The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (great book club books .txt) 📕

Always Surprising Me With New Qualities. I Never Saw Anyone Like Him."

"Ah, Perhaps That's Because You Never Knew Other American Boys. I Dare

Say If I'd Met Him I Shouldn't Have Found Him So Remarkable."

"Yes, You Would," I Protested. "There Could Be No Two Opinions About

It."

"Is He Good-Looking?"

"Extraordinarily. Such Eyes As His Are Wasted On A Boy--Or Would Be On

Any Other Boy. If He'd Been A Girl, He Would Have Been One For A Man

To Fall Head Over Ears In Love With."

"You're Enthusiastic! Hasn't He Got Any Sisters?"

"He Has One, Who Is Supposed To Be Like Him. I Was Promised--Or Partly

Promised--To Meet Her In Monte Carlo, At The End Of Our Journey, Where

The Boy Expected Her To Join Him."

"Oh, Has He Been Called Away By Her?"

"I Don't Think So."

"I Fancied That Might Have Been Why He Left You."

"I Don't Know What His Reason Was, But I Have Faith Enough In The

Little Chap To Be Sure It Was A _Good One_."

"Sure You Didn't Bore Each Other?"

"If You Had Ever Seen That Boy, You'd Know That The Word 'Bore' Would

Perish In His Presence Like A Microbe In Hot Water. As For Me--I Don't

Believe I Bored Him. He Did Say Once That We Would Part When We Came

To The 'Turnstile,' Meaning The Point Of Mutual Boredom, But I Can't

Believe The Turnstile Was In His Sight. I Think That His Resolution To

Go Was Sudden And Unexpected."

"He Must Have Been An Interesting Boy, And You Ought To Be Grateful To

Fate For Sending Him Your Way Because Apparently He Gave You No Time

For Brooding On The Past."

"The Past? Oh, By Jove, I Couldn't Think What You Meant For A Second.

You Have A Right To Say 'I Told You So,' Mrs. Winston. There Was

Nothing In All That, You Know, Except A Little Wounded Vanity; And You

Know, _You_ Are Really The Fate I Have To Thank For Finding It Out So

Soon."

"What _Do_ You Mean?" Exclaimed Molly, Almost As If She Were

Frightened. "I Did Nothing At All. I----"

"You Took Me Away With You And Jack. The Rest Followed."

"Oh, _That_. I Didn't Understand. Well, As We Shall Get You Down To

Monte Carlo Soon, You Will Meet Your Boy Again."

"I Wish I Could Be Sure."

"I Thought You Said It Was An Engagement."

"Only Conditional. Besides, Had We Walked, We Should Have Been Weeks

On The Way. I Wonder You Don't Laugh In My Face, Mrs. Winston, But

You'd Understand If You Could Have Met The Boy."

"I Supposed Jack Was Your Best Friend," Complained Molly.

"So He Is. But This Is Different. I'm Going To Look For The Boy At

Monte Carlo. What I'm Hoping Is, That After All He May Keep The

Half-Engagement He Made To Meet Me There."

"When?"

"On The Night After My Arrival For A Dinner At The Hôtel De Paris, To

Be Given In Honour Of Him And His Sister."

"You Think He Will?"

"It's Worth Going On The Chance."

"You Are The Right Kind Of Friend," Said Molly, "And You Deserve To

Be Rewarded, Doesn't He, Jack?"

"Yes," Jack Flung Over His Shoulder As He Drove; "And I Shall Swear A

Vendetta Against Everybody Concerned, If He Isn't."

This Did Not Strike Me As A Particularly Brilliant Remark, But Molly

Seemed To Find It Witty, For She Laughed Merrily, With A Certain

Impish Ring In Her Glee, Reminiscent Of The Little Pal In Some Moods.

Evidently She Had Exhausted Her Long List Of Questions, For, Laughing

Still, She Twisted Her Slim Body Half Round In The Tonneau, Turning A

Shoulder Upon Us. I Took This As A Signal That Mercédès Was Now To

Have Her Share Of Attention, And Tactfully Bestowed Mine On Jack.

    "A . . . Somewhat Headlong Carriage."

                      --R.L. Stevenson.

Though I Had Given Molly Eyes And Ears During Her Long Catechism, I

Had Been Vaguely Aware, Nevertheless, That On Leaving The Hôtel De

France We Had Crossed A Bridge Over The Almost Dry And Pebbly Bed Of

The Insignificant Leysse; That We Had Passed The Stately Elephants,

And A Robust Marble Lady Typifying France In The Act Of Receiving On

Her Breast A Slender Savoie; That We Had Caught A Last Glimpse Of The

Château, And Were Spinning Along A Well-Kept Road, Cheek By Jowl With

The Railway To Lyons.

