The Gay Adventure Part 39

"Most of the tale I told you," she began abruptly, "was all lies. Some was true. I was, for instance, well-off as regards money, when I was left an orphan at sixteen. I was brought up by some hateful relations and launched two years later. I got sick of society in a couple of years, and cut it for pleasanter paths. I tried painting, but it bored me. Then the stage--that part was true--and made a success....

"It wasn't enough. I wanted more interest, more reality in life. I didn't find it--I haven't quite found it yet, but I think I'm on the way to it. I wanted romance, too. I also wanted fun. Oh, yes! I wanted a lot, there's no doubt about that.... Presently I determined I wanted a husband....

"Does that sound odd from a girl's lips? Well, it's true, and I don't care much about anything except truth just now. I set to work deliberately to find some one I could love and who would love me. Are you shocked?" she asked quickly.

"No," he said quietly, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "Go on."

"So I went husband-hunting. Not much need, you may say, for a girl on the stage to do that. Of course I had plenty of men running after me--some beasts, some good sorts. They didn't do. I wanted something worth loving; a man who was strong, but human; a man with a sense of humor and not too grown-up for romance--a kind of Admirable Crichton, in fact. I didn't find him--at all events, not at first.

"This Turkish tale I made up for two reasons,--one, the purely irresponsible childish enjoyment of a fairy tale--a lark, if you like!

Two, for a test. If my projected benedict could swallow that--believe it, if possible, but at all events not refuse it because it looked so silly--well, he would do on the romantic side. But he had to be a man and a strong man, too; hence the invention of Lukos for a further test."

"A pretty hard one," he interposed.

"Pretty hard," she agreed, "but I meant to have the best. I tried the tale on two or three men who seemed good sorts, during a period of three months or so. They all failed for ... one reason or another. Then, by a lucky chance, you came and succeeded. That's all."

"And Mizzi?"

"My faithful helper and plagiarist. She got bitten with the romantic notion too, and set her lover a somewhat similar task. She invented the burglary."

"Tony Wild?"

"Luck," she confessed. "I worked the broad outlines of the scheme, but added to it as circ.u.mstances helped. The amba.s.sador was an old friend, and I used his presence here to give verisimilitude. He didn't know, of course, and the day he caught you here I was afraid my schemes would be blurted out by his calling me 'Miss Blair.' Luck helped me there."

"Hedderwick?"

"Sheer madness. I wanted a new adventure that night, and risked the police court. I trusted to my wits to get us out if caught. If not, well, 'the papers have been stolen!'"

"The dumb servants?"

"The gardener really is dumb. Forbes I gave five pounds a week to sham, for safety's sake. I couldn't risk his talking in the village. I've only had this house two months--I wanted it for perfect rest. I didn't come down here every day--just when the mood took me. I used to motor up to London at night, sometimes sending the car back empty (Forbes drove), sometimes coming myself. When you were here I used to leave the car a mile away and walk."

"Alone!"

"Oh, yes," she smiled. "I always carried the revolver for protection.

That was true in a sense. I was never interfered with, though I had some trouble at times dodging Tony, Brown and Mr. Hedderwick. It was exciting work."

He laughed, at her courage and his ignorance of her. She laughed gaily in return.

"Is that enough?"

"Not quite," he demurred. "Why were you so angry with Mizzi that night you caught us?"

She blushed.

"Ah! I am ashamed to tell you that. One day perhaps I shall ... not now."

"I kissed her, you know," he said frankly. She sat up.

"When?"

"In London, the first night."

"Not since?"

"Never."

She sat down again.

"A proof of humanity," she smiled. "She's quite charming, I know. Is that all?"

"Not yet. Wasn't it very hard to keep up the two roles?"

"Hard, but, not so very hard to a woman who has brains and is an actress. It was interesting, and I enjoyed watching you."

"Tell me; suppose I had kissed Miss Arkwright. Would you have forgiven me?"

The answer came quickly.

"Yes. But I'm so glad you didn't!"

"I, too," he confessed. And then, "I think that's all."

There was a complete silence for half a minute, while he struggled to find words to say to this most lovely woman. He could find none. Each knew the other's heart already, and words seemed vain and meaningless.

"Oh, Beatrice darling!" he said, almost with a sob, "don't keep me waiting any longer! I want you! I want you!"

"Lal, dearest!" she said.

"And this is the end," she said presently with a little sigh. "We shall just get married and settle into stodgy conventional people. It sounds flat, doesn't it?"

"Why should it be the end? We can be happy and ourselves, too. We can still have romance, adventures, though youth pa.s.ses----"

She shook her head.

"No; we shall have happiness, but never the same as this. We have been lucky and had the most splendid fun. But now, whether we wish it or not, we shall have to grow up and try to find out what life is."

"Well, we'll bargain for one adventure a year, at least," he stipulated.

"Old or young, we'll have that!"

"We must earn it, Lal!" she said with a wise smile. "We've no right to such happiness unless----"

"Make me your debtor now!" he said, clasping her more closely.

"Beatrice, darling, I love you! Do you realize it? I love you!"

She breathed one word, the most perfect pledge a man could hope for.

"Egotist!"