"You don't remember me, do you?" she said a httle breathlessly.
"Remember you?" He looked down at her then, drawing her slightly toward him by the hand he was holding, so that when she was near to him like that she was overwhelmingly
aware of the way he towered over her, and the tremendous vitality of his glance and his smile and his whole personality. "Do you mean that I've met you before? But I couldn't have. I would not have forgotten you."
She gave a mischievous little laugh at that, and the sound was more innocently provocative and attractive than she knew.
"I have a longer memory than you, I see," she said demurely. "You have even forgotten that you kissed me goodbye, when we last met."
"I did?" He was astonished and not a little chagrined, she saw, to be caught at a disadvantage like this, and she suddenly found how much she was enjoying her power to tease him. It was all very safe and amusing because Julia had said he was especially nice and dependable.
So she nodded and added quite gravely, "With my full permission, too."
But as she said that she saw something flash into those brilliant dark eyes, which made her wonder if he were quite so safe and dependable as Julia had said. The next moment she knew he was not.
"It would be a pity to let our greeting fall short of our goodbye," he remarked coolly. And before she even realized his intention he bent his head and kissed her swiftly and lightly on her lips.
The unexpected boldness of his reaction shocked most of the mischief and amusement out of Leoni. The gesture with which she put the back of her hand to her mouth was almost childish in its dismay, and she looked at him with shocked blue eyes.
"Why, what is it?" he asked, a little mockingly. "Does one have to ask for permission each time?"
"I think—you should," Leoni said, and because she felt guilty as well as displeased, her lashes came down and the color deepened in her cheeks.
She heard him give a soft, faintly intrigued laugh.
"Forgive me," he said—but a little too lightly, she thought. "No—I mean that—" as the lashes remained obstinately down. "But please tell me—why was full permission given before and yet you are so angry with me now that I kissed you without asking? "
"I'm not angry,'* Leoni said softly. "Tm a little bit-ashamed. I shouldn't have—teased you, and—"
"Pardon me, you should," he assured her. "You have an enchanting way of teasing. But do you mean that we haven't met before, after all?"
"Oh, no. We—we did. But it was nine years ago."
"Nine—years?" He laughed again then, and for a moment the little laughter hollows appeared in Leoni's cheeks. " But how old were you then, you Daby? "
"N-nine," Leoni confessed.
"But—" once more there was that puzzled and half intrigued note in his voice "—I can't remember that kissing little-girls was ever a relaxation of mine."
"No. Oh, no, you evidently weren't used to it," Leoni assured him. "In fact, you were a good deal embarrassed. But I'm afraid I didn't really leave you much choice. I—"
"—Thrust your face between the bars of the gate," he finished for her, a sudden hght of recollection breaking on him. "Of course! I remember now. I was waiting for my aunt in the car and you asked me the time or something."
"No," Leoni said gently. "No, I didn't ask you the time, but you thought I did at first."
"And then you grabbed hold of me and tried to coax me to take you home with me." His smile deepened as his amused recollection increased. "A pretty forthcoming minx you must have been, now I come to think of it. Incitmg me to abduction."
"It sounds horrid when you put it like that," she protested.
And suddenly he was quite serious, and he said slowly, "It wasn't horrid—at all. I remember now—it was rather touching."
She didn't know what to say to that, and an odd little silence fell between them. Then she realized that he was still holding her hand and, as she gently drew it away, he said almost abruptly, "Will you come and dance with me?"
She remembered then with acute pleasure that he was the man to whom Julia had entrusted her evening's enjoyment.
But before she could answer, there was a flutter of white tulle, and Julia came flying across the hall, followed more slowly by a tall, smiling man who was evidently very much at her disposal.
"Leoni, darling, Vm frightfully sorry I can't think how I came to forget about you, but you*re evidently only this minute downstairs, and this is Norman Conby, and I've told him he's to look after you and see you have a marvelous evening, and he's just dying to dance with you right away, so r/2fl/'5 settled."
