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The Phantom Lover By: Ruby M. Ayres (1883-1955) |
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BY RUBY M. AYRES AUTHOR OF A BACHELOR HUSBAND, THE SCAR, ETC. NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1921, BY W. J. WATT & COMPANY Printed in the United States of America
DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND Janet Moore THE REAL 'JUNE MASON' IN THIS STORY
THE PHANTOM LOVER
CHAPTER I
Somewhere out in the night a woman was crying, crying desolately. The
sad, rather monotonous sound broke the silence of the street and
floated through the open window of a room where Micky Mellowes was
wondering how the deuce he should get through the long evening lying
before him. Micky was in a bad temper. It was not often that he was in a bad
temper, but he had begun the day by waking with a headache, which was
still with him, and which accounted for the wide open window and the
breath of icy air which was filling the room and fluttering the
curtains; and half an hour ago some people with whom he had been going
to dine had rung up and told him that the party was off owing to the
sudden death of a relative, thereby leaving the evening long and empty
on his hands. It was New Year's Eve, too, which made matters a thundering sight
worse. He wondered if Marie Deland was feeling as sick about it as he was.
Micky was in the middle of an interesting flirtation with Marie, which
bade fair to develop into something deeper with careful engineering on
the part of her family, for Micky was a catch, and though so far he
had proved himself singularly adroit in avoiding mothers with
marriageable daughters, the Delands were beginning to pat each other
on the back and to look pleased. When the sound of crying reached him he had been feeling so thoroughly
fed up with life that it had seemed impossible for anything ever to
interest him again; but now he climbed out of his chair with a faint
show of energy and strolled over to the window. It was a cold, clear night, with myriads of stars in the dark sky that
seemed to shed a faintly luminous light to earth, bright enough at all
events for Micky to distinguish the figure of a girl walking slowly
along the pathway below. She was walking so slowly and dispiritedly that a sort of vague
curiosity stirred in Micky's heart; here, at least, was some one even
more fed up with life than he himself, and with a sudden impulse he
turned from the window, and, snatching up a hat and coat which he had
thrown down when he came in an hour earlier, made for the stairs. He was half way down when an apologetic cough at his elbow arrested
him; he stopped and turned. "Well, what is it?" "If you please, sir, Mr. Ashton has just sent round to ask if you
could make it convenient to be in at ten o'clock this evening, as he
wants to see you particularly." Micky looked surprised; Ashton had been very particularly engaged for
that evening, he knew. Evidently something had happened to upset his
plans as well. "Ten o'clock? All right; I dare say I shall be in." He went on down the stairs. Out on the path he paused and looked up and down the street. The impulse that had sent him out had died away; it was beastly cold,
and much more comfortable by the fire. He hesitated, and in that
moment he saw the figure of the girl again. She had stopped now in the light of a street lamp, and seemed to be
looking at something she carried in her arms a child! Surely not a
child! Micky's curiosity was aroused. He buttoned the collar of his coat more
closely round his chin and went on. The girl had moved too, almost as if she felt instinctively that she
was being followed, and as Micky drew abreast with her she shrank a
little to one side as if afraid. "What's the matter?" asked Micky bluntly. They were some few yards from the lamp now. But, as she turned to look
up at him with startled eyes, its yellow light fell on her face; and
Micky saw with amazement that she was quite young and exceedingly
pretty, in spite of the distress in her eyes, and the tears that were
still wet on her cheeks... Continue reading book >>
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Fiction |
Literature |
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