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It Pays to Smile

by Nina Wilcox Putnam · English · Gutenberg #42772 · 453,101 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: It Pays to Smile

Author: Nina Wilcox Putnam


        
Release date: May 23, 2013 [eBook #42772]
                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT PAYS TO SMILE ***

IT PAYS TO SMILE
       *       *       *       *       *
NINA WILCOX PUTNAM




It Pays to Smile

       *       *       *       *       *

By NINA WILCOX PUTNAM

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers
New York

Published by arrangement with George H. Doran Company




COPYRIGHT, 1920,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY




TO
GEORGE HORACE LORIMER
THE ALL-AMERICAN EDITOR




IT PAYS TO SMILE




I


Since the very beginnings of Boston my people, who were, as every school
child knows, an integral part of the original colony, had the
commendable habit of recording all those events which bore in a manner
either psychological or physiological upon their households or upon the
affairs of state, in which they were ever active. In truth I make small
doubt that but for the Talbots there would have been no Boston, or at
least certainly no information regarding it recorded in intelligible
English. And though in my girlhood I conceived my ancestors' style to be
a trifle jejune and was myself fond of lighter and more frivolous works
such as those of Emerson and Walter Pater, a weakness to which I confess
with all due humility, I nevertheless realize the importance of the
writings of my family and the desirability of maintaining our tradition
of making an accurate record of such pertinent events as come under my
immediate observation in order that future generations in their search
after truth may have a reliable monument to depend upon. And this
resolve has been greatly strengthened by perusing the ill-written,
outrageously sensational and ill-considered newspaper versions of the
affair which has so recently brought our historic name into the public
notice under such distressingly vulgar and conspicuous circumstances.

Of course Talbot, the chauffeur, has enjoyed it all immensely, thereby
to my mind proving once and for all that he has no genuine claim upon
the name, and that his pretension of belonging to a younger Western
branch is, as I have consistently maintained, absolutely fallacious. But
I show weakness by digression. Permit me to recount the tale from its
true beginning, which was, of course, my unfortunate answering of that
advertisement in the _Transcript_.

When the wretched thing came to my attention Euphemia and I were seated
at the supper table; she at the head and I at the side--a custom she has
insisted upon since our parents' death, her position being that due to
the elder sister and the rightful head of the family; and the table has
continued to be set thus, though at the time of my rebellion I was fifty
and she sixty, and it was absurd that she should maintain a formality
instituted when she was twenty and I was ten. I had often disputed with
her about it, but to no avail.

"My dear Freedom," she would rebuke me, "I am the elder and I know what
is best for youth. So long as I am here this household shall be
conducted properly!"

And nothing served to move her from that point of view.

Well, upon the portentous evening when my rebellion began we were
sitting as usual, promptly at five-thirty, in the cheerful if shabby
dining room of our vast and dilapidated old mansion on Chestnut Street,
with the sun shining brightly upon the neatly darned table linen, the
zinnias from the garden and the few remaining bits of family silver. It
can hardly be said that Old Sol spread his refulgent glory upon very
much to eat, for he did not, there being nothing but a pot of tea, four
very thin half slices of toast and the evening _Transcript_. According
to her custom Euphemia looked at this first herself.

"I perceive that the Republican Party is indignant with the
Administration," she informed me. "And that a mail service is to be
established by air from New York. How shocking! The postman will very
likely drop things from the aëroplane! I don't approve of the Government
taking such risks with other people's letters. It is positively
unseemly. Letters should be brought to one's door by a person with a
blue coat and a whistle."

"They probably will be," I ventured. "The radical changes in life only
affect the big things at first."

Euphemia gave me a sharp look.

"Don't think too much, Freedom," she admonished me. "It is unfeminine in
a younger person. And take care--your jabot almost went into your tea!"

I set down the cup, which I had in truth been holding in such a way that
my lace cravat was endangered. I am occasionally rather given to
daydreaming; a reprehensibly slack mental habit of which I have been
unable wholly to break myself, and I was grateful for the merited
reproof. Well, I set down the cup and put out my hand for the newspaper,
which Euphemia, having glanced at the headlines, had finished reading.
Again she rebuked me, this time with a gesture, and rang the bell. I
subsided until the fourteen-year-old colored girl who constituted our
domestic staff made her appearance, enveloped in a white apron which
gave her a curiously grown-up appearance when viewed from the front, as
it had been intended for an adult and reached the floor, but which, seen
from the rear, revealed her immaturity.

"Galadia, hand this paper to Miss Freedom!" said Euphemia with dignity.
And when the child had complied: "That is all; you may go!"

And Galadia made her exit, slamming the kitchen door behind which her
voice immediately rose in song:

  _Kiss yo' Honey-Baby-Doll!_

"Good heavens!" exclaimed my sister, rising in wrath. "What ever will
become of that child?"

And gathering her woolen shawl about her she swept into the kitchen, her
cap strings tremulous with indignation, and I was left to a swift and
guilty perusal of the newspaper. I use the adjective "guilty" because I
knew how thoroughly Euphemia would disapprove of the section to which I,
for the seventh time in as many days, turned. It was the advertising
page that I selected, and my eagerness was resultant from a desperate
resolution which I had secretly made.

I was going to work.

For the first time in the history of my ancient and honorable family, a
female Talbot was seeking remunerative employment. Terrible as I knew
this act to be I was unalterably resolved upon it, and was keeping my
secret from my dear sister only until armed with actual employment, for
I was but too well aware of what her attitude would be, and determined
to waste no time in disputing a theoretical situation, but once
strengthened by actually being engaged in some capacity I would face her
wrath. Besides, were she to learn prematurely of my plan, she was quite
capable of attempting to lock me in my chamber as a preventive measure.

But though so long recreant in my decision to take what after mature
consideration I deemed the right and proper course, it was not for
nothing that my parents, despairing of ever being blessed with a son,
had bestowed upon me the family name of Freedom. There had always been a
male Freedom Talbot, and his tradition had ever justified his name; and
at length I was determined to live up to it.

My desperate decision had, of course, a pecuniary basis. We were poor;
there is no denying it. Our parents had left us the house and an income
of seven hundred a year, which for two maidens who would presumably
marry was not insufficient in the day of our inheritance. But no mate
ever having chosen either of us, or been chosen by either of us, and the
cost of living having risen so inexplicably, our situation had gradually
become greatly altered. Euphemia steadily opposed the idea of any
remunerative work, no matter how genteel, and so far I had unwillingly
submitted, the more readily because we were utterly without training or
equipment. But when in a single week the tax on the house was increased
simultaneously with the price of butter, my resolve took shape, and my
perusal of the advertising sheets began.

On this fateful evening the "Wanted" column at first appeared to be more
than usually devoid of possibilities. There were the usual "Perfect
36-38" for Jewish concerns that apparently manufactured clothing.
Shopgirls were needed, and houseworkers, but I could not bring myself to
either of these occupations except as a last resort. Typists were also
desired, and bookkeepers; but I feared my lack of practical education
would count against me. A traveling saleslady was wanted, and a book
agent; and as I was pondering the possibilities set forth by these my
eye fell upon the fateful notice which led to all my strange adventures.
It was printed rather larger than its fellows, and set forth an
extraordinary request.

     WANTED: An indigent old lady of impeccable social standing, to act
     as chaperon to a common young girl who is motherless. Must be
     dowdy, incompetent, financially embarrassed, snobbish, and never
     employed before. No pretenders will be considered. Excellent salary
     and a chance to see the world. Apply Apartment --, Plaza Hotel,
     between five and seven P.M.

Conceive, if you can, the astonishment with which I perused this
advertisement. Had I inserted it myself, stating the sort of position
for which I was best fitted, I could in all candor have stated my case
and situation no better. Indeed I was obliged to reread the notice
several times before feeling able to credit my own senses. Then I tore
the corner containing it from the paper, hastily concealed it in my
reticule, refolded the remaining sheets in such a fashion as to conceal
the damage done, and laid it, as was our custom, upon the files under
the china closet.

Then with quickly beating heart I got the porcelain tub and suds, spread
the oilcloth upon the side table and completed my daily task of washing
and putting away the tea china with fingers which trembled so that they
were scarcely equal to the task.

Then, when Galadia, who refused to dwell with us continuously, had been
sent home to her parents, and Euphemia had settled herself to her
crochet work in the drawing-room I stole upstairs, upon the pretext of a
slight headache, and in the privacy of my chamber again perused that
amazing scrap of paper.

Could it by chance be the expression of some dull person's humor? Was it
possibly a snare of some kind? But no, the last seemed improbable
inasmuch as the requirements were a direct negation of anything which
would appear desirable to the kidnapper or any such vicious character.
Moreover, the address given inspired a degree of confidence, because,
though I was under the impression that all expensive and fashionable
hotels must be--well, not suitable for the conservative female element
of our dear city to frequent, still there could be no real danger
incident to a visit to them by a person like myself, who sought no evil.
Considering this point I looked at my dear father's watch, which I
always carried--Euphemia very properly having pre-empted mother's--and
discovered that the hour was but six.

Then my resolution took firm hold upon me, and without more ado I got
out my bonnet and pinned it on with resolute fingers, found my best silk
gloves, and taking my dolman and reticule crept softly down the stairs,
excitement high within my breast.

At the door of the once-elegant, now shabby reception room I paused to
peek at Euphemia's unconscious back which was just visible, very stiff
and correct, in the lonely drawing-room beyond. Fortunately she did not
hear me, and having thus, as it were, silently saluted her, and feeling
uncommonly like an errant daughter about to consummate an elopement, I
shut the front door behind me with care and stepped forth into the
roseate late afternoon sunlight and my desperate adventure.

I find it difficult indeed to express the mixture of trepidation and
elation which possessed me upon this occasion. The very streets,
familiar since childhood, took on a strange aspect, and the walk to the
hotel was magically shortened by my excitement, though on its threshold
I hesitated and might have turned back at the last moment had it not
been for the inquiring gaze of the large uniformed colored person who
stood at the doorway. Fearful that he would address me if I delayed
longer I gathered courage anew and entered through a most alarming
revolving door.

I had never been in this hotel before, and neither had any of the ladies
of my acquaintance, with the exception of Annie Tresdale, whose cousin
from Chicago stayed there overnight and had Annie to luncheon; and she,
I was aware, had felt the most severe criticism of the place owing to
the fact that a female had smoked a cigarette in the dining room. I
afterward ascertained that it was Annie's cousin who had done this, and
so, of course, we never discussed the subject further. But I will
confess the place bore no aspect of viciousness beyond a good many
electric fixtures, and the young man at the desk was exceedingly polite
and helpful, considering the number of persons who were simultaneously
trying to engage his attention.

"Apartment B? Oh, yes; for Mr. Pegg!" said he in reply to my query.
"There is one lady up there already! Boy! Show madam up to Mr. Pegg!"

And at this a youth appareled as a page took me in charge and led me to
what I at once perceived to be an elevator. At the door I balked.

"I prefer to walk if there are stairs," said I.

The page looked as if he thought I had gone suddenly mad.

"It's six flights!" he said. And so I, realizing that the building was
indeed a tall one, followed him into the trap, in which were several
other persons, who appeared to me to be uncannily nonchalant.
Maintaining as dignified an exterior as I could I concealed my alarm at
what was a wholly novel experience to me, and was presently disgorged,
quite unharmed, upon what the page assured me was the seventh story. He
then preceded me down an interminable blue-carpeted hallway and paused
before a door upon which he tapped.

After a moment it was opened by a manservant of extremely respectable
appearance.

"Mr. Pegg?" I inquired.

"From the advertisement, madam?" said the servant.

"Yes," I replied with dignity.

"Is that all?" said the page.

"That is all, thank you, little boy," I replied, at which the child
departed with an air of disappointment.

And then the manservant ushered me into a magnificent anteroom done in
gold paneling and mauve velvet upholstery, most beautiful and in the
best of taste. I subsequently ascertained that I was in the royal suite
of the hotel, and that it occupied the entire floor.

"Will you be seated, please?" said the servant, handing me to a golden
armchair. I dropped his arm, which I had taken upon entering, as is the
custom in my circle where a butler is still maintained. "Mr. Pegg is
interviewing another applicant in the drawing-room, but I believe he
will shortly be at liberty." And with that he left me.

I took a tentative perch on the very edge of my magnificent seat,
clasping my reticule firmly and feeling as though I had suddenly
discovered myself in the midst of a dream which refused the
half-conscious mind the acknowledgment of unreality. It was
extraordinary, really, and I wondered who and what the unseen applicant
might be, and if the position might not already be filled. I almost
hoped it was, so overpowering was the room in which I sat, and yet it
was patent that the advertiser must truly be a person of means and that
the emolument would be considerable--certainly not less than four or
five hundred a year--and I trembled at the thought that perhaps fortune
had already dedicated this to another.

But before many moments had passed the door into the adjoining room was
opened and two persons entered--a man and a woman--the later
unquestionably my predecessor.

She was a vulgar overdressed person much younger than myself, and at the
moment her attractions were not enhanced by a fit of anger. Her language
was wholly unintelligible to me.

"Of course I thought you was a motion-picture bird!" she snapped, "and
character parts is my middle name. Me a governess? My Lord--not for a
gift!"

"Don't trouble yourself; nobody'll try and force it on you," said the
man. "Good day, ma'am!"

And he opened the outer door for her impudent departure. Upon closing it
after her he caught sight of me and stared. I confess I returned the
favor quite involuntarily, for Mr. Pegg was certainly the most
extraordinary man I had ever seen. He was about six feet four inches in
height, and so heavy that at first his tallness was hardly remarkable.
He was perhaps sixty years of age, though magnificently preserved, and
his ruddy clean-shaven face had a jaw which my dear father would have
described as "iron." His expensive clothing was worn with a negligent
air, and his voice was like the roar of a lion.

"Jumping--er--grasshoppers!" he exclaimed, his eyes riveted upon me.
"Are you made up for the part?"

At once I rose to my feet in proper indignation.

"I never paint!" I exclaimed angrily. "My color is natural, though
perhaps unusual at my age. If it is your intention to get gentlewomen
here merely to insult them, Mr. Pegg, I have no further occasion for
remaining!"

To my surprise Mr. Pegg merely chuckled at this, and then assuming a
more composed manner held open the door to the inner room, making a deep
and courteous bow as he did so.

"My dear madam--a thousand pardons!" he said. "You seemed too real to be
anything genuine. Please walk in."

And so, wondering if perhaps the poor man was insane, and far from
feeling at ease, I complied, entering an enormous drawing-room and
accepting the seat on the far side of an incongruously littered
table--filled with papers, notes, and so on, and all the paraphernalia
of a business man's desk. Mr. Pegg took the armchair behind it and
settled to a critical inspection of me, though he did not look at me
continuously. I faced the sunset, but as my face was clean, and as at my
age I had got past attempting concealment of my crow's feet, I was quite
composed--outwardly. Yet I could feel that his glance rested upon my
hat, my hair, my silk gloves, my walkrite boots, even--though they were
discreetly covered by my dress. And all at once my terror of him
diminished. It would be difficult to say just why, but very possibly it
was the tone of his voice when he spoke again, for though his diction
was shockingly incorrect there was a certain kindliness, a gentleness to
it which was unmistakably genuine.

"You ain't a Winthrop by any chance, are you, madam?" he asked.

"No my name is Talbot," said I.

And then as he appeared a trifle disappointed I elaborated, for his
ignorance was patent. "My ancestors came over a generation before
Winthrop," I said gently, for, of course, I would not like that family
to hear that I had in any way classified them as _nouveaux_.

"Ah!" said Mr. Pegg, brightening again. "That's fine! That's fine, Madam
Talbot--a real aristocrat!"

"I am Miss Talbot," I again corrected him.

"Well," said he doubtfully, "of course, that's not quite as desirable as
a widow would be, is it now? To take care of my daughter, I mean. Still,
in some ways an old maid is better. More particular, you'd be. And
what's more, you are born blue-blooded, not just married to it!"

"Mr. Pegg," said I, "will you not set forth the exact nature of the
occupation you propose for me?"

"That's it!" he cried, thumping the table. "That's the stuff exactly.

"I beg pardon?" said I.

"Talk like that!" he shouted. "And learn her to talk the same--give her
some class!"

"You expect me to teach your daughter grammar?"

"Teach her everything!" said the giant. "Polish her up; finish her
off--but not by instructin' her. My Lord, no! She'd never stand for it!
Just stick round--be with her--let a little Boston rub off on her, and
set her right when she makes a break."

"A sort of governess?" I ventured.

"Companion, chaperon--you get me!" said her parent, and leaned back in
his chair beaming satisfaction. "Now look-a-here, Miss Talbot, I'll put
the matter straight to you. I am a rich man, but I'm a roughneck and I
know it. There is a few things I ain't been able to buy for myself, and
refinement is one of them. But I calculate to pry off a little for my
Peaches--no culls on this family tree if a little pruning and grafting
can turn it into a perfect Seedless Apperson. Does that mean anything to
you?"

I reflected a moment, and though the man's actual terminology was
unintelligible to me the sense of his imagery was somehow perfectly
clear.

"You speak of her as a young tree!" said I. "I think I do understand.
'Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.'"

This plainly interested him.

"True!" he exclaimed. "Just that. Well, as I was saying, I've just
cleaned up the biggest deal the California fruit growers ever heard
of--and I started out as a picker with a bunch of Hindus, getting four
cents a lug for oranges! To-day I've got--well, it don't matter how many
millions; and a daughter that's never been let off the home ranch until
three weeks ago. Her mother died when she come. Well--never mind that
either! And now I've made my haul and I've got a little time to give
her--and to living generally. I'm a practical man, Miss Talbot. When I
commence grafting a new orchard of Golden Americans on a twenty-acre
stretch of old wild stock I cut, splice and bind it right, and I don't
hurry myself until I get the grafts I want and the proper season and
everything. And the same with the culture of my American Beauty. I've
left her grow strong and wild for twenty years now, and she's about
ready for cultivation. And I feel you are the right one for the job.
You are hired!"

"But my dear Mr. Pegg!" I protested. "You really are not in the least
informed as to my qualifications."

"You don't imagine that a feller that's been picking men for thirty
years--Dagos, Greasers, Japs, Hindus, everything that could strip fruit
or thought they could--needs much wising up about a mere female woman,
do you?" he demanded. "I advertised for exactly what I wanted, and you
are it! You are hired."

"But, Mr. Pegg----" I vainly endeavored to interrupt.

"Your salary will be five thousand dollars a year, your keep and all
expenses," he went on as if I had not spoken. "You will commence work
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock and the next day we sail for Italy and
a course in how to be refined though American."

I assure you that my senses staggered beneath the force of his
announcement. Five thousand dollars a year! Italy! Incredible! Like a
dream come true.

"My Eastern bank is the Guarantee," said he. "Look me up if you like. I
have the money and a honest name. Nobody in the world's got a thing on
me. And as the notice is kind of short, and you might like a little
advance to buy some knitting or something to take with you, here is a
hundred to bind the bargain. And now good night, Miss Talbot--I got the
Eastern Apple Growers coming in ten minutes. See you to-morrow at nine!
Good night, good night!"

And almost immediately I found myself edged into the anteroom, where
already several persons--fruit venders, I presume--were in waiting.

"But, Mr. Pegg," I managed to ejaculate, "your daughter may not like me.
Am I not to meet her before I leave?"

"I should say not!" exclaimed her father. "She doesn't know anything
about this. I am leaving the breaking of the whole idea to you! Good
night!"

With these alarming words the door shut behind me; and presently, I
scarcely knew how, I found myself once more upon the solid reality of
the Boston street, with only the hundred-dollar bill as evidence that
the whole experience had been other than a dream.




II


As my dear father used to say, it is personality rather than character
which holds the world's attention, and this was undoubtedly the case
with Miss Alicia Pegg, or Peaches, as she was termed by her surviving
parent. It is the unqualified fact that even at this tumultuous period
of my life it is her personality rather than my esteemed sister's
character which overshadows my memory. And although without doubt
Euphemia's impeccable virtue and righteousness should have won the
struggle I find myself impatient of her just reproaches, her critical
indignation, and even of her final cold and terrible dismissal of me
from the house of my fathers as meet punishment for the crime of earning
five thousand dollars per annum; a feat which she somehow contrived to
make appear in the light of an outrage unworthy of serious discussion,
and rendering me unfit to remain longer under the paternal roof.

True, I had already dismissed myself before she did so, the fact being
implicit in my agreement with Mr. Pegg. And as for my father's roof,
there had been rather more than a likelihood of its being permanently
removed from over both our heads had we attempted to remain beneath it
in idleness much longer. But Euphemia was a true woman--far more
genuinely feminine than I shall ever be, and her heart ever overruled
her reason. In fact she had often publicly maintained that it was
unwomanly to reason very much. Secondly, I had for weeks anticipated
that the announcement of my intention of going to work would result in a
terrible scene, and so was somewhat prepared for the deluge, though I
had hoped it would be less violent than it proved.

