Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1888-04-08
DULCIE.
PHILOSOPHERS FANCY.
ttongmanal
FROM MALCOLM FRAZER, ESQ, TO MISS
FRAZER.
tLongman'sl

PROM MALCOLM FRAZER, ESQ, TO MISS
FRAZER.
SArrrrSy-By-SEA, August "a, 1880.
You ask for "resl long, diary-like
letter" little sister, as il an old professor
like me could waste time in such femi-
nine pursuit as keeping diary or in
scribing gossippy letters to my friends.
But you, spoiled Mabel, are not 10 be
denied. My moral courage quails before
the thoughts OF the effects contradiction
might have upon your autocratic nature,
for have long ago learned that the
greatest tyranny may be found in little
women with fair hair and blue eyes like
your own.
You commiserate me on the dull mo-
notony OF my seaside retreat, but l re-
pudiate your pity. Dull it may be, mo.
notonous il unquestionably is. But
when 1 require variety there is the
chAngeiul sea TO look at while for
amusement have the pleasure of study
ING the characters OF my fellow-lodgers
and OF watching little play between
three drGmdtis persona which ! pro-
phesy will end in the ringing OF wedding
bells.
The principal actors are young man
who reloices in the poetical name OF
Aubrey st. Quintin and calls himself, L
believe. A poet. and little girl with
blue ewes and nothing that distinguishes
her from the rest OF the world. She IS
here quite by herself. and seems to have
no one TO look after her. She Is rather
white and quiet, and wears shabby
little brown frock, which If l were the
poet should like 10 replace by some
thing bright and pretty.
They-the poet and the girl--sit to-
cetber at meal-time, walk together by
the sea. read books together, and speak
70 each other with their eyes l think
he patronizes and she adores; which
ever way it is they seem very happy In
each other.
The other actor is at present playing
the part Of mere walking lady, but l
foresee that her talents will speedily
raise her into prima donna, and If were
The girl with eyes | should fear for the
poet. She is a young widow, Mrs.
Charleton, and we have already made ac-
ouaintance over the constantpassinga and
repassing Of the salt-cellar at dinner. She
is very smart, very bright, very beauti-
ful. IL | were not an old bachelor my
pulses might hutter when she looks at me
with the ewes and voice of Gree as 1t
is, only fear for the poet. She must be
ont OF her element here, and she treats
most OF the inmates of the primitive lit
tie hotel with silent contempt, II you
can call complete ignoring OF their
presence contempt. Out OF sheer long
ING TO speak with some one she ad-
dressed me to day st luncheon, and asked
me if did not find Saitlinn very dull.
$50 dull" she added, sweeping away
(metsphorically speaKing) the rest Of the
company with scornful glance from
her dark ewes. "thst l shall not put up
with it long. Ny sister who meant to
come with me is Ill. 1t is only because
/ hate solitude that come to the table
dhote. 1t amuses me TO study my fell
low-creatures"
"And you find these Interestingly?
asked.
Interesting ?-no. Unless it be chose
two Young things" she added, nodding
in the direction of the poet and the girl.
They were talking in low voices to-
Cether, but at that moment the young
man looked up and met Mrs. Charleton's
ewes. 1t struck me that he colored a
little, and after that his gaze kept wan
dering back to her
She. too. observed il, for presently
she turned TO me with significant little
laugh.
"He is composing sonnet to you,
1 suggested.
"ho, they are vowed TO his Cinde-
rella. Poor. dingy little Cinderella.
"Yet Cinderella came out of the Gin
ders a star" answered, feeling some
what impelled to take up the cudgils for
the little girl. what is she doing here
all by herself-a child like that Do
YOU know her ?"
"Oh. yes, we are very good friends.
She is dear little girl. Her name is
Dulcie-Dulcie Meade-and is a COVER
ness or something Of that sort She has
been III, and has come here during her
holiday to pick up her strength. She
must be very poor, for even now she
gives daily lessons to some people near
here. She and the poet walk to their
house every morning, and when her
three hours teaching is over he fetches
her back. She is a good little thing.
She often comes and sits with me when
/ am dull. must get her to introduce
me to her poet" With that, she looked
again at Aubrey ST. Quintin, with half
smile on her lips, and / wished more
than ever-for Dulcie's sske-that her
poet would give her new frock.
am not O lady's man, and took 1t
for sign that Mrs. Charleton was very
hard mp for compapionship when she IN
yited me to come to her sitting room
that evening after dinner.
"We might have little music, she
said, "or whist, if you prefer it. Dulcie
Meade always comes, and L have set my
heart on getting introduced to her poet
that may ask him too. You and T.
with smile that almost made me forget
my forty years-"as two elderly people
can sit and do goosebury to the young
ones love-making. But, seriously, l am
all in favor of il. She is too soft and
gentle TO grow into poor, soured gov
erness, and the poet is-looks charm
ing"
"He is good-looking," I agreed, "but
how about the poetry ?"
81 don't know" she said.
But fancy she will know very shortly.
Well, having brushed myself up, and
rather regretting my quiet evening pipe
and box OF new books, l presented my
self in Mrs. Charleton's sittiDg-room that
evening after dinner. She was sitting
at the piano, and beckoned me TO join
her. Aubrey St Quintin and Dulcie
Meade were on the balcony, looking very
happy, and carrying on an unceaslng
flow of conversation In undertones.
Mrs. Charleton is very charming, very
clever with the great art OF adapting
herself to other people. She did not
laugh at me for being sleepy old Pro-
fessor-ss You do, impertinent Mabel
nor inundate me with professional shop.
but entered into a thoroughly intelligent
conversation, showing genuine intel
lectual capabilities far above the average.
i was very near forgetting that, as O rule,