The National tribune., 1882-06-10

| pIeultdiucnt oI IL Hill WHO HlSlto 10 Hdho
himself particularly agreeable to two women
under one roof
When talking to one he found himself un-
able to cope with the other. They were oil
and water; one must ever be at the top.
With Susie he was thorough man of the
world, with Ethel he imagined himself a
genuine poet; and it is worth remarking
that in Mr.. Lovett the man Of the world had
as great contempt for the enthusiast as the
enthusiast had for the man OF the world.
He had been perfectly complacent in Mrs.
Fillingham's back drawing-ro0m all the
winter; he had found the house convenient,
and Miss Fillingham diverting in many
ways; he wondered why he felt impatient
now. 1t was as if he were somehow wasting
some better, higher, and more enjoyable
thing in listening to her cOquettish chat
| ter.
In Ethel there was note that answered.
perhaps inspired-an exalted ardor; a sensa-
ton he may have neglected, but which he
could not afford to throw away.
He recalled to mind dusty road he had
passed along one autumn day near Florence.
He had been to Fiesole, and, as sometimes
happens, the way back seemed both warm
and long. At an angle of the road he re-
membered catching sight of tall white
flower, high up over a garden wall, which
no dust had soiled, and no one could reach
from the public way.
! He though of Ethel in some such garden.
1t was higher, serener level than was given
| him, and heights, to men of Lovett's stamp,
are especially tempting to scale. Could he
| live up to such levels when he had gained
them, or would il fatigue him if he did
These were the questions that he asked him.
selfas he walked back to his chambers in the
starlight nights from Kensington. 1t is un-
certain whether Mr.. Lovett ever came to any
exact conclusion on this point, for his actions
were good deal regulated by haphazard !;
but short poem that he wrote about this
| time suggested his state of mind 1t is to
be found in volume of his poems, pub
| lished few years since, under the title of
"a Regret"
One afternoon, Susie, amiably inclined,
| had hidden Mr. Lovetts attendance for
drive. She had made up a little party to
| drive to Richmond. He had however, in
view of Ethel's talked-of departure excused
! himself, and contrived to meet that young
| lady on her walk. OF course Miss Filling
ham had found it out, and upbraided him
in the evening with many pouts for heart
less behavior and neglect.
| They had dined, and were sitting alone in
the dimly lighted drawing room overlooking
the garden. Ethel had strolled out to look
at the moonlight and the other guests were
| playing billiards above.
"You don't care a bit for me; you do
nothing I ask" said Susie. She locked ex-
| tremely pretty, with her little angry flush,
a dress of black displaying and setting off
her round, white neck. She was surrounded
with soft lights and flowers, and from with
out came the faint note of nightingale.
| Mr.. Lovett was a gentleman of strange
susceptibility Not care? 1t was exactly
that kind of influences for which ne did care.
! Drawing up his chair softly he took her
small hand and said, as he gently caressed it:
"My dear child, whom do l care for if not
kissing her pink fingers, dear little woman,
who but you?"
That night was very still. Ethel was
idling along the grass, and turned to look at
the moon through the network Of trees.
"Susie," she said, approaching the window,
"come and look at this effect"
She did not finish her sentence, for pretty
tableau Uirant met her view, and the whole
of Mr. Lovett's amiable assurances fell on
her ear.
She turned back quickly alone.
There was the little dripping sound of the
fountain on the lawn and the sad bird-note
from the hawthorn, just as it had been
moment before. But the scene had changed.
"There is a good deal of pathos in my
poetry" she thought while some ugly twists
pulled the corners of her mouth. Then
great dizziness came over her, and she
managed to creep UP to her own room. She
locked the door carefully, and then within
the silence of those four walls she fell help
lessly on the floor racked with a new great
pain.
That afternoon Lovett had asked her to be
his wife.
Late on the same evening Ethel tapped at
Miss Fillinghams door.
"Good heavens, Ethel! what is the matter
with you, and where on earth have you been
all the evening? We've all been wondering
where you were" said Susie; "and Mr.
Lovett has been singing such pretty song"
"My dear Susie" gravely said Ethel,
whose disgust had given way to pity, " this
evening told your father l would stay some
days longer. I shall be obliged to leave you
early tomorrow morning"
She was no longer angry with her flighty
little friend.
"Good gracious, Ethel! what do you mean?
never heard Ofsuch nonsense. / do declare
you're like ghost. For goodness sake don't
20 and faint. l shant dream of letting you
90 tomorrow, so make up your mind to
that"
"Susie, listen to me moment" said Ethel
quietly, as she sat down beside her and took
her hand "Do you remember what friends
we were once, Susie we told each other all
our troubles, didn't we? You must let me
go tomorrow morning. | think / am over
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