I will draw a veil over this section of my narrative, because it
was purely a family affair, of no possible interest to the public,
and I do not believe that sister truly meant all that she said.
Suffice to recount that I left her seventy-five dollars with the
promise--unaccepted--to send more shortly, and departed at eight-thirty
the following morning, taking a few belongings in the small trunk which
I had had at school when a girl, and receiving a tearful farewell from
Galadia, if not from my dear sister, for whom in reality I was setting
forth into the wide world.

"Freedom Talbot," said I to myself as the hack which I had felt
justified in hiring to transport me to the hotel moved away--"Freedom
Talbot, face the world with a smile--and soon you will be smiling in
your heart. Freedom should mean more than a name to you--it should mean
and must mean the welcoming of adventure."

And thus resolutely putting behind me the last vestige of feminine
weakness I assumed in spirit at least the attitude which I knew my dear
father would have required of the son he had hoped I would be, and was
presently set down before the hotel, where I directed the porter about
my trunk, surrendered my dear father's umbrella, my own folding lace
parasol and dolman, together with my valise, to the same little boy who
had so kindly attended me the day before, and for whom I had remembered
to bring a package of ginger cookies. Even the elevator, that flying
gilded bird cage, held no terrors for me to-day, and I ascended to the
seventh floor without a qualm.

So much for character and its hold upon the human mind. The entire
episode of leaving what for fifty years had been my home is somewhat
hazy. What I encountered upon entering the anteroom of the
Copley-Plaza's royal suite for the second time I shall never forget. And
this evidences my claim regarding personality.

It was precisely one minute of nine by my dear father's chronometer, and
my arrival must have been expected, and yet several moments elapsed
prior to the opening of the door outside of which I stood. In point of
fact I eventually opened it myself, inasmuch as it was not quite closed
and from the noise inside I deduced that my knocking and the ringing of
the small boy who accompanied me were not discernible above the clamor.
The most amazing language came out to me.

"Come on you, seven!" said a female voice excitedly. "Oh baby! Come, you
loving little Joe!" said a male voice.

It was at this juncture that I entered, the patience and perhaps the
curiosity of my young companion breaking under the strain, and then we
beheld a most remarkable picture.

Seated upon either end of the gold-and-marble table in the middle of the
magnificent and formal apartment were a young man and a young woman. The
latter was in the very act of shaking dice from the palm of her hand. I
at once recognized them because my dear father indulged in backgammon,
and possessed a pair. But the young female who was occupied with them
resembled nothing I had ever before encountered.

To begin with, she was of tremendous height--the tallest girl I had ever
beheld or ever shall, standing, as I afterward ascertained, six feet two
without the unwholesome French heels she later affected. Her exquisite
face was as clear cut and regular of feature as that upon the shell
cameo which my dear father gave my dear mother when they became
betrothed. Her hair was so brilliantly gold as to seem artificially
gilded--not with chemicals but with burnished metal--and waved low over
her ears with a grace impossible of imitation by the hair dresser's art.
Her coloring was perfect and her wide set eyes were startlingly dark
brown, as were the rather heavy brows above them.

This young Juno was clad in a dress of violet satin heavily embroidered
in gold and coral beads, a garment clearly intended for the most
elaborate of afternoon functions, and this costume was further
embellished by a pair of black-and-white sports shoes, such as are worn
upon tennis courts. But curiously enough this outrageous costume was not
the first thing that registered upon my vision. The girl herself shone
like the sun, dwarfing her garments and almost neutralizing them.

Of the young man I will say only this: He was a chauffeur, properly
liveried, and though a clean, decent-looking young man, he was a
distinctly common person, a thought which curiously did not occur to me
until later. He was an ugly young man with a long nose.

It was a full moment that I stood in the doorway before they saw me, and
then the girl slid from her perch with a blank look of amazement.

"Judas Priest! Holy mackerel!" she said involuntarily. Then quickly
recovering herself she came forward politely. "I guess you are in the
wrong pew," she said. "Did you want anybody?"

"It's for you, Miss Peaches," said the infant who carried my luggage.
"The new nurse has came."

"What d'yer mean--new nurse?" queried the beauty, wrinkling her handsome
nose. "Are you sure this is for our ranch?"

"Perhaps your father has been up to something new, Peaches," said the
chauffeur, sliding from his end of the table and removing the cap, which
had all the time remained upon the back of his red head.

I felt it time to enlighten them.

"I am the new governess for Miss Alicia Pegg," I said with what dignity
I could muster under the circumstances. "Mr. Pegg engaged me yesterday."

"There!" exclaimed the chauffeur. "I told you so!"

"Shut up, Dicky!" snapped the beauty, becoming suddenly serious, not to
say alarmed, and looking down upon me from her enormous height very much
as if I had been something terrible--like, say, a mouse. "Shut up,
Dicky, and let me handle this. So my old man hired you, did he?" she
went on gravely. "Without a word to me! Well, that's not your fault. We
will have to talk this over in private. Sit down, ma'am; here's a nice
chair. Get out, cutie!"

This last was addressed to the little page boy, who promptly dropped my
baggage and prepared for flight. There was that in the young woman's
voice which betrayed the habit of command. But with a gesture I detained
him.

"Wait, little boy. I have something for you this time!" I said.

The boy stopped in his tracks and waited quite as promptly as if it were
a custom with him, while I delved into the depths of my reticule and
produced six nice brown sugar cookies, which I presented. He was
pleased, I perceived that. Indeed he was quite wordless with surprise.
But I knew they were wholesome and that six were not too many, and
presently he was shut out by the chauffeur, who leaned against the
closed portal shaking with unaccountable mirth. Miss Pegg seemed to see
no humor in the situation any more than did I myself, but led me to the
window and made me sit there opposite her. The Dick person leaned
against the center table, toying with the dice.

"What's the name, did you say?" she inquired.

"My name is Freedom Talbot--Miss Talbot!" said I.

"Gee! That's funny!" said Miss Peaches Pegg.

"It sure is!" remarked the chauffeur.

"It's Dick's name, too!" said my hostess. "Make you acquainted--shake
hands with Mr. Talbot, Miss Talbot!"

There was nothing to do but acquiesce, for the young chap without the
least trace of self-consciousness came forward most politely.

"Pleased to meetcher!" he said. "I wonder are you any relative to my
Aunt Lucy? That's my father's sister, but he got killed in a gun fight
up to Nome."

"I scarcely think it likely," said I. "Our family is practically
extinct."

"Well, never mind the family tree just now!" said Alicia. "And let's get
down to cases on this dry-nurse business. Of course, Miss Talbot, I
realize you are not to blame in this. But it's got to be understood
right here and now. Tell me what the old boy put over on me this time?"

Well, I recounted the tale in as much detail as I could recall, amid
continuous interruptions from my strange audience, beginning with my
situation at home, and ending with my quarrel with Euphemia. When my
recital was complete Miss Peaches gave a long whistle, which feat was
amazingly expressive of her emotions.

"Well, see here, Miss Freedom," she said. "As I get the dope, it is,
that you are to take me out and show me the world and everything--to
teach me what little it is proper for me to know--and how to tell the
culls from the sound fruit? Well, well! Do you believe you can do it?"

"I, of course, believe that I would be a proper influence and shield for
a young woman!" I replied quietly. "Else I would not have engaged to
perform such a task."

"And you'd sure be gosh-awful disappointed if you didn't go to Europe,
wouldn't you?" she went on.

As I made no reply to this she continued to guide the conversation.

"I think you are a damn good sport to break away at your age," she went
on. "And it would be a crime to send you back to the corral. I know just
how it must feel."

"I bet you do!" said the Dick person. "After the ranch!"

"You see, he means our home ranch," the girl explained. "Pa has kept me
there since I was a seedling. Never been away from it until three weeks
ago--kept me pure and healthy and everything. But I've got fed up on it,
and I'm glad to get loose and see life, even with you tagging along.
Tell you what I'll do. So long as you've got your camp all broke I'll
help you to see the world if you'll help me to see the world instead of
preventing it. I'll be reasonable if you will. Are you on?"

"I am!" said I, half hypnotized by her charm. "I'm on!"

"Good! It's a bet!" cried Peaches, suddenly shaking my hand with a grip
of most unladylike vigor. "Now let's dope this out some more. I've
bought all the clothes in the stores in San Francisco, at least all
costing over a hundred dollars each, as befits my new society stunt, so
we ought to start right off and go some place where we know somebody
besides the head waiters. Do you really know a lot of swells?"

"I--well, really--I know the proper people, of course," said I. "But I
don't think that you would fancy Boston very much."

"Oh, Boston is all O. K." she said. "Only, of course, it's not like San
Francisco--or even Fresno. No pep, and a rotten climate. Don't you know
any gay ducks some other place?"

"Well, let me cogitate the matter," said I. "I know the Loringstons, in
New York--two charming maiden ladies."

"Hold me--or I'll die of excitement!" said Peaches. "Nothing doing! If
I've got to be pushed into the world of fashion and gayety I want there
to be some class to it--snappy stuff--titles and everything. Do you know
any titles?"

"Only the dean of Radcliffe," I responded; "unless one were to except
the Countess Veruchio. But she lives in Monte Carlo. She was my first
cousin until she married this foreign person."

Miss Pegg's large eyes grew incredibly larger, and instinctively she
turned her gaze toward the neglected dice upon the center table. I
shuddered at her words which followed. Had I already, unwittingly in my
novitiate as guide, mentor and friend, set her upon evil ways? I deeply
feared so.

"A countess!" she breathed. "Monte Carlo! Why, that's in Italy! Oh boy!
Oh boy! Say, do they rattle the bones at Monte Carlo?"




III


How many persons must perforce get all their romance at second hand! Of
course, as my dear father often said, gentlewomen should get their
experiences from books and from the stage, and no lady experiences the
primal emotions except vicariously. But none the less I had occasionally
been aware of the desire to live more full a life than hitherto
circumstance had rendered possible. Now I was brought into such intimate
contact with a young career that I felt almost as though I were indeed
living it myself, and not half an hour after my entrance upon my new
duties I was, as it were, engulfed in the personality of my charge.

"Come on into your room!" she said, picking up my carpetbag as easily as
if it had been a mere trifle. "Come on, Dicky; bring the box!"

The Dicky person obeyed whistling a jaunty tune, and presently I found
myself established in a most luxurious bedroom. The chauffeur vanished,
closing the door, and Peaches, disposing the luggage upon a receptable
constructed for that very purpose, perched upon the foot of the bed, her
long limbs making that lofty elevation none too high for her. I soon
learned that she seldom sat upon a chair if anything else offered.

"Say, Miss Talbot," she began as I laid out my toilet articles--"say,
Miss Talbot, isn't Dick a king?"

"Eh?" said I, startled.

"I said isn't Dick a corker?" she repeated. "Do you know, I would have
just about died out on the ranch if it hadn't been for him. Pa picked
him up in Fresno when he was a hopper--picking hops with a bunch of
greasers. Brought him home for me to play with. We went swimming
together and riding together and everything when we were kids. Then pa
sent him to school with me, and when he got some learning he gave him a
job as foreman on the home outfit."

"He seems a nice young person," said I, "but he is a chauffeur!"

"You bet he is!" said Peaches enthusiastically. "The first car pa bought
made him that! He can do anything with a car. I am in love with him!"

"Miss Pegg!" I said horrified. "A servant! What would your father say!"

"He'd say considerable!" remarked Peaches. "But he doesn't know it. And
anyhow, I don't want to marry Dicky, even if he is your cousin. I just
like being in love with some one, and he's simply crazy about me!"

Her innocence, not to say ignorance, was appalling. High time, indeed,
that she had a proper chaperon!

"You must not play with so serious a subject!" I said severely. "And the
young man is no relation of mine!"

"How can you be sure of that?" asked the terrible young woman. "There
may have been some live wire in your family that went West, you know!"

To this I had no reply, for in point of fact my father's younger brother
had indeed been a wild spirit who refused to enter the ministry and had
vanished to the West, from which region he had never returned nor sent
any token of his existence except, upon one occasion shortly after his
departure, a specimen of polished redwood, which at that very moment was
reposing in our curio cabinet at home. I determined, however, to make no
mention of the circumstances. One is so seldom able to avoid one's
relatives.

"Do you not think a simpler frock would be better for luncheon?" I
asked, changing the subject. Love was rather too personal a matter on
which to press just at first, but really the girl's clothing was
certainly somewhere within my legitimate province. "Your gown is very
beautiful. And you won't be offended, but I am sure your father expects
me to tell you these things."

She looked at my own costume by way of reply; not rudely, but frankly
and interestedly.

"I don't believe you know one scrap more about clothes than I do!" she
said at last. "We both of us look the limit. But after all, what does it
matter? You are dowdy and I am crude, but we should worry!"

"Come on down or pa will be clawing the air," was her greeting.

She left me then to my unpacking and I did not see her again for about
two hours. Then she stuck her head in abruptly, without knocking. "He
certainly can eat, though I don't think much of the food in the East.
You ought to see the meals in California!"

There was no resisting the young giantess. With no further ado she swung
me along to the parlor, where her still more gigantic parent gave me an
absent-minded greeting, quite as if I had been in his employ for years.
He took a sheaf of papers to the table with him, and we descended to the
dining room, I vaguely wondering whether or not the young chauffeur
would join us. Peaches seemed to discern my thought.

"Dick won't eat with us since pa bought him that trick suit of clothes!"
she complained. "And he says he actually likes wearing them, though I
know perfectly well he only does it because he thinks it gives us
class."

During luncheon Mr. Pegg spoke only once.

"All ready to sail to-morrow?" he inquired.

"Yep!" replied his daughter. "Say, pa," she went on, "Miss Talbot's got
a cousin in Monte Carlo that's a honest-to-goodness countess!"

"Cable her we are coming!" said Silas Pegg truculently.

And though I believe that Mentone had been our original destination the
cable was actually dispatched, though I wondered somewhat how Cousin
Abby would receive it. In her girlhood she had been rather formal, and I
entertained a qualm or two about sending it. But we were not asking to
visit her, so things might not be too dreadful after all. Besides which,
I was beginning to experience a distinct liking for these Californians
with all their native crudities. My world was a magic one now, and a
visit to the Veruchio household appeared no more strange than any other
part of my adventure.

Next morning Alicia opened my door quite unceremoniously and disclosed
herself clad in a nautical costume of blue serge with a sailor collar
and a little white hat absurdly set upon her magnificent head.

"Heave ahoy!" she called cheerily. "We are about to sail the ocean blue!
How do you like my pull-for-the-shore effect? Say, have you ever been on
a boat? Is it anything as bad as a Pullman sleeper?"

"My dear, I have been on neither!" I protested.

"Gee, I hope the berths are longer!" she exclaimed. "They were built on
the idea that none of the natives would want to leave California, I
guess, and they were darn near right! So you've never been anywhere.
Well, I had a hunch I'd be the one to do the chaperoning. Never mind,
I'll show you the world. I have decided overnight that I really ought to
take you in charge, and I'm not one to shirk my duty."

"Very well, my dear," said I. "But first may I suggest that a simple
coat and skirt would be less conspicuous and quite as appropriate? Will
you not change to it, if you have one?"

"All right; I will if you will smooth out those groups of curls," said
Peaches, eying me critically.

"But I have worn them always!" I protested, shocked.

"Just the same, they are the limit!" she said stubbornly. "And so are
those silk gloves. Come on, let me fix your hair! No--I have a bright
idea. Let's have the girl that does hair here in the hotel fix you up.
Come on, be a sport!"

I looked at myself in the mirror, and truth to tell my curled fringe did
appear a trifle old-fashioned. But I refused, with thanks and dignity.

"Miss Peaches!" I said. "Your father engaged me as I am, and I feel it
incumbent upon me to remain thus."

"Oh, all right!" said she, and strode out of the room. I fancied she was
angry; but to my surprise, upon our departure she appeared clad in quite
a lady-like tailored suit and a small hat.

"Oh, I know when somebody gives me a real tip," she said, though I
hadn't spoken; and then, accompanied by a most stupendous array of
luggage, including my own small trunk and valise, we set forth upon the
most perilous journey of which I could conceive.

Indeed, indeed I was grateful throughout it for the thought that our
minister, Mr. MacAdams, prayed so loudly for the safety of travelers by
land and sea each Sunday, and that this was Saturday, hence there would
be but little delay between our departure and the weekly renewal of his
petition. For we began our travels in no less a vehicle than a terrific
red automobile driven by the irrepressible Richard, or Dick, Talbot, who
greeted me cheerfully and somehow not actually disrespectfully as
"Cousin Mary," which was not, of course, in any sense correct.

I entered the vehicle with much unuttered protest. I did not like motor
vehicles and had indeed never entered one before, having always
maintained their inelegance. My dear father kept horses, though it is
true he died somewhat prior to the invention of automobiles.
Nevertheless I took my seat beside Mr. Pegg in the rear, and concealed
as best I might a terror which was not lessened when, stopping at the
railway station, Talbot, the chauffeur, was dismissed to gather up some
spare bags, and Peaches took the steering gear. The remainder of the
ride is a blur in my memory, filled with a horrid realization that we
upset an apple cart, or I thought we had, until looking backward I saw
it miraculously intact; that we seemingly murdered two police officers,
most certainly grazed a load of baled hay, and barely escaped collision
with a dozen pedestrians. Yet at the conclusion of this momentous
experience Mr. Pegg, who had calmly smoked a large cheroot during the
trip, complimented his daughter upon her skill. I was beginning to
understand their cryptic speech a little better or else I should not
have comprehended.

"Some speed queen!" he remarked.

"One hoss or sixty, I should trouble which!" said she.

And then Talbot, the chauffeur, or Richard, as I determined to call him,
reappeared, and together with a crowd of porters and other travelers we
passed into the gloomy cavern of a covered dock and up a most precarious
gangway into a ship which differed little upon first acquaintance from
the great hotel we had just left, except that the apartments were rather
smaller. I had once before taken a boat trip to Nantucket to see an old
servant of ours who was ill, and the vessel which conveyed me was not in
the least like the Gigantic. But the impression of the latter's
resemblance to a hotel was presently removed from my mind. In point of
fact everything was removed from not only my mind but from the other
portions of my anatomy which delicacy prevents my dwelling on.

Suffice to state that the fact of our being in possession of the state
apartments, the novelty of the compact arrangements, the excitement of
the trip, the amazing crowds of strangers--all presently were as naught
to me. Even my princely emolument was as nothing, and the sacrifice I
had made for my sister appeared of no importance. Nothing appeared of
any importance except the distress of my body. I longed most ardently
for the stability of the house on Chestnut Street, and it seemed
inconceivable that I had ever left my dear sister of my own free will.
My idea of paradise became distorted from the true conception to a
vision of any place other than that in which I was. Death, once so far
removed from my desire, seemed the only tolerable condition. I may
remark in passing that this state of mind did not develop in me until
after the boat had passed Boston Light and encountered the waters of the
Atlantic.

The account of my first impressions of a transatlantic voyage will never
be written by me, as they contain material fit only for a _materia
medica_. How people can take such a trip for pleasure is to me a mystery
as insoluble as the fourth dimension, which was a favorite topic with my
dear father. But incredible as it may seem, some persons on the boat
actually laid claim to an enjoyable experience, and among these Spartans
were my employer and his daughter; and also, by the latter's evidence,
the chauffeur, who was traveling first class. Peaches came frequently to
the side of my brass bedstead and bathed my forehead with cologne water
the while she attempted to cheer me with an account of her doings.

"I told pa I'd have to look after you!" she said triumphantly. "And I
will. Never mind, Miss Governess, I'll get you to Europe alive and show
you the country. Couldn't you come on deck? It's a swell deck, and
there's the nicest young man up there. We've got acquainted, and Dick is
terribly jealous!"

"Alicia!" I managed to gasp. "Who is the young man?"

"I don't know!" she said truthfully. "I forgot to ask his name, but he's
a regular sailor in good standing."

"Do you mean to say you've scraped acquaintance with a common sailor?" I
said feebly. "Oh! Alicia! I fear I am neglecting my duty to you, and yet
heaven knows I have no choice!"

"If you'd only get up and out you'd be better!" she pronounced. "And we
might find a captain or a mate or something for you. Couldn't you eat a
little steak and onions?" she added anxiously. "It would give you
strength."

Later she returned and sat beside me with a look of rapture upon her
face. I was in an exhausted state despite the herb tea which I had had
made by the sea-going chambermaid from my own medicine cabinet, and
taken with difficulty, yet I was calm enough for her speech to impress
me.

