Darcy stared at it, mute with amazement. It moved a little to let her pass and what the girl saw beyond it froze her blood. In Drawing-Room A sat Paul Wood and his bride!
Flight, instant and precipitate, was Darcy’s one idea; flight forth from that unchancy car. She whirled around, started for the lower exit, took three steps and halted with a choked cry.
In Drawing-Room B sat Maud Raines, that was, with her bridegroom.
Fate, defied, had promptly accepted the challenge. Darcy was trapped.
Kentucky cherishes a legend concerning the potency of its moonshine whiskey which is said to be such that one drink of it will inspire a rabbit to spit in the eye of a bulldog. Desperation will produce much the same psychological effect in the soul of woman. There, in monocle and whiskers, was Darcy’s bulldog. And before her and behind her threatened Desperation, double-barreled. Darcy took a short, gaspy breath—it was all she could get—and advanced upon her unwitting victim.
The apparition had just succeeded in its aerial enterprise with the ulster when it became aware of a mute appeal at its elbow. It turned. It saw a girlish face, suffused with a wonderful warmth of color, clear, steady eyes, with an irresistible plea in them; lips that looked both firm and soft and were tremulous at the comers with what might be fear, but seemed much like mirth, and two perfectly gloved little hands stretched out in welcome. No possible doubt about it; those hands were held out to the apparition.
The apparition’s face underwent a sort of junior earthquake. Its monocle fell out. It replaced the doubtful aid to vision. It contemplated the creature of bewildering charm and still more bewildering behavior confronting it. Hesitatingly its hands went forth to meet those little, appealing, waiting hands.
“Monty!” said the girl in a clear, ringing, happy voice, and inexpertly kissed the apparition on the nose.
“Holy Snakes!” gasped the apparition.
It took a step backward. Its knees caught. It collapsed in its chair.