Finally Mr. Dalken found his powers of speech. “What under the sun are you driving at, you little vixen!”
Elizabeth tossed her head and laughed a harsh, cold laugh. “How innocent we are, eh, Dad? To hear you now, and to see you with Mrs. Courtney when others are about one would say you two were not enjoying the tête-à-têtes she so wisely plans for you. But how can one expect anything otherwise? You left mother in order to live your life of selfish pleasure, and this woman turned her back on her husband and her own country, because she could no longer appear in decent society in London, and now it seems quite natural for you two to find mutual consolation in the companionship of each other. Poor Mamma!”
As Elizabeth spoke, Mr. Dalken got upon his feet and stood with head held high. The moment she had concluded, she glanced spitefully up at him, but his expression cowed her for a moment. When he found his voice he said coldly, but with dire meaning for the girl:
“You will see to it that your luggage is ready to leave this yacht in the morning. You may return to New York to your ‘poor mamma’ as soon as possible, and tell her that no further allowances are to be expected from me, and henceforth no machinations from her will be allowed to be tried on me. I shall call upon the law to defend me from future attacks, both personally and in every other way. I will bid you good-morning, Elizabeth, and I will look for you directly after breakfast.” With that Mr. Dalken left the girl alone.
“Well, thank heavens, he is gone!” grumbled Elizabeth to herself, as the door closed upon her father’s heels. Then she calmly removed her lovely gown and threw it upon the floor and suddenly stamped upon it. Such a squall of temper in one who, a moment before had seemed calm, was surprising.
“The nasty wasp! How I hate her sweet smile and honeyed words. As if she could fool me with her acting! Why, not a woman I know pretends to be so gracious and altogether wonderful as that horrid Courtney!” But Elizabeth failed to take into consideration that, when one lived in earnest, no acting could seem as real as the genuine thing.
“Well, I shall be well rid of this Sunday-school group!” continued the girl, as she sat down and pulled off her satin slippers and beautiful, embroidered, silk stockings. “Once I get my things off the yacht and am located in one of the nice suites at the Hotel, I shall lay my plans for the conquest of James Stickney. Oh, won’t mother squeal with joy when she hears of my conquest! To be Mrs. Stickney and spend his money will be worth all the dreadful days I have had to waste on board this boat!”
Thus, as she disrobed and prepared for bed, Elizabeth smiled even while she planned her social campaign at Palm Beach during the time which would elapse until she heard from her mother.
But Elizabeth never dreamed of the actual plan she would be compelled to accept on the morrow. She had no idea that her father meant exactly what he had said when he threatened never to contribute more to her ease-loving support and the monthly bills which seemed beyond all reason to him. Hitherto he had paid all accounts without a protest.
Had she dreamed that she was to be packed off for New York under the chaperonage of Anne Brewster and her husband, with no opportunity to send word to her friends at Palm Beach, and without a dollar in her pocket with which to wire her mother of her ignominious treatment—such it was in her estimation—she might have tried to escape that very night.