Milford chronicle. [volume] (Milford, Del.) 1878-1974, 1888-04-06
C0EQUERING A QUAKER.


room where her sister was pacing.
"IaIei" said Edith, hardly pausing I,
answer as she moved about the opeI
trunks from closet and bureau, "why
I'm going to take everything.
Don't you mean to make any conces
sionsr'
''Not a concession"
''You think it will be better to defy
themg"
defy theml no, indeedl What hor
rifle idear'
''Ihen what do you mean to do2''
81 mean to please them"
'But how can you possibly please
them if you wear silk dresses and cur
your hair?"
Il don't know; perhaps sha'n't; but
I'm going to try. And know never
should please anybody if left my hair
straight" and the pretty Cambridge
belle thought to herself that it would be
a pity, indeed, if she, who had always
pleased everybody without trying, could
not please Roberts relatives If she did
try.
But this visit to Roberts relatives was
naturally contemplated with even more
than the usual trembling excitement of
the young fiance. For Roberts father
and mother and sisters were all QualIers,
with traditions and beliefs and customs
according to which they ought to CON
template with horror and distress this
union of their only son and brother with
a wording. And such a wording !
Such fascinating combination of laugh
ing eyes and merry lips and curling hair
and tinllling bangles and rlstling long
silk skirts and coquettish bonnets and
bewildering laces and ribbons and little
slippers. Oh, dear oh, dear how they
would hate her And Edith did not
want them to hate her. She had not the
slightest desire to defy or to horrify them.
She was very anxious, indeed, to please
them. But combined with this anxious
desire to please was quite unconscious,
though equally firm. determination not
to win their affection by concessions.
Not so much as the bow of a slipper
would she offer up on the shrine of de-
yotion to Roberts relations. Worldly
she was; worldly she would be sure
to remain; and it was best that they
should understand from the first that
she was thoroughly addicted to silk,
satin and lace whenever she could get it.
But she had a faint hope that, once
brought in contact with her worldliness,
they would find it pleasanter than they
thought, Why notl She had conquered
Robert; why should she not conquer
theml Robert had not fallen in love
with her in spite of her airs and graces:
he Lad fallen in love with the airs and
graces themselves. lie had often told
her so. He had repeatedly pointed out
the particular little curl over her adora-
bic forehead that had first won his at
tention, and had assured her that it was
a certain bit Of lovely lace about her
throat that had completed his subjuga-
ton. And that dear little curl was not
only curl, but was a boughten curl,
held in its place by hairpins, and as fic-
titiously worldly as a curl could possibly
be. True, Robert was not exactly a
Quaker; he was only a descendant of
Quallers. He had not definitely re-
nounced the world, although there chung
to him, from the force Of heredity and
training and circumstances, a GER
tain grave demeanor and atmos-
phere of earnestness. lie did not
dance; he did not even want to dance;
but he did not exactly disapprove of other
people dancing if anybody did choose to
indulge in so foolish a caprice; and on
the evening when he had been lured by a
friend to one of the Cambridge 'as-
semblies, and had met there his imme-
diate, unquestionable, irresistible, worldly
little fate, he had even felt suddenly a
sort of impotent rage with himself at not
being able to dance. True, he didn't
want to dance any more than he ever
did; but then, she wanted to dance, and
how could he ever please her if he
couldn't do exactly the things she did?
Still, he had pleased her, and with very
little effort; for the quiet, earnest youth |
was tall and very handsome, and would
graduate with honors; in consideration
of which attractions his earnestness might !
easily be forgiven, even, indeed, if the
earnestness itself had not a certain charm |
of its own, as at least a novelty. So, If Rob /
ert had pleased her, and she had pleased |
Robert, unlike each other, as they were, |
and everybody acknowledged that it was !
a perfect love match on both sides, why |
might it not be possible that she would |
please Roberts relations? though not so |
much as a slipper bow would she sacri- /
flee from her pleasant worldliness to |
secure that much to be desired result.
As it CHANGED, a test Of her resolution /
in this respect was offered Immediately. 4
Mrs. Marvin and Edith had hardly been
shown to their chamber, after their ar
rival at the Longworth home, before
Edith opened her travelling bag and ex-
claimed in dismay:
''Oh, dearl oh, dear! Mamma, my
slate pencil is all broken into bits, and
my crimps are all out of curl Whatever
shall do? Oh, / knowi Esther said she
would be in the next room if 1 wanted
anything"
In another minute she was tapping at
Esther's door.
Il am so sorry to trouble you, but my
slate pencil is all brokeu'to bits in my
bag. Could you let me have one Of
yours?''
"Thee would like slate pencil2" said
Roberts serene sister, with evident be-
YES, for my crimps, you know, they
ire all out Of curl and so tumbled that I
can't possibly go down stairs looking so.
'But could thee not comb them out? ]
could lend thee comb to comb them
out"
Il could, of course, but you We no idea
what a fright am without my crimus.
Robert never saw me with my hair
straight, and l know he would hate to
have his mother see me unless was
looking my very, very best OF course.
you know, I have another bang in my
trunk, Edith made this frank confes-
sion with wild instinct that it would be
best for Roberts relatives to know the
worst at once. SO that any possible con-
cessions to be made afterward, though
she would not yet acknowledge the pos
sibility of concession, would strike them
in the hight of unexpected improvement,
but my trunk hasn't come; so if you
EuekIen's Arniea saIVe. t
The best salve 10 the world for Cuts, Bruises ]
oies, Ulcers. Sali Rheum, Fever Sores. letter, l