The Marshall republican., 1909-12-24

her chief charm. But 1t was so a part
Of her that he had never separated 1t
from her. That she should be thought.
ful Of others, that her voice should be
low and sweet, that she should be
graceful in every motiop--all this was
Helen. He said the name half un-
der his breath. He stood bewildered
before his own consciousness. He
loved her!
During his college years Derring
had come to know that In love he was
an idealist. Love In It's true sense
could not exist on the earth. II was q
vision of poets-impossible Of realiza.
ton. Long since he had come to know
that his boyhood love was such a
vision, and that its realization would
have been q kind Of tragic comedy.
But always the ideal fitted before him,
making him fancy that he was In
love, now here. now there, and each
time he had wakened to the knowl.
| edge that he was in love with an
Ideal. When he had been invited to
the homes Of his classmates he had
fancied that he should hnd In one OF
these homes the fulnllment OF his
dreams. But the sisters who met him
with cordial welcome, who danced,
firted. and played golf and tennis
with him, had seemed to him too
young to understand even the alpha
bet OF love as he would read II. He
had felt very old and experienced and
out OF place. The love that he might
perhaps have won from them seemed
to him pale and insipid. He wrote
poems, but he dedicated them to the
ideal. She was a glowing presence
more real to him than any woman.
Now this ideal had paled and faded
and quiet figure in grays and
browns filled its place.
He was passing a florists, and he
stopped to purchase bunch OF vio-
lets. He did not tell himself they
were for her. He was not quite steady
yet from the shock that had come to
him. He could hardly have been more
startled II the quiet wood-road at
home had suddenly assumed a wom-
ans face and form and claimed his
love. But deep In his heart was
longing to make her reparation. He
had Invaded her secret He could not
undo that. But he could let her know
that he was sorry. Sorry! Was he,
. She was not home from the studio
But the door OF her room. which was
warmed from the hall, STOOD open,
without crossing the threshold he
laid the violets on chair inside the
door. Would she understand? Yes
terday he would have said yes. To-
day he could not tell. She might not
understand, or she might understand
too well.
She greeted him as quietly as usual
when she came in to dinner that night.
She wore the violets tucked carelessly
into the lace that filled her dress. One
that had fallen apart from the others
rested lightly against her throat. His
heart stopped for second. and then
leaped forward with bound.
Not till they were leaving the din.
Ing room, when he held the curtain
aside for her to pass, scanning her
face, did her glance meet his. The
next moment he could not have told
what he saw In her eyes, but he no
longer questioned their color. Blue
blue and deep--slumbering fire. Fool!
Had he expected her to wear her
heart on her sleeve for davis to peck
at?
He had not intended to see her
again that night. but he found that he
could not rest. 1t would make no COM
ment. even in this gossipy boarding
house, II he stopped at her door a
minute. But he found that he had
suddenly grown careful, only con.
scious OF remark. He would put on his
hat and coat and go for walk. He
might see her as he passed her door. !
She was seated in low chair by