Grand Hotel, Toulon,
_December 19_.
My good Montie,
It is getting on towards eleven o'clock at night, and as Payne has
treated us to a smashup and I have walked some miles carrying I don't
know how many pounds of luggage, you might think that I would be more
inclined for bed than letter-writing. But, on the contrary, I have no
desire for sleep. A change has come o'er my spirit. I am happy. I have
dined alone with my Goddess. I almost took your advice and the
opportunity to make a clean breast of things, but not quite. Presently I
will tell you why, and ask if you don't think I was right in the
circumstances.
The said circumstances I owe indirectly to Payne--also a lump on the
back of my head; but that is a detail. I am in too blissful a frame of
mind to-night to dwell on it or any other detail belonging to the
accident, though maybe I'll give you the history of the affair in a
future letter. Suffice it to say, before getting on to pleasanter
things, that the car reposes in a lonesome meadow below a steep
embankment about a dozen miles away, where it is perfectly safe till I
can get back to its succour early to-morrow; Aunt Mary and Jimmy
Sherlock are enjoying each other's society at a country inn rather
nearer; Miss Randolph and I are here. She came on because she had to
have a sprained wrist treated by a competent doctor; I came to buy new
parts for the car; naturally we joined forces. The others were to have a
carriage sent back to them from Toulon, but Aunt Mary funked the long
drive on account of a furious storm. Miss Randolph could get no private
sitting-room, and as, with a disabled wrist, she didn't care to face the
ordeal of a _salle a manger_ alone, she suggested that I should attend
her at dinner. Not as a servant, mind, but "for this occasion only" as
an equal.
For an instant I was doubtful, for her sake; but to have put a thought
of impropriety into her sweet mind would have been coarse. Besides, the
request from mistress to man was equivalent to a royal command. I hope,
however, that had there been any fear of unfortunate consequences to
her, I should have been strong enough to resist temptation.
I told her that, if she thought it best to condescend to my
companionship, I should be highly honoured. And I added that I had with
me a decent suit of black. We then parted; I went to find a doctor for
Miss Randolph, and to see about a carriage to go back for the others to
the village of Le Beausset. It also occurred to me that it would be nice
to have a few flowers with which to deck the table for the happiest
dinner of my life. The shops were not yet all closed, and at one not far
from the hotel I selected some exquisite La France roses and a dozen
sprays of forced white lilac, which I had once heard Miss Randolph say
was among her favourite flowers. When I came to pay the bill,
however--three francs a spray for the lilac, and a franc for each of the
twelve roses--there were only a few coppers in my pocket. I remembered
then that I had spent my last franc in Marseilles, without attaching any
importance to the matter, as I'd wired for remittances to arrive at
Cannes, and my "screw" due to-night would see me through till then. Now
the situation was a bit awkward. I wanted to take the flowers with me
and give them to the head waiter to place on the table where Miss
Randolph and I would dine. I could not have them sent over and ask the
hotel people to settle, because then they would appear on her bill
to-morrow morning, as now she would certainly not pay my wages this
evening. I couldn't bear to give up the bouquet; besides, I would need
more ready money to-night. I had visions of ordering first-rate wine,
and letting the Goddess suppose it was _vin compris_ with the _table
d'hote_ dinner. I therefore confessed my pennilessness to the shopman,
and asked if I should be likely to find a _mont-de-piete_ still open. He
replied that the pawnshops did their busiest trade in the evening about
this time, told me where I could find the best, and agreed to keep the
flowers until my return.
The one thing of value I had with me was my monogrammed gold repeater,
which my father gave me when I went up to Oxford, and I didn't much like
parting with it, especially as I can't get it back to-morrow, but will
have to send back the ticket for it from Cannes, when I'm in funds.
However, I had no choice, so I put my poor turnip up the spout, and got
a tenner for it. With this in French money I retraced my steps to the
florist's, and bore off my fragrant spoils in triumph to the hotel.
