Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1893-08-19
The Duchess in Temple Bar.

%D tnat SHOWS ltSsil
the masses OF old
world flowers, care
lessly and artistically put together. that
adorn the one table and the two brackets,
filling all the tiny apartment with their sub
tie perfume
Inc windows opening to the ground are
thrown wide open. Outside. the garden lies
painting In the sunshine. There is the sad
lowing as of many cows In the far distance.
All the land lies Quivering in Its heat A
faint useless little breeze comes !azily into
the room, ruffiing the ancient curtains that
are drawn closely together in vain effort
to exclude the sun.
Poor Mr.. Norwood, with a praiseworthy
determination to seem quite the contrary, is
looking the very picture of misery. He has
been dragged from his sanctum and his be-
loved AldineS. Bodonis. Elzevirs, to inter-
view. or rather be interviewed by. fashion
able young man fresh from town, who,
though his nephew. is to him an utter stran-
ger.
Conversation for the last five minutes has
been growing more and more lansuid. Now
II threatens to cease altogether. The host
Is at his wits end, the fashionable young
man Is looking distinctly bored. 1t is there
Tore with q glance full of rapture. and a
nobly suppressed sigh Of extreme relief,
that Mr.. Norwood hears step upon the
gravel outside, that comes quickly nearer
1t is-it must. be--Monica, to the rescue!
Now one of the windows is darkened: a
figure, stepping airly from the bright SUN
curtains with both hands, and gazes inQIir-
tngly around.
AS her glance falls upon .he strange
young man. II alters from expectation to
extreme surprise-not confusion, or embar
rassment of any kind, but simple honest
surprise, visitors at the cottage being lew
and far between. and as rule exceedingly
i'll to look at.
The strange young man returns her gaze
with generous interest, and surprise that
outdoes her own. For full half minute
ct,n C~n dc wit he or,rf Of hhld
either hand. and then she advances slowly.
She is dressed in a gown of oxford
shirting-very plain; very inexpensive; 1T
suits wonderfully the grave, childish face
above it, with its frame of light brown
hair SO like the color OF an unripe chest
nut. Her eyes are blue as the heavens
above her; her mouth trife large per-
haps, but very serious and very sweet.
Come here. Monica, and let me make
you known to your cousin, George Nor
wood" says her father very proudly. The
pride is all concentrated in his daughter
In his soul he deems a king would be hon
ored by such an Introduction.
At this she comes closer. and places
small, slim hand in her Cousins.
II should have known. of course" she
train of thought Il heard you had come TO
the court"
you must be good friends with him,
Monica" says Mr.. Norwood, nervously.
He Is your only cousin. You know-except
Julia"
"Yes;"-she is smiling now-"we shall be
friends, of course!' Then more directly to
the man who is still holding her hand. as
though he has actually forgotten it is In
his possession, AS my father likes you. 1t
follows that l shall like YOU. too"
"Ah!' says George Norwood. with an an
swering smile that renders his face quite
beautiful. then l owe your father debt
of gratitude l shall not easily repay.
sMr. Norwood has been getting nearer and
nearer to the door by fine degrees Monica,
without seeming TO notice this. says gently:
go back TO your books, papa will take
care of-of-my cousin"
At this Mr.. Norwood beats a thankful re-
treat leaving the two young people alone;
George suddenly. She has seated herself
on very ancient sofa, and II regarding
him thoughtfully.
"When?"
over my name"
Because 1 didn't quite know what to
call you. Your being my cousin does not
prevent your being perfect stranger-and
n stranger. l suppose. ought to be called
Mr.. Norwood.
IF YOU call me that / shall be unhappy
forever. says George Norwood; Besides.
you can't, you know, because I shall cer-
nica.''
"Oh! at that rate" says she. smiling
again.
Presently as he stands upon the hearth
rug he lifts his eyes and fastens them upon
a portrait that hangs above the chimney
What a charming facet" he says. What
a compexion-and eyesr'
Yes. it is lovely! 1t is my grandmother.
Don't you think the mouth and nose like
papa's?'
1.-THE very image" says George Norwood
He doesn't think it bit. but seeing she
plainly expects him to say it, he does his
duty like man. 1T is a perfect face. But
the eyes-they are your own, surely
Are they? Do you know l never look at
that picture without feeling bitteri' She
laughs she says this, in a way that pre-
cludes the idea that acrimony of any sort
could belong to her: 1T was the only thing
my grandfather left papa. He male par
ticular point of it in his will. that 1t should
be given to him. When he had carefully
cut him off to shilling, ne bestowed urcn
The eldest sons portion to be mere por-
trait! While the second and third sons chill
brance comes to her, she reddens and grows
pardon" she says softly; Il had forgotten
ycn We're the child hi Of the second syn
will"
of his mother. says Monica hastily He
adored her. She did all she knew TO make
grandfather destroy his first will, and leave
everything; as was only right to my father.
She gained her point. too, but when she
died he forgot his promise and everything,
and betrayed the dead, you can See" She
makes mournful gesture toward the room
that so painfully betrays their poverty.
My father as the second son was badly
treated too" says Norwood, anxious. he
hardly knows why, to create feeling Of
sympathy between them.
Not so badly. By leaving the property
to you and Julia, the daughter of his third
son. on condition you marry each other, he
provided for both the children Of the
younger sons. For me he did nothing. He
never forgave papa's marriage. You will
marry Julia. Of course?"
She Is regarding him seriously, and he
laughs little and colors beneath her gaze
Il dare say he says lightly. ut would
year, and II 1 refuse she gets all, and am
in the cold. AS am heart whole / may as
well think about it; that is, If she will have
the goodness to accept me-"
She will" says Monica. with a certain
meaning in her tone. III she refused, She
go to you. and she is fond Of" she piuses
II dare say you will get on very well to-
gether," she continues hastily. And as
you are heart whole, as you say, 1t really
cannot much matter"
What can't NATTER"
Your marrying for money"
And II was not quite free-if my heart
with an anxiety to know her opinion that
astOnishes even himself.
Then 1t would be disgraceful Of YOU and
contemplate" returns she SERIOUSLY hut
without haste. Perhaps she thinks she ha g
spoken too severely, because presently she
And then. after a little bit, he saws good
bye to her, and goes out into the gleaming
sunshine, and all the way up the grand ola
court that may, or may not be his as his
will dictates), and into 1t he carries not the
race of the cousin who reigns there and
a soft vision glad with eyes that shine LII q
SaDDhireS, and Suuburnt hal