Set in Silver | Page 9

be any bother.

At that change my look slid off the self-conceited face, like rain off a
particularly slippery duck's back. He ought to have known then, if he
hadn't before, that I considered him a mere It, but I can just imagine his
saying to himself: "This is Paris, and I've paid five pounds for a return
ticket. Must have something to tell the chaps. What's a girl doing out
alone?"
He came after me and said I'd dropped something. So I had. It was a
rose. I was going to disclaim it, with all the haughty grace of a
broomstick, when suddenly I remembered that it was my carte
d'identité, so to speak. The Dragon had prescribed it in his last letter to
Madame de Maluet about meeting Ellaline. As there might be difficulty
in recognition if she came to the station with a chaperon as strange to
him as herself, it would be well, he suggested, that each pinned a red
rose on her dress. Then he would look out for two ladies with two
roses.
I couldn't make myself into two ladies with two roses, but I must be
one lady with one rose, otherwise the Dragon and I might miss each
other, and he would go out to Versailles to see what the dickens was
the matter. Then the fat would be in the fire, with a vengeance!
You see, I had to say "Yes" to the rose, because there wasn't time to
call at a florist's and try to buy another red label before going on to the
Gare de Lyon. I put out my hand with a "thank you" that sounded as if
it needed oiling, but, as if on second thought the silly idiot asked if he
might keep the flower for himself. "It looks like an English rose," said
he, with a glance which transferred the compliment to me.
"Certainly not--sir," said I. "I need it myself."
"If that's all, you might let me give you a whole bunch to make up for
it," said he.
Then I said, "Go away," which mayn't have been elegant, but was to the
point. And I walked on with long steps toward the place where there
were cabs. But quite a short man is as tall as a tall girl, and his steps
were as long as mine.

"I say," said he, "you needn't be so cross. What's the harm, as long as
we're both English, and this is Paris?"
"I'm not English," I snapped. "If you don't go away I'll call a
gendarme."
"You will look a fool if you do. A great tall girl like you," said he,
trying to be funny. And it did sound funny. I suppose I must have been
pretty nervous, after all I'd gone through with Ellaline, for I almost
giggled, but I didn't, quite. On the contrary, I marched on like a
war-cloud about to burst, and proved my non-British origin by
addressing a cabman in the Parisian French I've inherited from you. I
hoped that the boy couldn't understand, but he did.
"Mademoiselle, I have to go to the Gare de Lyon, too," he announced,
"and it would be a very friendly act, and show that you forgive me, if
you'd let me take you there in a taxi-motor, which you'll find much
nicer than that old Noah's ark you're engaging."
"I don't forgive you," I said, as I mounted into the alleged ark. "Your
only excuse is that you're not grown up yet."
With that Parthian shot I ordered my cocher, who was furtively
grinning by this time, to drive on as quickly as possible.
Of course the horrid child from Surbiton or somewhere didn't have to
go to the Gare de Lyon; but evidently he regarded me as his last hope
of an adventure before returning to his native heath or duckpond; so,
naturally, he followed in a taxi-motor, whose turbulent,
goodness-knows-what-horse-power had to be subdued to
one-half-horse gait. I didn't look behind, but I felt in my bones--my
funny bones--that he was there. And when I arrived at the Gare de
Lyon so did he.
The train I'd come to meet was a P. and O. Special, or whatever you
call it, and it wasn't in yet, so I had to wait.
"Cats may look at kings," said my gay cavalier.

"Cads mayn't though," said I. Perhaps I ought to have maintained a
dignified silence, but that mot was irresistible.
"You are hard on a chap," said he. "I tell you what. I've been thinking a
lot about you, mademoiselle, and I believe you're up to some little
game of your own. When the cat's away the mice will play. You've got
rid of your friend, and you're out for a lark on your own.