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Updated: June 13, 2025
The man was staring over Lutie's head at the slim, elegant figure in the modish spring gown,—it was something smart and trig, he knew, and it was not black. Then he advanced with his hand extended. "I am glad to see you back, Anne. I heard you had returned." Their hands met in a brief clasp. His face was grave, and a queer pallor had taken the place of the warm glow of an instant before.
Apparently he had no other thought than that everything would turn out right and fair for her in the end. But the covert, anxious, analysing look in Lutie's eyes was always present and it was disconcerting. He avoided the little flat in which he had spent so many happy, and in a sense profitable hours, and they appreciated his reason for doing so. They kept their own counsel.
They stood at the top of the steps while the footman tried the iron gate that barred the way to the tradesmen's door. It was pad-locked. "I asked Simmy to meet us here at eleven," said Anne nervously. "I expect it will cost a good deal to do the house over as I want—Doesn't any one answer, Peters?" "No, ma'am. Maybe he's out." Lutie's face blanched suddenly.
The Neighbors thought so, too. Some recommended killing the Nerve, while others allowed that it ought to be Pulled. But what Mamma meant was that Lutie ought to have it Cultivated by a Professor. She suspected that Lutie had a Career awaiting her, and would travel with an Elocutionist some day and have her Picture on the Programme. Lutie's Father did not warm up to the Suggestion.
There is a great deal of the old Anne in me still and I coddle her as much as ever. But I've found out something new about her that I never suspected before, and it is this new quality that speaks to you now. I ask you to try to forget, Lutie." Throughout this long speech Lutie's eyes never left those of the tall young woman in black. "Why do you call me Lutie?" she asked.
When Lutie paused after that final declaration, she waited a moment for her to resume. "There is, of course," said she levelly, "the possibility that my son may not get well." Lutie's eyes narrowed. "You mean that you'd rather see him die than—" "Miss Carnahan, I am compelled to speak brutally to you. I paid you to give up my son. You took the money I proffered and the divorce I arranged for.
Moreover, in several instances, George's mother had found her own name printed next to Lutie's in the alphabetical list of guests at rather large entertainments, and once,—heaven forfend that it should happen again!—the former "mustard girl's" picture was published on the same page of a supplement with that of the exclusive Mrs. Tresslyn and her daughter, Mrs.
You look posi-tive-ly as if you were on the point of bursting into grand opera. Going to sing?" "I'm singing all over, Georgie,—all over, inside and out," she cried joyously. "Gee whiz!" he gasped. "Has the baby begun to talk?" She did not meet him again at Lutie's.
The thought had never entered Anne's head to look anywhere but straight into Braden's eyes. She was not afraid to have him see that she was honest! He could see that she had no lies to tell him. And she was as sorry for him as she was for herself.... She saw him often during the days of Lutie's convalescence, but never alone.
All night long Dodge and Thorpe looked for him, aided in their search by three or four private detectives who were put on the case at midnight. At one o'clock the two friends reappeared at Lutie's apartment, summoned there by the detective who had been left on guard with instructions to notify them when she returned.
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