She could not
even, as she certainly would if the were a man, try and track down
this terrible creature, the Bat!
She sniffed disgruntledly. Things came to her much too easily.
Take this very house she was living in. Ten days ago she had
decided on the spur of the moment--a decision suddenly crystallized
by a weariness of charitable committees and the noise and heat of
New York--to take a place in the country for the summer. It was
late in the renting season--even the ordinary difficulties of
finding a suitable spot would have added some spice to the quest--
but this ideal place had practically fallen into her lap, with no
trouble or search at all. Courtleigh Fleming, president of the
Union Bank, who had built the house on a scale of comfortable
magnificence--Courtleigh Fleming had died suddenly in the West
when Miss Van Gorder was beginning her house hunting. The day after
his death her agent had called her up. Richard Fleming, Courtleigh
Fleming's nephew and heir, was anxious to rent the Fleming house at
once. If she made a quick decision it was hers for the summer, at
a bargain. Miss Van Gorder had decided at once; she took an innocent
pleasure in bargains. The next day the keys were hers--the servants
engaged to stay on--within a week she had moved. All very pleasant
and easy no doubt--adventure--pooh!
And yet she could not really say that her move to the country had
brought her no adventures at all. There had been--things.
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