Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 19, 1924 — page 58: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

528 On her dainty writing bureau, with its painted shepherdesses and lakes and trees, was a very large photograph of King Peter, in a golden frame with a crown on the top. It was signed in his big bold hand with some familiar words in French. She man- aged to make it quite conspicuous, with a bunch of flowers beside it, and nothing else at all near. She looked at it, as she invited me to sit down. She wore a dress of white silk Irish crochet, so fine that her slender body looked as if it were covered with tiny white roses, and some of her very big pearls, and a little hat all made of white feathers, with her rich golden curls clustering round her lovely face. I wish I could describe her face. It was so much more than words can express—the marvelous coloring, like the finest porcelain, the purple eyes, the small, haughty nose, the curving, scornful, carelessly sweet lips. “Oh, dear Lady Cleveland,” she said in her voice like a sharp peal of little bells, “isn’t that a splendid picture of his ma- jesty?” She was very punctilious in talking about him, but at the same time she managed with extreme skill to give you the impres- sion that they were on very intimate terms. She leaned toward me with a graceful, con- fidential movement. “T do hope you don’t mind my talking about you and the king,” she trilled. “ You see, I have such a feeling for him. He has been so very good and gracious to me—to us. And I should so much like to know you better while I can, you see, before you become a queen. I have so wondered wheth- er you are very glad about it, or a littl frightened. It is such a responsibility to have taken on.” “Ves,” I said, feeling stupid and awk- ward with her, as I did with the king—“ a crown is a responsibility.” She laughed merrily. “ And the man still more of a responsi- bility, dear Lady Cleveland! Or perhaps that is hardly the word. But I can see you are awfully sensible and clever and all that, so you will understand. And,” she added, with a solemn air, ‘‘ of course we must hope that the king will settle down.” -burst out. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, She made me furious, and of course, wretched. I was so horribly sensitive in those days. It was as if I was being mer- cilessly whipped to hear this exquisite crea- ture, who was in love with him herself, hinting at his other loves. I spoke stolidly. ‘“T suppose royal personages always get talked about, princess.” “Oh, yes, with more or less reason, no doubt.” She leaned nearer still. Her voice fell. ‘“ My dear, don’t misunderstand me! I feel you ought to be prepared. We are both about the same age. It seems disloyal to one’s sex not to speak—and we are fel- low countrywomen into the bargain. Your chief difficulty will be—Fay Delsarte. It is an old attachment, almost a regular af- fair, don’t you know? She lives in Paris— a real establishment, very discreet and all that. But they visit together among his intimates. Very easy these things are made for royalty. Still, when he marries you—” My face made her stop. “There, I’ve shocked you! And I only wanted to do you a good turn. Do you mean to say that you’d never heard of the Delsarte?” “Not by name.” “She was an actress. Some people say she’s the most beautiful woman alive. There’s no doubt she’s the real vampire, charmer—the man eating type. I hear the chances are he'll never be able to shake her off.” “I wish you wouldn’t talk like this!” I ‘“‘ It—it makes me sick.” ‘““My dear—really I thought you ought to know. Leomar would never tell you. Nobody would. Is there anything worse than ignorance in such cases? And, after all ’—she laughed sweetly—‘“‘ you'll be the queen!” I was too utterly wretched for words. To hear these things of the Peter of the Flower Garden Club! The man who had held me in his arms and kissed me and said he loved me! But, then, there was the hor- ror of it, I knew what he was capable of. He thought nothing of making love to little Betty Fane, of trying to steal her heart, of breaking it, perhaps, and passing on. He was a king. He could do no wrong. 3A COMMEOOKSx( COU