The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1897-07-18


| far less difficult than it otherwise
would have been. 1 could sit for long
hours in their society, with my back
| considerably turned upon them, ru-
minating upon my own affairs, and
they would pay no heed to my silence,
nor protest against my abstraction.
1t was a strange experience for me
to play gooseberry in a trio, to form
an unobserved and unimportant men,
| Der of a group. My solitude was pure
| ly a result Of my own inclinations.
My popularity, Notwithstanding the
| fact of my retirement, was in no de-
| gree on the wane. l was still a salient
feature of the life of the metropolis,
my renown had by no means grown
| stale; my name was yet word to
conjure with. Had I so listed, 1 might
| have thrown my doors wide, to have
my entrance crowded by an eager
throng. Nor did 1 lack opportunity
to change my estate. Admirers had
| never been wanting to me, and [
could long ago have secured an hon
orable and even distinguished position
among New York matrons, had my
ambition run in such channels.
But men, as men, had never greatly
influenced me. I liked them as COM
radeS, as an amusing element in life,
| as their homage catered to my vanity.
Otherwise they had little effected me.
While 1 had been in a sense depend
ent upon them (for they entertained
and diverted me far more than women
did, yet, until l met Richard Quin-
tard, my liking for them had been
purely impersonal and general.
Often the question had been put to
me: Madame, why do you not mar
ry?" To which I had ever one re-
sponse a sincere. if laughing, one:
Because I have yet to see the one
man for whom 1 would exchange the
companionship of the many"
No longer could I truthfully return
this answer. I had seen the one man,
but, alas. he was denied me, and the
society of the multitude had lost the
power to charm. All, me! is not my
case a hard one, We white and silent
sharerS of my nominations?
1t was towards the latter part of
May that Allan came to me one day,
with his important errand discovering
itself in every line and feature of his
glowing face. 1 had taken a place for
the summer at Southampton, and we
were in the midst of preparations for
our fitting. Everything was more or
less in confusion, but Allan was now
member of the family, and came and
went at his own discretion.
The trying spring weather and the
crisis through which was passing had
told largely upon my physical strength,
what it was to have the blood trickle
feebly through my veins, instead of
rushing ,turbulently and invigoratingly
from my heart to my throbing pulses.
I was content to do nothing, which,
in one of my active temperament, was
most significant of the paralysis of my
will All my usual restlessness, vivac
ity, zest for pleasure, seemed to have
been drained from me; the native in
stinct for amusement and excitement
had died in my breast. That solitude
which had ever been most irksome AMI
diStaSteful to my social nature ap-
peared now the most welcome boon the
world could grant me. I was impa-
tient of it's interruption, and as [ sat,
that waEm spring morning, reclining
in a low chair which had been drawn
into the embrasure of a baywindow,
whose easement stood wide to admit
the mild summer breeze, I inwardly
resented Allan's intrusion upon my
brooding melancholy.
I welcomed him Hospitality, however,
and, as he gaZed down upon me, act
ualIy beholding me perhaps for he
first time in many weeks-for the eyes
of lover, unless purposely constrained,
see but one object distinctly upon
their field of vision-he started, and
looked shocked and troubled.
I stretched out a hand 70 hi:r,
ndIO on WHICH the TfIlSS nuuS lOOSe
nowadays, and he held it in silence a
minute, still with the expression of con-
Germ deeping in his dark eyes. Then
he drew forward q chair close to mine,
and seating himself on 1t, addressed me
in a grave, hushed, almost appalled,
tone we use towards the sick and dy-
ing.
what is this. dear madame?" he
asked; what has happened to change
you SOP"
1 forced a smile and tried to assume
my former gay and light-hearted man
ner. But, now that the lads percep-
lions was awakened, could no longer
impose upon them with false appear
ance. He discovered the effort and
repudiated it.
"Ah," I replied to the question, this
comes of having a foil in ones own
household. Until Lisa came you never
thought to notice that I was growing
old, fading, as the term is. But COM
parsons are naturally instituted be-
tween youth and age, between spring
and autumn, and naturally to the dis
advantage of the naturer seasons"
His face never lightened. It was
plain my words had made no impress
sion upon his solicitude. He continued
to regard me with deep anxiety.
How could they have been going on,
and not have observed it?'' he eiacu-
lated, as If thinking aloud, and his
unmistakable concern warmed nv
heart. But 1 could not ACCEPT It.
Foolish boy| cried, laughing
aloud In pretended derision Of his SYM
pathy, there is nothing the matter but
TINS 1ntolerable weather. The sea
breeZes-'
Sea breezes!' he reiterated contempt
tuously; "it is fresh wind of Destiny,
not of Nature, that you need to bring
you back to your gearings" He rose
quickly and pushed back his chair.
.! am not blind, madame" he continu-
ed rapidly, and as if fired by a sudden
resolve. II am not blind, though ever
since 1 outgrew my boyhood it has been
my policy to shut my eyes to many
things. But I have seen enough.
Heaven knows, between my closed lids
L am not brilliant fellow, it is true
yet neither am 1 a wholly dull one
especially concerning those whom I
Iove. My fathers domestic discomfort,
Tor instance, has never ESCAPED nv
notice; 1t was scarcely likely to, in
deed, since [ shared it until it became
unbearable." He broke off. and nl,Ing
ing his hands in his pockets. took a
lew nasty turns up and down the room
as 1eellng the necessity of conuuering
| the emotion that was almost master.
ing him. 1 had never seen him 50
agltated before, not even when he had
mad that short angry scene with his
rather in this very room Then. his
temper had been aroused: now. his
most sacred feelings were touched.
presently he again approached me
and sat down.
"Madanp y ~rie@ sneakine SLOWLY
and shamefacedly, as If confessinS
some culpability Of his own. 81 have
during the last five years, been grad
ually realising the worst disillusion-
ment which can come to fellow. You