The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1892-03-02
A STORY BY
H. WALWORTH,
CHAPTER XXI.

curtains OF the pariOr Wlhuo"s III hoi O"A
home. was also watching those first snow
flakes OF the year.
At least. so it appeared to Miss Hlldah,
who was lounging in n big chair before the
fire. In reality, Jeanne was watching Tor
Florence.
She had sent her maid on an GRAND,
and she had been in a dozen different
minds about that errand IN as many
minutes since dispatching her.
The embroidered edges Of the lace cur
tains were suffering at her hands. Her
nervous little fingers had tugged at them
with such unconscious energy that they
had Welded to the unusual strain IN
several places, showing ugly jagged rents
She was certain that Florence had been
absent long enough to have gone to the
studio and back forty times" She had
never yentured there herself since en-
countering Mrs. Roper; but how could
she let the days roll over his poor, sick
head" without letting him know that
somebody besides the doctor and the hired
nurse was thinking about him and caring
for him?
Had she not told him that she would
wait patiently until he was greatY And
would it not comfort him now on his pain
and loneliness to know that she was not
forgetting her promise?
She was sure she had done just the very
s.best thing" and she was not at all sorry.
Onlv. if that horr:d Florence would not
daily so.
A moment later Miss Hildah, turning
her ewes toward the window to make an
observation to her niece upon the eX-
ecrable promptness with which fall had
set in. found that Jeanne was not there.
She had disappeared with the most myte-
rious suddenness, without even the rustic
of a petticoat." the old lady muttered
ENORMOUSLY, taking refuge once more IN
her crochet work.
Jeanne's watch really had terminated
with remarkable suddenness. She had
seen Florence-and-in her hands were
the flowers she had sent Randall Mackaye
and what looked like her own note.
She was in her own room by the time
Florence found her, tossing the contents
of her top bureau drawer about with
reckless assumption of indifference which
was entirely thrown away on the expert
enced FrenchwOman.
Florence walked across the room and
placed the roses in q pitcher OF water, be-
fore making her report.
I'VE have made q mistake" she said,
coollv. LAYING Jeanne's note down on the
toilette table before her.
The wax seal was unbroken.
Mistress and maid looked at each other
silently. Jeannes face was white to the
very lips and there was startled look In
her great innocent eyes.
81 -, -orrr I ccui6 not deliver them
but it was impossible.
"And-why?'
Because NIonsieur's wife has returned.
and it would have been manliestly lndis-
Greet 1 could not injure my young lady's
reputation so thoughtlessly."
"His-wife !"
Florence. the maid, experienced a feet
ing sensation of pity. After all. this
white, trembling girl before her was not a
Lady Eunice. But this white, trembling
girl had once tried TO dismiss her inso-
lently, and Florence never forgave.
"Monsieur's wife" she repeated. ut
would seem that their quarrel is quite
made up. The janitor says everybody is
happy, and now Monsieur will get well.
Let US hope so"
She knew that every word which fell
from her thin, cruel lips struck its own
sldD ~ TIC HOuLE llCoAb VI iicl
tress Jeanne made a feeble effort to say
something, but she could find neither
words or voice. She would like to say
something calm and cleverly deceitful-
something which would make Florence be-
. lieve that she had known all along that
Randall Mackaye had a wife, and that
her own courtesy to him had been simply
the courtesy of an art patron.
Poor little Jeanne No clever lie would
come at her bidding. She just sat there
before her tormentOr feeling all the rich,
warm blood that had been bounding in
her young veins turning to ice, and leav-
ing her cold and numb. She shivered as
II with physical chill. She was slowly
tearing the note into bits.
Florence was behind her in a moment,
tenderly wrapping a shawl about her
trembling shoulders.
"And, Miss LenOx, / have other news
for you. My friend, the janitor, gave it
TO ne. He got it from the elevator boy at
the studio building. and ] believe the ele-
yator boy heard it from the man of the
gentleman who picked Mr.. Chitern up,
but OF that 1 am not quite sure"
In a beWildered way Jeanne gathered
that her maid had picked up some news
among the Iacqueys; bat why should she
intrude il upon her? What was Dolly
divert her. Well, she would be diverted,
if only TO show her that this news about
the sculptor meant nothing to her-liter-
ally nothing.
She turned her face toward the open
drawer once more and bent over mass
of tangled ribbons.
well, Florence, what about the gentle
mans man, and the elevator boy. and Mr..
Chiltern who was picked up? That has
such disreputable sound"
'The janitor says he is very badly in.
jured, perhaps viii carry the scar to his
grave. st least so one OF the walters al
the club told the gentleman's man who
picked him mp. / mean the man of the
gentleman who picked him MP"
''Scar TO his grave. Poor Mrs. Chiltem
She must be almost crazy. But what was
he doing? Did vour footmen and your
waters tell you that?"
''Iie was defending a lady's honor. Mr.
Chiltern is OF tine knightly sort, only Miss
Lenox never seemed to discern it."
Jeanne was looking At her again Will
that wild, hunted look, which ought &c
have dsarmed her, bnt it did not. On
the contrary, this "aifair" mad so many
points of similarity with ner dear Lady
Eunice's romance that Florence quite
reveled in it. As rule she bad found
service IN America rather devoid of in.