The suburban citizen., 1900-09-29

y
was tea time, and on the tea table lay
n dish of pearl biscuits, and she and
her husband and Vellan We're alone
Her husband took n handful of pearl
biscuits and tossed them one by one
in the air, while Vellan threw back
his head and caught them in his mouth
as they came down-this was one of
his accomplishments. She smiled as
she remembered it, but at the same
time she put her handkerchief to her
eyes.
why did he go away? What could
it have been" she wondered. her old
bewilderment at his conduct, her whole
being longing to comprehend it, re-
yiving with something of the old, cid
force. Could it have been? Could
it have been? And an old guess, an
old theory, one she had never spoken
to anybody, but had pondered much in
silence, again presented itself interrog,
ativcly to her mind.
The door opened; the butler mumbled
n name, and she saw a tall, white
holding out his hands. 1t took her
little while to realize who it was. With
an unthlnklng disallowance for the ac-
ton Of time, she had been expecting
young fellow of eight and twenty,
brown-haired and rudy.
. Perhaps he, on his side, was sur
prised 9 little by meeting a middle
aged lady in a cap.
After dinner he would not let her
leave him. but returned with her to the
drawing room, and she said that lie
might smoke. He smoked odd little
Cuban cigarettes, whereof the odor was
delicate and aromatic. They had talked
of everything, then had laughed and
sighed over their ancient JOYS and sor
rows. We know melancholy wanders
hand in hand. She had cried n little
when her husband and her brother
were FIRST spoken Of, but at some comic
"Reminiscences of them a moment after
wards she was smiling through Fer
tears.
|. DO you remember So and so? and
What has become Of such a one:"
were the types of questions they asked
each other, conjuring up old friends
and enemies like ghosts out Of the
past. incidentally he described Porto
Rico and its natives and its spaniards,
its climate its fauna and its flora.
In the drawing room they sat on
opposite sides of the fire and were ST.
lent for a bit. Profting by the permits,
sion she had given him, he had pro
duced one Of his Cuban cigarettes,
opened it at its ends, unrolled it, rolled
ii up again, and lit It,
Now the time has come for YOU to
tell me what 1 most want to know"
she said.
What is itY
"Why you went away"
"Ohw he murmured.
She waited a minute Then
"Tell me-" she urged.
do you remember Mary Isona?" he
asked.
She glanced at him suddenly as if
startled
MARY Isona? Yes, of course"
wei, l was in love with her"
You were in love with Mary Isona? ?"
Il was very much in love with her.
l have never got over it, I'm afraid"
She gazed iXedly at the fire. Her
lips were compressed. She saw a slen-
der girl in a plain black frock. with a
sensitive pale face, luminous. sad. darl,
! eyes, and a mass of dark, waving hair
Mary Isona Of Italian parentage. a
little music teacher whose only rela-
ton to the world Theodore Yellan
lived in was professional. She came
into 1t for an hour or two at time
now and then, to play or to give a
music lesson.
yes" he repeated, 81 was in love
with her / have never been in love
with any other woman. 1t seems ri
diculous for an old man to say it. but
am in love with her still. An Old
manE Are we ever really oldY Our
body grows Old, our skin turns white
but the spirit, the heart? The thing
we call ~ Anyhow, not a day. NOT
an hour passes, but l think of her. |
long for her. l mourn for her. You
knew-you knew what she was. Do
you remember her playing? Her won.
derful eyes? Her beautiful pale face
And how the hair grew around the
forehead? And her talk, her voice. her
intelligence Her taste her instinct
in Literature, in art-it was the finest
l ever met"