LITMIR.BIZ

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told you about the pipe?” she next asked.

      “No one. I just understood.”

      “It was Dick’s idea. You will find him full of whimsies. He liked to scare old ladies into fits by stepping off into the pool with their sons or grandsons and hiding away in here.”

      “Well?—going to stay there all night?” Bert’s voice came down the pipe.

      “It’s time to go back,” Paula suggested. “It’s not the coziest place in the world. Shall I go first?”

      “By all means—and I’ll be right behind.”

      “Somebody told you,” was Bert’s prompt accusal, when Graham rose to the surface of the pool and climbed out.

      “And you were the scoundrel who rapped stone under water,” Graham said. “It was a crooked game[56], a conspiracy, and a felony. It’s a case for the district attorney.”

      “But you won,” Ernestine cried.

      “I certainly did, and, therefore, I shall not prosecute you, nor any one of your crooked gang—if the bets are paid promptly. Let me see—you owe me a box of cigars—”

      “One cigar, sir!”

      “A box! A box!”

      9

      Dick had started a gambling game. It went on at a big table at the far end of the room, accompanied by much owing and borrowing of small sums.

      With nine players, the game was crowded, and Graham, with a profound sigh at the loss of his last bet—a nickel—announced that he was going to take a turn around the room to change his luck. He wanted to see Paula.

      At this point, Ernestine told Graham:

      “We’re all waiting for you. You and I are partners. Besides, Paula’s going to sleep. So say good night, and let her go.”

      Paula had left for bed at ten o’clock. Dick said good night to Graham and continued on with his pretty sister-in-law toward her quarters.

      “Just a tip, Ernestine,” he said at parting, his voice was serious to warn her.

      “What have I done?” she pouted laughingly.

      “Nothing … as of yet. But don’t get started. You’re only a kid yet—eighteen; and a nice, likable kid. Enough to make any man sit up and take notice. But Evan Graham is not any man—”

      “Oh, I can take care of myself,” she blurted out in a fling of quick resentment.

      “But listen to me. There comes a time for a girl when she mustn’t make a mistake and start in loving the wrong man. You haven’t fallen in love with Evan Graham yet, and all you have to do is just not to fall in love with him. He’s not for you, nor for any young girl. He’s an oldster, an ancient, and possibly has forgotten more about love, romantic love, and young things, than you’ll ever learn in a dozen lives. If he ever marries again—”

      “Again!” Ernestine broke in.

      “Why, he’s been a widower, my dear, for over fifteen years.”

      “Then what of it?” she demanded defiantly.

      “Just this,” Dick continued quietly. “The fact is that in fifteen years he has not married again. It means—”

      “That he’s never recovered from his loss?” Ernestine interpolated. “But that’s no proof—”

      “—Means all you have to do is look at him,” Dick held on steadily, “and realize that some very fine women, real wise women, mature women, have tested his endurance. But so far they’ve not succeeded in catching him. Think it over, dear.”

      He took one of her hands in his, and drew her against him.

      “You know, we hard-bitten[57] old fellows—” he began half-apologetically, half-humorously.

      But she made a restless movement of distaste, and cried out:

      “The young men are all youngsters, and that’s all. They’re full of life, and spirits, and dance, and song. But they’re not serious. They’re not big. They’re not—oh, they don’t give a girl that sense of proven strength, of, of … well, of manhood.”

      “I understand,” Dick murmured. “But please do not forget to glance at the other side. Life is something to be learned. But young girls like you, Ernestine, have you learned any of it yet?”

      “Tell me,” she asked abruptly, almost tragically, “about this wild young romance, about this young woman when he was young, fifteen years ago.”

      “Fifteen?” Dick replied promptly. “Eighteen. They had been married for three years before she died. In fact, they were actually married, by a Church, and living in wedlock, about the same moment that you were born.”

      “Yes, yes—go on,” she urged nervously. “What was she like?”

      “She was a resplendent, golden-brown Polynesian queen whose mother had been a queen before her, whose father was an Oxford man, an English gentleman, and a real scholar. Her name was Nomare. She was Queen of Huahoa. She was barbaric. He was young enough. There was nothing sordid in their marriage. He was no penniless adventurer. She brought him her island kingdom and forty thousand men. He brought to that island his fortune—and it was no inconsiderable fortune. He built a palace that no South Sea[58] island ever possessed before or will ever possess again. Heavens! They had their own royal yacht, their mountain house, their canoe house. I know. I have been at great feasts in it.

      When she died, no one knew where Graham was. Oh, what’s the use in telling any more. He was only a boy. She was half-English, half-Polynesian, and a really and truly queen. They were flowers of their races. They were a pair of wonderful children. They lived a fairy tale. And … well, Ernestine, the years have passed, and Evan Graham has passed from the realm of the youth. It will be a remarkable woman that will ever infatuate him now. Besides, he’s practically broke. Though he didn’t waste his money. As much misfortune, and more, than anything else.”

      “Paula is more his kind,” Ernestine said meditatively.

      “Yes, indeed,” Dick agreed. “Paula, or any woman as remarkable as Paula, will attract him a thousand times more than all the sweet, young, lovely things like you in the world. We oldsters have our standards, you know.”

      “And I’ll have to pay attention at the youngsters,” Ernestine sighed.

      “In the meantime, yes,” he chuckled. “Remembering, always, that you, too, in time, may grow into the remarkable, mature woman, who can catch a man like Evan.”

      “But I shall be married long before that,” she pouted.

      “Which is for the best, my dear. And, now, good night. And you are not angry with me?”

      She smiled pathetically and shook her head, put up her lips to be kissed.

      Dick Forrest, turning off lights as he went, penetrated the library, and smiled at recollection of the interview with his sister-in-law. He was confident that he had spoken in time. But a remark of Ernestine was echoing in his consciousness: “Paula is more his kind.”

      “Fool!” he laughed aloud, continuing on his way. “And married a dozen years!”

      10

      It was long after ten in the morning, when Graham wandered into the music room. Despite the fact that he was a several days’ guest in the Big House, so big was it that the music room was a new territory. It was an exquisite room where a warm golden light was diffused from a skylight of yellow glass.

      Graham was lazily contemplating some pictures, when of his eye, he saw his hostess. She came in from the far entrance. She was clad entirely in white, and looked very young

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