IV

The young man whom Alicia had hailed turned toward her with quite the

nicest smile it had ever been my fortune to behold, a smile in which his

white teeth, which were of a character to do any dentist credit, were

the least important factor, beautiful as they were. It was the way his

face lighted up which caught one. In any situation that smile would

prove his shield and buckler. It would have been invaluable to a book

agent, and a missionary would have needed no other credentials--at least

certainly not on our street at home. We all smiled back at him

instinctively, though it was to Alicia that he spoke.

"It was simply ripping of you people!" he said in excellent English and

a delightfully modulated voice, yet with a curious intonation, as if it

were not his native tongue.

"Not at all!" replied Peaches, her eyes holding his. "Glad to oblige

you!"

He seemed a trifle blank at this.

"I didn't expect you to be here," he went on. "But I think it's awfully

jolly. I suppose you motor a great deal, Lady Gordon!"

"Lady who?" gasped Peaches. "Gee-whiz! Who do you think we are?"

"Great Scott!" said the inadvertent guest. "Aren't you Lord and Lady

Gordon?"

"Lord and Lady me eye!" remarked Peaches. "We are not!"

"Then why on earth did you call to me?" exclaimed the young man. "And

who are you?"

Just then the Citrus King leaned forward and shouted a query against the

wind.

"Who is your young man, Peaches?" he said. "Make me acquainted."

"I don't know who he is!" snapped his daughter. "Who are you yourself?"

she demanded of him. "I am a low-life American bourgeois in trade and

every bally thing--name of Alicia Pegg; and this is my father, Pinto

Pegg, the Citrus King, and this is my chaperon, Miss Talbot, that I'm

taking abroad to educate. Now who are you?"

"My name is Sandro di Monteventi," he said, getting out a little gold

cardcase, from which he extricated a visiting card bearing a

five-pointed coronet and the inscription Monteventi. A duke! As I

glimpsed the card, which with proper breeding he handed first to me, I

nearly fainted. We must have made a mistake somehow. Yet he was

undoubtedly the young man of the theater. I could not have made so

monstrous an error. As for Peaches, when I handed it on to her she

simply gave a frank stare and a long whistle.

"Pleased to meet you, duke!" she said. "I guess we may have made a

mistake. We thought--well, we thought you were a friend of ours--but I

don't quite see how you fell for it. Dicky, turn round and take the

gentleman back!"

"No, no!" said the duke hastily. "That is, you are going my way, so if

you don't mind--my friends will be gone by now!"

"Certainly. Keep ahead, Dick!" said Pinto heartily. "Pleased to have a

duke along. That's what we came to Europe for, you know--like all

vulgar Americans. So we'll drop you any place you say."

"That's really frightfully kind, Mr. Pegg," said the duke. "You see, I

am expected to visit the Gordons, who have rented a château at Deux

Arbres and when you called, Miss Pegg, I thought they had come to meet

me. We shall pass there shortly, and if you will just set me down in the

village I shall be all right and fearfully grateful."

"Why, that's the place where the famous panels by Scarpia are!" I

exclaimed. "They were painted at the order of Cardinal Perigino in

1754."

The duke looked at me in some surprise.

"Right!" said he. "Do you know the Gordons, by any chance?"

"No," I replied. "But I know my Burke's History of the Sixteenth Century

Italian Painters."

"Oh!" said he. "How odd and delightful." And he smiled again that

delectable smile of his, which somehow drew us into a delicious

intimacy. His smile seemed at once to compliment my erudition and a

thousand other lovely things. Then he turned again to Peaches and

looking at her spoke to her father.

"Where are you bound for, sir?" he asked.

"Monte Carlo will be our final camp," said Silas. "It's a town I've

always wanted to hit. I understand it's got it all over Hell River or

even Dogtown, and I used to get a lot of comfort out of them two places

when I was herding hop pickers round the head of the Sacramento Valley.

But I understand Monte has them beaten three ways. It ought to,

considering the game they named after it!"

I am convinced that this statement was as unintelligible to the duke as

it was to me, but he laughed politely.

"I may be dropping down there a little later," he said. "In point of

fact my home is not far from it--lovely old place back in the hills. I

was born there!"

"That so?" said Mr. Pegg. "Well, you do talk English remarkably well!"

"I was educated at Harvard," said the duke. "My mother was an American,

the daughter of the consul at San Remo."

"I knew you were a regular guy!" said Peaches, and then blushed

furiously. The duke laughed.

"Thanks!" said he. "But I am an Italian, you know, really, and I love my

country--as perhaps few men have!"

His eyes grew grave as he spoke. And after a few moments of curious

silence that fell upon us unwittingly, he held up his hand as a signal

to stop.

"We are coming into Deux Arbres now," he said. "There is the inn, and

that trap looks as if it would take one to the château! I am a thousand

times grateful for the lift!"

The car slowed down at Alicia's command, and the duke, despite our

protests, insisted upon getting out.

"We could easily take you right to the ranch house--castle, that is!"

Peaches offered.

"Not a bit more trouble, young man!" said Mr. Pegg.

But the duke would have no more of us. Charmingly, politely and firmly

he shook us, as Alicia put it afterward. He disappeared within a little

hostelry and we resumed our journey. When we had done so Alicia's father

subjected her to a cross examination which I, rather than she, deserved,

inasmuch as I had really been responsible for the more or less shocking

performance. But Peaches nobly refrained from in any way implicating me.

"Look here, Peaches, what made you collect that young swell?" said her

parent in an attempt to be properly irate.

