Ottumwa tri-weekly courier., 1908-08-22

summed them, not Cnly because their
prattle bored him, but .or the hardly
formulated reason that they belonged
TO the sex of Angela Tempest. Always
ne had taken women at their own val
uation, never attempting , peer be-
neath the obscuring veil OF pleasant
looks and words. Now, 10 his dissnay,
he found himself cynically mistrustful
OF every specious sentiment. He sniff
| fed, SO TO speak, at the very milk of
human kindness, wondering whether
II rad turned sour. When he spoke oi
| this to Cynthia she la Ugh III
THE milk of human kindness is
like all other milk; it absorbs odors,
and you mustn't put a strong prejudice
near it,
Il keep away on that account"
She laid her hand upon his sleeve.
Dear Hugo, laugh with us, as you
used to do, and not at us. We women
have to pretend little. And it is so
lucky for you men that we refuse to
acknowledge that our dolls are stuffed
with sawdust."
You don't play with dolls still?'
"Oh. yes, do. thank Heaven! And,''
her fingers tightened upon his arm,
"the old dolls that are bit battered
arc the ones | like the best to plly
1 with"
Il see,' said Hugo, with deprecat,
ing smile. Then, with an entire change
of voice and manner, he said almost
savagely:
You can't go on playing with lac,
Cynthia, unless you put in new saw,
dust"
That's what | should like to do''
We won't talk about it, but one
thing is certain, shall never bs IA
doll again. Perhaps marionette is a
better word"
| 1--WE are all marionettes. And if the
right person pulls the string we enjoy
our dancing"
"Ah-the right person! Just so.'
But Immediately he changed the
subject. Not even to Cynthia had he
spoken of Joy Venanble. He would
have liked to do so, and at intermin-
able length, but he could not trust
himself. Whenever an opportunity of
confessing presented itself, he thought
of Esme Burgess and Tressiian sob
bing their sheartss out; terrible t,ld
humiliating spectacle.
On the moor above the King stone,
with his head buried in the Gather,
he had let his soul burst from bondage.
Such men as Hugo Charteris enter
alone into the Garden of Gethsamane
He thought of Joy always.
Her name.obsessed him. A pleasure,
seeker, life without JOY, that joie de
viyre which had distinguished him
and made him SO attractice to others
seemed intolerably. drab and futile.
Woe to those who discover .oo late
what the true joy of the world is. Who
see It, feel it, are intoxicated by its di-
vine fragrance, and know that it has
passed them by because they are un-
worthy and unclean
During this month of May, every
flower unveiling it's petals to the sun,
every bird and beast in the woods and
| fields, the shy, awkward couples the
Jacks and ellis of the village, walking
| with 1nterlaced fingers, silent, stupid
| but, for the moment, thrilling With an
| emotion they knew to be greater and
more mysterious than any other exper-
| ience-these tormented, Hugo with the
Chinese torture of Ling; the infection
Of a thousand cuts, none of them deep
and kind enough to infiict death
| At the end of the month he went
away Cynthia said to her husDanl.
| "He won't come back"
"Of course he will I daresay he
was a bit hipped. Nothing to shoo5,
but next autumn with the show cf
birds we're likely to have! Luck
beggar, call him.
Edward! Can't you see that he's
wretched?"
Pooh! Never saw him looking fit
ter"
That's the tragedy of it; to l,e so
strong and young, with a constitution
that may carry him on to eighty
my dear. time and nice young
woman will put things straight
| Edward spoke in his usual didactic
tone, rather annoyed that his wife
should exhibit signs of tears. Her eyes
had been dry enough when he told her
that they might have to let the shoot
ing She had not dropped tear when
an epidemic ravaged his focks and
herds.
"a nice young woman-yes but,
perhaps really nice young, woman,
who doesn't know all that we know,
might hesitate
Pooh! Not she, You keep your eyes
OPEN
Il always DO" said Cynthia To her
self she reflected: mot quite always"
For she knew that Hugo had gone
out of her life, and that UP to the last
moment she had blinded herself to the
conviction, never frankly admitted,
that their lines in life must lie apart.
She must remain where she was, sur
rounded by :. moat which reflected so
faithfully every stone in the ancient
house that she was proud to call her
home. Hugo must set forth on his
quest for happiness.
Travelling up to London, Hugo told
himself that the visit had been mis-
take. He had sought rest and not
| found it.
| The quiet life had exasperated him,
And the grim spectre of poverty,
which he was not allowed to expel with
a cheque, haunted him. Debated en-
tirely of his usual optimism, he saw
plainly the rinching effects of the
never-ending struggle between ways
l L