Marion Marlowe's Escape, or, A Dangerous Mistake on the Road — page 18: what you’re looking at

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16 pany could have, and one that would go down unparalleled in the history of the profession. Then, suddenly, it came to her how it would distress her friends if she really put her plan in execution. “T’ll tell Alma,” she decided; “‘and she can explain afterward. The effect upon the pub- lic will be just the same, for, of course, it will be considered a professional secret.” After this she waited calmly for the train tc reach Hudson, little dreaming how perfect- ly her plans were to be carried out, or that she was about to become a victim of the very plot she had laid so smilingly. CHAPTER VII. A PECULIAR REHEARSAL. When Percy Preston came back to the par- lor car he found the ladies alone. Miss Mar- lowe and Miss Allyn were both studying their parts under the electric light, Miss Ellis and Mrs. Burnside were playing cards, and little Ruby was asleep on one’end of the sofa. Miss Lee seemed the only one who was disengaged. She had just finished her sup- rer and was leaning back, wearily. Sinking into the chair nearest her, the actor spoke indifferently, but with his voice raised a little, so that every one could hear him. “These long rides are beastly stupid! [I’m heartily sick of train life, but what is a man to do? You can’t loaf all winter on the Rialto very well! I made a mint of money last year, but I have put it all ina play, ‘The Daughter of the Gods.” How does that strike you for a title?” “First rate. Who wrote it?’ answered Miss Lee, mechanically. “T did, and I expect it will be great!" was Preston’s astonishingly candid answer, Marion Marlowe glanced over her shoul- der with an interested look. “Tow lovely, Mr. Preston! Do you really write plays? T have wished so often that I was clever enough to write one w In an instant the actor was leaning over the hack of her chair, while Miss Lee's inky eves fairly scintillated with anger, “There is a magnificent part in my play for you, Miss Marlowe,” murmured Preston, MY QUEEN. softly; “the character of ‘The Daughter of the Gods, divinely fair’ you know. It gives a splendid opportunity for tragedy, of course! There are passages in it that would stir the heart of a statue, if they were spoken in your melodious tones, Miss Marlowe.” | The black eyes behind him gleamed a little more ominously, but Marion did not see them, so she only laughed at the actor’s en- thusiasm. “T do hope you can get Mr. Temple to try it,’ she said, honestly; “but, of course, you must give my friends some real nice parts. Miss Allyn, for instance, must be in it, Mr. ' Preston, and Bert must be the comedian—l am sure he has talent.” A heavy scowl darkened the actor’s face, and it was only with some difficulty that he kept her from seeing it. “Never mind about me! My career will be over in a month}” laughed Miss Allyn, looking up from her manuscript. “I shall distinguish myself the first night by falling all to pieces, but I'll keep going on as long as they stick me together. By the end of the month I’m sure to be way past sticking.” “That’s three games out of five! Oh, you are too stupid!” called out Miss Ellis at that minute. “Do come over here, Miss Allyn, and play just one game! I’m so nervous over the storm that I must do something, and - Mrs. Burnside has neither eyes nor ears for any one but Mr. Preston! He's hypnotized her, I believe, for she’s sat and stared at him ever since he came back into the car!) I’m sorry to be personal, but anybody can see it 2 “Oh, Miss Ellis! How unkind!” . mur- mured Mrs. Burnside, without even a blush. “T was staring at Mr. Preston for exactly one reason. He looks like a man I met years ago, way out in the West. I never discov- ered it until just now, and it upset me com- pletely.” Both remarks had been made good-na- turedly, but Percy Preston looked uneasy. “T hope I'm better looking than he was,” le managed to say, finally. “TI don’t mind looking like some one else, provided he hasn’t any creditors.” “T believe you are handsomer, and I hope you are better,” said Mrs. Burnside, musing- . Eomicbooks com