What puzzles me most is what the devil you were doing in a place like that.
According to your description of it, it must be a--"
"I went there because I was broke," said Matthew.
"Razzle?"
Matthew nodded.
"Pretty stiff, that!" commented Cyril, when Matthew had narrated the prologue to Frensham's.
"Well, she absolutely swore she never took less than two hundred francs.
And she looked it, too!
And she was worth it!
I had the time of my life with that woman.
I can tell you one thing--no more English for me!
They simply aren't in it."
"How old was she?"
Matthew reflected judicially.
"I should say she was thirty."
The gaze of admiration and envy was upon him.
He had the legitimate joy of making a second sensation. "I'll let you know more about that when I come back," he added.
"I can open your eyes, my child."
Cyril smiled sheepishly.
"Why can't you stay now?" he asked.
"I'm going to take the cast of that Verrall girl's arm this afternoon, and I know I can't do it alone.
And Robson's no good.
You're just the man I want."
"Can't!" said Matthew.
"Well, come into the studio a minute, anyhow."
"Haven't time; I shall miss my train."
"I don't care if you miss forty trains.
You must come in.
You've got to see that fountain," Cyril insisted crossly.
Matthew yielded.
When they emerged into the street again, after six minutes of Cyril's savage interest in his own work, Matthew remembered Mrs. Scales.
"Of course you'll write to your mother?" he said.
"Yes," said Cyril,
"I'll write; but if you happen to see her, you might tell her."
"I will," said Matthew.
"Shall you go over to Paris?"
"What!
To see Auntie?" He smiled.
"I don't know.
Depends.
If the mater will fork out all my exes ... it's an idea," he said lightly, and then without any change of tone, "Naturally, if you're going to idle about here all morning you aren't likely to catch the twelve-five."
Matthew got into the cab, while the driver, the stump of a cigar between his exposed teeth, leaned forward and lifted the reins away from the tilted straw hat.
"By-the-by, lend me some silver," Matthew demanded.
"It's a good thing I've got my return ticket.
I've run it as fine as ever I did in my life."
Cyril produced eight shillings in silver.
Secure in the possession of these riches, Matthew called to the driver--
"Euston--like hell!"
"Yes, sir," said the driver, calmly.
"Not coming my way I suppose?" Matthew shouted as an afterthought, just when the cab began to move.