The Mystery of Mary | Page 5

he answer such questions about an utter stranger,
and yet how could he not answer them, under the circumstances?
And she wore no hat, nor cloak. That would be a strange way to arrive
at a dinner How could she accept? He was settling his coat into place
when a queer little bulge attracted his attention to an inside pocket.
Impatiently he pulled out a pair of long white gloves. They were his
sister's, and he now remembered she had given them to him to carry the

night before, on the way home from a reception, she having removed
them because it was raining. He looked at them with a sudden
inspiration. Of course! Why had he not thought of that? He hurried into
his sister's room to make a selection of a few necessities for the
emergency--only to have his assurance desert him at the very threshold.
The room was immaculate, with no feminine finery lying about.
Cornelia Dunham's maid was well trained. The only article that seemed
out of place was a hand-box on a chair near the door. It bore the name
of a fashionable milliner, and across the lid was pencilled in Cornelia's
large, angular hand, "To be returned to Madame Dollard's." He caught
up the box and strode over to the closet. There was no time to lose, and
this box doubtless contained a hat of some kind. If it was to be returned,
Cornelia would think it had been called for, and no further inquiry
would be made about the matter. He could call at Madame's and settle
the bill without his sister's knowledge.
He poked back into the closet and discovered several wraps and
evening cloaks of more or less elaborate style, but the thought came to
him that perhaps one of these would be recognized as Cornelia's. He
closed the door hurriedly and went down to a large closet under the
stairs, from which he presently emerged with his mother's new black
rain-coat. He patted his coat-pocket to be sure he had the gloves, seized
his hat, and hurried back to the carriage, the hat-box in one hand and
his mother's rain-coat dragging behind him. His only anxiety was to get
out before the butler saw him.
As he closed the door, there flashed over him, the sudden possibility
that the girl had gone. Well, perhaps that would be the best thing that
could happen and would save him a lot of trouble; yet to his
amazement he found that the thought filled him with a sense of
disappointment. He did not want her to be gone. He peered anxiously
into the carriage, and was relieved to find her still there, huddled into
the shadow, her eyes looking large and frightened. She was seized with
a fit of trembling, and it required all her strength to keep him from
noticing it. She was half afraid of the man, now that she had waited for
him. Perhaps he was not a gentleman, after all.

[Illustration]

II
"I am afraid I have been a long time," he said apologetically, as he
closed the door of the carriage, after giving Mrs. Parker Bowman's
address to the driver. In the uncertain light of the distant arc-lamp, the
girl looked small and appealing. He felt a strong desire to lift her
burdens and carry them on his own broad shoulders.
"I've brought some things that I thought might help," he said. "Would
you like to put on this coat? It may not be just what you would have
selected, but it was the best I could find that would not be recognized.
The air is growing chilly."
He shook out the coat and threw it around her.
"Oh, thank you," she murmured gratefully, slipping her arms into the
sleeves.
"And this box has some kind of a hat, I hope," he went on. "I ought to
have looked, but there really wasn't time." He unknotted the strings and
produced a large picture hat with long black plumes. He was relieved to
find it black. While he untied the strings, there had been a growing
uneasiness lest the hat be one of those wild, queer combinations of
colors that Cornelia frequently purchased and called "artistic."
The girl received the hat with a grateful relief that was entirely
satisfactory to the young man.
"And now," said he, as he pulled out the gloves and laid them gravely
in her lap, "we're invited out to dinner."
"Invited out to dinner!" gasped the girl.
"Yes. It's rather a providential thing to have happened, I think. The
telephone was ringing as I opened the door, and Mrs. Parker Bowman,

to whose house I was invited, was asking for my sister to fill the place
of an absent guest. My sister is away, and I