Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1894-07-28


when his sister cried out, 20 Phil, do look!
There are thnse lovely mountain prirnrosesi
| the first I've seen this year Phil looked.
| but he saw something besides the great
bunch of pale yellow iowers-a slender.
blaek-clad figure and pale delicate face.
Most persons would not have called her a
striking girl but he stood looking at her
| rapidly disappearing figure until it vanished
around the corner.
Aren't they perfect? Do you think my
copy that hangs in the boudoir is good?''
| To which her brother irrelevantly replied:
That gin might have written il"
| i didnt-notice the girl. but now that.
know those flowers are in town / shan't
rest until have some"
At luncheon Mrs. Raymond announced
| that her Search had been fruitess In a
remote corner she had found a flower
woman. who had brought some primroses to
market that very morning, but her young
| lady-a young lady who came very often
| had bought them every one.
That afternoon when Phil came into Mrs.
Duanes parlof- he felt a glow OF artistic
| admiration. The dark paneling lit up by
the flames from the burning logs. threw into
bold yet delicate relief the figure of a
woman. half reclining in a low chair. Her
head. crowned with soft black coils and
curls, was pilloEed on yellow satin cush-
ions. Her gown was of the ralest yellow
and her full rounded arm the elbow lux
| uriously buried in a deep cushion. showed
| the full beauty of its magnificent curves as
she raised full swelling, gold tinted cup
TO her lips The young subalterns gazed at
nv
| on the threshold. She was indeed a danger
| Gus woman.
''Ah. Mr.. Reddington" She moved for
| ward to meet him. There was no trace of
tne oriental perfume, bu; a faint, carcely
| definable breath Of the spring. On her
| breast was a great cluster OF mountain
primroses
The burden Of the conversation fell to the
young officers that afternoon. Phil had
seated himself at little distance from HIS
iair hostess, and was, as usual regarding
her with that keen but unobtrusive scrutiny
which so much puzzled her ana piquei her
curiosity. Today the studious expression
on his face was triie deeper than before.
| Here in the house from which the note had
| come, pinned on the gown of its ostensible
| author, was cluster Of mountain prin-
roses. He had seen a bunch of them before
that day, and bis sister assured him that
| there were NJ others in town. That bunch
was in the bands of girl who il seemed
| TO him might embody the character he
| ascribed TO the writer of Mrs. Duane's note
| In sunny corner near the quaint market
| house OF D.. on a certain misty morning
| in February, the old peasant Mere Maria,
as she was popularity called. was doing be-
| hind her display of simple wares, when she
was awaken 81 by the voice of her own young
| lady. 1t took her some time to tell in her
quaint way how, on the last market day
another lady. had come, a very beautiful
| lady, who had descended from a carriage
| with iyeried servants and prancing horses.
| she had asked for primroses but she had
| told her that her Gown mademoiselle had
taken them. every one. but today she had
| enough for all.
All this time there was a handsome young
| map on, the other side of the street in the
| Shadow of a projecting doorway who
| seemed TO be making sketch of old Maria.
| For the next few weeks this picture was re-
| peated except that the young artist had
| made friends with the old pea sant woman,
| and gained her permission to sketch her
from nearer point.
1t was Easter morning The little Eng
| IN ifS
| ity. for many Of the congregation who had
| drifted into the foreign mode of keeping
| the Sabbath and rarely came to the II
| o'clock service turned out on Easter Some
| came for mere fashions sake; some from
| strength OF association, and some came
| With true appreciation of the days COM
| memoration. This last class was large
| enough to spread throughout the church a
| reverential atmosphere. The white-robed
| choristers filed in singing a triumphant
| hymn, the solemn confessional was said
| and then the clear boys voices burst forth
again, Christ, Our Passover. is Sacrificed
| for U.s." The chorus dies away, through
| Jesus Christ. our Lord" a few chords on
| the organ. and then a single voice scars up.
| as bird set free, clear, pure. calm and
| triumphant, Christ is risen from the dead.
and become the first fruits OF them that
| slept That voice was not heard again
| throughout the service. When the congre-
| cation poured forth, after the service, the
one question that every one asked every
| one else was: ''Who is the new So
prano?" By the next afternoon ii was
whispered around that the gruf old choir
master had unearthed, from some obscure
| corner. nightingale and given her that
| one tiny solo in the Easter music 10 intro
duce her ana TO whet the public curiosity.
| BY the end of the week the ruunor had
fully materialized The singer was a young
| American girl, an orphan, who was en-
| ployed as Mrs. Duane's secretary. 1t was
| positively asserted that she would no long
| er sing in the choir.
| The reason for this was not difficult TO
| find. Hitherto Mrs. Raymond had gathered
| around her all the literary lights and fine
musicians that the little town afforded.
| This gave distinctive air to her receptions
| that Beatrice Duane vainly envied. Now at
last she had the upper hand. The wonder
| full soprano was in her possession end
should De heard only in her drawing room.
Margaret Halford's place as Mrs. Duane's
secretary had rot been an easy one. At
the time of her engagement she had been
told that she would be expected to do what
| ever was required of her, and 80 il hap
| pened that she had grown accustomed to
earn her small salary by the performance
| of manifold and miscellaneous duties and
| to be surprised at nothing. She had her
| books. however, and, thanks to the friend
| ship OF the English minister's wife, few
rare opportunities to practice her beloved
music in oongenial atmosphere The
| morning of Easter Monday she had been
| summoned to Mrs. Duane's boudoir and in
formed by that lady that she would no
| longer be permitted to sing at church, but
Wouiu nUlu nerSelf ID readiness. and prepare
| suitable songs to sing in the drawing room
| whenever she should be called upon TO do
so. The girl listened in silence. but a faint
| fush spread over her face. This was worse
| than she had expected. Although Mrs
| Duane had always inspired her with an
| intense aversion, as long as their relations
| had been purely business ones this had been
tolerable ITO come under her control in
| a social way, 10 be made TO associate with
| that throng Of Young officers and ollie
| tarte-." The flush on her cheek died
| leaving her deadly pale. The next sentence
came as a relief. "Of course. You under
stand that You do not come into the draw
| ing room in any social capacity whatever
| You will come when you are sent for take
| your place at the piano and leave the room
| after you have finished"
A fortnight had passed since Margaret
had made her debut at Mrs. Duane's "af-
| ternoons. She was a great success. Ar
| rayed in perfectly plain black dress. white
| and thin, she came and sang song after
song until dismissed by a naughty gesture
from her mistress, The world applauded
the song, but paid little attention to the
| singer. To be sure, at her first appearance
| Phil Re1dington had asked about her and
his hostess had replied that she was a poor
| girl OF common extraction, who filed the
| place OF an upper servant. In general
| however, her personality was n matter of