Stella opened the door,
and the eyes of the two met.
"The Chinaman seems to have gone home," the mistress of the room said
quietly. "At least he is not on this floor or in the office, and I
could see nothing of Timmons anywhere."
"Then I suppose we don't drink," complained Miss La Rue. "Well, I
might as well go to bed. There ain't much else to do in this jay town."
She got up, and moved toward the door.
"If you're only here viewing the scenery, I guess you won't remain
long."
"Not more than a day or so. I am planning a ride into the mountains
before leaving," pleasantly. "I hope I shall see you again."
"You're quite liable to," an ugly curl to the lip, "maybe more than
you'll want. Good night."
Miss Donovan stood there motionless after the door closed behind her
guest. She was conscious of the sting in those final words, the
half-expressed threat, but the smile did not desert her lips. Her only
thought was that the other was angry, irritated over her failure, her
inability to make a report to her masters. She looked at the valise on
the floor, and laughed outright, but as her eyes lifted once more, she
beheld her travelling suit draped over the head-board of the bed, and
instantly the expression of her face changed.
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