Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 154: what you’re looking at

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

436 Lydia Crawford had loved Bowman; still loved him! They were both silent as a taxi rolled them to Lydia Crawford’s apartment hotel on Park Avenue. — Eddy Denby lingered uncertainly in the reception-room. Then he said with sud- den decision: ‘You don’t want to see me to-night, do you?” She hesitated, smiled wanly, then gently shook her head. Her eyes were frightened and almost tearful. “Well,” said Eddy, sighing deeply, “I won’t stop then—no, I'll be rolling along. It’s all right. The wedding I guess—kind of sudden, wasn’t it? Sert of upset you?” Lydia nodded mutely. He was almost sure there were tears in her eyes now. “ We-e-el, good night then—good night. I’d better run along—I suppose. The book can wait a day or so, can’t it? Maybe Thursday evening?”’ He turned to go since she made no an- swer. “ Wait!” She whispered the word. ‘No, not Thursday evening, please. Not —not any evening. The book—I—” ““ Next week, then—” “No. I—I’m_ afraid—never. The book—” Surprise held Eddy rooted. ‘ Good Lord, you're not going to throw over the book! Not altogether?” She nedded her head that she was going to throw over the book altogethtr. “Oh, but you can’t—I mean, you mustn’t. It’s a big book—a fine, big idea, that book. Oh, no, Lydia—” ‘ Please, I think you’d better go,” Lydia said, turning her back on him. “ I—we— we can’t go on—” In the act of letting himself out, Eddy stopped with a grim face. “ Look here, there’s just one thing I’ve got to know. Just one thing. I-—think I—deserve—to know it. Then I'll go. But, first, tell me, are you very much attached—are you in love with—Walter Bowman?”’ “Bowman!”’ She whirled about to face him, her eyes wide. “Yes, Walter Bowman. you—” “‘ Heavenly saints, no! Did you—do Eddie Denby!” Google - -- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. “Well, then, are you in love with—er— _ any man?” “Why, no—not exactly. “No—”’ Denby threw all his wise forebodings to the winds. He had gone too far now. He no longer cared that this woman was the brilliant Lydia Crawford. He no longer cared about anything except the answer to one question. ‘ Lydia,” he stammered, “ Lydia, you see how it is with me! Lydia, for God’s sake put me out of my agony— I love you—” “We can’t,”’ she exclaimed, “ we can’t marry. I’m not what you think me—I’m a cheat and a fraud. You think I’m an au- thority on china—you think I’m an author- ity on a lot of things; that I’m bright and think a lot about big questions. Well, T don’t. I don’t care how much you may hate me, I’ve got to tell you the truth. I’m not any of the things people admire me for. That’s all vanity and pretense. I never was bright. I never thought any- thing deep in my life. I know you'll despise me, but I won’t have you love me for a lie! Listen—all the things you think I am, the things you’ve admired and loved about me aren’t me at all. They were thought out for me. I was coached in them. Simply because I liked td seem different—and brilliant. And I—I can’t be any of them any more be—because the woman who coached me, the woman who prompted me and won my applause for me g-got mar- ried—to-day—”’ Denby’s face was radianjt with his wid- est grin. ‘Lydia, you don’t mean—not—” “Yes,” Lydia nodded. abjectly, “it was Sally Ames. I’ve paid her a salary for years—just for that.” Hundreds of men and women have been made famous as Walter Bowman was, by the skilled brains- of men and women en- tirely unknown to fame. But since his marriage Walter Bowman has always boasted that his wife does all the clever things which people try to credit to him. While Eddy Denby, released from ano- nymity, has won a considerable reputation in his own name, and the brilliant Lydia Crawford is understood to have found do- mestic life preferable to public applause. - of e073 | IF TNs +) OP c] TG heeasaH rl (\ CTATCO \ , O STATE U =RSITVY