The daily morning journal and courier., 1896-10-13
DROPPED AT THE DERBY.

the corner of her hanson and hoped most devoutly that the latter reason was the cause of the deserted streets.
 Its such a fine day, of course, every one will have gone. I almost wish but, then, l really did have a headache this morning, and, besides promised, and, after all, there's no harm in 1t really, only people are so stupid. But there really isn't the least harm in it in the world, and I'm not at all sure that l shan't tell Harry all about it."
 Which was disingenious on Lady Clairville's part, for she knew perfect ly we'll that nothing but irresistible pressure could force her to inform her husband that shortly after his depar- ture for Epson this morning the rack ing headache, necessitating an atmos- phere of eau de cologne. sal volatile and close-drawn blinds, had miracu- lously disappeared, and that the early afternoon had found her driving in a hanson to the studio of Vincent Molly neux, the well-known dilettante.
 But there's no harm in it." she re- peated over and over again, as the cab rattled down the solemn, porticoed streets on its way to its destination, while it's occupants heart beat a little hard against her dainty blouse at the idea of the escapade.
 Monica Clairville, for all the child like solemnity of her beautiful eyes and the innocence of her dainty chin and mouth, was a very daughter of Eve. tt, I,,1 T AJa @fx without the pressure of external influ- ence certainly, beyond her mothers ju- dicious remark that Lord Clairville was a, good fellow, and did not quite know himself how much he was worth" He had come, seen and was conquered. Monica married him, and everything was as it should be. But in two years the pleasure of wearing ones pretty new clothes Is exhausted, as well as the importance of ordering fresh ones as recklessly as fancy may prompt. Monica had got used to the novelty of being Lady Clairville, of having a husband, and a banking ac- count, and she was just waking up to the fact that the fruit that grew on forbidden trees was fatally tempting She did not want to pluck 1t boldly, eat greedily, and give herself an indiges- tion, with all the attendant unpleas- antness; butterfly though she was, Mo nlca was not fool. But there was nc reason why she should not do as many others did-bend the hanging bougt ever so little and take the tiniest nib ble.
 | Monica was pretty and young, ant the garden in which she walked wa. full of trees bending their boughs dowr to her hand; she could have stretched toward half dozen of them at least Her choice, however, had fallen upor young Molyneux, possibly because h' was as dissimilar as he we'll could b. from her husband. Harry Clairvills was a jolly good fellow, with more i breed about him than brains, but Win cent Molyneux was an artist-that is he painted a little, not large e-eyet saints with lilies and aureoles, bu naughty little Van Beersish scraps wherein black -stockinged legs and sug gestive frills predominated. He wrot, dainty little songs, mostly in French of the Chat Noir and Xanrof order and could sing them to perfection be fore selected audiences; In fact. Win cent fiirted little with all the arts and It sometimes stood him in goot stead--for instance, with Monica Clair vile. She was coming to South Ken sington this afternoon to look owe some sketches which should help her t choose fancy dress for Lady Homer tons "bal poudre' on the 18th. Coul' anything be more lnnocent-and con venient?
 It was Vincent himself who opene, the door for her.
 How good of you to come" he ex claimed as he closed the door behin, her. T hardly dared to hope that a the last moment you wouldn't go to tn races after all''
 Perhaps I should but for a head ache" she replied smiling. What lovely place this is!' she continued looking around, "and what exquisit flowers! I adore carnations"
 "I know"
 "Oh, did you get them for me? Hoy delightful of youi' She buried he face In q deep bowl, conscious of tn grace of her attitude and the dainty ef feet of the flowers against her cheeks
 "If I could draw you like that!" ex claimed Vincent.
 Draw me? Oh, no! That woul never do, would it?'
 Not for public exhibition, but fo myself, I mean. You would not grudg me your mere picture?'
 How absurd you arel" Sh laughed. moving toward the easel.
 He followed her. answering her ques tions about the various objects sh took up with childlike curiosity.
 And now you will show me tn sketches for my frock? What am I be?"
 You ought to be Helen of Troy her self"
 Well, anyhow, won't you show m the sketches?"
 There's no great hurry, is there Won't you have some tea first?"
 Tea? It would be delightful only"
 ''Oh. can get tea. I'm quite a adept at it, I assure you: my servant out, but it will be so delicious to wa on you"
 As he spoke Vincent hustled abou with small table, which was read laid behind screen, and lighted tn