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Updated: May 8, 2025
Most of us are content to exist and breed and fight for the right to do both, and the dominant idea, the foredoomed attest to control one's destiny, is reserved for the fortunate or unfortunate few. To me the interesting thing about Ardita is the courage that will tarnish with her beauty and youth.
With a little sigh as for a crisis well passed, the young man sank into the settee Ardita had lately vacated and stretched his arms lazily. The corners of his mouth relaxed appreciatively as he looked round at the rich striped awning, the polished brass, and the luxurious fittings of the deck. His eye felt on the book, and then on the exhausted lemon.
A pause ensued, a pause which Carlyle found rather awkward, but which Ardita seemed not to notice at all as she sat contentedly enjoying her cigarette and gazing out at the shining sea. After a minute she crawled out on the rock and lay with her face over the edge looking down. Carlyle, watching her, reflected how it seemed impossible for her to assume an ungraceful attitude.
"You see," said Carlyle softly, "this is the beauty I want. Beauty has got to be astonishing, astounding it's got to burst in on you like a dream, like the exquisite eyes of a girl." He turned to her, but she was silent. "You see, don't you, Anita I mean, Ardita?" Again she made no answer. She had been sound asleep for some time.
It was all a plant, Ardita. My name isn't Carlyle. It's Moreland, Toby Moreland. The story was invented, Ardita, invented out of thin Florida air." She stared at him, bewildered, amazement, disbelief, and anger flowing in quick waves across her face. The three men held their breaths. Moreland, Senior, took a step toward her; Mr.
I told him to drop her like a hot cake, and he did." "I feel rather jealous," said Carlyle, frowning and then he laughed. "I guess I'll just keep you along with us until we get to Callao. Then I'll lend you enough money to get back to the States. By that time you'll have had a chance to think that gentleman over a little more." "Don't talk to me like that!" fired up Ardita.
"You've grown unbearable! Your disposition " "You've made me that way! No child ever has a bad disposition unless it's her fancy's fault! Whatever I am, you did it." Muttering something under his breath her uncle turned and, walking forward called in a loud voice for the launch. Then he returned to the awning, where Ardita had again seated herself and resumed her attention to the lemon.
Ardita and Carlyle stood up, and half unconsciously started toward each other. Then he paused and putting his hand suddenly into his pocket he pulled out a round, glittering object and held it out to her. "What is it?" she asked wonderingly. "I'm not positive, but I think from the Russian inscription inside that it's your promised bracelet." "Where where on earth "
Her uncle saw her upper lip slowly swell into that arrogant pout he knew so well. "So," he repeated savagely. "So this is your idea of of romance. A runaway affair, with a high-seas pirate." Ardita glanced at him carelessly. "What an old fool you are!" she said quietly. "Is that the best you can say for yourself?" "No," she said as if considering. "No, there's something else.
If it hadn't been this one it'd have been the next one we passed anchored along the coast." "Who are you?" demanded Ardita suddenly. "And what are you?" "You've decided not to go ashore?" "I never even faintly considered it." "We're generally known," he said "all seven of us, as Curtis Carlyle and his Six Black Buddies late of the Winter Garden and the Midnight Frolic." "You're singers?"
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