The Montgomery advertiser., 1904-12-11


 Mrs. Scarborough laughed knowing ly. Who Is he? It must be human interest that made you put aside your simple gowns; for, my dear, the woman who puts on pink or blue for mornin q never does 1t unless she wishes to look well in the eyes of man. And since you and Bal don't breakfast together you must be dressing for an Imaginary adorer."
 There was no reply.
 T wouldn't blame you," Violet con- tinued. Love is a necessity to one of your type; love of the higher order that believes Tn renunciatfon and turns its back on happiness. I'm sorry. though. if you've let the thought of another man take hold of your imagl- nation-I won't say heart. because you women of ideals know nothing of gen. uine passion."
 | Perhaps, if we had the opportunity we might learn more than you think" l Marion tried to speak lightly. | You don't dare to take the risk" You may word it that way, but there is something deeper than that" 1 Ere Marion could deny the imputa- tion her husband entered the library | Sit down; won't your" Marion said | quietly.
 | No, thanks. I only came to tell you that Bob Graham, an old chum of | mine, is in town. 1 asked him to dine with us tonight, as he leaves for the | West tomorrow. l would have taken | him to the club. but he wants to meet l you; he has read your poems" l q shall be glad to see him, Balfour." There was very little cordiality in | Marion's tone.
 '1s he nice. Bal?' Violet asked.
 "Oh, yes; a fine fellow" l Violet flashed her coquettish eyes, | declaring: I'll look my best then"
 Broughton laughingly went away. Late that afternoon Marion sat be- fore the fire in her own room reading the letter she had received from Es- till Temple. Violet hal alarmed her, and she wished to think over what he had written. There was not a word at which she could cavi1-only, ten derness seemed to utter itself be- | tween the lines. At the very end he | said: Your ltters are so much to me-" | That was all; no trite prating of lack of sympathy in his marriage; no com plaint against his wife. But she un- derstood him.
 She wosdered if they would ever meet. She wanted to know him: be- cause if his letters brought such joy to her his actual presence would be- stow endless happiness. Perhaps she might never know him; ho might pass out of her life a dream. an abstraction and things would be as they were in the miserable arid dnys before his let ters aroused her from the indifference into which she had fallen.
 moment slipped by. She saw far away from her real self, as one sees into the depths of crystalline sky when the light of a colorless sunset has died; saw the truth traced across the clearnes of her vision. and knew she loved him. The knowledge hurt her like a sharp knife piercing the flesh. She had always been so intoler- ant of disloyality that she did not try to palliate that which now threatened her finer consciousness, in fact, it seemed to magnify the changes of the past few years, making them appear as stepping stones to the apex of what she considered guilt. Even the renew al of her girlishr fondness for dress was an evidence that 1t was with her as Violet has said.
 Though the stormy beating of her heart and a half-defined sense of shame, a decision to see him sprang into being. It was so sudden. so dar- ing that it struck aside all other feel ing and stimulated her like a draught of strong, sweet wine. She did not give herself time to reflect upon it's unconventionality but rose at once and answered the letter.
 Although still unnerved by the re- yelation of her feeling she was very careful at first, but on the last page she told him that she wished to see him as an mentality. The whole yearn- ing of her cheated youth asserted It. self with undeniable force.
 Putttng the sheets in an envelope she saaled aS directed it. then returned to her place before the fire.
 | She leaned her hand against the cush- ions of her chair. Conscience slept She let herself glide along golden track of dreams. Love led the way with smiling lips and outstretche1 hands.
 Dinner was almost over. The talk was general, though MT. Graham wisn- ed only for the conversation oL ms hostess. He hardly noticed Mrs. scar borough, arrayed In burnt tissues and emeralds.
 "Sneakine of journalists" MT. Gra- ham said, apropos of remark Vioiet had made. "the most gifted newspaper | man I know is Estiil Temple. Have vou met him?' He turned to Marlon'
 "He has written to me concerning literary matters" she answered. nush- ing.
 What kind of person Is he-I mean aside from his journalistic attain- mentsT asked Violet
 Charming" was the ready reply and brilliant, an enslaver or women. He has quito fad for writing 70 ms contributors and developing the most deliehtful firtations. No harm Is oone' for he never sees his correspondents; he is careful not to meet them"
 MT. Graham, after this expose or a. talented acouaintance, bestowed his en- tire attention upon his salad. He olo not see Marion's face and lips grow white and stiff. Her hands fell nervelessly in her lap as she thought or her correspondence with Estill Temple of the letter which would have been on its way to him at this moment. but for these guests she expected to dinner. She loathed herself when she saw her husband regarding her curiuosly, and Violets saucy mouth curling Into smile.
 Are you nl? Broughton asked kindly.
 No" she paused to drink some wine this room is warm. Open the win dow" she said to the butler.
 That night Marion took Estiil rem ple's letters from a papter mache box, , in which she kept the treasures of her girlhood. and threw them into the grate. While they burned to fiery edged blackness she tore the letter she had written that afternoon into frag-