the English language. I am
+the recent importation from Budapesth. So! I am come especially to
+direct the orchestra--at great expense! In big letters on the menu card
+it shall be printed that I am late of the Royal Hungarian Orchestra, and
+at the greatest expense have I been secured. The newspapers shall say
+that I came across the ocean in a special steamer, all at Monsieur
+Spangler's expense. I and my red coat! So! Come tonight, my friend. Come
+and hear the great de Bosky in his little red coat,--and--"
+
+"Do not forget that you are to return for luncheon," sang out M.
+Mirabeau from the top of the stairs.
+
+There were tears in de Bosky's eyes. "God bless you both," he cried.
+"But for you I should have starved to death,--as long ago as last week.
+God bless you!"
+
+His frail body swayed a little as he made his way down the length of the
+shop. Commanding all his strength of will, he squared his shoulders and
+stiffened his trembling knees, but not soon enough to delude the
+observing Mr. Bramble, who hurried after him, peering anxiously through
+his horn-rimmed spectacles.
+
+"It is just like you foreigners," he said, overtaking the violinist near
+the door, and speaking with some energy. "Just like you, I say, to
+forget to eat breakfast when you are excited. You did not have a bite of
+breakfast, now did you? Up and out, all excited and eager, forgetting
+everything but--I say, Mirabeau, lend a hand! He is ready to drop. God
+bless my soul! Brace up, your highness,--I should say old chap--brace
+up! Damme, sir, what possessed you to refuse our invitation to dine with
+us last night? And it was the third time within the week. Answer me
+that, sir!"
+
+De Bosky sat weakly, limply, pathetically, before the two old men. They
+had led him to a chair at the back of the shop. Both were regarding him
+with justifiable severity. He smiled wanly as he passed his hand over
+his moist, pallid brow.
+
+"You are poor men. Why,--why should I become a charge upon you?"
+
+"Mon dieu!" sputtered M. Mirabeau, lifting his arms on high and shaking
+his head in absolute despair,--despair, you may be sure, over a most
+unaccountable and never-to-be-forgotten moment in which he found himself
+utterly and hopelessly without words.
+
+Mr. Bramble suddenly rammed a hand down into the pocket of his ancient
+smoking-coat, and fished out a huge, red, glistening apple.
+
+"Here! Eat this!"
+
+De Bosky shook his head. His smile broadened.
+
+"No, thank you. I--I do not like apples."
+
+The bookseller was aghast. Moreover, pity and alarm rendered him
+singularly inept in the choice of a reply to this definite statement.
+
+"Take it home to the children," he pleaded, with the best intention in
+the world.
+
+By this time, M. Mirabeau had found his tongue. He took the situation in
+hand. With tact and an infinite understanding, he astonished the
+matter-of-fact Mr. Bramble by appearing to find something amusing in the
+plight of their friend. He made light of the whole affair. Mr. Bramble,
+who could see no farther than the fact that the poor fellow was
+starving, was shocked. It certainly wasn't a thing one should treat as a
+joke,--and here was the old simpleton chuckling and grinning like a
+lunatic when he should be--
+
+Lunatic! Mr. Bramble suddenly went cold to the soles of his feet. A
+horrified look came into his eyes. Could it be possible that something
+had snapped in the old Frenchman's--but M. Mirabeau was now addressing
+him instead of the smiling de Bosky.
+
+"Come, come!" he was shouting merrily. "We're not following de Bosky to
+the grave. He is not even having a funeral. Cheer up! Mon dieu, such a
+face!"
+
+Mr. Bramble grew rosy. "Blooming rubbish," he snorted, still a trifle
+apprehensive.
+
+The clock-maker turned again to de Bosky. "Come upstairs at once. I
+shall myself fry eggs for you, and bacon,--nice and crisp,--and my
+coffee is not the worst in the world, my friend. _His_ is abominable.
+And toast, hot and buttery,--ah, I am not surprised that your mouth
+waters!"
+
+"It isn't my mouth that is watering," said de Bosky, wiping his eyes.
+
+"Any fool could see that," said Mr. Bramble, scowling at the maladroit
+Mirabeau.
+
+It was two o'clock when Prince Waldemar de Bosky took his departure from
+the hospitable home of the two old men, and, well-fortified in body as
+well as in spirit, moved upon the stronghold of Mrs. Moses Jacobs.
+
+The chatelaine of "The Royal Exchange. M. Jacobs, Proprietor," received
+him with surprising cordiality.
+
+"Well, well!" she called out cheerily as he approached the "desk." "I
+thought you'd never get here. I been waitin' since nine o'clock."
+
+Her dark, heavy face bore signs of a struggle to overcome the set,
+implacable expression that avarice and suspicion had stamped upon it in
+the course of a long and resolute abstinence from what we are prone to
+call the milk of human kindness. She was actually trying to beam as she
+leaned across the gem-laden showcase and extended her coarse, unlovely
+hand to the visitor.
+
+"I am sorry," said he, shaking hands with her. "I have been extremely
+busy. Besides, on a hot day like this, I could get along very nicely
+without a fur coat, Mrs. Jacobs."
+
+"Sure!" said she. "It sure is hot today. You ought to thank God you
+ain't as fat as I am. It's awful on fat people. Well, wasn't you
+surprised?"
+
+"It was most gracious of you, Mrs. Jacobs," he said with dignity. "I
+should have come in at once to express my appreciation of your--"
+
+"Oh, that's all right. Don't mention it. You're a decent little feller,
+de Bosky, and I've got a heart,--although most of these mutts around
+here don't think so. Yes, sir, I meant it when I said you could tear up
+the pawn ticket and take the coat--with the best wishes of yours truly."
+
+"Spoken like a lady," said he promptly. He was fanning himself with his
+hat.
+
+"Mind you, I don't ask you for a penny. The slate is clean. There's the
+coat, layin' over there on that counter. Take it along. No one can ever
+say that I'd let a fellow-creature freeze to death for the sake of a
+five-dollar bill. No, sir! With the compliments of 'The Royal
+Exchange,'--if you care to put it that way."
+
+"But I cannot permit you to cancel my obligation, Mrs. Jacobs. I shall
+hand you the money inside of a fortnight. I thank you, however, for the
+generous impulse--"
+
+"Cut it out," she interrupted genially. "Nix on the sentiment stuff. I'm
+in a good humour. Don't spoil it by tryin' to be polite. And don't talk
+about handin' me anything. I won't take it."
+
+"In that case, Mrs. Jacobs, I shall be obliged to leave the coat with
+you," he said stiffly.
+
+She stared. "You mean,--you won't accept it from me?"
+
+"I borrowed money on it. I can say no more, madam."
+
+"Well, I'll be--" She extended her hand again, a look of genuine
+pleasure in her black eyes. "Shake hands again, Prince de Bosky. I--I
+understand."
+
+"And I--I think I understand, Princess," said he, grasping the woman's
+hand.
+
+"I hope you do," said she huskily. "I--I just didn't know how to go
+about it, that's all. Ever since that day you were in here to see
+me,--that bitterly cold day,--I've been trying to think of a way to--And
+so I waited till it turned so hot that you'd know I wasn't trying to do
+it out of charity--You _do_ understand, don't you, Prince?"
+
+"Perfectly," said he, very soberly.
+
+"I feel better than I've felt in a good long time," she said, drawing a
+long breath.
+
+"That's the way we all feel sometimes," said he, smiling. "No doubt it's
+the sun," he added. "We haven't seen much of it lately."
+
+"Quit your kiddin'," she cried, donning her mask again and relapsing
+into the vernacular of the district.
+
+He bore the coat in triumph to the work-shop of M. Mirabeau, and loudly
+called for moth-balls as he mounted the steps.
+
+"I jest, good friend," he explained, as the old Frenchman laid aside his
+tools and started for the shelves containing a vast assortment of boxes
+and packages. "Time enough for all that. At four o'clock I am due at
+Spangler's for a rehearsal of the celebrated Royal Hungarian Orchestra,
+imported at great expense from Budapesth. I leave the treasure in your
+custody. Au revoir!" He had thrown the coat on the end of the work
+bench.
+
+"You will return for dinner," was M. Mirabeau's stern reminder. "A pot
+roast tonight, Bramble has announced. We will dine at six, since you
+must report at seven."
+
+"In my little red coat," sang out de Bosky blithely.
+
+"Mon dieu!" exclaimed the Frenchman, in dismay, running his fingers over
+the lining of the coat. "They are already at work. The moths! See! Ah,
+_le diable!_ They have devoured--"
+
+"What!" cried de Bosky, snatching up the coat.
+
+"The arm pits and--ah, the seams fall apart! One could thrust his hand
+into the hole they have made. Too late!" he groaned. "They have ruined
+it, my friend."
+
+De Bosky leaned against the bench, the picture of distress. "What will
+my friend, the safe-blower, say to this? What will he think of me for--"
+
+"Now we know how the estimable Mrs. Jacobs came to have softening of the
+heart," exploded M. Mirabeau, pulling at his long whiskers.
+
+Mr. Bramble, abandoning the shop downstairs, shuffled into the room.
+
+"Did I hear you say 'moths'?" he demanded, consternation written all
+over his face. "For God's sake, don't turn them loose in the house.
+They'll be into everything--"
+
+"What is this?" cried de Bosky, peering intently between the crumbling
+edges of the rent, which widened hopelessly as he picked at it with
+nervous fingers.
+
+Stitched securely inside the fur at the point of the shoulder was a thin
+packet made of what at one time must have been part of a rubber
+rain-coat. The three men stared at it with interest.
+
+"Padding," said Mr. Bramble.
+
+"Rubbish," said M. Mirabeau, referring to Mr. Bramble's declaration. He
+was becoming excited. Thrusting a keen-edged knife into de Bosky's hand,
+he said: "Remove it--but with care, with care!"
+
+A moment later de Bosky held the odd little packet in his hand.
+
+"Cut the threads," said Mr. Bramble, readjusting his big spectacles. "It
+is sewed at the ends."
+
+The old bookseller was the first of the stupefied men to speak after the
+contents of the rubber bag were revealed to view.
+
+"God bless my soul!" he gasped.
+
+Bank notes,--many of them,--lay in de Bosky's palm.
+
+Almost mechanically he began to count them. They were of various
+denominations, none smaller than twenty dollars. The eyes of the men
+popped as he ran off in succession two five-hundred-dollar bills.
+
+Downstairs in the shop of J. Bramble, some one was pounding violently on
+a counter, but without results. He could produce no one to wait on him.
+He might as well have tried to rouse the dead.
+
+"Clever rascal," said M. Mirabeau at last. "The last place in the world
+one would think of looking for plunder."
+
+"What do you mean?" asked de Bosky, still dazed.
+
+"It is quite simple," said the Frenchman. "Who but your enterprising
+friend, the cracksman, could have thought of anything so original as
+hiding money in the lining of a fur overcoat? He leaves the coat in your
+custody, knowing you to be an honest man. At the expiration of his term,
+he will reclaim--"
+
+"Ah, but he has still a matter of ten or eleven years to serve," agreed
+de Bosky. "A great deal could happen in ten or eleven years. He would
+not have taken so great a risk. He--"
+
+"Um!" mused M. Mirabeau, frowning. "That is so."
+
+"What am I to do with it?" cried de Bosky. "Nearly three thousand
+dollars! Am I awake, Mr. Bramble?"
+
+"We can't all be dreaming the same thing," said the bookseller, his
+fascinated gaze fixed on the bank notes.
+
+"Ah-h!" exclaimed M. Mirabeau suddenly. "Try the other shoulder! There
+will be more. He would not have been so clumsy as to put it all on one
+side. He would have padded both shoulders alike."
+
+And to the increased amazement of all of them, a similar packet was
+found in the left shoulder of the coat.
+
+"What did I tell you!" cried the old Frenchman, triumphantly.
+
+Included among the contents of the second bag, was a neatly folded sheet
+of writing-paper. De Bosky, with trembling fingers, spread it out, and
+holding it to the light, read in a low, halting manner:
+
+    "'Finder is keeper. This coat dont belong to me, and the money
+    neither. It is nobodies buisness who they belonged to before. I
+    put the money inside here becaus it is a place no one would ever
+    look and I am taken a gamblers chanse on geting it back some
+    day. Stranger things have happened. Something tells me that they
+    are going to get me soon, and I dont want them to cop this
+    stuff. It was hard earned. Mighty hard. I am hereby trusting to
+    luck. I leave this coat with my neighbor, Mr. Debosky, so in
+    case they get me, they wont get it when they search my room. My
+    neighber is an honest man. He dont know what I am and he dont
+    know about this money. If anybody has to find it I hope it will
+    be him. Maybe they wont get me after all so all this writing is
+    in vain. But Im taken no chance on that, and Im willing to take
+    a chance on this stuff getting back to me somehow. I will say
+    this before closing. The money belonged to people in various
+    parts of the country and they could all afford to lose it,
+    espeshilly the doctor. He is a bigger robber than I am, only he
+    lets people see him get away with it. If this should fall into
+    the hands of the police I want them to believe me when I say my
+    neighber, a little forreigner who plays the violin till it
+    brings tears to my eyes, has no hand in this business. I am
+    simply asking him to take care of my coat and wear it till I
+    call for it, whenever that may be. And the following remarks is
+    for him. If he finds this dough, he can keep it and use as much
+    of it as he sees fit. I would sooner he had it than anybody,
+    because he is poorer than anybody. And what he dont know wont
+    hurt him. I mean what he dont know about who the stuff belonged
+    to in the beginning. Being of sound mind and so fourth I hereby
+    subscribe myself, in the year of our lord, September 26, 1912.
+
+                                                   "HENRY LOVELESS."
+
+"How very extraordinary," said Mr. Bramble after a long silence.
+
+"Nearly five thousand dollars," said M. Mirabeau. "What will you do
+with it, de Bosky?"
+
+The little violinist passed his hand over his brow, as if to clear
+away the last vestige of perplexity.
+
+"There is but one thing to do, my friends," he said slowly,
+straightening up and facing them. "You will understand, of course,
+that I cannot under any circumstances possess myself of this stolen
+property."
+
+Another silence ensued.
+
+"Certainly not," said Mr. Bramble at last.
+
+"It would be impossible," said M. Mirabeau, sighing.
+
+"I shall, therefore, address a letter to my friend, acquainting him
+with the mishap to his coat. I shall inform him that the insects
+have destroyed the fur in the shoulders, laying bare the padding,
+and that while I have been negligent in my care of his property up
+to this time, I shall not be so in the future. Without betraying the
+secret, I shall in some way let him know that the money is safe and
+that he may expect to regain all of it when he--when he comes out."
+
+"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Bramble warmly.
+
+M. Mirabeau suddenly broke into uproarious laughter.
+
+"Mon dieu!" he gasped, when he could catch his breath. The others
+were staring at him in alarm. "It is rare! It is exquisite! The
+refinement of justice! That _this_ should have happened to the
+blood-sucking Mrs. Jacobs! Oho--ho--ho!"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIV
+
+                               DIPLOMACY
+
+
+MR. SMITH-PARVIS, Senior, entertained one old-fashioned, back-number
+idea,--relict of a throttled past; it was a pestiferous idea that always
+kept bobbing up in an insistent, aggravating way the instant he realized
+that he had a few minutes to himself.
+
+Psychologists might go so far as to claim that he had been born with it;
+that it was, after a fashion, hereditary. He had come of honest,
+hard-working Smiths; the men and women before him had cultivated the
+idea with such unwavering assiduity that, despite all that had conspired
+to stifle it, the thing still clung to him and would not be shaken off.
+
+In short, Mr. Smith-Parvis had an idea that a man should work.
+Especially a young man.
+
+In secret he squirmed over the fact that his son Stuyvesant had never
+been known to do a day's work in his life. Not that it was actually
+necessary for the young man to descend to anything so common and
+inelegant as earning his daily bread, or that there was even a remote
+prospect of the wolf sniffing around a future doorway. Not at all. He
+knew that Stuyvie didn't have to work. Still, it grieved him to see so
+much youthful energy going to waste. He had never quite gotten over the
+feeling that a man could make something besides a mere gentleman of
+himself, and do it without seriously impairing the family honour.
+
+He had once suggested to his wife that Stuyvesant ought to go to work.
+He didn't care what he took up, just so he took up something. Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis was horrified. She would not listen to his reiterations
+that he didn't mean clerking in a drygoods shop, or collecting fares on
+a street car, or repairing electric doorbells, or anything of the kind,
+and she wouldn't allow him to say just what sort of work he did mean.
+The subject was not mentioned again for years. Stuyvesant was allowed to
+go on being a gentleman in his own sweet way.
+
+One day Mrs. Smith-Parvis, to his surprise and joy, announced that she
+thought Stuyvesant ought to have a real chance to make something of
+himself,--a vocation or an avocation, she wasn't sure which,--and she
+couldn't see why the father of such a bright, capable boy had been so
+blind to the possibilities that lay before him. She actually blamed him
+for holding the young man back.
+
+"I suggested some time ago, my dear," he began, in self-defence, "that
+the boy ought to get a job and settle down to--"
+
+"Job? How I loathe that word. It is almost as bad as situation."
+
+"Well, then, position," he amended. "You wouldn't hear to it."
+
+"I have no recollection of any such conversation," said she firmly. "I
+have been giving the subject a great deal of thought lately. The dear
+boy is entitled to his opportunity. He must make a name for himself. I
+have decided, Philander, that he ought to go into the diplomatic
+service."
+
+"Oh, Lord!"
+
+"I don't blame you for saying 'Oh, Lord,' if you think I mean the
+American diplomatic service," she said, smiling. "That, of course, is
+not even to be considered. He must aim higher than that. I know it is a
+vulgar expression, but there is no class to the American embassies
+abroad. Compare our embassies with any of the other--"
+
+"But, my dear, you forget that--"
+
+"They are made up largely of men who have sprung from the most ordinary
+walks in life,--men totally unfitted for the social position that--
+Please do not argue, Philander. You know perfectly well that what I say
+is true. I shouldn't think of letting Stuyvesant enter the American
+diplomatic service. Do you remember that dreadful person who came to see
+us in Berlin,--about the trunks we sent up from Paris by _grande
+vitesse_? Well, just think of Stuyvesant--"
+
+"He was a clerk from the U. S. Consul's office," he interrupted
+doggedly. "Nothing whatever to do with the embassy. Besides, we can't--"
+
+"It doesn't matter. I have been giving it a great deal of thought
+lately, trying to decide which is the best service for Stuyvesant to
+enter. The English diplomatic corps in this country is perfectly
+stunning, and so is the French,--and the Russian, for that matter. He
+doesn't speak the Russian language, however, so I suppose we will have
+to--"
+
+"See here, my dear,--listen to me," he broke in resolutely. "Stuyvesant
+can't get into the service of any of these countries. He--"
+
+"I'd like to know why not!" she cried sharply. "He is a gentleman, he
+has manner, he is--Well, isn't he as good as any of the young men one
+sees at the English or the French Legations in Washington?"
+
+"I grant you all that, but he is an American just the same. He can't be
+born all over again, you know, with a new pair of parents. He's got to
+be in the American diplomatic corps, or in no corps at all. Now, get
+that through your head, my dear."
+
+She finally got it through her head, and resigned herself to the
+American service, deciding that the Court of St. James offered the most
+desirable prospects in view of its close proximity to the other great
+capitals of Europe.
+
+"Stuyvesant likes London next to Paris, and he could cross over to
+France whenever he felt the need of change."
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis looked harassed.
+
+"Easier said than done," he ventured. "These chaps in the legations have
+to stick pretty close to their posts. He can't be running about, all
+over the place, you know. It isn't expected. You might as well
+understand in the beginning that he'll have to work like a nailer for a
+good many years before he gets anywhere in the diplomatic service."
+
+"Nonsense. Doesn't the President appoint men to act as Ambassadors who
+never had an hour's experience in diplomacy? It's all a matter of
+politics. I'm sorry to say, Philander, the right men are never
+appointed. It seems to be the practice in this country to appoint men
+who, so far as I know, have absolutely no social standing. Mr. Choate
+was an exception, of course. I am sure that Stuyvesant will go to the
+top rapidly if he is given a chance. Now, how shall we go about it,
+Philander?" She considered the matter settled. Her husband shook his
+head.
+
+"Have you spoken to Stuyvie about it?" he inquired.
+
+"Oh, dear me, no. I want to surprise him."
+
+"I see," said he, rather grimly for him. "I see. We simply say: 'Here is
+a nice soft berth in the diplomatic corps, Stuyvie. You may sail
+tomorrow if you like.'"
+
+"Don't be silly. And please do not call him Stuyvie. I've spoken to you
+about that a thousand times, Philander. Now, don't you think you ought
+to run down to Washington and see the President? It may--"
+
+"No, I don't," said he flatly. "I'm not a dee fool."
+
+"Don't--don't you care to see your son make something of himself?" she
+cried in dismay.
+
+"Certainly. I'd like nothing better than--"
+
+"Then, try to take a little interest in him," she said coldly.
+
+"In the first place," said he resignedly, "what are his politics?"
+
+"The same as yours. He is a Republican. All the people we know are
+Republicans. The Democrats are too common for words."
+
+"Well, his first attempt at diplomacy will be to change his politics,"
+he said, waxing a little sarcastic as he gained courage. "And I'd advise
+you not to say nasty things about the Democrats. They are in the saddle
+now, you know. I suppose you've heard that the President is a Democrat?"
+
+"I can't help that," she replied stubbornly.
+
+"And he appoints nothing but Democrats."
+
+"Is there likely to be a Republican president soon?" she inquired,
+knitting her brows.
+
+"That's difficult to say."
+
+"I suppose Stuyvesant could, in a diplomatic sort of way, pretend to be
+a Democrat, couldn't he, dear?"
+
+"He lost nearly ten thousand dollars at the last election betting on
+what he said was a sure thing," said he, compressing his lips.
+
+"The poor dear!"
+
+"I can't see very much in this diplomatic game, anyhow," said Mr.
+Smith-Parvis determinedly.
+
+"I asked you a direct question, Philander," she said stiffly.
+
+"I--I seem to have forgotten just what--"
+
+"I asked you how we are to go about securing an appointment for him."
+
+"Oh," said he, wilting a little. "So you did. Well,--um--aw--let me
+think. There's only one way. He's got to have a pull. Does he know any
+one high up in the Democratic ranks? Any one who possesses great
+influence?" There was a twinkle in his eye.
+
+"I--I don't know," she replied, helplessly. "He is quite young,
+Philander. He can't be expected to know everybody. But you! Now that I
+think of it, you must know any number of influential Democrats. There
+must be some one to whom you could go. You would simply say to him that
+Stuyvesant agrees to enter the service, and that he will do everything
+in his power to raise it to the social standard--"
+
+"The man would die laughing," said he unfeelingly. "I was just thinking.
+Suppose I were to go to the only influential Democratic politician I
+know,--Cornelius McFaddan,--and tell him that Stuyvesant advocates the
+reconstruction of our diplomatic service along English lines, he would
+undoubtedly say things to me that I could neither forget nor forgive. I
+can almost hear him now."
+
+"You refuse to make any effort at all, then?"
