Daily camera., 1901-04-08
The Destiny Of Dolores
BY Kate n. Cleary.
OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES
Copyright, 1871, by the Authors' syndicate)

IT was with a vague sense of unreali-
" that Dolores found herself an
swering the questions of the clerk. She
wondered if he noticed anything
strange about her-if he was in the
smallest degree suspicious. \ glance
at her reflection in the mirror over the
soda water fountain treasured her. Ii
was a calm face that looked back at her
an attractive face. The wide-apart
black brows archsd on the serene
white brow, and the lips of iirmness
and sweetness gave to the face its air
OF dignity-of nobility. No-there was
no obvious reason why he should sur
mise that she needed the liquid for
other than disinfecting purposes. She
took the bottle wrapped in glazed pa
per, and left the store. 1t was early in
the afternoon, and the day was divine.
The air was not sharp, although No
vember was at hand. 1t was soothing
mellow, as old wine. State street
looked less commercial and more poetic
to the wide, clear, penetrating gaze of
Dolores Burnett than she had fancied
possible.
at must be because i am seeing it
for the last time" she said to herself
She stood on the doorstep and looked
north and south. The sidewalks of
both the fashionable east side and the
workday west side OF the street were
crowded. The last fine Saturday uethe
season had tempted many out. a
hustling, hurrying, coiliding crowd
what conglomerate, bewildering, pitt
able, fascinating, suggestive spectacle
they all made.
a man passing recognized Miss Bur
nett and raised his hat.
She bowed-a queer, whimsical, lit
tie smile curving the corners of her
mouth when he had passed.
He has taken three of my stories"
she murmured. And he will pay for
them on publication" She glanced
down at the vial in the glazed paper
Il Wonder if he would pay for one of
them now if he knew!"
Then she decided it did not matter
did not matter in the least. A few more
written-a few more accepted-or a
few less. She couldn't make enough to
live on if all were paid on acceptance
every one of them.
Five years." she said. Five years
Of poverty, of ambition, of sacrifice
and at the end, failure!" She had
reached the pavement, was walking
southwark, mechanically avoiding con-
tact with people while not ally seeing g
them. She walked with the firm, as
sured, undertaking step of those IA
miliar with city streets. Suddenly she
paused, arrested by fame of color
lsaffron, and crimson and purple.
"Asters, lady?" cried the man,
standing beside his wicker basket at
the curb. "Asters, dahlas-mari-
golds?"
She shook her head and went on. She
had no money for flowers. No money
for anything if it came to that-not
even for carfare. But the sight of the
ohd-fashioned blooms had brought a
wave of homesickness which seemed to
wrench all physical strength from her
and leave her weak and trembling
How plainly she saw 1.-THE old home!
The square green farmhouse, with its
clematis-covered porch, it's sweep of
sward, its flower beds outlined with
mathematical precision. And twas in
: the summer-house there-the' warped
old summer-house-tha she had told
Everett Harper she could never be his
wife.
"My work is mapped out for me-"
; she had said. II have been scribbling
all my life. l want to be writer.
1 shall not be content with e little
success. / must become famous. And
shall. I've been reading great
deal about the women who have sue
ceeded. They almost all went to