Mrs Harris Goes To Paris And Mrs Harris Goes To New York Part 8

LIKE all great ideas and schemes born out of Genius by Necessity, Mrs Harris's plan to smuggle little Henry aboard the s.s. all great ideas and schemes born out of Genius by Necessity, Mrs Harris's plan to smuggle little Henry aboard the s.s. Ville de Paris Ville de Paris at Southampton had the virtue of simplicity, and one to which the routine of boarding the s.h.i.+p with its attendant chaos, as Mr Schreiber had carefully explained to her, lent itself beautifully. at Southampton had the virtue of simplicity, and one to which the routine of boarding the s.h.i.+p with its attendant chaos, as Mr Schreiber had carefully explained to her, lent itself beautifully.

Since the Schreibers were going First-Cla.s.s and the two women Tourist, they would not be able to travel together, and he had rehea.r.s.ed for her the details of exactly what they would have to do - the departure by boat-train from Waterloo, the arrival at the pier at Southampton where, after pa.s.sing through Customs and Immigration, they would board the tender for the trip down the Solent, and thus eventually would enter the side of the liner and be shown to their cabin, and thereafter the French line would take over.

To these instructions Mrs Harris added a vivid memory of an instance when she had been at Waterloo to take a suburban train, and at one of the gates had witnessed what appeared to be a small-sized riot, with people milling and crowding, children shrieking, etc., and inquiring into the nature of this disturbance had been informed that it was merely the departure of the boat-train at the height of the season.

As Mrs Harris's scheme was outlined to her, even that perpetual prophetess of doom, Mrs b.u.t.terfield, outdid herself with tremblings, groans, cries, quiverings, claspings of hands together, and callings upon heaven to witness that the only possible result could be that they would all spend the rest of their natural lives in a dungeon, and she, Mrs Violet b.u.t.terfield, would have no part of it. She had agreed to embark upon this hare-brained voyage across an ocean waiting to engulf them, to a land where death lurked at every corner, but not to make disaster doubly sure by beginning the trip with a kidnapping and a stowing away.

Mrs Harris who, once she had what she considered a feasible idea in her head, was not to be turned from it, said, 'Now, now, Violet - don't take on so. A st.i.tch in time will help us to cross over those bridges.' And then with remarkable patience and perseverance managed to overcome practically all her friend's objections.

Her intrinsic plan was based upon recollections of childhood visits to Clacton-on-Sea with her Mum and Dad, and the outings they used to enjoy on the excursion steamers to Margate, a luxury they occasionally permitted themselves. Poor and thrifty, her folks could manage the price of two tickets, but not three. When time came to pa.s.s through the gates and encounter the ticket-taker, little Ada had been taught to detach herself from her parents and, seeking out a large family with five or more youngsters, join up with them until safely through the gates. Experience had taught them in the Sunday crush the hara.s.sed ticket-taker would not be able to distinguish whether it was five or six children who had pa.s.sed him, and the equally hara.s.sed father of the family would not notice that he had suddenly acquired an extra little girl. Once they were inside, by the time paterfamilias, perhaps aware that something was a little unusual about his brood, inst.i.tuted a nose count, little Ada would have detached herself from this group and joined up with her parents again.

Moreover, there was a reserve gambit in case a large enough family failed to turn up. Father and mother would pa.s.s through on their tickets, and a few seconds later little Ada would let forth a wail, 'I'm lost! I'm lost! I've lost my Mummie!' By the time this performance had reached its climax and she was restored to her frantic parents, n.o.body thought of collecting a ticket from her. The excursion proceeded happily.

Mrs b.u.t.terfield, who in her youth had had similar experiences, was forced to concede that neither of these devices had ever failed. She was further put off her prophetic stroke by Mrs Harris's superior knowledge as a world traveller.

'Don't forget, dearie,' said Mrs Harris, 'it's a French French boat. Muddle, that's their middle name. They can't get nothing done without carrying on shouting and waving their arms. You'll see.' boat. Muddle, that's their middle name. They can't get nothing done without carrying on shouting and waving their arms. You'll see.'

Mrs b.u.t.terfield made one more attempt. 'But once 'e's in our room, won't they find 'im?' she quavered, her chins shaking.

Mrs Harris, now slightly impatient, snorted, 'Lor', love, use yer loaf. We've got a barfroom, 'aven't we?'

