Ronnie had some such idea when he parted from Maxton and the doctor.
He went home to collect the bundle of books he had packed ready to
take to Christina, and there discovered the reason why his
absent-minded host had forgotten to put in an appearance.
Mr. Jerry Talbot was stretched exhaustedly in a lounge chair. He was
a sallow young man with a large nose and a microscopic moustache. He
had bushy eyebrows, arched enquiringly. Only one eyebrow was now
visible, the other and the greater part of his slick head was hidden
under black silk bandages. Looking at him, Ronnie wondered what he
had ever seen in the man.
"Lo, Ronnie," he greeted the other feebly, "I tried to 'phone you but
you were gone. I had a sort of faint after I spoke to you this
morning, that's why I didn't turn up; so sorry. But look at me, old
boy, look at me!"
"How did this happen?" asked Ronnie.
"Lola!"
Ronnie frowned. Lola? Who--? Yes, yes, Lola. He remembered.
"We had rather a hot time at my house last night, and Madame sent
some of the girls along. Lola got tight and after some argument
about a brooch that one of my guests had lost, Lola picked up a
champagne bottle and--there you are!"
"Where is she?"
"In quod," said Mr. Jerry Talbot viciously. "I gave her in charge,
and, Ronnie, she had the brooch! They found it at the police
station. So I was right when I called her a thieving
little--whatever it was I called her. It is an awkward business for
me, old thing, but of course I'm swearing blue-blind that I never
invited her and that she came in without--sort of drifted in from the
street. Madame put me up to that. She's fed up with Lola and so are
the other girls."
"Just wait a moment," said Ronnie frowning, "do I understand that
Madame is going to disown this girl, this, what is her name--?"
"Lola," scoffed Mr. Talbot, "good heavens, you're not pretending that
you don't know her! And you took her to Wechester with you--"
"Yes, of course I did," agreed Ronnie. "It is rather terrible
work--straightening out the ravel of life--yes, I know her."
"Madame is disowning her, and so are the other girls. Between
ourselves, Ritti has cleared out everything of Lola's and sent her
trunks to a baggage office. None of her maids will talk, and
naturally, none of the people who go to Ritti's. Lola has had a tip
to shut up about Madame's, and if she is wise, she'll admit she's a
street girl who had the cheek to walk into the party. I had to tell
you, Ronnie, in case this infernal girl mentions you. She is being
brought before the magistrate this afternoon."
And so came Lola from the dingy cells with her evening finery looking
somewhat bedraggled, and standing in the pen, pale and defiant, heard
the charge of assault preferred against her.
"Have you any witnesses to call?"
"None. All my witnesses have been standing on the box committing
perjury," sobbed the girl, broken at last.
"I was invited. Mr. Talbot sent for me--he sent to Madame Ritti's--"
"Madame Ritti says that she hardly knows you. That with the
exception of a few days last year, when you were staying with her,
you have never been to the house," said the patient magistrate. "She
made you leave her, because she found you were an undesirable."
"Your worship, there is a gentleman here who wishes to give
evidence," said the usher.
Ronald Morelle stepped to the stand, smiled faintly at the
open-mouthed surprise of Jerry Talbot, at the shocked amazement of
Madame Ritti, and bowed to the magistrate.
He gave his name, place of living, and occupation.
"Now, Mr. Morelle, what can you tell us?" demanded the magistrate
benevolently.
"I know this girl," he indicated the interested prisoner, "her name
is Lola Pranceaux, or rather, that is the name by which she is known.
She is an inmate of a house," he did not say "house," and Madame
Ritti almost jumped from her seat at his description, "maintained by
Madame Ritti. I can also assure your worship that she is very well
known to the prosecutor, Mr. Talbot, and to me. I have taken her
away to the country on more than one occasion. To my knowledge she
was invited last night to Mr. Talbot's house. There is no reason why
she should steal a trumpery brooch. She has jewels of her own. I
myself gave her the solitaire ring she is now wearing."
The magistrate glared at Jerry Talbot.
