The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1895-01-19
A PRETTY GIRL.
Nay, bat you. who do not love her.
Is she lot pure gold, my mistress?

Nay, bat You, who do not love her.
Is she lot pure gold, my mistress?
Browning.
There had never been any doubt as to
Polly Pemberton' s beauty. She had been
young tyrant from babyhood. 1t had
never been Of the slightest use trying to
Keep her under. Her mother made con-
scientious attempts to not have her in evil
dence when guests were about, and her IA
ther feebiy seconded her efforts by trying
to keep out Of PoIiy's way. The under
taking was nevertheless hopeless. Polly,
standing w.stfully at the nursery window,
made prudent resolutions vanish like chaff.
Polly, as Cherry Ripe going to church,
was the enchanting thing Of the day.
When newcomers first caught glimpses Of
her wheeling her doll carriage or playing
with the pup, they were useless for further
purposes Of entertainment until the first
novelty of intercourse with Polly wore off.
''Her conversation alone is worth the
price of admission" condesoended q cous-
In of Polly's, second year at Yale.
When Polly grew, horribly spoiled, of
course, petulant, exacting fairly gener-
Gus, warm hearted, openly truthful, she
was so beautiful that everything was per-
mitted to her. She was clever enough TO
keep even men whose appreciation was
worth something devoted to her.
The time naturally came when two out
Of the crowd of worshipers were distanc-
ing all competitors. Polly knew her world
and foresaw the inevitable decision she
would presently be called upon to make
She intended to marry for love, being
much too clever to be willing to miss that
happiness. She was determined to get
out Of life all that was in it.
What a comfort it is to be pretty"
she thought contentedly "Then really
nice men fall in love with one How
dreadful TO have to choose from impossible
Creatures
One of the men was an artist He loved
Polly's beauty. Her soul was Of no mo-
ment. But Polly did not know this. It
did not occur to her that any one would
dare to separate the two.
The other man loved the inner Polly.
He revcrenced her beauty, as he did all
beauty and truth and the other things
worthy men worship. And Polly did not
know the difference between the two loves.
There was tender poetry in the artists
wooing, which was very sweet to her.
He had a way of gently touching he,
hair and quoting:
Holds earth euGht-speak truth-abore her?
Above this tress, and this touch.
But cannot praise, ! love SO much!
which went to Polly's heart. Yet the
constant referring to strong serious ma
ture, which the other man unuuestiona-
bly, attributed to her, kept her in rarer
atmosphere than, but for The stimulus of
his personality, she could have breathed
In. She felt this always but naturally
more keenly when the other man was with
her.
The futures the two me-, offered her
we're vastly different The artist drew
winning pictures of a beautiful dreamy
old world life, drifting in Venice, driving
through the Wordsworth land, going from
German villages to the Boulevard fetes,
from the enchantment Of Swiss lakes to
the Land of the Midnight Sun, and every
where living a lover existence Of ''love
and beauty and delight.
But the other man spoke Of working
day world, of n place where men and
women and pitiful children needed help
and succcr. He drew her into the life of
the worse half of the world and showed
her its need. He made her hear the cry of
children wanting bread, made her see girls
like herself ground into awful fates, and
through it all she felt his love about her
protecting, comforting, infinitely tender
and believing.
Meantime the summer was passing The
cooling breezes Of early September brought
fresh joys The artist took Polly canoe-
ing, and the other man, who was very
boyish and enthusiastic, rowed of his
feelings in "a single scull.
After all, il was little thing which !
decided Polly. One afternoon Polly was
making tea on the lawn while tho rival
contestants were playing tennis She /
looked unusually beautiful, and when the !
set was over the artist made several
sketches of her. One of them he called
Over the Teacups," in playful love for
the dear waiter. He afterward painted it
in AMI in few days showed it to Polly. /
II don't like it at all, 4" she objected. |
1t is the portrait of a heartless girl
The artist laughed.
What does it matter?' he said. with /
such holy beauty as yours, you could be |
anything you liked. No one expects you |
to be anything but beautiful"
Miss Polly Pemberton was not slow. A !
great many things came back to her as she !
looked at him for moment. Then she .
smiled vaguely.
"Ono MN does she said sweetly.
- The man am going TO marry, not you,
you know. He thinks me true and good,
but it does f.ot matter to You, does it7''
is it Fee ris?" asked the artist.
Yes, ;" said Polly, and so she was irrev-
ocabiy committed. Ferris one coherent
was taat it was better TO win her
BY a fluke than not at all-Madge Robert
son in New York Press.