Presently an idea seemed to commend itself to the girl. On her arm, a little gold and platinum bag hung from its chain. Loveland had often seen this bag, on shipboard, and had even frequently picked it up from the floor, where the girl dropped it half a dozen times each day, when she slipped out from under the rugs of her deck chair. Well did he know the two compartments in this favourite little receptacle of Lesley's treasures! He knew in which one she kept the handkerchief which smelt like fresh violets; in which her money, her cardcase, her stylographic pen, and a letter or two; and now he watched her, with eyes homesick for past days, as she took out the remembered cardcase, and from an inner pocket of that cardcase, a folded newspaper cutting.
"It's quite time you did read for yourself," she said. "This will make you understand better than I can tell you. Fanny Milton cut it out of 'New York Light,' and posted it to me. I've kept it here—I hardly know why, but now I'm glad I did."
It was Tony Kidd's first article that Loveland read with a shock of surprise, which, at the very beginning, set the blood humming in his ears like the sound of the sea in a shell.
Tony had told his story spicily, in a way to make his readers laugh. But Loveland did not laugh. He read on and on, dazed at first, then with a burst of enlightenment which made clear many mysteries.
"The Difficult Young Man to Approach" had come to New York to see Heiresses and conquer Papas, said Tony. He had begun the conquering process on board ship, being a youth of a thrifty turn of mind, who believed in taking time by the forelock. He had made friends; he had even, perhaps, made love. Soon, no doubt, he would have made a match; but the schemes of mice, men, and even marquises have a way of going wrong, especially when—and that "when" reminded Tony to pause and ask a conundrum. "When is a Marquis not a Marquis?" The writer invited the public to guess. "Why, when he's a Valet, of course." And then Tony went on to protest gaily, that neither he nor his paper was responsible for the assertion that this Marquis was not a Marquis. They merely put the question, and gave the answer for what it was worth, on the strength of certain sensational news just received from the land where Marquises grew on blackberry bushes for heiresses to cull.
A number of people prominent in New York society had received cablegrams from London, informing them that the valet of the Marquis of Loveland had absconded with his lordship's jewellery, and other belongings; that the fugitive was known to have impersonated his master in London, obtaining goods from tradesmen, and running up bills at hotels, in Lord Loveland's name. If a person calling himself the Marquis of Loveland should appear in New York presenting letters of introduction to the said Prominent People earlier than the arrival of the White Star Liner Baltic, they were to beware of him, as the real Lord Loveland expected to sail on that ship.
On the very day when these cablegrams were received—Tony Kidd went on to state—there arrived by a strange (?) coincidence an attractive looking and haughty young gentleman, known among acquaintances collected on the Mauretania as Lord Loveland. This alleged nobleman had gone to the Waldorf-Astoria, where, through a servant of the hotel, it was soon discovered that his pretentious trunks were practically empty. He had (perhaps naturally) refused to be interviewed by a representative of "Light"; and the manner of his refusal was somewhat graphically described.
Act 2 was a round of calls with letters of introduction to all the Prominent People warned by a friend (also prominent) in England.
Act 3: A scene in the Waldorf Restaurant, where some shipboard acquaintances, dining with one of the Prominent People, had heard from him of the cablegram, and of course refused to acknowledge acquaintance with the attractive nobleman when he appeared in the room, ready to greet the whole party with effusion.
Act 4: The Hotel authorities being informed, request "Lord Loveland" to find other accommodation.