“I should say so—to anybody he crawls before. And who are these Westerners he’s sending you to?”
“The Ballantynes. I think Mr. Ballantyne’s a Senator, is he not?”
Wallingford laughed again. “That’s one on me,” he said. “Yes, they’re from the West. But for everything that isn’t American they lay it over anybody you’ve seen in New York. Ballantyne! I sha’n’t say any more. It’s of no use to tell you you’re going round and round in a circle that’s in America but not really of it.”
“Do you know the Ballantynes?”
“I’ve met Mrs. Ballantyne—and the daughter that’s married to a Spaniard—the Duke of Almansa. They were at Monte Carlo three years ago when I was there. A handsome woman—amusing, too. She spent most of her time in the gambling rooms—used to come in always dressed in something new and loud—and what tremendous hats she did wear! She’d throw on the table a big gold purse blazing with diamonds. Then she’d seat herself and open the purse, and it would be stuffed with thousand-franc notes. She’d plunge like a Russian. Every once in a while she’d go out on the balcony and walk up and down smoking a cigarette. She forbade her husband the Casino unless she was with him; even then he wasn’t allowed to stake a single louis. He’d slip away and play in one of those more private rooms upstairs.”
Frothingham smiled reminiscently.
“You know, the play’s higher there,” continued Wallingford. “But the crowd of spectators was too small and indifferent for Her Grace of Almansa. When she found out what he was up to she made a scene right before everybody—‘How dare you squander my money?’ she said, and she led him off like a spaniel on its way to a whipping.”
“Charming person,” said Frothingham. “Must have been amusing.”
“Indeed she was. They’d talk of her all day without growing tired—and always a new freak. You’ll be amused by her.”
“Ah—she’s here?”