Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1895-04-10
A WOMAN'S KISS.

Mrs. Maine was thinking as seriously
as she could ever think at all of marry
ing again. She was young and pretty
widow, and when she first appeared in
the conventional weeds that so pointedly
indicate the presence of grief for de-
parted husband London went mad about
her. Fair women whose spouses were
still hale and hearty took to going out
time colors became almost unfashion-
able. But when the appointed year Of
mourning had run its course Mrs.
Maine stopped wearing black with
light heart She was passionately fond
of bright things, of gay music, of the
frivolities that are supposed to make
life endurable. She put away her somber
gowns and in a short time had almost
forgotten that she had ever been mar
ried Although an English woman, she
was inclined TO take the French view
of matrimony and to consider that it
rather meant emancipation than love
that it was, i'll fact, q sort Of latchkey
presented to woman on her wedding
day by the man whom she took ''for
better Her husband had possessed
fortune and an inherited weakness of
the lungs He died of the latter and
bequeathed to her the former Now,
when she chanced to think of him, she
not unnaturally blessed his memory.
Her freedom was absolutely complete.
She could go into nunnery or dance,
which ever she chose. She did neither
precisely, but visited the playhouses,
was often to be seen with lively little
parties slipping at the Savoy, drove
down very frequently to Nottingham or
Ranelagh and spent her days and nights
in society. desiring nothing better, per-
fectly satisfied and perfectly successful
Every body called her dear little wom-
an, and the only luxury that she could
not command was an enemy.
This sort of thing went on until she
was 80 Life was certainly real to her,
but it was never earnest 1t was a jim
gle of music, ring O. bells, masked
ball without midnight of unmasking,
a battle in which the only weapons were
flowers. She enjoyed it all immensely
until she was 28, and then certain
weariness began to creep over her and
to frighten her. She was forced to reals
ize with a strong reluctance, that
among her many possessions she num-
bered the bizarre capacity of tiring of
accustomed things which has wrecked
so many lives and wrinkled so many
faces Her frivolous friends bored her.
She was passing into another period
was bending to listen to fresh voices
A love of fame, and of those who
possessed it. woke slowly in her heart.
She had never been social Diana, never
a huntress tracking down lions. When
she had met great men, or men reputed
great. she had liked them to worship
her She had never dreamed of wor-
Shipping them. But one season in her
set it became the fashion to admire ef-
fort and sit at the feet of accomplish
ment rather than of beauty or Of money,
and when her set got up Mrs. Maine re-
manned in the posture of worship.
Henceforth she loved only to be with
those who had done something, OR were
in course of doing something. She gave
up going to balls and began to search
about IN her mind for talents.
Could not she do something, too
write story. paint picture, cause
world to weep or laugh or cape at some
deed Of hers? She was tired of being
known as beauty Compliments paid
to her features fatigued her. She want
ed people to adore her mind That they
found it difficult to do SO was source
Of annoyance to her Only when she had
made an effort Ill literature and failed
did she become less egotistical. Her
vanity evaporated like little mist,
and, unable to be successful writer
herself. she was at last content to live
in the work of others She was resolved
to have salon and to inspire talent to
mighty deeds. Rising men attracted
her greatly. and she surrounded herself
with them, impregnating their atIros-
phere with the power and dignity that
emanate from the fully risen Intellec-
tual success became her god and intel
lectual failure her devil.
Men both rising and risen admired
and appreciated her for her beauty and
her sympathy, but there was one who
learned to feel far more than admira-
tion, and he was the immediate cause
Of Mrs Maine's serious mood today.
His name was Roger Slade, and he was
an artist, very celebrated and very pic
turesque He was also intensely ambi-
tious and not disinclined to add sue
cessful marriage to the weapons with
which he intended to fight and com
pletely conquer the world.
Mrs. Maine sat alone in her delicate
drawing room-a white drawing room,
with an ivory carpet, snowy rugs and
quantities of white Dresden-thinking
how very celebrated and how very pic
turesque he was. The day was foggy
and cold. Pedestrians slipped ON the
pavements, lost their tempers and their
way BattaIions of filthy torchbearers
screamed husky offers of assistance.
Omnibus horses tumbled down and re-
fused unanimously to get up. The cries
of skaters came family from the orna-
mental water in st James park.
And Mrs Maine sat by her fire, very
warm and snug, but very grave. She
was considering weighty matter.
wonder what had better do?" she
thought, glancing down at note that
she held in her hand. 81 wonder what
really want to do?''
And she read the note again for the
sixth time 1t was very short and very
plain spoken:
SAyvUtECIup Piccadillv Ian II 1Sq-
MY DEAR Mrs. MAINE-Will you be surprised
at this letter. hardly think You must
have OWNED long ago the state of my feelings
toward YOU. and indeed you have encouraged