Part 17 (1/2)

He scarcely remembered pretty Margery until he happened to see her again. The girl was fairly stunned by the intelligence that the great millionaire owner of the establishment had made Lester Armstrong his heir.

At first her joy was so great that she could not speak. Then a sudden fright swept over her heart. He was rich now, and she was poor. Would it make any difference with him. She tried to put the chilling thought from her, for it made her heart turn cold as ice. Her gentle eyes did not close in sleep all the long night through. Her pillow was wet with tears. The one prayer on her lips was: ”I pray to Heaven this may make no change in him; that he will care for me as much as when he sent me the poem.”

She had not seen Lester Armstrong since he had taken his new position as proprietor of the great establishment, and now, when his bell rang for her, no wonder the girl's heart leaped into her mouth, and involuntarily she looked into the long pier gla.s.s eagerly. Ah, it was a fair face reflected there. There were few fairer, with its delicate coloring framed in nut-brown curls, gathered back so carelessly from the white brow, and there was a light in the brown eyes beautiful to behold. She had been wondering only the moment before if the hero of her daydreams had forgotten her, and lo! the summons of his bell had seemed to come in answer to the thought.

With trembling, hopeful antic.i.p.ation, Margery wended her way to her employer's office, taking the nearer route, not through the main office, where her father was, but by a more direct narrow pa.s.sage, which was seldom used.

All unmindful of his daughter's presence in the main office, the old cas.h.i.+er had bent his steps thither for instructions regarding the bill which had just been presented, but he had scarcely reached out his hand to knock, ere he heard a blood-curdling, piercing scream, in a woman's voice, from within, and recognized, in horror too great for words, the voice of his own daughter, his Margery!

CHAPTER XIX.

PRETTY MARGERY'S TERRIBLE DISCOVERY.

Pretty Margery Conway had made her way eagerly enough to Mr. Lester Armstrong's private office, but her light tap on the door brought no response, and, as it was slightly ajar, she pushed it open and stepped across the threshold.

To her great surprise she saw that her employer was deeply engrossed in the pictures of a comic weekly, and the loud ”Ha! ha! ha!” that fell from his lips struck upon the girl's sensitive nerves most unpleasantly.

She was wondering how she should make her presence known to him, when suddenly he turned around, and then he saw her and a quick gleam of intense admiration leaped into his bold, dark eyes at the vision of the lovely, blus.h.i.+ng, dimpled face of the slender, graceful young girl.

”I am here in response to your summons, Mr. Armstrong,” she said, with much embarra.s.sment. ”Your bell rang so imperatively that--”

”I didn't ring any bell, my dear,” he exclaimed, ”but still I am uncommonly glad to see you. Sit down and we'll have a little chat.”

”There is a customer awaiting my return as soon as you--”

”Oh, hang the customer,” cut in Kendale. ”Sit down, pretty one, and we'll make each other's acquaintance.”

Margery looked at him in helpless bewilderment.

Had handsome Lester Armstrong, the hero of her dream, gone suddenly mad, she wondered?

”Sit down, my dear,” he reiterated, ”don't look at me in such affright.

I'm not an ogre; I don't intend to eat you, though, upon my honor, those peachy cheeks and pomegranate lips are most wonderfully tempting.”

Margery was so intensely surprised she was fairly speechless--incapable of word or action.

From where she stood the fumes of strong brandy reached her, and she realized that the man before her was under its influence to an alarming extent.

No wonder her pretty face paled; even her lips grew white.

She stood before him as one mesmerized by the baleful gleam in his merciless concentrated gaze, as the fluttering, frightened bird does in the presence of the deadly serpent that means to destroy it.

”Won't be sociable, eh?” muttered Kendale. ”You are not diplomatic; you don't know your own interests. Sit down here and tell me all about yourself--how long you have been here, and all about it. I ought to know, of course, but I forget. Come, brush up my memory a bit, won't you?”

”Your memory seems indeed very poor all at once,” said Margery, spiritedly, ”considering the fact that you have known me since I was a little child”--and, in spite of her efforts at self-control, big tears brimmed over the pretty eyes and rolled down the round cheeks.

In an instant Kendale was on his feet.

”There, there, Susie, don't cry,” he said, reaching her side quickly and grasping both of the little clasped hands in one of his.