"The moon is up," she said dreamily. "And the waves are like the Sierra
Mountains gone mad and reeling drunkenly in their purple-and-black
mystery, with the foam like the snows that the yellow sun never melts.
The air is like wine. I am glad he kissed me."

"Oh, Peaches, Peaches! Who kissed you?" I moaned, struggling to my elbow
in horror.

"Dick," she replied. "Somebody had to kiss somebody on a night like
this, and it just happened to be us. Don't worry, it really isn't
important. I never lose my head, though between ourselves I sometimes
wish I could. When I do I'll marry the clever man. But I've never met
him yet, and sometimes that makes me sad. I want to be in love. Really
in love. Don't you?"

Despite my condition I could not but be attentive.

"I do not dwell upon such subjects," I replied.

"Oh, yes you do!" said Peaches imperturbably. "Everyone does! Even cows
and birds and Chinese cooks. But some of us, like you, don't have much
luck, and some, like me, have a trick played on them by Nature that
ruins everything."

"How so, my dear?" I asked.

"I'm too tall!" said Peaches in a sudden burst of indignation at fate.
"I'd have to lean over to spoon with anybody I ever met! My shoulder is
the highest and therefore the handiest! My hand is generally the
biggest! Oh, Lord! How can a girl love a man she has to bend down to
kiss?"

And suddenly she rushed from the cabin, overcome with emotion, leaving
me to sniff at a camphor bottle and contemplate an entirely new, to me,
phase of feminine tragedy. And incidentally to feel more deeply a sense
of the responsibility of my position toward this amazingly innocent,
terrifyingly frank young savage, who wanted to be in love and did not
hesitate to say so, and who kissed the chauffeur simply and solely
because it was a moonlit night! I felt thoroughly convinced that
Euphemia would not approve of any such conduct, and that my dear father
would have condemned it utterly, and I made every effort to rise next
day and finish out the voyage in close proximity to my charge.

But somehow or other the span of time had escaped me during my
indisposition, and upon completing my toilet, with the aid of the young
person who had brewed my herb tea, I learned to my astonishment that we
were in port and that my ability to rise was founded, not, as I had
fancied, in my having attained what is rather indelicately known as "sea
legs," but was due to the fact of the boat being at a standstill. I only
then realized that I had been ill for five days. Richard, the chauffeur,
accompanied Peaches when she came to get me, and somehow or other they
evolved me through the complications of the dock, and at last I stood
upon foreign soil.

Not, of course, that the English are really foreigners, as my dear
father often remarked. But I must confess that the soil of Liverpool
felt quite foreign to me. It appeared, in fact, entirely unsteady and
of a heaving disposition, more what one might have expected of the
neighborhood of Vesuvius and the other earthquake countries. But Peaches
only laughed at me when I called her attention to the circumstance.

"It's you that's unsteady, not the street!" she jeered. "Gee, what a
town! What a country! They ought to see San Francisco! Why, we've done
twice as well in half the time!"

I confess I was disappointed with what I saw of England, which was
little enough, because Mr. Pegg stopped only long enough to pick up an
English car, which had been ordered far in advance and was awaiting us
at Liverpool. It was a monstrous affair of black trimmed with vermilion,
and recalled to my mind nothing so much as the far-famed dragon which
was slain by St. George--so strong and fierce and capable it looked.
Richard, the chauffeur, almost wept at sight of it.

"Oh, baby doll!" he said over and over. "If that isn't some engine!"

"Some lug box!" remarked Peaches in that cryptic language in which she
spoke to her familias. "Must have set pa back a bushel of berries!"

"I want to hit the trail for the Calais boat!" said Mr. Pegg. "We aren't
going to stay in England. There's no art in England. I had an English
remittance man working for me once and he told me so. He says all the
good art is in the Catholic countries, except what has been smuggled out
of them. He told me so, and he was a educated feller. He educated me out
of the entire pay roll one week, and is now working for the U. S.
Government in San Quentin."

"But, Mr. Pegg!" I ventured to protest. "Think of Westminster Abbey and
the Tower and Stratford-on-Avon, the home of Shakespere, and--and real
English muffins and English culture generally. Surely you do not intend
to deprive your daughter of it?"

"Not by a damn sight. Meaning no offense, Miss Talbot!" said Silas. "But
the trouble is they all speak English over here, and we got enough
Boston accent right on your person. I figure that foreign travel is
foreign travel, and I mean we should go right to Rome, the home of art;
and after we do it up thoroughly, work back along the coast where they
speak in Italian and French. Somehow it's foreigner!"

There was no denying that, and disappointed as I was I held my peace.
Mr. Pegg had a way of ordering our existence ahead, as if we were a part
of his business. And indeed I presently ascertained that the plunge
toward Italy was at bottom a commercial undertaking. It was the orange
and olive groves, not the art galleries, that lured him.

"I'm thinking of forming an American-Italian olive crushers'
association," he confided to me as we sped alarmingly along a toy road
amidst scenes which I am sure would have proved quaint had we been going
slowly enough to see them. "And an orange trust that will be a
world-wide proposition. Oranges are a great little fruit--eat 'em, drink
'em and preserve 'em--the wood is swell. A great game, Miss Talbot, that
hurts nobody and is of benefit to all. I'm to meet this here Pagreleri,
the president of the Sorrento Company; and while Peaches and you trot
round to the picture shows--I mean galleries--I'll put in a little sight
seeing on God's green hills! I'd rather see the prospect of a hundred
thousand vats of brine and oil than the finest picture any artist ever
drew."

"Are we going to the Ritz, pa?" said Peaches, breaking in with a shout
from her seat in front beside Richard. "I'm dying to see if the Ritz is
as nice as the St. Francis, though I bet it won't be!"

"Yep!" said the parent, and began operations upon a new cigar. And that
is all that I saw of London the historical. The dining room and the
bedrooms of a hotel that had not twopennyworth of difference from that
in Boston. We dined at seven in an almost empty salon, and went
afterward to see a motion picture of some American by the name of
Charles Chapin or something of the sort, an amazing affair centering
about a custard pie and not at all to my taste. Mr. Pegg and Miss
Peaches were enormously intrigued by it, as was Richard, the chauffeur,
whom they insisted should accompany them. They laughed continuously; at
what, I could not appreciate. And it was in this theater that we first
beheld that young man who was fated to play so conspicuous part in our
lives, and, alas, in the career of many a newspaper reporter as well!

It is my impression that I was the first to notice him, and my attention
was directed to him by the curious behavior of two men who sat directly
in front of me. Except for their observations concerning him he might
easily have escaped my notice. But as the entertainment offered me was
so far removed from my understanding my interest was focused upon the
personnel of those members of the audience who chanced to be seated
nearest me. My dear father was in the habit of saying that observation
of the human race is the truest form of education and I have ever
diligently tried to follow whatever precepts he laid down. And so this
evening I had in turn observed a stout person in a beaded gown, a pair
of young soldiers in red coats, and then the two men directly in front
of me. They were unobtrusive in appearance, but palpably of Latin
extraction. Their clothing was nondescript and they would have passed
unnoticed in a crowd. One wore a little black mustache and the other
bore a slight scar near his left ear. As I looked at them I perceived
that they were giving even less attention to the picture than myself,
and seemed to be furtively searching for something out in the vast area
of semidarkness ahead of us. Suddenly one clutched the other by the arm
and spoke.

"There he is!" he said in a low tone, speaking in French.

Instantly both became alert. Almost imperceptibly the man with the scar
contrived to point without raising his hand. But I followed the
direction of his companion's eyes, and made out the objective, a young
man who sat on the curve of the orchestra seats just under the balcony,
below us. His position was such that when he turned his head it was
possible to see his profile against the exit light beyond. And it was a
profile one would not easily forget. I at once thought of Romeo--that
daring young Italian lover who met so unfortunate an end, and whose
tragic story was one of the secret absorptions of my girlhood. Yet this
young man even in the dimness of the theater conveyed a sense of
strength which had not been convincing to me in the actor whom I had
once seen in that part. He sat well above his neighbors in height, and
there was a certain swing and rhythm to his broad shoulders as he swayed
with amusement at the projection of the cinematograph that conveyed
remarkable resiliency and buoyant youth or, as I fear my charge would
express it, "pep." He was a gentleman, I could see that, of unusual
elegance, and attractive enough to command my attention without what
followed on the part of the two other observers. Both spoke in French.

"Sapristi! He will not escape this time!" said the man with the
mustache, pitching his voice very low. "The eel!"

"Will you do for him at the door?" whispered the other. "Or as he
attempts to reach the hotel?"

"I have something better than that," said the first. "We know he has it
on him. The hotel may be too late. He must not get to the theater door
before we do--or else----"

I heard no more because of the sudden palpitations of my heart, which
seemed likely to smother me. These two men were plainly robbers planning
to waylay and perhaps murder that nice-looking young man who sat there
in such innocent, unconscious enjoyment of the photographic antics of
the Charley person! It was too terrible!

How could I warn him? Should I attempt to explain the situation to the
competent Mr. Pegg and the muscular Richard? That would be impossible of
accomplishment without also precipitating matters with the conspirators,
who would surely overhear me. As I was rapidly revolving these thoughts
action was violently put upon me. The picture flashed "The End," and the
young man whose life was in danger rose to leave, as did several others.
His seat, as I have stated, was downstairs, while we occupied a box.
Thus he was far nearer the door than were we. As he rose, so did the
Frenchmen in front of me. In order to make their exit it was necessary
for them to pass my seat, which was a step above them. As they turned
to come up I rose with a little cry and took the only course open.

I fainted most dexterously, knocking down one of them and collapsing
upon the bosom of the other, and lay there in a determined stupor until,
according to my calculations, the young man must be quite well away. The
confusion was dreadful and it was no pleasant matter fainting by intent
upon the bosom of an intended assassin, but it served to delay them for
all of ten minutes, at the end of which time I came to under the anxious
ministrations of my own people and of the two foreigners, whom Peaches,
an unconscious accessory, pressed into active service much against their
will. And my apparent accident served a double purpose, thus proving my
dear father's maxim that virtue is its own reward, for it disclosed the
fact that I had made a real impression upon the emotional side of my
charge.

"Oh, Free, you dear old thing!" she was saying as I opened my eyes. "Say
you are not hurt! Dear--please say you are all right!"

"I feel dreadfully!" I murmured feebly, looking her right in the eye.

And then I did something which, having been reared a gentlewoman, I had
never anticipated doing. I deliberately winked at her. And Peaches took
it marvelously. In a flash of understanding that I had some ulterior
motive behind my behavior she maintained what she calls her poker face
and winked back, and, assisting me in what she now knew to be my
pretense, helped me to a cab and back to the hotel.

Needless to say, however, I was not permitted to sleep that night until
she had the whole story from me. She came into my chamber with her
heavy hair hanging over her shoulders in two monstrous braids of molten
gold, and swathed in an outrageous robe of crimson-and-blue satin so
that she looked like a magnificent animated American flag. She curled up
upon the foot of my bed and listened eagerly.

"You wild Indian!" she exclaimed when I had finished the recital. "I
just knew I'd have to look after you! And I'll keep a closer watch from
now on. Oh you Boston! California was never like this."

In which she was eminently correct. But when she kissed me good night I
knew our friendship was sealed. The wink had done it.

Next morning we set out for Dover in that terrible car, without having
heard or seen anything of our hero. I confess I had absurdly hoped that
the hotel to which the conspirators had referred might prove to be ours,
but it was impossible to know if or not this was the case, as, of
course, we had no idea of what his name was, and he was nowhere about.

The newspaper naturally contained no mention of the incident inasmuch as
it had failed actually to occur, and the press is, of course, unlikely
to have any mention of a murder unless the crime is consummated. And so
it appeared that the incident was closed. I had begged Peaches not to
speak of its true import to either her father or her friend the
chauffeur, and this she solemnly promised.

"Oh, but Free!" she exclaimed rapturously. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if
you met again and fell in love!"

"Nonsense!" said I. "Why, he was young enough to have been my son!
Besides, I shall never marry!"

"That's the girl!" said Peaches. "They all say that just before the big
event. So cheer up, who knows their luck? Gee, I wish I could see him!"

And there was surely something prophetical in her speech, for Peaches
was fated to see him, though not for many hours afterward. And then she
found him for herself.

As I have stated, we set forth in that monstrous car for Dover, where we
embarked, car and all, upon an innocent-appearing little boat for what
was promised as a short journey. Possibly it was. I do not remember. I
only know that nothing in my previous nautical experience compared with
it. And when at last we landed and I had to some degree recovered my
equilibrium the most startling incident occurred. We once again were
seated, Mr. Pegg, Peaches and myself, in the car, ready to leave the
custom house behind us, and Richard, the chauffeur, was doing strange
things to the motor, when suddenly Alicia seized me by the arm.

"Free! Oh, Free!" she said in an excited whisper. "There is a man tall
enough for me!"

I looked, and lo and behold, walking through the crowd in a leisurely
fashion, a smart piece of luggage in either hand, was the young man of
the motion-picture theater. At the same moment I discerned the two
Frenchmen whose plot I had frustrated, and on the instant he also caught
sight of them, and abruptly changing his course he turned directly
toward us. Richard got in and started the engine.

"It's he!" I exclaimed excitedly. "It's my young man. Oh, the villains!
They are after him again! Oh, don't let them get him!"

"I won't," said Alicia promptly.

The young man was very close now, palpably, to our enlightened eyes,
endeavoring to avoid the appearance of flight. The two men in pursuit
were gaining on him rapidly. Suddenly Alicia beckoned to him and called.

"Here we are!" she said, and flung open the door of the car just as we
started to move. The young man sprang forward, threw in his bags,
slipped into the extra seat, slammed the door, and Peaches touched
Richard upon the shoulder.

"Drive for your life!" she shouted, and the big black car shot down the
street just as the two pursuers emerged, breathless, from the crowd.




IV


The young man whom Alicia had hailed turned toward her with quite the
nicest smile it had ever been my fortune to behold, a smile in which his
white teeth, which were of a character to do any dentist credit, were
the least important factor, beautiful as they were. It was the way his
face lighted up which caught one. In any situation that smile would
prove his shield and buckler. It would have been invaluable to a book
agent, and a missionary would have needed no other credentials--at least
certainly not on our street at home. We all smiled back at him
instinctively, though it was to Alicia that he spoke.

"It was simply ripping of you people!" he said in excellent English and
a delightfully modulated voice, yet with a curious intonation, as if it
were not his native tongue.

"Not at all!" replied Peaches, her eyes holding his. "Glad to oblige
you!"

He seemed a trifle blank at this.

"I didn't expect you to be here," he went on. "But I think it's awfully
jolly. I suppose you motor a great deal, Lady Gordon!"

"Lady who?" gasped Peaches. "Gee-whiz! Who do you think we are?"

"Great Scott!" said the inadvertent guest. "Aren't you Lord and Lady
Gordon?"

"Lord and Lady me eye!" remarked Peaches. "We are not!"

"Then why on earth did you call to me?" exclaimed the young man. "And
who are you?"

Just then the Citrus King leaned forward and shouted a query against the
wind.

"Who is your young man, Peaches?" he said. "Make me acquainted."

"I don't know who he is!" snapped his daughter. "Who are you yourself?"
she demanded of him. "I am a low-life American bourgeois in trade and
every bally thing--name of Alicia Pegg; and this is my father, Pinto
Pegg, the Citrus King, and this is my chaperon, Miss Talbot, that I'm
taking abroad to educate. Now who are you?"

"My name is Sandro di Monteventi," he said, getting out a little gold
cardcase, from which he extricated a visiting card bearing a
five-pointed coronet and the inscription Monteventi. A duke! As I
glimpsed the card, which with proper breeding he handed first to me, I
nearly fainted. We must have made a mistake somehow. Yet he was
undoubtedly the young man of the theater. I could not have made so
monstrous an error. As for Peaches, when I handed it on to her she
simply gave a frank stare and a long whistle.

"Pleased to meet you, duke!" she said. "I guess we may have made a
mistake. We thought--well, we thought you were a friend of ours--but I
don't quite see how you fell for it. Dicky, turn round and take the
gentleman back!"

"No, no!" said the duke hastily. "That is, you are going my way, so if
you don't mind--my friends will be gone by now!"

"Certainly. Keep ahead, Dick!" said Pinto heartily. "Pleased to have a
duke along. That's what we came to Europe for, you know--like all
vulgar Americans. So we'll drop you any place you say."

"That's really frightfully kind, Mr. Pegg," said the duke. "You see, I
am expected to visit the Gordons, who have rented a château at Deux
Arbres and when you called, Miss Pegg, I thought they had come to meet
me. We shall pass there shortly, and if you will just set me down in the
village I shall be all right and fearfully grateful."

"Why, that's the place where the famous panels by Scarpia are!" I
exclaimed. "They were painted at the order of Cardinal Perigino in
1754."

The duke looked at me in some surprise.

"Right!" said he. "Do you know the Gordons, by any chance?"

"No," I replied. "But I know my Burke's History of the Sixteenth Century
Italian Painters."

"Oh!" said he. "How odd and delightful." And he smiled again that
delectable smile of his, which somehow drew us into a delicious
intimacy. His smile seemed at once to compliment my erudition and a
thousand other lovely things. Then he turned again to Peaches and
looking at her spoke to her father.

"Where are you bound for, sir?" he asked.

"Monte Carlo will be our final camp," said Silas. "It's a town I've
always wanted to hit. I understand it's got it all over Hell River or
even Dogtown, and I used to get a lot of comfort out of them two places
when I was herding hop pickers round the head of the Sacramento Valley.
But I understand Monte has them beaten three ways. It ought to,
considering the game they named after it!"

I am convinced that this statement was as unintelligible to the duke as
it was to me, but he laughed politely.

"I may be dropping down there a little later," he said. "In point of
fact my home is not far from it--lovely old place back in the hills. I
was born there!"

"That so?" said Mr. Pegg. "Well, you do talk English remarkably well!"

"I was educated at Harvard," said the duke. "My mother was an American,
the daughter of the consul at San Remo."

"I knew you were a regular guy!" said Peaches, and then blushed
furiously. The duke laughed.

"Thanks!" said he. "But I am an Italian, you know, really, and I love my
country--as perhaps few men have!"

His eyes grew grave as he spoke. And after a few moments of curious
silence that fell upon us unwittingly, he held up his hand as a signal
to stop.

"We are coming into Deux Arbres now," he said. "There is the inn, and
that trap looks as if it would take one to the château! I am a thousand
times grateful for the lift!"

The car slowed down at Alicia's command, and the duke, despite our
protests, insisted upon getting out.

"We could easily take you right to the ranch house--castle, that is!"
Peaches offered.

"Not a bit more trouble, young man!" said Mr. Pegg.

But the duke would have no more of us. Charmingly, politely and firmly
he shook us, as Alicia put it afterward. He disappeared within a little
hostelry and we resumed our journey. When we had done so Alicia's father
subjected her to a cross examination which I, rather than she, deserved,
inasmuch as I had really been responsible for the more or less shocking
performance. But Peaches nobly refrained from in any way implicating me.

"Look here, Peaches, what made you collect that young swell?" said her
parent in an attempt to be properly irate.

"Why, pa, I thought it was Jake Keeting--you know, Giant Jake from the
B-2 outfit, and I was so surprised I yelled before I thought," she lied
with alarmingly casual promptness.

"Well, it's a good thing I and Miss Talbot was along to make it look
respectable!" he boomed. "This isn't the coast, you know, and people
round here have old-fashioned notions. But he seemed a mighty nice young
feller."

Alicia glanced sideways at Richard, the chauffeur.

"I thought he was a wonder!" she said deliberately. And then no more.

That night, in the luxurious bedroom at the Ritz in Paris, which was
precisely like all the other hotels at which we had stopped so far,
Peaches and I discussed the mystery of the Ducca di Monteventi to our
heart's content. And in the end we tacitly cleared him of connection
with the incident of the London theater, Alicia insisting that I must
have been mistaken in my identification of him, and I determinedly
convinced that he was none other than the hero of my escapade, an
opinion to which I privately held, though I refrained from expressing it
when I discovered that she disliked the thought.

"Say!" she remarked. "I think he's a prince, that's what. You know what
I mean--he's a duke, of course, but I should worry about that! I mean a
prince in the American sense."

And curiously enough I understood her.

But fate removed the object of our interest from our lives for many
weeks to come. We moved rather more slowly than I had anticipated, owing
partially to Alicia's sudden interest in Parisian art galleries. We
would plan our trip for the day within earshot of her parent, and in
truth we did occasionally visit them as we had announced. But more
frequently when we said we would go to the Louvre we meant the emporium
of that title, and very shortly Peaches' wardrobe began to show the
results of my restraining influence.

