The negotiations between Monsieur Petard, the editor of _Chit-Chat_, and
the Bryces were neither so brief nor so simple as Mrs. Bryce had
supposed that they would be. She did not have to be told that, after the
notoriety of the Cartel incident, the name of Isabelle Bryce was one for
editors to conjure with. This wily editor, who made his living by
scandal, obligingly outlined the advertising campaign he would follow,
to lead up to the publication of the letters.
Anxious as Mrs. Bryce was to have the scandal suppressed, she was
unwilling that Wally should pay the price which these rascals demanded.
So lengthy and irritating meetings followed--discussion and bargaining.
Wally insisted upon paying anything they asked, and putting a period to
the affair. But Mrs. Bryce was upheld by Clifford, in the idea that they
would beat them down to a much lower figure, if they persisted.
During this period Max was so furious at both Isabelle and Miss Watts
that it seemed wise for them to keep out of her way. They were like two
conspirators slipping in and out of the house. But the most annoying
detail was the espionage of Jean Jacques Petard. They soon discovered
that he lay in wait for them, near the house, and on all occasions save
when he was closeted with Bryce _pere et mere_, he was at the heels of
Bryce _fille_.
He made Miss Watts so nervous that she could hardly be induced to go
out. Isabelle was all for having a talk with the man, and speaking her
mind, but Miss Watts prevented this. She repeatedly said that she must
tell Mr. Bryce of his behaviour, but Isabelle begged her not to do that
as it would only result in their being ordered to stay indoors. After
all, he did not speak to them, his presence could not hurt them. Let him
follow!
These were the most difficult days Isabelle had ever known. Usually,
before, she had rescued herself with a high hand, from her escapades.
But this thing had descended upon her head, like an avalanche, and for
once, she saw no way of extricating herself.
Then, too, she was so homesick for Bermuda that she could scarcely bear
the thought of it. The long, happy days, with Percy and Jack at heel,
and Captain Larry O'Leary somewhere on the horizon, they haunted her. It
was ten whole days since they left them, and not a word from any of
them. To come from that paradise into this prison--from that atmosphere
of devotion to this one of reproach--from that freedom--to this--tagged
by the horrid little Frenchman!
The strain was telling upon poor Miss Watts, too. She was thinner than
ever, and she looked haunted. Isabelle begged her to leave her, but she
always replied: "My dear, we will face this together."
But in her innermost heart Miss Watts lamented that Isabelle had not
tried harder to interest Captain O'Leary. He was the right man for her,
she knew it; and they certainly did need a man on their side. Wally
might be there in spirit, but Mrs. Bryce did not allow him to express
it.
The twelfth day since their return was a dark one for everybody. Max and
Wally had to meet the enemy at eleven, in the lawyer's office. The air
was electric with Mrs. Bryce's irritability. She left the two culprits
in a state of collapse.
"One more performance like that, and I shall marry Jean Jacques Petard,
and disappear," announced Isabelle, violently, as the door closed on
them.
"Isabelle, don't talk like that," begged Miss Watts.
"Let's go back to Bermuda; I hate it here!" said the girl, going to the
window. "We've got to get out of this hateful house. The spy will be
busy this morning, so we'd better make the best of it."
A motor drew up to the curb and a man got out, looking up at the
numbers.
"O my Lord!" cried Isabelle, as if it were a prayer. She ran out of the
room and down the hall, with Miss Watts, startled into action, hurrying
after her. Before the bell sounded, Isabelle had the door open. Captain
O'Leary looked, first surprised and then delighted.
"Cricket!" said he.
"Larry--Larry!" she cried.
He took both her hands and beamed on her--beamed. Then suddenly he was
aware of Miss Watts, and he surprised everybody, including himself, by
saluting that lady's cheek.
"Captain O'Leary!" she exclaimed, and kissed him back.
They all went into the living room, talking in chorus--asking questions,
answering them--incoherent and excited.
"Larry, when did you come?"
"Just landed. Where are your parents?"
"They're out. Oh, I'm in an awful lot of trouble with them."
"Why didn't ye tell me ye were leavin' down there?"
"I thought you knew. We left on a cable from Wally to hurry home. I told
everybody."
"I didn't know. What's this trouble ye speak of?"
"I oughtn't to begin the moment you come."
"Yes, ye ought. Let's hear."
Miss Watts gave a deep sigh of relief. Isabelle began the story of her
patriotism. Here and there Larry asked a question, and when the climax
was reached, he leaned back and roared. Isabelle's eyes suddenly misted
with tears.
"Oh, but Larry, it isn't funny, it's awful! He's trying to make Wally
pay a lot of money for my letters, and if Wally doesn't pay up, he is
going to sell them to a nasty society sheet called _Chit-Chat_."
