DEAR DIEPPE
There is occasionally a time in our life which proves a veritable oasis in a desert of doubt and suspicion.
During the month which they spent in the fascinating little town on the northern coast, Regina lived a very dolce far niente kind of life. Her anxieties as to the hussy were, for a time, lulled to sleep. They stayed at a comfortable hotel on the front, had rooms overlooking that wonderful stretch of sea which is one of the great charms of Dieppe, and they did themselves remarkably well; that is to say, they went without nothing that would give them pleasure. As soon as they arrived and were settled down, Alfred Whittaker went to the extravagance of engaging a motor car for their exclusive use during their stay. It was a very comfortable car, and held six persons in addition to the chauffeur, and almost every day they made excursions into the green heart of the quiet country, lunching at some snug French hostelry on homely but delicious fare. Personally, I have always thought that one of the chief reasons why art and sentiment nourish and thrive apace in sunny France is because the people live upon food so much less gross than is the case with ourselves. In the poorest little inn on the other side of the Channel one is always sure of an excellent soup, a delicious omelette, bread and butter that are beyond reproach, and a sound and excellent drink, be it of red wine or only of homely cider. To Regina, the freedom from household cares, which she detested, and from all questions of orderings and caterings, made this quite the most charming holiday of her whole life. She was happy, too, that Julia was happy, that Julia made many friends of her own age and condition, that she, as the phrase goes, danced her feet off four nights a week, and was able to enter with zest and enjoyment into the young life of the place. As for Alfred Whittaker himself, he so thoroughly enjoyed the rest and change, seemed so happy and contented with himself and everything around him, that sometimes Regina caught herself wondering if she had been entirely mistaken in imagining that there was, after all, a hussy in the background. He was loud in his expressions of satisfaction in the new ground which they had broken. How they ever came to go year after year to a dull English watering-place, and never thought of coming abroad, was really beyond him.
“But we have been abroad,” said Regina.
“Yes, for a trip, for a fortnight in Paris, for tours in different parts of Europe; there’s no rest in that kind of thing, it is an excitement, an opening of one’s mind—quite different to this,” he rejoined. “It’s very improving to one’s mind to go up the Rhine in a steamer, and go round all the sights of Cologne; to gaze at Ehrenbreitstein, and wonder whether it really is like Gibraltar or not; to feed the carp at Frankfort; to gaze at the falls at Schaffhausen; but it is not restful, it is not really a holiday. It is a nice fillip for a placid, blank or uneventful life, but for a man overdone with the stress of business, give me this. Restful without being dull, interesting without being overwhelming, and bright and gay without being fagging.”
“You are always so sensible,” said Regina. She felt at that moment that the hussy was farther away than ever. Yet, a little later, when she and Alfred were taking a stroll down the Grande Rue, it being market morning, and therefore unusually interesting, she was reminded of the skeleton in her cupboard as sharply and unexpectedly as the jerk with which the proverbial bird, tied by a string to the leg, is stopped in its peregrinations. As a rule on market morning the world promenades in the middle of the street, in the actual roadway, but it happened on this occasion that Alfred and Regina met a carriage and pair coming slowly between the market people squalling on the edge of the pavement. To avoid the carriage they stepped on to the trottoir, and this brought them under the awning of a jeweler’s shop.
“I think I ought to buy you a present,” said Alfred, “for I won last night.”
“Did you? You never told me.”
“I didn’t think of it. I was so sleepy I was glad to tumble into bed and forget everything,” Alfred replied. “I only had five louis in my pocket when I went into the Casino, and this morning I find that I have twenty-five. Now, twenty louis is sixteen pounds. If I keep it I shall lose it all back to the tables again, whether it is at the fascinating little horses or the more fascinating green cloth in the Grand Cercle. Come, what would you like? Here’s a jeweler’s shop; there are sixteen good English pounds lying at your feet, make your choice.”
“In francs?” asked Regina.