Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1894-08-30

talk of her bereavement, but the
wounded heart was CALLED by the gen
tlest touch.
ITS very kind OF you" she said
divining her friends motive, but d
rather not talk of her. Nothing car
ever lessen ny grief, and like best To
keep IL quiet to myself"
"How you must hate us all for being
here," said Mrs, MILAN unit, moved
with compunctitn at the incongruity
between the houselul of company and
the mothers de olate heart, 1T seems
quito abominable for us to be thinking
of nothing but pleasure while you bear
your burden alone"
Nobody could divide it with me,
answered Constance, gently pray
do not trouble yourself about my sor-
rows. II could hide them better,
would. Gilbert likes to be surrounded
with pleasant faces, and | am very
glad that he should be pleased"
shes quite too good to live, " re-
marked the 9prightly Mrs Millamount
to her friend, Lady Loveall, that even
ing. But do you know that m afraid
there's something little wrong here,
and Flora Millamount touched her
ivory forehead suggestively with the
tip Of her Wateau fan.
James Wyatt was not a sportsman.
He was an excellent judge Of "A horse,
rode well, and knew as much about
gurs rs the men who were continually
handling them, but he neither shot nor
hunted, and he had never been known
TO speculate upon the turf, These
things were for his clients-a very
pretty way Of running through hand
some fortunes and bringing their own
ers to the Jews-nOt for him. He
could take his anus ement out of other
mons follies and remain wise himself.
Life to him was an agreeable and in
structive spectacle, which he assisted
at as comfortably as he heard "Don
Giovanni" from his stall in the third
row; and when the foul fiend of insol-
vency whisked off one of his dearest
friends TO the Internal regi MS which
bankrupts and outlaws inhabit, he felt
what nice thing it was to be only a
spectator of the great drama,
Not being sportsman, Mr., Wyatt
had COOL deal Of time t. himself at
Davenant despite his general useful
ness. There We're rainy mornings when
the men We're out shooting, and the
bus had not yet started for the point
of rendezvous with the ladies and the
luncheon. These leisure hours Mr..
Wyatt improved by strolling about the
corridors, looking at the Old pictures,
for the most part in that meditat.ve
mood in which man sees very little of
the picture he seems to contemplate,
and occasionally by quiet Irritation
with Melanie Duport. That young
person had plenty of leisure for per-
ambulating the corridors between
breakfast and dinner, Mrs. Sinclair
was by no means an eXacting mistress,
and Melanie's life at Dayenant was ore
of comparative idleness. Her superior
ity of mind showed itself in a calm
contempt for her fellow-servants and
she was rarely to be found in the SER
wants rooms. She preferred the re-
tirement of her own bed-chamber, and
a trench novel lent her by that good
natured Mr.. Wyatt, who had always a
supply of the newest and worst Paris
ian lite allure in his portmanteau, On
this dull December morning, day of
gray clouds and frequent showers, Mr..
Wyatt stood before doubtful Vandyck,
smoking meditatively, and apparently
absorbed in Il critical exam nation of
Prince Rupert's slouched beaver and
ostrich plume, when Melanie's light,
quick step and tripping French walk
at the other end of the gallery caught
his ear.
He turned slowly around to meet
her, putting lazily at his cigar.
"Eh, la belle, he exclaimed, "even an
English December does not dim the
luster of those Southern eyes"
II was born in the QUARTER Latin,
and my parents were all that there is
of the most Partisan, answered Mela-
die, scOrnfully.
Then you must have stolen those
eyes of yours from one of the Murillos
in the Louvre, What news little one?"
"Only that | find myself more and
more weary of this great barrac (.
Come now, Melanie, you must cen
fess you have good time of it here"
"Oh, as for that, perhaps, l ought not
to complain. My mi tress is very gen.
tie too gentle; it gnaws me to the
heart to see her silent grief. That
preys upon my mind.
Here Melanie ueeZed out a tear,
which she removed from her pearl
powdered cheek very sallow cheek
under the powder-daintily with The
corner of hem-stitched handkerchief.
"You are too CONF assonate, little
one, said Mr., Wyatt putting his arm
around her waist consoIingly. Perhaps
he had gone little tCo far with these
leisure hat hours of Irritation. He
had an idea that the girl was going to
be troublesome. Tears augured mis-
chief,
"C'est dommage,' murmured Mel
anie Il have the heart too tender.
"pon't fret, my angel. See here,
pretty one have brought you anoth-
err novel, taking paper-covered book
from his pocket,
"Belot?"
mo; lola"
Il don't want it. | won't read it.
Your novels are full of lies. They de-
scribe men who will make any sacri
flee fer the woman they love men who
will take a peasant girl from her how
el, or a grisette from her garnet and
make her queen. There are no such
men, | don't believe in them, cried
the girl, passionately, her eyes fash
ing lire.
Don't be angry, Melanie. Novels
would be dull if they told only the
truth.
"They would be very amusing if they
described men of your pattern, retort.
ed Melanie. Men who say sweet things