The Man Upstairs and Other Stories
as if England no longer existed on the map, and a small but sufficient
allowance would be made to him. If he declined to do this, not another
penny of the speaker's money would he receive. He could choose.
He chose. He left England, Ruth with him. They settled in Roville, that
haven of the exile who lives upon remittances.
Ruth's connexion with the _mont-de-piete_ had come about almost
automatically. Very soon after their arrival it became evident that, to
a man of Mr Warden's nature, resident a stone's-throw distant from two
casinos, the small allowance was not likely to go very far. Even if
Ruth had not wished to work, circumstances could have compelled her. As
it was, she longed for something to occupy her, and, the vacancy at the
_mont-de-piete_ occurring, she had snatched at it. There was a
certain fitness in her working there. Business transactions with that
useful institution had always been conducted by her, it being Mr
Warden's theory that Woman can extract in these crises just that extra
franc or two which is denied to the mere male. Through constantly going
round, running across, stepping over, and popping down to the
_mont-de-piete_ she had established almost a legal claim on any post
that might be vacant there.
And under M. Gandinot's banner she had served ever since.
* * * * *
Five minutes' walk took her to the Promenade des Anglais, that
apparently endless thoroughfare which is Roville's pride. The evening
was fine and warm. The sun shone gaily on the white-walled houses, the
bright Gardens, and the two gleaming casinos. But Ruth walked
listlessly, blind to the glitter of it all.
Visitors who go to Roville for a few weeks in the winter are apt to
speak of the place, on their return, in a manner that conveys the
impression that it is a Paradise on earth, with gambling facilities
thrown in. But, then, they are visitors. Their sojourn comes to an end.
Ruth's did not.
A voice spoke her name. She turned, and saw her father, dapper as ever,
standing beside her.
'What an evening, my dear!' said Mr Warden. 'What an evening! Smell the
sea!'
Mr Warden appeared to be in high spirits. He hummed a tune and twirled
his cane. He chirruped frequently to Bill, the companion of his walks
abroad, a wiry fox-terrier of a demeanour, like his master's, both
jaunty and slightly disreputable. An air of gaiety pervaded his
bearing.
'I called in at the _mont-de-piete_ but you had gone. Gandinot
told me you had come here. What an ugly fellow that Gandinot is! But a
good sort. I like him. I had a chat with him.'
The high spirits were explained. Ruth knew her father. She guessed,
correctly, that M. Gandinot, kindest of pawnbrokers, had obliged, in
his unofficial capacity, with a trifling loan.
'Gandinot ought to go on the stage,' went on Mr Warden, pursuing his
theme. 'With that face he would make his fortune. You can't help
laughing when you see it. One of these days--'
He broke off. Stirring things had begun to occur in the neighbourhood
of his ankles, where Bill, the fox-terrier, had encountered an
acquaintance, and, to the accompaniment of a loud, gargling noise, was
endeavouring to bite his head off. The acquaintance, a gentleman of
uncertain breed, equally willing, was chewing Bill's paw with the gusto
of a gourmet. An Irish terrier, with no personal bias towards either
side, was dancing round and attacking each in turn as he came
uppermost. And two poodles leaped madly in and out of the melee,
barking encouragement.
It takes a better man than Mr Warden to break up a gathering of this
kind. The old gentleman was bewildered. He added his voice to the
babel, and twice smote Bill grievously with his cane with blows
intended for the acquaintance, but beyond that he effected nothing. It
seemed probable that the engagement would last till the combatants had
consumed each other, after the fashion of the Kilkenny cats, when there
suddenly appeared from nowhere a young man in grey.
The world is divided into those who can stop dog-fights and those who
cannot. The young man in grey belonged to the former class. Within a
minute from his entrance on the scene the poodles and the Irish terrier
had vanished; the dog of doubtful breed was moving off up the hill,
yelping, with the dispatch of one who remembers an important
appointment, and Bill, miraculously calmed, was seated in the centre of
the Promenade, licking honourable wounds.
Mr Warden was disposed to effervesce with gratitude. The scene had
shaken him, and there had been moments when he had given his ankles up
for lost.
'Don't mention it,' said the young man. 'I enjoy arbitrating in these
little disputes. Dogs seem to like me and trust my judgement. I
consider myself as a sort of honorary dog.'
'Well, I am bound to say, Mr--?'
'Vince--George Vince.'
'My name is Warden. My daughter.'
Ruth inclined her head, and was conscious of a pair of very penetrating
brown eyes looking eagerly into hers in a manner which she thoroughly
resented. She was not used to the other sex meeting her gaze and
holding it as if confident of a friendly welcome. She made up her mind
in that instant that this was a young man who required suppression.
'I've seen you several times out here since I arrived, Miss Warden,'
said Mr Vince. 'Four in all,' he added, precisely.
'Really?' said Ruth.
She looked away. Her attitude seemed to suggest that she had finished
with him, and would be obliged if somebody would come and sweep him up.
As they approached the casino restlessness crept into Mr Warden's
manner. At the door he stopped and looked at Ruth.
'I think, my dear--' he said.
'Going to have a dash at the _petits chevaux?_' inquired Mr Vince.
'I was there just now. I have an infallible system.'
