E. Woodberry.
Shirley Claiborne was dressed for a ride, and while waiting for her horse
she re-read her brother's letter; and the postscript, which follows, she
read twice:
"I shall never live down my acquaintance with the delectable Armitage. My
brother officers insist on rubbing it in. I even hear, _ma cherie_, that
you have gone into retreat by reason of the exposure. I'll admit, for
your consolation, that he really took me in; and, further, I really
wonder who the devil he is,--or _was_! Our last interview at the Club,
after Chauvenet told his story, lingers with me disagreeably. I was
naturally pretty hot to find him playing the darkly mysterious, which
never did go with me,--after eating my bird and drinking my bottle. As a
precaution I have looked up Chauvenet to the best of my ability. At the
Austro-Hungarian Embassy they speak well of him. He's over here to
collect the price of a few cruisers or some such rubbish from one of our
sister republics below the Gulf. But bad luck to all foreigners! Me for
America every time!"
* * * * *
"Dear old Dick!" and she dropped the letter into a drawer and went out
into the sunshine, mounted her horse and turned toward the hills.
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