Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 55: what you’re looking at

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

A CROWN was subjecting myself to. And that man was all deference and courtesy to Elizabeth Cleveland in her drawing-room. How ugly the world was! I must get back to Bunch. I must get home. The band struck up the “ Sable Night ” waltz. A low murmur went round the room. I made my way to the entrance, not caring what anybody thought of me. I was ~ going. And then I heard a low exclamation of pleasure, and I felt an arm round my waist, and before I knew what had happened, I was being swung round to that intoxicating tune, and King Peter’s blue eyes smiled down at me, and he said: ‘“ What luck that this should be played just now! How do you do, Miss Fane?” The rest of the evening—can I describe it? I danced with no one else. King Peter told me he had been delayed, much to his disgust. He asked me about my post, and when I told him, he said he would be there on each of my evenings, and I was to dance with nobody but himself. He would ar- range it with the management. _ “Jt ‘Il be only five times more, Miss Fane,” he said, and there sounded real regret in his voice. “I’m leaving England on Monday week. We must make the most of it. I have never danced with any one like you.” We certainly made the most of that night. We hardly spoke at all, and yet there was something that drew us together that made me feel something I couldn’t put into words, but anyhow that we had much more in common than just dancing. Then came the end. I said good night to him at the entrance. When I had got my things and made my way into the street by a side entrance, I found the fog fairly thick. The club was almost emptied. Chauffeurs and taxicab drivers were calling out warnings to each other. I turned the corner, groping my way. I was terrified, as I had never been out alone in all my life in a fog. I realized how easy my life had been, always some one at hand, always a car to step into, no wait- ing, no hustling—a velvet carpet of a life. And I also realized how hard must be the lives of girls working for their living as I 525 was supposed to be for mine. I didn’t know which way to turn. A man coming in the opposite direction collided with me, and elbowed me rudely out of his way with a swear word. I felt like sinking down on a doorstep and bursting into tears. Then I heard footsteps, and out of the darkness came a voice that thrilled me through and through. “Is that you, Miss Fane? I thought it might be. I’ve followed you round. How could you dream of coming out in this weather by yourself?” I couldn’t speak. King Peter took my hand and put it through his arm. ““Come,” he said, ‘I have a car here. Where do you live?” ‘Oh, please don’t bother!”’ I protested. ‘“T can get back quite well.” “Where do you live?” “Tt would be out of your way.” ‘Where is it? Nothing could be out of my way.” ‘Not far from the Brompton Road.” “The other side of Hyde Park! Your London fog is always worse there. I insist on seeing you home.” He was propelling me round the corner again, A car was pulled up by the curb. He opened the door and gently pushed me in, asking me the address. I gave him the first one that came into my mind—r4. Massingham Street. Of course, it wasn’t the right one, but I had to trust to my wits to serve me at the other end. We drove off at a snail’s pace. “My name is Peter,” said the king. “Will you call me that? We are to be friends, you know.” Oh, I thought if he only had spoken like that to the rich girl who was to be his queen! Instead, he had said, in French, in his cynical, blasé tone of voice: “‘ I’m afraid it’s a difficult job you are taking on. Be- lieve me, I shall make it as easy as possible for you.” He had not asked me to be friends. There had been none of that warm, vital interest in his voice. . : “What is your name?” he asked. ‘“ Betty,” I said in a whisper. “Such a sweet English name! FOR SALE. We are Gomicvdooks- co S|