Set in Silver | Page 8

box and the black Gladstone to the Gare de Lyon,
where he will arrive from Marseilles. That is rather complicated, as of
course we must go to the Gare du Nord for Calais or Boulogne; but he
mayn't wish to start at once for England, and in my new character, as
his ward, I must be prepared to obey his orders. I hope he won't treat
me as he seems to have treated the Bengalese! The luggage of Miss
Ellaline Lethbridge obviously can't be called for at the flat of Mrs.
Brendon and her daughter Audrie, for there would be questions--and no
proper answers. Therefore, when I present myself at the Gare de Lyon,
I intend to be "self-contained." All my worldly goods will be there, to
be disposed of as the Grand Mogul pleases.
When I've packed I shall hie me to Madame de Maluet's, looking as
good and meek as a trained dove, to take charge of Ellaline--and to

change into Ellaline.
After that--the Deluge.
Good-bye, darling!
Me, to the Lions!
But I shall have your talisman-letter in my pocket, I can't be eaten,
though I do feel rather like
Your
Martyr Child

IV
AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER
On Board the Boat, half-Channel over, July 6th. Night
Mother Dear: The dragon-ness doesn't show at all on the outside.
I expected to meet a creature of almost heraldic grimness--rampant,
disregardant, gules. What I did meet--but I'm afraid that isn't the right
way to begin. Please consider that I haven't begun. I'll go back to the
time when Ellaline and her chaperon (me) started away from school
together in a discreet and very hot cab with her trunks.
She was jumpy and on edge with excitement, and got on my nerves so
that it was the greatest relief when I'd seen her off in her train for St.
Cloud. Just at this point I find another break in my narrative, made by a
silly, not at all interesting, adventure.
I'd been waving my hand for the twenty-fifth time to Ellaline, in
response to the same number of waves from her. When at last she drew
in her head, as the train steamed away, I turned round in a hurry lest she

should pop it out again, and bumped into a man, or what will be a man
in a few years if it lives. I said, "Pardon, monsieur," as gravely as if it
were a man already, and it said in French made in England that 'twas
entirely its fault. It was such a young youth, and looked so utterly
English, that I smiled a motherly smile, and breathed, "Not at all," as I
passed on, fondly thinking to pass forever out of its life at the same
time. But, dearest, the absurd little thing didn't recognize the smile as
motherly. Perhaps it never had a mother. I had hardly observed it as an
individual, I assure you, except as one's sub-conscious self takes notes
without permission from headquarters. I was vaguely aware that the
creature with whom I had collided was quite nice-looking, though
bullet-headed, freckled, light-blue-eyed, crop-haired, and possessing
the shadow of a coming event in the shape (I can't call it more) of a
moustache. I had also an impression of a Panama hat, which came off
in compliment to me, a gray flannel suit, the latest kind of collar (you
know "Sissy Williams says, 'the feeling is for low ones this year'!") and
mustard-coloured boots. All that sounds hideous, I know, yet it wasn't.
At first sight it was rather attractive, but it lost its attractiveness in a
flash when it mistook the nature of my smile.
You wouldn't believe that a nice, clean little British face could change
so much for the worse in about the eighth part of a second! It couldn't
have taken longer, or I shouldn't have seen, because it happened
between my smile and my walking on. But I did see. A disagreeable
kind of lighting up in the eyes, which instantly made them look full
of--consciousness of sex, is the only way I can express it. And instead
of being inoffensive, boyish, blue beads, they were suddenly
transformed into the sharp, whitey-gray sort that the Neapolitans "make
horns" at.
Well, all that was nothing to fuss about, for even I know that misguided
youths from Surbiton or Pawtucket, who are quite harmless at home,
think they owe it to themselves to be gay dogs when they run over to
Paris, otherwise they'll not get their money's worth. If it hadn't been for
what came afterward I wouldn't be wasting paper and ink on a silly
young bounder. As it is, I'll just tell you what happened and see if you
think I was to blame, or whether there's likely to