The next morning, at about the hour when Marlowe’s boat was dropping down the bay, Joan went into Emily’s room and awakened her. “I can’t wait any longer,” she said. “Did you know you were going abroad?”
“Yes,” said Emily, sleepily rubbing her eyes, “Marlowe was dining here last night, and he told me.”
“It’s very evident that Stilson likes and appreciates you,” continued Joan. “He selected you.”
Emily smiled faintly—she was remembering what Marlowe had said.
“I happened to be in Stilson’s office,” continued Joan, “when he was deciding. It seems the London man suddenly resigned and something had to be done at once. You know Stilson is acting Managing Editor. He asked me if you spoke French. He said: ‘I’m just sending for Marlowe to come down, as I wish him to go to London for us; and if Miss Bromfield can speak French, I’ll send her to Paris.’ I told him that you spoke it almost like a native. ‘That settles it,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell her to-morrow—but I don’t mind if you tell her first. You live together, don’t you?’ And you were asleep when I came last night, and I’m so disappointed that I’m not the first to tell you.”
Emily had sunk back into her pillow and was concealing her face from Joan. “I wish they’d sent you,” she said presently, in a strained voice.
“Oh, I couldn’t have gone. The fact is I’ve written a play and had it accepted. It’s to be produced at the Lyceum in six weeks.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” Emily could not uncover her face, could not put interest in her tone—she could think only of Marlowe, of his petty, futile, vainglorious lie to her. A few hours before—it seemed but a few minutes—they had been so happy together. She had fancied that the best was come again. Her nerves were still vibrating to his caresses. And now—this adder-like reminder of all his lies, deceptions, hypocrisies.
“I thought I’d surprise you,” replied Joan. “Besides, it’s not a very good play. And when you’re in Paris, you might watch the papers for the notices of the first night of ‘Love the Liar, by Harriette Stone’—that will be my play and I.”
“Love the Liar,” Emily repeated, and then Joan saw her shoulders shaking.