The Argosy, December 1905 — page 130: what you’re looking at

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

108 “ [—yes,” Duncan cried desperately. * But, Louise, listen to me. There is so much a2 “But I do not care to know it, please.” | The girl had turned and was moving toward the door again. Duncan groaned aloud and darted after her. He tried to catch her hand, but she folded both behind her back and faced him coldly. The unhappy man dropped back a pace or two. “ Louise, you can’t know—you can’t comprehend what impelled me_ to do it!” “T am afraid that I understand too well, and—it does not interest me.” “But it is not as you suppose! I don’t love the girl, Louise. You should know that better than any one else! 33 “ And still you asked her to be your wife?” “Yes, but a7 Louise studied him for a moment with sad, thoughtful eyes. “T could not have believed it, John! ” * But you shall see that I was justi- fied! I’m going to make it all clear to you, Louise. I = “ Please! ” ; “Hear me for only a minute or two.” “JT do not wish to.” : “ Louise, I proposed to Miss Morrison for one reason only—to save the coun- try from a panic that would have stag- gered every business house from Maine to California.” A scornful little smile appeared on the girl’s lips for a moment and van- ished again. “That was most considerate.” “ You—you don’t believe it?” The girl regarded him silently for an instant, then turned away and walked toward the corridor. “Tt is the truth!” cried Duncan wildly. ‘Insane as it sounds, it is the gospel truth, child. If you will only let me explain to you—let me give you some idea of the real i The girl turned in the doorway. “You have admitted one thing, John, and more than that I do not care to THE ARGOSY. know. It is true that you are engaged to Miss Morrison, is it not?” *¥ es; but “Then, good-by. And—and I can still hope that you will be very, very happy.” 7 | “Youre not going to give me a chance? Louise, tell me that I may come to you—to-night, to-morrow, whenever you will—and explain.” “John, I hope sincerely that I may never see you again. Good-by.” She left the room, and Duncan caught a glimpse of her skirt as she ascended the stairs. He was alone and stunned. He might better have remained away. All ties between them were broken now. Forgiveness, or anything approaching forgiveness, he had not dared expect, yet he had cherished a hope that the girl might listen. Now that hope had vanished and he was free to go his way untrammeled by any idea of loyalty to Louise. What should he do? Follow out his original intention of abandoning the whole farce and proclaiming his iden- tity ? As he canvassed the prospect now, even his aching brain could understand that the move would but mean more widespread sorrow. Once a proven impostor, what a vic- tory for Chambers! And what a posi- tion for Beatrice Morrison! The story would come out, and how many columns of lurid stuff would it not furnish for the scribes of the daily press! On the other hand, would Louise look more kindly upon him for the act? He had been a cur before, he felt, but how would she regard him after the sensa- tion had died down? | Certainly with less kindness even than now, for his sins would have multiplied a hundred-fold. Duncan fumbled his way blindly out of the quiet house, sore and bruised in spirit. Truly, the price of his adven- ture was rising hourly—and he had no alternative but to pay. Waiting at the corner for the car which should take him down-town, he recalled his days of poverty-stricken dissatisfaction in the boarding-house COMMICOOOKS (C@