indeed. I am most grateful.”
“It is a pleasure, mamselle.”
“Thank you,” Gardenia smiled.
Yvonne was waiting for Gardenia at the door of the secretary’s room and she followed her out into the hall.
“We will now go upstairs, mamselle,” the maid said, but, as she spoke, Gardenia saw that the front door was being opened by a footman and she heard a voice that she knew only too well saying,
“Is Her Grace at home now? Will you please inform her Lord Hartcourt and Mr. Bertram Cunningham have called?”
“Her Grace is not at home to any visitors,” the footman responded in French.
Gardenia could now see Lord Hartcourt standing on the doorstep through the open door and, fearing that he could see her, she felt the only thing she could do was to go forward and greet him.
Shyly, with the colour rising in her face, she turned to the door and held out her hand.
“Good morning, Lord Hartcourt,” she began. “I feel I must thank you for your kindness to me last night.”
“I hope you are well this morning,” Lord Hartcourt said, taking off his top hat, “you must have been very tired after your journey.”
“I was indeed very tired,” Gardenia confessed.
“It is not surprising,” a voice interrupted and Gardenia turned to look at Lord Hartcourt’s companion. She saw a tall, very elegantly dressed, dark-haired young man with a small dark moustache and an engaging smile that made her instinctively feel that she should smile back.
“May I introduce my cousin, Bertram Cunningham?” Lord Hartcourt asked. “I am afraid in the circumstances of our encounter last night I was not privileged to learn your name.”
“I am Gardenia Weedon,” Gardenia said and she then felt the warm pressure of Bertram Cunningham’s hand on hers.
“I am so glad that it was an Englishman who was able to welcome you to Paris,” Bertram said. “My cousin was telling me how you arrived in the middle of the night. It must have been a dreadful experience not knowing Paris and having to find your way alone. I insisted that we should call and see how you are this morning. But I can see from looking at you that you are none the worse.”
“I am quite all right now, thank you,” Gardenia pointed out.
“Jolly good!” Bertram smiled.
Gardenia realised suddenly that he was still holding her hand and took it hastily away.
“My cousin and I now wondered if you would like to come and drive with us,” Bertram suggested. “I am just going to take my horses for a turn in the Bois de Boulogne and I feel sure that the air will do you good.”
Gardenia looked to where in the drive there was a very elegant dog cart in the very latest fashion, painted yellow and black with the tandem of black horses with plaited manes and tails.
“How lovely!” she exclaimed involuntarily. “How smart they look.”
“I am indeed very proud of them,” Bertram said. “All the same, if you prefer it, I have a motor car.”
“I much prefer horses,” Gardenia told him, “but I am afraid I cannot come for a drive today. Aunt Lily has planned to take me – ”
She was going to say where they were going, but changed her mind. “ – out with her.”
“You have seen your aunt?” Lord Hartcourt asked her.
Gardenia felt that again he was querying her reception and, recalling how greatly she had resented his advice the night before, she answered rather stiffly.
“Of course. I am glad to say Aunt Lily is delighted to see me. I am going to stay here with her.”
It seemed to her and she did not understand why, that on the last words Lord Hartcourt’s face altered.
It was almost but, of course, that was absurd, as if there was a look of disappointment in his eyes.
“How delightful for you,” he replied in a rather bored tone and turning to his cousin said, “Well, Bertie, if Miss Weedon will not come with us, we must be on our way.”
“Miss Weedon, I shall hope to see you again very shortly,” Bertram said. “As a matter of fact, I believe your aunt has invited me to a party tomorrow night. I promise you, nothing shall keep me away.”
“I shall be very glad to see you,” Gardenia answered. “Goodbye.”
Lord Hartcourt said nothing. It seemed to her that there was something almost aggressive in the manner that he clapped his hat on his head, walked resolutely down the steps in front of Bertram and climbed into the dogcart.
Bertram made to follow him and then turned back.
“Quite sure that you will not change your mind?” he said in a low voice to Gardenia. “I would like to be one of the first to show you Paris.”
“No. I cannot come today,” Gardenia replied, “and anyway, I should have to ask Aunt Lily first.”
“Come tomorrow,” Bertram pleaded. “I am sure that the Duchesse will not mind. I will fetch you about this time. Do you promise?”
“I cannot promise anything,” Gardenia replied, a little embarrassed by his insistence.
“But you must try and arrange it.”
And then, before she could answer, he had run down the steps and was climbing into the dog cart to take the reins in his hands.
As the tandem drove off, Bertram waved at the turn of the drive, but Lord Hartcourt sat looking straight ahead of him and he did not look back.
‘I think he is extremely disagreeable,’ Gardenia said to herself. ‘And I cannot think why but he seems to disapprove of me.’
As she followed Yvonne upstairs, she thought that she would ask the Duchesse if she could go driving with Mr. Bertram Cunningham the next day. It was not anything she would be allowed to do in England without a chaperone but obviously, as he had invited her, things must be different in Paris.
She had always heard that there was much more license in the gay City and so after all why should one need a chaperone to go driving in an open dogcart with a man who would be preoccupied with handling a tandem with skill? It might be different if he asked her to go out in his motor car.
Gardenia remembered that she had heard all sorts of stories about girls who were enticed away on long drives by a man owning a smart motor car and then, after they had refused his advances, had been obliged to walk home.
She somehow felt that Bertram Cunningham was not that type of man. He looked young and jolly and full of fun and, she thought rather wistfully, that it would be exciting to be with someone of her own age, to laugh and be gay and not have to worry about bills or where the next meal was to come from.
Yvonne
