The Coast of Chance

The Coast of Chance, by

Esther Chamberlain and Lucia Chamberlain This eBook is for the use
of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Coast of Chance
Author: Esther Chamberlain Lucia Chamberlain
Illustrator: Clarence J Underwood
Release Date: January 25, 2007 [EBook #20445]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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COAST OF CHANCE ***

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THE COAST OF CHANCE
By

ESTHER AND LUCIA CHAMBERLAIN
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD
[Illustration: FLORA GILSEY.]
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1908
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
APRIL
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE VANISHING MYSTERY 1
II A NAME GOES ROUND A TABLE 24
III ENCOUNTERS ON PARADE 63
IV FLOWERS BY THE WAY 82
V ON GUARD 93
VI BLACK MAGIC 105
VII A SPELL IS CAST 129

VIII A SPARK OF HORROR 142
IX ILLUMINATION 162
X A LADY UNVEILED 175
XI THE MYSTERY TAKES HUMAN FORM 197
XII DISENCHANTMENT 213
XIII THRUST AND PARRY 216
XIV COMEDY CONVEYS A WARNING 231
XV A LADY IN DISTRESS 248
XVI THE HEART OF THE DILEMMA 285
XVII THE DEMIGOD 293
XVIII GOBLIN TACTICS 330
XIX THE FACE IN THE GARDEN 345
XX FLIGHT 361
XXI THE HOUSE OF QUIET 381
XXII CLARA'S MARKET 410
XXIII TOUCHE 422
XXIV THE COMIC MASK 435
XXV THE LAST ENCHANTMENT 451
THE COAST OF CHANCE

I
THE VANISHING MYSTERY
Flora Gilsey stood on the threshold of her dining-room. She had turned
her back on it. She swayed forward. Her bare arms were lifted. Her
hands lightly caught the molding on either side of the door. She was
looking intently into the mirror at the other end of the hall. All the
lights in the dining-room were lit, and she saw herself rather keenly set
against their brilliance. The straight-held head, the lifted arms, the short,
slender waist, the long, long sweep of her skirts made her seem taller
than she actually was; and the strong, bright growth of her hair and the
vivacity of her face made her seem more deeply colored.
She had poised there for the mere survey of a new gown, but after a
moment of dwelling on her own reflection she found herself
considering it only as an object in the foreground of a picture. That
picture, seen through the open door, reflected in the glass, was all of a
bright, hard glitter, all a high, harsh tone of newness. In its paneled oak,
in its glare of cut-glass and silver, in the shining vacant faces of its
floors and walls, there was not a color that filled the eye, not a shadow
where imagination could find play. As a background for herself it
struck her as incongruous. Like a child looking at the landscape upside
down, she felt herself in a foreign country. Yet it was hers. She turned
about to bring it into familiar association. There was nothing wrong
with it. But its great capacity suggested large parties rather than close
intimacies. In the high lift of its ceilings, the ample openings of its
doors, the swept, garnished, polished beauty of its cold surfaces, it
proclaimed itself conceived, created and decorated for large, fine
functions. She thought whimsically that any one who knew her, coming
into her house, would realize that some one other than herself had the
ordering of it.
She glanced over the table. It was set for three. It lacked nothing but the
serving of dinner. She looked at the clock. It wanted a few minutes to
the hour. Shima, the Japanese butler, came in softly with the evening
papers. She took them from him. Nothing bored her so much as a paper,
but to-night she knew it contained something she really wanted to see.

She opened one of the damp sheets at the page of sales.
There it was at the head of the column in thick black type:
AT AUCTION, FEBRUARY 18 PERSONAL ESTATE OF
ELIZABETH HUNTER CHATWORTH CONSISTING OF----
She read the details with interest down to the end, where the name of
the "famous Chatworth ring" finished the announcement with a flourish.
Why "famous"? It was very provoking to advertise with that vague
adjective and not explain it.
She turned indifferently to the first page. She read a sentence, re-read it,
read it again. Then, as if she could not read fast enough, her eyes
galloped down the column. Color came into her cheeks. The grasp of
her hands on the edges of the paper tightened. It