Everyman's Land

alling it a romance. But now that you and Jimmy Beckett have both given your lives for the great cause, and are in the same mysterious Beyond while I

look at a picture Brian was painting, under a white umbrella near the roadside. I was not with him. I think I must have been in the garden of our quaint old hotel by the canal side, writing letters-probably one to you; but the couple took such a fancy to Brian's "impression," that they offered to buy it. The bargain was struck, there an

g out to the adorable, earwiggy, rose-covered summer-house that I'd annexed as a private sitting room. "Mademoiselle," she breathlessly announced, "there is a young millionaire of a monsieur

millionaire, and what makes you think he

old prints on the wall. He praised the two best which the real artists always praise, and complimented me on owning them" the dear creature explained. "Besides, he is in this neighbourhood expressly to see the cathedral; and mons

k, "I have sold your cathedral for you." But I might have saved myself brain fag. Madame

d fetch the key of a room where an artist-client of ours has a marvellous exhibition. There is no such room yet, but there can be, and the exhibition can be, too, if Madem

ogramme. But what of the millionaire monsieur? Wou

ith pride rather than repentance. She described graphically how the face of the monsieur had fallen when she asked him to look at an exhibition of pictures; how he had begun to make an excuse that he must be off at once to the cathedral; and how she had ventu

dchamber one night by the Empress Eugénie, and was always kept locked except on gala occasions. I, not knowing how I had been over-praised to the audien

t dusk. It is a thin face with two dimples that make lines when he laughs. His eyes are gray and long, with the eagle-look that knows far spaces; deep-set eyes under straight black brows, drawn low. His lashes are black, too, but his short crinkly hair is brown. He has a good square forehead, and a high nose like an Indian'

to shake off an o

's pictures," I say. "Here are a few sketches. He

that somehow sound extraordinarily frank. I don't speculate about his name. I don't stop to wonder who he is. I think only of what he is. I forget that Madame has e

ches and the scenes they represent. "Oh, have you been there?" "Why, I was at that place a week ago!" "How odd!" "We must have missed each other by a day." And

You are beautiful!" Mine answer, "I'm glad you think that. Why do you seem so different to me from other people?" Then suddenly, there's a look too l

ness in hand. He says, "May I r

e you want t

r heard that word sound so nic

mmalee" we are for her, and "Mees Ommalee" she has made me for her millionaire. For fun, I don't correct him. Let him find out for himself who we really are! I say that my brother hasn't fixed a price; but would six hundred francs seem very high? The man consi

nged his mind, and doesn't know how to tell me his trouble. Something is worrying hi

chum bet me a thing he knew I wanted, that I couldn't go through my trip under an assumed name. I bet I could, and would. I bet a thing I want to keep. That's the silly situation. I hate not telling you my real name, and signing a cheque for your brother. But I've stuck it out for four weeks, and the bet has only two more to run. I'm

hope he'll win his bet. As for the picture-he may pay as he chooses. But about the proper introduction-Heaven knows where I

o your tramp

day out from Paris. We stop one day in a place we don't care fo

you've come from by what you've told me, and your brother's sketches. You woul

e. But where we shall go when we

'll find you," he flings at

ou give yours

gravely. I know that he wishes to see me, not the pictu

eems no reason why Mr. Jim Wyndham shouldn't start for the cathedral. But he suddenly decides that the way of wisdom is to

e linger over our coffee, and I smoke two or three of his gold-tipped Egyptians. When we suppose an hour has gone by, at most, behold, it is half-past four! I tell him h

ght?" I ask. "Probabl

this e

back! You're going anot

nds. Of course I'm coming back. I

t! I won't dine with y

ou if I

rha

ore I start for the cathedral.

said onl

ittle honest gold into poor

e-

tn't chase away

, the dinner

east bit f

talk. And you've been so nice

ner-table in the summer-house is a picture, with pink Chinese lanterns, pink-shaded candles, and pink geraniums. Madame won

where a smart modern hotel has been run up to cater for tourists. This magnificent Monsieur Américain engages the "suite of the Empress Eugénie," as it grandly advertises itself, for his own use and that of his chauffeur, merel

ee this sight, I have to be at my window; but I hide behind a white curtain and a screen of wistaria and roses. I count sixty before I go down. I walk slowly. I stop and examine flowers in the garden

ear the famous chimes of the cathedral clock, far away, in the town that is a bank of blue haze on the horizon. At half-past nine I begin to tell my host that he must go, but he does not obey till after

take it!"

see it, before

e yet of seeing y

cour the country for miles around to fin

tended to be unconscious of the fact. Suddenly I seem to re

"see him off," and I keep the picture of Jim Wyndham

we never met again. And now that I've seen the photogr

d that my "romantic beauty" might lose its romance, when seen for the second time. Something like this must be the explanation; and I confess to you, Padre, that the failure of the prince to keep our tryst was the biggest disappointment and the sharpest humiliation of my

of learning that Jim Wyndham, the hero of my one-day roman