The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1905-05-18
IN LONDON TOWN

were doing the National Gallery. We
we're in the Turner Room, surrounded
by those pictures for all the world
like a series of inverted sunsets.
| was weary with the task and turn
ed toward a seat with n hope of per.
suading Adele to rest bit, when my
eye fell on the occupants of two
chairs nearest us.
Evidently two of I.ondons smart
set. They had reached. a crisis. By
what ways they had arrived l could
not guess. They were utterly oblivi-
Gus of their surroundings. She was
dainty bit OF woman. awfully chic
in appearance. very little, pretty,
fitted out better than even Bonds
streets best. lie was rigged as Sun
days Prayer Book Promenade in
Hyde Park would find him. lie was
a man who had lived. She was hit
gray over the temples, as il. a powder
+, puff had been tapped on either side
of the pompadour above her high.bred
little face.
He sat sidewise. his arm over the
back of his chair; she rested her fore
arm against the back of her chair
and her hand lay in his naturally, as
a lotus bud rests upon its element.
/ The man did not even close his hands
over hers. The touch of their souls
was too close for them TO need or
heed material contact.
A second, and the eye took In the
details of this living picture. | gave
q gasp of surprise-of sympathy.
whats the matter?" asked Adele.
My eyes carried hers to the two.
"It's their dilemma" l said
| Nonsense. They are too old for
romance" declared Adele with the in
souciance of youth.
They we're of my own time and gen.
GRAFTON, but then | myself felt some
what the worse for wear
That's the very little woman we
saw yesterday as we came from our
sail to Greenwich. | remember the
peculiar shade of that gown
The same woman, but had not re-
called her face until Adele spoke l
had not noted the tint of her gown.
Somehow the remembrance of the
look Of her face against the gray
stones of the pier made me feel as il
1 were weaving the web of some story
about the dainty little creature. The
thought made me feel more weary. /
sat down in a nearby chair
adele" l said, III you are going
to do that Hogarth cuddy yonder so
by yourself | will wait here
I sat thinking Of crisis of my own
to which had come long ago, when
heard the little woman say:
at must end, Hugh. Yesterday
when we came up from the river, you
know-we passed a poor girl crouched
on the stone steps. You hurried me
on when l would have stopped to give
her a shilling or two. You said: You
must not even breathe the air with
such We were gay with our gay
companions. all laughingly hurrying
from the rain. She-do you recall her
face? Where do you suppose she Is
now? In the rivery'
l recalled the girl. Such passive
despair. /, having had no one to pre-
vent me, flung her sixpence or two.
But that girl wanted a richer gift
than any in that passing crowd had
for giving She wanted-Death.
What does the girl matter?" said
the man; what Is she to us?"
You would not let me give her
shilling-she gave me-"
"Gave your
"Sight of her gave me insight,
Hugh. Gave me sight of myself. I
am as she is"
Dorothy" The pain in the mans
voice was acrid.
''In the sight Of our world-in sight
Of heaven. Hugh, we have done no
harm, unless loving be so; but Hugh.
the spirit Of the law! l keep saying
over and over to myself I am as she
is"
The man said nothing, but I would
not have worn his face then for q
block Of Standard Oil stock.
1T must end, Hugh-we met too
late. Over and over l keep saying:
am like her-like her."
"Come, old poke" cried Adele, COM
ing toward me, for she had done tho
shrimp girl and the marriage a 10
mode series In short order. Take
me away back to that Madonna of
Carlo Doici's with the dear bright
flowers, but-never mind, SO old, SO
tired"
81 swear | am but forty.
II will go with you, will let your
old bones get a little rest"
So we went.
AS we went toward the great iron
gates our view Of Landseer's lions was
obstructed by glittering trap, the
restlessness of the two splendid
horses attracting notice of the pass
ersby. Said one.
LADY Dorothy Lumley's."
! had a name for the heroine of
my new story that was a-weaving.
Two days later read in the Times
"Died of heart failure, Lady Dorothy