"He gets a hundred a
week from Miss Aitken."
Bluelegs got up and sent a second cigarette after the first.
"Riggs," he said gravely, "if you're aiming to succeed as a magazine
writer, you're beginning well; if it's your ambition to succeed in
this business, and succeed right here, you're beginning badly. You
were keen enough to get this place. If you talk much this way, you
won't keep it long--you can take it from me. Let's come in to
lunch."
Their tread on the arbor floor roused the sleeping conspirator; she
sat up, rubbing her eyes half afraid that the clipped terraces, the
floating, flag, the inhabited castle, were only parts of her dream.
But even as she peered around the arbor, Joan of Arc rushed toward
her. She wore a black shade hat and carried a fluffy black parasol
under her arm.
"Be careful!" she panted. "We can't go yet--I was stopped. I had to
talk. You say yes to whatever I say, will you? Then you can escape
with me--" she smiled sweetly at Caroline--"a real escape, as they
do in story books! Won't that be fine?" Her hand was at her heart
again; a red circle burned in either cheek.
Caroline nodded eagerly.
"That will be grand!" she said. She had forgotten till that moment
that she wanted to escape.
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