Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1889-03-23
ADDENBROOKE.
III never do You wrong for your own sake
ANS WeE that Ends H-ei

marry her.
She was standing at the window. her eyes
mechanically following the familiar, insignif-
cant figure of the professor. as he plodded
down the gravel walk to the gate. and when he
passed from view she sat down in the nearest
| chair and continued her reflections 1t was
very strange. She had no love to give him,
and had told him So quite frankly; he must
know, as every one knew. of that miserable
! affair with Lawrence Fleming; was he not
Jennings most intimate friend the last per-
| son who had seen him before he went to Africa?
Moreover. her glass had taken TO rejecting
woman who was sad and pale and old before
her time; surely not the woman with whom a
man would be expected TO wish to begin his
life.
When we have become to ourselves daily
burden it is so hard TO realize that our pres
ence can be desired of Others
And yet she had been aware of Alden
brooke's devotion from the days of the good
but obstinate little boy with a taste for chemi-
cal experiments to those of the modest Young
man, who lurked unobstrusivelv in doorways
for the purpose of saying goodnight to her.
and was always at hand to fill MP vacancies She
had been aware Off but had given it little heed
now, in her loneliness, her sorrow, the thought
| OF that devotion moved her strangely
She had seen herself drifting on to middle
! age, haggard. loveless unloved; the sorriest of
SpCStdcie5. tilc ClnOllOUdl WOMAN whose emo
lions have wrecked her. Addenbrooke and Ad-
denbrookes love interposed themselves like a
| shield between her and her fate.
She had given him no answer. but she knew
by now what her answer would be.
! The door opened and Mrs. Grey her mother,
| came into the room.
| She sat down in silence--a chill comfortess
presence-and regarded her daughter from the
| distance.
| These two women lived together without
nj 10 off Nrc
| capable OF making sacrifices. but she lacked
| the priceless gift of home-making. while Lydia.
on her part. chafed beneath the restrictions of
a relationship in which neither affinity nor
| affection bore part.
so it was to be johnny Addenbrooke. after
! all. reflected Mrs. Grey; "a Gower-street pro-
fessor of no particular distinction. Well, Lydia
was getting on and. if good girl means to
marry. She had better manage to do so before
she is hve-and-twentv. And there had been
nothing, it seemed, in that affair with young
| Fleming" Mrs Grey was disappointed. /. is
| true that Fleming father kept glove shop in
| Regent street whereas the Addenbrookes had
| been gentlefolks for generations: but nobody
minded that sort of thing in these days. Law
renee Fleming went everywhere. did every
! thing; his new book from Africa had made him
more of lion than ever; hence, he more
to be desired as husband than poor Johnny,
who went nowhere to speak of, and did moth
| ing but his work.
Lydia rose slowly and went over to the wri-
| ting-table
| As she took up her pen. the whimsical thought
| struck her that, when the other children had
! carried their pence to the sweet-shop. Johnny
had always preferred to invest his capital in
mysterious compounds at the chemists. A
faint smile lowered about her lips as she wrote.
| When the letter WAS finished. she laid her head
| a moment on the desk and shut her eyes. The
old dream. from which she was turning for
ever. had rushed with cruel vividness into her
| consciousness:
Bnt dieh Cot ss S war ~ sfhOn
| She rose stiff and cold, and went over to her
| mother.
| Lydia was graceful creature, tall, slight
| faintly-colored; some people thought her beau
tiful others could see no beauty in her what
ever.
Mamma" she said. in her strange pathetic
voice. professor Addenbrooke has asked me to
marry him, and have written to say yes"
| III.
| Addcnbrooke was spending the evening as
usual with Lydia at st. Johns Wood. They
were alone together, Mrs. Grey having dis
crectly retired to her own room, and the talk
between them flowed with the ease of intimacy
and affection.
| 1t was now three weeks since their engage
| ment. and already something of Addenbrooke's
calm happiness was beginning to be reflected
| i'll Lydia's face. She appreciated, what only
! woman can appreciate, the consciousness of
making another's happiness by the mere fact of
her presence. That is. think, pleasure too
subtle for the masculine palate. Now, as she
| laid her hand lightly on his. she enjoved as it
were a reflection of the delight which she knew
| herself to be comforting by the act.
johnny" said she. will you let me tell you
| tonight what have always meant to tell you?
about myself and-that other person." She
| finished her phrase thus vaguely, not doubling
| but that Addenbrooke had mentally rounded
| it off with greater accuracy; somehow her lips
| refused to utter the name of Lawrence Fleming.
| My dear" he answered gently, tell me
| nothing which distresses you. / don't want to
know. ] know you have been very unhappy;
| but one day. assure you, you are going to be
| happier than ever"
| She smiled half sadly Johnny let me tell
! you. | think l ought Perhaps. when you
| have heard you will want to go away from me
| from a woman who has been SO cruelty humil-
| lated"
| He laughed. drawing closer to her in the fire.
light.
since that's it, LYDIA perhaps you'd better
tell mer'
! He saw that she would never rest till she had
! disburdened her mind of the old, unhappy
things, about which personally he had small
| desire to learn.
They were so infinitely touching. these poor
women and their love-stories; their anxious in
! depreciation of looks and words and smiles;
their pathetic, careful gathering-up of crumbs
so carelessly scattered.
|
| story in the strange, uncertain voice which,
from his boyhood upward, had had power to
| thrill John Addenbrooke to the inmost depths
| of his being.
| 1T is nearly year ago." she began. sat the
| Meades place in Warwickshire. l arrived on
| March 20 and stayed week. 1t began from
| the beginning. When l walked into the draw
| ing-roOm where he was standing by the tea
| table it seemed that l had walked into new
| and strange and wonderful world. l lived in
that world for a week, and 1t was like lifetime.
! Looking back, it astonishes me how everyone
| else at once accepted the situation. Then l
| no more questioned it than l questioned the
rising of the sun. The day came when was
| to go. and he had said nothing definite to me-
| |. living in my FOOLS paradise, neither sur
| prised nor afraid. At last. an hour before |
| left, he took me in his arms and kissed my lips,
and told me that he would follow me the next
| day."
| That's enough" said Addenbrooke, in low
voice, .'he was brute. Let hear no more
| about him..
| There is nothing more to hear" she an
| swered with bitterness, THAT is the end Of my
| story A week later l heard he had gone
| abroad"
Addenbrooke put his arm about Lydia. and
drawing her head to his shoulder, stroked her
| hair backward and forward with his kind hand
Her recital had panied him. lie knew the
perfidy of his sex, but this particular offender
| had gone beyond all recognized limits; limits
| which, in his own person. Johnny had always
| Of ~