Page:Arthur Stringer--The House of Intrigue.djvu/348

328 as I got to my feet. She must have noticed some sudden change in my face, for her eyes widened with wonder.

"I'm going to get out of this house!" I told her with decision.

"But there are so many questions I've got to ask you?" demurred that wide-eyed young woman.

I had, however, already crossed to the door.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but it's too late!"

"Wait!" she cried, as I stood with my hand on the knob.

"Well?" I asked, as she hesitated.

A hungry look had come into her large and shadowy eyes.

"Would—would you mind sending me up a five-pound box of Page and Shaw from the village, as you go?" she rather anxiously inquired.

That strange request brought me up short. I stared back at her, with a very superior smile of scorn on my lips. Here was a woman, I told myself, whose soul was so small it couldn't rise above a chocolate bon-bon. Here was one of your hothouse flowers who'd always been surrounded by those soft airs of splendor after which my own foolish young heart had yearned—and this was the best it could all do for her! She rather pitied me, I knew. She