The Adventures of a Modest Man

"Kiss a girl?" stammered Smith. "Where have you been prowling?"

"Along the boundary wall on my side, if you want to know. A week ago I chanced to be out by moonlight, and I saw you kiss her, Smith, across the top of the park wall. It is your proper rôle, of course, to deny it, but let me tell you that I think it's a pretty undignified business of yours, kissing the Countess of Semois's servants – "

"What the deuce – "

"Well, who was it you kissed over the top of the wall, then?"

"I don't know," said Smith, sullenly.

"You don't know! It wasn't the Countess, was it?"

"Of course it wasn't the Countess. I tell you I don't know who it was."

"Nonsense!"

"No, it isn't. What happened was this: I climbed up the niches to sit on the wall by moonlight and watch the trout jump; and just as my head cleared the wall the head of a girl came up on the other side – right against the moon, so it was just a shadow – a sort of silhouette. It was an agreeable silhouette; I couldn't really see her features."

"That was no reason for kissing them, was it?"

"No – oh, not at all. The way that came about was most extraordinary. You see, we were both amazed to find our two noses so close together, and I said – something foolish – and she laughed – the prettiest, disconcerted little laugh, and that moon was there, and suddenly, to my astonishment, I realised that I was going to kiss her if she didn't move… And – she didn't."

"You mean to say – "

"Yes, I do; I haven't the faintest notion who it was I kissed. It couldn't have been the Countess, because I've neither fought any duels nor have I been arrested. I refuse to believe it could have been the cook, because there was something about that kiss indescribably aromatic – and, Kingsbury, she didn't say a word – she scarcely breathed. Now a cook would have screamed, you know – "

"I don't know," interrupted Kingsbury.

"No, no, of course – neither do I."

"Idiot!" said Kingsbury wrathfully. "Suppose it had been the Countess! Think of the consequences! Keep away from that wall and don't attempt to ape the depravity of a morally sick continent. You shocked me in Paris; you're mortifying me here. If you think I'm going to be identified with your ragged morals you are mistaken."

"That's right; don't stand for 'em. I've been reading novels, and I need a jar from an intelligence absolutely devoid of imagination."

"You'll get it if you don't behave yourself," said Kingsbury complacently. "The Countess of Semois probably knows who we are, and ten to one we'll meet her at that charity bazar at Semois-les-Bains this afternoon."

"I'm not going," said Smith, breaking an egg.

"Not going? You said you would go. Our Ambassador will be there, and we can meet the Countess if we want to."

"I don't want to. Suppose, after all, I had kissed her! No, I'm not going, I tell you."

"Very well; that's your own affair," observed the other, serenely occupied with the trout. "Perhaps you're right, too; perhaps the happy scullion whom you honoured may have complained about you to her mistress."

Smith sullenly tinkled the bell for more toast; a doll-faced maid in cap and apron brought it.

"Probably," said Kingsbury in English, "that is the species you fondled – "

Smith opened his novel and pretended to read; Kingsbury picked up the morning paper, propped it against a carafe, sipped his coffee, and inspected the headlines through his single eyeglass. For a few minutes peace and order hovered over the American breakfast; the men were young and in excellent appetite; the fragrance of the flowers was not too intrusive; discreet breezes stirred the leaves; and well-behaved little birds sang judiciously in several surrounding bushes.

As Kingsbury's eyes wandered over the paper, gradually focussing up a small paragraph, a frown began to gather on his youthful features.

"Here's a nice business!" he said, disgusted.

Smith looked up indifferently. "Well, what is it?" he asked, and then, seeing the expression on his friend's face, added: "Oh, I'll bet I know!"

"This," said Kingsbury, paying him no attention, "is simply sickening."

"A young life bartered for a coronet?" inquired Smith, blandly.

"Yes. Isn't it shameful? What on earth are our women thinking of? Are you aware, Smith, that over ninety-seven and three tenths per cent of such marriages are unhappy? Are you? Why, I could sit here and give you statistics – "

"Don't, all the same."

"Statistics that would shock even you. And I say solemnly, that I, as an American, as a humanitarian, as a student of social economics – "

"Help! Help!" complained Smith, addressing the butter.

"Social economics," repeated the other, firmly, "as a patriot, a man, and a future father, I am astounded at the women of my native land! Race suicide is not alone what menaces us; it is the exportation of our finest and most vigorous stock to upbuild a bloodless and alien aristocracy at our expense."

Smith reached for the toast-rack.

"And if there's one thing that irritates me," continued Kingsbury, "it's the spectacle of wholesome American girls marrying titles. Every time they do it I get madder, too. Short-sighted people like you shrug their shoulders, but I tell you, Smith, it's a terrible menace to our country. Beauty, virtue, wealth, all are being drawn away from America into the aristocratic purlieus of England and the Continent."

"Then I think you ought to see about it at once," said Smith, presenting himself with another slice of toast.

Kingsbury applied marmalade to a muffin and flattened out the newspaper.

"I tell you what," he said, "some American ought to give them a dose of their own medicine."

"How?"

"By coming over here and marrying a few of their titled women."

Smith sipped his coffee, keeping his novel open with the other hand: "We do that sort of thing very frequently in literature, I notice. There's an American doing it now in this novel. I've read lots of novels like it, too." He laid his head on one side, musing. "As far as I can calculate from the romantic literature I have absorbed, I should say that we Americans have already carried off practically all of the available titled beauties of Europe."

"My friend," said Kingsbury, coldly, "do you realise that I am serious?"

"About what?"

"About this scandalous chase after titles. In the book on which I am now engaged I am embodying the following economic propositions: For every good, sweet, wholesome American girl taken from America to bolster up a degenerate title, we men of America ought to see to it that a physically sound and titled young woman be imported and married to one of us."

"Why a titled one?"

"So that Europe shall feel it the more keenly," replied Kingsbury sternly. "I've often pondered the matter. If only one American could be found sufficiently self-sacrificing to step forward and set the example by doing it, I am convinced, Smith, that the tardy wheels of justice would begin to revolve and rouse a nation too long imposed upon."

"Why don't you do something in that way yourself? There's a fine physical specimen of the Belgian nobility in the villa next door."

"I don't know her," said Kingsbury, turning a delicate shell pink.