THE GREAT HUSBAND HUNT

Ladies' Mirror, Volume 3, Issue 2, 1 August 1924, Page 47

THE GREAT HUSBAND HUNT

by MABEL BARNES-GRUNDY PART XI.

J can’t tell you all that she said to me, said Martin humbly, “but she was altogether too fine for me. ’ ’ “And I am not?” And this question I put still without any jealousy of Elisabeth. “Not so much as she,” he replied truthfully, “for which I am so thankful. You are just lovable, Peronelle, and desirable, and human, and sweet, and sometimes frail.” He laughed into my eyes. “And oh, so sympathetic, and I think that is why I worship you so! And you won’t expect me to be too good and exalted, will you? You will forgive my weaknesses. ’ ’ “Oh, don say things like that, Martin, ’ ’ I cried, 1 ‘ or you will break my heart. You don’t know ” Again I began to tremble. Hush, he whispered soothingly. 1 1 What an ass I am ! I know without your telling me ” Of a sudden his face went black, and he muttered; 1 1 Curse the man ! But we won’t talk of it now, not till you ’re stronger. Some day you shall tell me all.” “But how do you know?” I interrupted wonderingly. Martin gave a queer little laugh. ‘ ‘ I’ve met men in my time. I pretty well know when a man is a wrong ’un. That is why Elisabeth and I had the cheek or courage, whichever way you like to look at it, to ask Monica to warn you and to beg you to give him up.” “Which I wouldn’t.” “No,” he replied drily, “that’s where one of your very human qualities came in. Tenderly he stroked my hair. “Did you actually know anything against him?” “I did. But I refuse to talk of him now. Let’s have our golden hour, Peronelle. I’ve been so unhappy, and such a fool. Trying to do the right thing. And all the time I’ve been a blamed ass, and nearly wrecked two —hers and mine. ’ ’ 1 1 And mine, ’ ’ I said softly. ‘ ‘ How came you to be here ? ” I inquired wonderingly after a time. ■ • It was a miracle. ’ ’ “Not a bit of it. Elisabeth and I had our talk early this morning; her theory is to tackle difficult problems when, one is fresh and one’s pulses are normal. She counselled me to seek you at once, ' remarking she hadn’t liked the expression on your face last night. She said it looked hunted and at the same time desperate.” “Oh dear —I was aware my mouth twisted wryly 1 1 might be the heroine of some cheap melodrama ! ” And my own words recalled the fact that I was —-a very nasty melodrama —-and I felt the hot, shamed blood surging to my cheeks. But Martin continued without appearing to notice my fresh distress. “So I went in search of you, and drawing a blank in the hotel and garden I was just in time to see you disappearing into a tram, and I hopped into the trailer behind. Of course I saw you descend at the Borrigo Valley the Avenue des Allies — and the man with a carriage awaiting you. That is all.” 11 But it isn ’t. How could you possibly know' where we went?” “The easiest thing in the world. For some time after you had driven off I sat on a bench near the bridge,

