The Montgomery advertiser., 1906-05-04

i rose from the table.
 l fUntil that instant I had forgotten that George was--shortD l When the men rejoined us in the drawing room, Arthur Mitre-CoVeii ! crossed to my side. MT D--Dui1imore and I have been disclssing Lanroy from the point or view of a p-portrait p-palnter Mrs l Kennett. Mir. D-Dullimore condemns his flesh tints and uphold 'em; dyou
 mind showing him that tr-trinmph of you that is hung in the billiard room I It so emphatically gives my side Of the | question a chance"
 l By all means" I replied, looking round and noting that Erica was nov ing towards the piano. while all the others were amalgamattng satistac- l torily. Come this way"
 As we entered the billiard room switched on the light,
 NOW, Mir Mitre-covell." I began, l There is the picture. but" l Don't waste your words on the ab- | sent. Della. The excellent Mir. Covell l q haven't time for the hyphen) has | not come to substantiate hts argu- | ment" said George. standing close at my elbow and looking at the pearls 1 about my neck
 l q could feel his eyesD | Oh! er-weil, here is the picture. 1 There was silence tthose silences | used to be poignant. but now they only l seemed empty), and then I felt a hand l on my arm.
 I turned, and there was the old cold look. behind which burnt blazing fires. IT don't know if I love you to- night. or If I actually ever did love you; but-but whatever it was. 1t is still Della, I've tried to burn 1t out, but the gres go on like the fires of hell!
 Della. look at met-Iike you used to look.''
 turned and faced him. Now was
 my moment-my test, Della"
 His hands were on my hands, his
 eyes were close to mine; then. with a
 swift movement that surprised myself,
 I reached the door.
 The supreme test was not wanted
 the touch of his lips need not bel knewl --
 Tin glad you like the picture, Mir Dullifnore,' I said, crossing the corri-
 dor and re-entering the drawing
 doom. "Mr. Mitre -Covell, r don't think you'll find that my poor portrait has secured a convert. Mir Dullimore will tell you what he thinks of it. Aimee.
 do sing that delicious little thing you
 sang at the Palmerstons' the other
 night--all about oiseaux and prlntemps,
 you remember? So light and lovely it
 was--Dolf called 1t a soufiie song"
 And with these last words I actually
 moved towards my husband. and laid
 my hand for one passing instant on
 his arm.
 His eyes lishted--I so rarely ever
 look towards him In public-and,
 glancing at George for the first time.
 realized how strongly Napoleonic
 profile could suggest cheap grease
 paint. spurious scarfpins and No. 2
 Companiesi.
 At last 1t was over, they had all gone and the room was free from dead H. lusions and revised epigrams. Dolf was bending over the sofa stroking the cat Ca dear. hungry, val ueless thing he had rescued in the Square Gardens). when I made up my mind to tell him what there was to tell.
 "Dolf," I said. taking one of his big
 hands in both my own, I'll have you ever wondered about the man who tilted me so long ago-wondered if- If ever think of him?" of course, darling, I've wondered; but as you've given yourself to me I've no right to bother you about your 1 memories, my Della. I know ththat woman cant ever quite get over those! Every book tells, you so! he
  I 1y. (Pd never heard that note in his voice before. He'd hidden it all these years).
 Then every book is wrong; wo- man can get over memories when realities come to help herr I cried, with triumph. If David Hexton had
 not sprained his ankle I might never | quite have known"
 'Hexton? What do you mean?' q mean that your club friend George Dul1imore. was the man who nearly killed my heart nine years ago, and I mean that today has absolutely | eFaced yesterday-wiped 1t out as if | it had never been! When saw George tonight I felt as one feels on re-opening a nerltless by-gone book which had proved entrancing, after ones literary taste has become more maturcd!. You need never again ask me that silent question which l have been shining from your eyes,my | husband. For all time I answer it now.
 and voluntarily,-I answer it, dear like thisr
 And I kissed Dolf's big brown hand! It was the only complete surrender | I could think of!.... q, And now, my Birthday Diary, snah we say good-by to each other? Your few leaves (which were so white and virgin just thirteen years
 ago) are all covered with the plotted confessions of a woman's heart and
 have no fancy to commence another
 volume. What should I have to say in
 it? Please God-Nothing!
 have no more confessions to make
 the pen is drying-Dolf Is calltns E.
 the clock strikes 2--another birthday
 year begins
 Good -by--good- by!