"To tell you the truth—I usually do tell the truth—to-day has been the exception that proves the rule,—I'm only able at present to look at it from mine."
"You realize that every hour makes the whole thing more impossible. It'll all be in the papers to-morrow."
"Isn't that exciting? I hope they'll be able to get an attractive photograph of you." Her heart was beating more and more quickly.
Franklin began to pull his short moustache. He hardly dared to trust to his choice of words. Yesterday he had told himself that this girl wanted the spurs. The thought came back to him as he sat racking his brain for some way out of the ghastly mess into which she had placed him. He saw that it was no earthly use to endeavor to talk sensibly to her and that she had made up her mind to hold him to the mad plan of escape into which she had dragged him. Very good. He would show her that sportsmen were also very human men.
He raised his finger to a footman who was crossing the hall. "Have my things taken at once from my room to Mrs. Franklin's," he said, and, as the man bowed and went, put his hand under the elbow of the girl—who had turned as white as the gardenia at her waist—and added: "Let's go and say good night, darling. It's time for bed."
Beatrix turned upon him and wrenched her arm away. "You don't know what you're saying," she said.
"Oh, yes, I do. You've had your way to-day, I'm going to have mine to-night. Two can play your game, you know, and I'm going to show you how completely I can play it when I choose."
He took her hand in a grip of iron and led her to where Mrs. Vanderdyke was standing with Aunt Honoria. He looked the loving husband to the life. "Good night," he said. "Bee and I are rather tired after an exciting day."
Mrs. Vanderdyke gave him her hand, with her best smile. "And to-morrow we begin rehearsing and shall all be very busy. Good night."
"You look quite tired, my darling," said Aunt Honoria tenderly.