debating what I should do, and had just unwillingly told myself there was nothing I could do, and must wait till the evening to see you, when I saw the cocker returning with his carriage empty. Instantly I was on my feet and hailed him, and on my inquiring most casually if he had just driven some friends of mine, a lady and gentleman, up the valley, and if so, could he tell me where they had descended, as I wanted to find them, he fell into the trap as easily as a fly walks into a honey pot. The rest was easy. ’ ’ “But I don see it, I persisted. That you should be on this path j 7 “I have done the Cabrolle —Ste. Lucie walk. If you go by the valley, it is usual to descend this way. It is extraordinary how the English seem to do the same thing by instinct, and they keep on doing it, till it becomes a habit. So I bought some bread and cheese and a bottle of wine and a book, and here I’ve been for some hours. When I heard your footsteps faltering and stumbling my heart leapt for joy.” “ Joy! ” I flashed a little indignantly. “I knew that you were alone, my dear, When the sun began to get low behind the mountains we left the grassy bank and finished the descent into Mentone. Amidst the life and bustle of the streets once more it seemed as if I’d returned to a world which I had left for ages, and had passed meanwhile through two or three incarnations which had added years to my age. “Do I look very old?” I inquired of Martin. He examined me critically. “You look hungry, was his reply. “Why, I believe I am, I agreed. Also your hat is on one side. “So it is, ” I said, peeping into a shop window while I laughed happily. How good it was to hear his straight observations once more after all the compliments, all the floweryl stopped myself, trying to be honest even in my own thoughts. Not a dozen hours ago I had liked all these honeyed words of sweetness; but that was before Louis —I shuddered, and again Martin pounced upon it. - “You want some tea. Here we are at Rozio’s. Do you remember our first tea together here?” He ordered it from Julie, still as calm and unruffled .as a seagull floating on the crest of turbulent, noisy waves. She moved amongst the clamouring, impatient, thirsty teadrinkers imperturbably. To-day the crowds were thinner, as the hour was late, and seated in a corner alone, to our surprise, we discovered Miss Oakwood. She motioned us to join her. “I came away ffom the Croquet Club for tea, she explained, “because there it is so bad and tastes of queer things like naphthaline, which I approve of in furs but not in teapots. Will you tell me what you two are doing together, and where is Elisabeth “It is a long story,” I began lamely as I sat down. “It isn’t a bit,” contradicted Martin as he seated himself on another chair, “We are going to be married.”

“Who are going to be married?” demanded Miss Oakwood. Peronelle and I.” 1 1 God bless my soul! ” si e clutched at a chair. “And who is going to marry Elisabeth?” ‘‘ Nobody immediately, though heaps will want to.” “And does she mind?” “Not a bit. She’s relieved she’s not going to marry me. ’ ’ Miss Oakwood again repeated ‘ ‘ God bless my soul! ’ ’ and Martin beamed upon her, while I got on with my tea. “When did it happen?” “What?” “Your dropping Elisabeth and picking up Peronelle. ’ ’ “I don’t quite like the way you put it, added to its inaccuracy, but Elisabeth dropped me this morning, and I picked up Peronelle this afternoon. Now, may 1 drink my coffee? I’ve passed through a thirsty time. Peronelle, don’t eat all the japonais. You know' they are my favourite of all these alluring-to-digestion-destruc-tion cakes.” And so he talked gaily on, answering Miss Oakwood ’s questions, skilfully heading her away from all dangerous ground, giving me time to recover and put all my emotions back into their separate and tidy compartments, whilst every now and again, under cover of the tablecloth, giving my hand little comforting pats. 1 ‘ I somehow felt it would happen, ’ ’ remarked Miss Oakwood at length. ‘‘ In fact, I was sure it would. Peronelle, why are you so quiet? And when are you going to leave me in the lurch “Very soon,” said Martin, before I could speak. “We are going to be married almost at once, aren’t we, Peronelle? so that we can have a jolly summer wandering about in the Swiss mountains. ’ ’ “Yes,” I replied meekly. I was in no mood to contradict anybody; every lighting ounce of blood in my body seemed to have turned into thin water. 1 ‘ And where do I come in ? ” “Oh, you ’ll be at our wedding, said Martin imperturbably. 1 ‘ And we’ll find you another Charlotte Pinks. ’ ’ “You’ll do nothing of the kind,” contradicted Miss Oakwood hotly. “I’ve done with companions. The dull ones make good poultices and nothing else, and the nice ones go away and leave one.” She got up, saying she must return to the Croquet Club. Then she looked at me narrowly. 1 Why, the child hasn’t a kick in her. ’ ’ 1 1 Indeed I have, ’ ’ I cried valiantly, swallowing hard. “Hundreds of kicks. ’ ’ “You resemble a tired daddy-long-legs that has lost most off its legs and sprawls helplessly. ‘ 1 I am coming for you as usual at half -past six. ' ’ “You will do nothing of the sort. Martin, take her home at once.” She bent and whispered in my ear, “Tonight we will talk, little Peronelle, and you shall tell me everything. Put on a dab of rouge for dinner —you will find some in the top drawer of my washstand. An revoir!”