"Why, pa, I thought it was Jake Keeting--you know, Giant Jake from the

B-2 outfit, and I was so surprised I yelled before I thought," she lied

with alarmingly casual promptness.

"Well, it's a good thing I and Miss Talbot was along to make it look

respectable!" he boomed. "This isn't the coast, you know, and people

round here have old-fashioned notions. But he seemed a mighty nice young

feller."

Alicia glanced sideways at Richard, the chauffeur.

"I thought he was a wonder!" she said deliberately. And then no more.

That night, in the luxurious bedroom at the Ritz in Paris, which was

precisely like all the other hotels at which we had stopped so far,

Peaches and I discussed the mystery of the Ducca di Monteventi to our

heart's content. And in the end we tacitly cleared him of connection

with the incident of the London theater, Alicia insisting that I must

have been mistaken in my identification of him, and I determinedly

convinced that he was none other than the hero of my escapade, an

opinion to which I privately held, though I refrained from expressing it

when I discovered that she disliked the thought.

"Say!" she remarked. "I think he's a prince, that's what. You know what

I mean--he's a duke, of course, but I should worry about that! I mean a

prince in the American sense."

And curiously enough I understood her.

But fate removed the object of our interest from our lives for many

weeks to come. We moved rather more slowly than I had anticipated, owing

partially to Alicia's sudden interest in Parisian art galleries. We

would plan our trip for the day within earshot of her parent, and in

truth we did occasionally visit them as we had announced. But more

frequently when we said we would go to the Louvre we meant the emporium

of that title, and very shortly Peaches' wardrobe began to show the

results of my restraining influence.

She was so beautiful that everything she put on became her, and so tall

that everything had to be altered. And so it came about that we were

some weeks in Paris; very pleasurable they were, too, and my knowledge

of French came in most serviceably. Not for nothing had I taken a prize

at Miss Hichbourne's Seminary and Finishing School for Young Gentlewomen

with an essay entitled Un Matin de Mai, for it developed that I was the

only person in our party possessed of even the rudiments of any foreign

language, and I was constantly in demand as interpreter, requesting

everything from _un verre de L'eau glacée_ for Mr. Pegg to _tabac et

d'allumettes_ for Richard, the chauffeur, and, of course, in the

purchasing of Peaches' clothes I was indispensable.

Moreover, out of my princely emolument I felt it but right to purchase

for myself sundry garments of a more fashionable appearance than I had

hitherto possessed, and to dispatch home by boat mail an embroidered

shawl for my sister and some fine cambric handkerchiefs together with a

pair of blue worsted knitted slippers for Galadia, which I purchased at

the American Woman's Exchange.

I may here remark in passing that Alicia's speech and manner were

becoming gradually modified under my earnest example and tuition, though

her fiery spirit and impulsive nature remained the same. Also her

conduct was impeccable, for with the exception of bringing home a

perfectly strange young American sailor--a common seaman, he was--to

dinner for no better reason than that she had found him sitting in the

Jardin de Tuileries and he had professed to be homesick, she did nothing

remarkable. It is a fact that upon one occasion she was barely prevented

from using physical violence upon the driver of a fiacre, who she

maintained was a dog-faced son of a muleteer and was ripe for admission

to the nether world, his inevitable landing place. And all this because

he was using a whip with more violence than discrimination upon his

apathetic animal. Her extraordinary language was completely, and very

fortunately, lost upon him, inasmuch as he understood no English, much

less Californian, and thought she was merely trying to protest at the

overcharge, and being used to that he remained undisturbed.

During our stay in Paris I wrote to and received an answer from my

Cousin Abby, who in a dashing hand announced that she would be "charmed

to see you, dear old thing, as it's a beastly season, dull as ditch

water, and anything will be a diversion."

I announced the fact of the receipt of this letter but kept its exact

contents to myself, as I rather feared for our reception. Mr. Pegg,

however, seemed to consider the mere fact of her reply an encouraging

sign, and with his customary abruptness of decision gave orders that we

pack up at once and proceed to Italy by train instead of by motor as we

had planned, thus expediting the matter of starting upon what he

persisted in terming the "commencement of Peaches' social career."

"Since your cousin, the countess, is at her castle," he informed me, "we

will break camp right now, Miss Talbot, and hit the trail for the

Italian citrus country. I am anxious to start looking the lemon

situation over, and it's only fair to give the Paris shops a chance to

restock. So to-morrow we will pull out."

"Very well, Mr. Pegg," I assented. "Though it is a pity to miss the

château country."

"Not much sense in looking at the outside of châteaux if you don't know

the folks living in them," the Citrus King commented. "And perhaps on

the way back we will have a few invites from your cousin's friends."

I could only bite my lip and refrain from going into the question

further at the moment. Mr. Pegg's social and geographical ideas were at

that time in sad need of correction. But then correction made so little

impression on him. If his mind was made up to get a thing he would brush

aside all else until the attainment of his object. Already I was

learning not to dispute his decisions. Besides, it was conceivable that

Cousin Abby did know some French nobility, or the lessees of some, and

that if she accepted us at all we might possibly make their acquaintance

in due course. Indeed the circumstances were far less improbable than so

much which had actually occurred during the past month that I dismissed

the question momentarily, wrote Euphemia a brief note informing her of

our prospective change of address, and then sought out my charge for

the purpose of imparting her father's instructions.

