The Bottineau courant. (Bottineau, Bottineau County, N.D.) 1895-1929, 1915-11-04
Her PLatonic
Friend
By NELLIE cRAvEY GILMORE.

BY NELLIE CRAVEY GILMORE.
Copyright, The Frank A. Munsey Co.
The furry of silken skirts, a melo-
dious bar of the latest classic; the
haunting, insidious fragrance of hot
house hyacinths-and Francesca!
Brainard knew it without even turn
ing his head, although there were half
a dozen other women in the house.
His wife possessed a maddening pen
chant for keeping the place choked
from one months end to the other
with weekend parties. The guests
just now included six out-of-town men
and the same number of in-town girls.
Without reversing his position in
the slightest, Brainard glanced W.
his shoulder at Francesca and nodded
stiffly.
Then he resumed his cynical con-
temptation of the bed of pink and pur-
pie Goals smoldering drowsily under
their gray ash-caps.
Francesca had acknowledged his
greeting formally from the doorway.
Her expression did not change as she
swept gracefully into the room and
paused a moment by the reading table
to finger a freshly cut magazine.
Her poise was admirable, but it cost
her an effort.
The unaccountable estrangemert
that had existed between them for
some time did not mitigate the awk-
ward silence. On the contrary, IL
rather accentuated it. The woman,
at least, felt the necessity for speech.
"Well?"
The information was distant, imper-
sonal; the word coming rather as a
challenge than an interrogation-but
she could think of nothing else to say.
The rather unexpected sound of it
brought Brainard right-about-face. In
a flash he took in the details of his
wife's exquisite toilet, her statuesque
beauty; the subtle, feminine appeal of
the minuest gesture. A glance Of in
voluntary admiration chased the Ia
tent shadow from his face.
"Where, tonight?" he asked.
"Nowhere-if you're going to stay"
Brainard could not repress a certain,
whimsical smile. But as she reiterat.
ed the statement the look in his eyes
changed swiftly to incredulity, deep
ened to gravity-shifted to c%overtness.
Just how much of what she said did
,l>o ~,oo~0 IIory ,~,,ol, Al che ;pfanr1
him to think she meant? His heart
contracted with a sudden, fierce hope.
Then the smile returned to his lips. He
dare not-be ridiculous.
Francesca had slipped into the
depths Of a huge leather chair, its
dull background throwing the superb,
rose-clad figure into ravishing relief.
The soft blue of her eys, the pink Of
her cheeks-the rich scarlet of trenl-
ulous ~lips-went, for an instant, to
Brainard's head.
eff I thought you really wanted
me-"
The telephone issued a preemptory
summons from The corner of the room.
He frowned at the interruption, and
made a movement to answer the ring.
But Francesca had risen rather hur-
riedly, crossed the room, and was ia
king the receiver from the hook
Brainard stood where he was, white
and still. His wife's obvious nervous
ness had not escaped him. He listen
ed stonily to the brief conversation.
"Mr. Albright? Yes, this is Mrs.
Brainard. Why, do! I've shall be
delighted. No, not tonight--not a
place-all the rest have gone to the
Fullers' cotillian-a bit of a headache
that's all-very well, expect you In
half an hour? Good-by!"
She came back to her chair and sat
down. Brainard regarded her coolly
for a second or so. There was a little
twist to his lips.
""Billy Albright" he queried, light
ing a cigar.
EYES,"
Certainly. You heard me talking
to him. What else could I say?"
She met his half-skeptical glance
with one slightly aggressive.