"How d'you do?" the newcomer said, shaking hands and smiling at her, but not at all like the bold amused admiration of the other man. His smile said perfectly plainly that she was pretty and charming, but it said nothing whatever about kissing a girl without full permission or teasing her on the strength often minutes' acquaintance years ago. He was the perfect escort for a shy girl at her first party.
Leoni glanced quickly from him to the man she had mistaken for him. But he had already stepped back from the group and, even as she met his eyes, he gave her a careless, almost indifferent little nod, to signify that he withdrew in favor of her appointed escort.
Leoni was aware of a faint chill of disappointment, and just for a moment she found herself wishing that Julia was not quite such a passionate arranger of other people's affairs. But the next moment she reminded herself with remorse that she had been only too glad of Julia's kindly interference when she thought she would need it.
And so she went away with the real Norman Conby, though not before she had heard Julia say rather cavalierly to the other man, "Hello, I didn't really expect you."
Leoni was not able to hear his reply, and in any case she had to give her attention to her partner's conversation. She thought of asking him who the other man was, but decided it would hardly be tactful or polite to open her conversation with him by inquiring eagerly about someone else. So she gave herself up to the very real pleasure of dancing with a first-class partner, and of listening to his amusing and charming comments and questions.
Presently he said, with obvious and kindly interest, "It's your first dance, isn't it?"
"Yes. How did you know? By my dancing?" Leoni asked.
"Certainly not. You dance beautifully. No—Julia told me. That's partly why I wanted to dance with you."
"Did you? I don't quite see-"
"Why, it's enormous fun to see all this through someone's eyes for the first time."
"Is it? I thought it might be a bore for someone—well, someone experienced, and that you were just being especially kind.
"Good heavens, no!" he assured her. "Don't you know you 've got all the freshness and novelty of outlook that old stagers like myself must envy?"
Leoni laughed and shook her head, only half believing that.
"I think only the nice old stagers feel that way," she said. "I expect the blase and sophisticated ones would think it a nuisance to have to talk to someone like me."
"Then they would miss a great deal." He smiled down at her. Then, as though some thought struck him, he added, "I wonder why you said that. Did anyone—I mean, if Morrion said anything disparaging to you, there isn't the slightest need to notice it."
"Morrion?"
"Yes. Hadn't you been talking to Lucas Morrion when Julia and I found you?''
"Was that Lucas Morrion?"
"Why, yes. Didn't you know?''
"N-no. Do you mean Julia's cousin?"
"Yes. Old Henry Morrion's son. I thought you knew him."
"I do. At least ... I mean ... I don't know him by name. I'd just been talking to him."
"And he didn't say anything unkind?"
"Oh, Ajo," Leoni insisted so earnestly that Norman Conby smiled.
"I'm very glad," he said kindly and was obviously going to leave the subject there.
But Leoni wanted to know more.
"Why—" she asked rather diffidentl
y "—why did you think he might have said something unkind—disparaging was the word you used.''
"Oh—" Just for a moment Norman Conby's pleasant assurance wavered. "Don't think I mean to fasten any criticism onto Morrion. Only I know how casual and inconsiderate he can be at times. 1 suppose he's what one
calls blase and not exactly a respecter of other people's feelings.*'
*'You mean you don't like him?" suggested Leoni, who preferred to have things defined in black and white.
"We-ell—" Norman Conby seemed amused and faintly put out at this candor. *'You say you know him yourself. I don't know that you require my candid opinion about him in those circumstances.'
"I don't really know him," Leoni then promptly confessed, because somehow it was quite easy to be frank with Norman Conby. *'I spoke to him once, years ago, when I was a little girl, and it seemed funny seeing him again, and we both remembered the occasion.'
"Morrion remembered speaking to you when you were a little girl!" Norman Conby seemed astonished.
"Yes. It—it was in rather unusual circumstances."
"Was it?" He glanced at her curiously—even with a touch of friendly concern.
"Yes. But, as you see, that doesn't really constitute knowing him. And I... I rather wondered what he was like."
