"
X
THE STORY OF A FRAUD
"Funny, wasn't it, sweetheart?"
The soft voice reached her through a buzz of other louder voices.
Priscilla moved slightly, but she did not turn her head.
"You will have to explain," she said. "I don't understand anything yet."
"Nor I," came the quiet retort. "It's the woman's privilege to explain
first, isn't it?"
Against her will, the blood rose in her face. She threw him a quick
glance.
"I can't possibly explain anything here," she said.
He met her look with steady eyes.
"Let me tell you the story of a fraud," he said; and proceeded without
further preliminary. "There was once a man--a second son, without
prospects and without fame--who had the good fortune to do a service to
a woman. He went away immediately afterwards lest he should make a fool
of himself, for she was miles above his head, anyway. But he never
forgot her. The mischief was done, so far as he was concerned."
He broke off, and raised his champagne to his lips as if he drank to a
memory.
Priscilla was listening, but her eyes were downcast. She wore the old,
absent look that her stepmother always deprecated. The soft drawl at her
side continued, every syllable distinct and measured.
"Years passed, and things changed. The man had belonged to a cadet
branch of an aristocratic British family. But one heir after another
died, till only he was left to inherit.
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