Chapter XVII: Our Pearl Bathes in Seine Water

BLEEKS, LITTLE ARCHES, SURREY,

January 2nd, 188--

MY DEAR MR. JERROLDS:

You will be surprised, doubtless, to hear from an old woman
who is _perfectly unknown_ to you in all probability, but if
your mother is still living she will remember Agatha Upgrove
and the cups of tea and dishes of innocent scandal she
shared with her, when you were rolling in a perambulator. I
write to you instead of to her in order to find out if she
is living, in fact, and to renew at sixty-two the friendship
of _twenty-six_! You may well wonder at such a sudden
impulse after thirty years, almost, of silence, and if you
will pardon a garrulous old woman's epistolary ramblings, I
will tell you, for you are at the bottom of it.

My grandniece was summoned hastily to Paris a month ago, to
act as bridesmaid to a young school friend, and as no one
else could well be spared at that time to go with the child,
I offered myself. I am an experienced traveller and even at
_my_ age think far less of a trip across the Channel than
most of my relatives do of one to India, with which, by the
way, I am also familiar. It was when my husband's (and your
father's) regiment was ordered to India that your mother and
I met. You came very near being born there, did you know it?
But the regiment was recalled, and we came back _delighted_,
for neither of us liked it. Major Upgrove died of dysentery
a year later, and my widowhood and your father's absence in
Africa at that time drew your mother and me very close
together. One wonders that _such_ intimacies should ever
fade, but I have seen it _too often_ to regard it as
anything but natural, alas! It was my son, Captain Arthur
Upgrove of the ----th Hussars, who taught you to walk--I can
see you now, with the lappets of your worked muslin cap
flying in the wind, and _such_ a serious expression!

But to return to my trip to Paris. I established my niece
comfortably with her friends, and then betook myself to my
own devices till such time as she should need me again. I
had not been in Paris for eight years (one settles down so
_amazingly_ in provincial England!) and I derived great
pleasure from the old scenes of my honeymoon, that sad
pleasure which is all that is left to women of my age, who
have not their grandchildren to renew their youth in!

The Major and I had always been _particularly_ attached to
the Gardens of the Luxembourg, and there I went and sat
musing many hours on end. One morning as I sat watching the
children and their _bonnes_, my ear was caught by a shrill
scream and I turned and saw a very handsome young woman,
beautifully dressed, dragging a cup and ball away from an
angry little French boy. I supposed, of course, that she was
his mother or his aunt, and only regretted that she should
be so rough and undignified in her manner to him, but when
his nurse rushed up and angrily questioned the young woman,
who fought her off, still clinging to the toy, I realised
that something was wrong, and went over to them. Hardly had
I got there when a neat-looking lady's maid ran up, chid the
young woman severely, and apologised in a rapid flood of
French, that I could not follow, to the nurse. Then it was
clear (or so I thought) that the poor creature was _not
responsible_ and I tried to soothe her, in a quiet way, till
her attendant should leave the _bonne_.

To make a long story short, imagine my surprise when I found
that she was not insane at all, only strangely undeveloped.
Her maid explained this to me while the curious young thing
(a _bride_, too!) actually made friends with the child and
begged the cup and ball away successfully!

She took quite a fancy to me and we talked together in
English, as soon as I found out that she was an American.
What an _extraordinary_ nation! It quite makes one giddy to
think of them. Fancy a child that had never been taught of
the God who made her nor the Saviour who died for her, in a
civilised _Christian_ country! And yet she was naturally
very sweet, I found, though high-tempered. She spoke
beautiful French (they tell me Americans often do) but she
seemed to know very little about her native country and had
never seen a red Indian nor a buffalo. The Major always
regretted so _deeply_ that he had never hunted in North
America.

During our conversation, which I should hardly dare to
repeat, it was so _very_ odd, she told me that she was very
glad to have found another friend, for now she had three,
besides her husband.

"And who are the other two, my dear?" I asked her.

"One is Sue, that is a woman," she answered, "and the other
is Jerry, that is a man."

"Jerry? Jerry?" I repeated, for it sounded strangely
familiar.

"Yes. Do you know him, too?" she asked eagerly.

"I am afraid not," I said, "but it so happens that I once
knew a baby boy whom his mother called Jerry many years ago,
in England."

"_My_ Jerry gave me this pearl," she said, and she showed me
a beautiful pearl which she wore.

"I do not think it likely that the Jerry I knew would be
able to afford such presents," I said _rather stiffly_. You
must know, Mr. Jerrolds, that we are still _old-fashioned_
in our ideas in England, and fail to realise the quick
growth of your amazing American fortunes!