+
+"Not at all," he broke in quickly. "I will see him. As a matter of fact,
+McFaddan is a very decent sort of chap, and he is keen to join the
+Oxford Country Club. He knows I am on the Board of Governors. In fact,
+he asked me not long ago what golf club I'd advise him to join. He
+thinks he's getting too fat. Wants to take up golf."
+
+"But you _couldn't_ propose him for membership in the Oxford,
+Philander," she said flatly. "Only the smartest people in town--"
+
+"Leave it to me," he interrupted, a flash of enthusiasm in his eyes. "By
+gad, I shouldn't be surprised if I could do something through him. He
+carries a good deal of weight."
+
+"Would it be wise to let him reduce it by playing golf?" she inquired
+doubtfully.
+
+He stared. "I mean politically. Figure of speech, my dear."
+
+"Oh, I see."
+
+"A little coddling on my part, and that sort of thing. They all want to
+break into society,--every last one of them. You never can tell. A
+little soft soap goes a long way sometimes. I could ask him to have
+luncheon with me at Bombay House. Um-m-m!" He fell into a reflective
+mood.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis also was thoughtful. An amazing idea had sprouted in
+her head.
+
+"Has he a wife?" she inquired, after many minutes.
+
+"They always have, those chaps," said he. "And a lot of children."
+
+"I was just wondering if it wouldn't be good policy to have them to
+dinner some night, Philander," she said.
+
+"Oh, my God!" he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly and staring at her in
+astonishment.
+
+"Every little helps," she said argumentatively. "It would be like
+opening the seventh heaven to her if I were to invite her here to dine.
+Just think what it would mean to her. She would meet--"
+
+"They probably eat with their knives and tuck their napkins under their
+chins."
+
+"I am sure that would be amusing," said she, eagerly. "It is so
+difficult nowadays to provide amusement for one's guests. Really, my
+dear, I think it is quite an idea. We could explain beforehand to the
+people we'll have in to meet them,--explain everything, you know. The
+plan for Stuyvesant, and everything."
+
+He was still staring. "Well, who would you suggest having in with Mr.
+and Mrs. Con McFaddan?"
+
+"Oh, the Cricklewicks, and the Blodgetts,--and old Mrs. Millidew,--I've
+been intending to have her anyway,--and perhaps the Van Ostrons and
+Cicely Braithmere, and I am sure we could get dear old Percy Tromboy. He
+would be frightfully amused by the McFinnegans, and--"
+
+"McFaddan," he edged in.
+
+"--and he could get a world of material for those screaming Irish
+imitations he loves to give. Now, when will you see Mr. McFaddan?"
+
+"You'd have to call on his wife, wouldn't you, before asking her to
+dinner?"
+
+"She probably never has heard of the custom," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+composedly.
+
+The next day, Mr. Smith-Parvis strolled into the offices of Mr.
+Cornelius McFaddan, Contractor, and casually remarked what a wonderful
+view of the Bay he had from his windows.
+
+"I dropped in, Mr. McFaddan," he explained, "to see if you were really
+in earnest about wanting to join the Oxford Country Club." He had
+decided that it was best to go straight to the point.
+
+McFaddan regarded him narrowly. "Did I ever say I wanted to join the
+Oxford Country Club?" he demanded.
+
+"Didn't you?" asked his visitor, slightly disturbed by this ungracious
+response.
+
+"I did not," said Mr. McFaddan promptly.
+
+"Dear me, I--I was under the impression--Ahem! I am sure you spoke of
+wanting to join a golf club."
+
+"That must have been some time ago. I've joined one," said the other, a
+little more agreeably.
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis punched nervously with his cane at one of his pearl
+grey spats. The contractor allowed his gaze to shift. He didn't wear
+"spats" himself.
+
+"I am sorry. I daresay I could have rushed you through in the Oxford.
+They are mighty rigid and exclusive up there, but--well, you would have
+gone in with a rush. Men like you are always shoved through ahead of
+others. It isn't quite--ah--regular, you know, but it's done when a
+candidate of special prominence comes up. Of course, I need not explain
+that it's--ah--quite sub rosa?"
+
+"Sure," said Mr. McFaddan promptly; "I know. We do it at the Jolly Dog
+Club." He was again eyeing his visitor narrowly, speculatively. "It's
+mighty good of you, Mr. Smith-Parvis. Have a cigar?"
+
+"No, thank you. I seldom--
+On second thoughts, I will take one." It
+occurred to him that it was the diplomatic thing to do, no matter what
+kind of a cigar it was. Besides, he wouldn't feel called upon to
+terminate his visit at once if he lighted the man's cigar. He could at
+least smoke an inch or even an inch and a half of it before announcing
+that he would have to be going. And a great deal can happen during the
+consumption of an inch or so of tobacco.
+
+"That's a good cigar," he commented, after a couple of puffs. He took it
+from his lips and inspected it critically.
+
+Mr. McFaddan was pleased. "It ought to be," he said. "Fifty cents
+straight."
+
+The visitor looked at it with sudden respect. "A little better than I'm
+in the habit of smoking," he said ingratiatingly.
+
+"What does it cost to join the Oxford Club?" inquired the contractor.
+
+"Twelve hundred dollars admission, and two hundred a year dues," said
+Mr. Smith-Parvis, pricking up his ears. "Really quite reasonable."
+
+"My wife don't like the golf club I belong to," said the other,
+squinting at his own cigar. "Rough-neck crowd, she says."
+
+Mr. Smith-Parvis looked politely concerned.
+
+"That's too bad," he said.
+
+The contractor appeared to be weighing something in his mind.
+
+"How long does it take to get into your club?" he asked.
+
+"Usually about five years," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, blandly. "Long
+waiting list, you know. Some of the best people in the city are on it,
+by the way. I daresay it wouldn't be more than two or three months in
+your case, however," he concluded.
+
+"I'll speak to the wife about it," said Mr. McFaddan. "She may put her
+foot down hard. Too swell for us, maybe. We're plain people."
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Mr. Smith-Parvis readily. "Extremely
+democratic club, my dear McFaddan. Exclusive and all that, but
+quite--ah--unconventional. Ha-ha!"
+
+Finding himself on the high-road to success, he adventured a little
+farther. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he got to his feet with
+an exclamation of well-feigned dismay.
+
+"My dear fellow, I had no idea it was so near the luncheon hour. Stupid
+of me. Why didn't you kick me out? Ha-ha! Let me know what you decide to
+do, and I will be delighted to--But better still, can't you have lunch
+with me? I could tell you something about the club and--What do you say
+to going around to Bombay House with me?"
+
+"I'd like nothing better," said the thoroughly perplexed politician.
+"Excuse me while I wash me hands."
+
+And peering earnestly into the mirror above the washstand in the corner
+of the office, Mr. McFaddan said to himself:
+
+"I must look easier to him than I do to meself. If I'm any kind of a
+guesser at all he's after one of two things. He either wants his tax
+assessment rejuced or wants to run for mayor of the city. The poor
+boob!"
+
+That evening Mr. Smith-Parvis announced, in a bland and casual manner,
+that things were shaping themselves beautifully.
+
+"I had McFaddan to lunch with me," he explained. "He was tremendously
+impressed."
+
+His wife was slightly perturbed. "And I suppose you were so stupid as to
+introduce him to a lot of men in the club who--"
+
+"I didn't have to," interrupted Mr. Smith-Parvis, a trifle crossly. "It
+was amazing how many of the members knew him. I daresay four out of
+every five men in the club shook hands with him and called him Mr.
+McFaddan. Two bank presidents called him Con, and, by gad, Angela, he
+actually introduced me to several really big bugs I've been wanting to
+meet for ten years or more. Most extraordinary, 'pon my word."
+
+"Did you--did you put out any feelers?"
+
+"About Stuyvie--sant? Certainly not. That would have been fatal. I did
+advance a few tactful and pertinent criticisms of our present diplomatic
+service, however. I was relieved to discover that he thinks it can be
+improved. He agreed with me when I advanced the opinion that we, as
+sovereign citizens of this great Republic, ought to see to it that a
+better, a higher class of men represent us abroad. He said,--in his
+rough, slangy way: 'You're dead right. What good are them authors and
+poets we're sendin' over there now? What we need is good, live
+hustlers,--men with ginger instead of ink in their veins.' I remember
+the words perfectly. 'Ginger instead of ink!' Ha-ha,--rather good, eh?"
+
+"You must dress at once, Philander," said his wife. "We are dining with
+the Hatchers."
+
+"That reminds me," he said, wrinkling his brow. "I dropped in to see
+Cricklewick on the way up. He didn't appear to be very enthusiastic
+about dining here with the McFaddans."
+
+"For heaven's sake, you don't mean to say you've already asked the man
+to dine with us!" cried his wife.
+
+"Not in so many words," he made haste to explain. "He spoke several
+times about his wife. Seemed to want me to know that she was a snappy
+old girl,--his words, not mine. The salt of the earth, and so on. Of
+course, I had to say something agreeable. So I said I'd like very much
+to have the pleasure of meeting her."
+
+"Oh, you did, did you?" witheringly.
+
+"He seemed really quite affected, my dear. It was several minutes before
+he could find the words to reply. Got very red in the face and managed
+to say finally that it was very kind of me. I think it rather made a hit
+with him. I merely mentioned the possibility of dining together some
+time,--_en famille_,--and that I'd like him to meet you. Nothing
+more,--not a thing more than that!" he cried, quailing a little under
+his wife's eye.
+
+"And what did he say to that?" she inquired. The rising inflection was
+ominous.
+
+"He was polite enough to say he'd be pleased to meet you," said he, with
+justifiable exasperation.
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XV
+
+                        ONE NIGHT AT SPANGLER'S
+
+
+A FEW mornings after de Bosky's _premier_ as director of the Royal
+Hungarian Orchestra, Mrs. Sparflight called Jane Emsdale's attention to
+a news "story" in the _Times_. The headline was as follows:
+
+                           A ROYAL VIOLINIST
+
+                  _Prince de Bosky Leads the Orchestra
+                             at Spangler's_
+
+Three-quarters of a column were devoted to the first appearance in
+America of the royal musician; his remarkable talent; his glorious
+ancestry; his singular independence; and (through an interpreter) his
+impressions of New York.
+
+"Oh, I am so glad," cried Jane, after she had read the story. "The poor
+fellow was so dreadfully up against it."
+
+"We must go and hear him soon," said the other.
+
+They were at the breakfast-table. Jane had been with the elder woman for
+nearly a week. She was happy, radiant, contented. Not so much as an
+inkling of the truth arose to disturb her serenity. She believed herself
+to be actually in the pay of "Deborah." From morning till night she went
+cheerfully about the tasks set for her by her sorely tried employer,
+who, as time went on, found herself hard put to invent duties for a
+conscientious private secretary. Jane was much too active, much too
+eager; such indefatigable energy harassed rather than comforted her
+employer. And, not for the world, would the latter have called upon her
+to take over any of the work downstairs. The poor lady lay awake nights
+trying to think of something that she could set the girl to doing in the
+morning!
+
+A curt, pointed epistle had come to Mrs. Sparflight from Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis. That lady announced briefly that she had been obliged to
+discharge Miss Emsdale, and that she considered it her duty to warn Mrs.
+Sparflight against recommending her late governess to any one else.
+
+"You may answer the note, my dear," the Marchioness had said, her eyes
+twinkling as she watched Jane's face. "Thank her for the warning and say
+that I regret having sent Miss Emsdale to her. Say that I shall be
+exceedingly careful in the future. Sign it, and append your initials. It
+isn't a bad idea to let her know that I do not regard her communication
+as strictly confidential,--between friends, you might say. And now you
+must get out for a long walk today. A strong, healthy English girl like
+you shouldn't go without stretching her legs. You'll be losing the bloom
+in your cheek if you stay indoors as you've been doing the past week."
+
+Jane's dread of meeting her tormentor had kept her close to the
+apartment since the night of her rather unconventional arrival. Twice
+the eager Trotter, thrilled and exalted by his new-found happiness, had
+dashed in to see her, but only for a few minutes' stay on each occasion.
+
+"How do you like your new position?" he had asked in the dimness at the
+head of the stairway. She could not see his face, but it was because he
+kept her head rather closely pressed into the hollow of his shoulder.
+Otherwise she might have detected the guilty flicker in his eyes.
+
+"I love it. She is such a dear. But, really, Eric, I don't think I'm
+worth half what she pays me."
+
+He chuckled softly. "Oh, yes, you are. You are certainly worth half what
+my boss pays me."
+
+"But I do not earn it," she insisted.
+
+"Neither do I," said he.
+
+To return to the Marchioness and the newspaper:
+
+"We will go off on a little spree before long, my dear. A good dinner at
+Spangler's, a little music, and a chat with the sensation of the hour.
+Get Mrs. Hendricks on the telephone, please. I will ask her to join us
+there some night soon with her husband. He is the man who wrote that
+delightful novel with the name I never can remember. You will like him,
+I know. He is so dreadfully deaf that all one has to do to include him
+in the conversation is to return his smiles occasionally."
+
+And so, on a certain night in mid-April, it came to pass that Spangler's
+Cafe, gay and full of the din that sustains the _genus_ New Yorker in
+his contention that there is no other place in the world fit to live in,
+had among its patrons a number of the persons connected with this story
+of the City of Masks.
+
+First of all, there was the new leader of the orchestra, a dapper,
+romantic-looking young man in a flaming red coat. Ah, but you should
+have seen him! The admirable Mirabeau, true Frenchman that he was, had
+performed wonders with pomades and oils and the glossy brilliantine. The
+sleek black hair of the little Prince shone like the raven's wing; his
+dark, gipsy eyes, rendered more vivid by the skilful application of
+"lampblack," gleamed with an ardent excitement; there was colour in his
+cheeks, and a smile on his lips.
+
+At a table near the platform on which the orchestra was stationed, sat
+the Honourable Cornelius McFaddan, his wife, and a congenial party of
+friends. In a far-off corner, remote from the music, you would have
+discovered the Marchioness and her companions; the bland, perpetually
+smiling Mr. Hendricks who wrote the book, his wife, and the lovely,
+blue-eyed Jane.
+
+By a strange order of coincidence, young Mr. Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis,
+quite mellow and bereft of the power to focus steadily with eye or
+intellect, occupied a seat,--and frequently a seat and a half,--at a
+table made up of shrill-voiced young women and bald-headed gentlemen of
+uncertain age who had a whispering acquaintance with the head waiter and
+his assistants.
+
+The Countess du Bara, otherwise Corinne, entertained a few of the lesser
+lights of the Opera and two lean, hungry-looking critics she was
+cultivating against an hour of need.
+
+At a small, mean table alongside the swinging door through which a
+procession of waiters constantly streamed on their way from the kitchen,
+balancing trays at hazardous heights, sat two men who up to this moment
+have not been mentioned in these revelations. Very ordinary looking
+persons they were, in business clothes.
+
+One of them, a sallow, liverish individual, divided his interest between
+two widely separated tables. His companion was interested in nothing
+except his food, which being wholly unsatisfactory to him, relieved him
+of the necessity of talking about anything else. He spoke of it from
+time to time, however, usually to the waiter, who could only say that he
+was sorry. This man was a red-faced, sharp-nosed person with an
+unmistakable Cockney accent. He seemed to find a great deal of comfort
+in verbally longing for the day when he could get back to Simpson's in
+the Strand for a bit of "roast that is a roast."
+
+The crowd began to thin out shortly after the time set for the lifting
+of curtains in all of the theatres. It was then that the sallow-faced
+man arose from his seat and, after asking his companion to excuse him
+for a minute, approached Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. That gentleman had
+been dizzily ogling a dashing, spirited young woman at the table
+presided over by Mr. McFaddan, a circumstance which not only annoyed the
+lady but also one closer at hand. The latter was wanting to know, in
+some heat, what he took her for. If he thought she'd stand for anything
+like that, he had another guess coming.
+
+"May I have a word with you?" asked the sallow man, inserting his head
+between Stuyvesant and the protesting young woman.
+
+"The bouncer," cried the young woman, looking up. "Good work. That's
+what you get for making eyes at strange--"
+
+"Shut up," said Stuyvie, who had, after a moment's concentration,
+recognized the man. "What do you want?"
+
+"A word in private," said the other.
+
+Stuyvesant got up and followed him to a vacant table in the rear.
+
+"She is here," said the stranger. "Here in this restaurant. Not more
+than fifty feet from where we're sitting."
+
+The listener blinked. His brain was foggy.
+
+"What's that?" he mumbled, thickly.
+
+"The girl you're lookin' for," said the man.
+
+Stuyvesant sat up abruptly. His brain seemed to clear.
+
+"You mean--Miss Emsdale?" he demanded, rather distinctly.
+
+The little man in the red coat, sitting just above them on the edge of
+the platform, where he was resting after a particularly long and arduous
+number, pricked up his ears. He, too, had seen the radiant, friendly
+face of the English girl at the far end of the room, and had favoured
+her with more than one smile of appreciation.
+
+"Yes. Stand up and take a look. Keep back of this palm, so's she won't
+lamp you. 'Way over there with the white-haired old lady. Am I right?
+She's the one, ain't she?"
+
+Smith-Parvis became visibly excited. "Yes,--there's not the slightest
+doubt. How--how long has she been here? Why the devil didn't you tell me
+sooner?"
+
+"Don't get excited. Better not let her see you in this condition. She
+looks like a nice, refined girl. She--"
+
+"What do you mean 'condition'? I'm all right," retorted the young man,
+bellicose at once.
+
+"I know you are," said the other soothingly.
+
+"Darn the luck," growled Stuyvie, following a heroic effort to restore
+his physical equilibrium. "I wouldn't have had her see me here with this
+crowd for half the money in New York. She'll get a bad impression of me.
+Look at 'em! My Lord, they're all stewed. I say, you go over and tell
+that man with the big nose at the head of my table that I've been
+suddenly called away, and--"
+
+"Take my advice, and sit tight."
+
+Stuyvie's mind wandered. "Say, do you know who that rippin' creature is
+over there with the fat Irishman? She's a dream."
+
+The sallow man did not deign to look. He bent a little closer to Mr.
+Smith-Parvis.
+
+"Now, what is the next move, Mr. Smith-Parvis? I've located her right
+enough. Is this the end of the trail?"
+
+"Sh!" cautioned Stuyvie, loudly. Then even more loudly: "Don't you know
+any better than to roar like that? There's a man sitting up there--"
+
+"He can't understand a word of English. Wop. Just landed. That's the guy
+the papers have been--"
+
+"I am not in the least interested in your conversation," said Stuyvie
+haughtily. "What were you saying?"
+
+"Am I through? That's what I want to know."
+
+"You have found out where she's stopping?"
+
+"Yep. Stayin' with the white-haired old lady. Dressmaking establishment.
+The office will make a full report to you tomorrow."
+
+"Wait a minute. Let me think."
+
+The sallow man waited for some time. Then he said: "Excuse me, Mr.
+Smith-Parvis, but I've got a friend over here. Stranger in New York. I'm
+detailed to entertain him."
+
+"You've got to shake him," said Stuyvie, arrogantly. "I want you to
+follow her home, and I'm going with you. As soon as I know positively
+where she lives, I'll decide on the next step we're to take. We'll have
+to work out some plan to get her away from that dressmakin'
+'stablishment."
+
+The other gave him a hard look. "Don't count our people in on any rough
+stuff," he said levelly. "We don't go in for that sort of thing."
+
+Stuyvie winked. "We'll talk about that when the time comes."
+
+"Well, what I said goes. We're the oldest and most reliable agency in--"
+
+"I know all that," said Stuyvie, peevishly. "It is immaterial to me
+whether your agency or some other one does the job. Remember that, will
+you? I want that girl, and I don't give a--"
+
+"Good night, Mr. Smith-Parvis."
+
+"Wait a minute,--_wait_ a minute. Now, listen. When you see her getting
+ready to leave this place, rush out and get a taxi. I'll join you
+outside, and we'll--"
+
+"Very well. That's part of my job, I suppose. I will have to explain to
+my friend. He will understand." He lowered his voice to almost a
+whisper. "He's in the same business. Special from Scotland Yard. My God,
+what bulldogs these Britishers are. He's been clear around the world,
+lookin' for a young English swell who lit out a couple of years ago.
+We've been taken in on the case,--and I'm on the job with him from
+now--"
+
+"And say," broke in Stuyvie, irrelevantly, "before you leave find out
+who that girl is over there with the fat Irishman. Understand?"
+
+Prince Waldemar de Bosky's thoughts and reflections, up to the beginning
+of this duologue, were of the rosiest and most cheerful nature. He was
+not proud to be playing the violin in Spangler's, but he was human. He
+was not above being gratified by the applause and enthusiasm of the
+people who came to see if not to hear a prince of the blood perform.
+
+His friends were out there in front, and it was to them that he played.
+He was very happy. And the five thousand dollars in the old steel safe
+at the shop of Mirabeau the clockmaker! He had been thinking of them and
+of the letter he had posted to the man "up the river,"--and of the
+interest he would take in the reply when it came. Abruptly, in the midst
+of these agreeable thoughts, came the unlovely interruption.
+
+At first he was bewildered, uncertain as to the course he should pursue.
+He never had seen young Smith-Parvis before, but he had no difficulty in
+identifying him as the disturber of Trotter's peace of mind. That there
+was something dark and sinister behind the plans and motives of the
+young man and his spy was not a matter for doubt. How was he to warn
+Lady Jane? He was in a fearful state of perturbation as he stepped to
+the front of the platform for the next number on the program.
+
+As he played, he saw Smith-Parvis rejoin his party. He watched the
+sallow man weave his way among the diners to his own table. His anxious
+gaze sought out the Marchioness and Jane, and he was relieved to find
+that they were not preparing to depart. Also, he looked again at
+McFaddan and the dashing young woman at the foot of his table. He had
+recognized the man who once a week came under his critical observation
+as a proper footman. As a matter of fact, he had been a trifle
+flabbergasted by the intense stare with which McFaddan favoured him. Up
+to this hour he had not associated McFaddan with opulence or a
+tailor-made dress suit.
+
+After the encore, he descended from the platform and made his way,
+bowing right and left to the friendly throng, until he brought up at the
+Marchioness's table. There he paused and executed a profound bow.
+
+The Marchioness proffered her hand, which he was careful not to see, and
+said something to him in English. He shook his head, expressive of
+despair, and replied in the Hungarian tongue.
+
+"He does not understand English," said Jane, her eyes sparkling. Then
+she complimented him in French.
+
+De Bosky affected a faint expression of hope. He managed a few halting
+words in French. Jane was delighted. This was rare good fun. The
+musician turned to the others at the table and gave utterance to the
+customary "Parle vouz Francais, madame--m'sieu?"
+
+"Not a word," said Mrs. Hendricks. "_He_ understands it but he can't
+hear it," she went on, and suddenly turned a fiery red. "How silly of
+me," she said to the Marchioness, giggling hysterically.
+
+De Bosky's face cleared. He addressed himself to Jane; it was quite safe
+to speak to her in French. He forgot himself in his eagerness, however,
+and spoke with amazing fluency for one who but a moment before had been
+so at a loss. In a few quick, concise sentences he told her of
+Stuyvesant's presence, his condition and his immediate designs.
+
+Both Jane and the Marchioness were equal to the occasion. Although
+filled with consternation, they succeeded admirably in concealing their
+dismay behind a mask of smiles and a gay sort of chatter. De Bosky
+beamed and smirked and gesticulated. One would have thought he was
+regaling them with an amusing story.