"And you want me to tell you?" He smiled and then made a slight grimace.
"I do rather. Why not?"
"Well, it puts me in a bit of a quandary."
"Why?" Leoni looked up at him inquiringly.
"Because when you suggested just now that I didn't like him, you hit on the exact truth. And, that being so, I doubt if I should do him justice."
"Oh," Leoni said slowly, "I see."Then after a thoughtful silence, during which he looked down at her with an amused interest of which she was unaware, she added gravely, "But I think you'd be fair to someone even if you didn't like them."
He laughed then.
"Do you? Well, I hope you're right. There's not much credit in wanting justice only for the people you like, is there?"
"No," Leoni agreed seriously. "No, there isn't. Now will you tell me about Lucas Morrion?"
"If you like." He was a good deal amused at her persistence but, as their dance ended just then, he good-humoredly
led her toward the big conservatories, which were the pride of Mr. Vandeem*s heart. *'Let*s stroll among Mr. Vandeem 's floral triumphs. We can talk more easily there. *'
They found a seat, and he fetched her an ice cream, which she ate slowl)^. with all the enjoyment of one to whom ice cream was still a pleasurable novelty. For a moment he watched her in sminne silence.
Then he said, "Well, what do you want to know?'*
She was not quite sure then. So she said at random, "Do you know him well?' *
"Morrion? I've known him a good many years, if that makes one know a man well. We were at school together, at college at much the same time, and I suppose we have more or less moved in the same circle since then."
"Then you know each other v^ry well," exclaimed Leoni.
But Norman Conby wrinkled his forehead thoughtfully.
"I don't know that we do, Leoni. May I call you Leoni?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Morrion isn't a man one knows well. Oh, he may have one or two intimates, for all I know, but I 'm not one of them. He was auite a good mixer at school—rather popular, on the whole. He came in for a good deal of money when he was about twenty, you know.'
"Yes. Julia told me her father said that spoiled him," Leoni remarked.
Norman Conby shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
"I don't know about that. I lost sight of him for a while. When we met again at college he certainly had the reputation of being a bit wild, but I remember that I liked what I saw of him fer the first term or two. That would be about the time when you first saw him, I daresay." He smiled at her.
"Yes, I expect so. I remember he said he was at college." She, too, smiled, but it was not so much in reply to her companion's smile as at the recollection of the handsome young man on the other side of the orphanage gate saying: "If I weren't at college, and if I had a home near here, I'd be your uncle and you should come home to tea with me once a fortnight."
"He was very nice then," she said earnestly.
"Was he?" Norman Conby smiled agam at her eager defense. "Well, I expect you're right. I don't want to make too much of the way he changed, Leoni. I can only say that it
seemed to me—and I believe to most people who knew him—that he became unfriendly and withdrawn. Sullen and, possibly, conceited—I don't know. At least his rather arrogant air became very much intensified and he didn't seem to want to know any of us. I suppose the inescapable impression then is that a man feels himself a bit too good for his fellows. And I'm afraid one doesn't like that."
"No," Leoni agreed seriously, "one doesn 't." '^
She was trying to recollect if there had been anything of that in his manner to her that evening. With quite unavoidable pleasure and gratification she remembered that there had not. On the contrary, she had to admit, as she remembered that kiss, that if anything he had been almost too friendly.
"He wasn't a bit unfriendly with me," she said, and had no idea that this statement sounded rather touchingly naive to the man beside her.
He frowned slightly, hesitated as though he were in some doubt what to say, and then remarked dryly, "But then you are a remarkably pretty girl, Leoni."
"Oh!" She colored a little. Then, with considerable frankness, she added, "I'm not always, you know. It's just that Mrs. Vandeem gave me this marvelous dress and her maid. Borrow, did my hair beautifully. Sometimes I look quite ordinary."
He laughed and laughed at that.
"Don't you know that's the most dangerous thing of^ all?" he said teasingly. "Anyone can be on his guard against the perpetual beauty. But the * quite ordinary' girl who can sometimes look beautiful is the one who knocks a poor fellow sideways."
