Butte semi-weekly miner. [volume] (Butte, Mont.) 1886-1890, 1886-11-24
BEFORE THE PLAY.

DEF VhU LIE UA1s
To tell the truth, I was running away. OF
course you knew that l had refused Robert
Marshall the summer before, in London. II
was q regular half yearly occurrence, and I
never imagined that he would take it as a
final repulse. Isupposed that he would come
gayly back to his old allegiance in his own ir-
repressible way. Imagine, then, my sur
prise, my humiliation, my rage, when the
news came that he had married Marion
Merlin in Paris, and was even then On his
way home. The shock fairly made me i'll. I
was only just recovering from an attack Of
pneumonia, and I felt that I had not then the
| vigort to stand the ordeal of helping to well
come them back, for intellectual Boston is
| quite as curious in regard to broken hearts
| and dramatic situations as any gossiping
| country village. It was dreadful to have
father and mother know all about it, but it
was a comfort, too, to have them plan a visit
for me, with the Exeter Browns, our cousins
in New York.
I shall never forget how We drove through
the public garden and the common, glitter
ing with snow and ice, on that bright winter
day-father's anxious face opposite, and
mothers teary, sweet n at my side. They
were very sorry for me, and now I can see
how selfish and miserable it was in me to
af1ict them with my trouble. 1t was within
q moment or two of the time for the train to
start when we reached the Albany depot, and
after a swift kiss and a "God bless you" from
mother, I was hurrying upon the train. For
some reason still unknown to me the train
was crowded-packed; only a n empty chair
in the drawing room car and hardly standing
room in the others. A most outrageously
flashy and vulgar young man with a great
show of chivalry offered mi a seat next an
equally Objectionable young woman, evil
IDENTIFY his "girl," and directly in front of a
red hot heater. A number of big farmers
stood about, and one could smell the milk in
their boots, drawn cut by the heat. I am
always very sensitive to smells, and in an un-
reasonable pet I was about to leave the car |
and return to mother in the carriage, when
the conductor whispered a word to father,
who, by the way, is a director of the road.
His kind face lighted up, and with an air of
mysterious importance the conductor led us
through half a dozen cars of staring, noisy
people, and I soon found myself in the ele-
CANT quiet of a parlor car, in the midst of a
theatrical troupe. After one comprehensive
glance, and some whispered words of expla-
nation from the conductor, they ignored me
with O well bred indifference that I could not |
have improved upon myself. Father left me,
and l became absorbed in my reflections.
At first my thoughts were stormy and
hard and bitter tears distorted the winter
landscape in my critical eyes. Self-pity is a
stirring emotion in the young. l thought of
Robert Marshall, and that lovely Marion
Merlin, his bride, as even o they were
swiftly steaming over the white winter sea,
to homes and friends and pleasures, while I,
poor exile, must fly from the scenes of their
delight. I think with a laugh that l even
never reach land. I felt pitifully alone and
neglected. l sneered "Ah, mans lover and,
in short, plowed the slough of despond,"
and planted it with all sorts of u~nlovely
growths, as all young people do, in like
crises. By and by better and quieter thoughts
came. Perhaps it was the smooth, soothing
motion Of the car upon the perfectly ad-
justed tracks; perhaps it was fathers old
port, which he had made me drink before
starting; perhaps it was but a natural youth
full reaction, but any rate, my mood changed.
My hand touched something in my lap with a
soft crush. Looking down I saw a big bunch
of deep purple violets which mother must have
thrust into my hand, and which in the rush
and hurry I had not needed. I lifted them
to my face and they brought me a sweet
message Of comfort and cheer and of brighter
days to come. It seemed strange to me, even
then, that a bunch of flowers should mean so
much to such a practical mind as my own,
and I became a trifle superstitious about it.
But my eyes were dried now and my mind
composed, and l began to look about me. l
never saw such an embarrassment of pretty
women. Every one was rarely pretty, or at
t~ractive, or both. The men were reasonably
handsome, in a STACEY sort of way. It was a
fascinating picture. The women rested in
attitudes OF languorous but refined grace. No
one but an actress can lean back in a chair
with just that perfect harmony Of abandon
and restraint. They looked every inch the
petted queens of the public that they are.
The warm colors and rich fabrics of their
dresses helped out the %sumptuous effect of
their beauty. The summer-ike warmth of
the car brought out the fine pungent odor of
their heavy fur wraps and their delicate per-
There was a bewitching nut-brown
actress in sealskin and creamy broadcloath,
and a tall, slender, yellow-haired fairy in
pearl colored plush and silver fox, and a
fierce little brunette in a scarlet vest, who
setting off her beauty by a great bear
skin travelling rug thrown over the back of
1er chair. Their white teeth cleaned and
bright eyes glanced swiftly or meaningly
about them. But the prettiest of all sat
facing me on the sofa, quite at the end of the
,ar. After one glance at her l had no eyes
'or the others. She was thoroughly, de-
pretty, and in a style rare among
,er class. She looked as though she might
nave just stepped out of Nine. 's school
'or young ladies. But, indeed, a schoolgirl
who had had a season or two at Newport or
Bar Harbor.
But it was not her face and figure merely
hat interested me, so much as the little
in which she was playing a part. Have
you ever watched a sweet, imprisoned girl,
with the man with whom she is con
in love? To me it is now one of the
;addest sights in life. My little actress was
n love with the star C1stage lover" 1 called
lin in my mind who was leaning over her
md absorbing all her thoughts and looks. 1
studied her closely. Now and then she would
make a pathetic little attempt to seem and
% be indifferent-to forget him-and look
lbout her with the keen, professional, specu-
alive glance which had not grown habitual
% her, as yet. But his next word would
BRING back her smile, the happy little laugh,
'r the love light in the big, black fringed,
ray eyes, l forgot all else in watching for
he lovely rush of color that he often brought
H. ~l:A .1-1