The Washington times., 1933-08-12
KNAVE'S GIRL -
By Joan
CLAYTON

bltterlyI nope Jou Le SaVLS
fled"
"It's too late for that now,
Patricia" he remarked with a
peculiar glance. He said, Il
gave you a promise long ago.
I take that promise back"
What promise?"
"I told you once that I'd
stand back Of you. I won't
now, not with Clark. I won't
lose you, Patricia. I won't
lose you. I tell you I won't"
His voice was loud. It rang
in the quiet room. He whirled
on her. He said all at once,
IF you go to Clark with your
story, I'll go to him with
mine. I can assure you that
our stories won't jibe. Mine
will be a good deal less inno-
cent than yours. Well let
young Galahad take his choice!"
"You won't, you can't!"
Even as she spoke a sense
of the futility of her own
words overcame the girl. She
looked at Julian with loathing
and contempt and knew that
nothing she could do would
stay his hand. No protest, no
plea, no argument could swerve
him from his set intention. He
was as implacable, as immov-
able, as relentless, as some
force in nature. She was
caught, trapped in her own
indeciSion. If she had told
Clark long ago. But, she had
not.
That's blackmail," she whis-
pered.
Call it what you like. It's
what I'm going to do. Patricia,
I don't enjoy this. I'm suffer
ing, too."
IT hope you are" she said
viciously. "I hope it kills you.
I hate you. You've made me
hate you. That's what you've
done!"
Hollow Victory
She rose then, rose Stiffly
from her chair, and somehow
got upstairs. Nor did the man
attempt to stop her. He had
bent her to his will. He had
won his point. The girl would
break with Clark; he himself
had closed to her any other
course. Julian stood in the
empty room, alone and frown-
ing. Suddenly he gave a brief
and mirthless laugh. He dis
liked his means of victory, but
he had no regrets. Time cured
all things, it was his cynical
belief. Time and absence would
make Patricia forget her in
fatuation for Clark. Once that
was accomplished, he, Julian
Haverholt, would have his
chance. It did not occur to
him that he might have over
shot his mark; that he might
defeat Clark and still lose the
girl.
Upstairs Patricia sat down
on her bed, her cold hands
clasped, her eyes fixed on space.
She did not cry. She was be-
yond tears now. She heard
Haverholt come upstairs; but
he stalked down the hall with
out pausing.
How long she sat there Pa
tricia never knew; the passage
of time was nothing. Life it
self seemed nothing. She felt
cold and weak and i'll.
After a while she rose and
went to her closet. She knelt,
pulled out her smart pigskin
bag and started to pack her
clothes. She gave that up and
left the bag half packed in the
middle of the floor. Flight
would not help; to leave this
house would not change her sit
uation. Once it might have.
But not now. Julian would only
hunt her down, chide her for
her foolishnesS, and bring her
back. She was too spent, too
weary, to face a future struggle.
Let him win. Let him realize
the emptiness of his victory.
He might ruin her with Clark.
In the end he must see that in
so doing he had ruined himself
with her.
1t sickened her to think Of
that encounter in the card
room. She could think Of moth
ing else. She undressed, got
into bed, and still could think
of nothing else.