This was indeed true. So thrilled had Mrs Schreiber been with her luck in acquiring two servants whom she liked and trusted, that she had persuaded her husband to procure for them one of the better rooms available in Tourist-Cla.s.s on the liner, one of a few with a bathroom connected, and intended for larger families. Mrs Harris had been shown the accommodations on a kind of skeleton plan of the s.h.i.+p, and while she did not exactly know what part the barfroom would play once aboard the lugger, it loomed large in her mind at least as a retreat into which parties could momentarily retire during alarm or crisis.

AS may be imagined, the departure of Mrs Harris and Mrs b.u.t.terfield for the United States was an event that shook the little street in Battersea known as Willis Gardens to its Roman foundations, and all of their friends and neighbours, including the unspeakable Gussets, turned out to bid them G.o.dspeed. Such was the excitement engendered by the arrival of the taxicab at number five, and the piling of ancient trunks and valises on the roof and next the driver's seat, that no one thought about or noticed the absence of little Henry Brown. may be imagined, the departure of Mrs Harris and Mrs b.u.t.terfield for the United States was an event that shook the little street in Battersea known as Willis Gardens to its Roman foundations, and all of their friends and neighbours, including the unspeakable Gussets, turned out to bid them G.o.dspeed. Such was the excitement engendered by the arrival of the taxicab at number five, and the piling of ancient trunks and valises on the roof and next the driver's seat, that no one thought about or noticed the absence of little Henry Brown.

Like all persons unused to travelling, the two women had taken far more with them than they would ever need, including photographs, ornaments, and little knick-knacks from their homes which meant something to them, and thus the inside of the cab was also stuffed with luggage, leaving, it seemed, barely room for the stout figure of Mrs b.u.t.terfield and the spare one of Mrs Harris to squeeze in.

Apprised that they were actually off to America, the cab driver was deeply impressed, and became most helpful and solicitous, and treated the two ladies with the deference one accords to royalty, lifting and fastening their boxes and suitcases, and playing to the crowd gathered for the farewell with a fine sense of the dramatic.

Mrs Harris accepted all of the deference done her and the interest and excitement of friends and neighbours with graciousness, mingling affectionate farewells with sharp directions to the cab driver to be careful of this or that piece of baggage, but poor Mrs b.u.t.terfield was able to do little more than palpitate, perspire, and fan herself, since she could not rid her mind of the enormity of what they were about to perpetrate, or cease to worry about the immediate future, beginning within the next few minutes, and whether it would come off.

The att.i.tude of the Gussets was one of grudging interest, coupled with impudence, which bespoke their feeling of good riddance. Among other things, the departure of the two women meant to them an undisturbed period of abuse of the child who had been entrusted to their care.

It had actually to a great extent been Mrs Harris who had kept their cruelty within bounds, for they were a little afraid of her and knew that she would not hesitate to involve them with the police if there was a case. Now, with pairs of eyes and ears removed from either side of them, they could let themselves go. The Gusset children were going to have a field day, and Mr Gusset, when things had gone wrong with one of his shady deals in Soho and little Henry happened to fall foul of him, was not going to have to restrain himself. The child was in for a sticky time of it, and delight at the departure of his two protectresses was written all over the faces of the Gussets - mother, father, and offspring.

Finally the last valise had been stowed and secured, the taxi driver had taken his seat behind the wheel and animated the engine, perspiring Mrs b.u.t.terfield and sparkling Mrs Harris took their places in the s.p.a.ce left for them in the interior of the cab, each clutching a small nosegay of flowers tied with a bit of silver ribbon thrust into their hands at the last moment by friends, and they drove off to a cheer and individual cries of, 'Good luck!' - 'Tyke care of yerselves' - 'Send us a postcard' - 'Don't fergit to come back' - 'Give me regards to Broadway' - 'Don't forget to write' and 'May the Good Lord look after you.'

The cab gathered momentum, Mrs b.u.t.terfield and Mrs Harris turning and looking out through the rear window to see their friends waving and cheering still and gazing after them, with several of the Gusset children c.o.c.king a snook in their direction.

'Ow Ada,' quavered Mrs b.u.t.terfield, 'I'm so frightened. We oughtn't to be doing it. What if- ?'

But Mrs Harris who herself had been considerably nervous during the departure and had been playing something of a role, now indeed took command of the expedition and pulled herself together. 'Be quiet, Vi!' she commanded. 'Nuffink's going to happen. Blimey, dearie, if I didn't think you were going to give the show away. Now don't fergit when we get there - you keep your eye peeled out the back.' Therewith she tapped upon the window behind the driver with a penny, and when that individual c.o.c.ked a large red ear in the direction of the opening she said, 'Go round the corner through Gifford Plyce to 'Ansbury Street - there's a greengrocer there on the corner, his nyme is Warbles.'

