Brothers -- Fiction; Love stories; Triangles (Interpersonal relations) -- Fiction
"It isn't!" declared Dinah, with abrupt sincerity.
"Oh, you know something about it, do you?" he said. "Then the modern
Daphne ought to have too much sense to run away."
She laughed with a touch of wistfulness. "I wonder how she felt about it
afterwards."
"I wonder," he agreed, tipping the ash off his cigarette. "It didn't
matter so much to Apollo, you see. He had plenty to choose from."
Dinah's wistfulness vanished in a swift breath of indignation. "Really!"
she said.
He looked at her. "Yes, really," he told her, with deliberation. "And he
didn't need to run after them either. But, possibly," his gaze softened
again, "possibly that was what made him want Daphne the most. Elusiveness
is quite a fascinating quality if it isn't carried too far. Still--" he
smiled--"I expect he got over it in the end, you know; but in her case I
am not quite so sure."
"I don't suppose he did get ever it," maintained Dinah with spirit. "All
the rest must have seemed very cheap afterwards."
"Perhaps he was more at home with the cheap variety," he suggested
carelessly.
His eyes had wandered to the buzzing throng behind her, and she saw a
glint of criticism--or was it merely easy contempt?--dispel the smile
with which he had regarded her. His mouth wore a faint but unmistakable
sneer.
But in a moment his look returned to her, kindled upon her. "Are you for
the ice carnival to-night?" he asked.
She drew a quick, eager breath. "Oh, I do want to come! But I don't
know--yet--if I shall be allowed."
"Why ask?" he questioned.
She hesitated, then ingenuously she told him her difficulty. "I got into
trouble last night for dancing so late with you. And--and--I may be sent
to bed early to make up for it."
He frowned. "Do you mean to say you'd go?"
She coloured vividly. "I'm only nineteen, and I have to do as I'm told."
"Heavens above!" he said. "You belong to the generation before the last
evidently. No girl ever does as she is told now-a-days. It isn't the
thing."
"I do," whispered Dinah, in dire confusion. "At least--generally."
"And what happens if you don't?" he queried. "Do they whip you and put
you to bed?"
She clenched her hands hard. "Don't!" she said. "You're only joking, I
know. But--I hate it!"
His manner changed in a moment, became half-quizzical, half-caressing.
"Poor little brown elf, what a shame! Well, come if you can! I shall look
out for you. I may have something to show you."
"May you? Oh, what?" cried Dinah, all eagerness in a moment.
He laughed. There was a provoking hint of mystery in his manner. "Ah!
That lies in the future, _miladi_."
"But tell me!" she persisted.
"Will you come then?" he asked.
"Perhaps," she said. "If I can!"
"Ah! And perhaps not!" he said. "What then?"
Dinah's mouth grew suddenly firm. "I will come," she said.
"You will?" His keen eyes held hers with smiling compulsion.
"Yes, I will."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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