The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1899-09-23

|
toni Better any man than no man,
| say l."
SO say not l, then with great spirit.
She has leaned forward upon her elbow,
| and her eyes are brilliant with a little
suspicion OF anger. Give me a desert
Island rather than the society of man
| whom l know it will require only time to
| teach me to detest. And how you can
call him SO Familiarity 'Seaton, passes
| my"
A pause. An awful pause. Who is it
that has turned the corner of the summer
| house, and is looking in at them with a
curious expression round his mouth? Girl
selda is the first to recover.
Isn't it absurd?' she says, smiling
rather lamely. But l assure you, Sea
ton. your sudden appearance quite took
away my breath. You should stamp when
you come to a house like this. The grass
all round is so thick
Too thick!' says Dysart, with a swift
glance at Vera, who has lost all her color.
For the future | shall try to remember.
| l am very sorry | startled you He has
addressed himself entirely to Griselda,
unless that one lightning glance of con-
temptuous reproach cast at Vera could
be counted. But l was on my way to
oiie VI tHe ldTi1lS, anu tulS IS tNp lowest,
the nearest path to it. l shall never cease
to regret'-here he stops dead short and
turns his eyes unreservedly on Vera
that l did not take the upper one''
He makes both girls slight bow, and
walks swiftly onward on the unlucky
path he had chosen.
"Oh, Vera, do something!" cries Grisel-
da, in a small agony of CONSERVATION,
,Ip
ished, springs to her feet, and, driven
half by honest shame and half by i'm
pulse, rushes out of the summer house
and runs after Dysart as he Is fast dis
appearing through the shrubs. Reaching
| him, painting and pale with agitation, she
! lays her hand timidly upon his arm.
Il am so grieved,' she says, her charm
| ing face very panied, her lips white.
| There are moments when one hardly
! knows what one says, and"
There are such moments, certainly"
says he, interrupting her remorselessly.
But they can hardly be classed with
| those in which the calm condolences of
| one sister are exchanged with the other.
| And why should you apologize? l assure
/ you, you need not. l do not seek for or
| desire anything of the kind
| 1t almost seems to her that he has
shaken her hand from his arm. Draw
| ing back, she sees him proceed upon his
way, and then returns to GrseIda.
Il really think l hate him." says Vera,
| vehemently. The recollection of his CON
| temptuous glance, the way in which he
| had disdained her apology-above all,
| that slight he had offered her when he
! had displaced her hand from his arm-olI
| rankle in her breast, and a hot flow of
| shame renders her usually pale face bril-
liant. There, never mind him." she says.
with little frown. He is not staying
| long, fortunately, and this episode will
bear good fruit of one sort at least He
will not trouble me with his society while
you are away. Now hurry, Griselda, do"
Griselda, with a light laugh, drawn ir-
! resistibly by the gorgeous loneliness of
| the lights and shadows of the land below,
| runs down the pathway and is soon lost
| to view.
| When she returns over an hour later
she discovers to her amazement, that
| Vera is still in it.
You are miserable about that wretch
ed affair of the morning." cries Griselda.
Never mind it. If you will come to din
ner I promise you to do all the talking,
and as it has to be endured do entreat
you to keep up your spirits
"Oh, yes. There isn't decent chance
of escape" says Vera, YEARLY
"'Sh.' cries Grisclda, softly, putting
up her hand; the sound of coming foot.
steps, slow, deliberate footsteps purpose
i ly made heavier, smites upon their ears.
''oGod heavens! Here he isl says
| Griselda, and indeed they have barely
| time to put on carefully unconscious
demeanor, when Seaton Dysart darkens
the door of the summer house, and looks
| coldly down on them.
They told me l should find you here"
he says, speaking to Vera. Il have come
| to say good-by"
But surely you are not going so soon
not before dinner, not to-night!' cries
| Griselda, thunderstruck by this solution
| of their difficulty, and a little sorry, too
| Il am going now. Good by" holding
! out his hand to her with a determination
not to be changed. Griselda takes it and
shakes it genially, nay, warmly. His hui
NOR is decidedly hostile, and if he ac-
| Quaints the old father of their incivility-
! Anything to propitiate him, she tells her
| self, will be the correct thing. and she
grows positively friendly toward him,
! and beams upon him with gentle entreaty
in her eye.
If you must go, do us one service
! first she says. "Do you see that rose?"
a rather unkempt and struggling speci-
men of its kind that trails in unadmired
| disorder just outside the door 1T has
| battied me many time, but you are tall,
| oh. taller than most will you lift these
| awkward tendrils, and press them back
| into shape?'
| She is smiling divinely at him, q smile
that Tom Peyton would have given sew
| eral years of his life to possess; but by
salt is disgracefully unmoved by it, and,
refusing to return it, steps outside, and.
with a decidedly unwilling air, proceeds
| TO lift the dropping tendrils and reduce
| them to order.
| Griselda. naturally a girl of great re-
source. seizes the opportunity she has
herself provided. Catching Ncra's arm,
she draws her back out of sight.
"Now's your time she says. Say
! something. Do something. 1t doesn't
matter what, but for heavens sake
smooth him down one way or another. If
you don't you'll have the old man down
| upon us Hike
Il can't gasps Vera, fearfully.
You must" insists Grsclda, sternly.
It's impossible to know what sort of
| MIN ne Is. IL reFengeful, he can play
old Harry with us,''
| Without waiting to explain what par
| ticular game this may mean, or the full
significance thereof, she steps lightly out
! side and gazes with undisgused rapture
| upon Dysart's work
/ Dysart returns to the summer house
/ with all the manner of one in mad haste
| to be gone. 1t is merely part OF an I'M
/ pleasant whole, he tells himself, that he
| must first say chillingly courteous word
/ or two of farewell to the girl who has
/ openly declared toward him such an IN
/ dying animosity.
Il am afraid says Vera. speaking
with cold precision, as one delivering her
self of an unloyed lesson, that you are
going away thus abruptly because of
what you heard ME say this morning"
You are right. That is why | am GO
I ing. replies Dysart calmly