A Husband by Proxy | Page 5

along. It will finally
land in the hands of your lawyer with its tardiness very naturally
explained."
"You mean the notification will appear as if misdirected originally,"
said Dorothy. "An excellent idea."
"Perhaps you will compose the note at once," said Garrison, pushing
paper, pen, and ink across the desk. "You may leave the rest, with the
address, to me."
His visitor hesitated for a moment, as if her decision wavered in this
vital moment of plunging into unknown fates, but she took up the pen
and wrote the note and address with commendable brevity.
Garrison was walking up and down the office.
"The next step----" he started to say, but his visitor interrupted.
"Isn't this the only step necessary to take until something arises making
others expedient?"
"There is one slight thing remaining," he answered, taking up her card.
"You are in a private residence?"
"Yes. The caretaker, a woman, is always there."
"Have you acquainted her with the fact of your marriage?"
"Certainly. She is an English servant. She asks no questions. But I told
her my husband is away from town and will be absent almost
constantly for the next two or three months."
Garrison slightly elevated his brows, in acknowledgment of the
thoroughness of her arrangements.
"I have never attempted much acting--a little at private theatricals," he
told her; "but of course we shall both be obliged to play this little
domestic comedy with some degree of art."

She seemed prepared for that also, despite the sudden crimson of her
cheeks.
"Certainly."
"One more detail," he added. "You have probably found it necessary to
withhold certain facts from my knowledge. I trust I shall not be led into
awkward blunders. I shall do my best, and for the rest--I beg of you to
conduct the affair according to your own requirements and judgment."
The slightly veiled smile in his eyes did not escape her observation.
Nevertheless, she accepted his proposal quite as a matter of course.
"Thank you. I am glad you relieved me of the necessity of making
some such suggestion. I think that is all--for the present." She stood up,
and, fingering her glove, glanced down at the table for a moment. "May
I pay, say, two hundred dollars now, as a retainer?"
"I shall be gratified if you will," he answered.
In silence she counted out the money, which she took from a purse in a
bag. The bills lay there in a heap.
"When you wish any more, will you please let me know?" she said.
"And when I require your services I will wire. Perhaps I'd better take
both this office and your house address."
He wrote them both on a card and placed it in her hand.
"Thank you," she murmured. She closed her purse, hesitated a moment,
then raised her eyes to his. Quite coldly she added: "Good-afternoon."
"Good-day," answered Garrison.
He opened the door, bowed to her slightly as she passed--then faced
about and stared at the money that lay upon his desk.
CHAPTER II

A SECOND EMPLOYMENT
For a moment, when he found himself alone, Garrison stood absolutely
motionless beside the door. Slowly he came to the desk again, and
slowly he assembled the bills. He rolled them in a neat, tight wad, and
held them in his hand.
Word for word and look for look he reviewed the recent dialogue,
shaking his head at the end.
He had never been so puzzled in his life.
The situation, his visitor--all of it baffled him utterly. Had not the
money remained in his grasp he might have believed he was dreaming.
"She was frightened, and yet she had a most remarkable amount of
nerve," he reflected. "She might be an heiress, an actress, or a princess.
She may be actually married--and then again she may not; probably not,
since two husbands on the scene would be embarrassing."
"She may be playing at any sort of a game, financial, political, or
domestic--therefore dangerous, safe, or commonplace, full of intrigue,
or a mystery, or the silliest caprice.
"She--oh, Lord--I don't know! She is beautiful--that much is certain.
She seems to be honest. Those deep, brown eyes go with
innocence--and also with scheming; in which respect they precisely
resemble blue eyes, and gray, and all the other feminine colors. And yet
she seemed, well, helpless, worried--almost desperate. She must be
desperate and helpless."
Again, in fancy, he was looking in her face, and something was stirring
in his blood. That was all he really knew. She had stirred him--and he
was glad of the meeting--glad he had entered her employment.
He placed the roll of money in his pocket, then looked across his desk
at the clean, white letter which the postman had recently delivered.

He took it up, paused again to wonder at