Part 7 (1/2)

”Couldn't help it,” he answered, laconically. ”We'd better give in handsomely for three days. It'll pay us in the end. Get into your 'glad rags' and be good.”

”But I didn't bring my 'glad rags,'” I said.

Just then Bee looked around from fastening a lace b.u.t.terfly in her hair on a jewelled spiral.

”I had two extra trays in my trunk and I put a few of your things in.

Would you like to wear your lace gown? You've never even tried it on.”

My mouth flew open, contrary to politeness and my excellent bringing-up.

Jimmie collapsed with a silent grin, while I meekly followed Bee into my room.

When I saw my new gown all full of rolls of tissue-paper, packed by poor dear Bee, I went to my trunk and pulled out my smart Charvet tie. I handed it to her in silence.

”Take it,” I said. ”I hate to give it up, but you deserve it.”

Bee accepted it gratefully.

”It's good of you to give it to me,” she said. ”You really need it more than I do, only this peculiar shade of blue is so becoming to me. I'll tell you what I'll do though,” she added, heroically. ”I'll _lend_ it to you whenever you want it.”

I thanked her, dressed, and then humbly trailed down to dinner in the wake of my gorgeous party.

Jimmie had engaged a table on the piazza, nearest the street and commanding the best view of all the other diners. I very willingly sat with my back to all the people, with the panorama of the Lichtenthaler Stra.s.se pa.s.sing before my eyes, and in quiet moments the sounds of the great military band playing on the promenade in front of the _Conversationshaus_ coming to our ears.

A great deal of grandeur always makes me homesick. It isn't envy. I don't want to be a princess and have the bother of winding a horn for my outriders when I want to run to the drug-store for postage stamps, but pomp depresses me. Everybody was strange, foreign languages were pelting me from the rear, noiseless flunkies were carrying pampered lap-dogs with crests on their nasty little embroidered blankets, fat old women with epilepsy and gouty old men with scrofula, representing the aristocracy at its best, were being half carried to and from tables, and the degeneracy of n.o.ble Europe was being borne in upon my soul with a sickening force.

The purple twilight was turning black on the distant hills, and the silent stars were slowly coming into view. Clean, health-giving Baden-Baden, in the Valley of the Oos, with its beauty and its pure air, was holding out her arms to all the disease and filth that degenerate riches produce.

I wasn't exactly blue, but I was gently melancholy. Jimmie was smoking, and Bee and Mrs. Jimmie had their heads together, casting politely furtive glances at a table which held royalty. I certainly _was_ feeling neglected.

Suddenly a voice in English at my elbow said:

”Pardon me, madame, but were not you at the Grand Hotel at Rome last winter?”

”Yes,” I said.

”I mean no impertinence in addressing you. I am the head waiter there in winter, here in summer. I remembered you at once, and I came to say that if anything goes wrong with any of your distinguished party during your stay, I shall count it a favour if you will permit me to remedy it. The hotel is at your disposal. I will send a private maid to attend you during your stay. I hope you will be happy here, madame.”

Then with a bow he was gone.

I was in a state of exhilaration inside which threatened to break through at the sudden attentions of my party.

”Who's your friend?” said Jimmie.

”How nice of him!” commented his wife.

”Servants never remember me, yet I always fee better than you do,”

complained Bee.