Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

\ ‘DINNER FOR CYNTHIA, It’s really high time that we got acquainted, you know.” Across the room Cynthia drifted rather than walked. Strangely, she had almost ceased to think. Why, not two minutes ago, the most glorious assurance had tingled in her every fiber. Love, the all-conquering, had pointed the way. Yet even in those two minutes the remarkable Mrs. Stone had managed to convince her that by following the way she would walk straight into prison! Incredible? Oh, yes, it was incredible enough, Cynthia conceded dizzily, but at the same time it bore all the earmarks of plain fact. Even on short acquaintance one knew that Mrs. Stone owned the rare quality of meaning exactly what she said. She was pinching Cynthia's arm and chuckling. “Plump as a partridge, eh?” she ob- served. ‘W-what?” breathed Cynthia. “ As well-fed a little baggage as I ever saw!” the kindly soul pursued heartily. “Never missed a meal in your life, I'll war- rant!”’ Cynthia could respond with no more than a ghastly, empty smile. Mrs. Stone chuck- led on. : And just next door poor Billy was won- dering and wondering why she could not see him at ten, why she would not return home to-night! Yes, and as a mathemati- cal certainty, he was doing more than just wondering, as Cynthia understood with a chill, sinking sensation. Young Mr. Bran- der owned a temperament more swiftly sus- picious than any other Cynthia had en- countered so far in her short journey through life. Not that this argued a soli- tary thing against the peerless beauty of Billy’s character in a general way; if it was even a fault—which Cynthia declined to admit—it was entirely because of Be tre- mendous love for her. Acknowledging all of which, it was still a perfectly real quality; and by this time Billy was approaching a wild state. So much Cynthia knew; the exact nature of the wildness she did not know; but if her Billy was really suffering, as he must be, every bit of the blame belonged to the hateful old person beside her and—” ou7 “ Cynthia, you love the boy?” the hate- ful old person demanded suddenly. “ Love him?” cried Cynthia. “ Why, Vd die just—’’ and there she subsided, since it was clear that they were not talking of the same boy, The tiny outburst appeared to give huge gratification to Mrs. Stone, however. She laughed aloud, rumblingly, happily; she~ poked one big forefinger into Cynthia’s ten- der ribs! “ That's what I wanted to know! That’s what I wanted to find out!” she announced jubilantly. ‘“I—don’t know. Yow’re so_ shy and silent that I was in a little bit of doubt, my child. But I’m in doubt no longer. Come here and give your old grand- mother a good, big hug, young one!” An instant, it was in Cynthia’s mind to shriek aloud and leap away, clutching her pretty head. Another instant, and this seemed an impolitic thing to do; however | slowly, Cynthia was learning. She com- plied, although not with fervor. “You. needn’t be afraid of breaking me; I’m built solidly,” the lady chuckled. “ Gad, child! You're the timidest thing I ever saw! Not convent-bred, are you?” “No, I—I just went through high school,” Cynthia said drearily. “And your folks thought you knew enough then and stopped educating you— and they were right!” Mrs, Stone approved, and wagged her obviously delighted head. “Just a real, old-fashioned little girl—no fool profession, no fool notion of getting into business. Not an ambition beyond a good husband and a raft of lovely young ones, eh? That’s wonderful!” ‘Oh, but I’ve studied music!” rather in- dignantly escaped Cynthia. “Aha? Play for your mamma and papa?”’ ‘“T’ve played in concert—a little.” “ Fiddle?” —- “ Piano,” sighed Cynthia. Mrs. Stone sat up. “What d’you play, honey? Jazz?” “ Music,” said Cynthia. “Well, upon my soul, you grow more priceless every minute!” said the elder lady. “Come right downstairs and play for me!” <4 Bat” “Come along! I hayen’t heard a piano Eomichooks (E() a ’ a a