Daily globe., 1880-07-18
THE ROMANCE OF A PICTURE
BY MILE w. CARPENTER.


BY MILE w. CARPENTER.
''Lilacs !-lilacs everywhere. I'm sure
I'm tired to death of the scent OF them. /
shall never want to see another one as
long as live"
"Oh, Madgs! that's not like you at all
saying such rude things, cried Nina Bar
ker, reprovingly, "while you are staying
here. too."
"Well, can't help it." Madge Col
chester tosses her little head with Its
beauty Of fluffy breeze brown hair SUI
perbly. II am tired OF them-ugly
things"
''One can't even make bouquets of
them," sighs languid Eva Quarles. SIT
was only yesterday Harry Templeton was
saying ilacs we're plebian flower. That
color would be horrid for an evening
dress, would not it? / could not wear it.
It is too-too indefinite.
She draws up her slender, sylph-like
figure, with daintily satisfied air.
'sAnd there's not.a rose to be seen On
the place." pursues the dark Madge,
critically. "They are not even let to
grow wild in the hedges, Morse, the gar
dener told me. Now what an odd idea
of Madame Schuyler's? I wonder why?"
"Shall 1 tell you why?' A low voice,
clear and delicately accented, speaks sud-
denly behind the idle gossipers. Grand
mamma has an inherited dislike for
roses, their perfume sickens her; but we
love our lilacs dearly-she and II
The speaker, a delicate, fair maiden,
drew dswn an armful of the great heavy
clusters, and plunged her face into their
purple fragrance lovingly.
When she looked up her cheeks were
all faint pink flush. Through the fair
skin the quickened blood glowed He1
eyes glimmered like stars in an evening
shadowed pool.
What was most noticeable In this girl
was her extreme reed-like slenderness-
her wax-like purity of tint and form.
II never think Juliet Schuyler 5eaut;-
ful,' said a girl friend ouce; but she is al
ways like this lovely porcelain vase, when
you put light in it. She just qlosos with
splrit-like fame, and the slightest harsh
blow would shatter her.
ooh! she will die young responded
another critical voice. She is too good.
always feel as if were with something
not quite of earth when she is here"
''And then to live always in that dull
old house, with quersome old woman
it is like a tomb-a receiving tomb, you
know adds another speaker.
So she stood among her flowers to-day,
all aglow with quickened thought-a
maiden, like Browning's Evelyn Hope,
made up of spirit, fire and dew.
"You don't really mean it, Juliet
Nina Barker has opened her wide aston
ished eyes at that vigorous declaration of
her young hostess. "You don't really
mean that you love those ugly things?
Why, Eva was telling US just now that
Harry Templeton said-what was it
som'etting-that no lady could care for Ii
lacs, they are so vulger; and I'm sure
you care enough for has opinion
- ooh, Nina how can you?'
Eva's voice, Indignantly
''He did not say that at ALL"
''Well, he said somethinq."
Nina petulantly-
"You were telling OF it yourself only
moment since. We all heard you."
''He only said"
Harry Templeton is an artist" CThe
dark Madge here) she knows all
about colors, of course. 1 will ask him
if a pale lilac Is cyic for brunettes. He
has always advised me about my dress.
She smooths back the fluffy waves of
bronze e-brown hair with a .ieweled hand
The pearl-p pink flush rises and deepens in
Juliet Schyuler's dainty dimpled cheek.
"He said
"What does it matter2" Juliets voice,
soft but clear, rings firmly across the at
tempted explanation. "Mr. Templeton' IS
dislike for my lilacs will not make ME
leve them less. l leave to him his roses
und1sturbed.'
What you don't pretend to say that
Harry Templeton has not perfect taste in
such matters! What a strange girl you
are. must tell him.
"And how do you know he loves
roses?'' Madge's voice follows Nina's.
"Ah, and here he comes himself. Now
we will refer to him. HIS opinion is
worth having. Harry! Mr. Templeton !''-
half dozen voices rang out together.
They are like chime of silver BELLS
What do you think? Juliet has been tell
ing US that she doesn't care whether you
admire her llacs or not. She Is sure YOU
have no taste in the matter-and that
she detests your roses
"Oh, girls; what are saying? What
what nonsense
The vexed tears rise in Juliet Schuyler's
sweet blue eyes-her lips quiver, the
rose-leaf flush in her cheek is faded now.
"Oh, but you did say it, or something
like it at leastl However, you can tel
him yourself, now. He won't mind it Of
course
"What am | not to mind?''