Smyrna times., 1877-08-01
Constance's Story.

w men my husband, Roscoe Arnold, asked
ME to marry him, l felt it necessary to tell
him that did not love him as he loved me
that ! understood his devotion, because |
had felt it for another-that other, Ivan
Gray-that to my husband had to give
only grateful affection Would that
suffice?
He said that it would He told me after.
ward that, through my weeping, he did not
catch the name; that he thought | said
also that my lover had died
The subject was not pleasant one-we
did not refer TO it aftcrward
From the first Roscoe was a good hus
band. If did not appreciate him then, l
was not unhappy. had bright, beauti.
ful home which Roscoe named Hesperides.
The library was extensive, the conservatory
luxurious. Books and flowers being nv
ruling passion, my husband had taken
especial pains to crafty me. To-day
never smell heliotrope or tuberoses with
cut the memery of those first lovely wears
coming back to me-
After our boy was born, and everybody
pronounced him most healthy and bean.
tiIul child, Roscoe said to mo:
Constance, are you happy now?''
looked straight into his honest brown
eyes as truly answered:
"Yes, Roe
That was all he said.
1t was just two years after our marriage.
few days later he received letter. I
asked him whom it was from.
My sister," he answered.
% never knew that you had sister, 7
said in surprise.
No, have never spoken TO you of Ora.
When my parents died in my boyhood, Ora
was baby, and was taken by an aunt
down to New Orleans, where she was
raised with her children. have only seen
her once since then. She is very pretty.
This letter tells me she is to be married. -
He gave me the letter to read 1t was
written on delicate, fragrant paper, the
penmanship easy and graceful, but rather
too fine. Rather brief communication,
prettily expressed, asking us to come to
the wedding.
TO New Orleans in Julyl l am gafraid
to take baby, and could not leave him. {"
" l see that we cannot 90. II is imprac.
ticable. will write and tell Ora"
" And give her my love. Say that hope
she will be very happy"
| had been present at but one wedding
in my life, and that was my own. l was
six and twenty. 1t was very different from
what | thought it would be when was
eighteen. At eighteen had been betroth.
ed to Ivan Gray at twenty-six l married
Roscoe Arnold.
The suggestion of another wedding
brought back the past to me. When was
alone, and baby asleep in his basket, l
went to drawer in private cabinet, and
took out a packet of letters and photo
graph.
The latter was avignette-a face as hand
some as Greek gods, with perfection
OF contour that must ever be fascinating.
As looked at it the peace of my heart fled
away. The breath of the past, fragrant,
new, springlike, swept over me; the warm,
lmperious impulses of youth started up in
my blood. All, that only was happiness
That was bright morning-this was sultry
midday.
As starlight unto sunlight, as water
unto wine," murmured.
| sat there on the rich carpet before the
rosewood cabinet, the panorama Of the past
sweeping before me, while the sunshine
crept along the pearly wall, slipped across
my lap, and illuminated my baby's little
rosy face.
1t awoke him at last He reached up
his bits of hands in the golden light, and
lay cooling.
looked at the letters, but did not open
them. There was no need. had learned
each one by heart years ago. The packet
was small, and sat with it held between
my palms for nearly half an hour. But
put away the letter and picture at last and
sa1 down by the window, swinging the
oaby's basket to and fro. The gIadiolas