<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER XV</h2>
<p class="pch">THE SYSTEM WORKS</p>
<p class="drop-cap00">I WAS in Paris for full four weeks, representing
Sir Ezekiel (who was laid up with asthma)
on the International Commercial Conference
on the Regulation and Augmentation of the World’s
Tonnage, a matter in which our company was, of
course, deeply interested. It was the best chance
I had yet secured of distinguishing myself in the
business world. The work, besides being important
and heavy, was also interesting. The waking intervals
between our sessions and conferences were
occupied by luncheons, banquets, and <i>conversaziones</i>;
if we dealt faithfully with one another at the business
meetings, we professed unlimited confidence in
one another on the social occasions. In fact, if
we had really believed all we said of one another
after lunch or after dinner, each of us would have
implored his neighbor to take all the goods, or tonnage,
or money that he possessed and dispose of
it as his unrivaled wisdom and unparalleled generosity
might dictate. We did not, however, make
any such suggestions in business hours; the fact that
we did quite the opposite prolonged the negotiations.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>All of which brings me to the ungallant confession
that the two ladies, who had occupied so much
of an idle man’s thoughts at Mentone, occupied
considerably less of a busy man’s at Paris. They
were not forgotten, but they receded into the background
of my thoughts, emerging to the forefront
only in rare moments of leisure; even then my mental
attitude was one of greater detachment. I had
a cold fit about the situation, and some ungracious
reflections for both of them. Absence and preoccupation
blunted my imagination, even when they
did not entirely divert my thoughts. My mind was
localized; it did not travel far or for long outside
my daily business.</p>
<p>It was when our deliberations had almost reached
a conclusion, as the official report put it—when our
agreement had gone to the secretaries to be drafted
in proper form—that I got a telegram from Godfrey
Frost, telling me that he would be in Paris the
next day and asking me to dine with him. Putting
off some minor engagement which I had, I accepted
his invitation.</p>
<p>It was not till after dinner, when we were alone
in his sitting room at the hotel, that he opened to
me what he had to say. He did it in a methodical,
deliberate way. “I’ve something to say to you. Sit
down there, and light a cigar, Julius.”</p>
<p>I obeyed him. Evidently I was in for a story—of
what sort I did not know. But his mouth wore
its resolute look, not the smile with which he had<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</SPAN></span>
chaffed me after our meeting with Arsenio Valdez
at Monte Carlo.</p>
<p>“The system worked,” he began abruptly.</p>
<p>“You won?” I asked, astonished.</p>
<p>“I don’t want you to interrupt for a little while,
if you don’t mind. Of course, I didn’t win; I never
supposed I should. But the system worked. I found
Madame Valdez. Be quiet! After two nights of
the system, I politely—more or less politely—intimated
that I was sick of it; also that I didn’t see
my way to finance any further the peculiarly idiotic
game which he played on his own account, in the
intervals of superintending the system. The man’s
mad to think that he’s got a dog’s chance, playing
like that! He’d stayed with me in Monte those
two days. I said that I was afraid his wife would
never forgive me if I kept him from her any longer.
He said that, having for the moment lost <i>la veine</i>,
he was not in a position to return my hospitality;
otherwise he and his wife would have been delighted
to see me at Nice. Well, with the usual polite circumlocutions,
he conveyed to me that there was a
pleasant, quiet little hotel in Nice where he generally
stayed—when he was in funds, he meant, I
suppose—and that, although Madame Valdez was
not staying there at present, she might be prevailed
upon to join him there, and certainly we should
make a pleasant party. ‘I am <i>le bienvenu</i> at a very
cozy little place in Nice, if we want an hour’s distraction
in the evening. My wife goes to bed early.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</SPAN></span>
She’s a woman with her own profession, and it
takes her out early in the morning.’ So that seemed
all right, only—you can guess! I smoothed over
the difficulty. At that little hotel, at dinner on
the next Sunday, I, Valdez’s welcome guest, had
the privilege of being presented to Madame Valdez—or,
as he called her, Donna Lucinda.”</p>
<p>“Yes, the system worked, Godfrey,” I observed.</p>
<p>He did not rebuke my interruption, but he took
no heed of it. His own story held him in its grip,
whatever effect it might be having on his auditor.</p>
<p>“She came just as if she were an invited guest,
and rather a shy one at that; a timid handshake
for Valdez, a distant, shy bow for me. He greeted
her as he might have a girl he was courting, but
who would generally have nothing to do with him—who
had condescended just this once, you know.
