DEAR DIEPPE
There is occasionally a time in our life which proves a veritable
oasis in a desert of doubt and suspicion.
During the month which they spent in the fascinating little town on the
northern coast, Regina lived a very _dolce far niente_ kind of life. Her
anxieties as to the hussy were, for a time, lulled to sleep. They stayed
at a comfortable hotel on the front, had rooms overlooking that
wonderful stretch of sea which is one of the great charms of Dieppe, and
they did themselves remarkably well; that is to say, they went without
nothing that would give them pleasure. As soon as they arrived and were
settled down, Alfred Whittaker went to the extravagance of engaging a
motor car for their exclusive use during their stay. It was a very
comfortable car, and held six persons in addition to the chauffeur, and
almost every day they made excursions into the green heart of the quiet
country, lunching at some snug French hostelry on homely but delicious
fare. Personally, I have always thought that one of the chief reasons
why art and sentiment nourish and thrive apace in sunny France is
because the people live upon food so much less gross than is the case
with ourselves. In the poorest little inn on the other side of the
Channel one is always sure of an excellent soup, a delicious omelette,
bread and butter that are beyond reproach, and a sound and excellent
drink, be it of red wine or only of homely cider. To Regina, the freedom
from household cares, which she detested, and from all questions of
orderings and caterings, made this quite the most charming holiday of
her whole life. She was happy, too, that Julia was happy, that Julia
made many friends of her own age and condition, that she, as the phrase
goes, danced her feet off four nights a week, and was able to enter with
zest and enjoyment into the young life of the place. As for Alfred
Whittaker himself, he so thoroughly enjoyed the rest and change, seemed
so happy and contented with himself and everything around him, that
sometimes Regina caught herself wondering if she had been entirely
mistaken in imagining that there was, after all, a hussy in the
background. He was loud in his expressions of satisfaction in the new
ground which they had broken. How they ever came to go year after year
to a dull English watering-place, and never thought of coming abroad,
was really beyond him.
"But we have been abroad," said Regina.
"Yes, for a trip, for a fortnight in Paris, for tours in different parts
of Europe; there's no rest in that kind of thing, it is an excitement,
an opening of one's mind--quite different to this," he rejoined. "It's
very improving to one's mind to go up the Rhine in a steamer, and go
round all the sights of Cologne; to gaze at Ehrenbreitstein, and wonder
whether it really is like Gibraltar or not; to feed the carp at
Frankfort; to gaze at the falls at Schaffhausen; but it is not restful,
it is not really a holiday. It is a nice fillip for a placid, blank or
uneventful life, but for a man overdone with the stress of business,
give me this. Restful without being dull, interesting without being
overwhelming, and bright and gay without being fagging."
"You are always so sensible," said Regina. She felt at that moment that
the hussy was farther away than ever. Yet, a little later, when she and
Alfred were taking a stroll down the Grande Rue, it being market
morning, and therefore unusually interesting, she was reminded of the
skeleton in her cupboard as sharply and unexpectedly as the jerk with
which the proverbial bird, tied by a string to the leg, is stopped in
its peregrinations. As a rule on market morning the world promenades in
the middle of the street, in the actual roadway, but it happened on this
occasion that Alfred and Regina met a carriage and pair coming slowly
between the market people squalling on the edge of the pavement. To
avoid the carriage they stepped on to the _trottoir_, and this brought
them under the awning of a jeweler's shop.
"I think I ought to buy you a present," said Alfred, "for I won last
night."
"Did you? You never told me."
"I didn't think of it. I was so sleepy I was glad to tumble into bed and
forget everything," Alfred replied. "I only had five louis in my pocket
when I went into the Casino, and this morning I find that I have
twenty-five. Now, twenty louis is sixteen pounds. If I keep it I shall
lose it all back to the tables again, whether it is at the fascinating
little horses or the more fascinating green cloth in the Grand Cercle.
Come, what would you like? Here's a jeweler's shop; there are sixteen
good English pounds lying at your feet, make your choice."
"In francs?" asked Regina.
"In francs--well, in francs it's four hundred. Now, there's a ring, I
call that a very good bargain for four hundred francs--there's something
for your money, there's body in it." He pointed to a large and
deep-colored sapphire set in a circle of diamonds. Regina saw that the
ring was beautiful, but, womanlike, her eyes wandered to the other
gewgaws displayed in the window.
