The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1901-08-01

had been trying for q chance to thank
George, but now when she attempted to
do SO he prevented her by saying:
"Oh! don't-don't-I can imagine all
you wish to say and hate to be thanked.
Rose and l are particular friends. and it
afforded me great deal Of pleasure to
purchase it for her-but," he added,
glancing at his watch, II must be excus-
ed now, as promised to call upon my
ward"
who's that?" asked Jenny, and
George replied that it was a Miss Hern-
don, who had accompanied him from
New Orleans, to visit her aunt, Mrs.
Russell.
He says she's an heiress, and very
beautiful" rejoined Ida, seating herself
at the piano.
Instantly catching at the words "heir-
ess" and beautiful Henry started up,
asking ''if it would be against all the
rules Of propriety for him to call upon
her thus early"
Il think it would" was Georges brief
answer, while Mary's eyes flashed scOrn-
fully upon the young man, who, rather
crestfallen, announced himself ready to
listen to Ida, whom he secretly styles IAN
old maid," because since his first remem-
brance she had treated him with perfect
indifference.
That night before retiring the three
girls sat down by the cheerful fire in
Mary's room to talk over the events Of
the day, when Mary suddenly asked Ida
to tell her truly IL it were not George who
had paid her bills at Mount Holyoke.
"What silly girl" said Ida. 'He was
perfectly able and more than willing, so
why do you care?"
II do not like being so much indebted
to anyone" was Mary's reply, and yet
in her secret heart there was a strange
feeling of pleasure In the idea that
George had thus cared for her, for would
he have done so If She dared not I'm
ish that question even to herself-dared
not ask il she hoped that George More
land loved her one-half as well as she
began to think she had always loved him.
Why should he, with his handsome per-
son and princely fortune, love one so un-
worthy, and so much beneath him? And
then, for the first time, she thought of
her changed position since last they met.
Then she was poor, obscure school mis-
tress-now fattered, caressed and an
heiress. Years before, when a little pau
per at Chicopee, she had felt unwilling
that George should know how destitute
she was, and now in the time Of her
prosperity she was equally desirous that
he should, for a time at least, remain ig-
norant of her present condition.
"Ida," said she, lifting her head from
the table, ''does George know that l am
Mrs. Campbelps nieceY
"No,'" answered Ida. II wanted to tell
him, but Aunt Martha said I'd better
not"
"Don't, then," returned Mary, and re-
suming her former position she fell into
a deep reverie, from which she was at
last aroused by Jenny's asking III she
intended to sit up all night?"
The news that George Moreland had
returned and bought Rose Lincoln's piano
besides several other articles, spread
rapidly, and the day following his ar
rival Mary and Ida were stopped in the
street by a group of their companions,
| who were eager to know how George
bore the news that his betrothed was SO
| i'll, and IL it was not that which brought
him home so soon; and then the cOnver.
sation turned upon Miss Herndon, the
New Orleans lady who had that morning
appeared in the street; "And don't you
| think" said one Of the girls, that Henry
Lincoln was dancing attendance upon
her? II / were you," turning to Mary,
"Id caution my sister to be little wary
of him. But let me see, their marriage
| is to take place sOon?"
Mary replied that the marriage was
postponed indefinitely, whereupon the
girls exchanged meaning glances and
| passed on. In less than twenty-fouI
hours half of Elias acquaintances were
| talking Of her discarding Henry on ac-
| count of his fathers failure, and saying
sthat they expected it, twas like her."
Ere long the report, in the shape of a
coincidence, reached Henry, who, caring
| but little what reason was assigned for
| the broken engagement, so that he got
we'll out of it, assumed q much-injured
| air, but said she reckoned he should man
age to survive then, pulling his sharp
| pointed collar up another story, and
| brushing his pet mustache, wherein lay
most of his mind, he walked up street,
| and, ringing at Mrs. RusselPs door, ask.
| ed for Miss Herndon, who, vain as beau.
| tiful, suffered his attentions, not because
she liked him in the least, but because
| she was fond Of fattery, and there was
something exceedingly gratifying in the
! fact that at the North, where she fancied
| the gentlemen to be icicles. she had sc
| soon made conquest. 1t mattered moi
| that Mrs. Russell told her his vows were
| plighted to another. She cared nothing
| for that. Her life had been one long
series of conquests until now. at 25, there
was not in the whole world more I'm.
/ ished or heartless coQuette than Evror
/ Herndon. To be continued.)