Only she said to him—rather bashfully—‘Do you
like the frock I bought, Arsenio?’ It was a pretty
little frock—a brightish blue. Quite inexpensive
material, I should say, but very nicely put together;
and it suited her eyes and hair. What eyes and
hair she has, by Jove, Julius!”</p>
<p>He had told me not to interrupt; I didn’t.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me what she was like?” he
asked suddenly and rather fiercely.</p>
<p>“It was what you told me you meant to find out
for yourself, Godfrey.”</p>
<p>“Well, we sat there and had dinner. She seemed
to enjoy herself very much; made a good dinner,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</SPAN></span>
you know, and seemed to accept his compliments—Valdez’s,
I mean—with a good deal of pleasure;
he was flowery. I didn’t say much. I was damned
dull, in fact. But she glanced at me out of the
corner of her eye now and then. Look here, Julius,
I’m an ass at telling about things!”</p>
<p>“I’ve known better <i>raconteurs</i>; but get on with
it, if you want to.”</p>
<p>“Want to? I must. As a matter of fact, I’ve
come to Paris just to tell you about it. And now
I can’t.”</p>
<p>“She isn’t exactly easy to describe, to—to give
the impression of. But remember—I know her.”</p>
<p>He had been walking up and down; he jerked
himself into a chair, and relit his cigar—it had
gone out. “I don’t much remember what we talked
about at first—oh, except that she said, ‘I don’t
like your gambling, and I should hate to be dependent
on your winnings, Arsenio.’—My God, his
winnings! He leant across the table towards her—he
seemed to forget me altogether for the minute—and
said, ‘I never make you even a present
out of them except when I back Number 21.’ She
blushed at that, like a girl just out of the schoolroom.
Rather funny! Some secret between them,
I suppose. The beggar was always backing twenty-one;
though he very seldom brings it off. What’s
his superstition? Did he meet her when she was
twenty-one, or marry her when she was, or was it
the date when they got married, or what?”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“It’s the date—the day of the month—when she
and Waldo didn’t get married,” I explained.</p>
<p>“By Jove! Then they’re—they’re lovers still!”
The inference which Godfrey thus drew seemed to
affect him considerably. He sat silent for a minute
or two, apparently reflecting on it and frowning
sullenly. Then he went on. “Then Valdez said,
with one of his grins, ‘Mr. Frost can give you news
of some old friends, Lucinda.’ She wasn’t a bit
embarrassed at that, but she didn’t seem interested
either. She was just decently polite about it—hoped
they were all well, was sorry to hear of Waldo’s
wound, wished she had happened to meet you
and asked if you were coming back—I’d mentioned
that you’d gone to Paris on this job of yours. In
fact, she didn’t shirk the subject of the family, but
she treated it as something that didn’t matter to
her; she looked as if she was thinking of something
else all the time. She often gives you that
kind of impression. Valdez had never referred
again to her joining us at the hotel—staying there
with us, I mean; and he said nothing about it at
this meeting. I could only suppose that she had
refused. And now, when she got up to go, he didn’t
propose that we, or even he himself, should escort
her. I made some suggestion of the kind, but she
just said, ‘Oh, no, thank you, I’d rather go by
myself.’ And off she went—about half-past nine.
We finished the evening playing baccarat—at least
I did—at the little hell to which he had already<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</SPAN></span>
taken me. He seemed very much at home there;
all the people of the place knew him, laughed and
joked with him; but he didn’t often play there; he
doesn’t much care about baccarat. He used to sit
talking with the proprietor, a fat old Jew, in the
corner, or chatting with the fellow who changed
your money for you, with whom he seemed on particularly
friendly terms. All that part of it was
a bore, but she always went away early, and one
had to finish the evenings somewhere.”</p>
<p>“Oh, then she came again, did she?” I asked.</p>
<p>“She came to dinner the next three nights; once
again to dine with Arsenio; he’d got some funds
from somewhere and actually insisted on paying for
those two dinners—I was footing the general hotel
bill, of course; twice as my guest. She was always
much the same; cool, quiet, reserved, but quite pleasant
and amused. Presently I got the idea that she
was amused at me. I caught her looking at me
sometimes with a smile and a sort of ruminative
look in her eyes; once, when I smiled back, she
gave a little laugh. The fact is, I suppose, she
saw I admired her a good deal. Well, that brought
us to the Thursday. I had to go over to the works
that day, and I spent the night with our manager.