The cab driver chose a bad moment to joke. 'I thought you lydies said you was going to Hamerica,' and was surprised at the asperity of the reply he received from Mrs Harris.

'Do as you're told and you won't gather no flies,' she said, for she too was nervous approaching that moment when dreams which seem so easy of realisation are turned into action which very often is not.

The taxi drew up in front of the shop, where Mr Warbles was on the pavement tearing some tops off carrots for a customer.

Mrs Harris said, ' 'E would 'ave to be outside,' and added a naughty word. Just then the greengrocer was hailed from within and answered the call.

'Now!' Mrs Harris said fiercely to Mrs b.u.t.terfield, who was already peering anxiously out of the back window, 'Do you see anyone?'

'I don't know,' quavered Mrs b.u.t.terfield. 'I don't fink so. Leastways, n.o.body we know.'

Mrs Harris leaned forward to the opening in the window and whispered into the large red ear, ' 'Onk yer 'orn three times.'

Mystified and intimidated, the driver did so. From behind some stacked-up crates of cabbages the figure of a small, dark-haired boy came charging, looking neither right nor left, straight for the door of the cab which Mrs Harris now held open. With the combined speed and agility of a ferret, the boy wriggled his way beneath the luggage piled inside the cab and vanished.

The door slammed shut. 'Waterloo,' hissed Mrs Harris into the ear.

'Well I'm bowed,' said the taxi driver to himself at this curious performance, and put his machine into gear. That the two respectable charladies who were just departing for America from a respectable neighbourhood might be engaging in a casual bit of kidnapping never entered his head.

IT is a fact that nothing is quite as noticeable as a child that wants to be noticed, but the converse is likewise true, that there is nothing equally self-effacing as a child desiring to be vanished, and who in particular is permitted to operate in a crowd. is a fact that nothing is quite as noticeable as a child that wants to be noticed, but the converse is likewise true, that there is nothing equally self-effacing as a child desiring to be vanished, and who in particular is permitted to operate in a crowd.

This was a technique known both to Mrs Harris and little Henry, and thus when the Schreibers were seen descending upon them along the bustling station platform at Waterloo, causing Mrs b.u.t.terfield to utter a little yelp of terror, it was no problem at all for Mrs Harris to vanish Henry. She gave him a slight pat on his bottom, which was the prearranged signal, at which he simply moved off from them and stood next to somebody else. Since the Schreibers had never seen him before, they now did not see him at all, except as somebody else's child, standing by a piece of luggage and gazing heavenward, apparently singing hymns to himself.

'Ah, there you are,' said Mrs Schreiber breathlessly. 'Is everything all right? I'm sure it will be. Have you ever seen so many people? I did give you your tickets, didn't I? Oh dear! It's all so confusing.'

Mrs Harris tried to soothe her mistress. 'Now there, dearie,' she said, 'don't you fret. Everything's right as rain. We'll be fine. I've got Violet here to look after me.' The sarcasm was lost on Mrs b.u.t.terfield, who only perspired more profusely and fanned herself more freely. It seemed to her that the Schreibers must must ask, 'Who's that little boy with you?' even though at the moment he wasn't. ask, 'Who's that little boy with you?' even though at the moment he wasn't.

Mr Schreiber said, 'They're perfectly all right, Henrietta. You forget that Mrs Harris went to Paris and back all by herself, and stayed a week.'

'Of course,' Mrs Schreiber fluttered, 'I'm afraid you won't be allowed to visit us on the s.h.i.+p.' She blushed suddenly at the implication of the cla.s.s distinction, both un-American and undemocratic, and then added quickly, 'You know how they are about letting anyone go from one part of the s.h.i.+p into the other. I mean - if there's anything you need, of course, you can send us a message - Oh dear- '

Mr Schreiber got his wife out of her embarra.s.sment by saying, 'Sure, sure. They'll be all right. Come on, Henrietta, we'd better get back to our seats.'

Mrs Harris gave them the thumbs up as they departed. And as the Schreibers retreated, almost imperceptibly little Henry moved over and was with them again. 'That was fine, love,' applauded Mrs Harris. 'You're a sharp one. You'll do.'

