Arizona republican., 1909-05-19
CHAPTER III. Madame Anqot.

In a fashionable quarter of the city there stood a brownstone house, with grOtesque turrets, winding steps. and glaring polished red tiles. There was a touch of the Gothic, of the Re naissance, of the old English manor; just a touch, however, a kind of blnid mans buff of a house. A very rich man lived there, but for ten months in the year he and his family fluttered about the social centers of the world. And with house like this on his hands, one could scarce blame him. Twice a week, during this absence, a caretaker came in. flourished a feather duster. and went away again. Society reporters al- ways referred to this house as the palatial residence"
 This morning a woman stood in the aIcove- window and looked down into the glistening street. There was a smile on her lips, in her eyes, in the temporary little wrinkles on either side of her nose The Venetian red of her hair trapped the reflected sun light from the opposite windows, and two little points of silver danced in her blue eyes An, but her eyes were blue; blue as spring water in the morning, blue as the summer sky seen through a cleft in the mountains. blue as lapis-lazuli, with the same fibers of gold. And every feature anG contour of the face harmonized with the marvellous hair and the wonderful eyes; a beautiful face, firm, dreamy, engaging, mobile. It was not the face of a worldly woman; neither was it the face of a girl. It was too emo tional for the second, and there was not enough control for the first. h seemed as if she stood on the threshold of life, with one hand lin- gering respectfully in the clasp of youth and the other doubtfully greet ing womanhood; altogether, some thing of a puzzle.
 But the prophecy of laughter did not come to pass? the little wrinkles faded, the mouth grew sad. and che silver points no longer danced in her eyes. The pain in her heart was always shadowing; like a jailer it jealously watched and repressed the natural gaiety which was a part of her. Those who have been in serious wrecks are never quite the same afterward; and she had seen her fairest dream beaten and crumpled upon the reef of disillusion.
 Yet again the smilau renewed itself. She was creature of varying moods. She twisted and untwisted the news paper. Should she? Ought she? Was it not dreadfully improper and bizarre? Had she not always regretted these singular impulses? And yet, what
 
 it to the sender? She was so lonely here; it was like being among a strange people, so long ago was it that her foot had touched this soil. Was it possible that she was twenty five? Was there not some miscount, and was it not fifteen instead? As old and as wise as the Cumaean Sybil at one moment, as light and careless as a Hebe at the next. Would not this war of wisdom and folly be decided ere long?
 She opened the paper and smoOthed out the folds Madame Angot There is a letter for you in the mail de- partment of this office" It was so droll. It was unlike anything she had ever heard of. A personal in quiry column, where Cupids and Psyches billed and cooed, and anxious JunOs searched for recreant Jupiters! The merest chance had thrown the original inquiry under her notice. Her answer was an impulse to which she had given no second thought till too late. She ought to have ignored it. But since she had taken the first step she might as well take the second. She was lonely; the people she knew were out of town; and the jest might amuse her.