She was so beautiful that everything she put on became her, and so tall
that everything had to be altered. And so it came about that we were
some weeks in Paris; very pleasurable they were, too, and my knowledge
of French came in most serviceably. Not for nothing had I taken a prize
at Miss Hichbourne's Seminary and Finishing School for Young Gentlewomen
with an essay entitled Un Matin de Mai, for it developed that I was the
only person in our party possessed of even the rudiments of any foreign
language, and I was constantly in demand as interpreter, requesting
everything from _un verre de L'eau glacée_ for Mr. Pegg to _tabac et
d'allumettes_ for Richard, the chauffeur, and, of course, in the
purchasing of Peaches' clothes I was indispensable.

Moreover, out of my princely emolument I felt it but right to purchase
for myself sundry garments of a more fashionable appearance than I had
hitherto possessed, and to dispatch home by boat mail an embroidered
shawl for my sister and some fine cambric handkerchiefs together with a
pair of blue worsted knitted slippers for Galadia, which I purchased at
the American Woman's Exchange.

I may here remark in passing that Alicia's speech and manner were
becoming gradually modified under my earnest example and tuition, though
her fiery spirit and impulsive nature remained the same. Also her
conduct was impeccable, for with the exception of bringing home a
perfectly strange young American sailor--a common seaman, he was--to
dinner for no better reason than that she had found him sitting in the
Jardin de Tuileries and he had professed to be homesick, she did nothing
remarkable. It is a fact that upon one occasion she was barely prevented
from using physical violence upon the driver of a fiacre, who she
maintained was a dog-faced son of a muleteer and was ripe for admission
to the nether world, his inevitable landing place. And all this because
he was using a whip with more violence than discrimination upon his
apathetic animal. Her extraordinary language was completely, and very
fortunately, lost upon him, inasmuch as he understood no English, much
less Californian, and thought she was merely trying to protest at the
overcharge, and being used to that he remained undisturbed.

During our stay in Paris I wrote to and received an answer from my
Cousin Abby, who in a dashing hand announced that she would be "charmed
to see you, dear old thing, as it's a beastly season, dull as ditch
water, and anything will be a diversion."

I announced the fact of the receipt of this letter but kept its exact
contents to myself, as I rather feared for our reception. Mr. Pegg,
however, seemed to consider the mere fact of her reply an encouraging
sign, and with his customary abruptness of decision gave orders that we
pack up at once and proceed to Italy by train instead of by motor as we
had planned, thus expediting the matter of starting upon what he
persisted in terming the "commencement of Peaches' social career."

"Since your cousin, the countess, is at her castle," he informed me, "we
will break camp right now, Miss Talbot, and hit the trail for the
Italian citrus country. I am anxious to start looking the lemon
situation over, and it's only fair to give the Paris shops a chance to
restock. So to-morrow we will pull out."

"Very well, Mr. Pegg," I assented. "Though it is a pity to miss the
château country."

"Not much sense in looking at the outside of châteaux if you don't know
the folks living in them," the Citrus King commented. "And perhaps on
the way back we will have a few invites from your cousin's friends."

I could only bite my lip and refrain from going into the question
further at the moment. Mr. Pegg's social and geographical ideas were at
that time in sad need of correction. But then correction made so little
impression on him. If his mind was made up to get a thing he would brush
aside all else until the attainment of his object. Already I was
learning not to dispute his decisions. Besides, it was conceivable that
Cousin Abby did know some French nobility, or the lessees of some, and
that if she accepted us at all we might possibly make their acquaintance
in due course. Indeed the circumstances were far less improbable than so
much which had actually occurred during the past month that I dismissed
the question momentarily, wrote Euphemia a brief note informing her of
our prospective change of address, and then sought out my charge for
the purpose of imparting her father's instructions.

At first I experienced some difficulty in locating her, but after a
diligent search of our sumptuous suite I at length discovered her in the
public corridor near the elevator, where she was engaged in explaining
some game of cards--a form of solitaire--to the youth who operated the
elevator. They were seated upon a bench near the shaft, and the youth
was completely negligent of his duty. At my approach Miss Alicia looked
up and nodded, but continued her explanation.

"The jack on the queen," she was saying; "the ten on the jack; move 'em
over--that makes a dollar you owe me!"

"Alicia!" I exclaimed. "Stop it at once! What are you doing?"

"Canfield," she replied mysteriously. "Want to take me on?" She gathered
up the cards, which I then discovered to be part of what I may term her
personal equipment, being small and easily contained in that part of her
vanity case usually occupied by rouge and lip stick, for which, thank
heaven, Alicia had neither need nor desire, though perhaps when one
stops to consider the matter it is somewhat doubtful if her substitution
of a pack of playing cards had a greater moral value.

"I don't want to take you on; I want to take you away!" I said. "Come
back to the apartment and pack. We are to proceed to Monte Carlo in the
morning.

"Suffering cats!" exclaimed Peaches. "No wonder you don't want to stop
for any of this piker stuff." Then she turned to the elevator boy, who
still lingered, seemingly in a state of semihypnosis. "Thanks for the
paper, captain," she said. "Keep that dollar you owe me for a tip!" And
then she slid her arm around my neck and strolled down the corridor with
me, while the youth, with a parting grin, at length perceived the
buzzing of the indicator, and vanished into his elevator contraption,
not having uttered a single word since my advent.

"I had him try to find me a San Francisco paper," Peaches explained as
we returned to our royal apartments. "I get so sick of these Frenchy
ones that I can't read, and of the London ones that have only news which
could never have been fresh to me. I wanted to see a good comic sheet.
Gee! How we used to rush for 'em out on the ranch. When Bill Hovey's
mule team came into sight over Bear Ridge Dick and I used to commence
matching for who'd open the bag. And generally we'd look at the comics
together. Don't you love Krazy-Kat?"

I shook my head slowly, more in despair at her simplicity than as the
negative she took the gesture for.

"Well, you wouldn't, no, nor Buster Brown, either, I suppose. But we
didn't have any volumes of Webster or any such light stuff on the ranch,
and had to take what we could get."

"You have a newspaper of some sort, I see," I replied, feeling it
useless to explain that I preferred Byron to Webster, and not feeling in
the least convinced that Peaches knew of the existence of Daniel as well
as of Noah. She pulled out a copy of the Paris _Herald_ from under her
arm.

"Not from the coast," she said, "but at least it's printed in American.
The boy was a nice kid. He comes from Texas. He showed me a peach of a
trick, and I was showing him a new Canfield when you breezed in with
something really big. Hello! Here's something about Mr. Markheim!"

She had been scanning the front page of the paper as she talked, and now
she fell silent for a moment as she read.

"Who is Mr. Markheim?" I inquired. "Not Sebastian Markheim, the great
banker?"

"Yeah!" said Peaches assentingly. "But it's nothing much. He's bought
another picture, that's all. And paid the price of a couple of
first-class orange-groves for it."

"Why, Alicia Pegg!" I exclaimed. "What an extraordinary young female you
are! Sebastian Markheim is one of the greatest collectors of antique
paintings in the world. He is an authority on the subject. How do you
come to know him?"

"He came to know us!" she averred cheerfully. "Bought a ranch near our
home outfit, and came over to get some pointers from pa. We see him a
lot whenever he's in California."

"How amazing!" I exclaimed. "Sebastian Markheim, the great millionaire!
What manner of man is he, Alicia?"

"Oh, he's a widower of about fifty or so," she said carelessly. "He's in
love with me."

"Alicia!" I exclaimed. "Can you never learn to be more reticent about
these--these delicate personal matters?"

"He isn't a bit delicate!" she responded mildly. "In fact he's awfully
rough. He hounds me, but I can look out for myself."

I felt the subject too dangerous to pursue. As my dear father used to
say, most unpleasant subjects thrive on reproof. So I diverted her
attention from her immediate theme.

"What picture did he purchase that is worthy of such comment?" I
inquired.

"It is called the Madonna of the Lamp by some bird named Raphael, last
name not mentioned," replied the young heathen cheerfully. "What's all
this about Monte Carlo to-morrow?"

But I had taken the newspaper from her.

"The Madonna of the Lamp!" I exclaimed. "Why, Alicia, child, that is one
of the most famous paintings in the world. It was done in Italy,
hundreds of years ago, by one of the greatest artists that ever lived.
The extraordinary part of such a sale is that any private individual
should own it. Its proper place is a museum. I am surprised it ever got
out of Italy. They have a strict law which prohibits any important works
of art from being taken out of the country, you know."

"I do not know," said Alicia. "But you'd think they'd be glad to get
such a price for a thing as old as that, wouldn't you? Now if it was an
original by Gibson or Christy----"

But I did not attend to the remainder of her sentence. My eye had fallen
upon another item of even greater importance, which had evidently
escaped her attention. It was small and inconspicuously placed, but its
interest was overwhelming. It ran thus. I copy from the original:

  "SCARPIA PANELS STOLEN

     "Calais, March 15th. The commissioner of police here was informed
     last night that the four famous panels by Scarpia had been
     mysteriously removed from the château belonging to Baron Richt at
     Deux Arbres, seventeen miles from this city. The house has been
     rented to Lord and Lady Ellis Gordon for the past two years. The
     uttermost mystery surrounds the disappearance of the four panels,
     which have been one of the show features of the place. How the
     panels could disappear in the brief interval between the
     announcement of dinner and the return of the guests to the
     drawing-room is one of the most baffling features of the case. The
     fact of the theft was discovered by one of the house guests, the
     Ducca di Monteventi. Every effort will be made to discover the
     criminals, for whose capture Lord Gordon has already offered a
     large reward."

That was all, but as Peaches put it, it was "an eyeful." In other words,
it was sufficient. Or almost so, for, of course, our native feminine
curiosity was enormously piqued. We stared at each other in amazement
for a moment, and then Peaches heaved a long sigh.

"That tall man!" she said cryptically. "Why, it was the place we left
him at; the Gordon outfit! It seems like every time we hear of him he's
mixed up in a mystery."

"It certainly does," I assented. "And here we are headed for the
Riviera, while I don't suppose he will get away, now that he's mixed up
with that theft."

"How do you know he's mixed up with it?" demanded Alicia with quite
unnecessary violence. "He--he's a corker--couldn't you tell? Mixed up,
my eye!"

"I meant as a witness or in some similar capacity," I protested. "If he
were not a duke, Alicia, I should be inclined, upon mature
consideration, to believe him a detective."

"Secret service?" she said doubtfully. "Sleuth? Why, no. He's a swell,
that's all. You mustn't let your girlish imagination run away with you,
Free. And anyhow, why worry, as we probably'll never see him again?"

"That is probably too true," I assented. Then I consulted dear father's
chronometer, discovered that time was pressing, and proceeded to the
packing of my bags and the problem of getting into my trunk some new
materials which I had purchased with the intention of having Miss
Stimpson, our local seamstress, make them up for me the very minute we
returned to Boston. I had also a new coat which Alicia had insisted upon
presenting to me, and some garments of a more private nature which I had
secretly purchased to gaze upon occasionally, though I would never wear
such unladylike garments, for suppose there were to be a train wreck,
how would one explain that a pink satin ah--er--interior was not belying
a respectable alpaca surface, if you divine my meaning?

Well, at any rate, I found that my small trunk could not possibly be
made to hold all these new possessions, and so packed a few substantial
petticoats with handmade crochet edging and my second-best dolman into a
paper parcel, which I addressed to Euphemia and having thus completed my
visit to the French capital I was ready to, as it were, conquer Italy.




V


My dear father used justly to observe that clothes made the man, but
that woman made the clothes. A witticism of which he was most fond,
inasmuch as he clung to the custom of employing a tailoress, which was
the almost universal method of procuring outer garments in his early
youth. But it is possible that he intended to imply that the beauty of
some females was insurmountable by bad taste in dress. I hardly know
which interpretation may be correct; but I am sure that either Cousin
Abby was tremendously affected by her clothes or that they were
tremendously affected by her. At any rate they were as amazing as she
was, or she as they, if you comprehend me. And the reaction which I
experienced upon first beholding the Eiffel Tower was as nothing beside
that incident to my first meeting in twenty-five years with my relative.

It took place almost immediately after our arrival at Monte Carlo.
Indeed we were scarcely settled in the royal suite of the hotel before
she paid her visit. Mr. Pegg and his daughter had stepped out to undergo
the preliminaries of obtaining a card to the public gambling hell, and
I, unwilling to countenance their project, had remained behind
ostensibly to supervise Richard, the chauffeur, in the disposal of our
things, and so was alone when the countess was announced.

The Richard person admitted her and came in whistling under his breath
as he gave me her card.

"Oh, you beautiful doll!" he sang sotto voce as he did so.

I flew to the mirror, gave my hair a pat, and assuming a dignified
deportment entered the drawing-room. It was empty save for a young girl,
very much overdressed, who was standing with her back toward me, looking
out of the window. At sound of my entrance she turned and pounced upon
me with a shriek of delight.

"Freedom Talbot, old thing!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you!"

And sure enough, that young girl was Cousin Abby! How true it is that
the troubles we experience are seldom those we expect! I had been living
in dread lest my titled relative should not prove hospitably inclined,
and here she was already, upon the very first day of our arrival,
greeting me literally with open arms. So much for the trouble I
anticipated--it was gone like a wreath of smoke! But as I took a good
look at her an entirely unforeseen difficulty began to force itself upon
me. That Cousin Abby was willing to receive us was apparent, but were we
going to return the compliment? For Abby had changed far more than I
had.

When she left Boston twenty-five years ago Abby Talbot had been
considerably older than I. But upon renewing her acquaintance as
described I found her to be at least twenty years my junior. Not
literally, you will understand, by some miracle of arrested growth or
phenomenon in the actual defeat of time, but by sundry artificial aids
such as were never countenanced by my dear father and mother, or indeed
by Euphemia or myself, all such so-called aids to beauty being unknown
to the gentlewomen of our acquaintance and recognized only upon the
persons of outcast females and constituting the outward and visible
signs of inward and spiritual disgrace. Of course it must be admitted
that some of even Boston's very best people, particularly in the younger
generation, where it was palpably unnecessary, resorted to these
artifices, and I had several times been shocked at large receptions by
observing this fact. But that a member of our family should stoop to
such a course was incredible; or would have been except that I was at
that moment beholding it with my own eyes.

Abby's hair was golden, and her cheeks were pink as Peaches' own. Her
lips! Gracious goodness! I trembled for her immortal soul as I beheld
them! And sinful-looking diamonds dangled from her ears almost to her
shoulders. The hat she wore might better have been fashioned for a maid
of sixteen, and her short gown swung above a pair of slim silken ankles
and slippers with glittering buckles and outrageous heels.

But though I struggled to experience the disapproval which I knew to be
the proper reaction to these bedizenments I could not but admire the
brave spirit they also undoubtedly represented. There was that about
Abby which gave one the belief that one need not grow old except through
lack of the desire for youth. She seemed to stand there before me with
the spirit of her unconquerable youth radiating, as it were, through the
painted shell she had put upon her body. I at once, and for the first
time in my life, seriously contemplated abandoning my curled fringe. All
this which I have recorded passed through my mind in a flash--while she
was embracing me, to be exact. Then she withdrew her perfumed person a
few inches and laughed like a girl!

"Free, you duckie!" she cried. "You haven't changed a bit. It's
fearfully amusing, your coming over. And to this iniquitous spot! How is
poor dear Boston? I feel a million æons away from it! And how is Cousin
Euphemia? And the dog--what was his name; Rex?--that she used to fuss
over so when he got his feet wet, do you remember?"

She meant that she was trying to remember.

"Rex has departed this life," I replied, "on the initiative of a very
rude and heartless dog catcher with a barred wagon. Euphemia is well
except for her rheumatism and asthma and indigestion; or was when I left
home."

"Doesn't she write?" asked Abby quickly.

"She was exceedingly disapproving of my enterprise and has not written,"
said I. "But I had somewhat anticipated the circumstance and am not
unduly worried. The maid, Galadia, is to inform me should anything go
wrong."

Abby laughed again. It certainly was a pleasant thing to hear.

"Tell me everything!" she exclaimed, drawing two chairs close together.
"What on earth made you do it, you rebel? And who are these Peggs you
are with?"

It was delightfully gossipy. I sat down beside her and soon explained my
action, in reply to her first question. But when I came to enlarging
upon the second, I found myself, most unexpectedly, at a loss. What was
my relationship to them anyhow? It was like trying to analyze one's
relationship to the sunlight. And yet, had I merely seen them without
knowing them, I should have unquestionably characterized them as
impossibly vulgar; that was the plain truth of the matter. To Abby they
must inevitably seem so at first glance. And knowing this I
instinctively rose to their defense. I discovered within myself a sudden
warm glow of affection and appreciation which was so normal and
comfortable in its character that I had positively been unaware of its
existence until criticism threatened them. I spoke slowly and
deliberately, choosing my words with care.

"The Peggs are Americans," said I, "from California. And their hearts
are as big as their--er--oranges."

"From which I gather they are millionaires and vulgar," said Abby
shrewdly--"but that you like them."

"I do indeed!" said I, though how she deduced so much from my remark I
cannot imagine.

"And it is equally evident," Abby went on, "that I, your titled cousin,
am to be induced by hook or crook to introduce them to an assortment of
foreign titles. That's so, isn't it? And you are in an agony of
embarrassed bewilderment about how to broach the subject?"

"Abby!" I gasped. "How can you!"

"My dear, I have to!" she cut in, laughing again, though not so
pleasantly this time. "My wits are about all I have with which to make
good my bridge losses! I suppose you know Constantine left me nothing
but the villa?"

"What!" I exclaimed, really aghast. "I was not even aware of your
husband's demise!"

"Polo accident," she said briefly. "Five years ago."

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

"Well," said Abby, "never mind that! So you see you need have no
reticence about offering me money. I can earn it, I assure you."

Of course this was astonishing, but at the same time it really was an
immense relief. For I knew dear Mr. Pegg never hesitated to pay a proper
price for the genuine article, as he himself was wont to put it. And I
had in truth been most anxious as to how I should approach my
distinguished relative upon so delicate a matter as remuneration for the
peculiar services which we required. And so, though in a sense I was
shocked by her frankness, it made my path far easier, particularly since
her own lack of delicacy in the matter warranted a larger degree of
out-spokenness upon my part. And I had something important to say. Her
opening gave me an opportunity not likely of renewal, and so I at once
rushed into the breach.

"My dear, I grieve for your loss," said I; "and for the unfortunate
condition of your widowhood. And it is a most happy circumstance that we
can be of benefit to each other at this time. Mr. Pegg intends to offer
you a thousand dollars each for introductions to titles. And a bonus, I
think he called it, of ten thousand dollars for--er--I believe he termed
it 'working capital.'"

"Splendid!" exclaimed Abby. "Now go ahead and tell me the buts."

"The buts?" I queried. "Do you infer that there are restrictions to Mr.
Pegg's offer?"

"By the gleam in your eye I know there are!" Abby affirmed.

"Well," I admitted, "Mr. Pegg has not expressed his desire that there be
any; but I have one of my own."

Abby gave me a most peculiar look at this, her eyes narrowing and her
lips curling in a distinctly unpleasant smile. It filled me with an
acute, though undefined, sense of discomfort.

"Very well," she said quietly. "How much do you want?"

"What?" I asked.

"What commission do you want?" said she, speaking very distinctly. I
felt as though someone had struck me with a whip. Instinctively I got to
my feet.

"Abby!" I exclaimed in horror. "A bribe! How could you? A Talbot!"

To my amazement and further distress she stared at me for a long moment
and then burst into tears.

"Forgive me, Cousin Free!" she sobbed. "Forgive me, if you can--please!
One gets so hard, so used to things like that out here! I ought to have
known better! Please say you understand!"

She was not like a little girl any longer. There was something behind
the tone in which she spoke which frightened me; something terrible and
sinister and cruel--something which could break even a Talbot! I
perceived its nature though its substance was beyond my experience, and
at once the instinct to rescue and help her was uppermost in my mind. I
fussed over her much as I used to fuss over Rex, our pet, when anything
ailed him, for he had been my dog, not Euphemia's, as Abby had supposed.
And presently she grew quieter, though she still held on to my hand. But
though I felt sorry for Abby and was determined to be of assistance to
her I did not let the most unfortunate incident divert me from what had
originally been in my mind to say when she made her terrible mistake.

"Now, my dear, I will forgive you," said I. "But please brace up and
allow me to state my condition, which is simply this: The young lady,
Miss Alicia Pegg, must be most carefully guarded from fortune hunters
and all questionable company. You must guarantee to me that you will
introduce her to no one who can harm her. Her father has a faith in her
ability to take care of herself which is founded in his knowledge of her
singularly beautiful nature, but he is almost as unworldly in our sense
as she is. I simply won't have any scallawags hanging round her. Her
father trusts me to look out for her welfare, and I mean to see that his
trust is justified."

