The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1902-01-15

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little, flushed, weary maid in a
I quaint, snowy gown, bud already
beginning to tire of the fierce light
beating on her dear, dazed head.
She never afterward could remain
ber just how it came about, but it
began when his sleeve caught on
some of the shining bits Of silver
among the ferns before her, and
and-well, she was crying softly on
his shoulder in less than moment,
both of them go oblivious of every
thing else that they didn't wake till
mamma stood before them with a
startled cry. Then they had to tell
mamma, even before they had really
told eacil other very much, but papa
liked PhiPs father, so it. had come
out all right in the end.
They had told everybody by this
time, and the society columns had
printed the date of their wedding,
i with list Of the bridesmaids, and
she had ordered the beloved gown,
with its frightfully long train and
its stern air of severe matronly elc-
gance. And now there wouldn't be
any wedding after all, and the girls
would give back the pretty pearl
hearts she had presented to them as
her attendants, and mamma would
be SO ashamed of her that she would
probably be sent abroad for year
or two. That wouldn't amount to
much, however, as it would take her
away from Philip, and of course she
must learn as soon as possible to
bear the parting. Did it take long
to mend heart? she questioned
in the midst of the big, wet pill
low. Why was it women ever were
made to care SO much for men if
men were SO cruel? Of course it
was all Philips fault. He had nev-
! er been in earnest with her, she sup
posed, and took this way to show it
when he grew tired of her. Well,
she would show him that women can
be hard, too, and she was going to
begin by breaking every masculine
heart at that tea that afternoon.
For" mused this desperate little
girl as she arrayed herself with fe-
verish skill in the lovely new gown
sent home that very morning, "T
used to be glad I am pretty because
Philip-no, Mr.. Ewing-liked it.
Now I am glad because. T. know it
will make me all the more capable
of hurting him just as he has hurt
me-"
Everybody marveled at Miss
Lanes vivacity, and Tom Wells
fairly tingled with joy at the look
she gave him wher she dropped the
tiny sweet cubes from her tongs
into his fragile cup. But when the
other guests we're gone to the dress
ing room and the men were waiting
to escort their fluffy clad charges
to the carriages Beatrice sat alone
and forgotten. Philip was late, and
he strode past the men into the
drawing room and soon had found
the table at which Beatrice was sit
ting. And when she looked up to
see him standing before her, with
his fine. head bowed and such
cruel, white line about his lips, all
she could do was to hold out her
hands. Philip took them.
'It was all my fault" she breath
ed.
eeNo; it was all mine," he whis-
pered. Then he went on, looking
into her eyes with his face strangely
sad and determined:
cit has been a terrible lesson, NV
love, and one we must never try
again. Perhaps this may not have
done much harm, except"-and his |
voice grew husky-"there will al
ways be that little rift in the Lutte.
had hoped we should never have
that to regret, but it came, and we
must use it as a warning. Hasn't |
it been terrible enough, Beatrice, to
keep us from it forever?''
Their hostess found them both so |
worn aud yet 80 happy that she un-
derstnod without word.
"Come with me-" was all she said.
and, taking them each by the hand,
she led them back to a dear little
room, all palms and blossoms and
soft, rosy lights, and there she left
them, saying as she stole away:
Beatrice hasn't been well or hap
py this afternoon, and she is ell
worn out now. Do you know, Mr..
Ewing, that when T am tired and
heartsick there isn't anything in the
world which rests me and makes me
glad so much as my husbands
kiss ?"