Children of No Man's Land

by G. B. Stern

Suddenly Pinto looked up. Across the babel of sound, a familiar name struck his ear.... “Little Zoe Dene-Cresswell—si, si, I know her—I should have known her better but she was occupied—Oh, very occupied ... all the day and most of the——”

“For shame, Gian....”

Here the laughing voices became for the moment inaudible. Pinto knew the first speaker by sight. It was a friend of his friend Marchetti, who had arrived the day before from England to perform his military service. The other man, a stranger, wore the R.F.C. badge. They were at a table behind him, and doubtless had not recognized him. Without turning his head he strained his ears to hear more. The English boy was reading aloud from a letter.

“... ‘With the face of an orang-outang and the temper of a Patagonian savage!’... How she can put up with him, I don’t know—and Cliffe says she actually seems fond of the horrid coarse brute....”

Pinto had heard enough. He rose and stalked out of the café. He was amazed, staggered by this proof of Zoe’s hypocrisy and infidelity. The world swam in yellow and green before his bilious gaze. So Zoe could write him every day those pretty little letters, sympathizing, yes, daring to sympathize with the many discomforts of his enforced trip, and all the while she was in the arms of another lover—a horrid coarse brute with a face like an orang-outang and the temper of a Patagonian savage.... Pinto thought he could have borne it better, had his rival been a worthier man—in which supposition Pinto was entirely wrong.

In the first throes of his jealousy he decided never to see Zoe again, never to write to her explaining his desertion. Let her wonder at it as much as she pleased! He had been betrayed, he had been fooled, he who had always been so good to her! Even now the thought of the ten pounds rankled. How she must have rejoiced at the necessity for this business-trip! How she must have laughed in her sleeve during their farewells.... After all, she was a common little thing, this Zoe! He had tried to educate her taste, but she was evidently glad to sink again to the type of male with whom she was most at her ease. In time she would learn the difference.... Pinto preened himself. He had done with Zoe.

But a month later, when his business-affairs were concluded, and it was time to return to England, he decided that it was very dull, cutting people off for ever without seeing the effect upon them of this treatment; also he wanted his big row with Zoe; also he had discovered that no French girls could cook macaroni like a certain English girl.... He did not see why he should deprive himself of the relief of telling Zoe just exactly what he thought of her. His nerves were in a state of suppressed irritation for lack of a victim. Yes, most decidedly he would go to Zoe and have a grand scene with her, and then never see her again. Perhaps he would throw something at her; perhaps even, he would challenge his unknown rival. But this he resolved not to do, in case the challenge should be taken up.

II

“Antonia dear, Miss Stella Marcus has just spoken to me on the telephone. She asked for you. Perhaps I did wrong in not calling you, but she was kind enough to say that I was not to trouble. She seems to be in deep distress of mind, causelessly I should say, but of course I am in no position to judge.”

“Why, mother?” Antonia and Cliffe were engrossed over a portfolio of Cubist pictures by an aspirant for their candid criticism, when Mrs Verity came to the door of the studio.