AT THE CASINO
A party of us went down to the Casino that night, consisting of
Nanette, Nanette’s mother, Ensleigh, and myself. Jack excused himself
on the plea that he had promised to play somebody five-hundred up.
Nanette had been put through the hoop well and truly for her escapade,
but she looked none the worse for this parental correction.
Newly from the seclusion of a French convent, she was learning the
dangerous truism that beauty governs mankind.
Da Cunha was waiting at the Casino--and Nanette pretended to be
surprised. Her mother really _was_ surprised, and maternally alarmed.
She was a woman of the world and she knew her Da Cunhas.
The said Da Cunha wanted to dance. Nanette loved dancing and danced
divinely. Therefore she decided to play roulette.
“Please, Mumsy,” she pleaded--“until I have lost a pound!”
Her mother consented, silently signalling me to sit beside Nanette at
the table. Whilst Nanette’s mother danced with Ensleigh, I chaperoned
Nanette.
The game was dull. Da Cunha constantly urged the superior charms of
the ballroom. But Nanette played on. Presently:
“Do you think Jack will come along?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
An interval in which Nanette lost five shillings, then:
“Had you met Major O’--what’s his name--before?”
“No. I had heard of him.”
“Really? Is he famous?”
“I suppose he is--in a way.”
“But listen!” Da Cunha exclaimed, “this is _so_ boring! Let us dance.”
“Not until I’ve lost my pound,” said Nanette firmly.
More aimless play, then:
“I saw your Major man when we first went on board, you know,” said
Nanette, casually staking her all on a number. “Jack and I peeped into
the smoke-room, and--he was in there.”
“Really. Is that so?”
“Yes. Wasn’t it odd I should meet him, after--seeing him like that?”
“Very odd.”
Nanette’s fortune was swept away by the croupier. She remained
unperturbed. She kept throwing quick little glances all about the
room, and now:
“Please take me out on the terrace and get me a long, cool drink,” she
asked.
We stood up and crossed to the open doors. Da Cunha grabbed Nanette’s
arm and led her out. As I followed, I glanced aside, and saw Jack
coming in. He looked very flushed. He was literally glaring after the
pair in front of me. I waved to him, but he swung around and went out
again.
It was dark on the terrace and at first I couldn’t see Nanette. Then I
glimpsed a raised white arm over in a distant corner. She was standing
with her back to the railing and Da Cunha stood in front of her,
bending forward, one hand resting beside her and his face very close
to hers.
“What about that long, cool drink?” said I.
Nanette immediately ran to me.
“Oh, please!” she cried. “I’m simply gasping! Where shall we sit?
Somewhere by the windows--where we can watch.”
She was excited, and it was clear enough that Da Cunha had been making
love to her. He turned, and I heard him snap his fingers.
“Why not here?” he suggested. “How beautiful is the view in the
moonlight, with the dark groves and twinkling lamps.”
“No,” said Nanette, selecting a table near an open window. “I feel
chilly and I want to watch the dancing.”
“If you are cold, let us dance.”
Nanette shook her head and opened a tiny jewelled cigarette case. She
bent toward me.
“A match, please,” she begged.
She was quite determined, and so we sat there sipping iced drinks
until Nanette’s mother and Ensleigh joined us. There were inquiries
for Jack, but I said nothing--for the boy had been palpably drunk.
Nanette was unable to mask her preoccupation, constantly looking into
the lighted rooms, then, suddenly, halfway through a Charleston, she
jumped up.
“Come on,” she said to Da Cunha, and threw her wrap to me--“let’s
dance!”
He was on his feet in an instant and the two went in. Nanette’s mother
was playing, and as I stood up I glanced toward the table.
O’Shea was standing watching the play.
Nanette and Da Cunha began to dance. Da Cunha danced perfectly, with
all the sensuous grace of a none-such; but the look in his dark eyes
raised my gorge to a hundred and twenty in the shade. Nanette floated
in his arms like a bit of thistledown; her tiny feet seemed scarcely
to brush the floor. He talked to her constantly, and sometimes she
smiled up at him; but, always, she glanced into the roulette room as
they passed. Ensleigh joined us.
“Yes,” said he, “little Nanette is in the throes of her first
infatuation.”
As he spoke, she went past in Da Cunha’s arms, and frowned at
Ensleigh--because he blocked her view of the roulette table.
“She is,” I agreed.
She danced every dance after that with Da Cunha, becoming more and
more animated as the night wore on. Then her mother moved an
adjournment. Of course, Nanette objected.
“Mumsy,” she said. “Mr. Da Cunha has invited us all to drive up to his
bungalow. We can dance to the Savoy band. Think of it!”
But her mother refused to think of it. Da Cunha was not defeated yet,
however. His car was waiting. He would drive the party to Reid’s. In
the end this invitation was accepted. Nanette, her mother, Ensleigh,
and I elected to go.
“How many can you take?” Nanette asked.
“Oh, six easily.”
“I wonder if anyone else is going back?” said Nanette.
Following her glance:
“I might ask Major O’Shea if he is ready,” said I. “Do you mind,
Senhor da Cunha?”
“But of course not!” he replied, looking like Cæsar Borgia thinking
out a new prescription.
O’Shea thanked me. He preferred to walk.
“And I dislike Senhor Da Cunha,” he added.
Therefore the five of us packed into a flamingo-red Farman that stood
before the Casino. I thought that if brass helmets had been served
out, we should have done credit to any fire brigade. Da Cunha, of
course, had Nanette beside him in front. I could hear his constant
murmur over the roar of the engine. He took us up to Reid’s at an
average of about fifty-five.
Nanette’s mother steered Nanette to bed, and Da Cunha did not stay
long. I sent a page to look for Jack, but he was not in his room.
At about midnight, O’Shea joined us. We went out on to the terrace,
pipes going, and sat watching the fairyland of the gardens below, with
the winking lights of Funchal climbing the slopes beyond. Presently I
heard a faint movement, and:
“Oh!” said a voice in the darkness.
We all turned--and there was Nanette, distracting in déshabille.
“I can’t sleep, and I left my book out here!” she explained.
“Let me look,” said Ensleigh.
But he looked in vain.
“May I stay awhile and smoke a cigarette with you?” Nanette pleaded;
“or were you telling funny stories?”
She stayed--seated on the arm of my chair. There was not much
conversation, but after awhile O’Shea got up and disappeared. Nanette
began to talk, then, with feverish animation, until presently O’Shea
came back, carrying a loose coat.
Very gracefully, he placed it around Nanette’s shoulders.
“You must be cold,” he said.
Nanette glanced up at him, then down again--and shivered. But it was
not because she was cold.
Later, long after Nanette reluctantly had retired to her room, Jack
was driven up from Funchal. We put him to bed without arousing anyone.
“I’ll kill that slimy Da Cunha,” he declared thickly--and went to
sleep.
O’Shea surveyed him through the black-rimmed monocle.
“I wonder if cats and pretty girls know how cruel they are?” he
murmured.