At first I experienced some difficulty in locating her, but after a

diligent search of our sumptuous suite I at length discovered her in the

public corridor near the elevator, where she was engaged in explaining

some game of cards--a form of solitaire--to the youth who operated the

elevator. They were seated upon a bench near the shaft, and the youth

was completely negligent of his duty. At my approach Miss Alicia looked

up and nodded, but continued her explanation.

"The jack on the queen," she was saying; "the ten on the jack; move 'em

over--that makes a dollar you owe me!"

"Alicia!" I exclaimed. "Stop it at once! What are you doing?"

"Canfield," she replied mysteriously. "Want to take me on?" She gathered

up the cards, which I then discovered to be part of what I may term her

personal equipment, being small and easily contained in that part of her

vanity case usually occupied by rouge and lip stick, for which, thank

heaven, Alicia had neither need nor desire, though perhaps when one

stops to consider the matter it is somewhat doubtful if her substitution

of a pack of playing cards had a greater moral value.

"I don't want to take you on; I want to take you away!" I said. "Come

back to the apartment and pack. We are to proceed to Monte Carlo in the

morning.

"Suffering cats!" exclaimed Peaches. "No wonder you don't want to stop

for any of this piker stuff." Then she turned to the elevator boy, who

still lingered, seemingly in a state of semihypnosis. "Thanks for the

paper, captain," she said. "Keep that dollar you owe me for a tip!" And

then she slid her arm around my neck and strolled down the corridor with

me, while the youth, with a parting grin, at length perceived the

buzzing of the indicator, and vanished into his elevator contraption,

not having uttered a single word since my advent.

"I had him try to find me a San Francisco paper," Peaches explained as

we returned to our royal apartments. "I get so sick of these Frenchy

ones that I can't read, and of the London ones that have only news which

could never have been fresh to me. I wanted to see a good comic sheet.

Gee! How we used to rush for 'em out on the ranch. When Bill Hovey's

mule team came into sight over Bear Ridge Dick and I used to commence

matching for who'd open the bag. And generally we'd look at the comics

together. Don't you love Krazy-Kat?"

I shook my head slowly, more in despair at her simplicity than as the

negative she took the gesture for.

"Well, you wouldn't, no, nor Buster Brown, either, I suppose. But we

didn't have any volumes of Webster or any such light stuff on the ranch,

and had to take what we could get."

"You have a newspaper of some sort, I see," I replied, feeling it

useless to explain that I preferred Byron to Webster, and not feeling in

the least convinced that Peaches knew of the existence of Daniel as well

as of Noah. She pulled out a copy of the Paris _Herald_ from under her

arm.

"Not from the coast," she said, "but at least it's printed in American.

The boy was a nice kid. He comes from Texas. He showed me a peach of a

trick, and I was showing him a new Canfield when you breezed in with

something really big. Hello! Here's something about Mr. Markheim!"

She had been scanning the front page of the paper as she talked, and now

she fell silent for a moment as she read.

"Who is Mr. Markheim?" I inquired. "Not Sebastian Markheim, the great

banker?"

"Yeah!" said Peaches assentingly. "But it's nothing much. He's bought

another picture, that's all. And paid the price of a couple of

first-class orange-groves for it."

"Why, Alicia Pegg!" I exclaimed. "What an extraordinary young female you

are! Sebastian Markheim is one of the greatest collectors of antique

paintings in the world. He is an authority on the subject. How do you

come to know him?"

"He came to know us!" she averred cheerfully. "Bought a ranch near our

home outfit, and came over to get some pointers from pa. We see him a

lot whenever he's in California."

"How amazing!" I exclaimed. "Sebastian Markheim, the great millionaire!

What manner of man is he, Alicia?"

"Oh, he's a widower of about fifty or so," she said carelessly. "He's in

love with me."

"Alicia!" I exclaimed. "Can you never learn to be more reticent about

these--these delicate personal matters?"

"He isn't a bit delicate!" she responded mildly. "In fact he's awfully

rough. He hounds me, but I can look out for myself."

I felt the subject too dangerous to pursue. As my dear father used to

say, most unpleasant subjects thrive on reproof. So I diverted her

attention from her immediate theme.

"What picture did he purchase that is worthy of such comment?" I

inquired.

"It is called the Madonna of the Lamp by some bird named Raphael, last

name not mentioned," replied the young heathen cheerfully. "What's all

this about Monte Carlo to-morrow?"

But I had taken the newspaper from her.

"The Madonna of the Lamp!" I exclaimed. "Why, Alicia, child, that is one

of the most famous paintings in the world. It was done in Italy,

hundreds of years ago, by one of the greatest artists that ever lived.

The extraordinary part of such a sale is that any private individual

should own it. Its proper place is a museum. I am surprised it ever got

out of Italy. They have a strict law which prohibits any important works

of art from being taken out of the country, you know."

"I do not know," said Alicia. "But you'd think they'd be glad to get

such a price for a thing as old as that, wouldn't you? Now if it was an

original by Gibson or Christy----"

But I did not attend to the remainder of her sentence. My eye had fallen

upon another item of even greater importance, which had evidently

escaped her attention. It was small and inconspicuously placed, but its

interest was overwhelming. It ran thus. I copy from the original:

"SCARPIA PANELS STOLEN

"Calais, March 15th. The commissioner of police here was informed

last night that the four famous panels by Scarpia had been

mysteriously removed from the château belonging to Baron Richt at

Deux Arbres, seventeen miles from this city. The house has been

rented to Lord and Lady Ellis Gordon for the past two years. The

uttermost mystery surrounds the disappearance of the four panels,

which have been one of the show features of the place. How the

panels could disappear in the brief interval between the

announcement of dinner and the return of the guests to the

drawing-room is one of the most baffling features of the case. The

fact of the theft was discovered by one of the house guests, the

Ducca di Monteventi. Every effort will be made to discover the

criminals, for whose capture Lord Gordon has already offered a

large reward."

