Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-11-09
Septin11s
By WILLIAM J.LOCKE
Copyright, 1908. by the Phillips Publish
ing Company
Copyright 1909, by John Lane Company
CHAPTER I.

CHAPVEk /.
II love Nunsmere" said the Literary
| Man from London. 1T Is spot where
faded lives are laid away in lavender"
I'm not a faded life, and I'm not going
to be laid away in lavender" retorted
Fora Middlemist.
| She turned from him and handed cakes
to the Vicar. She had no desire to pet
the Vicar, but he was less unbearabie
than the Literary Man from London
whom he had brought to call on his par
ishioners. Fora disliked to be called a
parishioner. She disliked many things
in Nunsmere. Her mother. Mrs. Old
rieve, however, loved Nunsmere, adored
the Vicar, and found awe inspiring in his
cleverness the Literary Man from Lon
don.
Nunsmere lies hidden among the oaks
| of Surrey, far from the busy ways of
men: 1t is heaven knows how many miles
from g. high road. You have to drive
| through lanes and climb right over nil
to get to it. Two old Georgian houses
| covered with creepers, modern Gothic
church. two much more venerable and
pious-looking inns. and few cottages
settling peacefully around common form
the village. Here and there cottage
turks I'D q lane. These cottages are most
ly inhabited by the gentle classes. Some
are really old, with great oak beams
across the low ceilings. and stone-fagged
kitchens furnished with great open fire.
places, where you can sit and get scorch-
ed and covered with smoke. Some are
new. built in imitation of the old, by q
mute, inglorious Adam, the village car
penter. All have long easement WINDOWS,
| front gardens, in which grow stocks, ana
phIox, and sunflowers. and hollyhocks
and roses; and q red-tiled path leads from
the front gate to the entrance porch
Nunsmere is very quiet and restful
Should roisterer cross the common sing
| ing g. song at half-past nine at night, all
| Nunsmere hears it and is shocked-if not
/ frightened to the extent OF boiling doors
and windows, lest the dreadful drunken
man should come In.
| In a cottage on the common. an old
one added to by the local architect, with
| q front garden and a red-tiled path,
dwelt Mrs. OIdrieve In entire happiness
and her daughter in discomfort. And this
was through no peeviSh or disagreeable
traits in Zora's nature. If we hear Guy
Fawkes was fretful in the Little-Ease.
we are not panied by Guy Fawkes' lack
| Of Christian resignation.
| When the Vicar and the Literary Man
from London had gone Fora threw open
| the window and let the soft autumn air
flood the room. Mrs. Oldrieve drew her
wooden shawl around her lean shoulders
| I'm afraid you quite snubbed Mr.. Rat
tenden, just when he was saying one OF
his cleverest things"
HE said 1t to the wrong person.
mother. I'm neither a faded life nor am
going to be laid away in lavender. DO
I look like it?''
She moved across the room swiftly and
stood in the slanting light from the win
dow. offering herself for inspection. Moth
| ing could be less like faded life than
the magnificent, broad hipped. full-bosonl-
ed woman that met her mothers gaze.
Her hair was auburn, her eyes brown
i.>.xkr hA~ Hvc rnd hnr oh Ire
clear and young. She was cast. physic-
ally, in heroic mold, a creature Of dancing
blood, and color and warmth. Disparag-
ing tea parties called her an Amazon.
The Wears wife regarded her as too
large. and flaring and curvilinear for rep
utable good looks. She lowered over
Nunsmere. Her presence disturbed the
sedateness Of the place. She was wrong
note in its harmony.
Mrs Oldrieve sighed. She was small
and colorless. Her husband. wild ex-
plorer, a tornado of man, had been
killed by q buffalo. she was afraid that
Fora took after her 1ather. Her younger
daughter, Emmy, had also inherited some
Of the Oldrieve restlessress and had gone
on the stage. She was playing now In
musical comedy in London.
II don't see why you should not be
happy here, Zora,' she remarked but II
the same to your poor. dear father
1--WE been very good, haven't II" said
Fora. i've been the model young widow.
and lived as demurely as II my heart
were breaking with sorrow. But now l
can't stand 1t any longer. I'm going out
to see the world"
you'll soon marry again. dear, and
that's one comfort"
Fora brought her hands down passion
ately to her sides.
'Never. Never-do you hear, mother?
Never. I'm going out into the world. to
get to the heart Of the life I've never
known. I'm going to live
II don't see how you are going to live.
dear, without a man to take care OF you,
said Mrs. Oldrieve. on whom there occa-
sionally flashed an eternal verify.
II hate men. l hate the touch OF them
the very sight Of them. I'm going to
the rest of my natural life. My dear
mother!" and her voice broke, haven't
had enough to do with men and mar
riage?"
mist" Mrs Oldrieve argued as she count
ed the rows of her knitting.
How am I to know that? How could
any one have told that he was what he
was? For heavens sake don't talk of it.
had almost forgotten it all in this
place.
She shuddered and, turning to the win
dow. stared into the sunset.
Lavender has its uses" said Mrs. Old
rieve.
Here again it must be urged on Zora's
behalf that she had reason for her mis-
anthropy. It is not cheerful for girl to
discover within twenty-four hours of her
wedding that her husband Is a hopeless
drunkard and to see him die of delirium
tremens within six weeks. An experience
SO vivid. like lightning, must blast some
thing in q woman's conception of life.
Because one mans kisses reeked of
whisky the kisses of all male humanity
were arathema.
After a long spell of silence she came
and laid her cheek against her mothers
This is the very last time we'll speak
Of it, dear. I'll lock the skeleton in its
cupboard and throw away the key.
| She went upstairs to dress and came
down radiant At dinner she spoke ex-
uItingly Of her approaching freedom. She
would tear off her widows weeds and
deck herself in the flower Of youth. She
| would plunge into the great swelling sea
of life She would drunk sunshine and
| All her soul with laughter. She would
do q million hyperbolic things. the men,
| ton Of which nightly confused her
mother. II. my DEAR" said the hen in
the fairy tale, never had the faintest
desire to get into water" so, more or
less, said Mrs. Oldrieve.
| will you miss me very dreadfully?"
| asked Fora.
| "Of course" but her tone was so lack
ing In conviction that Fora laughed.
Mother, you know very well that Cou
panion. You've been pining for her all
this time
Cousin Jane held distinct views on the
/ 80 fnr fha 1Aco yivocy