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      The Way to the Dairy

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      The Baroness and Clovis sat in a much-frequented corner of the Park exchanging biographical confidences about the long succession of passers-by.

      “Who are those depressed-looking young women who have just gone by?” asked the Baroness; “they have the air of people who have bowed to destiny and are not quite sure whether the salute will be returned.”

      “Those,” said Clovis, “are the Brimley Bomefields. I dare say you would look depressed if you had been through their experiences.”

      “I’m always having depressing experiences;” said the Baroness, “but I never give them outward expression. It’s as bad as looking one’s age. Tell me about the Brimley Bomefields.”

      “Well,” said Clovis, “the beginning of their tragedy was that they found an aunt. The aunt had been there all the time, but they had very nearly forgotten her existence until a distant relative refreshed their memory by remembering her very distinctly in his will; it is wonderful what the force of example will accomplish. The aunt, who had been unobtrusively poor, became quite pleasantly rich, and the Brimley Bomefields grew suddenly concerned at the loneliness of her life and took her under their collective wings. She had as many wings around her at this time as one of those beast-things in Revelation.”

      “So far I don’t see any tragedy from the Brimley Bomefields’ point of view,” said the Baroness.

      “We haven’t got to it yet,” said Clovis. “The aunt had been used to living very simply, and had seen next to nothing of what we should consider life, and her nieces didn’t encourage her to do much in the way of making a splash with her money. Quite a good deal 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 СКАЧАТЬ