The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1907-02-14

anyWnere-anQ engaged IN ner long
practised game Of making the best Of
things. But the play went DULY this
night, although the Goals arranged the
usual pictures for her to gaze into
and the castle-building materials were
all at hand. Now and then she
glanced at a big bowl of violets
which stood on the table near her,
and in her expression was curious
blending of indignation and triumph.
There was silence in the room, except
for a slow-pulsed clock, which struck
the Quarter-hours reluctantly, and the
occasional rustling of the turning
pages of the newspaper.
She felt strangely lonely. The girls
had gone out, wearing their violets
pinned in the fur and laces at their
bonnie throats. The fragrance of the
flowers at her side swept up with the
memory of the lines which had come
as valentine to little Jeanne:
This thing I know, my dear,
My love for you, my dear,
VIII last for aye!
But it doesn't, Jeanne, child" she
whispered sadly. 1T does not last any
longer than the dew lasts on the
roses. But it is so sweet to be de-
ceived!" She sighed. And again her
eyes fell on the violets.
who in the world could have sent
them to me?" she murmured. And
tho UorcoCl ITnportinoDt of ooureo
But rather dear. The writing looks a
little familiar, too; but can't place
It," She drew little note from the
dainty little rose-colored bag which
swung from the ribbons at her waist,
and scanned it by the freight A
half-pleased smile crept up to her
eyes, as she read:
These tender flowers are sent to you by
To whom you are the starlight and the
sun.
Their fragrance bears message fond
From out heart that beats alone for
you.
"1ow dreadful" murmured Anne
Stacey, but with commendable for
uuoG ohcN ~. " OlChs
She rose determinedly, just as there
was a sound of a sliding paper and a
snore. She turned back and sat down,
and the little foot on the fender tap
ped impatiently.
ASLEEP again." she said, "and 1t Is
only half-past eight! Another tire
some evening ahead Of me. Oh, dear,
/ don't see why ever married him!
A man SO absorbed in business has no
right to marry. He is so tired and dull
when he comes home that he never
talks. believe l am getting so dis
like Dick, anyway. just won't try to
tell him about the flowers and note.
He doesn't take the trouble to tell me
anything. wish knew who sent it
that's what l wish" Her cheeks
were flushed now, and she looked re-
sentfully at the form in the big leather
chair. Il won't tell him word" she
repeated - then called sharply:
'Dick!"
Stacey started up, dazedly. "Eh?
Yes. All right! What is it, nam
MAJ"
Its st. Valentines eve!"
"The deuce it is! l thought it was
morning. What's up?" ~
Nothing. The same old nothing"
There was pause. after which an
other gasp and snore was followed by
an apologetic: did you speak,
mammal"
81 only said it was st. Valentines
eve"
"Oh, yes, SO you did" (Yawn.)
who was the Old duffer anyway? ?
Been reading about him for the club?"
(Yawn.)
Mrs. Stacey ignored the question
so coldly that Stacey dimly realized
that something ought to be said or
done.
This" he began insinuatingly,
"thls isn't an anniversary Of any kind,
Is It? We were not married or any
thing on Valentines day, were we?''
IF had TO ask such q question as
. y II q VII