"Are you pressing this charge?"
"No--no, your honor--worship," stammered Jerry.
The man of law wrote furiously upon a paper.
"You may go away, Pranceaux, you are discharged. I have heard a
considerable amount of perjury in this case and I have heard the
truth--not very pleasant truth, I admit. Mr. Morelle has testified
for the accused with great frankness which I can admire. His habits
and behavior are less admirable. Next case!"
Ronnie was the last of the party to leave the court. Lola came
hurriedly across the waiting room to clasp his hand.
"Oh, Ronnie, you--pal! How lovely of you! I never thought you were
such a brick! Madame looked like hell--she's pinched all my jewelry
and now she'll have to give it up. Ronnie, how can I thank you?"
"Lola--come to my flat, I want to talk to you."
François who opened the door to them was not surprised. After all,
one could not expect Ronald Morelle to improve in every respect. It
was a pleasure to work for him, he was so considerate. Lola settled
herself in the most comfortable corner of the settee and waited for
François to go.
"You will have some tea?" Ronnie gave the order to a servant who was
no less surprised than Lola.
"What have you done with that picture that was over the mantelpiece?"
asked the girl, seeing a blankness of wall.
"I've burned it," said Ronnie.
"But it was worth thousands, Ronnie! You told me so."
"It was worth a few hundreds. If it had been a Titian I would not
have destroyed it--it had its use in a gallery. But it was not.
Worth a few hundreds perhaps. I burned it. François cut it into
strips and we burned it in the furnace fire. François and I had a
great day. He did not think the picture was pretty."
"It was your favorite?"
"_Was_ it?" He was astonished. "Well, it is burned: It was too
ugly. The subject--no the figures were a little ugly. Now, Lola,
what are you going to do?"
She had half made up her mind.
"I shall take a flat--"
He shook his head.
"In a way, I have a recollection that you told me you had relations
in Cornwall. Was I dreaming? And you said that when you had saved
enough money you were going to buy a farm in Cornwall and raise
hackneys. Was that a dream?"
She shook her head.
"No, that is my dream," she said, "but what is the use of talking
about that, Ronnie. It would cost a small fortune."
"Could you do it on five thousand?" he asked.
"With my money and five thousand--yes."
"I will lend you three thousand free of all interest, and I will give
you two thousand. I won't give it all to you, because I want a hold
on you. Easy money spends itself. Will you go to Cornwall, Lola?"
François, entering, saved him from her hectic embrace.
"You're just--wonderful," she dabbed her eyes. "I know you think I'm
dirt and I am--"
"Don't be silly. Why should I think that? I am not even sorry for
you. Are you sorry for the train that is derailed? You put it back
on the track. That is what I am doing. I am one of the derailers.
It amused me, it hurt you--oh, yes, it did. I know I was not 'the
first', there would be an excuse for me in that event. We are all
dirt if it comes to that--dirt is matter in the wrong place. I want
to put you where you belong."
She was incoherent in her gratitude, awed a little by his seriousness
and detachment, prodigiously surprised that François remained on duty.
When on her way to the hotel which was to shelter her, she read the
evening newspaper, she could appreciate more fully just what Ronnie
had done.
"Read this!" said Evie tragically.
Christina took the newspaper from her hands.
"'A curious case'--is that what you mean?"
The report was a full one, remembering how late in the day the charge
had come up for hearing.
"Well?" said Christina, when she had finished reading.
"I shall write to Ronald." Evie was very stiff, very determined,
sourly virginal. "Of course, you can't believe all that you read in
the newspapers, but there is no smoke without fire."
"And every cloud has its silver lining," said Christina. "Let us
_all_ be trite! What is worrying you, Evie? I think it was fine of
Ronnie to look after the girl."
"And they drove away from the court together!" wailed Evie.
"Why not? It is much better to go together than by taking separate
routes and pretending they weren't meeting when all the time they
were."
"I shall write to Ronnie, I must have an explanation," Evie was firm
on this point.
Christina read the account again.
