Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 2 — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

204 not raving, and I’m not asking you to do anything as a favor,” the lady broke in, very impatiently indeed. ‘‘ 1 am requesting you to remain because I must have you, and —you’ve really no choice in the matter, anyhow!” She was growing violent! She had stamped her foot just then, and her eyes had flashed so strangely. A little low, fright- ened moan escaped Margery. Miss Wood- bury’s eye settled upon her—and then Margery Poole shrieked aloud, for with a catlike bound the lady was upon her! Aye, she had thrown herself headlong at Margery; and just‘as George, with a dum- founded gasp, was about to throw his arms around her and drag her off before she could do harm, Miss Woodbury had detached her- self and was backing away again very swiftly. And, clutched fast in both her hands, its broken silk cord dangling where it had been= snapped apart upon Margery’s tender wrist, was the little black silk bag which Margery had carried. A twitch, and the painted lady’s nimble fingers had opened the thing. They were inside now, and snatching out Margery’s little gold-mounted cardcase—and some small hint of the move’s significance flashed into George’s bewildered brain and he stumbled forward. And with another twitch, which involved her whole lithe body, Miss Woodbury had put the living-room table between them! A dozen or more of the cards were in her pink palm now. She held them up to the light and laughed, gently, triumphantly, not at all like a lady whose mental machinery needs the hand of the ,tinker! “* Mrs. Arthur Stanhope Poole!’” she read. “Oh, and the address is here, too, isn’t it? That makes it simpler.” _ She tucked the cards into the front of her gown, She glanced quickly at Margery, and, finding her apparently incapable of motion, delved rapidly and without con- ‘science through the other contents of the bag. There was a little gold-encased pow- der puff, a morocco address-book, and a handkerchief or two; these things Miss Woodbury pushed back and tossed the bag to the living-room table, while she smiled at THE ARGOSY, George and Margery until her perfect teeth gleamed! “That seems to clinch your staying, doesn’t it?” she asked. ‘““I—I want that bag!” Margery fal- tered. “I’m going, and—” _~** But you’re not, Mrs. Arthur Stanhope Poole!” the painted lady corrected quite gaily, ‘“ You’re remaining here until you have my full permission to leave. Not that I can keep you by physical force, of course; but if you should insist on going, I give you my solemn word, Mrs, Arthur Stanhope Poole, that Arthur Stanhope Poole himself —what a lovely name that is—will hear the whole story of your visit here, told my way!” CHAPTER VII. FURTHER COMERS.’ AY AST proportion of all this seething old world’s misery hails from pure mis- conception; destroy the little acorn of understanding before it can sprout, and ae oak of wretchedness can never cast its gloomy shadow upon that particular spot. Taking the case in point, Miss Woodbury believed herself possessed of certain down- right disgraceful data concerning Margery and George and their doings this evening. But that could not alter their utter in- nocence of anything more dreadful than a desire to punish the erring Arthur. Miss Woodbury, whatever her mode of life, was an intelligent person, and doubtless pos- sessed of a crude sporting sense. She must be made to understand. And then they would go. Confusedly enough, some such thoughts as these sped through George’s aching brain. He braced himself and contrived a patient, tolerant smile. He considered Miss Wood- bury critically. If some little excitement had been upon the lady for a minute or two, it was all gone now. She had re- turned to her perfectly~calm, rather in- scrutable state once more, and she was re- garding George with the same amused con- fidence. “ Madam,” George said Nha ily. “ you’re all wrong!” (E00) .OO (C@)