The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1886-06-16

IS he venturcd to sit down on the piazza
step ut her feet. Polly glanced down in
quiringly with steady, demurc eyes.
No" he cried "Miss Grey, I've
been most of the time about yard and .
quarter away from you; but you never
seemed to see me"
How strangem Polly says, wonder
;ngly. "Most people would have seen
you, now, wouldn't theY?"
Women always have before" he as
sents, with sigh.
"Then you must have reioiced in a
change, didn't you2 Variety is so pleas.
ant to an appetite jadcd by samcness"
No." he answers; Il didn't enjoy it
at all. I'll tell you," he says, looking up
at her with wide, clear eyes; 'to be
frank, I hate American women, and
you're the only one who ever inspired me
with the slightest"
Coniston stops short: there is some
thing in his listeners face that marks an
unerring period in his reckless speech.
"Wcll!' she asks, sweetly and clearly,
"'-the slightest'?'
The English language is Coniston's
native tongue, but it fails him now; ne
feels the warm blood sutfusing his face
as his mind runs after an elusive woman.
''Ah, I see; there are some things so
much better implied than expressed.
But am so matter-of fact that l must
translate your mute cloquence, Lord
ConiSton-" At this instant Coniston
is lost in calculating how many minutes
he can stand this present temperature of
his head and facc-''into words, or a
word-curios;ty, eh? Come, be twice
franks it not so:'
you MY chris'cn it curiosity, and
call it so, pro tem., If YOU choose, Miss
Grey, bur-'
The carl again falt:rs.
"Oh." cries the girl. with little i'm
patient wave of her hand. and throwing
back her pretty blonde head; chow l
abhor En.lishmcn. They are so IN
terror of e1en their MINOR emotions. A
Frcnchman, German, an Italian. any
other ma ionllity in the world is ready,
eager to put his tlirtatious propensities
into the most delicious language; but an
En-l;shman ~ she Shudders-'he stops
to wonder what he is about to feel,
and 10. the emotion vanshes! ha! ha
haw
Miss Grey laughs a long, musical,
ringing laugh.
Coniston looks at her, and he won
dcrs if he ha, ever really se.n her until
this moining2 She looks like the bright.
est part OF the sunshine as she sits there
in it, mocking him. !
Perhaps we do avoid putting what
YOU call our 'hirtatious propensities'
into words; but if you will permit
IN. to say so, an Englishman is only too
ready to speak out that which he really
feels
"Do they ever 'feel' anything outside
the huntny-licld and the House of Com
mons?' she asks. provokingly.
He smiles as he looks at her.
II will tell you some day."
Not long alter Con:ston rides with
Miss Grey-a long afternoon ride on the
road by the bay and through the WOO Is
and past the farms busy with their Au-
tumn fruit-gatheripg.
They chat of commonplace things
the flowers, the birds, the clouds, the
blue of sea and sky. and they come home
soberly enough, too soberly. he thinks. |
There is ball that night, the last of ,
s:the season." Coniston is not dancing
man, 50 he has the satisfaction of watch !
ing Miss Gley floating about the ballroom
principally with Bradford. He stalks
out on the piazza, brilliant with lanterns, |
and then sauntcrs to the other end, where
it is parativcly quiet.
Polly sits there, and Bradford-Brad-
fold lis bending above her; he even
has her hand; and now he goes in and .
leaves her.
Coniston is mailman as he rushes into
the other mans place, and leans trem- .
bling over her chair. She Is quiet, 81
lent.
1T is l." he whispers, brokenly.
Il know" she replies, softly.
"Oh, child" cries he, "you must listen
to me; am good -for-nothing sort of a
fellow; l h I'VE had no religion, no any .
thing. until have known you, and now
you are my shrine. 1t seems to me at
your feet should lay rare spices, per-
fumes, flowers, jewels-and all dare lay
there tonight is a human heart-a
human life, Polly" he says, lowly, stoop-
ing his blonde head to hers. ''Will you
have me2"
He sees her face as she upturns it in the
flare of the last lantern; it is as he has
never seen it-pale, stricken, awful,
calm.
We'll" she says, at last, with that
clear. bright voice Of hers, tritle hard,
q trihe mattcr-of-fact. |
''Oh, love you, my SOUL my queen!
love you and need you,' cricshe, over
come by the sight of her pallor.
II know" she answers quietly. II ap-
preciate. value your love; would not
have it otherwise; I should have been
disappointed always if you had not loved
me. Aha" burying her white face in her
hands, Il rcvcl in it,"
And he had once thought this woman
cold, superficial, unlikabic.
My darling" Coniston says, reaching !
out his hand for hers.
But" whispers the girl, drawing
away into her silken wrap, Gillian
engaged to be married to Eugene Brad !
ford. Ihave been for two yearsw
Sir Campbell Frazer had arrived from
the West. The Arizona was to sail Tues
dav, and both he and the Earl of Con-
iston were booked on her passenger list.
1t was Monday Observation-Disclosures
come again." people said. iounging about
the piazzas OF the big hotel-warm sui
.rr ,,;+h crroot bontr of hlun -h1ork