Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1884-04-18

mad will. They would have tried TO break
II but for some apocryphal heir who they
were afraid would turn up just In time to
reap the benefit, leaving them TO pay the
costs. l must write and tell Clara all about
her rival. Let me see. The mail goes out
in an hour. l shall just have time, and the
news won't beNr keeping"
The group breaks up, Miss Rodney trip
ping hastily into the hotel, while tho two
young men saunter away together.
~.
''You saw him, Aunt Dor
It is Olive who speaks, sitting In low
chair upon the balcony on which her window
opens. For half an hour or more she has
been sitting thus, gazing iu silence upon the
scene spread out before her-mountains and
lakes and valleys all bathed in the soft, misty
light Of late afternoon.
Aunt Do rouses herself with a start Saw
whom 2" she asks, vaguely.
Paul Leigh we met him this morning."
says Olive, briefly.
Leigh Paul Leigh2 Oh, yes, 1 saw him,
of course. What Of II p asks Aunt Dorothy,
half asleep.
Nothing" says Olive curtly, and falls into
silence again.
"Aunt Dor"
And Aunt Dorothy again rouses herself, try
ing to shake off once for all the gossamer
threads Of slumber which bind her.
YES" she answers sitting bolt upright in
her brave effort.
''Did you hear what they said-thnt girl
and Mr.. Leigh and the other young man
that can never marry, because"
THAT you can never marry without forfeit
ing your fortune2" says Aunt Do, briskly.
"Why, yes, of course, my dear. 1 have
thought OF it many time, haven't your And
indeed don't exactly know what good your
fortune is going 10 do you, anyhow. If you
were as old as am, now, 1t would be very
different but you are young, and for you to
be living behind Grape veil all your life
why, it's preposterous No balls, no opera,
not even a hotel hop for you, for you can't
waltz with that thing on your head Why, my
dear, you'll be old and gray before your time,
at this rate"
Olive pauses awhile and reflects, her elbow
on her knee, her chin upon her hand. Then
she rises and draws herself up 10 her full
height, stately figure enough in her flowing
black draperies.
"At least" she says, 81 am rich. 1 have
wanted to be rich all my life. In what they
said they took it for granted that no man
would want to marry me save for my money.
Evon If it be SO, it is possible to live without
love, is II not Aunt Do?"
Aunt Dorothy sighs.
Possible, my dear, but dreary work" she
says. II fear you will find your gold a poor
equivalent, if that is what you have made up
your mind to-"
II have not made up my mind at all, Aunt
Do" says Olive. But" she adds, wistfully,
with her eyes fixed upon two figures which
are just disappearing around bend in the
path, 'it seems as if it were being rapidly
made up for me-"
"The pretty widow Is all the rage at the ho-
TEL" writes Gertrude Rodney TO her friend
Clara Denbigh. Even Charlie Dexter has
succumbed to the piquancy Of her position.
l say pretty widow, but she would not be
pretty il she could ever be separated from her
eternal scarlet. Last week she was crochet
ing a scarlet shawl, this week she is embroid-
ering a table-cover of deep-red plush. OF
course all the men cry out in admiration of
her industry. She cannot well take her work
to table nor on ber walks SO at these times
the companion comes into play. / have told
you Of the ridiculous old woman who always
wears a scarlet cRmel's-hair scarf and carries
a red parasol. 1t is effective and ingenious,
certainly. But when l say that she is all the
rage, must make one exception. The young
! engineer, Paul Leigh, who is absolutely the
only one who knows anything Of her antece-
| DENTS will have nothing to do with her. II
he approaches, her cheeks hang out the scar
let flag, and when he recedes her eyes follow
| him with q wistful look but all in vain. Nat
urally she resents his utter indifference, but
somehow it does not seem to me that that is
all. l cannot get much out of him, though
have tried my beet but 1 am quite sure
| that he knows more about her than he choos-
es TO tell. In the mean time, except on this
one point, we are quite confidential friends,
and fancy that the sight of our intimacy Is
gall to the widow"
In her last idea Miss Rodney is wrong, for
| Olive sees clearly that the confidence and in
timacy are all on one side, and are merely
| tolerated upon the other. Yet day by day, as
she realizes the state of aloofness in which
Paul holds himself, her heart grows heavier
| in her breast. She has-sLe confesses it to
| herself with maddening humiliAtion-she has
tried in vain to lure him back. She has smil-
| ed upon him she has sung their old songs
| for him, and him alone, as he must surely
know, although the parlor was filled with ad-
miring auditors. Even to Aunt Dorothy he
has proved sternly repellent, whom in memory
| of old times she would have entered into con-
versation with him. No, he is not rude-nev-
or that; only calm and icy and reserved. Yet
he loved Olive once. In the old Sibthorpe
days she never doubted it. She is all the sur
| or of it now for his icy cOldness Had she
been a mere acquaintance, what need of this
sudden, ghastly change? Can it be her for
tune that separates them? Oh, if so, how
gladly would she give it up if he would but
say the word Does he despise her that, for
the sake Of money, she has yielded to hui
initiating condition, masquerading in the garb
of woe for a man for whom she never cared
one iota-whom she loathed, rather, with al
the losthing of a strong nature? Suddenly,
for the first time, as in flash, maddening
sense of the meanness of it all rushes over
her. She stops in the forest path down which
she has been wandering alone with Aunt Dor
othy, having fed from the company which ii
too gay for her mood.
~ never thought of it in that way before
1 wanted to be rich, and when it came tool
it without thinking, without caring how i
came. From his living hand 1 would have
taken nothing, from his dead one have tax
en- all that he had to give. Oh, it is shame
full No wonder he despises mel despist
myself. 1 will give il up this day, this yer.
hour. Let the Denbighs have 1t, and let mt
be a girl again. Do, she says sudden
ly, "you know brought with me that cream
colored cashmere which was made for m,
last party in dear old Sibthorpe. What should
you say if 1 were TO wear it at the hop to
night, with scarlet flowers, you know; AM
would you lend me your rubies, just for thi
once 2"
Aunt Do stares at her, well.nigh speeches
in her amaze. 'Are you in earnestE she final
ly gasps.
''In dead earnest"
''And you know all that it involves2"
81 know, and accept it,"
"Then, my dear" >" cries Aunt Dorothy, witt
a burst of happy tears, Il can only say, Go
bless you and can only thank Him that H
has put it into your heart to do the right thin
at last"
"Why, Aunt Do" cries Olive, II nevo
knew that you felt so about it. Why did yo
never speak beforeY
'Because knew you, my dear, and l fe
that sooner or later your sense of right woul
get the upper hand. From a child you neve
could be driven, but you always came ou
right as you have now."
VI.
} There is a sensation in the hotel parlor thi
) evening The hop is at its height, wheI
= through the open door, two figures glide gu
etly into the room but for all their quietnesI
. not ten minutes has passed before every ey
o in the room is fixed upon them.
"a transformation scene" remarks Ge
trude Rodney TO Paul Leigh, who is standin
n idly beside her 1.-The Aamingo is metamo
l phosed into dove, all silver and gray an
r white and the former blaokbird-what sha
= l compare her to in her creams and scarlets
Paul has scarcely heard her words but
siarts as his eve falls upon Olive RathbOne