Moonbeams From the Larger Lunacy | Page 7

But come," he continued, "I fear I am
sadly lacking in the duties of international hospitality. I am forgetting
what I owe to Anglo-American courtesy. I am neglecting the new
obligations of our common Indo-Chinese policy. My motor is at the
door. Pray let me take you to my house to lunch."
De Vere assented readily, telephoned to the Belmont not to keep lunch
waiting for him, and in a moment was speeding up the magnificent
Riverside Drive towards Mr. Overgold's home. On the way Mr.
Overgold pointed out various objects of interest,--Grant's tomb,
Lincoln's tomb, Edgar Allan Poe's grave, the ticket office of the New
York Subway, and various other points of historic importance.
On arriving at the house, de Vere was ushered up a flight of broad
marble steps to a hall fitted on every side with almost priceless objets
d'art and others, ushered to the cloak-room and out of it, butlered into
the lunch-room and footmanned to a chair.
As they entered, a lady already seated at the table turned to meet them.
One glance was enough--plenty.
It was she--the object of de Vere's impassioned quest. A rich
lunch-gown was girdled about her with a twelve-o'clock band of pearls.

She reached out her hand, smiling.
"Dorothea," said the multimillionaire, "this is Mr. de Vere. Mr. de
Vere--my wife."

CHAPTER III
Of this next chapter we need only say that the Blue Review (Adults
Only) declares it to be the most daring and yet conscientious handling
of the sex-problem ever attempted and done. The fact that the
Congregational Times declares that this chapter will undermine the
whole foundations of English Society and let it fall, we pass over: we
hold certificates in writing from a great number of the Anglican clergy,
to the effect that they have carefully read the entire novel and see
nothing in it.
. . . . . . .
They stood looking at one another.
"So you didn't know," she murmured.
In a flash de Vere realised that she hadn't known that he didn't know
and knew now that he knew.
He found no words.
The situation was a tense one. Nothing but the woman's innate tact
could save it. Dorothea Overgold rose to it with the dignity of a queen.
She turned to her husband.
"Take your soup over to the window," she said, "and eat it there."
The millionaire took his soup to the window and sat beneath a little
palm tree, eating it.

"You didn't know," she repeated.
"No," said de Vere; "how could I?"
"And yet," she went on, "you loved me, although you didn't know that I
was married?"
"Yes," answered de Vere simply. "I loved you, in spite of it."
"How splendid!" she said.
There was a moment's silence. Mr. Overgold had returned to the table,
the empty plate in his hand. His wife turned to him again with the same
unfailing tact.
"Take your asparagus to the billiard-room," she said, "and eat it there."
"Does he know, too?" asked de Vere.
"Mr. Overgold?" she said carelessly. "I suppose he does. Eh apres, mon
ami?"
French? Another mystery! Where and how had she learned it? de Vere
asked himself. Not in France, certainly.
"I fear that you are very young, amico mio," Dorothea went on
carelessly. "After all, what is there wrong in it, piccolo pochito? To a
man's mind perhaps--but to a woman, love is love."
She beckoned to the butler.
"Take Mr. Overgold a cutlet to the music-room," she said, "and give
him his gorgonzola on the inkstand in the library."
"And now," she went on, in that caressing way which seemed so
natural to her, "don't let us think about it any more! After all, what is is,
isn't it?"
"I suppose it is," said de Vere, half convinced in spite of himself.

"Or at any rate," said Dorothea, "nothing can at the same time both be
and not be. But come," she broke off, gaily dipping a macaroon in a
glass of creme de menthe and offering it to him with a pretty gesture of
camaraderie, "don't let's be gloomy any more. I want to take you with
me to the matinee."
"Is he coming?" asked de Vere, pointing at Mr. Overgold's empty chair.
"Silly boy," laughed Dorothea. "Of course John is coming. You surely
don't want to buy the tickets yourself."
. . . . . . .
The days that followed brought a strange new life to de Vere.
Dorothea was ever at his side. At the theatre, at the polo ground, in the
park, everywhere they were together. And with them was Mr.
Overgold.
The three were always together. At times at the theatre Dorothea and de
Vere would sit downstairs and Mr. Overgold in the gallery; at other
times, de Vere