That was all, but as Peaches put it, it was "an eyeful." In other words,

it was sufficient. Or almost so, for, of course, our native feminine

curiosity was enormously piqued. We stared at each other in amazement

for a moment, and then Peaches heaved a long sigh.

"That tall man!" she said cryptically. "Why, it was the place we left

him at; the Gordon outfit! It seems like every time we hear of him he's

mixed up in a mystery."

"It certainly does," I assented. "And here we are headed for the

Riviera, while I don't suppose he will get away, now that he's mixed up

with that theft."

"How do you know he's mixed up with it?" demanded Alicia with quite

unnecessary violence. "He--he's a corker--couldn't you tell? Mixed up,

my eye!"

"I meant as a witness or in some similar capacity," I protested. "If he

were not a duke, Alicia, I should be inclined, upon mature

consideration, to believe him a detective."

"Secret service?" she said doubtfully. "Sleuth? Why, no. He's a swell,

that's all. You mustn't let your girlish imagination run away with you,

Free. And anyhow, why worry, as we probably'll never see him again?"

"That is probably too true," I assented. Then I consulted dear father's

chronometer, discovered that time was pressing, and proceeded to the

packing of my bags and the problem of getting into my trunk some new

materials which I had purchased with the intention of having Miss

Stimpson, our local seamstress, make them up for me the very minute we

returned to Boston. I had also a new coat which Alicia had insisted upon

presenting to me, and some garments of a more private nature which I had

secretly purchased to gaze upon occasionally, though I would never wear

such unladylike garments, for suppose there were to be a train wreck,

how would one explain that a pink satin ah--er--interior was not belying

a respectable alpaca surface, if you divine my meaning?

Well, at any rate, I found that my small trunk could not possibly be

made to hold all these new possessions, and so packed a few substantial

petticoats with handmade crochet edging and my second-best dolman into a

paper parcel, which I addressed to Euphemia and having thus completed my

visit to the French capital I was ready to, as it were, conquer Italy.

V

My dear father used justly to observe that clothes made the man, but

that woman made the clothes. A witticism of which he was most fond,

inasmuch as he clung to the custom of employing a tailoress, which was

the almost universal method of procuring outer garments in his early

youth. But it is possible that he intended to imply that the beauty of

some females was insurmountable by bad taste in dress. I hardly know

which interpretation may be correct; but I am sure that either Cousin

Abby was tremendously affected by her clothes or that they were

tremendously affected by her. At any rate they were as amazing as she

was, or she as they, if you comprehend me. And the reaction which I

experienced upon first beholding the Eiffel Tower was as nothing beside

that incident to my first meeting in twenty-five years with my relative.

It took place almost immediately after our arrival at Monte Carlo.

Indeed we were scarcely settled in the royal suite of the hotel before

she paid her visit. Mr. Pegg and his daughter had stepped out to undergo

the preliminaries of obtaining a card to the public gambling hell, and

I, unwilling to countenance their project, had remained behind

ostensibly to supervise Richard, the chauffeur, in the disposal of our

things, and so was alone when the countess was announced.

The Richard person admitted her and came in whistling under his breath

as he gave me her card.

"Oh, you beautiful doll!" he sang sotto voce as he did so.

I flew to the mirror, gave my hair a pat, and assuming a dignified

deportment entered the drawing-room. It was empty save for a young girl,

very much overdressed, who was standing with her back toward me, looking

out of the window. At sound of my entrance she turned and pounced upon

me with a shriek of delight.

"Freedom Talbot, old thing!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you!"

And sure enough, that young girl was Cousin Abby! How true it is that

the troubles we experience are seldom those we expect! I had been living

in dread lest my titled relative should not prove hospitably inclined,

and here she was already, upon the very first day of our arrival,

greeting me literally with open arms. So much for the trouble I

anticipated--it was gone like a wreath of smoke! But as I took a good

look at her an entirely unforeseen difficulty began to force itself upon

me. That Cousin Abby was willing to receive us was apparent, but were we

going to return the compliment? For Abby had changed far more than I

had.

When she left Boston twenty-five years ago Abby Talbot had been

considerably older than I. But upon renewing her acquaintance as

described I found her to be at least twenty years my junior. Not

literally, you will understand, by some miracle of arrested growth or

phenomenon in the actual defeat of time, but by sundry artificial aids

such as were never countenanced by my dear father and mother, or indeed

by Euphemia or myself, all such so-called aids to beauty being unknown

to the gentlewomen of our acquaintance and recognized only upon the

persons of outcast females and constituting the outward and visible

signs of inward and spiritual disgrace. Of course it must be admitted

that some of even Boston's very best people, particularly in the younger

generation, where it was palpably unnecessary, resorted to these

artifices, and I had several times been shocked at large receptions by

observing this fact. But that a member of our family should stoop to

such a course was incredible; or would have been except that I was at

that moment beholding it with my own eyes.

Abby's hair was golden, and her cheeks were pink as Peaches' own. Her

lips! Gracious goodness! I trembled for her immortal soul as I beheld

them! And sinful-looking diamonds dangled from her ears almost to her

shoulders. The hat she wore might better have been fashioned for a maid

of sixteen, and her short gown swung above a pair of slim silken ankles

and slippers with glittering buckles and outrageous heels.

