“How long have you been here?” I asked her, as the little steamboat sped on its short passage across to the Lido.
“Oh, about a fortnight or three weeks. I like it, and I got work at once. I’d rather sew than sell, but they sew so well here! And they tell me I sell so well. So selling it mainly is!”
“Then you came before the—the result of the lottery?”
“Oh, you’ve heard about the lottery, have you? From Arsenio, or——?”
The mention of the lottery seemed to afford her fresh amusement, but she said nothing more about it at the moment. “You see, I wanted to come away from the Riviera—never mind why!”
“How can you? If you’ve not heard from Arsenio!”
“I’ve been in Paris—and there I saw Godfrey Frost.”
“Oh!” The exclamation was long drawn out; it seemed to recognize that my having seen Godfrey Frost might explain a good deal of knowledge on my part. But she went on with her explanation. “Since the air raids have stopped, Arsenio has managed to let one floor of the _palazzo_—the _piano nóbile_; and I suggested to him that I might come and live on the top floor. I’d saved enough money for the journey, and I pay Arsenio rent. I’m entirely independent.”
“As you were at Ste. Maxime—and at Nice—or Cimiez?”
She flushed—for her, quite brightly—and slowly nodded her head. Then she sat silent till we reached the Lido, and had disembarked. Now she seemed unwilling to talk more of her affairs; she preferred to question me on mine. I told her of Aunt Bertha’s death.
“Ah, she liked me once. Poor Sir Paget!” was her only comment. “I think he likes you still,” I suggested. She shook her head doubtfully, and insisted on hearing about what I had been doing in Paris.
It was not till after we had lunched and were sitting drinking our coffee—just as in old days at Ste. Maxime—that I brought her back to her own affairs—to the present position.
“And you’re alone here—on the top floor of the _palazzo_?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered, smiling. “Alone—alone on the top floor. I came here alone; we had had a quarrel over—over what we’ll call the blue frock. Arsenio promised not to follow me here unless I gave him leave—which I told him I never should do. ‘Oh, yes, you will some day,’ he said; but he gave me the promise. Oh, well, a promise from him! What is it? Of course he’s broken it. He arrived here the day before yesterday. He’s now at the _palazzo_—on the floor below mine. It’s just like Arsenio, isn’t it?”