I didn’t get back till Friday evening, and then I
found that Valdez, getting bored, I suppose, and
having some money in his pocket, had gone off to
Monte Carlo. Rather cool, but I expect he couldn’t
help it. He left word that he’d be back next day.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</SPAN></span>
I spent an infernally dull evening by myself at that
dreary little hole of a hotel. I almost had the
car out again and went back to Villa San Carlo,
It would have saved a lot of trouble if I had!</p>
<p>“I’m not going to tell you what I felt; I’m not
good at it. I’ll tell you what I did, and you can
draw your own conclusions. I was quit of Valdez
for a bit; I spent all the next day on my feet, prowling
about the town, looking for her; because, after
all, she must be somewhere in the place. And I
knew that she had a job. So I reckoned the likeliest
chance to happen on her in the streets was
during the <i>déjeuner</i> hour. So I didn’t lunch, but
prowled round all that hour. My next best chance
would be the going home hour; you see that?”</p>
<p>“The business mind applied to gallantry is wonderful,”
I replied. “Now a mere poet would have
lain on the sofa and dreamt of Donna Lucinda!”</p>
<p>“But I had to put in the time in between—always
with the off-chance, of course. I got pretty tired,
and, when I found myself up at Cimiez about four
o’clock, I felt like a cup of tea, so I turned into
the first hotel I came to. One of those big affairs,
with palm gardens and what not; the ‘Imperial
Palace’ it called itself, I think. I pushed through
one of those revolving doors and came into a lounge
place—you know the sort of thing?</p>
<p>“I sat down at a table about halfway down the
lounge and ordered tea. Then I lit a cigarette and
looked about me. Round about the door there<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</SPAN></span>
were a lot of showcases, fitted on to the wall, with
jewelry, silver plate, and so on, displayed in them.
There was another large one, full of embroidered
linen and lace things; it was open, and at it, sampling
the goods and chattering away like one o’clock,
were Mrs. Forrester and Eunice Unthank—no, not
Nina too, thank Heaven! Because the neat girl
who was selling, or trying to sell, the stuff, was
Madame Valdez! I picked up a copy of the day
before yesterday’s <i>Temps</i> from the next table, held
it before my face, and peered at them over it. She
wasn’t in her blue frock now; she wore plain black,
with a bit of white round the neck; short skirt and
black silk stockings. They brought my tea; I drank
it with one hand and held the <i>Temps</i> up with the
other; naturally I didn’t want Mrs. Forrester and
Eunice to see me!</p>
<p>“They were the deuce of a time—Lord, I could
buy or sell half Europe in the time a woman takes
over a pocket-handkerchief!—but I didn’t mind
that; I had my plan. At last they went; she did
up their parcel and went with them to the door, with
lots of ‘Thank you’ and ‘Good-by’ (they spoke English)
on both sides. It was past five; I waited still,
and meanwhile finished and paid for my tea. I saw
her making entries in a ledger; then she went
through the case, checking her stock, I suppose;
then, just as a clock struck five-thirty, she shut the
case with a little bang and turned the key; then
she disappeared into a cupboard or something, and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</SPAN></span>
came back in her hat and jacket. By that time
I was by the door, with my hat and stick in my
hand. We met just by her case—which, by the
way, had on it in large gilt letters, <i>Maison de la
Belle Étoile</i>, Nice.</p>
<p>“‘Good-evening,’ I said. ‘May I have the pleasure
of walking home with you, Madame Valdez?’</p>
<p>“She didn’t seem surprised. ‘I’m Mademoiselle
Lucie here,’ she said, smiling. ‘Oh, yes, if you like.
Take me down to the Promenade—by the sea. I’m
half stifled.’</p>
<p>“We said hardly anything on the way down—at
any rate, nothing of any importance; and it was
dusk; I could see her face only dimly. When we
got to the Promenade, and the wind from the sea
caught us in the face, she sighed, ‘Ah!’ and suddenly
took my arm. ‘Was it a fluke, or did you come
to look for me? Did Arsenio tell you?’</p>
<p>“‘No, he didn’t. I’ve hunted the town all day
for you. And I’ve found you at last. Arsenio’s
gone to Monte Carlo.’</p>
<p>“‘I know he has. Why did you want to find me?
