The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-09-02
FILTRATION.

slave fOr season, Dut as I0r any Llins
more serious, it was simply folly to talk
of that.
Aunt Mira, the deceased Mr.. Graham's
maiden sister, sat knotting the fringe OF
a zephyr tidy in the pleasant sitting-room
she shared with her niece.
at is cruel" she said,s in low, sad
tone. 'Does Florence realize what she
is doing? That is man to whom disap-
pointment will be death or madness" ;"
The busy white fingers knotted the
scarlet wool in and out with nervous
rapidity, and while Mira pondered, Flor
ence walked up and down, her little white
hand resting lightly upon Leon Della
mere's arm.
She was not merely pretty girl; she
was beautiful by right of her face, figure,
and, above all, her expression.
Her father had been proud of a mind
almost masculine in its scope and vigor,
and had had Florence educated as few
women are.
Without the power of transferring her
ideas to paper, she could clothe them in
such glowing language, could so vivify
them, that it was hard to believe she was
not herself poetess.
Leon Delamere, dreamy, poetic and i'm
aginative, would listen to voice musical
and low-toned, carrying him still further
into the realms of imagery and soul life,
till his heart lay in worshiping love, and
he seemed only to live in the presence of
Florence Graham.
Walking up and down in the cool
afternoon breeze, Leon was laying be-
fore Florence the plan of his first long
poem.
She, looking into his large, soul-lit
eyes, her own kindling with admiration
for his genius, gave him the sympathy
he craved.
1t was wonderful to see how skill
fully the girl kept him from the ac-
tual declaration of love he resolved to
make each time he sought her pres
ence.
She understood exactly how to manage
his literary taste and ambition.
"He is so handsome and so enthusias-
tic," she would say to herself, 'that I
can not lose him yet. Of course, before
we leave, we must come to an understand
ing; but there is time enough. Let me
be his inspiration, as he says, for few
weeks longer"
This was when the summer days were
waning, and bellies were talking of au-
tumn fashions and counting up the
ruined dresses and conquests of the sum-
mer campaign.
1t was while she dressed for one of the
last balls of the season that Florence
thought of how very hard it had been
in their last interview to keep Leon of
forbidden ground.
She wore dress of white lace over g
silk the. color of the heart of blush
rose.
The delicate fabric was looped with
clusters of flowers, like her wreath; and
for Jewels, only soft pearls clasped wrists
and throat, and hung from her dainty
little ears.
The maid withdrew, and still Florence
stood looking at her own fair face, while
a shade crept over it as she mused.
"Life would be very sweet" she was
thinking, with one heart that was true
and tender---all, all my own. If my
hand can not trace out all the images
that throng my brain, Leon has the gift
I lack, and even his own genius will be
heightened by my sympathy and counsel u
GA letter, Miss Graham"
This reused her, and she took the letter
from her maid and broke the seal.
As she read it frown gathered on hel
smooth white brow, and an impatient tal
of her foot proved how much she wa,
irritated by her news.
"NVhat nuisancew she said, impa
tiently, opening jewel case and taking
out costly diamond ring. "Can no
remain away from me an hour longer
He is old enough to learn little self
denial. But, he has million! Wha
superb toilets the wife of millionaire Cal
wear! l must get rid of Leon tonight
for he will come tomorrow"
Some hours later, upon one of tn
vine-covered porches, couple, bathed il
the soft moonlight, talked in low, earnes
tones. .....
One tall, slight and graceful will
broad, white brow and large, dark eyes
man with the impress Of genius upol
his sensitive, beautiful face-leaned owe
a slender figure in white Lace with CLEAN
ing pearls and blush roses.
From distance the music of a bant
came, subdued and softened, floating to
ward them in strains of sweet melody.
There was poetry in the hour, tn
scene, the sounds.
One fierce pang shot across the hear
of Florence Graham, as she said, in
sweet, gentle voice:
"But, Mr.. Delamere, you are surely la
boring under some delusion."
"Delusion! Is it delusion to knoN
that l love you with every throb of m
heart, every thought of my brain, ever
impulse of my soulT
"We all know you are poet" sh
1 said, very sweetly, "and poets live a
: ideal life, peopled with the sweet fancie
!. of their own creation. Yet sometimes
r is cruel to tell the tale SO bewitchingly
f Fortunately for my own peace, under
: stood that we were only indulging in
e Irritation. My share has been very plea