Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-02-01

nose-not bad nose in its way but speaking
volumes for the character Of the nosee. A pert
nose-straight and delicate in line, but with
| Just that upward tilt which means vanity and
self-consciousness."
Il suppose now you sre a kind of brother you
are going to be rude to me-" said l.
Decidedly. l mean to take every fraternal
| privilege" answered he.
| And then. without a word of warning he
kissed me. ! was desperately angry.
That is fraternal privilege which you will
please to forego in the future" said. Il
| adopted your father for my uncle when you
were a small schoolboy. but 1 never adopted
You. And in our enlightened age no one sup
poses that you are any more my brother be-
cause your father has married my mother than
you were yesterday when they we're only en-
| gagged"
"But just now You said was your brother.
What an inconsistent girl you are"
II said a kind of brother"
"Not the real thing. Very well. Daisy, hope
| you may never want to put me upon the fra
ternal level can assure you that don't de-
| sire it"
This was so rude on his part that lost my
| temper altogether.
| You are a SNUG" said.
| Itrembled when had uttered that awful
| word, expecting that he would want to ami
hilate me, but he only laughed, which was
| worse.
| 81 am getting behind the scenes" he said
sand my first discovery is vixen in the
! family"
We are at home by this time, and went into
/ luncheon.
1t was not a very gay feast, though Uncle
| Ambrose looked intensely happy. l had been
| surprised by his appearance as he stood beside
| my mother at the altar.
| He had been gradually changing for the bet
| ter in his looks and bearing ever since he was
| engaged, but on his wedding day the transfer
| nation seemed to have completed itself. He
| who used to stoop now carried himself with an
| erect and noble air. His clear blue eyes
seemed to have more color in them; and, oh
there was such look OF happiness in every
line of his face.
Then. as for his clothes, he who used to wear
a coat that was almost disgracefuily shabby
was now dressed to perfection, neither toe
young nor too old. l really felt proud OF
| Uncle Ambrose as / watched him leave the
| church with my mother ON his arm, and later
/ when we were all clustered at the gate to see
| them start for their honeymoon. And then
| as he babe me goodbye, could but think oil
that other parting. seven years ago-the part
ing which meant for ever.
| The carriage drove away, with one of nv
| shoes flying after it, thrown by Cyril, who has
| a great reputation for throwing the hammer
| and who threw my poor little bronze slipper Sc
! as to lodge it between the carriage and the
| lamp, like decoration. i had to hop back ia
the hall, which seemed so ridiculous that while
was ready TO cry at parting with my mother,
| the absurdity of the thing made me laugh in
| stead, and then, three minutes afterward, the
laughter and tears got mixed and was sobbing
| Historically on CyriPs shoulder.
Aunt Emily took me away from him and
scolded me for being so foolish as to make such
| a fuss for such a brief parting.
You Will see your mother again in a week,
you silly child" she said; lone would think
she was going to Australia. Why, my girls
and l are sometimes parted for six or eight
weeks at a time"
"But they are used to it, answered, as in
! deed they are, poor things, and have been from
their infancy. Its different with mother and
me. We have never lived apart"
i ran upstairs soon as / could slip away
from the family party and had a comfortable
cry in my own room while Flora and Dora
played tennis with Cyril and Beatrice. They
were all very noisy, SO l suppose they were en-
joying themselves. Even though 1 was SO
miserable | couldn't help noticing the differ
ence between Beatrice's country noise and Flo
and Dos London noise. My cousins are what
people call stylish girls, and have a dashing
off-hand way of talking and doing everything.
Beatrice, on the other hand. has kind of
numbering vivacity, which / hope it is not i'll
na:ured to compare with o brewer horse in
high spirits.
Aunt Emily and the cousins were installed at
River Lawn for week, and at the end of that
week aunt was to take me to Folkestone to join
mother and her new husband and from Folke-
stone we were to start for Switzerland
Oh, how l counted the hours in that week.
and how it seemed to me as if those seven days
and nights would never come to an end! How
/ sickened of tennis and boating. and of all the
things which amused my cousinsl How l sick
ened even OF Cyril, who used to come across
from the cottage at all hours. and who devoted
himself to Flora and Dora and was very kind
In asking me to join in their boating excursions
up or down the river. They used to start soon
after breakfast with well-filled picnic basket
and land at any spot they fancfed and eat their
inrna IN fstrr
came home to afternoon tea sunburned to a
degree that Mortified Aunt Emily.
Are you aware that your complexion will
never recover from such treatment as this?''
| she asked them solemnly.
Cyril was to start for his travels on the day
| set out upon mine. He was going to the Nor
| wegian FjOrds to fish for salmon. cannot I'M
derstand the rage some people have for chilly,
half-civillZed countries, when there are all the
| glories and grandeur of the south waiting to be
| looked at. Imagine anybody preferring Nor
way to Venice! Cyril does. Venice is so triste.
he said. And then he promised me that if
were a very good little girl and sent him a nice
long gosslplng letter every week he would go to
Venice just to see if were dying Of too much
| Paul Veronese.
''You will be dosed with that fellow and his
| school," he said; made to look up at ceilings
| till your eyes and your neck ache If people
would only let one alone in foreign cities travel
ing would not be half such a trial as it is; but
there Is always the intelligent companion bent
upon improving ones mind"
Cyril has grown blase from having been al
| lowed to go wherever he chose. He has seen all
that Is best worth seeing in Europe and a sunny
| corner Of Africa into the bargain. he has trav-
eled all through Greece and thinks no more OF
Marathon than l do of Maidenhead l some
| times think it has been a misfortune for him to
have SO much money, and that he would be
| ever 30 much nicer if Uncle Ambrose had never
| come into his fortune. He Is kind and gener-
| Gus and high-spirited but he thinks lust a
| little too much of himself and he seems To
| think the world is hardly good enough for him
| to live in.
| Mother was at the station to meet me when
| the train went slowly over the house tops into
| Folkestone. How young and handsome she
| looked in her dark brown tailor gown and nea,
/ brown hat. and what moment of bliss it was
for me when she clasped my hands and gave
me one discreet little kiss.
"Are you happy, mother, and are YOU still
| fond OF me?" asked her in a breath
Eyes to both foolish questionsS See, Daisy
| have you not a word for"
She stopped embarrassed, looking at her
husband who came up at this moment after
having sent off his servant to help my maid
with the luggage
"Yes, have plenty of words for Uncle Am.
| brose," / said, giving him both my hands
/ Gracious, what a grand person you have
| grown, and ever SO many years younger;
| think you must have concocted one of those
wonderful philters that have read about in
| Horace"
"Yes, Daisy. have drunk of a philter, but
| not one of those nasty compounds which wicked
witches produce. My philter has been happi-
| ness"
| Il really half suspect Won are a second doc.