The news., 1885-06-30


limit to forgiveness" said l, in
mood that still simmered, though l
admit that the fires were drawn.
"Well," said Sophie, "you have
Florence's invitation; she cannot do no
more than ask you; although I believe
men would like women to go on their
knees to them even when they gran
ted favors, not to mention receiUing
them; and | am quite sure, Jack, that
you will do the thing that best pleases
you;" and she turned to leave me.
Her speech was made painfully
sarcastic by her emphasis on the words
grduted and receiUing; and sarcasm in a
fat, affectionate, amiable woman falls
on a mans intelligence like box ON
the ear falls on the head. l seized
her hand.
"Dear Sophie, Pm an ass" l ex-
claimed. II have allowed my feel
ings-her omission of my name, do
you see-the sort of liking she seemed
to show for me-in fact, I ought to
have stopped in London"
Ny cousin melted like snowflake
on river, one moment white, though
cannot say that at the next she was
gone forever.
"No, jack" said she, "you wrong
yourself. There is nothing wonderful
in your liking, even in your loving,
Florence Hawke. She likes you-she
told..Amelia so. Why shouldn't her
liking become love? You must not
misjudge her. Suppose she purposely
omitted your name in the invitation?
it might have been from fear of her
papa. But look how honest she is;
when she gets home she remembers
the omission with pain, says, No! l
will defy papa in this matter, and she
sits down and writes the letter you
have in your pocket. How can you
sneer at herr"
"sneerw l shouted.
mean, now can you talk about
your dignity? Poor girl! You know she
stands alone. She has to cope with
her fathers wishes and the attentions
of the wretched creature her papa
wants her to marry. No, Jack; if
were you should feel grateful for the
spirit that prompted her to write that
letter, and I should certainly try to
please her by making her understand
how deeply you admire her courage,
which you can only do by dining at
Clifton Lodge on Thursday"
"Say no more, Sophie" cried l, alb
jectly; II shall dine-trust me-"
We were punctual enough; half-past
seven. A most lovely evening it was,
full of dew and fragrance, with noble
sunset in the west, and filter for a |
ramble among the hedges than guz-
zling match among hot soups and |
meats. AS l followed my cousins into
the hall my heart beat trife faster |
than usual. It was not only that l |
was to meet the girl that had taken |
snEaraien. aarnmasa rsf .,ass stlseunlats.i.
7 was going to find Her in the company /
of the fellow her father had chosen |
for her, and whom by opportunities
and the peculiar kind of moral pres
sure which fond parents know how to
exert on their beloved children, while
something they want done remains
undone, he would ultimately, no doubt,
induce or compel her to marry.
The footman flung open the draw
ing-room door and announced us, and
in we went. We found Mr.. Hawke
and his two daughters alone. With
winning and delightful grace (of course,
l always praise her, you say; but she
deserved it, l tell you Mis- Florence
received us, kissed Sophie and Amelia;
but | could not help fancyiEg there
was little timidity in the way in
in which she shook hands with me.
Had Sophie told her that she had
shown me her letter and that l had
slowed it away along with her picture?
Upon my word, it is impossible to tell
not only what girls do, but what they
don't tell one another.
let me introduce you to my sister," |
said she, and she led me up to Miss
Emily Hawke, whose invalidism was
sufficiently defined by her wan face.
She appeared to be about seventeen
years old, and she had old Hawkes. |
features, attenuated by ill-health and |
refined by the circumstance of her not |
belonging to old Hawkes. sex. Ny |
aunt was at her side, full of sympathy |
and questions; so l went over to Mr..
Hawke and my uncle, leaving Miss
Florence deep in conversation with !
my cousins, whom 1 could hear ex-
claiming, "Oh" "Poor thingm "How
dreadful !" and SO forth.
Our host was in full puff, silk waist
coat, velvet collar to his tail-coat, plen-
ty Of jewelry, highly scented, and look
ing larger and more portly and conse-
quential than had first found him.
He was telling my uncle that Sir Hugo
Perch and her ladyship, Sir Hugo's
wife-"a connection of the Battleab-
beys, Mr.. Seymour, charming people"
were to have come to dinner; but
that, in consequence of something or
other, "they-aw-were obliged at the
last moment" etc.
$50 we shall be quite ong famiVe,"
says he, glancing from my uncle's coat
to mine, "indeed, rather more so than
I anticipated; for I-aw-I regret to say
most painful, incident happened this
afternoon. You-aw-you remember
my daughter Florence's-"
Here he was interrupted by my
cousins and Miss Hawke joining us.
ooh, papal" cried Sophie, "what do
think Florence's poor, dear, darling
old Flora is dead"
Dead" calculated my uncle, not
quite knowing what else to say.
"Worse than dead" said Amelia.
''Killed, papa!"
"Killedw cried l, on which we
thought Mr.. Hawke looked at me as
much as to say, "What the deuce is it
to you, sin ?"
81 was about to tell the story" ex-
claimed the old gentleman, posing
himself in such way as to make him
seem all waistcoat. TITS doubly un