Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

526 Betty and Peter, then. Say—Peter, please, Betty!” ‘“ Peter!”’ I said, hardly daring to frame the word. I was terrified. I couldn’t see how he could fail to recognize me. In the ballroom, with the crowd and the lights and the music, it was different. And we hardly spoke. But here, alone in the crawl- ing car—was it possible that he didn’t feel that it was Elizabeth Cleveland who sat be- side him? | But he didn’t. Of course, I didn’t allow for the fact that the idea of such a mas- querade as I was playing would ever enter into his head. Even a resemblance of voice, I suppose, would have meant nothing to him, except, perhaps, to remind him dis- agreeably of his wooden and wealthy Eng- lish bride! He laughed. “Tt’s the nicest name I know when you say it, Betty,” he said. The car ceased crawling. The chauffeur got down and addressed the king in a foreign language, which I took to be Floranian. The king explained to me that we couldn’t get any further. The fog was too thick. We were, as far as could be ascertained, just by the Marble Arch. Policemen were forbidding any fur- ther advance in either direction. “We must walk,” said the king to me. “Don’t worry. I'll get you home safely.” He made me get out of the car, gave the chauffeur some hurried directions, and we set off. The first bit was nothing on earth but walking by faith. All traffic was stopped. By luck we struck the gates, and crossing the wide space, found the path leading straight to Hyde Park Corner. There were quite a few people abroad, shouting good natured directions and joking with one an- other. It was like a strange dream tome. Peter held my hand in his arm. Not being able to see him made it more intimate, more dear. His gay, tender voice seemed to wrap me in a mantle of supreme content. He talked nonsense in a way, but it was the nonsense of fairyland—the nonsense of my moonshine dream that he was an ordinary young man and I an ordinary girl. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Quite magically, when we reached Hyde Park Corner, we found the fog'clearing. It rolled away in banks, a light breeze having sprung up. ‘Shall we take a taxi or walk the rest of the way?” he asked. “Are you tired, Betty?” “Oh, no, I am not.” We went on down Knightsbridge, entered the Brompton Road, and then he asked for directions. I caught at any excuse. ‘Oh, please, I’ll go on alone! It’s quite clear now. It’s been so kind of you, Mr. Dorando.” : “What!” he interrupted. “I mean— Peter. But my _ people wouldn’t like it. Please, I’d rather go home alone.” He didn’t say anything. Just on our left was an open arcade. It was quite empty. There was no one about. He drew me into it. And I found myself in his arms, His voice was in my ears, low and hoarse. . “Little Betty, if only we had met—in another world!” And his lips were on mine, and though I wanted to struggle and free myself, I simply couldn’t move. ‘‘ Betty,” he whispered, “ tell me you like me more than a little!’ I couldn’t speak. I was so happy; and yet I knew I oughtn’t to be. After all, what was he doing? Making love to a girl of the people; taking advantage of her helplessness and need of protection in a fog. It wasn’t very heroic. It was rather despicable. He was engaged to marry Elizabeth Cleveland and in love with Laline de Chan- terelle. And yet he was crushing Betty Fane, the dancing instructress, in his arms, and kissing her and murmuring low words sounding so sincere that they might have been the first love words he had ever spoken in his life. “ Betty,” he persisted, “tell me! Speak to me, little Betty! You have danced right into my heart! I didn’t know anything could be like this.” ‘‘J—oh, I don’t know what to say!” I faltered. ‘‘ You must not speak to me like (©) Eomichbooks