Part 17 (1/2)

I groaned under my breath. In imagination I could see Mr. Parker bartering with some shady individual for Lady Enterdean's cameo brooch! I reverted to our previous subject of conversation.

”Eve,” I went on, ”I hate to seem tedious--but the question of our engagement still hangs fire.”

”You persistent person!” she sighed, ”Tell me, if I married you would all those people we met last night be nice to me?”

”Of course they would,” I a.s.sured her. ”They are only waiting for a word from you. I think they must have an idea already. I am not in the habit of giving dinner parties with a young lady as guest of honor.”

She was thoughtful for a few moments, and her eyes lit up with reminiscent humor.

”Dear me!” she murmured. ”If only they knew! They hadn't any suspicions, I suppose, about those--those little trifles?”

”None,” I replied. ”I put it all on to a waiter.”

”How clever of you! You really do seem to be a most capable person--and so masterful! I begin to fear that some day you'll have your own way.”

Her eyes laughed at me. There was something softly provocative in them--a new and kinder light. I bent over her and kissed her. She sat quite still.

”Mr. Walmsley!”

”It's usual among engaged couples,” I pleaded.

”Is it!” she remarked coldly. ”Doesn't the man, as a rule, wait to be quite sure he is engaged?”

”Not in this country,” I declared: ”I have heard that Americans are rather shy about that sort of thing. Englishmen----”

”Oh, bother Englishmen!” she exclaimed, stamping her foot. ”I don't believe a word I've ever heard about them. I suppose now I shall have to marry you!”

”I don't see any way out of it,” I agreed readily.

She held up her finger. The door was quietly opened. Mr. Parker entered.

He was followed by the most utterly objectionable and repulsive-looking person I have ever set eyes on in my life--a young man, thin, and of less than medium height, flas.h.i.+ly dressed in cheap clothes, with patent boots and brilliant necktie. His cheeks were sallow; and his eyes, deeply inset, were closer together than any I have ever seen.

”My dear,” Mr. Parker exclaimed, ”let me present Mr. Moss--my daughter, sir; Mr. Walmsley--also one of us. I have been privileged,” Mr. Parker continued, dropping his voice a little, ”to watch Mr. Moss at work this afternoon; and I can a.s.sure you that a more consummate artist I have never seen--in Wall Street, at a racetrack meeting, or anywhere else.”

Mr. Moss smiled deprecatingly and jerked his head sideways.

”The old un's pretty fly!” he remarked, as he laid his hat on the table.

”I am very glad to know Mr. Moss, of course,” Eve said; ”but I am not in the least in sympathy with the--er--branch of our industry he represents.

You know, daddy, it's much too dangerous and not a bit remunerative.”

”To a certain extent, my dear,” her father admitted, ”I am with you. Not all the way, though. One needs, of course, to discriminate. Personally I must admit that the nerve and actual genius required in finger manipulation have always attracted me.”

Mr. Moss paused, with his gla.s.s halfway to his lips. He jerked his head in the direction of Mr. Parker.

”He is one for the gab, ain't he?” he remarked confidentially to me.

For the life of me, at that moment I could not tell whether to leave the room in a fit of angry disgust or to accept the ludicrous side of the situation and laugh. Fortunately for me, perhaps, I caught Eve's eye, in which there was more than the suspicion of a twinkle. I chose, therefore, the latter alternative. Mr. Moss watched us for a moment curiously.

”What might your line be, guvnor?” he asked as he set down his gla.s.s.