It is a fact that when the two young men reëntered the establishment
of Madame Lénore, they both failed utterly to recognise the girl who
was standing in a distant corner, talking to the proprietress. It was
not until she detached herself and came hesitatingly up to them that
they realised, with varying sensations, who she was. Gerald laughed
with pleasure and held out both his hands. Christopher’s admiration was
tempered with a certain amount of distinct disapprobation.
“Well, what does milord think?” Madame demanded.
“My congratulations!” Gerald replied enthusiastically. “My dear
Myrtile, I wonder if you realise how charming you are?”
The girl looked shyly up at Gerald, her face soft and eloquent with
pleasure.
“Mademoiselle, like that, can go anywhere,” Madame continued. “She
can lunch, if you will, with a prince at the Hôtel de Paris, spend
the afternoon at the Sporting Club, or attend the reception which the
Spanish Ambassador is giving this afternoon. She is absolutely correct
and in the latest môde.”
The two young men still contemplated their charge. She was clad in
a fine white serge costume, trimmed with silver braid. Her lace
blouse was delicately filmy and transparent, the cut of her skirt
as scanty as the last word from Paris had decreed; her white silk
stockings and suède shoes, procured from a neighbouring establishment,
irreproachable; her large hat, a gossamer-like confection of tulle
and lace. Of the charm of her appearance there could be no possible
question, but, in exact proportion with Gerald’s satisfaction,
Christopher’s disapproval seemed to grow.
“I do not criticise your clothes, Madame, or your taste,” he said,
“but we have given you the wrong idea. Mademoiselle is in search of a
situation. She is a working girl for whose future as a working girl
my friend and I are anxious to provide. Those clothes are entirely
unsuitable.”
Christopher’s words fell like a bombshell in the little establishment.
Myrtile’s eyes slowly filled with tears. Gerald was frankly angry.
Madame shrugged her shoulders.
“I did not understand that the position of mademoiselle debarred her
from being dressed becomingly,” she said, a little drily. “In any case,
it is a great waste not to give mademoiselle the advantage of charming
clothes. Her figure--why, it is adorable; of her complexion and
carriage you can judge for yourselves. Mademoiselle, dressed as she is
now, and with one or two evening gowns which I have in my mind, would
make the sensation of the season in Monte Carlo.”
“And what good would that be to her?” Christopher demanded.
“Mademoiselle has need to earn her living, and to earn it honourably.”
“Look here, Chris,” Gerald interrupted, “you’re taking this thing too
seriously. We know very well that Myrtile must be found something to do
later on, but in the meantime she may as well have a little fun. Can’t
you see for yourself how wonderful she is? She will puzzle the whole of
Monte Carlo for a week.”
“And after then?” Christopher asked.
Gerald turned impatiently away. Madame held up a wonderful confection
of white lace and silk.
“This is what I figure to myself for mademoiselle’s first evening
frock,” she said,--“this and a hat of black lace, with a string of
pearls which I could perhaps borrow. I promise you that she would make
a sensation you do not dream of.”
“It is not our wish that she make a sensation of this sort,”
Christopher persisted harshly. “It appears to me that you both wish to
provide the child----”
He stopped short. Gerald’s eyes were filled with sudden fire; the girl
was trembling.
“You’re talking like an ass, Christopher,” Gerald declared. “This is my
affair.”
“It is nothing of the sort,” Christopher rejoined stubbornly. “It is
our affair. I claim an equal right in disposing of Myrtile, and I will
not have her decked out in these clothes. What we need for her is a
plain blue serge suit and a small hat. She will always look charming,
she will always be attractive, but nothing in her future walk of life
justifies our arraying her in clothes like these.”
Madame shrugged her shoulders more disparagingly than ever.
“It is as milord and monsieur desire, of course,” she said. “I can
provide such garments as monsieur describes.”
Gerald looked at Myrtile once more. The admiration in his eyes this
time, at any rate, was absolutely genuine.
“I can’t see the harm in having the child properly turned out for, say,
one week,” he protested, turning to Christopher.
“And at the end of that week, what?”
There was a deadly directness about Christopher’s gaze. Gerald,
although there was no definitely formed thought of evil in his mind,
avoided it.
“If you are proposing to marry Myrtile,” Christopher continued, “then
the clothes you have selected are suitable. Unless you have made
up your mind to do that, I beg that Madame will show us something
different.”
There was a somewhat hectic silence for several moments. Frenchwoman
though she was, and full of tact, Madame Lénore could scarcely conceal
her contempt for the crudeness of this puritanical Englishman. Myrtile
herself felt as though a dream of Paradise were fading away. Gerald,
because he was good fellow enough at heart, felt further insistence
impossible. He was quite content to drift into danger; he was not
casuist enough to evade a plain warning.
“Well, I suppose we shall have to let this disagreeable fellow have his
way,” he declared. “Take her along, Madame, and see what you can do.
You hear my friend’s idea--plain blue serge buttoned up to the throat,
cashmere stockings and square-toed shoes.”
“There will be a compromise,” Madame declared firmly.--“And for the
rest, little one, do not trouble too much,” she whispered, as she led
Myrtile away. “I shall keep these clothes just as they are, until the
other gentleman has made up his mind to meddle no longer. Come to me
when you are ready. I can make you look so that milord will take notice
of no other woman.”