"You seem pretty deep in his confidence," Abby remarked. "He is a
widower, you said?"

"He is," I replied, though I did not see what that had to do with the
subject. "And Alicia's motherless condition places a great
responsibility upon me. So you must promise what I have asked, Abby, and
keep the promise faithfully."

"All right, old dear!" she answered, her self-possession rapidly
returning. "And it won't be hard, for I know an awfully decent set,
really. I'll have you all out to dine this very week. I'm at San Remo,
you know. Just a short motor drive from here; a duck of a house opposite
the old German Emperor's place. How about Saturday? That ought to give
me time to collect the proper people."

"That will be lovely, Abby!" said I. "Mr. Pegg will be delighted, I am
sure." Then a sudden wonderment struck me.

"Don't you ever wish you were back in the security of your life in
Boston?" I asked curiously.

"Not when I'm sane!" she replied lightly. "Do you?"

This was both unexpected and disconcerting. But I strove to be honest in
my reply.

"No," I said; "I cannot truthfully say that I do."

And long after she had taken her departure, buoyant and apparently
light-hearted once more, I pondered my reply. But I found no explanation
for my change of heart. Never, no, never, did I expect to utter such a
sentiment, much less to have felt it! But the harsh fact was that I had
somehow become estranged from my native city and the human element which
represented it, and did in truth already prefer the Riviera.

In point of fact it appeared to me to be the most beautiful place of
which the mind could conceive, despite that I was rather surprised to
find the chief foliage to be cedar and other evergreens, and that the
whole effect was less tropical than I had imagined. Also I had expected
that the natives would be rather more like those in a production of
Cavalleria Rusticana, to which my dear father had once escorted Euphemia
and myself upon the occasion of her birthday; and even after several
weeks of continuous residence in Monte Carlo I was unable to be rid of a
feeling that the management, or rather government, was somehow to blame
for not making the reality more like the opera.

But oh, how beautiful it was! I was unstinting in my praise. Not so Mr.
Pegg and Alicia, however.

"Pretty good!" was Alicia's comment. "But you ought to see California.
They'd better bring over some of our poppies to liven up the hills."

"It's real pretty," her father admitted, "but awful small. It's
something like a pocket edition, as you might say, Miss Free."

"I scarcely believe that anything could be more lovely," I declared.

"Well, of course you haven't been West yet," said Peaches cheerfully.
"Then you'll see the real thing!"

"I shall never become a Californian, my dear," I put in mildly. "Do you
know, sometimes I fear you tend to exaggerate in describing your native
State?"

"Well, we produce the biggest crops in the world," she declared. "So why
not the biggest liars, as well? Wait until you've been out on the coast
yourself!"

And never to this day have I clearly understood what she meant by that.
A great deal that Alicia said was difficult to understand. And nothing
was more so than this insistence on her part that anything Californian
was superior to everything European. After our visit to the Villa d'Este
I gave up. She looked it over pleasantly and gave her verdict.

"I guess they copied it from the Gillespie place at Santa Barbara," she
said; "only, of course, these hills are nothing as compared to the Coast
Range for height."

It was just after this that I abandoned all effort to force a course in
architecture, or indeed in any of the arts, upon Peaches. I began dimly
to perceive that it was not only useless but that her education was not
really impaired by the secession of my efforts along these lines. She
possessed a faculty for picking out what she wanted to learn and
learning it thoroughly. And after all that is the truest education, as
my dear father used to say.

But I digress. Let us take up our sequence where Abby left me on that
first afternoon.

Scarcely had she departed, driving off in a smart little red automobile
of the type which I had learned to distinguish as a roadster, as I
observed from the window, and which gave no clew to the newly disclosed
fact of her poverty--scarcely had she departed and I had partially
mastered the emotions which her extraordinary visit had engendered in my
bosom when Alicia and her father returned.

They had been out, as I believe I have mentioned, for the purpose of
procuring cards of admission to the public gambling hell. They had also
got cards for a place called the casino, one of which was offered to me.
I accepted it with gratitude, for at home there was a casino out at
Duxbury where we spent our summers; a very charming place it was, too,
with a fine view of the ocean from the veranda, and a dance for the
young people every Saturday night, and I had greatly enjoyed taking my
knitting there. I was at present secretly at work upon a pair of socks
for Mr. Pegg, intended as a small appreciation of all he had done for
me, and I felt sure that this casino would be an excellent place in
which to complete them, particularly when Mr. Pegg and his daughter were
away gambling. I had, needless to say, protested against their avowed
intentions in this matter, but to no avail.

"Why, Miss Talbot, of course you object!" Mr. Pegg had said, kindly but
firmly. "Objecting to this sort of thing is part of your job. If you
didn't object you wouldn't be the woman I hired you for. But this is one
time you're not wise--you don't get it at all. This gambling joint is
strictly high class. The layouts at Dogtown have nothing on
it--absolutely! To lose a little something at Monte is like losing a
little at monte with a small 'm' over to Dogtown; and allow me to inform
you that no California native son's education is completely polished off
without that experience. Only over here is where the crowned heads get
trimmed--I mean polished. And I propose to have my daughter visit that
historic spot so's she can talk intelligently about it at big dinner
parties."

Well, when Mr. Pegg assumed that tone I knew that further argument was
useless. Besides, Peaches herself was very much set on going, and all
that was left me was the manifestation of my unalterable disapproval by
steadfastly refusing to accompany them or to discuss their experiences
in that den of iniquity. Even Richard, the chauffeur, was infected with
the dreadful spirit of the place, though I ascertained that the vicious
resort which he attended was of a less pretentious order.

There was considerable coolness between us that evening because of my
attitude, and when Peaches and her father had departed upon their
nefarious errand I read my Bible and went to bed greatly fortified. This
coolness lasted into the next day, despite the arrival during breakfast
of Abby's invitation to dinner, at which Mr. Pegg and Alicia both
evinced great satisfaction. I hoped to divert them into a visit to the
churches, but all in vain. Mr. Pegg had lost several hundred dollars, it
seemed, and both he and his daughter evinced a strong wish, as they
expressed it, "to show these wop gamblers where they got off."

The result was that after luncheon they again left me to my own devices
after a second fruitless attempt at persuading me to accompany them, and
when they had been gone for half an hour I decided to take my knitting
to that casino for which they had given me a card.

The afternoon was exceptionally mild and fine, even for that part of the
world, and I anticipated spending it out of doors. I therefore put on a
shade hat and a light wrap, packed my fancywork into my knitting bag
and making sure that my working specs were in my reticule I set forth
into the mildly sunlit avenue.

I had no difficulty at all in locating my destination. Indeed the very
first native boy of whom I made inquiry directed me volubly. I thanked
him and passed on in the direction which he indicated. But when I
reached the spot I confess I was astounded and felt obliged to confirm
the building's identity by a second inquiry.

It was far, far larger than the casino at Duxbury. Indeed it looked
rather more like one or rather several of the houses which the _nouveau
riche_ have erected at Newport. But this was not altogether surprising
when one realized that the number of tourists was undoubtedly far
greater than on the Massachusetts coast. And as I approached I noted
that a large number of cars were waiting outside. It seemed probable
that this indicated a hostess day, or possibly even a private euchre
party; so I decided against going in, and entered the gardens instead.

These were amazingly beautiful and extensive, with winding paths and
pleasant seats. Here at least I could not complain of any lack of
luxuriance in the semi-tropical growth, and selecting a sheltered bench
that was shielded from the light breeze by a mass of camellias in full
bloom I settled myself for a pleasing period of rest and observation.
Very few people were about, and a lovely peace reigned over all.

First I took out the finished sock and regarded it critically in the
strong light. It was really well made if I do say so myself, and
tasteful, too. The sock itself was black, but round the top the purling
was in alternate stripes of black and red; an effort on my part at once
to meet Mr. Pegg's taste for the exotic in dress and at the same time
offer a conservative surface in that part which would be exposed to the
general public. Having then satisfied myself that my work was as my
mother would have desired, I counted the setting-up stitches anew to
make certain of their number, and began the second sock, my heart
content at thought of the pleasant surprise my gift would be. I had
completed the top line of red and the first line of black and had just
begun on the second line of red when I observed the most dreadful thing.

I think I have mentioned that my seat was sheltered by a semicircular
bed of evergreen bordered by tall camellias, and was situated in a
remote corner of the gardens. The band on the plaza was playing a gay
tune and the atmosphere was pleasantly exhilarating. And so I was not
paying very diligent attention to my work. Indeed my eyes were ever
prone to rove from my knitting, a fact for which Euphemia has often
chided me, though I do quite as well without watching my stitches, the
occupation having become second nature with me. Therefore it was by no
means unprecedented that I should be contemplating the beautiful shrubs
at my right, while nodding my head to the music of the distant band,
though my hands were busily engaged.

At first I thought my vision must be at fault, for something stirred
just the other side of the bushes, and a hand containing a revolver was
slowly lifted, the index finger upon the trigger.

For the first second I felt as if I were stricken by paralysis, and the
next I had sprung to my feet and rounded the corner to where the hand
was.

"Stop it at once!" I shouted instinctively, though it is a fact that I
hardly knew what was to be stopped.

And my command was obeyed. The man who stood there actually did stop,
though why in the moment of his surprise that dreadful pistol did not go
off I cannot understand. But the hand containing it dropped to his side,
and for several seconds we stood staring at each other, he with the
pallid daze of one who has been halted on the brink of destruction, and
I with the trembling indignation of a respectable female with a most
unfeminine situation suddenly thrust upon her.

He was a tall thin man, no longer young, and dressed in the extreme of
fashion save for a large rabbit's foot that dangled incongruously from
his watch chain. His eyes were large and dark and overbrilliant, and his
disheveled head was hatless.

"What were you doing?" I asked severely, though I knew perfectly well.
"Don't you know that it's a sin?" I went on before he could answer.

"Who are you?" the man asked in English, his voice hoarse and remote.
"Go away and allow me to kill myself!"

"Stuff and nonsense!" I replied tartly. "You put that--that weapon into
your pocket this minute! Don't you know you are apt to cause us both to
be arrested if a police officer should come this way?"

Mechanically he obeyed, slipping the dreadful thing into his coat
pocket, and continuing to stare at me in that helpless, dazed fashion.

"Now come and sit down beside me on this bench!" I commanded, gathering
my worsteds out of his way. He obeyed like a person in a trance. "There
now!" said I. "You poor man, you are all upset! Wait a minute and I'll
give you just what you need."

Fortunately it is my habit always to carry a dose of aromatic spirits of
ammonia in my reticule in case of emergency, and at length an emergency
had arisen. Hastily retrieving the little phial from its hiding place I
uncorked it and offered it to my strange companion.

"Here--drink this quickly!" I commanded.

He took it and gave a hurried look about to see if anyone observed.
There was nobody in sight.

"You are right, it is less noisy!" he whispered. And with a single gulp
he drained the phial and returned it to me.

"How long does it take to work?" he whispered feebly, relaxing upon the
bench.

"Just a moment," I said soothingly. "There! Don't you feel better
already?"

"I do, strangely enough!" he replied, straightening up. "What kind of
poison is it?"

"It's aromatic ammonia," I said briskly, "and it won't poison you in the
least. Never have I met such a silly person as you are!"

"Baffled again!" he groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, how
much better I feel! What a shame! Why could you not let me die?"

"Because it is the business of sensible women to take care of foolish
men!" I returned. "Sit up now and tell me all about it. Was it love?"

He obeyed and stared at me in that silly blank way of his.

"Love?" he said. "Worse than that. Money. I have one hundred napoleons
left in the world. I decided there were only two courses open to me.
Either I must get a sign, an infallible sign how to play, or shoot
myself. I decided to wait until two o'clock and if the sign had not
manifested itself I would end my life. It was exactly three seconds to
two o'clock when you spoke!"

He groaned and dropped his head again.

"Well," said I as placidly as I could, "perhaps I am the sign you were
looking for. Who knows? See here now, I am going on knitting, and
suppose you watch the stitches for a few moments. It's excellent for the
nerves. That's it. You'll have yourself well in hand presently."

And indeed even as his eyes fell upon my fancywork he seemed to take a
new lease of life. Gradually he became animated. Color returned to his
pallid cheeks and a new, though I cannot say a saner light, came into
his eyes.

"The sign!" he muttered. "Perhaps it is the sign!" This cryptic remark
seemed to be addressed to himself. Then suddenly--he did everything
suddenly--he spoke directly to me. "Red and black!" he said, fingering
the wool on which I was at work. "Red and black. How many stitches do
you take of the red, strange woman?"

"Ten," I said, "and then ten of black and then ten on the red!"

He sprang to his feet with a sudden strange conviction in his manner.

"Twenty on the red! Ten on the black!" said he. "It's a sign. It may be,
it must be a sign! I'm off!"

He tossed the sock back to me with a gay gesture and started away. But I
was too quick for him. I caught him by the coat tails before he had gone
twelve inches.

"Hey, my good man!" said I. "I'll just thank you to hand over that
pistol before you go!"

"All right, you can have it!" he exclaimed lightly. "There you are.
Don't do anything rash with it. I may need it later!"

He slipped the weapon into my reticule with an amazingly swift gesture,
and before I could say "jiffy" he was gone in the direction of the
casino.

Nervous excitement has always exhausted me more than physical exertion,
and I have acquired the practice of taking a short nap wherever I may be
when the occasion necessitates it. And so when the poor crazy man had
gone and seemed little likely to return I settled myself for a cat nap,
determined to compose my nerves and not allow my afternoon to be ruined
by the disturbing incident. But though I roused myself at intervals and
did a few stitches I must have drowsed much longer than I had thought
to, for when I awoke thoroughly it was sunset.

I got out dear father's chronometer and was horrified to find the hour
past six. Here I had been a public spectacle for goodness knows how
long! I at once began to gather my things together, preparatory to
leaving for the hotel when I perceived that there was a great to-do at
the casino. People began pouring forth and cheering, headed by a wild
figure in a black coat.

And then things began to happen fast. Before I could realize that the
procession was headed for me it was upon me, lead by my suicidal
acquaintance, his pockets bursting with money, his hat, mysteriously
retrieved, also brimming with lucre, his vest bulging with it, and his
hand full of bank notes. Straight toward me he came, and dropping upon
his knees he flung both hands full of money into my lap, the crowd
closing in about us despite the police officers, who ran about wildly
shouting, "Ladies and gentlemen, order, please!"

"My benefactress! My good angel!" shouted the kneeling man. "My sign
from heaven, accept a few miserable hundreds as your inadequate reward!"

"You have been gambling!" I said severely, while gathering up the money
from my lap.

"Yes, I broke the bank on your advice!" he shouted. "Twenty on the red,
ten on the black. Take, oh, take your reward, my angel!"

"I will take this shameful money for the foreign missions at home!" I
said severely. "It ought to be turned to holy uses, and you will only
lose it again! And please get up. You are making us both ridiculous!"

But before he could comply, to my unspeakable horror Alicia and her
father pushed their way through the crowd, accompanied by a young man.
At sight of me Peaches gave a whoop of joy.

"What price a chaperon!" she yelled. "Free, you little hellion!"

She turned from me to the young man in attendance.

"Good Lord, what'll I have to get her out of next?" she asked him
whimsically. And then I recognized him.

It was the Duke di Monteventi!




VI


Even amidst the excitement incident to my personal predicament I could
not but be surprised at that young man's being there--and with Peaches!
He had the most extraordinary way of turning up unexpectedly. And even
more remarkable was the way in which he appeared equal to whatever
situation he dropped into the midst of, for now it was he who maneuvered
my extrication from the embarrassing attentions of the bank-breaking
person, and it was on his arm that I departed from that iniquitous spot
to which I had so inadvertently wandered. It was not until we returned
to the hotel that I learned what had happened, and then dear knows it
was nothing to his credit.

It appears that they had met him at the gaming table. But, of course,
that could not be counted as wholly against him, inasmuch as Peaches
herself had been there, and even I had been near by, though, of course,
without intention. Obviously I was not in a position to reprove either
of them, though I took the greatest pains to explain in minute detail
just how the situation in which they found me had arisen, omitting only
the exact nature of the work upon which I had been engaged.

"Never mind, Free!" said Peaches soothingly. "Don't bother to alibi.
Both father and I have played hunches ourselves, haven't we, dad? Only
it's generally been in person."

This was perfectly unintelligible to me, but the duke apparently
understood, for he smiled that wonderful golden smile, which made me
feel as if I would do simply anything for him. Then he counted what they
persisted in calling my winnings for me. It amounted to nearly two
hundred francs.

"Are you really going to send it to the missions?" he asked. "You might
double it at the tables, you know, Miss Talbot!"

"My dear duke," I informed him promptly, "I wouldn't gamble for the
world! I intend turning this money in at once to charitable uses!"

"What a lack of philosophy!" he cried, throwing out his hand in a
despairing gesture. "How much is furnished to charity from sources as
blind, isn't it? But for that poor gambler where would your donation be?
Don't you believe the end often justifies the means?"

Peaches took this up.

"You mean a person has to fight the world with its own weapons lots of
times," she said quickly.

"I do," he said.

"Well, my dear father always held that fair means made clean profits," I
said, rising. "And I believe that no matter what the end, the process to
it should be honest."

And then I left them to make out a money order to Doctor Andrews, as I
did not like having all that cash upon my person; and anyway the
receptacle in which I carried such things would not contain so much.

In the corridor I ran into Mr. Pegg. I would have passed on my way, but
he detained me.

"I wanted to ask you, Miss Talbot," he began, "what was the dope you
gave that feller that he won on?" His voice was low and eager.

"I didn't tell him a thing!" I responded indignantly. "I know nothing
whatever of gambling, Mr. Pegg, as you are perfectly well aware!"

"I'm not so dead sure about what you know and what you don't," said Mr.
Pegg slowly. "But I am disappointed you won't tell me what you told that
feller to do."

"I assure you I imparted to him no information of any sort whatsoever!"
I repeated with dignity. "I am beginning to think every one has gone a
little mad in this climate!"

"Well, of course the climate ain't like California," murmured my
employer automatically. "But I'd like to know what you told him."

Well, I wasn't going to discuss that crazy man or my conversation
regarding the socks I was making, and so I fled to the seclusion of my
chamber and the completion of my errand.

But when I had written my letter and addressed my envelope I fell into a
reverie in which my thoughts were occupied by the Duke di Monteventi. It
was perfectly apparent that he was going to see something of Peaches--in
all likelihood as much as she would permit--and unless my premonition
and intuition were wholly at fault that would mean a good deal.

And why not? That was the question. Was there any reason why not? Of
course Alicia had her parent, who was naturally the prime factor in any
restraint that might be put upon her. But then, Mr. Pegg did not know of
the incident of the motion-picture house. Not that there was anything in
it to the young man's discredit. But suitable bachelors did not
generally have a mystery attached to them anywhere. Of course we did not
as yet even know that he was a bachelor, though from the way he looked
at Peaches I earnestly hoped he was.

Should I inform Mr. Pegg of what I knew? But what, after all, did I
know? Nothing except that two quite unattractive foreigners seemed to
have designs upon him. And those friends of his, Lord and Lady Gordon,
were presumably highly desirable. Well, Abby might know something about
him. I felt my responsibility toward Peaches heavily. And yet I longed
for a romance. Or at any rate, at least for the spectacle of one. Such a
time and such a place demanded it. Through the window of my unhomelike
hotel bedroom crept the scent of exotic blossoms on the wings of a
gentle breeze which stirred my letter to the minister to a faint
fluttering. I looked at it hard for a long moment, a trifle saddened
that so much sweetness should be wasted on anything less than a love
epistle. Then I collected my emotions, put them, metaphorically
speaking, away in dried lavender, where they belonged, sealed my letter
and made myself ready for dinner.

When I rejoined my little family the duke had gone, but Peaches could
talk of nothing else.

"Isn't he a regular guy?" she challenged the world from her seat upon
the end of a high table. "He's two inches taller than I am! We measured.
And he's the goods--absolutely! Got an old ranch that was staked out
during the pioneer Christian days, back in the mountains. But it's been
let run down."

"Orchards?" inquired her father, his interest quickening.

"Some," said his daughter. "But mostly human livestock, I guess. A
tenantry, they call it."

"Italian for rent hog," commented her father.

And we went down to dinner.

