Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 51: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A CROWN a vixenish note in it, and yet it was im- ploring as well. : | “Peter,” it said, “ I can’t stand it any longer. I can’t bear it. It’s killing me. Oh, what am I to do?” <A passionate sob broke from her. I could not see them, They must have been just inside the big winter garden that opened from the corridor. But I could feel the atmosphere of passion, of some- thing wild and hopeless, and I heard the king’s voice, very low, with a kind of strangled sound, saying: “What can we do, Laline? nothing to do.” It was proof positive, given to my own ears. He loved her. They had been mak- ing love behind the back of her old hus- band, and they had got themselves into a tangle, and they didn’t know what to do. And even with her guests in the house, she was making a scene there—before dinner, upsetting the whole evening for himself and_ her. Sas I stood rooted to the spot. As they moved away, I slipped behind a curtain. I could hear the metallic rustle of the princess’s brocade gown. Then I went back the way I had come, and found a servant who directed me to the drawing room. The princess was there, but not the king. He joined us when the whole company was assembled, Captain Greffier was aid-de- camp in attendance. The polite indifference in his greeting, charming though his manner was, struck me like a blow. Where was that happy, inter- ested look of the Flower Garden Club? It was the cynical, bored young man again who took his seat beside me at the dinner table. 3 He looked down at me in his cool way, as the soup plates were taken away, and at once I felt ugly and stupid and utterly inadequate. We talked French, of course, and that language seemed to make him say biting, clever, unkind things. Speaking it, he was so much older. The boy vanished; the man of the world took his place. One felt that this cynical young man had wandered into strange paths and had seen strange things. The words Cissie Greenstreet had spoken There 1s FOR SALE, 521 about him and the princess, rang miserably in my ears: ‘“ The only one he’s been faith- ful to, they say.” The dinner was not nearly so informal as the princess had said, although I didn’t think there were quite so many servants about. 3 Afterwards several people came in, all of them having met the king before. Card tables were brought out. Bunch settled herself to her beloved rubber. King Peter approached me and asked me carelessly if I would go and watch the gold fish in the winter garden. Everybody was moving about. Nobody seemed to notice us. He knew his way about the house, and led me to the corridor, passing the spot where I had stood and heard him and the princess talking. I could still feel the sick horror of it, her passionate voice, his low, strained response. “You look ill,’ he said to me, as we entered the winter garden. I don’t know what made me, but I flashed out: “Your majesty means that I look ugly!” I suppose it was the contrast between the bored king in Belgrave Square and my young partner of the public ballroom. I suppose it was the secret knowledge in my heart, surging up in the first full reality-— the knowledge that I loved him and that he was offering me the husk of his life in ex- change for my money. - He gave an astonished Iaugh. ““T didn’t mean that at all, I assure you. But you do look tired. Come, sit down.” He drew a chair for me in the shadow of a clump of palms, quite close to the big pool, round which stood a fringe of flaming orange-red Calla lilies. ‘I wanted to talk to you,” he went on, as he sank into a chair beside me. ‘To talk to you about our affairs.” - His manner was stiff; his voice entirely businesslike. “Have you given it any further thought?” ‘““T haven’t made up my mind, if that is what your majesty means,” I answered. His eyes stared at me in angry offence. “Tm afraid I can’t wait,” he said. “TI shall have to ask you to decide.” CORME DOO KSaCOmM