The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1933-04-20

spitefully. And I bet he never even
telephoned you"
Monnies heart began TO beat
thickly. painfully. She felt almost
suffocated. But she managed to say,
with dignity.
Il knew he was coming. I heard
from him the other day"
Kay smiled wisely. Bet you
didn't see him driving down Main
street with Sandra about half-past
p? Oh, no he wouldn't bother to
come around-not till he's good and
ready. And when he comes, he'll
find you waiting right where he left
you
Sandra-Dan-tha very after
noon! Monnie couldn't believe it!
Sandra had been in the store at
noon, hadn't said anything at all
about expecting Dan. There was
only one train he might have come
on and that was the early morn
ing one. Then why hadn't he
Jailed her?
She felt quite sick A little warn
ing pulse in her temples began to
rhrob.
Kay plunged on: Bet he'd sing
different tune if he came here,
Just once, and found you'd gone out
with some one else. But no, you re
always ready and waiting, whenever
he happens to take a notion to
drop aroundl I should think you'd
have more"
Kay" A quiet voice interrupted
this TRADE. Mrs. O'Dare, pale, but
with a certain grimness about her
gentle mouth, stood in the door,
way, staring at her younger daugh-
ter.
Kay wilted. I'm sorry Nom"
she said. II didn't mean it
you run along and finish setting
the table," Mrs. O'Dare said in a
cool voice.
Kay went. Monnie, whose knees
had begun to feel oddly like straw,
sat down on the little old Windsor
chair beside the door.
Maybe if you'd have time for
bath before supper" Mrs. ODare
began doubtfully. you'd feel better.
You're tired out. I've got the heater
lighted"
Monnie smiled at her. Thanks,
Mother. You think of everything"
CHE went upstairs with step de-
~ terminedly swift. Not for
worlds would she let any of them
know what it cost her to hide the
hurt in her heart.
Dan back-and he hadn't called
her! When she was fairly aching
for the sight of him, for the clasp
of his hand! Maybe Kay had been
mistaken, maybe she had been
merely spiteful! But, no, even Kay
in a tantrum was not likely to in
vent the spectacle of Dan and San
ORA Lawrence together.
At the thought, Monnie's pulses
began to hammer, and that feeling
of g-sinking-Smote her once
more. Sandra, who was so cool and
sure of herself, who after year
at finishing school in the east had
gone to Paris to return clanking
with bracelets, redolent of strange,
alluring scents, wearing the most
extreme and bizarre costumes Bel
vedere had seen these many moons.
Monnie quoted the raging tUmult
within her. Dan and Sandra-why,
there was nothing to it. They be-
longed to the same crowd, knew the
same people. 1t was only the mer-
est accident, probably, that they
had met that day.
Sandra knew how Dan felt about
Monnie. Didn't she stop in at the
store often to whisper charmingly,
Il suppose you've heard from some
one in the city? / knew that was
why you looked so pretty today"
Monnie was proud of Sandra S
friendship. Sandra, who could know
any one and was invited every
where, who was so clever, and might
have been a writer or an artist if
she put her mind to it (she said
so herself.
Only Sandra had been born &c
money. The Lawrences owned the
paper mills out on the River road
and Sandra, last of the line, lived
with her father in the handsome
stone pile on the Hill Near the
Cardigans. That was how she hap
pened to know Dan SO well. Dar
-Dan-Dan!
(To Be Continued