The evening times., 1895-08-09
"ANEMONE. "

"ANEMONE."
| An Old Enough Story of a New Star
of the Stage.
There was a new piece and a new actress
at the vaurien Theatre, and half London
had come TO listen to the badinage and
| dainty songs Of the first and to pick to pieces
/ the latter-from the coils of red hair that
| crowned Fer pale, delicate face to the
diamond snakes which encircled her pretty
| ankles. Anne Boleyn was her stage name,
and II ghosts walk, and all tales Of her reck-
| lessness were true, 1t may have been that
| her graceful body lodged the soul OF the
Anne BoIeyn whose little neck was kissed
| first by a king and last OF all by heads
| mans ak. She sang a pretty, mournful
| little ballad in the second act that helped to
carry out the illusion-a ballad with a re-
| sweet: a-
"The burden of old roses
Andlast years SNOW;
| The burden OF dead ladies
Heighol
Somebody In the row OF stalls before her
gave a smothered exclamation as she fin
ished her song, and, looking sharply at the
man as he rose and went out, his head bent,
saw that it was a college friend OF mius,
and rose In my turn and folio wed him out
quietly
1 found him standing in the street,
outside the stage door, waiting patiently
in the thin Scotch mist. with a curious
dazed look in his eyes that aroused my
professional instincts at once.
Come away home with mel'' i said,
taking his ann. Either you're ill now
or going to be; and waiting here will
not mend matters. Ohl'' as he pulled
his ann away, II know you were always
just as obstinate as you were long, but
as sure as your uane is Maurice Cahili
I'm obstinate, too. What are you waiting
here for, you sou Of ADak?'
For AneIuone."
And who may Anemone be, my friend?
Your last flame, Come" as dull flush
famed up II his thin face, Il beg your par
don; only seeing you waiting by this door,
i Ifaucied''-
Naturally Maurice said, with a sud-
den laugh, as he turned and gripped my
hand with something OF his old friendly
manner; I'm waiting for the girl you've
all been listening to and applauding-.
My God you've been ciapping her for songs
she ought to have been hissed off the stage
for singing"
My dear fellow, have YOU turned Cal
whist? The girl sings very prettiIy aud
she dances divinely,'' 1 said. quietly.
How long have you known herr"
Twenty years, Macdonald"
My dear Maurice, she can't be more
than 25''
She isn't; she was "a last April. but
I've known her for twenty years all the
same"
Yes, of course said. hastily. But
won't you come home with me- Maurice? .
It's detestable night, and you can see
this Boleyn girl tomorrow Come, now,
and smoke 4 pipe with me at my digsings,
and tell me of my Irish friends aud Lady
Cahill How is your mother, by the wayr'
''Oh. very well,'' Maurice Cahin said.
impa tiently. 'She 1t Berkeley street
now; she'll be very glad TO see you, Mac
donald, 1 wish"
Il am not going to leave you uow,"I
said, putting my hand through his arm
again. Now, Maurice, old friend, tel
me all about it WHO is this girl? Aud
what has she done to you. You look
twenty years older.
II feel DID, Maurice answered, quietly
Macdonald, did you hear what the
audience was saying of her to-nigit?''
They were praising her, my dear boy,
up to the skies
''Yes, I-suppose so. Last year she was
engaged to me, you know
Poor fellowI" I said compassionately,
and then the rest of the pitiful little story
came out with rush.
''She was the rector's daughter You
Mr.. E.iace, of The Glebe, Mac?
Don't you remember her there, too:''
81 remember a pretty child with red
hair and brown eyes. Good Godi Maurice,
you don't mean to say that woman saw
tonight is little Annie Eiace?"
"Yes. Elace called her Annie She was
always Anemoue to me-" Maurice said
heavily. II always cared for her, and
when 1 asked her last year, thought she
cared for me, for she aid Yes at once
We were to have been married last April,
and in December / went over to Dresden to
take my cousin, Molly, back to school; and
when came home Anemone had gone. O.d
E.lace had a fit of scme sort, but he s better
now and he came to London soen after to
Try tn get her to go hack with him. But
she wouldn't { listen to Aim, and she wouldn't
ee me. She sent me this letter Read it,"
He opened his pOcketbook and handed
he letter to me; and 1 went a step nearer
% the lamp to read the few lines it contained
Ny dear, good Maurice 1t ran, your
deas are too high altogether for me, andI
,ouldn't reach the lowest of them Better
orget all abOutme I'mvery Jolly as lam,
Ind G--fs going to take 4 thea IN, for me
,efore Christmas. Make the pster go home;
roa canif you choose. suppose you wo1ldnt
are to take theatre for me. yourself,
wen IL you had the roof, would you? Yours,
Anne BOieyn-"
I banded the shameless letter back to him
n silence; there was so little to be said that
roUld come with any degree of fitnessfrom
ny lips.
II wouldn't-wait any longer" said,
Ifter little pause; "if she WON'T listen
o her father she won't hear you. Dear
Id Maurice, I'm afraid she's hol,eIess.'
" Are your" Maurice said, with a flash
q his tired eyes I'm not, shah try
gain"
Ny dsar hoy."l aid, hsrsieaiy, .you
ant pus her back In her old pIace. Think
{ your aeshef"
Concluded dinto-morro rrow'sAlorningTi Times.