Mr Warden started like a war-horse at the sound of the trumpet.
'Only it's infallible the wrong way,' went on the young man. 'Well, I
wish you luck. I'll see Miss Warden home.'
'Please don't trouble,' said Ruth, in the haughty manner which had
frequently withered unfortunate fellow-exiles in their tracks.
It had no such effect on Mr Vince.
'I shall like it,' he said.
Ruth set her teeth. She would see whether he would like it.
They left Mr Warden, who shot in at the casino door like a homing
rabbit, and walked on in silence, which lasted till Ruth, suddenly
becoming aware that her companion's eyes were fixed on her face, turned
her head, to meet a gaze of complete, not to say loving, admiration.
She flushed. She was accustomed to being looked at admiringly, but
about this particular look there was a subtle quality that
distinguished it from the ordinary--something proprietorial.
Mr Vince appeared to be a young man who wasted no time on conventional
conversation-openings.
'Do you believe in affinities, Miss Warden?' he said,
'No,' said Ruth.
'You will before we've done,' said Mr Vince, confidently. 'Why did you
try to snub me just now?'
'Did I?'
'You mustn't again. It hurts me. I'm a sensitive man. Diffident. Shy.
Miss Warden, will you marry me?'
Ruth had determined that nothing should shake her from her icy
detachment, but this did. She stopped with a gasp, and stared at him.
Mr Vince reassured her.
'I don't expect you to say "Yes". That was just a beginning--the shot
fired across the bows by way of warning. In you, Miss Warden, I have
found my affinity. Have you ever considered this matter of affinities?
Affinities are the--the--Wait a moment.'
He paused, reflecting.
'I--' began Ruth.
''Sh!' said the young man, holding up his hand.
Ruth's eyes flashed. She was not used to having ''Sh!' said to her by
young men, and she resented it.
'I've got it,' he declared, with relief. 'I knew I should, but these
good things take time. Affinities are the zero on the roulette-board of
life. Just as we select a number on which to stake our money, so do we
select a type of girl whom we think we should like to marry. And just
as zero pops up instead of the number, so does our affinity come along
and upset all our pre-conceived notions of the type of girl we should
like to marry.'
'I--' began Ruth again.
'The analogy is in the rough at present. I haven't had time to condense
and polish it. But you see the idea. Take my case, for instance. When I
saw you a couple of days ago I knew in an instant that you were my
affinity. But for years I had been looking for a woman almost your
exact opposite. You are dark. Three days ago I couldn't have imagined
myself marrying anyone who was not fair. Your eyes are grey. Three days
ago my preference for blue eyes was a by-word. You have a shocking
temper. Three days ago--'
'Mr Vince!'
'There!' said that philosopher, complacently. 'You stamped. The gentle,
blue-eyed blonde whom I was looking for three days ago would have
drooped timidly. Three days ago my passion for timid droopers amounted
to an obsession.'
Ruth did not reply. It was useless to bandy words with one who gave
such clear evidence of being something out of the common run of
word-bandiers. No verbal attack could crush this extraordinary young
man. She walked on, all silence and stony profile, uncomfortably
conscious that her companion was in no way abashed by the former and
was regarding the latter with that frank admiration which had made
itself so obnoxious to her before, until they reached their destination.
Mr Vince, meanwhile, chatted cheerfully, and pointed out objects of
interest by the wayside.
At the door Ruth permitted herself a word of farewell.
'Good-bye,' she said.
'Till tomorrow evening,' said Mr Vince. 'I shall be coming to dinner.'
Mr Warden ambled home, very happy and contented, two hours later, with
half a franc in his pocket, this comparative wealth being due to the
fact that the minimum stake permitted by the Roville casino is just
double that sum. He was sorry not to have won, but his mind was too
full of rosy dreams to permit of remorse. It was the estimable old
gentleman's dearest wish that his daughter should marry some rich,
open-handed man who would keep him in affluence for the remainder of
his days, and to that end he was in the habit of introducing to her
notice any such that came his way. There was no question of coercing
Ruth. He was too tender-hearted for that. Besides he couldn't. Ruth was
not the sort of girl who is readily coerced. He contented himself with
giving her the opportunity to inspect his exhibits. Roville is a
sociable place, and it was not unusual for him to make friends at the
casino and to bring them home, when made, for a cigar. Up to the
present, he was bound to admit, his efforts had not been particularly
successful. Ruth, he reflected sadly, was a curious girl. She did not
show her best side to these visitors. There was no encouragement in her
manner. She was apt to frighten the unfortunate exhibits. But of this
young man Vince he had brighter hopes. He was rich. That was proved by
the very handsome way in which he had behaved in the matter of a small
loan when, looking in at the casino after parting from Ruth, he had
found Mr Warden in sore straits for want of a little capital to back a
brand-new system which he had conceived through closely observing the
run of the play. He was also obviously attracted by Ruth. And, as he
was remarkably presentable--indeed, quite an unusually good-looking
young man--there seemed no reason why Ruth should not be equally
attracted by him. The world looked good to Mr Warden as he fell asleep
that night.
Ruth did not fall asleep so easily. The episode had disturbed her. A
new element had entered her life, and one that gave promise of
producing strange by-products.
When, on the following evening, Ruth returned from the stroll on the