“It is too funny for words to see you playing the trustful swain,” she said.
“One necessarily believes the best of one’s future wife.”
“So you still keep up that pretense? It was a good line in last night’s situation; but it becomes farcical when applied to light comedy.”
“I give you credit for sufficient wit to understand why I joined you here. We can avoid unpleasant explanations. I am prepared to bury the hatchet—on terms.”
“Terms?”
“Yes. You are a blackmailer, a somewhat dangerous one. You tempt me to revise the wisest of La Rochefoucauld’s maxims, and say that every woman is at heart a snake. You owe everything to me; yet you are not content. Without my help you would still be carrying a banner in the chorus. Unless I continue my patronage, that is what you must go back to. Don’t imagine that I am treating with you out of sentiment. For Helen’s sake, for her sake only, I offer a settlement.”
Millicent’s eyes narrowed a little; but she affected to admire the gleaming beads in a glass of champagne. “Pray continue,” she said. “Your views are interesting.”
There was some danger lest Bower should reverse his wonted procedure, and lose his own temper in this unequal duel. They both spoke in low tones. Anyone watching them would find the smiles of conventionality on their lips. To all outward seeming, they were indulging in a friendly gossip.
“Of course, you want money,” he said. “That is the be-all and end-all of your existence. Very well. Write a letter to Miss Wynton apologizing for your conduct, take yourself away from here at three o’clock, and from St. Moritz by the next train, and I not only withdraw my threat to bar you in the profession but shall hand you a check for a thousand pounds.”
Millicent pretended to consider his proposal. She shook her head. “Not nearly enough,” she said, with a sweetly deprecatory moue.