Custer weekly chronicle. [volume] (Custer City, S.D.) 1890-1931, 1900-01-06
turning upon her now a countenance 'more
In sorrow than In anger.y


In sorrow than In anger.v
ut isn't mucl,n says Miss Beresford,
sweetly, "only--what ts your Christian
name? have been so tongtng to know. II
IS very unpleasant to be obliged to think of
people by their surnames, is 1t not? so un-
friendlyr'
He is quite staggered by the excess Of her
geniality.
MY name is Brian" he says, devoutly
hopng she will not think it hideous and so
see caue to pass Judgment upon It.
"BrianV' going nearer to him with half
shy eyes, and a little 1fdnte mouth that with
dificulty suppresses its laughter. "How
pretty! Brian" purposely lingering over it,
with an Il of coursep'
"Yes.n
I'm so glad j know yours nowr' says
this disgraceful little coquette, with sigh
OF pretended relief. "You knew mine, and
that wasn't fair, you know. Besldes,"-
with rapid glance that might have melted
an anchorite and delivered him from the
error of his ways,-"besides may want to
call you by it some day, ,nd then should
be at lOss."
Though by no means proof against so
much friendliness, Mr.. Desmond still con-
tinues to maintain an injured demeanor.
Monica lays one little hand lightly on his
arm.
Wont you ask me to call you by it9' she
says, with the prettest reproach.
'Oh, Monica" says the young man, Selling
her hand and pressing 1t against his heart,
"youknow your power, be merciful. Darling"
drawing her still nearer to him, II don't
think you quite understand how it Is with
me; but indeed love you with all my
heart and soul.n
but in such little time! How can it be
true? says Monica, al her gayety turning
Into serious wonderment
Love Is a thing as any spirit free"
quotes he, tenderly "IIow shall one know
when the god may come? II has nothing to
do with time. | have seen you,--it little
matters how often, now l love you.
Dear heart, trp to love me-"
There Is something in his manner both
gentle and earnest Impressed by 1t, she
whispers, softly,-
II ,cH try"
And you will call me Brian?"
"Oh, no!-no, indeed !-not yet" entreats
she, stepping back from him as far as he
will allow her.
Very well, not yet"
"And you will go to the Barracks for this
dance?"
II will do anything on earth you ask me-.
You know that too well, fear, for my peace
OF mind"
"And you won't be angry with me if l
don't dance with You thereT'
mo. IprOm,se that, too. All! Here is
Miss Kit coming,-and without the roses, -
after ALL"
1t Is true she has no roses; she has, in
deed, forgotten she even pretended to want
them and has been happy while away with
her song and her own thoughts.
Il think, Monica, we ought, perhaps, to
be thinking of going home," she says,
apologetically, yet with quite motherly
air. Has she not been mounting guard over
and humoring these two giddy young peo-
pie before her?
Yes, think so too;" and the goodness
of Kit, and something else, strike her.
If we are asked to this dance at Clon-
bree, and If we 60 should like Kit to go
too" she says In set aside to Desmond,
who says, THAT is all right; / settled it
with Cobbett, yesterday" in the same tone /;
and then little more cnergeticaly, as he
secs the moments flying, he goes on, Be
fore you go, say one thing after me. twill
be small consolation until see you again.
Say, Brian, good-by.'"
"Good-by, Brian," she whispers, shyly,
and then she draws her hand out of his, and
turning to the studlously mattentive Kit,
passes her arm through hers.
"Good-by, Mr.. Desmond! trust we may
soon meet again." says the younger Miss
Beresford, with rather grand air, smiling
upon him patronizingly.
~ hope so too" says Desmond, gravely,
"and that next time you will graciously ac-
cord me little more Of your society,""
Quite pleased with this delicate protest
against her heightened absence, Kit bows
politely, and she and Monica take their
homeward way.
Once Monica turns, to wave him little
friendly adieu, and he can see again her
soft, bare arms, her pretty baby-neck in her
white dinner-gown, and her lovely, earnest
eyes. Then she is gone, and her passing
seems to him like the ceasing of exquisite
music" and nothing is left him but the wall
ing OF the rising night-wind, and the mem.
ory of perfect girl-face that he knows will
haunt him till he dies.