Mr. Satterthwaite was enjoying the sunshine on the terrace at Monte
Carlo.
Every year regularly, on the second Sunday in January, Mr.
Satterthwaite left England for the Riviera. He was far more punctual
than any swallow. In the month of April he returned to England. May and
June he spent in London, and had never been known to miss Ascot. He
left town after the Eton and Harrow match, paying a few country-house
visits before repairing to Deauville or Le Touquet. Shooting-parties
occupied most of September and October, and he usually spent a couple
of months in town to wind up the year. He knew everybody, and it may
safely be said that everybody knew him.
This morning he was frowning. The blue of the sea was admirable, the
gardens were, as always, a delight, but the people disappointed him--he
thought them an ill-dressed, shoddy crowd. Some, of course, were
gamblers, doomed souls who could not keep away. Those Mr. Satterthwaite
tolerated. They were a necessary background. But he missed the usual
leaven of the élite--his own people.
"It's the exchange," said Mr. Satterthwaite gloomily. "All sorts of
people come here now who could never have afforded it before. And then,
of course, I'm getting old. All the young people--the people coming
on--they go to these Swiss places."
But there were others that he missed, the well-dressed barons and
counts of foreign diplomacy, the grand dukes and the royal princes.
The only royal prince he had seen so far was working a lift in one of
the less well-known hotels. He missed, too, the beautiful and expensive
ladies. There were still a few of them, but not nearly so many as there
used to be.
Mr. Satterthwaite was an earnest student of the drama called Life, but
he liked his material to be highly colored. He felt discouragement
sweep over him. Values were changing--and he--was too old to change.
It was at that moment that he observed the Countess Czarnova coming
toward him.
Mr. Satterthwaite had seen the Countess at Monte Carlo for many seasons
now. The first time he had seen her she had been in the company of
a grand duke. On the next occasion she was with an Austrian baron.
On successive years her friends had been sallow men wearing rather
flamboyant jewelry. For the last year or two she was much seen with
very young men, almost boys.
She was walking with a very young man now. Mr. Satterthwaite happened
to know him, and he was sorry. Franklin Rudge was a young American, a
typical product of one of the Middle West states, eager to register
impressions, crude, but lovable, a curious mixture of native shrewdness
and idealism. He was in Monte Carlo with a party of other young
Americans of both sexes, all much of the same type. It was their first
glimpse of the Old World and they were outspoken in criticism and in
appreciation.
On the whole they disliked the English people in the hotel, and the
English people disliked them. Mr. Satterthwaite, who prided himself on
being a cosmopolitan, rather liked them. Their directness and vigor
appealed to him, though their occasional solecisms made him shudder.
It occurred to him that the Countess Czarnova was a most unsuitable
friend for young Franklin Rudge. He took off his hat politely as they
came abreast of him, and the Countess gave him a charming bow and smile.
She was a very tall woman, superbly made. Her hair was black, so were
her eyes, and her eyelashes and eyebrows were more superbly black than
any nature had ever fashioned.
Mr. Satterthwaite, who knew far more of feminine secrets than it is
good for any man to know, rendered immediate homage to the art with
which she was made up. Her complexion appeared to be flawless, of a
uniform creamy white. The very faint bistre shadows under her eyes
were most effective. Her mouth was neither crimson nor scarlet, but a
subdued wine color. She was dressed in a very daring creation of black
and white, and carried a parasol of the shade of pinky-red which is
most helpful to the complexion.
Franklin Rudge was looking happy and important.
_There goes a young fool_, said Mr. Satterthwaite to himself. _But I
suppose it's no business of mine, and anyway he wouldn't listen to me.
Well, well, I've bought experience myself in my time._
But he still felt rather worried, because there was a very attractive
little American girl in the party, and he was sure that she would not
like Franklin Rudge's friendship with the Countess at all.
He was just about to retrace his steps in the opposite direction when
he caught sight of the girl in question coming up one of the paths
toward him. She wore a well-cut suit, she had on sensible walking
shoes, and carried a guide book. There are some Americans who pass
through Paris and emerge clothed as the Queen of Sheba, but Elizabeth
Martin was not one of them. She was "doing Europe" in a stern,
conscientious spirit. She had high ideas of culture and art and she was
anxious to get as much as possible for her limited store of money.
It is doubtful if Mr. Satterthwaite thought of her as either cultured
or artistic. To him she merely appeared very young.
"Good morning, Mr. Satterthwaite," said Elizabeth. "Have you seen
Franklin--Mr. Rudge--anywhere about?"
"I saw him just a few minutes ago."
"With his friend the Countess, I suppose," said the girl sharply.
"Er--with the Countess, yes," admitted Mr. Satterthwaite.
"That Countess of his doesn't cut any ice with me," said the girl in a
rather high, shrill voice. "Franklin's just crazy about her. _Why_ I
can't think."
"She's got a very charming manner, I believe," said Mr. Satterthwaite
cautiously.
"Do you know her?"
"Slightly."
"I'm right down worried about Franklin," said Miss Martin. "That boy's
got a lot of sense as a rule. You'd never think he'd fall for this sort
of siren stuff. And he won't hear a thing; he gets madder than a hornet
if anyone tries to say a word to him. Tell me, anyway--is she a real
Countess?"
"I shouldn't like to say," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "She may be."
"That's the real Ha Ha English manner," said Elizabeth with signs of
displeasure. "All I can say is that in Sargon Springs--that's our home
town, Mr. Satterthwaite--that Countess would look a mighty queer bird."
Mr. Satterthwaite thought it possible. He forebore to point out that
they were not in Sargon Springs but in the principality of Monaco,
where the Countess happened to synchronize with her environment a great
deal better than Miss Martin did.
He made no answer and Elizabeth went on toward the Casino. Mr.
Satterthwaite sat on a seat in the sun, and was presently joined by
Franklin Rudge. Rudge was full of enthusiasm.
"I'm enjoying myself," he announced with naïve enthusiasm. "Yes, sir!
This is what I call seeing life--rather a different kind of life from
what we have in the States."
The elder man turned a thoughtful face to him. "Life is lived very
much the same everywhere," he said rather wearily. "It wears different
clothes--that's all."