+
+"He is capable of making a horrid scene," lamented Jane, through smiling
+lips. "He may come over to this table and--"
+
+"Compose yourself," broke in de Bosky, a smile on his lips but not in
+his eyes. "If he should attempt to annoy you here, I--I myself will take
+him in hand. Have no fear. You may depend on me."
+
+He was interrupted at this juncture by a brass-buttoned page who passed
+the table, murmuring the name of Mrs. Sparflight.
+
+Spangler's is an exceptional place. Pages do not bawl out one's name as
+if calling an "extra." On the contrary, in quiet, repressed tones they
+politely inquire at each table for the person wanted. Mr. Spangler was
+very particular about this. He came near to losing his license years
+before simply because a page had meandered through the restaurant
+bellowing the name of a gentleman whose influence was greater at City
+Hall than it was at his own fireside,--from which, by the way, he
+appears to have strayed on the night in question.
+
+"Dear me," cried the Marchioness, her agitation increasing. "No one
+knows I am here. How on earth--Here, boy!"
+
+A note was delivered to her. It was from Thomas Trotter. Her face
+brightened as she glanced swiftly through the scrawl.
+
+"Splendid!" she exclaimed. "It is from Mr. Trotter. He is waiting
+outside with his automobile."
+
+She passed the note to Jane, whose colour deepened. De Bosky drew a deep
+breath of relief, and, cheered beyond measure by her reassuring words,
+strode off, his head erect, his white teeth showing in a broad smile.
+
+Trotter wrote: "It is raining cats and dogs. I have the car outside. The
+family is at the theatre. Don't hurry. I can wait until 10:15. If you
+are not ready to come away by that time, you will find my friend Joe
+Glimm hanging about in front of the cafe,--drenched to the skin, I'll
+wager. You will recall him as the huge person I introduced to you
+recently as from Constantinople. Just put yourselves under his wing if
+anything happens. He is jolly well able to protect you. I know who's in
+there, but don't be uneasy. He will not dare molest you."
+
+"Shall I keep it for you?" asked Jane, her eyes shining.
+
+"I fancy it was intended for you, my dear," said the other drily.
+
+"How very interesting," observed Mr. Hendricks, who occasionally offered
+some such remark as his contribution to the gaiety of the evening. He
+had found it to be a perfectly safe shot, even when fired at random.
+
+In the meantime, Mr. McFaddan had come to the conclusion that the young
+man at the next table but one was obnoxious. It isn't exactly the way
+Mr. McFaddan would have put it, but as he would have put it less
+elegantly, it is better to supply him with a word out of stock.
+
+The dashing young woman upon whom Stuyvesant lavished his bold and
+significant glances happened to be Mrs. McFaddan, whose scant twelve
+months as a wife gave her certain privileges and a distinction that
+properly would have been denied her hearth-loving predecessor who came
+over from Ireland to marry Con McFaddan when he was promoted to the
+position of foreman in the works,--and who, true to her estate of
+muliebrity, produced four of the most exemplary step-children that any
+second wife could have discovered if she had gone storking over the
+entire city.
+
+Cornelius had married his stenographer. It was not his fault that she
+happened to be a very pretty young woman, nor could he be held
+responsible for the fact that he was approximately thirty years of age
+on the day she was born. Any way you look at it, she was his wife and
+dependent on him for some measure of protection.
+
+And Mr. McFaddan, being an influence, sent for the proprietor of the
+cafe himself, and whispered to him. Whereupon, Mr. Spangler, considering
+the side on which his bread was buttered, whispered back that it should
+be attended to at once.
+
+"And," pursued Mr. McFaddan, purple with suppressed rage, "if you don't,
+I will."
+
+A minute or two later, one of the waiters approached young Mr.
+Smith-Parvis and informed him that he was wanted outside at once.
+
+Stuyvesant's heart leaped. He at once surmised that Miss Emsdale,
+repentant and envious, had come off her high horse and was eager to get
+away from the dull, prosaic and stupidly respectable old "parties" over
+in the corner. Conceivably she had taken a little more champagne than
+was good for her. He got up immediately, and without so much as a word
+of apology to his host, made his way eagerly, though unsteadily, to the
+entrance-hall.
+
+He expected Miss Emsdale to follow; he was already framing in his
+beaddled brain the jolly little lecture he would give her when--
+
+A red-faced person jostled him in a most annoying manner.
+
+"Look sharp there," said Stuyvie thickly. "Watch where you're going."
+
+"Steady, sir,--steady!" came in a hushed, agitated voice from Mr.
+Spangler, who appeared to be addressing himself exclusively to the
+red-faced person. "Let me manage it,--please."
+
+"Who the devil is this bally old blighter?" demanded Stuyvie loudly.
+
+"Leave him to me, Spangler," said the red-faced man. "I have a few
+choice words I--"
+
+"Here! Confound you! Keep off of my toes, you fool! I say, Spangler,
+what's the matter with you? Throw him out! He's--"
+
+"Gentlemen! Gentlemen!"
+
+"I ought to knock your block off," said Mr. McFaddan, without raising
+his voice. As his face was within six inches of Stuyvesant's nose, the
+young man had no difficulty whatever in hearing what he said, and yet it
+should not be considered strange that he failed to understand. In all
+fairness, it must be said that he was bewildered. Under the
+circumstances any one would have been bewildered. Being spoken to in
+that fashion by a man you've never seen before in your life is, to say
+the least, surprising. "I'll give you ten seconds to apologize."
+
+"Ap--apologize? Confound you, what do you mean? You're drunk."
+
+"I said ten seconds," growled Cornelius.
+
+"And then what?" gulped Stuyvie.
+
+"A swat on the nose," said Mr. McFaddan.
+
+At no point in the course of this narrative has there been either proof
+or assertion that Smith-Parvis, Junior, possessed the back-bone of a
+caterpillar. It has been stated, however, that he was a young man of
+considerable bulk. We have assumed, correctly, that this rather
+impressive physique masked a craven spirit. As a matter of fact, he was
+such a prodigious coward that he practised all manner of "exercises" in
+order to develop something to inspire in his fellow-men the belief that
+he would be a pretty tough customer to tackle.
+
+Something is to be said for his method. It has been successfully
+practised by man ever since the day that Solomon, in all his glory,
+arrayed himself so sumptuously that the whole world hailed him as the
+wisest man extant.
+
+Stuyvie took great pride in revealing his well-developed arms; it was
+not an uncommon thing for him to ask you to feel his biceps, or his back
+muscles, or the cords in his thigh; he did a great deal of strutting in
+his bathing suit at such places as Atlantic City, Southampton and
+Newport. In a way, it paid to advertise.
+
+Now when Mr. McFaddan, a formidable-looking person, made that emphatic
+remark, Stuyvesant realized that there was no escape. He was trapped.
+Panic seized him. In sheer terror he struck blindly at the awful,
+reddish thing that filled his vision.
+
+He talked a good deal about it afterwards, explaining in a casual sort
+of way just how he had measured the distance and had picked out the
+point of the fat man's jaw. He even went so far as to say that he felt
+sorry for the poor devil even before he delivered the blow.
+
+The fact of the matter is, Stuyvie's wild, terrified swing,--delivered
+with the eyes not only closed but covered by the left arm,--landed
+squarely on Mr. McFaddan's jaw. And when the aggressor, after a moment
+or two of suspense, opened his eyes and lowered his arm, expecting to
+find his adversary's fist on its irresistible approach toward his nose,
+there was no Mr. McFaddan in sight;--at least, he was not where he had
+been the moment before.
+
+Mr. McFaddan lay in a crumpled heap against a chair, ten feet away.
+
+Stuyvie was suddenly aware that some one was assisting him into his
+coat, and that several men were hustling him toward the door.
+
+"Get out,--quick!" said one, who turned out to be the agitated Mr.
+Spangler. "Before he gets up. He is a terrible man."
+
+By this time they were in the vestibule.
+
+"I will not tell him who you are," Mr. Spangler was saying. "I will give
+you another name,--Jones or anything. He must never know who you are."
+
+"What's the difference?" chattered Stuyvie. "He's--he's dead, isn't he?"
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVI
+
+                       SCOTLAND YARD TAKES A HAND
+
+
+IT was raining hard. Stuyvesant, thoroughly alarmed and not at all
+elated by his astonishing conquest, halted in dismay. The pelting
+torrent swept up against the side of the canvas awning that extended to
+the street; the thick matting on the sidewalk was almost afloat.
+Headlights of automobiles drawn up to the curb blazed dimly through the
+screen of water. He peered out beyond the narrow opening left for
+pedestrians and groaned.
+
+"Taxi!" he frantically shouted to the doorman. Some one tapped him on
+the shoulder. He started as if a gun had gone off at his back. It was
+all up! For once the police were on the spot when--A voice was shouting:
+
+"By thunder, I didn't think it was in you!"
+
+He whirled to face, not the expected bluecoat, but the sallow detective.
+
+"My God, how you startled me!"
+
+"I'd have bet my last dollar you hadn't the nerve to--ahem! I--I--Say,
+take a tip from me. Beat it! Don't hang around here waitin' for that
+girl. That guy in there is beginning to see straight again, and if he
+was to bust out here and find you--Well, it would be something awful!"
+
+"Get me a taxi, you infernal idiot!" roared the conqueror in flight,
+addressing the starter.
+
+"Have one here in five minutes, sir," began the taxi starter, grabbing
+up the telephone.
+
+"Five minutes?" gasped Stuyvie, with a quick glance over his shoulder.
+"Oh, Lord! Tell one of those chauffeurs out there I'll give him ten
+dollars to run me to the Grand Central Station. Hurry up!"
+
+"The Grand Central?" exclaimed the detective. "Great Scott, man, you
+don't have to beat it clear out of town, you know. What are you going to
+the Station for?"
+
+"For a taxi, you damn' fool," shouted Stuyvie. "Say, who was that man in
+there?"
+
+"Didn't you know him?"
+
+"Never saw him in my life before,--the blighter. Who is he?"
+
+The detective stared. He opened his mouth to reply, and as suddenly
+closed it. He, too, knew on which side his bread was precariously
+buttered.
+
+"I don't know," he said.
+
+"Well, the papers will give his name in the morning,--and mine, too,
+curse them," chattered Stuyvie.
+
+"Don't you think it," said the other promptly. "There won't be a word
+about it, take it from me. That guy,--whoever he is,--ain't going to
+have the newspapers say he was knocked down by a pinhead like you."
+
+The insult passed unnoticed. Stuyvie was gazing, pop-eyed, at a man who
+suddenly appeared at the mouth of the canopy, a tall fellow in a
+dripping raincoat.
+
+The newcomer's eyes were upon him. They were steady, unfriendly eyes. He
+advanced slowly.
+
+"I sha'n't wait," said Stuyvie, and swiftly passed out into the deluge.
+No other course was open to him. There was trouble ahead and trouble
+behind.
+
+Thomas Trotter laughed. The sallow-faced man made a trumpet of his hands
+and shouted after the departing one:
+
+"Beat it! He's coming!"
+
+The retreating footsteps quickened into a lively clatter. Trotter
+distinctly heard the sallow-faced man chuckle.
+
+The Marchioness and Jane went home in the big Millidew limousine instead
+of in a taxi. They left the restaurant soon after the departure of
+Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis. The pensive-looking stranger from Scotland Yard
+came out close upon their heels. He was looking for his American guide.
+
+Trotter brought his car up to the awning and grinned broadly as he
+leaned forward for "orders."
+
+"Home, James," said Lady Jane, loftily.
+
+"Very good, my lady," said Trotter.
+
+The man from Scotland Yard squinted narrowly at the chauffeur's face. He
+moved a few paces nearer and stared harder. For a long time after the
+car had rolled away, he stood in the middle of the sidewalk, frowning
+perplexedly. Then he shook his head and apparently gave it up. He went
+inside to look for his friend.
+
+The next day, the sallow-faced detective received instructions over the
+telephone from one who refused to give his name to the operator. He was
+commanded to keep close watch on the movements of a certain party, and
+to await further orders.
+
+"I shall be out of town for a week or ten days," explained young Mr.
+Smith-Parvis.
+
+"I see," said the sallow-faced man. "Good idea. That guy--" But the
+receiver at the other end clicked rudely and without ceremony.
+
+Stuyvesant took an afternoon train for Virginia Hot Springs. At the
+Pennsylvania Station he bought all of the newspapers,--morning, noon and
+night. There wasn't a line in any one of them about the fracas. He was
+rather hurt about it. He was beginning to feel proud of his achievement.
+By the time the train reached Philadelphia he had worked himself into
+quite a fury over the way the New York papers suppress things that
+really ought to be printed. Subsidized, that's what they were. Jolly
+well bribed. He had given the fellow,--whoever he was,--a well-deserved
+drubbing, and the world would never hear of it! Miss Emsdale would not
+hear of it. He very much wished her to hear of it, too. The farther away
+he got from New York the more active became the conviction that he owed
+it to himself to go back there and thrash the fellow all over again, as
+publicly as possible,--in front of the Public Library at four o'clock in
+the afternoon, while he was about it.
+
+He had been at Hot Springs no longer than forty-eight hours when a long
+letter came from his mother. She urged him to return to New York as soon
+as possible. It was imperative that he should be present at a very
+important dinner she was giving on Friday night. One of the most
+influential politicians in New York was to be there,--a man whose name
+was a household word,--and she was sure something splendid would come of
+it.
+
+"You must not fail me, dear boy," she wrote. "I would not have him miss
+seeing you for anything in the world. Don't ask me any questions. I
+can't tell you anything now, but I will say that a great surprise is in
+store for my darling boy."
+
+Meanwhile the nosy individual from Scotland Yard had not been idle. The
+fleeting, all too brief glimpse he had had of the good-looking chauffeur
+in front of Spangler's spurred him to sudden energy in pursuit of what
+had long since shaped itself as a rather forlorn hope. He got out the
+photograph of the youngster in the smart uniform of the Guard, and
+studied it with renewed intensity. Mentally he removed the cocky little
+moustache so prevalent in the Army, and with equal arrogance tried to
+put one on the smooth-faced chauffeur. He allowed for elapsed time, and
+the wear and tear of three years knocking about the world, and altered
+circumstances, and still the resemblance persisted.
+
+For a matter of ten months he had been seeking the young gentleman who
+bore such a startling resemblance to the smiling chauffeur. He had
+traced him to Turkey, into Egypt, down the East Coast of Africa, over to
+Australia, up to Siam and China and Japan, across the Pacific to British
+Columbia, thence to the United States, where the trail was completely
+lost. His quarry had a good year and a half to two years the start of
+him.
+
+Still, a chap he knew quite well in the Yard, after chasing a man twice
+around the world, had nabbed him at the end of six years. So much for
+British perseverance.
+
+Inquiry had failed to produce the slightest enlightenment from the
+doorman or the starter at Spangler's. He always remembered them as the
+stupidest asses he had ever encountered. They didn't recognize the
+chauffeur, nor the car, nor the ladies; not only were they unable to
+tell him the number of the car, but they couldn't, for the life of them,
+approximate the number of ladies. All they seemed to know was that some
+one had been knocked down by a "swell" who was "hot-footing it" up the
+street.
+
+His sallow-faced friend, however, had provided him with an encouraging
+lead. That worthy knew the ladies, but somewhat peevishly explained that
+it was hardly to be expected that he should know all of the taxi-cab
+drivers in New York,--and as he had seen them arrive in a taxi-cab it
+was reasonable to assume that they had departed in one.
+
+"But it wasn't a taxi-cab," the Scotland Yard man protested. "It was a
+blinking limousine."
+
+"Then, all I got to say is that they're not the women I mean. If I'd
+been out here when they left I probably could have put you wise. But I
+was in there listenin' to what Con McFaddan was sayin' to poor old
+Spangler. The woman I mean is a dressmaker. She ain't got any more of a
+limo than I have. Did you notice what they looked like?"
+
+The Scotland Yard man, staring gloomily up the rain-swept street,
+confessed that he hadn't noticed anything but the chauffeur's face.
+
+"Well, there you are," remarked the sallow-faced man, shrugging his
+shoulders in a patronizing, almost pitying way.
+
+The Londoner winced.
+
+"I distinctly heard the chauffeur say 'Very good, my lady,'" he said,
+after a moment. "That was a bit odd, wasn't it, now? You don't have any
+such things as titles over 'ere, do you?"
+
+"Sure. Every steamer brings one or two of 'em to our little city."
+
+The Englishman scratched his head. Suddenly his face brightened.
+
+"I remember, after all,--in a vague sort of way, don't you know,--that
+one of the ladies had white hair. I recall an instant's speculation on
+my part. I remember looking twice to be sure that it was hair and not a
+bit of lace thrown--"
+
+"That's the party," exclaimed the sallow-faced man. "Now we're getting
+somewhere."
+
+The next afternoon, the man from Scotland Yard paid a visit to
+Deborah's. Not at all abashed at finding himself in a place where all
+save angels fear to tread, he calmly asked to be conducted into the
+presence of Mrs. Sparflight. He tactfully refrained from adding "alias
+Deborah, Limited. London, Paris and New York." He declined to state his
+business.
+
+"Madam," said he, coming straight to the point the instant he was
+ushered into the presence of the white-haired proprietress, "I sha'n't
+waste your time,--and mine, I may add,--by beating about the bush, as
+you Americans would say. I represent--"
+
+"If you are an insurance agent or a book agent, you need not waste any
+time at all," began Mrs. Sparflight. He held up his hand deprecatingly.
+
+"--Scotland Yard," he concluded, fixing his eyes upon her. The start she
+gave was helpful. He went on briskly. "Last night you were at a certain
+restaurant. You departed during the thunder-storm in a limousine driven
+by a young man whose face is familiar to me. In short, I am looking for
+a man who bears a most startling resemblance to him. May I prevail upon
+you to volunteer a bit of information?"
+
+Mrs. Sparflight betrayed agitation. A hunted, troubled look came into
+her eyes.
+
+"I--I don't quite understand," she stammered. "Who--who did you say you
+were?"
+
+"My name is Chambers, Alfred Chambers, Scotland Yard. In the event that
+you are ignorant of the character of the place called Scotland Yard, I
+may explain that--"
+
+"I know what it is," she interrupted hastily. "What is it that you want
+of me, Mr. Chambers?" She was rapidly gaining control of her wits.
+
+"Very little, madam. I should very much like to know whose car took you
+away from Sprinkler's last night."
+
+She looked him straight in the eye. "I haven't the remotest idea," she
+said.
+
+He nodded his head gently. "Would you, on the other hand, object to
+telling me how long James has been driving for her ladyship?"
+
+This was a facer. Mrs. Sparflight's gaze wavered.
+
+"Her ladyship?" she murmured weakly.
+
+"Yes, madam,--unless my hearing was temporarily defective," he said.
+
+"I don't know what you mean."
+
+"Your companion was a young lady of--"
+
+"My good man," interrupted the lady sharply, "my companion last night
+was my own private secretary."
+
+"A Miss Emsdale, I believe," said he.
+
+She gulped. "Precisely."
+
+"Um!" he mused. "And you do not know whose car you went off in,--is that
+right?"
+
+"I have no hesitancy in stating, Mr. Chambers, that the car does not
+belong to me or to my secretary," she said, smiling.
+
+"I trust you will pardon a seemingly rude question, Mrs. Sparflight. Is
+it the custom in New York for people to take possession of private
+automobiles--"
+
+"It is the custom for New York chauffeurs to pick up an extra dollar or
+two when their employers are not looking," she interrupted, with a shrug
+of her shoulders. She was instantly ashamed of her mendacity. She looked
+over her shoulder to see if Mr. Thomas Trotter's sweetheart was anywhere
+within hearing, and was relieved to find that she was not. "And now,
+sir, if it is a fair question, may I inquire just what this chauffeur's
+double has been doing that Scotland Yard should be seeking him so
+assiduously?"
+
+"He has been giving us a deuce of a chase, madam," said Mr. Chambers, as
+if that were the gravest crime a British subject could possibly commit.
+"By the way, did you by any chance obtain a fair look at the man who
+drove you home last night?"
+
+"Yes. He seemed quite a good-looking fellow."
+
+"Will you glance at this photograph, Mrs. Sparflight, and tell me
+whether you detect a resemblance?" He took a small picture from his coat
+pocket and held it out to her.
+
+She looked at it closely, holding it at various angles and distances,
+and nodded her head in doubtful acquiescence.
+
+"I think I do, Mr. Chambers. I am not surprised that you should have
+been struck by the resemblance. This man was a soldier, I perceive."
+
+Mr. Chambers restored the photograph to his pocket.
+
+"The King's Own," he replied succinctly. "Perhaps your secretary may be
+able to throw a little more light on the matter, madam. May I have the
+privilege of interrogating her?"
+
+"Not today," said Mrs. Sparflight, who had anticipated the request. "She
+is very busy."
+
+"Of course I am in no position to insist," said he pleasantly. "I trust
+you will forgive my intrusion, madam. I am here only in the interests of
+justice, and I have no desire to cause you the slightest annoyance.
+Permit me to bid you good day, Mrs. Sparflight. Thank you for your
+kindness in receiving me. Tomorrow, if it is quite agreeable to you, I
+shall call to see Miss Emsdale."
+
+At that moment, the door opened and Miss Emsdale came into the little
+office.
+
+"You rang for me, Mrs. Sparflight?" she inquired, with a quick glance at
+the stranger.
+
+Mrs. Sparflight blinked rapidly. "Not at all,--not at all. I did not
+ring."
+
+Miss Emsdale looked puzzled. "I am sure the buzzer--"
+
+"Pardon me," said Mr. Chambers, easily. "I fancy I can solve the
+mystery. Accidentally,--quite accidentally, I assure you,--I put my hand
+on the button on your desk, Mrs. Sparflight,--while you were glancing at
+the photograph. Like this,--do you see?" He put his hand on the top of
+the desk and leaned forward, just as he had done when he joined her in
+studying the picture a few moments before.
+
+A hot flush mounted to Mrs. Sparflight's face, and her eyes flashed. The
+next instant she smiled.
+
+"You are most resourceful, Mr. Chambers," she said. "It happens,
+however, that your cleverness gains you nothing. This young lady is one
+of our stenographers. I think I said that Miss Emsdale is my private
+secretary. She has no connection whatever with the business office. The
+button you inadvertently pressed simply disturbed one of the girls in
+the next room. You may return to your work, Miss Henry."
+
+She carried it off very well. Jane, sensing danger, was on the point of
+retiring,--somewhat hurriedly, it must be confessed,--when Mr. Chambers,
+in his most apologetic manner, remarked:
+
+"May I have a word with you, your ladyship?"
+
+It was a bold guess, encouraged by his discovery that the young lady was
+not only English but of a class distinctly remote from shops and
+stenography.
+
+Under the circumstances, Jane may be forgiven for dissembling, even at
+the cost of her employer's honour. She stopped short, whirled, and
+confronted the stranger with a look in her eyes that convicted her
+immediately. Her hand flew to her heart, and a little gasp broke from
+her parted lips.
+
+Mr. Chambers was smiling blandly. She looked from him to Mrs.
+Sparflight, utter bewilderment in her eyes.
+
+"Oh, Lord!" muttered that lady in great dismay.