But though I struggled to experience the disapproval which I knew to be

the proper reaction to these bedizenments I could not but admire the

brave spirit they also undoubtedly represented. There was that about

Abby which gave one the belief that one need not grow old except through

lack of the desire for youth. She seemed to stand there before me with

the spirit of her unconquerable youth radiating, as it were, through the

painted shell she had put upon her body. I at once, and for the first

time in my life, seriously contemplated abandoning my curled fringe. All

this which I have recorded passed through my mind in a flash--while she

was embracing me, to be exact. Then she withdrew her perfumed person a

few inches and laughed like a girl!

"Free, you duckie!" she cried. "You haven't changed a bit. It's

fearfully amusing, your coming over. And to this iniquitous spot! How is

poor dear Boston? I feel a million æons away from it! And how is Cousin

Euphemia? And the dog--what was his name; Rex?--that she used to fuss

over so when he got his feet wet, do you remember?"

She meant that she was trying to remember.

"Rex has departed this life," I replied, "on the initiative of a very

rude and heartless dog catcher with a barred wagon. Euphemia is well

except for her rheumatism and asthma and indigestion; or was when I left

home."

"Doesn't she write?" asked Abby quickly.

"She was exceedingly disapproving of my enterprise and has not written,"

said I. "But I had somewhat anticipated the circumstance and am not

unduly worried. The maid, Galadia, is to inform me should anything go

wrong."

Abby laughed again. It certainly was a pleasant thing to hear.

"Tell me everything!" she exclaimed, drawing two chairs close together.

"What on earth made you do it, you rebel? And who are these Peggs you

are with?"

It was delightfully gossipy. I sat down beside her and soon explained my

action, in reply to her first question. But when I came to enlarging

upon the second, I found myself, most unexpectedly, at a loss. What was

my relationship to them anyhow? It was like trying to analyze one's

relationship to the sunlight. And yet, had I merely seen them without

knowing them, I should have unquestionably characterized them as

impossibly vulgar; that was the plain truth of the matter. To Abby they

must inevitably seem so at first glance. And knowing this I

instinctively rose to their defense. I discovered within myself a sudden

warm glow of affection and appreciation which was so normal and

comfortable in its character that I had positively been unaware of its

existence until criticism threatened them. I spoke slowly and

deliberately, choosing my words with care.

"The Peggs are Americans," said I, "from California. And their hearts

are as big as their--er--oranges."

"From which I gather they are millionaires and vulgar," said Abby

shrewdly--"but that you like them."

"I do indeed!" said I, though how she deduced so much from my remark I

cannot imagine.

"And it is equally evident," Abby went on, "that I, your titled cousin,

am to be induced by hook or crook to introduce them to an assortment of

foreign titles. That's so, isn't it? And you are in an agony of

embarrassed bewilderment about how to broach the subject?"

"Abby!" I gasped. "How can you!"

"My dear, I have to!" she cut in, laughing again, though not so

pleasantly this time. "My wits are about all I have with which to make

good my bridge losses! I suppose you know Constantine left me nothing

but the villa?"

"What!" I exclaimed, really aghast. "I was not even aware of your

husband's demise!"

"Polo accident," she said briefly. "Five years ago."

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

"Well," said Abby, "never mind that! So you see you need have no

reticence about offering me money. I can earn it, I assure you."

Of course this was astonishing, but at the same time it really was an

immense relief. For I knew dear Mr. Pegg never hesitated to pay a proper

price for the genuine article, as he himself was wont to put it. And I

had in truth been most anxious as to how I should approach my

distinguished relative upon so delicate a matter as remuneration for the

peculiar services which we required. And so, though in a sense I was

shocked by her frankness, it made my path far easier, particularly since

her own lack of delicacy in the matter warranted a larger degree of

out-spokenness upon my part. And I had something important to say. Her

opening gave me an opportunity not likely of renewal, and so I at once

rushed into the breach.

"My dear, I grieve for your loss," said I; "and for the unfortunate

condition of your widowhood. And it is a most happy circumstance that we

can be of benefit to each other at this time. Mr. Pegg intends to offer

you a thousand dollars each for introductions to titles. And a bonus, I

think he called it, of ten thousand dollars for--er--I believe he termed

it 'working capital.'"

"Splendid!" exclaimed Abby. "Now go ahead and tell me the buts."

"The buts?" I queried. "Do you infer that there are restrictions to Mr.

Pegg's offer?"

"By the gleam in your eye I know there are!" Abby affirmed.

"Well," I admitted, "Mr. Pegg has not expressed his desire that there be

any; but I have one of my own."

Abby gave me a most peculiar look at this, her eyes narrowing and her

lips curling in a distinctly unpleasant smile. It filled me with an

acute, though undefined, sense of discomfort.

"Very well," she said quietly. "How much do you want?"

"What?" I asked.

"What commission do you want?" said she, speaking very distinctly. I

felt as though someone had struck me with a whip. Instinctively I got to

my feet.

"Abby!" I exclaimed in horror. "A bribe! How could you? A Talbot!"

To my amazement and further distress she stared at me for a long moment

and then burst into tears.

"Forgive me, Cousin Free!" she sobbed. "Forgive me, if you can--please!

One gets so hard, so used to things like that out here! I ought to have

known better! Please say you understand!"

She was not like a little girl any longer. There was something behind

the tone in which she spoke which frightened me; something terrible and

sinister and cruel--something which could break even a Talbot! I

perceived its nature though its substance was beyond my experience, and

at once the instinct to rescue and help her was uppermost in my mind. I

fussed over her much as I used to fuss over Rex, our pet, when anything

ailed him, for he had been my dog, not Euphemia's, as Abby had supposed.

