Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

200 THE came down-stairs, and paused, not two yards from George. Recognition beamed in it; her astonished, rather pleased survey lasted for another two minutes. Then: “Why, it’s George!” she cried. CHAPTER VI. GUESTS OF THE HOUSE. “(\H!” gasped Mrs. Poole. ‘““T beg pardon?” smiled the person. Even the sound of her—actually very pleasant—voice seemed to send a tremor of fright through Margery. She shrank away. She turned quickly toward George, as if imploring his protection from the presence—and then she gasped and recoiled from George, too! ‘“She—she knows choked. And now, at last, the petrified tongue had detached itself from the roof of George’s mouth. It was outrageous—it was incredible! Never in all his life had he laid eyes on the woman! “‘ She—does not!” he said, with some dif- - ficulty, and turned to the lady on the bot- tom step. ‘‘ I—I—you’re mistaken!”’ “ Am I?” asked the cool, even tone, and the ghastly brow rose. ‘‘ That’s queer. You are George, because—” “Well, while that happens to be my name, I assure you that I’m not the George you mean, whoever he may be. You— you don’t know me, madam. I’ve never had the—er—pleasure of meeting you.” “ Vou have it now,” the lady suggested, and her smile, which was growing ever more odd, wandered first to the clock, lingered there for a moment, and then passed to the pale person of Margery Poole, whom she considered keenly and contemplatively. “That, of course,” George said hur- riedly. ‘“ What I mean is that—we’re not the people you seemed to be expecting. We didn’t know that there was any one here, and we—we came!” It was not quite what he had intended to say. The queer smile flickered at him for an instant and then returned to Mar- gery, who was growing whiter and whiter. Just under her breath, the mystery woman you!” Margery ARGOSY. made a peculiar little sound—a sert of in- finitesimai snort. Then her gaze came back to George once more and—that such a thing was absurd, it seemed to hold a cer- tain suggestion of amused contempt! “You came; that is obvious,” the lady said helpfully. “ And you walked in with- out ringing. Go on.” ‘““Because I supposed the house to be empty, and I had the key.” ‘And where did you get the key, pray?” There was something more than merely disconcerting about that cool voice and the serene, assured stare which accompanied it. George found himself reddening with anger. “It was left in my keeping, of course!” he exploded. “ Who are you, anyway?”’ ‘““Oh, are we to get acquainted? You might call me Miss—er—Woodbury.”’ ‘‘ All right, then! What are you doing here?” The lady leaned gracefully on the big newel post, and considered George, calmly as she had considered Margery. “Please don’t bawl like that,” she said. “Tt isn’t polite. I’m living here. Is that remarkable?” “Tt is when I happen to know that you've no business here, and—” “Tve no—what?” ‘Business here, I said! aunt’s house!” : ‘Ts it, really?” smiled the imperturbable, painted one. ‘‘ Well, for the next two months, it is mine!”’ “You haven’t bought the place?’’ George gasped. | ‘““T have not. I rented it, furnished, for the balance of the autumn, day before yes- terday, from the eccentric red-haired per- son who runs the real-estate business in conjunction with his grocery store, there in Coulton. Well?” ‘“J—I didn’t even know she contem- plated renting it!’’ George stammered. His own stare grew rather blank and foolish. It did not seem to affect the lady before him, one way or the other. Silently, she continued her study of George Dare, and with the same contemptuous twinkle in her eye. ‘““J’m sorry, of course,’ she said sud- denly. This is my EOPMICLOOO< (S©)