Freeland tribune. (Freeland, Pa.) 1888-1921, 1895-04-15

| mlratlon, and he was the immediate
cause of Mrs. Maine's serious mood
to-day. His name was Roger Slade,
and he was an artist, very celebrated
and very picturesque. He was also
intensely ambitious, and not disin.
clined to add successful marriage to
the weapons with which he intended
to fight, and completely conquer, the
world.
Mrs. Maine sat alone now in her
delicate drawing room-a white draw
ing room, with an ivory carpet,
snowy rugs and quantities of white
Dresden-thinking how very cele.
brated and how very picturesque he
was. The day was foggy and cold.
Pedestrians slipped on the pavements,
lost their tempers and their way.
Battalions of filthy torchbearers
screamed husky offers of assistance.
Omnibus horses tumbled down and re,
fused tumultuously to get up. The
cries of skaters came family from the
ornamental water in st. James's
Park.
And Mrs. Maine sat by her fire,
very warm and snug, but very grave.
She was considering aweighty matter.
81 wonder what had better do?"
she thought, glancing down at note
that she held in her hand. 81 wonder
what I really want to do?"
And she read the note again for
quite the sixth time. 1t was very short
and very plain spoken:
"Saville Club, Piccadilly. Jan. H. 1so-.
MY Dear Mrs. Maine: viii you be sur
prised ut this letter? hardly think so. You
must have OWNED long ago the state OF my
feelings towards you and, indeed, you have
encouraged me to believe that | could make
your life happier and more complete than it
has been since you were left comparatively
alone among your troops of friends. l ask
you to marry me, since | love you dearly.
Can you give yourself to me? Tomorrow
ut O'Clock, | will call to receive your an
swer. If you instruct your servant to say
mot Mt home" shall understand tlat am
refused. But see me, dear friend, an1lell me
that you will be to me in the future Some
thing dearer still--my inspirer, my wife.
Yours always, ROGER SLADE."
The note was like the man, Mrs.
Maine though restrained, but
very sincere, very straightforward. AS
she read it she recalled the near past
in which the artist had loomcd 80 large
a figure. Yes, it was true, she had
given him every reason to hope. She
had singled him out from the crowd
who surrounded her and led him on to
love her.
Did she love him? She thought SO.
''What shall do?' She murmured.
"He is coming for his answer at 81
she looked at the clock-"in quarter
of an hour. If 1 say Not at home he
will take it as q refusal. Shall I be
in?" She smiled softly at the fire.
"I think [ will"
just at that moment there came n
ring at the bell, and Mrs. Maine
started up. "He is more than pune
tual," she thought as she cast hasty
glance into the mirror in order to
have the customary satisfaction of
knowing that she was looking her best
There were steps outside, and the
butler opened the door but it was not
the artist who followed him. A thin
woman, with light fringe worn very
low on her forehead, gray eyes, and
an unsmiling expression, entered
slowly.
Mrs. Maine tried to hide the disap-
pointment that she felt ''How good
of you to come through the fog to see
me, Belief she said. "Sit here by
the fire and will give you some tea. i"
Her friend sat down dreamily, and
remarked: "Whom were you expect
ing, dear?"
"How could expect anybody upon
such day?"
"And it was a man: know that
by your look into the glass.
Greatly, Belle, you are too obser-
want. And suppose it was? What
then?"
Belle de Rinski looked at Mrs. Maine
critically, and continued: "Why, you
are actually blushing! Surely you are
not expecting lover to come to you
through the fog?"
The young widow laughed little
uneasily. What if 1 said future hus-
band?"
"And he is coming?"
cat 5 o'clock"
'In ten minutes. So you are posi-
lively thinking of marrying again |
How extraordinary"
81 scarcely see why. Do you in
tend always to remain widow-the
richest, the most independent widow
in London, as heard you called only
yesterday?".
The other waived the question with
quiet deliberation that was charac-
teristic of her, and put another: "May
[ not hear his name?"
Mrs. Maine hesitated for moment.
Then she answered: "Well, you are
great friend, and you probably have
guessed it already. Why should 1
not tell you? 1t is your old friend,
Roger Slade."
The Comtesse de Rinski put her tea
cup down with sudden movement
that caused clatter of china.
''Yes, little more tea, please" she
said. "And like it strong. Roger
Slsde-that is curious choice. So
he has proposed to you?"