December Love

abnormal and was mental as well as physical. She lived a life of her own, and her brain was not purely imitative. She not only acted often originally, but thought for herself. She was not merely a v

n there more than once, making one of a party of six, five of whom were men. She did not care for women as a sex, and said so in the plainest language, denouncing their mentality as sti

which sometimes beset him, and made his way in a day suit to Soho seeking a restaurant. He walked first down Greek Street, then turned into Frith Street. There he peeped into two or three restaurants without making up his mind to sample their coo

the deep with careless and Pagan gestures, to the thoughtless, delicious life only possible in the golden heart of the South. He did not know the restaurant, but he hesitated no longer. Never mind what the cooking was l

ut from an azure sea. For the moment the guitars had ceased, but their players, swarthy, velvet eyed, and unmistakable children of Italy, sat at ease, their instruments still held in brown hands ready for further plucking of the sonorous strings. And the room was alive with the uproar of Italian voices talking their native language, with the large and un

ng behind a sort of counter. Italian girls, with coal-black hair, slipped deftly to and fro among the tables serving the customers. The musicians stared at Crav

signo

d think of and a bottle of Chianti Rosso, and then looked about the long, little room. He looked-to see Italian faces, and he saw many; but suddenly, instead of merely looking, he stared. His eyelids quivered; even his lips parted. Was it possi

e of macaroni blushing gently with tomato sauce before Craven, and placed a straw bottle of ruby hued Chianti by the bit of bread at his left han

he looked surprised, then sent him a brilliant smile, turned quickly and spoke to Lady Sellingworth. The latter then

Sellingworth looked marvellously at home with her feet on the sanded floor. Could she ever be not at home anywhere? He spoke a few words,

s and the taste of ravioli on his lips, silently to drink to them in authentic Chianti-all this gave a savour to his evening which he had certainly not anticipated. When now and then his eyes sought the table tucked into the corner by the window, he saw his two acquaintances plunged deep in conversation. Presently Miss Van Tuyn lit a cigarette, whic

ven remarked loudly, with a

ella r

alian voic

on quella povera vecchia! C

alian point of view? As well be angry with the Mediterranean for being a tideless sea. But he glanced at the profile and remembered the words, and could not help wondering whethe

being placed on the table by the window. He nodded, but held up a clean spoon to indicate that his zabaione had yet to be swallowed. She smile

were on the table, and coffee for three was mounting in

air placed ready for him with his ba

ease give the m

shillings i

'A Mezzanotte,' and the Barcarola di Sorrento, a

not! But

eat to Lady Sellingworth. She

a wonderful smile that was meant for them flickering on the soft lips of Miss Van Tuyn. That smile was as provocative, as definitely full of the siren quality, as if it

she added. "You're

t your beat lay rather in the direction o

nows me!" she said, turn

ead beaten paths," said L

hope they are walking where everyone walks. Beaten paths are like the fron

a long while outside my own hou

turned

y going to smo

a habit with me, but I assure you I

"He knows it's the only cigar that r

ho as an antidote. The guitars lured me in here. I was at the Embassy in Rome for a year. In the summer we

a hand and formed "S

ola di Sorrento!

t themselves go when something Italian is calling them. On his left Miss Van Tuyn, with one arm leaning on the table, listened intently, but not so intently that she forgot to watch Craven and to keep track of his mind. On his right Lady Sellingworth sat very still. She had put away her only half-smoked cigarette. Her e

y the little harbour at the Villa Rosebery, looking across the bay to Capri on a warm summer evening. And the sea people wer

o remember her beauty and to feel the lure of it in the music. And then, almost simultaneously, he was co

brings to her devotees, when the years have stolen from them the last possibilities of personal romance? For a moment Crave

haps, the victim of a youthful soul hidden in an old body, like trembl

s met. She smiled faintly, and her eyes mocked something or someone; fa

after some applause, con

have given up Paris?" Miss Van

ix now for a cure, and sometimes i

hot

el. I like th

a vestige of real romance on the French Rivie

lingwort

ek romance when

N

oubtful for a mome

will you tell

nds. Wha

ry simple

est, but all

k you to do

ith a glance at

said. "I go sol

what i

t hope of romance meeting you on your travels, s

or a moment.

don't think

s Van Tuyn triump

tly, half inquisitivel

er, "for all these lacks in yo

For how

are fifty,

ll want roman

say sixt

aven, "until you are

ied!" she cried.

antic," said Lady Sellingworth, with

ging for romance covers both

eyes go in

ell without it. But we must be careful to lay up treasure for our old age, mental treasure. We must cult

Miss Van Tuyn, suddenly

e the compensations old age holds for sensible people. It's a question of cultivating and preparing the mind, of filling the storehouse against the day of fa

ask, de

ord that-as a thoroughly efficient subst

rs in the daytime" focussed passionately upon Miss Van Tuyn, distracted her

they shall play the Pastorale for

kout for worship, requiring it as a right, even from men who were hairdressers in the daytime? As the musicians began to play he met her eyes again and felt sure that it could not have been so. Whatever she h

aid she must go. And then an unexpected thing happened. It appeared that Miss Van Tuyn had asked a certain famous critic, who though English by birth was more Parisian than most French people, to call for her at the restaurant and take her on to j

t of my assiette

yal, dearest. It is the one place in London

k, and carrying an ebony stick nearly as tall as himself, at this moment slipped furtively into the room, and, wit

h looked for a m

" he said. "At any rate

mbrose Jennings," said Miss Van Tuyn

the little man far down below h

I mus

Then Mr. Craven wi

It seems more suitable to

together, and we'll persua

myrna who writes quite decent verse, Thapoulos, Penitence Murray, who is just out of prison, and Smith the

Sellingworth, and pulled his little black b

" he added to Lady Sellingworth.

g about Bolshevism when it's safely tucked up at

get you a taxi," said Mi

into the London n

ould go home early, back to Berkeley Square without an escort. Her cult for her friend, though doubtless genuine, evidently weakened when there was any ques

y his bat-like cloth cloak, his ample sombrero and fantastically long stick, made Lady Sellingworth look like a moving tower as she walked at his side, like a leaning tower when she bent graciously to catch the murmur of his persistent conversation

orth to finish the evening at the Ca

e her there. She wou

ut would she

uite understand her,

sure I do

ain she has been to all

said there were-or was it had been?-two Adel

he Cafe Royal I should

e not b

ght to us by the years. For instance, I believe that Lady Sellingworth now is what she was, to all intents and purposes, with additions which naturally have made great apparent changes in her. An old mos

ence the moss and the creepers m

d girlish eyes were l

urning the corner! If Cirella were here he would have a subject for one of

loak flew out as he whirled into Rege