honoured. And I added that I had with
me a decent suit of black. We then parted; I went to find a doctor for
Miss Randolph, and to see about a carriage to go back for the others to
the village of Le Beausset. It also occurred to me that it would be nice
to have a few flowers with which to deck the table for the happiest
dinner of my life. The shops were not yet all closed, and at one not far
from the hotel I selected some exquisite La France roses and a dozen
sprays of forced white lilac, which I had once heard Miss Randolph say
was among her favourite flowers. When I came to pay the bill,
however--three francs a spray for the lilac, and a franc for each of the
twelve roses--there were only a few coppers in my pocket. I remembered
then that I had spent my last franc in Marseilles, without attaching any
importance to the matter, as I'd wired for remittances to arrive at
Cannes, and my "screw" due to-night would see me through till then. Now
the situation was a bit awkward. I wanted to take the flowers with me
and give them to the head waiter to place on the table where Miss
Randolph and I would dine. I could not have them sent over and ask the
hotel people to settle, because then they would appear on her bill
to-morrow morning, as now she would certainly not pay my wages this
evening. I couldn't bear to give up the bouquet; besides, I would need
more ready money to-night. I had visions of ordering first-rate wine,
and letting the Goddess suppose it was _vin compris_ with the _table
d'hote_ dinner. I therefore confessed my pennilessness to the shopman,
and asked if I should be likely to find a _mont-de-piete_ still open. He
replied that the pawnshops did their busiest trade in the evening about
this time, told me where I could find the best, and agreed to keep the
flowers until my return.

The one thing of value I had with me was my monogrammed gold repeater,
which my father gave me when I went up to Oxford, and I didn't much like
parting with it, especially as I can't get it back to-morrow, but will
have to send back the ticket for it from Cannes, when I'm in funds.
However, I had no choice, so I put my poor turnip up the spout, and got
a tenner for it. With this in French money I retraced my steps to the
florist's, and bore off my fragrant spoils in triumph to the hotel.
Hardly had I given the flowers to the head waiter, ordered an extra dish
or two on the _menu_ and a bottle of Mumm to be iced, when a pencilled
note f