The Mystery Girl. Wells Carolyn

went back, hoping to have a chance for conversation with Miss Mystery.

      She was chatting gayly with Helen Peyton, Pinky and Mrs. Tyler.

      To Lockwood’s surprise, Miss Austin was really gay and merry and quite held her own in the chaff and repartee.

      Yet as Lockwood noted her more closely, his quick perception told him her gayety was forced.

      The secretary’s ability to read human nature was almost uncanny, and he truly believed the girl was making merry only by reason of her firm determination to do so.

      Why? He wondered.

      Gordon Lockwood was a rare type of man. He was possessed of the most impassive face, the most immobile countenance imaginable. He never allowed himself to show the slightest excitement or even interest. This habit, acquired purposely at first, had grown upon him until it was second nature. He would not admit anything could move him, could stir his poise or disturb his equanimity. He heard the most gratifying or the most exasperating news with equal attention and equal lack of surprise or enthusiasm.

      Yet, though this may sound unattractive, so great was Lockwood’s personality, so responsive and receptive his real nature beneath his outer calm, that all who really knew him liked him and trusted him.

      Waring depended on him in every respect. He was more than a secretary to his employer. He was counselor and friend as well.

      And Waring appreciated this, and rated Lockwood high in his esteem and affection.

      Of course, with his insight, Gordon Lockwood could not be blind to the fact that both Mrs. Peyton and her daughter would be pleased if he could fall a victim to the charms of the fair Helen. Nor could he evade the conviction that Mrs. Peyton herself had entertained hopes of becoming mistress of the Waring home, until the advent of Emily Bates had spoiled her chances.

      But these things were merely self-evident facts, and affected in no way the two men concerned.

      The Peytons were treated with pleasant regard for both, and that ended the matter so far as they were concerned.

      The subject had never been alluded to by Waring or Lockwood, but each understood, and when the Doctor’s marriage took place, that would automatically end the Peytons’ incumbency.

      And now, Gordon Lockwood smiled patronizingly at himself, as he was forced to admit an unreasonable, inexplicable interest in a slip of a girl with a dark, eerie little face and a manner grave and gay to extremes.

      For Anita was positively laughing at some foolishness of Pinky Payne’s. Still, Lockwood concluded, watching her narrowly, yet unobserved, she was laughing immoderately. She was laughing for some reason other than merriment. It verged on hysterical, he decided, and wondered why.

      He joined the group of young people, and in his quiet but effective way, he said:

      “You’ve had enough foolery for the moment, Miss Austin, – come and talk to me.”

      And to the girl’s amazement, he took her hand and led her to a davenport on the other side of the room.

      “There,” he said, as he arranged a pillow or two, “is that right?”

      “Yes,” she said, and lapsed into silence.

      She sat, looking off into vacancy, and Lockwood studied her. Then he said, softly:

      “It’s too bad, isn’t it?”

      “Yes,” Anita sighed, and then suddenly; “what do you mean? What’s too bad?”

      “Whatever it is that troubles you.” The deep blue eyes met her own, but there was no sign of response or acquiescence on the girl’s face.

      “Good-by,” she said, rising quickly, “I must go.”

      “Oh, no, – don’t go,” cried Pinky, overhearing. “Why, you’ve only just come.”

      “Yes, I must go,” said Miss Mystery, decidedly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bates, and thank you for bringing me. Good afternoon, Mrs. Peyton.”

      Including all the others in a general bow of farewell, the strange girl went to the front door, and paused for the attendant Nogi to open it.

      Door-tending the assistant butler understood, and he punctiliously waited until Miss Austin had buttoned her gloves and had given an adjusting pat to her veil, after a fleeting glance in the hall mirror.

      Then he opened the door with an obsequious air, and closed it behind her departing figure.

      But it was immediately flung open again by Pinky Payne, who ran through it and after the girl.

      “Wait a minute, Miss Austin. How fast you walk! I’m going home with you.”

      “Please not,” she said, indifferently, scarcely glancing at him.

      “Yep. Gotto. Getting near dusk, and you might be kidnapped. Needn’t talk if you don’t want to.”

      “I never want to talk!” was the surprising and crisply spoken retort.

      “Well, didn’t I say you needn’t! Don’t get wrathy – don’t ’ee, don’t ’ee – now, – as my old Scotch nurse used to say.”

      But Miss Mystery gave him no look, although she allowed him to fall into step beside her, and the two walked rapidly along.

      “How’d you like the looks of the Doctor?” Pinky asked, hoping to induce conversation.

      “I scarcely saw him.”

      “Oh, you saw him, – though you had small chance to get to know him. Perfect old brick, but a little on edge of late. Approaching matrimony, I suppose. Did you notice his ruby stickpin?”

      “Yes; it didn’t seem to suit him at all.”

      “No; he’s a conservative dresser. But that pin, – it’s a famous gem, – was given him by his own class, – I mean his graduating class, but long after they graduated, and he had to promise to wear it once a week, so he usually gets into it on Sundays. It’s a corking stone!”

      “Yes,” said Miss Austin.

      On reaching the Adams house, the girl said a quick good-by, and Pinky Payne found himself at liberty to go in and see the other members of the household, or to go home, for Miss Austin disappeared into the hall and up the staircase with the rapidity of a dissolving view.

      Young Payne turned away and strolled slowly back to the Waring home, wondering what it was about the disagreeable young woman that made him pay any attention to her at all.

      He found her the topic of discussion when he arrived.

      “Of all rude people,” Mrs. Peyton declared, “she was certainly the worst!”

      “She was!” Helen agreed. “I couldn’t make her out at all. And I don’t call her pretty, either.”

      “I do,” observed Emily Bates. “I call her very pretty, – and possessed of great charm.”

      “Charm!” scoffed Helen; “I can’t see it.”

      “She isn’t rude,” Pinky defended the absent. “I’m sure, Mrs. Peyton, she made her adieux most politely. Why should she have stayed longer? She didn’t know any of us, – and, perhaps she doesn’t like any of us.”

      “That’s it,” Gordon Lockwood stated. “She doesn’t like us, – I’m sure of that. Well, why should she, if she doesn’t want to?”

      “Why shouldn’t she?” countered Tyler. “She’s so terribly superior, – I can’t bear her. She acts as if she owned the earth, yet nobody knows who she is, or anything about her.”

      “Are we entitled to?” asked Lockwood. “Why should we inquire into her identity or history further than she chooses to enlighten us?”

      “Where is Miss Austin?” asked Doctor Waring, returning, quite composed and calm.

      “She went home,” informed Mrs. Bates. “Are you all right, John?”

      “Oh,