+
+The man from Scotland Yard hazarded another and even more potential
+stroke while the iron was hot.
+
+"I am from Scotland Yard," he said. "We make some mistakes there, I
+admit, but not many." He proceeded to lie boldly. "I know who you are,
+my lady, and--But it is not necessary to go into that at present. Do not
+be alarmed. You have nothing to fear from me,--or from Scotland Yard.
+I--"
+
+"Well, I should hope _not_!" burst out Mrs. Sparflight indignantly.
+
+"What does he want?" cried Jane, in trepidation. She addressed her
+friend, but it was Mr. Chambers who answered.
+
+"I want you to supply me with a little information concerning Lord Eric
+Temple,--whom you addressed last evening as James."
+
+Jane began to tremble. Scotland Yard!
+
+"The man is crazy," said Mrs. Sparflight, leaping into the breach. "By
+what right, sir, do you come here to impose your--"
+
+"No offence is intended, ma'am," broke in Mr. Chambers. "Absolutely no
+offence. It is merely in the line of duty that I come. In plain words, I
+have been instructed to apprehend Lord Eric Temple and fetch him to
+London. You see, I am quite frank about it. You can aid me by being as
+frank in return, ladies."
+
+By this time Jane had regained command of herself. Drawing herself up,
+she faced the detective, and, casting discretion to the winds, took a
+most positive and determined stand.
+
+"I must decline,--no matter what the cost may be to myself,--to give you
+the slightest assistance concerning Lord Temple."
+
+To their infinite amazement, the man bowed very courteously and said:
+
+"I shall not insist. Pardon my methods and my intrusion. I shall trouble
+you no further. Good day, madam. Good day, your ladyship."
+
+He took his leave at once, leaving them staring blankly at the closed
+door. He was satisfied. He had found out just what he wanted to know,
+and he was naturally in some haste to get out before they began putting
+embarrassing questions to him.
+
+"Oh, dear," murmured Jane, distractedly. "What _are_ we to do? Scotland
+Yard! That can mean but one thing. His enemies at home have brought some
+vile, horrible charge against--"
+
+"We must warn him at once, Jane. There is no time to be lost. Telephone
+to the garage where Mrs. Millidew--"
+
+"But the man doesn't know that Eric is driving for Mrs. Millidew," broke
+in Jane, hopefully.
+
+"He _will_ know, and in very short order," said the other,
+sententiously. "Those fellows are positively uncanny. Go at once and
+telephone." She hesitated a moment, looking a little confused and
+guilty. "Lay aside your work, dear, for the time being. There is nothing
+very urgent about it, you know."
+
+In sheer desperation she had that very morning set her restless charge
+to work copying names out of the _Social Register_,--names she had
+checked off at random between the hours of ten and two the previous
+night.
+
+Jane's distress increased to a state bordering on anguish.
+
+"Oh, dear! He--he is out of town for two or three days."
+
+"Out of town?"
+
+"He told me last night he was to be off early this morning for Mrs.
+Millidew's country place somewhere on Long Island. Mrs. Millidew had to
+go down to see about improvements or repairs or something before the
+house is opened for the season."
+
+"Mrs. Millidew was in the shop this morning for a 'try-on,'" said the
+other. "She has changed her plans, no doubt."
+
+Jane's honest blue eyes wavered slightly as she met her friend's
+questioning gaze.
+
+"I think he said that young Mrs. Millidew was going down to look after
+the work for her mother-in-law."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XVII
+
+                            FRIDAY FOR LUCK
+
+
+THE "drawing-room" that evening lacked not only distinction but
+animation as well. To begin with, the attendance was small. The
+Marchioness, after the usual collaboration with Julia in advance of the
+gathering, received a paltry half-dozen during the course of the
+evening. The Princess was there, and Count Antonio,--(he rarely missed
+coming), and the Hon. Mrs. Priestley-Duff. Lord Eric Temple and Lady
+Jane Thorne were missing, as were Prince Waldemar de Bosky, Count
+Wilhelm von Blitzen and the Countess du Bara. Extreme dulness prevailed.
+The Princess fell asleep, and, on being roused at a seasonable hour,
+declared that her eyes had been troubling her of late, so she kept them
+closed as much as possible on account of the lights.
+
+Mrs. Priestley-Duff, being greatly out-of-sorts, caustically remarked
+that the proper way to treat bothersome eyes is to put them to bed in a
+sound-proof room.
+
+Cricklewick yawned in the foyer, Moody yawned in the outer hall, and
+McFaddan in the pantry. The latter did not yawn luxuriously. There was
+something half-way about it.
+
+"Why don't you 'ave it out?" inquired Moody, sympathetically, after
+solicitous inquiry. "They say the bloomin' things are the cause of all
+the rheumatism we're 'aving nowadays. Is it a wisdom tooth?"
+
+"No," said McFaddan, with a suddenness that startled Moody; "it ain't.
+It's a whole jaw. It's a dam' fool jaw at that."
+
+"Now that I look at you closer," said Moody critically, "it seems to be
+a bit discoloured. Looks as though mortification had set in."
+
+"Ye never said a truer thing," said McFaddan. "It set in last night."
+
+The man from Scotland Yard waited across the street until he saw the
+lights in the windows of the third, fourth and fifth floors go out, and
+then strolled patiently away. Queer looking men and women came under his
+observation during the long and lonely vigil, entering and emerging from
+the darkened doorway across the street, but none of them, by any chance,
+bore the slightest resemblance to the elusive Lord Temple, or "her
+ladyship," the secretary. He made the quite natural error of putting the
+queer looking folk down as tailors and seamstresses who worked far into
+the night for the prosperous Deborah.
+
+Two days went by. He sat at a window in the hotel opposite and waited
+for the young lady to appear. On three separate occasions he followed
+her to Central Park and back. She was a brisk walker. She had the free
+stride of the healthy English girl. He experienced some difficulty in
+keeping her in sight, but even as he puffed laboriously behind, he was
+conscious of a sort of elation. It was good to see some one who walked
+as if she were in Hyde Park.
+
+For obvious reasons, his trailing was in vain. Jane did not meet Lord
+Temple for the excellent reason that Thomas Trotter was down on Long
+Island with the beautiful Mrs. Millidew. And while both Jane and Mrs.
+Sparflight kept a sharp lookout for Mr. Chambers, they failed to
+discover any sign of him. He seemed to have abandoned the quest. They
+were not lured into security, however. He would bob up, like
+Jack-in-the-box, when least expected.
+
+If they could only get word to Trotter! If they could only warn him of
+the peril that stalked him!
+
+Jane was in the depths. She had tumbled swiftly from the great height to
+which joy had wafted her; her hopes and dreams, and the castles they had
+built so deftly, shrunk up and vanished in the cloud that hung like a
+pall about her. Her faith in the man she loved was stronger than ever;
+nothing could shatter that. No matter what Scotland Yard might say or
+do, actuated by enemy injustice, she would never believe evil of him.
+And she would not give him up!
+
+"Marchioness," she said at the close of the second day, her blue eyes
+clouded with the agony of suspense, "is there not some way to resist
+extradition? Can't we fight it? Surely it isn't possible to take an
+innocent man out of this great, generous country--"
+
+"My dear child," said the Marchioness, putting down her coffee cup with
+so little precision that it clattered in the saucer, "there isn't
+_anything_ that Scotland Yard cannot do." She spoke with an air of
+finality.
+
+"I have been thinking," began Jane, haltingly. She paused for a moment.
+An appealing, wistful note was in her voice when she resumed, and her
+eyes were tenderly resolute. "He hasn't very much money, you know, poor
+boy. I have been thinking,--oh, I've been thinking of so many things,"
+she broke off confusedly.
+
+"Well, what have you been thinking?" inquired the other, helpfully.
+
+"It has occurred to me that I can get along very nicely on half of what
+you are paying me,--or even less. If it were not for the fact that my
+poor brother depends solely upon me for support, I could spare
+practically all of my salary to--for--"
+
+"Go on," said the Marchioness gently.
+
+"In any case, I can give Eric half of my salary if it will be of any
+assistance to him,--yes, a little more than half," said Jane, a warm,
+lovely flush in her cheeks.
+
+The Marchioness hastily pressed the serviette to her lips. She seemed to
+be choking. It was some time before she could trust herself to say:
+
+"Bless your heart, my dear, he wouldn't take it. Of course," she went
+on, after a moment, "it would please him beyond words if you were to
+suggest it to him."
+
+"I shall do more," said Jane, resolutely. "I shall insist."
+
+"It will tickle him almost to death," said the Marchioness, again
+raising the napkin to her lips.
+
+At twelve o'clock the next day, Trotter's voice came blithely over the
+telephone.
+
+"Are you there, darling? Lord, it seems like a century since I--"
+
+"Listen, Eric," she broke in. "I have something very important to tell
+you. Now, _do_ listen--are you there?"
+
+"Right-o! Whisper it, dear. The telephone has a million ears. I want to
+hear you say it,--oh, I've been wanting--"
+
+"It isn't that," she said. "You know I do, Eric. But this is something
+perfectly terrible."
+
+"Oh, I say, Jane, you haven't changed your mind about--about--"
+
+"As if I _could_," she cried. "I love you more than ever, Eric. Oh, what
+a silly thing to say over the telephone. I am blushing,--I hope no one
+heard--"
+
+"Listen!" said he promptly, music in his voice. "I'm just in from the
+country. I'll be down to see you about five this afternoon. Tell you all
+about the trip. Lived like a lord,--homelike sort of feeling,
+eh?--and--"
+
+"I don't care to hear about it," said Jane stiffly. "Besides, you must
+not come here today, Eric. It is the very worst thing you could do. He
+would be sure to see you."
+
+"He? What he?" he demanded quickly.
+
+"I can't explain. Listen, dear. Mrs. Sparflight and I have talked it all
+over and we've decided on the best thing to do."
+
+And she poured into the puzzled young man's ear the result of prolonged
+deliberations. He was to go to Bramble's Bookshop at half-past four, and
+proceed at once to the workshop of M. Mirabeau upstairs. She had
+explained the situation to Mr. Bramble in a letter. At five o'clock she
+would join him there. In the meantime, he was to keep off of the
+downtown streets as much as possible.
+
+"In the name of heaven, what's up?" he cried for the third time,--with
+variations.
+
+"A--a detective from Scotland Yard," she replied in a voice so low and
+cautious that he barely caught the words. "I--I can't say anything more
+now," she went on rapidly. "Something tells me he is just outside the
+door, listening to every word I utter."
+
+"Wait!" he ordered. "A detective? Has that beastly Smith-Parvis crowd
+dared to insinuate that you--that you--Oh, Lord, I can't even say it!"
+
+"I said 'Scotland Yard,' Eric," she said. "Don't you understand?"
+
+"No, I'm hanged if I do. But don't worry, dear. I'll be at Bramble's
+and, by the lord Harry, if they're trying to put up any sort of
+a--Hello! Are you there?"
+
+There was no answer.
+
+Needless to say, he was at Bramble's Bookshop on the minute, vastly
+perturbed and eager for enlightenment.
+
+"Don't stop down here an instant," commanded Mr. Bramble, glancing
+warily at the front door. "Do as I tell you. Don't ask questions. Go
+upstairs and wait,--and don't show yourself under any circumstance. Did
+you happen to catch a glimpse of him anywhere outside?"
+
+"The street is full of 'hims,'" retorted Mr. Trotter in exasperation.
+"What the devil is all this about, Bramby?"
+
+"She will be here at five. There's nothing suspicious in her coming in
+to buy a book. It's all been thought out. Most natural thing in the
+world that she should buy a book, don't you see? Only you must not be
+buying one at the same time. Now, run along,--lively. Prince de Bosky is
+with Mirabeau. And don't come down till I give you the word."
+
+"See here, Bramble, if you let anything happen to her I'll--" Mr.
+Bramble relentlessly urged him up the steps.
+
+Long before Jane arrived, Trotter was in possession of the details. He
+was vastly perplexed.
+
+"I daresay one of those beastly cousins of mine has trumped up some
+charge that he figures will put me out of the running for ever," he said
+gloomily. He sat, slack and dejected, in a corner of the shop farthest
+removed from the windows. "I shouldn't mind so much if it weren't for
+Lady Jane. She--you see, M'sieur, she has promised to be my wife. This
+will hurt her terribly. The beastly curs!"
+
+"Sit down!" commanded M. Mirabeau. "You must not go raging up and down
+past those windows."
+
+"Confound you, Mirabeau, he doesn't know this place exists. He never
+will know unless he follows Lady Jane. I'll do as I jolly well please."
+
+De Bosky, inspired, produced a letter he had just received from his
+friend, the cracksman. He had read it to the bookseller and clockmaker,
+and now re-read it, with soulful fervour, for the benefit of the new
+arrival. He interrupted himself to beg M. Mirabeau to unlock the safe
+and bring forth the treasure.
+
+"You see what he says?" cried he, shaking the letter in front of
+Trotter's eyes. "And here is the money! See! Touch it, my friend. It is
+real. I thought I was also dreaming. Count them. Begin with this one.
+Now,--one hundred, two hundred--"
+
+"I haven't the remotest idea what you're talking about," said Trotter,
+staring blankly at the money.
+
+"What a fool I am!" cried de Bosky. "I begin at the back-end of the
+story. How could you know? Have you ever known such a fool as I,
+Mirabeau?"
+
+"Never," said M. Mirabeau, who had his ear cocked for sounds on the
+stairway.
+
+"And so," said the Prince, at the end of the hastily told story of the
+banknotes and the man up the river, "you see how it is. He replies to my
+carefully worded letter. Shall I read it again? No? But, I ask you, my
+dear Trotter, how am I to carry out his instructions? Naturally he is
+vague. All letters are read at the prison, I am informed. He says: 'And
+anything you may have come acrosst among my effects is so piffling that
+I hereby instructs you to burn it up, sos I won't have to be bothered
+with it when I come out, which ain't fer some time yet, and when I do
+get out I certainly am not coming to New York, anyhow. I am going west
+and start all over again. A feller has got a better chance out there.'
+That is all he has to say about this money, Trotter. I cannot burn it.
+What am I to do?"
+
+Trotter had an inspiration.
+
+"Put it into American Tobacco," he said.
+
+De Bosky stared. "Tobacco?"
+
+"Simplest way in the world to obey instructions. The easiest way to burn
+money is to convert it into tobacco. Slip down to Wall Street tomorrow
+and invest every cent of this money in American Tobacco, register the
+stock in the name of Henry Loveless and put it away for him. Save out
+enough for a round-trip ticket to Sing Sing, and run up there some day
+and tell him what you've done."
+
+"By Jove!" exclaimed de Bosky, his eyes dancing. "But," he added,
+doubtfully, "what am I to do if he doesn't approve?"
+
+"Tell him put it in his pipe and smoke it," said the resourceful Mr.
+Trotter.
+
+"You know," said the other admiringly, "I have never been one of those
+misguided persons who claim that the English have no sense of humour.
+I--"
+
+"Sh!" warned M. Mirabeau from the top of the steps. And then, like a
+true Frenchman, he bustled de Bosky out of the shop ahead of him and
+closed the door, leaving Trotter alone among the ticking clocks.
+
+Jane came swiftly up the steps, hurrying as if pursued. Mr. Bramble was
+pledging something, in a squeaky undertone, from the store below.
+
+"He may not have followed me," Jane called back in guarded tones, "but
+if he has, Mr. Bramble, you must be sure to throw him off the trail."
+
+"Trust me,--trust me implicitly," came in a strangled sort of voice from
+the faithful ex-tutor.
+
+"Oh,--Eric, dearest! How you startled me!" cried Lady Jane a moment
+later. She gasped the words, for she was almost smothered in the arms of
+her lover.
+
+"Forgive me," he murmured, without releasing her,--an oversight which
+she apparently had no immediate intention of resenting.
+
+A little later on, she suddenly drew away from him, with a quick,
+embarrassed glance around the noisy little shop. He laughed.
+
+"We are quite alone, Jane dear,--unless you count the clocks. They're
+all looking at us, but they never tell anything more than the time of
+day. And now, dear, what is this beastly business?"
+
+She closed the door to the stairway, very cautiously, and then came back
+to him. The frown deepened in his eyes as he listened to the story she
+told.
+
+"But why should I go into hiding?" he exclaimed, as she stopped to get
+her breath. "I haven't done anything wrong. What if they have trumped up
+some rotten charge against me? All the more reason why I should stand
+out and defend--"
+
+"But, dear, Scotland Yard is such a dreadful place," she cried,
+blanching. "They--"
+
+"Rubbish! I'm not afraid of Scotland Yard."
+
+"You--you're not?" she gasped, blankly. "But, Eric dear, you _must_ be
+afraid of Scotland Yard. You don't know what you are saying."
+
+"Oh, yes, I do. And as for this chap they've sent after me,--where is
+he? In two seconds I can tell him what's what. He'll go humping back to
+London--"
+
+"I knew you would say something like that," she declared, greatly
+perturbed. "But I sha'n't let you. Do you hear, Eric? I sha'n't let you.
+You _must_ hide. You must go away from New York,--tonight."
+
+"And leave you?" he scoffed. "What can you be thinking of, darling? Am
+I--Sit down, dear,--here beside me. You are frightened. That infernal
+brute has scared you almost out of--"
+
+"I _am_ frightened,--terribly frightened. So is the Marchioness,--and
+Mr. Bramble." She sat beside him on the bench. He took her cold hands in
+his own and pressed them gently, encouragingly. His eyes were very soft
+and tender.
+
+"Poor little girl!" For a long time he sat there looking at her white,
+averted face. A slow smile slowly struggled to the corners of his mouth.
+"I can't afford to run away," he said at last. "I've just got to stick
+by my job. It means a lot to me now, Jane dear."
+
+She looked up quickly, her face clearing.
+
+"I love you, Eric. I know you are innocent of anything they may charge
+you with. I _know_ it. And I would give all I have in the world to help
+you in your hour of trouble. Listen, dear. I want you to accept this in
+the right spirit. Don't let pride stand in the way. It is really
+something I want to do,--something that will make me--oh, so happy, if
+you will just let me do it. I am earning five guineas a week. It is more
+than I need. Now, dear, just for a little while,--until you have found
+another place in some city far away from New York,--you must let me
+share my--What is there to laugh at, Eric?" she cried in a hurt voice.
+
+He grew sober at once.
+
+"I'm--I'm sorry," he said. "Thank you,--and God bless you, Jane. It's
+fine. You're a brick. But,--but I can't accept it. Please don't say
+anything more about it, dear. I just _can't_,--that's all."
+
+"Oh, dear," she sighed. "And--and you refuse to go away? You will not
+escape while there is yet--"
+
+"See here, dear," he began, his jaw setting, "I am not underrating the
+seriousness of this affair. They may have put up a beast of a job on me.
+They fixed it so that I hadn't a chance three years ago. Perhaps they've
+decided to finish the job and have done with me for ever. I don't put it
+above them, curse them. Here's the story in a nutshell. I have two
+cousins in the Army, sons of my mother's sisters. They're a pair of
+rotters. It was they who hatched up the scheme to disgrace me in the
+service,--and, by gad, they did it to the queen's taste. I had to get
+out. There wasn't a chance for me to square myself. I--I sha'n't go into
+that, dear. You'll understand why. It--it hurts. Cheating at cards.
+That's enough, isn't it? Well, they got me. My grandfather and I--he is
+theirs as well as mine,--we never hit it off very well at best. My
+mother married Lord Temple. Grandfather was opposed to the match. Her
+sisters did everything in their power to widen the breach that followed
+the marriage. It may make it easier for you to understand when I remind
+you that my grandfather is one of the wealthiest peers in England.
+
+"Odd things happen in life. When my father died, I went to Fenlew Hall
+with my mother to live. Grandfather's heart had softened a little, you
+see. I was Lord Eric Temple before I was six years old. My mother died
+when I was ten. For fifteen years I lived on with Lord Fenlew, and,
+while we rowed a good deal,--he is a crotchety old tyrant, bless
+him!--he undoubtedly preferred me to either of my cousins. God bless him
+for that! He showed his good sense, if I do say it who shouldn't.
+
+"So they set to work. That's why I am here,--without going into details.
+That's why I am out of the Army. And I loved the Army, Jane,--God bless
+it! I used to pray for another war, horrible as it may sound, so that I
+could go out and fight for England as those lads did who went down to
+the bottom of Africa. I would cry myself to sleep because I was so young
+then, and so useless. I am not ashamed of the tears you see in my eyes
+now. You can't understand what it means to me, Jane."
+
+He drew a deep breath, cleared his throat, and then went on.
+
+"Lord Fenlew turned me out,--disowned me. Don't blame the old boy. They
+made out a good enough case against me. I was given the choice of
+resigning from the regiment or--well, the other thing. My father was
+practically penniless when he died. I had nothing of my own. It was up
+to me to earn an honest living,--or go to the devil. I thought I'd try
+out the former first. One can always go to the devil, you know. So off
+into the far places of the earth I wandered,--and I've steered pretty
+clear of the devil up to date.
+
+"It's easy to earn a living, dear, if you just half try.
+
+"And now for this new complication. For the three years that I have been
+away from England, not a single word have I sent home. I daresay they
+know that I am alive, and that I'll turn up some day like the bad penny.
+I was named in my grandfather's will. He once told me he intended to
+leave the bulk of the unentailed property to me,--not because he loved
+me well but because he loved my two cousins not at all. For all I know,
+he may never have altered his will. In that case, I still remain the
+chief legatee and a source of tremendous uneasiness to my precious aunts
+and their blackguard sons. It is possible, even probable, that they have
+decided the safest place to have me is behind the bars,--at least until
+Lord Fenlew has changed his will for the last time and lies securely in
+the family vault. I can think of no other explanation for the action of
+Scotland Yard. But, don't worry, dear. I haven't done anything wrong,
+and they can't stow me away in--"
+
+"The beasts!" cried Jane, furiously.
+
+He stroked her clenched fingers.
+
+"I wouldn't call 'em names, dear," he protested. "They're honest
+fellows, and simply doing--"
+
+"They are the most despicable wretches on earth."
+
+"You must be referring to my cousins. I thought--"
+
+"Now, Eric," she broke in firmly, "I sha'n't let you give yourself up.
+You owe something to me. I love you with all my soul. If they were to
+take you back to London and--and put you in prison,--I'd--I'd die. I
+could not endure--" She suddenly broke down and, burying her face on his
+shoulder, sobbed chokingly.
+
+He was deeply distressed.
+
+"Oh, I say, dearest, don't--don't go under like this. I--I can't stand
+it. Don't cry, darling. It breaks my heart to see you--"
+
+"I--I can't help it," she sobbed. "Give--give me a little--time. I'll be
+all right in a--minute."
+
+He whispered consolingly: "That's right. Take your time, dear. I never
+dreamed you cared so much."
+
+She looked up quickly, her eyes flashing through the tears.
+
+"And do you care less for me, now that you see what a weak, silly--"
+
+"Good Lord, no! I adore you more than ever. I--
+Who's there?"
+
+M. Mirabeau, coughing considerately, was rattling the latch of the door
+that separated the shop from the store-room beyond. A moment later he
+opened the door slowly and stuck his head through the aperture. Then,
+satisfied that his warning cough had been properly received, he entered
+the shop. The lovers were sitting bolt upright and some distance apart.
