The Mystery of Central Park by Nellie Bly

Author:Nellie Bly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sordelet Ink
Published: 2021-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

XIII - A Lover’s Quarrel.

“Why!” as if unpleasantly surprised at his visit, “how do you do?”

Such was Penelope Howard’s greeting to Richard Treadwell the morning following the meeting in the Eden Musée. He could not stay away from her, so he decided to try to explain all about Dido. He wished now he had not been so anxious to keep the affair a secret until Penelope’s return. It made things look all the blacker for him.

Penelope was a clever girl. She was bitterly hurt, but she had no intention of quarreling with Dick. If she experienced any jealous pangs he should not have the satisfaction of knowing it. She would merely maintain a cold indifference and make him feel that, do as he pleased, it was nothing to her. She would smile, but indifferently, and not with the smile of affection with which she had always greeted him. She would treat him in a manner that would show her displeasure and utter lack of affection for him, but she would not quarrel and so give him a chance to offer an apology or explanation.

“You don’t seem very glad to see me?” Dick ventured with a forced smile.

Penelope looked with well assumed amazement and surprise at his audacity, and, raising her eyebrows, said with a slightly rising inflection, “No?”

Richard felt very ill at ease. “You don’t understand,” he continued helplessly. “I hope at least you will allow me to explain the scene which you witnessed last night.”

She said, with a cold smile: “Really, you must excuse me. I have no right or desire to know anything about your personal affairs.”

“Confound it, Penelope. Don’t be so infernally indifferent,” exclaimed the young man with exasperation.

She just looked at him. Scorn and disdain was pictured on her expressive countenance now.

“I hope Mrs. Van Brunt is well?” he said awkwardly, hoping to bridge over Penelope’s anger.

“Quite well, thank you,” looking idly out the window.

“Is she at home?”

“No; she has just gone out with Mr. Schuyler,” Penelope replied, picking up a book and aimlessly turning the leaves.

“I hope I may be permitted to call and pay my respects to her?” he said, indifferently.

“Auntie will doubtless be pleased to see you,” was the reply, with a marked emphasis on the noun.

“How long are you going to keep up this nonsense, Penelope?”

She shrugged her shoulders impatiently and pouted her lips, but made no reply.

“Do you know you are a very foolish girl sometimes? You cheat yourself and me out of happiness. You know down in your heart you never doubt my faith to you. What pleasure you get from pretending that you do, I can’t imagine. Come, be reasonable. Don’t cultivate a bad temper.”

“Hum! I should not think you would care what I did if I am unreasonable, bad tempered, foolish, suspicious—is that all?”—mockingly. “I am glad to know your honest opinion of me. Doubtless, that cheap looking girl you were with last night is more amiable.”

“I imagine she is, Penelope,” Dick said, dejectedly and out of patience.

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