Castle Craneycrow | Page 9

line appeared for an instant between his
black eyebrows.
Lady Frances solemnly and secretively shook her ringer at Quentin, and
he laughed with the disdain of one who understands and denies without
the use of words. Lord Bob had wanted to kick him when he mentioned
South America, but he said nothing. Quentin was in wonderful spirits
all the way home.

VI
DOROTHY GARRISON

Quentin was driving with Lady Saxondale to the home of Miss
Garrison's hostess. Phil's fair, calculating companion said to herself that
she had never seen a handsomer fellow than this stalwart American.
There was about him that clean, strong, sweet look of the absolutely
healthy man, the man who has buffeted the world and not been buffeted
by the world. He was frank, bright, straightforward, and there was that
always-to-be-feared yet ever-to-be-desired gleam of mastery in his eye.
It may have been sometimes a wicked mastery, and more than one
woman who admired him because she could not help herself had said,
"There is a devil in his eyes."
They found Lady Marnham's reception hall full of guests, few of whom
Quentin had seen before. He was relieved to find that the prince was
not present, and he made his way to Dorothy's side, with Lady Frances,
coolly dropping into the chair which a young captain had momentarily
abandoned. Lady Frances sat beside Miss Garrison on the divan.

"I am so glad you kept your promise, Phil, and came. It seems good to
see you after all these years. You bring back the dear days at home,"
said Dorothy, delight in her voice.
"From that I judge you sometimes long for them," he said, simply. To
Lady Frances it sounded daring.
"Often, oh, so very often. I have not been in New York for years. Lady
Saxondale goes back so often that she doesn't have the chance to grow
homesick."
"I hear you are going over this fall," said Quentin, with a fair show of
interest.
"Who--who told you so?" she asked, in some surprise. He could not
detect confusion.
"Prince Ravorelli. At least, he said he expected to make the trip this fall.
Am I wrong in suspecting that he is not going alone?"
"We mean to spend much of the winter in the United States, chiefly in
Florida. I shall depend on you, Phil, to be nice to him in New York.
You can do so much to make it pleasant for him. He has never been in
New York, you know."
"It may depend on what he will consider pleasant. I don't believe he
will enjoy all the things I like. But I'll try. I'll get Dickey Savage to give
a dinner for him, and if he can survive that, he's capable of having a
good time anywhere. Dickey's dinners are the real test, you know.
Americans stand them because they are rugged and accustomed to
danger."
"You will find Prince Ugo rugged," she said, flushing slightly, and he
imagined he could distinguish a softness in her tone.
"I am told he is an athlete, a great horseman, a marvelous swordsman,"
said Lady Frances.

"I am glad you have heard something about him that is true," said
Dorothy, a trifle quickly. "Usually they say that princes are all that is
detestable and unmanly. I am sure you will like him, Phil."
Mrs. Garrison came up at this moment with Lady Marnham, and
Quentin arose to greet the former as warmly as he could under the
smooth veil of hypocrisy. Again, just before Lady Frances signaled to
him that it was time for them to leave, he found himself in conversation,
over the teacups, with Dorothy Garrison. This time they were quite
alone.
"It doesn't seem possible that you are the same Dorothy Garrison I used
to know," he said, reflectively.
"Have I changed so much?" she asked, and there was in her manner an
icy barrier that would have checked a less confident man than Philip
Quentin.
"In every way. You were charming in those days."
"And not charming now, I infer."
"You are more than charming now. That is hardly a change, however,
is it? Then, you were very pretty, now you are beautiful. Then, you
were--"
"I don't like flattery, Phil," she said, hurt by what she felt to be an
indifferent effort on his part to please her vanity.
"I am quite sure you remember me well enough to know that I never
said nice things unless I meant them. But, now that I think of it, it is the
height of impropriety to speak so plainly even to an old friend, and an
old--er--chum."
"Won't you have a cup of tea?" she asked, as calmly as if he were the
merest stranger and had never seen her till this