And presently she grew quieter, though she still held on to my hand. But

though I felt sorry for Abby and was determined to be of assistance to

her I did not let the most unfortunate incident divert me from what had

originally been in my mind to say when she made her terrible mistake.

"Now, my dear, I will forgive you," said I. "But please brace up and

allow me to state my condition, which is simply this: The young lady,

Miss Alicia Pegg, must be most carefully guarded from fortune hunters

and all questionable company. You must guarantee to me that you will

introduce her to no one who can harm her. Her father has a faith in her

ability to take care of herself which is founded in his knowledge of her

singularly beautiful nature, but he is almost as unworldly in our sense

as she is. I simply won't have any scallawags hanging round her. Her

father trusts me to look out for her welfare, and I mean to see that his

trust is justified."

"You seem pretty deep in his confidence," Abby remarked. "He is a

widower, you said?"

"He is," I replied, though I did not see what that had to do with the

subject. "And Alicia's motherless condition places a great

responsibility upon me. So you must promise what I have asked, Abby, and

keep the promise faithfully."

"All right, old dear!" she answered, her self-possession rapidly

returning. "And it won't be hard, for I know an awfully decent set,

really. I'll have you all out to dine this very week. I'm at San Remo,

you know. Just a short motor drive from here; a duck of a house opposite

the old German Emperor's place. How about Saturday? That ought to give

me time to collect the proper people."

"That will be lovely, Abby!" said I. "Mr. Pegg will be delighted, I am

sure." Then a sudden wonderment struck me.

"Don't you ever wish you were back in the security of your life in

Boston?" I asked curiously.

"Not when I'm sane!" she replied lightly. "Do you?"

This was both unexpected and disconcerting. But I strove to be honest in

my reply.

"No," I said; "I cannot truthfully say that I do."

And long after she had taken her departure, buoyant and apparently

light-hearted once more, I pondered my reply. But I found no explanation

for my change of heart. Never, no, never, did I expect to utter such a

sentiment, much less to have felt it! But the harsh fact was that I had

somehow become estranged from my native city and the human element which

represented it, and did in truth already prefer the Riviera.

In point of fact it appeared to me to be the most beautiful place of

which the mind could conceive, despite that I was rather surprised to

find the chief foliage to be cedar and other evergreens, and that the

whole effect was less tropical than I had imagined. Also I had expected

that the natives would be rather more like those in a production of

Cavalleria Rusticana, to which my dear father had once escorted Euphemia

and myself upon the occasion of her birthday; and even after several

weeks of continuous residence in Monte Carlo I was unable to be rid of a

feeling that the management, or rather government, was somehow to blame

for not making the reality more like the opera.

But oh, how beautiful it was! I was unstinting in my praise. Not so Mr.

Pegg and Alicia, however.

"Pretty good!" was Alicia's comment. "But you ought to see California.

They'd better bring over some of our poppies to liven up the hills."

"It's real pretty," her father admitted, "but awful small. It's

something like a pocket edition, as you might say, Miss Free."

"I scarcely believe that anything could be more lovely," I declared.

"Well, of course you haven't been West yet," said Peaches cheerfully.

"Then you'll see the real thing!"

"I shall never become a Californian, my dear," I put in mildly. "Do you

know, sometimes I fear you tend to exaggerate in describing your native

State?"

"Well, we produce the biggest crops in the world," she declared. "So why

not the biggest liars, as well? Wait until you've been out on the coast

yourself!"

And never to this day have I clearly understood what she meant by that.

A great deal that Alicia said was difficult to understand. And nothing

was more so than this insistence on her part that anything Californian

was superior to everything European. After our visit to the Villa d'Este

I gave up. She looked it over pleasantly and gave her verdict.

"I guess they copied it from the Gillespie place at Santa Barbara," she

said; "only, of course, these hills are nothing as compared to the Coast

Range for height."

It was just after this that I abandoned all effort to force a course in

architecture, or indeed in any of the arts, upon Peaches. I began dimly

to perceive that it was not only useless but that her education was not

really impaired by the secession of my efforts along these lines. She

possessed a faculty for picking out what she wanted to learn and

learning it thoroughly. And after all that is the truest education, as

my dear father used to say.

But I digress. Let us take up our sequence where Abby left me on that

first afternoon.

Scarcely had she departed, driving off in a smart little red automobile

of the type which I had learned to distinguish as a roadster, as I

observed from the window, and which gave no clew to the newly disclosed

fact of her poverty--scarcely had she departed and I had partially

mastered the emotions which her extraordinary visit had engendered in my

bosom when Alicia and her father returned.

They had been out, as I believe I have mentioned, for the purpose of

procuring cards of admission to the public gambling hell. They had also

got cards for a place called the casino, one of which was offered to me.

I accepted it with gratitude, for at home there was a casino out at

Duxbury where we spent our summers; a very charming place it was, too,

with a fine view of the ocean from the veranda, and a dance for the

young people every Saturday night, and I had greatly enjoyed taking my

knitting there. I was at present secretly at work upon a pair of socks

for Mr. Pegg, intended as a small appreciation of all he had done for

me, and I felt sure that this casino would be an excellent place in

which to complete them, particularly when Mr. Pegg and his daughter were

away gambling. I had, needless to say, protested against their avowed

intentions in this matter, but to no avail.

