Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1886-08-25
Gales aud Sketthes.
THE PICTURE OF THAT YEAR.

| embroidered with beads OF the same color.
Never before had she made so fastidious
garment. She was employed as one OF
the dressmakers in fashionable London
establishment, one of the many hands that
| constituted its great machinery. her
chief occupation there was to trim and
bead. She did not know who was to be
the wearer of this gown. While draping
the Brussels lace and sewing on the beads,
she wondered if the lady were pretty or
plain. fair or dark; wealthy she must be,
for the garment was expensive. Mrs.
| Warren, the superintendent OF the dress
department, had been more than usually
anxious about the success of this particular
satin dress, and, indeed, as it glinted IN the
sombre room, it seemed such a chez
d'eurre of millinery as might have done
credit to that high priest OF fashions,
Worth. 1t was wet afternoon; black
pail hung over London; darkness without,
I but inside home lights burned. The daffo-
dill satin and the beads scintillated with
superb Indifference TO the bleak dismal
surroundings. The gas brought out strong
| " the light and shade of the shimmerlng
! folds of this Veronese drapery. fit for a
youthful Empress. The richness of the
coloring seemed by contrast to define
more sharply the thin, white, worn face OF
the dressmaker. Jean Logan. She was
about two-and thirty and very handsome.
though dark circles and lines of care were
round the earnest gray ewes and at the
corners of the beautifully shaped mouth /;
the nose was delicately drawn with sensi-
lively curved nostrils; her auburn hair
was streaked with premature white hairs
her hands were long and transparent, and
though her figure was tall and slight, she
stopped Indeed. the whole aspect of the
woman showed plainly that she had gone
through some fiery ordeal. AS she stitched
the glittering beads with her long, white
| fingers there was a nervous earnestness. a
sad. dropping expression about her whole
person that set one thinking of crushed
flower. The black merino dress and white
collar and cuffs gave puritanical aspect,
the more striking from the contrast with
the glowing satin. Jean Logan had been
told by Mrs. Warren that special attention
and pains were to be bestowed upon the
dress. as it had been designed by famous
painter for his young wife. The word
painter" sent thrill through her whole
being. and left an ache like than of stat
from sharp instrument. The word
brought back the vivid memory of year:
long gone. charged with their full measure
OF happiness and terrible sorrow.
The dress was finished, and Jean brought
it to Mrs. Warren's room. Mrs. Warren
was the walking embodiment of comfort
she was as broad as she was long, with 6
rosy. smiling face; two small green eyes
buried IN fat sparkled shrewdly out on the
world in general.
81 am much pleased with your part o
the work." she remarked, as Jean Logar
exhibited the daffodil skirt with its rict
trimmings. al hope the body will fit; bu
| have bad cold and want you as great
favor to take the dress yourself and try i
on. You are clever, and have taste, more
than any one in this establishment--now
you know you have" Saying this, Mrs
Warren gave Jean a good-natured poke
with her fat elbow. you don't mind the
wet as much as | do"
Jean could hardly refrain from smiling
as she looked at the round, cosy figure il
rustling silk that reminded her of Mother
Christmas; then she glanced at her owr
trail self in the cheval glass and shud
dered. for she saw what was more like an
image carved on a tombstone than s living
woman.
al can lend you my waterproof, but you
must take acab," continued Mrs. Warren
"the house is in the Cromwell Road, South
kensington, one of those big, new man.
sions. You are to ask for Mrs. Malcolm
Mackenzie"
Mrs. Malcolm Mackenzie gasped
out Jean in a trcmulous, hoarse voice, and
growing livid.
well. what's the matter? You are like
ghost; are you going to faint P" Mrs.
Warren screwed up her small eyes and
looked keenly at Jean.
Jean sank down on the nearest chair,
covering her ashen face with both her
hands. Mrs. Warren stood staring at her,
with perplexed expression on her rubi-
cund countenance.
Have you had quarrel with any OF
the familyp Explain this to me-"
"No," groaned out poor Jean III shall
be all right in minute; it is only the
name ~
"Oh, what's in name" exclaimed
Mrs. Warren. with broad smile; ''per.
haps you have had a sweetheart called
Mackenzie But why should that knock
you up, my dearp We all 90 through thi:
sort of experience. Why, | nearly dice
of love for a smart young sailor. and yor
see how have survived !" And she com
placently stroked her silken self, culver
ing with suppressed laughter.
"And so this Malcolm Mackenzie is
painterP" inquired Jean Logan in tn,
tantest of voices.
Indeed he is. and has made lot o
money. He is popular; his pictures ar,
sentimental and homely. Besides, hi
wife has brought him a great fortune
They have been married two years. Sh,
is young and pretty. He is lucky fel
low, Malcolm Mackenzie !"
An angry expression fitted over jean
white face, which seemed to have aget
within the last few minutes her straight
dark brows were knit together separated
only by deep line of care; her lips wer,
tightly compressed.
al should really like to know what ha
caused this great commotion," continued
Mrs. Warren in her metallic voice, he
little eyes more gimlet-like than ever. a,
they tried to pierce through Jeans outel
self and read the mystery within.
But Jean gave no further clue. She
rose from her chair. shook herself like
person who desires for the present, at al
events, to get rid of load of care. anc
passing her thin hand over her burning
forehead, said:
al shall GO, Mrs. Warren, and try thu