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Once again these houris asked each other, "Mais qu'est-ce qu'il a! Ce bel Hector? Oú se cache-t-il?" Before she went to bed in her hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, Monica Ellerwood wrote to her aunt. "PARIS, May 15th. "MY DEAR AUNT MILLY, We have had a delicious little week, Jack and I, quite like an old honeymoon pair and to-day we ran across Hector, who has remained hidden until now.
"Certainly hearts are a great bore." "You were always a cynic, Hector; that is perhaps what makes you so attractive." "Am I attractive?" "I can't judge," said Mrs. Ellerwood, nettled for a moment. "I have known you too long, but I hear other women saying so." "That is comforting, at all events," said Lord Bracondale. "I always have adored women." "No, you never have, that is just it.
I must find out her name." "She is a beautiful creature," said Jack Ellerwood, as if to himself, while he carefully surveyed Theodora from his position at the side of the table. Hector Bracondale's irritation rose. Relations were tactless, and he felt sorry he had asked them. "You must tell me her name, Hector," pleaded Mrs. Ellerwood; "the very white, pretty one I mean."
"Your affectionate niece, "MONICA ELLERWOOD." Which epistle jarred upon Hector's mother when she read it over coffee at her solitary dinner on the following night. "Poor dear Monica!" she said to herself. "I wonder where she got this strain from her father's family, I suppose I wish she would not be so bald." Then she sat down and wrote to her son she was not even going to the opera that night.
When they had all gone on Mrs. Ellerwood said: "I wonder why Americans are so much smarter than we poor English? I can't bear them as a nation though, can you?" "Yes," said Lord Bracondale. "I think the best friends I have in the world are American. The women particularly are perfectly charming.
This did not suit Mrs. Ellerwood at all; but if Jack spoke seldom he spoke to some purpose when he did, and she knew there was no use arguing. So with a heart full of ungratified curiosity, she at last allowed herself to be packed into Hector's automobile and driven away. "Of course he'll go and join that other party now, Jack!
You have let them adore you, and utterly spoil you; so now sometimes, Hector, you are insupportable." "You just said I was attractive." "I shall not argue further with you," said Mrs. Ellerwood, pettishly. "And I think we ought to be saying good-night, Hector," interrupted the silent Jack. "We are making an early start for Fontainebleau to-morrow, and Monica likes any amount of sleep."
The same thought came to her that was conjuring the brain of Lord Bracondale: would there be a chance to speak to-night, or must they each go their way in silence? He meant to assist fate if he could, but having Monica Ellerwood there was a considerable drawback.
"Poor Hector has enough of them from mother," she explained, when Monica Ellerwood asked her once why she was so cold. "And men don't care for those sort of things, except from some one else's sister or wife." "Dear old boy!" was all she said as he came in. "I am glad to see you back." Then in a moment or two they went down to dinner, talking of various things.
I am afraid they are none of them demimondaines, so you will be disappointed this time!" Mrs. Ellerwood looked at him; she understood now. "He is in love with the white woman," she thought; "that is why he was so anxious to dine here to-night, when Jack suggested Madrid; that is why he stays in Paris. It is not Esclarmonde de Chartres after all! How excited Aunt Milly will be!
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