“Neither of them married,” agreed Miss Everitt. “Just as well perhaps. There are people who, so long as they remain single, can keep up a certain style and position; once they get spliced, first thing they do is to cut down expenses.”
“Exactly the view I took of it,” he cried eagerly. He leaned forward, and gave a glance around the saloon to make certain that no one listened. “Just the way I looked at the matter. Between ourselves, it was because of that I acted as I did.”
The attendant from the dining-car came to inquire whether the passengers wished to lunch in the first series, or in the second series; the two, after consultation, settled to take the meal together at the later hour. They found new grounds for agreement in the view that coffee and rolls at half-past seven in the morning, at a Paris hotel, formed but a mere imitation of a breakfast.
“I know perfectly well that what I’m going to tell you,” said Chiswell confidentially, “won’t go any further. I recollect how in the old days when we were—well, friends—you always knew when to keep your mouth shut. A great quality, that, in a girl, and I don’t want to flatter you when I say that one very seldom comes across it. What I’m about to tell you refers to—”
He jerked his head, and she nodded.
“They might meet,” she said.
“It wouldn’t matter,” he replied confidently. “They’re not on speaking terms now.”
“Fire away with what you were going to tell me.”
“As a Member of Parliament,” began Mr. Chiswell, “Freddy was not what the world might call a roaring success. Used to take a lot of trouble, and the Duke, his old father, was always getting at him, and asking when he was going to be asked to join the Cabinet. As a matter of fact, his speeches sounded all right when he said ’em off to me in Curzon Street, but apparently when he tried ’em in the House they didn’t go for nuts. I never went down there to hear him—got too much respect for myself to go near the place—but I always read the Parliamentary reports, and there, when he did get the chance of speaking, the papers mentioned his name amongst the ‘Also spokes,’ and that was about all. Whatever faults he may have had as a Member of Parliament, he was, and he is, a first-class chap to valet, and I don’t care”—Mr. Chiswell gave a resolute gesture—“I don’t care where the next comes from. I’ve only to say one word against a suit of clothes, and that suit of clothes is virtually handed over to me on the spot. I know to a penny what his income is, and I know to a penny what his expenses amount to. A peculiar chap, mind you, in some ways; never able, for instance, to bear the idea of being in debt. Most extraordinary, with people of his class.”
Chiswell dismissed this problem.