Pretty Lady by Marian Babson Page A

dafties!’ He was a dark silhouette against the pale grey of the picture window. A bulky, menacing shape in the growing darkness.
    â€˜Nonsense, darling.’ She touched a switch and the lamp glowed, giving him form and features again. ‘Denny is harmless – and rather sweet, really.’
    â€˜Rather sweet! That’s what you used to say about that other lot you always had hanging about.’ His head jerked towards her, suddenly alarmed. ‘Here! Now that we’ve got rid of that useless lot, you’re not going to start filling the house up with his sort, are you?’
    It was her house. She bit back the retort, forced her face into pleasant lines.
    â€˜There aren’t that many around.’ She kept a light, affectionate, teasing tone.
    â€˜And a good job, too.’
    â€˜You are being silly. He’s just like a child. He was feeding the ducks and we started talking. He offered me –’ she laughed lightly – ‘some of his bread, so that I could feed them, too. And then I thought I ought to offer him something – and I thought of tea. It was just an impulse. A sudden impulse.’
    â€˜You’re too soft-hearted.’ His face cleared and softened. ‘You’re too soft-hearted for your own good. That’s the trouble with you, my lass.’
    â€˜Well, there’s no harm in that, is there?’
    â€˜I’m not so sure. You don’t want to encourage that poor creature to come hanging around you. You never know what they’re thinking. Or what they might do.’
    Yes, that was it. That was always it with men like Keith, perhaps with all men. That was why they saved the last bullet for their woman.
    â€˜That’s ... silly.’ She let the hesitation and doubt creep into her voice, knowing that he would register them. At the same time, her mind couldn’t help toying with the idea. How much of a man was there, controlled by that hazy, childish brain? What might it be like – that perfectly proportioned male body, directed – or undirected – by an unformed mind? Could he possibly – if goaded -?’
    â€˜You’re too trusting. And too impulsive. It can get you into real trouble some day. More trouble than you can handle.’ He frowned. ‘Perhaps more trouble than I can get you out of.’
    â€˜Impossible,’ she said. He took it as a compliment.
    â€˜No, no,’ he said, obviously flattered. ‘I’ll grant you, in the ordinary way, I could see you clear of almost anything. I reckon, perhaps, even murder. But that’s when you’re dealing with sensible people, who know which side their bread is buttered on. When you get someone like that –’ He broke off, the thought upsetting him more than he liked to show.
    Someone like that. Someone to whom money, power and influence meant nothing, conveyed no threat and no promise. Were just words, as meaningless as the quacking of the ducks in the river.
    She watched the half-formed thoughts flicker across his mind, reflected in his faint changes of expression, as clouds passing across the face of the moon cast their shadows on the earth beneath. He recognized Denny as a threat, but only as he felt a threat from anyone who might upset the ordered luxury of his way of life. He had no way of knowing how much of a threat Denny really was. She must keep him from finding out until the very last minute. Although ... it would not do any harm to let him worry about Denny a bit more.
    â€˜I don’t like dafties!’ he summed up.
    She suddenly wanted to shake his righteous arrogance.
    â€˜What’s the matter ?’ she jeered delicately. ‘Afraid of pre-natal influence?’
    He went rigid with sudden shock, then his face lit up. ‘Lass!’ He crossed to her in a single stride and scooped her up into his arms. ‘Lass, lass! ’
    She realized what she had said, then. She had meant post-natal, but her tongue