FROM JACK WINSTON TO LORD LANE
Grand Hotel, Toulon,
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 à 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'hôte dinner. I therefore confessed my pennilessness to the shopman, and asked if I should be likely to find a mont-de-piété 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 tête-à-tête. 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'œuvres, 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