Shattering Glass. John Russell Fearn

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      They were. Two young men and women came speeding down the broad steps and wrenched open the car doors. Moira recoiled a little as grinning faces studied her critically.

      “Have a heart!” Perry protested. Give the girl a chance to get to know you—”

      “Nothing doing, Perry,” one of them told him calmly. “First impressions are the most important. Mmm—so you finally managed it! Didn’t make any mistake in your choice, either—eh, Dick?”

      Both stood at mock attention as Moira stepped out of the car. She gave a quick glance about her and almost immediately found herself seized by the two young women.

      One was blonde, dumpy, and laughing; the other tall and dark, not unlike Moira herself. Laughing protestingly, Moira was swept into the great hall.

      Here she paused breathlessly and turned as Perry came in with the two young men hanging upon his arms.

      “Well,” said the one who had appraised Moira, “you wanted the house warmed and a cheerful welcome on the mat. You got it. Now what happens?”

      “You don’t have to be so confoundedly wholesale,” Perry objected. “Moira hates this kind of thing. She much prefers things quiet and secluded.”

      “That,” said the young man solemnly, “is positively morbid. In fact it is a condition which must be outgrown—and quickly.”

      “Take no notice of ’em,” Perry smiled, taking Moira’s arm and drawing her to him. “And while I’m about it, let me clear up the identities of this crazy quartet. This chap with the yellow hair and vacant expression is Dick Mills, one of the best navigators the R.A.F. ever had, and also my best friend.”

      “Grand knowing you, Moira,” grinned the young man. “Perry walked off with the prize after all—and that,” he added soothingly as his blonde companion gave him a sharp look, “isn’t meant to slight you, Betty darling. In any case, you are my type—honey-haired. So don’t start thinking things.”

      “This,” Perry went on, “is Dick’s wife—Betty.”

      “Take no notice of Dick,” Betty said cheerfully. “He’s always clowning. I’ve been married to him for five years and am sort of used to it.”

      Moira smiled and shook the hand held out to her. “I’m sure you’re both happy people,” she said.

      “And here’s Helen Ransome,” Parry said, as the dark-headed girl moved forward. “And Will Ransome—brother, not husband.”

      “Nice knowing you, Moira,” said the young man.

      “Very nice,” Helen agreed. “And don’t mind me staring at you a little, Moira, will you? I’ve been trying to think of whom you remind me.”

      “I?” Moira gave a little start. “Why who is it?”

      “Myself,” Helen decided, shrugging. “We look enough alike to be sisters. Same dark hair, same height, same build. I’m sure we must have a lot in common.”

      “I hope I shall have a lot in common with all Perry’s friends.” Moira replied.

      “Tell you what you do,” Perry said, catching Moira’s arm. “Just get acquainted while I see how Pearson has fixed up the domestics.”

      “Better still,” Helen Ransome said, “I’ll show you to your room—then we can go over the place if you like. I know every corner of it. When Perry and I were children we used to play here a lot.... Come along.”

      Moira nodded as Helen took her arm and together they went towards the massive staircase.

      “This business seems so sudden,” Helen said, as they ascended. “Or rather unexpected. Nothing to do with me, of course, and please don’t think I’m trying to be inquisitive, but how on earth did you manage to hook him?”

      “We met by accident,” Moira responded, in no mood to give full details. “It wasn’t that I fell for him so much as he fell for me.”

      “Then I don’t understand it,” Helen sighed.

      “Don’t understand what?”

      They had come to the head of the great staircase. Helen pointed along the corridor with its towering, stained-glass windows.

      “Your room’s along here,” she said. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time telling the housekeeper what to do. Perry relies implicitly on my judgment, you know.”

      “I didn’t know.” Moira reflected briefly. “What is it that you don’t understand?” she asked. “You were saying—?”

      “Oh, that!” Helen Ransome gave a serious little smile. “I don’t under­stand what it is that you’ve got and I haven’t. We are alike in appearance, and I’ve tried my level best to get Perry to marry me—but to no avail. Then he chooses you! The only answer I can think of it that you have some kind of hypnotic power. There can’t be any other reason, can there?”

      “Except that we love each other,” Moira suggested coolly.

      “Doesn’t count for much these days,” Helen said. “Anyway, Perry marrying you shows you can never tell with men—and they say it’s the women who provide the unpredictable element! I shan’t believe that any more. Well, here’s the room you will be using until after the wedding.”

      “It’s beautiful,” Moira observed.

      “Best room in the house,” Helen sighed. “Of its size, that is. I used to have it when I came over to stay: now I’m pushed into a smaller one. All according to Perry’s special orders. I suppose I can label myself his forgotten woman—”

      “Why don’t you go and sharpen your claws on some other tree, Helen?”

      Perry’s easy voice inquired, and both women turned to see him lounging in the corridor, shoulder against the door jamb. As he met their gaze he came forward and put a protective aim about Moira’s shoulders. “Helen been baring her fangs at you?” he asked, smiling.

      “Well, of course I have,” Helen admitted, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t expect me to accept defeat with gracious charm, do you? In my opinion, the woman who’ll do that isn’t yet born. Well, I think I’ll leave you two to finish the tour by yourselves. See you again, Moira, and don’t think too badly of me. I have the darnedest habit of saying just what I think.”

      She turned languidly and ambled down the corridor.

      “Very outspoken,” Moira commented.

      “I shouldn’t have left you alone with her,” Perry apologized. “It never occurred to me that she might let herself go. Habit she’s got. The rest of us are used to it and shut her up accordingly, but strangers don’t always understand. She’s harmless enough, but a bit piqued, I think, because I’ve never asked her to marry me.”

      “You chose me, Perry, and I’m not much different.”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