The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1891-12-12
say, II can never be grateful enough {

say, II can never be grateful enough {,
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"Well, Hermione,D answered her cousin
AL have to say is, mind you never le
| your husband know the part have played
in it.n
He would never forgive me If he did,
said Hermione, as the door was banged
and the carriage was driven rapidly away
Lord Marlborough turned back into the
house, his heart aglow with the conscious
ness of the good Office he had performed
for the sculptor. The latter turned away
down the street, half mad with hatred to
ward his generous hearted friend.
Meanwhile Hermione was bordering on
her way home how to best apprise her hus
band of the news of the contemplated visit
to his studio ofthe exalted connoisseur, on
whom she had succeeded in making most
favorable impression. More than once
Pygmalion had declared that he was the
only other person living whose opinion oil
his work he would care to have, and now
she was the means of bringing about the
desired consummation. She would make
her old Lion" guess first, and then she
would tantalize him with all sorts of sug.
gestions, and then she would put off tell.
would relent and know the rapturous en-.
joyment of showing how, all the time he
had been thinking she preferred the Hun
garian reception to his company, she had
been doing violence to her own inclinations
so as to further his interests Her heart
was ell aglow with pleasurable excitement
as she let herself into the dimly lighted
hall. Turning the gas out, she went up to
her room, expecting TO find Pygmalion fast
asleep; but the bed was untouched. He
must have staid late in his studio. She
would go and tell him her news there.
Down stairs she found all dark and de
serted. Her husband had evidently gone
out for one of his nocturnal tramps How.
ever, here was the sofa on which she had
posed for her portrait. She would lie
down there, and. naturally throwing her
self down IN the self same attitude in
which she was to be immortalized, Her.
mione blew out her candle and awaited her
husbands return in the dim light of the
warm summer night. She knew that be
would come there before going up TO bed
for his old SLOUGH Bohemian hat--which he
was only allowed to wear after dark, and
which was relegated on pain of total ban
ishment to this part of the house-was not
on its accustomed peg. In few minutes
she was fast asleep, worn out by the fatigue
and excitement of the day.
All this time Pygmalion was trudgiug
homeward in anything but an angelic
frame Of mind. Indeed, by the time he
reached the door of his house he had a
regular DEVILS tattoo beating in his brain.
He felt desperate, reckless, disposed TO tear
something to pieces, 20 Treak vengeance
upon something or somebody. His wife
was false to him. The marble portrait
which he was going TO hand down TO the
ages was the preSentment of deceitful,
perjured woman. Was he, like Don Juan
Rocca, in Calderon's play, going TO have
his name banded around as another
Painter of His Own Dishonor;" Thank
heaven. that at least he could put out tbs
power Of pOsterity.
The house was still as death. In the dim
light Of the studio the positions of the
white marble and clay figures could barely
be distinguished Over where the chef
d'Guvre lay heavy draperies cast z.deepeI
shade Pygmalion gropsd his way IN, his
brain s6zms with his jealous, unre2son-
ing madness. His accustomed hands SCOT
found chisel and heavy steel msIiet. ana
IN moment he stocsl over the prostrats
white figure, which his eyes could but
dimiy outline. For one instant he hest
tated. Through his madness rose . no
mentary regret that so beautiful a thiRz
should be destroyed But ,he sense OF his
own dishonor rushed IN npoa hin aod
drove down the feeble regret
II Eeryed his arm and gave him double
strength He raised his mziiet ard dealt
the sccurssd thing swinging blow. Great
Go1Y what was that that stayed his hand
as he held Il kizs for reDet1tions Ssre.y