Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 7, 1928 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

36 into an almost civilized smile, and re- plied : “T’m sorry, no. He hasn’t come home from work yet. Uh—I’m his wi—Mrs. Wade—his wife, you know.” “Yes, I know,” the visitor assured Viola calmly and sweetly. “ But he’ll be here soon—any minute now ?”’ In some strange manner this abom- inable female had got inside the apart- ment, had closed the door, and was now following Viola to the front room, At a loss before this bland, breezy manner, Viola heard herself apologiz- ing for the appearance of herself and the flat. * Don’t think about it,” her unex- pected guest chirruped. “When I’m home I look like the devil—myself. I mean,” she added hastily, “ the house is upset—when I help to—when | clean.”’ “Oh, yes?” Viola could not think, for the life of her, of an intelligent answer. “Ves.” The girl settled in the big, leather armchair and crossed her knees. When Albert came home, reflected Viola, the first thing he would see, from down at the end of the hall, would be his girl friend and her knees. “Mr. Wade,” she said, “I mean, Albert, will be here pretty soon now. Won’t you make yourself comfortable and wait? I’m just going to straighten up a little. I’ma fright.” “Oh, don’t bother, honey. What I really came over for was to borrow a camera. Your husband—Albert—told me—that is, he was kind enough—” “Oh, yes, I guess so.” Viola went to the desk and fished out the camera. Her eyes lighted on the photograph album, and she wanted to open it and compare the picture with the reality. But the girl was looking. She handed the vamp the camera and at that moment the hall door opened, and Albert arrived. He came into the room, as soon as he caught sight of the girl, with a bright manner quite out of his natural character. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “Didn’t expect you over so early,” he greeted her, adding: “ You two—I suppose you know—’”’ “Why, no—” began Viola, a little frigidly. But the vamp cut in on her with: “No, and isn’t that dumb? Why, Mrs. Wade, we never introduced our- selves.”’ “This is Miss Rawley,” offered Al- bert. “ Uh—Millicent Rawley,” corrected Miss Rawley, pleasantly. “Miss Rawley?’ mumbled Viola, as if she were surprised by the charm of the name, and Millicent answered, with a musical trill: **'Y eh-h-hes.”’ “This is George Archer’s niece, as I told you,” added Albert. “ You know, the girl—the young lady I took home in the rain.” 3 ““T remember seeing you that night,” responded Viola nicely but pointedly, “but I didn’t see Miss Rawley clearly enough to know her again.” She knew they were aware she was lying, but that didn’t make any differ- ence; the object was to minify Milli- cent’s appeal. Then Millicent, her round eyes turn- ing eloquently to include Albert, sprang a new one: “Uncle George and Aunt Katie want you both over for dinner to- morrow night.” “ Oh, no—I—-we—’” began Viola in panic, But she had not reckoned with Mil- licent’s superior personal force. Domi- nating them both, she put across the insistent invitation and had it ratified and accepted before either Albert or his wife could think up a decent ex- cuse. Viola noted that Albert had made but weak objections. When Millicent—black silk dress, cosmetics, knees and all—had departed like the Queen of Sheba in person, Viola gave her husband a generous sec- tion of her mind—which is to say, the very devil. EOPMICLOOOKS (E@)