She thrust the newspaper into Darcy’s hand, pointing to a penciled paragraph on the front page. To Darcy’s eternal credit be it said, she succeeded in preserving a calm and unperturbed face, while she read the paragraph, and then passed it to her waiting fiancé.
It informed the world that, for distinguished service in the aerial corps, the King of England had, on the previous day, personally decorated Sir Montrose Veyze, Bart., of Veyze Holdings, Hampshire, England.
CHAPTER XVI
FOR the death, disappearance, or capture of Sir Montrose Veyze, of Veyze Holdings, Hampshire, England, Darcy was duly prepared, in a spirit of Christian fortitude and resignation. That fame might mark him’ out, thus forcing the issue for her, was wholly unforeseen. It took her completely aback. The Darcy of a year before would have collapsed miserably under it. But this was a different Darcy. She faced the accuser with a quiet smile, back of which her thoughts ran desperately around in circles, like a bevy of little rabbits cut off from cover.
“You’ve read what it says in the newspaper?” said Maud, in the accents of a cross-examining counsel.
“Yes. Oh, certainly!”
“Then perhaps you can explain.”
Darcy shot a swift glance at the bogus Sir Montrose. He also was smiling. Most illogically Darcy’s heart began to sing a little private Hymn of Hate of its own. What did he mean by standing there with a sickly grin on his silly face when the whole fabric of their mutual pretense was being riddled?
(Herein she was ungrateful as well as illogical. The face was silly because she had compelled him to make it so. As for the rest, the smile was good enough of its kind. He was not smiling because he felt like it, but to conceal the fact that he was doing some high-pressure thinking of his own.)
From the smirking countenance of her ally, Darcy turned to the lowering front of the enemy.