Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

12 dream! ‘Impossible dream!” whispered reason and caution and convention. ‘‘ No, not impossible!” cried love. All that was done with, I knew. The game had been played. It had been played too well. It had gone too far. But my heart would have none of that. It could begin again. Impossible! What was impossible? My father’s photograph stood on my -writing table. Round the frame ran a band of gold on which was engraved our family motto in Latin. Sit mi praeter opes propositus labor. My father had been fond of roughly translating it according to his own mind: ‘““To achieve the best, strive for the im- possible.” Was that what I was doing? Striving for the impossible? Could I never have both— a throne and love? But I didn’t want the throne. I wanted love. But I could not have the king without the throne. I made up my mind. I found out in the paper that the ball at the Jetée Promen- ade began at nine. The king would certain- ly not go until later. I looked up the trains and found a suitable one. I had a purpose in going by train instead of in a car. I ordered the car to take me to the station at nine, and said that I should not wanteto be met, as I would return in a friend’s car. I played with my food. Then I went to my bedroom and put on the little black dress of Betty Fane and the close fitting hat, and covered myself with a voluminous satin cloak. I took the precious wig out of its box, and with all the make-up necessary, I put it into one of those large shiny leather handbags that were so fashionable at the time. I then went and told Bunch what I was going to do. She was horrified, but saw that it was useless to protest. “But, Liz, when will you get home— how?” she asked. ‘‘T shall take a taxi from Nice,” I an- swered. ‘‘ Don’t you see that will be quite simple? The driver won’t see me in the dark. “But how will you make yourself up?” ‘In an empty carriage on the train. You ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. know how empty those trains are. I must take the risk.” Bunch looked very grave. “‘ Liz, dear,” she said, “something has happened between you and the king.” “Yes, we had a dreadful quarrel.” ‘Has this mad idea something to do with it?” “Yes, Bunch. I simply must see him again—as Betty Fane. If I don’t, I shall throw the whole thing up.” Bunch said nothing more. Everything turned out to perfection. I found a whole compartment of the train empty. I had plenty of-time. At the station at Nice, Betty Fane stepped out of the train, hailed a taxi and was driven to the Jetée Promenade. The big glass building was brilliantly illumi- nated, so that from a distance it looked as if a great splash of starshine had fallen onto the sea. There was a long line of cars drawn up outside the entrance. Crowds were pour- ing in. I got out and walked. The distant sound of the music made my feet itch. I was filled with a nameless excitement. I was in touch with real life again, the only real life I had ever known. And then a man coming in the opposite direction almost bumped into me, and as he apologized, he exclaimed: “Why, if it isn’t little Miss Fane! all the lucky meetings!” T looked up, and, to my dismay, saw the tall form and handsome, lazy face of Lord Maurice Angell. Of CHAPTER X. CARNIVAL MADNESS, HAT a dreadful thing to happen! Here was a test with a vengeance. With Lord Maurice I naturally always spoke English. Was he going to recognize me? It had never occurred to me that I might meet him at the ball. “Let me book up as many dances as pos- sible, Miss Fane,’’ he went on, ‘‘ because an- other friend of yours is going to be here.” Ccommicaooks (S@