Having once conceded the point, Arthur did all he could to forward the foreign trip. Ermengarde must go by Calais; on those splendid turbine vessels people couldn't be ill if they tried during the whole fifty minutes across, and she hardly thought she should try. Besides, in fifty minutes there was hardly time to settle oneself comfortably; while as for being tired or faint in that short crossing, the idea was absurd; a deck-chair and the gentle lulling of the turbine's swift and smooth motion was superior to any bed, while the Train de Luxe was simply an invitation to repose. Some one suggested rocking as an accompaniment to ultra-rapid motion, but that idea was scouted; great speed means smooth motion; does a humming-top wobble before it slackens speed? Besides, how could it be a Train de Luxe if it caused train-sickness or any discomfort? And it undoubtedly was a Train de Luxe, her brother-in-law maintained—in cost.
If the price was too luxurious, why not go second-class? Ermengarde had already learnt from the paternal omniscience of Cook that foreign express trains carried second as well as first class fares. Then the startling intelligence, that not only Trains de Luxe, but Rapides and other special quick trains to the Riviera, were only for the lordly first-class traveller, broke upon her, and fresh sums in compound addition had to be cast up before an idea of the total cost could be gained. "And every time I do it the sum total is bigger," she sighed, "though, to be sure, one great saving in going by this first-class train is that you have no hotel expenses; you pass the night in the train, instead of driving in an expensive cab to a hotel, and giving Heaven knows how much for being in Heaven knows how uncomfortable rooms."
"But you've left out the feeding," her brother-in-law objected.
"Not at all; the train has its own restaurant-car," she returned with the triumph of recent knowledge.
"You blessed innocent, you don't suppose you are going to be fed free gratis for twenty-four hours," he shouted, with a vulgar and jarring mirth that was indecently echoed by Arthur; "a train isn't a prison or a workhouse."
"It certainly is not," she returned with dignity; "it's a train. As you see, 'the waiters will bring things to the compartments if necessary.' Besides, how can it be a Train de Luxe if it gives you nothing to eat all that time? Just listen to the description. 'On waking the traveller rings his bell to——' Oh yes—I see, you do pay. 'The tariff of prices is in full view in the carriages. Tea, tenpence,' etc. Now I shall have to do another sum. But I need only dine, and have a cup of tea in the afternoon. Lunch I shall carry with me. And, as you see, there's the picture of people breakfasting next morning in the Riviera Palace Hotel at Monte Carlo."
"Benighted infant, it's déjeuner they're having at midday. You really must have a companion."
"Not at all. I've never done any travelling pays before, and it's high time I learnt how to. Why do the stupid people say breakfast when they mean lunch? Another tenpenneth of tea and the biscuits I carry will do for my breakfast. So only dinner need count. Really the cost of going all that distance is absurdly small when one thinks of it. And then the saving of night travel, besides the comfort of having a proper bed without the trouble of going to it."
"Still, you pay pretty high for the comfort."
"Only the usual first-class fare. There it is, written down plainly; just read the advertisement, Herbert: 'Monte Carlo and Sunshine—as easy as going to Brighton. The train, with special new bogie corridor carriages'—I shan't like the bogie part, though—'leaves Victoria at 11 a.m.' H'm, h'm—'you land at Calais in less than an hour'—just fancy!—h'm—'no scrambling for meals or seats, your places have been reserved, and you walk in as you would to your stall at a theatre.'"