The Witness by Grace Livingston Hill Lutz (mobi reader android TXT) 📕

Automaton On The Front Seat And The Limousine Swept Up To The Curb Where

He Was Passing. Gila Leaned Out With The Sweetest Bow. She Was The

Condescending Lady Now; No Mouse-Eyes In Evidence This Time; Just A

Beautiful,  Commanding Presence To Be Obeyed. She Would Have Him Ride

With Her,  So He Got In.

He Was A Tall,  Serious Youth With Credulous Eyes,  And She Swept His

Soulful Nature As One Sweeps The Keys Of A Familiar Instrument,  Drawing

Forth Time-Worn Melodies That,  Nevertheless,  Were New To Him. And Just

Because He Thrilled Under Them,  And Looked In Her Eyes With Startled

Earnestness,  Did She Like To Play Upon His Soul. It Would Have Been A

Bore If He Had Understood,  For He Was A Dull Soul,  And Young--Ages Young

For Gila,  Though His Years Numbered Two More Than Hers. She Liked To See

His Eyes Kindle And His Breath Come Quick. Some Day He Would Tell Her

With Impassioned Words How Much He Loved Her,  And She Would Turn Him

Neatly And Comfortably Down For A While,  Till He Learned His Place And

Promised Not To Be Troublesome. Then He Might Join The Procession Again

As Long As He Would Behave. But At Present She Knew She Could Sway Him

As She Would,  And She Touched The Orchids At Her Belt With Tender Little

Caressing Movements And Melting Looks. Even Before She Reached Home She

Knew He Would Have A Box Of Something Rarer Or More Costly Waiting For

Her,  If The City Afforded Such.

She Set Him Down At His Club,  Quite Well Satisfied With Her Few Minutes.

She Was Glad It Didn't Last Longer,  For It Would Have Grown Tiresome;

She Had Had Just Enough,  Carried Him Just Far Enough On The Wave Of

Emotion,  To Stimulate Her Own Soul.

Sweeping Away From The Curb Again,  Bowing Graciously To Two Or Three

Other Acquaintances Who Were Going In Or Out Of The Club Building,  She

Gave An Order For The Hospital And Set Her Face Sternly To The Duty

Before Her.

A Little Breeze Of Expectation Preceded Her Entrance Into The Hospital,

A Stir Among The Attendants About The Door. Passing Nurses Apprized Her

Furs And Orchids; Young Interns Took Account Of Her Eyes--The Mouse-Eyes

Had Returned,  But They Lured With Something Unspeakable And Thrilling In

Them.

She Waited With A Nice Little Superb Air That Made Everybody Hurry To

Serve Her,  And Presently She Was Shown Up To The Door Of Bonnie

Brentwood's Room. Her Chauffeur Had Followed,  Bearing A Large Pasteboard

Suit-Box Which He Set Down At The Door And Departed.

"Is This Miss Brentwood's Room?" She Asked Of The Nurse Who Opened The

Door Grudgingly. Her Patient Had Just Awakened From A Refreshing Sleep

And She Had No Notion That This Lofty Little Person Had Really Come To

See The Quiet,  Sad-Eyed Girl Who Had Come There In Such Shabby Little

Garments. The Visitor Had Made A Mistake,  Of Course. The Nurse

Grudgingly Admitted That Miss Brentwood Roomed There.

"Well,  I've Brought Some Things For Her," Said Gila,  Indicating The

Large Box At Her Feet. "You Can Take It Inside And Open It."

The Nurse Opened The Door A Little Wider,  Looked At The Small,  Imperious

Personage In Fur Trappings,  And Then Down At The Box. She Hesitated A

Moment In A Kind Of Inward Fury,  Then Swung The Door A Little Wider Open

And Stepped Back:

"You Can Set It Inside If You Wish,  Or Wait Till One Of The Men Comes

By," She Said,  Coolly,  And Deliberately Walked Back In The Room And

Busied Herself With The Medicine-Glasses.

Gila Stared At Her Haughtily A Moment,  But There Wasn't Much

Satisfaction In Wasting Her Glares On That White-Linen Back,  So She

Stooped And Dragged In The Box. She Came And Stood By The Bed,  Staring

Down Apprizingly At The Sick Girl.

Bonnie Brentwood Turned Her Head Wearily And Looked Up At Her With A

Puzzled,  Half-Annoyed Expression. She Had Paid No Heed To The Little

Altercation At The Door. Her Apathy Toward Life Was Great. She Was Lying

On The Borderland,  Looking Over And Longing To Go Where All Her Dear

Ones Had Gone. It Wearied Her Inexpressibly That They All Would Insist

On Doing Things To Call Her Back.

"Is Your Name Brentwood?" Asked Gila,  In The Sharp,  High Key So Alien To

A Hospital.

Bonnie Recalled Her Spirit To This World And Focused Her Gaze On The

Girl As If To Try And Recall Where She Had Ever Met Her. Bonnie's

Abundant Hair Was Spread Out Over The Pillow,  As The Nurse Had Just

Prepared To Brush It. It Fell In Long,  Rich Waves Of Brightness And

Fascinating Little Rings Of Gold About Her Face. Gila Stared At It

Jealously,  As If It Were Something That Had Been Stolen From Her. Her

Own Hair,  Cloudy And Dreamy,  And Made Much Of With All That Skill And

Care Could Do,  Was Pitiful Beside This Wonderful Gold Mane With Red And

Purple Shadows In Its Depths,  And Ripples And Curls At The Ends.

Wonderful Hair!

