The Body of a Suicide

As the car whirled West down the circling driveway, the only sign of life visible about the house was the motionless figure of Sexton on the steps. If either Miss Natalie, or Percival Coolidge, took interest enough in the proceedings to witness his departure, they chose to remain carefully concealed within. His glance searched the front of the mansion vainly; no window revealed an occupant. From behind where the guests were at play, sounded a distant murmur of voices, and laughter, but the house itself expressed only calm indifference. There was no pretence even at speeding the parting guest. He had simply been dismissed, turned out, decently enough, perhaps, considering his status, yet with a certain measure of contempt which rankled nevertheless.

The young man could not altogether reconcile this style of treatment with his preconceived conception of Miss Natalie Coolidge. He had been too deeply impressed by her to easily relinquish his previously formed opinion of her character. This latest action did not at all coincide with her former open friendliness. He had not gone to her as a servant, nor had she in any way treated him as such. What could account for so remarkable a change? Even if she had felt his present usefulness was ended; that she had made a mistake in ever admitting him to her confidence, the dismissal could have been much more pleasantly achieved. She could still have exhibited friendliness, and an interest in his departure. Her words and manner had been extremely abrupt, and her explanation far from satisfactory.