No Nice Girl (17 page)

“But—but—oh, Terry—”

He nodded, his expression grim.

“It's a corny old dodge, of course,” he admitted without shame. “But after all, what makes a dodge old and corny? The fact that it almost always succeeds! You were making a fool of yourself about Rutledge. I knew it wasn't his money—I knew you believed you were in love with him. But, well, Phyllis, a girl can't be as sweet to a man as you have been to me, unless she cares for him a little—even though she may be too blind to realize it. I took a chance. After all, a man's got a little pride. You hadn't left me much, I admit. I knew that you never came into my arms without thinking of Rutledge. There were times when I could have left you and not looked back—but I guess I'm too much of a dope to walk away from you. So that left me my only hope—making you believe that you were about to lose me in order to make you realize that maybe you liked having me around more than you know.”

Phyllis nodded soberly, and there was a bright mist of tears in her eyes, despite the slightly tremulous smile on her lips.

“You—you're terribly sweet, Terry,” she whispered huskily.

Terry asked anxiously, “Does that mean that we can abandon Miss Adams?”

“Of course, you blessed idiot!” she told him unsteadily.

His arms caught her close, and he kissed her hard. But there was still the shadow of a frown, a tiny trace of lingering doubt in his mind, and after a moment it came into words.

“Look here, pretty thing, we might as well get all of this cleared up once and for all,” he said sternly. “This…this sudden aversion for the Rutledge lug—it didn't just spring into being today when you knew he'd married the little blond bitch?”

She shook her head soberly.

“It began
that
night, when Mrs. Lawrence walked in,” she admitted frankly. “But it didn't entirely disappear until you began telling me about Miss Adams. That night when we had dinner and you began raving about her—well, I lay awake all night, facing facts. The fact that all along I'd been an utter fool, and that I wasn't in love with Kenyon after all, but that I was crazy about you. And that I'd fooled around and lost you to somebody else.”

Terry kissed her and asked one last assurance.

“Will I have to go around inventing any more Miss Adamses in order to keep you conscious that you're in love with me?” he wondered worriedly.

She laughed richly, and framed his face between her two palms, and kissed him.

“All you have to do is to go on loving me, and reminding me, and staying pretty close at hand,” she told him with a soft gaiety that belied her tears.

Terry held her close, and for a long moment they were silent. And then Terry said huskily, “We've lost such a lot of time, Phyllis, fooling around.”

“And that's my fault, Terry, because I was such a dope,” she confessed humbly.

Terry said suddenly, “Hey, why don't we get married tonight?”

Phyllis gasped, but her eyes were eager.

“Well, not tonight, Terry. We can't—there are laws and things. We have to wait three days for a license,” she pointed out reluctantly.

“Not in Elkton, we don't,” he reminded her. He kicked the newspaper that lay at his feet and said proudly, “What's good enough for a multi-millionaire is good enough—but only
just!
—for us! My car's downstairs; it will hold together for a drive that far—and who the blazes cares whether it holds together for the return? You're not working, and I'm due for a vacation. We'll just go from Elkton for a honeymoon.”

Phyllis said radiantly, “Give me twenty minutes to get dressed and pack a bag!”

“I'll give you fifteen,” he bargained.

Phyllis laughed joyously.

“Make it ten,” she promised recklessly, and spent several of them giving and receiving a kiss.