She persisted, however, and to quiet her I told her that "my
Jerry's" right name was Winfred Jerrolds. When she assured
me that it _was_ "her Jerry" and described your appearance
(exactly your father's, except that he required a
_pince-nez_), I began to believe in the _strange
coincidence_, and readily agreed to go home with her. She
lived in a charming _appartement_ (I have forgotten the
street, but they were _au cinquieme_, and there was a queer
little hydraulic lift, which I refused to use, preferring my
own feet) and she did the honours of it very prettily, upon
the whole, like a child that is just learning, looking to
her maid constantly for approval.

This, frankly, did not seem right to me, Mr. Jerrolds. I may
be _old-fashioned_, but I cannot think that a woman should
learn _etiquette_ from her _maid_, and I must have showed
my feeling in my face, for the girl, a capable one, I must
say, blushed and said that in her opinion Madame required a
governess, a _chaperon_, as it were, and that she believed
Monsieur had it in his mind also. I could not help
exclaiming that I knew of the _very person_, and most
officiously, I know, I wrote down the address of a second
cousin of mine, once removed, then in Paris by the merest
chance.

She is a Miss Jencks, Mr. Jerrolds, and of _unexceptionable_
family: her great-uncle a bishop, her father a retired army
officer. She has been governess to the family of the
Governor-General of Canada, thus, as you see, enabling her
to know just what would be required in American society (the
maid told me that Mr. Bradley was most _aristocratic_ and
quite wealthy) and has always associated with the _best
people_. She is plain, but refined, and unusually well
educated, being in Paris now for special art study. She
would be moderate in her charges, I am sure, and would take
a _real interest_ in young Mrs. Bradley, for she deeply
enjoys forming character and manners and has always been
considered _most successful_ at it.

I wrote down the address of her _pension_ and left it with
the maid, telling her, so that Mr. Bradley would not think
me _too_ forward, that I was an old friend of your mother.
Do, if you write to him, say a good word for Miss Jencks,
for I am sure he will never regret engaging her.

Before I left, Mrs. Bradley sang for me, accompanying
herself on the piano. Her voice is unusually fine, though
she does not sing at all in the English way, but more like a
_professional_ opera singer. It was rather startling to me.
Barbara Jencks could teach her a little more restraint, I
think, to great advantage. But there is no doubt of the
beauty of the organ. She is taking lessons of a famous
teacher, and the maid says she had made the most _wonderful_
progress in a short time. She is a very loving little
creature (I call her little, though she is half a head
taller than I!) but though she is so childish, I fancy she
has a _very_ strong will and a character of her own. She
would have a _great influence_ over anyone that was much
with her, I think.

I am sending this letter in care of your mother's old
bankers. I hope so much that I may hear that she is alive
and well! I was never better myself. I enclose with this
long letter a picture of my son. Like your mother, I have
but one, and he is _everything_ to me, as I daresay hers is.

I trust that you will not come to England without letting me
see you at Bleeks, and remain, my dear Mr. Jerrolds,

Your mother's old friend,

AGATHA UPGROVE.

[FROM ROGER'S DIARY]

PARIS, Feb. 17, '8--

Weather fine and clear for a week. M. well and very happy.
Her voice certainly comes on surprisingly. Mme. M----i very
enthusiastic. Miss J. has persuaded her to learn to write.
She makes great progress.

Feb. 24.

To-night we actually gave a little dinner. Friends of Miss
J.'s: a sort of practice affair. M. behaved very well, but
drank her neighbour's (Miss J.'s cousin's) wine and would
not apologise. Miss J. a little inclined to be over-severe,
I think. It will be very pleasant to entertain, later,
certainly. Spent the morning at the _Bibliotheque
Nationale_, reading up _Code Napoleon_. What a man! I never
thought enough emphasis laid on that side of him.

Mar. 3.

Bad weather over for the present. Called at the Legation. M.
very quiet and good and looking exquisite in dark blue silk
from Sue's crack dressmaker. Enormously admired and very
happy. Quite well. Took a few notes to-day on the _Code_. A
great lawyer, that man.

Mar. 6.

Wonderful weather, fine and warm. Chestnuts soon starting.
Went to Versailles for the day. M. played cup and ball with
R----n, the sculptor, who wants to model her. He gave us a
_petit souper_ and M. behaved perfectly. Miss J. certainly
an investment. She cannot drag M. into a cathedral, however.
M. insists they make her feel queer and then hungry. Says
her hands get cold. Have told Miss J. cannot have any
meddling with religion just yet. (N. B. not at all!) Strange
not hearing from Jerry.

