Rosemary | Page 9

others of smaller denominations. Quietly she put them away in the top of a travelling box, which she locked. Then she noticed the letter which the child had given her, still lying on the dressing table, with her gloves.
"Here's something from la belle Americaine, upstairs," said she. "A billet doux."
"A dun," exclaimed the woman.
"No doubt. It can be nothing else."
"Well, we can't pay."
"No, we can't pay," said the girl, looking at the locked box.
"Let me see, how much was it she lent?"
"Two hundred francs, I think. We told her we'd give it back in a week. That's nearly a month ago."
"Serve her right for trusting strangers. The saints alone know when she'll see her money again. She shouldn't be so soft hearted. It doesn't pay in these days."
"Neither do we--when we can help it."
They both laughed.
"But when you are Madame--let me see, what was the name of the young monsieur, they told you at the Ritz?"
"Egerton."
"Ah yes. When you are Madame Egerton--"
"Everything will be very different then."
And the girl slipped the key of the box into the little pink bag.

[Illustration: CHAPTER FOUR]
DOGS AND FATHERS
[Illustration: A]
After delivering her letter, the child went slowly on downstairs, to the room she had been on the way to visit. It was on the second floor, just under the room of the Comtesse de Lavalette.
"Come in," said a Cockney voice shrill with youth, in answer to her tap; and the child obeyed.
Though this room was of the same size and shape, it was very different from that of the Comtesse. The plain furniture was stiffly arranged, and there was no litter of clothing or small feminine belongings. By the window, which gave a glimpse of the sea, and of Monaco rock with the old part of the Palace, a plump young girl sat, with a baby a year or two old in her arms, and a nurse's cap on her smooth head.
"You invited me to come down after I'd had my d��je?ner, so I came," said the child.
"Right you are, Miss Rosemary," returned the plump girl. "You're such a quaint little body, you're a regular treat. I declare I ain't 'alf sure I wouldn't rather talk to you, than read the Princess Novelettes. Besides, I do get that tired of 'earin' nothin' but French, I'm most sorry I undertook the job; and the Biby don't pick up English much yet."
"Don't you think he's a bright baby?" asked the child, sitting down on a footstool, which was a favourite seat of hers.
"For a French biby, 'e 's as bright as you could expect," replied her hostess, judicially.
"Are they different?"
"Well, they ain't Hinglish."
"I'm half American," said the little girl.
"You don't talk through your nose. Far as I can see, you've got as good a haccent as me."
"I suppose yours is good?" asked Rosemary, as if she longed to have a doubt set forever at rest.
"Rather! Ain't I been brought out from London on purpose so as this biby can learn to speak Hinglish, instead of French? It's pretty near the sime thing as bein' nursery governess. Madame wouldn't trust her own wye of pronouncing the languidge. She must 'ave a Hinglish girl."
"And she sent for you on purpose?" the child enquired, with increasing respect.
"Well, I was the only one as would come at the price. 'Tain't big wages; but I'm seein' loife. Lor', I come down here with Madame and Mounseer a fortnight ago, and Monte Carlo ain't got many secrets from me. I was a duffer, though, at first. When I 'eerd all them shots poppin' off every few minutes, up by the Casino, I used to think 'twas the suicides a shooting theirselves all over the place, for before I left 'ome, I 'ad a warnin' from my young man that was the kind of goin's on they 'ad here. But now I know it's only the pigeon shooters, tryin' for prizes, and I wouldn't eat a pigeon pie in this 'otel, not if 'twas ever so!"
"Do they ever have them?" asked the little girl, awed.
"Not as I knows of, but they may for Christmas. I sye, are you lookin' forward to your Christmas, kiddy?"
"Angel--that's Mother, I mean--says I'm not going to have much of a Christmas this year. I'm trying not to mind. I suppose it's because Santa Claus can't get to the Riviera, with his sleigh and reindeer. How could he, Miss Jane, when there's no snow, and not even a scrap of ice?"
"Pshaw!" said Miss Jane. "It ain't Santa Claus brings you things, snow or no snow. Only babies believe that. You're old enough to know better. It's your father and mother does it all."
"Are you sure?" asked Rosemary.
"Dead sure. Don't be a silly and cry, now, just because there ain't any Santa Claus, nor any fairies."
"It isn't that," said the little