The Mystery of Mary | Page 9

the pleasantly curious eyes of Mrs. Bowman, and a faint
gleam of mischief came into her face.
"Why----" Her hesitation seemed only natural, and Mrs. Bowman
decided that there must be something very special between these two.
"Why, not so very long, Mrs. Bowman--not as long as you have known
him." She finished with a smile which Mrs. Bowman decided was
charming.
"Oh, you sly child!" she exclaimed, playfully tapping the round cheek
with her fan. "Did you meet him when he was abroad this summer?"
"Oh, no, indeed!" said the girl, laughing now in spite of herself. "Oh,
no; it was after his return."
"Then it must have been in the Adirondacks," went on the determined
interlocutor. "Were you at----" But the girl interrupted her. She could

not afford to discuss the Adirondacks, and the sight of the grand piano
across the room had given her an idea.
"Mr. Dunham told me that you would like me to play something for
you, as your musician friend has failed you. I shall be very glad to, if it
will help you any. What do you care for? Something serious or
something gay? Are you fond of Chopin, or Beethoven, or something
more modern?"
Scenting a possible musical prodigy, and desiring most earnestly to
give her guests a treat, Mrs. Bowman exclaimed in enthusiasm:
"Oh, how lovely of you! I hardly dared to ask, as Tryon was uncertain
whether you would be willing. Suppose you give us something serious
now, and later, when the men come in, we'll have the gay music. Make
your own choice, though I'm very fond of Chopin, of course."
Without another word, the girl moved quietly over to the piano and
took her seat. For just a moment her fingers wandered caressingly over
the keys, as if they were old friends and she were having an
understanding with them, then she began a Chopin Nocturne. Her touch
was firm and velvety, and she brought out a bell-like tone from the
instrument that made the little company of women realize that the
player was mistress of her art. Her graceful figure and lovely head, with
its simple ripples and waves of hair, were more noticeable than ever as
she sat there, controlling the exquisite harmonies. Even Mrs. Blackwell
stopped fanning and looked interested. Then she whispered to Mrs.
Bowman: "A very sweet young girl. That's a pretty piece she's
playing." Mrs. Blackwell was sweet and commonplace and
old-fashioned.
Mrs. Parker Bowman sat up with a pink glow in her cheeks and a light
in her eyes. She began to plan how she might keep this acquisition and
exploit her among her friends. It was her delight to bring out new
features in her entertainments.
"We shall simply keep you playing until you drop from weariness," she
announced ecstatically, when the last wailing, sobbing, soothing chord

had died away; and the other ladies murmured, "How delightful!" and
whispered their approval.
The girl smiled and rippled into a Chopin Valse, under cover of which
those who cared to could talk in low tones. Afterwards the musician
dashed into the brilliant movement of a Beethoven Sonata.
It was just as she was beginning Rubinstein's exquisite tone portrait,
Kamennoi-Ostrow, that the gentlemen came in.
Tryon Dunham had had his much desired talk with the famous judge,
but it had not been about law.
They had been drawn together by mutual consent, each discovering that
the other was watching the young stranger as she left the dining-room.
"She is charming," said the old man, smiling into the face of the
younger. "Is she an intimate friend?"
"I--I hope so," stammered Dunham. "That is, I should like to have her
consider me so."
"Ah!" said the old man, looking deep into the other's eyes with a kindly
smile, as if he were recalling pleasant experiences of his own. "You are
a fortunate fellow. I hope you may succeed in making her think so. Do
you know, she interests me more than most young women, and in some
way I cannot disconnect her with an occurrence which happened in my
office this afternoon."
The young man showed a deep interest in the matter, and the Judge told
the story again, this time more in detail.
They drew a little apart from the rest of the men. The host, who had
been warned by his wife to give young Dunham an opportunity to talk
with the Judge, saw that her plans were succeeding admirably.
When the music began in the other room the Judge paused a moment to
listen, and then went on with his story.

"There is a freight elevator just opposite that left door of my office, and
somehow I cannot but think it had something to do with the girl's
disappearance, although the door was