Conversations with Miss Oakwood and Elisabeth BUT, after all, the rouge was superfluous, for I did not go down to dinner. When Miss Oakwood returned, she came to look at me and threw up her hands in dismay. 1 * This will never do. What is the matter Instead of looking like a happy bride-elect, you might be preparing for an early death and throwing your family into mourning. ’ ’ She bent and stroked my cheek. “Aren’t you happy? Are you worrying about Elisabeth?” I shook my head, I dared not speak. She divined that something was amiss, and I knew that she was aware I was struggling for self-control. She touched my hands. “You’re icy cold, and your forehead is burning.. Go to bed at once. You’ve contracted a chill, I’m convinced. Bed is the place for you. Would you like to go?” “Love it,” I replied, just leaping at the idea. How nice it sounded, how restful, and how remote from everybody! No meeting Elisabeth, nor Martin, nor undergoing the scrutiny of Miss Oakwood’s kind, dear, but piercingly keen eyes, till I felt more myself and had my emotions properly under control. In a couple of shakes I was in bed, a waiter as summoned and told to bring the menu of the dinner; dishes suited to persons who had contracted Riviera chills were selected by Miss Oakwood, a bright wood fire was crackling in the grate, and, left to myself, I lay and thought how pleasant it was that vice, however unworthily, was sometimes rewarded. But there was my confession to make to Miss Oakwood; later on I meant to tell her everything. Notwithstanding the soft luxuriance of my bed, the bright warmth of the room, and the stimulating effects of the glass of burgundy Miss Oakwood had sent up with my dinner, a quiver ran up and down my spine as I envisaged this confession. Vice had not everything its own way, after all. But it was made easier than I had expected. I might have known how big, and tolerant, and forgiving she would be. When I had finished the first part, my going, to Monte Carlo, my gambling, my meeting Louis, my meeting him again, all our assignations for dancing, walking, driving, gambling, she said suddenly: 11 Eight under my very nose, and serves me right! I should have looked after you better. You were young and inexperienced, singularly inexperienced for a girl in these days, and I promised your uncle to keep a strict watch over you, and I haven’t. But”— she made a little movement, half of annoyance, half of amusement — 1 I imagined I was so sharp, yet things were going on right before ray eyes which I suppose were the common property of the rest of the hotel?” “A flew knew: Martin and Elisabeth, and Monica.” “And they made no effort to stop it, to warn you I ” “Yes, but I took no heed of them. I was indignant at their interference. I said I was old enough to take care of myself and was only . responsible to you for my actions. And now I’ve come to the worst part of my story.

To-day ” Baldly I told her all. She made no interruption while I told her. Her eyes blazed, her hands were clenched on her knee, but she said not a word till 1 had finished. Then she amazed me. “I don’t deserve such luck, she muttered. “Your escape.” She got up and paced about the room. ‘/ You might have gone. . . . It would have killed your uncle, and I should have known not another happy moment. Oh, Peronelle, can you forgive me?” “I forgive you?” Had the burgundy caused everything to be of; a sudden topsy-turvy? I felt bewildered. “It has been my fault. I knew you were unhappy. I knew you were fretting about Martin, yet I made no effort to cheer you up and take care of you. ’ ’ “But you did,” I cried. “You made every effort. You wore always thinking of me and planning out little entertainments; but I lied to you. I pretended I was with —walking with Monica, doing things with Monica—and you believed me,” Yes, I believed you, or made myself believe you, and I shouldn’t have done. My own intelligence might have suggested to me that you were not the kind of girl just to be satisfied with a plain Monica after your experience with Martin. I deliberately shut my- eyes and lived at bridge and croquet clubs, was content so long as you called for me at one or the other each evening, listened to my experiences, sympathised with me, and was under my wing at night. If you had gone with that devil it would have been entirely my fault.” She ceased pacing, and, coming to the side of the bed, leaned towards me and framed my face in her hands. “But you are safe, thank God, you are safe!” “Yes,” I agreed, “I am quite safe.” It seemed an ineffectual and idiotic thing to say in view of her obvious distress, but any small intelligence I possessed seemed to have vanished that evening, been washed away with my streaming tears of the afternoon. “And dear Martin will look after you now I nodded. She bent and kissed me. ‘ ‘ You are a lucky girl, Peronelle.” “I know. “I wonder what made Elisabeth change her mind.” “Martin says she discovered he liked me better, and that decided her in her own feelings with regard to him, about which she’s always been doubtful. ’ ’ “But it’s rather remarkable that he should prefer you. She’s so lovely and attractive, Miss Oakwood mused. ‘ ‘ But I think I know ; she’s a little cold, I should imagine. Also she’s a little too sure of herself; I don’t think she would lean. Men likewomen to lean. ’ ’ “I shall not lean.” “Oh, yes, you will. And Martin will love yon to lean; he’ll glory in

