Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1903-06-04

fourthIy that It was hardly worth
thinking about, Dick, her property, had
not written to her for more than six
weeks. She was angry with the heat,
with Kaml and with her work, but she
was exceedingly angry with Dick.
She had written to him three times,
each time proposing fresh treatment
of her Melancolia. Dick had taken no
notice of these communications. She
had resolved to write no more. When
she returned to England in the autumn
for her pride's sake she could not re-
turn earlier-she would speak to him.
She missed the Sunday afternoon con-
ferences more than she cared to admit.
All that Kami said was, "Continuez.
mademoiselle, continuez toujours," and
he had been repeating his wearisome
ly like cicala an old gray cicala in a
black alpaca coat, white trousers and
huge felt hat.
But Dick had tramped masterfully
up and down her little studio north of
the cool green London park and had
cCll0 lCA tllnCS hOlSS lAdA COu-
tinuez'' before he snatched the brush
out of her hand and showed her where
her error lay. His last letter, Maisie
remembered, contained some trivial
advice about not sketching in the sun
or drinking water at Wayside farm
houses, and he had said that not once,
but three times, as if he did not know
that Maisie could take care of herself.
But what was he doing that he could
not trouble to write? A murmur of
voices in the road made her lean from
the window A cavalryman of the little
garrison in the town was talking to
Kami's cook. The moonlight glittered
on the scabbard of his saber, which he
was holding in his hand lest it should
clank inopportunely. The cooks cap
cast deep shadows on her face, which
was close to the conscript's. He slid
his arm round her waist, and there fol-
lowed the sound of kiss.
"Faughp' said Maisie, stepping back.
Whats thatY' said the red haired
her bed.
"Only a conscript kissing the cook,
said Maisie. "They've gone away
now" She leaned out of the window
again and put shawl over her night
gown to guard against chills. There
was very small night breeze abroad,
and sun baked rose below nodded it's
head as one who knew unutterable Sc
crets. Was it possible that Dick should
turn his thoughts from her work and
his own and descend to the degrada- !
ton of Suzanne and the conscript? He
could not. The rose nodded its head
and one leaf Herewith. 1t looked like
a naughty little devil scratching its
ear. Dick could not, "because," thought
Maisie, she is mine--mine-mine. He
said he was. I'm sure l don't care
what he does. 1t will only spoil his
work if he does, and it will spoil mine
too"
The rose continued to nod in the fl-
tile way peculiar to flowers. There was
no earthly reason why Dick should not
disport himself as he chose, except that
he was called by Providence, which
was Maisie, to assist Maisie in her
work. And her work was the prepara-
tion of pictures that went sometimes
to English provincial exhibitions, as
the notices in the scrapbook proved,
and were Invariably rejected by the
salon when Kami was plagued into al
lowing her to send them up. Her work
in the future, it seemed, would be the
preparation of pictures on exactly SINH
lar lines which would be rejected in
exactly the same way.
The red haired girl thIashed distress
fully across the sheets. TITS too hot to
Sleep" she moaned, and the interrupt
ton Jared.
Exactly the same way. Then she
would divide her years between the
little studio in England and Kami's
big studio at yitry Marine. No, she
would go to another master. who
should force her into the success that
was her right if patient toll and des-
perate endeavor gave one a right to
anything. Dick had told her that he
had worked ten years to understand
his craft. She had worked ten years,
and ten years were nothing.
Dick had said that ten years were
nothing-but that was in regard to her
self only. He had said-this very man
who could not find time to write-that
he would walt ten years for her and
that she was bound to come back to
him sooner or later. He had said this
in the absurd letter about sunstroke
and diphtheria, and then he had
stopped writing. He was wandering
up and down moonlit streets, kissing
cooks.
She would like to lecture him now
not in her nightgown, of course, but
properly dressed severely and from
height. Yet if he was kissing other
girls he certainly would not care
whether she lectured him or not. He