Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1904-02-20
service tho obligation is quite on my sids.'

he said.
The man of Miss De Peyster's world miss
ed the point completely.
"Oh, but insist he said, smiling.
Davoud took the proffered note between
his strong, bare fingers Here, caddy.
he called, there's something for you," and,
thrusting the cracking bit Of paper into the
boys eager hand. he bowed to Miss De
Peysters astonished escort, went into his
workshop and closed the door. Had he left
1t open he might have had the satisfaction
of seeing his mistaken benefactor crushed
into fine powder by gray-eyed snow
queen.
Il should think you'd have more sense =
she said wrathfully. Cant you see he isn't
that kind?"
The little incident of the morning, rub
bling in so forcibly the undeniable fact that
he did not belong" did not render Da-
voud's mood genial when the arrival of the
dancers found him in his working clothes,
putting the finishing touches to the decora-
tons over the hall door, 1t was not one
Of Davouds duties. but the man hired for
the occasion had managed to get himself
pleasantly Jagged at the last moment.
He was standing on a step-laddeg, a ham
mer In one hand, mailing up the last
wreath, when Antoinette De Peyster. glow
Ing like rose, an ermine cape slipping
from her bare shoulders. entered with her
companion of the morning. immaculate in
evening dress. Davoud had never seen her
Ike this before. A crescent of pale pearls
glimmered in her dark hair above her star
| ry aeyes. He went on hammering with a
stOhd ccuntenance.
The wreath safely fastened. Davoud
| shouldered the ladder, and betook himself
! to his own world, the world of the shaw
| ing-strewn, bare little work shop, where
disabled clubs. implanted balls and golf
| supplies of all kinds awaited his attention.
Dreamy waltzes and gay twosteps fioated
| to him from the ball room. He felt little
| lonely. It's one thing to give up the world
| of fashion, another thing to be shut out.
| I'm coming in said voice from the
| doorway.
Davoud started. He looked at his rough
clothes, to which the sawdust chung, then
| at the girl before him in the shimmering
gown, at the crescent of pearls shining in
her hair, at the fam uncovered neck.
| I'm afraid you'll find it too cold, Miss
De Peyster," he said, calmly, despite his
humping heart.
"oh, no. she answered. coming step
nearer; land BESIDES" taking down an old
sweater from it's nail, you can lend me
| one of these"
| She stood before him. not shyly, but like
some friendly queen about to bestow great
gifts.
| Davoud faced her with clenched hands.
| Then his heart leaped to his lips.
You should never have come in here like
this If you didn't want me to tell you! You
| should have stayed out there with the peo-
| pie that you belong to- You shouldn't be
| friendly and sweet and dear like this, unless
| you want me TO tell you that l love you,
love you, love you with everything there is
| in me-poor fool that ami
He sat down despairingly on the wooden
| bench among the shavings, his sleek, boy
| ish head bowed In his hands.
| In an instant the girl in the ball gown
| was on her knees at his side.
And suppose I did want you to tell me ~
| she whispered Suppose have found out
| that don't belong to the people out there,
| if you don't? Suppose have found out that
| one may love a man even If he is not a
gentleman, but never gentleman unless he
| is man? And suppose l know that you
| are both?"
| Davoud raised his head with a cry of glad
| ness, and holding her close to him, set his
| lips to hers in an exulting kiss.
| And that is why an inquisitive caddy,
| prowling through the night to behold the
/ aristocrats at their pleasure, received a
| shock at seeing the keeper of the links sit
| ting or the wooden bench in the workshop
| close to most beautiful princess in ball
\ gown, an old sweater tied around her neck
| by it's sleeves, in place of the ermine coat
| that was reposing somewhere in the more
/ conventional regions back of the ball room