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Updated: June 10, 2025
He loved moments like this, when he could resort to the dramatic in perfect security. "I was the man in the chimney." The admiral gasped. Laura dropped her hands to the table. Cathewe sat back stiffly. Coldfield stared. Hildegarde shaded her face with the newspaper through which she had been idly glancing. "Patience!" as the admiral made as though to press back his chair. "Mr.
He ate his endive with pleasure and sipped the old yellow Pol Roger with his eyes beaming toward the gods. To be, after a fashion, the prompter behind the scenes; to be able to read the final line before the curtain! Butterflies and butterflies and pins and pins. Did Laura note any of the portentous glances, those exchanged between the singer and Cathewe and Breitmann? Perhaps.
"It is the motion of the boat," hazarded Cathewe, as he saw her lead the ace. "I often find myself losing count in waiting for the next roll." "Mr. Cathewe is very kind," she replied. "The truth is, however, I am simply stupid to-night." Breitmann continued to speak lowly to Laura. He was evidently amusing, for she smiled frequently. Nevertheless, she smiled as often upon Fitzgerald.
But neither externals nor conventions deterred Cathewe when he sought a thing. He rapped lightly on the door of the secretary's room. "Come in." Cathewe did so, gently closing the door behind him. Breitmann was in his shirt-sleeves. He rose from his chair and laid down his cigarette. A faint smile broke the thin line of his mouth.
"Yes, suppose," said Cathewe, taking up the broken thread; "suppose there was a person who had a heap of money, or will have some day; and suppose there's another person who has but little and may have less in days to come. Is that the supposition, Jack? The presumption of an old friend, a right that ought never to be abrogated."
Toward midnight, as Fitzgerald was going out of the coat room, Cathewe spoke to him. "What was her name, Jack?" "Hanged if I know." "She dropped a card on your tray." Fitzgerald scrubbed his chin. "There wasn't any name on it. There was an address and something more. Now, wait a moment, Arthur; this is no ordinary affair. I would not show it to any one else. Here, read it yourself."
"A compliment which I readily return." "A private secretary; I never thought of you in that capacity." "One must take what one can," tranquilly. "A good precept." Cathewe rolled the ends of his mustache, a trifle perplexed how to put it. "But there should be exceptions. What," and his voice became crisp and cold, "what was Hildegarde von Mitter to you?" "And what is that to you?"
"You might have been killed!" "Scarcely that. I tried to talk like they do in stories, with this result. The maxim is, always strike first and question afterward. You warn your father quietly while I hunt up Ferraud and Cathewe." Seeing that he was really uninjured she turned and flew down the dark corridor and knocked at her father's door.
"Since she was eighteen, Jack, she has crossed the man-trail like a sandstorm, and quite as innocently, too." "Oh, rot! I'm no green and salad youth." "Your bones will be only the tougher, that's all." Another pause. "But what's your opinion regarding Breitmann?" Cathewe laced his fingers and bent his chin on them. "There's a great rascal or a great hero somewhere under his skin."
A short distance up the road Cathewe was grimly fighting for his happiness. "Hildegarde, forget him. Must he spoil both our lives? Come with me, be my wife. I will make any and all sacrifices toward your contentment." "Have we not threshed this all out before, my friend?" sadly. "Do not ask me to forget him rather let me ask you to forget me." "He will never be loyal to any one but himself.
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