He rang the bell. The butler appeared.
“I made a mistake just now in giving you that 20-lira coin. Oh, it’s all right! I’m not going to take it back. I’ll be a good sport and pay for my blunder; but I was careless, that’s all. The point is——”
The English serving man was rigid with fright. Fees of any sort had been rare that season, and his wages were negligible.
“The point is,” the half-Englishman spoke confidentially, “I don’t want the whole establishment to think I am a millionaire and stand in line to blackmail me when I go out. Do you understand?”
The butler began to show signs of life.
“Puffectly, m’lud. I will take you hout myself, by the rear terraces, m’lud, and nobuddy shall presume, m’lud.”
And by the rear terraces they escaped, where the old coachman and the “dinky” carriage were duly waiting. A gold coin had done the work for him, too. He had considered himself hired by the day. Rich brides and grooms rarely came into his power.
“And where will M’sieu and Madame go now? Pompeii, Vesuvius?” He named a list that would have been the death of his cadaverous animal.
“Pompeii, of course,” agreed Miss Geraldine Wells.
“Do you think we have time?”