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Late that night John Merkle telephoned Bob Wharton to say: "Headquarters just rang me up and told me prepare yourself for a shock Lilas Lynn is dead." "Dead?" Bob cried, in a startled voice. "Dead! How? When did it happen? I can't believe it." Merkle made known the details that had come to him. "Looks like suicide, but they're not sure. Anyhow, she took too much dope of some sort.
Lilas nodded and smiled at the bewildered lover. "That's the way to put it over, Bob before witnesses." "Don't joke about such things," cried Lorelei, sharply. "Joke? Who's joking?" Jim was indignant and glanced appealingly at Bob. "You meant it, didn't you?" "Sure. No joking matter," Bob declared, vaguely.
Lorelei looked up from her sewing at a little cry of rage from Lilas. Miss Lynn had torn the message into bits and flung it from her; her eyes were blazing. "Damn him!" she cried, furiously, rising so abruptly as almost to upset Mrs. Croft. "The idiot!" "What is it?" "I must telephone quick." Half-way to the door she halted at Lorelei's warning: "Wait; you haven't time."
It is true that Béranger loved them, but he loved them always, as his poems show, like a Parisian and child of the Rue Montorgueil. A pretty enclosure, as many flowers and hedges as there are in the Closerie des Lilas, a little garden, a courtyard surrounded by apple-trees, a path winding beside wheat-fields, these were enough for him.
Justina, who had been her faithful servant for forty years, never tired of singing the praises of her "Madame." If during our short stay at "Las Lilas" we showed ourselves unduly boisterous, or when we disobeyed orders, Justina would say to us after we had been properly reprimanded, "You never, never will be like your grandmother!" Grandfather always met us at the little railway station.
A desire as keen and as compelling as hunger clamored for Max's death, and it did not occur to her to resist it. Yet Lilas had no intention of sacrificing herself; much of the pleasure of the deed, she reflected, would result from a successful "get away," and therefore she craftily arranged her escape.
It is a peculiar experience to sit soberly through a meal and see one's companions become intoxicated. Lorelei had often done so, carelessly enough, but now her recent worries had not only depressed her, but made her pensive, and it was in no approving mood that she watched Lilas and Bob respond to the effect of the wine.
Everything's all right." Lilas remained motionless, staring defiantly. Her face had slowly whitened, and now its unpleasantness matched that of her elderly admirer. Hammon dropped his smoldering gaze to the half-empty glasses, then raised it, scowling at Jim. "Humph! Who is this?" Lilas made her guest known. "Mr. Knight, Mr. Hammon. I believe you know Miss Knight." "So YOU'RE the one."
Of course, you'll quit the Revue to-night. That'll be a relief, won't it? Has Robert given you anything yet? They say he's terribly generous." "I can't quit right away, now that Lilas has left. But I dare say Bob won't let me work very long." "Indeed! I should hope not." Mrs. Knight's chin lifted. "If I were you I'd never go near Bergman's theater again. Let him sue you."
He was in the English hospital for seven weeks, and when he came out they told him his only chance was to give up liquor." "Poor devil," smiled the abstemious Philip. "He kept off for a bit. He used to go to the Lilas all the same, he couldn't keep away from that, but he used to drink hot milk, avec de la fleur d'oranger, and he was damned dull." "I take it you did not conceal the fact from him."
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