The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1903-02-01

have let you. I had a morbid curiosity
to be present at my own dissection. I
am glad to know what you really think
Of me. But ! hate such conversations!
I hate such scenes! am not given to
making long speeches. and, as you told
me, am cot clever. But. whatever my
faults are, saying unpleasant things is
not among them. Flattery may be part
Of my wiIes. but at least it never hurts
I feel" she said. turning toward him and
passing her hand YEARLY over her fore
head-'I feel at least ten years older
than I did when you first began"
She leaned a little on table near her,
and his heart smote him, she looked so
fran and childish Perhaps It is all
true, what you have said. Perhaps am
what you think. But what do you know
Of a woman's heart? What do you know
of her inner life and motives? Simply
what you observe, and what she IS
pleased TO tell you. Because she does not
wear her heart on her sleeve, or surren-
der it to some man. are you justified in
thinking that she is without one? How
do you know that she has not suffered?
How do you know that her frivolous life
is not an effort to hide it? What right
have you to predict pain for her.
whe7-''
She turned away, unable to finish,
Dalrymple gazed at her, aghast- Her
slender frame was trembling, and for
the first time he saw that her eyes look
ed panied and earnest. He hardly sup
posed her capable of expressing any
emotion save almost childish JOY or
pleasure; yet now, as he looked at her,
he felt as if he had laid bare her quiz
ering soul He took one step toward
her. and held out his hand
Ma moiseIIe,'' he said. softly, for
give me-"
The front door opened. and in an in
stant the portieres leading from the hall
were parted, as Mrs. Coudert entered
the room. Dalrymple dropped his hand.
and turned to greet her. He did not see
ma amoiselis alone after that, and soon
took his departure.
As he stepped into the open air he
drew a long. deep breath, and almost
doubted the reality Of the scene he had
had with ma'amoisene. He was glad
that Mrs. Coudert had come In just when
she did. before he had had time to take
hack those cruel, truthful things. It
had been the hardest task OF his
life, but he was glad that he had
had the strength to say them. It
had settled one thing in his mind She
cared for some one else. She had suf
fered-she, who never seemed TO have a
care or d serious thought. It was some
one whom perhaps she had known in her
early youth-some one whom she had
seat away and regretted; some one
whom she had found out too late that
she loved.
Ma motseIIe in love, Ma'moiselle mar
riedI He could not imagine such a
thing. He had schooled himself to say
that for a friend-a recreation-she was
charming; but for a wife-he could
imagine no greater folly. What did she
know of duty and self-sacrifce? He al
most laughed at the thought of connect
ing the terms with her He walked along
quickly toward his club. and tried TO
tell himself that he had done right;
but ma mofseHe's eyes, no longer laugh |
ing. but dark, with hurt. panied look
in them. haunted him. The sweet, plain
tive voice rang in his ears. What do !
you know of a woman's heart?" it asked; /
and he could not still it,
A few days later the worst that he
had dreaded for his business came upon /
him. Every day chronicIed fresh fail
ures, and in one of the crashes he saw /
the enterprise that he had given years
to building up. totter and fan like a
house of cards: the money he had toiIed !