The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1905-01-11
that you promised to marry htm?" he

questioned.
The girls eyes dropped before his
charge, but she nodded assent.
"And isn't it equally true that you
promised Caspar last week that you
would marry him." chimed in the
mother with a volley of tears.
The dropping little target of these
accusations suggested at the moment
anything but a wicked, willful, unduti-
full daughter. With no attempt at
self-justitication, she meekly acquiesed
to all they said, casting furtive glances
toward the door.
This, then, is the last of your tri-
fling" The signore's tones were as
measured and formal as if he were pro-
nouncing a death sentence. Both
Caspar and Thompson have promised
to keep their hands off each others
throat tonight, but only on condition
that they have your decision before
ten O'clock"
And you will wear Signore Caspar's
camellias tonight, won't you, daugh-
ter?" pleaded the little signora,
changing her tactics.
Under cover of this temporary truce
the culprit made her escape. Alone
again in her room, the cause of all
this trouble sank into limp little
heap upon the floor, and waited for the
earth to open at her feet and swallow
her. But after an hour or two of pa
tient waiting, the clock on the mantel
licked off eight hours and admonished
her that, since the earth showed no
sign of coming to her rescue, she had
only two hours in which to decide this
momentous question and make herself
ready for the ordeal of meeting her
parents usual Thursday evening guest.
This was the first crisis she, had ever
had to face with her own judgment.
Heretofore blind impulse had swept her
along well enough, but it was this blind
impulse that had at last brought all
this trouble upon her.
When Thompson, who was SO fine
looking after his blond American type,
had asked her under the soft mellow
moonlight to be his wife, her impulse
at that moment had been that life
could offer no finer thing, so she had
told him so promptly and heartily. And
when few days later she had met
Caspar on her way from vespers, when
the autumn sunset glow tinged all the
world with a tender rosy hue,
and, after telling her how lone
some this life was to him away
from his own people, he had
asked her to be his wife, following a
swift impulse of sympathy and forget
ting for the moment everything but
the compelling earnestness of his eyes,
she had told him yes
And now she was reaping the reward
of her lack of stability of character
These two men had almost killed each
other for her sake, and her mother
had almost died of the shock. 1t would
have been a just retribution, she told
herself, if she had lost them all and
every other friend she had ever had.
Great waves of contrition surged over
her soul till she was ready to do
anything, make any sacrifice, to undo
as far as possible the harm she had
done.
"Povero padre!" she sighed, recall
ing her fathers anxiety to hush up the
affair and meet his guests as if moth
ing had happened. She lighted the
candles that flanked her mirror and
began slowly taking the pins out of her
hair, thinking the while, more earn
estly an seriously than she had
ever done in her life. AS the
dusky shower fell over her should
ers, the little mirror returned
her miserable, sad-eyed pic
ture that, with an upward glance of
the eyes and more resigned express
sion, might have done for a Mater
Dolorosa.
But it was always diverting to deft
fingers to fashion puffs and ringlets,
especially when the result is so emf
nently satisfactory. BY the time the
last hair-pin was tucked out of sight,
and the last artful curl allowed to
stray at just the right angle. the eyes
in the mirror had cost much of their
sadness. The camellias-stiff, pale,
scentless things-were not easy to ar
range, and required much coaxing to
induce them to nestle contentedly in
her locks. The foliage was stiff and
the stems woody, and somewhere there
was an uncomfortable pull in her hair.
She did not care, however.
She held her head trife higher
and her shoulders just a wee bit
straighter as the meaning of the ca
mellias grew upon her. OF course she
loved Caspar, and would never dream
of marrying anyone else. Her mother,
she knew, would be happy when she
saw his flowers in her hair She was
happy, too, because she was doing her
duty. 1t was so nice to be good. She
wondered how she ever could have
been so headstrong and tickle. Since
the horror of this afternoons barely
averted tragedy, her other self-the
obstinate, tickle girl-seemed centuries
behind her. She nodded almost gayly
to the pale-faced reflection in her mir
ror with it's crown of white camellias.