Rosemary | Page 7

slip off her wrist
the little pink leather bag which hung there by its chain.
"Now for that advance on your secretarial work," he said; and taking
from his pocket a wad of notes which he had won at the Casino, he
stuffed it hastily into the yawning mouth of the bag, while the girl's soft
eyes gazed at the sea. Then he closed the spring with a snap, and she let
him pass the chain over her hand once more.
"Oh, but it looks very fat," she exclaimed. "Are you sure you counted
right?"
"There's a little more there," he said, uncomfortably, "just a little to
save the bother of counting here in the street. Don't look angry. Only
the salary part's for you, of course, but the rest--couldn't you just hand
it over to your mother, and say, 'Winnings at the Casino'? That's true,
you know; it was, every bit. And you needn't say who won it. Besides,
if it hadn't been for you, it would have been lost instead of won. It
would be a kind of Christmas present for your mother from the Casino,
which really owes her a lot more."
The girl shook her head, gently. "I couldn't do that, even for my
mother's sake; but I don't misunderstand, now we are such friends. I

know how kindly you mean, and though neither mother nor I can
accept presents of money, even from dear friends (after all we are of
the noblesse!) I'm not going to hurt you by giving the money back, if
you will do what I ask of you."
"What is that?" He felt ready to do anything within reason.
"Let us sell you our dear little dog, for this extra money you have put
into my bag. He is very, very valuable, for he cost thousands of francs,
the sweet pet, so you would really have something not unworthy, in
return for your goodness. Ah, don't say no. You would love Papillon,
and we should love you to have him. We couldn't have parted with our
little darling to a stranger, though we were starving; but it would make
us happy to think he was yours. And then, if you won't, you must take
all this back." As she spoke, she touched the bag on her arm.
"Oh, I'll have the dog!" Hugh Egerton said, quickly. Anything rather
than the girl should return the money, which she so much needed. "I
remember he was a dear little chap, Pomeranian or something of the
sort. I hope he likes motors."
"He will like whatever you like. If you will come and fetch him this
evening, I will show you all his tricks. Do come. It would be good to
see you again so soon."
"With pleasure," said the young man, flushing slightly. "If you think
your mother will be well enough to receive me?"
"The news I have to give will almost cure her. If you would dine with
us? They will give us a dinner, now"--and she laughed
childishly--"when I have paid the bill. It will be very stupid for you at a
place like this, but you will have a welcome, and it is the best we can
do."
"It is the welcome I want," said Hugh. "But if you and your mother
could dine with me somewhere--"
"Another time we will."

There were to be other times, of course!
"And this evening," she went on, "we can talk of my beginning work,
as your secretary. It shall be directly after Christmas?"
"Whenever you are ready."
"I suppose you have friends to whom you will go for Christmas?"
"Not a friend."
"Oh, perhaps we might be together--all three?"
"I'll think of something pleasant for us to do, if you'll let me."
"How good you are! Then, till this evening. It will seem long till then."
They shook hands once more. She had taken off her glove now, and her
palm left on his a reminiscence of Peau d'Espagne. He did not know
what the scent was, but it smelled rich and artificial, and he disliked to
associate it with his new friend. "But probably it's her mother's, and she
didn't choose it herself," he thought. "Well--I have a new interest in life
now. I expect this is the best thing that's happened to me for a long
time."
As he walked back to his hotel, his head was full of plans for the girl's
transient pleasure and lasting benefit. "Poor lonely child," he thought.
"And what a mother! She ought not to be left with a person like that.
She ought to marry. It would be a good deed to take her away from
such an influence. So young, and so ingenuous as she is still, in spite of
the surroundings she