Middletown transcript., 1906-08-04

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opposites. was what he said, add
ing as he glanced at the book she
uheld: Did your friend recommend
nThe Cardinals Snuff boxg'
Miss Mason looked up at him
smiling.
No, she replied gently. Edgar
had discovered that this gentles
ness of tone was usually accom-
pauied by a certain qnizzical
CLEAN that came into her eyes
with a good deal of frequency.
M, Doctor Mandeville does not
read novels, ! believe.
And you do? By his tone he
would have made novel reading
one of the essential virtues.
Yes, occasionally. Iwould read
more II more were as pretty and
absorbing as this one.
He took up the book, ran light.
ly through its pages, then laid it
beside her on the grass. where
it made a bit Of scarlet color in
the sun.fecked shadow.
What do you do with yourself
while Doctor Vaudeville is re-
ceiving and paying calls? inquired
Edgar She must bea busy wo
man; mr. sister tells me she has
a large practice.
She is; very busy. Like the
bee, she improves each shining
hour, while II seem like use-
less butterfly. ! embroider or
read or walk, and sometimes in a
fit Of industry / set the doctors
medicine closet in order and clean
her instruments.
l don't like to think of your
doing that last, said Edgar. Such
things as instruments should not
be named in the same day with a
IA butterfly. One instinctively
thinks of marred beauty and
crushed wings. All the bees
could be spared better than one
butterfly.
The bees are more useful, said
Edgar's companion tentatively.
Would you have a honeyless
| world?
Better a honeyless world than
| an unbeautifnl one, he returned
gravely.
Miss Mason took up her book
| and rose from her position on the
grass. In the brief interval be-
fore he too got upon his feet, she
stood looking at him with an ex-
preston that was mocking yet
indulgent. 1t was as if she held
the key to some unspoken riddle
which he, not being able to un-
derstand, could not be expected
| to unrayel.
When Edgar had risen, her
eyes still met his as she asked,
oh, SO gently:
Have You never heard the mod
ern woman likened to a being in
whom the industry of the bee is
combined with the beauty of the
butterfly?
No, replied Edgar,and he spoke
incisively; I should liken her
rather to a creature who lacks.
both the beauty of the butterfly
and, not the industry perhaps,
since the typical modern woman
keeps up perpetual noise and
motion with an accomplishing
quite out of proportion to the dis
turbance she makes; not the in
dustry, therefore, but the useful
qualities of the bee. He paused,
checked by the open mischief in
her face. Of a surety she was
laughing at him. You're taking
the opposite view merely to draw
me out and mock me, he cried,
with quick comprehension that
he was quite ready to believe was
born of his interest in and ad-
miration for her. I believe in
your heart you think just as I
do.
She made no answer TO this.
In That moment while she stood
facing him in her white gown
with the green world enwrapping
her like canopy, Edgar OWNED
the truth. He had found his
ideal. She was his mate, his
comrade, the dream woman who
through the years had flashed
smiles at him from the glowing
heart of his fire, or gazed with
luminous tenderness from the
wneaths of smoke that cnrled up
out OF his pipe; the magical, mys-
teal being who laughed at him
from the waves, beckoned him
from the woods, and alternately
wooed and eluded him in the dim
land of desire.
a movement on her part, a
slight turning away, brought him
back to the greenland. gold pres.