+Lady Jane was arranging a hat that had been somehow forgotten up to that
+instant.
+
+"A thousand pardons," said the old Frenchman, his voice lowered. "We
+must act at once. Follow me,--quickly, but as quietly as possible. He is
+downstairs. I have listened from the top of the steps. Poor old Bramble
+is doing his best to divert him. I have just this instant heard the
+villain announce that his watch needs looking into, and from that I draw
+a conclusion. He will come to my shop in spite of all that Bramble can
+do. Come! I know the way to safety."
+
+"But I'm not going to hide," began Trotter.
+
+Jane seized his arm and dragged him toward the door.
+
+"Yes, you are," she whispered fiercely. "You belong to me, Eric Temple.
+I shall do what I like with you. Don't be mulish, dear. I sha'n't leave
+you,--not for anything in the world."
+
+"Bravo!" whispered M. Mirabeau.
+
+Swiftly they stole through the door and past the landing. Scraps of
+conversation from below reached their ears. Jane's clutch tightened on
+her lover's arm. She recognized the voice of Mr. Alfred Chambers.
+
+"De Bosky will do the rest," whispered the clockmaker, as they were
+joined by the musician at the far end of the stock-room. "I must return
+to the shop. He will suspect at once if I am not at work when he
+appears,--for appear he will, you may be sure."
+
+He was gone in a second. De Bosky led them into the adjoining room and
+pointed to a tall step-ladder over in the corner. A trap-door in the
+ceiling was open, and blackness loomed beyond.
+
+"Go up!" commanded the agitated musician, addressing Trotter. "It is an
+air-chamber. Don't break your head on the rafters. Follow close behind,
+Lady Jane. I will hold the ladder. Close the trap after you,--and do not
+make a sound after you are once up there. This is the jolliest moment of
+my life! I was never so thrilled. It is beautiful! It is ravishing! Sh!
+Don't utter a word, I command you! We will foil him,--we will foil old
+Scotland Yard. Be quick! Splendid! You are wonderful, Mademoiselle. Such
+courage,--such grace,--such--Sh! I take the ladder away! Ha, he will
+never suspect. He--"
+
+"But how the deuce are we to get down from here?" groaned Trotter in a
+penetrating whisper from aloft.
+
+"You can't get down,--but as he can't get up, why bother your head about
+that? Close the trap!"
+
+"Oh-h!" shuddered Jane, in an ecstasy of excitement. She was kneeling
+behind her companion, peering down through the square little opening
+into which he had drawn her a moment before.
+
+Trotter cautiously lowered the trap-door,--and they were in Stygian
+darkness. She repeated the exclamation, but this time it was a sharp,
+quick gasp of dismay.
+
+For a long time they were silent, listening for sounds from below. At
+last he arose to his feet. His head came in contact with something
+solid. A smothered groan escaped his lips.
+
+"Good Lord!--
+Be careful, dear! There's not more than four feet
+head-room. Sit still till I find a match."
+
+"Are you hurt? What a dreadful bump it was. I wonder if he could have
+heard?"
+
+"They heard it in heaven," he replied, feeling his head.
+
+"How dark it is," she shuddered. "Don't you dare move an inch from my
+side, Eric. I'll scream."
+
+He laughed softly. "By Jove, it's rather a jolly lark, after all. A
+wonderful place this is for sweethearts." He dropped down beside her.
+
+After a time, she whispered: "You mentioned a match, Eric."
+
+"So I did," said he, and proceeded to go through the pocket in which he
+was accustomed to carry matches. "Thunderation! The box is empty."
+
+She was silent for a moment. "I really don't mind, dear."
+
+"I remember saying this morning that I never have any luck on Friday,"
+said he resignedly. "But," he added, a happy note in his voice, "I never
+dreamed there was such luck as this in store for me."
+
+
+
+
+                             CHAPTER XVIII
+
+                          FRIDAY FOR BAD LUCK
+
+
+SPEAKING of Friday and the mystery of luck. Luck is supposed to shift in
+one direction or another on the sixth day of every week in the year. It
+is supposed to shift for everybody. A great many people are either too
+ignorant or too supercilious to acknowledge this vast and oppressive
+truth, however. They regard Friday as a plain, ordinary day, and go on
+being fatuously optimistic.
+
+On the other hand, when it comes Friday, the capable and the far-seeing
+are prone to accept it as it was intended by the Creator, who, from
+confidential reports, paused on the sixth day (as we reckon it) of his
+labours and looked back on what already had been accomplished. He was
+dissatisfied. He set to work again. Right then and there Friday became
+an unlucky day, according to a great many philosophers. If the Creator
+had stopped then and let well-enough alone, there wouldn't have been
+any cause for complaint. He would have failed to create Adam (an
+afterthought), and the human race, lacking existence, would not have
+been compelled to put up with life,--which is a mess, after all.
+
+If more people would pause to consider the futility of living between
+Thursday and Saturday, a great deal of woe and misfortune might be
+avoided.
+
+For example, when Mrs. Smith-Parvis called on Mrs. McFaddan on the
+Monday of the week that is now making history through these pages, she
+completely overlooked the fact that there was a Friday still to be
+reckoned with.
+
+True, she had in mind a day somewhat more remote when, after coming face
+to face with the blooming Mrs. McFaddan who happened to open her own
+front door,--it being Maggie's day out,--she had been compelled to
+substitute herself in person for the cards she meant to leave. Mrs.
+McFaddan had cordially sung out to her from the front stoop, over the
+head of the shocked footman, that she was at home and would Mrs.
+Smith-Parvis please step in.
+
+Thursday, two weeks hence, was the day Mrs. Smith-Parvis had in mind.
+She had not been in the McFaddan parlour longer than a minute and a half
+before she realized that an invitation by word of mouth would do quite
+as well as an expensively engraved card by post. There was nothing
+formal about Mrs. McFaddan. She was sorry that Con wasn't home; he would
+hate like poison to have missed seeing Mrs. Smith-Parvis when she did
+them the honour to call. But Con was not likely to be in before
+seven,--he was that busy, poor man,--and it would be asking too much of
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis to wait till then.
+
+So, the lady from the upper East Side had no hesitancy in asking the
+lady from the lower West Side to dine with her on Thursday the
+nineteenth.
+
+"I am giving a series of informal dinners, Mrs. McFad-_dan_," she
+explained graciously.
+
+"They're the nicest kind," returned Mrs. McFaddan, somewhat startled by
+the pronunciation of her husband's good old Irish name. She knew little
+or nothing of French, but somehow she rather liked the emphasis, crisply
+nasal, her visitor put upon the final syllable. Before the visit came to
+an end, she was mentally repeating her own name after Mrs. Smith-Parvis,
+and wondering whether Con would stand for it.
+
+"What date did you say?" she inquired, abruptly breaking in on a further
+explanation. The reply brought a look of disappointment to her face. "We
+can't come," she said flatly. "We're leaving on Saturday this week for
+Washington to be gone till the thirtieth. Important business, Con says."
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis thought quickly. Washington, eh?
+
+"Could you come on Friday night of this week, Mrs. McFad-_dan_?"
+
+"We could," said the other. "Don't you worry about Con cooking up an
+excuse for not coming, either. He does just about what I tell him."
+
+"Splendid!" said Mrs. Smith-Parvis, arising. "Friday at 8:30."
+
+"Have plenty of fish," said Mrs. McFaddan gaily.
+
+"Fish?" faltered the visitor.
+
+"It's Friday, you know."
+
+Greatly to Mrs. Smith-Parvis's surprise,--and in two or three cases,
+irritation,--every one she asked to meet the McFaddans on Friday
+accepted with alacrity. She asked the Dodges, feeling confident that
+they couldn't possibly be had on such short notice,--and the same
+with the Bittinger-Stuarts. They _did_ have previous engagements, but
+they promptly cancelled them. It struck her as odd,--and later on
+significant,--that, without exception, every woman she asked said she
+was just dying for a chance to have a little private "talk" with the
+notorious Mr. McFaddan.
+
+People who had never arrived at a dinner-party on time in their lives,
+appeared on Friday at the Smith-Parvis home all the way from five to
+fifteen minutes early.
+
+The Cricklewicks were not asked. Mr. Smith-Parvis remembered in time
+that the Irish hate the English, and it wouldn't do at all.
+
+Mr. McFaddan and his wife were the last to arrive. They were so late
+that not only the hostess but most of her guests experienced a sharp
+fear that they wouldn't turn up at all. There were side glances at the
+clock on the mantel, surreptitious squints at wrist-watches, and a
+queer, unnatural silence while the big clock in the upper hall chimed a
+quarter to nine.
+
+"Really, my dear," said Mrs. Dodge, who had the New York record for
+tardiness,--an hour and three-quarters, she claimed,--"I can't
+understand people being late for a dinner,--unless, of course, they mean
+to be intentionally rude."
+
+"I can't imagine what can have happened to them," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis
+nervously.
+
+"Accident on the Subway, no doubt," drawled Mr. Bittinger-Stuart, and
+instantly looked around in a startled sort of way to see if there was
+any cause for repenting the sarcasm.
+
+"Where is Stuyvesant?" inquired Mrs. Millidew the elder, who had arrived
+a little late. She had been obliged to call a taxi-cab at the last
+moment on account of the singular defection of her new chauffeur,--who,
+she proclaimed on entering, was to have his walking papers in the
+morning. Especially as it was raining pitchforks.
+
+"He is dressing, my dear," explained Stuyvesant's mother, with a
+maternal smile of apology.
+
+"I should have known better," pursued Mrs. Millidew, still chafing,
+"than to let him go gallivanting off to Long Island with Dolly."
+
+"I said he was dressing, Mrs. Millidew," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis stiffly.
+
+"If I could have five minutes alone with Mr. McFaddan," one of the
+ladies was saying to the host, "I know I could interest him in our plan
+to make Van Cortlandt Park the most attractive and the most exclusive
+country club in--"
+
+"My dear," interrupted another of her sex, "if you get him off in a
+corner and talk to him all evening about that ridiculous scheme of
+yours, I'll murder you. You know how long Jim has been working to get
+his brother appointed judge in the United States District Court,--his
+brother Charlie, you know,--the one who doesn't amount to much,--and
+I'll bet my last penny I can fix it if--"
+
+"It's an infernal outrage," boomed Mr. Dodge, addressing no one in
+particular. "Yes, sir, a pernicious outrage."
+
+"As I said before, the more you do for them the worse they treat you in
+return," agreed Mrs. Millidew. "It doesn't pay. Treat them like dogs and
+they'll be decent. If you try to be kind and--"
+
+Mr. Dodge expanded.
+
+"You see, it will cut straight through the centre of the most valuable
+piece of unimproved property in New York City. It isn't because I happen
+to be the owner of that property that I'm complaining. It's the
+high-handed way--Now, look! This is the Grand Concourse, and here is
+Bunker Avenue." He produced an invisible diagram with his foot, jostling
+Mr. Smith-Parvis off of the rug in order to extend the line beyond the
+intersection to a point where the proposed street was to be opened.
+"Right smack through this section of--"
+
+At that instant Mr. and Mrs. McFaddan were announced.
+
+"Where the deuce is Stuyvie?" Mr. Smith-Parvis whispered nervously into
+the ear of his wife as the new arrivals approached.
+
+"Diplomacy," whispered she succinctly. "All for effect. Last but not
+least. He--Good evening, dear Mrs. McFad-dan!"
+
+In the main hall, a moment before, Mr. McFaddan had whispered in _his_
+wife's ear. He transmitted an opinion of Peasley the footman.
+
+"He's a mutt." He had surveyed Peasley with a discriminating and
+intensely critical eye, taking him in from head to foot. "Under-gardener
+or vicar's man-of-all-work. Trained in a Sixth Avenue intelligence
+office. Never saw livery till he--"
+
+"Hush, Con! The man will hear you."
+
+"And if he should, he can't accuse me of betrayin' a secret."
+
+To digress for a moment, it is pertinent to refer to the strange cloud
+of preoccupation that descended upon Mr. McFaddan during the ride
+uptown,--not in the Subway, but in his own Packard limousine. Something
+back in his mind kept nagging at him,--something elusive yet strangely
+fresh, something that had to do with recent events. He could not rid
+himself of the impression that the Smith-Parvises were in some way
+involved.
+
+Suddenly, as they neared their destination, the fog lifted and his mind
+was as clear as day. His wife's unctuous reflections were shattered by
+the force of the explosion that burst from his lips. He remembered
+everything. This was the house in which Lady Jane Thorne was employed,
+and it was the scion thereof who had put up the job on young Trotter.
+Old Cricklewick had come to see him about it and had told him a story
+that made his blood boil. It was all painfully clear to him now.
+
+Their delay in arriving was due to the protracted argument that took
+place within a stone's throw of the Smith-Parvis home. Mr. McFaddan
+stopped the car and flatly refused to go an inch farther. He would be
+hanged if he'd have anything to do with a gang like that! His wife began
+by calling him a goose. Later on she called him a mule, and still later,
+in sheer exasperation, a beast. He capitulated. He was still mumbling
+incoherently as they mounted the steps and were admitted by the
+deficient Peasley.
+
+"What shall I say to the dirty spalpeen if he tries to shake hands with
+me?" Mr. McFaddan growled, three steps from the top.
+
+"Say anything you like," said she, "but, for God's sake, say it under
+your breath."
+
+However: the party was now complete with one notable exception. Stuyvie
+was sound asleep in his room. He had reached home late that afternoon
+and was in an irascible frame of mind. He didn't know the McFad-dans,
+and he didn't care to know them. Dragging him home from Hot Springs to
+meet a cheap bounder,--what the deuce did she mean anyhow, entertaining
+that sort of people? And so on and so forth until his mother lost her
+temper and took it out on the maid who was dressing her hair.
+
+Peasley was sent upstairs to inform Mr. Stuyvesant that they were
+waiting for him.
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis met her son at the foot of the stairs when he came
+lounging down. He was yawning and making futile efforts to smooth out
+the wrinkles in his coat, having reposed soundly in it for the better
+part of an hour.
+
+"You must be nice to Mr. McFad-dan," said she anxiously. "He has a great
+deal of influence with the powers that be."
+
+He stopped short, instantly alert.
+
+"Has a--a warrant been issued?" he demanded, leaping to a very natural
+and sickening conclusion as to the identity of the "powers."
+
+"Not yet, of course," she said, benignly. "It is a little too soon for
+that. But it will come, dear boy, if we can get Mr. McFad-dan on our
+side. That is to be the lovely surprise I spoke about in my--"
+
+"You--you call _that_ lovely?" he snapped.
+
+"If everything goes well, you will soon be at the Court of St. James.
+Wouldn't you call that lovely?"
+
+He was perspiring freely. "My God, that's just the thing I'm trying to
+avoid. If they get me into court, they'll--"
+
+"You do not understand. The diplomatic court,--corps, I mean. You are to
+go to London,--into the legation. The rarest opportunity--"
+
+"Oh, Lord!" gasped Stuyvesant, passing his hand over his wet brow. A
+wave of relief surged over him. He leaned against the banister, weakly.
+"Why didn't you say that in the first place?"
+
+"You must be very nice to Mr. McFad-dan," she said, taking his arm. "And
+to Mrs. McFad-dan also. She is rather stunning--and quite young."
+
+"That's nice," said Stuyvie, regaining a measure of his tolerant, blase
+air.
+
+Now, while the intelligence of the reader has long since grasped the
+fact that the expected is about to happen, it is only fair to state that
+the swiftly moving events of the next few minutes were totally
+unexpected by any one of the persons congregated in Mrs. Smith-Parvis's
+drawing-room.
+
+Stuyvesant entered the room, a forced, unamiable smile on his lips. He
+nodded in the most casual, indifferent manner to those nearest the door.
+It was going to be a dull, deadly evening. The worst lot of he-fossils
+and scrawny-necked--
+
+"For the love o' Mike!"
+
+Up to that instant, one could have dropped a ten-pound weight on the
+floor without attracting the slightest attention. For a second or two
+following the shrill ejaculation, the crash of the axiomatic pin could
+have been heard from one end of the room to the other.
+
+Every eye, including Stuyvie's, was fixed upon the shocked, surprised
+face of the lady who uttered the involuntary exclamation.
+
+Mrs. McFaddan was staring wildly at the newcomer. Stuyvesant recognized
+her at once. The dashing, vivid face was only too familiar. In a flash
+the whole appalling truth was revealed to him. An involuntary "Oh,
+Lord!" oozed from his lips.
+
+Cornelius McFaddan suddenly clapped his hand to his mouth, smothering
+the words that surged up from the depths of his injured soul. He became
+quite purple in the face.
+
+"This is my son Stuyvesant, Mr. McFaddan," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis, in a
+voice strangely faint and faltering. And then, sensing catastrophe, she
+went on hurriedly: "Shall we go in to dinner? Has it been announced,
+Rogers?"
+
+Mr. McFaddan removed his hand.
+
+The hopes and ambitions, the desires and schemes of every one present
+went hurtling away on the hurricane of wrath that was liberated by that
+unfortunate action of Cornelius McFaddan. An unprejudiced observer would
+have explained, in justice to poor Cornelius, that the force of the
+storm blew his hand away, willy-nilly, despite his heroic efforts to
+check the resistless torrent.
+
+I may be forgiven for a confessed inadequacy to cope with a really great
+situation. My scope of delivery is limited. In a sense, however,
+short-comings of this nature are not infrequently blessings. It would be
+a pity for me or any other upstart to spoil, through sheer feebleness of
+expression, a situation demanding the incomparable virility of a
+Cornelius McFaddan.
+
+Suffice to say, Mr. McFaddan left nothing to the imagination. He had the
+stage to himself, and he stood squarely in the centre of it for what
+seemed like an age to the petrified audience. As a matter of fact, it
+was all over in three minutes. He was not profane. At no time did he
+forget there were ladies present. But from the things he said, no one
+doubted, then or afterwards, that the presence of ladies was the only
+thing that stood between Stuyvesant Smith-Parvis and an unhallowed
+grave.
+
+It may be enlightening to repeat his concluding remark to Stuyvie.
+
+"And if I thought ye'd even dream of settin' foot outside this house I'd
+gladly stand on the sidewalk in the rain, without food or drink, for
+forty-eight hours, waitin' for ye."
+
+And as that was the mildest thing he said to Stuyvie, it is only fair to
+state that Peasley, who was listening in the hall, hastily opened the
+front door and looked up and down the street for a policeman. With
+commendable foresight, he left it ajar and retired to the foot of the
+stairs, hoping, perhaps, that Stuyvesant might undertake to throw the
+obnoxious guest into the street,--in which case it would be possible for
+him to witness the whirlwind without being in the path of it.
+
+To Smith-Parvis, Senior, the eloquent McFaddan addressed these parting
+words:
+
+"I don't know what you had in mind when you invited me here, Mr.
+Smith-Parvis, but whatever it was you needn't worry about it,--not for a
+minute. Put it out of your mind altogether, my good man. And if I've
+told you anything at all about this pie-faced son of yours that ye
+didn't already know or suspect, you're welcome to the information. He's
+a bad egg,--and if ye don't believe me, ask Lady Jane Thorne,--if she
+happens to be about."
+
+He spoke without thinking, but he did no harm. No one there had the
+remotest idea who he meant when he referred to Lady Jane Thorne.
+
+"Come, Peggy, we'd better be going," he said to his wife. "If we want a
+bite o' dinner, I guess we'll have to go over to Healy's and get it."
+
+Far in the night, Mrs. Smith-Parvis groaned. Her husband, who sat beside
+her bed and held her hand with somnolent devotion, roused himself and
+inquired if the pain was just as bad as ever.
+
+She groaned again.
+
+He patted her hand soothingly. "There, there, now,--go to sleep again.
+You'll be all right--"
+
+"Again?" she cried plaintively. "How can you say such a thing? I haven't
+closed my eyes."
+
+"Oh, my dear," he expostulated. "You've been sound asleep for--"
+
+"I have not!" she exclaimed. "My poor head is splitting. You know I
+haven't been asleep, so why will you persist in saying that I have?"
+
+"At any rate," said he, taking up a train of thought that had become
+somewhat confused and unstable by passing through so many cat-naps, "we
+ought to be thankful it isn't worse. The dear boy might have gone to the
+electric chair if we had permitted him to follow the scoundrel to the
+sidewalk."
+
+Mrs. Smith-Parvis turned her face toward him. A spark of enthusiasm
+flashed for an instant in her tired eyes.
+
+"How many times did he knock him down at Spangler's?" she inquired.
+
+"Four," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, proudly.
+
+"And that dreadful woman was the cause of it all, writing notes to
+Stuyvesant and asking him to meet her--What was it Stuyvesant called
+them?"
+
+"Crush-notes, Angie. Now, try to go to sleep, dearie."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XIX
+
+                         FROM DARKNESS TO LIGHT
+
+
+"GOODNESS! What's that?" whispered Lady Jane, starting violently.
+
+For what seemed to them many hours, she and Thomas Trotter had sat,
+quite snugly comfortable, in the dark air-chamber. Comfortable, I say,
+but I fear that the bewildering joy of having her in his arms rendered
+him impervious to what under other conditions would most certainly have
+been a severe strain upon his physical endurance. In other words, she
+rested very comfortably and cosily in the crook of his arm, her head
+against his shoulder, while he, sitting bolt upright with no support
+whatsoever--But why try to provide him with cause for complaint when he
+was so obviously contented?
+
+Her suppressed exclamation followed close upon the roar and crash of an
+ear-splitting explosion. The reverberation rolled and rumbled and
+dwindled away into the queerest silence. Almost immediately the clatter
+of falling debris assailed their ears. She straightened up and clutched
+his arm convulsively.
+
+"Rain," he said, with a short laugh. For an instant his heart had stood
+still. So appalling was the crash that he involuntarily raised an arm to
+shield his beloved companion from the shattered walls that were so soon
+to tumble about their ears. "Beating on the tin roof," he went on,
+jerkily.
+
+"Oh,--wasn't it awful?" she gasped, in smothered tones. "Are you sure?"
+
+"I am now," he replied, "but, by Jove, I wasn't a second or two ago.
+Lord, I thought it was all over."
+
+"If we could only see!" she cried nervously.
+
+"Any how," he said, with a reassuring chuckle, "we sha'n't get wet."
+
+By this time the roar of rain on the roof so close to their heads was
+deafening.
+
+"Goodness, Eric,--it's--it's leaking here," she cried out suddenly,
+after a long silence.
+
+"That's the trouble with these ramshackle old--Oh, I say, Jane, your
+frock! It will be ruined. My word! The confounded roof's like a sieve."
+
+He set out,--on all fours,--cautiously to explore.
+
+"I--I am frightfully afraid of thunder," she cried out after him, a
+quaver in her voice. "And, Eric, wouldn't it be dreadful if the building
+were to be struck by lightning and we should be found up here in
+this--this unexplainable loft? What _could_ we say?"
+
+"Nothing, dearest," he replied, consolingly. "That is, provided the
+lightning did its work properly. Ouch! It's all right! Don't bother,
+dear. Nothing but a wall. Seems dry over here. Don't move. I'll come
+back for you."
+
+"It's--it's rather jolly, isn't it?" she cried nervously as his hand
+touched her shoulder. She grasped it eagerly. "Much jollier than if we
+could see." A few moments later: "Isn't it nice and dry over here. How
+clever of you, Eric, to find it in the dark."
