However, the spectacle of Brighton on a fine Saturday afternoon in
October had its effect on Edward Coe--the effect which it has on
everybody. Little by little it inspired him with the joy of life, and
straightened his back, and put a sparkle into his eyes. And he was
filled with the consciousness of the fact that it is a fine thing to be
well-dressed and to have loose gold in your pocket, and to eat, drink,
and smoke well; and to be among crowds of people who are well-dressed
and have loose gold in their pockets, and eat and drink and smoke well;
and to know that a magnificent woman will be waiting for you at a
certain place at a certain hour, and that upon catching sight of you
her dark orbs will take on an enchanting expression reserved for you
alone, and that she is utterly yours. In a word, he looked on the bright
side of things again. It could not ultimately matter a bilberry whether
his marriage was public or private.
He lit a cigarette gaily. He could not guess that untoward destiny was
waiting for him close by the newspaper kiosque.
A little girl was leaning against the palisade there, and gazing
somewhat restlessly about her. A quite little girl, aged, perhaps,
eleven, dressed in blue serge, with a short frock and long legs, and a
sailor hat (H.M.S. _Formidable_), and long hair down her back, and a
mild, twinkling, trustful glance. Somewhat untidy, but nevertheless the
image of grace.
She saw him first. Otherwise he might have fled. But he was right upon
her before he saw her. Indeed, he heard her before he saw her.
"Good afternoon, Mr Coe."
"Mimi!"
The Vaillacs were in Brighton! He had chosen practically the other end
of the world for his honeymoon, and lo! by some awful clumsiness of fate
the Vaillacs were at the same end! The very people from whom he wished
to conceal his honeymoon until it was over would know all about it at
the very start! Relations between the two Olives would be still more
strained and difficult! In brief, from optimism he swung violently back
to darkest pessimism. What could be worse than to be caught red-handed
in a surreptitious honeymoon?
She noticed his confusion, and he knew that she noticed it. She was a
little girl. But she was also a little woman, a little Frenchwoman, who
spoke English perfectly--and yet with a difference! They had flirted
together, she and Mr Coe. She had a new mother now, but for years she
had been without a mother, and she would receive callers at her
father's house (if he happened to be out) with a delicious imitation of
a practised hostess.
He raised his hat and shook hands and tried to play the game.
"What are you doing here, Mimi?" he asked.
"What are _you_ doing here?" she parried, laughing. And then, perceiving
his increased trouble, and that she was failing in tact, she went on
rapidly, with a screwing up of the childish shoulders and something
between a laugh and a grin: "It's my back. It seems it's not strong. And
so we've taken an ever so jolly little house for the autumn, because of
the air, you know. Didn't you know?"
No, he did not know. That was the worst of strained relations. You were
not informed of events in advance.
"Where?" he asked.
"Oh!" she said, pointing. "That way. On the road to Rottingdean. Near
the big girls' school. We came in on that lovely electric railway--along
the beach. Have you been on it, Mr Coe?"
Terrible! Rottingdean was precisely the scene of his honeymoon. The
hazard of fate was truly appalling. He and his wife might have walked
one day straight into the arms of her sister! He went hot and cold.
"And where are the others?" he asked nervously.
"Mamma"--she coloured as she used this word, so strange on her
lips--"mamma's at home. Father may come to-night. And Ada has brought us
here so that Jean can have his hair cut. He didn't want to come without
me."
"Ada?"
"Ada's a new servant. She's just gone in there again to see how long the
barber will be." Mimi indicated a barber's shop opposite. "And I'm
waiting here," she added.
"Mimi," he said, in a confidential tone, "can you keep a secret?"