Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 7, 1922 — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

244 He had dined that night at his club, leaving his month-old bride to pass the eve- ning alone, and had returned between eleven and twelve that night in a state of vile intoxication. He had gone up to her bedroom, pistol in hand; had locked the door, and his voice was heard screaming and yelling at her. Then followed the sound of one shot. On the table in his dressing room was found a-half sheet of paper, dated that day, and this was read out in court. “The horror of my position,” he had written, ‘Cis beyond description and endurance. I can bear it no longer; my soul sickens .. .” The jury, without leaving the court, re- turned the verdict that he had committed suicide while temporarily insane; and the coroner, at their request, expressed their sympathy and his own with the poor lady, who, as testified on all hands, had treated her husband with the utmost tenderness and affection. For six months Bertha Acres had trav- eled abroad, and then in the autumn she had bought the Gatehouse at Tarleton, and settled down to the pleasant and absorbing trifles which make life in a small country town so busy and strenuous. . Our modest little dwelling is within a stone’s throw of the Gatehouse, and when, on the return of my wife and myself from two months in Scotland, we found that Mrs. Acres was installed as a neighbor, Madge lost no time in going to call on her. She returned with a series of pleasant. im- pressions. Mrs. Acres, still on the sunny slope that leads up to the table-land of life which begins at forty years, was extremely hand- some, cordial and charming in manner, wit- ty and agreeable, and wonderfully well- dressed. Before the conclusion of her call Madge, in country fashion, had begged her to dispense with formalities, and instead of a frigid return of the call, to dine with us quietly next day. Did she play bridge? That being so, we would just be a party of four, for her brother, Charles Alington, had proposed himself for a visit. I listened to this with sufficient attention to grasp what Madge was saying, but what ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. I was really thinking about was a chess problem which I was attempting to solve. But at this point I became acutely aware that her stream of pleasant impressions dried up suddenly, and Madge became Stonily silent. She shut speech off, as by the turn of a tap, and glowered at the fire, rubbing the back of one hand with the fingers of anoth- er, as is her habit in perplexity. “ Go.on,” I said. She got up, suddenly restless. “All I have been telling you is literally and soberly true,” she said. “I thought Mrs. Acres charming and witty and good- looking and friendly. What more could you ask from a new acquaintance? And then, after I had asked her to dinner, I suddenly found, for no earthly reason, that I very much disliked her. I couldn’t bear her.”’ “You said she was wonderfully well- dressed,” I permitted myself to remark. ““ Tf the queen took the knight—”’ “Don’t be silly,” said Madge. “I am wonderfully well-dressed, too. But behind all her agreeableness and charm and good looks I suddenly felt there was something else, which I detested and dreaded. It’s no use asking me what it was, because I haven’t the slightest idea. If I knew what it was, the thing would explain itself. But I felt a horror, nothing vivid, nothing close, you understand, but somewhere in the back- ground. ‘““Can the mind have a ‘turn,’ do you think, just as the body can, when, for a second or two, you suddenly feel giddy? I think it must have been that. Oh, I’m sure it was that. But I’m glad I asked her to dine. I mean to like her. I shan’t have a ‘turn’ again, shall I?” ‘““No, certainly not,” I said. “If the queen refrained from taking the knight—” ‘Qh, do stop your silly chess problem,” said Madge. ‘“ Bite him, Fungus.” Fungus, so called because he is the son of Humor and Gustavus Adolphus, rose from his place on the hearth rug, and, with a hoarse laugh, nuzzled against my leg, which is his way of biting those he loves. Then the most amiable of bulldogs, who has a passion for the human race, lay down COMmiclboo SS C©