The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1909-10-13
i.
Continued.

liz lOOh IhS 4ohN teN"N
cally.
81 am making a tour of Cornwall
on foot" he answered. Have just
returned from Tintagel. And you?'
She presented him in due form to
Jacqueline and explained that by the
advice of her London doctor she had
taken a house near by for a fe"
weeks.
80 glad to meet a countryman!"
she said, with the mendacity peculiar
to her sex. Pray come and lunch
with me to-day. Probably you are
stopping at the White Hart Inn? IT
Is only a triiing distance from our
manor"
He accepted the invitation without
evident pleasure. Jacqueline fancled
that his Joy at this chance meeting
was on a par with Aunt Bradshaw's
He had a good profile, a cold, gray
eye, and a superbly erect, athletic
figure. This much she noted and
then her new acquaintance lifted his
hat and the pony trotted over the
bridge into the market town. Aunt
Bradshaw drew a long breath.
How very odd" she murmured,
'tand I might say-unfortunate."
You do not like Mr.. st. George?"
said Jacqueline.
Certainly I do. One can find no
fault with st. George. He is rich
he comes of a Boston family that
claims descent from the colonial gov
ernors, and years ago / used to think
him e most fascinating person; but
he seems to have grown old and
morose-no wonder, poor fellow!'
This last in a voice barely audible.
HE was not pleased to meet you,
Aunt Bradshaw
$50 I perceived. I cannot blame
him"
The frown never lifted from his
face while he talked with you"
Really you observed him very
closely, my dear"
Eyes; he interested me. He is
not. I feel sure, a common person.
Mrs. Bradshaw bit her lip, and
answered nothing. Some small pur-
chases were made in the town, and
then the pony's head was turned
back to the manor house.
In a futter of expectation Jacque-
line awaited luncheon. Promptly
with the hour, St. George appeared,
and sat down to the table with the
ladies, in a charming, low-ceiled
room, overlooking a terrace smoth-
cred in flowers. Jacqueline had put
on e simple white dress, and stuck a
bunch of blood-red roses in the rib
bon at her belt. The cold gray eyes
of the guest dwelt on her in a sort
of unwilling admiration.
You are not in the least like your
sister," he said abruptly.
She was pouring cream from a
silver jug upon a dish of crimson
strawberries. Her hand shook
slightly.
my sister," she echoed. do you
know herr"
mo, but I have seen her at the
Symphony with Miss Wingate, and
in the Wingate pew at Trinity"
Good Bostonianst are sure to meet
at the Symphony and at Trinity. on,
7 am so glad to talk with a person
who has ever seen Doris!' She
leaned toward him, her breath COM
ing quickly, her eyes like twin stars.
my sister and I have been separated
since childhood. Perhaps I would no
longer know hers she very fair?
1T she tall, like all the Hattons?"
"She is fair, bit tall-no; her head
would hardly reach to your Shout
der" replied st. George. y
1.-THE choicest goods are made up
in the smallest parcels" said Jacque-
line, trying to smile, though her eyes
were moist. Did she appear we'll
and-and-strong when you last
saw herr"
ION the contrary answered st.
George, "she seemed in i'll health"
Jacqueline grew pale.
"Ill health-Doris."
81 heard her cough in church"
Mrs. Bradshaw gave the speaker
an indignant glance.
THAT signifies nothing. My dear
st. George. you hear a young person
cough, and infer at once that she is
i'll? Nonsense! Do not brighten
Jacqueline-she is absurdly fond OF
her sister"
St. George perceived that he had
said the wrong thing.
Pardon me. Miss Hatton,' he
stammered. "I am sorry if l have
alarmed YOU"
She pushed her strawberries away
untasted. Mrs. Bradshaw promptly
changed the conversation.
Have you been long abroad?'
she said to her guest.
II left Boston three weeks ago."
he replied. "The German specialist,
who has been treating Basil for some
time past, could not cross the Allan
tic this season. Consequently, ]
came over to interview him in Der,
lin"
with satisfactory results, ]
hope?"
He shook his head.
Herr Gunther assures me that
the case is hopeless-he al do NO
more"
"Oh, poor Basil! How very sad!'
murmured Mrs. Bradshaw. THE
last L heard, you were consulting
some eminent London surgeon
could he do nothing?"
Nothing" replied St. George. His