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Updated: May 17, 2025
Then then when will you start, Grid? I mean for Orange?" "At once," said Vanderlyn. Then he looked long, hesitatingly at Pargeter, and the millionaire, with most unusual perspicacity, read and answered the question contained in that strange, uncertain gaze. "Don't bring her back, Grid! I couldn't stand a big funeral here. I don't want to hear any more about it than I can help!
Then, to his surprise and only half-concealed mortification, a reference made by Laurence Vanderlyn to an incident which had taken place the year before that is, to the disappearance of an American citizen followed by the production of the diplomatist's card, brought about a magic change.
And she wanted above all and especially since her hour with Nelson Vanderlyn to keep herself free, aloof, to retain her hold on her precariously recovered self. She sat down and wrote to Strefford and the letter was only a little less painful to write than the one she had despatched to Nick.
Vanderlyn was trying to choose a form of words with which he could bid the other farewell; he longed with a miserable longing to be alone, but that first day's ordeal was not yet over. "I can't face dinner here," said Pargeter suddenly, "let's go and dine at that new place, the Coq d'Or." Vanderlyn lacked the energy to say him nay, and they went out, leaving word where they were to be found.
But stay Vanderlyn suddenly remembered Madame de Léra, that is the one human being who had been in Peggy's confidence. She was a real and terrible point of danger or rather she might at any moment become so. It was with her, at the de Léra villa in the little village of Marly-le-Roi, that Mrs. Pargeter was, even now, supposed to be staying.
Vanderlyn was by nature a truthful man, and in spite of the ambiguous nature of his relations with Margaret Pargeter, he had never been compelled to lie in defence of their friendship. Even during these last few days, he had as far as was possible avoided untruth, and only to one person, that is, to the Prefect of Police, had he lied lied desperately, and lied successfully.
Bless her heart she's promised me to wear it as soon as Herr Kreutzer gives consent." Mrs. Vanderlyn found this too much for calm reception. She did not wish to, she would not believe. "Why do you say such things?" she demanded of her son. "You're just trying to save him. Why did he confess?" Kreutzer, now, looked at her with calm, cold dignity. His turn had come.
There was in it the abrupt demand of an official visitation, and it startled both of them. Hastily she rose and stood gazing at the closed door; wonderingly he rose, also, and, poised, ready to go and open it, waiting a second, to see if there would be a repetition of the knock. "Who is there?" he called, at length. "I, Mrs. Vanderlyn," came the reply, in high-pitched, angry tones.
He offered no objection, but asked for the bill, resumed his jaunty air while he scattered largesse among the waiters, and sauntered out behind her after calling for a taxi. They drove off in silence. Susy was thinking: "And Clarissa?" but dared not ask. Vanderlyn lit a cigarette, hummed a dance-tune, and stared out of the window. Suddenly she felt his hand on hers. "Susy do you ever see her?"
The keen morning air, the swift easy motion of the large car revived Vanderlyn and steadied his nerves. He elected to sit in front by the side of Pargeter's silent English chauffeur. At this early hour the Paris streets were comparatively clear, and a few moments brought them to the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne.
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