"I don't see what other explanation you can ask," she said. "He has
said all that is fit for publication."
"What is this woman Lola to him?" demanded Evie furiously. "How dare
he stand up--shamelessly--and admit--oh, Chris, it is _awful_!"
"It must be pretty awful for Lola, too," said Christina. "That sort
of girl doesn't mind--she likes to have her beastly name in the
paper."
"You don't know," said Christina. "I won't descend to slopping over
her poor mother, and her innocent sisters, and I'd die before I'd
remind you that once she was like the beautiful snow. Ambrose always
said that there was a lot of sympathy wasted over sinners. It is
conceivable that she was quite a decent sort until somebody came
along who held artistic views about marriage; most of these girls
start that way, their minds go first. They get full of that advanced
stuff. Some of 'em go vegetarian and wear sandals, some of 'em go on
the streets. Generally speaking, the street girls are better fed.
But that is how they start: they reach the streets in their own way.
Some get into the studio party set. They bob their hair and hate
washing. They know people who have black wallpaper and scarlet
ceilings and one white rose rising from a jade vase. Evie, I have
been laying on the flat of my back ever since I can remember, and
I've had a procession of sinners marching around my bed--literally.
Mother let people come because I was dull. I don't know Lola. She
is a little above us, but Lola's kind are bred around here by the
score, pigging four and five in a room; they have no reticences,
there are no mysteries. All the processes of life are familiar to
them as children. Then one fine day along comes Mrs. So-and-So and
sits on the end of this bed and weeps and weeps until mother turns
her out. There was a woman in this road who broke her heart over her
daughter's disgrace. And when they came to bury the good lady they
found she had never been married herself! All this weeping and
wailing and talking about 'disgrace' doesn't mean anything in this
neighborhood. It is conventional, expected of them, like deep
mourning for widows and half mourning for aunts. We haven't produced
many celebrities. We had a chorus girl who was in a divorce case,
and there is a legend that Tota Belindo, the great Spanish dancer,
came from this street. We turn out the tired old-looking girls that
you never see up west. The Lolas come from families that care. Nice
speaking people who haven't been taught to write by a sign-writer.
I've heard about them and met one. She used to drink, that is how
she came to Walter Street. That kind of a girl only pretends she
doesn't care. She isn't like the hardy race of prostitutes we raise
in Walter Street."
"I think your language is terrible, Christina! I ought to know you
would defend this perfectly awful girl. You take a very lax view,
Chris, it is a good thing I have a well-balanced mind--"
"You haven't," said Christina. "It isn't a month ago that you were
sneering about marriage. I believe in marriage: I'm old-fashioned.
Marriage is a wonderful bridge; it carries you over the time when, if
you're not married, you are getting used to a strange man and
comparing him unfavorably with your last. Besides, it is easier to
divorce a man than to run away from him. Divorce is so easy that
there is no excuse for remaining single."
"I don't know whether you're being decent or not, Christina. But
there are some people who have never married all their lives, and
they've been _perfectly_ happy--of course, I can't tell you who they
are, it is absurd to ask me. Only I know that there have been such
people--in history, I mean. I believe in marriage, but it is much
worse to be married to somebody you don't love than to be living with
a man you do love."
"There are times when you remind me of 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'," mused
Christina. "I wonder why--oh, yes, little Eva who said such damnably
true things so very truly. She died. The book had to have a happy
ending anyway. Eva--Evie, I mean, I should write to your slave
master and demand an explanation. I'll bet you won't, though!"
"Won't I?" Evie stiffened. "I have my self-respect to consider,
Christina, and my friends. I hope Teddy hasn't read the case."
She wrote a letter, many words of which were underlined, and notes of
exclamation stood up on each page like the masts of docked shipping.
Ronnie's answer was waiting for her next night.
"Will you come to the flat, Evie?"
Evie did not consult her sister; she took a lank young man into her
confidence. Would he escort her and wait in the vestibule of the
flats until she came out? Evie had discovered the need for a
chaperon.