“It is not that I am jealous,” Irene would say to herself. “It can’t be that. I have never been jealous in my life. I have an instinct of distrust that I can’t overcome. Her husband affects me the same way. What am I that I should set myself up as a person whose instinct is of any value? They must be all that they seem or so many persons would not be attracted by them.”
She rather hoped Josie O’Gorman would feel like discussing the matter with her after their little talk concerning Hortense Markle on the day the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop had its house warming, but the astute Josie did not mention it again and Irene felt that she must not be the one to approach the subject.
The Higgledy-Piggledy Shop was getting on its feet in great shape. It was a novelty in Dorfield and found its customers because of its unusualness at first and then those customers returned because of the efficiency of the young shopkeepers.
Elizabeth Wright was kept quite busy hunting up facts for students on many and various subjects. She had typing to do and even obituary notices to write and sometimes love letters to compose for bashful young men and maidens. It was her lot to write club papers on every subject from Shakespeare to the musical glasses.
Josie had felt it necessary to take Elizabeth into her confidence concerning her being connected with the secret service, but never once had she divulged her suspicions of the attractive Markles. The one little talk she had had with Irene was the only time she had let herself go in the least concerning those persons whom she hoped to catch up with in some of their supposed villainies. Elizabeth was as enthusiastic about the beautiful Hortense as were all of the young people of her set, in spite of the fact that her sisters and mother declared the young married woman had an inclination to monopolize the eligible young men of their acquaintance. Billy McGraw certainly was very attentive to her, although his liking for Elizabeth was growing day by day.
“She’s such a good fellow,” he would say to himself, never thinking of her as anything but a pal, however, while he spent many a wakeful night tormented by the thought of Hortense Markle, for whom he had a chivalrous pity because of being married to such an unsympathetic middle-aged man. Many were the calls he made at the Markles’ charming apartment, when Mr. Markle would make himself obligingly scarce and leave the young man to delightful tête-a-têtes with his charming young wife.
“You promised to let me see the orchid pin when I came to see you,” he remarked on his first call, which was on the very next evening after the luncheon at the Higgledy-Piggledy.
“Why, of course,” she responded readily. “But I am so sorry it is not here. The catch was a little weak and Felix took it yesterday afternoon to the jewelers to have it strengthened. I would not lose it for worlds with all of its tender associations. I know you think I am sentimental.”
“Not at all! That is just the way Vi Thomas felt about hers, the one that was a counterpart of yours. By the way, I heard from Jerald Thomas only yesterday afternoon. It was something of a coincidence that we should have been talking about him at luncheon. I have not heard from him for ages. He tells me that he and Vi went off to Atlantic City several months ago for a breathing spell, leaving their apartment in charge of a trusted butler. They had wonderful furnishings, rugs, etchings and so forth. When they came back their place was cleared of everything in the least valuable. The butler had gone out to dinner with some friend he had picked up and had been drugged and not able to get back to his place, and while he was sleeping off his drunk, thieves had simply lifted the whole blooming business. Vi’s jewels had been taken from the safe too. I don’t know whether they got her orchid pin or not.”
“How terrible!” cried Hortense. “I can’t think of a greater calamity than losing my precious household goods, things that Felix and I have so carefully selected and for which we’ve denied ourselves so much.”