IT has always seemed to me a most extraordinary thing that Victor Lovelace should have been able to speak five languages. He was English, and Englishmen are notoriously stupid in this respect. But Lovelace spoke his languages perfectly, and as he was extremely obliging and full of information he was far and away the most popular waiter at the Jupiter Hotel in Athens.
I have never believed Lovelace was his real name; but that concerns neither you nor me. Lovelace has a romantic sound, and this young man of twenty-three looked romantic. Tall he was and slim: he carried himself well: unlike all the other waiters in the whole world, he looked you in the eyes when he spoke to you, and the eyes that looked into yours were large, brilliant, and unquestionably full of passion.
In April 1914, I stayed at the Jupiter Hotel, and at dinner on the day of my arrival I sat down at a table occupied solely by an Englishwoman who appeared to be travelling alone. Lovelace waited on us. Before we were half-way through our dinner I was convinced that the Englishwoman—her name was Dorothy Langdon—was in love with him. Whenever he brought her food, she looked quickly up into his eyes, and once I observed her touch his hand lingeringly as she assisted him in supporting the dish from which she was helping herself to vegetables.
I confess I was interested: people always do interest me. And I said to myself: “Is this love? Or is it passion—a very frenzy of the senses?”
Lovelace, for his part, showed neither desire nor distress. Perhaps he was a little more assiduous in his waiting on the lady than he was in attending to my wants; but this might mean simply that she was a woman and I was merely a man.
During dinner Miss Langdon and I talked.
“You arrived to-day?” she asked.
“Yes, I came from Marseilles by the Ispahan. Do you know the Messageries Maritimes boats?”
“Jolly little things, aren’t they?” she said, smiling. “I like the cosmopolitan passengers they carry, and I love curry for breakfast.”
She was very fair. Her neck, wrists and ankles were exquisite, as thoroughbred as the human animal can ever hope to be.