“I understand perfectly—perfectly,” said Beatrice. “He’s compelling each of us to marry the other. I want to marry another man. You want to marry Allie. But——”
“I don’t want to marry Allie!” he protested with the energy of terror. “I said nothing to you about her. Anyhow, I regard her as an underhanded, designing fraud. She told me about you and Wade. Yes, she was the one that did it.”
“Well, why not?” cried Beatrice. “I’ve no objection. She knows I want to get out of marrying you.”
Peter’s eyes glistened with hope. “You gave her leave to tell? You asked her to tell?”
“Practically. What of it?”
“I am glad to hear that!” cried he with a gusty breath of relief. “I was beginning to think women were all alike—that there wasn’t any such thing as sentiment in them.”
Beatrice’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes, Hanky, and she practically had my permission to make love to you. I’m sure she’s just dying to marry you. Now, you’ll release me, won’t you?”
Peter lit a cigarette and inspected the horizon as if hoping to sight something in the way of aid. “I can’t do it, Beatrice,” he finally said, deeply apologetic. “If I could tell you what a ghastly fix I’m in, I assure you you’d not blame me.”
“I don’t blame you,” said she. “It’s just as well for me to do it alone.”
“You’re going to release me?” cried he eagerly.