CHAPTER XVII
JUST MONTE
Monte was at the Hôtel d'Angleterre at nine. In response to his card he received a brief note.
Dear Monte [he read]: Please don't ask to see me this morning. I'm so mixed up I'm afraid I won't be at all good company.
Yours, MARJORY.
Monte sent back this note in reply:—
Dear Marjory: If you're mixed up, I'm just the one you ought to see. You've been thinking again.
MONTE.
She came into the office looking like a hunted thing; but he stepped forward to meet her with a boyish good humor that reassured her in an instant. The firm grip of his hand alone was enough to steady her. Her tired eyes smiled gratitude.
"I never expected to be married and deserted—all in one week," he said lightly. "What's the trouble?"
He felt like a comedian trying to be funny with the heart gone out of him. But he knew she expected no less. He must remain just Monte or he would only frighten her the more. No matter if his heart pounded until he could not catch his breath, he must play the care-free chump of a compagnon de voyage. That was all she had married—all she wanted. She glanced at his arm in its black sling.
"Who tied that this morning?" she asked.