One of our more popular, less erudite poets, has remarked that "There's
nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream." Or perhaps it was
a classic poet. I am not certain which, and must for once confess to
ignorance as to the origin of a quotation. But it is one--the sentence,
I mean--for which I have long cherished a liking. It is ill-expressed
perhaps, but profoundly true. Love's dream is always young: that is one
of the finest things about it. The tenderer emotions have a curious
faculty of restoring youth, or at least temporarily renewing it. Even
love at secondhand, by observation or by inference as it were, is
capable of producing a reformation of the spirit which in its new-found
vitality at once questions the body as to its actual age and state of
decrepitude. Is one ever really old? Does one pass the period when
romantic love can obsess one without one's justifying ridicule? Is
there, indeed, any such period? Does not true love always dignify its
victim? These are the questions which such a contact must invariably
engender. And I confess to being no exception to the rule as I watched
Alicia and the duke.

What a romance! How pleasing in every way! Two such handsome young
people might have been, as it were, taken bodily from the drawings in
Godey's Ladies' Book, so incredibly beautiful were they; or from the
decorative cover of a more modern magazine, so athletic was their
appearance.

One of the very first items to catch and hold my admiring attention in
the progress of their affair was the bouquet which he sent her the
morning after his arrival. Here in a land where flowers were cheap and
plentiful, instead of sending a bushel of blossoms, as the average
admirer would have done, a small box appeared containing an exquisite
corsage bouquet. She was almost bound to wear it. And she did. So far so
good, but what was in even better taste and a further sign of breeding,
there was a handful of roses for me!

"My dear," said I as Peaches gave them to me, "that young man is a
thoroughbred, take my word for it, even if he is a foreigner!"

"Well, he's only half Italian, you see!" replied my lovely giantess in
cheerful explanation. "His mother was a Miss Winton, from Cambridge, the
daughter of the American consul at Nice. She married a title, that's
all."

"A Winton of Cambridge!" I exclaimed, a great light dawning upon me.
"That explains it, of course. The Wintons were very decent people, my
dear; very decent, though not very old. I am sure I remember that
correctly. I will write and ask some one at home for further
particulars. Meanwhile I know no reason why you should not see something
of him if you wish."

"Thanks!" said Peaches. "I believe I might. In fact we had thought of
taking a ride this afternoon. He's got a friend here in the Besseleri
and can borrow two horses. Would that be quite all right, as the English
say?"

"Certainly, if you take a groom along," said I, recalling what little I
knew on this particular point of etiquette.

I had never indulged in equestrian sports in my own youth, nor had
Euphemia, and so my authoritative tone was derived from surmises I had
made from pictures I had seen on the subject--pictures, it must be
confessed, in an English magazine, where a groom in pen and ink always
figured in the sketches of Rotten Row.

Yet when Peaches had departed sniffing at her bouquet, to write him a
note, because, as she averred, the telephone service was so bad--much
worse than the Los Angeles system--I wondered vaguely if she had not
been making game of me in asking my permission and advice. Ordinarily I
should have been certain that she was, but this time there was a genuine
anxiety on her part to do the correct thing--a faint doubting of her own
omnipotence which was new and wholly delightful.

I yearned over her with an unuttered blessing, and returned to work upon
my, or that is to say, Mr. Pegg's sock. How delightful the world seemed!
And, of course, his being a Winton made such a difference!

Of Peaches on horseback I have little to say besides the fact that she
and the duke required the two tallest horses in the regiment. Words fail
me when I attempt to describe how she looked, for there she was in her
element. By some mysterious process she had acquired a hat belonging to
one of the officers--a strange hat indeed for a man to have worn at any
time, for it was covered with cock's plumes. And Peaches wore it with an
air of nonchalance difficult to describe. But it certainly did look very
like the pictures to which I have referred as my authority on the
subject of horseback riding. There was no groom with them, but Mr. Pegg
had decided to go along, so that was all right. I saw them start and
then decided to have the yellow brocade which I had purchased in Paris
made up for the wedding.

As things were, I was not altogether surprised to find the Duke di
Monteventi at Abby's house on the first occasion of our going there for
dinner. I was glad it was so magnificent an entertainment with music,
because when those two young people met in the beautiful hallway there
should have been music and flowers, and there were! I have positively
never seen anything so handsome as the duke in evening dress, except
Peaches in that simple Nile-green satin gown! They came together
like--like two branches of a stream--at once playfully antagonistic and
blending! Yet their language was curiously unromantic.

"Cheero!" said the duke. "You look ripping!"

"You're not so dusty yourself," rejoined Peaches.

And then Abby bore down upon us; Abby in a perfectly outrageous black
evening gown with diamonds as big as pigeons' eggs in her ears, and very
little else. She sailed up like a small sloop, all trig and confident,
and after pecking me on the cheek extended a flower-like hand to Mr.
Pegg.

"It's awfully good of you to come!" she said. "Dear Freedom has talked
of you so often!"

"Charmed!" murmured Mr. Pegg, his eyes riveted upon her smooth head.
"Delighted!"

It was quite perfect, and I experienced a tremendous sense of relief.
One would never have suspected that he was paying for this gorgeous
entertainment. But I did not like the look he gave her, nor the way his
eyes followed her all evening. Somehow it made me unpleasantly conscious
of my own hair, in which I had always heretofore maintained a good deal
of pride. And somehow my gray corded silk with the collar of real lace
and mamma's cameo pin did not seem quite so lovely as I had always
thought them, either; though they were undoubtedly more modest and more
suitable to our age than Abby's costume was. Fortunately my walkrite
shoes did not show under my gown, and I managed to keep them pretty well
concealed through the evening. But I digress.

Abby's villa was a delightful one, situated, as she had said, at the
back of the pleasantly cosmopolitan little town of San Remo, and
nestling high on the sheltering hills, the miniature garden being built
on terraces and inclosed by a whitewashed wall against which the
evergreens of the mountain crowded sharply, and over which the roses and
geraniums and clematis flung abandoned sprays of sweetness, as if the
little inclosure were an overflowing bowl of goodies. There were minute
statuettes in the garden, veiled and softened by moss and the winter
damps of a century, and a little fountain half choked with water
flowers, but tinkling endlessly from a broken conch shell. There were
hidden benches, too, set as though for lovers; and, incongruously, a
smooth bit of turf near the veranda where Abby practiced putting, which
is, I am informed, a section of the game of golf.

But though the garden was old and steeped in romance the interior of the
villa was modernized and gay. And on the night of this, our first
entertainment there, a sense of festivity was diffused by a clever
profusion of half-hidden lights, quantities of flowers, sporting prints,
magazines galore, for Abby read nothing else, and a general crowding
together of old and new furnishings, even to pictures and hangings,
until the little house seemed incapable of holding another thing. But it
was brave and gay and being made the best of--very like Abby herself.

Of the guests besides ourselves there was not much to be said in the way
of charm, but a great deal in the way of distinction and quality. For
there was Sir Anthony and Lady Spier, who did nothing in the world
except live in San Remo each winter and compare it unfavorably with
Sussex, to which, however, they seldom returned. They looked a good deal
alike and ate heartily. Sir Anthony had set views on California, where
he had never been, and he positively refused to accept Mr. Pegg's
statements about it, which circumstance gave rise to quite a lively
discussion.

There were also present a Mr. and Mrs. H. DeVere-Poole, of New York;
expensive-looking people who Abby afterward assured me were very
fashionable. And no doubt they were--in New York. But in Boston I had
never heard of them, though of course Mrs. Poole was familiar with my
family and asked a few vague questions about some Boston people named
Cabot, after which she lapsed into the cigarette-infested silence which
appeared habitual with her.

Then there was a voluble captain of the Queen's Bodyguard, in uniform,
an acquaintance of the duke's, and of a distinguished but broken family,
I believe. However that may have been, I do not know. But I can vouch
for the condition of his English, which was worse than broken; it was
shattered. And that was the company.

As for the food--I never saw so much food so thoroughly disguised in my
life. It resembled an edible patchwork quilt made out of whole cloth.
But it was delicious. All in all the venture was a huge success and my
protégés behaved splendidly.

It was only after dinner, under the influence of a cigar--Abby permitted
smoking in any part of the house, it seemed--that Mr. Pegg relaxed into
his natural manner, and I began to fear disaster. Peaches was
smoking--every one was smoking, in fact, except myself. And Mr. Pegg,
sticking his thumbs into the armholes of his black and white striped
silk vest, refused to be seated, but strode about the crowded
drawing-rooms, asking questions about all that they contained. I am
mortified to confess that he appeared chiefly interested in the
intrinsic value of the objects which attracted his attention, and showed
no hesitancy about asking their price.

"Since I come over here abroad, countess," he remarked to Abby, who
followed languidly in his trail, a cigarette in an immensely long holder
between her artificially reddened lips--"since I come over I sure have
had an eye opener about secondhand pictures and furniture and such
stuff! That's why I'm interested in your things. I thought I knew
something about commercial values, but I see I can learn."

"Why, I thought Sebastian Markheim was a great friend of yours!"
commented Abby. "And he's a famous collector."

"He's a famous collector of culls and worn-out stock," chuckled the
Citrus King. "Bought a ranch near one of mine, and the hoppers ate what
trees he had, the first year. Then I got him a flock of turkeys to keep
'em down and he done better next year. But all the secondhand antiques
he had over to his ranch house come from a fire sale in Oroville, and
consisted principally of a slightly scorched set of real genuine
varnished oak dating way back to 1910."

"Who is this that possessed such a treasure?" asked the duke, strolling
up and joining our little tour of inspection--for I was with them, being
anxious to hear what Mr. Pegg and Abby were talking about.

"Sebastian Markheim!" replied Abby quickly. "He is a friend of dear Mr.
Pegg's."

Dear Mr. Pegg indeed! And she had never met him before that evening! I
determined to do something about this at once; though just what, and
about what, I did not quite know at the moment, but you will understand
me. Mr. Pegg, however, beamed at Abby, and then turned to the duke.

"Neighbor of mine on the coast," he explained. "Nice feller, but knows
nothing at all about citrus fruit."

"But he does know about antiques," laughed the duke. "His collection is
world-famous. Are you interested along those lines?"

"More curious than anything," Mr. Pegg admitted. "You see, I don't
intend to let any branch of knowledge go untouched if I can help it.
That's one of the traits that makes us Americans so remarkable."

"I see," replied Monteventi. "Have you shown him the Mantegna?" he went
on, turning to Abby.

"Mantegna!" I exclaimed; "A genuine Mantegna! How wonderful!"

"Let's have a look!" said my employer.

"It's in here!" assented our hostess, and led the way into a little
alcove room, where upon the bare plaster wall the masterpiece hung--a
strange, melancholy primitive of the ascension, the agony of the dark
ages in its solemn coloring, and struggling for technic. I stood in
silent awe,--it was such a precious thing to be in private ownership,
and of all persons, in Abby's! I sighed and turned, to see a curious
look upon the face of the young duke, who towered beside me. Never had I
seen anything so amazing as the transformation which had taken place in
him. There came into it a look of reverence mixed with a passionate
fire which seemed almost for the moment to consume him. His face was
that of a saint, a religious fanatic, a young crusader. His eyes burned
and the color had receded from his cheeks. To say that I was shocked and
fascinated at this transformation is to put it mildly. Then he caught my
eyes and his color came back.

"You understand pictures, Miss Talbot," he said quietly. "I remember."

"Pretty homely, I call it," said Mr. Pegg's voice behind us. "But I
suppose that makes it all the more valuable. How much do you calculate
it is worth?"

In an instant the duke had turned to him, his expression normal once
more.

"An Italian work of art of such a character as this is beyond price," he
declared, a deep note in his voice; "though that little painting would
easily fetch a hundred thousand dollars in the market--which it will
never reach, thank God!"

"You seem to think a lot of it," replied Mr. Pegg. "I wouldn't give five
dollars for it, but I suppose some people would."

"Markheim, for instance!" remarked the duke. "But he couldn't get it.
One of our charming hostess' chief claims to distinction is that though
an American by birth she has the Italian loyalty about such matters."

He bowed charmingly.

"Sandro means that no matter how hard up I was I wouldn't break the law
by selling an Italian work of art for export," she explained lightly.
"And this one, least of all. It came from my late husband's home," she
went on, "and is one of the few things I managed to save."

"Is there a law about taking such things out of Italy?" asked Mr. Pegg.

"I should say there was!" exclaimed the duke. "The country was being
stripped by moneyed foreigners until it was enforced. We natives feel
strongly on the subject, Mr. Pegg. But it is a dangerous thing to
smuggle a masterpiece out of Italy now, I am happy to say."

"Then how do you suppose Mr. Markheim succeeded in getting the Madonna
of the Lamp," I put in, "which he bought last month?"

"Markheim has Raphael's masterpiece!" he cried sharply. "Since when?"

"Well, young man, you needn't look at me like that," I said. "I didn't
smuggle it for him, I'm sure! He bought it in New York; why, on the very
day that you discovered that robbery at the Gordons'!"

"Curious that I didn't see the notice," he murmured, still staring at
me. "I beg pardon, Miss Talbot. I didn't mean to be rude, I'm sure. But
this was the first I had heard of it, and such things interest me
greatly."

"They would interest any Italian," declared Abby. "You see, things are
occasionally smuggled out in spite of an eternal vigilance on the part
of the secret service. Though as I remember, it's a good long while
since the Madonna of the Lamp disappeared. It was reported to be in
Berlin years ago, but this is the first time it has actually come to
light. Very interesting, I'm sure. And if we really should go to war
with Austria I expect we would have the opportunity of bringing back a
great many things across the mountains yonder. Let's go out, by the way,
and have a look at them in the moonlight."

She tucked her arm into that of Mr. Pegg in the most exasperatingly
familiar way, which he did not seem to resent in the least, and together
they went out through the window into the moon-filled garden. And even
as they went Peaches appeared in the doorway, her hair wind-blown and
her magnificent dress a trifle disordered, but if possible even more
lovely than ever.

"Oh, there you are, Sandro!" she said, catching sight of the duke. "Come
outside, quick! There's an aëroplane flying right into the moon. They
say it's Caproni himself!"

And forthwith they vanished, leaving me to absorb a detailed description
of Sir Anthony's indigestion, delivered by himself, which description
lasted for the remainder of the evening. But my thoughts were on other
things, though I said "Yes?" and "Indeed!" automatically whenever Sir
Anthony came to a full stop.

So it was "Sandro" already, was it? And that same Sandro, who loved
famous paintings so, and knew such a lot about them, had been somewhere
that newspapers did not reach from the time the panels were stolen from
the château in which he was visiting, until he reappeared at Monte
Carlo. But where had he been during that period, and what doing? I
puzzled the matter over all the while as we said good night and climbed
into our high-powered motor, at the wheel of which Richard, the
chauffeur, sat like a sullen schoolboy, while Peaches, abandoning her
usual place beside him, climbed into the back with the duke, whom we
were dropping at his hotel.

And the puzzle stayed in my mind after Peaches was asleep that night,
she having first talked herself tired about her Sandro, she describing
him in turn as a king, a sport, a Greek statue and a bearcat. And I was
still puzzling over him for an hour after Morpheus had claimed her,
which hour I occupied in trying on various pairs of her high-heeled
French shoes, and finding them less uncomfortable than I had anticipated
and certainly more becoming to the foot than my hygiene walkrite
footwear. Of course Peaches' shoes were too big for me, as my foot was
smaller than Abby's, considerably smaller, in fact; whereas Peaches'
footgear was--well, Californian. But it did well enough to practice in,
and I took advantage of this solitary hour to do so.

But all the while that I walked up and down my chamber, the heels
occasionally almost betraying me, my mind was on the duke. I determined
to ask Abby all about him, for I deemed it my duty. And besides that, I
wanted to see Abby soon again; I wanted to find out where she got her
corsets.




VII


At this point in my narrative I call to mind the fact that my dear
father ever laid the greatest stress upon the importance of the effect
which the pursuit of reading has upon the human mind and upon the minds
of juveniles in particular. He was convinced that if Euclid were read to
a point of thorough familiarity at the age of twelve years by every male
American the result would be a marked effect upon the political life of
the nation, I remember; and he recommended that girls from the age of
nine to nineteen be made thoroughly conversant with Saint Paul. In his
famous treatise on the subject, entitled The Education of Freedom
Talbot, he dwells at length upon the supreme importance of young people
having access to books of the best quality without "let or hindrance,"
and devotes three chapters to the influence upon the later life of the
individual of those books which are perused during the preadolescent and
adolescent periods.

And unquestionably his deductions in this matter, as in all others, were
sound. For in looking back upon my conduct from the time of my leaving
Euphemia, my home, and the carefully regulated routine of my existence
in Boston I perceive that my course was unquestionably influenced by a
volume of which I obtained possession at the age of eleven, though I
have greatly feared since--indeed I was, in point of fact, greatly in
fear at the time when I perused its fascinating intricacies--that it was
not a book which my paternal parent would have selected as suitable for
the sprouting of the young idea--especially for a sprout of the feminine
gender. The title of this dubious but well-remembered literary
production was Daisy Dashforth, the Girl Detective, and was the fruit of
the pen of some lesser literary light whom Fame has allowed to sink into
oblivion.

But there was in it some quality of keenness, of wit, of relish for
adventure, of sharpness of observation, which remained with me, and
which I refuse to dismiss as of no importance. Indeed it is quite
possible that without the subconscious influence upon my mind of this
book, which had remained in abeyance through the years until occasion
called it forth--it is quite possible, I say, that without it I should
never have had courage to take the initial step which pried me loose
from the home of my ancestors and set me forth upon a career at a time
of life when most females are drawing such careers as God has appointed
for them to a close. Of course I had the incentive of keeping the
ancestral roof over Euphemia's head to drive me forth from under it; but
that was no doubt reënforced by the memory of Daisy. Moreover, the book
had sharpened my taste for mystery and my instinct for seeing beneath
the surface of things, which faculty, in more commonplace surroundings,
would in all probability have been turned to the viler uses of village
gossip.

So it was from a combined motive of scientific research into a situation
which to me at least had begun to savor of mystery and a sense of duty
to my employer that I went to visit with Abby. Nobody could suspect me
of the desire for gossip. It was simply my plain duty to discover what I
could about this handsome young duke before my charge became hopelessly
involved in his toils--in other words to find out if they were really
toils, or merely addresses. And incidentally I wished to confirm my
impression of how Abby dressed her hair, achieving that youthful effect
with such success.

So packing up my knitting I put on a pair of Alicia's high-heeled shoes
for practice, strapping them on with elastic bands; without, however,
mentioning the circumstance to her for fear that she would ridicule my
enterprise; and requesting of Richard, the chauffeur, that he convey me
to San Remo, we set forth in company. Alicia was nowhere about when I
left, but there was no doubt in my mind as to who was with her, wherever
she was. Apparently there existed no doubt in the mind of Talbot,
either. I was seated beside him so as to be nearer help in case of an
accident, and as we bowled along over the perfect road with its
enchanting vistas of sea and fascinating walled gardens I could not fail
to note the grave look upon his clean, if somewhat rough profile. His
long nose was particularly expressive. I was not surprised when he broke
the silence with his customary freedom but without his habitual gay
carelessness.

"Say, Cousin Mary," he began, using the absurd form of address of which
I had been quite unable to break him--"say, Cousin Mary, lookit here.
What do you think of this he-duke of Peaches'? Do you think she likes
him pretty well?"

"It is a trifle dangerous to surmise what a young woman may think about
a young man until a definite announcement is made," I replied.

We rode a little farther in silence and then he broke out again.

"He's a foreigner!" he said with all the distrust that a good American
is capable of imparting to the term. "A foreigner! I can't see how he
came to be such a bucko! But he is, all right, all right, and she's
crazy over him! Damn it, I might have known I couldn't hold her!"

"Talbot!" I exclaimed. "Don't swear! And you must remember that
democracy is for the poor. Upon becoming so rich it was but--but
American for Peaches to acquire a proper sense of her social superiority
and to confirm it by marrying a title. Though in her case I believe we
can feel sure that her affections would come first. If she marries this
young man it will be simply and solely because she loves him. We can
depend on that."

Then I caught sight of his face and wished I had not spoken.

"I guess he's a fine chap," he said slowly. "And he can give her a fancy
handle to her name. Judas Priest! What can I give her? I'm--I'm a
servant, I am. I've learned a lot since I came over here. Let's go back
to California!"

"I know, Richard," I replied soothingly. "California, where there are no
servants! I'm really sorry, dear boy, but remember we don't know
anything definite yet. And we don't know anything against the duke,
either."

"Do you know about his older brother?" asked Richard, the chauffeur,
abruptly.

"No! What about him?" I answered quickly.

"He disappeared very mysteriously about ten years ago," said Richard.
"Two guys that was on the boat coming over from England was talking to
me about it. They are here now. I met them in a saloon and they told me
a little something."

"Repeat it all, Richard!" I commanded. "What did they say?"

