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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40146 ***
+
+     [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
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40146 ***