Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1895-11-14

Iauch changed. She had no idea that
sorrow and Remuneration had put into
her own face something much rarer
than beauty. She who had not been
called pretty in her girlhood was much
admired now. Gray hair is fashionable,
and perfect dress is such an important
help to reputation for good looks. She
thought that those quiet evenings in
her own studio she had tenderly dedi-
Gated to gentle remembrances of a dead
Joy had had none of the bitterness that
gave the old pain a inequality tonight.
Perhaps she had been too much with
the silly young lovers who had rushed
into particularly hopeless engage
ment she really ought to have frus-
trated. It was her punishment for be-
ing too lenient to her nieces. By and by
she would be discovered and sent in to
the supper, for which she had no in
cIination; then she would go home. 1t
was SO hot and SO over-perfumed, dis
cord of scents, for fresh flowers and
Bond street odors do not commingle
well.
The evening seemed endlessly long.
and there was no clock in the room.
The band was playing an air that.
though it did not date back to her past,
had decided resemblance to one she
had cause to remember. She had never
danced since that ball to which Stephen
had accompanied them. Her mothers
death had the pathetic advantage of
giving her an excuse for withdrawing
from society for a very long time.
When she came back it was as a quiet
spectator. She said good-by to youth
amid the whirling walters and the
wax-ligAts. Dead flowers and dead
hopes were hers the next morning.
The wealth of love in heart framed for
one passion was henceforth vented
only. and, as it were, stealthily, on chill
dren and even animals. She dared only
to let herself go when she was painting,
and the utter sadness of two or three
of the pictures she had first exhibited
had been very marked. Yet she had led
u useful and a cheerful existence.
She was very sensitive to music and
the string orchestra played well. They
were singing the refrain nova pref
ty fashion enough. The words
of bid Me Good-by' were utter
~ commonplace. mere jingle strung
together, and yet they touched the fas-
tiilous, critical listener:
ASK me no more If regret: you need not
care to know:
A woman's heart does not forget"
She heard no more, for her hostess
lad rustled into the room with CLINT
of enleralds and frou-frou of the cost
list of specially designed brocade.
There was man with her, pale and
grav-headed, with an indefinable air of
unaccustomedness about his dress and
bearing. He looked like gentleman,
and yet there was something awkward
IN his demeanor, as of one ill at ease and
out of his element. He had, in fact,
come back to society after long alb
sence and found that both he and it had
drlfted hopelessly apart. An impulse
just to glance again at what he had left
years ago had made him accept chance
invitation. He regretted it. His wife
had not been dead many months. He
had imagined that death would come to
rim first. 1t had come to the woman
he had learnt to hate because of the
sordid pettiness of nature that had at
lust almost ground him down to its own
pattern. Illusion, ambition, had fallen
away like flowers nipped by the chill
Ing frost of dead-leyel mediocrity. He
who at 25 had been full OF faith in the
future, had stepped out of the ranks at
80. At so he was an old man, and, what
was infinitely worse, had no past
worthy the retrospect, no achieved
work worth showing.
Mrs. Thesiger, who was too good ma
tured ever to be likely to climb very
h1gn On the social ladder, had found him
vaguely wandering among the palms
and suggested that he should take
some one in to supper.
MIR. Rahere-Miss Roseveare," that
is how these meetings occur to-day.
Evadne had in former years been ex-
pectant of such a chance encounter.
1t had never come, and she had not for
long time regarded it as likely. She
had known him at once, and had seen
with a sense of pain, more poignant
than any he had ever cost her, that the
young lover of her girlish dreams was
as dead as the roses she had worn once
upon time. Failure was written on
his face. The eyes that had flashed
with hope and passionate determine
ton to do something that should be re-
membered, were quiet and dull now. 1t
was face of not very much interest
ed spectator in the comedy of errors we
call life. The thought of her own
busy world, her art, her fame, her many
friends, smote her with bitter sense
of contrast. He had had such a start in
the race, yet she had so entirely dis
tanced him.
They bowed in silence-Evadne
with a grace that had become natural
to her, Stephen, with touch of clum-
siness. A moment later they were
alone. Evadne rose from her seat and
stood under the warm radiance of a
tail shaded lamp. She was beautiful as
she spoke, and her voice had always
been her chief charm.
Have you forgotten me in all these
years?'
Then, and not till then, he recognized
her. He held out his hand; her own
trembled as she took it.
Strange that we should meet at a
ball.
He spoke in the nost matter-of-fact
tone possible, but it was an assump-
ton. 1t deceived Evadne. She put an
mir of reserve into her next question.
Il hope your wife is we'll; and your
child-or perhaps you have others
now?" Her voice, her smile, her deli