o 3b3e7475144cf77c

Barnes the nursery rhyme had been turned about, and every Jill must have her Jack.

Lanny didn't really mind playing bridge—only there were so many more interesting things

to do. He wanted to continue child study with the two specimens he had on board. He wanted to

read history about the places he visited, so that a town would be where a great mind had

functioned or a martyr had died. But Beauty and Irma were willing to bid five no trumps while

the yacht was pass~ ing the scene of the battle of Salamis. They would both think it inconsiderate

of Lanny if he refused to make a fourth hand because he wanted to write up his notes of the last

seance with Madame Zyszynski. Lanny thought it was important to keep proper records, and

index them, so that the statements of Tecumseh on one occasion could be compared with

those on another. He had the books of Osty and Geley, scientists who had patiently delved into

these phenomena and tried to evolve theories to explain them. This seemed much more

important than whether Culbertson was right in his rules about the total honor-trick-content

requirement of hands.

Irma had persuaded Rahel to prepare herself for life in the beau monde, and Lanny had

helped to teach her. Then he had given the same sort of help to Marceline, who was going to be

thirteen in a short while, and already was the most perfect little society lady you could imagine.

Even on board a yacht she spent much time in front of the mirror, studying her charms and

keeping them at their apex; surely she ought to be preparing to defend herself against those

harpies with signaling-systems who would soon be trying to deprive her of her pocket-money.

After she had been taught, Lanny could plead that he wasn't needed any more, and go back

to the study of Liszt's four-hand piano compositions with Bess: the Concerto Pathetique, a

marvel of brilliant color, turning two pianos into an orchestra; the Don Juan Fantaisie, most

delightful of showpieces— Hansi came in while they were playing it, and said they really ought

to give it on a concert stage. A memorable moment for two humble amateurs.

XIII

The Bessie Budd came to rest in the harbor of Cannes, and the company returned to Bienvenu

for a few days. Beauty wished to renew her wardrobe—one gets so tired of wearing the same

things. Lanny wished to renew the stock of music-scores—one's auditors get tired of hearing the

same compositions. Also, there were stacks of magazines which had been coming in, and

letters with news of one's friends. Lanny opened one from his father, and exclaimed: "Robbie's

coming to Paris! He's due there now!"

"Oh, dear!" said the wife. She knew what was coming next. "I really ought to see him, Irma.

It's been eight months." "It's been exactly as long since I've seen my mother." "Surely if your

mother were in Paris, I'd be offering to take you." "It'll be so dreadfully lonesome on the yacht,

Lanny!" "I'll take a plane and join you at Lisbon in three or four days. You know Robbie's

been in a crisis and I ought to find out how he's getting along."

Irma gave up, but not without inner revolt. She was going through such a trying ordeal,

and people ought to do everything to make it easier for her. A violent change from

being the glamour girl of Broadway, the observed of all observers, the darling of the

columnists and target of the spotlights—and now to be in exile, almost in jail for all these

months! Would anybody ever appreciate it? Would Baby appreciate it? Irma's

observation of children suggested that Baby probably would not.

She thought of taking a couple of cars and transporting her half of the lactation

apparatus up to Paris. But no, it would upset all the arrangements of the admirable Miss

Severne; Baby might pick up a germ in the streets of a crowded city; it was so much safer

out at sea, where the air was loaded with a stuff called ozone. And there was Rahel, with

whom Irma had agreed to stick it out; knowing it would be hard, she had wanted to tie

herself down, and had made a bargain.

"Another thing," Lanny said; "Zoltan Kertezsi should be in Paris and might help me to

sell a picture or two."

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the wife. "Do you still want to fool with that business?"

"A little cash would come in handy to both Beauty and me."

"I don't think it's kind of you, Lanny. There's no sense in your bothering to make

money when I have it. If you have any time to sell, do please let me buy it!"

They had talked about this many times. Since Robbie couldn't afford to send Beauty

her thousand dollars a month, Irma insisted upon putting it up. She wanted the life of

Bienvenu to go on exactly as before. The cost was nothing to her, and she liked the

people around her to be happy. She would send money to Lanny's account in Cannes,

and then she didn't want anybody to talk or think about the subject. That her husband

might actually enjoy earning a few thousand dollars by selling Marcel's paintings, or those