The herald., 1896-01-05

She was plump but dainty. with neat
figure and round, rosy face. She wore
black cape over a gray skirt, and carried
a queer little dog's-eared volume entitled
"Hymnody" Her eyes we're 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. noticed her when she was quite
hundred kar1s 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 Jackw she cried. "How are
you, Jack? Where have you been all these
| years? And what have you been do!ng?"
My name is Arthur, but her hand was
too small and soft to relinquish with un-
necessary suddenness.
~ knew you at once" she affirmed IT
| provement"
mop" 1 murmured doubtfully.
mo. 1t has taken all the character out
of your face.
felt quite sorry for her. She would be
so confused. 1 still held her hand.
"Well," she said, screwng her eyebrows,
land what have you done since l saw you
last-acquired modesty?'
1t would be very awkward.
"N-not exactly" stammered.
She laughed.
"Ill walk with you as far as Windsor"
she said, II suppose you are going to
Windsor? Or will you walk with me to
Staines? Just as you like. l am living at
J Staines now. you know-in a little room
overlooking the r.ver-at one pound ster-
ling per week inclusive-occasional use Of
the parlor
"Oh, look at the sky!' she cried sud-
denly, "all those sprawling gray dragons
in bas relief against the blue. Isn't it
: wonderful? Yet they say my skies are
impossible. Nothing Ia impossible, Jack,
is it?''
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 gratful for the
pause We stopped outside while, fiat
fronted house facing the river. I held
forth my hand.
'Oh. nonsense, Jack" she said, "you
r must come in and see the parlor.''
we went lHtO tHe uOuSc. lie Street
e door was not locked. The parlor was a
small. ugly, comfortable room with a big
: bowl of flowers In the window, athwart
which fell a band of yellow sunshine.
:, IT 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 m.rk as If rest had but a small
part in the life of its owner. AT the head
of the bed was a small mirror and other
toilet accessories on white draped dress
ing table; at its foot stood a deal wash
stand. In the centre of the room sprawled
a great elbow easel bearing a canves
There were other easels and canvases
distributed throughout the room, ant
plaster casts and lay figures. all the usua
paraphernaiia of the painters
The little lady snatched down the large
canvas from the great yellow easel anc
stood 1t with its face to the wall.
mot that" she said; that is a study
in failures. I will show you something
more modest She went to a stack OF
pictures in the corner. See here" she
sad, holding up tiny sketch before me-
Light on the Bar more modest still
land 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
me to the cenere of the room. Then she
gave the picture into my hands. 1t was
the portrait of man, strangely resem-
bling myself drawn in the style of the
Dutch school with the light concentrated
on the eyes and brow.
''Do you Ike it?" she asked me.
''It is wonderful" whispered.
'T did it 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. feared the
trend of the situation was toward, per.
haps, tragedy.
1T seems SO strange that we should
meet again Ike this" she said, land vet
not strange. For our corner of the world
is a very little place. after all. You have
grown very Old and manly, and grave
Jack. I am just beginning to realize that
now; l didn't at first. You mustn't think
that mean to be rude to you, Jack. Per-
haps l hardly ought to call you Jack"
yes" 1 said eagerly. "call me Jack &"
"Thank you, jack" she murmured
beaming, "you are dear old boy, the
same old Jack! l was sure you wouldn1
mind-Jack.
"Yes.'
''Did-d!d it-did I hurt you much, Jack
that night? You know l 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 it up, YOU
see; and then 1 didn't understand myself
and you were so fierce and foolish and
I wild. l have wondered ever since that
mad the courage to refuse you, Jack-you
= were such a splendid tempest of a boy."
+ L was filled with contriton and shame.
pray. pray don't speak of it," 1 said
"it isn't fair to yourself. I have no right
: to listen.'
+ "r care not how unfair she be, If only
d she be fair to-herself! Eth? And you
f have every right to listen, Jack. 1 give
: you right, full right. Besides, have to
n talk about it. 1t ds so long ago, too, and
We are so much older. Surely it does not
matter. 1t was such a tender time, a time
of dancing blood. Jack. We shall never
live it again, never more foot it to the
same giddy measure. We are half burnt
9 out now, like bloated candles in the cold
dawn. We have tainted our own atmos-
phere with the consuming of our own
fires'
= The flush in her cheeks died, leaving
> them pallid. Her head dropped and her
hands fell listlessly.
S "You forgive me, Jack, don't you?" she