Part 43

Pff! You won't get him alone, you stupid; he'll take precious good care of that. [Finding that LUIGI and the waiters have departed, and walking across to the left.] Ah, but it isn't dancing my mind's dwelling on just now, dear boy.

VON RETTENMAYER.

ENID.

It's rest I'm yearning for-- my holiday!-- rest for my weary bones. [Turning to him without a sign of disturbance.] Karl, I'm simply bursting with rage.

VON RETTENMAYER.

Rage?

ENID.

That wretched hotel at Ostend-- the Plage! They've the confounded impudence to ask me a hundred-and-twenty-five francs a day for two cubby-holes on the third floor, for my aunt and me.

VON RETTENMAYER.

Monsdrous. [With a shrug.] But Ostend is-- Ostend.

ENID.

Thanks for the information. Is that all the sympathy you can offer?

VON RETTENMAYER.

Bardon. [Humbly.] There may be gheaper hodels.

ENID.

Where the common people pay for their beds and meals with Cook's coupons! [Sitting upon the arm of the further settee in the centre and swinging her feet.] Oh, it doesn't matter. I suppose it'll have to be Swanage, or some brisk resort of that description. [Sighing.] So be it! [Humming.] Tra, lal, lal, la----!

VON RETTENMAYER.

ENID.

Including nothing-- absolutely nothing!

VON RETTENMAYER.

ENID.

One can't starve, that's certain.

VON RETTENMAYER.

Which would amound to----?

ENID.

VON RETTENMAYER.

ENID.

A hundred-and-seventy-five. [Stroking his hair with a finger.] Call it two hundred.