Argosy All-Story Weekly, May 3, 1924 — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

900 case it was an acknowledged part of our bargain, and it had all been done through proper intermediaries. I merely thought it rather bad taste of Lord Maurice to lament morosely: ‘Gad, what a worry life is without mon- ey! You, lucky person, will never find it out. Living on one’s debts is the very devil.” I laughed, not knowing what else to do. I was blind enough to see no significance in his next remark. “ And how is Miss Fane getting on, may I ask?” I laughed again. “Oh, but I thought you were going to forget all about that,” I said. ‘“‘ Naturally, so I have. But between you and me—lI’m so interested.” “ There’s nothing to be interested in,” I said curtly. But I never connected Miss Fane with his lack of money. Two nights later I was alone in the small ivory drawing room, so called from a suite of ivory furniture that had been given to an ancestor by an Indian prince. We never used it in winter, because it was so cold looking, but on a hot summer evening it was delightful. It was all creamy white, walls, curtains, carpet, cushions; and on this particular night the gardener had filled all its flower bowls with masses of honey- sweet freesia. It was after eleven o’clock. Prince George of Hillenland and his aunt, the Grand Duchess Tatiana of Sergia, and four other people had dined with me. We had broken up early because our chief guests were only passing through London and had to leave the first thing in the morning. I was not a bit sleepy, and settled myself down to read for an hour or so. Bunch was out of town for a few days. Fussy and Fancy, my Aberdeen terriers, kept me company, and very quaint their bristly dark little bodies looked on the white car- pet. One of the footmen came in to say that Lord Maurice Angell had called. It was an unconventional hour, but I didn’t think much about it. He probably didn’t know ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEERLY. that Bunch was away. And he was always in touch with his sister, and I must confess -I was stirred by the thought of news about King Peter. His letters to me, though courteous and even jolly, told me so little. I instructed the footman to show Lord Maurice up. I thought he looked queer, and very pale, as we shook hands. His voice was louder and more deliberate than usual. He said he couldn’t pass the house without coming in. He’d been dining near by and afterward there had been baccarat and he was stony broke, so he had come away. He had left his hat downstairs, but wore a light overcoat. He was taking it off, and I was just thinking rather absently how very handsome he was with his big, wonderfully proportioned form and his splendid golden- haired head, when he gave a lurch side- wise, and Fussy and Fancy, who had been growling intermittently since his arrival, sprang up and flew viciously at his feet. He rapped out an oath and gave them a violent kick, at which they darted at his feet even more furiously than before. He almost lost his balance, falling against the mantelpiece and clutching at it, and then I realized that he had been drinking. That was what his pallor meant and his funny deliberate voice. I was horrified. I had never seen a drunken man at close quarters. When I looked at his eyes, that had a kind of blur over them, I only wanted to get him out of the house. | But I was afraid of calling a servant. I had a feeling that Lord Maurice would make a scene. So I forced myself to pre- tend that nothing was the matter. I said how sorry I was that he had lost money. He had recovered himself almost at once, and sat down rather heavily on one of the ivory settees, which creaked ominously. “Shame for a nice girl like you to be going out of the country,” he said, looking at me with what was intended to be a melt- ing glance out of his splendid eyes. “Marrying this king chap. You ought to marry an Englishman—feller like me, don’t you know? You ought to stay in the country—one of its assets, don’t you know? COMIG DOO! S (©