Hardly had I given the flowers to the head waiter, ordered an extra dish
or two on the _menu_ and a bottle of Mumm to be iced, when a pencilled
note from Miss Randolph was handed to me. It contained a wire from Aunt
Mary, saying that she and Jimmy would not leave their present quarters,
on account of the storm. I sent word to have the carriage stopped, and
luckily for the driver the message was just in time. Then it struck me
that in the circumstances I had better put up at another hotel for the
night. I made all arrangements, had my bag taken over to a little
commercial sort of house near by, and left myself just twenty minutes to
bathe and change. Gladstone could do it in five, I've been told. But it
was all I could manage in fifteen, for I had decided to do myself well,
not to shame my dinner-companion.
Thanks to my little trick of going to a different hotel from the party
when we are stopping anywhere longer than one night, I can always
indulge in civilised garb of an evening therefore in the dressing-case,
which is my little all on the car, I carry something decent. Our mutual
tailor, Montie, is not to be despised; and when I'd got into my pumps
and all my things, I don't think there was much amiss.
I arrived at our rendezvous--the hall of the hotel--just one minute
before the appointed time; and five minutes later I saw Her coming
downstairs.
I have sometimes caught a glimpse of her in the evenings, dressed for
dinner at good hotels, and her frocks are like herself, always the most
perfect. To-night she had no luggage except a bag I had carried,
nevertheless she had somehow achieved a costume in which she was a
vision. Perhaps if I were a woman I should have seen that she had on her
day-skirt, with an evening bodice, but being merely a man over his ears
in love, I can only tell you that the effect was dazzling. In admiration
of her I forgot my own transformation until I saw her pretty eyebrows go
up with surprise.
I felt my heart thump behind my rather jolly white waistcoat. On the
second step from the bottom she stopped and exclaimed, "Why, Brown, how
nice you look! You're exactly like a----" There she stopped, getting
deliciously pink, as if she'd been a naughty child pinched by a
"grown-up" in the midst of a malapropos remark. I could fill up the
blank for myself, and was highly complimented by her opinion that I was
"exactly like a gentleman." I explained that the clothes were Mr.
Winston's, and had been donned with a highly laudable motive. It was
evident that she approved both cause and effect; and we went in to
dinner together.
I can't describe to you, my boy, the pure delight of that moment; the
pride I felt in her beauty, the new and intoxicating sense of possession
born of the _tete-a-tete_. But if you could have seen the lovely shadow
her eyelashes made on her cheeks as she sat there opposite to me at our
daintily appointed little table, you might partly understand.
Fortunately there was a small bunch of flowers on each table, so that
ours was not conspicuous, save in superiority. She admired it, took out
a spray of lilac and tucked it into the neck of her dress, the stem
lying close against her white satin skin. Then, as she ate the _hors
d'[oe]uvres_, she sat silent and apparently thoughtful. It was not until
we had begun with the soup that she spoke again.
"I do hope you won't think me rude or inquisitive, Brown," was her
curiosity-provoking preface. "I don't mean to be either. But, you know,
you interest me a good deal. In America we haven't precisely a middle
class. It's all top and bottom with us, just like a tart with the inside
forgotten. There, one wouldn't--wouldn't be apt to meet anyone quite
like you. I--oh, I don't know how to put it. I'm afraid I began to say
something that I can't finish. But--let me see, what _shall_ I say?
Isn't it a pity that with your intelligence and--and manners, and all
you've learned, you can't get a position which would--would give
you--er--better opportunities?"
At the moment I thought that no position could give me a better
opportunity than I had; in fact, as I began to tell you in the first few
lines of this letter, I was inclined to believe it sent by Providence as
an unexpected way out of my difficulties. Here we were together in no
danger of being disturbed by outsiders (one doesn't count a waiter);
here was she in a benignant mood, interested in me, and inclined to
kindness. In another second I would have blurted out the whole truth,
when a voice seemed to say inside of me, "No, she is alone in this hotel
to-night with you. She is, in a way, at your mercy. You will be doing an
unchivalrous thing if, when she is practically deserted by her people
and thrown upon your protection, you proclaim yourself a lover in place
of a servant." That voice was right. Even you can't say it wasn't.
