The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1901-05-16

mi me o'clock! We will now be-
IN hold the animals parade" MUIR
INJURED Mrs. Stanley Weston, glancing
at the little gold clock that had just
announced the hour with musical self
satisfaction.
Don't be rude, Betty. They're my
guests-if they are bore. How do
! look?"
"a touch of rouge, my dear, would
assist the ensemble. Pallor is sup
posed to be interesting and sounds
well in books and things. But in
real life it's apt to be pasty-looks
like disordered liver or love or some
thing"
Betty! You are atrocious!"
Mrs. Stanard picked up a little sill
yer box and delicately applied touch
of rose-bloom to her cheeks. Mrs.
Weston stretched her blue satin Slip
pers toward the bright CRATE fire with
a luxurious little wriggle, but her
eyes, blue as the slippers, never left
her hostess face. They narrowed
shrewdly as Mrs. Stanard leaned close
to the tapers.
"a little more! That's better. Not
sleeping well-hm? Don't care
whether school keeps and all the
rest of it? Won't do, my dear. Ruin.
GUS to the complexion. Cut it out"
II wish you would not use that
abominable slang. You talk like some
factory girl" Mrs. Stanard put the
silver box back on her dressing table
with weary little gesture and the
blue eyes narrowed again.
"!ly dear, it is absolutely impossible
to express ones self in the queens
English nowadays. 1t is good form
OF course, but inadequate. Awfully
inadequate. The factory girl says in
sentence what good form takes a
chapter to express. And even then
the factory girl has the best of it
What are you fretting about?'
Nothing"
Mrs. Weston elevates her artistical
~ penciled eyebrows and thoughtful
" pats the pearl clasps on her long
suede gloves with one finger. The
other folds her arms on the silver
cupid frame of her tall cheval glass
and drops her head on her arms
After carefully counting the pear
clasps three times Mrs. Weston mods
IN a satisfied manner, then allows he1
eyes to travel up the long lace trair
I'LL they reach the bare shoulders and
still. bowed head.
That pose is very graceful anG
fetching, cherie," she says cheerfully
But it's wasted. There's no one here
but me. And it's 9:15."
She looks sharply at the listless face
IN the mirror, then rises with little
1rou-fron of silken petticoats and gets
glass of wine from cabinet.
Drink, pretty creature, drink.
don't dare, for it always makes my
nose red. That fact alone has saved
me from the gold cure. For if there.
ANYTHING | enjoy it's the wine wher
II is red. And l could, like Omar. di
vorce barren reason without a qualm
nut my complexion! Especially one.
nose. And now, Mrs. Stanard, if yo,
40 not want your guests to go hom,
IN dudgeon, minus hostess and tenn
per, 1t behooves you to make you1
presence material in the drawing
room. And do not propose to vast.
TINS new gown on the desert air any
longer. Come on"
A little later and white lace anf
blue yelve: are surrounded by liph
ana color, the sweeping gowns o
ialr women and the black coats O
'ne men as contrast. The air is sof
and languorous with the odor of hot
mousse flowers, and through the hun
OF cultured voices creep the fain
strains of Instant string instruments
Mrs. Stanard's face is serene an,
siightly smiling, and her voice has ius
that touch of personal interest tha
soo1hs and attracts, as she greets eacl
OF her guests with perfect tact. He
eyes dark and tranquil, pass from fac
10 face and tell nothing. The hour
pass and find her still smiling. inter
ested, unwearied. Only the flower
oroop at her breast and as she unfast
ems them she presses the thorny stem
1ard against the soft flesh for mo
pea'' 4 sharp pain is relief from