Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 53: what you’re looking at

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

DARK OQ’ thinking of Sophy. It was true, just as the. Princess had prophesied to Sophy’s mother that day in Nome. Sophy was fine and gen- uine; and she, Lynnie herself, had been the jealous, little-spirited one. “Do you love him, too?” asked Lynnie. ‘Well, I did at first,” said little Sophy. ‘But I knew when you first came that he loved you. And then—and then—I turned my thoughts to somebody else—a boy I used to write to every day. And—and— now I am pretty close to loving him.” She tossed her head airily and hesitated only a second. ‘It’s that way with me—first I love one, and then another.” Lynnie looked down at her gravely. ‘Are you sure that you don’t love. Ar- cher?” FE ‘“ Absolutely. But you do, don’t you?” “Oh, yes,” answered Lynnie in a soft, husky whisper. ‘‘ I—I—do love him!” NI. THE Ricketts’ dining room was lighted only by the candles on the table—a table of gleaming crystal and silver and china, heavy with the odor of banked red roses. Lynnie stood in the dim candlelight, look- ing into the living room through the French doors which separated the two rooms. Sle was trying to summon courage to turn on the dining room lights, open the doors and announce dinner. The room beyond was changing, passing, like a moving picture. Mrs. Ricketts clinked and tinkled as she moved among her guests. She was talking now to a low spoken, gravely smiling woman in white. She was the wife of the “‘ King o’ de World,” Lynnie decided. She looked around now for the king himself. She saw Mr. Baylor and Mr. Carruthers sitting together in important calm, like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. She caught the fine face of Dr. Shepard. The big man talking to Mr. Ricketts must be the king, she thought. Now he had turned and was speaking to Archer. Archer! What would Archer say when he saw her there? A little while ago her offer to take Aunt Jury’s place had seemed a noble act and her clear and bounden duty. But now— THE MOON. 843 She turned on the lights, gave the table a last swift, appraising glance, and opened the doors. As she stood there in her flowered mull frock, her satin sandals, she might have been the compcsite embodiment of all the tall, deep bosomed, tranquil women of her race, framed on the walls of Loch Lyn. Her color rose and died. She tried to speak. She could not. Archer Mackenzie looked up casually. He gave a convulsive start, attempted to rise, thought better of it, and sat gazing incredulously. . The guest of honor, whose keen gaze was resting on Archer’s face, half turned in his chair to follow the direction of the other’s fascinated eyes. The guest of honor stiff- ened in fis chair. His face whitened. He gave a dynamic leap to his feet. As one who believes despite his reason, speaks against his will, he cried out: “Aunt Fanny Locklyn!” The Ricketts, their guests, his wife even, were staring. Only Lynnie was composed. She stood looking at him for a brief second, then she smiled. She came over to him swiftly. ‘Cousin Horace!” And then, simply: “1m Lynnie!” ‘“ My God—I thought you were a ghost!” He took her in his arms and kissed her. ‘ Lynnie, my dear—my dear. Why, honey, [ve always thought of you as twelve years old.” He held her away from him. “ But yowre Aunt Fanny Locklyn alive again!” He turned to his wife. “ Evelyn, it’s Lyn- nie!” he said in a delighted voice. The woman in white with the calmly amused eyes kissed her gently. “Mrs. Ricketts,’ Cousin Horace had be- gun perplexedly, “ this is a great surprise. Is it a masquerade—did you plan it?” _ Mrs. Ricketts opened her mouth. She swallowed convulsively. Before she could find words Lynnie’s clear voice interposed. ‘“ Cousin Horace—Cousin Evelyn — it wasn’t intended as a surprise at all. I am serving dinner for Mrs. Ricketts in Aunt Jury’s place—because Aunt Jury isn’t able to come.” She turned a concerned face to COMME NOOLKS.EO