But this was cold comfort for the captain.
“You keep me so upset, Vera,” he said after a moment’s painful reflection. “I never know what you’ll do next.”
She laughed a little.
“But there’s one thing I must say,” he added, “and you must remember it, too: don’t you ever write anything about me, because that’s something I won’t stand for. Promise me that.”
Lady Verita did not promise. She kissed him instead, and he did not notice the alteration in the program.
IT was only a moon or two later that my lady’s last tale appeared in print. It was called “If I were only a Duke.” Captain Adair was the hero, and society, on noting the latter fact, was shaken to its very center. The captain was in Malta with a special commission of inquiry into the chance of a night attack from Germany; but he had a sister in London, who mailed him a copy the day that it appeared.
The framework of the story was remarkable.
“Of course they’re engaged,” people said everywhere; “they must be.”
“We know that it’s true about his being poor,” said the cabinet minister’s wife to her cousin; “she didn’t need to tell that.”
“And that his uncle’s a beast,” rejoined the cousin.