“You’re a good sort, Bobby Burnit,” she said, with kindly intent to lead the others, “and I’ll take your offer and thank you.”
It appeared that the majority of them had dreaded some such dénouement as this; some had been prepared for even less advantageous terms, and several, upon direct inquiry, announced their willingness to accept this proposal. A few declared their intention to hold him for the full contract. These were the ones who had made sure of his entire solvency, and these afterward swayed the balance of the company to a stand which won a better compromise. When Monsieur Noire, with a curious smile, asked Madam Villenauve, however, she laughed very pleasantly.
“Oh, non,” said she; “it does not apply, zis offair, to me. I do not need it, for Monsieur Burnit ees to marry wiz me zis Christmastam.”
“I am afraid, Madam Villenauve, that we will have to quit joking about that,” said Bobby coldly.
“Joking!” screamed the shrill voice of madam. “Eet ees not any joke. You can not fool wiz me, Monsieur Burnit. You mean to tell all zese people zat you are not to marry wiz me?”
“I certainly have no intention of the kind,” said Bobby impatiently, “nor have I ever expressed such an intention.”
“We s’all see about zat,” declared the madam with righteous indignation. “We s’all see how you can amuse yourself. You refuse to keep your word zat you marry me? All right zen, you do! I bring suit to-day for brich promise, and I have here one, two, three, a dozen weetness. I make what you call subpœna on zem all. We s’all see.”
“Monsieur Noire,” said Bobby, more sick and sore than panic-stricken, “you will please settle matters with all these people and come to me at the hotel for whatever checks you need,” and, hurt beyond measure at this one more instance that there were, really, rapacious schemers in the world, who sought loathsome advantage at the expense of decent folk, Bobby crept away, to hide himself and try to understand.
They were here for the latter half of the week, and, since business seemed to be fairly good, Bobby had decided to fill this engagement, canceling all others. In the morning it seemed that Madam Villenauve had been in earnest in her absurd intentions, for, in his room, at eleven o’clock, he was served with papers in the breach-of-promise suit of Villenauve versus Burnit, and the amount of damages claimed was the tremendous sum of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, an amount, of course, only commensurate with Madam Villenauve’s standing in the profession and her earning capacity as an artist, her pride and shattered feelings and the dashing to earth of her love’s young dream being of corresponding value. Moreover, he learned that an injunction had been issued completely tying up his bank account. That was the parting blow. Settling up with the performers upon a blood-letting basis, he most ignominiously fled. Before he went away, however, Signorina Nora McGinnis Caravaggio called him to one side and confided a most delicate message to him.
“Your friend, Mr. Bates,” she began with an embarrassed hesitation quite unusual in the direct Irish girl; “he’s a nice boy, from the ground up, and give him an easy word from me. But, Mr. Burnit, give him a hint not to do any more traveling on my account; for I’ve got a husband back in New York that ain’t worth the rat poison to put him out of his misery, but I’m not getting any divorces. One mistake is enough. But don’t be too hard on me when you tell Biff. Honest, up to just the last, I thought he’d come only to see you; but I enjoyed his visits.” And in the eyes of the Caravaggio there stood real tears.