Miss La Chêne was the first to recover.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a small, defiant voice.
“I?” said he, surprised. “B-but the thing is, who are _you_? I’m
Robinson.”
Impossible! This mild and nervous gentleman the heartless brute who had
ruined Mrs. Robinson’s life, shattered her illusions, and made her the
nervous wreck she was? And yet, looking at him, Miss La Chêne could not
doubt him. He seemed authentic.
“I’m Mrs. Robinson’s companion,” she said. “I--she--”
Then, so abashed was she, so humiliated at being caught thus, bedecked
in Mrs. Robinson’s jewels, that she began to cry. She would not admit
that she was crying, however. With great tears rolling down her cheeks
and her lashes like wet rays, she explained, in a formal tone, that Mrs.
Robinson had left her behind to pack, and that she had just tried on
the--the jewels.
“W-well, what of it?” he said cheerfully. “Th-there’s no harm done. See
here! Please don’t cry! Why shouldn’t you t-try on the things? Very
natural!” He paused. “And very becoming,” he added, with a singularly
nice sort of smile.
She liked him. He was kind and courteous, and he evidently admired her.
When he asked where his wife had gone, Miss La Chêne found that she was
sorry for him. He was so innocent, so absolutely unaware of his latest
crime. He said that he had “popped in to surprise her.”
For an instant the tactful and zealous companion was at a loss. She was
not very old and not very experienced, and this seemed to be rather a
delicate matter; but she was a warm-hearted little thing, and pretty
sharp-witted, and she was convinced now that Mr. Robinson was an old
darling, and badly misunderstood. So she told him the truth, in the
most tactful way she could.
“B-but, good Lord!” cried the unfortunate man. “There might be t-ten
Robinsons in a b-big hotel!”
“I know,” Miss La Chêne agreed. “I said that to Mrs. Robinson, but you
know how--sensitive and high-strung she is.”
“Yes,” he said ruefully. “Yes, she is.” He sighed. “Well!” he said, and
sighed again.
Miss La Chêne took advantage of his abstraction to retire to another
room, to take off her borrowed ornaments, and to restore her costume to
its usual demure neatness. When she came back with the jewels in her
hand, to restore them to the case, she found Mr. Robinson sitting in a
chair, staring before him, profoundly dejected. The only thought that
entered her kind little heart was a very admirable and very feminine
desire to cheer and comfort this unhappy man.
“Wouldn’t you like a cup of tea, Mr. Robinson?” she asked.
“Why, yes, I should,” he replied, very much pleased.
So Miss La Chêne telephoned downstairs to the restaurant, and a tea was
sent up, but it did not suit the fastidious young woman. She did magical
things to it with various electric devices; and the tea itself was so
delectable, and the temporary hostess was so gay and amusing and
delightful and kind, that Robinson soon completely recovered his
spirits. He was a very good sort of fellow, too, when he had half a
chance, and altogether they were so cozy and jolly that they quite
forgot the time, until the clock struck.
Then, startled as _Cinderella_ was by the same sound, Miss La Chêne
sprang up from the tea table.
“_Mon Dieu!_” she cried. “_Quatre heures! Madame sera bien fâchée! Mais
que je suis bête! Mon Dieu!_”
All this sounded very alarming to Robinson. He was relieved to hear that
the only trouble was that the bank had closed at three o’clock, and Miss
La Chêne could not deposit the jewels, as she had been directed to do.
“Well, if that’s all,” said he, “I’ll take ’em myself to-morrow morning.
You run along and catch your train, and don’t worry.”
Then he had to spoil all that cheerful, innocent little hour they had
had together. His face grew red, and he did not care to look at Miss La
Chêne.
“Er,” he stammered, “I--I--I think it would be just as well not to
mention to Mrs. Robinson--”
“Very well, Mr. Robinson,” said she.