8

“Cigars! And boxes of candy, gloves, or anything,” Ernestine said, smiling.

“But I don’t know Mrs. Forrest’s records, either,” Graham protested. “However, if in five minutes—”

“Ten minutes,” Paula said, “and to start from opposite ends of the pool. Is that fair? If you touch me, you win.”

Graham looked his hostess over with secret approval. She was clad, not in the single white silk slip, but in a coquettish suit of changeable light blue and green silk—almost the color of the pool; the skirt slightly above the knees; with long stockings, and tiny bathing shoes. On her head was a jaunty swimming cap.

Graham walked down to the other end of the hundred-and-fifty-foot pool.

“Paula, you’ll be caught for sure,” Dick warned. “Evan Graham is a real fish man. I saw the rock he dived from at Huahoa. That was after his time, and after the death of Queen Nomare. He was only a youngster—twenty-two. And he did it. So, get ready!”

“It’s almost a shame to play tricks on so reputable swimmer,” Paula said while both waited the signal.

“He may get you before you can turn the trick,” Dick warned again.

“All OK,” one of Dick’s guest, Bert, assured. “I went in myself. The pipe is working. There’s plenty of air.”

“Ready!” Dick called. “Go!”

Paula climbed the scaffold and jumped into the water. The moment she entered the water, Graham swung out on the platform and waited. He was confident that he could outspeed her, and his dive entered him in the water twenty feet beyond her entrance.

But at the instant he was in, Dick dipped two flat rocks into the water and struck them together. This was the signal for Paula to change her course. Graham heard the noise and wondered. He swam to the far end at high speed. He pulled himself out and watched the surface of the pool. Little Lady was drawing herself out of the pool at the other end.

Again he ran down the side of the tank, and again she climbed the scaffold. She swam toward the west side of the pool. They almost were in the air at the same time. In the water and under it, he could feel the agitation left by her progress; but the water was so dark he could see nothing.

When he touched the side of the pool he came up. Paula was not in sight. He drew himself out, panting, and stood ready to dive in at the first sign of her. But there were no signs.

“Seven minutes!” said Rita, Ernestine’s sister. “And a half! … Eight! … And a half!”

But they saw no Paula Forrest. Strangely, Graham saw no alarm on the faces of the others.

“She’s been under water over two minutes, and you’re all too calm about it,” he said. “I’ve still a minute—maybe I don’t lose,” he added quickly, as he stepped into the pool.

As he went down he turned over and explored the cement wall of the pool with his hands. Midway, possibly ten feet under the surface, his hands encountered an opening in the wall. He boldly entered. There was a pipe and at the end of it a little room, and he could stand up.

His fingers touched a cool smooth arm that shrank convulsively at contact while the possessor of it cried sharply. He held on tightly and began to laugh, and Paula laughed with him.

“You frightened me when you touched me,” she said. “You came without a sound, and I was a thousand miles away, dreaming …”

“What?” Graham asked.

“Well, honestly, I had just got an idea for a gown. And the only jewellery, a ring—one enormous ruby that Dick gave me years ago when we sailed together.”

“Is there anything you don’t do?” he laughed.

She joined with him.

“Who told you about the pipe?” she next asked.

“No one. I just understood.”

“It was Dick’s idea. You will find him full of whimsies. He liked to scare old ladies into fits by stepping off into the pool with their sons or grandsons and hiding away in here.”

“Well?—going to stay there all night?” Bert’s voice came down the pipe.

“It’s time to go back,” Paula suggested. “It’s not the coziest place in the world. Shall I go first?”

“By all means—and I’ll be right behind.”

“Somebody told you,” was Bert’s prompt accusal, when Graham rose to the surface of the pool and climbed out.

“And you were the scoundrel who rapped stone under water,” Graham said. “It was a crooked game, a conspiracy, and a felony. It’s a case for the district attorney.”

“But you won,” Ernestine cried.

“I certainly did, and, therefore, I shall not prosecute you, nor any one of your crooked gang—if the bets are paid promptly. Let me see—you owe me a box of cigars—”

“One cigar, sir!”

“A box! A box!”

9

Dick had started a gambling game. It went on at a big table at the far end of the room, accompanied by much owing and borrowing of small sums.

With nine players, the game was crowded, and Graham, with a profound sigh at the loss of his last bet—a nickel—announced that he was going to take a turn around the room to change his luck. He wanted to see Paula.

