The Press., 1907-02-20
NOIHeS
MlnBtrNtlOn
By Virginia Leila We"fg
Cna,.,.,inht fonR hi p C. East ment
Copyright. 1906. bv P. C. Eastmemt
By Virginia Leila Vents

The elusive fever of a new creation
was upon Feltus. In the twilight OF
his top floor studio he sank into chair
and reached out vaguely for matches
and cigarettes. Here, with these alone
for light and stimulant, he meant to
stay till the great idea itself was clear
before him.
Presently the portieres parted. Pc
ter, the old family butler, stood in the
doorway. He gazed fleetingly at his
young master, whose head had dropped
into his hands.
Its girl, Mr.. Norris" he said.
Nothing of the sort, Peter" retorted
Feltus indulgently, lighting another
cigarette. Its a new picture coming;
that's ALL"
"It's a girl, Mr.. Morris, downstairs"
Peter said gravely. ''That's what the
nurse tells me-"
"Whew-w-w! A girl! How is Mrs.
Feltus"
"Doing fine, sir. Anything l can get
for you, sirT'
"Scotch and seltzer, Peter-Scotch
anu HotLA6Ti kAlut GA.
But when the good old butler had
vanished Feltus' brows went together.
"a girl! By JOve, what do l want
with girl2"
He was suddenly conscious that at
some time or other he had entertained
visions OF a boy, who should be his
son and heir-a strong, sturdy little fell
low, born into the world with the pow
er to whistle and whittle full fledged.
But girl!
Thus was Mollie's advent into this
sublunary sphere greeted by her ia
Their. Little by little, however, she won
her way straight into his heart. From
the day when, bending over fluff of
perturbed lace, tiny pink fist had
been thrust up by chance caressing his
face, and he had laid it against his lips
from that day had dated Mollie's
witchery over Der sire.
Daddy was the name Mrs. Feltus
had taught the child to call him, but,
baby fashion, she had twisted it into
'Taddy." This title always fetched
Feltus an exquisite pleasure, such as
could have scarcely have come to him
had he been dubbed an r. A.
At first 1t seemed that Mollie would
bring them together again-these two
young people who in their married life
of less than score of months had
drifted so far apart.
"Isn't that pretty? And how devoted
they are, not only to the child, but to
each Otheri'
This was whispered aside from
one of the Feltus aunts to another.
They happened to be calling on the
proud parents when Feltus had been
hastily summoned away and were
privileged in witnessing that pretty
little domestic act commonly called a
"j4mble Kiss"
But the happy domestiGity was all
in the seeming. Further and further
they drifted apart-two warning tenn
peraments; he with his warm, impul-
sive nature; she with her cold, jewel
eyed aloofness. She had her white
ambitions, her mobile fats on the pos
sibilities of wOman's destiny; he had
his artists work and the habit of de-
votion to it.
At last it became intolerable, and
the storm broke.
There was one unforgettable morn
ing stamped upon Mollie's memory.
flown off. from the vigilance of her
nurse, holding her nightgown from hel
feet, and was about to burst into Tad
dy's studio to kiss him good morning
when strange, angry tones in tor
rent of unintelligible words reached
her from within. 1t was not dear
mothers voice. Mothers voice was
always low and slow and even. This
woman's voice was none of those
things. But by and by mother herself
came out. Mollie half stretched forth
her hand to clutch her skirt as she
passed, but withdrew 1t, afraid Moth
ers head was held SO high, she walked
like the angry princess In the fairy
book, and there was a bright red spot
on either cheek.
All was still in the studio, so the
child ran in. Feltus was pacing up
and down in his velvet knickerbockerA
and smoking jacket, his hand behind
bis back.
"Taddy," Mollie cried gleefully, II
dot away from nurse, did! I tum to
tiss you"
As the baby arms clasped him Eel
tus sank into a chair, and she climbed
to his breast. There was stiffness
except for the mans hard, tremulous
breaths as he held her closely to him.
On an easel at one end of the room
was canyas In the making. Even In
its rough state one could see that II
possessed power and insight. It show
ed girl, sumptuous oriental crea-
ture, swathed in gay draperies. reclin-
ing on a couch. With half closed,
sensuous eyes and Turing languor she
contemplated a jeweled chain which
she held up in one hand. Painted
above the canvas was the title, 1.-THE
Snare of the Senses"
"She didn't get the idea, Mollie,"
Feltus said brokenly at last, looking at
his picture far over the child's sunny
head. "She thought-good Lord, she
thought it was the flesh l meant! She
couldn't see 1t was the jeweled chain"
It was true. This was a painting
which required pre-eminently subjec-
tive Interpretation. Yet Evelyn Feltus,
with her restricted insight, had read 1t |
effectively, as she did everything else
in life. and had whipped herself into !
an impotent fury. She couldn't see
that 1t was the jeweled chain which
was SHARING the woman's senses, the
sort of thing that always snares that |
sort of woman's senses. To Evelyn the
woman herself was snare and the |