Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1894-08-16


be, and Lord Highover's hounds have
been out nearly a month. You'd bet
ter ask some nice young women-the
right sort, you know; no nonsense about
them"
Thought we should have spent this
winter quietly, Gilbert" said Con-
stance in u low voice, looking down al
her black dress with its deep folds OF
Grape; lust this one winter"
That's sheer sentimentality, ca
claimed Gilbert, giving the Field" an
impatient twist as he folded IL to get
at his favorlte column, What good
would it do you or me TO shut ourselves
up in this dismal old house like pair
of superannuated owls? Would it bring
back the poor little thing we've lost
or make her happier in Paradise? No.
Constance. She's happy. Nothing
can touch her MORE as Milton, or
somebody, says. Egad, | think the
poor little darling is to be envied for
having escaped all the troubles and
worries Of life; for life at best is bad
book; you can't hedge everything
Don't cry Constance. That long face
of yours is enough to send fellow into
an untimely grave. Lot us get q lot of
pleasant people round US, and make
the most of this place while it ours.
We mayn't have it always"
The sinister remark fell upon an UNI
needed ear Constance Sinclair's
thoughts had wandered far away from
that oak-paneled breakfast-room. They
had gone back to the sunny hillside.
the grassy rampant, the swift and fatal
river, the bright landscape which had
stamped itself upon her memory in
delibly, in the one agoni2ed moment in
which she had OWNED her daring's
fate.
Gilbert, really am not fit to receive
some minutes, during which Mr., Sir
clair had amused himself by sundry
adventurous dips of his fork, like an
old jewish priests dive into the sacred
seething-pot, into the crockery case of
Perigord pie. "[f you have set your
heart upon having your friends this
winter you had better let me go away,
to Hastings or somewhere. 1t would
be pleasure for you to be free from
the sight of my unhappiness.
Eyes, and for you to find consolati
elsewhere, no doubt. You would pretty
soon find cons Ter if gave you your
liberty. "
"Gilbertw
"Oh, don't think to frighten me with
your indignant looks. have not for
gotten the scene in this ON when you
beard your old lovers supposed death.
Sir Cyprian Davenant is In London, in
high feather, too | understands for
some ancient relation of his has been
obliging enough to die ard leaY2 him
another fortune. A pity you did not
wait q little longer, isn't it? A pity
your father should have been in such
hurry to make his last matrimonial
bargain"
GILBERT" cried Constance, passion.
ately, what have | ever done that you
should dare to talk to me like this?
How have ever failed in my duty to
you?"
Shall | tell you? | won't say that,
having accepted me for your husband,
you ought to have loved me. That
would be asking too much. The ethics
of the nineteenth century don't soar so
high as that. But you might have
pretended to care for me just a little.
1t would have been only civil, and 1t
would have made the wheels of life go
smoother for both of l s..
81 am not capable of pretending, Gil
bert" answered Constance, gravely.
"If you would only be little more CON
siderate, and give me credit for being
what am, your true and dutiful wife,
might give you as much affection as
the most eXacting husband could de-
sire. | would. Gilbert" she cried, in
a voice choked with sobs, "for the sake
of our dead child"
Don't humbug," said Gilbert, sulk-
lily. 1--WE ought to understand each
other by this time. AS for running
away from this house, or any other
house of mine, to nope in solitude, or
to find consolation among old friends,
please comprehend that If you leave
my house once you leave it forever.
shall expect to see you at the head of
my table. shall expect you to sur
round yourself with pretty women.
shall expect you to be wife that
fellow may be proud Of.
II shall do my best to oblige you,
Gilbert; but perhaps l might have
been better wife if you had let me
take life my own way.
no BE Continued