+
+On their hands and knees they had crept to the place of shelter, and
+were seated on a broad, substantial beam with their backs against a
+thin, hollow-sounding partition. The journey was not without incident.
+As they felt their way over the loose and sometimes widely separated
+boards laid down to protect the laths and plaster of the ceiling below,
+his knee slipped off and before he could prevent it, his foot struck the
+lathing with considerable force.
+
+"Clumsy ass!" he muttered.
+
+After a long time, she said to him,--a little pathetically:
+
+"I hope M. Mirabeau doesn't forget we are up here."
+
+"I should hope not," he said fervently. "Mrs. Millidew is going out to
+dinner this evening. I'd--"
+
+"Oh-h!" she whispered tensely. "Look!"
+
+A thin streak of light appeared in front of them. Fascinated, they
+watched it widen, slowly,--relentlessly.
+
+The trap-door was being raised from below. A hand and arm came into
+view,--the propelling power.
+
+"Is that you, de Bosky?" called out Trotter, in a penetrating whisper.
+
+Abruptly the trap flew wide open and dropped back on the scantlings with
+a bang.
+
+The head and shoulders of a man,--a bald-headed man, at that,--rose
+quickly above the ledge, and an instant later a lighted lantern
+followed.
+
+"Oh, dear!" murmured Lady Jane, aghast. "It--it isn't Mr. de Bosky,
+Eric. It's that man."
+
+"I beg your pardon, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, setting the
+lantern down in order to brush the dust off of his hands. "Are you
+there?"
+
+"What is the meaning of this, sir?" demanded the young man on the beam,
+blinking rapidly in the unaccustomed glare.
+
+Mr. Chambers rested his elbows on the ledge. The light of the lantern
+shone full on his face, revealing the slow but sure growth of a joyous
+grin.
+
+"Permit me to introduce myself, your lordship. Mr. Alfred Chambers,
+of--"
+
+"I know,--I know!" broke in the other impatiently. "What the devil do
+you want?"
+
+"Good evening, Miss Emsdale," said Mr. Chambers, remembering his
+manners. "That is to say,--your ladyship. 'Pon my word, you can't
+possibly be more surprised than I am,--either of you. I shouldn't have
+dreamed of looking in this--this stuffy hole for--for anything except
+bats." He chortled.
+
+"I can't understand why some one below there doesn't knock that ladder
+from under you," said Mr. Trotter rudely.
+
+"I was on the point of giving up in despair," went on Mr. Chambers,
+unoffended. "You know, I shouldn't have thought of looking up here for
+you."
+
+His quarry bethought himself of the loyal, conspiring friends below.
+
+"See here, Mr. Chambers," he began earnestly, "I want you to understand
+that those gentlemen downstairs are absolutely innocent of any criminal
+complicity in--"
+
+"I understand perfectly," interrupted the man from Scotland Yard.
+"Perfectly. And the same applies to her ladyship. Everything's as right
+as rain, your lordship. Will you be so good, sir, as to come down at
+once?"
+
+"Certainly," cried the other. "With the greatest pleasure. Come,
+Jane,--"
+
+"Wait!" protested Jane. "I sha'n't move an inch until he promises to--to
+listen to reason. In the first place, this gentleman is a Mr. Trotter,"
+she went on rapidly, addressing the head and shoulders behind the
+lantern. "You will get yourself into a jolly lot of trouble if you--"
+
+"Thanks, Jane dear," interrupted her lover gently. "It's no use. He
+knows I am Eric Temple,--so we'll just have to make the best of it."
+
+"He doesn't know anything of the kind," said she. "He noticed a
+resemblance, that's all."
+
+Mr. Chambers beamed.
+
+"Quite so, your ladyship. I noticed it at once. If I do say it myself,
+there isn't a man in the department who has anything on me when it comes
+to that sort of thing. The inspector has frequently mentioned--"
+
+"By the way, Mr. Snooper, will you be kind enough to--"
+
+"Chambers, your lordship," interrupted the detective.
+
+"Kind enough to explain how you discovered that we were up here?"
+
+"Well, you see we were having our coffee,--after a most excellent
+dinner, your lordship, prepared, I am bound to say, for your discussion
+by the estimable Mr. Bramble,--"
+
+"Dinner? By George, you remind me that I am ravenously hungry. It must
+be quite late."
+
+"Half-past eight, sir,--approximately. As I was saying, we were enjoying
+our coffee,--the three of us only,--"
+
+Trotter made a wry face. "In that case, Mrs. Millidew will sack me in
+the morning, Jane. I had orders for eight sharp."
+
+"It really shouldn't matter, your lordship," said Mr. Chambers
+cheerfully. "Not in the least, if I may be so bold as to say so.
+However, to continue, sir. Or rather, to go back a little if I may. You
+see, I was rather certain you were hiding somewhere about the place. At
+least, I was certain her ladyship was. She came in and she didn't go
+out, if you see what I mean. I insisted on my right to search the
+premises. Do you follow me, sir?"
+
+"Reluctantly."
+
+"In due time, I came to the little dining-room, where I discovered the
+cook preparing dinner. You were not in evidence, your ladyship. I do not
+mind in the least confessing that I was ordered out by the cook. I
+retired to the clock-shop of M. Mirabeau and sat down to wait. The
+Polish young gentleman was there. As time went on, Mr. Bramble joined
+us. They were extremely ill-at-ease, your lordship, although they tried
+very hard to appear amused and unconcerned. The slightest noise caused
+them to fidget. Once, to test them, I stealthily dropped my pocket knife
+on the floor. Now, you would say, wouldn't you, that so small an object
+as a pen-knife--but that's neither here nor there. They jumped,--every
+blessed one of them. Presently the young Polish gentleman, whose face is
+strangely familiar to me,--I must have seen him in London,--announced
+that he was obliged to depart. A little later on,--you see, it was quite
+dark by this time,--the clockmaker prepared to close up for the night.
+Mr. Bramble looked at his watch two or three times in rapid succession,
+notwithstanding the fact that he was literally surrounded by clocks. He
+said he feared he would have to go and see about the dinner,--and would
+I kindly get out. I--"
+
+"They should have called in the police," interrupted his male listener
+indignantly. "That's what I should have done, confound your impudence."
+
+"Ah, now _there_ is a point I should have touched upon before,"
+explained Mr. Chambers, casting an uneasy glance down into the room
+below. "I may as well confess to you,--quite privately and
+confidentially, of course, your lordship,--that I--er--rather deceived
+the old gentlemen. Do not be alarmed. I am quite sure they can't hear
+what I am saying. You see. I told them in the beginning that I had
+surrounded the place with policemen and plain-clothes men. They--"
+
+"And hadn't you?" demanded Mr. Trotter quickly, a reckless light
+appearing in his eyes.
+
+"Not at all, sir,--not at all. Why should I? I am quite capable of
+handling the case single-handed. The less the police had to do with it
+the better for all parties concerned. Still, it was necessary to
+frighten them a little. Otherwise, they _might_ have ejected
+me--er--bodily, if you know what I mean. Or, for that matter, they might
+have called in the police, as you suggest. So I kept them from doing
+either by giving them to understand that if there was to be any calling
+of the police it would be I who would do it with my little whistle."
+
+He paused to chuckle.
+
+"You are making a long story of it," growled Mr. Trotter.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir. The interruptions, you see,--ahem! I followed
+Mr. Bramble to the dining-room. He was very nervous. He coughed a great
+deal, and very loudly. I was quite convinced that you were secreted
+somewhere about the place, but, for the life of me, I couldn't imagine
+where."
+
+"I suppose it hadn't occurred to you that we might have gone down the
+back stairway and escaped into the side-street," said Mr. Trotter
+sarcastically.
+
+Mr. Chambers cleared his throat and seemed curiously embarrassed.
+
+"Perhaps I should have stated before that a--er--a chap from a local
+agency was posted at the bottom of the kitchen stairway,--as a favour to
+me, so to speak. A chap who had been detailed to assist me,--But I shall
+explain all that in my report. So, you see, you couldn't have gone out
+that way without--Yes, yes,--as I was saying, I accompanied Mr. Bramble
+to the dining-room. The cook was in a very bad temper. The dinner was
+getting cold. I observed that three places had been laid. Fixing my eye
+upon Mr. Bramble I inquired who the third place was for. I shall never
+forget his expression, nor the admirable way in which he recovered
+himself. He was quite wonderful. He said it was for _me_. Rather neat of
+him, wasn't it?"
+
+"You don't mean to say you had the brass to--Well, 'pon my soul,
+Chambers, that _was_ going it a bit strong."
+
+"Under the circumstances, your lordship, I couldn't very well decline,"
+said Mr. Chambers apologetically. "He is such a decent, loyal old chap,
+sir, that it would have been cruel to let him see that I knew he was
+lying."
+
+"But, confound you, that was _my_ dinner," exclaimed Trotter wrathfully.
+
+"So I suspected, your lordship. I knew it _couldn't_ be her ladyship's.
+Well, we had got on to the coffee, and I was just on the point of asking
+Mr. Bramble for the loan of an umbrella, when there was a loud thump on
+the ceiling overhead. An instant later a large piece of plaster fell to
+the floor, not three feet behind my chair. I--"
+
+"By Jove! What a pity it didn't fall three feet nearer," exclaimed
+Trotter, a note of regret in his voice.
+
+Mr. Chambers generously overlooked the remark.
+
+"After that it was plain sailing," said he, quite pleasantly. "Now you
+know how I came to discover you, and how I happen to be here."
+
+"And those poor old dears," cried Lady Jane in distress; "where are
+they? What have you done to them?"
+
+"They are--" he looked downward again before answering--"yes, they are
+holding the ladder for me. Coming, gentlemen!" he called out. "We'll all
+be down in a jiffy."
+
+"Before we go any farther," said Trotter seriously, "I should like to
+know just what the charge is against me."
+
+"Beg pardon?"
+
+"The charge. What are you going to chuck me into prison for?"
+
+"Prison? My God, sir! Who said anything about prison?" gasped Mr.
+Chambers, staring wide-eyed at the young man.
+
+Trotter leaned forward, his face a study in emotions. Lady Jane uttered
+a soft little cry.
+
+"Then,--then they haven't trumped up some rotten charge against me?"
+
+"They? Charge? I say!" He bellowed the last to the supporters below.
+"Hold this bally thing steady, will you? Do you want me to break my
+neck?"
+
+"Well, don't jiggle it like that," came the voice of Mr. Bramble from
+below. "We can't hold it steady if you're going to _dance_ on it."
+
+Mr. Chambers once more directed his remarks to Mr. Trotter.
+
+"So far as I am aware, Lord Temple, there is no--er--charge against you.
+The only complaint I know of is that you haven't kept your grandfather
+informed as to your whereabouts. Naturally he is a bit annoyed about it.
+You see, if you had dropped him a line occasionally--"
+
+"Get on, man,--get on," urged Trotter excitedly.
+
+"He wouldn't have been put to the expense of having a man detached from
+Scotland Yard to look the world over for you. Personal influence did it,
+of course. He went direct to the chief and asked for the best man in the
+service. I happened to be on another case at the time," explained Mr.
+Chambers modestly, "but they took me off at once and started me out.
+I--"
+
+"In a nutshell, you represent my grandfather and not the King of
+England," interrupted Trotter.
+
+"On detached duty," said Mr. Chambers.
+
+"And you do not intend to arrest him?" cried Lady Jane.
+
+"Bless me, no!" exclaimed Mr. Chambers.
+
+"Then, what the deuce do you mean by frightening Miss Emsdale and my
+friends downstairs?" demanded Lord Fenlew's grandson. "Couldn't you have
+said in the beginning that there was no criminal charge against me?"
+
+"I hadn't the remotest idea, your lordship, that any one suspected you
+of crime," said Mr. Chambers, with dignity.
+
+"But, confound you, why didn't you explain the situation to Bramble?
+That was the sensible,--yes, the intelligent thing to do, Mr. Chambers."
+
+"That is precisely what I did, your lordship, while we were at
+dinner,--we had a bottle of the wine Mr. Bramble says you are especially
+partial to,--but it wasn't until your heel came through the ceiling that
+they believed _anything_ at all. Subsequently I discovered that her
+ladyship had prepared them for all sorts of trickery on my part. She had
+made them promise to die rather than give you up. Now that I see things
+as they are in a clear light, it occurs to me that your ladyship must
+have pretty thoroughly convinced the old gentlemen that Lord Temple is a
+fit subject for the gallows,--or at the very least, Newgate Prison. I
+fancy--"
+
+Lady Jane laughed aloud, gaily, unrestrainedly.
+
+"Oh, dear! What a mess I've made of things!" she cried. "Can you ever
+forgive me, Eric?"
+
+"Never!" he cried, and Mr. Chambers took that very instant to stoop over
+for a word with the men at the foot of the ladder. He went farther and
+had several words with them. Indeed, it is not unlikely that he, in his
+eagerness to please, would have stretched it into a real chat if the
+object of his consideration had not cried out:
+
+"And now let us get down from this stuffy place, Eric. I am sure there
+must be rats and all sorts of things up here. And it was such a jolly
+place before the lantern came."
+
+"Can you manage it, sir?" inquired Mr. Chambers anxiously, as Eric
+prepared to lower her through the trap-door.
+
+"Perfectly, thank you," said the young man. "If you will be good enough
+to stand aside and make room at the top of the ladder," he added, with a
+grin.
+
+Mr. Chambers also grinned. "There's a difference between walking on air
+and standing on it," said he, and hurriedly went down the steps.
+
+Presently they were all grouped at the foot of the ladder. Mr. Bramble
+was busily engaged in brushing the dust and cobwebs from the excited
+young lady's gown.
+
+M. Mirabeau rattled on at a prodigious rate. He clapped Trotter on the
+back at least half-a-dozen times, and, forgetting most of his excellent
+English, waxed eloquent over the amazing turn of affairs. The literal,
+matter-of-fact Mr. Bramble after a time succeeded in stemming the flow
+of exuberance.
+
+"If you don't mind, Mirabeau, I have a word I'd like to get in
+edgewise," he put in loudly, seizing an opportunity when the old
+Frenchman was momentarily out of breath.
+
+M. Mirabeau threw up his hands.
+
+"At a time like this?" he gasped incredulously.
+
+"And why not?" said Mr. Bramble stoutly. "It's time we opened that last
+bottle of Chianti and drank to the health of Lord Eric Temple,--and the
+beautiful Lady Jane."
+
+"The most sensible thing that has been uttered this evening," cried M.
+Mirabeau, with enthusiasm.
+
+Lord Temple took this occasion to remind them,--and himself as
+well,--that he was still Thomas Trotter and that the deuce would be to
+pay with Mrs. Millidew.
+
+"By George, she'll skin me alive if I've been the cause of her missing a
+good dinner," he said ruefully.
+
+"That reminds me,--" began Mr. Bramble, M. Mirabeau and Mr. Chambers in
+unison. Then they all laughed uproariously and trooped into the
+dining-room, where the visible signs of destruction were not confined to
+the floor three feet back of the chair lately occupied by the man from
+Scotland Yard. A very good dinner had been completely wrecked.
+
+Mrs. O'Leary, most competent of cooks, was already busily engaged in
+preparing another!
+
+"Now, Mr. Chambers," cried Jane, as she set her wine glass down on the
+table and touched her handkerchief to her lips, "tell us everything, you
+dear good man."
+
+Mr. Chambers, finding himself suddenly out of employment and with an
+unlimited amount of spare time on his hands, spent the better part of
+the first care-free hour he had known in months in the telling of his
+story.
+
+In a ruthlessly condensed and deleted form it was as follows: Lord
+Fenlew, quietly, almost surreptitiously, had set about to ascertain just
+how much of truth and how much of fiction there was in the unpublished
+charges that had caused his favourite grandson to abandon the Army and
+to seek obscurity that inevitably follows real or implied disgrace for
+one too proud to fight. His efforts were rewarded in a most distressing
+yet most satisfactory manner. One frightened and half-decent member of
+the little clique responsible for the ugly stories, confessed that the
+"whole bally business" was a put-up job.
+
+Lord Fenlew lost no time in putting his grandsons on the grill. He
+grilled them properly; when they left his presence they were scorched to
+a crisp, unsavoury mess. Indeed, his lordship went so far as to complain
+of the stench, and had the windows of Fenlew Hall opened to give the
+place a thorough airing after they had gone forth forevermore. With
+characteristic energy and promptness, he went to the head of the War
+Office, and laid bare the situation. With equal forethought and acumen
+he objected to the slightest publicity being given the vindication of
+Eric Temple. He insisted that nothing be said about the matter until the
+maligned officer returned to England and to the corps from which he had
+resigned. He refused to have his grandson's innocence publicly
+advertised! That, he maintained, would be to start more tongues to
+wagging, and unless the young man himself were on the ground to make the
+wagging useless, speculation would have a chance to thrive on winks and
+head-shakings, and the "bally business" would be in a worse shape than
+before. Moreover, he argued, it wasn't Eric's place to humiliate himself
+by _admitting_ his innocence. He wouldn't have that at all.
+
+Instead of beginning his search for the young man through the "lost,"
+"wanted" or "personal" columns of an international press, he went to
+Scotland Yard. He abhorred the idea of such printed insults as these:
+"If Lord Eric Temple will communicate with his grandfather he will learn
+something to his advantage" or "Will the young English nobleman who left
+London under a cloud in 1911 please address So-and-So"; or "Eric: All is
+well. Return at once and be forgiving"; or "L5,000 reward will be paid
+for information concerning the present whereabouts of one Eric Temple,
+grandson of Lord Fenlew, of Fenlew Hall"; etc., etc.
+
+"And now, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, after a minute and
+unsparing account of his own travels and adventures, "your grandfather
+is a very old man. I trust that you can start for England at once. I am
+authorized to draw upon him for all the money necessary to--"
+
+Lord Temple held up his hand. His eyes were glistening, his breast was
+heaving mightily, and his voice shook with suppressed emotion as he
+said, scarcely above a whisper:
+
+"First of all, I shall cable him tonight. He'd like that, you know.
+Better than anything."
+
+"A word direct from you, dear," said Jane softly, happily. "It will mean
+more to him than anything else in the world."
+
+"As you please, sir," said Mr. Chambers. "The matter is now entirely in
+your hands. I am, you understand, under orders not to return to England
+without you,--but, I leave everything to you, sir. I was only hoping
+that it would be possible for me to get back to my wife and babies
+before,--er,--well, I was about to say before they forget what I look
+like, but that would have been a stupid thing to say. They're not likely
+to forget a mug like mine."
+
+"I am sorry to say, Mr. Chambers, that you and I will have to be content
+to leave the matter of our departure entirely to the discretion of a
+third party," said Eric, and blushed. A shy, diffident smile played
+about his lips as he turned his wistful eyes upon Lady Jane Thorne.
+
+"Leave that to me, sir," said the man from Scotland Yard promptly and
+with decision, but with absolutely no understanding. "I shall be happy
+to attend to any little--Ow! Eh, what?"
+
+M. Mirabeau's boot had come violently in contact with his ankle. By a
+singular coincidence, Mr. Bramble, at precisely the same instant,
+effected a sly but emphatic prod in the ribs.
+
+"Ignoramus!" whispered the latter fiercely.
+
+"Imbecile!" hissed the former, and then, noting the bewildered look in
+the eyes of Mr. Chambers, went on to say in his most suave manner:
+"Can't you see that you are standing in the presence of the Third
+Party?"
+
+"Any fool could see that," said Mr. Chambers promptly, and bowed to Lady
+Jane. Later on he wanted to know what the deuce M. Mirabeau meant by
+kicking him on the shin.
+
+"How soon can _you_ be ready to start home, dear?" inquired Eric,
+ignoring the witnesses.
+
+Jane's cheeks were rosy. Her blue eyes danced.
+
+"It depends entirely on Mrs. Sparflight," said she.
+
+"What has Mrs. Sparflight to do with it?"
+
+"You dear silly, I can't go to Fenlew Hall with absolutely nothing to
+wear, can I?"
+
+
+
+
+                               CHAPTER XX
+
+                       AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES
+
+
+LATER in the evening, Mr. Thomas Trotter--(so far as he knew he was
+still in the service of Mrs. Millidew, operating under chauffeur's
+license No. So-and-So, Thomas Trotter, alien)--strode briskly into a
+Western Union office and sent off the following cablegram, directed to
+Lord Fenlew, Fenlew Hall, Old-marsh, Blightwind Banks, Surrey:
+
+    "God bless you. Returning earliest possible date. Will wire soon
+    as wedding day is set. Eric."
+
+It was a plain, matter-of-fact Britannical way of covering the
+situation. He felt there was nothing more that could be said at the
+moment, and his interest being centred upon two absorbing subjects he
+touched firmly upon both of them and let it go at that.
+
+Quite as direct and characteristic was the reply that came early the
+next day.
+
+    "Do nothing rash. Who and what is she? Fenlew."
+
+This was the beginning of a sharp, incisive conversation between two
+English noblemen separated by three thousand miles of water.
+
+    "Loveliest girl in the world. You will be daffy over her. Take
+    my word for it. Eric."
+
+(While we are about it, it is just as well to set forth the brisk
+dialogue now and get over with it. Something like forty-eight hours
+actually were required to complete the transoceanic conversation. We
+save time and avoid confusion, to say nothing of interrupted activities,
+by telling it all in a breath, so to speak, disregarding everything
+except sequence.)
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "I repeat, who and what is she?"
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Forgive oversight. She is daughter of late
+Earl of Wexham. I told you what she is."
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "What is date of wedding? Must know at
+once."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "I will ask her and let you know."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew--(the next day): "Still undecided. Something
+to do with gowns."
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "Nonsense. I cannot wait."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Gave her your message. She says you'll have
+to."
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "Tell her I can't. I am a very old man."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Thanks. That brought her round. May
+fifteenth in this city."
+
+Lord Fenlew to Lord Temple: "My blessings. Draw on me for any amount up
+to ten thousand pounds. Wedding present on the way."
+
+Lord Temple to Lord Fenlew: "Happiness complete."
+
+An ordinary telegram signed "Eric Temple" was delivered on board one of
+the huge American cruisers at Hampton Roads during this exchange of
+cablegrams. It was directed to Lieut. Samuel Pickering Aylesworth, who
+promptly replied: "Heartiest congratulations. Count on me for anything.
+Nothing could give me greater happiness than to stand up with you on the
+momentous occasion. It is great to know that you are not only still in
+the land of the living but that you are living in the land that I love
+best. My warmest felicitations to the future Lady Temple."
+
+Now, to go back to the morning on which the first cablegram was received
+from Lord Fenlew. At precisely ten minutes past nine o'clock we take up
+the thread of this narrative once more and find Thomas Trotter standing
+in the lower hall of Mrs. Millidew's home, awaiting the return of a
+parlour-maid who had gone to inform her mistress that the chauffeur was
+downstairs and wanted to see her when it was convenient. The chauffeur
+did not fail to observe the anxious, concerned look in the maid's eyes,
+nor the glance of sympathy she sent over her shoulder as she made the
+turn at the top of the stairs.
+
+Presently she came back. She looked positively distressed.
