Part 46 (2/2)
”So? I glory in the fact that I loathe him.”
”Please sit down.”
”No!” Miss Delord plumped herself down upon the edge of the proffered seat, her toes bardy touching the floor.
”I'm--working Mrs. Poggi,” Bernie explained. ”I'm a--detective.”
”What new falsehood is this?”
”No falsehood at all,” Norvin told her. ”He is a detective--a very fine one, too--and he has been working on the Mafia case for a long time. It has been part of his work to follow the Poggis. Please don't allow your jealousy to ruin everything.”
”I am not jealous. I merely will not let him love another, that is all--But what is this you say?” Her velvet eyes had lost a little of their hardness; they were as round as b.u.t.tons and fixed inquiringly upon the speaker.
”You must believe me,” he said, impressively, ”though I can't tell you more. Even of this you mustn't breathe a word to any one. Mr. Dreux has had to permit this misunderstanding, much against his will, because of the secrecy imposed upon him.”
With wonderful quickness the anger died out of Felicite's face, to be replaced by a look of sweetness.
”A detective!” she cried, turning to Bernie. ”You work for the public good, at the risk of your life? And that dago woman is one of the Mafia? What a n.o.ble work! You forgive me?”
Instantly Mr. Dreux's embarra.s.sment left him and he a.s.sumed a chilling haughtiness.
”Forgive you? After such a scene? My dear girl, that's asking a good deal.”
Felicite's lips trembled, her eyes, as they turned to Norvin, held such an appeal that he hastened to rea.s.sure her.
”Of course he forgives you. He's delighted that you care enough to be jealous.”
Bernie grinned, whereupon his peppery sweetheart exploded angrily:
”You delight in my unhappiness, villain! You enjoy my sufferings! Very well! You have flirted; I shall flirt You drive me to distraction; I shall behave accordingly. That Antoine Giroux wors.h.i.+ps me and would buy a ring for me to-morrow if I would consent.”
”I'll murder him!” exclaimed Dreux, with more savagery than his friend believed was in him.
”Now, don't start all over again,” Blake cautioned them. ”You are mad about each other--”
”Nothing of the sort,” declared Felicite.
”At least Bernie wors.h.i.+ps you.”
The girl fell silent and beamed openly upon her lover.
”Why don't you two end this sort of misunderstanding and--marry?”
Miss Delord paled at this bold question. Dreux gasped and flushed dully, but seemed to find no words.
”That is impossible,” he said, finally.
”It's nothing of the sort,” urged Blake. ”You think you're happy this way, but you're not and never will be. You're letting the best years of your lives escape. Why care what people say if you're happy with each other and unhappy when apart?”
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