But Lanyard was one who had learned how to laugh without losing sight of
graver matters; the surface of his mood alone chimed with Folly's
delight in the confusion he had meted out to Morphew, his thoughts were
all a-ferment with perception of the worth of every instant lost to his
first duty, which was straightway to put himself beyond the range of
Morphew's exacerbated spite.
Yet he was hardly so engrossed with the more serious as to be blind to
his closer peril, the glow that warmed Folly's countenance for him
beneath the bright ripples of her glee; and in its unmistakable kindness
read but one more reason why he must let nothing stand in the way of his
prompt going.
The thought took him quickly to the table; he was lifting a hand to the
switch of the lamp when Folly caught his arm, her two hands staying him
with a gesture as gentle and importunate as the clasp of tendrils.
"You're wonderful!" she declared in a breath, looking up with eyes from
which mirth had been swift to ebb--"marvellous, the way you managed him,
twisted him round your little finger, made him own up to everything! And
I'd always considered Morphy a sort of superman, so wise and calm and
strong."
"Never reproach yourself with that," Lanyard replied with a twinkle. "I
too was taken in, till he made it worth my while to call his bluff. But
we mustn't forget all men are much alike: only so long as he fails to
find a way to call mine will Morphew respect me. My one hope is to keep
him at a distance--how do you say, over here?--to keep him guessing."
But the young woman wasn't so cheaply to be cheated out of her new-found
luxury of hero-worship, the bright head dissented vigorously. "Why,
Morphy hasn't a chance! you're equal to a dozen of him any day--and as
many more Mallisons and Peter Pagans thrown in for good measure. Don't I
know? Haven't you proved it here tonight?"
"The night is still young," Lanyard gravely reminded her. "It may tell
another tale, if Morphew's crew can contrive to lay hands on me before
morning."
"After he'd threatened you in front of me? Nonsense: he simply wouldn't
dare--just as you told him."
"My bluff. Not that I mean to give him any opportunity to prove it such.
But I shall need to move quickly, none the less . . ."
The hint he gave of a desire to be free of her hands got little
encouragement, indeed their hold tightened while she mocked his
professions with looks of disturbing admiration and derisive lips:
"_You're_ not afraid!"
"But I assure you I am profoundly afraid. I don't say Morphew would be
flattered, but I fancy he'd feel far less a fool if he knew how
thoroughly I am afraid of him. For we may be sure of one thing: in the
event of my becoming an early victim of some curious accident, Morphew's
hand will never show. He's not the thundering scoundrel I thought him,
but he's far too clever notwithstanding to order a misfortune for me
that could possibly be traced to his management. So you see--with
permission--I really must be going."
"But where, to be safe--?"
Lanyard's expression took on another shade of patience. "Time enough to
think about that after I've called at my rooms to collect some
belongings."
"But"--Folly held fast to his arm, with a little frown of solicitude to
excuse her persistence--"if you feel so sure Morphew means mischief--"
"Do you need more proof than you've had tonight?"
"Then surely he'll have set somebody to watch the house already--"
"The front of it, yes. Precisely why I'm anxious to get away before he
can set spies to guard the rear. If you have no objection, I shall leave
by these windows after putting out the lamp."
"But why?" Folly adorably pouted. "You're safe enough here."
"Madame will forgive if I make so bold as to question that." She let
fall her lovely lashes to deny Lanyard's meaning smile, but still held
on. "And every minute I linger makes the danger outside more real."
"Then . . . don't leave at all . . ."
"Madame is generous to a fault. She forgets the world is never
broad-minded. There are the servants to be considered, the
neighbours--"
"A lot I care what people think, it's you I'm thinking of!"
Suffused with facile sentiment, the face at Lanyard's shoulder was that
of an exquisite and ingenuous child, vibrant with glad recognition of a
world whose wonder and beauty had till that moment been all unsuspected.
And the worst of it was, she knew it . . . No: the real worst of it was
that it wasn't art, it wasn't put on, she wasn't coquetting, actually
she was stirred to the depths of her being and meant with all of her
every lovely nuance of her looks. Even Lanyard knew an instant when
nothing in life seemed more desirous than those lambent eyes and the
yielding mouth whose lips trembled with her hastened breathing. . . .
But an instant only; in another he got himself in hand again and steeled
his heart to cruel kindness. It went against nature to hurt her; but the
hurt would not bite deep, its tonic pang would leave no scar. Not for
the first time did life now give him proof of the readiness of a nature
emotionally shallow and impressionable to succumb to the glamour of his
ill-fame as a romantic rogue.
"Madame," said he with genuine reluctance, "would be so much wiser to
think first of herself always."
She argued with a rebellious face: "But I can't help it--can I?--if it's
you I must think of first."
"Nor can I help it," he gently said, "if I must always think first of
another."
Folly caught her breath with a sharp little hiss, released Lanyard's arm
and stood away, colouring but--strangely enough--not in anger.
"Oh!" she cried; and added with a half-smile of whimsical
self-reproach--"I'd forgotten. So it's true, what Liane told me." She
accepted a slow inclination of Lanyard's head, gave a small wistful
sigh. "I suppose she must be very beautiful. . . . Won't you tell me
what she is like?"
"Some day, perhaps," Lanyard vaguely agreed . . . "If you let me live to
see another."
"I!"
"There's practically no danger if I may be permitted to say good night
without more delay."
"I presume you must . . ." Folly wagged her head, with a smile that
broke in ruefulness but radiated in unaffected amusement at her own
expense. "What a silly you must think me, a sentimental little ninny!
No: don't deny it, because you're quite right. So that's that--and what
must be, must. Many thanks for my emeralds, Monsieur the Lone Wolf,
and"--she dropped him a mischievous courtesy--"more for my lesson. And
so--good bye!"
He waited with intention till, in a gesture of charming petulance, a
hand fluttered into his.
"Good night, my dear," Folly tenderly murmured as he bent his lips to
her hand--"good bye!"
Straightening up, Lanyard turned off the light.