Myrtile’s eyes were swimming with tears.
“It was just for him that I wanted to keep these clothes,” she said. “I
wanted him to take me out and to feel that I looked like other girls.
As for Monsieur Christopher, I detest him!”
“Mademoiselle has reason,” the woman murmured. “He has not the chic of
milord. It is a pity that he should interfere. Perhaps later on milord
will bring you here without him.”
Myrtile’s eyes shone. Reluctantly she stretched out her arms and felt
the dress slip away from her.
In the showroom outside, neither of the two young men was particularly
disposed for conversation. Christopher felt a distinct return of his
first apprehension concerning Gerald’s attitude towards Myrtile,
whilst Gerald himself was conscious of a vague sense of resentment
at his friend’s interference, the more poignant, perhaps, because
of its wisdom. Anything in the nature of an explanation between the
two was rendered impossible by the smallness of the room and the
presence of the shop assistants. So Gerald contented himself with
lighting a cigarette, while Christopher studied a book of fashions.
Suddenly an event happened which created a new atmosphere in the little
place. Gerald relinquished his cigarette, Christopher laid down his
volume of fashions, the shop assistants and mannequins, figuratively
speaking, stood to attention. The manageress came hastening forward.
An automobile had stopped outside, a footman had thrown open the door,
Madame and Mademoiselle de Ponière entered. The latter was simply
enough, though richly dressed, and she entered the shop with the air of
one conferring a peculiar honour upon the establishment. She carried
a little Pekinese dog under her arm; the footman remained standing
outside as though on guard. The greeting of the manageress was almost
reverential.
“Mademoiselle desires to see our new models?”
The newcomer glanced half unconsciously towards the two young men,
who had risen to their feet. Then she passed on, followed by the older
woman, to the most distant corner of the room. It appeared that she
wished to look at hats, and the whole establishment seemed at once
infected with an eager desire to serve her. Hats were produced on
every side, and passed from hand to hand with an air of deep anxiety.
Mademoiselle, however, it transpired was not easy to please. She
sat watching the various confections which were produced for her
inspection, with an air of tolerant indifference. Gerald moved to the
side of the bookkeeper, who alone remained at her place behind the
little desk.
“Tell me,” he whispered, “who is that young lady?”
“She appears in our books, milord, under the name of Mademoiselle de
Ponière,” was the discreet reply.
“But what is her real name?” Gerald persisted. “Who are her friends? Is
it possible to make her acquaintance?”
The woman looked at him with a slight smile. She had a tired and rather
faded face, and her hair was lined with grey.
“One hears only rumours as to whom she may be,” she answered. “For the
rest, milord should apply to Madame herself.”
Gerald waited for Madame’s reappearance with a new impatience.
Presently Myrtile came out to them once more. The transformation was
still amazing, but the blue serge costume was absolutely plain except
for its thick edging of braid, and the little toque, with its dark
blue quill, absolutely free from ornamentation. Yet it seemed almost
incredible that this graceful girl who came towards them a little shyly
but with perfect self-possession should indeed be the peasant child who
had been under their care for rather less than twenty-four hours.
“Mademoiselle is transformed,” Madame Lénore declared. “She has natural
elegance. In the simplest clothes I could give her, she would still
create an impression. I have done my best, milord and monsieur. I trust
that you are satisfied?”
“Entirely,” Gerald assented. “But, Madame Lénore, I want a word with
you.”
“If milord would excuse me for one moment,” Madame begged, with a
glance towards the further end of the shop. “One of my most valued
clients has arrived.”
Gerald drew her on one side. Myrtile glanced a little anxiously into
Christopher’s face.
“Monsieur Gerald does not seem satisfied,” she complained. “He has no
longer any pleasure in looking at me. He does not like me in these
clothes.”
“Nonsense!” Christopher replied. “Believe me, they are far more
suitable than the others.”
Myrtile was still not altogether satisfied.
“They are very wonderful,” she acknowledged, looking at herself in the
glass, “and I am very, very grateful, but when I came before, his whole
face seemed alight with pleasure, and this time he scarcely took any
notice of me at all.”
“There is something else on his mind,” Christopher assured her. “I am
certain that he is satisfied.”
Gerald found Madame Lénore quite obdurate.
“It is impossible, milord,” she declared firmly. “With many of my
clients, yes. There would be no cause for hesitation. But to present
you to mademoiselle would be impossible. She would not respond. She
would never pardon the liberty.”
“Then will you tell me who her friends are?” he persisted. “Let me
know, at least, where I should be likely to meet her?”
Madame’s manner had lost much of its amiability. She seemed genuinely
worried.
“Milord,” she said, “none of these things are possible.”
“But who is she, then?”
Madame Lénore turned away.
“No one knows,” she answered under her breath. “It is not for us to
know. Milord will excuse me.”
Gerald rejoined his companions with a cloud upon his handsome face.
Myrtile watched him timidly.
“You do not approve of these clothes?” she ventured.
“I approve of them so much,” Gerald announced, pulling himself together
with an effort, “that I am going to take you to Ciro’s to lunch. Come
along, Christopher. Madame Lénore is a disobliging old cat.”