“How did you come to lose her?” asked Jim, steering the conversation out of commercial channels.

“The loss is hers,” said Ronnie; “I wore holes in my tunic leaning over the counter talking to her, and I made about as much progress as a Peace Conference.  I got soap instead of sympathy and scent instead of sentiment.  However, she must have got used to me, because one day she asked if I would translate an English letter she’d received into French.

“‘Now’s your chance to make good,’ I thought, language being my strong suit; but I felt sick when I found it was a love-letter from a presumptuous blighter at Calais, who signed himself ’Your devoted Horace.’  Still, to make another opportunity of talking to her, I offered to write it out in French.  She sold me a block of letter-paper for the purpose, and I went home and wrote a lifelike translation.

“She gave me a dazzling smile and warm welcome when I took it in, but on the balance I didn’t feel that I’d done myself much good.  And next day I’m dashed if she didn’t give me another letter to translate, this time signed ‘Your loving Herbert.’  Herbert, I discovered, was a sapper who’d been transferred to Boulogne and, judging by his hand, was better with a shovel than a pen.  As an amateur in style I couldn’t translate his drivel word for word.  Like Cyrano, the artist in me rose supreme, and I manicured and curled his letter, painted and embroidered it, and nearly finished by signing ‘Ronnie’ instead of ‘Herbert.’

“She was quite surprised when she read the translation.

“’C’est gentil, n’est-ce-pas?’ said she, kissing it and stuffing it away in her belt.  ‘I did not think,’ she went on in French, ’that the dear stupid ‘Erbert had so much eloquence.’  I saw my error.  I had made a probable of a horse that hadn’t previously got an earthly.  So, to adjust things, I refrigerated the next letter—­which happened to be from ’Orace—­to the temperature of codfish on an ice block.  And the consequence was that Georgette sulked and would scarcely speak to me for three whole days.

“The situation, coldly reviewed, appeared to be like this.  When ’Orace or ’Erbert pleased her I got a share of the sunshine, but when their love-making cooled her displeasure was visited on poor Ronnie.  Any advances on my own part were countered with sales of soap, customers apparently being rarer than lovers.  So I had to bide my time.

“But one day letters from ’Orace and ’Erbert arrived simultaneously, and were duly handed to the fourth party for necessary action.  It occurred to me that when the time came for me to enter the race on my own behalf I need have little fear of ’Erbert as a rival, so I determined to cut ’Orace out of the running.