Dross | Page 9

"Ah,
well!" thought I, "vogue la galère." I had made a beginning, and in
Norfolk they do not breed men who leave a quest half accomplished.
For a moment I waited, and Madame seemed to have nothing more to
say. I had not at that time, nor indeed have I since, acquired that polish
of the world which takes the form of a brilliant, and I suspect insincere,
manner in society. I had no compliments ready. I therefore took my
leave.
The Vicomte accompanied me to the top of the stairs, and there made
sure that the servants were awaiting my departure in the hall.
"To-morrow morning," he said, with a friendly touch on my arm, "you
shall have my answer."
With this news then I returned to my comfortable quarters in John
Turner's appartement in the Avenue d'Antan. I found that great banker
about to partake of luncheon, which was served to him at midday, after
the fashion of the country of his adoption. During my walk across the
river and through the gardens of the Tuileries--at that time at the height
of their splendour--I had not reflected very deeply on the matter in hand.
I had thought more of Mademoiselle de Clericy's bright eyes than aught
else.

"Good morning," said my host, whom I had not seen before going out.
"Where have you been?"
"To the Vicomte de Clericy's."
"The devil you have! Then you are not so stolid as you look."
And he laughed as he shook out his table napkin. His thought was only
half with me, for he was looking at the menu.
"Arcachon oysters!" he added; "the best in the world! I hate your
bloated natives. Give me a small oyster."
"Give me a dozen," I answered, helping myself from the dish at my
elbow.
"And did the Vicomte kick you downstairs?" asked my host, as he
compounded in the dip of his plate a wonderful mixture of vinegar and
spices.
"No. He is going to consider my application, and will give me his
answer to-morrow morning."
John Turner set down the vinegar bottle and looked across the table at
me with an expression of wonder on his broad face.
"Well, I never! Did you see Madame? Clever woman, Madame. Gives
excellent dinners."
"Yes; I was presented to her."
"Ah! A match for you, Mr. Dick. Did you notice her feet?"
"I noticed that they were well shod."
"Just so!" muttered John Turner, who was now engaged in gastronomic
delights. "In France a clever woman is always bien chaussée. Her
brains run to her toes. In England it is different. If a woman has a brain
it undermines her morals or ruins her waist."

"Only the plain women," suggested I, who had passed several seasons
in London not altogether in vain.
"A pretty woman is never clever--she is too wise," said John Turner,
stolidly, and he sipped his chablis.
The mysterious sauce with which this great gastronome flavoured his
oysters was now prepared, while I, it must be confessed, had consumed
my portion, and John Turner relapsed into silence. I watched him as he
ate delicately, slowly, with a queer refinement. Many are ready to talk
of some crafts under the name of art, which must now, forsooth, be
spelt with a capital letter--why, I know no more than the artists. John
Turner had his Art, and now exercised it. I always noticed that during
the earlier and more piquant courses of a meal he was cynical and apt
to give speech on matters of human meanness and vanity not unknown
to many who are silent about them. Later on, when the dishes became
more succulent, so would his views of life sweeten and acquire a
mellower flavour. His round face now began to beam more pleasantly
at me across the well-served table, like a rich autumn moon rising over
a fat land.
"Pity it is," he said, as he placed a lamb cutlet on my plate, "that you
and your father cannot agree."
"Pity that the guv'nor is so unreasonable," I answered.
"I do not suppose there is any question of reason on either side,"
rejoined my companion, with a laugh. "But I think you might make a
little more allowance. You must remember that we old fellows are not
so wise and experienced as our youngers and betters. I know he is a
hot-blooded old reprobate--that father of yours. I thumped him at Eton
for it half a century ago. And you're a worthy son to him, I make no
doubt--you have his great chin. But you are all he has, Dick--don't
forget that now and remember it too late. Have another cutlet?"
"Thanks."
"Gad! I'd give five hundred a year for your appetite and digestion.

Think of that old man, my boy, down in