CHAPTER IV.

MARION MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT.

Dollie Marlowe gasped at her sister’s words, and for a moment even the wily old lawyer looked a little disconcerted.

“I am sure I hope you do not think ill of me,” he said, politely. “I was only taking your sister for a little outing. She is as safe with me as she would be with her own father.”

“Nevertheless you have not considered the risk to her reputation,” said Marion, calmly. “Dollie is your typewriter; she is in your employ. It is not proper at all for you to make a companion of her.”

“But if I choose to, Miss Marlowe, surely there can be no harm. And as for the opinion of the world, what does that amount to?”

“It amounts to a great deal to a poor girl,” was the quick answer. “A man may shock the proprieties all he pleases, but the woman who does so will always have to suffer. We must take the world as we find it, sir, and conform to its edicts.”

“Then you think it is wrong for your sister to eat her lunch with me?” he asked, with a slight sneer. “Perhaps you imagine that her employer is not respectable?”

“I mean, sir,” said the brave girl, firmly, “that I love my sister dearly, and that I will not knowingly allow her fair name to be sullied. She is engaged to be married, sir, to a noble young man. What do you suppose he would say to your remarks about the luncheon?”

“Oh, if she is tied to some whipper-snapper, and dares not say her soul is her own——” he began, angrily, but Marion interrupted in the same calm manner.

“She is engaged to a gentleman and she means to marry him, consequently I can see no reason why she should desire your company; and as for her lunches, the salary you pay her should provide her with those necessaries.”

“What do you say to all this?” asked the lawyer, suddenly, as he turned to Dollie, who was leaning weakly against the window.

“I think Marion is right,” said the young girl, slowly, “but I’m sure, sir, she doesn’t mean to hurt your feelings. It is her love for me that makes her so decided.”

“You need not apologize for me, Dollie,” said Marion, scornfully; “your employer knows that I am perfectly right, but to prove it I will ask him what he thinks his wife would say if she had interrupted this matinee plan as I did.”

She was looking the lawyer steadily in the face as she spoke, and the wide gray eyes seemed to see right through him.

The man’s sallow cheeks grew scarlet at her question, but, with a shrug of his shoulders, he turned toward Dollie.

“I will bid you good-day, Miss Dollie,” he said, smilingly; “when you have graduated from your sister’s tuition, you will find life much more pleasant.” He left the room without so much as a glance at Marion, who now stood half smiling beside her sister.

“Thee did that well,” said a voice near Marion. She turned and saw an old gentleman who had been sitting quietly at a little distance. He wore the garb of a Quaker.

“You heard it, sir?” asked Marion, quickly.

The old gentleman bowed, and smiled a little sadly.

“I heard and saw it all,” he said, quietly. “I give thee my word I could not move away from that corner. I was so interested in the outcome that I deliberately remained to hear it.”

“And you approve of my action?” asked Marion, as she studied his face closely.

“I do, indeed, daughter,” said the Quaker, firmly. “Thy sister is an innocent—protect her always, particularly from such men, who are but wolves in sheep’s clothing.”

“That is what I thought,” said Marion, as he moved away. “Come Dollie, let us go! This is no place for country maidens.”

“I don’t dare go back to the office,” said Dollie, as they went out; “he will be as angry as possible, and perhaps he will discharge me. Oh! Marion, what was the harm? Why couldn’t I go to the matinee?”

Marion drew a deep breath; she was sorely puzzled. Sometimes it seemed to her that Dollie was almost lacking in understanding.

“Dollie! Dollie!” she said, earnestly, “how can you be so foolish? As if you cared so much about a matinee that you would hurt Ralph’s feelings by going with your employer! Is it not better to deny yourself a little pleasure than to take such risks with your future happiness?”

“Ralph isn’t so small as to care, I am sure,” said Dollie, panting; “and oh, Marion, I am so sorry you talked as you did! I think you were awfully rude to poor Mr. Atherton!”

Marion bit her lips, and her eyes filled with tears. She was realizing keenly her responsibility as a sister. She should never, never have left Dollie unprotected.

“Miss Allyn warned you,” she said, almost to herself. “She is a wise woman, Dollie. If you cannot trust me, why not trust Miss Allyn? I would never have left you with her if I had not supposed you would listen to her.”

“Miss Allyn is too suspicious; she is like you,” said Dollie, spitefully. “She always sees something wrong in a gentleman’s attentions.”

“Listen, Dollie,” said Marion, almost facing her in the street. “Alma Allyn is a great deal wiser than either you or I. She has lived in a city always, and met hundreds of men; we know she is our friend—then why can we not trust her? You know that she warned you about that very thing—about lunches and theatres with your employer, Dollie!”

“Yes, and I know that she goes to lunches and theatres with gentlemen whenever she pleases,” answered Dollie, triumphantly; “and I fail to see why I can’t go, Marion.”

There was another sigh from the anxious sister. Would Dollie never understand that she was only a ewe lamb, while Alma Allyn was a woman of wisdom and experience?

As they started across the street both girls were thinking deeply, so deeply that for once they did not use their customary caution.

There were trucks and street cars and carriages in profusion, but in a second the girls were in the very middle of the crossing.

“Look out!” yelled some one, almost in Marion’s ear, and the next instant it seemed as if a dozen voices echoed it.

Marion was just ahead of Dollie, and as she looked up quickly she saw a heavy express wagon with two powerful horses bearing straight down upon her.

There was a street car just ahead, so she darted back, but the next second she saw that she had not bettered her position.

An automobile carriage was coming from the opposite direction—it would not be possible for both girls to pass it.

Dollie gave a shriek and stopped abruptly, but in that second her sister had recovered full possession of her senses.

One hasty glance at the horseless vehicle showed her that the occupant was George Colebrook. He was alone now, and his expression was one of diabolical hatred.

With one fearful effort, she grasped Dollie by the shoulders, and, running a couple of steps, gave her a push with all the force at her command, which sent her head first into the arms of a big policeman. Then Marion turned to follow, but she was a second too late. The fellow on the automobile seemed merciless in his intentions.

As the clumsy carriage came bounding onward, there was no escape.

With a stifled groan Marion went down before it.