The Portland daily press., 1895-08-03

-TNS~S~A Al A0IS6ll anu AlSA ~NS'' - - -
her pleased delight over the new sights
and sounds were deserting her. A pain
ful self consciousness was taking It's
place with sad conviction that she
could never be like these other women
whom she met "And yet, she would
say to herself, ''if Philip llked these
other women better than me, why did
ne not marry one Of them! Surely ne
could have had them for the asking.
But one day the answer to this question
came to her.
Between Philips studio and the suit
OF rooms which the young couple occu-
pied as living apartments there was
small curtained alcove. 1t contained a
Turkish diyan, small table and few
books. This alcove was only lighted by
| gas and was unused save on occasions
when the artist gave studio tea, when
it served as sort of oloakroom.
Sometimes Suzanne stole in here,
however, and curling herself upon the
divan watched Philip at his work. He
never liked to be disturbed IN his studio,
and she seldom intruded upon him.
Since their marriage he had never asked
her to pose for him. His pride resented
the idea that any one could say he had
married his model.
| Suzanne found the hours when he
was at work very long as the months
rolled by, and to lie on the diyan and
watch her husband before the easel was
one of the stolen sweets of the day to
her She had grown to fear his dis
pleasure in almost every act she COM
mitted, and SO she hid this innocent
pastime from him as if she were guilty
of crime.
If any one entered the studio from the
front hall, she slipped out of her retreat
and back to the living rooms. 1t was
only when he was alone that she cared
to watch him. But one day-it was the
middle of Maya warm, languorous
afternoon full Of suggestions OF sum-
mer, Suzanne fell asleep on the divan.
She had felt strange fatigue Of late,
which caused her to fall asleep at the
most unexpected times and places.
When she awoke, she was i'll sort of
dazed condition. She thought she was
back in the little fishing coast house in
Maine, and she heard her name uttered
and sat up listening to see who had
called her. She heard a strange voice
saying: "But this girl Suzanne was nc
wife for you, Philip. Every one says i;
is the most unaccountable thing that
you ever married her. You have made
an awful mistake, and it is killing Mil
dred by inches. She will not live year
unless you can undo this dreadful work.
which has made US all SO wretched.' %
By this time Suzanne was fully
awake, and she sat still, like one turn
ed to stone, listening. Philips voice
sounded very stern and clear as he re-
sponded:
"1 do not know who is at fault in
this dreadful work, Mrs. Montrose, save
| yourself You come here and tell me to
my face that you destroyed my letters
to Mildred, hoping to ALLEVIATE us. You
| succeeded, and now you find that Mil
1red is i'll and wretohed, and you know
that am unhappy, and You ask me to
undo the dreadful work, by which you
mean, suppose, unmarry myself. May
I ask you, madam, how you expect me
to do this?''
The woman weak, complaining voice
made answer: ''Oh. Pm sure I don II
know how, only I know people do get
divorces very easily nowadays. This per-
son you have married would probably
be very willing to accept few thou
sand dollars and let you go free to marry
Mildred. | have come to see plainly
that Mildred will never get over her in
fatuation for you. Ever since she heard
of your marriage she has gone down in
health, and finally / told her the truth
about what / had done, feeling that she
might be happier to know at least that
you had only married out of spite, think
ing she was false to you. But she SEEM
ed to pine away all the faster after she
knew that. feel like murderer, and
so just decided to come to YOU and
see what could be done. You are g
yonng man, and it is awful to think o1
your facing lifetime of marriage with
wife you do not care for and seeing
the woman you do love die for your
sake. Everybody says your wife is sucf
a common person, it seems to me We
could arrange the matter in quiet way
If we were liberal in our offer. O1
course Mildred does not know that
have come to you today, it is all my
own idea. !"
There was silence for moment, anc
then Philip spoke again. His voice
sounded strangely in Suzanne's ears.
81 hope Mildred will never know Of
your errand here today, Mrs. Montrose, .
he said. 81 think it would be the last
blow to her pride if she did know. AL
low me to inform you, madam. that in
spite of what people say have a wife
who loves me devotedly, and who would
no more accept money from you than
she would accept aims. would as soor
strike knife in her tender little hear
as would insult her with such al
Offer She knows nothing of my love
for Mildred, and trust never will. She
may not be an ideal wife for me, but
have married her, and with Gods helT
l mean to make her as happy as I CAL