"Not in so many words. But of course I understand. How could anybody
hold out against such magnanimity?"
"How indeed?"
"You weren't to blame for being so cruelly wrong about him . . . about
Mallison and Morphy's having had anything to do with my emeralds, I
mean. Everything looked so black for him . . . Even Morphy didn't blame
you; only, of course, he was half wild at the time, when you didn't give
him a chance to defend himself and prove that Mallison had abused his
confidence just as he had mine, only more so. But of course he's told
you all about that."
"I am none the less interested to learn what he told you."
"Just what I've said, what you know. He waited weeks before he tried to
see me again, and spent simple sloughs of money on detectives, trying to
find Mallison and bring him back to prove what an ingrate he'd been. Oh!
but I wasn't the only one of Morphy's friends that had suffered through
taking Mallison on his endorsement."
"I am sure you were not."
"And then, when he had to give that up as hopeless, he got Liane to ask
me to give him a chance to explain; and of course, I could hardly refuse
to listen. And he's been just wonderful to me ever since. Really, my
friend, you don't know what a fine nature he has. Why! he wouldn't let
Liane or Peter tell me a word about what he was doing for you, it was
only today I wormed the whole story out of him, after he had brought me
the good news."
"'Good news'?"
"About your recovery. And when I think of how he took care of you, all
those months, after that terrible motor accident, all the while you were
out of your head and the doctors held out no hope you would ever be
yourself again--when I think of the way he fought to save your mind--and
won!--well!" Folly submitted in a voice of awe--"there aren't any two
ways of looking at it: Morphy's a sportsman if there ever was one."
"He is," Lanyard cautiously conceded--"unique."
The young woman sat up with an indignant jerk. "Is there a double
meaning to that?" she demanded. "Because if there is--I ought to warn
you--you'll end by making me dislike you against my will. Oh! I know
Morphy has his shortcomings; but so have we all. And I can't believe you
so ungrateful . . ."
"But I would be the last man to deny that I owe Morphew a great deal,"
Lanyard was able to state with entire sincerity. "And some day--it is my
dearest hope some day to be able to repay him as he deserves."
"That's all right, then." Mollified, Folly relaxed. "I'm terribly
glad."
"Is it fair to ask why?"
"Because I want you to like him . . . for my sake, you know."
"Afraid I don't know."
"He hasn't told you?"
"I begin to be afraid to ask more questions."
A small gurgle of vanity bubbled out of the shadows. Then Folly thrust a
hand into the golden flood that fell through the windows beyond the
settee. Upon her third finger a great cabochon emerald shone with soft,
unwinking fire.
"It's the finest stone of its kind on this side of the Atlantic," its
wearer declared, "outside of my collection. That is, it was outside till
Morphy gave it to me."
"You mean--you can't mean you're going to be married--!"
"I don't see what else it can mean--do you?--when we're engaged."
"But are you really in love--?"
"Now really, Mr. Lanyard! do you think it's polite to be so bowled over
by the very idea that Morphy could have fallen in love with simple
little me?"
"But you--?"
"Well . . ." The suppliant accents of a child caught misbehaving
confessed: "you know I've always been crazy about emeralds."
Lanyard let a little space of silence be eloquent for him. When he spoke
again it was in another tone, rather a brusque one: "But why the devil
did you do that?"
"Oh, I don't know!" Folly sighed in plaintive resentment of such
bullying. "He kept asking me, and I didn't know what else to do . . .
You weren't there, and I was lonely, and it was raining . . ."