War-time Silhouettes Part 8

"Tell me, my friend"--her eyes played full upon him as she spoke--"who was that gentleman you were talking to just before dinner?"

For a moment Bobby hesitated. If there were one man in all his acquaintance whom he would have preferred that Madame de Corantin should not know, it was Alistair Ramsey. Bobby had known him for a good many years. The acquaintance dated back to a period when Ramsey was a comparatively young man of fashionable manner and appearance on half-commission with a firm of stockbrokers. Even then he aspired to smart society, but this social recognition involved an expenditure considerably beyond his earning capacity. In those days Bobby had been of no small use to him. Many were the dinners to which Ramsey had done the inviting, he the paying, and if that gentleman of fashion was not above accepting the lavish attentions of the man about town, whom he regarded as quite outside his own world, still less was he averse to the loans forthcoming at moments of embarra.s.sment, accompanied by a thinly veiled hint from Bobby that they were repayable only when circ.u.mstances permitted.

Bobby was not calculating, but without any deep reflection on the subject he knew that Ramsey was "on the make," and it was not unreasonable to expect him to have at least a kindly feeling for an old friend when he "arrived." In this, however, he was disappointed. Though with the rise in his fortunes Ramsey's vanity extinguished his sense of obligation, his pride was not equal to paying his debts. Bobby may or may not have realized that his former friend's grat.i.tude was of the same quality as his honour, but in any case he showed no resentment. He was sufficiently accustomed to the ways of the successful to take them as they were, and to pa.s.s over those characteristics to which, after all, they partly owe their success. Indeed, had it been a question of introducing any one but Madame de Corantin to Ramsey, he would have ignored the latter's insolence and ingrat.i.tude alike and conformed to his habitual role as purveyor of amus.e.m.e.nt to all and sundry. For Bobby's dignity was not great, and the secret of the kind of popularity he enjoyed was in no small measure attributable to his own lack of self-respect. But for the first time in his life Bobby's pride now a.s.serted itself. At last he was being "tried too high."

"Excuse me, madame, if before answering you I ask you why you are interested?"

Madame de Corantin considered an instant. "I shall tell you, my friend, but not now." She glanced round her significantly as she spoke. "The little story is rather private, and I should not care to be overheard.

You understand?"

"Oh, please don't--please," he stammered, feeling he had been indiscreet, but flattered all the same by the promise of her confidence. "His name is Alistair Ramsey. I have known him a long time."

"Is he an intimate friend of yours, monsieur?"

"Well, no, I can't say intimate, but I used to know him very well."

"What is his position in London?"

Bobby thought a moment. "Do you mean his position now during the War or generally?"

"Both."

"Well, shortly before the War he had been made a partner in an important firm in the Stock Exchange. He is supposed to come of a good family, and he went about a great deal. One of those sort of men ladies like--asked out a lot, that sort of thing--good-looking, too, don't you think?"

The question was inspired by jealousy. The more Bobby thought about Ramsey the less he liked the prospect of introducing him to Madame de Corantin.

"I quite believe he is considered so," she replied evasively. "But you were saying--"

"Well, it's generally believed, I dare say it isn't true, that he was made a member of that firm through being--ahem--a great friend of the wife of the chief partner. I don't like suggesting that sort of thing, you know, but as you asked me--"

"Oh please go on," Madame de Corantin said, holding her chin with both hands and leaning her elbows on the table. Her eyes were looking closely into Bobby's, and he moved uneasily under their sustained gaze.

"Just after the War began--Oh, I forgot to mention something: he is a very great friend of Mrs. Norman Lockyard, the wife of the Cabinet Minister. I seem to keep on bringing in ladies, but somehow when one talks about Alistair Ramsey one can't help it. Through Mrs. Lockyard, he got introduced to Sir Archibald Fellowes. It wasn't very difficult, you know; Ramsey gives little parties in his flat in Mount Street--all sorts of people go. It's extraordinary when one thinks of it--I mean to me who know what his life has been--but he's considered amusing. I know one evening, a week or two ago, Lord Coleton was there, and--"

Madame de Corantin was listening attentively. "Did you say Lord Coleton?"

she asked. "Those English names are so puzzling."