"I hadn't thought of that," Leoni admitted, and the httle laughter hollows showed in her cheeks, though she remained almost completely serious because she couldn 't help wondering if she had knocked Lucas Morrion sideways.
"Do you think that was why he was nice to me?''
"Who? Oh, Morrion." Norman Conby frowned aeain in that slightly nonplussed way. "You do ask awkward questions, Leoni. But, at the risk of telling tales out of school, I feel bound to warn you that Morrion hasn't too good a reputation with your sex."
"Oh!" Leoni looked very serious at that, because of
course the fact that he had kissed her so casually and promptly now took on another, and by no means agreeable, significance.
"But I shouldn't worry about that," her companion said quickly. "You're not likely to see much of him, are you? I mean—if your meetings average two in ten years—"
"Nine years," Leoni corrected.
"Nine, then." He accepted the correction with gravity. "It's not exactly a fatal number, is it?"
"No," Leoni admitted. "But...." She hesitated. "I didn't know he was Julia's cousin. It's so o^^somehow."
"You mean that you are likely to see something of him then?"
"No. I'm not a bit likely to see any more of him. It was interesting meeting him again and ... and I couldn't help asking about him. But that's all there is to it."
And after that she asked Norman Conby about himself and learned that he was a lawyer (a successful one, he admitted when pressed) and that he had an apartment of his own in London and a bungalow in the district, where he often spent his weekends.
"So perhaps, unlike Morrion, I may be lucky enough to see more of you," he said with a smile.
"That would be very nice," Leoni admitted with candor. "But I'm very soon going to start a job, and I'm not quite sure where it will be. I may even have to go to London."
"Then I would still see you," he reminded her.
And Leoni smiled with sudden pleasure at that, and somehow the vague future began to take a more defi
nite and less alarming shape. If it were going to hold such charming and reassuring figures as Norman Conby, there was little to worry about. And even matron's grave warning about the serious and unfrivolous existence she might expect seemed rather less important than the unmistakable fact that Norman Conby evidently intended to have some part in that existence.
After that they went back and danced again. And then, just before supper, Julia came over, partly to find out how Leoni was enjoying herself and partly to state firmly that Norman had enjoyed enough of her society for the time being.
Leoni didn't much want to be torn from her safe anchor-
age, but her attention was completely arrested when Julia said carelessly, "As a matter of fact, my tiresome cousin Lucas wants to dance with you, and it*s rather a change for him to want to dance with any of my friends. But you can say no if you like. He hasn 't got any feelings to hurt, and I wouldn't mind his pride havmg a bit of a stab. But please yourself.'*
With the very distinct conviction that she was indeed pleasing herself, Leoni said, "But of course I'd like to dance with him, Julia. Why not?"
"0>h, well. ..." Julia made one of her vague gestures. "All right. Come along."
And, leaving Norman Conby to pay smiling and rather well-turned compliments to Mrs. Vandeem, Julia swept her friend off to one of the deep window embrasures, where Lucas Morrion was regarding the moonlit garden with a gloomy attention that suggested that he was not enjoying himself
"Hello, Lucas!" Julia greeted him briskly. "Displeased with the scenic effects? They're not mine, you know; they're the Almighty's. This is Leoni Frendall. You look after her nicely and see she has a good time, even if you have to come off your high horse to do so."
"I dismount with all haste," her cousin assured her dryly. "And to show how highly I approve of the Almighty's moonlight display, I suggest that Le—Miss Frendall and I go out and enjoy it personally."
" It's too cold," Julia declared.
*'0h, no! Not with a coat on," Leoni said rather eagerly, forgetting she had nothing but her old tweed school coat for the occasion.
Julia, however, always remembered everything to do with clothes, so she said, "Well, take something from the cloakroom at the end of the hall, then."
Harlequin Omnibus: Take Me with You, Choose What You Will, Meant for Each Other Page 3