I swallowed my confession with a spoonful of soup, and nearly choked
over the combination.
"The fact is," I said desperately yet cautiously, "since you are kind
enough to take an interest, that I--er--am not exactly what I seem
to-day. My parents were gentlefolk, in a humble way." (I didn't go
beyond the truth there, did I? And as for the "humble way," why,
everything goes by comparison, from a king down to a mere viscount.)
"They gave me an education" (they did, bless them!), "but owing
to--er--strong pressure of circumstances" (the effect of Her beauty,
seen in a Paris _garage_) "I decided to make use of my mechanical
knowledge in the way I am doing at present."
"I suppose," commented my Goddess, with the sweetest sympathy, "that you
had lost your money."
"Well," I said, thinking of my late penniless condition and my watch at
the pawnshop, "I have a great deal less money now than I was brought up
to expect."
"That is very sad," she sighed.
"And yet," I remarked, "it has its compensations. I consider my place
with you a very good one."
"It can't be better than many others you have had," said she.
"In some ways it is much the best I have ever enjoyed," I responded.
"At all events, it isn't half as good as you deserve," the Angel cried
warmly. "I should like to see you in one far more desirable."
"Thank you," said I meekly "So should I, of course, though I should wish
it still to be in your service."
"If that could be," she murmured, with a slight blush and a flattering
air of regret. "I don't quite see how it could. But if you wouldn't mind
going to America, perhaps my father might help you to something really
worth while."
"Nothing could be better for me than to have his help in obtaining what
I want," said I boldly, knowing she wouldn't suspect the double meaning.
"You are very good. I can't thank you enough."
"Wait till I have done something to be thanked for," said she. "I will
write to my father. But even if anything comes of it, it can't be for
some time. Meanwhile, I suppose you will be taking Mr. Winston's car
back to England, when we part at Cannes."
"Part at Cannes!" The words were a knell "You aren't thinking, then, of
going further for a trip into Italy?" I ventured.
"No, I haven't thought of it," she said.
"It does seem a pity, with Italy next door, so to speak," said I.
"Unless, of course, you're tired of motoring and would like to settle
down and have some gaiety."
"I'm not tired of motoring," she exclaimed, "and I'm not pining for
gaiety. I think this sort of free, open-air life, with big horizons
round one, spoils one for dancing and dressing and flir--and all that. I
should love just to have a glimpse of the Riviera, and then go on. But I
hadn't thought of it, and I'm not sure if it could be managed. I'd have
to reflect upon the idea a little, and cable my father to see if he were
willing. Not that there'd be much trouble about that. He trusts me, and
almost always lets me do what I like. But supposing--just _supposing_ I
changed my plans--would Mr. Winston be willing to let me keep his car
longer?"
"As much longer as you choose," said I eagerly. "He doesn't want it in
England till next summer. I'm certain of that."
"Well, then, I must think it over," she answered. "Oh, it would be
glorious! Yet--I don't know. Anyway, we must take Lady Brighthelmston,
Mr. Winston's mother, a drive on her son's car when we get to Cannes.
She is staying there."
"Oh, is she?" I said aloud. And inwardly I prayed that I might see the
lady in question in private before that invitation was given. But
perhaps she will have flitted. I wonder?
Well, I have given you the principal points of our conversation enough
to show you why I am happy to-night. But if you could have seen me
cutting up the Goddess's _filet mignon_! I could have shed tears of joy
on it.
Now I must be off to my own hotel, and to-morrow I shall be up with the
dawn in search of a mechanic and new parts for the car.
Good-bye, old man. Wish me luck.
Yours ever,
Jack Winston.