of it would come to them at her death, and she was a fairly old woman, but there was one circumstance which cast a shadow of gloom over the satisfaction they felt in the discovery and acquisition of this desirable aunt: she openly acknowledged that a comfortable slice of her little fortune would go to a nephew on the other side of her family. He was rather a deplorable thing in rotters, and quite hopelessly top-hole in the way of getting through money, but he had been more or less decent to the old lady in her unremembered days, and she wouldn’t hear anything against him. At least, she wouldn’t pay any attention to what she did hear, but her nieces took care that she should have to listen to a good deal in that line. It seemed such a pity, they said among themselves, that good money should fall into such worthless hands. They habitually spoke of their aunt’s money as ‘good money,’ as though other people’s aunts dabbled for the most part in spurious currency.
“Regularly after the Derby, St. Leger, and other notable racing events they indulged in audible speculations as to how much money Roger had squandered in unfortunate betting transactions.
“‘His travelling expenses must come to a big sum,’ said the eldest Brimley Bomefield one day; ‘they say he attends every race-meeting in England, besides others abroad. I shouldn’t wonder if he went all the way to India to see the race for the Calcutta Sweepstake that one hears so much about.’
“‘Travel enlarges the mind, my dear Christine,’ said her aunt.
“‘Yes, dear aunt, travel undertaken in the right spirit,’ agreed Christine; ‘but travel pursued merely as a means towards gambling and extravagant living is more likely to contract the purse than to enlarge the mind. However, as long as Roger enjoys himself, I suppose he doesn’t care how fast or unprofitably the money goes, or where he is to find more. It seems a pity, that’s all.’
“The aunt by that time had begun to talk of something else, and it was doubtful if Christine’s moralizing had been even accorded a hearing. It was her remark, however—the aunt’s remark, I mean—about travel enlarging the mind, that gave the youngest Brimley Bomefield her great idea for the showing-up of Roger.
“‘If aunt could only be taken somewhere to see him gambling and throwing away money,’ she said, ‘it would open her eyes to his character more effectually than anything we can say.’
“‘My dear Veronique,’ said her sisters, ‘we can’t go following him to race-meetings.’
“‘Certainly not to race-meetings,’ said Veronique, ‘but we might go to some place where one can look on at gambling without taking part in it.’
“‘Do you mean Monte Carlo?’ they asked her, beginning to jump rather at the idea.
“‘Monte Carlo is a long way off, and has a dreadful reputation,’ said Veronique; ‘I shouldn’t like to tell our friends that we were going to Monte Carlo. But I believe Roger usually goes to Dieppe about this time of year, and some quite respectable English people go there, and the journey wouldn’t be expensive. If aunt could stand the Channel crossing the change of scene might do her a lot of good.’
“And that was how the fateful idea came to the Brimley Bomefields.
“From the very first set-off disaster hung over the expedition, as they afterwards remembered. To begin with, all the Brimley Bomefields were extremely unwell during the crossing, while the aunt enjoyed the sea air and made friends with all manner of strange travelling companions. Then, although it was many years since she had been on the Continent, she had served a very practical apprenticeship there as a paid companion, and her knowledge of colloquial French beat theirs to a standstill. It became increasingly difficult to keep under their collective wings a person who knew what she wanted and was able to ask for it and to see that she got it. Also, as far as Roger was concerned, they drew Dieppe blank; it turned out that he was staying at Pourville, a little watering-place a mile or two further west. The Brimley Bomefields discovered that Dieppe was too crowded and frivolous, and persuaded the old lady to migrate to the comparative seclusion of Pourville.
“‘You won’t find it dull, you know,’ they assured her; ‘there is a little casino attached to the hotel, and you can watch the people dancing and throwing away their money at Petits Chevaux.’
“It was just before Petits Chevaux had been supplanted by Boule.
“Roger was not staying in the same hotel, but they knew that the casino would be certain of his patronage on most afternoons and evenings.
“On the first evening of their visit they wandered into the casino after a fairly early dinner, and hovered near the tables. Bertie van Tahn was staying there at the time, and he described the whole incident to me. The Brimley Bomefields kept a furtive watch on the doors as though they were expecting some one to turn up, and the aunt got more and more amused and interested watching the little horses whirl round and round the board.
“‘Do you know, poor little number eight hasn’t won for the last thirty-two times,’ she said to Christine; ‘I’ve been keeping count. I shall really have to put five francs on him to encourage him.’
“‘Come and watch the dancing, dear,’ said Christine nervously. It was scarcely a part of their strategy that Roger should come in and find the old lady backing her fancy at the Petits Chevaux table.
“‘Just wait while I put five francs on number eight,’ said the aunt, and in another moment her money was lying on the table. The horses commenced to move round, it was a slow race this time, and number eight crept up at the finish like some crafty demon and placed his nose just a fraction in front of number three, who had seemed to be winning easily. Recourse had to be had to measurement, and the number eight was proclaimed the winner. The aunt picked up thirty-five francs. After that the Brimley Bomefields would have had to have used concerted force to get her away from the tables. When Roger appeared on the scene she was fifty-two francs to the good; her nieces were hovering forlornly in the background, like chickens that have been hatched out by a duck and are despairingly watching their parent disporting herself in a dangerous and uncongenial element. The supper-party which Roger insisted on standing that night in honour of his aunt and the three Miss Brimley Bomefields was remarkable for the unrestrained gaiety of two of the participants and the funereal mirthlessness of the remaining guests.
“‘I do not think,’ Christine confided afterwards to a friend, who re-confided it to Bertie van Tahn, ‘that I shall ever be able to touch paté de foie gras again. It would bring back memories of that awful evening.’
“For the next two or three days the nieces made plans for returning to England or moving on to some other resort where there was no casino. The aunt was busy making a system for winning at Petits Chevaux. Number eight, her first love, had been running rather unkindly for her, and a series of plunges on number five had turned out even worse.
“‘Do you know, I dropped over seven hundred francs at the tables this afternoon,’ she announced cheerfully at dinner on the fourth evening of their visit.
“‘Aunt! Twenty-eight pounds! And you were losing last night too.’
“‘Oh, I shall get it all back,’ she said optimistically; ‘but not here. These silly little horses are no good. I shall go somewhere where one can play comfortably at roulette. You needn’t look so shocked. I’ve always felt that, given the opportunity, I should be an inveterate gambler, and now you darlings have put the opportunity in my way. I must drink your very good healths. Waiter, a bottle of Pontet Canet. Ah, it’s number seven on the wine list; I shall plunge on number seven to-night. It won four times running this afternoon when I was backing that silly number five.’
“Number
