Children of no Man's Land by G.B. Stern

I

"I've come to say good-bye," David Redbury explained jubilantly to La llorraine; "the Jewish regiment sails to-morrow, and I've dragged this fellow out to see me through my farewell visits," indicating Richard, who leant in the doorway of the drawing-room with "buck-up-and-get-it-over" expressed in every reluctant line of his figure.

"He's steadier than I am, you know, and one is liable to make such wild strange promises on these occasions. Supposing, for instance, Madame, that I were to send for you the minute the war is over, and I pitch my tent by the shores of Jordan. would you come?"

"I say to you, my dee-urr," and the prima-donna, in an incongruously correct sports-shirt, collar and tie, smiled whimsically over her owlish spectacles at his gallantry; "I say to you vot I zay to zat ozzer little fellow I see last night at the Tube corner-ah, he was a beauty, that one, with the skin of a peach. and he watch me a little, I, in my black gown and my black hat, very tall, very _femme du monde_-you see it? And he say to himself-‘It is for the first time I adventure-perhaps one wiz experience? -I learn somsing-Better so. Vot should I with a pretty flapper, and she so innocent and I so ignorant-Awful! A desperate affair. ' So I watch him make _that_ reflection. And presently he move closer sideways, and he make his little proposition. And I put my two hands on his shoulders, surprising him. And I say: ‘My boy-you are moch too young-and I am moch too old. is it not so?"

Her deep, hearty laugh rang infectiously. Even Richard joined in, and Manon, albeit not quite sure whether the mother of Mrs Dolph Carew ought not to recoil with more dignity from these trifling incidentals of dusk and Tube corners. As for David, he vowed she was adorable.

"Ah, but the Comtesse-there is one! Vonderful! You vait and see her? Yes? She lonch with me to-day-her birthday. I tell you, a great affair. We all lunch together? And you, who lof that Continent of ours, you shall eat -- " She whispered to David, her arm encircling his khaki; his thin face vivid with appreciative reminiscence, as she reeled off the names of what Richard emphatically, but in silence, registered as "foreign muck."

The Comtesse arrived, and La llorraine, shedding all bourgeoise preoccupation with the menu, welcomed her as an exiled ambassadress welcomes exiled royalty.

The two ladies kissed a great many times, with rapid interchange of cheeks, and uttering short staccato exclamations; and then held each other a short way off for mutual and admiring survey.

The Comtesse was large, and wore a black picture hat on her crude vermilion chevelure; a mustard-coloured coat and skirt, and a pink ninon blouse crossed by a spray of limp cotton poppies that looked as though they had passed their lives pressed close to a stiff shirt-front. She exhausted so much space in her vicinity, magnetically as well as materially, that her fellow-beings were wont to move some distance away to avoid being absorbed by suction.

"My dee-urr," said La llorraine solemnly. "Never-never-never haf I seen you looking so well as in _that_ blouse."

She introduced David and Richard with a great deal of ceremonial; and the Comtesse put her hand to her heart and gasped that they both reminded her of Antoine, _mon fils_. "That one, in particular," indicating David, "is his living image. I vow, he might be his brother."

"I rejoice that is not the case, Madame, since it would deny the possibility of any more gallant relationship between you and me."

"_Mon Dieu-quel garcon! _" the Comtesse delightedly flicked him across the cheek. And Richard marvelled at his friend's fluent impudence. But this was the atmosphere in which David revelled.

The company sat down to lunch, and La llorraine apologized with sad dignity for her so humble apartment and for inadequacy of service. Generously the Comtesse reassured her that where loyalty and ancient friendship existed, the third footman might quite well be lacking. Then reverting to the question of the blouse-

"I am broken-heart," the Comtesse announced dramatically; "I can wear it not. It is over-done-finish. Behold! I throw it away!"

"Tell me," La llorraine spoke in deep sympathy, but restraining the outflung hand from more positive operation in the direction of the ninon blouse-"what is it, then, has happened?"

"It shows the camisole-you see-it show it everywhere. Elsewhere but in this country what do I care? But my durrling, I have a lowndress"-and the Comtesse dropped her voice to a curdling whisper-"a lowndress? -_No._ She is a _vipère_."

"Ha! " The other prima donna sprang to her feet, galvanized into opposition melodrama by the word "laundress"-"You say lowndress? -Look hee-urr! "-Oblivious of Manon, David, and Richard, she wrenched open her blouse, as Cleopatra might have done to reveal the bite of the asp. The Comtesse leant forward: "And look! " She was holding out her blouse tautly from her bosom, leaving a gap, down which La llorraine peered. "Ah-h-h. yes, it is so. they are in a conspiracy-I say it! . they destroy-they have no reverence for lace-for embroidery-for the terruly artistic lingerie! -to zem it is all calico wiz-what is it the _jeune fille_ wear in this England? -calico wiz _edging_-advertised ‘durable! " Scorn quivered to a climax, and slowly subdued; La llorraine and the Comtesse sank back into their separate chairs, and looked about them, gently smiling.

"This sauce is of an excellence," said the Comtesse.

"Oh, my dee-urr," La llorraine deprecated.