The united opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1881-1970, 1896-01-17
HER MISTAKE.

black cape over gray skirt, and carried q
queer little dogs cared volume entitled
"Hymnody." Her eyes were big and soft.
She had an Irish mouth and Welsh chin,
with dimple in it.
We met, for the first and last time, on
the towing path between Windsor and
Staines. I noticed her when she was quite
a hundred yards away, and admired her
grace of movement. The towing path was
narrow and rugged just at that point, SO
that we touched elbows as we passed and
our eyes met. Immediately she uttered
little cry and fixed a pair Of pince nez
across her nose.
"Why, it's Jnck" she cried. "How are
you, Jack? Where have you been all these
years? And what have you been doingP".
My name Is Arthur, but her hand was
too small and soft to relinquish with un-
necessary suddenness.
81 knew you at once" she affirmed. 81
can't say | think the mustache an i'm
provement."
"NoYoI murmured doubtfully.
"No. 1t has taken all the character out
of your face"
1 felt quite sorry for her. She would be
SO confused 1 still held her hand.
well" sic said, scrowing her eyebrows,
sand what have you done since l saw you
last-acquired modesty?"
1t would be very awkward.
"N-not exactly" stammered.
She laughed.
'I'll walk with you as far as Windsor,
she said. Il suppose you are going to
Windsor? Or will you walk with me to
O 10 T lix,iy, at
Staines now, you KNOWN little room
overlooking tho river-at pound sterling
per week NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. use of the
parlor.
"Oh, look at the skyp' she cried sud-
denly. GAN those sprawling gray dragons
in bas relief against the blue. Isn't it
wonderful? Yet they say my skies are i'm
possible. Nothing is impossible, Jack, is
itP''
'"Nothing, except to contradict you"
Even that was not impossible in the
old days"
There was another silence. 1t lasted till
we reached Staines. I was grateful for the
pause. Wo stopped outside a white, flat
fronted house facing the river. 1 held
forth my hand.
"Oh, nonsense, jack" she said, "you
must come in and see the parlor!'
We went into tho house. The street
door was not locked. The parlor was
small, ugly, comfortable room, with a big
bowl Of flowers in the window, athwart
which fell band Of yellow sunshine.
II want to show you some Of my poor
little pictures"
We went into her room, large apart
ment, lighted from above. A modest lit
tie bed was in the corner, squeezed away
into the mirk as II rest had but small
part in the life of its owner. At the head
of the bed was q small mirror and other
toilet accessories on white draped dress
ing table. At it's foot stood deal wash
stand. In the center Of the room sprawled
a great yellow easel bearing a canvas.
There were other easels and oanvases dis
tributed throughout the room, and plaster
casts and clay figures, all the usual para
phernalia of the painters craft added.
The little lady snatched down the largo
canvas from the great yellow easel and
stood it with Its face to the wall.
Not that" she said. "That Is q study
In failures will show you something
more modest" She went to a stack of
pictures in the corner. "See here, she
said holding up tiny sketch before me,
Light on the Bar, more modest still.
And here, throwing me an odd glance,
compounded of coquetry and laughing
doubt, lis picture the subject Of which
Is not modest
She put her hand on my arm and led mo
to the center of the room. Then she gave
the picture into my hands. 1t was the
portrait of o man, strangely resembling
myself, drawn in the style Of the Dutch
school, with the light concentrated on the
eyes and brow.
"Do you like itP she asked me.
at is wonderful" 1 whispered.
81 did 1t just-just after that night"
she said.
II was troubled at heart, for there was
a note other than the knocking note OF
light comedy in her voice. l feared the
trend of the situation was toward perhaps
tragedy.
1T seems 30 strange that we should
meet again like this, she said, land yet
not strange. For our corner OF the world
is very little place, after all. You have
grown very old and manly and grave,
Jack. I am just beginning to realize that
now. / didn't at first. You mustn't
think that mean to be rude to you, Jack.
Perhaps hardly ought to call you Jack.
"Yes," said eagerly, "call me Jack.
"Thank you, jack" she murmured,
beaming. "You are a dear old boy. The
same old Jackl was sure you wouldn't
mind, Jack" -
Yes"
"Did-did ibid hurt you much.
.Jack, that night You know, ! hadn't
thought of you in that way at all. 1t came
on me so suddenly. And my art was so
much to me. To marry meant to give 1t
up, you sec. And, then, didn't under
stand myself, and you were so fierce and
foolish and Wild. / have wondered ever
since that had tho courage to refuse you,
Jack, you were such q splendid tempest Of
q boy"
was filled with contrition and shame.
Pray, pray don't speak Of IL. 1 said