By George Munson.
Dorothy, wearing "a sweater and
rubber-soled shoes, with her fair hair
loosely coiled about the nape of her
neck, sat in a cave upon the seashore
at Blue Harbor, reading a newspaper.
To be more accurate, she was read
ing a two-column article upon the
front page of a newspaper, and it was
headed "No News of Dorothy . La
mont." It gave one a creepy feeling to
know that one was being searched
The Water Was Swirling About Her
or all over the United States, that
he sudden disappearance of the mil
.ionaire's daughter had aroused the
interest and apprehensions of ninety
millions of people, while the girl in
question was resting quietly at a lit
tle, unfashionable seaside resort in
Massachusetts. But Dorothy had no
"I won't marry Harold Curtis," she
said, twisting herself upon her side
and looking out at the leaping waves.
"I don't care if father will go bank
rupt unless the Lamont and Curtis
interests are 'affiliated,' as he calls it.
It isn't right!"
An American girl has certainly the
inborn right to choose her husband.
And, to be truthful, Dorothy's par
ents were not altogether insistent
upon the inarriage. But it would
mean bankruptcy otherwise, for Cur
tis, mindful of old scores to be paid
off, had been pushing Lamont hard,
and now he had him at his mercy.
"If only they'd give me a chance to
fall in love with Harold, sobbed Dor
othy. But she had only seen him
once, and she didn't even remember
what he looked like, except that he
was not quite a monster.
"No, he isn't a monster," Dorothy "
tearfully admitted. As a matter of
fact, Harold Curtis had fallen desper
ately in love with Dorothy at first
sight. But her mother was indis
creet, and the hint of a marriage had
been enough to set the spoiled girl in
immediate opposition. And she had
taken the bit between her teeth and
simply run away.
She had dreamed, as all girls
dream, of a possible lover. But there
would be no "financial interests" or
"affiliations" when the right man
came along. Dorothy would marry
him for love and for nothing else. She
was dreaming of him now as she lay
in the little cave, half asleep, until a
splash and a trickle of moisture into
her shoe caused her to leap up with
The tide was lapping against the
mouth of the cave!
She looked out in horror. Dorothy
could not swim, and the freshening
wind was sending huge rollers break
ing into the mouth of the cave, which
would, she knew, be entirely filed at
high tide. Dorothy screamed again
and again. She lost her presence of
mind completely, for there was no
refuge, and in half an hour she would
be looking death in the eyes,
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