One evening, however, as Harry Wethermill walked down from the
Cercle to the Villa des Fleurs, a woman's voice spoke to him from
behind.
"Monsieur!"
He turned and saw Mme. Dauvray's maid. He stopped under a street
lamp, and said: "Well, what can I do for you?"
The woman hesitated.
"I hope monsieur will pardon me," she said humbly. "I am
committing a great impertinence. But I think monsieur is not very
kind to Mlle. Celie."
Wethermill stared at her.
"What on earth do you mean?" he asked angrily.
Helene Vauquier looked him quietly in the face.
"It is plain, monsieur, that Mlle. Celie loves monsieur. Monsieur
has led her on to love him. But it is also plain to a woman with
quick eyes that monsieur himself cares no more for mademoiselle
than for the button on his coat. It is not very kind to spoil the
happiness of a young and pretty girl, monsieur."
Nothing could have been more respectful than the manner in which
these words were uttered. Wethermill was taken in by it. He
protested earnestly, fearing lest the maid should become an enemy.
"Helene, it is not true that I am playing with Mlle. Celie. Why
should I not care for her?"
Helene Vauquier shrugged her shoulders. The question needed no
answer.
"Why should I seek her so often if I did not care?"
And to this question Helene Vauquier smiled--a quiet, slow,
confidential smile.
"What does monsieur want of Mme. Dauvray?" she asked. And the
question was her answer.
Wethermill stood silent. Then he said abruptly: "Nothing, of course; nothing." And he walked away.
But the smile remained on Helene Vauquier's face. What did they
all want of Mme. Dauvray? She knew very well. It was what she
herself wanted--with other things. It was money--always money.
Wethermill was not the first to seek the good graces of Mme.
Dauvray through her pretty companion. Helene Vauquier went home.
She was not discontented with her conversation. Wethermill had
paused long enough before he denied the suggestion of her words.
She approached him a few days later a second time and more openly.
She was shopping in, the Rue du Casino when he passed her. He
stopped of his own accord and spoke to her. Helene Vauquier kept a
grave and respectful face. But there was a pulse of joy at her
heart. He was coming to her hand.
"Monsieur," she said, "you do not go the right way." And again her
strange smile illuminated her face. "Mlle. Celie sets a guard
about Mme. Dauvray. She will not give to people the opportunity to
find madame generous."
"Oh," said Wethermill slowly. "Is that so?" And he turned and
walked by Helene Vauquier's side.
"Never speak of Mme. Dauvray's wealth, monsieur, if you would keep
the favour of Mlle. Celie. She is young, but she knows her world."