The House without the Door by Elizabeth Daly

prosecuting attorney, who had been a young friend of my husband's. He managed an introduction for me, and Cecilia and I took to each other on the instant. It's all a pattern, Mr. Gamadge; Cecilia and I were part of the design, and we were woven together from that moment."
    Gamadge's face assumed the polite but slightly dazed expression that it always took on when symbolism became too much for him.
    "Cecilia says she won't marry until people have forgotten," continued Mrs. Smiles. "But will they ever forget? And meanwhile Paul Belden is waiting for her. I really don't know how I shall get on without her when she does marry, but if I could make it possible I should do so tomorrow. Smoke, please."
    The highball, his second within the hour, was beginning to permeate Gamadge's system with a warm glow. It had been even stronger than the first. The room was hot, and Mrs. Smiles' monotonous treble had a somnolent effect on him. She began not to seem quite real; a gigantic good fairy, capable at any moment of disappearing into a cloud. He lighted a cigarette. "Kind of you," he said. He meant her request that he should smoke, but she understood him otherwise.
    "Not at all. Mr. Belden has had reverses, and is not at all well off, but he is charming, and Cecilia has loved him almost from their childhood. Unfortunately, I can do very little for anyone. My husband left money, Mr. Gamadge, as you may know; but I only have my portion of his estate during my lifetime. I save as much as I can," she told him with some pathos, "but there are many calls upon me. When I die the principal will go to the Senator's children by his first wife, and to the college he founded."
    Gamadge mistily thought of Smiles College, the strings attached to its endowment, and the dreadful efforts of faculty and trustees to sever them. He murmured something.
    "But while I live," said Mrs. Smiles, "Cecilia will have a home."
    Gamadge wondered whether he might not be able to amass considerable information about Mr. Paul Belden there and then; information which Schenck would never learn from Belden's partners. Mrs. Smiles was very loquacious, and her gossip highly personal. But at this moment a young woman came through the room from the lobby, and advanced straight upon them. She passed him, to bend over his hostess. He got to his feet, feeling invisible.
    "How is the ache in your shoulder, dear Mrs. Smiles?" she asked.
    "Much better." Mrs. Smiles patted her hand. "Here is Mr. Gamadge, Celia, and I only hope his business is as agreeable as he is."
    Miss Warren acknowledged Gamadge's bow with a nod.
    "I only hope your poor cousin is in no trouble." Mrs. Smiles put her hands on the arms of her chair, and began to rock herself backwards and forwards; no doubt as a preliminary to getting upon her feet. She said: "I'll leave you."
    Miss Warren gently restrained her. "Don't think of it." Her voice was low and clear, and Gamadge was sure that it had been carefully cultivated since its owner left Omega, N.Y.
    "But his business with you seems to be private."
    "We'll go into the writing-room."
    "But dear, he's settled here with his drink."
    "I've quite finished." Gamadge had been seizing these few moments to study the girl who, according to Benton Locke, had lost her humanity. She was tall and very slim, with densely black hair arranged high on her head, and sharp-cut features in a narrow face. Her eyes seemed to be a very dark grey; her eyebrows, he thought, had once been straight and thick. Now they curved upward, two thin lines. He thought that her natural complexion was pale, but her make-up was vivid. She wore big, multi-coloured earrings, and a costume, apple-green and spangled, which looked—except for the spangles and the length of skirt—like a tailored suit.
    "Well, go along then." Mrs. Smiles patted the spangled coat sleeve with a proprietary air. "Of course I like it, Celia," she declared, "I knew I should. And that hairdresser knows how to get the right effect.