The record-union., 1892-04-02

,
him. His manhood often stood in arms
! against her when he was most eager to
! gloss over her shortcomings. If he had
dared, he would have protested against
! her renewed intimacy with Rothbury-
/ an intimacy which had got to be by this
tilne flagrantly indiscreet right under his
nose, ana which excited no end OF gossip
and shakings of the head among the wise
I people of FoXton.
Mrs Mayfeld's house was the largest
1 and handSomeSt in FoXton, and the ball
4 was IN all respects memorable affair.
Whatever money, perfect taste, tactful
! hostess, elegant gentlemen from New
York and Newport, and many of the
prettlest women of the day could do
| toward making the ball successful, was
done, and done lavishly. Yet, amid the
/ graceful and charming crowd at Mrs.
MaynelPs there was 10 figure so
uniquely attractive as Dorothy's. There
/ was nothing unusual in that, for Dorothy
was one of those rare persons who are
never oDliterated in a crowd, who stand
out saliently like the vivid lights in a
picture. But on this occasion Dorothy
even surpassed herself. She had gra-
clously permitted John to escort her
from her home 10 Mrs. Mayfield's house;
! she had, indeed, condescended to treat
him with joyous amiability. John was,
therefore, CORRESPONDENCE happy, and
his happiness was intensified when,
after their entrance into the ballroom, he
gaZed, as everyone else gazed, upon her
singular loneliness. He was elated at
! the thought that she belonged to him.
Her physical beauty seemed to magnetic
him. For once he was proud that men
envled him. as he knew they must.
Never before had the spell of her pres
! ence been so dominant over him. He
could not see now the vulgar imperfec-
tons OF her soul through those liquid
rot 10 CIV nnf fan oh or
! golden hair.
! She was dressed simply, but in a man
ner TO show off her beauty effectively.
| Her dress was pure white, with only a
hint OF color skillfully adapted to highten
the transparency of her complexion. The
Tine lines OF her strong, supple figure
were modeStly revealed beneath this airy
| drapery. a small band of diamonds gilt
tered in her hair, and in her hands she
carried bouquet Of pale pink roses. 1t
was certain, John thought, that nature
had never created a tairer vision than
| she.
John was an awkward dancer, and his
stock of small talk was painfully meager.
| In consequence it could not be said that
! he had been cut out for the glamour and
whirl of a ballroom. He was soon
| brought down to harsh realization of
the fact that he occupied the place of a
necessary obstruction, and that Dorothy
:
relief; and as the night wore on, and as
he tried hard to interest himself in the
| almleSs tattle of strangers, it seemed to
him that Dorothy had not only glided
away, but that she had forgotten him. To
tell the truth, she had forgotten him.
| Pleasure meant existence to her, and she
! gave herself up TO it with reckless aban-
donment John watched her-watched
| her with his tumultuous heart in his eyes
and groaned inwardly. The spell was
still upon him. But there was also cruel
disenchantment.
Look at that Marlboro girl" he heard
! one young man say to another, while he
stood where they could not see him. "She's
a thoroughbred-bu what a flirt! pity
that good, stupid old fellow she's en-
gagged to-"
"Oh ~ laughed the second, shell lead
him queer life if she marries him. But,
take my word for it, she never will marry
him. They say she broke once with
Rothbury, but anyone with eyes can see
she is bound TO hook Rothbury after ALL"
Yes, anyone with eyeS-anyone except
John-could see that her mind was set on
something in which he had no part. She,
indeed, might still seek to deceive her.
self; then she was false to herself, as to
/ others. And it had come to this-to this
To learn from strange, Indifferent lips
| the miserable truth which he had not
dared to face, not dared to acknowledge
How his heart had cried, ''She loves
mep How tenaciously he had repeated,
/ ''She loves me ~
Could it be a fact-a mean, loathsome
fact-that she had used him for her
amusement; that, while she was betray-
| ing him, she was actually bound to Roth
| bury? John recalled what Rothbury
had said to him when they had met in
the street that day-that day which filled
| him at once with despair and determine
| H. nj .QVtn N " oil
defeat with remarkable equanimity. Was
| this but part of some ingenious scheme?
No: John could not believe that his des-
poiled saint was so vile sinner. Shocked
from his last hold on the woman he
! loved, from his last tender faith in her. he
did not know what to believe.
John had chated before, as we know;
| his course of love had not run quite
smoothly; things had not been as they
might have been. But serious distrust OF
| Dorothy had not entered his thought
until now. And serious distrust meant
| so much to such man! For John there
! was but one step from hope to tragedy.
The words which he had Just listened to
scorched his heart and left him like
child cropping in the dark.
He was numb and cold as he rode back
! with Dorothy after the ball. There was
no trace of hardness in his manner to-
| ward her-only something that she had
not noticed before. But, conscious that
She had been acting contemplate part
all the night, conscious that her public
treatment of him had been worse than
unwomanly, she was grateful for his
Somber, silent mood. She was not in the
least remorseful. She felt like those who
hate most those whom they wrong most.
And so she shrugged her shoulders.
| looked out upon the starlight, and said
nothing,
When they parted she breathed with
relief. THANK heaven, he's gonep' she
cried, as she went to her room. And
later, smiling at herself in the mirror.
| she added, what man for a husband
| | have been fool | must end this silly
engagement before it, grows into a scan
dal. Yes, l shall look very well and do
very well as Lady Rothbury."
How could she get rid af John? That
was the question which perplexed her.
She had no pity for him. When she
awoke in the morning the same question
still worried her. 1t would not have
worried hor if she had been less a cow
ard. She was still afraid of John, though
she was not afraid to wrong him and
break his heart.
In the afternoon, as usual, John called
upon her. Never had she seemed to him
in gayer humor; and if he had not lust
gone through the hardest moral fight of
his life, and gone through it with noble
| heroism, though with pitiable anguish,
he might have faltered in the strong re-
solve which he had taken. As 1t was, he
appeared grave and self-contained. much
| to her satisfaction. For she had dreaded