Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1888-04-08
title girls, and I did not mean it as fiat

by this umc Dulcle anu nave ny
sumed kind Of fstherly and daughterly
relationship TO each other, and it seems
10 be O pleasure to her to come to me
with little semi-confdences, or to beg for
nv opinion and advice on the tiny inter
ests OF her life. She blushed little at
nv remark and looked conscious-then
said. with childlike ingenuity:
"We did not know each other then.
$50 you are not OLD friends. How
long have you known each other ?"
"Oh, I remember. came here the
end of July, and met him for the first
time on Sundav--just three weeks and
two days ago-coming home from church.
/ beg you pardon. 1t is very
wrong OF me TO come and interrupt you
with my silly talk when you are busy"
/ was reading on the seashore where
she had Joined me. The other two were
at little distance shrmping.
81, like you, am on holiday" l an
swered. "My book can keep, and 1
would rather hear about yourself. Are
you quite alone in the world, Miss
Dulcie ?"
Eyes, now. I am only nineteen,
she said, ssroking out a crease in the
dingy brown frock. land j have no
home, no friends-no one but myself
TO work for"
She did not speak complainingly, but
in dull matter-of-fact way that touched
me. / can see what she wants well
enough, poor forlorn little creature. L
suppose Aubrey st. Quintin will give 1t
to her anyhow he ought TO. IL not, and
il it were possible, | should almost like
to adopt her rs my daughter and see
what | can do to bring some color into
| her cheeks and merriment into her eyes
by giving her new frocks and feminine
| trifes. Pshaw what can this be but
nv dotage coming on? Nevertheless,
when she left me, laid aside my book
and spectacles, and calculated that if
l had married at twenty and be-
come q father at twenty-one L
might have a little girl just Dulcie's
age. Still / am glad [ have not. How
she would disturb the clearness of my
thoughts when / am engaged in some
abstruse calculation, and how all my
bachelor comforts would be destroyed |!
/ suppose it is thinking OF you,
Mabel, that makes me so prosy, so |
warn you that thisis the last letter you will
receive from me for a long time. Per
haps If the fortunes OF Dulcie and Au-
brey become at all complicated | shall
commit the folly Of inscribing them in
my diary for your future edification.
Marry her he must wretched fellow TO
hesitate ! even if have to play go-be-
tween to bring him TO the point. l can
not have my Dulcio made unhappy
MALCOLM FRAzER's "FoLLY HIS
"DIURNAL BOOK.
SEPTEMBER STH.
know now why have taken such a
fancy to Dulcie. 1t is because she re-
minds me of the little girl who gave me
a lock of soft brown hair Il have it still
somewhere or other when / first went to
Oxford. She had eyes like Dulcie, and
/ think / kissed her that day when she
gave me the hair. In fact / know | did.
How well remember it-a brook stud
ded with yellow marigolds, and weeping
willows growing on the margin. No one
could see us under the willows, so |
kissed her, and said I should never for
get her, and she whispered "Oh, come
back soon from Oxford, Malcolm" Per
haps used to think 1 was in love with
her. But I was only nineteen, and at
that time thought more OF taking honors
than of matrimonv. And when l came
back the little girl was gone. Not very
far-only es far as the church-yard.
Poor little girl, and I have lock of her
hair still
will not say that that is why l never
married But l used to think / would
wait until found another little girl just
like that one, and somehow | never
found one until met Dulcie-and. of
course, now it is too late. He is a lucky
fellow, that poet of hers.
To-day met Dulcie coming back from
the Faringdons alone. Every other day
Aubrey has fetched her home, but to-day
Mrs. Gharleton invited him to 60 out sea-
fishing with her, and, as he told Dulcie,
che did not know how to refuse.
You see they are not engaged, so
there is no earthly reason why he should
dance attendance on Dulcie. But there
are tacit understandings that are as
binding as promises, and l can guess
what ne is feeling. He is nice boy,
and don't think he would like to act
dishonorably or unkindly to any one.
But what chance is there for young
man when a beautiful woman falls IN
love with him? He is bound to give IN
sooner or later.
Dulcie still worships her friend Ruby
and trusts her poet But sometimes her
eyes are rather doleful, and | catch her
watching Aubrey wistfully, as if all were
not quite right She and | are better
friends than ever, and she has as good
as confded in me about herself and Au-
brey.
Yesterday she said "If only had
a father, like you, who could advise me
how to act. l am so ignorant Some
times everything seems a puzzle"
So ! told her she might treat me as
her father, and that wished she was my
daughter. So do.
When I met her to-day we chose a
sunny spot on the cliff, and sat there L
with a book from which 1 was taking
notes for a lecture | am to give on my
return to London, she with a we'll
thumbed, ink-stained school lexicon,
over which she had spent many slow
hours, drumming its contents into stub
born little heads. Her eyes were fixed
on small sailing boat out at sea, where
the widow and the poet were pretending
to fish.
ais this what you are teaching them ?"
I asked, pointing to her book; 81 sup
pose you know every word by heart. "
ooh, yes. l am sick Of it, =" she said,
pushing it impstiently from her. Some
times am so tired, SO tired OF it all. 1
cannot help it"
"Poor child" I said, and could not
resist laying my hand over her little
shabbily-gloved one.
at is different for US women, she
went on. GA man has SO many things
to hope for-fame, or success OF some
sort. But We can do nothing. We have
only to 60 on with the same dull work
day after day, day after day, with no.
IL l. l. III =. 81