The City of Masks Part 17

"Not quite a twelve-month, madam."

"And now," she said, with a graciousness that surprised her, "perhaps you would like to put a few questions to me. The cooks always do."

He smiled more engagingly than ever. "As they say in the advertis.e.m.e.nts of lost jewellery, madam,--'no questions asked,'" he said.

"Eh? Oh, I see. Rather good. I hope you know your place, though," she added, narrowly. "I don't approve of freshness."

"No more do I," said he, agreeably.

"I suppose you are accustomed to driving in--er--in good society, Trotter. You know what I mean."

"Perfectly. I have driven in the very best, madam, if I do say it as shouldn't. Beg pardon, I daresay you mean smart society?" He appeared to be very much concerned, even going so far as to send an appraising eye around the room,--doubtless for the purpose of satisfying himself that _she_ was quite up to the standard.

"Of course," she said hastily. Something told her that if she didn't nab him on the spot he would get away from her. "Can you start in at once, Trotter?"

"We have not agreed upon the wages, madam."

"I have never paid less than forty a week," she said stiffly. "Even for bad ones," she added.

He smiled, but said nothing, apparently waiting for her to proceed.

"Would fifty a week suit you?" she asked, after a long pause. She was a little helpless.

"Quite," said he.

"It's a lot of money," she murmured. "But I like the way you speak English. By the way, let me hear you say: 'It is half after four, madam.

Are you going on to Mrs. Brown's.'"

Trotter laid himself out. He said "hawf-paast," and "fou-ah," and "Meddem," and "gehing," in a way that delighted her.

"I shall be going out at three o'clock, Trotter. Be on time. I insist on punctuality."

"Very good, madam," he said, and retreated in good order. She halted him at the door.

"Above all things you mustn't let any of these silly women make a fool of you, Trotter," she said, a troubled gleam in her eyes.

"I will do my best, madam," he a.s.sured her.

And that very afternoon she appeared in triumph at the home of her daughter-in-law (the _young_ Mrs. Millidew) and invited that widowed siren to go out for a spin with her "behind the stunningest creature you ever laid your eyes on."

"Where did you get him?" inquired the beautiful daughter-in-law, later on, in a voice perfectly audible to the man at the wheel. "He's the best looking thing in town. Don't be surprised if I steal him inside of a week." She might as well have been at the zoo, discussing impervious captives.

"Now, don't try anything like that," cried Mrs. Millidew the elder, glaring fiercely.

"I like the way his hair kinks in the back,--and just above his ears,"

said the other. "And his skin is as smooth and as clear--"

"Is there any drive in particular you would like to take, madam?" broke in Trotter, turning in the seat.

"Up--up and down Fifth Avenue," said Mrs. Millidew promptly.

"Did you ever see such teeth?" cried Mrs. Millidew, the younger, delightedly.

Trotter's ears were noticeable on account of their colour.

CHAPTER X

PUTTING THEIR HEADS--AND HEARTS--TOGETHER

"FOR every caress," philosophized the Marchioness, "there is a pinch.

Somehow they manage to keep on pretty even terms. One receives the caresses fairly early in life, the pinches later on. You shouldn't be complaining at your time of life, my friend."

She was speaking to Lord Temple, who had presented himself a full thirty minutes ahead of other expected guests at the Wednesday evening salon.

He explained that he came early because he had to leave early. Mrs.

Millidew was at the theatre. She was giving a box party. He had been directed to return to the theatre before the end of the second act. Mrs.

Millidew, it appears, was in the habit of "walking out" on every play she attended, sometimes at the end of an act but more frequently in the middle of it, greatly to the relief of actors and audience.

("Tell me something good to read," said one of her guests, in the middle of the first act, addressing no one in particular, the audience being a very large one. "Is there anything new that's worth while?"

"_The Three Musketeers_ is a corker," said the man next her. "Awfully exciting."

"Write it down for me, dear boy. I will order it sent up tomorrow. One has so little time to read, you know. Anything else?"

"You _must_ read _Trilby_," cried one of the other women, frowning slightly in the direction of the stage, where an actor was doing his best to break into the general conversation. "It's perfectly ripping, I hear. And there is another book called _Three Men in a Yacht_, or something like that. Have you had it?"

"No. Good Lord, what a noisy person he is! One can't hear oneself think, the way he's roaring. _Three Men in a Yacht._ Put that down, too, Bertie. Dear me, how do you find the time to keep up with your reading, my dear? It's absolutely impossible for me. I'm always six months or a year behind--"

"Have you read _Brewster's Millions_, Mrs. Corkwright?" timidly inquired a rather up-to-date gentleman.

"That isn't a book. It's a play," said Mrs. Millidew. "I saw it ten years ago. There is a s.h.i.+p in it.")

"I'm not complaining," remarked Lord Temple, smiling down upon the Marchioness, who was seated in front of the fireplace. "I merely announced that the world is getting to be a dreary old place,--and that's all."

"Ah, but you made the announcement after a silence of five minutes following my remark that Lady Jane Thorne finds it impossible to be with us tonight."

He blushed. "Did it seem as long as that?" he said, penitently. "I'm sorry."

"How do you like your new situation?" she inquired, changing the subject abruptly.

He gave a slight start. It was an unwritten law that one's daily occupation should not be discussed at the weekly drawing-rooms. For example, it is easy to conceive that one could not be forgiven for asking the Count Pietro Poloni how many nickels he had taken in during the day as Humpy the Organ-grinder.