The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1886-12-10
ten answer, was not very much to the

point. 7 spoke desperately.
"What is the good of it all?' / said.
What does it matter about the Judi
cial system, and who has the control of
taxation9 What does it matter about
the Parliament, and the courts, and all
the dull old laws? One can't really
| care for the constitution =
i | had time while he sat surveying
me to feel ashamed of my babYish,
passionate speech.
.'What made you think of devoting
yourself to the study of constitutional
history?' he said. with gentle surprise.
His gentleness seemed like satire. NV
eyes. in spite of myself, suddenly filled
| with tears. Suddenly he looked away
from me. He asked me no more cues.
tons. For the next five minutes he
talked rapidly, without pause. When
resolutely blinked back my tears and
glanced at him, he was diligently dis.
figuring my history paper with crooked
circles, and his face was less brown
than rudy.
/ After that day his eyes ceased to
twinkle when he looked at me; he
passed me over in class and put the
pnzzling questions to Nell and
/ Claudia, and was almost gentle when
went alone to him. lie gave up ask
ing me to expound this theory and
that argument which he had failed to
| follow; and, when he was forced to
condemn my work, he wordcd his
blame mildly and looked away as he
spoke.
'tHe has forgiven you, Cig," said
the girls. HE completely ignores
you now-for which you are thankful,
Cis, are you not?'
VERY thankful, I said. I SAID it
impressively, for / needed to convince
myself as well as the girls.
| was inconsistent, for I began to
wish that he would find me amusing
again, and to feel pangs OF disappoint-
ment in class when he passed me over,
and to desire, with quite unreasonable
eagerness, that he should look at me
again, even if his eyes should have
laughter in their depths But every
week the laughter seemed further
away. And if he was grave in class,
he was graver still on Saturdays. He
gazed steadily at my paper as he dis
cussed it, and discussed it as though in
dream. He no longer thought me
hippant, and conceited, and foolish,
and tried to cure me. He no longer
thought OF me at all. 1t was only at
the end of the term that he set aside
| his perfunctory tutor manner.
Are you going home, Miss Chrys-
| tal?'' he asked me, hesitatingly.
Yes. Not at once though For a
week or two [ am going to stay with
Claudia-Miss Harrison, mean. Then
she will come home with me"
Il may be spending my HOLIDAYS
near YOU Perhaps possibIy -we may
meet each other
ooh yes, very possibly" / said. And
suddenly l felt light-hearted at the
thought Of holidays. There was a lit
tie pause, and | rose and held out nv
hand.
1t is somewhere in Deyonshire, is
it not?" he said.
"WhatPn
"Your home"
Yes. Axetown East. Quite lit
tie place on the coast Have YOU
friends there, Mr.. Tudor?"
mo, he said, doubtfully. ~ be-
lieve--l believe the fishing is good?n
And it did not strike me as strange
that he should be going to place in
which he had no friends, and of which
he did not know the name and county.
But | did not tell the girls what he
had told me. 1t was only at the end
of my visit to Claudia that [ broke the
news to her. broke it casually.
He came for the fishing" [ said.
"And father and the boys seem-acci-
dentally--to have come across him."
Never mind,n said Claudia
mo, it does not matter" | said re-
gnedly.
But Claudia was sympathetic next
day when we arrived at AxetoWn East.
In short fortnight Mr.. Tudor had
made great strides towards friendship
with all at home. He had found favor
with father and the boys; his hotel was
comfortless, and he deserted it fire.
quentlJ. He came and went at all
hours, laughed and smoked with the
boys and talked sensibly like an old
friend with father. He was more
bronzed than ever; for fortnight he
had been fishing and rowing and walk
ing with energy. He laughed as I had
sometimes suspected he could laugh.
He had left his tutor manners behind
him with cap and gown. Suddenly
now, at the end of a fortnight, he had
grown tired of fishing and of lonely
boating and walking. He haunted our
house. He seemed to be always where
1 was. Claudia was sympathetic.
And, somehow, | felt traitorous when
| received her sympathy. 1t was a
still. warm summer evening day or
two after our arrival. We were in the
draWing-room downstairs and the
French windows were open wide.
Father was showing Mr.. Tudor some
views of places abroad where he had
been stationed at different times. Sud-
denly, on the still air, came voice
from the garden. Claudia was coming
up the path with my brother George.
"And that is the story" she said
"lt Doesn't seem quite a modest thing
to say man bushes when you speak
to him. Poor Cis! she has never been
happy in his presence since. He will
spoil her holidays We try to praise
him sometimes, but as for Cis, she will
never say any thing good of him. She
really dislikes him now"
THAT'S pity said George, for
Tudor-poor beggar-is in love with
her."
| do not think father had heard; he
was engrossed in photographs of China
| did not venture to look at Mr. Tudor.
do not think that he looked at me.
But an anecdote which father was re-
lating was new to us when he told it
again next day. 1t was an hour or
two later that we found ourselves alone
together. But Georges words were
ringing IN my brain STILL It seemed
natural, now that we were alone, that
he should go back at once straight to
those words.
1T is true he said gently. Il did
not mean to tell you yet. | meant to
try to win your love first.
/ did not speak. He was standing
near me by the open window, and he
49, La 4 4