Part 60 (2/2)

”Poor Polly!” thought Glory.

”The bride wore a d.u.c.h.ess satin gown trimmed with chiffon and Brussels lace, and having a long train hung from the shoulders. Her tulle veil was fastened with a ruby brooch and with sprays of orange blossom sent specially from the Riviera, and her necklace consisted of a rope of graduated pearls fully a yard long, and understood to have belonged to the jewel case of Catharine of Russia. She carried a bouquet of flowers (the gift of the bridegroom) brought from Florida, the American home of her family. The bride's mother wore---- The bridesmaids were dressed----Mr. Horatio Drake acted as best man----”

Glory drew her breath as with a spasm and threw down the newspaper. How blind she had been, how vain, how foolis.h.!.+ She had told John Storm that Drake was only a good friend to her, meaning him to understand that thus far she allowed him to go and no farther. But there was a whole realm of his life into which he did not ask her to enter. The ”notable persons in politics and society,” ”the bridesmaids,” these made up his real sphere, his serious scene. Other women were his friends, companions, equals, intimates, and when he stood in the eye of the world it was they who stood beside him. And she? She was his hobby. He came to her in his off hours. She filled up the under side of his life.

With a crus.h.i.+ng sense of humiliation she was folding up the newspaper to send it downstairs when her eye was arrested by a paragraph in small type in the corner. It was headed ”Shocking occurrence at a fas.h.i.+onable wedding.”

”Oh, good gracious!” she cried. A glance had shown her what it was. It was a report of Polly's suicide.

”At a fas.h.i.+onable wedding at a West-End church on Sat.u.r.day” (no names) ”a young woman who had been sitting in the nave was seen to rise and attempt to step into the aisle, as if with the intention of crus.h.i.+ng her way out, when she fell back in convulsions, and on being removed was found to be dead. Happily, the attention of the congregation was at the moment directed to the bride and bridegroom, who were returning from the vestry with the bridal party behind them, and thus the painful incident made no sensation among the crowded congregation. The body was removed to the parish mortuary, and from subsequent inquiries it transpired that death had been due to poison self-administered, and that the deceased was Elizabeth Anne Love (twenty-four), of no occupation, but formerly a nurse--a circ.u.mstance which had enabled her to procure half a grain of liquor strychninae on her own signature at a chemist's where she had been known.”

”O G.o.d! O G.o.d!” Glory understood everything now. ”I've a great mind to go to All Saints' and shame them--Oh, it isn't the police I'm afraid of.” Polly's purpose was clear. She had intended to fall dead at the feet of the bride and bridegroom and make them walk over her body.

Poor, foolish, ineffectual Polly! Her very ghost must be ashamed of the failure of her revenge. Not a ripple of sensation on Sat.u.r.day, and this morning only a few obscure lines in little letters!

Oh, it was hideous! The poor thing's vengeance was theatrical and paltry, but what of the man, wherever he was? What did he think of himself now, with his millions and his murder? Yes, his murder, for what else was it?

An hour later Glory was ringing the bell of a little house in St. John's Wood whereof the upper blinds were drawn. The grating of the garden door slid back and an untidy head looked out.

”Well, ma'am?”

”Don't you remember me, Liza?”

”Lawd, yus, miss!” and the door was opened immediately; ”but I was afeard you was one o' them reportin' people, and my orders is not to answer no questions.”'

”Has _he_ been here, then?”

”Blesh ye, no, miss! He's on 'is way to the Continents. But 'is friend 'as, and he's settled everything 'andsome--I will say that for the gentleman.”

Glory felt her gall rising; there was something degrading, almost disreputable, even in the loyalty of Drake's friends.h.i.+p.

”Fancy Liza not knowing you, miss, and me at the moosic 'all a Tuesday night! I 'ope you'll excuse the liberty, but I _did_ laugh, and I won't say but I shed a few tears too. Arranged? Yes, the jury and the coroner and every-think. It's to be at twelve o'clock, so you may think I've 'ad my 'ands full. But you'll want to look at 'er, pore thing! Go up, miss, and mind yer 'ead; there's n.o.body but 'er friends with 'er now.”

The friends proved to be Betty Belmont and her dressing-room companions.

When Glory entered they showed no surprise. ”The pore child told us all about you,” said Betty; and the little one said: ”It's your nyme that caught on, dear. The minute I heard it I said what a top-line for a, bill!”

It was the same little bandbox of a bedroom, only now it was darkened and Polly's troubles were over. There was a slightly convulsed look about the mouth, but the features were otherwise calm and childlike, for all the dead are innocent.

The three women with demure faces were sipping Benedictine and talking among themselves, and Polly's pug dog was coiled up on the bare bolster and snoring audibly.

”Pore thing! I don't know how she could 'a done it. But there, that's the worst of this life! It's all in the present and leads to nothing and ain't got no future.” ”What could the pore thing do? She wasn't so wonderful pretty; and then men like----” ”She was str'ight with him, say what yer like. Only she ought to been more patienter, and she needn't 'a been so hard on the lady, neither.” ”She had everything the heart could wish. Look at her rooms! I wonder who'll----”

Carriages were heard outside, and two or three men came in to do the last offices. Glory had turned her face away, but behind her the women were still talking. ”Wait a minute, mister! ... What a lovely ring! ...

I wish I had a keepsake to remember her by.” ”Well, and why not? She won't want----”

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