"Tell me," she said rapidly, with her tight, prim smile. "You read the papers--you will know. What lady is that of the theatres--Violet Vere?"
Briggs laid down the paper he was perusing and surveyed her with a superior air.
"What, Vi?" he exclaimed with a lazy wink. "Vi, of the Hopperer-Buff? You've 'erd of 'er surely, Mamzelle? No? There's not a man (as is worth calling a man) about town, as don't know 'er! Dukes, Lords, an' Royal 'Ighnesses--she's the style for 'em! Mag-ni-ficent creetur! all legs and arms! I won't deny but wot I 'ave an admiration for 'er myself--I bought a 'arf-crown portrait of 'er quite recently." And Briggs rose slowly and searched in a mysterious drawer which he invariably kept locked.
"'Ere she is, as large as life, Mamzelle," he continued, exhibiting a "promenade" photograph of the actress in question. "There's a neck for you! There's form! Vi, my dear, I saloot you!" and he pressed a sounding kiss on the picture--"you're one in a million! Smokes and drinks like a trooper, Mamzelle!" he added admiringly, as Louise Rénaud studied the portrait attentively. "But with all 'er advantages, you would not call 'er a lady. No--that term would be out of the question. She is wot we men would call an enchantin' female!" And Briggs kissed the tips of his fingers and waved them in the air as he had seen certain foreign gentlemen do when enthusiastic.
"I comprehend," said the French maid, nodding emphatically. "Then, if she is so, what makes that proud Seigneur Bruce-Errington visit her?" Here she shook her finger at Briggs. "And leave his beautiful lady wife, to go and see her?" Another shake. "And that miserable Sieur Lennox to go also? Tell me that!" She folded her arms, like Napoleon at St. Helena, and smiled again that smile which was nothing but a sneer. Briggs rubbed his nose contemplatively.
"Little Francis can go ennywheres," he said at last. "He's laid out a good deal of tin on Vi and others of 'er purfession. You cannot make enny-think of that young feller but a cad. I would not accept 'im for my pussonal attendant. No! But Sir Philip Bruce-Errington--" He paused, then continued, "Air you sure of your facts, Mamzelle?"
Mamzelle was so sure, that the bow on her cap threatened to come off with the determined wagging of her head.
"Well," resumed Briggs, "Sir Philip may, like hothers, consider it 'the thing' you know, to 'ang on as it were to Vi. But I 'ad thought 'im superior to it. Ah! poor 'uman natur, as 'Uxley says!" and Briggs sighed. "Lady Errington is a sweet creetur, Mamzelle--a very sweet creetur! Has a rule I find the merest nod of my 'ed a sufficient saloot to a woman of the aristocracy--but for 'er, Mamzelle, I never fail to show 'er up with a court bow!" And involuntarily Briggs bowed then and there in his most elegant manner. Mamzelle tightened her thin lips a little and waved her hand expressively.