Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 2, 2025
Why should you come to me at this hour to find your sister?" He did it well, wounded pride, hostility under unjust suspicion, strong in his voice. "Chrystie's gone," she answered. "She told me she was going to friends, and I find she isn't there. She deceived me and I had reason I heard something tonight that made me think " She stopped.
"I know I did, but if you're going to give parties you have to have people you don't like to fill up." "Um," Chrystie pondered, "I suppose you must. Oh, there's Marquis de Lafayette." "Yes," said Lorry, "I thought of him." Chrystie's eyes, bright with question, rested on her sister. "You can't exactly call him a nugget." "Why not?" "Because he doesn't shine, darling."
At his name the sound ceased, there was a rising of graceful feminine forms which floated toward him, leaving a masculine figure in silhouette against the lighted background of the dining room. He was confused as he made his greetings, touched and dropped Lorry's hand, tried to find an answer for Chrystie's challenging welcome.
"But you won't speak to me?" "Not then. In the train we might meet just accidentally run into one another. And you'll say, 'Why, there's Mr. Mayer! How odd. How d'ye do, Mr. Mayer." He bowed with a mincing imitation of Chrystie's best society manner. "'I didn't expect to see you here." She laughed delightedly, nestling against his shoulder. "Will that be all? Can I say any more?" "Not much.
His answer sounded indifferent between puffs of his pipe: "Yes, I guess so. Miss Chrystie's a big, fine sort of girl, with yellow hair and lots of color. She's nearly as tall as I am. The other, Miss Lorry well, she's small." "They'd ought to have a heap of money," said the farmer. "But when he died I heard he hadn't cut up as rich as you'd think. Folks said he was too honest."
Chrystie's glance was diverted from the cornice, wide open and astonished. "A party here, in this house?" "Yes, it's big enough. There's plenty of room and we can afford it." "But, Lorry" the proposition was so startling that she could hardly believe it "a real party?" "Any kind of a party you want. We might have several. We could begin with a dinner; Fong can cook anything."
Then quick, leaping upon her, came the recollection of Chrystie's departure that afternoon the clinging embrace, the rush down the steps, the absence of her face at the carriage window. Lorry gave a moan and her hands rose, clutched against her heart.
Finally, the bell filling the room with its clamor, there was nothing for it but to answer. With grim lips and a murderous eye on his opponent, Mayer dropped her arm, and going to the phone, took down the receiver. From the other end, plaintive and apologetic, came Chrystie's voice. Pancha retreated to the door, opened it and came to a halt on the sill.
"I'm so glad you always have a good time there." Lorry appeared in the doorway. The room was nearly dark, the last blue light slanting in through the uncurtained window. By its faint illumination she saw Chrystie's face in the mirror, glum and unsmiling. It was not the expression with which the youngest Miss Alston generally greeted calls to festivals. "What's the matter, Chrystie?" she said.
"He was the real thing," the farmer gravely commented. "There wasn't many like him." Sadie, who was not interested in a man dead ten years ago, pushed the conversation on to her own generation. "His daughters are grown up. They must be young ladies now." Mark answered: "Yes Miss Chrystie's just eighteen, came of age this summer. The other one's a few years older."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking