And after himself training her to be a roughneck too?
Now he would seek to discourage her thrilling tour de hopoff into the Sahara!
Without knowing her very good reason for wanting to do it!
Pretending concern in her, had he not really joined the camp of her enemies and detractors, the volte face thing!
Of course, if the Ole Walrus knew! If she were to confide the ultimate purpose of her crystal soul and stalactitic heart to him, spill the beans of what was on her mind—it would be different. He’d cling to her very stirrup and hop along clamoring for his piece of the pickings.
But she could see he was passé, declassé, a prune pit in every way.
The perfumed gold mines of Newport and Palm Beach were his best berry-picking grounds.
To take him with her—impossible! It would not only confuse the issue but crab the act. Absolutely. She knew that in the romantic but in conclusion pre-eminently profitable rumble she had in mind, Lord Tawdry could only prove a hang-nail, that is to say a detriment to the scheme.
She saw him readjust his monocle twelve times and yawn six and knew he was going to say something. Not much—he never did. But——