Myra Nell nodded vigorously. "With my hat-pin. I didn't mean to hurt him, but—oh my! He isn't nearly so old as we think. I suppose the surprise did it. Anyhow, he became a raging demon in a second, and when they picked me up I had a sprained ankle and the piano cover was a sight."
"I suppose Babylon ran away?"
"No, he was standing there, with one foot right through Bernie's high hat. That was the terrible part of it all—I had to pretend I was nearly killed, just to take Bernie's mind off the hat. I stayed in bed for the longest time—I was afraid to get up—and he got Vittoria Fabrizi to wait on me. So that's how I met her. You can't linger along with your life in a person's hands for weeks at a time without getting attached to her. I was sorry for Babylon, so I had Chloe put a poultice on his back where I jabbed him. Now I'd like to know if that isn't Bernie's fault. He should have allowed me to ride and then I wouldn't have wanted to. Poor boy! he was the one to suffer after all. He'd planned to take a trip somewhere, but of course he couldn't do that and pay for a trained nurse, too."
Myra Nell's allusion to her brother's financial condition reminded Blake of the subject which had been uppermost in his mind all evening, and he decided to broach it now. Subsequent to his last talk with Dreux he had thought a good deal about that proffered loan and had come to regard Bernie's refusal as unwarranted. To be Queen of the Carnival was an honor given to but few young women, and one that would probably never come to Miss Warren again, so even at the risk of offending her half-brother he had decided to lay the matter before Myra Nell herself. She ought at least to have in later years the consoling thought that she had once refused the royal scepter. He hoped, however, that her persuasion added to his own would bring Dreux to a change of heart.
"If you'll promise to make no scene, refrain from hysterics, and all that," he began, warningly, "I'll tell you some good news."
"How silly! I'm an iceberg! I never get excited!" she declared.
"Well then, how would you like to be Queen of the next Mardi Gras?"
Myra Nell gasped faintly in the darkness, and sat bolt-upright.
"You—you're joking."
"That's no answer."