Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1885-07-31
A.FAMILY AFFAIR
BY HUGH CONW AY,
Author of "Called Back" and Ozark Days"
[Continated from last aoeek. ]

He stopped and picked up a flower which
must have fallen from her dress. He took
glove which was lying on the piano.
sWhat leveler love is" he said grimly;
"one laughs at the idiotic proceedings of
others, and when ones own time comes does
just the same. A glovel A flower! Conven-
tional emblems, lacking even originality.
What a fool amp
Nevertheless he kept them both, and no
doubt derived as much comfort from them as
the possession of such things is supposed to
give.
After this he took his hat, and, forgetting
all about the dinner party, went out into the
garden to think. In spite of his assumed
calm he must have been strongly moved, for
he commenced his operation of thinking by
digging his heel into the immaculate gravel
path so viciously that the large roller was
needed for half an hour the next morning in
order to smooth matters down. Then,
ashamed of this burst of passion, he walked
down to the bottom of the garden, and re-
gardless of October dews and chilly air threw
himself on a seat and strove to account for
what had happened, and to determine its re-
suit SO far as his own future concerned.
But think as he would, and we may pre-
Mr.. Carruthers could only get to three con-
clusions, unsatisfactory when taken sing4y,
and, of course, trebly SO in the aggregate.
Firstly, he was more in love with Beatrice
than ever. Secondly, he could not UNDER
stand why she had refused him. Thirdly,
having once asked a woman to be his wife,
othing would induce him to repeat the
question.
'sNo, I won't grovel," said Frank. eMost
fellows seem to grovel when they are in love.
Hang it, I won'tl I'll be original in that
respect if I have to cut ray heart out"
These remarks were of course applicable to
conclusion number three-a conclusion at
which love always laughs. Given a prouder
man than Mr.. Carruthers, and as hopelessly
in love, with woma4 that womaps if she
wished, might have fresh declaratiHn of un
dying passion every week in the year. Oh
yes-an lovers can "grovel" if needs be.
By and by a curious whim seized this par
ticular lover. He would go down and sex
Sylvanus Mordle Not that he wished to I'm
bosom his woes to the curate-that would bd
groveling with vengeance but there
seemed certain grim propriety in seeking
and sitting with the other man who was row.
ing in the same boat, or, to put it POLITICALLY,
the man whose bark of joy had been wrecked
uGOu Ou0 odlll6 IOCh dS ILLS OWu DSSlQSo3
Mordle would be sure to talk about Miss
Clauson-he always did. "What a fool ]
ami" said Frank more bitterly than ever.
Nevertheless, he walked down to the curate's
lodgings.
Mr.. Mordle lodged in one of a row Of new
houses which sanguine builder had erected
on plot of ground not far from the church.
When these houses were first built the villag-
ers expressed their wonder as to who would
inhabit them. They were red brick houses
with freestone dressing-the kind of houses
classified as 'genteel" residences. AS such,
they were a cut above the villagers, and
many cuts-quite cash, in fact-below the
families of position AS half of the houses
are empty to this day the builder has ceased
to wonder at the villagers wonder.
When Frank was shown into his room
Mordle jumped up and greeted him cheerfully.
''Hallor' he jerked out. ''You here's Why,
what's upg'
81 only came for smoke and chat"
Thought you had every one-all the swells
up at the house tonight"
Frank started. II quite forgot them," he
said with lack of caution unusual to him.
'sForgot them! How shocked Horace will
below grieved Herbert. No matter. Here
you are"
w hllSG speaking Ihe curaJe DuSCleu dpouo
Heopened a drawer, took out box of cigars,
then shut the drawer with bang. He opened
cupboard, took out bottle of whisky, then
slammed the cupboard door. He slapped the
cigars, the whisky, a water bottle and glass
on the table in front OF Frank, and waited
for him to help himself.
But Mr.. Carruthers sat silent and motion
less He was looking at Mordle, who was
still bronzed by the sun, and seemed to be in
an aggressively rude state of health. He
wondered if the curate felt as wretched when
Beatrice refused him as he, Frank Carruthers,
did at that moment. If so, and if Sylvanus
had really conquered his disappointment, he
was moro of a man than his visitor, and as
such entitled to respect. He got SO deep into
these speculations that he did not notice the
curate's curious glances.
''Look here, Carruthers," said Mordle,