October 1931
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
450
THE RETURN o / i LTIDE A Serial Story . . . By ZENOBIA BIRD
I know the house so well. Only tell me how to get my wrap, and tell me you will make my excuses to Mrs. Torrington. Tell her I have a sick headache, and it makes it worse to have to talk to any one. Tell her anything you like, only let me go, quick.” “Marian, what on earth is the matter?” “I know you must think me crazy, Joyce. But I can not tell you now.”
[The tide of happiness seemed to have re ceded from Marian Linton’s life when she faced the future, suddenly bereft of father and mother, her friendship with Nelson Barrington broken, her money gone, and her only brother in hiding from justice. But in the home of. Joyce Goodwin, she learned again to trust in God, and in answer to her prayer for a means of livelihood, she found herself established, at a generous salary, as maid in the Wolfe home. Marian’s winning personality soon made her place in the family more than that of a servant, and to avoid embarrassment should visitors become aware of her refinement, Mrs. Wolfe agreed to treat her, before strangers, as a mute and, using her middle name, to call her “Lilli Bell." It was at Mrs. Torrington’s party that Mar ian began to wonder if the tide had not come back in one great wave. But as she talked with Dick Burling, star football player at the near-by
,“I know what to do. There is Helen, and she has her car here. You can trust her; she is pure gold. Go out there by the drive and keep behind that big boxwood., I will send Helen out with your wrap and ask her to take you home. It will take her only a few minutes, and she will be back before she is missed. Father or Mother will let you in. Be quick, .1 think Mr. Moore is coming.” As Marian disappeared behind the shrubbery, she heard Mr. Moore’s voice, “All alone ? I am awfully sorry to have left you so long.” She felt calmer since her talk with Joyce, and she waited scarcely five minutes until she heard the soft purr of a motor down the driveway and a big car stopped be fore her. The door opened, and a girl’s voice asked quiet ly, “Will you get in, Miss Linton?” She stepped in. Not a word was spoken until they reached the Goodwin home. “This is Joyce Goodwin’s. Shall I wait a minute until you get inside?” “Thank you so much,” Marian murmured. She rang the bell. The door was opened by Joyce’s father. “Why, Marian, alone!” he exclaimed. “Where is Joyce?” And then, seeing the misery in the girl’s face, his tone changed to that of solicitude. “My dear child, what is it?” Drawing her gently into the room and seating her in a big easy chair, he took another close besfde her. “Can you tell your Daddy Goodwin all about it, little daughter?” The tender yearning in his voice was too much for the overwrought nerves, and Marian burst into tears, which she vainly tried to stanch with her wisp of a party hand kerchief. He watched her awhile in silence, and then he began a quiet searching through his various pockets. Finally he drew from one of them a large, freshly laun dered pocket handkerchief. Shaking it out to its full size, he handed it to her. “Here, child, take mine. It will hold more,” he said gravely. The little whimsey had the desired effect. Marian gig gled a bit as she let him relieve her of the wet little ball. But the tears had ceased to flow so freely, the tension was gone, and Marian was quite her usual calm self. “There, that is better,” he said as he laid a hand on hers. “Do you want to talk to me tonight, Marian, or would you rather .wait until some other time ? You do not need to tell me anything, you know, if you do not wish to.”
university, he mentioned meeting in Alaska an old friend whose name was Linton, as he supposed, but who claimed to be Jake Greene, of. Skagway. , . • „ . , £ . , , “Funny, his name was Linton, same as yours, Dick finisnea. Just then Dorothy Hepburn caught her scarf in a piece of bric-a-brac, knocking over a choice vase. Dick sprang to the rescue, but when the confusion had subsided, Marian was gone .] C hapter VII U l | h en M arian L inton fled from Dick Burling, she had no idea where she was going or what she would do next. But she found herself in a minute at the farthest end of the long veranda—and alone. Her heart was beating wildly, and her head ached with a dull throb. If she could only find Joyce, Joyce would know what to do. As she stood there trembling, a couple came strolling around the corner toward her. She shrank back more closely into the shadow of the vines, hoping they would pass without seeing her. As they passed one of the long, lighted windows, she saw that the girl was Joyce; but she dared not call. They were coming nearer; they could not help seeing her, so she turned and faced them. “Why Marian, you here!” exclaimed Joyce. And then she caught the stricken look on the girl’s face. Something was wrong. What had happened? With quick resourcefulness, she turned to the young man with her: “Would you mind bringing me a glass of that lovely lemonade I saw them just setting out on the table in the hall ?” she said sweetly. “It is cool and lovely out here, and I will sit in the swing until you return.” He had no choice but to obey, so he disappeared around the corner. “Marian, what has happened? What is the matter?” she began. “Joyce, please, I want to go home. Do you think I can, without saying good-by to any one?” “Are you ill?” “I have a frightful headache. Truly I have, Joyce. I want to get away. Please help me, and don’t let any One ask you about me if you can help it.” “But you could not go back alone. It is late.” “Oh, I am sure I coukL It is only a few blocks, and
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