MARION ARRIVES JUST IN TIME.
At exactly noon the day after Bert Jackson’s warning, Miss Dixon sat
alone in the private office.
She had been taking dictation all the morning, and was a trifle weary.
“It is very strange,” she said to herself. “Mr. Atherton is not in the
habit of taking his typewriter to lunch with him, and I have been here
two years and never received an invitation.”
Bob Day, the office boy, came in with some papers. There was a grin on
his face as he laid them on the desk.
“He’s mashed on her, sure pop!” he said, with great jubilation.
“You just ought to seen him smirk at her when they went down in the
elevator.”
“Nonsense!” said Miss Dixon, sharply. “You must be mistaken, Bob. Mr.
Atherton was never known to take one of us to luncheon.”
“Oh, well, you ain’t all got her style,” said the boy, unfeelingly.
“Why, Miss Marlowe is a peach! She’s got all of us stuck on her.”
“Much good will it do her,” said Miss Dixon, sadly. “She’s too pretty
for her own good—that’s what I’ve often told her.”
“She’ll wear diamonds if she sticks to me,” sang out Bob, as he went
noisily out of the office.
Just outside in the hall he met a beautiful young girl. She had
chestnut hair and large, flashing gray eyes, and carried her head and
shoulders regally.
“Did you want ter see Mr. Atherton?” asked Bob, quickly. He had seen
that she was a stranger, and he was the guardian of the office.
“I am looking for Miss Marlowe, his typewriter,” said the beautiful
girl, sweetly.
“Miss Marlowe is my twin sister, and I am in a great hurry to see her.”
The boy glanced up at the clock in the hall.
“Sorry, miss, but she is out to lunch,” he said, briefly. “Won’t be
back for at least two hours, I reckon.”
“What! Does my sister spend so much time over her luncheon as that?”
asked the young girl, in astonishment.
“Well, not usually,” was the answer, in a drawling voice, “but she’s
out with the boss to-day, you see, so I give ’em two hours. They can’t
get back no sooner.”
Marion Marlowe gasped at this bit of information, but she controlled
herself perfectly in the presence of this youngster.
“Do you happen to know where they went?” she said, pleasantly, at the
same time handing the boy a bright half dollar.
“He’d kill me if he knew I told,” Bob said, as he pocketed the money,
“but it’s either the Astor House or Moquin’s in Fulton street, miss. If
’twas me, I’d go to the Astor House first. It’s nicer over there and
not so far as the other.”
Marion thanked him and turned away, with a curious feeling at her
heart. There was something in the boy’s news that worried her sadly.
“I seen ’em cuttin’ across the Park,” muttered Bob, after she had gone,
“but she can’t say I told her. I said either one or t’other.”
As the beautiful young girl picked her way across Park Row, more than
one person stared at her. There was a freshness and stateliness about
her that is not often seen in city maidens.
As yet the country bloom was still dyeing her cheeks, and the marvelous
whiteness of her skin was good to behold.
She had passed through many trials since she came to the city, acting
the part of heroine on several occasions, yet each time withdrawing
herself and her noble deeds as rapidly as possible into the background.
“I can’t understand it,” she whispered, as she hurried across the Park.
“Oh, my poor little sister; how thoughtless she is! Why, it would break
Ralph Moore’s heart if he thought Dollie was fickle.”
Ralph Moore was Dollie’s sweetheart, and they were to be married
soon—just as soon as Ralph’s position admitted of the change—and Marion
already loved him as she would her own brother.
She knew that Dollie was only a child in heart, the baby of the family,
and very unsophisticated, but she had not believed that she would be
so really careless of Ralph’s feelings as to accept attention from her
employer. Marion was thinking deeply as she reached Broadway, but as
she stepped on the crossing she paused to look about her.
Not ten feet away she saw one of the new automobile carriages, and as
she glanced at it carelessly she recognized one of the occupants.
It was George Colebrook, a man whom she had reason to despise, for he
had played the traitor in a love affair with her dear friend, Alma
Allyn, and such actions as this always shocked her pure nature.
He was looking straight at her with an ugly gleam in his eyes, and
Marion noticed that his companion was a flashily dressed woman.
“He hates me, I believe,” thought Marion to herself, “and all because I
showed him how I loathed him. If looks could kill, I should certainly
die this minute, and yet that black-hearted fellow once dared to make
love to me! Oh, how I despise such treacherous creatures!”
When Marion reached the Astor House dining-room, she stood perfectly
still and looked around.
A dozen people turned their heads and commented on her beauty.
Dollie and her employer were not there, so Marion made her way to the
parlor. The instant she looked in, she saw Dollie sitting by the window.
Marion walked over to her quickly and put her hand on her shoulder.
With a little scream of surprise, Dollie turned and looked at her; the
next second they were hugging and kissing each other.
There was only one person besides themselves in the parlor just then,
so for a minute the girls talked freely, but in low tones so as not to
attract attention.
“But, sister, what are you doing here?” asked Marion, after a little.
“I went to the office and could not find you, and the office boy told
me you were lunching with your employer.”
“I wonder how he knew?” remarked Dollie, innocently. “Why, I came out
five minutes before him and waited at the elevator. That boy is very
impudent to be watching us,” she added.
“And your employer is very thoughtless to invite you out with him,”
said Marion, stoutly. “A man of his age ought to know better, Dollie.”
“But he did not mean anything by it, Marion,” said Dollie, quickly.
“Why, he is as nice as he can be, and he’s almost as old as father.”
“That is what I said; he is old enough to know better,” said Marion,
grimly; “but here he comes, Dollie; I know him by your description.”
“Yes, here he comes,” repeated the fair-haired girl, gayly, “and I do
so hope he has arranged everything satisfactorily. He is going to take
me to a matinee, and I’ll make him take you, too. He won’t mind, I am
sure, for he has plenty of money.”
Mr. Atherton looked surprised when he saw Dollie talking to a
magnificent young woman, and he smiled more blandly than ever when the
blushing girl introduced them.
“I am delighted to meet you, I am sure,” he said, with a gallant bow to
Dollie’s sister.
“And I am delighted to meet you also, sir,” said Marion, coldly, “for
it gives me an opportunity to tell you what I think of you!”