Out of the Primitive Part 55

"Then don't ask me to throw it at you. It might hurt your soft head."

"Dolores!" he warned her.

"Yes," she went on, pretending to misunderstand him. "Wouldn't it be awful?--a chunk of petrified wood plunking into a can of woodpulp!"

"I wish you to remember, Miss Gantry--" he began,

"Don't fret," she impatiently interrupted. "I'll not forget 'Miss Gantry,' and I wish you wouldn't so often. 'Dodie,' 'Dodie,' 'Dodie,'

all the evening. It's monotonous."

"Indeed. Am I to infer, Miss Gantry, that you are foolish enough to play fast and loose with me?"

"You're so fast, how could I loose you?" she punned.

He muttered a French oath.

"Naughty! Naughty!" she mocked. "Swearing in French, when you know I don't speak it! Why not say, 'd.a.m.n it' right out? That would sound better."

"See here, Dodie," he warned. "I've stood enough of this. You know you're just dying to say 'yes.' But let me tell you, if you permit this chance to slip by--"

"Oh, run along, do!" she exclaimed. "I want to think, and it's impossible with you around."

"Think?" he retorted. "I know better. What you want is a chance to coquet with him."

He looked about at Blake, with a wry twist in his lower lip.

"One enjoys conversing with a man once in a while," she replied, and she turned from him a glance of supreme contempt and loathing that pierced the thickness of his conceit. Disconcerted and confused, he beat a flurried retreat, jerking shut the door with a violent slam.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE SHORTEST WAY

The noise of the door jarred Blake from his lethargy. He groaned and sluggishly raised his head. His face was bloodless and haggard, his bloodshot eyes were dull and bleared. He had the look of a man at the close of a drunken debauch.

Dolores hastened to him, exclaiming, "Mr. Blake, you are ill! I shall phone for a doctor!"

"No," he mumbled apologetically. "Don't bother yourself, Miss Dolores.

It's not a doctor I need. I'm only--"

"You _are_ ill! I'll call Genevieve." She started toward the door.

"Don't!" he cried. "Not her--for G.o.d's sake, not her!" He rose to his feet heavily but steadily. "I'm going--away."

"Going away? Where?" asked Dolores, puzzled and concerned.

"Alaska--Panama--anywhere! You're the right sort, Miss Dolores. You'll explain to her why I had to go without stopping to say good-bye."

"Of course, Mr. Blake--anything I can do. But why are you leaving?"

"Your mother--she told me."

"Told you what? I do believe you're dreaming."

Blake quivered. "Wish it _was_ a nightmare!" he groaned. He steadied himself with an effort. "No use, though. She told me the truth about--your cousin. Said her feeling for me is only grat.i.tude."

"What! Vievie's?--only grat.i.tude? Don't you believe it! Mamma is rooting for Jeems. She may believe it; she probably does. She _wants_ to believe it. She wants a countess in the family."

"She couldn't do better in that line, nor in any other," replied Blake with loyal friends.h.i.+p. "Jimmy is all right; he's the real thing."

"Yes, twenty-four carats fine!"

"Don't joke, Miss Dolores. I know you don't like him, but it's true, just the same. I knocked around a whole lot with Jimmy, in all sorts of places. I give it to you straight,--he's square, he's white, and he's what all kinds of people would call a gentleman."

"But as for being a man?" she scoffed.

Blake's dull eyes brightened with a fond glow.

"Man?" he repeated. "D' you think I'd fool around with one of these swell dudes? No; Jimmy is the real thing, and he's a thoroughbred."

"Such a cute little mustache!" mocked the girl.

"It's one of the few things I couldn't cure him of---that and his monocle." Forgetful of self, Blake smiled at her regretfully and shook his head. "It's too bad, Miss Dolores. No use talking when it's too late; but couldn't you have liked him enough to forget the English part? You and he would sure have made a team."

"Yes, isn't it too bad? A coronet would fit my head just as well as Vievie's. But mamma is so silly. She never thought of that."

Blake stared in surprise. "You don't mean--?"

"Mamma has been so busy saving Vievie from you, she's not had time to consider me."

"Say," exclaimed Blake, "I've half a notion you do like him. That would account for the way you keep at him with your nagging and teasing."

"You don't say!"

"Yes. That's the way one of my sisters used to treat me."

"How smart you are!" cried the girl, and she faced away from him petulantly, that he might not see her flaming cheeks. "Oh, yes, of course I like him! I'm head over heels in love with him! How could I help but be?"

"Some day you'll know such things aren't joking matters," he gravely reproved her.

She turned to him, unable longer to sustain her pretence. Her voice quavered and broke: "But it's--it's true! I do!"

She bent over with her face in her hands, and her slender form shook with silent sobs. He came quickly around to her, his eyes soft with commiseration. "You poor little girl! So you lose out, too!"

She looked up at him with her tearful dark eyes, and clutched eagerly at the lapel of his coat.