Charlotte messenger. [volume] (Charlotte, Mecklenburg Co., N.C.) 1882-18??, 1882-07-08

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fort in the remembrance that she did
not ask him to return.
But'what has become of the "press-
ing business p Why has he come back
in such hot haste?
He carefully avoids meeting her all
oil the evening, and next morning at
breakfast is, if possible, more markedly
cold and distant toward her.
She is saddened and disheartened /;
but pride comes to her rescue. She
decides in herself that she will show
him how little she has taken to heart
his coldness and indifference.
Never before, perhaps, as during this
interminable day has Miss Bohun
appeared SO gay, so bright, SO full of
life and spirits and yet in the solitude
of her own room, while dressing for
this luckless play, she sheds many
bitter tear.
At nine o'clock the curtain rises.
The guests settle themselves in their
seats. and prepare for anything.
Miss Rodney, arrayed in a very
Quixotic costume, fresh from Worth,
appears before the audience, simpering
and grimacing, and doing her utmost
to initiate real live countess, while in
reality she only succeeds in resembling
very inferior soubrette.
While Miss Falkiner, from the Hall,
who is in private life her intimate
friend, now makes poor pretence at
waiting upon her as confidential maid,
and renders herself utterly ridiculous
by giving herself sufficient airs for half
dozen countesses.
Both are O distinct failure. Every
body tries to applaud, but disparaging
remarks fall lightly on the air.
The faint applause brings to life two
hardy veterans, who for some time past
have given themselves gratis to the
open arms of Morpheus, and have con-
tentedly reclined therein.
81 think Miss Rodney has better
chance of getting off than that pirl in
green," sleepily drawls Number One.
'Do youG" replies Number Two.
"Weli, I'm not much OF q judge about
that SORT of thing but my opinion is
neither will get off before the other.
You see, my dear fellow, when women
are born with talent for acting like
those two-two tyros, they don't get
easily settled in life"
Then the curtain draws up for the
second time, and somebody comes slowly
on TO the stage-soraebody who sets
Oyrips pulses swiftly throbbing.
1t is Dorothy. She is very pale, and
her eyes are a little languid but she
is just degree lovelier than she ever
was before.
Disney hardly hears how the play
progresses. Not a syllable makes itself
known to him; he can only tell himself
how lovely she is looking, and that she
is false as fair.
Her eyes are on the ground but
suddenly some words strike upon his
ear-words that bring back to him q
scene fraught with grief and anger.
He starts and lifts his head and for
the first time eagerly regards the
players,
Ponsonby is on his knees before her.
He is holding her hands. His whole
attitude is as it was that fatal afternoon
in the conservatory. He is again pour
ing forth his soul in words Of extrava-
giant passion.
And then Dorothy's voice rises, clear
but sad, and devoid of the warmth that
had characterized it during the re-
hearsal.
"My heart has long been in your
keeping, and if You wish it, it is
yours"
As she finishes her speech she raises
her eyes and fixes them steadily, and
with keenest reproach, on Disney, VINO
returns her gaze, his eyes full of con-
triton,
Then the scene changes, and Miss
Bohun makes her exit, amid applaud
ings loud and deep. f
The curtain drops so, I msy almost
say, does Disney. How bitterly he now
repents his objectionable jealousy
Where shall he hide himself from Dor
othy's Justly reproachful gaze?
Nothing he can ever do will make her
forgive him-of that he feels assured
and as he calls to mind the happy days
Eat have been, Remembrance sits
upon HIM like a ban )" he feels ''They
should beware who charges lay in
love-"
Yet in spite of his despair, he deter
mines to make an effort to regain his
lost position.
he will go to her. Rising suddenly.
he follows her to the q cen room, where
he knows she must be.
She is there. and alone.
dorothy r. he says, entreatingly.
She turns with start.
''Can you spare me few moments ?"
"Oan't you wait until the morning, or
lis it matter Of life or death r she