From A High Mountain On Our Left, The Silver Cascade De Coux Fell

Vertically, Like A White Horse's Tail; And I Smiled To See, As We

Flashed By, A Little House Which Honoured A Valiant Foe Against Whom I

Had Fought, With The Name Of The Café De Boers.

Up And Up Mounted Our Road, Cresting Green Billows Of Rolling Mountain

Land. We Were Running Towards The Boundary Of Savoie, Into Dauphiné, A

Country Which I Had Never Seen. The Boy And I Had Talked Of Entering

It Together And Visiting Its Seven Marvels, The Very Possession Of

Which Made It Seem In Our Eyes Alluringly Mediæval. Had He Been My

Companion Still, We Would Have Been Travelling Some Hidden Side-Path,

Where Doubtless Joseph And Innocentina, Chaperoned By _Les Animaux_,

Were Happily Straying At This Moment. I Could Almost Hear The

Donkey-Girl's Mechanically Constant, Warning Cry, "Fanny-Anny,

Fanny-Anny! Souris-Ouris!" Like A Low Undertone Of Accompaniment To

The Thrum Of The Motor.

The Fancied Sound Smote Me With Homesickness, And To Coax My Mind From

The Disappointment Which Still Rankled, I Asked Jack When He Would Let

Me Try My Hand At Driving.

"Not Here," Said He With A Smile, Which Was Instantly Explained By An

Abrupt Plunge From The Top Of A Long Hill Down Into A Cutting Between

Lichen-Scaled Rocks, Tracing With Our "Pneus" As We Went A Series Of

Giddy Zig-Zags. We Had Hardly Twisted One Way When Lo! The Time Had

Come To Twist In The Opposite Direction, And Nowhere Had We A Radius

Of More Than Twenty Yards In Which To Perform Our Tricks.

"I Couldn't Have Done That As Well As You Did It, I Confess," Said I,

With Becoming Modesty.

"It's Easy Enough When You've Got The Knack," Replied The "Lightning

Conductor."

"So, No Doubt, Is Reeling, Writhing, And Fainting In Coils. Motoring

Down These Serpentine Hills Is Like Hurling Yourself Into Space, And

Trusting To Providence."

"So Is All Of Life," Said Jack. "A Timid Man Might Say The Same Of

Getting Out Of Bed In The Morning."

"Even I Can Do The Trick," Cut In Molly, Who Was Taking A Temporary

Interest In Our Affairs Again. "At Least, I Can This Year, Now That

Chickens Are Better Than They Used To Be."

"They _Are_ Looking Nice And Fat This Summer" I Judicially Remarked.

"I Don't Mean That," Explained Molly. "But They Are More Sensible.

Last Year, Before Jack And I Were Married, Chickens Were So Bad That I

Used To Dream Of Nothing Else In My Sleep. I Had Chicken Nightmares.

The Absurd Creatures Never Would Realise When They Were Well Off, But

Even In The Midst Of Laying A Most Important Egg On One Side Of The

Road, Our Automobile Had Only To Come Whizzing Along To Convince Them

That Salvation Depended On Getting Across To The Other. This Year They

Seem To Have Formed A Sort Of Chicken Club, A League Of Defence

Against Motors, And To Have Started A Propaganda."

My Imagination Tricked Me, Or This Theory Of Molly's Evoked A Faint

Sound Of Stifled Mirth In The Heart Of The Mysterious Mushroom. In

Haste I Turned Away, Lest I Should Be Suspected Of Regarding It, And

Jack Began To Pump My Memory Mercilessly For What It Might Retain Of

His Driving Lessons. Luckily, I Had Forgotten Nothing, And I Was Able

To Demonstrate My Knowledge By Pointing To The Various Parts Of The

Machine With Each Glib Reference I Made.

By-And-Bye, We Came To A Place Where A Grotto Was "Much Recommended";

But Swallows, Southward Bound, Do Not Stop In Their Flight For

Grottos. We Darted By, Thundered Through The Humming Darkness Of

Napoleon's Tunnel, And Flashed Out Into A Startling Landscape, As

Sensational As The Country Of The "Delectable Mountains" In "Pilgrim's

Progress." The Cup-Like Valley Was Ringed In By Mountains Of

Astonishing Shapes; It Was Nature Posing For A Picture By John Martin.

In The Fields Were Dotted Characteristic Dauphiné Houses, Little Elfin

Things With Overhanging Roofs Like Caps Tied Under Their Chins.

Soon, We Raced Into The Main Street Of Tiny Les Echelles, Whence, In

The Good Old Days, Fair Princess Beatrice Of Savoie Went Away To Wed

With The Famed Raymond Of Provence. We Whisked Through The Village,

And Down The Valley To St. Laurens Du Pont,