if my bags were brought up from the ground floor in order that they might not be stolen. Nothing was ever stolen in the Hotel Montana. In other fondas, yes. Not here. No. The personages of this establishment were rigidly selectioned. I was happy to hear it. Nevertheless I would welcome the upbringal of my bags.
The maid came in and said that the female English wanted to see the male English now, at once.
"Good," I said. "You see. It is as I said."
"Clearly."
I followed the maid's back down a long, dark corridor. At the end she knocked on a door.
"Hello," said Brett. "Is it you, Jake?"
"It's me."
"Come in. Come in."
I opened the door. The maid closed it after me. Brett was in bed. She had just been brushing her hair and held the brush in her hand. The room was in that disorder produced only by those who have always had servants.
"Darling!" Brett said.
I went over to the bed and put my arms around her. She kissed me, and while she kissed me I could feel she was thinking of something else. She was trembling in my arms. She felt very small.
"Darling! I've had such a hell of a time."
"Tell me about it."
"Nothing to tell. He only left yesterday. I made him go."
"Why didn't you keep him?"
"I don't know. It isn't the sort of thing one does. I don't think I hurt him any."
"You were probably damn good for him."
"He shouldn't be living with any one. I realized that right away."
