SEMI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE
7
f THE GIRL WITH A PAST f
Mi Involving fhe. Tribulations of a Bene, diet . JjL
BY KATE MASTERS DN jrfSs
Spgf ILLUSTRATIONS by ARMAND BOTH gftjfjft
HE WAS THE LAST person you
would expect to meet at a table d'hote
restaurant where the half bottle of
wine is included in the fifty cent din
ner. There was a certain dashing: re
finement about her that placed her
above the rather tired out and shabby
followers of the professions that gathered nightly
at the board of Thurzo.
There was some foreign suggestion in her manner,
the tilt of her head and the gay and unquestioning
comradeship with the men who came early so they
might secure chairs at the little round table where
her own place was kept for her each evening.
They were men sufficiently unlike my business
self to give them a sort of foreign attractiveness
artists, writers and an actor now and then lured by
the magic of spaghetti and the low prices charged
for the excellently cooked, cleanly served food
something unusual, I know, at eating places of this
kind. The result was that Thurzo, half French,
half Russian, was becoming prosperous and his
room getting too crowded to be popular.
I am not a sincere table d'hoter. I like a chop
and a baked potato in soma quiet corner where
there is less of the strident gaiety than in the haunts
where Art feeds; but Thurzo's was near the Bene
dict apartments where I lived the lonely life of a
middle aged bachelor, engaged in money-errubbing
pursuits scarcely conducive to romantic adventure.
It amazed me to realize how much this young
woman interested me. I knew there was what nov
elists call a story in her. She was a mystery, al
though her talk was free and her laughs many.
She was easily the belle of the place, and the
other women accorded her only the briefest of nods
on her comings and goings, although Thurzo's code
called for a strict good-fellowship. You sat so close
to your neighbor that his elbows were in your ribs
most of the time and you depended on him largely
for such favors as the vinegar and oil, the bread
and the salt, for there was but one girl to wait on
the polyglot company and most of her time was
given to carrying the things to and from the kitchen.
Here Thurzo presided, cooking with his own
hands the tender boiled beef, beans steamed to an
ivory pallor and creamy fibre, sauces glorified with
dashes of strange cordials. Going in to pay him
one night, as was the custom, I complimented him
upon his dishes and told him that they were like
to those that I used to get in my young days at a
famous Paris cafe.
I ventured a remark about Mademoiselle, the
mysterious lady who added such beauty and light
to the dining room, her laugh just then rippling in
to us. Thurzo is a European, and I rather ex
pected him to give me some piquant details. I con
fess I was quite curious. lie smiled in an odd way,
lifted his shoulders to his ears, replying in discreet
est phrases that all who paid might come to a res
taurant. He also suggested that the Lady had pre
viously mingled in other walks of life where gold
had been in greater plenty.
It was true that her dress was the simplest, but it
had its charm. She was slim and boyish of figure,
of an age almost impossible to determine, but past
girlhood certainly by a dozen years. But she
reigned over her little court so royally that even
when she smoked, it seemed a graceful and ladylike
accomplishment.
A WORN' out newspaper woman who sat next to
me one evening seemed disturbed by the laughter
of the Lady, and I asked 1:- quite casually if she
knew who the fair stranger was. She told me that
no one knew her; that she was known as Made
moiselle and that while she flirted with the men
who thronged about her at dinner, she allowed none
of them to escort her home or to call upon her.
"She cultivates mystery," said the newspaper
woman ; "it 's a wonder she does n't wear a mask.
Believe me, that girl has a Past !"
In this way I got to think of her as the Girl with
a Past and I pictured it in all sorts of lurid lights.
Yet I felt glad that her present, so far as one could
judge, was a simple, light-hearted one. For she en
joyed herself hugely during these nightly banquets.
Like all men who have never married, I have kept
a reverence for women, and I did not like to see her
smoke, although it was a treat to see how she poised
the cigarette and' blew spiral streamers up to the
ceiling, like a stage adventuress.
And then it came to me that there was an air of
the stasre about her attitudes and manner and that
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The girl with a past came in, carry
ing a note book and pencil
She was a mystery, although
her talk was free and
her laughs many
this, possibly, was
her profession, in
one of its many
branches. She left
Thurzo's each
night at eight
or thereabouts. ' I
concluded she was,
to me, that un
known quantity,
an actress.
I wanted in the
worst way to find
out more about
her, but I could
not pursue my
questionings there
at the restaurant
without seeming to
pry or to be over
smitten with her
charms. I did not
mix in much with
the others, and
while she gave me
a glance now and
then I do not
think she noticed
me particularly.
When she went
out after paying
her score, her crisp
pleasant nod took
in every one who
happened to be in
the room, myself as well as the cat. If I had been
a younger man I suppose I should have tried to
make her acquaintance, or have followed her just to
find where she lived. But I have passed my ad
venturous days, having learned of the strange places
they sometimes lead to.
I did not fancy myself in love, but the interest
and curiosity I felt were uncanny. It seemed to me
that she was fitted for higher conquest than that of
the knights of her round table, and I longed to help
her to some better level. The drifts of talk that
came from them were largely commonplace slang,
the stories were not only old, but in bad taste
there was too much of the good-fellow atmosphere
for a table at which a lady sat.
The homage was so cheap, and yet it seemed the
breath of life to her. At times she raised her wine
glass with a toast to some cherished Bohemian de
lusion, and once as she did so, her eyes met mine
across the room and she faltered and put down the
glass, like a child caught in some mischief. I sup
pose I was gazing rather steadily at her; perhaps
criticizingly.
One night a particularly vile storm of snow and
sleet and rain had thinned down Thurzo's clientele
to a few nearby birds like myself who came through
the door witli gusts of windy, biting weather. She
came in a little late and her glance fell when she
saw her table vacant of its courtiers. I was partic
ularly pleased to realize that I might have a chance
of observing her normally reposed and also that so
few heads shut out my view of her. I settled well
back in my corner affecting to be looking through
the Figaro file.
SHE went on sadly with her dinner. The light
had left her eyes, her voice for once was hushed,
her laughter still. She seemed lonely and I was just
contemplating crossing boldly to her table when
Thurzo, who evidently noticed her depression, slid
into a chair near her and ordered a cherry brandy.
He began to speak in rather bad English, trying
to be, jocular, gallant, (Continued on Page 12) .