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Updated: June 25, 2025
"Let me go on, please. And you let him buy you wine there?" "I've told you about that part, too how the bottles and the glasses were already on the table when we sat down." "I'm merely going by what the photographs tell, Mrs. Propbridge.
Really, for a resort so extensively advertised, Gulf Stream City was not a particularly exciting place. For lack of anything better to do she had halted to view the contents of a shop window when an exclamation of happy surprise from someone immediately behind her caused Mrs. Propbridge to turn around. Immediately it was her turn to register astonishment.
Only, if we mean to do that we'll have to kill the time, some way, for forty or fifty minutes or so. Do you mind letting me bore you for a little while? I know it's unconventional but I like to do the unconventional things when they don't make one conspicuous." Mrs. Propbridge did not in the least mind. So they killed the time and it died a very agreeable death, barring one small incident. On Mr.
"Please don't concern yourself about it," she said. "I didn't suspect you of being a professional masher; I was only rather startled, that's all." "Thank you for telling me so," he said. "You take a load off my mind, I assure you. Pardon me again, please but did I understand you to say a moment ago that your name was Propbridge?" "Yes." "It isn't a very common name. Surely you are not the Mrs.
Young Mrs. Propbridge figured that her name was becoming tolerably well known along the Gold Coast of the North Atlantic Seaboard. It was too. For example, there was at least one person entirely unknown to her who kept a close tally of her comings and her goings, of her social activities, of her mode of daily life. This person was Vincent Marr.
On the following morning, which would be Thursday, Mrs. Propbridge took a stroll on Gulf Stream City's famous boardwalk. It was rather a lonely stroll. She had no particular objective. It was too early in the day for a full display of vivid costumes among the bathers on the beach. She encountered no one she knew.
Marr figured him to be of the jealous type. He hoped he was; it might simplify matters tremendously. On a certain summer morning a paragraph appeared in at least three daily papers to the effect that Mr. and Mrs. Justus Propbridge had gone down to Gulf Stream City, on the Maryland coast; they would be at the Churchill-Fontenay there for a week or ten days.
Of these two only one would show ever upon the stage. The other would bide out of sight behind the scenes, doing his share of the work, unsuspected, from under cover. For the part which he intended her to take in his production the part of dupe Mrs. Justus Propbridge was, as one might say, made to order.
On this he confidently had figured. He had not reckoned into the equation the possibility of invoking against him the Propbridge pull backed by the full force of this double-fisted, vengeful millionaire's rage. Indeed he never supposed that there might be any such pull.
But if you are willing to trust me to act as your representative maybe the whole thing might be arranged and no one except us ever be the wiser for it." Mrs. Propbridge being an average woman did what the average woman, thus cruelly circumstanced and sorely frightened and half frantic and lacking advice from honest folk, would do. She paid and she paid and she kept on paying.
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