The Yale expositor., 1895-10-25
6!Y Il. CONAN DONLH

examine me. Clara, so don't deny IL.
1 do wish you would have that gray
satin foulard of yours done up. With
a little trimming and a new white vest
1t would look as good as new, and it is
really very dowdy."
you were quite late upon the lawn"
said the memorable Clara.
Eyes, 1 was rather. So were you.
Have you anything to tell me?" She
broke away into her merry musical
laugh.
Il was chatting with Mr.. Westna-
cott"
And 1 was chatting with Mr.. Den
yer. BY the way, Clara, now tell me
truly, what do you think of Mr.. Den
yer! Do you like him? Honestly now"
1 like him very much indeed. I think
that he is one Of the most gentlemanly,
modest, manly young men that have
ever known. So now, dear, have you
nothing to tell me?" Clara smoothed
down her sisters golden hair with
motherly gesture, and stopped her face
to catch the expected confidence. She
could wish nothing better than that
Ida should be the wife of Harold Den
yer, and from the words which she had
overheard as they left the lawn that
evening, she could not doubt that there
was some understanding between 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" she
began.
"Oh, you little tease! Come now, I
will ask you what you have just asked
M
"Oh, he's a darlingr'
"Ida!
We'll, you asked me. That's what I
think of him. And now, you dear old
inquisitive, you will get nothing more
out Of me; soNyou must wait and not
be too curious. I'p going off to see
what papa is doing" She sprang to
her feet, threw her arms round her sis
ter's neck, gave her a 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. II was the duty
OF her, maiden, - play the part of a
motherSto guide another in paths
which her own steps had not yet trod-
den. Since her mother died not a
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 II, but
she did not see the changing play of
expression which gave 1t its charm
the Infinite pity. the sympathy the
sweet womanliness 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
1t was very different with Ida, merry,
little, quick-witted. bright-faced Ida.
She was born for love. It was her in
heritance. But she was young and in
nocent. She must not be allowed to
venture too far without help in those
dangerous waters. Some understand
ing there was between her and Harold
Denver In her heart of hearts Clara,
like every good woman, was a match
maker, and already she had chosen
DSHNSi VI oil men DIS the one 10 WnOm
she could most safely confide Ida. He
had talked to her more than once on
the serious topics of life, on his aspira-
tons, on what a man could do to leave
the world better for his presence. She
knew that he was a man Of a noble ma
ture, high-minded and earnest. And
yet she did not like this secrecy, this
disinclination upon the part of one so
frank and honest as Ida to tell her what
was passing. She would wait, and IL
she got the opportunity next day she
would lead Harold Denver himself on
to this topic. 1t was possible that she
might learn from him what her sister
| had refused to tell her.