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Updated: June 21, 2025
But for the rest, this morning has cleared away many misunderstandings. Let this be the last word. Miss Dalstan has promised to be my wife. She is the only woman I could ever love." "Then you'll have to marry me without loving me," Beatrice declared thickly. "I won't be left alone in this beastly city! I want some one to take care of me. I am getting frightened. It's uncanny horrible! I oh!
"We must go, Beatrice," he announced. "Miss Dalstan has to change her dress for this act." He held out his hand and Elizabeth rose lightly to her feet. So far, no word as to their two selves had passed their lips. She smiled at him and all this sense of throbbing, almost theatrical excitement subsided. He was once more conscious of the beautiful things beyond.
"That's all right, Miss Dalstan," the young man declared soothingly. "See you later, Mr. Romilly," he added. "Maybe you'll let us have a few of your impressions to work in with the other stuff." Romilly made light of the matter, but there was a slight frown upon his forehead as they passed along the curiously stationary deck.
He withdrew a little from her embrace. "Beatrice," he reminded her, "there is another tragedy beyond the one with which Dane threatens us. I do not wish to marry you." She suddenly blazed up. "Because ?" "Not because of any reason in the world," he interrupted, "except that I love Elizabeth Dalstan." "Does she want to marry you?" He was suddenly an altered person.
"Why, I'll do my best, Miss Dalstan," he promised. "You know what the boys are, though. They do love a story." "I am not going to have Mr. Ware's story published in every newspaper in New York," Elizabeth said firmly, "and the newspaper man who worms the history of Mr. Ware's misfortunes out of him, and then makes use of it, will be no friend of mine. Ask them to be sports, Mr.
"For a speculation?" The actor fidgeted for a moment with his tumbler. "No, for Miss Dalstan," he replied. Philip set his teeth hard. The temptation to pursue the conversation was almost overpowering. The young man himself, though a trifle embarrassed, seemed perfectly willing to talk. At least it was better to know the truth! Then another impulse suddenly asserted itself.
The young lady who is to sit on my right will be down directly Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, the great actress, you know. She is by way of being under my charge. Very charming and talented young lady she is. Let us see who our other absentee is." He stretched across and glanced at the name upon the card. "Mr. Douglas Romilly," he read out. "Quite a good name English, without a doubt.
Fink, there's a dear." "I'll do what I can," he promised. "Mr. Ware isn't the first man in the world who has funked the limelight, and from what I can see of him it probably wasn't his fault if things did go a little crooked in the past. I'll do my best, Miss Dalstan, I promise you that. I'll look in at the club to-night and drop a few hints around."
The genius of a Stevenson would have become dwarfed in such surroundings. A phrase, a happy idea, suddenly caught his fancy. He itched for a pencil and paper. Then he looked up to find the one thing wanting. Elizabeth Dalstan, followed by a maid carrying rugs and cushions, had paused, smiling, by his side. "You have slept and you are better," she said pleasantly.
"I'm not Miss Dalstan." "From her point of view," he explained eagerly. "This man Power is madly and I believe truly in love with her. In his way he is great; in his way, too, he is a potentate. He can give her more than luxury, more, even, than success. You know Elizabeth," he went on. "She is one of the finest women who ever breathed, an idealist but a seeker after big things.
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