The adventurous lady

by J. C. Snaith

“I’ll cut those,” was the curt announcement at the sight of the toenails of Miss Cass.

The proud spirit of a solicitor’s daughter was inclined to contest the point. She really did not think her toes were in need of such attention.

“Very well—you don’t put on them.” The Werewolf pointed to the blue silk stockings. “And you don’t put on those neither.” And she pointed to the enchanting slippers.

Poor Miss Cass had to suffer one more indignity. Pikey assumed a pair of spectacles, took a pair of scissors, made Girlie sit on a chair and dealt with her toes with scrupulous efficiency. The operation duly performed, Pikey turned her attention to the lovely gown. A cunning needle took in a bit here, let out a bit there, emphasized this, diminished that, until at last she reluctantly muttered, “You ought to do now.”

Girlie, ready to weep for relief, turned again to the glass. The picture she saw was beyond her most extravagant hopes. She was—yes—she was beautiful! At the sight of a ravishing self her courage rose. She had not known that mere clothes and that particular way of doing the hair and that particular ribbon in it could mean so much. Somehow the picture in the glass was going to help her enormously in the part she had to play.

Even Pikey, sunk in savage gloom at the prospect before her, could not stifle a feeling of half admiration, which to be sure she did not reveal. It was too much to hope that the preposterous trick would not be found out, but at least in the matter of looks, the Family might have been far less worthily represented. In fact so clear was Pikey on this point that she opened an ancient jewel case and took forth an article that lifted Girlie to the nth degree. It was a necklace of pearls. This lovely thing had only to clasp a white and slender throat, of which Girlie had always been secretly vain, for its owner to be made free of the seventh heaven of delight.

“That belongs to Lady Carabbas.” Such was Pikey’s proud concession to the light of rapture in the ignorant eyes of Miss No-Class. But she did not tell the Deputy, whose eyes were sparkling with enchantment, that the necklace was but a copy of a famous original that was strictly reserved for state occasions. Beauty, however, is in the eye of the beholder. Girlie was quite sure that these were the most authentic pearls of the Orient. When she looked again in the glass she literally felt their glamour.

Half an hour must pass before Girlie, now slightly delirious, would have to show herself in the drawing room. Blood was drumming in her temples already, an odd kind of singing was in her ears, yet in spite of the sure and clear knowledge that she was poised on the very edge of a measureless chasm, in that half hour the dominant emotion was not fear. Girlie’s line of commercial sires were standing by her now; a certain dour practicality rallied to their daughter’s call.

Moreover, in her way, Girlie Cass was a fighter. Life for her had never been a bed of roses. And this was her chance. If only she could control her nerves and fix her will this perilous game might be worth while. Besides, whatever happened, she must not give her friend and benefactress away. Looked at rightly this was a perfectly gorgeous adventure. If only she showed pluck she had really very little to lose beyond her situation at The Laurels—a heavy penalty no doubt—yet over against that was set an opportunity for priceless first-hand experience, such as hardly one girl in a million could hope to acquire.

Let her play up and take Courage for her watchword! Even if she could not fill the rôle of a marquis’s daughter—and the event had yet to prove whether she could or she could not—the cheval glass opposite told her quite clearly that very few girls indeed could have looked the part better.