Chapter V

While this banter had been passing among the company in the great oak library below, Miss Mettleby lay on her little white bed where she had flung herself in a deeper and sterner mood than had ever been hers before. One after another possible explanation of her great knight’s terrible words presented itself to her mind, only to be rejected.

For one quivering moment the thought that if the woman who passed for Mrs. Fair were not, as he had said, his wife, he was free to—but, no, for that meant that Maxwell Fair was a scoundrel who could not only place a woman in such a nameless position but also desert her when she had borne children to him. It was a frightful view from any point—and yet, at the bottom of her heart she felt that the man who had obtained such a mastery over her soul was not, could not be, so base.

Racked by this futile effort to see light through the darkness Miss Mettleby started as she heard a tap at her door and the quiet, earnest voice of Mrs. Fair asking if she might come in. Her first impulse was to take this strong, sweet woman, so terribly her fellow-sufferer, into her confidence, but before she had called out to her to enter all such mad ideas had flown. Trying to banish all evidence of her recent tempest of feeling, the governess respectfully begged her mistress to come in.

It was nothing, Mrs. Fair said, with a great show of forced pleasantry, but a little surprise for Mr. Fair—a parcel. Would Miss Mettleby hide it while they were at dinner, and tell her where she had put it after? Both women assured each other that they had not been crying—just a headache. And, yes, Miss Mettleby would find a hiding-place for the surprise.

So Mrs. Fair went down to greet her guests, and when she had heard the company go from the library to dinner, Miss Mettleby ran down to that deserted room with the big, brown-paper parcel in her hands. She had at once thought of the old Italian chest as the very place in which to hide Mr. Fair’s surprise. She peeped into the library to make sure that her ears had not deceived her. The room was empty, and the girl crept in.

Fearing that some of the footmen or other servants might enter, she took the precaution to draw the portières across the door into the passage and then hurriedly removed the books and other things that Mr. Fair had placed upon the chest. This done, she was just going to lift the lid, when she heard a peculiar hissing noise which would have startled her at any time and which, with her nerves keyed up, now filled her with genuine terror. She turned from the chest and listened.

(To be continued in the April number.)

A Trust-Buster

COBWIGGER—By the way, my dear, I haven’t seen anything of the gas bill this month.

Mrs. Cobwigger—Oh, Henry, it came over a week ago, but it was so much I didn’t dare show it to you for fear you would blame me for being extravagant. Here it is.

Cobwigger (looking at bill)—Hoppity-hornets! What a bill for a small family! I don’t blame you at all, my dear. It isn’t your fault; it’s this grasping corporation. But I’ll get ahead of them all right.

Mrs. Cobwigger—How can you?

Cobwigger—Pshaw! It’s just like a woman to ask such a foolish question. How am I going to get ahead of this monopoly? Why, tell the old gas company to take out its meter.

Mrs. Cobwigger—And then what will you do?

Cobwigger—Why, put in lamps and patronize the Standard Oil Company.

Kernels

MANY a politician who talks about an honest dollar never earned an honest penny.

If there wasn’t a sucker born every minute a lot of people in this world would have to work for a living.

The cost of keeping up appearances is usually defrayed with other people’s money.

The man whose mind moves like clockwork isn’t the fellow who has wheels in his head.

Many a politician would be a statesman if there were more money in it.

The thought of work makes some people more tired than if they had really done the work.

The man who thinks that his money will do almost everything for him is the one who did almost everything for his money.

Marriage is the only union that doesn’t make a man keep regular hours.

A Positive Proof

“ARE you sure that Percy really loves you?”

“Positive. Why, at the dinner last night he offered to divide his last dyspepsia tablet with me.”