His face was grave enough to suit her now.
"Where is the little whelp?"
"He's usually across the street looking at the house, or following me
around," she began.
"Ye mean to say he follows ye?"
"You may think I'm to blame, Captain O'Leary, for not telling Mr. Bryce
of this, but Isabelle thought it would mean that her parents would keep
her indoors. She is dreadfully in disgrace with her parents," Miss
Watts said.
"Poor little crickety-Cricket," he murmured.
"You don't blame me, do you, Larry? I know it was silly, but I just
wanted to be a patriot, and to practise my French."
"Sure I don't blame ye, ye blessed baby," he laughed.
She choked a little; it was so good to be championed.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bryce have gone for a conference with these men this
morning, and we all hope they may settle it," sighed Miss Watts.
"Where is this conference?"
"At Wally's lawyer's office," said Isabelle.
"Get your hat, Cricket; we'll go say a word or two at this conference."
She looked at him inquiringly, and went for her wraps without a word.
"Oh, Captain O'Leary, we have needed you so!" exclaimed Miss Watts.
"Woman, woman, why didn't ye cable me? As it is I took the first boat."
"I know you and Isabelle want to be alone, but I'm so in disgrace now,
with Mrs. Bryce, that I dare not let her go with you, unless I go."
He frowned, then smiled.
"Of course, get your bonnet. Isabelle and I will have enough time later,
to catch up on our affairs."
So all three of them got into the Captain's taxi, and hurried to the
address which Isabelle gave the driver.
There was some little difficulty in Mr. Clifford's outer office, but
Captain O'Leary simplified it, by lifting the office boy out of the
way, bodily, opening the door and marching in, followed by the two
women.
Startled glances were lifted to this tall officer, stranger to them all,
who strode in, unannounced. The lawyer rose angrily.
"How did you get in?" he demanded.
"Walked. Present me to the Bryces, Miss Watts," he replied.
Miss Watts in a trembling voice said:
"Mrs. Bryce, this is Captain O'Leary, a friend of Isabelle's and mine
from Bermuda."
Mrs. Bryce stared--too astonished to speak. The tall, young man bowed.
"This is my father," said Isabelle. The two men shook hands.
"I object to this man's coming in here," began the editor of _Chit-Chat_.
Captain O'Leary fixed him with a stormy eye.
"We'll hear your objections later. I know all about this rotten deal. Is
this Jean Jacques Petard?"
"This is none of your business," began Clifford, but he never finished
it. With one long arm Captain O'Leary reached for Monsieur Petard,
lifted the gentleman by the seat of his trousers and his collar, bore
him toward the door. Isabelle opened it for him.
"Don't kill him," she said, as he went out.
Wally and Clifford rushed after him. Isabelle followed and Miss Watts
got as far as the door. Max and the editor sat still, but sounds came to
them from the outer hall.
It was about ten minutes later that O'Leary strode into the room again,
with heightened colour but otherwise undisturbed.
"We'll hear no more of Mr. Petard, I think. Now sir, it is your turn."
The editor defended himself with a chair.
"What business is this, of yours?" he yelled.
"Miss Bryce is going to do me the honour of marrying me, and you'll
jolly well see how much it is my business. Put down that chair, it is
words for you, not blows. Mr. Bryce, if the ladies will leave us, we can
settle shortly with this gentleman."
Max and Miss Watts lost no time in obeying the hint.
"Close the door, Isabelle, please," he said to her.
"Who is this man?" demanded Mrs. Bryce.
"Don't talk! If that creature hurts him," said Isabelle, her ear at the
door.
There were sounds of angry voices inside, loud argument. Then silence.
After what seemed a long time, Larry opened the door.
"Come in, now, please."
They filed in. The editor was huddled in his chair. He was pretty much
to pieces, nervously. Larry held up a package of letters.
"Mrs. Bryce, the letters are in my possession. May I keep them, for the
present, Isabelle?"
She nodded.
"This gentleman has just signed a paper, drawn up by Mr. Bryce and me,
signed by Mr. Clifford. This will be held by Mr. Clifford, in case of
need. That ends this conference, I believe," he said affably.
The editor left hastily. Mr. Clifford went into the outer office, and
Max turned to Isabelle.
"Why didn't you tell us you were going to marry this man?" she demanded.
Isabelle looked at Larry inquiringly, whereupon he took her hand and
drew it through his arm.
"Ye must forgive her, Mrs. Bryce, ye see she didn't know it. I've never
had a chance yet to ask her."
Max was used to shocks, but this morning had been too much for her. At
this astounding statement on the part of their god-like liberator, she
sat down suddenly, bereft of words, and stared at the two young people.
"Take me home, Wally," she said, "I can't stand any more!"