"Good-morning, monsieur. Here is the chocolate."
"Good-morning. And madame, has hers been taken in?"
"Ah, three hours ago!... Look, it is a beautiful day, monsieur!"
Then, when the waiter had let in the sunshine and gone, Kent would
rise, and find Cynthia either busily stirring more food over the fire,
or preparing the boy's bath. Afterwards she would carry him into the
little enclosure opposite, and, what with her unfamiliarity with a
nurse's duties and the makeshifts that she was put to, it often seemed
to her that this was the only time during the day that she was free to
sit down.
Their meals were all served in Kent's bedroom; but just as the luncheon
appeared, the baby, who was feverish and fretful, would surely cry,
and she would be obliged to call out that Kent was not to wait for
her. "Begin!" For dinner, she made desperate efforts. By this time the
child, bathed once more, was supposed to be already asleep; and more
oatmeal had to be stirred and carefully watched for five-and-twenty
minutes, an operation that entailed burning cheeks and occasionally
despair, since the saucepan had a habit of boiling over without warning
and requiring to be filled and stirred for twenty-five minutes again.
When the task was achieved, there followed a hurried attempt to make
herself look cool and nice before the soup arrived--Kent was apt to be
irritable if she was not ready--and providing the baby did not wake at
the last moment and prevent her going in after all, the dinner-hour was
very agreeable.
Thanks to the chambermaid, they had been able to dispense with the
tallow candles at sixpence each, and had obtained a lamp, which was
much more cheerful. The _vin compris_ had turned out to be rather good,
too, and after the appalling meals at the Garins' the cuisine struck
them as quite first-rate. Not infrequently, when the coffee was brought
in, they sent down for liqueurs, and their evenings, despite the worry
of the day, and their ignorance where the money was coming from to pay
the bill, were very jolly.
Beaufort's expectations were still unrealised. On Tuesday he was
certain "Things would be right on Thursday," and on Thursday, with
undiminished confidence, he repeated, "Early in the week." The
proprietress of the hotel was a huge red woman, who had been a
low-class domestic servant. The "gracious service unexpressed" by which
she had attained her present prosperity, the squinting chambermaid
did not know, and she added, with a grin and a grimace, that it was
really very difficult to conjecture it. The flaming countenance and
belligerent eye of the proprietress would, in the circumstances, have
scared Kent from the door, had she been visible when he came there to
arrange, and on Friday night he slept uneasily. She presented the bill
next morning at nine o'clock, and at twelve sent him a message that she
wished it to be settled at once. His interview with her was eminently
unpleasant, and on Monday, when the fire for the child was not laid and
Cynthia inquired the reason, she learnt that the woman had forbidden
the servant to take up any fuel.
But for Nanette, their position would now have been untenable. She
smuggled wood to the room; pacified her mistress by the recital of
imaginary telegrams picked up on monsieur Kent's floor; and finally,
squeezing Cynthia's hand one afternoon, offered to bring down some
money that she had saved out of her wages. This was the last straw.
Cynthia put her arms round her neck and kissed her; and when Humphrey
came home and she told him what had happened, they both felt that to
have to decline such a loan and wish that it could be accepted, was
about the deepest humiliation to which it was possible for people to
sink.
They were mistaken, but it was the lowest point that they themselves
were called upon to touch. The day following, Beaufort telegraphed,
asking Humphrey to meet him at the Cabaret Lyonnais, where, at a
moderate price, he ordered a little dinner of supreme excellence. Billy
had not had his loan made yet--that, he said buoyantly, was "certain
for next week"--but he had had a lucky night at baccarat. And after
the benedictine he pulled out a bundle of notes on to the table of the
shabby restaurant and, beaming with rectitude, paid his debt in full.
With a cigar in his mouth and delight bubbling in his veins, Kent
jumped into a cab, and, having rattled to the rue des Soeurs
Filandières, threw their receipt and the remainder of the money
into Cynthia's lap. She nearly dropped the baby with astonishment,
and though they were unable to go out anywhere, it was perhaps the
liveliest night that they had spent in Paris. After adding the Garins'
account, and the cost of their return, and a present to Nanette, it was
momentarily disconcerting to perceive how few of the notes would be
left; but the relief was so enormous that their spirits speedily arose
again, and, extravagant as it was, they ordered champagne, and invited
Nanette to share it.
