“What’s up now? Tell me, won’t you? I’m tired of rolling over and playing dead. I am. Besides, what can I do with that girl for three hours?”
“Oh, I don’t care,” said Patricia. “Tell her stories—romantic ones. She likes those. Anything—make love to her if you like.”
“So DeLaunay can make love to you,” peevishly. “I see. I’m not going to stand for it. I’m not any too keen on that fellow as it is. He’s neglecting Aurora shamefully——”
“It is careless of him, isn’t it?” she said, tilting her head back to get another angle on her head-dress.
Crabb took a step nearer, brandishing his safety razor in righteous indignation.
“It’s a shame, I tell you. You don’t seem to have any conscience or any sense of proportion. You’d flirt with a cigar-Indian if there wasn’t anything else around. Why can’t you leave these young people alone? Do you think I like the idea of your spending the evening here snug and warm with that Frenchman while I’m shuttling around with that silly girl in the dark?”
“Mortimer, you’re ungallant! What has poor Aurora ever done to you?” She turned in her chair, looked at him, and then burst into laughter. He watched her with a puzzled frown. He never knew exactly how to take Patricia when she laughed at him.
“If you only knew how funny you look, Mort, dear. There’s a smudge of soap on the end of your nose and you look like a charlotte russe.” She rose slowly, put her fingers on his arm, and looked up into his eyes with a very winning expression.
“Don’t be silly, dear,” she said, softly. “You know you said you weren’t going to doubt me again—ever. I know what I’m about. I have a duty, a sacred duty to perform and you’re going to take your share of it.”
“A duty?”