Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1893-12-14

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Ida gave little pout and shrug to her
shoulders. "The solicitor general then
opened the case for the prosecution" said
she. You are going to cross examine
me, Clara, 50 don't deny it. l do wish
you would have that gray satin foulard
of yours done up. With little trim
ming and new white vest it would
look as good as new. and it is really very
dowdy."
"You were quite late upon the lawn" :"
said the inexorable Clara.
"Yes l was, rather. So were you.
Have you anything to tell me?' She
broke away into her merry, musical
laugh.
Il was chatting with Mr.. Westma-
cott."
"And was chatting with Mr.. Denver.
By the way, Clara, now tell me truly,
what do you think of Mr.. Denver? Do
you like himF Honestly nowr'
81 like him very much indeed. think
that he is one of the most gentlemanly,
modest, manly young men that I have
ever known. So now, dear, have you
nothing to tell me?" Clara smoothed
down her sisters golden hair with a
motherly gesture and stopped her face to
catch tine expected confidence. She could
wish nothing better than that Ida should
be the wife of Harold Denver, and from
the words which she had overheard as
they left the lawn that evening she could
not doubt that there was some under
standino befuean them
But there came no confession from
Ida, only the same mischievous smile
and amused CLEAN in her deep blue eyes,
"That gray foulard dress" began.
"Oh, you little tease! Come now, l
will ask you what you have just asked
me. Do you like Harold Denver"
"Oh, he's darlingw
"Ida!"
"Well, you asked me. That's what l
think of him. And now, you dear old
inquisitive, you will get nothing more
out of me, so you must Just wait and
not be too curious. I'm going off to see
what papa is doing" She sprang to her
feet, threw her arms round her sisters
neck, gave her final squeeze and was
gone. A chorus from "Olivette," sung
in her clear contralto, grew fainter and
fainter until it ended in the slam of a
distant door.
But Clara Walker still sat in the dim
Lit room with her chin upon her hands
and her dreamy eyes looking out into
the gathering gloom. 1t was the duty
of her, maiden, to play the part of
mother-to guide another in paths which
her own steps had not yet trodden. Since
her mother died not thought had been
given to herself; all was for her father
and her sister.
In her own eyes she was herself very
plain, and she knew that her manner
was often ungracious when she would
most wish to be gracious. She saw her
face as the glass reflected it, but she did
not see the changing play of expression
which gave it its charm-the infinite
pity, the sympathy, the sweet woman
iness which drew toward her all who
were in doubt and in trouble, even as
poor, slow moving Charles Westmacott
had been drawn to her that night. She
was herself, she thought, outside the
pale Of love. But it was very different
with Ida, merry, little, quick witted,
bright faced Ida. She was born for love.
1t was her inheritance. But she was
young and innocent. She must not be
allowed to venture too far without help
in those dangerous waters.
Some understanding there was between
her and Harold Denver In her heart of
hearts Clara. like every good woman,
was matchmaker. and already she had
chosen Denver of all men as the one to
whom she could most safely confde Ida.
He had talked to her more than once on
the serious topics Of life, on his aspira-
tions, on what man could do to leave
the world better for his presence. She
knew that he was man Of noble ma
ture, high minded and earnest. And yet
she did not like this secrecy. this disin-
clination upon the part Of one so frank
and honest as Ida to tell her what was