Read Ebook: And Five Were Foolish by Yates Dornford

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 3191 lines and 95981 words, and 64 pages

"Congratulate you?"

"Well, almost," said Pardoner. "She's an awful good sort, June."

"What brutes men are," said Sarah. "However, if you must have your wretched money, I suppose I shall have to give way. Incidentally, you might begin by choosing me a peach, will you?"

Virgil selected one carefully. Then he looked at Sarah.

"Tell me the worst," he said. "Shall it be rough or smooth?"

"Smooth, of course. And don't rush it. Peel it properly. Remember--you're my slave now. Oh, and I'ld like some grenadine. I'm thirsty."

Pardoner set down his knife.

"I beg," he implored, "I beg that you will not disgrace me by supplanting this nectar by a tumbler of--of Schoolgirl's Joy. I mean, I'ld rather order you a pint of draught stout. Stout may be coarse, but, at least, it's got some body."

"Grenadine," said Sarah relentlessly. "All nice and red and sweet. I love it."

Physically and mentally, the epicure writhed. . . . Then he gave the order.

Sarah smiled maddeningly.

"That was very sweet of you, Virgil--darling."

"Not at all, my love"--shakily. "When we're--er married--blast this peach!" he added savagely, plunging his hands in water. "I suppose you couldn't do with a walnut?"

"Get down to it," said Sarah shortly. "'When we're married,' you were saying."

"I suppose so," said Sarah.

He stopped short and looked at her.

Sarah smiled back.

"It has, with a vengeance," she flashed. "Hasn't it?"

Virgil wiped his hands and lifted his glass.

"Your very good health, Sarah. I'm sorry you can't marry George. But I'll do my best."

He drank luxuriously.

Sarah lifted her grenadine.

"And yours, Virgil. I know your feelings exactly. As for poor June, words fail me. But, since it can't be helped, I'll do what I can."

"We shall get through--dear," said Pardoner stoutly. "And--and you've got a very sweet way."

"That," said Sarah, "is thanks to the grenadine. And now get on with that peach. Where shall we live?" she added artlessly. "Lincolnshire?"

Pardoner choked. Then--

"--wish that we should live at Palfrey."

"Is there any reason why we should consider his wishes?"

"Hang it," said Virgil. "The old fellow's left us six hundred thousand."

"And blighted our lives."

"Oh, not 'blighted,'" said Pardoner. "You can't blight three hundred thousand quid. You can make it a bit sticky, but you can't blight a sum like that. It's--it's invulnerable."

"I was speaking of our lives," said Miss Vulliamy. "Not our legacies."

"Same thing," said Pardoner comfortably, passing a somewhat rugged sculpture across the table. "Same thing. You see. The two are indistinguishable. Supposing another Will turned up, leaving the lot to me." Sarah shuddered. "Exactly. Your life would become a blank--same as your bank balance."

"Not for long," said Miss Vulliamy.

"Why?"

"Because," said Sarah, with a dazzling smile. "I should sue you for breach of promise." Her companion paled. "The damages would be--er--painfully easy to assess, wouldn't they?"

Pardoner frowned. Then his face cleared.

"The contingency," he said, "is happily remote. If it ever happened, I should give you half, because you've the sporting instinct."

"How much," said Sarah dreamily, "shall you give June?"

The other started.

"June? Oh, June's all right. She--she wouldn't expect anything. I--I shouldn't like to offer it. It'ld be--er--indelicate."

Miss Vulliamy sighed.

"Well, well," she said, "I expect you know best. Any way, we've had a nice straight talk, haven't we? I mean, we haven't minced matters. I've told you that, but for the money, I wouldn't be seen dead with you; and you've been equally frank."

Pardoner shifted upon his chair.

"I said," he protested, "I said you'd a very sweet way. I remember it perfectly."

"That," said Miss Vulliamy, "was your only lapse." She raised her straight eyebrows and a faint smile hung upon her red lips. "But for that, you have been disconcertingly honest."

Pardoner lighted a cigarette.

"You're a strange girl," he said. "One minute you talk like an infant, and the next like a woman of forty. Which are you?"

"That," said Sarah, "will be for my husband to discover."

James Tantamount, Esquire, had died at San Francisco.

His secretary had cabled to London for instructions.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet