The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-09-24

SQS Olu not answer, duQ ne ruSleu on, speaking low, eagerly, yet bitterly.
 You know I can't tell you what 1 wish to say. I haven't really the right. l nm a penniless naval officer and you 1 the daughter of the biggest steel man in the country. I haven't the right" What is it you wish to say?" she asked insistently. She was so close l their hands touched as he turned to- | ward her. And, touching, the hands clung together.
 You know what wish to say" he exclaimed. 'If I had the right I'd tell you how much I love you. I'd tell you how from the first moment I saw you I wanted you, and you only. I'd tell | you how I never have lived until knew you and the rest of my life must be one dreary blank of grinding duty because I must lose you. I'd tell you that life with you would be more happiness than any man has the right to have. I'd tell you that I'd rather have one year of you than million years on earth and all the honors that men could give me. I'd tell you"-he broke off bitterly for a second, then repeated-'I'd tell you enough to make you realize what an absolutely dream ing, idiotic fool am. but I'd tell you enough to make you know how I suf fer because I haven't the right to real ly tell you anything"
 In the darkness the girl laughed a low laugh of pure delight.
 "Yon are an absolute, idiotic, dream ing fool" she said, so softly, so ten derly, that he could not but understand. rFrances!''
 He barely breathed her name. Then all reply was cut, off. for she was in his arms with her own arms about his neck and their lips were tight to- gether.
 It was nearly half an hour later when Frances Durant, her cheeks flushed, her eyes misty with happi- ness, opened the big front door and stepped back into the lighted hall.
 So much had happened in that short time. She had gone out an anxious, worried girl~ She re-entered a glow ing woman, loved and loving, sure of herself and happily confident of the future. They were not engaged. No, indeedi They had solennly assured each other of that fact. It would not do at all for the penniless naval officer to formally ask the hand of the steel kings daughter! But when his gun had been a great success and fame had come to him then he was to come and make his formal plea and ask her father for her hand. And she would be waiting eagerly for her lover, ready with her answer and prepared, no mat ter what happened, to follow him to the ends of the earth.
 Edward Pinckney looked up with q sheer as she entered the library.
 "Oh, he's gone, has hep he said contemptuously.
 The girl was too happy to mind the tone.
 You meah MT. sommers?" she said, affecting to misunderstood. Yes; he's gone'
 "Of course I mean that naval whip persnapper. Who do you suppose l meant?'' he replied sharply. You ought to have mere sense, Frances, than to stand out on that cold porch. You're likely to catch pneumonia or anything"
 The girl smiled slightly.
 .'Oh, wasn't cold,'' she said.
 five been waiting to speak to you" began Pinckney again. 'It's about something important"
 Frances was in no mood for long, dull conversation. She wanted to get away by herself to think over the last half hour, to feel again the thrill of his touch, to hear again in her imagi- nation the sound of his voice. So she spoke somewhat impatiently.
 "Won't tomorrow do, Edward? ?'
 He shook his head with decision.
 t'No; tomorrow won't do, Frances. I want to talk to you tonight about something in which I am interested and in which your mother and father are interested also-something which we all wish to bring about"
 The girl yawned. She did not have the least idea what he was going to say.
 "oh, very we'll, Edward, if it's any thing you wish and mother and father wish, too, just consider that I have agreed and let it go at that. Don't worry me-