+
+"My goodness, Tommie," she said, "I'd hate to be you."
+
+He smiled, quite composedly. "Think I'd better beat it?" he inquired.
+
+"She's in an awful state," said the parlour-maid, twisting the hem of
+her apron.
+
+"I don't blame her," said Trotter coolly.
+
+"What was you up to?" asked she, with some severity.
+
+He thought for a second or two and then puzzled her vastly by replying:
+
+"Up to my ears."
+
+"Pickled?"
+
+"Permanently intoxicated," he assured her.
+
+"Well, all I got to say is you'll be sober when she gets through with
+you. I've been up against it myself, and I _know_. I've been on the
+point of quittin' half a dozen times."
+
+"A very sensible idea, Katie," said he, solemnly.
+
+She stiffened. "I guess you don't get me. I mean quittin' my job, Mr.
+Fresh."
+
+"I daresay I'll be quitting mine," said he and smiled so engagingly that
+Katie's rancour gave way at once to sympathy.
+
+"You poor kid! But listen. I'll give you a tip. You needn't be out of a
+job ten minutes. Young Mrs. Millidew is up there with the old girl now.
+They've been havin' it hot and heavy for fifteen minutes. The old one
+called the young one up on the 'phone at seven o'clock this morning and
+gave her the swellest tongue-lashin' you ever heard. Said she'd been
+stealin' her chauffeur, and--a lot of other things I'm ashamed to tell
+you. Over comes the young one, hotter'n fire, and they're havin' it out
+upstairs. I happened to be passin' the door a little while ago and I
+heard young Mrs. Millidew tell the Missus that if she fired you she'd
+take you on in two seconds. So, if you--"
+
+"Thanks, Katie," interrupted Trotter. "Did Mrs. Millidew say when she
+would see me?"
+
+"Soon as she gets something on," said Katie.
+
+At that moment, a door slammed violently on the floor above. There was a
+swift swish of skirts, and then the vivid, angry face of Mrs. Millidew,
+the younger, came suddenly into view. She leaned far out over the
+banister rail and searched the hallway below with quick, roving eyes.
+
+"Are you there, Trotter?" she called out in a voice that trembled
+perceptibly.
+
+He advanced a few paces, stopping beside the newel post. He looked
+straight up into her eyes.
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Millidew."
+
+"You begin driving for me today," she said hurriedly. "Do you
+understand?"
+
+"But, madam, I am not open to--"
+
+"Yes, you are," she interrupted. "You don't know it, but you are out of
+a job, Trotter."
+
+"I am not surprised," he said.
+
+"I don't care what you were doing last night,--that is your affair, not
+mine. You come to me at once at the same wages--"
+
+"I beg your pardon," he broke in. "I mean to say I am not seeking
+another situation."
+
+"If it is a question of pay, I will give you ten dollars a week more
+than you were receiving here. Now, don't haggle. That is sixty dollars a
+week. Hurry up! Decide! She will be out here in a minute. Oh, thunder!"
+
+The same door banged open and the voice of Mrs. Millidew, the elder,
+preceded its owner by some seconds in the race to the front.
+
+"You are not fired, Trotter," she squealed. Her head, considerably
+dishevelled, appeared alongside the gay spring bonnet that bedecked her
+daughter-in-law. "You ought to be fired for what you did last night, but
+you are not. Do you understand? Now, shut up, Dolly! It doesn't matter
+if I _did_ say I was going to fire him. I've changed my mind."
+
+"You are too late," said the younger Mrs. Millidew coolly. "I've just
+engaged him. He comes to me at--"
+
+"You little snake!"
+
+"Ladies, I beg of you--"
+
+"The next time I let him go gallivanting off with you for a couple of
+days--and _nights_,--you'll know it," cried the elder Mrs. Millidew,
+furiously. "I can see what you've been up to. You've been doing
+everything in your power to get him away from me--"
+
+"Just what do you mean to insinuate, Mother Millidew?" demanded the
+other, her voice rising.
+
+"My God!" cried Trotter's employer, straightening her figure and facing
+the other. Something like horror sounded in her cracked old voice.
+"Could--my God!--could it be possible?"
+
+"Speak plainly! What do you mean?"
+
+Mrs. Millidew, the elder, advanced her mottled face until it was but a
+few inches from that of her daughter-in-law.
+
+"Where were _you_ last night?" she demanded harshly.
+
+There was a moment of utter silence. Trotter, down below, caught his
+breath.
+
+Then, to his amazement, Mrs. Millidew the younger, instead of flying
+into a rage, laughed softly, musically.
+
+"Oh, you are too rich for words," she gurgled. "I wish,--heavens, how I
+wish you could see what a fool you look. Go back, quick, and look in the
+mirror before it wears off. You'll have the heartiest laugh you've had
+in years."
+
+She leaned against the railing and continued to laugh. Not a sound from
+Mrs. Millidew, the elder.
+
+"Do come up a few steps, Trotter," went on the younger gaily,--"and have
+a peep. You will--"
+
+The other found her voice. There was now an agitated note, as of alarm,
+in it.
+
+"Don't you dare come up those steps, Trotter;--I forbid you, do you
+hear!"
+
+Trotter replied with considerable dignity. He had been shocked by the
+scene.
+
+"I have no intention of moving in any direction except toward the front
+door," he said.
+
+"Don't go away," called out his employer. "You are not dismissed."
+
+"I came to explain my unavoidable absence last--"
+
+"Some other time,--some other time. I want the car at half-past ten."
+
+Young Mrs. Millidew was descending the stairs. Her smiling eyes were
+upon the distressed young man at the bottom. There was no response in
+his.
+
+"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Millidew," he said, raising his voice slightly.
+"I came not only to explain, but to notify you that I am giving up my
+place almost immediately."
+
+"What!" squeaked the old lady, coming to the top of the steps.
+
+"It is imperative. I shall, of course, stay on for a day or two while
+you are finding--"
+
+"Do you mean to say you are quitting of your own accord?" she gasped.
+
+"Yes, madam."
+
+"Don't call me 'madam'! I've told you that before. So--so, you are going
+to work for her in spite of me, are you? It's all been arranged, has it?
+You two have--"
+
+"He is coming to me today," said young Mrs. Millidew sweetly. "Aren't
+you, Trotter?"
+
+"No, I am not!" he exploded.
+
+She stopped short on the stairs, and gave him a startled, incredulous
+look. Any one else but Trotter would have been struck by her loveliness.
+
+"You're not?" cried Mrs. Millidew from the top step. It was almost a cry
+of relief. "Do you mean that?"
+
+"Absolutely."
+
+His employer fumbled for a pocket lost among the folds of her
+dressing-gown.
+
+"Well, you can't resign, my man. Don't think for a minute you can
+resign," she cried out shrilly.
+
+He thought she was looking for a handkerchief.
+
+"But I insist, Mrs. Millidew, that I--"
+
+"You can't resign for the simple reason that you're already fired," she
+sputtered. "I never allow any one to give _me_ notice, young man. No one
+ever left me without being discharged, let me tell you that. Where the
+dev--Oh, here it is!" She not only had found the pocket but the crisp
+slip of paper that it contained. "Here is a check for your week's wages.
+It isn't up till next Monday, but take it and get out. I never want to
+see your ugly face again."
+
+She crumpled the bit of paper in her hand and threw the ball in his
+direction. Its flight ended half-way down the steps.
+
+"Come and get it, if you want it," she said.
+
+"Good day, madam," he said crisply, and turned on his heel.
+
+"How many times must I tell you not to call me--Come back here, Dolly! I
+want to see you."
+
+But her tall, perplexed daughter-in-law passed out through the door,
+followed by the erect and lordly Mr. Trotter.
+
+"Good-bye, Tommie," whispered Katie, as he donned his grey fedora.
+
+"Good-bye, Katie," he said, smiling, and held out his hand to her. "You
+heard what she said. If you should ever think of resigning, I'd suggest
+you do it in writing and from a long way off." He looked behind the
+vestibule door and recovered a smart little walking-stick. "Something to
+lean upon in my misfortune," he explained to Katie.
+
+Young Mrs. Millidew was standing at the top of the steps, evidently
+waiting for him. Her brow wrinkled as she took him in from head to foot.
+He was wearing spats. His two-button serge coat looked as though it had
+been made for him,--and his correctly pressed trousers as well. He stood
+for a moment, his head erect, his heels a little apart, his stick under
+his arm, while he drew on,--with no inconsiderable effect--a pair of
+light tan gloves. And the smile with which he favoured her was certainly
+not that of a punctilious menial. On the contrary, it was the rather
+bland, casual smile of one who is very well satisfied with his position.
+
+In a cheery, off-hand manner he inquired if she was by any chance going
+in his direction.
+
+The metamorphosis was complete. The instant he stepped outside of Mrs.
+Millidew's door, the mask was cast aside. He stood now before the
+world,--and before the puzzled young widow in particular,--as a
+thoroughbred, cocksure English gentleman. In a moment his whole being
+seemed to have undergone a change. He carried himself differently; his
+voice and the manner in which he used it struck her at once as
+remarkably altered; more than anything else, was she impressed by the
+calm assurance of his inquiry.
+
+She was nonplussed. For a moment she hesitated between resentment and
+the swift-growing conviction that he was an equal.
+
+For the first time within the range of her memory, she felt herself
+completely rattled and uncertain of herself. She blushed like a
+fool,--as she afterwards confessed,--and stammered confusedly:
+
+"I--yes--that is, I am going home."
+
+"Come along, then," he said coolly, and she actually gasped.
+
+To her own amazement, she took her place beside him and descended the
+steps, her cheeks crimson. At the bottom, she cast a wild, anxious look
+up and down the street, and then over her shoulder at the second-story
+windows of the house they had just left.
+
+Queer little shivers were running all over her. She couldn't account for
+them,--any more than she could account for the astonishing performance
+to which she was now committed: that of walking jauntily through a
+fashionable cross-town street in the friendliest, most intimate manner
+with her mother-in-law's discharged chauffeur! Fifth Avenue but a few
+steps away, with all its mid-morning activities to be encountered! What
+on earth possessed her! "Come along, then," he had said with all the
+calmness of an old and privileged acquaintance! And obediently she had
+"come along"!
+
+His chin was up, his eyes were sparkling; his body was bent forward
+slightly at the waist to co-ordinate with the somewhat pronounced action
+of his legs; his hat was slightly tilted and placed well back on his
+head; his gay little walking-stick described graceful revolutions.
+
+She was suddenly aware of a new thrill--one of satisfaction. As she
+looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her face cleared.
+Instinctively she grasped the truth. Whatever he may have been
+yesterday, he was quite another person today,--and it was a pleasure to
+be seen with him!
+
+She lengthened her stride, and held up her head. Her red lips parted in
+a dazzling smile.
+
+"I suppose it is useless to ask you to change your mind,--Trotter," she
+said, purposely hesitating over the name.
+
+"Quite," said he, smiling into her eyes.
+
+She was momentarily disconcerted. She found it more difficult than she
+had thought to look into his eyes.
+
+"Why do you call yourself Trotter?" she asked, after a moment.
+
+"I haven't the remotest idea," he said. "It came to me quite
+unexpectedly."
+
+"It isn't a pretty name," she observed. "Couldn't you have done better?"
+
+"I daresay I might have called myself Marjoribanks with perfect
+propriety," said he. "Or Plantagenet, or Cholmondeley. But it would have
+been quite a waste of time, don't you think?"
+
+"Would you mind telling me who you really are?"
+
+"You wouldn't believe me."
+
+"Oh, yes, I would. I could believe anything of you."
+
+"Well, I am the Prince of Wales."
+
+She flushed. "I believe you," she said. "Forgive my impertinence,
+Prince."
+
+"Forgive mine, Mrs. Millidew," he said soberly. "My name is Temple, Eric
+Temple. That does not convey anything to you, of course."
+
+"It conveys something vastly more interesting than Trotter,--Thomas
+Trotter."
+
+"And yet I am morally certain that Trotter had a great deal more to him
+than Eric Temple ever had," said he. "Trotter was a rather good sort, if
+I do say it myself. He was a hard-working, honest, intelligent fellow
+who found the world a very jolly old thing. I shall miss Trotter
+terribly, Mrs. Millidew. He used to read me to sleep nearly every night,
+and if I got a headache or a pain anywhere he did my complaining for me.
+He was with me night and day for three years and more, and that, let me
+tell you, is the severest test. I've known him to curse me roundly, to
+call me nearly everything under the sun,--and yet I let him go on doing
+it without a word in self-defence. Once he saved my life in an Indian
+jungle,--he was a remarkably good shot, you see. And again he pulled me
+through a pretty stiff illness in Tokio. I don't know how I should have
+got on without Trotter."
+
+"You are really quite delicious, Mr. Eric Temple. By the way, did you
+allow the admirable Trotter to direct your affairs of the heart?"
+
+"I did," said he promptly.
+
+"That is rather disappointing," said she, shaking her head. "Trotter may
+not have played the game fairly, you know. With all the best intentions
+in the world, he may have taken advantage of your--shall I say
+indifference?"
+
+"You may take my word for it, Mrs. Millidew, good old Trotter went to a
+great deal of pains to arrange a very suitable match for me," said he
+airily. "He was a most discriminating chap."
+
+"How interesting," said she, stiffening slightly. "Am I permitted to
+inquire just what opportunities Thomas Trotter has had to select a
+suitable companion for the rather exotic Mr. Temple?"
+
+"Fortunately," said he, "the rather exotic Mr. Temple approves entirely
+of the choice made by Thomas Trotter."
+
+"I wouldn't trust a chauffeur too far, if I were you," said she, a
+little maliciously.
+
+"Just how far _would_ you trust one?" he inquired, lifting his eyebrows.
+
+She smiled. "Well,--the length of Long Island," she said, with the
+utmost composure.
+
+"Mr. Trotter's late employer would not, it appears, share your faith in
+the rascal," said he.
+
+"She is a rather evil-minded old party," said Mrs. Millidew, the
+younger, bowing to the occupants of an automobile which was moving
+slowly in the same direction down the Avenue.
+
+A lady in the rear seat of the limousine leaned forward to peer at the
+widow's companion, who raised his hat,--but not in greeting. The man who
+slumped down in the seat beside her, barely lifted his hat. A second
+later he sat up somewhat hastily and stared.
+
+The occupants of the car were Mrs. Smith-Parvis,--a trifle haggard about
+the eyes,--and her son Stuyvesant.
+
+Young Mrs. Millidew laughed. "Evidently they recognize you, Mr. Temple,
+in spite of your spats and stick."
+
+"I thought I was completely disguised," said he, twirling his stick.
+
+"Good-bye," said she, at the corner. She held out her hand. "It is very
+nice to have known you, Mr. Eric Temple. Our mutual acquaintance, the
+impeccable Trotter, has my address if you should care to avail yourself
+of it. After the end of June, I shall be on Long Island."
+
+"It is very good of you, Mrs. Millidew," he said, clasping her hand. His
+hat was off. The warm spring sun gleamed in his curly brown hair. "I
+hope to be in England before the end of June." He hesitated a moment,
+and then said: "Lady Temple and I will be happy to welcome you at Fenlew
+Hall when you next visit England. Good-bye."
+
+She watched him stride off down the Avenue. She was still looking after
+him with slightly disturbed eyes when the butler opened the door.
+
+"Any fool should have known," she said, to herself and not to the
+servant. A queer little light danced in her eyes. "As a matter of fact,
+I suppose I did know without realizing it. Is Mrs. Hemleigh at home,
+Brooks?"
+
+"She is expecting you, Mrs. Millidew."
+
+"By the way, Brooks, do you happen to know anything about Fenlew Hall?"
+
+Brooks was as good a liar as any one. He had come, highly recommended,
+from a Fifth Avenue intelligence office. He did not hesitate an instant.
+
+"The Duke of Aberdeen's county seat, ma'am? I know it quite well. I
+cawn't tell you 'ow many times I've been in the plice, ma'am, while I
+was valeting his Grice, the Duke of Manchester."
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXI
+
+                            THE BRIDE-ELECT
+
+
+Four persons, a woman and three men, assembled in the insignificant
+hallway at the top of the steps reaching to the fifth floor of the
+building occupied by Deborah, Limited. To be precise, they were the
+butler, the parlour-maid and two austere footmen. Cricklewick was
+speaking.
+
+"Marriage is a most venturesome undertaking, my dear." He addressed
+himself to Julia, the parlour-maid. "So don't go saying it isn't."
+
+"I didn't say it wasn't," said Julia stoutly. "What I said was, if ever
+any two people were made for each other it's him and her."
+
+"In my time," said Cricklewick, "I've seen what looked to be the most
+excellent matches turn out to be nothing but fizzles."
+
+"Well, this one won't," said she.
+
+"As I was saying to McFaddan in the back 'all a minute ago, Mr.
+Cricklewick, the larst weddin' of any consequence I can remember
+hattending was when Lady Jane's mother was married to the Earl of
+Wexham. I sat on the box with old 'Oppins and we ran hover a dog drivin'
+away from St. George's in 'Anover Square." It was Moody who spoke. He
+seemed to relish the memory. "It was such a pretty little dog, too. I
+shall never forget it." He winked at Julia.
+
+"You needn't wink at me, Moody," said Julia. "I didn't like the little
+beast any more than you did."
+
+"Wot I've always wanted to know is how the blinkin' dog got loose in the
+street that day," mused McFaddan. "He was the most obstinate dog I ever
+saw. It was absolutely impossible to coax 'im into the stable-yard when
+Higgins's bull terrier was avisitin' us, and you couldn't get him into
+the stall with Dandy Boy,--not to save your life. He seemed to know that
+hoss would kick his bloomin' gizzard out. I used to throw little hunks
+of meat into the stall for him, too,--nice little morsels that any other
+dog in the world would have been proud to risk anything for. But him?
+Not a bit of it. He was the most disappointin', bull-headed animal I
+ever saw. I've always meant to ask how did it happen, Julia?"
+
+"I had him out for his stroll," said Julia, with a faraway, pleased
+expression in her eyes. "I thought as how he might be interested in
+seeing the bride and groom, and all that, when they came out of the
+church, so I took him around past Claridge's, and would you believe it
+he got away from me right in the thick of the carriages. He was that
+kind of a dog. He would always have his own way. I was terribly upset,
+McFaddan. You must remember how I carried on, crying and moaning and all
+that till her ladyship had to send for the doctor. It seemed to sort of
+get her mind off her bereavement, my hysterics did."
+
+"You made a puffeck nuisance of yourself," said Cricklewick.
+
+"I took notice, however, Mr. Cricklewick, that _you_ didn't shed any
+tears," said she coldly.
+
+"Certainly not," said the butler. "I admit I should have cried as much
+as anybody. You've no idea how fond the little darling was of me. There
+was hardly a day he didn't take a bite out of me, he liked me so much.
+He used to go without his regular meals, he had such a preference for my
+calves. I've got marks on me to this day."
+
+"And just to think, it was twenty-six years ago," sighed Moody. "'Ow
+times 'ave changed."
+
+"Not as much as you'd think," said Julia, a worried look in her eyes.
+"My mistress is talking of getting another dog,--after all these years.
+She swore she'd never have another one to take 'is place."
+
+"Thank 'eavings," said Moody devoutly, "I am in another situation." He
+winked and chuckled loudly.
+
+"As 'andsome a pair as you'll see in a twelve-month," said McFaddan. "He
+is a--"
+
+"Ahem!" coughed the butler. "There is some one on the stairs, Julia."
+
+Silently, swiftly, the group dissolved. Cricklewick took his place
+in the foyer, Julia clattered down the stairs to the barred gate,
+Moody went into the big drawing-room where sat the Marchioness,
+resplendent,--the Marchioness, who, twenty-six years before, had owned a
+pet that came to a sad and inglorious end on a happy wedding-day, and
+she alone of a large and imposing household had been the solitary
+mourner. She was the Marchioness of Camelford in those days.
+
+The nobility of New York,--or such of it as existed for the purpose of
+dignifying the salon,--was congregating on the eve of the marriage of
+Lady Jane Thorne and Lord Temple. Three o'clock the next afternoon was
+the hour set for the wedding, the place a modest little church, somewhat
+despised by its lordlier companions because it happened to be off in a
+somewhat obscure cross-town street and encouraged the unconventional.
+
+The bride-elect was not so proud or so self-absorbed that she could
+desert the Marchioness in the preparation of what promised to be the
+largest, the sprightliest and the most imposing salon of the year. She
+had put on an old gingham gown, had rolled up the sleeves, and had lent
+a hand with a will and an energy that distressed, yet pleased the older
+woman. She dusted and polished and scrubbed, and she laughed joyously
+and sang little snatches of song as she toiled. And then, when the work
+was done, she sat down to her last dinner with the delighted Marchioness
+and said she envied all the charwomen in the world if they felt as she
+did after an honest day's toil.
+
+"I daresay I ought to pay you a bit extra for the work you've done
+today," the Marchioness had said, a sly glint in her eyes. "Would a
+shilling be satisfactory, my good girl?"
+
+"Quite, ma'am," said Jane, radiant. "I've always wanted a lucky
+shillin', ma'am. I haven't one to me name."
+
+"You'll be having sovereigns after tomorrow, God bless you," said the
+other, a little catch in her voice,--and Jane got up from the table
+instantly and kissed her.
+
+"I am ashamed of myself for having taken so much from you, dear, and
+given so little in return," she said. "I haven't earned a tenth of what
+you've paid me."
+
+The Marchioness looked up and smiled,--and said nothing.
+
+"Isn't Lieutenant Aylesworth perfectly stunning?" Lady Jane inquired,
+long afterwards, as she obediently turned this way and that while the
+critical Deborah studied the effect of her latest creation in gowns.
+
+"Raise your arm, my dear,--so! I believe it is a trifle tight--What were
+you saying?"
+
+"Lieutenant Aylesworth,--isn't he adorable?"
+
+"My dear," said the Marchioness, "it hasn't been your good fortune to
+come in contact with many of the _real_ American men. You have seen the
+imitations. Therefore you are tremendously impressed with the real
+article when it is set before you. Aylesworth is a splendid fellow. He
+is big and clean and gentle. There isn't a rotten spot in him. But you
+must not think of him as an exception. There are a million men like him
+in this wonderful country,--ay, more than a million, my dear. Give me an
+American every time. If I couldn't get along with him and be happy to
+the end of my days with him, it would be my fault and not his. They know
+how to treat a woman, and that is more than you can say for our own
+countrymen as a class. All that a woman has to do to make an American
+husband happy is to let him think that he isn't doing quite enough for
+her. If I were twenty-five years younger than I am, I would get me an
+American husband and keep him on the jump from morning till night doing
+everything in his power to make himself perfectly happy over me. This
+Lieutenant Aylesworth is a fair example of what they turn out over here,
+my dear Jane. You will find his counterpart everywhere, and not always
+in the uniform of the U. S. Navy. They are a new breed of men, and they
+are full of the joy of living. They represent the revivified strength of
+a dozen run-down nations, our own Empire among them."
+
+"He may be all you claim for him," said Jane, "but give me an English
+gentleman every time."