"Yes," said Bobby. "Why, do you know him?"

"Oh, slightly," she answered, "but continue your story, it is so interesting."

"Where was I? Oh, yes, let me see. Have you ever heard of Leonie Blas?"

Madame de Corantin smiled at the sudden question. "Oh yes, the chanteuse.

What has she to do with it?"

"Well, you see, Ramsey and Leonie were more or less _colles_, and Ramsey introduced old Fellowes to her. Soon afterwards Ramsey became Fellowes' private secretary."

"Ah!" The exclamation came through Madame de Corantin's closed lips almost like a sigh. "And Sir Archibald is a very important personage, I believe?"

"Important! They say he runs the whole War Office."

Madame de Corantin laughed. The sound of it rippled away joyously. It was infectious, and Bobby laughed too.

"Anything more I can tell you?"

"Oh no, thanks. Now let us talk about other things, but I must know this wonderful Mr. Ramsey. You will introduce him to me, won't you? Ah!" The reason for the exclamation was evident.

Their table faced the entrance, and Madame de Corantin's seat enabled her to see every one who entered or left the restaurant. Alistair Ramsey was standing in the doorway, waiting for the head waiter to show him to his table. His eyes were fixed upon Madame de Corantin's face. The look of astonishment Bobby had noticed before had given place to one of mingled surprise and curiosity. He had exchanged his uniform for evening dress, and wore a flower in his b.u.t.tonhole. A waiter went towards him, and he began threading his way through the diners. Another instant, and he stood beside Madame de Corantin's chair.

Under the compulsion of a will felt but not expressed in words, Bobby rose as he approached, and introduced him.

"I hope you will allow me to join you after dinner?" Alistair Ramsey asked as he bowed.

Madame de Corantin smiled affirmatively, and Bobby ground his teeth as Ramsey proceeded to his table.

Madame de Corantin did not care for the chatter and casual encounters of the public rooms of an hotel. It was her practice to retire to her own salon after dinner, unless she were going to a theatre. After the first two or three days of their acquaintance she had invited Bobby to join her there, and he had been immensely flattered. He looked forward to that moment every evening, for it seemed to him to admit a certain intimacy which he greatly valued. But now his heart was beating with apprehension.

Would she ask Ramsey to her private apartment?

"May I tell the waiter to bring coffee upstairs?" he asked in a low tone.

"By all means," she said, "but you might order for three and leave word for Mr. Ramsey to join us when he has finished his dinner." Her tone was careless, and Bobby's heart turned to stone.

"Perhaps I had better tell him myself?" He tried to conceal his chagrin, but his voice betrayed him.

Madame de Corantin turned to him gaily. "Oh, I expect he'll find his way without that," she answered, "and I want to tell you something before he comes."

"Come and sit here by me," she said, as they entered her apartment. "You have been very discreet; I have noticed it from the beginning. Had it not been for that I could not have allowed you to be with me so much.

Discretion is a great gift, Mr. Froelich."

"Oh, please don't call me 'Mr. Froelich'; couldn't you manage to say 'Bobby' at least once before Ramsey appears?"

Madame de Corantin broke into that catching laugh of hers. "Very well then, 'Bobby,' my friend, I am going to trust to your discretion by telling you my little story. I was once travelling on a ship going to America--at that time I was very unhappy. I was quite alone. My husband had recently died. I have been very lucky in my life--you are an example."

"I?" exclaimed Bobby.

"Yes, you. Did you not arrive on the scene just when I wanted you, at the Gare du Nord?"

"Oh yes, I see what you mean. Of course, of course; thanks awfully for saying that."

"Well, just as you arrived then, so some one else arrived once long ago, and I was grateful to him, as indeed I am grateful to you."

Bobby was trying to find something to say, but Madame de Corantin continued--

"I was glad of protection going to America. It is not pleasant for a woman to have to travel alone. I daresay some people would have misunderstood the position. My companion on that voyage was well known.

He was a Prince of a distinguished German family. He was nothing to me. I need hardly tell you that."