"Well, it seems this brother was the duke," elucidated my informant. "He
was last seen in Africa on a hunting expedition with our duke. And then
the both of them disappeared for a while. When the duke come back he had
the title. There seems to be some doubt about his having a honest claim
to it."

"What nonsense!" I said. "Talbot, you no sooner convince me that you are
not a servant than you begin to talk like one. My Cousin Abby receives
him, and that is enough! You should not listen to such wild stories!"

By this time we had reached the Villa Bordeaux, and taking my workbag I
descended. Richard, the chauffeur, parked the car and settled back in
it, presumably to dwell upon the unhappy course of his love while he
waited for me; and I entered the villa, much disturbed by what he had
just told me, and determined to find out the whole truth at once.

I found Cousin Abby immersed in newspapers, cigarette smoke and a most
attractive negligee; and though I could never endure to see a woman
lounging round the house in a wrapper I confess she looked charming. At
my entrance she glanced up without rising.

"Hello, Free!" she greeted me over the dangling filthy weed that clung
to her lip like--like Richard's! "Hello, old thing! Sit down. Smoke? Oh,
of course not! I've been reading about this beastly war we are going to
have. Won't it be a bore?"

"Do you really think England and Germany will break?" I said. It was
what every one said in those days, a sort of formula of greeting like
"Good morning" or "How do you do" without meaning it too seriously,
don't you know? And then more vital matters would be taken up.

"Oh, I don't really suppose so!" she said. "I'm glad to see you, my
dear. Did that charming Mr. Pegg enjoy my little party?"

"I am sure he did!" I replied, stiffening a little. Her tone was
altogether too intimate. "So did I, and so did Alicia. It is about her
that I have come principally, Abby."

"You mean about the duke?" inquired Abby, with surprising astuteness. "I
noticed they were pretty thick."

"I assume you would not have invited the young man unless you knew him
to be desirable?" I said earnestly.

"I didn't invite him!" said my sprightly relative. "He called me up in
the afternoon and insisted upon coming! I would never have dared to take
the responsibility of inviting Sandro to meet any woman--but he simply
said that he knew them and knew they were coming, and so was he."

"But my dear!" I exclaimed. "He is simply a chance--a very chance
acquaintance with us. You must know him well to call him by his first
name. Tell me all about him!"

"I do know him well!" she admitted, lighting a new cigarette as I
started a new row on my sock. "Everybody who is anybody knows Sandro. He
plays about with the very best people. I've known him for ten years. But
I know absolutely nothing about him. He has a good figure and a charming
smile and never borrows money, though he gambles heavily at periods.
And that's all I can say."

"But my dear!" I protested. "Who are his family? Surely you know that?"

"That's simple enough!" said Abby. "His mother was a Miss Winton, as you
know--the daughter of the American consul here at San Remo. His father
was the holder of one of our very oldest titles. There was a brother who
was killed in Africa in a game accident--an older twin, I believe.
Really, my dear, I don't think there is the faintest mystery about
Sandy, as we call him. No money--land-poor with an old rat's nest of a
castle back in the hills, and not fit, they say, for human habitation; a
Harvard education, expensive tastes and an aptitude for recouping at the
tables here--a clever amateur of the arts and a dear fellow. And that's
all. Why, what more is there to know about any unattached young male?"

"Poverty would be no crime in this case," I observed. "Though I think
that if he is so hard up he ought to go to work."

"He's not hard up, except for a duke!" laughed Abby. "At least he always
seems to have enough to get by with. There's no talk of debts, he
doesn't keep a car, and lives extremely modestly."

"And you have never heard anything peculiar about him?" I persisted.

"Well, I wouldn't go quite as far as to say that!" said Abby, "for it
was very vague. About a year ago I heard that the secret service was
supposed to be shadowing him. We were staying at the same country house,
the Welch-Finleys, and he left utterly without warning, and it gave rise
to some talk. People remembered about his brother, and, of course, no
one has ever understood quite how he died. They were devoted,
however--mad about each other; I know it for a fact. And Sandy often
speaks of him most affectionately.

"Still it isn't usual for the secret service to shadow people--the best
people, is it?" I protested.

"Oh, quite!" said Abby. "At least in Europe it is. Nowadays everybody is
suspected of being a Prussian or an Englishman or a Frenchman or an
Italian, according as they proclaim themselves to be the other. You see,
everybody is in the secret service of at least one nation, or say they
are, and to be overlooked by the police would be rather a slight. So
don't worry about the smiling duke, because he is quite all right as far
as we know, and that is a long way in this wicked, sophisticated old
world. And now do tell me more about dear Mr. Pegg! He has promised to
drive me out to Sorrento to-morrow. And tell me all about lemons!"

"I'd rather you'd tell me who makes your stays, my dear!" I replied.
"They are so youthful!"

Well, that was all I could learn from Abby--I mean about the duke. Upon
the secondary subject she was most generously full of information. And I
came away reassured to a certain extent.

On the other hand I did not like Abby's calling Mr. Pegg by his intimate
name of Pinto, which she did once or twice during the remainder of our
talk. Because I could not bring myself to the belief that Abby would be
the proper stepmother for Peaches. Their tastes were too much alike. And
though I had very little against Abby except her clothes, I was as yet
unconvinced that clothes would make a man happy. And while I worked on
the socks I was making for Mr. Pegg as I sat up late that night waiting
for Peaches to return from a moonlit walk with the duke, I wondered
again and again how a woman of Abby's age could think so much of such
things.

When Peaches came in at last and I had helped her out of the dress of
light gray satin which she had worn, I could not but think that the girl
was daily giving greater justification to her pet name. Her skin was as
smooth and soft as the satin from which it emerged, and as gleaming. The
garment itself was like a piece of the silver night outside, and her
eyes were deep soft pools, her head like a golden star. It hardly seemed
right that any woman should be so beautiful. She had taken some
softening quality from the Italian skies as if this corner of the globe
which was so like and yet so unlike her native heath had rubbed off the
crudities left by the sharper climate, and done so the more readily
because the country was all so familiar to her--far more so than to
Boston-bred me--and she was ripe for impressions, whereas I was merely
ready for comparisons. She was unusually silent, though her glowing face
was as easily read as a printed page. I helped her into a soft white
negligee.

"Sandy!" she said, going to the window and looking down at the dimly
twinkling town and the black, moon-cut shape of the sweeping coast line.
"I am going to call him Sandy! I can put my head on his shoulder without
leaning down, Free!"

"Eh?" I said sharply.

But the wretched child wouldn't tell me another thing. Not that it
needed much telling. When they were together, which was practically all
the time, one could have cut the atmosphere with a piece of wedding
silver it was so thick and soft. When their eyes met suddenly it made my
heart jump and I wanted to cry. It was lovely, lovely! And she said so
little about it that I knew it must be serious.

One day in the garden at San Remo, where we now spent much of our time,
she asked him to pick her a rose which was growing just out of her
reach, but not out of his. It delighted her to confirm his superior
height, and she did it at every conceivable opportunity. He reached the
rose easily and she gave him her little gold penknife, which she had
been using to gather a bouquet, to cut the stem with. It was a beautiful
knife, with her name on it in diamonds, a most characteristic gift from
her father.

"By jove, what a jolly one!" said the duke.

"Keep it, Sandy," said Peaches.

And while he smiled his protest she fastened it to his watch chain by
the little ring through the end.

"Oh, don't do that!" I cried, getting to my feet. "Don't give a knife! I
am not in the least addicted to superstitions, but really you must not
give him a knife!"

"I'll give her a penny for it, Miss Talbot," said he. "That makes it
quite all right, you know."

And laughingly she took the coin and slipped it inside her girdle. I
found it there that night, and it had made an ugly red mark which must
have been painful. But girls are such absurdly sentimental things that
it is quite--quite, well, charming. And as for the little gold knife, we
had later good cause to remember that it was in his possession.

What a gay month it was! Such _festas_, such expeditions into the
country, such evenings of excitement, with the beautiful romance between
Alicia and the duke weaving in and out through all our adventures like
a golden thread in a bright embroidery! The duke was as care free and
gorgeous a lover as any princess could have desired.

Only two things marred what would otherwise have been a perfect period,
and one was the absurd way in which Abby set her cap for Mr. Pegg. The
other was my personal discomfort in becoming accustomed to the
strait-jacket furnished by the corsetiere to whom Abby sent me. But the
effect unquestionably justified the means, and they did make me look
younger. Not that Mr. Pegg seemed to observe the circumstances. He was
monopolized in the most outrageous way by that unscrupulous cousin of
mine. Not that I cared in the least, but the way men can be taken in by
a lot of falderals and clothes and artificial aids to beauty is
certainly astonishing; and Abby made no scruple of using them all.
Indeed, she was a most worldly woman and was infecting us all with her
worldliness. Perhaps the culmination of this tendency occurred at a
garden party which she gave, and at which a great many things happened
that had far-reaching consequences.

I may say at once that wine was one of the primary causes for the
phenomenon which developed during the course of the evening. I recall
that my dear father had a very concise philosophy concerning wine and
its effect upon the human system, though, of course, the feminine
portion of his household never partook of it with the possible exception
of a glass of port at Christmas; or a portion of gin upon the occasion
of a fainting spell, when it was considered most beneficial in its
medicinal effect. But outside of its uses as a restorative for the
vapors, we never used it, and I may state in the interests of accuracy
that though my father referred to the substance which he imbibed in the
masculine seclusion of the dining room after the departure of the ladies
as "wine," it was in truth rum, imported direct from Jamaica, in which
he indulged, if indeed so lax a term may be properly employed in
connection with him. Nevertheless, "wine" was a sort of generic term
with him for all alcoholic stimulants, and he believed in its judicious
usage and even quoted from the Old Testament in its behalf, referring in
particular and most frequently to the incident of Noah's having planted
a vineyard immediately upon the opportunity for so doing having arisen.

"Wine," my dear father would often remark, especially when in argument
with our worthy pastor--the subject was often debated between
them--"wine is the immemorial link which man has made with which to
hitch himself to the gods; it is the weak man's courage, the poor man's
wealth, the coward's glory and the failure's apology. Through wine man
becomes the things he dreams of being--great, strong, powerful. The
grape absorbs the sun, and the wine puts sunshine into men's hearts;
without it the world would begin to look for vices to take the place of
conviviality."

It will thus be seen that we were reared in a proper attitude toward
Bacchus--indulging mildly ourselves, but properly condemning any misuse
on the part of our neighbors. Of course we knew how to use it, but so,
too, did we know how to act toward those weaker ones who could not
discriminate between discretion and Saturday night.

This is not a digression. It is rather an explanation of how and why I
came to be a participant in the festival which Abby gave in the gardens
of her villa at San Remo.

Up to the date of her entertainment I had never touched a drop of any
alcoholic stimulant except in poundcake or ignited upon plum pudding,
partially because I had not felt that my dear father's dissertations
applied to the gentler sex but were intended principally for what
Peaches was wont to term an "alibi" for his own.

But in Europe things were so different. Women smoked without loss of
reputation, and even mere babes were given claret in their drinking
water in the superstition that it prevented fever or bowlegs, I forget
which. At any rate the taboo was lifted--I mean the lid, again to quote
my charge--and being so near Rome I thought it no harm to do as the, as
it were, Romans did.

And hard indeed must the heart have been to refuse any part of the
conviviality upon such a night as this was. The moon was marvelous
beyond words. All the flowers in the world seemed to have gathered
together in that little pleasance between the gleaming whitewashed,
vine-burdened walls. Lanterns hung like strings of dull golden moons
from tree to tree. Dear Mr. Pegg walking with me beneath them compared
them most poetically to oranges.

"Almost as big as Golden Americans!" he exclaimed jokingly.

Below us, down the moon-swept hillside, lay the Mediterranean,
reflecting the mystery and romance of Italy almost, as it were, audibly.
And audible also, but not too violently so, was the gayly costumed
orchestra which sang as it played, and swayed with the rhythm of its
own music. There were uniforms and beautiful dresses everywhere, picked
out and accentuated by the sombre formal clothes of the civilians.
Indoors there was laughter and dancing. The ballroom was a pool of
yellow light in which the dancers seemed to swim in a melted sweetness
of sound. Every one was gay. I was gay because of that lovely romantic
reference of Mr. Pegg's to the lanterns. And then a series of events
rose out of which my gayety seemed curiously to increase.

I was sitting outside alone, my escort, Sir Anthony, having gone off to
speak to some one, when I saw Peaches and the duke emerge laughingly
from the ballroom. I have often seen her beautiful, but never so
beautiful as on this occasion. She was clad in an amber satin gown of
the exact hue of her marvelous hair, and her only ornament was a huge
string of amber beads. She looked like the incarnation of all the gold
and sunshine of her native State, and the duke was gazing upon her in a
way that sent shivers up and down my back. They came along the path
slowly, utterly absorbed in each other. The dance music inside had
ceased and the orchestra was singing again--a sweet agony of sound with
the ancient words: _O dolce Napoli_!

The lovers passed into the darkness just beyond me--the darkness
pulsating with that utterly unrepressed foreign music. And then somebody
opened an upper window, from which came a ray of light. It lifted the
heads of the two out of their seclusion as though with a knife. But they
were oblivious of it. Never have I hoped--I mean, expected--to witness
anything like those two blind faces pressed together. They were mouth to
mouth, immovable, like Rodin's statue. There is something very terrible
in seeing a thing like that--in seeing something which even the
participants close their eyes upon. I staggered to my feet and made a
run for the house--as efficient a run as my new high-heeled slippers
would permit, and there encountered Sir Anthony on the terrace.

"Miss Talbot!" he exclaimed. "You look quite upset! Allow me to get you
a glass of wine!"

"I am upset--but oh, so happy!" I exclaimed.

But I accepted the wine. It was a very mild yellow fluid which tickled
the throat pleasingly and, far from administering any shock to the
system such as I had anticipated, it seemed to have no effect whatsoever
beyond creating a feeling of thirst. I took a second glass, which only
increased my need, and as it was so light and harmless I partook of a
third.

I then began to realize more fully what a truly delightful evening we
were having, and even whispered to my escort that I had good reason for
believing that Peaches and her Sandy were engaged. I even called him
Sandy, I recall. Sir Anthony at once proposed that we drink their
health--quite between ourselves, of course. Which we proceeded to do,
and followed it by drinking that of Nedra, a race horse belonging to His
Lordship, which was to--er--perform in some race on the morrow.

And after that my memory becomes a trifle dimmed, except for dancing
with dear Mr. Pegg. It was a species of quadrille, I recall, except that
we seemed to be doing it alone. There was great applause, so it must
have been successful, and I remember Cousin Abby exclaiming, "Just see
what Europe does for us Boston girls!" but that was only her jealousy
because of Mr. Pegg's stealing my slipper.

My entire being was diffused with a marvelous sense of well-being, and I
made an engagement to ride muleback with Sir Anthony next morning at ten
o'clock--indeed to ride with him at ten precisely every morning for the
remainder of our sojourn upon the Riviera. And this was the more
remarkable inasmuch as I had never ridden upon any animal whatsoever and
have a peculiar aversion to mules. But at the time nothing seemed
difficult. It was a wonderful night.

I completely forgot my charge; or when I thought of her at all it was
only to recall that she was in safe hands, if not arms, and to pursue my
own amusement. Then abruptly and most annoyingly the party was over. I
can't think why they wanted to end it. I, for one, was not in the least
ready to go home. But once out in the open air I had a dim realization
that all was not quite well with me. I became possessed of a sudden
desire to be alone, and a distaste for allowing either Peaches or her
father to see me until I was in some way different from the way I was at
the moment. And actuated by this motive I managed with uncanny cunning
to elude my party and find our automobile ahead of the other members of
the family. Richard, the chauffeur, was sitting in it alone, and I
begged him for assistance.

"Dicky," I said, "I want to go right back to the hotel an' get my
handkerfish. You take me, and come back for the resh."

"Lit to the eyelids!" exclaimed Richard.

I haven't the faintest idea of what the boy meant, but he was most
helpful, I will say that. He got me into the car, and somehow we reached
the hotel. The wind in my face had revived me and I managed by the
exercise of great dignity to give a sufficient appearance of
self-reliance. Richard, the chauffeur, left me with reluctance, but it
was necessary for him to hurry back at once for Mr. Pegg.

I experienced no difficulty in reaching my floor of the hotel, but once
there I realized to my annoyance that I had forgotten my key. I somehow
disliked the idea of calling upon the office for assistance, and
determined to chance the door being unlocked. It was possible at any
rate.

The corridor was a long one--altogether too long and with too many doors
in it. I remember thinking Mr. Pegg ought to speak to the management
about it in the morning. But after some hesitation I selected my own
door, opened it without difficulty and entered, to face the two rascals
of men whom I had tripped up in the London theater.

"What are you doing in my room?" I demanded.

"Madam, this is not your room," said the one with the mustache. And as
he spoke I dimly realized that though it was an hour when most persons
are in bed, both were dressed--even to hats and gloves. And they seemed
profoundly disturbed at my appearance.

"It is my room!" I insisted, sitting down by the door, which remained
open. "It's my room, and I'd like you to explain what you are doing in
it."

"Madam," said the other imploringly, "you are mistaken. I assure you
this room is ours. I can prove it----"

"I don't want to dispute you," I replied with dignity, "but leave my
room at once!"

I don't know how long we sat there arguing but it seemed like months.
And then all at once I heard Peaches' voice behind me.

"Good heavens! What are you doing there, Free Talbot?" she said,
striding in and seizing me by the shoulder.

"I'm trying to put these brigands out of my room!" I said. "Don't
interfere, my dear!"

"But it's not your room!" shrieked Peaches. "Oh, pa, come help me to get
my chaperon out of these strange men's room!"

Mr. Pegg was close behind her, and as she spoke I realized that she was
quite right. I got up with dignity and left, accompanied by the Peggs,
and the next thing I knew somebody was putting ice on my forehead, and
it needed it.

I opened my eyes, feeling very ill, and there was Peaches, in street
clothes. It was broad noon and she had been crying. I felt as though
I--as though all of us--had been going through vast experiences of
misery for ages and ages. With a tremendous effort I struggled to a
sitting posture in the bed, and addressed my charge.

"Peaches," I said, "I saw you kissing that young man last night! Now, my
dear, though I feel very ill this morning--I think I must have eaten
something at Abby's last night that disagreed with me--still, I am well
enough to protest at your behavior!"

Peaches stared at me for a moment and then burst into unaccountable
laughter.

"Free!" she said. "I hope we can get you home a fit woman to take up
your foreign missions work. We'll have no back talk from you to-day!"

And then she suddenly burst into tears, throwing herself on the bed and
sobbing hysterically. Now thoroughly alarmed I forgot my own
wretchedness and comforted her as best I could.

"My dear, my dear!" I said. "Don't take on so! What if you did kiss
him? There is no real harm done! You love each other! You can be married
soon. You have everything in the world to be happy about!"

Slowly Peaches straightened up to her glorious height and dried her eyes
on the cold towel from my head.

"Free," she sniffed, "Sandy has gone! Gone, do you get that? After our
promising to marry each other, after his dating up Pa to talk it over
this afternoon, after promising to come and take me to lunch and to buy
a ring this noon--gone without a word except this."

Dramatically she handed me a note written in a clear firm hand. I read
it as well as my throbbing head would allow.

     "_Dear Alicia_: I regret that I shall be unable to keep my
     engagement. Unforeseen circumstances have arisen which make me
     realize I have been living in a fool's paradise. Forgive me and God
     bless you.

  "SANDRO DI MONTEVENTI."

"His things are gone from his hotel," she said bitterly. "He's not
coming back!"

"Nonsense!" I said as vigorously as Nature permitted. "Nonsense. No man
could have got such a kiss and forgotten it. Once engaged to you, always
engaged to you. Peaches--he'll be back this evening."

"If he does it'll be in chains!" said Peaches. "You see, he shot a man
at the depot--winged him as the train moved out. It was your friend of
the black mustache whom you were visiting with last night!"




VIII


One of the most annoying things which the outbreak of the war of 1914
did was to completely ruin our tour of Europe.

We had planned to visit Belgium, where Mr. Pegg intended to launch some
citrus project or other, and afterward make a tour of Germany. And, of
course, that ungentlemanly, uncalled-for war entirely upset our plans.
To say that it was an annoyance is to put it mildly. I was terribly
provoked, especially as my collection of the flora of Europe was far
from complete. I had been gathering specimens whenever opportunity
afforded, pressing them, and pasting them in a blank book. Then I would
write in the proper names, both Latin and popular, in a neat lettering
of black ink picked out with red. It promised to be a most interesting
souvenir of my trip and was intended as a gift for Euphemia. But the
interruption of this small personal enterprise was, of course, only one
of the many annoyances which the outbreak of the war occasioned.

