The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1896-06-19

acters as Hamlet and Romeo" Rosalind
said. "They make him look like an old
Methuselah."
And Miss Terry Is scarcely so young
as she was," Brandon politely hinted.
"She must be under fifty, though. Mr..
Brancon." Rosalind gently corrected.
but what is that to genius?"
do you-ah-dO you like Ibsen?"
asked the unfortunate Carr. addressing
Margery.
Il don't know, I mayn't know without
asking mamma" she replied. demurely.
Peoples mammas don't seem to admire
him much"
1T is quite possible to object to prob
lem plays and Ibsenism. without being
an absolute dragon of propriety," Rosa
lind corroborated with severity, land
Miss Staines Is still young and-tender.
A shipwrecked crew might choose her
for dinner, like poor little Billee, in the
ballad"
It'll I'm roused," corroborated Miss
Staines; then l can be as wicked-as
the devil"
"Ay, and hit as hard" Sir wilfred
was heard muttering acidly to himself
between his teeth. as Rosalind rather
suddenly rose, and he went to open the
door for the ladies'.
What the deuce is the matter with
those two girls tonight?" Gerald Dover
wondered to himself when they were
gone; Carr hasn't made any running
as yet. I doubt If he ever WILL
my dearest Margery," said the vic
ar's wife on reaching the drawing room.
Il am grieved to hear you allowing
yourself the sad license of speech char
acteristic of too many young women of
the present day."
1T was horrid of me, wasn't it?" she
smiled back with infantile cheerfulness
and candor but it was only a quota
ton after all"
mot from Ibsen, earnestly trust"
"Oh, no! Not from Ibsen. dear. 1t
didn't sound so, now. did it?'
II am happily unacquainted with
these new writer's, my dear, so l cannot
tell"
But why?" asked Brandon of his
hostess, later in the evening, did you
say you were ugly. Were you never
! taught that 1t is wrong to tell stories?"
Il beg your pardon, Mr.. Brandon. /
said I was plain, and so l am, both in
speech and action"
"Well, but Miss Staines declared that
your temper was something awful"
"'Such temper, she said She
meant such a delightfuiiy sweet tenn
per. But l can't answer for 1t myself.
1t was kind Of Margie. though"
They were having coffee on a terrace,
whence the castle, all silver-steeped In
moonlight, and q peep of sea between
the two hill slopes could be seen. Cock
| chafers were still droning in the almond
scented clematis, a little warm breeze
stirred the beech tops, yellow corn
stood In aisles on slope above the
peaceful village, where little orange
dots suggested homesteads, the tree
shadowed lawns and trim, dreaming
flowers looked magical and unreal in
the silvery light. Arthur Brandons
thoughts ran into involuntary rhyme;
he had never been so happy in his life.
yet he wished the never before coveted
burden of riches were his; still more. he
wished Rosalind Ormond poor. Sir
Wilfred and some other vandals were
spelling the dewey flower scents with
cigars, Sir Wilfred wondering If he
could possibly put UP with the prom
ised week at Gerald Dover's seaside cot
tage and continual meetings with the
Carlen people, after this unlucky fiasco.
And to crown ALL" he reflected, II
must needs try to kiss the wrong girl.
How like my luck!"
But even Carr was far happier than
he deserved to be-the dust and stones
incommoding him in the afternoon now
strewed the carpet of his dressing-room
he had sort Of vague idea that the
best thing would be to sit on the terrace
forever and ever and watch the tiny
ship sailing far and far away on the
moonlit sea, and the proud castle In the
mystic light dreaming of its vanished
glories, and the village nesting in the
foliage by the church tower at the foot
of the castled steep.
But Brandon, the briefless, the i'm
pecunious, the blessed, saw more; he
saw shadOwy company of plumed
knights ride with far-off clang over the
drawbridge, saw the moon rays glitter
ing on the steel breast-pla tes of men,
alarms; saw banners fiuttering lightly
as the gray moths on the terrace, fair
ladies leaning from the battlements.
Nay, fairer ladies than any of old moved
in white shining raiment among the
flOwer-scents on the terrace; their
voices had the hushed charm impaired
by open air and stiffness: their eyes
were softer than silvery summer stars
in the pale moonlit sky. Minstrels Of
old dared pay homage of song to lovely
chatelalnes-but now! minstrel In an
ugly black dress suit and hideous
breast-plate Of amorphous white linen!
But this modern chatelaine. her pearls
half muffled in silken scarf, happened
to turn just then and meet the full gaze
of the silent minstrel's eye so that for
one brief and beautiful moment two
young hearts leapt together in bliss
full throb. Costume changes. custom
alters, old castles and old codes. and
even creeds stand and lie in ruins; but
youth and joy, love. innocence and song
are the same throughout all ages.
A few days later Wilfred Carr found
himself waiting with beating heart