Was there a girl! Already Hawksley had recorded her beauty. Very well;

the first sign of sentimental nonsense, and out he should go, Karlov or

no Karlov. Kitty wasn't going to know any hurt in this affair. That much

was decided.

Cutty stormed into his study, growling audibly. He filled a pipe and

smoked savagely. Another side, Kitty's entrance into the drama promised

to spoil his own fun; he would have to play two games instead of one. A

fine muddle!

He came to a stand before one of the windows and saw the glory of

the morning flashing from the myriad spires and towers and roofs, and

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wondered why artists bothered about cows in pastures.

Touching his knees was an antique Florentine bridal chest, with

exquisite carving and massive lock. He threw back the lid and disclosed

a miscellany never seen by any eye save his own. It was all the garret

he had. He dug into it and at length resurrected the photograph of a

woman whose face was both roguish and beautiful. He sat on the floor a

la Turk and studied the face, his own tender and wistful. No resemblance

to Kitty except in the eyes. How often he had gone to her with the

question burning his lips, only to carry it away unspoken! He turned

over the photograph and read: "To the nicest man I know. With love from

Molly." With love. And he had stepped aside for Tommy Conover!

By George! He dropped the photograph into the chest, let down the lid,

and rose to his feet. Not a bad idea, that. To intrigue Kitty himself,

to smother her with attentions and gallantries, to give her out of his

wide experience, and to play the game until this intruder was on his way

elsewhere.

He could do it; and he based his assurance upon his experiences and

observations. Never a squire of dames, he knew the part. He had played

the game occasionally in the capitals of Europe when there had been some

information he had particularly desired. Clever, scheming women, too. A

clever, passably good-looking elderly man could make himself peculiarly

attractive to young women and women in the thirties. Dazzlement for the

young; the man who knew all about life, the trivial little courtesies

a younger man generally forgot; the moving of chairs, the holding of

wraps; the gray hairs which served to invite trust and confidence, which

lulled the eternal feminine fear of the male. To the older women, no

callow youth but a man of discernment, discretion, wit and fancy and

daring, who remembered birthdays husbands forgot, who was always round

when wanted.




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