Phantom Lover

M. Ayres Ruby

Description

Mickey and Esther first meet under less-than-ideal circumstances, but soon find themselves caught up in the rush of blooming love. Will their burgeoning romance be torn asunder by pride and dishonesty? Read Ruby Ayres' The Phantom Lover to find out.

Sujets

• Romance

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775562856
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE PHANTOM LOVER
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RUBY M. AYRES
 
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The Phantom Lover First published in 1919 ISBN 978-1-77556-285-6 © 2012 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Chapter XV Chapter XVI Chapter XVII Chapter XVIII Chapter XIX Chapter XX Chapter XXI Chapter XXII Chapter XXIII Chapter XXIV Chapter XXV Chapter XXVI Chapter XXVII Chapter XXVIII Chapter XXIX Chapter XXX Chapter XXXI Chapter XXXII Chapter XXXIII Chapter XXXIV Chapter XXXV Chapter XXXVI Chapter XXXVII
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TO MY FRIEND
Janet Moore
THE REAL 'JUNE MASON'
IN THIS STORY
Chapter I
*
Somewhere out in the night a woman was crying, crying desolately. Thesad, rather monotonous sound broke the silence of the street andfloated through the open window of a room where Micky Mellowes waswondering how the deuce he should get through the long evening lyingbefore him.
Micky was in a bad temper. It was not often that he was in a badtemper, but he had begun the day by waking with a headache, which wasstill with him, and which accounted for the wide open window and thebreath of icy air which was filling the room and fluttering thecurtains; and half an hour ago some people with whom he had been goingto dine had rung up and told him that the party was off owing to thesudden death of a relative, thereby leaving the evening long and emptyon his hands.
It was New Year's Eve, too, which made matters a thundering sightworse.
He wondered if Marie Deland was feeling as sick about it as he was.Micky was in the middle of an interesting flirtation with Marie, whichbade fair to develop into something deeper with careful engineering onthe part of her family, for Micky was a catch, and though so far hehad proved himself singularly adroit in avoiding mothers withmarriageable daughters, the Delands were beginning to pat each otheron the back and to look pleased.
When the sound of crying reached him he had been feeling so thoroughlyfed-up with life that it had seemed impossible for anything ever tointerest him again; but now he climbed out of his chair with a faintshow of energy and strolled over to the window.
It was a cold, clear night, with myriads of stars in the dark sky thatseemed to shed a faintly luminous light to earth, bright enough at allevents for Micky to distinguish the figure of a girl walking slowlyalong the pathway below.
She was walking so slowly and dispiritedly that a sort of vaguecuriosity stirred in Micky's heart; here, at least, was some one evenmore fed-up with life than he himself, and with a sudden impulse heturned from the window, and, snatching up a hat and coat which he hadthrown down when he came in an hour earlier, made for the stairs.
He was half-way down when an apologetic cough at his elbow arrestedhim; he stopped and turned.
"Well, what is it?"
"If you please, sir, Mr. Ashton has just sent round to ask if youcould make it convenient to be in at ten o'clock this evening, as hewants to see you particularly."
Micky looked surprised; Ashton had been very particularly engaged forthat evening, he knew. Evidently something had happened to upset hisplans as well.
"Ten o'clock? All right; I dare say I shall be in."
He went on down the stairs.
Out on the path he paused and looked up and down the street.
The impulse that had sent him out had died away; it was beastly cold,and much more comfortable by the fire. He hesitated, and in thatmoment he saw the figure of the girl again.
She had stopped now in the light of a street lamp, and seemed to belooking at something she carried in her arms—a child! Surely not achild!
Micky's curiosity was aroused. He buttoned the collar of his coat moreclosely round his chin and went on.
The girl had moved too, almost as if she felt instinctively that shewas being followed, and as Micky drew abreast with her she shrank alittle to one side as if afraid.
"What's the matter?" asked Micky bluntly.
They were some few yards from the lamp now. But, as she turned to lookup at him with startled eyes, its yellow light fell on her face; andMicky saw with amazement that she was quite young and exceedinglypretty, in spite of the distress in her eyes, and the tears that werestill wet on her cheeks.
"What's the matter?" he asked again, more gently, and waited for thepathetically shaken denial which he felt sure would come.
"Nothing—nothing at all."