the sensation of an oak with ivy clinging to it. ‘ ‘ I never knew anyone less like an oak than Martin, ’ ’ I said, sitting up in bed, shaking my pillow, and lyingdown again. “You don’t regard him as strong? Why not?” “ Had I been in his place this afternoon after he’d comforted mel’ve no sensation of resentment against him that he didn’t, mind you; whatever Martin does or doesn't do I shall love him just the same for ever —I should have gone straight up to Ste. Lucie and thrashed that man within an inch of his life.” “I am under the impression he’s gone to do it to-night,” said Miss Oakwood quietly. “He hurried through his dinner, saying he had some business to transact, and I was to give you his love and bid you goodnight. I saw him leave the hotel as I came through the lounge to the lift, lie was wearing an overcoat and walking very swiftly, seeing nobody and speaking to nobodyjust brushing past us as if we were so many flies. I crouched down in the bed and covered my eyes, trying to blot out the scene that of a sudden I visualised. Miss Oakwood sat down beside me and drew my head to her shoulder, murmuring kind little words of encouragement. “I shouldn’t have told you, but after all the trouble between you two of the last few weeks, I didn’t want there to be another cause forfor resentment, another misunderstanding, if it could be avoided.” ‘ ‘ There would have been no resentment. ’ ’ “There would have been belittlcment, which is worse. You say you will always love Martin, whatever he does or doesn’t do; but, understanding a little of the human heart, you will love him more if you believe him to be fine than you would if you believed him to be cowardly.” “Scarcely cowardlythat is not the right word. If I had actually thought at all, cudgelled my brains for a reason as to why he did not instantly go and settle up things with Louis, the solution I had arrived at was that he was too unnerved— — ” “Which I am sure was absolutely wrong. Probably he felt if he had gone then he would have killed him, or tried to. He waited for self-con-trol, and till he saw you calm and comforted and safely tucked away in bed. He had made up his mind to ask you to go to bed the minute dinner was ended; and when I came down without you, he was relieved and said I had done the right thing. lie dined with me ” “Where was Elisabeth?” ‘ ‘ Out dining with old friends at Monte Carlo. They leave to-mor-row ” There was a tap at the door, and Pobbly stood on the threshold. In her hand was a note which she said was for me, and requiring an answer.

