"Coward, indeed! His bravery is unbelievable. Does he not risk his life for this miserable Committee of yours? He has the courage of a thousand lions."
"I admire your loyalty—and of course it's really not my affair, although—Why don't you go out to the park where the birds are singing, and talk it all over? Those birds are always glad to welcome lovers. Meanwhile I'll look into the Poggi matter."
Bernie was glad enough to end the scene, and he arose with alacrity; but his face was very red and he avoided the eye of his friend. As for Miss Delord, now that her doubts were quelled, she was as sparkling and as cheerful as an April morning.
If Bernie Dreux supposed that his troubles for the day had ended with that stormy scene in the cafe, he was greatly mistaken. He had promised Felicite that he would fly to her with the coming of dusk, and that neither the claims of duty nor of family should keep him from her side. But that evening Myra Nell seized upon him as he was cautiously tiptoeing past her door on his way out. The tone of her greeting gave him an unpleasant start.
"I want to talk with you, young man," she said.
Now nobody, save Myra Nell, ever assumed the poetic license of calling
Bernie "young man," and even she did so only upon momentous occasions.
A quick glance at her face confirmed his premonition of an
uncomfortable half-hour.
"I haven't a cent, really," he said, desperately.
"This isn't about money." She was very grave. "It is something far more serious."
"Then what can it be?" he inquired, in a tone of mild surprise.
But she deigned no explanation until she had led him into the library, waved him imperiously to a seat upon the hair-cloth sofa, and composed herself on a chair facing him. Reflecting that he was already late for his appointment, he wriggled uncomfortably under her gaze.