"I imagine your life must be a monotonous round
of disaster and excitement!"
"Fortuitously," owned Philip, "it's improving!"
Piqued by his irresistible good humor in adversity, Diane eyed him
severely.
"Are you so in the habit of being mysteriously stabbed in the shoulder
whenever it storms," she demanded with mild sarcasm, "that you can
retain an altogether pernicious good humor?"
Philip's eyes glinted oddly.
"I'm a mere novice," he admitted lightly. "If my shoulder didn't throb
so infernally," he added thoughtfully, "I'd lose all faith in the
escapade--it's so weird and mysterious. A crackle--a lunge--a knife in
the dark--and behold! I am here, exceedingly grateful and hungry
despite the melodrama."
To which Diane, raising beautifully arched and wondering eyebrows, did
not reply. Philip, furtively marking the firm brown throat above the
scarlet sweater, and the vivid gypsy color beneath the laughing dusk of
Diane's eyes, devoutly thanked his lucky star that Fate had seen fit to
curb the air of delicate hostility with which she had left him on the
Westfall lake. Well, Emerson was right, decided Philip. There is an
inevitable law of compensation. Even a knife in the dark has
compensations.
"Johnny," said Diane presently, briskly disinterring some baked
potatoes and a baked fish from a cairn of hot stones covered with
grass, "is off examining last night's trail of melodrama.
Pages:
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79