It was from Elisabeth; “Dear Peronelle, ’ ’ it ran, “may I see you to-night for a few minutes? We are leaving Mentone early tomorrow 7 so to-night will be my only chance for a word with you and to say good-bye. There shall be no heroics, I promise you. I’m absolutely stiff with eommonsense, and am cheerful and very contented. Just say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to Pobbly, and I will be with you about nine. I am going over to Monte Carlo for a last little flutter, but shall be back early. “Yours, Elisabeth Jefferson.’’ “Yes,’’ I said to Pobbly, “tell Miss Jefferson by all means, I shall be delighted.” When the maid had departed, I handed the note to Miss Oakwood. She made no comment beyond the fact that I must immediately put on my new silk wrapper and tidy my hair, and remarked I should be worn out if I continued to pass through many more such emotional scenes. Seeing that I was about to reply, she commanded me to be silent and reserve what small remnant of energy I still might possess for Elisabeth. Punctually at nine o’clock she kissed me and passed through the door leading into her own room as a knock sounded on the other. Elisabeth Talks to Me I FELT somewhat nervous as Elisabeth entered, but immediately I calmed down, as the whole of my senses, which had been confused and swimming, found dry land and were merged into one of calm and complete absorption in the vision that stood before me. She was in full evening dress, and looked entirely lovely. “Oh, don’t sit down!” I cried, when she made to take the chair I had failed to offer her. “I — live in the country, and I shan’t see any—well, quite like you for a long while.” She flushed a little and stood immobile for a moment, while I took in every detail of the exquisite gown and the radiance of her perfect neck and arms. “I am not surprised Martin likes you,” she said with a little laugh as she dropped into the chair. ‘ ‘ Peronelle, T have several things to say to you before I go hence, as they say in the Bible. May I speak plainly? ’ ’ “I am not surprised to find you in bed. A note was awaiting me from Martin when I got in just now. It was to tell me of your engagement, and he also mentioned that you had been through a very dreadful experience to-day which had shocked you greatly, and would I, if I went to see you to say good-bye, make my visit as brief as possible? So I’m going to come to the point at once.” She leant back in the chair and slowly drew from her arms and hands some long, white gloves she was wearing. “I’ve just a sort of sensation,” she continued, “that you may be thinking I’m unhappy about you and Martin and —well, a bit piqued and humiliated, which would be very natural. But I don want you to imagine this, for it’s not true. Today I am less worried than I’ve been for some months. Now, first of all, I would like to tell you how I became engaged to Martin Synge. We ' met at a base hospital. He was badly wounded; I was nursing. I made a big bid for his life it seemed to me one worth saving. The doctors were kind enough to say that it was through me and my efforts we pulled off the trick. Martin regarded me as some sort of ministering angel who had restored his life to him, and his gratitude as a very pathetic and beautiful thing to behold, but he was about the only man in the hospital —not a Tommy—who didn’t make love to me. ’ ’ She paused and threw me one of her attractive smiles.

‘ ‘ This piqued me. A few months ago I met him again in London, and we saw a lot of each other— may say, incidentally, that in a sense I consider Martin Synge one of the most interesting and 'attractive men I’ve come across over here. ” “Of course!” She smiled. “But his moods are strange. They leave you wtih a sense that you don’t quite know where you are, and whether you are talKing with a disembodied spirit ■or just an erratic Irishman who, suddenly finding you dull, has removed his entity to some other sphere. ” “Miss Oakwood says it’s the result of the War; that he used not to be. like this. ” “Well, in London I found him, as I say, interesting, a delightful companion when his soul decided to remain with you a, while and not wander off to side tracks, but still he made no love to me.” Pausing, she leant forward and placed a log on the fire that was burning low. Cup ping her chin in her hand, she gazed into the crackling, dancing flame with reflective eyes. “I did a low-down trick then, ’ ’ she continued after a while. “I was determined to make him care for me, and I used every wile and seduction in my power to that end. He was the hardest fish to land, the shyest to which I had ever east a fly. “Oh, don’t tell me any more,” I entreated, for I perceived, in spite of the flippancy of her manner, that this baring of her soul was costing her an effort. ‘ ‘ Why go into all this ‘ ‘ Because I must, otherwise you may not be entirely happy. Always at the back of your mind you may harbour the belief that Martin cared for me first, and he never did, not one little bit.” “Why, then ?’’ 1 stopped, for she took the question out of my mouth. “Why, then, did he ask me to marry him? I can’t say, definitely, but I’m pretty near the truth, I imagine, when I reply: first, out of gratitude for restoring his life to him, as he puts it; second, because he was flattered; there were a number of men hanging around me, men recently demobilised, with time on their hands, and the finest and biggest souled of the other sex are susceptible to flattery, and Martin succumbed.” She paused again, and with a. little movement almost suggestive of petulance at the stupidity of her own past deeds, she-threw her cape-back from her shoulders as though it oppressed her. “We became engaged, and the very moment it was un fait accompli I wondered if I wanted it to be, and if deep down in my heart I desired to marry Martin. I suggested a probationary engagement, and that he should go away for three or four months while I searched my heart in the matter and examined my feelings. He seemed stunned, and somewhat resentful, which was natural, but the reproach that I had encouraged and led him to the point of a proposal never passed his lips.” There was another long pause. The rest you know, she concluded. “But I don’t. That is just what I don’t know, ’ ’ Don you? Then you’re not quick. From the moment I entered this hotel I saw that Martin was interested in you, more interested than he had any right to be when, presumably, he was breathlessly awaiting my decision.” She made a funny little expressive movement with her lips. “So a spirit of mischief entering into me, coupled again with a sensation of pique and annoyance and wounded pride that I could not capture his love, I decided lie should approach the business of ending the engagement, for the night I arrived I told him beneath the olives in the moonlight— real sentimental setting - —that, after due consideration, I was