It was terrible that Peaches should be cut off in the midst of her
education, and terrible, too, that I should have the prospect of a
return to Boston staring me in the face. Also Peaches needed diversion.
Ever since the disappearance of the duke she had drooped like a--well
like a eucalyptus tree, let us say, though she, who as a rule was so
free in pouring out exact statements regarding her inmost emotions, was
absolutely silent on this most interesting subject. I had fully
expected that she would make a sort of confessor of me and postpone my
nightly slumbers to the point of ultimate endurance upon every possible
occasion, as she had during what I may call the chauffeur epoch, when
she imagined herself in love with Richard. But from the day of the
duke's disappearance she became singularly reticent about her emotions,
and as is always the case with a woman who refuses to allow herself to
talk, it made her quite ill, though she kept up and about and all that.

Mr. Pegg, Abby and myself consulted about what was the best course to
take, and after failing utterly to elicit any information from the
police regarding the crime, if any, of which our gallant Sandy was
accused, we tried the government officials, the American consul, and
even went so far as to drive to the homestead of the Monteventi, in hope
of obtaining a clew as to what had caused this mysterious performance.
But in no direction was any information to be gained.

The castle of the missing duke was closed--a desolate, half-ruined place
it was--the villagers proved as dumb as the authorities, and we
concluded that they were so for the same reason--to wit, because they
knew nothing. If only some definite fact concerning Sandro could have
been ascertained even though it had been to his detriment, Alicia's mind
would have been given an opportunity at least of escaping the thought of
him by a definite rejection. The terrible uncertainty of the cause of
his action was what troubled her the most, I felt sure.

But having failed to gain any real information we had simply to conclude
that either Sandro was mixed up in some private feud or that the police
were just too reticent for anything. Foreign police are that way--not a
bit like democratic America, where, Richard, the chauffeur, assured me,
the police statements to the newspapers are the native criminals' most
reliable source of information.

Well, at any rate, as we could get hold of nothing to tell Peaches
either for her comfort or disillusionment we conspired for her
diversion. And just as I had arranged to take her upon an exhaustive
tour of the cathedral towns of Germany that annoying war broke out and
spoiled everything. A rush of appreciation of America seemed all at once
to overwhelm even the most ardent tourists, and Mr. Pegg did not escape
being affected by the contagion. With his usual decisiveness we were
told to pack for home, and then I was summoned for the private interview
with him which I knew was inevitable, and to which I looked forward with
dread, as it could hardly mean anything except my return ticket to
Boston.

We were at Nice at the moment and Mr. Pegg awaited my coming upon the
balcony of the royal suite of the hotel. He was chewing a cigar and very
serious about it--our interview, that is. As I appeared he gave me a
curious look which took me in from my newly waved hair to the tips of my
high-heeled slippers, and I do verily believe that he observed them for
the first time. My dear father used to say that men always see things
suddenly or not at all, and this was one of those cases. Mr. Pegg always
saw very clearly what was going on in his own mind, but perception of
outside things seemed to be, as it were, cumulative.

However, though he made no remark upon my appearance I saw him change
his mind about something or other in the transparent manner so common in
men, and he abandoned the overworked cigar.

"Miss Talbot," he began, "in a couple of hours more or less we are going
to be in the refugee, or immigrant class, because we are fortunate
enough to be able to go home steerage, which is a damn sight better than
not going home at all. And what I mean to say is that I think it would
be awfully good for you to spend a few months in California. It would
sort of round out your European experiences by giving you a real genuine
standard of comparison--show you a country worth talking about. So I
suggest that you stick by this outfit and take a little graft of Boston
culture out to the home ranch for us, where maybe we can improve some of
the wild stock with it."

This was so different from what I had anticipated--the polite apology
for the war's having interfered with our trip and being so sorry that we
must part, and so on--that I could not refrain from an outburst of
appreciation.

"Oh, Mr. Pegg!" I exclaimed, clasping my hands in delight. "How truly
wonderful! Indeed, I shall be most pleased to remain in your employ and
to see Golden California. The more especially as dear Alicia needs me to
look after her in her affliction! I accept!"

"Good!" said Mr. Pegg, beginning upon a fresh cigar, a sure sign that
our business was at an end. "Good! And you can get a lot of specimens
for that dried-flower morgue of yours out there, too, if the Germans
don't put us to picking seaweed instead, on the way home!"

But the Germans didn't.

Abandoning Europe was a relief for many reasons. There was Cousin Abby,
whom we left behind, for one thing, and I confess I admired her attitude
and encouraged it. You see she had been traveling with us, and Mr. Pegg
had quite unnecessarily, I thought, offered to get her back to America.
But Abby was firm in her refusal. A strange fiery look came into her
eyes and her head went up like--like a battle horse, I do declare.

"No, thanks awf'ly, old dear!" she said. "But I'm off to San Remo.
That's home now. I've lived there twenty years and it's part of me.
We'll go into this war any day, and somebody has to be there to see that
it's on the side of the Allies!"

It was extremely noble of her, or, as Peaches put it, thoroughly
sporting. And so she left us, and we all upheld her in so doing, I'm
sure. It was a fine sacrifice and we all admire the spectacle of a
sacrifice, especially when some close friend is making it, if you
understand me.

Well, so much for the war. At least so far as it concerned us for a long
time. The next phase which directly affects my story is my own first
impression of the golden state, which began of course when our train
left Chicago on the Santa Fe. I don't know why, but the West seems to
reach East that far. Perchance I am mistaken and the Western influence
really begins at Buffalo, but at that point I was not in a state of mind
to make the usual traveler's observations, being wholly obsessed with
the problem of trying to obtain a little privacy in a sleeping car.
After the first night I entirely abandoned the hope, and therefore was
more sensitive to other impressions. A great many people had, it seems,
decided to go to California that week, and the war had necessitated Mr.
Pegg's immediate return to the coast, as he called it, though I would
have said we had landed upon the only real coast--well, at any rate, he
had to go on at once, and Peaches insisted that we all go with him, but
we were unable to obtain staterooms, and Mr. Pegg's attempt to buy up an
entire car was a complete failure. Indeed he was able to get only three
lower berths, with the result that Richard, the chauffeur, was parked
above me. The term is his own. I should have said, to follow out his
chosen symbolism, that he was parked, but with the engine running, and
not too well throttled down, either. In other words, he snored; and I
think I have mentioned that he had an extremely competent nose. Of
course that trip in the steerage had inured me somewhat to hardship, but
I had not anticipated that America would be so quickly affected by the
war--or so slow in noticing that it was affected.

At any rate, my real observations did not begin until we left Chicago
behind us, and then, not unnaturally, the first thing I observed was
Peaches' extraordinary behavior.

She was not flirting. The fact speaks for itself and gains in importance
when I make mention of the circumstance that there were no less than two
very attractive strange men in our car, and that one of them was a
well-known motion-picture actor. But Peaches paid them absolutely no
attention despite that before we were two hours out Richard was growling
at them like an angry watchdog--usually a sufficient reason for Peaches
to exercise her love of tormenting him. Instead she sat by the window
and stared out into the swift-moving blackness.

Mr. Pegg at once disappeared into a den where I have a deep-rooted
suspicion some sort of card game was in progress, and he hardly
reappeared again, except for food, during the remainder of the trip.

At any rate the lack of necessity for actively chaperoning my charge
left me free to make notes upon that part of America which was foreign
to me. Indeed, I was glad of the opportunity, for though I had been
several times from Boston to Plymouth, and had once visited an aunt in
Philadelphia, I felt there was yet much of my native land for me to see.
And there was. Very much.

How very, very much I had really no conception in advance, nor can any
language adequately describe it. To do so would be like reading the
unabridged dictionary aloud. Indeed, the term "unabridged" is the only
one which conveys any sense of the country one crosses. And it was so
amazing to find it really existed. One had been told about Kansas plains
and the northern Arizona deserts, but the statements made by travelers
were somehow not convincing. Nobody's statements about travel ever are.
But now I saw those, as I may call them, illimitable spaces and
stupendous mountains. There were actually Indians! Upon my word of
honor, though not nearly so realistic as the ones who used to sell worm
medicine in Bigelo's drug store window on Bank Street. Still they were
undoubtedly genuine, and even accepted a little money from me at
Albuquerque. It was most thrilling.

I felt singularly small and incompetent and ignorant, whirling along
through this infinite territory. It made me ashamed, curiously enough,
to realize that I had ever thought that the original thirteen colonies
were America; that I had actually once entertained the supposition that
that portion of the country situated west of Buffalo was something to
be vaguely apologetic for! It made Europe seem small and insignificant,
with its toy railways and funny little huddled towns and neatly
apportioned fields--even its terrible present situation; or rather made
America seem enormously safe, sane and resourceful.

I had always been proud of being a New Englander, and now I began to be
impressed with the stupendous fact of being an American. In one thing
only was I disappointed.

My dear father used to say that absence made the heart grow fonder
because there was no reality present to hamper the imagination. And I
believe that this must be particularly true of Californians.

All during my time with them in Europe, indeed since my joining them, I
had heard little comment on anything European from either Peaches or her
father except in disparaging comparison to the Californian equivalent.
And now upon the train, from the moment of our departure from the Grand
Central Terminal, everything I admired elicited a chorused response,
"Wait until you see California!"

Naturally I waited. In the nature of things I could not do otherwise.
But happily the railroad train did not. Meanwhile I existed in excited
anticipation of a degree scarcely to be endured. Never shall I forget
the first morning when casaba melons appeared in the dining car, and
Peaches and Mr. Pegg exchanged a half-pleased, half-contemptuous glance
over the first spoonful. To me it tasted like nectar but----

"Santa Clara fruit!" said Mr. Pegg in the same tone in which Euphemia
might have said "Those common people!"

"Yes!" nodded Peaches. "Wait until you have a San Bernardino melon,
Free!"

"Can it be possible that California is divided against itself?" I asked,
aghast.

"You said it!" spoke up Richard, the chauffeur, who had doffed his
uniform and imperceptibly slipped back into his earlier relationship
with the family, even to the point of eating with us; a fact which
seemed curiously without offense. "You said it, Aunt Mary! Los Angeleans
are the Smiths of California, and San Franciscans are the Talbots. And
yet I come from Los Angeles myself."

"I should say so, if I get you right!" exclaimed Peaches. "Why, Free,
southern California has nothing but the climate--absolutely nothing!
While San Francisco is full of--of----"

"Fogs," said Richard promptly; "and earthquakes!"

"It was a fire!" said Peaches fiercely.

"Hey, you!" interrupted Mr. Pegg, laying down his Kansas City paper.
"Hey, you two--you was both raised in Oroville ever since I knew you."

"But, dad, I don't want Free to get a wrong idea about the south,"
replied Peaches. "You know it's just one vast mixture of real estate and
movie enterprises."

"Better than living among a lot of hop pickers!" retorted Dick. "Burning
up in summer and getting your trees frozen in winter!"

"Thank the Lord!" said Mr. Pegg reverently. "There is some doubt as to
if I was born in Santa Monica or Oroville. It has kep' me unprejudiced,
what with owning orchards in both ends of the State. Let me tell you,
Miss Freedom, that our golden land is a bower and a horn of plenty from
one end to the other. It is all good enough for this native son!"

Now, of course, when people discourse to you in such a fashion of any
land you expect it to be green, at least. You anticipate great groves of
trees, wooded hills and flowery dales with rushing streams, o'erhung
with primrose and--er--tortillas and other native fruits and flowers.

But California was not green that particular first week in September.
There were not even any trees to be seen except an occasional lonely
yellow clump of cotton-wood or a thin straggling line of eucalyptus. We
were headed straight for San Francisco, and from the moment when we
branched north I looked in vain for redwoods such as I had seen pictures
of in geography books and other printed sources of information. Indeed,
I began to fear that there existed but the one redwood I had seen
pictured and that it was not situated near the railroad track.
At the railroad stations were a few palmettos, and as for the
rest--brown--brown--brown; burned hills and almost improperly naked
purple mountains. It was a shock, a disappointment beyond belief. I felt
I had been deliberately misled and made game of.

But Peaches suddenly came to life. Her drooping figure had straightened
and her eyes glistened. Her eager golden head turned this way and that.
She seemed to see things in the barren landscape that were invisible to
me.

Her father, too, was strangely affected by the fact that we had passed
the State boundary line, and abandoned his game, which I discovered to
have been named after a famous Boston confection called Black Jack, and
stood upon the rear platform in company with other returning native
sons, all looking eagerly at--something! The brown grass was all I saw.

As for Richard, the chauffeur, he had shed the last vestige of his
servitude and he, too, seemed looking at something--something very
beautiful. And then all at once I realized what it was. When California
is wet she is green and they were looking at her through a veil of happy
tears that transfigured the landscape. I ventured, most delicately, to
intimate my understanding to Peaches, when to my amazement, she turned
on me with a laugh.

"Think I want to see it green?" she said. "Why, it's just as beautiful
when it's brown! Just as much home, just as big and bountiful and full
of promise. Want to see it green? When the time comes. But do you always
want New England to be green? Don't you ever want to see it white?
Well!"

I thought then that I understood, but I didn't. Not until long after.
But as I stood beside her, abashed, a gentleman whose acquaintance I had
made when he first got on the train the evening before, and with whom I
had had a most pleasant and innocent chat without either of us revealing
our names, approached us with an expression of surprise.

"Peaches!" he exclaimed, flushing up to the roots of his thin gray hair.
"How are you!"

"Mr. Markheim!" said my charge in her turn astonished. "When did you get
aboard?"

"I'm just up from Coronado," he replied. "Got on last night! What luck
to find you! What luck, what luck!"

"This is Miss Talbot, my chaperon," said Peaches sweetly. "Meet Mr.
Sebastian Markheim, Free."

"We have already met!" he exclaimed blandly. "But I had no idea
that----"

"We spoke in the observation car last night," I said as primly as the
awkward circumstances permitted.

"Free!" exclaimed Peaches severely. "You picked him up! I tell you I'll
breathe easier once I have you safely on the ranch!"




IX


My dear father used to maintain that true love seldom dies chiefly
because it is so seldom born, which I take to be an aspersion upon the
average love affair.

This would scarcely be fair to widows, or maidens who have been bereaved
before betrothal, would it? For, of course, it is conceivable that such
a one might in time recover from the shock of her loss and form a second
genuine attachment. But whether I was justified in putting Peaches into
the latter class or not I could not judge at the time. Because, of
course, we should have been extremely lonely on the northern ranch
without Mr. Markheim, especially after Richard, the chauffeur, enlisted,
and dear Mr. Pegg began his increasingly frequent trips to Washington,
where he had something to do with supplying the Army with fruit. The way
that man constantly ran over to Washington from California was simply
too--too--well, too Californian for words. For the natives of this
region save time in every conceivable fashion, yet regard distance as
nothing. He spent almost all of his time either there or in the southern
part of the State, where his principal groves of citrus fruit were
located.

At any rate we should have been tremendously lonely on the home ranch
without Mr. Markheim. Really I should not have supposed that a
millionaire could be so human or a _nouveau riche_ so condescending, or
rather, so tolerable. But I suppose his being in love with Alicia had
something to do with it, for before we had been twenty-four hours at the
King-Pin ranch I saw how things were.

On account of his name poor Mr. Markheim took no active part in the war,
though I understand that he lent somebody a great deal of money--the
Belgians or Irish or some one, I forget just who.

But at any rate he used to ride over to our place frequently every day
when it wasn't twice a day, and at first Peaches would have nothing to
do with him beyond mere politeness.

I settled myself to watch the progress of the affair, because I do love
a lover even when I don't like him, and I felt sorry for Mr. Markheim
and interested in his attentions to Peaches, though, of course, he was
of an age which would have rendered his devotion to an older woman far
more suitable, and I was confident that nothing could shake her fidelity
to the dear duke, that handsome and romantic rascal--that is, if he was
a rascal, which now seemed plain enough. But every woman loves a rascal
at some time or another, and though friends and family may succeed in
persuading her to give him up she goes on nursing her fondness in secret
just as long as the flavor lasts.

At any rate Peaches thought only of Sandro; that was plain to any woman,
and though she seldom spoke of him I could see that we never went to the
little dust bin of a town for the mail but she looked for a letter in
his handwriting. But she did not discuss him, even with me. And when Mr.
Sebastian came over from his toy ranch she would ride with him, talk
with him, swim in our pool with him or accept the little things he
bought her with a sweet, gentle acceptance which brought me to the
verge of tears, it was so unlike her old fiery self.

And thus we dragged through a long, long period which has nothing to do
with my account of our particular affairs--the period of the war, in
point of fact. I feel it is not incumbent upon me to make a record of
the war though it occurred at this time, inasmuch as several quite
competent persons, including Mr. Wilson and the Associated Press, have
covered the matter pretty carefully and quite as accurately as I should,
the more especially as I spent the entire span of the war in California,
and the Golden State was curiously removed from any sense of actual
warfare.

Not that I mean to say that we Californians were in any way lacking in
patriotism or that we failed to do our part, for goodness knows we just
about fed the entire nation, and prices didn't go up, either, the way
they did in the East. You could still buy at pre-war prices in 1918, and
we were so rich as a community that we could do without the scandalous
increases of which we read in our week-late New York Sunday newspapers.
But what I mean is that somehow war seemed to belong to the East rather
than to us. And I think we worried more over Mexico than over Flanders,
and who can blame us when we were so near to Mexico that we could
actually see what went on there? Or the result of what went on, at
least? And the European war was just like some horrid rather
unconvincing nightmare which the East had got itself into and that we
had in consequence to help her out of.

Peaches and I ran the home ranch, and hardly left it, after Richard's
enlistment. When I reflect upon our life there it seems punctuated by
two great events and nothing else, though at the time of living through
it I seemed to be in a continuous crisis, my upbringing crashing against
my environment.

The first momentous occurrence to which I have referred was news of the
duke. It came in a letter from Abby, who mentioned him casually in
passing. The Chinese cook had brought the mail up from Oroville and
Peaches and I had carried it outside to the edge of the swimming pool
which Mr. Pegg had built into an angle of the ranch house, a gaunt
white-painted frame building, very like a big New England farm-house, as
are many of the homesteads of northern California. It was a heavenly
mild late September day, with the barren hills turning faintly green
already, though the rains had been tardy and scarce, and the roses in
the garden had still to be irrigated regularly. The roads, hub deep with
dust in summer, were bad now, honeycombed with mud holes, and the mail
was late.

As I sat there with a corduroy jacket about my shoulders, my muddy boots
heavy on my tired feet, and held the letter with the Italian postmark
unopened for a moment in my hands it seemed as if the past four years
were a dream, and the scene before me an utter unreality. At the gate to
the road stood a pair of orange trees upon which the fruit was being
left to ripen for home consumption. The orchards were stripped weeks
earlier, for we picked green and sweated our oranges. Beyond the
sentinel trees with their yellow fruit glowing like lanterns in the dark
foliage, a flock of runner ducks squawked noisily in the head ditch,
which had flowed by the house since the early days when Peaches' mother
lived there and used to get the water for her household from it.
Distantly a file of turbaned Hindu pickers, bound for a neighbor's
walnut grove, passed, silhouetted against the sky, and vanished into the
more overbearing outlines of a row of eucalyptus trees upon the ridge,
and a pair of smartly overalled, immaculate Japanese laborers equipped
like aviators, and gloved against the orange thorns, passed along the
road, chattering unintelligibly, their picking equipment strapped to
their shoulders like knapsacks, their sturdy boots swinging rhythmically
to their chatter.

I could see all this, and the environment, which had once been as
strange as a prism seen through a kaleidoscope, yet which was the only
reality I had known for four years, now took on its pristine strangeness
once more, and the letter in my hands brought a wave of homesickness
upon me--not for Italy, but for Boston, I scarcely know why. For several
moments I sat so, and then at length I opened the envelope where the
censor had closed it, and read.

It sounded tired, that letter did, though, of course, it told very
little, being censored.

"We are frightfully busy," Abby wrote, "but hopeful of an end to it all
before long. I hope it may be true that peace is near, for we have
suffered enough. We are not so gay as once we were, my dear, but just as
brave. Things have changed so, and people are gone. I hear among others
that our gay, mysterious and gallant Sandro was killed at ---- Sir
Anthony told me, and he got it from Captain Silvano, whom you may
remember at Mentone. Killed in a very brave bit of action, I believe,
too. Ah, well! So many people are making reparation for sins known and
unknown by heroic sacrifice in the war. It is the great confessional."

I did not read further just then. Something impelled me to look up.
Alicia was standing in front of me with grave golden eyes, her body
actually seeming to give off a magnetic force which compelled me against
my will to an immediate c

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