You needn’t worry about me. I’m all right. I’ve
got a very good situation now. I find it’s easier
work to sell things than to make them, Mr. Frost.
And the <i>patrons</i> are pleased with me. They say
I have an ingratiating way that produces business!
I wonder whether I was ingratiating with that
woman and girl just now! They spent three hundred
francs!’</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>“Do you know the sudden change that comes in
her voice when she means to be extra friendly?
I can’t begin to describe it—something like the jolliest
kitten in the world purring! No, that’s absurd——Oh,
well! What she said was, ‘I like
you and I like your dinners. But aren’t you rather
silly to do it?’ Yes, she was very friendly, but
just a bit contemptuous too. ‘Because you’re a great
young man, aren’t you? And I’m a <i>midinette</i>!
Besides, you know about me, I expect. And so
you’ll know that Arsenio and I are married. Ask
your cousin, Mr. Frost.’</p>
<p>“All I said was, ‘I’m glad you like me.’ She
laughed. ‘And you like me? Why?’</p>
<p>“Then I made a most damned fool of myself,
Julius. I don’t really know how I came to do it,
except that the thing’s true, of course. I’ve laughed
at the thing myself ever since I laughed at anything—in
revues, and <i>Punch</i>, and everywhere. I
said,—yes, by Jove, I did!—I said, ‘You’re so different
from other women, Donna Lucinda!’</p>
<p>“What an ass! Of course you can’t help laughing
too, Julius! But, after all, I’m glad I did make
such an ass of myself, because she just burst into
an honest guffaw—and so did I, a minute later.
We became a thousand times better friends just
in that minute.”</p>
<p>Godfrey paused in his narrative and gazed at
me. I am afraid that a smile still lingered on my<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</SPAN></span>
face. “You didn’t do yourself justice; you tell the
story very well,” I said.</p>
<p>“Of course I wasn’t quite such an ass as I
sounded,” said he. “What I really meant, but
couldn’t exactly have said, was——”</p>
<p>“I know exactly what it was, Godfrey. But I
think it was much cleverer of you to know you meant
it than it is of me to know that you meant it. You
meant that Donna Lucinda Valdez has a personality
markedly different from that possessed by Lady
Dundrannan?”</p>
<p>“I don’t suppose that I did know that I meant
it—at that moment.”</p>
<p>“But you know that you mean it now?”</p>
<p>“That—and more,” he said.</p>
<p>“Your idea of seeing whether Arsenio’s system
worked seems to have led you a little further than
you contemplated,” I observed. He had chaffed
me that evening, after my dinner at Arsenio’s—or
Nina’s—expense; he had aired his shrewdness. I
seemed entitled to give him a dig.</p>
<p>“Are you surprised?” he asked, after a pause,
suddenly, taking not the least heed of my gibe.</p>
<p>There were a hundred flippant answers that I
might have given him. But I gave him none of
them. His young, strong face wore a dour look—the
look of a man up against something big, determined
to tackle it, not yet seeing how. The animation
which had filled him, as he warmed to his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</SPAN></span>
story, had for the moment worked itself out. He
looked dull, heavy, tired.</p>
<p>“No, I’m not surprised,” I said. “But what’s
the use? You know her story.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean by that?” he demanded,
rather peremptorily.</p>
<p>“She threw up everything in the world for Arsenio
Valdez; she still blushes like a school-girl
when Arsenio backs Number 21. They’re lovers
still, as you yourself said a little while ago. Well,
then——! Besides—there’s Nina. Are you going
to—desert?”</p>
<p>“Nina?” He repeated the name half-absently;
perhaps the larger share of his attention was occupied
by the other part of my remarks. “Yes,
Nina, of course!” But, as he dwelt on the thought
of Lady Dundrannan (suddenly, as it seemed, recalled
to his mind), his look of depression disappeared.
He smiled in amusement—with an element
of wonder in it; and he spoke as if he were
surprising me with a wonderful discovery.</p>
<p>“I say, Julius, Lucinda positively laughs at Nina,
you know!”</p>
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