The Maker of Opportunities Part 22

"At least," Aurora amended, "not in the modern sense. But it wouldn't matter to Louis or to me if we--really had to work for our living. I'm so anxious to be of some use in the world. Oh, we've planned that already, haven't we, Louis?"

"Yes," said DeLaunay, crisply, with a glance of defiance in his eye for Patricia. "We have planned that."

Patricia's lips twisted, but she said nothing.

"I sometimes think, Patty," went on Aurora, "that you're a little unsympathetic. Won't you really like to see us married?"

Patricia laughed. "Oh, yes--but not to each other."

"Why not?"

"You're too much in love, dear, for one thing. _C'est si bourgeois--n'est-ce-pas, Baron?_ Things are arranged better in France?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Your customs in America are very pleasant ones," he replied, imperturbably. "I am indeed fortunate to find myself so much in accord with them."

Aurora gave him a rapturous glance for reward, and he took her fingers in his in calm defiance of his pretty hostess.

Patricia put down her finished tea-cup with a laugh and rose.

"Then I can't dismay you--either of you?"

Aurora smiled scornfully.

"Not in the least--can she, Louis?"

"Not in the least," he repeated.

"Oh, very well, your blood upon your own heads."

"Or in our hearts, Madame," corrected DeLaunay, with a bow.

"Come, Aurora," smiled Patricia, "it's time to dress."

Patricia spent some time and some thought upon her toilet. Deep sea-green was her color, for it matched her eyes, which to-night were unfathomable. In the midst of her dainty occupation she turned her head over her shoulder and called her husband. Mortimer Crabb appeared in the door of his dressing-room which adjoined, one side of his face shaved, the other white with lather.

"What is it?" he mumbled.

Patricia contemplated the back of her head at the dressing-table by the aid of a hand mirror, removed the hairpins one by one from her mouth and deliberately placed them before she replied.

"Mort," she said, slowly, "I want you to take Aurora out for a ride in the motor----"

"To-night! Oh, I say, Patty----"

"To-night," she said, firmly. "I'll arrange it. It will be dark and you're going to lose your way----"

"How do you know I am?"

"Because I tell you so, stupid! You've _got_ to lose your way--for three hours."

He looked at her shrewdly.

"What's up now? Tell me, won't you? I'm tired of rolling over and playing dead. I am. Besides, what can I do with that girl for three hours?"

"Oh, I don't care," said Patricia. "Tell her stories--romantic ones.

She likes those. Anything--make love to her if you like."

"So DeLaunay can make love to _you_," peevishly. "I see. I'm not going to stand for it. I'm not any too keen on that fellow as it is. He's neglecting Aurora shamefully----"

"It _is_ careless of him, isn't it?" she said, tilting her head back to get another angle on her head-dress.

Crabb took a step nearer, brandishing his safety razor in righteous indignation.

"It's a shame, I tell you. You don't seem to have any conscience or any sense of proportion. You'd flirt with a cigar-Indian if there wasn't anything else around. Why can't you leave these young people alone? Do you think I like the idea of your spending the evening here snug and warm with that Frenchman while I'm shuttling around with that silly girl in the dark?"

"Mortimer, you're ungallant! What has poor Aurora ever done to you?" She turned in her chair, looked at him, and then burst into laughter. He watched her with a puzzled frown. He never knew exactly how to take Patricia when she laughed at him.

"If you only knew how funny you look, Mort, dear. There's a smudge of soap on the end of your nose and you look like a charlotte russe." She rose slowly, put her fingers on his arm, and looked up into his eyes with a very winning expression.

"Don't be silly, dear," she said, softly. "You know you said you weren't going to doubt me again--ever. I know what I'm about. I have a duty, a sacred duty to perform and you're going to take your share of it."

"A duty?"

She nodded. "You're not to know until it's all over. You mustn't question, you're to be good and do exactly what I tell you to do. Won't you, Mort? There, I knew you would. It's such a little thing to do."

She leaned as close to him as she could without getting soap on her face.

"I'll tell you a secret if you'll promise to be nice. I don't like the man--really I don't--not at all."

He looked in her eyes and believed her. "You always get your way in the end, don't you?" he said, after a pause.

"Of course I do. What would be the _use_ of a way, if one didn't _have_ it?"

That seemed unanswerable logic, so Crabb grinned.

"You're a queer one, Patty," which, as Patricia knew, meant that she was the most extraordinary and wonderful of persons. So she smiled at the back of his head as he went out because she agreed with him.

CHAPTER XVIII

Patricia's dinner drew to its delectable close, and coffee had already been served when the butler went to the front door and brought back a telegram on a silver tray.

Patricia picked it up and turned it over daintily.