“Why, frankly, I don’t wholly. It’s my own stupid little fault, of course. I’m not clever. She’s very charming; but she gets a little tiresome to me.”
“Does she?” said Dick ponderingly.
“It’s very hateful of me to say such things about your particular friend,” said Lena contritely. “Besides, I don’t mean—what do I mean? I never thought it out. But it’s so easy to tell you everything, Mr. Percival. And I think it’s rather nice for a girl to be more silly and inconsequential part of the time.” She laughed in a gurgling little fashion.
“I believe it is,” said Dick speculatively, as he looked at her. “But Madeline’s awfully jolly, you know. I’ve had more good times with her than with any other girl I know. No nonsense about her.”
“That’s it,—no nonsense,” said Lena, and this time her laugh was not so pleasant; and Dick glanced across at Madeline with a kind of resentment. “It isn’t like Madeline to go back on a fellow that way,” he said to himself. “Of course she’s had all kinds of advantages over this poor little thing; but it’s small of her not to forget them. I trusted her to make things sweet; and for the first time she has disappointed me.” He looked at Madeline with a distinct feeling of irritation as she rose from the piano. Mr. Lenox came and absorbed Lena, whom he was teaching to answer him saucily. Lena enjoyed this process, and it had inspired her to a really clever device, namely, to say vulgar little things in a whimsical way, as though she knew better all the time but wanted to be humorous. A good many other people have had the same brilliant idea, but it was none the less original to Lena, and it saved a lot of trouble and pretense. Norris and Miss Elton were hobnobbing and laughing at the other end of the room, and Dick followed them.
“Have you been out of town, Dick?” Madeline asked as he came up. “I tried to get you over the telephone a day or two ago, and they told me you were away.”
“Yes.” He laughed exultantly as he sat down. “I ran down to the penitentiary at Easton, just to make sure that I wasn’t mistaken in a fact or two.”
“What now?” asked Norris.
“I’ve been told that Barry—the lord of St. Etienne, Madeline—is at last tired of his humble but powerful place, and intends to show himself the master that he really is by running himself for our next mayor. Now even this docile city would hardly exalt a man whom it knew to be a criminal with a record of two years in the pen,—under another name, of course.”
“Is it possible that Barry—”