“No. Got it. Too much. Without it he might make a real actor. He’s the best amateur in New York to-day. But—an amateur.”
“What does he do?”
“Dabbles in artistic things. And plays at being everybody’s little sunbeam. Never mind Jack. It’s the imaginary Sir Montrose Veyze that we’ve got to figure on.”
“Oh, do tell me what to do with him!” implored the too-inventive Darcy.
“Keep him. Prize him above rubies and diamonds. Nothing has given me a laugh like that for a year.”
“But if—”
“Let the future take care of its ifs. Who can tell what will turn up? Fate is kind to creative genius. And I’m going to assist Fate if I can. I’ll make you a bargain, Darcy, for half of your beautiful, inspiring, heaven-sent lie. You take me into equal partnership in it, and I’ll be your little personal Guide to Health and Beauty until we’ve made a job of you. But you’ve got to promise on honor to keep up the Veyze myth, if I’m to be partner and half owner in it, until I agree to drop it. Is it a bargain?”
The light of unholy, reckless adventure shot into Darcy’s pale eyes.
“It’s a bargain,” she agreed solemnly.