Flappers and Philosophers. F. Scott Fitzgerald

that Mimi woman?"

      Carlyle nodded.

      "Sh!" he said. "She's coming on deck."

      Ardita appeared at the head of the companionway and gave a quick involuntary glance at Carlyle's wrists. A puzzled look passed across her face. Back aft the negroes had begun to sing, and the cool lake, fresh with dawn, echoed serenely to their low voices.

      "Ardita," said Carlyle unsteadily.

      She swayed a step toward him.

      "Ardita," he repeated breathlessly, "I've got to tell you the—the truth. It was all a plant, Ardita. My name isn't Carlyle. It's Moreland, Toby Moreland. The story was invented, Ardita, invented out of thin Florida air."

      She stared at him, bewildered, amazement, disbelief, and anger flowing in quick waves across her face. The three men held their breaths. Moreland, Senior, took a step toward her; Mr. Farnam's mouth dropped a little open as he waited, panic-stricken, for the expected crash.

      But it did not come. Ardita's face became suddenly radiant, and with a little laugh she went swiftly to young Moreland and looked up at him without a trace of wrath in her gray eyes.

      "Will you swear," she said quietly "That it was entirely a product of your own brain?"

      "I swear," said young Moreland eagerly.

      She drew his head down and kissed him gently.

      "What an imagination!" she said softly and almost enviously. "I want you to lie to me just as sweetly as you know how for the rest of my life."