With professional ease the waiter faded from their knowledge; and the
woman dimpled bewitchingly, patting the broad seat of the fender.
"Come, sit by my side, Michael: let us talk."
"With all the pleasure in life," he assented, placing himself at a
discreeter distance than she had designated--"on one condition, my dear
Liane: none of your artfulness."
"Michael!" she reproached, delighted--"you don't trust me?"
"Really, you read one's mind."
"Don't be alarmed, my old one." She made a face to match her tone of
mocking reassurance. "I was mad about you once, I don't deny; but that
was long ago. Besides, you little know me if you think it likely I would
lay myself open to be scorned another time."
"I little know you," Lanyard conceded, "whatever I may think; and I've
got the quaintest notion, Liane, that the less I learn about you the
more likely I am to enjoy ordinary peace of mind. Be a good child, now;
treat me as you would a father, not as you might a prospective papa.
Tell me: what the deuce is your little game?"
"'Game'?" she repeated, petulant. "Michael, my dear! your manners aren't
as good as they were when your morals were worse."
"Admit that you didn't ask me up here to amuse yourself with innocent
flirtation."
"That is true."
"Admit, then, I am pardonably curious."
"Well! if you will have the truth . . . When I got over being foolish
about you, Michael . . . How long ago it seems!"
"A good half-year."
"I found I was still fond of you. When all's said about that sad affair,
you know, it was I who was rather a devil, and you who were rather a
dear. I owe you for more than one good turn I never did anything to
deserve."
"I wish I might think your associates in that adventure had come out of
it as well disposed."
"That absurd Monk, that clown Phinuit! Why bother your head about such
canaille?"
"And what has become of the precious pair?"
Plump but pretty shoulders described a gesture of indifference. "I know
nothing of them since that day when last you saw us all together. I was
out of patience with them then--as I think you guessed. When you
dismissed us, I sent them packing. And you?" Lanyard, smiling, shook his
head, and the woman cheerfully consigned reminiscences to the grave of
those dead yesterdays where they belonged. "Tell me now about yourself."
"What is there to tell?"
"Much, monsieur. You are a mystery."
"I am flattered . . ."
"That's all blague," the woman scoffed. "You know I'm interested in all
you do. I've just told you so, and why." She endured his quizzical
scrutiny with a frank and friendly countenance, more entertained than
irritated by his mistrust. "Surely, my dear! you've not been misbehaving
so badly you need hesitate to confide in me."
"But a little while ago you were telling me my life was dull."
"You don't find it so?"
"You might the tale of it. Tastes differ."
"One is to infer your conduct has been good?"
"Irreproachable--by certain standards."
"Mine?" Liane twinkled--"or yours?"
"Yours certainly, since I hesitate to bore you."
"But you are provoking! And not at all polite." Lanyard looked
apologetic and said nothing. "Very well, then! if you won't answer when
I ask you prettily, I presume I shall have to tell you all I know about
yourself."