Man and Maid | Page 2

very well be disagreeable about the affair.
The divorce's three lovers will be in Paris at the same time. The married one's husband returned for good--"Yes, certainly, peace will have its drawbacks--The war knows its compensations--But considerable ones!"
When they had departed, promising to return very soon--to dinner this time, and see all the "exquisite appartement," Burton came into the room to take away the tea things. His face was a mask as he swept up the cigarette ash, which had fallen upon the William and Mary English lac table, which holds the big lamp, then he carefully carried away the silver ash trays filled with the ends, and returned with them cleaned. Then he coughed slightly.
"Shall I open the window, Sir Nicholas?"
"It is a beastly cold evening."
He put an extra log on the fire and threw the second casement wide.
"You'll enjoy your dinner better now, Sir," he said, and left me shivering.
* * *
I wish I were a musician, I could play to myself. I have still my two hands, though perhaps my left shoulder hurts too much to play often. My one eye aches when I read for too long, and the stump below the knee is too tender still to fit the false leg on to, and I cannot, because of my shoulder, use my crutch overmuch, so walking is out of the question. These trifles are perhaps, the cause of my ennui with life.
I suppose such women as those who came to-day fulfill some purpose in the scheme of things. One can dine openly with them at the most exclusive restaurant, and not mind meeting one's relations. They are rather more expensive than the others--pearl necklaces--sables--essence for their motor cars--these are their prices.--They are so decorative, too, and before the war were such excellent tango partners. These three are all of the best families, and their relations stick to them in the background, so they are not altogether dclass. Maurice says they are the most agreeable women in Paris, and get the last news out of the Generals. They are seen everywhere, and Coralie, the married one, wears a Red Cross uniform sometimes at tea--if she happens to remember to go into a hospital for ten minutes to hold some poor fellow's hand.
Yes, I suppose they have their uses--there are a horde of them, anyway.
To-morrow Maurice is bringing another specimen to divert me--American this time--over here for "war work." Maurice says one of the cleverest adventuresses he has ever met; and I am still irresistible, he assures me, so I must be careful--(for am I not disgustingly rich!)
Burton is sixty years old--He is my earliest recollection. Burton knows the world.
* * *
Friday--The American adventuress delighted me. She was so shrewd. Her eyes are cunning and evil--her flesh is round and firm, she is not extremely painted, and her dresses are quite six inches below her knees.
She has two English peers in tow, and any casual Americans of note whom she can secure who will give her facilities in life. She, also, is posing for a 'lady' and 'a virtuous woman,' and an ardent war worker.
All these parasites are the product of the war, though probably they always existed, but the war has been their glorious chance. There is a new verb in America, Maurice says--"To war work"--It means to get to Paris, and have a splendid time.
Their toup is surprising! To hear this one talk one would think she ruled all the politics of the allies, and directed each General.
* * *
Are men fools?--Yes, imbeciles--they cannot see the wiles of woman. Perhaps I could not when I was a human male whom they could love!
Love?--did I say love?
Is there such a thing?--or is it only a sex excitement for the moment!--That at all events is the sum of what these creatures know.
Do they ever think?--I mean beyond planning some fresh adventure for themselves, or how to secure some fresh benefit.
I cannot now understand how a man ever marries one of them, gives his name and his honour into such precarious keeping. Once I suppose I should have been as easy a prey as the rest. But not now--I have too much time to think, I fear. I seem to find some ulterior motive in whatever people say or do.
To-day another American lunched with me, a bright girl, an heiress of the breezy, jolly kind, a good sort before the war, whom I danced with often. She told me quite naturally that she had a German prisoner's thigh bone being polished into an umbrella handle--She had assisted at the amputation--and the man had afterwards died--"A really cute souvenir," she assured me it was going to be!
Are we all mad--?
No wonder the finest and best "go West."--Will they come again, souls of a new race, when all these putrid beings