"Why, Miss Talbot, of course you object!" Mr. Pegg had said, kindly but

firmly. "Objecting to this sort of thing is part of your job. If you

didn't object you wouldn't be the woman I hired you for. But this is one

time you're not wise--you don't get it at all. This gambling joint is

strictly high class. The layouts at Dogtown have nothing on

it--absolutely! To lose a little something at Monte is like losing a

little at monte with a small 'm' over to Dogtown; and allow me to inform

you that no California native son's education is completely polished off

without that experience. Only over here is where the crowned heads get

trimmed--I mean polished. And I propose to have my daughter visit that

historic spot so's she can talk intelligently about it at big dinner

parties."

Well, when Mr. Pegg assumed that tone I knew that further argument was

useless. Besides, Peaches herself was very much set on going, and all

that was left me was the manifestation of my unalterable disapproval by

steadfastly refusing to accompany them or to discuss their experiences

in that den of iniquity. Even Richard, the chauffeur, was infected with

the dreadful spirit of the place, though I ascertained that the vicious

resort which he attended was of a less pretentious order.

There was considerable coolness between us that evening because of my

attitude, and when Peaches and her father had departed upon their

nefarious errand I read my Bible and went to bed greatly fortified. This

coolness lasted into the next day, despite the arrival during breakfast

of Abby's invitation to dinner, at which Mr. Pegg and Alicia both

evinced great satisfaction. I hoped to divert them into a visit to the

churches, but all in vain. Mr. Pegg had lost several hundred dollars, it

seemed, and both he and his daughter evinced a strong wish, as they

expressed it, "to show these wop gamblers where they got off."

The result was that after luncheon they again left me to my own devices

after a second fruitless attempt at persuading me to accompany them, and

when they had been gone for half an hour I decided to take my knitting

to that casino for which they had given me a card.

The afternoon was exceptionally mild and fine, even for that part of the

world, and I anticipated spending it out of doors. I therefore put on a

shade hat and a light wrap, packed my fancywork into my knitting bag

and making sure that my working specs were in my reticule I set forth

into the mildly sunlit avenue.

I had no difficulty at all in locating my destination. Indeed the very

first native boy of whom I made inquiry directed me volubly. I thanked

him and passed on in the direction which he indicated. But when I

reached the spot I confess I was astounded and felt obliged to confirm

the building's identity by a second inquiry.

It was far, far larger than the casino at Duxbury. Indeed it looked

rather more like one or rather several of the houses which the _nouveau

riche_ have erected at Newport. But this was not altogether surprising

when one realized that the number of tourists was undoubtedly far

greater than on the Massachusetts coast. And as I approached I noted

that a large number of cars were waiting outside. It seemed probable

that this indicated a hostess day, or possibly even a private euchre

party; so I decided against going in, and entered the gardens instead.

These were amazingly beautiful and extensive, with winding paths and

pleasant seats. Here at least I could not complain of any lack of

luxuriance in the semi-tropical growth, and selecting a sheltered bench

that was shielded from the light breeze by a mass of camellias in full

bloom I settled myself for a pleasing period of rest and observation.

Very few people were about, and a lovely peace reigned over all.

First I took out the finished sock and regarded it critically in the

strong light. It was really well made if I do say so myself, and

tasteful, too. The sock itself was black, but round the top the purling

was in alternate stripes of black and red; an effort on my part at once

to meet Mr. Pegg's taste for the exotic in dress and at the same time

offer a conservative surface in that part which would be exposed to the

general public. Having then satisfied myself that my work was as my

mother would have desired, I counted the setting-up stitches anew to

make certain of their number, and began the second sock, my heart

content at thought of the pleasant surprise my gift would be. I had

completed the top line of red and the first line of black and had just

begun on the second line of red when I observed the most dreadful thing.

I think I have mentioned that my seat was sheltered by a semicircular

bed of evergreen bordered by tall camellias, and was situated in a

remote corner of the gardens. The band on the plaza was playing a gay

tune and the atmosphere was pleasantly exhilarating. And so I was not

paying very diligent attention to my work. Indeed my eyes were ever

prone to rove from my knitting, a fact for which Euphemia has often

chided me, though I do quite as well without watching my stitches, the

occupation having become second nature with me. Therefore it was by no

means unprecedented that I should be contemplating the beautiful shrubs

at my right, while nodding my head to the music of the distant band,

though my hands were busily engaged.

At first I thought my vision must be at fault, for something stirred

just the other side of the bushes, and a hand containing a revolver was

slowly lifted, the index finger upon the trigger.

For the first second I felt as if I were stricken by paralysis, and the

next I had sprung to my feet and rounded the corner to where the hand

was.

"Stop it at once!" I shouted instinctively, though it is a fact that I

hardly knew what was to be stopped.

And my command was obeyed. The man who stood there actually did stop,

though why in the moment of his surprise that dreadful pistol did not go

off I cannot understand. But the hand containing it dropped to his side,

and for several seconds we stood staring at each other, he with the

pallid daze of one who has been halted on the brink of destruction, and

I with the trembling indignation of a respectable female with a most

unfeminine situation suddenly thrust upon her.

He was a tall thin man, no longer young, and dressed in the extreme of

fashion save for a large rabbit's foot that dangled incongruously from

his watch chain. His eyes were large and dark and overbrilliant, and his

disheveled head was hatless.

"What were you doing?" I asked severely, though I knew perfectly well.

"Don't you know that it's a sin?" I went on before he could answer.

"Who are you?" the man asked in English, his voice hoarse and remote.

"Go away and allow me to kill myself!"

