Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1895-11-20

| uneasiness in her tone made the doctors
| heart bound hopefully. Would she after the
| castigation forgive him?
| II dare not hope, Miss Drummond." he
said, that you will pardon my very unman-
| nerly conduct, but l assure you that you
cannot think worse of ME than think of
| myself"
I'm not so sure that 1 cannot pardon you
| doctor" she responded. Il think you were
| -ahenl-very foolish, but you've been very
| honest, too, in owning to it,
| Il don't want to take any credit for a
| virtue without which man would be ut
| terly contemplate" said the DOCTOR but if
| to tell her something with respect to the
| during quality of his love, its depth and
other things that he had felt and dwelt upon
| in his own mind recently but when he looked
| into her eyes the words died in his throat
He did not know what he read there; he was
| not even conscious of a wavering in that
| supreme passion that had led him to this
| declaration, but 1t was as if some subtle
| force interviewed to prevent him. as If he
| were warned that his honesty might some
| day be called in question If he apostrophized
| his attraction for this beautiful GIRL whose
sentiments at that moment were almost
| wholly confined to unadmrable personal tri-
| umrh.
So he paused in confusion, and Louise
| waited in surprise for him to continue This
| he did after moment:
With all your condemnation, Miss Drum
| mond, there may be love. ] cannot go away
without an answer to my question. Do you
think that you can love me? 1 put 1t very
| mildly, you see. Do you?"
| The triumph died down and Louise an
| Swered:
| Il don't know"
Strange as it may seem to the unlnitiated,
! she told the whole truth.
| Then you do not altogether reject me?,
| mo, doctor. How tell? You must
give me time to think. L don't know what
| papa would say
| She smiled brightly as she said this and
| the doctors heart glowed with hope not
| as buoyant as he would have expected
| but hope 1t was, nevertheless, and very
| pleasant to him. Yet, almost at the same
| instant. he seemed to see the ominous edge
of another cloud, for at the mention of her
| father he recalled for the first time since
| the eNacting conversation began the tragic
| mystery that oVerhung the house.
| What would she say he thought and
| his hand invountarily sought his pocket
| and touched the brass switch, 'if she knew
| that / was standing between her and her
| fathers disgrace, perhaps saving him from
| death?'
| He dismissed the reflection as well as he
could for 1t had no weight with him in the
| present affair. 1t was not means that he
| would stoop to use with either father or
| daughter, but he yelled apprehension in his
| heart when he suggested:
shall we let the matter rest until he re-
| turns, or until, If you make up your mind
earlier, you can write to him?''
| Yes, let 1t be that way she responded
eagerly.
The doctor felt immensely relieved
| Louise rose to resume her work He wan
dered out to the piazza hardly knowing
what to do for the interview seemed some
how incomplete. He would have liked at
| least to clasp her hand in token of the fact
that there was understanding between
them, but it was too late for that unless he
| were content to appear mawklshy senti-
| mental He wished that he had quietly in
sisted on that little formalty.
| AS he stood in the open air he saw his
| mother midway between the hill and the
| house. and just coming over the brow of
| the hill was the imperturbable, and, 1t
| seemed, omnipresent Philbrick.
| CTo be continued tomorrow)
| To the Editor Of The Evening Star:
| Will you kindly permit me to correct the
| mistake might have Internationally made,
| which appears in bright column of your
| paper from the pen of Pauline Pry?" Had
| / known my words were for publication /
| would have been more careful to make my
| assertions clear. When / assumed to be the
| first or only woman correspondent at the
| Capitol l should have said: The first wo-
| man who gathered the daily news, the same
| as the men who represented the few great
| journals of the country" At this time
| Grace Greenwood. in her inimitable style,
was writing her Impressions of the capital
| to the New York Tribune and Times. and
| who can forget Mary Clemmer Ames and
| her brilliant letters, which appeared in the
New York Independent, headed "a Womans
| writer's did not go to the Capitol except on
| field days." where they met the beauty and
| fashion Of the republic. OLIVIA.
| Mamie Suuare Capitol HILL November III