Mar. 10.

M. spoke of old home to-day for first time. Remarked on
absence of ocean and hoped dog was well. Dog's name appears
to be Rosy, which is absurd, as it's not that kind of dog.
Obstinate as usual. Miss J. objects to kissing as a
disciplinary measure. M. balks at Kings of England in order,
and gets no dessert. Odd thing to have happen to your wife!
She grows sweeter every day. Am getting quite deep into
notes on the _Code_. Really enough for a book.

Mar. 15.

Weather still holds. Met Stokes and Remsen of my class
to-day and went out to St. Cloud with them. Say I look five
years younger. Didn't realise I needed the rest, to tell the
truth. Suppose we do work too steadily, over there. But I
never felt any ill effects from it. Have cabled Jerry at
University Club. Remsen swears he saw him in London last
week. Doesn't seem possible, or would have known. M. sang
to-day at _musicale_ for Mme. M----i. Great success and
looked very beautiful. She gets a high colour singing. Hate
Frenchmen as much as I ever did. They're more monkey than
man. Magnificent new tenor-barytone just discovered--can't
recall the name. Wants to sing with M., who was much taken
with him. Worked up a few of my notes: Stokes thought well
of them.

Mar. 16.

Barytone called while I was out with Miss J. yesterday on
business. M. told me that he loved her and admits that he
kissed her. Went around to his rooms and gave him a good
licking this afternoon: warm work, for he is a big fellow.
M. cannot see anything out of the way in what she did: told
me she wished she'd married Jerry, I was so cruel. Miss J.
talked to her like a Dutch uncle. Can't have the child
treated too harshly for all the Governor-Generals Canada
ever had, and told her so. We all got pretty hot, but
nothing would budge M. till Elise happened to confide in her
that I was a man in a thousand. This for some reason struck
her forcibly and she acted like an angel. Women are
certainly strange. Nothing more done on the _Code_.

FLORENCE, Mar. 26.

Have been a week here. M. enjoys it very much. She and Miss
J. studying Italian day and night: M. takes to it like a
duck to water. Got a grammar myself and began. M. practises
faithfully. Some pleasant old ladies I knew in New Haven
called on us to-day and M.'s behaviour could not have been
better, I thought, though Miss J. objects to her crossing
her ankles. She writes very well now. It is better than a
play to hear her and Miss J. arguing over points of
etiquette. J. explained the theory of the chaperon, but M.
pinned her down to admitting that it did not apply to
married women. Then why to her? M. demanded imperiously. J.
shuffled a little, then explained that M. was an exceptional
married woman. M. inquired if that meant that she was the
only married woman that could not be trusted alone with a
man. J. replied "Unfortunately, no, Mrs. Bradley!" M.
scored, in my opinion.

April 2.

Long cable to-day about Wilkes case. Cannot possibly attend
to it from here. Cabled to make every effort to postpone it.
Bound to get in a mess, if they don't. R----should have been
disbarred long ago. M. spoke again of the beach at home
to-day. The second time since we were married. Sometimes I
think she has no heart, in the ordinary sense, and then
again her sweetness and kindness would win over a statue.
She cannot, of course, be judged by ordinary standards.

April 6.

Heard from Jerry to-day. Has been in England all the time,
the rascal, playing chess and learning Persian! Has promised
to run over to Paris and we are going back there. M. wants
to go on with her music lessons. Have never known her so
steady at anything. Expected to stay here indefinitely, but
must be very patient with her now. Is wonderfully well.
Wouldn't mind getting back to work, myself, but she can't
very well sail now, I suppose.

PARIS, April 11.

Perfect weather. Paris very gay. As a holiday, all very
well: as a business, what a life! Mme. M----i advises stop
lessons now for a while. M. very disappointed, but yields
finally very gracefully. How changed Jerry will find her! He
agrees to stay a fortnight at least, which delights M. And
me, too. We must have one of our old walking-trips, perhaps
try an ascension. Have got at the _Code_ again.

April 15.

Weather still holds. Jerry expected to-morrow. M. has taken
to reading. She and J. read aloud _David Copperfield_, turn
about. What good work it is, after all! Hester taught her to
read unknown to her father, who seems to have forbidden it.
It was her only disobedience, it seems. I wonder what that
woman's real name was? She learned to read from the Psalms,
but never read much. The Wilkes case going badly, I'm
afraid: no postponement. They will be able to appeal,
however.