Mischievous Maid Faynie Part 17

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 cashier 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, blushing, 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.

"You must have some one else in your mind--that is quite evident. Please to recollect that I am Margery Conway, not--not Susie--whoever she may be."

He laughed a rollicking, maudlin laugh. The brandy was beginning to diffuse itself through his brain.

"I'll never call you anything but Margery again," he cried, "beautiful, peerless Margery, the sweetest, jolliest, most bewitching and lovable shop girl in all New York."

The young girl looked at him with dilated eyes. Every impulse in her terrified heart warned her to turn and fly from the place, but it was all in vain. She could not have moved hand or foot if her very life had been the forfeit.

"So you are toiling away in a place like this for a mere pittance," he went on; "probably hardly enough to keep soul and body together. That's a confounded shame for a pretty girl like you. Work isn't for such as you--you ought to be out in the sunshine, dressed in silks and velvets and diamonds galore. It's bad enough for the old and ugly--those whose hair is streaked with gray and around whose eyes the crow's feet have been planted by the hand of time, to work--ay, toil for their bread. By Jove, I say you are far too lovely for such a fate!"

"Sir!" cried Margery, drawing herself up to her fullest height. "I work for my living, but I want you to understand that I am proud of the fact, instead of deeming it a disgrace, as you seem to think it.

"Up to this hour I have always considered you a man of honor--one of nature's n.o.blemen--a gentleman. Now I know you as you are--a _roue_--ay, a scoundrel. I would scorn to remain another hour in your employ. Money earned in this establishment from this moment would burn my fingers."

"Hoity-toity! Don't get big feelings too suddenly, my pretty dear," he cried, with a load, hilarious laugh. "Lord! what simpletons some girls are! You're standing in your own light, pretty one! Can't you see that?"

"Sir!" cried Margery, struggling to free herself from the grasp of his strong hand, "it is dastardly, it is cowardly to summon me here to subject me to--insult."

"'Pon my honor, I want to be friendly, but you won't have it so--you seem determined to kick up a row. Come, now, be friendly; sit down here and we'll talk it over."

"Unhand me!" cried Margery in terror. "Let me go, or I shall scream for help!"

"You won't do any such thing, my little ruffled birdling," he cut in, an angry light leaping up into his eyes, adding: "I am disposed to treat you very kindly, but you seem determined to make an enemy of me instead of a friend, my dear, and your reason ought to tell you how foolish that is. Come, be sensible and listen to me. I've taken a violent fancy to that pretty face of yours. We must be friends--excellent friends. That's a good beginning, you know."

Margery glanced toward the door, the fright deepening in her eyes. He had placed himself between her and the door, kicking it to with his foot.

He saw that quick glance, and read it aright, and his brow darkened.

"Don't be a little fool!" he cried. "Don't anger me, girl. You had better make a friend instead of an enemy of me."

"Your enmity or friendship is a matter of equal indifference to me now,"

gasped Margery, sobbing bitterly.

"You have slain my respect for you. I--I am sorry--sorry from the bottom of my heart--that I realize you have fallen from such a n.o.ble height in my estimation."

"That's all bosh and moonshine," hiccoughed Kendale; "respect and high pedestal of honor and all that sort of thing. You're among the clouds; get down to earth. I'm only a man--you mustn't take me for a little G.o.d.

Come, now, what in the name of reason is the use of making such a fuss over this thing, and storming like an angry princess on the stage because I tell you frankly that I've taken a notion to you. By George, you ought to be mighty pleased to know that you've captured the fancy of a man like me, with no end of money at my command. Do you realize that, little one?"

The girl's terror was growing intense with each pa.s.sing moment.

Her horror and dread of the man before her was a thousand-fold greater at that moment than her admiration for Lester Armstrong had been in days gone by. He seemed to her a different being in the same form--one suddenly transformed from all that was manly and n.o.ble to a very fiend incarnate.

An awful stillness had fallen over the girl--a full realization of the meaning of his jocular remarks was just dawning upon her. She was looking at him with the awful pallor of death on her lovely young face.

"Come, my pretty Margery," he cried, quite mistaking the reason that her struggle to free herself from his clasping hand had so suddenly ceased; "now you are falling into a more complaisant mood. I am glad of that.