+
+"That is because you happen to be very much in love with one, my
+dear,--and a rare one into the bargain. Eric Temple has lost nothing by
+being away from England for the past three years. He is as arrogant and
+as cocksure of himself as any other Englishmen, but he has picked up
+virtues that most of his countrymen disdain. Never fear, my dear,--he
+will be a good husband to you. But he will not eat out of your hand as
+these jolly Americans do. And when he is sixty he will be running true
+to form. He will be a lordly old dear and you will have to listen to his
+criticism of the government, and the navy and the army and all the rest
+of creation from morning till night and you will have to agree with him
+or he won't understand what the devil has got into you. But, as that is
+precisely what all English wives love better than anything else in the
+world, you will be happy."
+
+"I don't believe Eric will ever become crotchety or overbearing," said
+Jane stubbornly.
+
+"That would be a pity, dear," said the Marchioness, rising; "for of such
+is the kingdom of Britain."
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+Shortly after eleven o'clock, Julia came hurrying upstairs in great
+agitation. She tried vainly for awhile to attract the attention of the
+pompous Cricklewick by a series of sibilant whispers directed from
+behind the curtains in the foyer.
+
+The huge room was crowded. Everybody was there, including Count Andrew
+Drouillard, who rarely attended the functions; the Princess Mariana di
+Pavesi, young Baron Osterholz (who had but recently returned to New York
+after a tour of the West as a chorus-man in "The Merry Widow"); and
+Prince Waldemar de Bosky, excused for the night from Spangler's on
+account of a severe attack of ptomaine poisoning.
+
+"What do you want?" whispered Cricklewick, angrily, passing close to the
+curtains and cocking his ear without appearing to do so.
+
+"Come out here," whispered Julia.
+
+"Don't hiss like that! I can't come."
+
+"You must. It's something dreadful."
+
+"Is it McFaddan's wife?" whispered Cricklewick, in sudden dismay.
+
+"Worse than that. The police."
+
+"My Gawd!"
+
+The butler looked wildly about. He caught McFaddan's eye, and signalled
+him to come at once. If it was the police, McFaddan was the man to
+handle them. All the princes and lords and counts in New York combined
+were not worth McFaddan's little finger in an emergency like this.
+
+At the top of the steps Julia explained to the perspiring Cricklewick
+and the incredulous McFaddan.
+
+"They're at the gate down there, two of 'em in full uniform,--awful
+looking things,--and a man in a silk hat and evening dress. He says if
+we don't let him up he'll have the joint pulled."
+
+"We'll see about _that_," said McFaddan gruffly and not at all in the
+voice or manner of a well-trained footman. He led the way down the
+steps, followed by Cricklewick and the trembling Julia. At the last
+landing but one, he halted, and in a superlatively respectful whisper
+restored Cricklewick to his natural position as a superior.
+
+"You go ahead and see what they want," he said.
+
+"What's wrong with your going first?" demanded Cricklewick, holding
+back.
+
+"I suddenly remembered that the cops wouldn't know what to think if they
+saw me in this rig," confessed McFaddan, ingratiatingly. "They might
+drop dead, you know."
+
+"You can explain that you're attending a fancy dress party," said
+Cricklewick earnestly. "I am a respectable, dignified merchant and I--"
+
+"Go on, man! If you need me I'll be waitin' at the top of the steps.
+They don't know you from Adam, so what's there to be afraid of?"
+
+Fortified by McFaddan's promise, Cricklewick descended to the barred and
+locked grating.
+
+"What's goin' on here?" demanded the burliest policeman he had ever
+seen. The second bluecoat shook the gate till it rattled on its hinges.
+
+Mr. Cricklewick was staring, open-mouthed but speechless, at the figure
+behind the policemen.
+
+"Open up," commanded the second officer. "Get a move on."
+
+"We got to see what kind of a joint this is, uncle. This gentleman says
+something's been goin' on here for the past month to his certain
+knowledge,--"
+
+"Just a moment," broke in Cricklewick, hastily covering the lower part
+of his face with his hand,--that being the nearest he could come, under
+the circumstances, to emulating the maladroit ostrich. "I will call
+Mr.--"
+
+"You'll open the gate right now, me man, or we'll bust it in and jug the
+whole gang of ye," observed the burlier one, scowling.
+
+"Go ahead and bust," said Cricklewick, surprising himself quite as much
+as the officers. "Hey, Mack!" he called out. "Come down at once! Now,
+you'll see!" he rasped, turning to the policemen again. The light of
+victory was in his eye.
+
+"What's that!" roared the cop.
+
+"Break it down," ordered the young man in the rear. "I tell you there's
+a card game or--even worse--going on upstairs. I've had the place
+watched. All kinds of hoboes pass in and out of here on regular nights
+every week,--the rottenest lot of men and women I've--"
+
+"Hurry up, Mack!" shouted Mr. Cricklewick. He was alone. Julia had fled
+to the top landing.
+
+"Coming," boomed a voice from above. A gorgeous figure in full livery
+filled the vision of two policemen.
+
+"For the love o' Mike," gasped the burly one, and burst into a roar of
+laughter. "What is it?"
+
+"Well, of all the--" began the other.
+
+McFaddan interrupted him just in time to avoid additional ignominy.
+
+"What the hell do you guys mean by buttin' in here?" he roared, his face
+brick-red with anger.
+
+"Cut that out," snarled the burly one. "You'll mighty soon see what we
+mean by--"
+
+"Beat it. Clear out!" shouted McFaddan.
+
+"Smash the door down," shouted the young man in full evening dress.
+
+"Oh, my God!" gasped McFaddan, his eyes almost popping from his head. He
+had recognized the speaker.
+
+By singular coincidence all three of the men outside the gate recognized
+Mr. Cornelius McFaddan at the same time.
+
+"Holy mackerel!" gasped the burly one, grabbing for his cap. "It's--it's
+Mr. McFaddan or I'm a goat."
+
+"You're a goat all right," declared McFaddan in a voice that shook all
+the confidence out of both policemen and caused Mr. Stuyvesant
+Smith-Parvis to back sharply toward the steps leading to the street.
+"Where's Julia?" roared the district boss, glaring balefully at Stuyvie.
+"Get the key, Cricklewick,--quick. Let me out of here. I'll never have
+another chance like this. The dirty--"
+
+"Calm yourself, McFaddan," pleaded Cricklewick. "Remember where you
+are--and who is upstairs. We can't have a row, you know. It--"
+
+"What's the game, Mr. McFaddan?" inquired one of the policemen, very
+politely. "I hope we haven't disturbed a party or anything like that. We
+were sent over here by the sergeant on the complaint of this gentleman,
+who says--"
+
+"They've got a young girl up there," broke in Stuyvesant. "She's been
+decoyed into a den of crooks and white-slavers headed by the woman who
+runs the shop downstairs. I've had her watched. I--"
+
+"O'Flaherty," cried McFaddan, in a pleading voice, "will ye do me the
+favour of breaking this damned door down? I'll forgive ye for
+everything--yes, bedad, I'll get ye a promotion if ye'll only rip this
+accursed thing off its hinges."
+
+"Ain't this guy straight?" demanded O'Flaherty, turning upon Stuyvesant.
+"If he's been double-crossing us--"
+
+"I shall report you to the Commissioner of Police," cried Stuyvesant,
+retreating a step or two as the gate gave signs of yielding. "He is a
+friend of mine."
+
+"He is a friend of Mr. McFaddan's also," said O'Flaherty, scratching his
+head dubiously. "I guess you'll have to explain, young feller."
+
+"Ask him to explain," insisted Stuyvie.
+
+"Permit me," interposed Cricklewick, in an agitated voice. "This is a
+private little fancy dress party. We--"
+
+"Well, I'll be jiggered!" exclaimed Stuyvesant, coming closer to a real
+American being than he had ever been before in all his life. "It's old
+Cricklewick! Why, you old roue!"
+
+"I--I--let me help you, McFaddan," cried Cricklewick suddenly. "If we
+all put our strength to the bally thing, it may give way. Now! All
+together!"
+
+Julia came scuttling down the steps.
+
+"Be quiet!" she cried, tensely. "Whatever are we to do? She's coming
+down--they're both coming down. They are going over to the Ritz for
+supper. The best man is giving a party. Oh, my soul! Can't you do
+anything, McFaddan?"
+
+"Not until you unlock the gate," groaned McFaddan, perspiring freely.
+
+"There she is!" cried Stuyvesant, pointing up the stairs. "Now, will you
+believe me?"
+
+"Get out of sight, you!" whispered McFaddan violently, addressing the
+bewildered policemen. "Get back in the hall and don't breathe,--do you
+hear me? As for _you_--" Cricklewick's spasmodic grip on his arm checked
+the torrent.
+
+Lady Jane was standing at the top of the steps, peering intently
+downward.
+
+"What is it, Cricklewick?" she called out.
+
+"Nothing, my lady,--nothing at all," the butler managed to say with
+perfect composure. "Merely a couple of newspaper reporters asking
+for--ahem--an interview. Stupid blighters! I--I sent them away in jolly
+quick order."
+
+"Isn't that one of them still standing at the top of the steps?"
+inquired she.
+
+"It's--it's only the night-watchman," said McFaddan.
+
+"Oh, I see. Send him off, please. Lord Temple and I are leaving at once,
+Cricklewick. Julia, will you help me with my wraps?"
+
+She disappeared from view. Julia ran swiftly up the steps.
+
+Stuyvesant, apparently alone in the hall outside, put his hand to his
+head.
+
+"Did--did she say Lord Temple?"
+
+"Beat it!" said McFaddan.
+
+"The chap the papers have been--What the devil has she to do with Lord
+Temple?"
+
+"I forgot to get the key from Julia, damn it!" muttered McFaddan,
+suddenly trying the gate again.
+
+"I say, Jane!" called out a strong, masculine voice from regions above.
+"Are you nearly ready?"
+
+Rapid footsteps came down the unseen stairway, and a moment later the
+erstwhile Thomas Trotter, as fine a figure in evening dress as you'd see
+in a month of Sundays, stopped on the landing.
+
+"Will you see if there's a taxi waiting, Cricklewick?" he said. "Moody
+telephoned for one a few minutes ago. I'll be down in a second, Jane
+dear."
+
+He dashed back up the stairs.
+
+"Officer O'Flaherty!" called out Mr. McFaddan, in a cautious undertone,
+"will you be good enough to step downstairs and see if Lord Temple's
+taxi's outside?"
+
+"What'll we do with this gazabo, Mr. McFaddan?"
+
+"Was--is _that_ man--that chauffeur--was that Lord Temple?" sputtered
+Stuyvesant.
+
+"Yes, it was," snapped McFaddan. "And ye'd better be careful how ye
+speak of your betters. Now, clear out. I wouldn't have Lady Jane Thorne
+know I lied to her for anything in the world."
+
+"Lied? Lied about what?"
+
+"When I said ye were a decent night-watchman," said McFaddan.
+
+Stuyvesant went down the steps and into the street, puzzled and sick at
+heart.
+
+He paused irresolutely just outside the entrance. If they were really
+the Lord Temple and the Lady Jane Thorne whose appearance in the
+marriage license bureau at City Hall had provided a small sensation for
+the morning newspapers, it wouldn't be a bad idea to let them see that
+he was ready and willing to forget and forgive--
+
+"Move on, now! Get a move, you!" ordered O'Flaherty, giving him a shove.
+
+
+
+
+                              CHAPTER XXII
+
+                             THE BEGINNING
+
+
+THE brisk, businesslike little clergyman was sorely disappointed. He had
+looked forward to a rather smart affair, so to speak, on the afternoon
+of the fifteenth. Indeed, he had gone to some pains to prepare himself
+for an event far out of the ordinary. It isn't every day that one has
+the opportunity to perform a ceremony wherein a real Lord and Lady
+plight the troth; it isn't every parson who can say he has officiated
+for nobility. Such an event certainly calls for a little more than the
+customary preparations. He got out his newest vestments and did not
+neglect to brush his hair. His shoes were highly polished for the
+occasion and his nails shone with a brightness that fascinated him.
+Moreover, he had tuned up his voice; it had gone stale with the monotony
+of countless marriages in which he rarely took the trouble to notice
+whether the responses were properly made. By dint of a little extra
+exertion in the rectory he had brought it to a fine state of unctuous
+mellowness.
+
+Moreover, he had given some thought to the prayer. It wasn't going to be
+a perfunctory, listless thing, this prayer for Lord and Lady Temple. It
+was to be a profound utterance. The glib, everyday prayer wouldn't do at
+all on an occasion like this. The church would be filled with the best
+people in New York. Something fine and resonant and perhaps a little
+personal,--something to do with God, of course, but, in the main, worth
+listening to. In fact, something from the diaphragm, sonorous.
+
+For a little while he would take off the well-worn mask of humility and
+bask in the fulgent rays of his own light.
+
+But, to repeat, he was sorely disappointed. Instead of beaming upon an
+assemblage of the elect, he found himself confronted by a company that
+caused him to question his own good taste in shaving especially for the
+occasion and in wearing gold-rimmed nose-glasses instead of the "over
+the ears" he usually wore when in haste.
+
+He saw, with shocked and incredulous eyes, sparsely planted about the
+dim church as if separated by the order of one who realized that closer
+contact would result in something worse than passive antagonism, a
+strange and motley company.
+
+For a moment he trembled. Had he, by some horrible mischance, set two
+weddings for the same hour? He cudgelled his brain as he peeped through
+the vestry door. A sickening blank! He could recall no other ceremony
+for that particular hour,--and yet as he struggled for a solution the
+conviction became stronger that he had committed a most egregious error.
+Then and there, in a perspiring panic, he solemnly resolved to give
+these weddings a little more thought. He had been getting a bit
+slack,--really quite haphazard in checking off the daily grist.
+
+What was he to do when the noble English pair and their friends put in
+an appearance? Despite the fact that the young American sailor-chap who
+came to see him about the service had casually remarked that it was to
+be a most informal affair,--with "no trimmings" or something like
+that,--he knew that so far as these people were concerned, simplicity
+was merely comparative. Doubtless, the young couple, affecting
+simplicity, would appear without coronets; the guests probably would
+saunter in and, in a rather degage fashion, find seats for themselves
+without deigning to notice the obsequious verger in attendance. And here
+was the church partially filled,--certainly the best seats were
+taken,--by a most unseemly lot of people! What was to be done about it?
+He looked anxiously about for the sexton. Then he glanced at his watch.
+Ten minutes to spare.
+
+Some one tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to face the stalwart
+young naval officer. A tall young man was standing at some distance
+behind the officer, clumsily drawing on a pair of pearl grey gloves. He
+wore a monocle. The good pastor's look of distress deepened.
+
+"Good afternoon," said the smiling lieutenant. "You see I got him here
+on time, sir."
+
+"Yes, yes," murmured the pastor. "Ha-ha! Ha-ha!" He laughed in his
+customary way. Not one but a thousand "best men" had spoken those very
+words to him before. The remark called for a laugh. It had become a
+habit.
+
+"Is everybody here?" inquired Aylesworth, peeping over his shoulder
+through the crack in the door. The pastor bethought himself and gently
+closed the door, whereupon the best man promptly opened it again and
+resumed his stealthy scrutiny of the dim edifice.
+
+"I can't fasten this beastly thing, Aylesworth," said the tall young man
+in the background. "Would you mind seeing what you can do with the bally
+thing?"
+
+"I see the Countess there," said Aylesworth, still gazing. "And the
+Marchioness, and--"
+
+"The Marchioness?" murmured the pastor, in fresh dismay.
+
+"I guess they're all here," went on the best man, turning away from the
+door and joining his nervous companion.
+
+"I'd sooner face a regiment of cavalry than--" began Eric Temple.
+
+"May I have the pleasure and the honour of greeting Lord Temple?" said
+the little minister, approaching with outstretched hand. "A--er--a very
+happy occasion, your lordship. Perhaps I would better explain the
+presence in the church of a--er--rather unusual crowd of--er--shall we
+say curiosity-seekers? You see, this is an open church. The doors are
+always open to the public. Very queer people sometimes get in, despite
+the watchfulness of the attendant, usually, I may say, when a wedding of
+such prominence--ahem!--er--"
+
+"I don't in the least mind," said Lord Temple good-humouredly. "If it's
+any treat to them, let them stay. Sure you've got the ring, Aylesworth?
+I say, I'm sorry now we didn't have a rehearsal. It isn't at all simple.
+You said it would be, confound you. You--"
+
+"All you have to do, old chap, is to give your arm to Lady Jane and
+follow the Baroness and me to the chancel. Say 'I do' and 'I will' to
+everything, and before you know it you'll come to and find yourself
+still breathing and walking on air. Isn't that so, Doctor?"
+
+"Quite,--quite so, I am sure."
+
+"Let me take a peep out there, Aylesworth. I'd like to get my bearings."
+
+"Pray do not be dismayed by the--" began the minister.
+
+"Hullo! There's Bramby sitting in the front seat,--my word, I've never
+known him to look so seraphic. Old Fogazario, and de Bosky, and--yes,
+there's Mirabeau, and the amiable Mrs. Moses Jacobs. 'Gad, she's
+resplendent! Du Bara and Herman and--By Jove, they're all here, every
+one of them. I say, Aylesworth, what time is it? I wonder if anything
+can have happened to Jane? Run out to the sidewalk, old chap, and have a
+look, will you? I--"
+
+"Are all bridegrooms like this?" inquired Aylesworth drily, addressing
+the bewildered minister.
+
+"Here she is!" sang out the bridegroom, leaping toward the little
+vestibule. "Thank heaven, Jane! I thought you'd met with an accident
+or--My God! How lovely you are, darling! Isn't she, Aylesworth?"
+
+"Permit me to present you, Doctor, to Lady Jane Thorne," interposed
+Aylesworth. "And to the Baroness Brangwyng."
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+From that moment on, the little divine was in a daze. He didn't know
+what to make of anything. Everything was wrong and yet everything was
+right! How could it be?
+
+How was he to know that his quaint, unpretentious little church was
+half-full of masked men and women? How was he to know that these
+queer-looking people out there were counts and countesses, barons and
+baronesses, princes and princesses? Swarthy Italians, sallow-faced
+Frenchmen, dark Hungarians, bearded Russians and pompous Teutons! How
+was he to know that once upon a time all of these had gone without masks
+in the streets and courts of far-off lands and had worn "purple and fine
+linen"? And those plainly, poorly dressed women? Where,--oh where, were
+the smart New Yorkers for whom he had furbished himself up so neatly?
+
+What manner of companions had this lovely bride,--ah, but _she_ had the
+real atmosphere!--What sort of people had she been thrown with during
+her stay in the City of New York? She who might have known the best, the
+most exclusive,--"bless me, what a pity!"
+
+Here and there in the motley throng, he espied a figure that suggested
+upper Fifth Avenue. The little lady with the snow-white hair; the tall
+brunette with the rather stunning hat; the austere gentleman far in the
+rear, the ruddy faced old man behind him, and the aggressive-looking
+individual with the green necktie,--Yes, any one of them might have come
+from uptown and ought to feel somewhat out of place in this singular
+gathering. The three gentlemen especially. He sized them up as
+financiers, as plutocrats. And yet they were back where the family
+servants usually sat.
+
+He got through with the service,--indulgently, it is to be feared, after
+all.
+
+He would say, on the whole, that he had never seen a handsomer couple
+than Lord and Lady Temple. There was compensation in that. Any one with
+half an eye could see that they came of the very best stock. And the
+little Baroness,--he had never seen a baroness before,--was somebody,
+too. She possessed manner,--that indefinable thing they called
+manner,--there was no mistake about it. He had no means of knowing, of
+course, that she was struggling hard to make a living in the "artist
+colony" down town.
+
+Well, well, it is a strange world, after all. You never can tell, mused
+the little pastor as he stood in the entrance of his church with
+half-a-dozen reporters and watched the strange company disperse,--some
+in motors, some in hansoms, and others on the soles of their feet. A
+large lady in many colours ran for a south-bound street car. He wondered
+who she could be. The cook, perhaps.
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+Lieutenant Aylesworth was saying good-bye to the bride and groom at the
+Grand Central Station. The train for Montreal was leaving shortly before
+ten o'clock.
+
+The wedding journey was to carry them through Canada to the Pacific and
+back to New York, leisurely, by way of the Panama Canal. Lord Fenlew had
+not been niggardly. All he demanded of his grandson in return was that
+they should come to Fenlew Hall before the first of August.
+
+"Look us up the instant you set foot in England, Sammy," said Eric,
+gripping his friend's hand. "Watch the newspapers. You'll see when our
+ship comes home, and after that you'll find us holding out our arms to
+you."
+
+"When my ship _leaves_ home," said the American, "I hope she'll steer
+for an English port. Good-bye, Lady Temple. Please live to be a hundred,
+that's all I ask of you."
+
+"Good-bye, Sam," she said, blushing as she uttered the name he had urged
+her to use.
+
+"You won't mind letting the children call me Uncle Sam, will you?" he
+said, a droll twist to his lips.
+
+"How quaint!" she murmured.
+
+"By Jove, Sammy," cried Eric warmly, "you've no idea how much better you
+look in Uncle Sam's uniform than you did in that stuffy frock coat this
+afternoon. Thank God, I can get into a uniform myself before long. You
+wouldn't understand, old chap, how good it feels to be in a British
+uniform."
+
+"I'm afraid we've outgrown the British uniform," said the other drily.
+"It used to be rather common over here, you know."
+
+"You don't know what all this means to me," said Temple seriously, his
+hand still clasping the American's. "I can hold up my head once more. I
+can fight for England. If she needs me, I can fight and die for her."
+
+"You're a queer lot, you Britishers," drawled the American. "You want to
+fight and die for Old England. I have a singularly contrary ambition. I
+want to _live_ and _fight_ for America."
+
+                               * * * * *
+
+On the twenty-fourth of July, 1914, Lord Eric Temple and his bride came
+home to England.
+
+                   THE END
+
+
+
+
+                Transcriber Notes:
+
+Passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_.
+
+Small caps were replaced with ALL CAPS.
+
+Throughout the document, the oe ligature was replaced with "oe".
+
+Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of
+the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.
+
+Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected
+unless otherwise noted.
+
+On page 9, "Marchiness" was replaced with "Marchioness".
+
+On page 18, "unforgetable" was replaced with "unforgettable".
+
+On page 22, "respendent" was replaced with "resplendent".
+
+On page 26, "idlness" was replaced with "idleness".
+
+On page 47, "sacrified" was replaced with "sacrificed".
+
+On page 53, "spooffing" was replaced with "spoofing".
+
+On page 67, "shan't" was replaced with "sha'n't".
+
+On page 69, "constitutency" was replaced with "constituency".
+
+On page 78, "assed" was replaced with "passed".
+
+On page 80, "acccepting" was replaced with "accepting".
+
+On page 81, "lookingly" was replaced with "looking".
+
+On page 103, "acccused" was replaced with "accused".
+
+On page 107, "afternooon" was replaced with "afternoon".
+
+On page 224, "limmo" was replaced with "limo".
+
+On page 230, "pressent" was replaced with "present".
+
+On page 233, "EOR" was replaced with "FOR".
+
+On page 235, a period was placed after "in the depths".
+
+On page 240, "tobaccco" was replaced with "tobacco".
+
+On page 244, "crochetty" was replaced with "crotchety".
+
+On page 247, "properely" was replaced with "properly".
+
+On page 259, "expained" was replaced with "explained".
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The City of Masks, by George Barr McCutcheon
+
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