An Interrupted Wedding, or Marion Marlowe as Maid of Honor — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MY QUEEN. 6 9? “It was only one of the maids,’’ she whis- pered, almost involuntarily. “You are dread- fully nervous, Alma! You must see a doc- 2? tor. ° Miss Allyn locked her fingers together and resumed her pacing. She was trying to nerve herself to tell the rest of her story. “Yes, I tried to keep it, Marion,” she con- tinued, more bitterly, “but, as strange as it may seem, there was some one who would not keep it. She gloried in it, almost, and I am absolutely helpless! any one glorying in their own dishonor, Marion ?” She turned as she spoke, and asked the question sharply, but as Marion was about to reply some one shook the door noisily. There was another instant of. trembling and a deeper flush mounted to Miss Allyn’s brow; then, with a decided movement, she went to the door and opened it. “This will save me the agony of telling you my secret, Marion,” she said, bitterly, “but I would have given my life almost to have kept you from meeting her, though the fact remains that she is my sister.” Marion rose to her feet almost paralyzed with amazement, then, as a flashily dressed young girl entered the room, she stood star- ing at her like one in a dream. It took but an instant to see the family résemblance between the two girls, but be- yond a similarity of features the likeness ended, for the newcomer was painted and powdered and her hair was bleached to a tow color, while her garments were evidently chosen to attract attention. “This is my sister, Gladys Allyn,” said the bitter voice again. “Will you speak to her, Marion, just because you love me! I would not ask you for any other reason,” Marion nerved herself to take a step for- ward, but as she did so and extended her hand a coarse voice greeted her. Can you imagine: “Hello! So you are the paragon that I’ve heard so much about, are you? Well, I must confess that you are a beaut, all right, but what the deuce is the matter with you and Alma? I’ve had a snifter or two, but that doesn’t shock you, does it?” She lurched heavily across the room as she spoke and literally fell into a chair, while Alma closed the door and bolted it securely. “Well, what do you think of her, Ma- pe is only twenty-two and yet you can see what rion?’ asked Alma, in a softer voice. She was born a lady—now she is 39 she 1s. only a Her voice gave way, but the intoxicated girl finished the sentence for her. ® “A lush, Miss Marlowe! An out and out lush! ‘That is what Al wanted to say, but the word stuck in her gullet.” She drew herself up unsteadily and leered at Marion a moment, then broke out into a noisy song that echoed painfully through the room. Marion’s arm stole around Alma’s waist, but she was collecting her wits gradually. There was something pitiful to her in this hideous spectacle. “What shall I do with her, Marion?” asked Alma, pathetically. “I have not seen her in a year; in fact, I did not know that she was living until she appeared last even- ing. Now she comes to me from-the slums and as drunk as a Bowery loafer, and she comes on the very eve of my wedding.” There was a world of agony in the girl’s face, and Marion knew her too well to rnis- understand her. She had done what she could to reform her sister. The task was _ hopeless and she was driven to desperation. “IT think I can help you, Alma,” was Ma- rion’s low answer. “She is your sister, so, of course, she must be cared for and pte tected, and I would not be your friend jf I did not help you!” ComicboookSs.eO