Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 13, 2025
"Well," he conceded, laughing in spite of himself, "it does seem that when a European girl deigns to play a while with her American cousins, Europe might stay on its own side of the pond. This Pagratide is a commuter over the Northern Ocean track. He harasses the Atlantic with his goings and comings." "The Atlantic?" she echoed mockingly. "Possibly I was too modest," he amended.
"Karyl," she said plaintively, "if you only wanted to marry me for State reasons it would be different. It wouldn't hurt me then to hurt you. You mean so much as a friend, but I can never be in love with you. You are being unfair with yourself if you go on. I must be honest with you." Pagratide spoke slowly, and his voice carried the tremor of feeling.
To switch on the light would be to declare himself a witness to a part at least; to remain would be to become unwilling auditor to more; to open the door he had just closed behind him would also be to attract attention to himself. He paused in momentary uncertainty. One of the men was Pagratide, transformed by anger; seemingly taller, darker, lither.
Pagratide drew a labored breath, but when he raised his head it was to lift his brows inquiringly. "For what?" he asked in an equally low tone. "Have I asked any questions?" In a matter-of-fact voice he added: "It is growing late. If Miss Carstow has finished the inspection of your yacht, I suggest a return." Benton recognized the other's refusal to read his motive.
He rose and lifted her; then as she stood clinging to him he said: "I ask your forgiveness if I've made it harder and one boon. Slip away with me and give me an hour with you." "They will find me. Pagratide and Von Ritz will find me," she objected helplessly. "They won't let us be alone for long." "Listen," he replied. "It is not too cold and the moon is brilliant. It is the last real moon for me.
The man mechanically drew his handkerchief from his cuff, and wiped beads of cold moisture from his forehead. The girl shook her head. "No, his name is not Pagratide." He took a step nearer, but she raised a hand to wave him back, and he bowed his submission. "You love me you are certain of that?" he whispered. "Do you doubt it?" "No," he said, "I don't doubt it."
Van from her end of the table, to Pagratide on her right, "I relinquish you to the girl on your other side. You have made a very brave effort to talk to me. Ah, I know " raising a slender hand to still his polite remonstrance "there is no Cara but Cara, and Pagratide is " She let her mischief-laden smile finish the comment. "Her satellite," he confessed. "One of them," she wickedly corrected him.
In the conservatory he came upon Pagratide, likewise stalking about with restlessly roving eyes, like a hunter searching a jungle. The foreigner paused with one foot tapping the marble rim of a small fountain, and Benton passed with a nod. The evening went by without her reappearance, and finally the house darkened, and settled into quiet.
"Lucky we don't make our people ring in on the clock," he observed. "You three would be docked." The girl stood in the red glow of the hearth, slowly drawing off her riding-gauntlets. Pagratide went to the table in search of cigarettes and matches, and as the light there was dim, the host joined him and laid a hand readily enough upon the brass case for which the other was fumbling.
The unwavering mouth-line; level, dark brows almost meeting over unflinching gray eyes; the uncurved nose and commanding forehead were in concert with the clean, almost lean sweep of the jaw, in spelling force for field or council. "Am I a brigand, Von Ritz, to be harassed by police? Answer me am I?" Pagratide spoke in a tempest of anger.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking