Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1890-09-18

leaves in his foreground.
How nice it would be- said Alice,
If Mrs. Esterfeld could come here
and look at your work .... .r
Don't mention such thing, pray,
said the artist, laughing. I've the
greatest respect for her, Of course, and
consideration, and all that sort OF
things; but between ourselves, Miss
Alice, we're a great deal more peace
full here without her than with her.
She can't help scolding and fretting
and finding fault, be added apologet-
ically, as Alice looked reproachfully
at him. It's her nature, l suppose.
Poor fellowP thought Alice. 'But
he ought not to speak so of his wifell
She began to wonder what sort Of
q person Mrs. Esterfeld was as to
looks. Was she pretty? Was she
young? .....,.. .se
Yet Alice was too proud to ask
questions of anybody, and she was
delighted when there came an order
for a tainted conch shell from a
French lady at the hotel, who desired
it for souvenir.
i will take it there myself, she
thought, and ! shall see Mr.. Ester
fields wife. And then-then l think
l had better accept Cousin PrideauHs
offer to Plymouth to teach her little
girls .a,g,g .. Itsi
For Alice had just begun 10 be con-
sclous that she was becoming too in.
terested in Gordon Esterfeld. He
was so young, SO handsome, SO enthu.
siastic in art--and even the fact of
that great trial Of his existence, the
crippled wife, lent an additional gla-
NOR to his surroundings. ..'
The lady was charmed with the
painted conch she'll ........ ..,....
Il shall show it to Madame Ester.
field,' she said. 'She is a critic-she
knows all of art sg...4.f ,r-..,
And Alice timidly followed her into
a shaded room, where, wrapped in
shawls, pallid, middle aged person
age lay on sofa. .' -
It's pretty WE'LL she said, discon-
tentedly, surveying the she'll It's
crude-all these things are crude.
What can a young girl know of
true art feeling? Nobody understands
it-not even Gordon. Where's the
yong woman2 Let her come in. Let
her come around by the window where
I can see her. The tables were turn
ed. Alice had come to see Mrs. Es-
terfield, and Mrs. Esterfeld was de.
termined to see her. Blushing deep.
ly she obeyed. The yellow fased little
lady took long stare at her.
well, said she, you are pretty.
He said so, but I didn't believe him.
Sit down. Let me talk to YOU
mo, thanks, cried Alice, feeling as
if all her veins were filed with fire.
PsI Il want to go back home now;
grandfather will be wanting me-
And she made her exit with more
vehemence than ceremony. --
County bredp said Mrs. Esterfield
lifting her tow colored eyebrows.
That is plain enoughl But prettyp
How pity him!-oh, how sorry I
feel for him!' Alice kept repeating to
herself as she hurried home.
Perhaps, also, she pitied herself a
little, for the tears kept trickliug down
her cheeks like soft, slow drops of
summer rain.
Alice! Why, what is the matter?
1t was Gordon Esterfeld's voice.
He was close behind her, in the
narrow Cornish lane, where the path
was carpeted with yellow leaves.
She tried desperately to recover
herself.
The matter? Nothing! Why
should any thing be the matter?' re-
torted she. g
you are crying.
4 am not crying! Why should l be
|cryingT "A Ay
Alice viii, you not tell mes Dear
Alice, Love you! 7 was coming this
yerylday to ask you to benny wife he
pleaded. a VA vsasss
She turned on him. with crimsoned
cheeks and flashing eyes,
'How dare you thus insult me?' she
exclaimed. go to your poor deluded
wife' ~ q a.
ss.Alicel' he cried, swhat on earth are
you talking about? I haven't got any
wife, I never had a wife. And I
never shall have, unless you will say
yes to me. $40 i,
But Mrs. Esterfeid, in the hotel?
She's my aunt he explained You
don't mean to say that you thought
she was-my wife"
The comic dismay of his tone, the
revulsion of feeling in Alice Aylmer's
own heart, were too much for her.
She burst out laughing, then she
began to ory And by the time that
Mr.. Esterfeld had succeeded in COM
forting her, they we're engaged.
sBut, faltered Alice, 4 thought you
were poor artist! I felt so sorry for
you '.
PITY is kin to love- Mr.. Ester.
fold rosnonded T am an artist. hut