The Washington critic., 1886-07-17
LOST HER LOVER AND RING.
William did.

so his father determined to send him
to college. lie was admitted as stu
dent at Columbia College, New York.
At first he did not bctray any indica-
tions of genius, but he had not been at
college very long before he made great
progress In his studies. He soon came
to be regarded as a model student. On
one occasion he was confined to his bed
several weeks In consequence of having
several Of his ribs fractured in q game
OF football. He seemed to display
more than average intellect, the mus.
cular development of his arms from
rowing being very large. He was well
up in smoking cigarettes, and knew all
about most of the actresses on the New
York stage.
Shortly after his arrival in New York
he made the acquaintance of an actress
whose dramatic ability was confined
principally to her pedestrian perform.
ances, so to speak. When she danced
across the stage the hearts of the bald.
headed, venerable men, and also those
Of the dudes In the front seats were in
flutter, and the opera glasses wob.
bled about In remarkably uncertain
and tremulous manner. He name, like
her garments, was quite short. 1t was
Blanche. She never appeared on the
stage that Seymour Chaplain was not
present with large bouquet, which he
hurled at her with his compliments.
Blanche, or rather Miss Blanche, as
she was humorously called, soon dis
covered that her admirer was the
scion of wealthy and aristocratic
Philadelphia family. anG she deter
mined to set her cap for him, to use a
figure of speech. AS Seymour was a
very susceptible young man she met
with but little difficulty. Her motives
were strictly honorable, as her object
was matrimony. In the meantime,
however, she was not averse to accept
ing presents from the enamored youth.
She even permitted herself to accept
costly presents. She also allowed him
to pay for the champagne they mu-
tually enjoyed, In fact, her condescen-
sion went so far that she allowed him
to carry her pet poodle when they took
a stroll In Central Park. 1t was gen
orally understood that they were en-
gagged. When their lips met it sounded
ike an engagement.
Mr.. Chaplain, sr., was very liberal
in supplying his sons wants, but the
extraordinary demands made on him
finally excited his curiosity, not to say
his anxiety. He also heard various and
sundry rumors in regard to his sons
intimacy with certain actress. A re-
port came to his ears that his son had
presented her with very expensive
| diamond ring. Seymour was some.
| what surprised when he received let
ter from his parent to the effect that
he, the aforesaid parent, would be In
| New York next day, as he desired tC
see for himself how much progress the
young man was making in his studies
Seymour showed the letter to the
object of his affections. 1t seemed tc
have depressing effect upon her, but
he cheered her up the best he could.
Don't despair" he said, "the
course of true love never did run
smooth. AS soon as we are married
we will surprise the old gentleman and
ask his forgiveness He will grant II
on the spot, and you will be admitted
into the most select circles of Philadel-
phia society,""
This was what Blanche wanted
very much, but she had her misgiv
ings.
On the day following, Blanche hat
Just returned to her room from re
hearsal, when there came knock a
her door.
An elderly gentleman, wearing eye
glasses, and other garments, of course
and a very aristocratic air, entered
| ranliuaI
"My name is Chaplain of Philadel
phia, the father of Seymour Chaplain,
he added significantly.
"Please be seated" said BLANCHE
with simper.
II suppose you know the object o
my visit, You love my son.
"And he loves me-" said Blanche
with downcast eyes. She made an eff
fort to blush, but If she succeeded tn
result was not visible, as the paint OF
her face was too thick.
"And suppose he wants to MARI,
YOU" said the visitor, smiling ironi
cally.
"Yes. sir" said Blanche, defantly
II will probably have something /
say about that. | will be candid witt
you. Seymour will never marry you
gave my word to an old friend o
mine in Philadelphia years ago tina
Seymour should marry his daughter
A Philadelphian who belongs to on,
of the first families never goes back OF
his word. You must return his pres
ents; | will buy them from you at sue
q figure that you will be satisfied"
Blanche was absorbed in thought
There were numerous New York dude
who would squander thousands upo,
her who would even fly with her t
Europe, If she were free.
You have my sons diamond rim!
on your finger now. 1t is an heirloom
| viii give you $40, 900 for it. 1t i
only worth $4,000, but I'll give yo
five times as much as ii Is worth, pre-
vided you relinQuish your rights on m
son." said old Chaplain.
my love for Seymour Is worth NOR
than all the priceless gems of tn
Orient"
"well, say $4,000, Twill write yo
out check"
Never, not for millions"
"Ill give you $50, 900"
Blanche was silent. "Well, | mus
be going" said old Mr., Chaplain
opening the door
Say $4,000, and it's bargain,
said Blanche.
Mr. Chaplain returned to the tabl,
and sat down, He produced his checl
book, and with q fountain pen file
out check for the amount in favor c
the bearer on the Chemical Bank c
New York. Blanche handed him tn
ring and the old gentleman took h
leave.
An hour later Seymour made HI
usual daily visit.
80 you have come to bid me far,
well, Seymour, but the $2s, 900 chec