All the while she was speaking her bright, b.u.t.tony, wicked little eyes were taking in the people surrounding them, travellers as well as friends coming to see them off, and easily separated by the fact that the travellers looked nervous and worried, and the visitors gay and unenc.u.mbered.

Standing in front of an open carriage door several compartments away was a large family of Americans, a father, and mother surrounded by an immense pile of hand luggage, and an indeterminate number of offspring - that is to say, indeterminate between five and six, due to the fact that they were wriggling, jumping about, escaping, playing hide-and-seek, so that not even Mrs Harris was able successfully to count them. After observing them for an instant, Mrs Harris took little Henry by the arm, pointed the group out to him, and leaning down whispered into his ear, 'Them there'.

Little Henry did not reply, but only nodded gravely, and with his sad, wise eyes, studied the antics of the group in order that later he might blend the more perfectly with them.

It would be more suspenseful and dramatic to be able to report that Mrs Harris's plans were scuppered, or even scrambled by the usual malevolent fates, but the point is they simply were not.

Smoothly, efficiently, and without a hitch, they moved from Waterloo to Southampton, from Southampton to the tender, and from the tender to the great black, porthole studded wall crowned by cream superstructure and gay red funnel of the s.s. Ville de Paris Ville de Paris. Whenever anyone remotely resembling a ticket collector, conductor, Immigration or Customs official appeared in the offing, quietly and inconspicuously little Henry became a temporary member of the family of a Professor Albert R. Wagstaff, teacher of medieval literature at Bonanza College, Bonanza, Wyoming. With her unerring instinct Mrs Harris had even managed to select an absent-minded professor for the deal.

If Dr Wagstaff was at times not quite certain whether his family consisted of six or seven members, he was also equally befuddled as to the number of pieces of luggage accompanying him. Each time he counted the articles they added up to a different sum, until his irritated wife shouted, 'Oh, for G.o.d's sakes, Albert, stop counting! It'll either be there or it won't.'

In his usual state of terror where Mrs Wagstaff was concerned, Dr Wagstaff said, 'Yes, dear,' and immediately stopped counting not only the luggage, but children, even though from time to time there did seem to be one extra. Thus little Henry's task was made comparatively simple, and as said before, there were no hitches.

One moment containing a slight measure of tension occurred when the three of them - Mrs Harris, Mrs b.u.t.terfield and little Henry - were safely ensconced in Tourist Cabin No. A.134, a roomy enough and rather charmingly decorated enclosure with two lower and upper berths, closet s.p.a.ce, and a bathroom opening off, when heavy footsteps were heard pounding down the companionway and there came a sharp and peremptory knock upon the door.

Mrs b.u.t.terfield's florid countenance turned pink, which was the best she could do in the way of going pale. She gave a little shriek and sat down, perspiring and fanning. 'Lor',' she quavered, 'it's all up with us!'

'Shut up,' ordered Mrs Harris fiercely, and then whispered to little Henry, 'Just you go into that nice barfroom, dearie, and sit down on the seat, and be quiet as a mouse, while we see who's come to disturb two defenceless lydies travelling to America. You can do your duty if you like.'

When Henry had vanished into the bathroom in a matter of seconds, Mrs Harris opened the cabin door to be confronted by a sweating and frayed-looking steward in white coat with the collar unb.u.t.toned. He said, 'Excuse me to disturb, I 'ave come to collect your steams.h.i.+p tickets.'

With one eye on Mrs b.u.t.terfield, who now had changed colour from pink to magenta, and appeared on the verge of apoplexy, Mrs Harris said, 'Of course you 'ave,' and diving into her reticule, produced them. ' 'Ot, ain't it?' she said pleasantly. 'My friend 'ere's in a proper sweat.'

'Ah oui,' the steward a.s.sented, 'I make it cooler for you,' and switched on the electric fan.

'Lots of people,' said Mrs Harris. This was like pus.h.i.+ng a b.u.t.ton releasing the steward's neurosis, and he suddenly shouted and waved his arms. 'Oui, oui, oui - people, people, people. Everywhere people. They make you to be crazy.' - people, people, people. Everywhere people. They make you to be crazy.'

'It's the kids that's the worst, ain't it?' said Mrs Harris.

This appeared to be an even more potent b.u.t.ton. 'Oh la, la,' shouted the steward, and waved his arms some more. 'You 'ave seen? Keeds, keeds, keeds, everywhere keeds. I go crazy with keeds.'

'Ain't that the truth,' said Mrs Harris. 'I never seen so many. You never know where they are or where they ain't. I don't know how you keep track of 'em all.'

