Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1900-12-16

look of indecision and weakness of
character in their way of meeting any
other gaze they might be called upon
to encounter.
He was so tall that the girl on his
arm, herself OF no mean height for
woman, could scarcely lift her face
above his shoulder.
She was smiling up into his eyes, as
the two passed the door OF the picture
gallery, walking slowly, evidently abb
sorbed in one another. There was
carrying her small head, and her way
something in her face, her manner OF
of walking, which silently explained
the nickname of THE Princess" which
had been hers since childhood. She
was young-not more than eighteen
or nineteen-and slender and 1.-THE as
a willow-wand; yet there was pecu-
liar atmosphere of unapproachable-
ness, of dignity-almost majestic about
her. Tonight she was all in white,
as befitted a girl in her first season,
and the wax candles in the chandeliers
showered down light upon her ash
blonde hair, turning it to crown of
living gold. Her profile was particu-
larly striking and delicate, her mouth
exquisite, despite the naughty curves
of the upper lip; her eyes, Irish blue
Tor grey on day when there was no
sunlight) land the dusky curve Of her
long lashes had a strange bewitchment
for the hearts of men-even those who
did not dare to love her.
go after her. you fool" calculated
Palgrave, as he took in the magic lift
ing of those lashes, and the Duke of
Leicester's downward glance. Tell
her it's your valse, and claim her for
it. Take her away from him, can't
you? Don't you see from the very set
of his shoulders that he's made up his
mind-What there is Of ito propose
to herr"
well, if he has," retorted Blandon
sulkily, 81 don't see that can do any
thing to stop it"
you can do two things" Palgrave
harshly replied. You can keep him
from coming near her until-until
things arrange themselves more salts
factorily, and you propose to her your
self"
Blandon laughed, but not mirthfully
Much good that would do" he ejacu-
lated.
you underrate yourself" said his
father. you are as good looking as
Maurice, and you are twice as clever.
A girl of sense must infinitely prefer
you to your cousin, and. Lady Anne
O'Neil is pre-eminently a girl of sense
''She has sense enough to prefer a
duke to a commoner-a rich man to a
poor one," sneered Blandon. He was
thoroughly aroused now, the more so
that his attentions to the young lady
in question had not been entirely
promoted by zeal to obey his father
Il think you do her an injustice
there" argued Paigrave, hastily. Il
believe Ann O'Neill to be more disin-
terested than most girls of her posi-
ton and lack of money. I have
thought, sometimes, that you still had
a chance with her. Don't be an idiot,
and let it slip from you forever"
Without another word, Blandon Pal
grave left his father and walked into
the white drawing-room. Hurrying to
the opposite door, he looked in upon
the dancers, but the Duke and Lady
Anne O'Neill were not there.
The rooms were arranged in suites,
at old-fashioned Lurlworth Towers,
opening one into the another, in an
apparently endless vista, but on the
other side of the great hall, with it's
famous marble staircase, lay the
"Duchess's boudoir" as it had once
been calleu for many years now,
Lady Mary's), and beyond it, palm
house and conservatory.
A distant flutter of a white dress
against the dark oak of a half-open
door, gave Blandon a hint that the
couple had taken the latter direction,
and he strobe in pursuit.
He had little hope of being able to
make good his claim to Anne as his
partner for the dance, which was al
ready nearly over, and he we'll knew
that to Leicester at all events, his pres
ence would be far from welcome. Still,
partially impelled by his fathers ur-
gent words, partly by his own incli-
nations, he continued to follow.
He came close enough at last, to
make sure that he had not been mistak-
en- in the identity of the pair, but be-
fore he could catch up with them, they
had disappeared into the palm house
AS they did so, the last not of the
valse for which Lady Anne O'Neill had
been engaged to him, sobbed with dy-
ing sweetness upon the air, and he had
no longer the shadow of an excuse