The following Saturday, after tea, as Beth and
Mabel Clayton were going back upstairs, Beth had seated Mabel by force
on the first step of the second flight to tell her some funny little
story. Beth was in one of her merry moods that night. Beth was not a
wit, but she had her vein of mirth, and the girls used to say she was
growing livelier every day. The gas was not lighted in the hall, but
Beth had left her door open and the light shone out on the head of the
stairs. A moment later they started up with their arms about each
other's waist.
"Oh, Beth, I left that note-book down stairs. Wait, I'll bring it up to
you."
Beth waited, standing in the light as her friend scampered down again.
She heard the door of Marie's old room open, and a tall man stepped into
the hall, but as it was dark below she could not see his face. She
wondered, though, why he stood so still, and she had a consciousness
that someone was looking at her.
Arthur Grafton--for it was he--stood for a moment as if stunned. There
she was--Beth Woodburn! The woman he--hush! Clarence Mayfair's promised
wife! She looked even beautiful as she stood there in the light, with a
smile on her face and a pure white chrysanthemum at her throat.
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