Kent recovered their luggage the next morning, and the morning after
that they departed for London. They had heard in the meanwhile that the
Walfords could easily put them up until No. 64 was ready for them. The
journey without a nurse was awkward, and though it had been essential
to go to the Walfords', Kent was chagrined to reflect that her absence
would have to be explained. Compared with the crossing from Newhaven,
this passage was, to Cynthia, who had to remain below all the time,
a long voyage; when they reached Victoria at last, she felt that she
would have given a good deal to be going to the Grosvenor Hotel.
Strawberry Hill was gained about nine o'clock, and Kent found the house
a pathetic descent from The Hawthorns. Mr. and Mrs. Walford, however,
were not unamiable, and as they did not refer to the absence of the
nurse otherwise than by inquiring how soon he expected to replace
her; he concluded that his wife had anticipated their surprise and
discounted it more or less dexterously in her letters.
"So the paper was a failure?" said Walford, when the excitement of the
entrance had subsided. "Oh, well, you will be able to get something to
do here, I dare say, before long. What do you think of the house? Not
so bad, eh?"
"Not bad at all," said Kent--"very pretty! That was awful news, sir! I
was infernally sorry to hear about it. Might have been worse, though
--a good deal."
"Ups and downs," said the jobber; "we'll get square at the finish. Grin
and bear it, Louisa, old girl! You'll always have enough to eat."
Mrs. Walford laughed constrainedly. She did not relish allusion to
their reverses; it appeared to her insult added to injury.
"I don't think we've either of us much cause to grieve," she answered.
"We're very comfortable here, don't you think so, Humphrey? There are
such nice people in the neighbourhood, Cynthia--people who move in the
best society, and--hee, hee, hee!--we are making quite a fashionable
circle; we are out almost every night. Well, I don't hear much about
Paris? Did you have a jolly time?"
"We went everywhere and saw everything," said Cynthia. "Humphrey got no
end of tickets, and--well, yes, Paris is lovely!"
"Why 'well, yes'?"
"Well, of course, the paper's stopping was an anxiety to us, mamma.
Naturally. How's Aunt Emily?"
"Emily writes us once a week, acknowledging the receipt of her
allowance. How she is I really can't tell you; she says very little
more than that she has 'received the money.' She's living in apartments
in Brunswick Square, and I believe she is very glad she is alone. _I_
am, I can tell you! She has become very sour, Emily has."
"Apartments in Brunswick Square aren't so remarkably cheap," said Kent.
"Aunt Emily must be expensive, mater?"
"Well, she has--er--one room. It's a nice large room, I understand, and
quite enough for one person, I'm sure! There was no occasion for her to
take a suite, she isn't going to give any parties."
"No occasion whatever. A bedroom can be very cosy when the lamp's
lighted and there's a bottle of wine on the table, can't it, Cynthia?"
"She won't have any bottles of wine. What are you thinking of?" said
Mrs. Walford. "Not but what she could afford wine," she added hastily;
"but it doesn't agree with her; it never did! I suppose you know that
Cæsar is still in Germany? He has settled there. If there are moments
when I feel out of it in spite of the company we see at Strawberry
Hill, it's when I read of the life that boy leads in Berlin. He is in
a brilliant circle--most brilliant!"
"Cynthia told me he had a first-rate thing."
"Capital thing!" affirmed Sam briskly. "I tell you, he's going to the
top of the tree. When he's my age Cæsar will be a big figure in Europe."
Kent thought he was a fair size already, but replied briefly that he
had been "very fortunate."
