The Maker of Opportunities Part 21

"Because I cannot help it----"

"A lover should be blind," she put in.

"Like a husband?" he asked, significantly.

"Like a wife," she corrected, soberly.

He followed her indoors, where Aurora met them at the door of the library.

"Tea, Aurora," she announced. "Will you pour it? Mort and I will be in in a moment."

She hovered in the doorway insistently until she saw DeLaunay safely seated on the davenport at the tea-table by Aurora's side, and only then she departed in the direction of the smoking room.

Mortimer Crabb was drinking a gla.s.s of whiskey and water. At the sound of his wife's voice he turned.

"Did you get it, Mort?" she asked.

For reply he fumbled in the pockets of his dust-coat and brought forth a small package.

"Oh, yes. Here it is. Pretty insignificant affair to make such a fuss about," and he handed it to her.

"It's the little things that mean the most, my dear husband--like that,"

she said significantly, "and this," and she kissed him for his reward.

He held her away from him and looked at her good-humoredly--the quizzical humor that was characteristic of him.

"You never kiss me unless you're up to some mischief, Patty."

"Then you ought to be glad I'm mischievous, Mort. It's an ill wind that blows n.o.body any good."

"H--m. Why all the mystery? Can't you tell a fellow?"

She shook her head.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because then you don't know as much as I do."

"Why shouldn't I?" he protested. "I'm your husband."

"Because if you knew as much as I do----" She paused. "You know, Mort, it's only the ignorant husband who's entirely, blissfully happy."

"I'm not so sure about that," he laughed.

"Aren't you happy, Mort?" she asked.

"Ah, hang it, yes. But----"

"Then there's nothing left to be said," and she kissed him again.

"I can't understand----"

She laid resisting fingers on his arm.

"Of course you can't. That's one of your charms, Mort, dear. It's much better for a woman to be misunderstood. The husband who 'understands'

his wife is on the highway to purgatory. Ask no more questions. If I answer them I surely will lie to you."

"What the deuce can Daggett and McDade be doing for you. They're job-printers. They don't engrave your cards or stationery or anything----"

"N----o," with a rising inflection.

"Well--what?"

"I needed some printing."

"Well, why not go to Tiffany's? The idea of your sending me away over on the East side----"

"They're such adorable printers, Mort."

"Who ever heard of a printer being adorable? Fudge! What's the game now? Can't you tell a fellow?"

"No," firmly.

Crabb always recognized the note of finality in his wife's voice, so he merely shrugged his shoulders and followed her with his eyes as she blew another kiss in his direction and vanished up the stairs.

In the privacy of her own room Patricia did some cryptic things with newspapers, a pair of scissors, and the package from the adorable printers, and when she had finished, she folded up the newspapers, with their mysterious contents, including the scissors, and with a fleeting glance at herself in the mirror, went down stairs.

She entered the library noiselessly and after a glance at her guests at the tea-table, she slipped her package into the drawer of the library table and joined them.

"How envious you make me--you two," she sighed, sinking into a chair, "you're so satisfied with yourselves--and with each other."

DeLaunay smiled and fingered his tea-cup.

"Would you have it otherwise?" he asked.

"Oh, no," she said lightly, "I'm a professional nursery governess to polite and well-meaning persons of opposite s.e.xes. Nursery governesses are not permitted emotions or opinions of any kind, my dears."

"But even nursery governesses are human, I am told," said DeLaunay, showing his white teeth.

"Are they? _My_ governesses never were. They were all inhuman--like me.

The sight of youthful license arouses all my professional instincts.

That's why I'm in such demand by despairing mothers of romantic heiresses."

"Patty! you're horrid." Aurora's heavily lidded eyes opened wide. "I'm not romantic--not in the least--and I'm _not_ an heiress----"

"Oh," said Patricia.