The steward said, 'C' est vrai est vrai. Sometimes is not possible.' Having blown off steam, he recovered himself and said, 'Sank you, ladies. You wish for anything, ring for Antoine. Your stewardess's name is Arline. She look after you,' and he went away.

Mrs Harris opened the bathroom door, looked in and said, 'All done? That's a dear. You can come out now.'

Little Henry asked, 'Do I duck in there every time there's a knock?'

'No, pet,' Mrs Harris replied, 'not any more. From now on it will be all right.'

Which indeed it was, since Mrs Harris had planted her psychological seed at the right time and in the right soil. In the evening an Antoine even more frayed arrived to turn down the beds. There was little Henry with Mrs b.u.t.terfield and Mrs Harris. The steward looked at the child and said, ' 'Ullo, 'oo's this?'

Mrs Harris now not gentle, friendly, and conversational as she had been before, said, ' 'Ullo yourself. What do you mean, 'oo's this? This is little 'Enry, me sister's boy. I'm taking 'im to America to 'er. She's got a job as waitress in Texas.'

The steward still looked baffled. 'But he was not here before, was he?'

Mrs Harris bristled. ' 'E wasn't what? 'Ow do you like that? The child's the happle of me eye and never been out of me sight since we left Battersea.'

The steward wavered. He said, 'Oui, madame, but-'

'But nothing,' snapped Mrs Harris, attacking with asperity, 'it ain't our fault you Frenchies get excited over nothing and lose your 'eads, come in 'ere shouting about people and kids. You said yourself you couldn't remember all the kids. Well, don't you go forgetting little 'Enry 'ere, or we'll 'ave to 'ave a word with one of the officers.'

The steward capitulated. It had been an unusually trying sailing. Down the next hall there was an American family which still did not seem to be able to agree on the number of pieces of luggage and the number of children accompanying them. Besides which he had already turned in his tickets to the Purser. The women seemed like honest types, and obviously the child was with them and must have come through Immigration. Long years at sea and coping with pa.s.sengers had taught him the philosophy of leaving well enough alone, and not bringing about investigations.

'Oui, oui, oui, Madame,' he soothed, 'of course I remember heem. 'Ow you call heem - little Henri? You try not to make a mess in the cabin for Antoine, we'll all have very 'appy voyage.'

He did the beds and went out. From then on little Henry was a full-fledged pa.s.senger of the s.s. Ville de Paris Ville de Paris, with all the privileges and perquisites pertaining thereto. n.o.body ever questioned his presence.

Back at number seven Willis Gardens, Battersea, the sole repercussion from Mrs Harris's tremendous coup coup, which saw little 'Enry removed for ever from the custody of the Gussets, and now afloat on the briny, took place upon the return of Mr Gusset from another of his slightly shady transactions in Soho. Mrs Gusset, who was sparing her feet with a session in the rocking chair while the elder Gusset children coped with dinner in the kitchen, lowered the Evening News Evening News as her better half appeared and said, ' 'Enry's been missing since this morning. I think maybe he's run away.' as her better half appeared and said, ' 'Enry's been missing since this morning. I think maybe he's run away.'

' 'As 'e?' replied Mr Gusset. 'That's good.' Then s.n.a.t.c.hing the paper from her fingers, he commanded, 'Up you get, old lady,' ensconced himself in the vacated rocker and applied himself to the early racing results in the newspaper.

'OH dear,' said Henrietta Schreiber suddenly, 'I wonder if I've done the right thing?' She was sitting in front of her mirror in her cabin, putting the final touches to her face. Beside her lay an engraved card of invitation which stated that Pierre Rene Dubois, Captain of the s.s. dear,' said Henrietta Schreiber suddenly, 'I wonder if I've done the right thing?' She was sitting in front of her mirror in her cabin, putting the final touches to her face. Beside her lay an engraved card of invitation which stated that Pierre Rene Dubois, Captain of the s.s. Ville de Paris Ville de Paris, would be honoured by the company of Mr and Mrs Joel Schreiber for c.o.c.ktails in his cabin at seven-thirty that evening. The s.h.i.+p's clock was already showing the hour seven thirty-five.

'What's that?' said her husband who, properly accoutred in black tie, had been waiting for ten minutes. 'Sure, sure. You look fine. I promise you, Momma, you never looked better. But I think we ought to go now. The French Amba.s.sador's going to be there the steward said.'

'No, no,' said Henrietta, 'I don't mean me, I mean about Mrs Harris.'

