“Well, well—it does not concern us,” said Irene, amused at his annoyance.
“Indeed it does,” exclaimed Gzhatski. “Nobody could like the idea of such a creature as that living under the same roof and coming constantly under the eyes of his bride—of the woman who is dearer to him and whom he places higher than all else on earth.”
“Dear, dear! What old-fashioned prejudices!” smiled Irene. “I assure you the lady will not demoralize me. On the contrary, I pity her profoundly for having to lead such a frightful life. How do I know? Perhaps if my parents had not left me a fortune I might have been reduced to adopting the same profession!”
“Irene!” cried Gzhatski excitedly, “never dare to say such a thing again! The insult of the suggestion is insufferable. You would have starved rather than lead a life of shame. As if I did not know you! All the pity that is wasted on fallen women is a foolish and unjustifiable pity. There is so much work to be done in the world that everyone who really tries can earn an honest living. These worthless creatures never want to work at all—they care for nothing but a lazy, comfortable, luxurious life.”
Gzhatski had become flushed and excited. The unknown beauty turned round and listened with interest to this “quarrel” in a strange language. The waiter put before her a bottle of soda-water and a small glass of whisky, and went away. She swallowed the whisky in one draught, and took out an elegant gold cigarette case. Holding a cigarette between her teeth she scanned the table for matches. Finding none, she rose, and, as calmly as if approaching an acquaintance, crossed over to Gzhatski and asked him for a light.
Gzhatski looked as black as thunder.
Most ungraciously, he handed the matches to the unknown one, and paying no attention whatever to her “merci monsieur”—pronounced with the sweetest of smiles—he hastened to take Irene away from the Casino.
“The devil!” ejaculated Gzhatski furiously, as they emerged on to the promenade. “It is positively incredible, what they have been allowed to come to, here on the Riviera. The impudence of the hussy! The shamelessness! She sees that I am with a respectable lady, and she dares!” His indignation almost suffocated him.
“Well, well!” said Irene quietly, “why should you expect knowledge of the world and its ways from these unfortunates? Perhaps only yesterday she was washing linen in a laundry; where should she have learnt manners?”