Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-11-23
Xxx.

LAdCtiy OHe week later ClOQaSn dTrIVeO
in Paris on her way to England. Simonetta
Ottolenghi, an Italian woman who had been
in her service as maid for nearly four years,
was her only companion; there was no
friend to meet or welcome her in the I'M
familiar city, and even the dog Mick. the
companion of so many solitary hours, had
been left behind in Florence until she
could conveniently send for him; yet, in
congruous' as it may sound. her feelings
were happy-her mind was free from lone
illness as her train steamed into the
crowded railway station and she found
herself free to drive to her hotel. After
all, life undeniably stretched before her
and there was no prohibition against let
ting her eyes dwell upon the vistas 1t
opened up.
knowledge of duty done-be the doing
wayfarer In the worlds byways, and
Clodagh, as she stepped from her train on
that February afternoon, was. conscious Of
some such reassuring certainty.
In the last two years life for her had
been a thing of physical inaction accom-
panied by a subtle process of mental de-
velopment The night of tempestuous ex-
citement-when, ina whirl of pain, cha
grin and passionate self-contempt she had
repudiated Venice and her newly made
friends-had been the birth of a fresh
phase in her existence. With all the ardor
all the enthusiasm whereof her vivid nature
was capable she had veered from her for
mer point Of view to another almost as
extreme. The return to Florence. the TAX
ing up of existence in the secluded villa,
had been like the incidents of a dream
then, in the days that had succeeded-in
the early mornings or the late evenings
as she sat upon the marble rim of the
drowsy fountain in the garden, gaZed
down from Fiesole upon the sleeping Ro-
man amphitheater or knelt in a dim recess
of the old church of San Domenico, rem
dered mystical by the smell of incense and
asolya .f foran f1,a dr. or,,- n
shaped itself. 1t had become a tapestry
into the pictures of which many figures
were woven, but where only two took
place and prominence-her own and one
other.
For in those silent hours the thought of
Gore-the remembrance OF Gore-had come
back to her as tangible things In that
solitude peOpled by Imagination she had
forgotten the hurt vanity, the bitter disap-
pointment that had clothed her last inter
view with him and remembered only that
seeing fit to reprove her, he had dared to
she had stood, he had put out his hand
to draw her back.
And, standing in this new light. Gore
became an ideal, a being apart, endowed
with endless power to inspire high deeds.
An idealst born, Clodagh was created to
make believe. The make believes were
probably exaggerated, the swaying of an
to the other; but in this case. at least,
benefit accrued. She developed a sudden
gentle tolerance of Mlbanke-an altogether
unprecedented care for his comfort and
well-being.
The working of this profoundly subtle
emotion was far too deep to be even
guessed at by herself. and had any student
of human nature told her that the new
tenderness for the timid unassuming hus-
band who made SO few demands upon her
consideration. arose from the fact that an
other man had crossed her life-rousing at
once her imagination, her antagonism and
her admiration; showing her new depths
in the world around her, new possibilities
within herself-she would have been both
incredulous and indignant.
But no student Of human nature visited
the villa, and she lived on undisturbed in
her atmosphere of dreams. Whether the
vague -subconsciOus thought that Gore,
away in his own world, might hear of her
graver attitude toward life and might Sc
cretly approve, ever lent Zest to her self
imposed duties it would have been impos-
sible to say but certain it is that II the
thought came 1t came unbidden and stayed
unrecogniZed.
And now Milbanke was dead. And life
not the mythical life of memories, of
dreams, even of ideals, but the life of
hope and warm human possibilities
hers, as it had been long ago, before Der
husbands name had ever met her ears.
Her mind was at peace as she drove
, through the narrow streets of Paris, with
their cheerful characteristic chorus of
shouting news vendors, cracking whips and
| laughing chattering people.
The MOTEL she mad CHOSEN was small
one, close to the Place Vendome, and when
her fiacre stopped and she entered the
vestbule her sense of pleasure and con-
tentment increased. The quiet air of the
place contrasted agreeably with her pre-
vious experience of hotel life.
/ Still conscious of this impression of
security. she turned away from the bureau
where she had registered her name and
crossed the vestibule to the lift. Taking
| her place on the velvet-covered seat, she
watched the attendant close the iron doors
! and turn to set the lift in motion. But at
| the moment that he laid his hand upon the
! button she saw the big, swinging doors of
| the hotel open to admit a lady.
| Go be continued tomorroW.l