'What about Mrs Harris? Is something the matter?'

'No - I'm just wondering if we've done right taking her and Mrs b.u.t.terfield out of their element. They're so very London, you know. People over here understand about chars and their ways, but- '

'You mean they'll laugh at us because we've got a couple of c.o.c.kneys?'

'Oh no,' protested Mrs Schreiber. 'Why n.o.body would laugh at Mrs Harris.' She made another attempt upon her eyebrows. 'It's just I wouldn't want her to be frightened. Who could she talk to? Who could she have for friends? And you know what sn.o.bs people are.'

Waiting had made Mr Schreiber a little impatient. 'You should have thought of that before,' he said. 'She can talk to Mrs b.u.t.terfield, can't she?'

The corners of Mrs Schemer's mouth turned down. 'Don't be cross with me, Joel. I'm so proud you're president now of North American and I wanted to do everything to make things right for you in New York - and she's such a wonderful help. For all I know she may be back there crying her eyes out and frightened to death among a lot of strangers.'

Mr Schreiber went over and gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulders. He said, 'Well, it's too late now. But maybe tomorrow I'll take a walk back to Tourist and see how she's getting on. How about coming along now, baby? You couldn't look more beautiful if you worked for another hour. You'll be the best-looking woman there.'

Henrietta rested her cheek against his hand for a moment and said, 'Oh Joel, you're so good to me. I'm sorry I get into such a muddle.'

They emerged from their cabin, where their steward waited to guide them. He took them as far as the private stairway leading to the Captain's quarters, which they mounted, to be received by another steward who asked their names and then led them to the door of the huge cabin from which emerged that distinctive babble of sounds that denotes a c.o.c.ktail party in full swing. Embedded in these sounds - the clink of gla.s.ses and the cross-currents of conversation - was an impossible sentence which smote the ear of Mrs Schreiber. 'Lor' love yer, the Marquis and I are old friends from Paris.'

It was impossible simply because it could not be so, and Mrs Schreiber said to herself, 'It's because I was thinking thinking of Mrs Harris just before I came up here.' of Mrs Harris just before I came up here.'

The steward stepped through the doorway and announced, 'Mr and Mrs Joel Schreiber', which brought forth a drop in the conversation, and the bustle of all the men rising to their feet.

Entering thus late into a c.o.c.ktail party there is a confusion of sight as well as sound - one sees everyone, and one sees no one. For an appalling moment Mrs Schreiber seemed to be aware of another impossibility, one even more unthinkable than the auditory one she had just experienced. It was Mrs Harris ensconced between the Captain and a distinguished-looking Frenchman with white hair and moustache - Mrs Harris wearing a very smart frock.

The Captain, a handsome man in dress uniform with gold braid, said, 'Ah, Mr and Mrs Schreiber. So delighted you could come,' and then with practised hand swung the circle of introductions - names that Mrs Schreiber only half heard until he came to the last two, and no mistake about those: ' - His Excellency the Marquis Hypolite de Cha.s.sagne, the new French Amba.s.sador to your country, and Madame Harris.'

There was no doubt about it, it was true! Mrs Harris was there, apple-cheeked, beady-eyed, beaming, yet not at all conspicuous, and looking as quietly well-dressed as, if not better than, most of the women in the room. And somehow it was not the presence of Mrs Harris so much, but the matter of her appearance which bewildered Henrietta more than anything. All that went through her mind was, Where have I seen that dress before? Where have I seen that dress before?

Mrs Harris nodded graciously and then said to the Marquis, 'That's 'er I been telling you about. Ain't she a dear? If it 'adn't been for 'er, I never could have got the dollars to go to Paris to buy me dress, and now she's tyking me with 'er to America.'

The Marquis went over to Henrietta Schreiber, took her hand in his and held it to his lips for a moment. 'Madame,' he said, 'I am enchanted to meet one with a warm heart that is able to recognize a warm heart and goodness in others. You must be a very kind person.'

This little speech, which established Mrs Schreiber socially for the rest of the voyage, also left her breathless, and she was still staggering under the impact of it all. 'But - but you know know our Mrs Harris?' our Mrs Harris?'

'But of course,' replied the Marquis. 'We met at Dior in Paris, and are old friends.'

What had happened was that, having learned from his chauffeur of the presence of Mrs Harris on board in Tourist-Cla.s.s, he had said to the Captain, who was a friend, 'Do you know, Pierre, that you have a most remarkable woman on board your s.h.i.+p?'