Marion Marlowe's Skill, or, A Week as a Private Detective — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

6 MY QUEEN. woman that would give her bottom dollar to look like her.” “There never was and there never will be another Marion Marlowe,” said the clerk, grinning. “I haven’t heard anything but her praises since she came to the Rosedale! First [ hear about her beautiful voice from Madame Leopold, her teacher; then along comes a countryman, who tells me how she helped him save his daughter from the slums; then up bobs a detective, who says she’s the next to the best rogue-catcher in the world. Oh, I tell you, she’s a wonder, and no mis- take; for the strangest thing about it is that she deserves all they say about her.” “Well, she’s as pretty as a picture,” said Dillon, enthusiastically. “Why, her eyes are And as for hair—why, I saw hers hanging down ina like stars, and her lips like cherries ! braid one morning, and I[’ll take my oath she had to hold it up to keep it from dragging !” “Oh, come off! You’ve got it bad!” cried one of the bellboys. “She’s all right, you bet, if she can rattle a porter!” There was a general scamper for the office as a stranger came in. He was a shabbily- dressed man, his face almost covered by a beard that was both unkempt and unnatural. As he drew a soiled card from his pocket and laid it on one of the silver salvers on the desk, he turned meekly to the clerk and said: “Send that up, if you please, to Miss Mar- ion Marlowe.” There was a second’s hesitation in the shrewd clerk’s manner, then, without a word, he handed the salver to a boy and sent him up to the third floor to Miss Marlowe. Marion was sitting in her room reading over a letter from home, and there were tears on her dark lashes as she turned the pages. It had been many months now since she had the old knowledge of the world and the people in it seen farm, and, oh! what a she had! gained ! den of information. Her heart ached sometimes under its bur- She was dreaming of the meadows and hills as she read, and her mother’s homely words, with the old-fashioned expressions, were weaving a spell about her that rendered her almost oblivious to her surroundings. “Dear, dear mother,” she sighed. do long to see you! But never mind, it will not be long now! As soon as my quarter with Madame Leopold is finished I shall run up to the country for a day at least—for with all its quiet and its humdrum days, I can never, never quite forget it!” She folded the letter and put it in a fresh envelope, intending to mail it at once to her sister Dollie, who, like herself, was almost pining for the country. “It is a pity mother’s letters are so rare,” she said aloud, “but, dear old mother, she never wrote very well. In her day an educa- tion was not considered necessary. A wom- ans only ambition in life was to get a good husband !”’ She smiled a little at the idea, yet it seemed As she rose from her writing table she caught dreadful to her not to want an education. sight of herself in the mirror. There was a stray lock of her chestnut hair falling too low over her brow, and taking a step toward the glass she tucked it up carefully. A beautiful reflection stared back at her from the mirror, for the young girl was quite as pretty as her friends all thought her. As she surveyed herself, she was startled by a tap on the door. Opening it hastily, she — was confronted by Dick, the brightest bell- boy in the Rosedale, who handed her a card. She took it, and then frowned slightly as — she read the name upon it. “Mr. Terence O'Connell,” she repeated it — aloud, “| don’t know him, but I'll go down,” she said, good-naturedly, (E(©) ecom JOOKS AMIE : : 1 i “Howl! | i