"Nothing!" There was a note of exasperation in his voice. "You werecrying—I heard you, and people don't walk about the streets at thistime of night and cry if there's nothing the matter. If that's a babyyou've got with you, you ought to know better than to—" He brokeoff. She was laughing, a weak, uncertain little laugh.
"A baby!" she said tremulously. "It isn't a baby; it's a cat."
"A cat!" Micky's voice was full of disgust. He looked down at her fromhis superior height with sudden suspicion. If this was just a hoax?
"Well, what's the matter anyway?" he asked again.
She looked away from him without answering.
Micky began to feel a bit of a fool; he wished he had not yielded tothe impulse to follow her. After all, it was no business of his if astranger chose to walk about his road and weep; he looked at herimpatiently.
Her hair beneath its not very smart hat shone golden in the lamplight,and the little oval of cheek and rounded chin which was all he couldsee of her averted face somehow touched a forgotten chord in his heartand made him think of his boyhood and the girl-mother who had notlived long enough to be more than a memory....
"Don't think I'm interfering or trying to annoy you," he said again."But if there is anything I can do to help you...."
She shook her head.
"There isn't anything.... I ought to have known better than to let youhear that I was crying ... there's nothing the matter, I—" Thenquite suddenly she broke down again into bitter sobbing. "Oh, I'm somiserable—so utterly miserable—I wish I were dead!"
Micky was appalled; he had heard women say that sort of thing before,and had said it himself scores of times, but never with that note oftragedy which he heard in this girl's voice.
Ten minutes ago he had considered himself the most miserable ofmortals because he had been let down over a dinner; he was ashamed ofhis temper now as he stood there in the starlight and listened to thisgirl's sobbing.
"Look here," he said after a moment, "you'll never feel any better ifyou stay out here in the cold. I don't suppose you've had arespectable meal for hours either—I know what women are. Where do youlive? You'll soon feel better when you get beside a fire and havesomething to eat."
"I'm not going home any more," she said.
She spoke quite quietly, but with a sort of despair which there was nomistaking.
Micky was a rapid thinker. He had clean forgotten his headache. Thiswas adventure with a capital letter. There was still something ofromance in the world which his jaded palate had not yet tasted.
"I'm sure you're tired," he said gently, "and probably fed-up. So amI. I was just wondering what in the world to do with myself when Iheard you crying. It made me feel a sort of kinship with you—it did,upon my word. If I'd been a woman I dare say I should have beenhowling like anything. Will you come along with me and let me give yousome supper? I'm hungry too...."
She shrank back from him with a little gesture of fear.
"Oh no—please let me go!..."
She tried to pass him, but Micky barred the way.
"You can't walk about the streets all night," he said determinedly."The cat will hate it anyway, even if you don't mind." There was ahint of laughter in his voice, though he had never felt more seriousin all his life. "And if you don't want me to take pity on you, youmight at least take pity on me ... please don't think I'm a boundertrying to annoy you or anything like that ... perhaps I want a friendjust as badly as you do...." He stopped, aghast at his own temerity.
"If you do," she said tremulously, "I am more sorry for you than I cansay."
"I'm glad you said that," Micky answered, "because now you'll comealong and have that supper with me. There's a little café quite nearhere that I know. If we are both miserable, we can at least bemiserable together."
Something told him that this girl was at the end of her tether; thatshe was desperate, and his first casual curiosity concerning herdeepened in the most surprising fashion.
He felt in some inexplicable way that a curtain had been lifted from aphase of life hitherto hidden from him; as if he were standing on thethreshold of a new world, where women only weep for something real andtragic, not just butterfly tears of petulance like the women of hisown class.
The girl was silent for a moment; then suddenly she laughed, a hardlittle laugh of recklessness.
"Very well," she said. "I suppose I may as well."
Micky was infinitely relieved; somehow he had not really thought thatshe would allow him to accompany her.
They walked along for a few steps in silence. Once or twice the cat,tucked under the girl's arm, gave a faint mieow of protest, and Mickysmiled to himself in the darkness.
It was the cat that seemed to give such a real touch of pathos to thewhole adventure, he thought, and wondered why. He looked down at herdeprecatingly.
"Let me carry it," he suggested.
"Carry it?" she echoed. "What do you mean?—Oh, the c