The star. (Reynoldsville, Pa.) 1892-1946, 1905-11-15
nented looking at him in bewllder-

L reel IN love with you, Gladys, De
cause of the strong affinity between
us on many subjects. When it comes
to the greatest of all themes you are
dumb and l am the lover. The love is
all on my side"
George, dear, 1 could not speak,"
she said, trembling, but /"
He went on regardless Of her inter-
ruption.
Now, this woman inspires me. l
feel she is my ideal woman. l talk
to her and l con over her poems as l
paint. Yet all the while l am thinking
of you and wishing you could speak
So"
He paced up and down the room and
then sat down by her side.
"Why," he cried, taking little hand
and fondling it, II am so crazed that
l am actually painting picture to my
unknown ideal. l have called it who
is Sylvan" He did not notice her
glad start of wonder and recognition,
but went on musingly. Il have put a
troubadour under balcony. He is
looking up to window, where hand
is opening the easement.
"Why do you laugh?" he added short
ly. Il am quite serious"
Gladys laughed long and merrily.
She knelt down by his side.
"You dear, silly boy" she cried;
'your Sylvia may be faded, gray
haired old lady. lamenting the lost love
of her youth, or she may be happily
married dame with merry troop Of
children. Perhaps she is man like
the writer of An English Woman's
Love Letters or she may be an i'm
possible person. A soul does not al.
ways dwell under a beautiful cover.
ing"
IF 1 thought any of your sugges-
tions were true" said George, dubious
ly, Il
would keep to the old one?" she
said, coaXingly. George, dear, you
said you loved me once and promised
to marry me. You are the only
man l ever cared for" She looked
wistfully at him. "Do not throw me
over for a mere caprice or fancy. If
we have loved once it should be for
aye, for true love can never alter"
Now you are talking like Sylvia"
answered George, softly, gazing at
her.
She certainly looked very sweet with
the loye-light brimming in her pretty
eyes. After all, the writer of the
poems might turn out to be a dyspep-
tic. Most of the minor poets he knew
were afflicted in that way.
George, dear" she whispered, at
would be so awful to change now we
have fixed the day-that is, if you still
love the Gladys you imagined me- to
be-"
Il know, darling. l have been
brute. Forgive me-" he said con-
tritely. 81 will read Sylvia no more.
will imagine you are at the easement
and l will give you the picture for a
wedding present.
He kissed and fondled her as he
spoke. He could see how unhappy
she looked.
"And l." she answered, shyly, blush
ing under his kisses, will give you
my present on the morning after we
are married"
George kept to his word and his
sweetheart.
The onlookers declared, therefore a
lovers quarrel had been made up.
The day of the wedding had arrived.
Every thing passed off beautifully,
until, at the supreme moment, George
remembered Sylvia and shud.
dered. The girl at his side pressed
closer and gave him pathetic little
glance.
At the breakfast he appeared quite
and the guests commented
on his preoccupied air.
He talked to his newly made wife
with great effort for the rest of the
day, but she only smiled tenderly at
him and would not notice anything
amiss in his unloverlike behavior.
At breakfast the next morning he
still appeared i'll at ease. In reality he
felt ashamed of himself. Sylvia had
filled his dreams all night.
George, dear husband" said Gladys,
at the end Of the silent meal, II have
left your present on the dressing table.
VIII you go and look at it" She
flushed painfully as she spoke. Surely
a woman should not need to woo her
husband!
Certainly" he answered, glad of
an opportunity of escaping from his
position.
He hurried up stairs, where he
walked to the dressing table, and found
a copy of "Sylvia's Love-" 1t bore the
inscriptions: From the writer, Gladys,
to her only love-"
In the meantime Gladys had walked
to the window. There she watched the
play of a wave-kissed blue sea spark.
ling with sunshine. And there George
found her.
He put his arm about her and drew
her to his side with tender, clinging
Once more he was the dear
George of old. She knew no shadow
Of misunderstanding would ever come