We went to a dozen places and were gone altogether about two hours. When we returned the maid was there, but I wandered into the boudoir with the Madame and made myself useful. She sat down before her dressing table and I stood behind her, playing with the curls at the nape of her neck and talking of this and that.... I saw a long envelope on the corner of the table and I knew at once that it had been put there since we left the apartment, for I had been in there before we went out and there had been no envelope there then.... I didn’t show, by even so much as a second glance at it, that I had noticed the envelope especially, but the Madame finally picked it up and said something about the maid collecting a loan for her. Whereupon she opened the packet and removed its contents. All I could see was that it was paper money of large denominations; she folded them quickly and tucked the batch into her hand bag, handing me the envelope and saying, “Be a good boy and put that in the fireplace in the other room.”
I went into the other room and called back, “Shall I burn it up? There’s nothing else here to burn.”
“You may as well,” she replied and I drew a piece of note paper from my pocket, crumpled it in my hand and touched a match to it. The envelope went into my breeches, inside, because I didn’t have time to fold it and put it in one of the buttoned pockets.
When I went back to the boudoir I asked her why she burned everything up, even in hot weather. “Why don’t you have a wastebasket instead of a fireplace?” I asked.
“I’ve always loathed the sight of a wastebasket,” she replied. “Besides the fireplace is handy and the ashes are so much less for the maid to carry out than papers would be....”
“You’re very considerate of others, aren’t you?” I observed, placing my hands on her shoulders and leaning over for a kiss.
“I’m too considerate sometimes,” she murmured into my ear. And she made that kiss speak worlds and worlds. Then she pushed me away and laughed, not too pleasantly, as she said, “Dammit, young one, you’re making me perfectly miserable!... Sometimes I wish Captain Winstead had wished you upon someone else.”
“Would you rather I didn’t come?” I asked quickly, trying to sound very hurt.
“God, no, honey!” she answered, and her voice was thrillingly vibrant. “I wish you would come and stay—and I mustn’t be wishing such things!”
“Why not?” I inquired ingeniously. “They say if you wish hard enough, anything will come true.”