"I have a good many rings," she said hesitatingly. Then her eyes fell
upon a thick gold curb bracelet clasped by a horse-shoe of diamonds.
"This is handsome," she said. Her voice was quite faint, for she felt
that she was approaching that subject which had troubled her so much.
"Oh, horrid!" said he. "I love to see you with plenty of rings, but as
to bracelets--I can't endure them."
"Never?" said Regina. "Never?"
"No, I never buy a bracelet for anybody. I like to give you something
that you can wear for weeks or years together. Bracelets always seem in
the way, they don't set off a pretty wrist, and they draw attention to
an ugly one. Besides, they are intensely disagreeable if you happen to
put your arm around my neck. Come, let us go inside and see how the
sapphire suits your hand."
He led the way into the shop, as a man always does when he is going to
buy something for a woman. Have you ever noticed, my reader, how the
most polite of men, who stands aside on all occasions for the lady to
precede him, marches into a shop right in front of her when he is going
to make her a present?
Now, Alfred Whittaker's knowledge of French was what may be described as
infinitesimal, and it being his habit to state his business whenever he
entered a shop of any kind, he did not wait for Regina's faulty but more
understandable explanations.
"_Vous-avez un ring la_," pointing with a sturdy British thumb toward
the window, "_sappheer_."
"_Ah, ah, une broche, monsieur?_"
"Regina, what does she mean by that?"
Now, for the life of her Regina could not think of the French word for
ring.
"She means 'brooch' of course," she replied. "I really don't know what
ring is in French."
"_Pas une broche?_" the lady of the establishment demanded.
"No, not a brooch," Alfred Whittaker shouted at her, as if her
understanding lay at the back of deaf ears.
"_Un bracelet, peut-etre?_" the Frenchwoman asked, touching her wrist
with a gesture that conveyed more than her words.
"No, no," said Alfred, tapping his first finger.
"_Ah, ah, une bague._" She quickly opened the window and brought out
several sapphire rings, including the one which had taken Alfred's
fancy, and then, as he had already, being a business man, grasped the
initial weakness of the Norman character, there began a period of
haggling which Alfred Whittaker would never have thought of employing in
the case of the establishment of Templeton. Eventually Regina left the
shop with the beautiful sapphire ring upon her finger.
"My dear girl," said Alfred (he always called her his dear girl when he
was best pleased), "eighteen pounds for a ring like that is dirt cheap
She said it was an occasion, what did she mean by 'an occasion'?"
"I haven't the least idea, but she certainly said it."
"However, no matter what she may have meant, the ring is given away at
the price--it's worth thirty pounds if it's worth a penny. You found it,
so to speak, for I won the money that paid for it."
"Not quite all."
"No, not quite all, but the other was a mere bagatelle. I like to see
you with plenty of rings; some women have not the hands to show them
off."
It occurred to Regina that the hussy's hands were of the kind that look
best in gloves. Then a second thought came, one of blame and reproach to
herself for even thinking of the hussy at such a moment when Alfred had
generously been thinking only of her.
"It is a beautiful ring, dear Alfred," she said, putting her hand under
his arm and squeezing it very gratefully, "it is a beautiful ring and
you are very good to me, and I'm not quite sure that I deserve it."
She meant what she said. A curious idea had taken possession of her
that while Alfred was so kind and generous to her she ought not to
inquire or wish to inquire into his outer life; there might be fifty
explanations, and while she was evidently first with him it was her duty
to remain content. It was wonderful how that little present, which,
after all, had not cost Alfred Whittaker very much, soothed Regina's
suspicions and lulled them to sleep. And so, in perfect happiness and
harmony, that month went by, and it was with genuine regret that they
bade adieu to the town of many colors and turned their faces toward the
duller tones of home.
"We will come back again next year," said Regina, gazing sentimentally
at the fast-receding shore, now looking most uninteresting. "Dear
Dieppe, we have been so happy and had such a good time, we will come
again next year."
"I shouldn't be surprised," said Alfred Whittaker, in a tone of
ludicrous jocosity, "I shouldn't be surprised, for my part, if Darby and
Joan found themselves at Dieppe by themselves. Just you and I, you know,
Queenie."
"Wherever you are, Alfred," said she, leaning over the side of the ship
and keeping her eyes carefully from observing the motion of the water,
"wherever you are I am always perfectly happy and content."