willing to place my heart and myself in his keeping. Poor Martin, how he has suffered!” Now a little— it mockery crept into her voice? But no, as I scrutinised her lovely face in the firelight I detected the look of tenderness in her eyes and mouth which she could not conceal, and my heart went out to her in admiration for the bigness of her nature and the generosity of her soul. She may have played with Martin, but she had manifestly suffered for it, suffered from the humiliation of knowing that, even had she been genuinely in a state of mind to offer him her love, it was too late, it was not wanted. “Poor old Martin, how he has tried to play the game! What an old stupid Don Quixote he is in these hard, matter-of-fact days! How he has tried to keep his eyes steadily on me and away from you! How, like the dear ostrich he is, he has buried his head in the sand, imagining he has deceived me! And how little, how painfully little, how deplorably and idiotically little, he tinderstands the workings of a woman’s heart.” She got up and paced about the room, tall, slender, the firelight and electric light gleaming upon the shimmer of her gown and displaying the curves and grace of . her figure and the perfect modelling of her neck and arms. “It seems to me too incomprehensible that he shouldn’t love you,” I cried involuntarily as I watched her. “I never saw anyone so beautiful.” She thanked me simply, and resumed her scat. “Martin wants something else besides looks. I believe looks are the last thing that would hold him. They appeal in the first instance, but would never hold him. I am too commonplace for him.” What! I protested. “Well, too matter-of-fact, too unimaginative. Martin is a vagabond

by nature, and I am not. He is the type that suddenly takes it into his head to march off to Central Africa, or the North Pole, and expects his wife to go with him. I am not of that type; I like things cut and dried. ’ ’ I laughed at her tone and her attitude of dejection as she leant over the fire and held her hands to the blaze. “And should Ishould I like that sort of thing?” I inquired, “Better than I. Yes, I think you would. You and Martin are just made for each other. And now I must go. We make an early start tomorrow, and you have got smudges beneath your eyes.” She came to the side of the bed and looked at me with a whimsical expression in her own, “Have you got it quite clear that Martin never has loved me, and never have I loved him, and that he adores you, and when I sent him to look for you this morning his joy was so linbounded, though he tried to hide it, that it would have been comical if it had not been pathetic “Yes,” I replied, taking the two hands she held towards me in both of mine. “I have got it quite clear, and I can’t tell you what I think of you. All that Martin says is true, only a thousand times more so.” She laughed gaily, “I ought to be covered with shame and confusion and filled with outraged pride at being ‘turned down,’ but I’m not. I’m just supremely happy that all has turned out so well: Martin’s happy, you ’re happy, Miss Oakwood is happy- adores him, and is fond of you—and I’m happy, So, what would you? Good-bye. May I kiss you? Ah, here is Miss Oakwood! I’m just going. Peronellc is a bit tired, but not deadl’ve seen to that.” “Martin is back,” said Miss Oakwood. I sprang up. “Is he hurt?” “Not at all.”