"Stuff and nonsense!" I replied tartly. "You put that--that weapon into

your pocket this minute! Don't you know you are apt to cause us both to

be arrested if a police officer should come this way?"

Mechanically he obeyed, slipping the dreadful thing into his coat

pocket, and continuing to stare at me in that helpless, dazed fashion.

"Now come and sit down beside me on this bench!" I commanded, gathering

my worsteds out of his way. He obeyed like a person in a trance. "There

now!" said I. "You poor man, you are all upset! Wait a minute and I'll

give you just what you need."

Fortunately it is my habit always to carry a dose of aromatic spirits of

ammonia in my reticule in case of emergency, and at length an emergency

had arisen. Hastily retrieving the little phial from its hiding place I

uncorked it and offered it to my strange companion.

"Here--drink this quickly!" I commanded.

He took it and gave a hurried look about to see if anyone observed.

There was nobody in sight.

"You are right, it is less noisy!" he whispered. And with a single gulp

he drained the phial and returned it to me.

"How long does it take to work?" he whispered feebly, relaxing upon the

bench.

"Just a moment," I said soothingly. "There! Don't you feel better

already?"

"I do, strangely enough!" he replied, straightening up. "What kind of

poison is it?"

"It's aromatic ammonia," I said briskly, "and it won't poison you in the

least. Never have I met such a silly person as you are!"

"Baffled again!" he groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, how

much better I feel! What a shame! Why could you not let me die?"

"Because it is the business of sensible women to take care of foolish

men!" I returned. "Sit up now and tell me all about it. Was it love?"

He obeyed and stared at me in that silly blank way of his.

"Love?" he said. "Worse than that. Money. I have one hundred napoleons

left in the world. I decided there were only two courses open to me.

Either I must get a sign, an infallible sign how to play, or shoot

myself. I decided to wait until two o'clock and if the sign had not

manifested itself I would end my life. It was exactly three seconds to

two o'clock when you spoke!"

He groaned and dropped his head again.

"Well," said I as placidly as I could, "perhaps I am the sign you were

looking for. Who knows? See here now, I am going on knitting, and

suppose you watch the stitches for a few moments. It's excellent for the

nerves. That's it. You'll have yourself well in hand presently."

And indeed even as his eyes fell upon my fancywork he seemed to take a

new lease of life. Gradually he became animated. Color returned to his

pallid cheeks and a new, though I cannot say a saner light, came into

his eyes.

"The sign!" he muttered. "Perhaps it is the sign!" This cryptic remark

seemed to be addressed to himself. Then suddenly--he did everything

suddenly--he spoke directly to me. "Red and black!" he said, fingering

the wool on which I was at work. "Red and black. How many stitches do

you take of the red, strange woman?"

"Ten," I said, "and then ten of black and then ten on the red!"

He sprang to his feet with a sudden strange conviction in his manner.

"Twenty on the red! Ten on the black!" said he. "It's a sign. It may be,

it must be a sign! I'm off!"

He tossed the sock back to me with a gay gesture and started away. But I

was too quick for him. I caught him by the coat tails before he had gone

twelve inches.

"Hey, my good man!" said I. "I'll just thank you to hand over that

pistol before you go!"

"All right, you can have it!" he exclaimed lightly. "There you are.

Don't do anything rash with it. I may need it later!"

He slipped the weapon into my reticule with an amazingly swift gesture,

and before I could say "jiffy" he was gone in the direction of the

casino.

Nervous excitement has always exhausted me more than physical exertion,

and I have acquired the practice of taking a short nap wherever I may be

when the occasion necessitates it. And so when the poor crazy man had

gone and seemed little likely to return I settled myself for a cat nap,

determined to compose my nerves and not allow my afternoon to be ruined

by the disturbing incident. But though I roused myself at intervals and

did a few stitches I must have drowsed much longer than I had thought

to, for when I awoke thoroughly it was sunset.

I got out dear father's chronometer and was horrified to find the hour

past six. Here I had been a public spectacle for goodness knows how

long! I at once began to gather my things together, preparatory to

leaving for the hotel when I perceived that there was a great to-do at

the casino. People began pouring forth and cheering, headed by a wild

figure in a black coat.

And then things began to happen fast. Before I could realize that the

procession was headed for me it was upon me, lead by my suicidal

acquaintance, his pockets bursting with money, his hat, mysteriously

retrieved, also brimming with lucre, his vest bulging with it, and his

hand full of bank notes. Straight toward me he came, and dropping upon

his knees he flung both hands full of money into my lap, the crowd

closing in about us despite the police officers, who ran about wildly

shouting, "Ladies and gentlemen, order, please!"

"My benefactress! My good angel!" shouted the kneeling man. "My sign

from heaven, accept a few miserable hundreds as your inadequate reward!"

"You have been gambling!" I said severely, while gathering up the money

from my lap.

"Yes, I broke the bank on your advice!" he shouted. "Twenty on the red,

ten on the black. Take, oh, take your reward, my angel!"

"I will take this shameful money for the foreign missions at home!" I

said severely. "It ought to be turned to holy uses, and you will only

lose it again! And please get up. You are making us both ridiculous!"

But before he could comply, to my unspeakable horror Alicia and her

father pushed their way through the crowd, accompanied by a young man.

At sight of me Peaches gave a whoop of joy.

"What price a chaperon!" she yelled. "Free, you little hellion!"

She turned from me to the young man in attendance.

"Good Lord, what'll I have to get her out of next?" she asked him

whimsically. And then I recognized him.

It was the Duke di Monteventi!