The Face Of The Girl On The Pillow Was Perfect In Form And Feature.

Regular,  Delicate,  Refined,  And Lovely! Gila Knew It Would Be Counted

Rarely Beautiful,  And She Was Furious! How Had That Upstart Of A College

Boy Dared To Send Her Here To See A Beauty! What Had He Meant By It?

By This Time The Girl On The Bed Had Summoned Her Soul Back To Earth For

The Nonce,  And Answered In A Cool,  Little Tone Of Distance,  As She Might

Have Spoken To Her Employer,  Perhaps; Or,  In Other Circumstances,  To The

Stranger Begging For Work On Her Door-Sill--Bonnie Was A Lady

Anywhere--"Yes,  I Am Miss Brentwood."

There Was No Noticeable Emphasis On The "Miss," But Gila Felt That The

Pauper Had Arisen And Put Herself On The Same Level With Her,  And She

Was Furious.

"Well,  I've Brought You A Few Things!" Declared Gila,  In A Most

Offensive Tone. "Paul Courtland Asked Me To Come And See What I Could Do

For You." She Swung Her Moleskin Trappings About And Pointed To The

Box. "I Don't Believe In Giving Money,  Not Often," She Declared,  With A

Tilt Of Her Nasty Little Chin That Suddenly Seemed To Curve Out In A

Hateful,  Satanic Point,  "But I Don't Mind Giving A Little Lift In Other

Ways To Persons Who Are Truly Worthy,  You Know. I've Brought You A Few

Evening Dresses That I'm Done With. It May Help You To Get A Position

Playing For The Movies,  Perhaps; Or If You Don't Know Rag-Time,  Perhaps

You Might Act--They'll Take Almost Anybody,  I Understand,  If They Have

Good Clothes. Besides,  I'm Going To Give You An Introduction To A Girls'

Employment Club. They Have A Hall And Hold Dances Once A Week And You

Get Acquainted. It Only Costs You Ten Cents A Week And It Will Give You

A Place To Spend Your Evenings. If You Join That You'll Need Evening

Dresses For The Dances. Of Course I Understand Some Of The Girls Just Go

In Their Street Suits,  But You Stand A Great Deal Better Chance Of

Having A Good Time If You Are Dressed Attractively. And Then They Say

Men Often Go In There Evenings To Look For A Stenographer,  Or An Actor,

Or Some Kind Of A Worker,  And They Always Pick Out The Prettiest. Dress

Goes A Great Way If You Use It Rightly. Now There's A Frock In Here--"

Gila Stooped And Untied The Cord On The Box. "This Frock Cost A Hundred

And Fifty Dollars,  And I Never Wore It But Once!"

She Held Up A Tattered Blue Net Adorned With Straggling,  Crushed,

Artificial Rosebuds,  Its Sole Pretension To A Waist Being A Couple Of

Straps Of Silver Tissue Attached To A Couple Of Rags Of Blue Net. It

Looked For All The World Like A Draggled Butterfly.

"It's Torn In One Or Two Places," Pursued Gila's Ready Tongue,  "But It's

Easily Mended. I Wore It To A Dance And Somebody Stepped On The Hem. I

Suppose You Are Good At Mending. A Girl In Your Position Ought To Know

How To Sew. My Maid Usually Mends Things Like This With A Thread Of

Itself. You Can Pull One Out Along The Hem,  I Should Think. Then Here Is

A Pink Satin. It Needs Cleaning. They Don't Charge More Than Two Or

Three Dollars--Or Perhaps You Might Use Gasolene. I Had Slippers To

Match,  But I Couldn't Find But One. I Brought That Along. I Thought You

Might Do Something With It. They Were Horribly Expensive--Made To Order,

You Know. Then This Cerise Chiffon,  All Covered With Sequins,  Is Really

Too Showy For A Girl In Your Station,  But In Case You Get A Chance To

Act You Might Need It,  And Anyhow I Never Cared For It. It Isn't

Becoming To Me. Here's An Indigo Charmeuse With Silver Trimmings. I Got

Horribly Tired Of It,  But You Will Look Stunning In It. It Might Even

Help You Catch A Rich Husband; Who Knows! There's Half A Dozen Pairs Of

White Evening Gloves! I Might Have Had Them Cleaned,  But If You Can Use

Them I Can Get New Ones. And There's A Bundle Of Old Silk Stockings!

They Haven't Any Toes Or Heels Much,  But I Suppose You Can Darn Them.

And Of Course You Can't Afford To Buy Expensive Silk Stockings!"

One By One Gila Had Pulled The Things Out Of The Box,  Rattling On About

Them As If She Were Selling Corn-Cure. She Was A Trifle Excited,  To Be

Sure,  Now That She Was Fairly Launched On Her Philanthropic Expedition;

Also The Fact That The Two Women In The Room Were Absolutely Silent And

Gave No Hint Of How They Were Going To Take This Tide Of Insults Was

Somewhat Disconcerting. However,  Gila Was Not Easily Disconcerted. She

Was Very Angry,  And Her Anger Had Been Growing In Force All Night. The

Greatest Insult That Man Could Offer Her Had Been Heaped Upon Her By

Courtland,  And There Was No Punishment Too Great To Be Meted Out To The

Unfortunate Innocent Who Had Been The Occasion Of It. Gila Did Not Care

What She Said,  And She Had No Fear Of Any Consequences Whatever. There

Had Not,  So Far To Her Knowledge,  Lived The Man Who Could Not Be Called

Back And Humbled To Her Purpose After