“Has he —has he killed him?” ‘ ‘ By no means. Mr. Deschamps departed from the Cap Martin Hotel at six o’clock this evening and left no address. So that is ended.” The Journey Home A WEEK later we went home. Miss Oakwood offered various reasons for this sudden departure: 1. No longer should I be of any use to her. Lovers were of no use to anybody but themselves. 2. Another railway strike was imminent. The last had held up returning English travellers at places like Lyon, dull places, barren of any form of excitement, for sixty-four hours, without food, drink or warmth. She would take no risks. 3. Uncle Tom had written an agitated letter in reply to mine confessing my sins, saying if I did not return home immediately he should come and fetch me, though he was in the grip of an attack of lumbago. He would be sorry if such a proceeding should upset Miss Oakwood, but there were millions of unattached females wandering about the face of the globe who would be ready to jump into my shoes. So come I must, and at once. Miss Oakwood chose to laugh inordinately at this epistle, and remarked that men were selfish beasts! 4. That she knew I was just dying to acquaint my family with my news and produce Martin, so the sooner we went the better. So the day previous to our departure arrived, and after our packing was finished Martin and I went round saying “Good-bye” to all the people and places and things I had learnt to know so well and love so much. A little later we wandered along the flower-bedecked terrace of the Beau-Sejour garden, and I whispered last words of love to the starry white rambler rose on the old wall which was creeping higher and higher, a

white wraith, up the palm tree behind, and to the wistaria which fell in cascades over the stone balcony. I lifted one ofj the heavy, exquisite plumes in which the bees had happily hummed throughout the day and inhaled its scent, and thanked it for giving us so much pleasure. “We are not grateful enough to the lovely things of this earth, I said “we take them all for granted, and sometimes I wonder if they are hurt. Miss Oakwood, when I finally went in to dress, wondered a trifle sharply why I was so late. ‘ ‘ The hold-all won’t meet. ’ ’ She was staring at it with a resentful, oblique eye. With a strong pull on the straps I compelled it to meet. It will burst before we arrive home, she said despondently. I cheered her to the best of my ability. Already the spirit of gloom and truculence that animated her on a railway journey was beginning' to exhibit itself, and my heart sank. 1 told Martin of her pugilistic attitude on the journey out, and what I feared was before us on the morrow, and he chose to be amused. “I have never seen her even ruffled in my life, ’ ’ he said. “You won’t say the same thing within twenty-four hours from now,” was my reply. I was right. We had not left Mentone Station before he became anxious. At Cannes, when a person —a mild, timid-looking woman —entered our compartment, making up our complement of) —we were again travelling couchette this restlessness turned into marked anxiety, for Miss Oakwood eyed the mild person as though she were an intrusive bull, and by the time we had arrived at the dinner hour he had become downright angry. “ It’s extraordinary! ” he whispered, as we stood for a moment alone in the corridor. “If I did not love her so, I should say it was abomin-

able. Why, she has rows with everyone she encounters. She is getting quite snappy with us.” “I know. Didn’t I tell you? And she’ll become worse and worse. I shook my head. “I’m afraid not; we can scarcely reprimand her, and to reason she will hot listen. ‘Besides, she is aware of the reprehensibleness of her behaviour. She told me before we travelled out that she is seized with this aggressive, fighting, unreasonable spirit the very moment she enters a railway station; the sight of an engine sets her off, porters she mistrusts and hates, her fellow-passengers fill her with bitter loathing. She almost reduced me to tears on our journey out because I had the misfortune to empty a sodawater bottle into her bedshe could not forgive me.” Martin was seized with laughter and said he wasn’t very surprised. Then he fell to wondering if we could not, in any way, counter her fighting attitude. I replied I was afraid not, and we went in to dinner. The meal passed fairly amicably. There were one or two contretemps with a clergyman who made the fourth at our table, and who, whispered Miss Oakwood to me, would keep the salt to himself) and took more than his share of butter, but no real rows till we arrived at the coffee stage. Then there was trouble. Miss Oakwood demanded tea instead of coffee. The hurried waiter replied most courteously it could not be served. “Why not?” she demanded. I had come to dread these “Why nets?” They were absolutely charged with war and battle and all that was designed to fight and kill. ‘ ‘ Because there is not time, madame. ’ ’ “Time!” cried she, blocking the egress of the clergyman, who wanted to get out. “No, madame.

