San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-02-24

| AS Iney are standing Deneatn HldBhih-
cent beech, they get but taste of the shower
In reality, though Desmond, seeing some
huge drops lying on Monica's thin Whlte
| gown, feels his heart smite him.
| Here, take this" he says, roughly, TAX
| ing off his coat and placing 1t ROUND her
| shoulders
mo, thank you" says Miss Beresford,
stiffly.
you must" returns he, and, to his sur
prise, she makes no further resistance. Per-
haps she is cowed by the authority of his
manner: perhaps she doesn't like the rain
drops.
Encouraged, however, by her submission
to a further daring of fortune, he says, pres
entity
"You might have given Goblet a turn, 1
think, instead of devOting yourself all day
to that egregiOus ass"
HE prefers talking to Hernia. suppose
you don't want me to go up to people and
ask them to be civil to me?"
'Some other fellow, then"
"You would be just as jealous of him,
whoever he was"
II am not jealous at all" Indignantly. 81
only object to your saying one thing to me
and another to him."
what is the one thing say to you%'
This staggers him.
you must find me very monOtonous
person if l say only one thing to you al
ways"
81 haven't found you So"
"Then it-whatever it is must be one of
the most eloquent and remarkable speeches
upon record. DO tell it to me-"
Look here, Monica" says Mr. Desmond,
cautiously evading reply; what want to
know is-what you see in Ryde. He is tall,
certainly, but he is fat and effeminate, with
"a forehead villainOus low"
"Your own is very low," says Miss Beres-
ford.
IF thought it was like his, I'd make
away with myself. And you listen to all
his stories, and believe them every one. l
don't believe a single syllable he says;
never met such bragger. To listen to him,
one would think he had killed every tiger
in Bengal. In my opinion, he never even
sdlD One."
LES absents ont toujours tort" quotes
she, in low, significant tone.
This is the finishing stroke.
"Oh you defend him." he says, as saw
agely almost as one of those wild beasts he
has just mentioned. I'm your eyes he is
hero, no doubt. l dare say all women see
virtue in man who talks as Familiarity of
roaring lions as maids of thirteen do of pup
py-dogs."
II don't think maids of thirteen, as rule
talk much of puppy-dogs. Pm sure Kit
doesn't" says Monica, provokingly. And
really, to do Mr.. Ryde justice too, l never
heard him mention roaring lion. Perhaps
you are thinking of Artemus Wards lion
that goes about seeking whom he may de-
YOUR somebody" She smiles in a madden
ing fashion.
II am thinking of Ryde," says Desmond.
81 am thinking, too, how mad l was when
l thought you liked me better than him. /
did think it, you know; but now the delu-
sion is dispelled. 1t is plain to me you are
infatuated about this fellow, who is per
fumed like milliner' and hasn't two ideas
in his head"
81 can't think where you find all your
quotations." says Monica, who is now seri-
ously annoyed; "but l must ask you not to
worry me any further about Mr.. Ryde."
"You are madly in love with him." says
Desmond, choking with rage. Upon which
Miss Beresford loses the last remnant Of her
patience, and very properly turns her back
on him.
The rain has ceased, but during its reign
has extinguiShed the dying sun, which has
disappeared far below the horizon. A great
hush and silence has followed the petulant
burst of storm, and peace unspeakable lies
on all the land. There is a little glimpse OF
the ocean far away beyond the giant fires,
and one can see that its waves are calm, and
the fishing-boats upon its bosom scarcely
rock.
The grass is bending still with the weight
Of the past rain, and plaintive dripping
from the trees can be heard,-a refreshing
sound that lessons the sense Of heat The
small birds stir cozily in their nests, and now
and then drowsy note breaks from one or
another; a faint mist, white and intangible,
rises from the hills, spreading from field to
sky, until
THE earth, with heaven mingled, in the shad-
owy twilight lay,
And the white sails seemed like specters in a
cloud-land far away"
"Ah you don't like me to say that" says
Desmond, unappeased by the beauty OF the
growing night; but"
do not say another word" says Monica,
imperiously. The moon is rising slowly
slowly,-and so, by the bye, is her temper.
II forbid you. Here" throwing to him his
coat; Il think have before remarked that
the rain is quite over. am sorry l ever
touched anything belonging to you"
Desmond having received the coat, and
put himself into it once more, silence en-
sues. 1t does, perhaps, strike him as
hopeful sign that she shows no haste to re-
turn home and so rid herself of a presence
she has inadvertently declared to be hateful
to her, because presently he says, simply, if
a little warmly
There is no use in our quarreing like
this. l won't give you up without further
struggle, to any man. So we may as well
have it out now. Do you care for that-for
RudaO3