, 1891-05-13
ELEANOR IN LOVE.

She held in her hand the letter. Should
she send it? That moment was one Of
those wistfully critical epochs Of exis-
tence upon which may swing. as upon a
hinge, the door Of destiny.
Eleanor Armstrong stood in doubt
Why? It was a little thing, just n friend
ly letter 70 Jack Renshaw ont in Texas.
What matter? Why should she hesitate?
Eleanor could not tell. Still she lin
gered, dimly president Of that swinging
door Of destiny.
She had written his name across the
envelope; should she complete the ad-
dress and let it go? Hers was n quick.
positive nature, given to the obedience
of impulse. II was yeNing TO be so puz-
zled over so slight n thing.
An accident, il such 1t was, decided
the question. a caller was announced.
She descended to the drawing room, and
the letter went to the box, gathered up
with the rest Of her mail by the hand Of
the maid.
ut was destiny, said Eleanor to her
self in an afterthought.
After all nothing could come of it.
She was under no obligation to Jack
Renshaw. nor to any other man, in fact.
Then she wondered idly IL she ever
should care for any Of them-one more
than another-for Eleanor Armstrong,
while no beauty, had grace and sparkle,
and n subtle personal magnetism which
drew about her plenty Of admirers.
She favored them all by turns. Last
summer it was Lew Hunter. She went
boating with him up in lovely Chocorua,
where they summered, played tennis and
climbed country roads and hills.
He was so strong and good natured,
and made such a good alpen-stock, +" she
Coolly explained TO her aunt, Miss Jane
Mears, who was her careful chaperou.
This year, last past, it was Jack Rem
shaw, Mt the same place, Chocorua-
dear old dreamy town" Eleanor said,
u could never tire Of it." Jack did not
dance, cared nothing for tennis, and had
no experience with oars; but he read
poetry beautifully, and could tell her
charming old idyls as they walked by
the river.
He interested her in a way that Others
did not; and yet he had such a dreadfully
intense earnestness about him That ho
positively frightened her sometimes, she
said.
Now the summer was gone, Jack was
in Texas, and Eleanor was in her city
home with only Aunt Jane and memory.
Yes, there was always Fred Kensel, He
lived in a handsome house up in the
square, with a stylish mother and sisters,
He was the Oldest friend Of all, and was
always at hand, sometimes more thar
Eleanor wished. For in the last yeal
their frank, unrestrained good fellow
ship had in some way taken on a colol
too strong for ordinary friendship. ant
Eleanor often found herself uncomforta
BILE and i'll at ease when Fred was near
She would declare the air was close-sh,
must ave the window open-and wher'
was Aunt Jane3 Or il they were on tn,
street she complained Of his pace: WIN
did he lag so? Couldn't he walk up lik,
any other MANI Poor Fred unwittingly
felt the smart Of many thorns tina
winter.
But about Jack Renshaw; Eleanc
cared nothing for him-she knew sh,
didn't He was a pleasant summe
friend, nothing more. He had hgh
hair; she wouldn't marry a blonde, any
a Then he was too serious, TO,
''preachy." She wasn't going TO MARI,
a g~uideboard. Besides he was all of tel
years older than she-might as well b
her grandfather. No, Jack Renshaw
for anything but a friend, was out of tn
question. Lew Hunter was more to he
mind, and secretly 10 herself, she ewneD
that Mr.. jerome Arthur, the tenor at 81
Paul's, was nearer to her taste tina
either. But Mr.. jerome Arthur was q
vet only "A vague possibility. She ha