At this point, Ernestine told Graham:

“We’re all waiting for you. You and I are partners. Besides, Paula’s going to sleep. So say good night, and let her go.”

Paula had left for bed at ten o’clock. Dick said good night to Graham and continued on with his pretty sister-in-law toward her quarters.

“Just a tip, Ernestine,” he said at parting, his voice was serious to warn her.

“What have I done?” she pouted laughingly.

“Nothing … as of yet. But don’t get started. You’re only a kid yet—eighteen; and a nice, likable kid. Enough to make any man sit up and take notice. But Evan Graham is not any man—”

“Oh, I can take care of myself,” she blurted out in a fling of quick resentment.

“But listen to me. There comes a time for a girl when she mustn’t make a mistake and start in loving the wrong man. You haven’t fallen in love with Evan Graham yet, and all you have to do is just not to fall in love with him. He’s not for you, nor for any young girl. He’s an oldster, an ancient, and possibly has forgotten more about love, romantic love, and young things, than you’ll ever learn in a dozen lives. If he ever marries again—”

“Again!” Ernestine broke in.

“Why, he’s been a widower, my dear, for over fifteen years.”

“Then what of it?” she demanded defiantly.

“Just this,” Dick continued quietly. “The fact is that in fifteen years he has not married again. It means—”

“That he’s never recovered from his loss?” Ernestine interpolated. “But that’s no proof—”

“—Means all you have to do is look at him,” Dick held on steadily, “and realize that some very fine women, real wise women, mature women, have tested his endurance. But so far they’ve not succeeded in catching him. Think it over, dear.”

He took one of her hands in his, and drew her against him.

“You know, we hard-bitten old fellows—” he began half-apologetically, half-humorously.

But she made a restless movement of distaste, and cried out:

“The young men are all youngsters, and that’s all. They’re full of life, and spirits, and dance, and song. But they’re not serious. They’re not big. They’re not—oh, they don’t give a girl that sense of proven strength, of, of … well, of manhood.”

“I understand,” Dick murmured. “But please do not forget to glance at the other side. Life is something to be learned. But young girls like you, Ernestine, have you learned any of it yet?”

“Tell me,” she asked abruptly, almost tragically, “about this wild young romance, about this young woman when he was young, fifteen years ago.”

“Fifteen?” Dick replied promptly. “Eighteen. They had been married for three years before she died. In fact, they were actually married, by a Church, and living in wedlock, about the same moment that you were born.”

“Yes, yes—go on,” she urged nervously. “What was she like?”

“She was a resplendent, golden-brown Polynesian queen whose mother had been a queen before her, whose father was an Oxford man, an English gentleman, and a real scholar. Her name was Nomare. She was Queen of Huahoa. She was barbaric. He was young enough. There was nothing sordid in their marriage. He was no penniless adventurer. She brought him her island kingdom and forty thousand men. He brought to that island his fortune—and it was no inconsiderable fortune. He built a palace that no South Sea island ever possessed before or will ever possess again. Heavens! They had their own royal yacht, their mountain house, their canoe house. I know. I have been at great feasts in it.

When she died, no one knew where Graham was. Oh, what’s the use in telling any more. He was only a boy. She was half-English, half-Polynesian, and a really and truly queen. They were flowers of their races. They were a pair of wonderful children. They lived a fairy tale. And … well, Ernestine, the years have passed, and Evan Graham has passed from the realm of the youth. It will be a remarkable woman that will ever infatuate him now. Besides, he’s practically broke. Though he didn’t waste his money. As much misfortune, and more, than anything else.”

“Paula is more his kind,” Ernestine said meditatively.

“Yes, indeed,” Dick agreed. “Paula, or any woman as remarkable as Paula, will attract him a thousand times more than all the sweet, young, lovely things like you in the world. We oldsters have our standards, you know.”

“And I’ll have to pay attention at the youngsters,” Ernestine sighed.

“In the meantime, yes,” he chuckled. “Remembering, always, that you, too, in time, may grow into the remarkable, mature woman, who can catch a man like Evan.”

“But I shall be married long before that,” she pouted.

“Which is for the best, my dear. And, now, good night. And you are not angry with me?”

She smiled pathetically and shook her head, put up her lips to be kissed.

Dick Forrest, turning off lights as he went, penetrated the library, and smiled at recollection of the interview with his sister-in-law. He was confident that he had spoken in time. But a remark of Ernestine was echoing in his consciousness: “Paula is more his kind.”

“Fool!” he laughed aloud, continuing on his way. “And married a dozen years!”