'" He took her in his arms, and she surrendered her
lips to him.
"My sweet little girl," he whispered. "I cannot believe it--yet."
But the die was cast, and when Rita went to the theatre to dress for
the afternoon performance she was pledged to sever her connection with
the stage on the termination of her contract. She had luncheon with
Monte Irvin, and had listened almost dazedly to his plans for the
future. His wealth was even greater than her mother had estimated it
to be, and Rita's most cherished dreams were dwarfed by the prospects
which Monte Irvin opened up before her. It almost seemed as though he
knew and shared her dearest ambitions. She was to winter beneath real
Southern palms and to possess a cruising yacht, not one of boards and
canvas like that which figured in The Maid of the Masque.
Real Southern palms, she mused guiltily, not those conjured up by
opium. That he was solicitous for her health the nature of his schemes
revealed. They were to visit Switzerland, and proceed thence to a
villa which he owned in Italy. Christmas they would spend in Cairo,
explore the Nile to Assouan in a private dahabiyeh, and return home
via the Riviera in time to greet the English spring. Rita's delicate,
swiftly changing color, her almost ethereal figure, her intense
nervous energy he ascribed to a delicate constitution.
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