"Ability, my lad! He's got the brains! Do you know, Louisa, it was damn
foolishness of us ever to persuade that boy to go on the stage? He was
meant for what he is--we'd no right to divert his natural bent. He's
in the proper groove because his tendency was too strong for us. But
we were wrong--I say we did very wrong! By George! he might never have
made more than a couple of hundred a week among greasy opera-singers
all his life. What a thing!" By dint of many midnight conferences with
Louisa, he had almost succeeded in believing that he meant part of what
he said.
"Are his prospects so very wonderful, then?" asked Cynthia, surprised.
"What is it he _is_ doing? It is only a sort of clerkship, isn't it?"
"A clerkship?" shrieked her mother. "How can you talk such ridic'lous
nonsense? A clerkship? Absurd! He's McCullough's right hand--quite
his right hand! McCullough says he would be worth twice as much as he
is to-day if he had met Cæsar five years ago. He told your papa so last
week--didn't he, Sam?"
"He did," said the jobber. But there was less conviction in his tone.
This was new, and he hadn't taught himself to try to credit it yet.
"He told your papa that Cæsar's power of--er--of gripping a subject
was immense; he had never met anything like it. He consults him in
everything; he doesn't take a step without asking Cæsar's opinion
first; I don't suppose a young man ever had such an extraordinary
position before. Clerkship? Ho, you don't know what you're talking
about!"
Kent gave the conversation a twist by inquiring Miss Wix's number, as
he and Cynthia would have to pay her a visit; and, on searching for her
address, Mrs. Walford discovered, with much surprise, that she was not
in Brunswick Square, after all, but that her one room was in a street
leading out of it.
The mistake was unimportant. Moreover, his mind was too much occupied
for him really to think of making social calls on any one but Turquand.
To the office of _The Outpost_ he betook himself next morning, and
learnt that his friend was at Brighton until Monday. This did not look
as if he had been pressed for his six pounds, but in other respects it
was disappointing. Kent proceeded from _The Outpost_ to the offices
of two other papers, where he left advertisements, and after that he
had only to stroll back through the streets, which looked very ugly
and depressing after Paris, to Ludgate Hill. Luncheon was over when he
re-entered the villa, but it had not been cleared away, and he found
Cynthia in the dining-room alone, reading a novel. He noted, with as
agreeable surprise as she could have afforded him, that it was the copy
of his own book that he had given to Mrs. Walford on their return from
Dieppe. He looked at his wife kindly.
"Turk's not in town," he said, helping himself to cold sirloin
and salad; "gone to Brighton for a day or two. I've paid for my
advertisements. Have you sent off yours yet, to try to induce a general
servant to accept a situation?"
Cynthia shook her head meaningly, and came across and took a chair
beside him.
"Kemp is awfully nice with Baby," she said; "she is upstairs with him
now, and on the whole I've been thinking that we had better not hurry
to get home again; we had better be a long time arranging matters,
Humphrey! While we are here we haven't any expenses."
Kent stared, and then smiled.
"This is abominable morality," he said. "Paris has certainly corrupted
you, young woman. And, besides, your people would worry my life out
with questions. Nothing puts me in a worse temper than being asked what
my news is when I haven't any."
"That's all very well, my dear boy, but we have no money. There's a
quarter's rent overdue now, isn't there? and we should only have a
month's peace before the tradespeople began to bother. I really think
we ought to take two or three weeks, at all events, finding a girl;
I do indeed. Mamma and papa would beg us to stop if they knew what a
state we were in; it seems to me we ought to do it without giving them
the--ahem--needless pain of listening to our confession."
"You're very specious," laughed Kent. The semi-serious conclusion
might have been uttered by himself, and he approved the tone without
recognising the model. "Has your mother noticed that you haven't got
your ring on?"
"No. I couldn't tell her a story about it, and I'm praying that she
won't. I've been envying you your trouser-pockets ever since we
arrived. Don't take ale, Humphrey--have some claret, it will do you
more good. If we sold our furniture----"
"What would it fetch at a sale? And apartments would cost us more than
the house! No ... we'll make ourselves welcome here for a week or so.
And--well, let's hope the advertisements will turn up trumps! Then we
shall be independent."
One of the advertisements was to appear on Monday.