'‘But why haven’t you time? I am not asking you to cook an omelette.” . “Because there are four dinners to serve.” Hurriedly he filled Martin’s and my cup and was passing on, when she cried: “Waiter! I insist upon having a cup of tea. It will take two minutes to make. ‘ ‘ Impossible, madame! ’ ’ The waiter in his vehemence waved the coffee-pot perilously over my head, and Martin told me to look out. ‘ 1 Then I shall report it to the P.L.M., ” said Miss Oakwood. “The manner in which this P.L.M, Company treats its passengers is nothing short of abominable ’ ’ “Will yon kindly allow me to pass, madame?” came an exasperated voice from her rear. The clergyman’s patience had given out. “I’m sorry,” was her reply as he pushed past her, but I never heard anyone less so. ‘ ‘ Don’t you two hurry. Drink your coffee in peace. I will return to our compartment alone and possibly be just in time to prevent our hand-luggage from being ransacked by thieves —I am sure there are lots on this train. And, Martin, don’t tip that impertinent waiter more than half a franc — doesn’t deserve more! She left us with the face of a martyr and the air of a tragedy queen. Before retiring to our couchettes that night Martin went off for a smoke in the corridor, and was away so long I succeeded in getting Miss Oakwood safely, after many vicissitudes, into her upper berth and tucked in securely. She kissed me warmly before I descended the little ladder. I had been wrestling with a shawl which refused to enfold her shoulders in the way she desired. First the fringe tickled her, then it let in draughts. “I hope I’ve not been very cross, Peronelle?” she in-

quired tentatively. I pretended not to hear her. “But really everything on this line is badly managed.” ‘ ‘ I think it’s wonderful. ” I should ilub have stiiu uiiti-v. x Vvub awaiC of it the moment the words were out of my mouth. She sat up in bed and inquired what I knew about travelling. Nothing, I cried, “and oh, don’t do that; you have disarranged all the shawl.” “I can do it myself,” she said in icy tones as she lay back. ‘‘l am sorry it was so much trouble to you. Good-night. Crushed, I descended the ladder and then removed it. I was occupying the berth below Miss Oakwood, and Martin the one opposite. The fourth, fortunately, was vacant; the little mild woman, terrified apparently of Miss Oakwood, had changed to a wagon-lit. Having made my preparations for the night by tying up my head in a scarf and slipping off my skirt and into a fur coat, I was about to seek my cot when Martin appeared, and asked me to come out into the corridor as he wanted to have a word with me. Leading me a little distance from our compartment, he chucklingly announced: “1 ’ve fixed things. I’m going to teach our dearly beloved lady a lesson. I love her deeply, but I’ve had enough of her as a fellow-passenger. Listen.” lie unfolded the following amazing scheme: “I’ve just met a chap out here —we’ve had a smoke together—whom I knew at Ypres. He’s along in the next coach in a first-class

smoker. Before parting, I asked him if he would do me a service, and he replied ‘By all means.’ ‘Then,’ said I, ‘I want to have a row with you in the morning; do you mind?’ And he replied, ‘No, if it doesn’t lead to bloodshed.’ 1 said it wouldn’t, and he said: Bight O! ‘I want you,’ I said, ‘to go to the lavatory at the end of our coach at -past six to-morrow for a wash before breakfast, and take your time about it. I’ll come along and make a row at your occupying the place so long. I shall kick the door and hurl epithets at your ears through the woodwork. You’ll eventually appear and ask me what the something something I mean by such insulting behaviour. Urged by two ladies’ — will be you and Miss Oakwood‘l shall calm down and subsequently apologise to you. Are you game?’ My friend said he was. I didn’t explain why I proposed to behave in such unseemly fashion, and he didn’t inquire the reason. Don’t you think it a. great scheme?” he concluded, chuckling. ‘‘You mean she will see herself as others see her?” ‘ ‘ Exactly. ’ ’ I heard him chuckling on and off till he fell asleep. It all went off according to plan. ’ ’ Miss Oakwood and I, with towels and sponge-bags in our hands, sat in the grey light—it was a dull morning—patiently awaiting the return of Martin. (“The Great Husband Hunt’’ trill he concluded in the next issue.)