The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1907-10-17
VHX EN
SS
By Miss III. E. Braddon.
-~o~-
CHAPTER LII.


Brighton drawingroom-a large, lofty,
commonplace room, with tall windows
facing seward Miss McCroke was
there, too, standing at one of the win
dows, while Mrs. Tempest walked
slowly up and down the room, stopping
now and then at window to look idly
out at the red sunset beyond the low
lying roofs and spars of Shoreham.
Those two years had changed Violet
Tempest from a slender girl to nobly
formed woman-a woman whom a
sculptor would have worshiped as his
would have reverenced for her glow
and splendor of coloring, but about
whose beauty the common run of man.
kind, and more especially woman-kind,
had not made up their minds.
II think we ought to go before
Christmas, Violet" said Mrs. Tempest,
continuing a discussion that had been
dragging itself slowly along for the
last half hour.
II am ready, mamma" answered
|
hearts afresh whenever we go home,
but suppose We must go home some
day"
But you would like to see the dear
old house again, surely, violet?"
Like to see the frame without the
picture? No, no. no, mamma. The
frame was very dear while the picture
was in it; but-yes," cried Vixen, pas
sionately, 81 should like to go back,
and carry fresh flowers there every
day. 1t has been too much neglected. "
Neglected, Violet How can you
say such things!"
"Oh, mamma, there is more love
in a bunch of primroses that my own
hand gathers and carries to the grave
than in all the marble OF granite in
Westminster Abbey"
MY dear, for poor people wild flow.
ers are very nice, and show good feel.
ing, but the rich must have monu'
| ments."
Captain Carmichael" announced
Forbes just then, In the dusky end of
| the drawing-room by the door.
The visitor came smiling into the
| friendly glow of the fire. He shook
| hands with Mrs. Tempest with the air
| of an old friend, went over to the
window to shake hands with Miss Nc
Croke, and then came back to Vixen
who gave him limp, cold hand with
an indifference that was almost IN
| solent
81 was that moment thinking of you
Captain Carmichael" said the widow
IAN honor and happiness for me.
murmured the captain.
Vixen sat looking at the fire and pat
ting Argus. She did not favor the
captain with SO much as a glance;
and yet he was man upon whom the
eyes of women were apt to dwell favor
ably. He was not essentially hand
some. The most attractive men rarely
are He was tall and thin, with g
waist as small as a woman's, small
hands, small feet-a general delicacy
of mold that was accounted thorough
bred. He had long nose, darkly
pale complexion, keen grey eyes under
dark brows, dark hair cropped close t
his small head, thin lips, white teeth
a neat black mustache, and strictly
military appearance, though he ha(
sold out of a crack regiment three
years ago, and was now gentleman
at large, doing nothing, and living IL
gentleman-like manner on very
small income. He was not In debt
and was altogether respectable. Moth
ing could be said against him, unless
Il were some dark hint of a gambling
transaction, some vague whisper abou
the mysterious appearance of a kin.
at ecarte-the kind of rumor which /.
apt to pursue man who does no
cheat, but always wins.
Despite these vague ISLANDERS, which
are generally baseless-the mere ex
preston of society's floating malice
the scum of i'll nature on the world,
waves-Captain Carmichael was a uni
versal favorite.
How very rudely you behaved Il
Captain Carmichael, Violet" said Mrs
Tempest when her visitor had &C
parted
did /, mammal" inquired Vixen
listlessly. Il thought / was extraor
binary civil"
Il cannot imagine why you are S,
prejudiced against him." pursued Mrs
Tempest, fretfuliy.
1T is not prejudice, mamma. but in
stinct"
at Is shameful of you to say sucl
things" cried the widow, pale will
anger. What have you to say agains
him? What fault can you find Will
him? You cannot deny that he is mos
gentleman-like."
| mo, mamma; he is a little too gen
tleman-like He makes trade of hi
gentlemanliness. He is too highly pol
ished for me-"
You prefer rough young fellow
like Roderick Vawdrey, who talk
slang and doats on the stables"
Il prefer any one who is good an,
true" retorted Vixen. Frederick is
man, and not to be named in the sam,
breath with your fine gentleman"
Il admit that the comparison woul;
be vastly to his disadvantage" sal,
the widow. But it is time to dress
for dinner"
And we are to dine with the Morti
mers," yawned Vixen. What bore!
This young lady had not that natura
bent for society which is symptomati
of her age. The wound that pierce,
her young heart two years ago had no
healed so completely that she coul'
find pleasure in inane conversation
and the facetious liveliness of fash
ionable dinner table.
Going home again. That was hare
to bear. 1t reopened all the old wound
Violet Tempest felt as IL her hear
would break, as if this new grief wer
sharper than the old one when tn
carriage drove in through the familia
gates, in December dusk, and aloni
the winding shrubberied road, and u
to the Tudor porch. where the lion o
the Tempests stood, with lifted pay
Il oh