The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1903-04-12

/ Baden, Mr. sylvia, for day after to-
morrow 1 start East. How much you
/ have done to make my stay pleasant
| and how much your excellent stories
| have helped to advance my position on
/ my paper, cannot explain TO you, but,
believe me- 1 am most grateful"
Upon these impersonal, conventional
words broke the voice Of Juan.
You shall not go! l love you and you
7 must stay herewith me. In my glor-
ious West, where you shall never write
for money again, but only the most
beautiful things, as you feel them
Then came a torrent of half Eng
lish, half Spanish love phrases that
fairly stunned the New York girl.
What should she say? 1t all sounded
so peaceful, so inviting, TO one who
had fought her way for several years
And the weeks of companionship,
she found, had not left her quite heart
whole, though in her eagerness 20
gather material she had not realized
how large a part Juan was playing in
her daily life. She was lonely too,
in her little New York apartment.
The train came and went, and she
still stood gazing out to the sea,
where the evening fog and the setting
sun were battling for supremacy Al
last she sighed and turned back to
the man.
Tomorrow 1 will tell you. Come
to my hotel in San Francisco, and you
shall have your answer. And now
that ! have missed my train, while we
wait for another let us see one of
those beautiful violet gardens of
which I have heard so much. No, we
will not talk of-love, but of violets."
And so it happened that the I'M
thinking Juan led her to the home of
Bonita Alvarez. whose viOlets We're
the talk of Baden and beyond. But
when he saw Bonita's face, he remem-
bered, and cursed himself for fool.
that he had brought this other wo-
man to her whom. in an idle moment,
he dreamed of loving. So he excused
himself on the plea of wishing to see
Senior Alvarez, and left the two girls
alone.
OF Bonita, Mildred Ayres knew
nothing. She plunged into the lntri-
cacies of violet culture and was amaz-
ed to feel suddenly a burning hand
clasped on her wrist.
mo, you shall not write. You shall
listen. Why have you done this to me
you who have so much and 1 so lit
tie? He loved me first-yes, he would
have loved me always, but for you.
And it is not you he loves, but your
fine ways, and your costly clothes, and
the life you live that once was his.
Why-why could you not go back to
that life-and leave my Juan for
me? You could live without him
could forget him-but II will die"
Mildred Ayres drew away from the
frantic clasp and the tragic eyes up
turned to hers. She almost wished
that she had given Juan her answer
at once. She had decided in her heart
that it should be yes" but with
woman's perversity, she has wished
to defer surrender. And now
He was mine always before you
came. Never. even when he went
away to school, did he care for an
other woman-only me. And now, if
you will go away he will forget-and
come back to me-"
The black eyes were dead as mid
night now, and perfectly dry as with
barbaric eloquence. Bonita pleaded
with the woman who had supplanted
her in Juan's affections.
Mildred leaned forward dizzily and
clutched the girls arm.
Tell Mr.. Sylvia 1 am ready-to 60"
That night Mildred Ayres reasoned
with herself.
THE girl is right. do not love
him as she does. And I can live with
out him. 1t will be hard for time
to take up the old grind, but the work
will help me to forget. Nothing
would make her forget. I love him
for what he can give me-surcease
from anxiety, responsibility and
drudgcry. She loves him for his own
splendid self. l might tire of him,
or tire him. She never would. And
So"
Then she wrote curt little note,
which belied the tears she had to wipe
away lest they blot the words.
The next evening. with that curt
note crushed in his burning palm,
Juan Sylvia rode back from San Fran
cisco TO Baden Disappointment,
wounded pride, and a fiery temper
gave the black horse a hard run, and
it took only an hour to reach Boni-
ta's garden. where, in the twilight,
she gathered violets.
On an east-bound express, a woman
looked backward toward the setting
sun, and murmured:
II wonder if the girl was right?
Will he go back?"
Then with a sigh she picked up a
belated New York paper and critically
studied the sensational article written
by the woman who had substituted in
her absence. For how could she know
that in the violet garden tremulous
lips were praying for her, Ave after
Ave, and the midnight of those dusky
eyes was once more shot with golden
lights?