Abilene weekly reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1888-1935, 1889-10-24
PRINCE CHARMING.
His Fondest Hopes Crushed at a
Single Blow.

Single Blow.
You ought to be ashamed of your
self. GwendOlenm
Mrs. John Walters spoke with con-
siderable emphasis, but without pro-
ducing any visible effect on the smiling
face which Gwendolen turned to her
from the window.
"And why ought l to be ashamed
of myself, Sylvia" she replied. good
humoredly. when aperson is very
much bored in dull London lodgings,
may not that person take her painting
to the window and make a study of the
bricks and mortar on the opposite side
Of the street? l assure you, Sylvia,
that. when it is finished-if it ever is
finished-it will be a most original
thing in studies"
Il tell you, Gwen" repeated Mrs.
Walters-ignOring the explanation
THAT you ought to be ashamed of
yourself. You know you don't care a
bit to make a study of bricks and NOR
tar any more than do myself. You
only want a real good excuse for stand
ing there the whole morning and look
ing across the street at the opposite
house"
Il confess" replied Gwen, with the
same imDerturbable smile, that you
have fathomed my motive; but l am
not in the least ashamed of myself.
You see, unless Iwere to dress up as a
hOusemaid, 1 could not stand at the
window for more than quarter of an
hour without some respectable pre-
tense. think the ingenuity of mine
reflects credit on my inventive powers;
and | don't really see," she resumed
after a pause. why you should try to
lecture me because | am interested in
a handsome Prince Charming who lives
over the way. 4 couple of years ago,
before you married, l guess you would
have been capable of something quite
as reprehensible. You were nineteen
then, and am barely twenty now. If
you flirted. as you know you did"
That is neither here nor there,
Gwen" interrupted Mrs. Walters,
with slightly heightened color. ~
may have done silly things in my time;
but there was always some one to keep
me in order. | am not so particular
with you as mother and Aunt Lucy
were with me-"
Mother and Aunt Lucyw echoed
Gwen, cOntemptuously. You don't
mean to say you are going to take on
the tone of a middle-aged woman? l
wouldn't be middle-aged just yet, if
were you. l thought at first, when l
told you about Prince Charming across
the street and how eagerly he watched
us once or twice, that you were going
to be quite as much amused by it as
am: when suddenly, for some mex
plicable reason. you draw in your
horns, and have a violent attack of
propriety."
.Gwendolen," said Mrs. Walters,
'.you know quite well l did not en-
courage you. You know have scarcely
seen the man."
We'll, you had better come to the
window and look at him now" said
Gwen, with the same unruffled equa-
nimity. He is at the window for the
twentieth time, l should think. o
dear Gwen sighed to think
that We are only separated by few
yards of street! How wide is a street.
Sylvia? / haven't notion. What a
pity there is no mutual friend who
could bridge it over by an introduce
tionr'
Gwen" said Sylvia, making a sud-
den attempt to turn the conversation,
don't you think to-day we might go
and buy those things | want for the
drawing room? We have scarcely
done any shopping yet"
shopping calculated Gwen; shop
ping has no interest left for me. What
is the use of going to Liberty's and
choosing pretty things for drawing
room in an Out-of-the-way Cornish vii
lage, where no one knows one fashion
from another? 1t is perfectly prepos-
terous.n
And GwendOlen heaved another sigh.
Poor Gwen" said Sylvia, looking
at her sister with affectionate concern.
I'm afraid your life is rather dull
one Just at present"
You're afraidrh re-echoed Gwen.
Indeed, there is no doubt at all upon
the subject Nevertheless, 1 am not
the person to be pitied most. I'm not
absolutely obliged to live year out and
year in at st. Pinnock, nor to come to
these dull London lodgings. My lord
and master is a dream of the future, a
castle in the air, lay figure on which
to hang all my ideals; not a grizzly
bearded parsonage, who buries you and
himself at the remotest corner of No
Mans lard. and who only comes to
town TO urrow in the library of the
British Museum. No, you needn't call
me poor Gwenr it would be more to
the purpose il you called yourself
poor Sylviar "
Really, Gwendolen--" began