The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1895-02-06


in London, but they could not well
refuse the invitation.
Dolly had been in London only one
short week, and she was bewitched
with everything she saw. She loved
her uncle and aunt, both of whom dis
played strong affections for her, and
INDUCED her in freedom she had
never tasted before. She was delight
cd with the substantial old house, with
its large rooms, big fireplaces and
comfortable furniture. More than all,
she admired London itself. The busy
streets, with their palatial shops the
colossal buildings-St. Paul's, the
Abbey, the Houses-ef Parliament, the
broad, quiet squares, which seemed to
hGye been, dropped down at random
among the wilderness of houses; the
gay restaurants and the brilliant, fas-
cinating theatres. She particularly
liked it at night, when illumined by
countless lights, whose reflections
glittered on the pavement; and when
the black darkness of the sky, unac-
componied by the deathly silence that
1T brought in the country, seemed
rather TO enhance the noise and hustle
OF the prodigal streets. There was
something romantic about it all. 1t
thrilled her, she knew not why. Her
heart beat faster, her pulse bounded
more quickly. She felt more alive
than sue had ever felt before.
There was another source of pleas
ure. Never before had she been
thrown into the company of so en-
gaglng young gentleman as her
cousin Tom, the only child of her
uncle and aunt. He was Dolly's SEN
ior by some half dozen years. Had
s.Dolly's parents suspected what man.
ner Of young man he was, they would
have made a speeiag journey to Lon
don TO bring their daughter home.
Fortunately, they were ignorant.
There was nothing really bad about
the lad. He had very good heart,
but he wanted steadying a little. He
was exactly the sort of dashing, reck-
less, freehanded young Englishman
that a handsome, manly fellow be-
comes when placed in circumstances
OF wealth and freedom. The first time
he saw his cousin Dolly he decided
that she was very pretty girl, but
shy, and that it would be worth while
to draw her cut.
He found it not easy and that, not
withstanding the fact, had he known
it, that there was in Dolly's heart an
intense willingness to be drawn out by
cousin Tom. But that shyness of
OF hers zwas fashionable barrier.
She could not chatter; the thing was
impossible. Her silence had been in
bred SO long that it had become part
Of her anatomical structure ;and Tom,
in spite of all his conversational tai
ents and social polish, frequently
found himself reduced by it to cor
responding state. On the other hand,
if Dolly could not speak, she could
look. She had extremely eloquent
eyes; eyes that spoke far more than
her lips. Tom soon began to watch
those eyes and to love them. He no
longer attempted to make his cousin
talk; her eyes rendered conversation
unnecessary.
One afternoon, in the first week of
january, he sauntered into his moth
er's sitting room, and there discov-
cred Dolly, sitting, like the historic
Miss Mutfit, on a buffet in front OF the
fire. Her fingers were busy with
some crochet work. Tom drew chair
to the fire.
"Are you going out tonight,
Dolly2"
She lifted her eyes from her needle.
''Not tonight. "
mot; Are you sorry?"
'No."
81 suppose you're getting rather
tired of it. You've been out pretty
nearly every night lately, haven't
you?"
'Yes. I'm not tired of it, though
/ like it. But auntie and / are going
to have quiet evening tonight, and
! shall like that just as we'll.
There was a pause.
"Are you sure you will like it Just
as well?"
81 beg your pardon?" said Dolly.
He moved on his chair. "Well :"
he said, al want you to come out
with me tonight, ii you will. "
She looked at him in amazement.
"Out with you? Why, where to?"
''The theatre" he responded.
Pleasure shone in her face. She