The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1902-01-16

SO unhappy. I love him, love him,
love him! I'd rather be his wife and
live in poverty and rags than be the
richest, the most famous woman in
the world.
June 2-The 18th is my wedding
day. The senator arrives on the 14th.
These American beauties over there
in the jardiniers are from him. I
hate American beauties - great,
fluanting, gorgeous, overperfumed
things. But I haven't told you the
news, dear D.. Freddie is manag-
ing editor of the Herald. Well,
knew his genius would be recognized.
Dear boy, he deserves it. All me.
how often we've discussed in idle
moments what he would do if he were
ever at the head of big paper. 1t
seemed so very unlikely then.
June 4-Received short note from
Freddie. Wants to know if I'll take
luncheon with him at Dorser's to-
morrow for auld lang syne's sake.
Will 1? Won't I, though? Yes, dear
D., know I ought to have scru-
Piles. My heroines would have, of
course. In fact, if any of them were
in my place now she'd decline, like a
well brought up child and regret it
ever after. But, thank heaven, dear
D., I'm not heroine, but a very
much alive, real flesh and blood wom-
an, and I've already accepted Fred
dies invitation. I added two lovely
negligee robes to my trousseau to-
day. Purest white, long and cling
ing, with plenty of foamy lace. The
senator-Freddie-
July 13-This morning my hus band
read everything I've written to you,
dear D.. His dear eyes-the kind
est, t1uest, bestest eyes laughed over
most of it, looked over grave parts,
but they smiled when it was finished.
Dear Freddie-did you give a start
of surprise, dear D.? I fancied
you did, because, of course, you
thought it was the senator, which
shows, D, how stupid you are.
Why should 1 marry the senator when
1 love Freddie, and he finally asked
me? 1t happened at Dorser's, at that
luncheon, you remember? Such day
as that day was. I'll never forget it,
D.. Gray and somber and ghostly
and cheerless, with sobbing wind.
And I felt exactly, D, as if were
going to my own funeral, for I had
made up my mind that Freddie didn' t
care for me. 1 had planned to make
an irresistible toilet was not going
to be deaths head at our last feast
together-but with the weather it
was out of the question. I thought
1 looked like a fright, though Freddie
told me afterwards-but never mind.
He was waiting for me when I got
there. The cafe was almost deserted
and everything seemed so dismal.
Freddie was as grave as judge and
there was such a lump in my throat
1 was afraid to speak for fear would
cry. Well, we struggled along until
the coffee was brought in, and then
Freddie seemed to arouse himself.
He leaned over and looked straight
into my eyes and began to talk in his
grave, quiet way of the good COLI
radeship that had always been he
tween us, just as if one of us WAS
about to die or something. "And now
it is good-by, little girl, isn't it?" he
said, and I felt like a violin that had
been strung SO tight every move
ment of the bow made it shiver.
Eyes, I suppose it is" I agreed. mis-
erably. And then, yes, D., I cried,
actually broke down and cried in
spite of the walters and the place.
Well, it clinched matters. You see,
Freddie said he never thought I real
ly and truly cared until then, and that
gave him courage to ask me to throw
over the senator and marry him. 1'he
poor senator! I telegraphed him that
very day and followed it up with my
very best effort in the epistolary line.
He was very nice about it, too. His
letter made me feel badly for quite
two minutes. But I'm SO happy,
D! And Freddie thinks my trous-
seau perfect. Well, he ought to, the
goose; it was purchased for him.