"It must have been a Royal Oak or Cricklewood 'bus coming home. They go
no farther than Charing Cross."
"But oh!" she continued, "we go many time a long, long way--out into the
country--away from London. Once we went on and on till I thought we
would never arrest--right on till we came to a small town down by the
river--Tweet-ham--Tweek-ham--the conductor called it, or something like
that. Your English names are so very difficult. There was an island in
the river, and an old church close by."
"Twickenham! You mean Twickenham!" he exclaimed. "Fancy your going so
far on an omnibus! Your adventures, mademoiselle, must have been
amusing."
"Ah yes. But poor madame! We did not return till seven of the clock,
and she was fearing something had happened."
"Naturally," he said. "But let me give you a word of advice,
mademoiselle. Be very careful where you go. London is not at all safe
for a foreign lady like yourself, more especially if her face is as
attractive as yours."
"Oh!" she laughed. "Mine has no attraction, surely. And I tell you,
m'sieur, that I am not in the least afraid."
He had expected her to be impressed by his flattery, but she was not.
On the contrary, she passed his remark as though it had never been
uttered, and continued to relate to him her impressions of London and
London life, some of which were distinctly humorous, for the streets of
our metropolis always strike the foreigner as full of quaint
incongruities, from the balancing of the hansom cab to the kilt of the
Highland soldier.
He found her conversation amusing and interesting. She was somehow
different from the wide circle of women of his acquaintance, those
society dames who borrowed his money, ate his dinners, and gave tone to
his entertainments. And this was exactly how she desired to impress
him.
As the weeks went on, the society swallows returned from wintering in
the South, and the London season began in earnest. The millionaire, a
frequent visitor at his sister's house, often met the pleasant-faced
governess, who very cleverly succeeded in increasing her popularity
until she was well-known to Mrs Fitzroy's lady friends, and declared by
them all to be "a perfect treasure."
None knew, however, save little Bertha--who feared to speak lest
mademoiselle should punish her--of a rather curious incident which
occurred one morning as she was sitting with her charge in Kensington
Gardens. A tall, dark-faced, middle-aged man with black moustache,
well-dressed in frock coat and silk hat, a fine diamond pin in his
scarf, approached, raised his hat, uttered some mysterious words in
Italian, and then took a seat at her side.
At first mademoiselle regarded the stranger with distrust, until he drew
a paper from his pocket and allowed her to read it. Then, apparently
satisfied, she listened to all he told her. But as it was in Italian,
the child could not understand. She only noticed that mademoiselle
turned rather pale, and seemed to be expressing deep regret.
The dark-faced man spoke slowly and calmly, while, on her part, she
shrugged her shoulders and showed her palms, and responded with quick
volubility, while the child sat at her side regarding the stranger in
open-eyed wonder.
Presently, after a long argument, the man took from his pocket a small
tin box of matches which he gave to her. Without examining it, she
transferred it quickly to her coat-pocket, and then, after a few parting
words, the man rose, raised his hat, and strode away towards Queen's
Gate, swinging his cane airily as he walked.
"Who was that?" inquired the child after he had gone. "What did he give
you, mademoiselle?"
"Nothing that concerns you, dearest," was her governess's reply.
"Remember you must say nothing of that m'sieur--nothing, you recollect.
You must never mention him to your mother or to anyone, because if you
do I shall punish you very severely, and I shall never, never take you
out with me again. You understand--eh?"
The child's face fell, and her eyes were fixed straight before her as
she answered, "Very well, mademoiselle. I won't say anything."
"That's a good girl," her governess responded. "Some day you shall have
a watch like your uncle's if you are very good," she added, for Bertha
was very fond of watches, and especially of Morgan-Mason's gold
repeater. She liked to hear it chime upon its musical bell.
One afternoon a few days later Filomena watched from her window the
millionaire descend from his motor and enter the house. First she
hurried into the schoolroom, where Bertha was sitting with the maid, and
then she leisurely descended to the drawing-room, where she found Mrs
Fitzroy and her brother talking together.
"Oh, m'sieur," laughed the governess, "Mademoiselle Bertha saw you
arrive, and has sent me to ask a favour."
"A favour!" he exclaimed. "Of course, I always grant the young lady's
requests when she asks nicely."
"Mademoiselle wants to know if you will let her hear your watch. Since
you showed it to her a fortnight ago she has allowed me no peace. So I
promised I would come and ask of you."
"Certainly," was the millionaire's reply, taking his repeater and the
gold albert from his pocket. "You know how to make it strike. I showed
you the other day," he laughed as he handed it to her.
"I will be ve-ry careful of it, m'sieur, and will bring it back when
mademoiselle is satisfied. She desires greatly one like it."
"Some day I'll give her one, when she's older," laughed Morgan-Mason
good-humouredly.