The Mystery Girl

“You’ve had enough foolery for the moment, Miss Austin, – come and talk to me.”

And to the girl’s amazement, he took her hand and led her to a davenport on the other side of the room.

“There,” he said, as he arranged a pillow or two, “is that right?”

“Yes,” she said, and lapsed into silence.

She sat, looking off into vacancy, and Lockwood studied her. Then he said, softly:

“It’s too bad, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Anita sighed, and then suddenly; “what do you mean? What’s too bad?”

“Whatever it is that troubles you.” The deep blue eyes met her own, but there was no sign of response or acquiescence on the girl’s face.

“Good-by,” she said, rising quickly, “I must go.”

“Oh, no, – don’t go,” cried Pinky, overhearing. “Why, you’ve only just come.”

“Yes, I must go,” said Miss Mystery, decidedly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bates, and thank you for bringing me. Good afternoon, Mrs. Peyton.”

Including all the others in a general bow of farewell, the strange girl went to the front door, and paused for the attendant Nogi to open it.

Door-tending the assistant butler understood, and he punctiliously waited until Miss Austin had buttoned her gloves and had given an adjusting pat to her veil, after a fleeting glance in the hall mirror.

Then he opened the door with an obsequious air, and closed it behind her departing figure.

But it was immediately flung open again by Pinky Payne, who ran through it and after the girl.

“Wait a minute, Miss Austin. How fast you walk! I’m going home with you.”

“Please not,” she said, indifferently, scarcely glancing at him.

“Yep. Gotto. Getting near dusk, and you might be kidnapped. Needn’t talk if you don’t want to.”

“I never want to talk!” was the surprising and crisply spoken retort.

“Well, didn’t I say you needn’t! Don’t get wrathy – don’t ’ee, don’t ’ee – now, – as my old Scotch nurse used to say.”

But Miss Mystery gave him no look, although she allowed him to fall into step beside her, and the two walked rapidly along.

“How’d you like the looks of the Doctor?” Pinky asked, hoping to induce conversation.

“I scarcely saw him.”

“Oh, you saw him, – though you had small chance to get to know him. Perfect old brick, but a little on edge of late. Approaching matrimony, I suppose. Did you notice his ruby stickpin?”

“Yes; it didn’t seem to suit him at all.”

“No; he’s a conservative dresser. But that pin, – it’s a famous gem, – was given him by his own class, – I mean his graduating class, but long after they graduated, and he had to promise to wear it once a week, so he usually gets into it on Sundays. It’s a corking stone!”

“Yes,” said Miss Austin.

On reaching the Adams house, the girl said a quick good-by, and Pinky Payne found himself at liberty to go in and see the other members of the household, or to go home, for Miss Austin disappeared into the hall and up the staircase with the rapidity of a dissolving view.

Young Payne turned away and strolled slowly back to the Waring home, wondering what it was about the disagreeable young woman that made him pay any attention to her at all.

He found her the topic of discussion when he arrived.

“Of all rude people,” Mrs. Peyton declared, “she was certainly the worst!”

“She was!” Helen agreed. “I couldn’t make her out at all. And I don’t call her pretty, either.”

“I do,” observed Emily Bates. “I call her very pretty, – and possessed of great charm.”

“Charm!” scoffed Helen; “I can’t see it.”

“She isn’t rude,” Pinky defended the absent. “I’m sure, Mrs. Peyton, she made her adieux most politely. Why should she have stayed longer? She didn’t know any of us, – and, perhaps she doesn’t like any of us.”

“That’s it,” Gordon Lockwood stated. “She doesn’t like us, – I’m sure of that. Well, why should she, if she doesn’t want to?”

“Why shouldn’t she?” countered Tyler. “She’s so terribly superior, – I can’t bear her. She acts as if she owned the earth, yet nobody knows who she is, or anything about her.”

“Are we entitled to?” asked Lockwood. “Why should we inquire into her identity or history further than she chooses to enlighten us?”

“Where is Miss Austin?” asked Doctor Waring, returning, quite composed and calm.

“She went home,” informed Mrs. Bates. “Are you all right, John?”

“Oh, yes, dear. I wasn’t ill, or anything like that. The awkward accident touched my nerves, and I wanted to run away and hide.”

He smiled whimsically, looking like a naughty schoolboy, and Emily Bates took his hand and drew him down to a seat beside her.

“What made you drop it, John?” she said, with a direct look into his eyes.

He hesitated a moment, and his own glance wandered, then he said, “I don’t know, Emily; I suppose it was a sudden physical contraction of the muscles of my hand – and I couldn’t control it.”

Mrs. Bates didn’t look satisfied, but she did not pursue the subject. Then the discussion of Anita was resumed.

“How did you like her looks, Doctor Waring?” Helen Peyton asked.

“I scarcely saw her,” was the quiet reply. “Did you all admire her?”

“Some of us did.” Mrs. Bates answered; “I do, for one. Did you ever see her before, John?”

Doctor Waring stared at the question.

“Never,” he declared. “How could I have done so?”